#high-tech weaponry

[roborevolutionaryrenditionsblog]

[bacchuschucklefuck]

space sweepers but they're delivery people and are at no point on screen through the entire movie

[psycohousecat]

Where'd my target go (?) 😋😍😅

[flurry-bace]

Thinking about how in the first episode, if Mikey hadn't gotten in the way, Donnie, at the very least, was a formidable opponent to Baron Draxum. At the most, he could've single-handedly beaten him.

[internetskiff]

The most powerful ability exclusive to humanity in the Half Life/Portal shared universe is our ability to just throw bullshit at the wall and see what sticks. Aperture "OSHA are the devil" Science have managed to create completely safe interconnected points in space. The same company that turns people's blood into gasoline and shoves lions and humans into the same enclosed space for the vague concept of "Science". Meanwhile Black Mesa still has to use Xen as a crossing and their teleportation device requires an entire reactor with a village's worth of staff constantly maintaining it, just to end up having most of said staff abducted by onion-headed aliens. Even the resistance hasn't managed to create completely stable teleporters with a compressed Xen relay, meanwhile Aperture just went "oh dude let's shove a black hole into a non-waterproof gun" and have just created a teleportation method that just removes Xen from the equation entirely. Doesn't change the fact they bullshat so bad they basically got themselves gassed to death, but still.

The Resistance are a good example of this too. The Combine seem to have a complete set-in-stone thought process and understanding of science which meant they didn't even begin to explore local teleportation via Xen, meanwhile a group of random human mechanics and scientists have managed to cobble together at least two semi-functional local teleporters out of scrap metal and stolen Combine tech, to the point the All-Consuming Interdimensional Empire had to straight up copy their homework. And that isn't even the only time they seem to be taking human shit to just copy the blueprints.

They 100% just yoinked the entire damn car out of that garage just to take a crack at reverse-engineering the Tau Cannon attached to it. Even Resistance weaponry somehow manages to rival or at least stand equal to Combine tech - and we're talking improvised crossbows that shoot superheated rods of rebar at the target compared to high-tech rifles that can discharge orbs of pure dark energy. The collapse of the entire Citadel is basically set into motion as a result of a cobbled together Rebel device placed into extremely capable hands.

The events of the Portal games are a case of extremely elaborate machinelike planning versus pure human improvisation, with Chell's entire escape in the first game involving her simply weaseling her way through small cracks that GLaDOS missed while setting up her ambushes, eventually turning her own rocket turret against her to destroy her.

I suppose you could argue this falls flat in Portal 2 with Wheatley, but it's important to remember he's designed to be an utter idiot, so it's safe to say he wouldn't obsess over the larger picture like GLaDOS to the point where he fails to see the cracks. Yes, he's the one that breaks Chell out of the test chambers again, and yes, he's the one that came up with the sabotage plot - but it's important to note while he knows what to target in the sabotage, when we actually get there he doesn't quite know how to sabotage it, leaving Chell to figure it out on her own. She botches the Turret Quality Control Line with some minor guidance, but it's basically completely up to her to figure out how to cut off the Neurotoxin Supply. It's through her improvisation that Wheatley even manages to get into GLaDOS' chamber, tumbling through her neurotoxin vent and shattering the glass cage she trapped Chell inside of. It's through Chell's improvisation that the Core Transfer even occurs in the first place.

The script is flipped specifically when Wheatley takes charge, because oops - turns out a mind capable of focusing on the bigger picture might be pretty important when it comes to running an entire facility powered by it's own Reactor. Wheatley just completely zeroes in on his own personal pleasure, hacking up test chambers and the objects within them to try and figure out the easiest way to get his solution euphoria as quick as possible.

Still, something that's pretty interesting is that only Wheatley has ever managed to create a trap that's impossible to foresee and avoid, something GLaDOS has repeatedly failed to do to the point she ends up commending him. I believe this is because his way of thinking is a lot closer to Chell's compared to GLaDOS'. He puts up way more of a fight as the two run through the facility trying to get to him, seemingly improvising on the spot just like Chell has been over the course of the two games. Even his lair would be impossible to survive if it weren't for a single Conversion Gel pipe he somehow failed to notice and remove.

Whether in a laboratory deep beneath the soil or an alien tower tall enough to split the clouds, the ingenuity of even a single person is enough to topple a tower or destroy a supercomputer 3 times over.

Marc Laidlaw put what I'm trying to say into a single sentence when writing for the BreenGrub twitter account:

"The superstructure is riddled with cracks."

[ducksido]

Twst but mafia au headcannon?

Heartslabyul Mafia – The Red Court

Theme: Order, rules, loyalty, and execution Territory: Casinos, underground courts, and high-society clubs Leader: Riddle Rosehearts – The Red Judge

Known for strict enforcement of "The Queen’s Laws" (a literal written code).

Break the rules, lose a finger—or worse.

Ace and Deuce are his enforcers, often sent to “clean up messes.”

Cater handles info networks and social media manipulation. Trey manages cover businesses like bakeries and tearooms.

Savanaclaw Mafia – The Wildfangs

Theme: Strength, dominance, and territory Territory: Fight clubs, illegal betting rings, and scrapyards Leader: Leona Kingscholar – The Desert King

Ruthless and cunning. He doesn’t speak often—but when he does, people obey.

Has an entire underground fighting ring to test loyalty and skill.

Ruggie is the street rat who handles dirty work and extortion.

Jack is the "new pup" with a moral compass but deadly fists.

Octavinelle Mafia – The Abyss Syndicate

Theme: Deals, manipulation, debt, and secrets Territory: Luxury lounges, speakeasies, blackmail markets Leader: Azul Ashengrotto – The Merchant of Sins

Makes contracts with high interest. If you default, you belong to him.

Jade and Floyd are the twins who "collect debts" in their own twisted ways.

Their nightclub, “The Mostro Lounge,” is a neutral ground—but don’t get too drunk, or you’ll wake up in debt.

Scarabia Mafia – The Sun Serpents

Theme: Wealth, charm, and desert cunning Territory: Smuggling routes, artifact black markets, private villas Leader: Kalim Al-Asim – The Golden Smile

Kalim’s family is old money; he’s the face, but Jamil runs the operation.

Jamil handles poisonings, discreet assassinations, and laundering.

Their operation is flashy, but don’t let that sunshine fool you—one wrong move and you’ll vanish in the sands.

Pomefiore Mafia – The Glass Thorns

Theme: Beauty, perfection, and deadly pride Territory: High fashion, cosmetics, and assassination-for-hire Leader: Vil Schoenheit – The Poison Prince

Dresses his crimes in silk and scent. A clean kill is an art.

Rook is the eerie hitman who tracks targets like prey.

Epel is the underestimated “babyface” who snaps necks with a smile.

Ignihyde Mafia – The Ghostline

Theme: Technology, surveillance, and cybercrime Territory: The darknet, encrypted bunkers, digital weaponry Leader: Idia Shroud – The Phantom Executor

Doesn’t leave his bunker; he controls everything from screens.

Ortho is the AI/droid who enforces missions and wipes traces.

If your tech fails or your secrets leak, it’s probably Ignihyde’s doing.

Diasomnia Mafia – The Obsidian Court

Theme: Legacy, terror, and immortal rule Territory: Ancient castles, arcane weapon trafficking, elite rituals Leader: Malleus Draconia – The King of Thorns

Feared across all territories. Few dare speak his name aloud.

Lilia was once a deadly assassin—now he mentors the young bloods.

Silver protects Malleus like a shadow. Sebek is a loud, loyal enforcer.

Their power is mythical, and their reach is endless.

👻 Ramshackle Mafia – The Outlaw Union

AKA: The Hollow House, The Stray Pact, or The Neutral Syndicate Theme: Found family, chaos, cleverness, and impossible alliances Territory: The forgotten zones between dorm borders—neutral land, black market roads, the shadows of the walls

Leader: Yuu – The Phantom Boss

The backbone of this misfit empire.

They didn’t just survive NRC’s chaos—they recruited the forgotten, abandoned, and rogue players.

They lead with sharp instincts, mad charisma, and a knack for turning enemies into allies.

Every major dorm sees them as a threat now—not just because of power, but because they’re unpredictable and loyal only to their people.

Grim – Their "guard dog" with a short temper and big fire. Basically the mafia mascot and bodyguard.

Crowley (ugh) – Might be funding them under the table to keep balance between dorms, but is ultimately useless. Claims to be “advisor.”

Ramshackle’s territory is small, but everyone passes through it eventually. It’s a neutral ground for forbidden negotiations and secret alliances.

The house itself is a trap-laden fortress disguised as a falling-apart mansion. No one invades twice.

Chenya – The Cheshire Blade

A wildcard spy and info broker who left RSA and the Heartslabyul underworld.

Appears and disappears at will—no one ever knows whose side he’s on (except Yuu’s).

Master of illusions, sabotage, and surveillance. He’s everywhere and nowhere.

Keeps the others laughing—right before he slits someone’s throat mid-sentence.

Neige LeBlanche – The White Lie

Publicly still a "darling" singer and model—secretly Ramshackle’s social smokescreen.

Handles PR, public image, and propaganda for the family. Butter-wouldn’t-melt aura hides a manipulative mastermind.

When he's not smiling, he's pulling favors, blackmailing media execs, or sweet-talking other mafia heirs for intel.

Rollo Flamme – The Viper Bishop

Formerly an anti-magic radical. Now? He realized the system itself was the problem.

Handles information control and religious contacts—he runs the cult underworld, no biggie.

Cold, calculating, and eerily calm. Uses fear and righteous speeches to demoralize opponents.

Some say he joined Yuu to balance them; others say he's waiting for a perfect betrayal. Either way, he's useful.

Fellow Honest – The Trickster Boss

Old-school mafia type with showman flair. Originally neutral, now Yuu’s inside man for old money trade routes.

Handles weapon deals, smoke-and-mirror diplomacy, and nostalgic criminal connections.

Thinks of Yuu as a “young boss with real moxie.”

Keeps Gidel on a tight leash (most of the time).

Gidel – The Cannery Butcher

Extremely unhinged—used to work with the mafia as an executioner-for-hire.

Now works as Ramshackle’s interrogator and "cleanup guy."

Think chainsaw, bloodstains, and a sense of humor that makes Floyd look tame.

Yuu is the only person who can tell him “stop” and live.

Skully – The Phantom Enforcer

Quiet, hulking presence. Doesn’t speak much, but when they do? It's with fists or a cold death glare.

Bodyguard, smuggler, demolitions expert.

Comes from a cursed bloodline—people say they’re immortal. No one’s tested it twice.

Their loyalty to Yuu is absolute. When Skully stands behind you, you’re safe.

Dynamic as a Mafia:

Not bound by dorm politics.

Deals in everything: black market goods, intel trades, bodyguard contracts, “favor-for-favor” diplomacy.

Known for sudden, chaotic moves that disrupt the careful balance between dorm mafias.

The other dorms see them as an unstable alliance, but that’s what makes them terrifying. No rules. No limits. Just loyalty and survival.

(I accidently made ramshackle's bigger)

[sanguinesmi1e]

DPXDC Scum Villain Self-Saving System crossover prompt:

Dash Baxter's Self Saving System

Danny Phantom exists in the DC universe. . . as a TV show. Robin grew up watching Danny and identifies strongly with the young hero. It’s fun escapism! One night after patrol while ranting online about how stupid Phantom Planet is as a finale, how many dropped plot threads there are, how so much of the rich worldbuilding is just throwaway lines that are never explored again, Robin triggers the Transmigration System and gets isekai-ed into Amity Park. 

Now Robin is trapped in the role of Schoolyard Bully Dash Baxter and must fix the plot and avoid OOC behavior in order to return home.

Which Robin is it? I can see this going several ways: 1) Tim Drake: Already canonically a huge nerd and would absolutely hate being stuck in the role of mean dumb jock. Would manage to become best friends with the everlasting trio as soon as he got the OOC function turned off. Tucker would love geeking out with Tim over tech, and Sam would pick up on his gothic Bat vibes. He transmigrates because a combination of sleep deprivation, untreated injuries from vigilantism, compromised immune system from lack of spleen, and an unhealthy dose of caffeine cause him to keel over and die like Shen Yuan. With Dash’s natural athleticism and Tim’s ingenuity he could either cobble together or get his hands on some anti-ecto weaponry and become Hunter to Val’s Huntress. Would definitely trigger a whole new plotline around clones. Meanwhile back in Gotham Batman is going off the rails after a second Robin dies on his watch. 2) Jason: Gets isekai-ed during the explosion in Ethiopia. His revival is predicated on him completing the plot in Amity Park. UTRH is subverted by his quest to get back to Danny/bring Danny to Gotham. He's learned better coping strategies from Jazz. Sneaks into Fentonworks and steals a bunch of weapons immediately. Shoots Spectra in the face with the Fenton Bazooka the second she shows up. He'd love having Mr. Lancer for English. 3) Dick: Recently took up the mantle of Nightwing and broke away from Bruce. Does not enjoy being a teen again in high school (with normie parents! ugh!!). Actually doesn’t have a difficult time adjusting to Dash’s social life since he’s a natural leader and very charismatic, and unlike Dash isn't cruel and violent. Absolutely has a difficult time adjusting to Dash’s physique because it is *not bendy enough* and he keeps on pulling muscles. Returns to Gotham to discover Jason’s death and calls in a favor from Danny to find his brother’s wandering spirit. 4) Stephanie: Trans Dash Baxter with Stephanie’s personality actually sounds amazing. I think she’d still pursue Jazz like Dash did, but with a much higher rate of success. Not sure if it would be fair to drop someone as hot as a trans version of Stephanie in Amity though, she would become the main character and everyone would forget the ghost boy. 5) Damian: not sure where I’d go with this, but it could be fun. He’d probably stab Vlad, which I would enjoy. Might also stab Star and Paulina, which would get him nerfed by the System. Would probably first seek out Vlad to obtain weaponry comparable to Huntress' and manipulate him into believing they shared a common goal, then betray him at a key moment. He has lots of experience dealing with megalomaniacal rich men from his time with Ra's and the League. Would get on great with Dani. 5) Jarro: Please please please someone write this I have no idea how, but it would be hilarious and Jarro would be seriously weirded out by having a human body. Whether this is a ship or platonic relationship depends on the pairing I think.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

If the Chromatic Crew had jobs in the Omega Timeline, what would they be?

I feel like Delta would work as some sort of mechanic, given his passion for technology and engineering. Perhaps he specializes in robotics, cybernetics, and biomechanical enhancements—particularly for monsters, hybrids, or even humans with prosthetics.

He could design and maintain cybernetic limbs or assistive technology for those who need mechanical augmentations.

Given that Omega Chara kinda cut him half, if his body still struggles to function in some way due to that despite its healing, and potential magical instability, he might experiment with integrating technology into his own recovery and mobility—like reinforced plating, internal stabilizers, or even minor cybernetic enhancements.

He might build AI-driven mechanical assistants to help him in the workshop, reducing the strain of overworking himself.

If the Omega Timeline likely has threats or conflicts, Delta could also potentially work as a weapon specialist, designing high-tech weapons, armor, and battle gear.

I think he’d likely refuse to create purely offensive weapons, instead focusing on defensive gear, shields, and non-lethal weaponry to prevent unnecessary deaths.

(And this is likely something Core agrees with if they allow him to build weapons in the first place. If Delta does make any offensive weapons, they’re likely hidden somewhere he deems safe.)

If the Omega Timeline has any advanced vehicles or transport systems, Delta would absolutely be involved in repairing, modifying, and upgrading them.

He might build experimental hovercrafts, motorcycles, or personal flight devices. I also think Delta is likely to take on side projects, where he builds things just because he can—whether it’s helpful inventions, weird gadgets, or impractical but cool devices.

He might experiment with combining magic and machinery, creating hybrid tech that blends the best of both worlds.

Given that Beta (his human half) grew up on the Surface and Sans grew up in the Underground, he might take inspiration from both human and monster engineering, leading to designs that take from both worlds.

Rather than working under a formal organization, i think Delta is more likely to be a self-taught, independent mechanic who runs his own private workshop or garage.

He might barter services instead of working for money, fixing things in exchange for food, materials, or favors.

Especially if he barters with Core and any members of the potential Council—ensuring their technology, infrastructure, and security remain secure and functional in exchange for housing where he either doesn’t have to pay rent/bills, or the Council covers that for him.

His workspace could be cluttered but functional, filled with half-finished projects, custom tools, and notes scribbled everywhere. He would probably refuse to take jobs from people he doesn’t trust, especially if he suspects they would use his work for harmful purposes.

Especially if we take into account the headcanon of how Killer used any weapons of Delta’s to fuel negativity for Nightmare and help the corruption expand his “organization.”

Color, however, I feel would be unable to work a traditional full time job, at least not for a long time.

And although Delta likely to insist on being the one to take care of everything and everyone in their household, willing to take on extra work if he has to, Color probably worries a lot about what would happen if he doesn’t “get better” and start “pulling his weight.”

Start behaving..like an “adult.” Again.

Will Delta leave him? Will he hate him and get mad at him, throw them out on the streets one day, because he realized how much of a drain Color has been on his life? The burden on his shoulders? Will Beta realize how pathetic he is, nothing worth looking up to? Will Sans look at Color, and be glad he didn’t make the wrong choices and end up like Color?

So at first—I think his best options would be remote work and self employment/commissions.

He could do writing like blogs, short stories, and transcription work. Data entry if he can manage long screen time, and even email-based customer service, not phone-based.

He could even sell any arts, crafts, or music online he makes—and before going on to paid work, he could even try out volunteering in an attempt to refamiliarize with being around people again. (Such as volunteering at the hospital with the children.)

And then eventually a part-time job with flexible hours, and it has to be low-stress, accommodating, and allow for breaks to prevent burnout, breakdowns, and physical collapses from Color.

Like working as a library assistant or a museum guide or doing archival work.

When he starts getting antsy about being trapped in the Omega Timeline, however, I do think he’d definitely be willing to push himself past his limits in regards to work if he views it as a means out of the Omega Timeline.

Perseverance definitely would make it near impossible to stop if it agrees with or shares Color’s desires to get out, or simply is particularly very ambitious on their job or helping Color, regardless of the strain or injury it could cause their shared body.

For Killer, at first I was considering something to do with the death care industry—like an embalmer or a mortician—but then I remembered how he tends to be towards the dead.

He doesn’t really show much respect or care for the dead, such as taking the souls of his victims or studying their dead bodies for his own purposes and ends without consent—and he’s trying to get better in this ending.

Keeping him around and trusting him to handle the Omega Timeline’s dead, tempting him, reminding him of what he’s been surrounded by for a long time now.

What he’s yearned for, what he’s done. Especially if he ever comes across any familiar faces or magical “signatures”…i doubt it’d be good.

So i definitely think he’d do something to do with animals. He loves animals, relates most to them, definitely has a lot more respect and care for them then he does for most other living beings.

He could potentially get a full or part time job in Ccino’s Cafe, working primarily with the animals—cats and dogs.

Especially since Ccino not only knows Killer through their shared connections with Nightmare, but Ccino also very likely has rapport with both Color and Epic.

And speaking of Ccino’s cafe and Epic, there’s Epic’s good pal, Cross.

Now I was a little stuck on potential jobs for both Cross and Epic, outside of the obvious ones—something science related for Epic, something Royal Guard or militaristic-like for Cross.

But I had a feeling that military work may not actually be as good mental health wise for Cross as it seemed, despite its familiarity, and I also felt that Epic had more potential options I just couldn’t see yet.

So I asked a friend of mine her opinions and thoughts on the matter, since she’s more familiar with the characters’ canon than I am at this moment, so I’ll paraphrase what they (@/zuzuelectricbugaloo) and down below:

Epic might take on a part-time role as a doctor since his ability to see Codes would be useful for treating cases where regular magic isn’t effective.

Additionally, he could run a daycare in the Omega Timeline, given his experience babysitting many kids like Palette, Goth/Vidal, Paperjam, and Gradient, and his genuine enjoyment of it.

As for Cross, he might initially consider a military-related job since he’s skilled in that area and likes feeling helpful. However, given the war-like trauma and PTSD he experienced in XTale/Underverse, it wouldn’t be the best choice for him.

He enjoys art and baking, so working part-time at a café could be a good fit. However, considering his past actions in Underverse—such as destroying AUs or causing harm, even indirectly—many Omega Timeline residents might not welcome him.

Because of this, he might prefer working elsewhere, like at Ccino’s café, where he has a good relationship with both Ccino and Epic. There, he could use his artistic side in baking and making drinks or even help with the animals. This setup would allow him to feel productive without overwhelming anxiety or the pressure of feeling like he’s doing everything wrong.

[radiance1]

Based off of the second reblogg made by this wonderful person @percyisawesome

Taking that idea.

So, the Nasty Burger explosion took place, killing everyone Danny loved an shi, then he defeats Dark Danny but Clockwork doesn't reset time so his friends and family still dead dead.

Then he gets captured by the GIW, experimented on and all of that shebang. Then, the GIW makes the decision to try and split him apart, which they succeed in doing because obviously the Fenton boy might be possessed by phantom instead of phantom pretending to be the boy.

So it works, but since ghosts are beings of pure emotions, Danny is just zapped of every human emotion. Nothing but a shell that runs on pure, undeniable logic. Which puts off the GIW, and causes them to hate Phantom even more, because it's obvious that Phantom did something to this poor, poor child who was forced into this very obviously without his input.

Then they just, drop Danny off in Amity Park. All alone, in a far too big and dangerous house with a dead family that he'll never see again. So, what does Danny do? He learns, going through each and every blueprint and file left behind by his parents before his death, even the unfinished blueprints he delves into, completes, even makes his own.

He learns everything dealing with weaponry against ghosts, then starts to learn how to hack into things, almost of par with Tucker but ever a step below him, he learns about plants and their poisons, from non-lethal to extremely deadly.

He learns, and he learns.

Distantly, in the back of his mind that he's tried to push out, is the overwhelming agony being projected to him through the bridge between him and phantom.

The separation of them may have stripped him of his emotions, but not his ability to make ambitions, nor stripped him of motivation.

When the GIW facility fell, it was the easiest thing in his life. They weren't expecting anyone to even know of their location, nor how to hack through their servers and mess with the security system or the power running through the facility. Their unpreparedness was Danny's gain.

The most logical and easiest outcome for the GIW to not be a threat anymore, would be death. So put to death they were, some parts of the facility were contaminated with toxic gas, other parts their own security system against them, or he exterminated them himself when they managed to encounter him.

He had a multitude of weaponry at his disposal hidden away on his body in the form of small trinkets. Ranging from knives, swords, guns, poison, explosives, gauntlets disguised as gloves, etc, etc. All of which, he used to raid the GIW facility and worked exactly to his calculations, letting him calmly walk through the halls and dispatching the stray few that managed to go his way.

He did not care for other ghosts, they were unnecessary in his calculations, whether they managed to escape or not in the oppurtunity he set was up to them. He only came here for one being, his other half.

Phantom.

When he found the cell keeping him contained and opened the door, he would imagine that if he were still capable of feeling, he would be experiencing a large of rage at what he saw. Instead, he cut off the chains keeping his other half fixed to the wall, tore off multiple strips of cloth to wrap around the various wounds on his body- most notable being a vivisection scar, and picked him up to carry outside, and away from the facility.

He already had everything he could've gotten from the database of this facility, but he would most definitely be coming back. The amount of high tech laying around would be a shame if rusted from disuse, especially when it would be impossible to acquire through his own means.

He might even move everything from the Fenton house over here, if only for shorter access to far better equipment.

A few days later, and he does just that. Cleaning up the entire facility- with added help from Phantom- and establishing it as his new base of operations. It's incredibly isolated, well hidden, and has multiple more defenses than just his parent's ghost defenses, defenses that he could use to make this place into a neigh-impenetrable fortress.

Phantom was relatively 'fine' with the move, after being persuaded by Danny. Though he has a high aversion to certain areas, which is understandable, with what he went through.

At the behest of Phantom, the lab coat he frequently wears is fitted more to be a cloak, and to complete the look, a highly advanced gas mask. Phantom said it was 'cool', and, well Phantom was the only one able to put dents in his logic to get his way when he really, really wanted to. Said lab coat was fitted with a high number of smaller- but extensively powerful- ghost shields, while his gas mask acted as a voice changer, an actual gas mask, and a literal laser (That to activate, it's mouth would 'open' and fire).

After Phantom recovered, he still had the ambition to be a hero, even though the threat of ghosts was at an all-time low. Danny would support him, of course, in anyway he wanted, but Danny would not join him.

His goal was to dissolve the Anti-ecto acts, so if that meant he had to drown his hands in the blood of others to achieve it, then so be it. Unfortunately, Phantom wouldn't allow him to harm the innocent, which he would account as collateral damage if it were to happen, so he would have to use different methods than the hostile takeover he used to claim ownership of their new base.

Besides, the Justice league, and the world of heroes, would be a major problem for said hostile takeover. A very true point, told to him by Phantom.

[serpentface]

Retconned Wardi firearms- a basic handgun, a highly decorative ceremonial handgun (belonging to Faiza), and a lance-gun.

Gun tech has officially been nerfed down to hand cannons (press F) (this has been a long time coming but I'd been fallacy of sunk costs-ing myself out of retconning).

Handguns are held similarly to a shotgun, with the butt pressed into the user's shoulder, one hand gripping under the barrel, and the other free to ignite the gunpowder. These represent the most advanced firearms in contemporary usage, both in make and in their use of uniform iron projectiles built to match the gun's bore for greater range and efficiency. Lance-guns are the more basal form, usually larger and mounted with the pole held over the shoulder, and are most effectively used by two people (one to hold and aim, one to light the gunpowder).

The spread of firearms is currently mostly limited to the Eastern Inner Seaway peoples (with some additional distribution via overland trade), and actual manufacture of hand cannons and gunpowder at Significant scale is limited to the region's core powers.

The reason for this limited spread is partially due to specific elements of the technology's history. Gunpowder was first synthesized by Burri alchemists and considered to be the discovery of the legendary divine weapon + solar fire of the deity Inanariya, and its formula (along with techniques for ideally refining its components) remained a closely guarded state secret. It was used predominantly in priestly contexts to generate flame and explosive sounds (in conjunction with earlier practices of generating multicolored flames with use of other chemicals), then integrated into combustible weaponry in the forms of fire lances, which would eventually develop into early handcannons.

The treatment of gunpowder as a guarded sacred or semi-sacred substance continued with Wardi adoption, where knowledge of its making is considered a closed rite. It's name (inya tsatsul or just tsatsul, a derived adoption of the Burri iñazatsūya) still reflects a divine solar association (the Burri word means 'sun's thunder', the Wardi 'inya' invokes the sun, 'tsatsul' is an adapted loanword and has no meaning independent of the substance itself), though its priestly use is now predominantly associated with the firearm'ed Odonii (rather than priests of the solar Face Inyamache). The composition of gunpowder can no longer be regarded as a Secret by any means, though efforts to obscure the methods of its creation are still moderately successful and has kept knowledge of gunpowder manufacture more limited than the total sphere of firearm usage itself.

The actual strongest limiting factor of firearm usage is the rarity of natural saltpeter deposits necessary for making gunpowder. The practice of actively producing saltpeter via nitraries has not been developed anywhere in the setting, and all is instead obtained via natural sources. These sources are rare and limited within the current spread of firearm technology, and result in gunpowder being a limited and expensive substance to produce. The weapons themselves are also very expensive to manufacture (a good quality steel SWORD is far too material-cost prohibitive for most people to own), particularly high quality firearms designed for use with standardized ammunition.

These guns are also very basal, and logistical difficulties in their use (weight, very slow loading and firing speed, high visibility, Relatively low reach and accuracy) along with the restrictive cost of production has kept firearms far from rendering conventional weaponry, armor, and projectiles obsolete (even within the societies that have access to them). They are still, however, very devastating in use within their contemporary context, particularly in that high quality guns have a longer range than the best arrow-based projectiles, and utterly negate most contemporary forms of armor at close range.

[luna-azzurra]

Funny Villain Quirks/Missteps

Planning an elaborate heist or evil scheme, but overlooking a crucial detail that leads to their downfall.

Believing they're the ultimate mastermind, but constantly underestimating the hero and falling for their traps.

Trying to intimidate someone with their menacing presence, but accidentally tripping or stumbling in front of them.

Being convinced they've finally captured the hero, only to realize they've captured an innocent bystander instead.

Trusting a henchman with an important task, only for the henchman to bungle it in a hilariously incompetent way.

Attempting to use high-tech gadgets or weaponry, but accidentally activating them at the wrong time or targeting themselves.

Thinking they've discovered a foolproof plan to take over the world, but it's actually a ridiculous scheme that no one takes seriously.

Misreading a situation and reacting with over-the-top aggression, only to find out they've misunderstood completely.

Believing they're invincible, but constantly being thwarted by unexpected obstacles or their own hubris.

Trying to intimidate someone with an evil laugh, but it comes out as more comical than menacing.

[justbelievinginmagic]

MIRAGE - part 1: paradigm shift.

pairing(s): ot8 ateez x reader, focus on hongjoong x reader & wooyoung x reader series summary: Your life aboard the airship, the Illusion, with the Ateez Crew wasn't any fantasy. As rebels against the Android Guardians, as no-good pirates to society, life was full of running, lying, and fighting. It wasn't the dream life you had imagined when you had met the charming young Kim Hongjoong in the port of Aurora years ago. When an enemy unexplainably caught up to the airship, you made a choice that shattered the universe, sending you hurtling back to a time before the Android Guardians, before the Illusion, and even before Ateez. warnings/tags: for mature audiences!, inspired by Illusion MV, inspired by Ateez's lore, inspired by the Treasure Albums, Pirate AU, Sci-Fi / Technopunk vibes, Dystopian AU, Time Travel AU, 3rd person POV, fem!reader, use of YN, polyteez, too much sci fi universe lore, violence, gore, mature topics, angst, fluff, weaponry (they're pirates), death, blood, canon divergent Cromer, canon divergent Android Guardians, distant love, strained love, obsession, magic, very lightly edited lol, let me know if there are more tags needed. word count: 8.6 k -> next chapter series masterlist

Somewhere high above the smog-covered, tech-invested cities, a floating ship soared through the clouds. Pastel-blue and soft-purple skies encompassed it as it sailed under, around, and above cotton-candy clouds. Wind rustled the large white sails, tickling over YN’s arms as she walked across the deck of the ship. A shadow cast over the main deck, shielding them from the bright star of a sun. A damp chill clung as the cloud dispersed lightly through the sails.

It felt like a perfect day. It had been a long time since they sailed throughout the clouds rather than above them. Too often than not, Hongjoong ordered them to sail above the clouds, away from sight. But when they sailed through soft cotton-candy clouds like this, it threw her back to the beginning of it all.

Memories of the mischievous then-sailor Hongjoong, a younger and more naïve man with his soft-feathered brown mullet, flickered to the surface. The way he had met her on the stacked upon stacked docks of Aurora. Aurora was once a beautiful port with its sherbert pebbled shores. But even when he and her met, those shores had become faded with pollution. The skies were still pastel soft despite the layer of smog that grew from the air-ships and few remaining water-ships that found their home there. But that day… his face could’ve rivaled the sparkling sun; it was so bright. He smiled so sweetly as he introduced himself boldly, stepping into her way on the busy docks.

“I’m Kim Hongjoong.”

And she had been so wary, despite his good looks, despite his near-glowing smile. She hadnt shaken the hand outstretched to her, instead glanced at it and back at his coy smile. Her arms crossed. His smile grew.

“No need to be careful. I can tell we are going to be good friends.” He proclaimed, hand dropping. “Will you be my friend?” he added, stepping forward, as if he knew the answer.

It was an arrogant statement, and it had her pushing past him to fall into the crowds once more.

She had seen him day after day. Each day he’d chime out a different nickname.

“Hello, Star.”

“Hi again, my Horizon.”

“How’s your day going, Starlight?”

“Have a moment, twilight?”

It was funny that each nickname only made her brow raise until finally she turned on her heel and faced the young man perched on a barrel. He leaned his cheek against his curled knee as he smiled his charming grin her way.

“What does ‘twilight’ even mean as a nickname?” she half-laughed incredulously.

He bit his lower lip as he shifted his head to look at her straight on.

“Have you ever seen twilight from an air-ship?” Hongjoong prompted; he leaned back on the barrel casual. 

YN shook her head. She didn’t specialize in ships – despite coming from the port of Aurora. She’d come and go to the traveler ships – the last few oceanliners and the more common air-cruises that docked. And she’d draw for them. Little caricatures or pictures of the shores of Aurora in its prime. Tourist things they could pay a few spare credits for with the hover of their phones and cards. Yet she had never flown in an air-ship and it had been a long time since she sailed on a water-freight.

He smiled. “It’s the most magical time.” He admitted. “There is an energy at twilight. Purple, blue, orange, and pink. That’s how I feel about you. Twilight.”

She laughed a bit.

“Poetic,” she commented.

“Maybe,” his stare hadn’t shifted from her as he smiled, tilting his head. Hongjoong pushed off the barrel to stand in front of her. “But it caught you, didn’t it?”

The smile that came to her lips was like a wild-fire, uncontrollable and bright. His grin grew at its spark.

“I’m Hongjoong,” he reminded, hand outstretched.

“YN.” She finally introduced.

“YN,” he breathed out like he was starstruck. Her hand in his felt electric.

Only a week later, he had taken her by the hand, that same spark going through her bones, as he tugged her along.

“Hold my hand,” he encouraged, excited. “I got to show you something.”

Running between the crowd felt freeing, winding through the multi-leveled docks, they climbed higher and higher until they were at the base of an air-ship. The thing looked new, shiny, and pristine. Its carved name, the Illusion, was freshly shaped on its rear. It reeked of new wood and new linens and new everything.

“An air-ship,” she stated. Her brow raised as she looked up at him.

“Mine,” he insisted. “Ours.”

She had learned in this short time that Hongjoong had dreams of grandeur that accompanied his arrogance. If he wasn’t so charming, it’d be a negative trait. But instead, it filled her with hope.

“Ours?” she repeated, doubtful.

He turned to her with stars in his eyes.

“It will be,” he chimed. “Once you step foot aboard my ship, you’ll never want to leave me.”

“Leave you?” she noted with a raised brow, a chuckle in her voice.

“I said what I said,” he replied coyly. “Let me ask you… will you join me?”

And something in her said to take the leap, to see if he was right. The way the sparkling sunlight up here haloed him made him seem magical, something special. Was she just going to stay here forever in the slums of a slowly polluting city?

She could live with him. Explore the world.

“Aye, captain,” it had been a joke as she took the first step up the gangplank, but it had led to where she was now.

And he was right. She hadn’t wanted to ever leave Hongjoong or the Illusion or the seven other men that had slowly joined them and made a home in her heart… at least not ‘til recently. Her gaze flickered from across the skies to the very man she was remembering. But, in front of her stood a very different Hongjoong. No longer was he a sailor, what stood before her was a pirate king.

Instead of a mullet of natural fluffy brown hair, he had taken to dying it and keeping it short. Between ink black to navy blue to vibrant blondes, he’s tried everything in effort to remain hidden. He sported a ruby-red color now – the shade had been fading like a sunset over the past few weeks until it was a soft honey-pink. His face was obscured by a dark mask, chains interlacing over its front as he leaned across the banister in front of the helm. He looked off onto the horizon, eyes piercing. His fingers, chipped in black paint, tapped out a beat as he stared off. His eyes were tired. When was the last time he slept? She couldn’t remember – and she shared a living quarters with him.

They were hiding once more. It had been weeks since they evaded their attackers, but still he insisted on wearing the mask. He had once ordered them all to do so, but pirates didn’t do well with commands. One by one, they tossed the mask aside in their cabins. He frowned, at least she thought he did (it was hidden by his mask) as he looked over his most-trusted members of his crew. Disappointed.

It wasn’t as if they were in the heavily-monitored cities again. Their ship was thousands of miles up in the sky away from the Android Guardians, away from the Initiative. But he was growing paranoid, she knew it. He was worried about something.

His gaze shifted from the open skies to her, looking her over with his cutlass-sharp brown eyes. Before they flashed away. Almost like if he stared too long, he’d fall into thoughts he didn’t want to think.

He was avoiding her. It was plain and simple. She used to think this was the ultimate freedom.  She wasn’t sure what it was anymore. Did he even love her? Did he tire of her? He held a distant sense of responsibility, but he was their captain wasn’t that his role. Is that all he felt for her? He made sure she was safe, made sure she slept, but when was the last time there was affection? YN couldn’t remember.

When it had been just them in this large ship, he had said to her, “Just be my companion, and that’ll be enough.” It didn’t feel that way anymore. Countless nights she had tried to tell him. But he shrugged her off, turning his shoulder as he looked over a pirate map. You have the others, YN. I need to figure this out. Even if the puzzle pieces of her heart were made up of eight, missing one piece still distorted the puzzle’s picture.

Shifting in her chair, one of the many mismatched kitchen chairs that Yeosang or San had hauled up from the galley and placed around a large crate, she let out a sigh. Things had been so different on the ship as of late. Reality was a sour taste to the few years of honeyed fantasy together. Her woe came out in her art. A sketch-book rested on the make-shift table; her own drawings decorated the page. It used to be full of her loves – side profiles of Seonghwa while he cooked, full body sketches of San while he tightened the riggings, shirtless, in the mornings, doodles of Wooyoung posing for her dramatically as they laid in bed. Happy smiles on their faces. It had become more and more full of restless scribbles instead.

Her heart ached. Alone despite the bustling crew around her. Men and women that they had picked up in order to outrun their hunters. It used to be different. It used to be a group decision around a shared dinner as they discussed how they felt about adding a new crew member. The Illusion used to just need the nine members of Ateez. 

“You alright, my baby?” The voice that interrupted her thoughts was a gentle one, deep but kind.

The dark-haired man’s plump lips were in a deep pout as he looked down at her. And while he had sharp features, sharp jaw, sharp brows, even a sharp swoop of hair, he was so soft. Mingi had always been a gentle creature – though he was the sharpest long-range shooter that ever flew the skies. Even better than Seonghwa.

With one hand, he pushed his bulky headphones off his ears, so that they rested slung around his neck. Something funky with a lo-fi beat hummed heavily through them. It just fit Mingi so much. He smiled down at her soothingly, a calloused hand raising to caress over her cheek.

This was what made her heart so sad. Because despite her melancholy, her depression Jongho had told her once while they laid alone in his hammock, she did love them. Even now.

She loved the ones she called the true crew of Ateez.

Mingi, her gentle sharpshooter who was shy around the ones he loved and yet confident and deadly around those who threatened them.

Jongho, their brilliant Quartermaster who worked to make sure all parts of the ship were ready for attack, but also taught the crew all he knew so that they would be safe if he wasn’t there to protect them.

 Yunho, their hardworking navigator who wouldn’t rest until they were set on a proper course and wouldn’t sleep until all of eight of the Ateez upper-crew were asleep and safe.

Yeosang, her sweet Bosun who oversaw the crew by his spot in the crow’s nest ensuring their freedom was never compromised but also would keep their spirits high with his gentle jokes.

Wooyoung, her rebellious wild Gunner who found a game in anything and loved to tease and sweet-talk each of his lovers until they flushed and fluttered.

Seonghwa, their mother-hen of a First Mate, loyal to a fault but would rather die than see his freedom or his loves stolen from him.

San, their strong Helmsman who could easily control the wheel no matter the weather but would cry if she ever mentioned how she was feeling – ever a sweetheart.

And, of course, Hongjoong, her Captain. Their Captain. Who found them, took them in, and loved them she knew. But he loved one thing even more – treasure.

Mingi’s ringed thumb brushed over her cheek once more, pulling her from her thoughts. “You are day-dreamy, baby,” he rumbled, frowning.

She flashed an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, princess,” she hummed out, nuzzling into his palm.

He pulled away with an embarrassed flush, glancing around. As if the opinions of the faceless crew meant more than her affections. It hadnt been like that before.

“Baby,” he whined lowly.

He used to love being called all sorts of nicknames before they hired their first non-Ateez member. Because that’s what this was – Ateez and crew. Not just the crew, Ateez. She laughed softly, going to grab his hand once more to bring it back to her cheek. His bracelets clanked, and his rings felt cool against her skin. Mingi had always been one to love the reaping of their conquests. A main reason why he’d never fight out against Hongjoong’s crusades. His outfit was modern, sleek on his form; his headphones the newest brand stolen from a billionaire’s mansion they looted.

“Can Yunho only call you that?” she teased. “Princess?”

“You—how – How do you know that?” he whispered close.

“I hear all, babe,” she replied with a chuckle. That was her skill after all. Seeing things from a different perspective; she was often the one to figure out a way of attack. Her plans and observations weren’t what the others thought of in discussions. Observe, analyze, interpret. “I know everything about my loves,” she teased once again, squeezing his hand.

A yawn broke through her – making her shudder. He frowned, the humor of their conversation leaving when it came to their well-being. Mingi loved knowing things, too – or more so, loved eavesdropping. Sometimes she assumed his headphones played no music, and it was just so he could listen into other people’s conversations without them thinking he was paying attention.

“Are you not sleeping well?” he asked.

She offered a sleepy look his way. “Hongjoong’s been up-and-down most nights. He’s paranoid,” she admitted, glancing towards the red head.

Last night, he kept reading a notebook she had never seen, pacing this way and that as his eyes flickered to his Treasure. Not her, of course. He’d bite his lip and go back to his research. A chalkboard behind him – that one held their next destination mapping – now held scribbles of notes she couldn’t decipher. A fanatic’s raving about the Treasure.

Mingi’s brows raised curiously, following her gaze. His Captain showed no emotion; with his steely eyes locked on the horizon and the rest of his face blocked by the dark mask.

“He’s convinced something will happen,” she mumbled, her head shifting to rest against Mingi’s toned stomach. His hand automatically rose to stroke over her head. “With his Treasure.”

Mingi scoffed. Treasure. He didn’t know what was so special about a stupid hourglass. Wooyoung and Yeosang agreed with him, and he bet others did too but… they all knew how Hongjoong acted when it came to the Treasure.

It had taken priority over the last year.

“Go sleep in my cabin; you’re always welcome there,” he told her, scratching her head softly.

“I can nap out here,” she insisted.

They used to do that often, falling asleep on the deck while staring up at the clouds. When was the last time they did just that? She couldn’t remember.

“Seonghwa would hate if you got stepped on,” he commented.

“And you wouldn’t?” she joked.

Mingi shrugged teasingly. She jabbed his stomach. He dodged. Her head lulled to the side as she lost her makeshift standing pillow.

“Go on, pirate princess,” he insisted, gesturing towards the latch towards the lower decks. “I’ll let Captain and Seonghwa know where you are if they ask.”

She nodded slowly. Sleepiness ate at her. Maybe it was just the lack of something in her life. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was depression like Jongho thought. Maybe it was just her. She wasn’t sure – all she knew was she had felt wrong for days, weeks, months. Restless, exhausted, unenthusiastic. Unignited.

Maybe sleep was all she needed. So, when she curled up next to Yunho in Mingi’s small cabin covered in any and all music memorabilia he could find, it felt right. He wrapped her up in his long limbs and, while she didn’t feel better, she felt safe. Wasn’t that enough?

-

The ship rocked violently; the sounds of gunfire and ricochet thundering into the cabin. Jolting from sleep, she sat up in a panic. There was another explosion shuddering the wood of the Illusion. Without much thought, she hoisted herself out of Yunho’s bed; he was gone, bedsheets rumpled. There were records and music tapes scattered on the ground from the rocking and rolling of the fast-sailing ship.

Running throughout the lower decks, all she saw was destruction and chaos. Crew running this way and that. Yelling. Running. Smoke. Climbing higher and higher, she pushed open the main deck’s latch to be hit with pandemonium.

Explosions rang out all about her. Half-awake in her pajamas, the world she knew and loved looked less like a daydream and more like a waking nightmare. Yells cried out; screams of pain pierced the air. Small fires licked at the well-loved, graffitied hull, burning away drawings and memories etched into the yellow-heart and blue mahoe wood. Riggings were hanging limply from the masts; ropes decorated the floor like guts. A few lower crew members laid unresponsive, bloodied. Large chunks of the ship laid scattered about, making the large deck look more like an obstacle course than her home.

Her eyes darted from every unresponsive man she could spot. Not him. Not him. Where were they? Were they okay? Wood shards were flung into the air as she ran across the deck of the air-ship. Ducking behind a large wooden box, one they used often as a makeshift table but now she used as protection against the crash of chaos. Glancing around, she searched for a weapon, something in case the attack came onboard. But there was little weaponry lying about. They’d been alone for two weeks – the threat had been gone. Gunfire rang out, and cannons flashed. Her eyes shut tight as the bright bang blinded her for a moment.

The threat was here.

It could only be one entity.

Coughing through smoke, she tried to spot the highest members of the crew. She finally spotted one among the pandemonium. Ash blond hair was plastered back from his forehead, mussed and sweatied, as he pushed ahead. A cannon ram looked more like a scepter with how he wielded it. Commanding the gunners on how to reload and aim at their enemy. Rushing past the long-line of gunners, Jongho was a vision of strength; fury etched into his brow as he strode past, staring down the enemy ship.

“Fire! Now!” Jongho’s voice cried out. “Fire starboard!”

She stood then, aiming to run to his side before the piercing sound of their cannons went off. Senses burnt like a live-wire; her ears rang and her eyes felt blurred before there was a thud of sneakers beside her, a muscular arm going to press her down against the ground as something whittled through the air above their heads and slammed into the mast beside them. Wood debris rained down over them. YN huffed and puffed, trying to catch the breath that had gotten knocked from her lungs. His arm kept them pressed into the floor.

“YN. There you are – fuck, watch out.”

His breath was hot against her neck, sweat and cinders dripped down his face. Familiar orange blossom and light green apple wafted over her, giving a momentary comfort in the gun-smoke and destruction. Yunho’s hands shifted her against him, tugging her half-underneath him. Protecting her with his form as another cannon-ball whistled overhead. Their gazes met. Panic crossed over his face, ash coating his blue hair and colorful clothes making them look ghastly.

“Who’s attacking?” she asked, trying to shift from her lover’s protective embrace to peer over the hull at the other air-ship. Yunho yanked her back down as another crash of cannon fire rang out. The nearby cannon a fellow crew member utilized throttled back heavily on its wheels as it fired out its deadly weapon. His hand covered her head, over her ears and curling her into his chest. Cursing beneath his breath, he held her closer, wishing he could keep her safe in between his ribs. Beside his hummingbird heart.

“It’s the Guardians!” he told her closely, his voice as breathless as she felt. “Same frigate from Paradise.”

They could hear Seonghwa’s war cry from somewhere across the ship and the always-familiar bang of his rifle. Far from their ship, there was a scream.

“We can’t outfight them,” she told Yunho.

She knew better than anyone – except perhaps Jongho – about their stocks. They were low on ammunition; they hadn’t stopped long enough to restock.

“We need to get out of here. Before they hit the mainsail.”

Glancing upwards, she took in their large white-sailed masts. Three of them stood tall and proud, billowing with air as they guided them in their sail through the skies. Squinting, she could see Yeosang in his sunny-yellow sweater that he loved, high in the crow’s nest. There was a splatter of red across his face as he pulled binoculars away, pointing and yelling down to the crew below.

“Land! Portside!”

“He’s okay,” Yunho reassured. He had just come from climbing between the sails like a spider monkey.

Wreckage showered down over them as a cannon ball struck the mainsail mast with a shattering of wood, but it remained steady. Thankfully, it was a thick sturdy pole. But, before relief could flush through her and Yunho, the ship heaved to the side with a lurch. Yunho scrambled to keep them down against the floorboards. A cry tumbled out of the remaining crew as their shoes slid and their canons followed suit heavily rolling against them. Some sickening crunches were heard. Yunho dug his sneakers into the wood as his hand rose to cup the back of her head, ducking them down to take the brute of the slide – in case anything hit them. His back pushed into the side of the hull while she was cradled into his arms and lanky legs. Their head snapped at the sound of their Captain’s yelling.

“San!” Hongjoong’s sharp voice bit out from somewhere.

“Working on it, Captain,” San grunted out. 

She could see between fire and smoke San at the helm; his muscles rippling as he tried to control their ship. He pulled at the wheel, trying to take control of their ship. His teeth gritted as he finally righted their ship and snarled something beneath his breath as he looked back at the attacking air-ship.

Yunho stood quickly, hoisting her forward. His hands lifted her onto her feet easily.

“Get to Hongjoong’s quarters,” he breathed to her, hand on her cheek as he urged her to understand his intent. “Hide!”

As if that’d be any safer, she thought. But Yunho’s rough hands were already onto their next goal – moving from her face to encouraged her to go, go, go, pushing her towards the Captain’s Quarters. There was no room for discussion right now.

“Run,” Yunho said as he reached for a discarded sword, the metal shlinging as it was unsheathed. “Now, YN.”

So, she did. Running around figures and broken riggings, past Jongho who’s gaze flickered to her fearfully until he saw her path ahead. She was going towards the others; she’d be safe there. Stomping up the stairs, she finally caught sight of the large airship attacking them. The frigate overpowered their smaller ship, but it gave her some relief to see flames billowing out of its keel. There was hope that they could outrun them. They were smaller. 

Racing up the last few steps up to the quarterdeck, she felt an explosion burst beside her, sending her stumbling. Her ears rung as she was flung into the thick railings of the deck painfully. Her waist ached and she felt like she’s was going to lose her dinner. Dazed, she felt faint for a moment. The ringing and blurred smoke of the ship all she could process. Canon fire rung out again. She blindly crouched, her hand wrapping around the banister of the railing to keep herself steady.

“YN!” she heard San cry out distantly.

Everything felt far away. She tried to shake her head, tried to steady herself. Her face stung and burned uncomfortably, but all she had on her mind was to get to Hongjoong’s quarters. Someone hoisted her back to standing. Large hands held onto her shoulders as they peered into her face. He called her name again, a hand going to cup her face. A grimace graced his face as he came into a non-double vision view.

Wooyoung’s face was covered in smears of soot, hands a dark color from the gun powder he had helped a crew member load into a cannon moments ago. His squid-ink black hair looked grey with ash. Fingers went to the side of her face, prying bits of wood away from her new wound. A large collection of splinters dug into her cheek to her temple in a long gash.

“Are you ok?” he asked fast. His eyes were wide and fearful. “Baby!”

She nodded slowly, dazed, before shaking away her bewilderment. In her adrenaline rush, she truly didn’t feel much pain. It was all so fleeting – hard to distinguish amongst the chaos. Like when you can’t tell if something is burning cold or freezing hot to the touch. Her own hand went to feel the damage, coming away red. Wooyoung flinched at the sight.

“I’ll live; I’m fine. Go,” she encouraged, moving to push him with her hand.

Wooyoung was their best gunner with his accuracy. Her palm had left a bloody hand print on his colorful red-white-blue-yellow graphic tee as she curled her fingers into his fabric near pleading. He hadnt shifted an inch, his face drenched in agony at the sight of her pain.

“Woo, aim for their rudder; slow them down. So, we all can make it out alive.”

His face was stoney, a type of seriousness Wooyoung rarely got. He nodded firmly as he turned to observe their attacker. His hands firmly kept her in place – keeping her grounded. The Guardian’s grand white-painted frigate towered above them, not overtaking them yet. It seemed it wanted to cause more damage than board them as of now. They’d take that blessing. 

“Captain,” Wooyoung crowed out instead. “Any orders?”

Their Captain stood on the platform above his quarters. With his honey-red hair, he was easy to spot – even more so with his attire. He wore a vibrant red fur coat that barely stayed on his shoulders as he paced in battle, a white graphic tee, skinny jeans, and black Doc Martins. He wasn’t a picture of a sea-salted, wobbly old pirate. But his face surely held the power of one. His glare could strike someone down as he growled out.

“Prevent them from boarding!” Hongjoong bit out, reaching for his pistol on his hip. He raised it into the air, shooting at the opposing ship’s crew. “Protect the Treasure at all costs.”

The treasure, the treasure, the treasure. That was all he cared for now it felt. Even in the heat of battle, he was one-track minded. Wooyoung hissed through his teeth as he turned back. Wooyoung had been someone she had shared this feeling with before. Hongjoong and his obsession for his treasure. It was like a parasite sucking at his soul. But Wooyoung’s concern only grew as he surveyed the deck. Her head turned to look back at the ship soaring so close by. It was bad.

“Of course, he’d say that,” Wooyoung muttered before he moved away from her.

His hands leaving her arms left her wobbly, and he quickly tried to make up for his failure. He steadied her with both hands.

“You aren’t okay,” he muttered out, pressing her into her spot firmly. His hands went to her jaw, cupping it and directing her gaze.

“We don’t have time to not be okay; we are in a battle!” she replied.

Her head turned to glanced back at Hongjoong, at San. Yeosang was swinging down from the crow’s nest, a dangerous attempt, as Mingi cried up at him to watch out for this and that. They all were not okay – they all were in danger.

And all Hongjoong could think about was treasure.

“Go hide,” Wooyoung warned. “Somewhere, anywhere. Stay alive – this will all be over soon.”

She nodded firmly; Wooyoung returning it. He squeezed her shoulder, risking a kiss to her forehead, before running off. He’d hit their rudder; he had to. He was their best shot.

“Be safe,” she yelled to him, to them, as she continued her journey towards the Captain’s Quarters.

Flinging the stain-glassed French doors open, she ran inside Hongjoong’s room. Turning, she quickly locked them behind her with a flick of a golden lock. The familiar sight of Hongjoong’s sanctuary would be reassuring if there weren’t shattered glass from the exterior windows blown out across the cabin. The drapery around his space used to give it a soft look, now with torn fabrics and destruction, it looked like a mummy of itself. A cannon ball was embedded on the map-covered desk, a large splintering gash through the wooden desk.

Their safe space was half-destroyed; the ship was in ruins; and it sent a wave of fear crippling through her. That this was the end. But no, she couldn’t think of that now. She looked around. Could she hide in the wardrobe? Or the chest by the door? What if something hit it? No, she needed a weapon first.  

She rushed further into the space, going towards his king-sized bed alcoved into the wall of the hull. It sheets were still rumpled from last night. Tossing Hongjoong’s pillow aside, she grabbed the pistol he kept hidden there and checked to make sure it was loaded.

Feeling better with the heavy weapon in her palm, she turned back to survey the room only for something to blind her. A light flare flashed over her face, making her flinch back. Her hand rose to cover her eyes.

Follow me. It pulled.

Shining from within Hongjoong’ desk, something caught her eye like a lit-flame, like a burning guiding star. Through a crack in the wood, the thing glimmered and shimmered and she swore it called to her.

Into the light. Into that light. Beyond the light.

The temptation dragged her towards it. Her brows pursed as she felt something burn in her chest. Like a live-wire. Rounding the desk, she crouched down, pulling each drawer open. Some tumbled off of their tracks and onto the messy floor, others hung open lazily. Pearls, music CDs, credit cards. Empty snack bags, glass bottles, wires for computers and gadgets. A laptop covered in stickers, love letters, condoms, keys to the brig. No. No. No.

Find me.

Where was it? Where did he put it?

There was a loud lurch of the ship like a dog yanking on its leach and a horrible tearing sound. Like splintering wood and broken metal. The entire ship trembled and sagged at an angle. Glass, knick-knacks, and maps clattered and rolled towards the door. The desk was screwed into the planks (at the request of Seonghwa, she remembered) and didn’t move an inch. Her hands gripped the desk top. A commotion exploded outside and slowly but surely the ship righted. They weren’t leaning anymore, but they weren’t sailing. But YN couldn’t focus on that.

All she could focus on was that light. Where was it?

Find me.

The light gleamed from within the desk but after tearing out the drawers’ there was nothing within. Her fingers slide over the wood of the desk, carefully searching for a divot, a secret compartment, something. Hongjoong trusted them, obvious by the lack of locks on his drawers. But maybe he had thought ahead. Her Captain often did.

Her nails stuck into a fine line, a thin crevice finally found, on the wall of the desk. With effort, she pulled and tugged at the plank until it popped open to reveal the sparkling artefact. It was almost holy; the way the light sighed at her and hummed. Almost like it was saying hello.

Now, this wasn’t the first time she had seen the Cromer. They all had seen it before, but never before had it shimmered and gleamed like it held glowing stardust. Like something magical was happening.

It wasn’t large, no, it was just large enough to be the size of a small water-bottle. The Cromer was intricate and yet simple in its design. Gold-wrought wire framing held a delicate glass-blown hourglass. Sand forever trickled, not downwards but upwards, as if gravity didn’t exist in its plane. Something magical. Something precious. Something they had still yet to understand beyond it was a treasure that they needed to protect from falling into the wrong hands. That’s what Hongjoong had always said and she never understood why… til now.

There was a clash of blades from the deck, making her jump and look up. A shadow had covered the desk… The sunlight that had poured into the quarters from the blasted windows was gone. No, no… they were being boarded. That was the only reason there would be blades crossed.

She pried the Cromer out of its velveteen holding space. Even touching it felt strange. Like there was an electric hum running up through her veins where it touched her skin. She shoved the hidden compartment closed with a thud, pushing at the drawers to shut as many as could.  Already shifting from her crouched position, YN glanced around the room.

She had to hide.

Running towards the large oaken closet, she swung open the doors and shoved herself inside. Pushing jackets and fur coats aside, she nestled herself as far as she could wiggled herself into the closet, cradling the Cromer in her lap and reaching to slam the closet doors shut. One hand wrapped around the glass of the hourglass and the other around Hongjoong’s pistol.

YN shut her eyes, listening closely. Heavy footsteps, clash of swords, gunfire. She heard it all, and it made her stomach curdle.

How did the Android Guardians take them by storm? Everything had been calm waters recently. Itd been weeks since their last port. Yeosang kept careful watch. They were careful of their trails. How did they find them?

There was a loud thud on the doors to the Captain’s Quarters.

“Again!” there was a command muddled by an electronic-processor.

It was the Guardians. Her breath caught in her throat as she twisted further into the closet. From the smallest crack in between the closet doors, she peered into the room, waiting and praying that the doors held up as another BANG made her flinch.

Please, please, please, she repeated silently.

Don’t let them in; keep them safe. Don’t let this happen.

Please, please, please.

Bang, bang, bang.

There was a shatter of glass. A scatter of sea-foam and sunset-pink glass tumbled across the quarter’s floor. The carefully-cared-for colored glass was now nothing but shards of dust.

“Finally,” a voice barked; a strange mixture of robotic and animalistic tones made up his shout.

A clatter of locks chilled her. The clanking of doors shoved open.

She held her breath.

“Get in there,” the sound of flesh hitting flesh made her shut her eyes tightly.

The grunt was one she had heard before. Her eyes flashed open; fear flooded her body. Wooyoung huffed out; there was a jingle. Was he locked up? From her small crack, she couldn’t see much. YN didn’t move a muscle.

“Where is it? Hm?” The nearly inhuman voice croaked.

“Go fuck yourself,” Wooyoung exclaimed out.

A loud thud and low groan made her heart lurch. Wooyoung’s laugh was wet as he heaved and groaned from the floor. He spat blood and saliva out onto the leader’s shoes, the remaining of the spittle staining into the floorboards. He let out a low laugh and, despite him not being in her line of sight, she knew he’d been smiling cruelly. His laugh wasn’t a smidge humorous. He was heaved back onto his knees by the Android Guardian’s followers.

The doors to the Captain’s Quarters were shoved shut with a loud clatter, keeping all noise from the deck out and all noise in the room inside.

“Your emotions don’t suit you,” the invader commented. “Don’t worry that will all be solved soon.”

“I don’t know why you expected me of all people to be obedient,” Wooyoung bit back; his voice sounded strange, gurgled. There was a cracking sound, familiar to her only because Wooyoung loved to crack his neck.

Why did the Guardians drag him to the Quarters and not all of them – or at the very least the Captain or First Mate? Where was Hongjoong? Where was Seonghwa?  Was Wooyoung being used as a bargaining chip? They had been caught – that much was clear, but was everyone okay?

Her own injured face stung against one of Seonghwa’s fur jackets; the hairs sticking into her flesh painfully as her wound dried in the air. She’d have to apologize to Seonghwa for ruining one of his favorites. Later. Because there had to be a later… there had to be. She stayed silent, trying to catch a glimpse of Wooyoung without moving. Was he okay?

She instead gained a glance of the Android Guardian leading this attack. He was unnaturally tall, covered in an all-white leathered ensemble. Its overlapping belts and straps felt like they kept his posture too straight.  Ever frightening with its entirely covered face, a muzzle-like chainwork wounded over around its mouth. The slight give and take of the fabric indicated his breathing, but she wasn’t sure how he could breathe, let alone see through the thick fabric. No face, no humanity. No emotion. That was the way of the Initiative.

That’s what they wanted from the remains of the world. Why couldn’t they just leave them alone? She missed yesterday so suddenly.

“These games are juvenile, Jung Wooyoung,” the leader spoke once more. “Tell me the location of the device or else the bargain is off.”

There was a deal happening. Hongjoong struck a deal. He always had a plan – even if they couldn’t see all the moving piece of it. She shifted her arms around the Cromer, almost as if it was a comfort object – a long-lost teddy bear to soothe her as she was forced to witness Wooyoung and the Guardians.

Wooyoung snorted. “Order your men to let me go and I’ll gladly help,” he said with vigor. There was a rattling of chains after his words.

The Guardian looked down at him – or she assumed he did as he tilted his head slowly. The all-white figure glanced aside before giving a solid nod. Wooyoung’s body slammed to the floor once more.

“Godda—gently,” he scolded, muffled. There was a grunt in his words as he must’ve pushed himself up and stood. She could see the outline of his form now, standing tall. He spat to the side again; blood splattered.

“Better,” Wooyoung replied, raising a brow at the Android Guardian. “It’s in here.”

He smiled a bloody smile at their attacker before walking around him, towards the closet. She could see him in his full glory. Blood stained his shirt, not just his from his rubied mouth but her own blood remained in a handprint across the joyful red-white-blue-and-yellow of his shirt. It didn’t look like it fit in in this scenario. Too joyful and colorful for the destruction and smoke that tumbled in from the creaking fires rattling the ship.

His hair was mussed and sweatied strewn across his forehead like ink spilt across a piece of parchment. She pushed herself closer to the crack, hoping that he’d see her while blocking her from view. In the perfect world, like an old movie scene, he’d see her and smile his boyish smile that made her feel safe. But all that greeted her was furrowed dark brows as he kicked aside rubble.

He hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t! Her stomach turned in worry. Her fingers brushed over the Cromer, fidgeting restlessly. The smooth glass was cold to the touch and clanked just lightly from her fingers. She froze.

The Android Leader twitched. She held her breath, held every cell in her body, held every atom at bay as she waited.

“Fuck, you destroyed this room,” Wooyoung whistled out.

She heard the cannon ball that had been embedded into the desk get pushed off with a heavy thud. YN watched it roll slowly towards the closet; the air-ship was tilting just slightly. It thudded against the closet, rattling the wooden doors. Trapping her inside.

“You gave us no other logical choice,” the Guardian informed.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. He shifted through the drawers she had half destroyed in her own search. Haphazardly, Wooyoung tossed aside thoughtful gifts that they had given Hongjoong, half-eaten snack bags, Hongjoong’s vape that he had placed deep in his desk after swearing he’d give it up.

“What if you had hit our rudder? Or mainsail? Or what if we had struck your weak spot and you had crushed us?” Wooyoung argued back, pausing to stare at the leader with a condescending tilt of his head. “You wouldn’t have been able to raid us if we had crashed.”

“Good thing that didn’t happen,” the Guardian replied, almost like a parent replying to a child’s outlandish comments. Estranged and detached. “These illogical scenarios are fanciful. No wonder you had a delusion of grandeur.”

Wooyoung’s face twitched and he glared at the figure once more.

“Keep searching.” The Guardian commanded, head nodding to the desk.

Wooyoung obeyed. He tossed aside a polaroid camera with a clank; some stray polaroids were strewn across the deck. There were coins that were pocketed by Wooyoung. He was methodical, taking his time to explore the drawers inside and out, more than she had done.

Was he stalling? She tried to listen to anything happening on the main deck, but it was loudly quiet. The only sounds she heard was the deep breaths in and out the Guardians made to breathe through their thick face-masks, the occasional bellowing of the ship’s wood as it heaved against something, and the very quiet sound of the Cromer’s sand reversing through its hourglass.

Finally, after digging through all of the drawers, slow and methodical, he began to do what she did. Fingers pressed into the wood to find a compartment of sorts.

“This is taking too long,” the Guardian growled out.

Maybe that was the point, she hoped. The more time Wooyoung bought, the more time her loves would fight and hopefully find them.

“Relax, bud,” Wooyoung crowed out, too casual for the situation – but of course he always liked the upper-hand. Loved teasing. Some would say he was arrogant but YN believed him to just be bold.

That boldness grew when there was a clicking sound, the Cromer’s compartment ticking open with a satisfying pop. His grin, bloodied and gruesome, looked like a wolf after a kill. Before he opened the door.

“It’s gone,” Wooyoung breathed, his eyes blinking in disbelief. He licked over his reddened lips and swallowed.

The Cromer warmed close to her chest, and she saw its glow grow. No, no, stop. YN worried the glow would be seen through the cracks in the wardrobe. She hugged it closer, tucking it into her chest.

“Enough of these games,” the leader bit out; there was a flick of his hand and one of the Guardian hooligans rushed forwards seizing Wooyoung by the arms. Hoisting him up with a struggle as a loud shling of his blade made YN’s blood turn cold.

She could see Wooyoung’s head raise just in time for the blade to rest under his chin, sharp and unforgivingly.

“Tell me where the Cromer is now,” the Guardian commanded from aside. She could see red drip from the blade and a grunt leave Wooyoung’s lips.

“Go to hell.” There was a low hum as the Guardian leader’s hand flick once more, signaling something to his captor. A signal he didn’t get to follow through with.

“Don’t hurt him!” she exclaimed out, unable to watch as the blade sliced into Wooyoung’s throat more. She pushed herself out of the closet, firing the pistol at the Guardian that had him. The villain plunked to the floor, freeing Wooyoung who stared at her with wide eyes and a bloodied throat.

“Seize her,” the Android Guardian’s leader commanded. The remaining Guardians rushed forward, their strong hands gripping and groping at her until she was caught beneath their strong hold. She held on tight to the Cromer, refusing to let them pry it from her hand. It hummed and buzzed erratically as if upset. She continued to squabble with her captors, her pistol falling from her hand as she grasped the artefact tightly.

Over their struggle, she could hear Wooyoung crying out, trying to get her to stop or for the Guardians to stop. It wasn’t until the leader unempathetically stated.

“That’s enough.”

Her two captors held her by her arms, simply but strongly. She still struggled, writhing this way and that as she glared up at the Guardian who slowly approached her. He towered over her, leaning down with the blank mask of a face.

“We have another defector aboard. I knew we hadnt collected all of the crew,” the robotic-man commented. His large latex-gloved hand reached out to grasp her chin.

There was a strange noise from his masked face almost like an electronic chirp.

“YN LN.” he hummed. “Yes. We know all about you.”

“Don’t touch her,” Wooyoung snarled out.

He nearly jumped over the desk; his hand grasped the Android Guardian’s bicep firmly. Tugging him away from YN, she had never seen Wooyoung’s face look so dark. His brows shadowed his dark brown eyes, a snarl void of humor or temptation crossing his mouth.

“She’s not part of the bargain. Let her go.”

There was a laugh, too robotic, too unemotional, to feel genuine from the all-white Guardian. The figures, holding her arms, didn’t even shift a smidge, didn’t look at one another for clarity. Just stared ahead – pawns to the Grand Guardian’s command.

“We let you keep the helmsman, the look-out,” the Guardian recalled. “And now her?”

It sounded condescending. Her eyes flashed from the emotionless face to Wooyoung. His eyes flickered from her to the Grand Guardian. There was uncertainty there. He licked his lips.

“This is the problem with you defectors.” The Guardian’s voice rasped out with a metallic edge. “You think you’re always in control. Even when you aren’t.”

In a flash, the leader thrusted his arm into Wooyoung’s torso sending him tumbling to his knees, his hands going to his punched stomach. Wheezing, Wooyoung bared his teeth and watched as the Android Guardian tugged his arm away. The frightening figure approached her, too quick and mechanical to feel unthreatening.

“Give us the Cromer,” he demanded. His fingers curled and uncurled, outstretched.

Protect the Treasure at all costs. Hongjoong’s voice echoed in her head. He had drilled it into her mind, all of their minds. But, at the cost of Wooyoung’s life? At hers?  

She glared at their enemy. Her fingers curled around the metal wire around the hourglass of the Cromer.

I know you're afraid. Follow your gut.

The way the metal buzzed and silently hummed in her ear was strange. Familiar and yet foreign as it spoke to only her. The burst of warmth in its metal was reassuring, like holding onto someone’s hand. Reassuring her that this was the right thing to do. The sand trickling inside the Cromer was the only sound in the Captain’s Quarters. Somehow something so gentle and soothing could be loud – even after the chaos that enraptured them moments ago.

“No.” she bit out.

The ship creaked ominously. She grasped the artefact closer to her chest.

Follow your gut.

Hongjoong had told her once long ago that the Cromer was what brought them together; that he had let it guide him to them. The look in his eyes felt distant as he stared at the hourglass. His index finger would stroke the glass like it was their cheek. His friends. His family.

It brought them together and he had to keep it safe to keep them safe. A paranoid take she always thought. He believed if the Cromer was taken away from them – well, it’d be like the sea with no moon. Chaotic, untethered, unnatural. YN had always believed they found one another, not some hourglass.

“How did you use it?” She had asked him one night, wrapped in his arms as he continued to stare off. With his head lost in the clouds, he was loose-lipped. A sigh of fruity-smelling, blue smoke left his lips as he tugged his vape away from his mouth before he replied: “You’re the only one besides me that will know if I tell you. Not even Seonghwa knows… Alright, precious?”

She held it horizontally like had shown her, shifting it so the sand couldn’t flow up or down – freezing the hourglass’s sand. Her eyes shut as she murmured the words he hadn’t dare recite aloud and instead wrote down on an old receipt they had found in his jeans. She didn’t see as recognition flashed over Wooyoung’s bloodied face, eyes widening and his heart dropping.

“YN, don’t—” Wooyoung was barely able to get out as he lunged forward.

“Stop, child!” the Guardian growled out. “Grab it!”

Treasure.

But it was too late. With the spell cast, the artefact had begun to whirl, the metal loops surrounding the hourglass undulating. The glow grew and grew.

It can complete us…

They pushed and shoved and tried to take it from her still, fingers all digging into her skin until… she hoisted the Cromer up into the air and sent it shattering to the ground.

…Or it can destroy us.

There was no Treasure to steal. No artefact to worship. She dove to try to grab the pistol once more, to fire at the Guardians so they could escape, but she was unable to move. Like gravity refused to let her. The shattered remains of the Cromer glinted in a non-existent light; sending a flare out over the figures, blinding them. A wild hurricane wind burst forth around them, blooming from the pile of sand. A tornado of golden sand growing and growing until it consumed her, the Guardians, and Wooyoung. 

She couldn’t even yell out for him. Her mouth was full of sand. Her nose, her eyes. It was sharp and burning and hot.

There was a woosh around her, her hair tumbling into the air, her clothes rustling in the hot-blast.

The sound of wind blowing from the horizon.

The warmth of the sun.

The sand vibrating against her skin.

Open your eyes.

The Cromer whispered in her ear, warm and in a voice that nearly sounded like Hongjoong’s.

No, she didn’t want to. It hurt. It burned.

Open your eyes.

When she flickered her eyes open tentative and slow, her breath was stolen. She was no longer in her Captain’s quarters. No longer on the Illusion. No longer was she with her Ateez.

YN was in the shadows of the stacked-upon-stacked docks of Aurora.  

We're at the starting point of this long journey.

Will you join us?

[sapphiresaphics]

Gonna re-post this here as its own separate post for those who want to understand what the Black Rose arc was about.

———

Ambessa discovered the Black Rose, a group of Noxian mages that go against the beleifs of Noxian culture to keep people in check. The Black Rose act as a sort of secret society that controls Noxian culture from the inside. Making sure that nobody ever rises too high in their eyes.

Ambessa doesn't like the idea of someone telling her she can't do something, so she has an illegitimate child with a mage. That child is Mel and Mel inherits magic powers as a result. The idea being that Mel could eventually be used to fight the Black Rose.

As the Black Rose start to suspect something is up, Mel is sent off to live in Piltover. Hidden away from them.

Mel, thinking she's been banished or abandoned by her mother, strives to put Piltover on the map by manipulating the counsel and working towards bettering Piltover's technological progress.

Meanwhile, Mel's brother starts to look into Mel's history and discovers the Black Rose stuff and get sucked into their web. He is ultimately killed as the Black Rose try to figure out if he was the illegitimate child or not.

At this point, Mel has championed Hex Tech and turned it into a great economic boon for Piltover. But when Jinx attacks the city and Hex Tech is stolen, chaos starts to throw things into disarray.

News of the attack and stolen technology makes its way back to Ambessa. Grief stricken and terrified of the Black Rose, Ambessa realizes she can finally use Mel's ambition for her own personal gain. She needs Hex Tech weaponry so she can stand up to the Black Rose once and for all.

So Ambessa arrives in Piltover's and starts getting in the ear of Jayce and pushing him towards violence.

And because of her, Jayce makes a hextech weapon and goes into the undercity to take on Silco.

Pissed off Ambessa did this, Mel disowns her mother and her heritage and tries to fix the wrongs. And just as things are looking like it's gonna be okay... Jinx bombs the counselors chamber.

Mel's powers unlock and end up protecting her and Jayce, but nobody else. Ambessa uses this chaos to push for more violence. As Mel continues to stand in her way, Ambessa chooses an even more risky plan.

Ambessa sets the undercity up for an attack on the memorial, which pushes things even further. Mel is no longer in control and Hex Tech weapons are now a real thing.

But the Black Rose have caught on to what Ambessa is doing. And at first they possess the body of a merchant head to try and get close to her, but it fails.

Ambessa is able to kill her and this causes her to panic and nominate Caitlyn to be a general.

Having failed to directly attack Ambessa, the Black Rose falls back on Mel and kidnap her. This happens to coincide with Jayce, Heimerdinger, and Ekko being caught in the Wild Rune.

Ambessa now has control of the city, but she's lost all her magical weaponry. Nobody is smart enough to make weapons for her using Hex Texh, and her magical daughter is gone! So Ambessa falls back on using Singe to make chem-weaponry and eventually tries to make an army that can't be killed.

Remember, Ambessa's only real goal is to get rid of the Black Rose. She doesn't care what happens to anyone else in the pursuit of this goal. Which is exactly why the Black Rose is getting more and more desperate. All their attempts to sideline Ambessa are failing, and now it seems like if she keep going down this path she will unintentionally unleash Viktor's machine Herald onto the population of the world and destroy everything!

So when Mel, in captivity, finally unlocks her magical abilities and proves that she was the illegitimate child Ambessa had, the Black Rose have one last chance to stop Ambessa. Recruit Mel to do it for them. They tell Mel that Ambessa's ambition will ruin the world, and they give her a token that she can use to stop her.

Mel returns to the city of Piltover and tries desperately to reason with Ambessa, but she's too far gone now. Ambessa will not stop. And her war with Piltover is fast approaching worldwide destruction.

During the battle, Caitlyn sacrifices her eye to rip off the magical armor Ambessa had been using and Mel uses the magical amulet the Black Rose gave her to stop her mother.

But Mel is an empath. She also doesn't want the Black Rose to succeed, so she steps in and prevents the Black Rose from killing her mother. She saves her mother from the Black Rose, but the damage is done, and Ambessa dies in her arms.

Mel, now realizing she is magical AND in charge of Ambessa's army, heads back to Noxus to potentially challenge the Black Rose once and for all.

The End.

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: Ursa Wren faces a dilemma: since her daughter, Sabine, is now of age, several high-ranking clans now seek to win the favor of Clan Wren by offering her potential suitors. With the political pressure mounting, Ursa has no choice but to acquiesce to the invocation of an ancient rite that will determine which of the suitors will have Sabine's hand in marriage. It's a risky game: turning any of the clans down has the potential to create new enemies that Clan Wren can scarcely afford as they continue to wage war against the Empire. To win this game, Ursa will need to rig it in Sabine's favor and choose a candidate of her own. But this candidate will need to have more than luck on their side . . . which is why she summons a certain plucky young Jedi named Ezra Bridger to Krownest.

Part 1 of 3

Mandalorians were taught since birth to only use beskar for armor and weaponry. That has always been the way. To use it for anything else, according to custom, was to waste it. But one person did not see it that way. They saw beyond, to what it could be. What did they see, you ask? Beauty. And so, they fashioned rings of beskar. The first of their kind. Who would be crazy enough to do such a thing? To go against established Mandalorian custom and change something considered immutable and derive a different purpose? You guessed it. It was a Jedi. - From the personal diary of Countess Ursa Wren

"To be seen is to be loved." - Unknown

~ the call ~

Fenn Rau rapped three times on the heavy wooden door and waited, taking a few moments to marvel at the craftsmanship in its design. Most Mandalorian clans loved to imbue their castles or fortresses with the latest tech to showcase how impregnable their stronghold was to guests. But not Clan Wren - here they still stood on tradition and the old ways but not in a manner that stifled innovation. It had been some time now since he had arrived on Krownest in service to their matriarch and it felt more like a home than anything else he could remember in his life.

"Enter." The commanding voice of his benefactor, Countess Ursa Wren, recognizable even through the thick wood, still full of authority and steel even at this late hour.

With a grunt of effort, he pushed the door open and entered Ursa Wren's bedroom.

Fenn Rau would never confess out loud, but he did harbor a curiosity regarding Clan Wren's matriarch - especially considering Sabine's strained relationship with her. But after meeting the woman himself, he immediately understood where the younger Wren got her fiery resolve from. Both of them were more alike than either were willing to admit - an observation that Fenn Rau decided was wise to keep to himself after witnessing one of their arguments.

Glancing around the matriarch's bedroom, the veteran warrior noted that it seemed to match the woman's personality: it was spartan, utilitarian, with no room given for personal effects that would reveal anything about Ursa herself. The walls were painted a light, neutral green shade that seemed to be an attempt at instilling calmness or serenity in the room's occupant, but Fenn Rau instead found it somewhat nauseating to look at for too long.

Pressed up against the wall to his right was a simple bed with plain grey bedsheets, accompanied by a single lonely pillow that had been flattened due to years of use. To his surprise, the bed was unmade - the only sign of life in the otherwise sterile feeling room. It seems the Countess really was human after all, he thought, feeling amused.

Other than the bed there was a large arch window that overlooked Castle Wren's grounds; a bookcase filled with thick, leather-bound books with the titles written in ancient Mando'a worn away on the spines; a medium sized wooden closet that presumably held Ursa's armor and other sets of clothing; and the only other piece of furniture in the room - a small, round table that had a tiny, delicate vase containing a red rose sitting upon it. It was an oddly personal touch of beauty that immediately suggested to him that it was not placed there by Ursa's hand. Perhaps Sabine, he wondered.

Next to the table, sitting in a wide-backed chair with one leg crossed over the other was the Countess. Ursa wore casual sleep wear: a simple, form-fitting long sleeve shirt and pants that were the same slightly nauseating green as the bedroom's walls, complete with comfortable house shoes. Her hair still remained tied in a tight, professional bun, but she was casually scrolling through a data-pad, her sharp, intelligent eyes raking over the information being shown.

Fenn Rau waited for her to acknowledge him. Finally, after a few seconds of silence, she sighed and tossed the data-pad gently onto the table next to her. With a weariness rarely seen by him, Ursa hunched over and massaged at her temples, eyes closed in deep thought.

"Countess," he said, concerned. "Are you alright?"

Ursa straightened herself with a wince and fixed him (Fenn Rau charitably ignored the faint popping noises that emitted from her back as she did so) with a grim stare.

(Pictured above: Ursa Wren contemplates her next move.)

Fenn Rau forced himself to stand upright against the weight of that intimidating stare.

A few tense seconds passed before Ursa finally relented, a small smile flickering over her face. "At ease, Rau," she said. "Just feeling the weight of my years."

"You're younger than me, Countess," he replied.

The smile grew. "Flatterer," she said.

"It's the truth."

She sighed. "Perhaps so," she said. "I suppose it's more to do with the mileage, rather than the actual number of years."

He nodded in understanding. Fenn Rau had his fair share of wear and tear from the long, hard years of life but by all accounts, Ursa Wren was far more accomplished and battle-worn in her early adulthood than he had ever been at that age.

And that was before she had become the leader of her clan. The stories he had heard about Ursa Wren over the years . . . well, it was enough to chill the blood of any Mandalorian.

"Is there anything I can do to assist you this evening?" he asked. "You did call for me."

"Yes," she answered. He suddenly caught a gleam of mischief in the woman's eyes that sent a spike of anxiety coursing through him.

"Fix my daughter's love life."

Out of all the requests she had ever given him, this was by far the craziest one yet.

Feeling somewhat unsteady on his feet, Fenn Rau asked, injecting a calm that he did not feel into his voice, "I beg your pardon, Countess?"

She gestured at the data-pad laying on the table. "More offers continue to come for my daughter's hand in marriage."

"Ah," he said. "I take it she's responding to them in her usual manner."

Ursa snorted. "Brief and colorful, as always. I'm somewhat proud."

Rau frowned. "You don't wish to see her married?"

"I wish to see her married, yes. Securing Clan Wren's future, especially in these precarious times, is among my top priorities."

"Then why - "

"Because," the Countess interrupted, "I would see her married to a suitable partner of her own choice."

He raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't your own marriage arranged, Countess?"

Ursa grinned. "Yes. By me. My parents threw a fit, of course, over my choice of Alrich. They had to save face somehow, insisting to the wider Mandalorian hierarchy that it was their doing."

Rau laughed. The Wren matriarch frowned at him. "What's so funny?"

"It's very . . . you, Countess."

"It should be," she responded. "I don't know how to be anyone else."

The data-pad suddenly chimed, indicating a new message. Ursa glanced at it and let out a soft groan.

"Another offer, I take it," observed Rau.

"Worse," muttered Ursa. "An invocation from three of the more insistent clans. They are demanding to invoke a Rite."

"Which clans?"

She checked the data-pad, eyes scanning the message. "Clan Eagan, Clan Cobel, and Clan Reghabi."

Fenn Rau grimaced. He had heard of these three - they were sharks in the water, smelling blood. They were ambitious, competent, and looking to claw their way up to the upper echelon of Mandalorian clan hierarchy. Outside of the larger war against the Empire, these three clans had been on the rampage, absorbing smaller clans under their respective umbrellas through back-door negotiations - or by force.

An invocation was a way for the smaller, less powerful families of Mandalore to force a response from the higher, elite clans. There always had to be at least three of them, Rau remembered.

Politically speaking, Ursa was in a bind. Yes, she could turn down the invocation, but it would weaken Clan Wren's stature in the eyes of Mandalorian society. Even during wartime, it could be a death knell. They were spread thin enough as it was and with the continued absence of Alrich - itself a weakening blow to the clan's political stature - their alliances were shaky at best.

It was only due to Ursa Wren's steely resolve that Clan Wren stayed ahead of their rivals, her efforts bolstered by her daughter's timely arrival with the legendary Darksaber.

However, there was a catch . . .

"You can still choose the Rite, if I remember correctly," he said. In the interests of fairness, the clan challenged could choose the manner of challenge.

"Yes," Ursa said, smugly. "And that is how I will settle this matter, once and for all."

His stomach sank. "You intend to go through with this?"

She shook her head. "I have no choice. Clan Wren can ill afford new enemies during this time. Desperate times, Rau."

Rau pursed his lips, thinking. Ursa eyed him. "Speak your mind," she prompted.

"You're playing games with your daughter's life, Countess," he pointed out - gently. "It's unlike you."

"Am I?" she asked, her voice whisper soft. A smile appeared on the matriarch's face - a surprisingly evil one, in fact.

He studied her, feeling the anxiety spike through him again. "I'm assuming you have plan for these games."

"Obviously," she replied. "I never would play games with my daughter's life."

Rau asked, "How do you intend to win?"

"How do you assure victory in anything?" she asked. "You rig it in your favor."

He considered Ursa's words. "That depends on the rite you choose. Which one will it be, Countess? The rite of woe, frolic, malice - or dread, perhaps?"

The evil smile grew wider. "I was thinking the Rite of Hearts."

He frowned. "I don't quite remember that one."

"I pose a question to the suitors," she answered. "How they answer will prove the winner of Sabine's hand in marriage."

He arched an incredulous eyebrow. "I remember now. It's not that simple. Isn't there a vote by each of the clans to declare the winner?"

The Countess laughed. "I don't intend to make it simple. You'll be helping me in that matter, Fenn Rau."

"I see." He really didn't but assumed that Ursa would explain later.

At least he hoped so. In her own way, the Wren matriarch was as unpredictable as her daughter.

"How do you intend to rig this in your favor?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Each of the clans will choose their suitor," Ursa explained. "I am allowed a choice, as well."

"Seems odd," he replied. "Regardless of the outcome, each of the clans will only vote for their own suitor."

"Unless they can be swayed to vote outside their own choice," Ursa corrected. "It can happen."

"I've never heard of it happening," he said. "Not in my lifetime."

She shrugged. "Depends on the candidate."

"Your candidate, you mean," he said. "Who would be brave enough to go along with this?"

She eyed him, the evil smile returning in full force.

A horrible thought occurred to him then: the image of a young man, piercing blue eyes, a scarred cheek, brandishing an emerald bladed lightsaber in the thick of combat.

"You can't be serious!"

"Deadly serious, Rau," Ursa confirmed. "He's the one."

Rau's mouth gaped open, his mind working furiously through the implications. "Countess - choosing him surely is against the rules?"

"I make the rules," she replied coldly. "It's my game now. We are at war - not just against the Empire but for my daughter's freedom. And that boy is my best bet against these sharks swirling around us."

He stared at her. It was a bold move indeed.

Rau didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Maybe when his wits caught up with him, he could decide on that later.

"Shall I make the call, then?" he asked her.

"Yes, if you please," responded Ursa. Her face turned serious. "Get me a secure channel to the Ghost. I suspect Hera Syndulla will still be awake at this hour."

_ _ _ _ _

~ the suitors ~

Three days later

This was the worst day of Sabine's life. She stood in the hallway outside the Wren throne room, awaiting the summons. It felt like she was going to her execution.

On the wall in front of her, Sabine studied the painting hanging there. A portrait of her mother, commissioned by her father, Alrich, as a gift for their wedding day. She initially started to do so as a way to distract herself from the feeling of impending doom but as the minutes passed Sabine came to appreciate the details her father put into the work.

A labor of love, he had called it. Even then, he would privately admit to his daughter later, it did not do his wife's beauty justice.

(Pictured above: Alrich Wren's portrait of his wife, Ursa, given as a gift on their wedding day.)

"Feeling nervous?"

Sabine turned to find Fenn Rau, dressed in formal Mandalorian attire. A sleek, form fitting outfit that was militaristic in style, dyed in the traditional colors of Clan Wren. Sabine felt awkwardly out of place, wearing her customary beskar armor since she owned no dresses. It was hard to get any shopping done in the middle of an active war zone, she had come to learn.

Despite wearing his usual stoic expression, there was a glimmer of humor in Fenn Rau's eyes.

"I'm planning to vomit in front of everyone gathered in that throne room shortly," Sabine responded seriously.

He eyed her. "You don't trust your mother?" he asked.

"How can I trust her after this?" she asked. "She's bargaining away my freedom and - for what - a few meager alliances with some has-been clans?"

Rau's face became pained. "Sabine. If your mother thought this wasn't necessary, then you wouldn't be doing this. We are at war."

"We're always at war," she shot back. "Why now? These offers have been coming in since I got back a few months ago. She didn't seem to mind me turning them down then."

He sighed deeply. "Things change. Listen, Sabine - you know our resources and strength as well as she does. Tell me honestly that we do not need this."

Sabine bit her lip. She could not lie, not even to herself. Things were looking grim for Clan Wren. Even with the strength of the Darksaber backing up their clan, the Empire was everywhere with resources that far outstripped their own. And the Mandalorians were still scattered to the far reaches of the galaxy, hesitant to answer the call to take back their homeworld.

But still, she had hoped it would not come to this. Her mother had never been shy in expressing marriage as a viable future for Sabine, but Ursa had always been insistent that it would be her choice - and no one else's.

She thought of Ezra suddenly. The image of her best friend, far away on the Ghost or in the middle of some crucial mission for the Rebellion, brought a lump to her throat.

I miss you, goober, she thought miserably.

If it could have been my choice, Ezra . . .

She let that thought trail off, not daring to follow through with it. It was too late for that.

Far too late.

Duty calls.

Sabine came out of her reverie to find Fenn Rau looking at her with a surprisingly gentle expression. "You alright?" he asked.

"No," she said, her voice rough. "None of those people will ever love me the way I want. Nor will I ever love any of them."

Something almost like a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She was immediately suspicious. "What is it?" she demanded.

He shrugged, the almost smile vanishing instantly. "Trust your mother, Sabine," he said again.

She opened her mouth to reply with a snarky answer - and then a horn resounded through the hallway.

It was time.

Sabine took a deep breath, looking up at the portrait of her mother one last time. Once upon a time, Ursa had to go through an arranged marriage set up by her own parents. But that had resulted in her marriage to Alrich, the love of her life.

It worked out for you, she thought bitterly. I doubt it will do so for me.

The doors to the throne room opened. Fenn Rau offered his arm, a formal gesture reserved for Mandalorian royalty. Sabine took it gratefully and let him lead her out.

Sitting on her throne was Ursa, dressed in a sleek silver gown, similar to the one depicted in the portrait Sabine had just been studying. Her mother's eyes watched her carefully, flashing coldly in a warning that only her daughter would pick up on: Behave.

It took every fiber of restraint not to dash out of the room right then and there, but Sabine did it. Her clan was at stake.

This is the right thing to do, isn't it Ezra?

But her best friend was not here to console her. Sabine wondered if she would ever see him again after this.

They reached the center of the room, Ursa behind them on her throne, and faced the candidates from the different clans.

The three suitors were hidden beneath shimmer-silk cloaks, bequeathed to only the most important guests. Behind them were the clan heads, she assumed, also wearing cloaks to hide their faces. The introductions would begin shortly, each candidate and their sponsor lowering their hoods to reveal their faces.

Fun, fun, fun, Sabine thought. I might really puke from all this fun I'm having.

"Welcome," boomed Ursa's voice from behind her. "Welcome, honored guests, to Krownest and Clan Wren."

The three hooded clan heads responded in unison. "We seek an invocation, Countess Wren."

Sabine glanced behind her to see Ursa nodding in acknowledgement. "I accept this invocation."

They spoke again. "What rite would you ask of us?"

"The Rite of Hearts," Ursa said calmly.

There was a pause. The hooded clan members exchanged hidden looks with one another; Sabine caught some murmurs of surprise being whispered.

"I take it they're not happy about that choice," she whispered to Rau.

He shook his head, cutting off any further commentary from her. "Just watch."

But she caught that almost smile from him again. She's planning something, Sabine thought. Fenn Rau knows about it.

A small flicker of hope began to quietly burn inside her. It wasn't much, but she clung to it.

What are you planning, mother?

"We accept, oh gracious Countess," came the unified reply, albeit a tad reluctantly. Sabine got a sense of satisfaction from hearing it.

"Good to hear," Ursa said cheerfully. "You are all gathered here today to contest for my daughter's hand in the hereby declared Rite of Hearts. Are there any other challengers that wish to make themselves known?"

The front doors to the throne room blew open in a frigid gale of bitter wind. A person stood there, dressed in a humble hooded cloak of brown homespun wool. They were just a dark silhouette against the frozen tundra in the backdrop, unrecognizable - but Sabine caught a flash of their eyes beneath the hood.

Familiar, piercing blue eyes.

Sabine felt her pulse spike. It can't be.

The figure stalked forward, only to be met by a pair of Krownest guards, brandishing their pikes threateningly in his direction. He paused before them.

Ursa's command cut through the air. "Wait."

The guards stilled their approach but kept their weapons pointed at the new guest.

"Who are you to interrupt these proceedings?" she asked.

"A challenger," came the reply. "As you called for, I am here to make myself known."

Ursa arched an imperious eyebrow. "You wish to challenge against these others for my daughter's hand?"

"I do."

She stared at him for a few tense seconds - and then Sabine caught a smirk flashing across her mother's face for the briefest of moments.

"Very well," Ursa said. "I accept your challenge. I will be your sponsor, as is my right."

The clan heads snapped their hooded faces towards Ursa in shock and anger but didn't dare to raise a complaint. This was, after all, her house. They would obey her rules - or face the consequences.

The guards removed their weapons and went back to their posts. Fenn Rau hurried forward to close the front doors before returning back to Sabine's side. The guest stepped forward and took their place awkwardly next to the other suitors.

They glared at him. He gave a little polite wave only to be met with more glare.

"Seeing as though you came in such a dramatic fashion," Ursa continued calmly. "Why don't you introduce yourself first?"

There was a pause. "Oh, I'm supposed to do that now?" asked the guest.

Sabine stared at him - and then at Fenn Rau.

He shrugged. "Desperate times," he said quietly, in answer to her look.

"Yes," replied Ursa, sounding annoyed. "Unless you're waiting for something else?"

"Oh, uh. No. I guess I'll do that," he replied nervously.

And the guest carefully lowered the hood of his cloak.

There, in the throne room, presenting himself as a challenger for her hand in marriage was Sabine's best friend, Ezra Bridger.

"Hi, everyone," he said in greeting. Ezra caught Sabine's stare and gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm Ezra Bridger. A Jedi. And, uh, Sabine's friend."

The silence in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Sabine took a shaky step forward. Then another one.

Towards Ezra.

"You," she breathed. "It's you."

"Hey, Sabine," he said. "It's been a while - gah!"

She tackled him to the ground.

"Are you an idiot?!" she yelled, grabbing the front of his cloak and shaking Ezra. "Do you know what you've just agreed to, di'kut? Do you have some sort of death wish - "

"If you would just let me explain - glack!"

"Guards!" barked Ursa.

From behind her, Fenn Rau sighed deeply. "All according to plan, I suppose," Sabine heard him mutter, before the guards came to pull her away.

TO BE CONTINUED

[fleshengine]

Something I do really love in sci fi stories is a hard sci fi group running headlong into a soft sci fi scenario and being totally out of their depth. Let me explain.

The UEG in Halo is a hard (ish) sci fi setting. Short of slip-space tech and the propulsion systems of their starships, pretty much everything they have is theoretically creatable given our current understanding of the world. This is in line with a lot of older "hard sci fi" where it's realistic apart from one or two things that enable the story to actually... ya know... happen?

Anyway, the UEG/UNSC is hard sci fi, and are doing pretty well for themselves up until the battle of Harvest, where they sprint headlong into fighting The Covenant. The Covenant, with their homing plasma weaponry, energy shields, and hovertanks. The Covenant are soft sci fi, not obeying the laws of reality and not caring. The UNSC is outclassed, and I love it. The UNSC's best weapon against The Covenant, Spartans, have armor partially made from reverse engineered Covenant tech. They can win ground battles, but space battles are another story, they need 3-1 odds and even then typically take heavy losses. That's how out of their depth the UNSC/UEG is. I love it. But lemme continue.

In The Expanse, the various human governments and groups, are a hard sci fi civilization. They don't have FTL, but they do have hyper efficient fusion drives (a quick salute to Solomon Epstein). Everything else they have is hard sci fi. But when [spoiler] gets discovered, it's really neat to watch them try to make sense of it. Because it doesn't make sense, that shit is sci fi fantasy.

I think similar stuff happens in Stargate, but I don't know enough about that to comment on it.

I haven't read The High Crusade but it seems to be this trope stretched to the extreme and I love that.

Yeah that's what it is, isn't it. It's a trope. Well fuck it, I love this trope.

[makanidotdot]

How I would have done Teldrassil

There was some Sylv discourse today on twitter, which I totally missed and Nobbel deleted whatever tweet he made so idek what it was about lol, BUT I read some "how it should have been" tweets and I wanted to write down how I would have done Teldrassil:

So, Azeroth just got stabbed and everyone is trying crazy experiments with the newly discovered Azerite. Kaldorei druids end up making some azerite infused super-life substance that has pretty great healing properties, but by accident, they discover it has the opposite effect on undead. It vaporizes undeath. Maybe someone had an undead battle pet out and it touched the goo and it died like a cartoon in roger rabbit.

Anyway, the worst thing to happen to Azeroth in recent history WAS undead and having a potential weapon against that is super good, but there's the whole political problem of ~oops~ we have something that can instantly vaporize a particular enemy race… a race that's not insanely well liked even by their allies... a race that can only keep 'living' by preying on the dead of everybody else, and makes anywhere they live spooky and rotting and gross to everyone but them… anyway we won't keep this secret forever, but, in the middle of this whole azerite-rush, we'll just wait until tensions are not QUITE so high, then bring this all to light in a peaceful and honest way and both factions will have control of supply and security etc., and use it only for the good healing properties, or against any new undead threats, and definitely not against Forsaken.

But ofc, Horde spies end up discovering the existence of this Undead-Away and tell the Warchief.

A good Warchief would handle this by demanding it all fully be turned over to both factions, they would acknowledge the benefit of having that kind of power, studying the tech, but also acknowledge the extreme danger to an integral part of the Horde, and take extra steps to ensure their safety and reiterate the Forsaken's value to the Horde.

Warchief Sylvanas, however, would need to ensure Undead-Away was destroyed, and kill anyone who knew how to make it, at any cost. That type of unique threat to the Forsaken could not be allowed to exist. She would claim the Night Elves had been creating a weapon unbeknownst even to their allies (technically true), and were therefore preparing to be aggressive (a lie). She would omit the fact this weapon only affects undead, maybe even orchestrate an incident that made it seem like it affected the living too, with the help of her alchemists. Even if it came to light that this weapon only really affected undead, the idea of deceitful Night Elf weaponry would still have been planted, that particular knowledge would come too late to really matter.

Teldrassil must be attacked and temporarily controlled in order to purge this substance too dangerous for either faction to control. "USE IT ON THE ALLIANCE" some more bloosthirsty members of the Horde would say. No, no, Sylvanas would say, that would be dishonorable :). For the good of Azeroth, such a weapon must be destroyed. Sylvanas has turned a new leaf after all, she's not blighting anymore, she's interested in stability as Warchief. Both factions should be kept in check.

So, the plan would be to surprise attack Teldrassil, occupy it, purge the city of all the Undead-Away, and then... leave. They would make their intentions clear to the Alliance (after they had started the attack, of course) and actually, pretty true to their word, they would let anyone who wanted to leave the tree go peacefully. Obvs any nobody-druid who knew how to recreate the weapon would wind up dead, and any too-important druid would have to risk escalating the conflict by calling out Sylvanas's lies. But for the most part, there would be no excessive death caused by the Horde forces, Sylvanas would even make a point of publicly punishing any Horde for unapproved violence.

Sylvanas wouldn't need or want a greater conflict than necessary, so there would be none, unless the Alliance wanted to return to all out war against the Horde over what would ultimately amount to just be humiliation.

Because a pre-BFA, pre-Jailer, pre-shit Sylvanas's end goal was this: Don't die. She tried dying before, and she went to Hell, so her goal now is Never Die Again. Never Dying would be achieved by ensuring the Forsaken are a strong race with a secure future. For that, she needs a balance of Forsaken power, but also healthy and happy living races that keep reproducing, so that they keep dying, so that Forsaken can keep reproducing.

But, at some point during the occupation, Teldrassil burns. And we don't know why. Maybe some Horde did it to be mean. Maybe it was an accident as some Night Elves fought back righteously against the occupying Horde. Maybe some kind of magic + Undead-Away is insanely flammable. We never learn the truth, and if we did, it doesn't matter. The Alliance blames the Horde, and the Horde blames the Alliance.

The leaders of the Alliance heroically and epically rescue most of the citizens still in the city, with Tyrande and Malfurion leading the effort. The Horde occupying the city are not quite as lucky, but they're soldiers. So a lot of them are tryhards and have gliders so they can just jump off the tree :). And some Alliance and Horde still die horribly in flames.

Night Elves lose their home, and Sylvanas prepares for the Alliance's retaliation. It wasn't her goal, but it's something she can work with. The Horde and the Forsaken will not fall, and the banger ass BFA trailer actually makes sense and isn't false advertising.