#it does start whirring and perishing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silkling · 4 years ago

Note

Thank you that's so sweet??? Aaa that means a lot-

I have thought of a few prompts actually,,

One being, TFA Prowl and Jazz where Prowl was some sort of fae creature that could disguise himself as a normal bot, and he got dragged to Yoketron. Either Yoketron knew what he was or he entered a deal with him by accident, but Prowl was like...honor bound to stay and learn from him after making that agreement. Maybe Jazz is there visiting as a previous student, and weird things about Prowl keep catching his attention.

The other was far more angsty- what if Sigma 17 were woken up earlier, like halfway through the war when their pod is discovered by an Autobot ship.. mby Blades' brothers are still aware and he can feel them, but otherwise they're just dumped straight into war. Poor bbys.

Oh my god. You. You just. You don’t know what you did. Cause I like, really like fae lore. So as soon as I saw that prompt my brain demanded it be written. But I also really like your other prompt. So I’m going to do them both! This one is the fae Prowl one. I’ll post the second prompt in another post. But seriously I’m going to have so much fun with this. You have no idea what you have unleashed in my brain.

———————————————————————————————————

Yoketron watched as the lithe, elegant youngling was hauled into his Dojo by Warpath. He arched a brow when he noticed the muzzle clamped on his face, and then was even more surprised when he realized just how much the mechling was capable of thrashing in the larger Autobot’s hold, despite the stasis cuffs clamped around his wrists. The youngling, a two-wheeler now that Yoketron was able to see him more clearly, was dumped on the floor and pinned under a heavy red pede.

“You sure you want to take this one, Master Yoketron? I really think he’s more deserving of the stockades, filthy little deserter.” Warpath snarled.

“Indeed, Warpath. I am quite certain.” Yoketron hummed. “I assure you, if he truly does not wish what I have to offer than I am quite capable of bringing him to the stockades myself.”

Warpath only grumbled, growling one more time at the small youngling, and then he bowed and left.

As soon as the weight on him was gone, the mechling’s thrashing kicked up a notch and he tried to sit himself up. It seemed though, that despite his surprising amount of maneuverability he didn’t have enough control of his limbs to actually do so. Yoketron knelt down, reaching out and pressing the release mechanism of the muzzle. It dropped to his waiting palm and he subspaced it, retracting his hand just in time to avoid razor sharp fangs snapping shut on his fingers. As it was, those deadly dentae clacked together harshly as the mechling’s jaw closed on empty air. Yoketron arched a brow, frowning. Odd. Usually it was only warframes who had such sharp fangs, and this little one was most definitely not a warframe.

Yoketron ignored the furious glare, casting a critical gaze over the mech laying prone on his dojo floor. At least he had stopped thrashing, though now his frame was so tense the armor plating was clamped shut too tight to get even a metal wire in between the individual armor pieces. Yoketron returned his gaze to meet the glowing visor, bright with the fury and rage that was strong enough for him to practically taste in the youngling’s field.

He hummed as if to himself, reaching behind him to undo the stasis cuffs, only to stop when fangs pierced and dug into the armor of his forearm. He shot the mechling an unimpressed look, his free hand reaching and digging fingers into the soft protoform of his face behind his jaw. His body almost spasmed, his mouth forced open, his fangs and lips stained with Yoketron’s energon. The ninja master ignored the fear that started to sour his field, as well as the way his ventilations increased until he was panting harshly, mouth forced open and glaring helplessly at the older bot. Instead, he reached out again, removing the stasis cuffs, then releasing his jaw and straightening as he stepped back.

He watched the young mech get to his pedes, his movements graceful and elegant even as his field radiated rage and fear. Yoketron found his optics narrowing faintly at the way his every movement was soundless. There was no shifting metal as he rose, to whirring systems as his frame shifted and settled, so sound of pedes against wood as he got up and stood straight. It was…off. Not enough to make a normal mech think anything was wrong, but just enough to get Yoketron’s attention. Combined with his fangs, it was starting to paint a picture. Not to mentioned the slightly tapered finger tips he had noticed as he’d removed the stasis cuffs. Fingers that flexed and clenched, and Yoketron noticed a half-second flash of sharpened claws before those hands relaxed and returned to normal. Yes, he was most definitely starting to get an idea of what this mechling was.

“Hello, young one.” he rumbled. “May I ask what you were doing hiding on Dojo property?”

The youngling growled, shifting towards the door. Yoketron let him. “What do you think? Trying to stay out of the war.” he barked. “It’s not my fight, after all.”

Yoketron hummed. “Perhaps not.” he agreed. “But those in charge will not see it that way, and will see you as little more than a traitor for not answering the call to fight. I am taking a risk in doing so, but if you wish to avoid the fight them I can offer you another option.” he stepped towards the youngling, optics narrowing. “So long as you are willing to learn, I would take you on as my student.”

The youngling snarled. “Fat chance! I’m leaving.”

“Certainly.” Yoketron agreed. “If you can make it to the door before I stop you, then you will be free to do exactly that, and I will ensure any and all charges against you are dropped.”

The youngling eyed him dubiously, but seemed to decide the risk was worth it because he was transforming and taking off in the next second. It had been a silent transformation too, which had raised only further alarm bells. Yoketron waited until he was close to the door, and then he moved. In a flash, he appeared in front of the mech, and a hard kick sent him tumbling out of his alt mode. Another kick, and he was flying back into the cabinet, which fell on top of him. Yoketron walked over and heaved it off, crouching to pin the mechling by pressing a hand between his shoulderblades.

“You have potential, little one. But if you are discovered and caught by the authorities then that shall all go to waste.”

Abruptly, the struggling form under his palm stilled and tensed, all anger leaving his field to be replaced by fear. “…what do you want?” he whispered.

“Your name, youngling. I believe Cybertron has lost enough of your kin. I have no desire to see another perish unnecessarily. The rest of the planet may be blind to it, but I am well aware of how necessary you are to the functioning of our world.” Yoketron said calmly. The yougling’s actions had confirmed his suspicions. He truly was one of the fae, a breed of Cybertronian long believed to be only myth.

The youngling was shaking faintly now, obviously frightened. Yoketron couldn’t blame him. While most civilians thought the fae to be the subjects of story and myth, any mech involved in government or military knew they were real, albeit very, very rare. There was a reason for that, a very unpleasant one, and it certainly didn’t help that any fae were were discovered were often captured and simply…never seen again.

“You know what that would mean.” There was an agonized note to the youngling’s voice.

Yoketron felt a twinge of regret. He did know, and it wasn’t something he was eager to do. But given the circumstances, it would be the best way to ensure this one’s safety. “I do.” he confirmed. “I promise you I will not abuse it, youngling. I seek only to ensure your safety and to see you grow. I cannot simply allow you to go so easily, for if I did then I would be questioned as to why I did not bring you to the stockades and it would bring more attention to you. This way, you will remain safe.”

“Then why offer to let me go in the first place?” he demanded.

“I believed it would make you feel better to know you had at least made an attempt.”

The youngling abruptly went limp, his field still fearful, but now also tinged with a dull resignation that made Yoketron feel a little sick to his tanks. He did not want to do it like this, but for the mechling’s safety was truly the only option, with the way Cybertron currently functioned. “Give me your name, youngling.” he encouraged, voice gentling.

The young bot reset his vocalizer, and looked up to lock his visor with Yoketron’s optics. “My name is Prowl.” he answered, and he could hear the reluctance as the young bot spoke.

As Prowl gave his name to Yoketron, his optics glowed a bright white for a brief moment behind his visor before fading back to normal. Yoketron himself felt a small pull at his spark, recognizing it as the tether that now bound Prowl to him. He lifted his hand from the fae’s back, watching him slowly rose to sit up. “I take your name to be returned to you when your tutelage is done, Prowl.” he said, and the bond that was latched against his spark strengthened and solidified. “Go. Past the door on your right is a hall. Turn left at the end, past the door there, and you will find the berthrooms. The one with the black door is the student’s room. You may call it yours while you remain under my care.” he said, voice gentle. “Rest. I will clean up here. Tomorrow, your training begins.”

There was a tug on his spark, ans he realized quickly that he had worded that too close to an order when Prowl winced, cringing back from him but obeying nonetheless. Yoketron frowned, distaste curling in his tanks. He would have to learn how to word what he said very, very carefully so it could not be viewed as an order. He knew the bond he had established by taking the fae’s name meant that Prowl would be compelled to obey what he was told, but he had no intentions of abusing that. It would be wrong to do so.

The youngling stood, then turned and left through the door. Yoketron listened to his pedes fade away, and then he himself was standing. He hadn’t expected his day to go like this, and he disliked how he had had to take on his newest student, but he couldn’t regret having done so. He did not want to see another fae fall just because Cybertron’s elite refused to understand them. With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the broom from the corner and began cleaning. Tomorrow would be a long day.

——————————

Prowl found himself curled up in the berth after he had cleaned himself up in the washracks attached to the room. His spark felt heavy with the new bond tied around him, and he further tugged the mesh blanket wound himself as he thought about it. He hadn’t ever intended to get caught. He had snuck into the Dojo grounds because they looked mostly empty and he’d thought it’d be a good place to lay low while army “recruiters” were sweeping through the streets. The last thing he wanted was to be forcefully drafted. Being around so many mechs who he knew knew about the fae…well, he was good, but he also knew he’d probably have gotten caught eventually.

He had hidden himself well, even using magae to keep himself as undetectable as possible. But then that red mech, Warpath, had seen him as he’d been attempting to sneak into another area of the Dojo, and….that was that. He’d been swiftly pinned and cuffed, and when he’d kept trying to bite, the muzzle had been locked around his face as well. He hadn’t expected to be brought to the Dojo Master, and he had even less expected that the mech, Warpath had called him Yoketron, would know what he was. He was even more embarrassed about being caught because when Warpath left, he realized the large bot just visiting. But he had been caught, and Yoketron had trapped and bound him with his own magae, and now he was here. At least the older bot had promised that his name–and freedom–would be returned after he was finished being trained, but Primus only knew how long that would take.

It was days like this when Prowl loathed his heritage, loathed the fact he was a fae. He had been proud of it, once. Fae were beings of legend, after all. Stories said that in Cybertron’s early days, even before the great cities were built, fae and normal Cybertronians lived alongside each other. It was said that fae were gifted the abilities beyond that of a normal bot, including tapping into the world’s natural energies. They were able to feel this energy and occasionally draw on it to perform feats of great power. Fae also wielded their own unique form of energy, called magae, that allowed them to perform what most bots would call “magic”. Magae was what made up the entirety of a fae’s abilities, it was what made them fae. Magae came from a fae’s spark, was comprised of the energies and power of their own life force, and they could use it to connect to the sparks of other bots. Usually, that would entail taking a mech’s name and binding them to yourself. Though if one knew how, the process could be reversed, and a mech could take a fae’s name and bind them to themself, as Yoketron had done to Prowl.

He couldn’t blame the older mech. The part of his processor that was more logical could even be grateful. His reasoning had been sound, after all. There wasn’t really a way for Prowl to walk away from this without unwanted attention, without risking discovery. He knew what would have happened if he was discovered. The rest of Cybertron may have forgotten why the fae disappeared, but his people remembered. Fae had been powerful. Chosen by Primus to maintain the planet’s natural order and help ensure prosperity for His children, which included themselves. For a time, it had been fine.

But then mechs had begun to fear to extent of what fae could do, disliking that they were capable of tapping into the sparks of others. And so the fae had been hunted. To avoid extinction, his people had fled and disappeared, going to the shadows and staying there until they were eventually forgotten. They built up their own society, separate from the rest of Cybertron. Prowl remembered it, a little bit. He had been sparked there, but…somehow, he had gotten separated from his people and place of origin, and he’d never found his way back. It was hidden from the people of Cybertron, and any fae who got lost from it and didn’t know the way back would remain stranded outside forever.

That was what had happened to him. He didn’t remembered how, but…he did know his creators had been taken, or perhaps offlined, and they’d hidden him just before being caught. They’d never come back, and he had remained stranded from the place he’d been sparked in. After that, he was told he was found by a civilian family from Praxus, who brought him to a Youth Center there. Once he was big enough to take care of himself, he’d fled the Center, wanting to try and find his way home, but…he’d never been able to. He’d been in his own ever since.

Now, he was stuck, bound to a mech who claimed to want to see him safe and strong but he didn’t know if Yoketron was telling the truth. He could only hope he was. The alternative was that the old mech intended to use the bond for his own gain, or to turn him in, and Prowl…Prowl didn’t want either option. He sighed heavily, swiping a hand across his face, his visor set on the nightstand by the berth. His optics were a normal blue, though what made them stand out was the markings around his optics. It was why he wore the visor. The most distinctive features of what he was were his fangs and claws, but those were easy to hide, and the markings around his optics. Every fae had markings somewhere, he knew. He had just been unlucky enough to have them on his face.

The youngling sighed, forcing himself out of the increasingly depressing spiral. It couldn’t be changed. He just had to adapt and learn. He was good at that. He tucked himself into a tighter ball, knees pulled to his chest and mesh clutched tightly around his form. He closed his optics, trying to calm down enough to recharge. Today had been a very bad day. He just hoped the days to come wouldn’t follow in the pattern.

——————————

Prowl woke the next day to a quiet knocking on the door. He startled awake, feeling out of sorts and groggy as he pushed the blanket off him and sat up. That was when he remembered the events of the previous day, and he flinched away from the door and looked down. So, it was time to get up, he supposed. He sighed, then swung his pedes out of the berth and padded to the door. Upon opening it, he found the hallway to be empty, but he picked up the sounds of…something at the end of the hall, in the opposite direction of what he was thinking was the main room of the Dojo. He stepped out, closing the door behind him, and walked towards the noise. He came to a sliding door, and when he opened it he found what appeared to be some sort of dining room.

Yoketron was already there, setting two places at the table with fuel. When the door opened, the old mech looked up. “Ah, Prowl.” he greeted. “You look well, today. I am glad.”

Prowl squirmed uncomfortably, nodding. “I….yes.” he said lamely.

“If you wish, you may come and sit. I typically share morning fuel with my student before I begin lessons, when I have one under my care.”

Prowl blinked, realizing there was no order in that phrasing. Maybe Yoketron really wouldn’t take advantage? He nodded, sliding forward, closing the door behind him as he went, and sitting on the cushion provided. Yoketron hummed, satisfied, and went to the opposite end of the small table to take his own place.

“I wish to apologize, Prowl” he said. “Binding you to myself was not how I wished to take you on as my student, but from what I have learned of fae culture over my life I believed it to be the best way to ensure you remain safe and undetected.” he explained.

The two-wheeler looked uncomfortable, but he nodded regardless. “There’s nothing I can do about it.” he sounded resigned. “I get it, I suppose. I know how dangerous discovery is for one of my kind. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy.”

“And I would not ask you to be.” Yoketron said patiently. He swallowed down some of his fuel, his gaze locked on the lithe youngling nibbling at his own meal. “I only wish so see you survive and grow strong enough that you can defend yourself.”

He took no offense when Prowl didn’t answer, and they consumed the rest of their meal in silence. When they finished, Yoketron stood. “If you would, I would appreciate if you cleaned your dishes and followed me. I will show you were you can put them, and then we can move on to your morning lessons.”

Prowl nodded, gathering his now empty dishes and following the old mech. He noticed once more that Yoketron had not phrased his request in a way that it might be interpreted as an order, and he felt grateful. While he still wasn’t happy about how things had turned out, he was starting to believe that just maybe the bond wouldn’t be abused after all. And if Yoketron was really telling the truth, then Prowl would someday be able to keep himself safe. He still wasn’t sure of this situation, and he didn’t trust Yoketron, but if things continued to be like this then maybe his time here wouldn’t be so bad.

——————————

Prowl was meditating. He did so fairly often these days, as it made his natural energies settle in a way they usually didn’t. Fae were constantly connected to the energy of Cybertron, and sometimes it was nice to let own own spark settle in a more peaceful rhythm as he let the energy of his world wash over him and surround him. It had taken him a while to learn the patience to do this, but he was glad that he had eventually managed. His processor settled, ventilations deep and even as he blocked himself out from the outside world. Why should he not? He knew he was safe here. He had nothing to fear.

A hand pressed to his spinal strut, between his winglets.

He jerked, his processor snapping back to itself as his optics abruptly snapped open. He let out a loud, startled yelp, helm shooting around, and his gaze locking on mech who was smiling faintly, expression wry and amused.

“Master Yoketron.” he did not wheeze, thank you very much.

“Prowl.” His master greeted, tone warm. “I apologize for startling you. I thought you would wish to know that it is time for afternoon fuel. It would be best to take it, I believe. The lessons I have planned for the rest of this orn are rather difficult.”

Prowl released a heavy, relaxed vent. He nodded, the harsh light of his optics dimming behind his visor as his systems realized he wasn’t under attack. “Of course, Master. Thank you for coming to get me. I apologize for not keeping better track of the time.”

Master Yoketron only shook his head. “Of course, young one. I understand the importance of meditation. I would not think to force you to stop early when I can prepare the fuel myself.” he hummed. “Though,” he cast his student a look. “I would appreciate if you did continue to prepare the fuel with me, in most cases.”

Prowl nodded, standing up and following his Master out the door of the small meditation room and down to the dining hall. “I would not think to abandon one of my tasks, Master Yoketron.”

“No, I do not think you would.” The old mech agreed. They stopped in the dining room, taking their respective seats. After a moment of silent eating, Prowl’s mentor spoke. “You have come very far since you first came to this Dojo, Prowl.”

Prowl paused, drawing back a little under the intensity of the gaze pinned on him. Yes, he supposed he had. He still wasn’t pleased that his teacher had had to take his name and bind him to himself to get him to stay, but he understood. Besides, he had come to like it, here. The old cyber-ninja was kind and fair, and he had never once forced Prowl out of his comfort zone or tried to abuse the bond, not a single time in the vorns since the fae had been dumped at his pedes. He stayed now because he wished to, not because he was forced to. The bond was still active, and Yoketron still held his name, but he had come to see this place as home and no longer tried to trick the cyber-ninja into breaking the bond. His Master still held his name, but Prowl would stay even if he did not.

“I suppose.” the fae said after a moment. “I am grateful to you, Master Yoketron. Even if I am not pleased as to how it happened, I am glad you took me as your student.”

The older mech relaxed, expression softening. “Indeed, young one. I feel much the same.” he murmured. “Now, I believe it is time we finish fueling. It will be a long orn yet.”

Prowl nodded, then picked up his cube of energon and took a sip. He didn’t know what his future would hold, but he, for once in his life, looked forward to what the coming stellar cycles would bring.

——————————

The coming stellar cycles, it turned out, would bring one of Master Yoketron’s former students. A mech named Jazz, who according to his mentor was visiting the Dojo for the Festival of Adaptus, and he intended to stay for the full deca-cycle the Festival took place on, as he was granted leave by the Elite Guard to do so. Yoketron had told him that Jazz had been his most recent student before he had taken in Prowl, and that the young cyber-ninja was apparently quite eager to meet their shared mentor’s newest disciple. Prowl wasn’t opposed to the visit, not at all. But in the vorns since he’d come to the dojo, he had relaxed and become more at ease, and so his magae itself had also become less tense and volatile. All that really meant, though, was that, now that he knew he was safe and at home, his instincts would let him behave in the way he wanted to about the Dojo’s guest.

Jazz didn’t know Prowl was a fae. He didn’t even know that a fae was in the Dojo. Which meant Prowl would be able to really mess with the mech and confuse him while he was here. He didn’t let his more mischievous tendencies be known often, but Prowl was a fae, and his people reveled in tricks and mischief. And now that someone new was coming, someone who wouldn’t know to anticipate it like Yoketron knew to, after living with Prowl’s rare pranks?

Well, Prowl was going to have some fun with Jazz.

——————————

Jazz didn’t know what he was expecting when he met his old Master’s newest student, but it most certainly wasn’t for the lithe mech to thrust out a hand, palm up, and say:

“Hello. Master Yoketron has told me about you. Would you like to give me your name?”

Now, the phrasing of the had been real funky, but Jazz hadn’t had time to think on it or even to tell the mech his name before Master Yoketron was putting a hand over his mouth and shooting the black and gold mech a very unimpressed look. The two-wheeler had huffed, arms crossing.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything, Master.”

And Primus, but he’d sounded petulant. Jazz still didn’t understand that whole interaction, but then Yoketron was stepping away and the bot offered his hand out again. “My name is Prowl, and you may use it as a friend.” he’d said.

Upon getting no reaction from the Dojo Master, Jazz had stepped forward and taken his hand. Again, very funky phrasing, but Jazz was starting to think maybe the mech himself was just from a different walk of life than he was. “Name’s Jazz.” he’d introduced himself, and thinking that the second part of Prowl’s introduction must be important to the mech, he’d found himself copying it. “Feel free to use my name as a friend.”

The words had tasted oddly stiff in his mouth, but before he could say anything more Master Yoketron was shooing his student off to do some chores, and then he’d led Jazz to the berthroom reserved for Dojo guests.

Which, was where the Polyhexian now found himself.

Except…the berth was stood vertical against the wall. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was how Master Yoketron was storing them when they weren’t in use? But then, why hadn’t it been put back horizontal before he had arrived? Jazz was very confused. He shrugged, moving to pull the berth back down. Maybe his old teacher had simply forgotten, though Yoketron had never forgotten anything before. Old age, then? Yeah, Jazz would sooner believe that Ultra Magnus enjoyed bar fights.

He still had no idea how the berth had gotten like that, but maybe things would make sense after recharge. So, he slipped under the mesh blankets and let himself slip into unconsciousness. He was sure things would be less confusing when he was operating at his full abilities.

The next morning did dawn, and Jazz had woken up making the choice to just forget about the berth incident. He might ask his mentor at a later date, but for now he’d focus on just enjoying his time at th old Dojo. He slipped out of his berthroom, remembering from his own training that right about now was when the morning fuel was prepared. Sure enough, he slipped into the kitchen to find both Dojo residents preparing their shares. Jazz went to do the same, and after a a breem all three of them were seated at the table.

Jazz turned to Prowl, smiling. “So, mech, how’re you liking it at the Dojo? I heard through the grapevine your arrival here wasn’t exactly ideal.” he offered, remembering what Warpath had told the rest of the cyber-ninjas.

Prowl paused. “…it was not ideal, you are right.” he confirmed. “I am grateful for Master Yoketron taking me under his care, however. I find the Dojo pleasant.”

Jazz chuckled. “You’re a pretty well-mannered mech, aintcha?” he teased playfully. “I’d almost think you came from nobility.”

Prowl, amusingly, looked very offended. “It does not do to be impolite.” he sniffed.

Jazz smiled. “I ain’t disagreeing with you. But you can relax, you get me?”

Prowl simply stared at him, then scoffed and returned to his meal. Jazz didn’t take it personally. Dai Atlas was pretty stiff too. Some mechs just preferred structure and formality. Yoketron, as he often was during mealtimes, was silent. The rest of their fuel was consumed in that silence, and then Prowl and the Dojo Master were cleaning up and going off to the morning lessons. Jazz remembered those. They had been very….straining. He stood, cleaning his own dishes and then going to mediate until the other two were done for the morning. Plus, he hadn’t been able to mediate properly for a while.

A couple joors later, Jazz was done and got to his feet. Yoketron ans Prowl should be finished by now too, he knew, and he decided to walk though the garden to get to the main hall. Except…there were some odd metalli-plants in the garden, arranged in a perfect circle. Jazz didn’t recognize them, and he found it odd that they were planted that way. He could also detect a very, very faint energy coming from the circle. Curious, he walked over, intending to get close and touch the plants to examine them, when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He looked back, seeing Yoketron, and his old teacher looked exasperated. “Prowl, I would appreciate if you would not attempt to trap Jazz in your circles.” he called out.

Prowl stepped out from the Dojo, almost looking like he was pouting, and the odd energy around the flowers disappeared. “You’re no fun, Master. I wouldn’t have done anything.” he grumbled.

Yoketron only shook his head, and invited Jazz to join them for some basic katas now that morning lessons were done. He agreed, but tacked that onto his mental list of weird things going on at the Dojo. He thought that would be the last time. It wasn’t.

That night, when he went to the washracks, the solvent came out mixed with glitter. Jazz barely avoided getting a very sparkly makeover. Then, the next orn, he kept getting lost. Master Yoketron had to rescue him from the meditation chambers after the 12th time he ended up there trying to get to the dining hall. After that, his Master having to stop Jazz from accepting fuel that Prowl had offered. Then, he’d woken the next orn to find his berth was gone. Just….gone. Even though he’d been in it. The odd things kept stacking up and up, until finally, half-way into his stay, he learned what it all was.

It was when Yoketron, Prowl, and he were fueling after the morning lessons. Prowl and Jazz were talking, and then Prowl had said the words that made Jazz feel very, very stupid:

“Words have power, Jazz, so of course phrasing is important in proper social interaction!”

He forgot what they were even bickering about, staring at the rotten little trickster in front of him with a gaping mouth. “You’re a fae.” he realized. How had he not figured it out sooner? Master Yoketron had taught him about the fae. All cyber-ninja knew about the fae! Then a new thought struck him. “You stole my berth!”

Prowl blinked, and he seemed to relax when Jazz’s reaction to the revelation wasn’t fear or an attempt to turn him in. Only indignation. “I will not apologize.” he deadpanned.

Jazz stared, and then a grin stretched his lips. “You clever, tricky little glitch.” he said playfully, enunciating each word. There was no genuine malice in his tone. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

——————————

Prowl snorted as Jazz regaled him with yet another story about his new superior officer, a mech called Sentinel Prime, and his immense stupidity. They were in Iacon, and it had been a long time since Prowl had been so far from the Dojo, which was in the outer edges on Praxus, on its own land. But he’d come to a pause in his training, as Master Yoketron had sent him on an optics quest. It was, apparently, a major test in the life of a cyber-ninja. It would allow him to discover what he wished to do with his life, as he was meant to travel and experience new things and explore, and when he had the answer he would return to the Dojo. And then he would begin a new level of his training, according to his teacher.

So he was in Iacon currently, enjoying an afternoon with Jazz. It had been many vorns since that fateful Festival of Adaptus, and the two young mechs had forged a strong bond. So when Prowl’s optics quest had brought him in the direction of Iacon, he’d commed the older mech and asked to be shown around. The fae was nervous about being so close to the headquarters of Autobot High Command, because he knew what they did to any of his kind they discovered, but he was confident in his abilities to remain hidden. Plus, he had Jazz, and he knew the white bot wouldn’t let him be put in danger.

They were sitting at Jazz’s favorite cafe, enjoying a selection of energon treats, when Prowl felt it. A tug at his spark. The bond he shared with Yoketron went two ways. The older mech held most of the control, but Prowl could still sense his mentor through it. It was one of the reasons he had come to accept it. And now…now, Yoketron’s spark felt like it was sputtering, like the mech it belonged to was in pain and his life was in danger. Prowl didn’t stop to think. He threw down a fistful on shanix, and then grabbed Jazz’s wrist and dragged him away.

His processor was racing desperately, and he couldn’t even manage to answer his friend’s questions. He dragged them to an empty alley, and then closed his eyes, focused on his magae, and dug deep.

Every fae had a pocket plane of their own. It was like a bot’s subspace, but it wasn’t a subspace and it was large enough for a mech to go in to. It was like…a small sub-world of sorts, and only a fae could access it, and each fae had their own. The sub-world could be used as a quick method of transport. As long as the location one was trying to get to was on the same planet as they one they had left from, then a fae could use to to travel large distances in almost an instant.

Prowl had never accessed his, before. Oh, he’d tried. Countless times. But he’d never been able to. But now…now he had to. It was the only way they could get to Praxus, to Master Yoketron. So he dug inwards, pushing far, far deeper into his magae than he’d ever done before…and he stepped forward. He came into his sub-world, bringing Jazz with him, and the other mech was silent now, gaping im shock. He kept going though, and focused on Praxus, on the Dojo, and stepped again. Then, they were there. Prowl stumbled as he came to a stop in the Dojo, releasing Jazz and tripping onto his face. He didn’t notice when his visor was knocked loose as he shifted his gaze to try and find his Master.

Prowl and Jazz were frozen for a single sparkbeat at the scene they’d come into. A large mech with a hook in place of one hand and markings on his face was standing over their mentor. For a moment, Prowl thought the mech was fae. But he detected no magae from him, and the moment passed.

That was when the rage came. He snarled, his engine roaring his anger, and his claws lengthened to their sharpest, his fangs sharpening to their longest, and the golden markings around his optics glowed a brilliant, pale silver while his optics themselves glowed white. He surged up, and in the next sparkbeat he was between the mech and his master. He extended a hand, deadly claws resting on the mech’s chest plate, and before that hook could swipe at him he peeled back his lips, put his magae into his voice, and hissed a command.

“Stop.”

It wouldn’t hold for long, he knew. Without the mech’s name, the order wouldn’t hold much power. So, Prowl used the physical connection, and pushed with his magae, digging with his very spark into the core of the mech’s being. He had to be careful, he knew. Like this, it would be so easy to destroy, to rip the mech’s very soul apart and kill his being without even extinguishing his spark. But Master Yoketron had always warned him against using his powers to hurt others, telling him he was meant for greater than causing pain and suffering. Even if Prowl didn’t believe that, he still wanted to honor his Master’s wishes and his lessons. So he didn’t rip and tear and rend, like the more feral of his fae instincts demanded. Instead, he dug in, until he had what he wanted, and wove a strand of magae into the mech’s spark energy to ensure the bond would take.

Then he pulled himself back, and as the mech regained mobility he met those red optics and bared his fangs. “I know your name, bounty hunter.” he spat. “I know who you are, and your name is mine until such time I decide it is mine no longer. I have your name , Lockdown, and with it I have you.” Claws dug into metal armor as the mech froze, optics blown wide with shock.

“You will stop this, and you will leave, Lockdown. Now.” Prowl ordered in a snarling hiss.

Lockdown was tense, but the bond that Prowl had tied around his spark and the hold of his name over him forced him to obey. He stopped, and he left. It was only when the Dojo was silent that Prowl began to calm. He sagged, slowly releasing a heavy vent, and turned to the other two mechs. Jazz had helped Yoketron sit up, his helmet already returned to him, and both were staring.

“Uh, mech? What’s with the light show?” Jazz asked softly.

“Light show?” And then Prowl noticed the lights.

Small, glowing spheres of light and energy filled the room. Dozens of them. He gasped, reaching out to the nearest one and tapping it. It burst into flame, and Prowl jerked back. The flame burned out, and a new light replaced the old. Prowl hesitantly tapped another of the spheres, and this one burst into mist. It was then he understood what this was.

Every fae had a unique magae ability. It seemed these spheres were his, and each of them did something different. But what was the use, if he didn’t know which did what? Except….he did know. Or at least, his spark did. This was an ability born from his magae, from his spark. So….if he let that guide him..he would know.

He took a deep vent, focusing, and his gaze locked on one sphere floating to his right. He cupped his hands around it, bringing it to his mentor, and crouched by the older mech. He held his hands out, the sphere glowing above his clawstips.

“This one should help you, Master.” he said softly.

Yoketron hummed, then reached out and pushed his fingers into the light. It flared, dancing up along his frame, and small cracks and wounds in his armor sealed up while the heavier injuries lessened slightly in severity. He perked up too, as if he was given a boost of energy, and was able to stand up on his own after a moment. Prowl and Jazz followed suit, but before either could say anything another form burst into the Dojo.

“Master Yoketron, are you-“ the mech cut himself off, staring at the scene. “….I saw smoke coming from the Dojo?” he said, uncertain.

Prowl tensed, optics narrowing, but Jazz slid in to calm the situation. “It’s alright. We managed to deal with it.”

The mech’s uncertain gaze looked around the Dojo, clearly confused at the lights, until his optics found Prowl. Then they lit up with understanding, and recognition. He obviously realized what the fae was. But…he stepped forward anyway, holding out a hand. “You’re Master Yoketron’s student, right? My name is Springer, and I give it to you freely to use as you wish, though I hope you would use it as a friend.”

Prowl startled, not expecting a mech to give his name so easily. He had to cut the tie to his magae so it wouldn’t try to latch on and bind the mech. He took the offered hand, careful of his claws. “You are well met, Springer, and I would be pleased to call you my friend. My name is Prowl, and I offer it to you to use as a friend in turn.” he said smoothly, then stepped back.

Jazz grinned, throwing an arm around Prowl’s shoulders. “Nice, Prowler! But are you ever gonna explain what in the Pit you did? Cause I’m still trippin’ over tryin’ to figure it out.”

Springer cut in. “As much as I’d like to know too, maybe now isn’t the best time. We should clean up before the Elite Guard figures out something went down here. Prowl, that means you might want to cut your magae off, we don’t want you getting found out.”

Prowl tensed, but nodded stiffly. He could do that. He took a vent, closing his optics and relaxing. After a moment, the spheres started winking out, and his fangs and claws returned to their hidden states. His optics and markings stopped glowing, and he opened his optics to look for his visor. He quickly noticed it was broken on the floor, and he was about to panic when Jazz caught his attention and held out his own visor. His optics were bare for once, and Prowl found himself staring in quiet awe for a moment before a resetting of a vocalizer from Springer snapped his focus back. He snagged up the visor, slipping it on and shooting Jazz a grateful look.

“Great!” the green mech was smiling. “Now, let’s figure out this mess!”

Prowl hummed. “I believe I have an idea. Springer, if you will, I believe you and I would be best suited for cleaning up here. Jazz, would you mind helping Master Yoketron?” A glance back showed their mentor leaning against the far wall, seemingly in a meditative state. “And call in a medic, his wounds still need to be treated.”

The other two glanced at each other, and for a moment Prowl thought they wouldn’t take orders from an ungraduated student, but to his surprise they nodded and got to work. Prowl felt himself smile, and fell into place with Springer to clean up the mess Lockdown had made of the Dojo’s main hall. He had been worried that he wouldn’t find his place once he graduated the Dojo and left his Master’s care, but he was starting to realize he would have a place after all. He would find his acceptance and his purpose in the Cyber-Ninja Corps and the mechs who he would one day call his brothers-in-arms. He was sure of that now. He looked forward to it. For once, Prowl knew that his future was bright, and he was eager to meet it head on.

(Yoketron watched his youngest student interact with two of his others, and felt pride swell in his spark. Prowl had come so very far from that first orn, when he’d been a half-feral youngling trying to flee the world itself. He’d known he had made the right decision in choosing his successor when he’d seen how Prowl handled Lockdown, and when he’d seen how easily and freely he had accepted Springer as a comrade. Prowl was going to far surpass him one orn, was going to be a far better Master of the Cyber-Ninja Corps than he ever was. Yoketron couldn’t wait to see it.)

———————————————————————————————————

And there it is! What did you think? I hoped you liked it. I had fun. I like it. Fae Prowl is a little troll and you can’t convince me otherwise. Anyway, that story is finished! Yoketron lives, because I said so. Also, Prowl and Jazz totally become a thing later. Absolutely no one is surprised.

Aaaaannd…I think thats it! Yep, I’ve said the important stuff.

Until next time, folks!

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crownedcroweprince · 3 years ago

Text

FFXIV Write: Day 2 : Aberrant

Character featured: Una'to ( @unatobajhiri )

Content warning for blood, vampirism, and generally criminal bullshit.

"Monster". The word is barely even a whisper, but Una'to can hear the choked utterance from the throat between his teeth. With a terrible gentleness he lets the neck he was biting into loose, only to cup his poor victims face tenderly. Getting close with a purr and a smile.

"Darling. You won't remember a thing of this soon. I'll be sure of it. For your sake and mine. How cruel for a monster to call another a monster. As I see it, you and I aren't all that different. All monsters parading about in pretty skins. The only difference is my pretty guise isn't as good as yours now is it?". He nuzzles their neck with a sigh, feeling them stiffen under his touch, no matter how amorous it might seem. In the end he's teasing them a bit. Playing cat and mouse with the prey he's already taken for the night.

"I don't leave scars. Always careful with the marks I leave so that you don't perish. So that you heal up all pretty in your facade. I don't even like doing this, but if you're going to hold on to consciousness so stubbornly to call me names, where's the harm in teasing you so?"

He gives a final lick to their neck, a small noise of discomfort and fear leaving the poor person he's pinned into a corner and against the wall. Still cupping their face tenderly, the rings on his fingers start to make a whirring noise as he channels aether into them. A sleep spell being cast directly on them this time. Soon, they slump against the wall, and his smile goes with them, a frown over taking his features. He opens a small rip through the void and into his home. He sticks his arm through it for a time, feeling around until he finds what he's looking for. Two needles full of poison. He sighs and pulls the plunger down a little around the wounds, before depositing the needles haphazardly on the ground near his dear victim. A common thief and scammer in Ul'dah. Mousey. A different sort of monster, but monster none the less.

Una'to exits the alley, humming and skipping as he does so. Smelling of blood and lavender. An aberrant enough smell that would likely keep most at bay from him until he's able to douse himself in more lavender to cover up the sickly iron smell from his person.

#ffxivwrite2021

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primasveraas-writing · 4 years ago

Text

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 1

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4 5

1. Bahryn

The cold is, perhaps, worse than the searing pain in Kallus’ leg. At this point, the numbness is a welcome sensation. Alexsandr cannot feel his fingers or his toes, and he hopes that the chill will spread to his leg soon enough.

He glances towards the transponder, still blinking faithfully, and exhales, watching the plume of air swirl in the wind before him.

It’s been- an hour- two? since the Ghost arrived to save Garazeb. Kallus looks to the spot in the snow where the ship had landed, but flurries have already covered the indentation. Good. Perhaps, then, the Empire will have no clue that he was trapped here with another, that he’s only made it this far because of the mercy of a rebel.

A traitorous thought sends a shiver down his spine- maybe if he were wiser, he would have taken Zeb’s offer to go with the Lasat and his crew.

No. Kallus wraps his arms tighter around himself, nesting the meteorite against his chest, pressing it against his pounding heart. He has no doubt that the rebels would treat their prisoners more kindly than the Empire- but Alexsandr is still their enemy. He has chased them across the galaxy promising their demise, has tortured one of them. The singular act of neglecting opportunities to murder Garazeb Orrelios when his back was turned is not enough to grant him forgiveness. Stars know that the Empire- that Kallus himself- would not show Zeb any mercy for saving Kallus were their positions reversed.

Kallus shudders involuntarily, leaning against the alcove. The tip of his nose is exposed to the wind, which is the most miserable part of this experience. He wonders how long it takes for frostbite to set in, then considers how he would move forward if his nose froze off. Or, even, if he lost his leg, first to the break then to the freezing cold.

Despite himself, he snorts. The ISB would likely give little concern to his injuries. Perhaps it would even be better if he were mechanically enhanced. He could be stronger, faster, less puny and breakable. This, of course, is more optimal than Agent Kallus with a limp, Agent Kallus who needs time to recover and heal. Just cut the damn thing off and move on. Maximum efficiency, minimal time and cost.

Maybe that’s why it’s taken so long for the Empire to rescue him. Maybe that’s why they may not come at all. One man isn’t worth the fuel, the effort it takes to track a foreign signal to some remote moon.

Would it be better to die here, a man so faithful to the Empire that he wastes away waiting for them to save him? Or to spend the rest of his life a prisoner of the Rebels, hated by his captors but at the very least, alive?

He seems to have made that decision long ago, when he was just a boy, not yet a man. A cadet, not an officer. He made the same choice again and again since then. To serve the Empire, to give his life to the cause long before it ever killed him.

This is what his loyalty has earned him. A broken leg and slow death, alone after rejecting the mercy of his sworn enemy.

There are worse ways to die. Less honorable ones, slower, more torturous ones. Lonelier ones, unkinder ones, because at least Zeb was there, in the beginning. He could have perished because of that beast in the cavern, he thinks, and chuckles at the memory of their near escape.

If the Empire does not come, Zeb will be the only one who understands Kallus’ fate. When Kallus disappears, when he is not there to try and foil the rebels again and again, Zeb will realize that the Empire never cared to pick up their agent, that the fool who rejected Zeb’s offer died alone on the ice moon. He doubts the Lasat would share this information with anyone else, and he dismisses the notion that Zeb would ever go back to check, to see if Kallus’ remains lay beneath the snow.

His mother would not be surprised, Kallus thinks dryly. Alexsandr Kallus, missing in action. Declared dead however many months later. It is the fate he knows she expected for him, ever since he announced his plans to serve Imperial Intelligence. His father extended approval with a small nod, but his mother had stared at him, lips pursed, and said nothing. Kallus doesn’t remember when he talked to her last. Perhaps her birthday or anniversary, half a cycle ago. He hadn’t answered her call on his own birthday. A new insurgent cell had popped up, and he spent the entire rotation arranging a task force to address the threat.

They are all going about their expected roles, then. Kallus, dying in service to the cause, the Empire, allowing his death as to not divert from more important matters, and his mother, mourning quietly and quickly because her only child was not strong enough to survive.

He hates surprises, so it is just as well. There’s nothing wrong with something steady and predictable, even if that includes a slow, stupid death alone on a moon nobody in the galaxy cares about.

Kallus sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back against the rock. The wind howls, louder than ever before, and another chill rips through him. He presses his eyes shut, but he cannot make himself any more compact, cannot shelter himself from the climate. He’s tired, aching- he will sleep, for now, he decides. Someone will rescue him and he will wake, or he will go quietly in his sleep.

The exhaustion fogs his mind, depriving him of sense and reason. As he nods off, he imagines a warmth next to him, the strong frame of a Lasat leaning against him. It is the only comfort he can fathom, but it brings him peace in his last seconds of consciousness.

The mechanical whir of a ship disturbs him. Kallus blinks his eyes open with some difficulty- there are snowflakes in his hair and on his eyelashes, sticking them together. He can’t feel anything, which is mostly a relief.

His first comprehensible thought is that the Ghost has come back for him. This conclusion makes the most sense, but as his vision focuses, he realizes that the ship is too large to be the little rebel freighter.

He straightens, suddenly at attention. The Empire is here for him. With some difficulty, he stands, staggering to his feet unsteadily. A fresh wave of pain spikes in his leg but he grits his teeth, tucking the meteorite under his arm, dragging himself forward and into sight.

Two Stormtroopers are making their way towards him- regular troopers, not Snowtroopers, their armor hardly discernible against the snow. They spot him quickly enough, but Kallus does little to acknowledge this, biting down hard on his lip and forcing a neutral expression.

“Sir,” one of them says. “Is there anyone else with you?”

“No,” Kallus bites out, trying not to let his teeth chatter. He pushes past the two troopers without looking at them, making his way up the ramp. Each step is agony, but he forces himself to put weight on the broken leg.

“Do you need medical treatment, sir?”

Damn. He must be limping. Kallus pauses for a fraction of a second, then continues as if he never heard anything. He finds a seat in a lonely corner of the shuttle and remains there in silence. He hears the pilot confirm they’ve made contact, that they’ve rescued Agent Kallus, and the shuttle takes off.

Thawing out is miserable. His leg sears with pain, his fingers throb, yet Kallus stares straight ahead, each second passing in silence. He’s the first to depart when the shuttle arrives on the cruiser, again without a word of thanks to his rescuers.

The trek back to his quarters is slow and agonizing. It’s as if he’s invisible, aside from the occasional bow of the head or sir muttered lowly as he passes his subordinates. Even Konstantine doesn’t care so much as to look up from his datapad. Nor should he. The detour is over; the inconvenience addressed.

He makes it back to his small room, unable to help his limp as he staggers through the door. Even when he’s alone, Kallus maintains his composure until he’s sitting, the meteorite placed safely on the shelf behind him. It’s then he lets out a short gasp of pain, reaching towards the splint on his leg.

His hands are shaking- the pain is blinding, and his vision wavers. Any numbness and adrenaline are gone, and he has lost all barriers between him and the pain. Kallus groans, ripping the splint off messily. It comes off in pieces, first the makeshift bandage unraveling, then the brace clatters to the floor. He chokes back a sob as he brushes against the broken bone and fresh hurt spikes through him.

He debates how to proceed- he cannot now go to the infirmary and be whispered about more. In his quarters, he has meager medical supplies, in addition to those he just arrived with. At beginning of the night shift, perhaps he will be able to retrieve more- get some bacta, make a neater splint.

Kallus starts now by ripping away his pants, grasping the fabric firmly, and tearing it in two. From there, he sheds his armor, casting it aside on the cot. He stands slowly, leaning heavily against the wall and staggers forward, but his leg gives after the first step.

On his hands and good knee, Kallus drags himself forward, pulling himself towards the refresher. It is arduous and subhuman, but there is no weight on his leg and this relief alone is worth the crawl.

It is in this position that he dry-swallows the pain medication, that he washes off the blood and grime. As the water pours over him, stinging the wound, he lets the shameful tears fall, disguised by the fall of the shower. He can think of little more than the agony erupting in every fiber of his being, and he is more tired than ever more.

But the medication- of which he took far more than the advised dose- does its job. Kallus can stand, mostly, an hour later, when the makeshift splint is redone under a fresh uniform. Scuffling in the hall signifies the change to night guard, and once the noise fades away, Kallus steals away to the medbay, taking the least populated route he can think of.

Only a few meddroids are there, all of which he dismisses. He rummages through the drawers of supplies on his own, grabbing what he can and stuffing it into pockets.

The bacta will bide him. The injury will heal, in time. And tomorrow, Agent Kallus will resume his duties, loyal and at the service of the Empire once more.

#kallus #agent kallus #alexsandr kallus #kalluzeb #hot kallus #star wars rebels #swr #sw rebels #swr fanfiction #swr fanfic #the honorable ones #kallus fanfic #kalluzeb fanfic #kalluzeb fanfiction #kallus x zeb #zeb orrelios #and in darkness i stand

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eloquent-music · 4 years ago

Note

💬

Send a ‘💬’ to catch a glimpse of a memory my muse has.

[ Memory Log 889342666 Initiating... ]

Ping. One shot. Ping ping ping ping... Shot after shot. Klunk. Klunk... Klunk....

“Another down for the count,” rang through.

“Messatine is our homestead, our planet. Get them out of the mines.”

“Another ticked off the List..”

Shot after shot straight through each Autobot insignia they ran into--along with the occasional Decepticon.

“Shoot for the fucking kill Vos. We aren’t the Decepticon Justice Division for nothing. Do your damn job.”

A pattern that Tarn was beginning to notice time after time. Unusual. No one on the DJD had ever had a weird fixation like this.

“Why do you shoot others like that?”

“My special signature tactic. It’s nothing boss.”

“Alright Vos. Carry on.”

Suspicion raised from within him. Tarn was conditioned to notice things like this. But never had he ever dealt with anyone like this--a traitor more-so. All of his subordinates had been loyal to the end. But something about this one Decepticon seemed off.

Then there was run-ins with Delphi. Tarn and Pharma would exchange words, professional or not. Sometimes the others had tagged along but stayed out of the way. Whatever happened between the two bosses. Vos had accompanied him on a few occasions. More suspicion arose.

Puzzle pieces started to come together in Tarn’s processor. He logged each and every thing. Every kill, both Autobot and Decepticon alike. He was watched like some Big Brother motive.

A fuck up. A small little fuck up after many cycles of extra close watch on Vos. The Vos before the Vos everyone knew now. The Vos that was a traitor amongst the DJD Ranks for years. The one that spilled top secret information to the Autobots, the Wreckers more-so. The little ‘non-lethal’ sharp shooter who shot Autobots and Decepticons alike on their insignia as his signature move. Most Vos’ had taken the form of some deadly handheld weapon but Tarn had caught wind of something fishy and it was the last shot Agent 113 would ever get in his life.

The reason Tarn caught on was because of his nonlethal shots. After the others had left, he’d dug out a few bullets out of the corpses. Read their encrypted messages. It fueled Tarn’s rage and hatred to the point where he started taking his frustrations out more on his victims and unfortunately onto Delphi. If one wanted to get away with spying, you had to be smarter than a criminal and the enforcers. Tarn was an excellent criminal, executioner, and enforcer alike--he wasn’t the leader of the DJD for nothing, nor was he idiotic.

The one thing Tarn never knew about was that most of these bullets were extracted from First Aid no less when they were on Messatine. One of Pharma’s medics, a demoted nurse that hid all of this behind the CMO’s back. The one mech who could’ve set off a real bad chain reaction to Delphi. Tarn wasn’t fond of killing medics but he would’ve if he had found out at the time and the perfect plan would’ve occurred, starting with the execution of the Autobot spy as a show of force and dominance over the facility, then next would’ve become Ambulon, the Decepticon deserter, a little gift to Pharma of course, before finally offlining First Aid. He likely would’ve mounted the mech on the main entrance to Delphi that was almost barely recognizable.

The last nonlethal shot to a Wrecker on Messatine drove Tarn right on over the edge. Crimson optics kept watch over Vos like a vulture waiting for an animal to keel over. Tarn called for Helex over with a snap of his digits, same with Tesarus. For now, Kaon was left out of the question due to his relationship with Vos. Tarn ordered Helex to radio Megatron for a new recruit that would be taking Vos’ spot. “Tell him that Vos has perished. We need a new replacement as soon as possible and to send him to Messatine. Oh--and make it worth it this time around. We need darker members. True Decepticons.” Until a later date, the truth would be told to Megatron. With Tesarus by Tarn’s side, they walked with Vos and Kaon as Helex went back to the Tyranny before them to inform Megatron and also get one of their interrogation rooms readily available.

That’s when the swoop came in. Tesarus grabbed Kaon and held him against his frame. Tarn on the other hand swiftly kicked Vos onto his frontside, crushing him below his pedes and right into the ice. His abilities sprung to life from his spark as his vents bristled like an angry bull. ♬ ♫ “𝓣𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓾𝓹 𝓓𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓼,”♬ ♫ he spat out to the frame that was struggling underneath his pedes. His masked moved up some so he could fully spit onto the traitor’s frame to demechanize him right from the start. The tip of his pede curled into his back as he spat on him again.

Tarn began to paralyze the mech system by system so he could no longer move for a while. ♬ ♫ “𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓭𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓼𝓹𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻? 𝓞𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓷𝓸. 𝓐 𝓼𝓷𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓬𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯𝓯 𝓼𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓵𝓾𝓬𝓴 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓻𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷’ 𝓭𝓻𝔂. 𝓞𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓭𝓲𝓮 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓸𝓾𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱.” ♬ ♫ Dominus thought he’d seen the worst of Tarn? Oh never. Tarn was the only living original DJD member and when his mind clicked into seeing nothing but red, there was no stopping him.

Kaon was begging for Tarn not to go through to the bitter end that the leader was hoping for. Between the begging and his overly angry systems, he wasn’t sure what he was going to go through with. “Tesarus, for now put Kaon away in his quarters. He does not need to be a part of this though I will take into consideration his pleas.” The end result? Still unsure.

Tarn bound Agent 113′s legs and arms still in the field before attaching the end of the chain to his frame. A large chunk of Agent 113′s frame was left in the snow so that the Delphi medic’s would come across it when they found the Autobot’s distress signals. With a swift transformation, he drug the mech behind him back through the rough ice and snowy terrain, making sure to hit the most brutal points. A great way to physically hurt a mech’s frame without killing them. Brutal yet very satisfying.

After taking the long way back to the Tyranny, the duo had finally made it back to their homestead. That little frame had taken heavy damage and Tarn still drug him on the floor, now dragging him by his damn neck with the chain. He even darkened every light in the Tyranny. Singing wildly like a crazed psychotic mech from a horror movie. There might’ve been a dance to his walk as they made their way to a special room.

After Kaon was locked away, Tesarus made his way down to where Tarn was, Helex already waiting like the hangman at the gallows. “He’s been paralyzed for now so do as you will with him.”

Helex spoke, “The next course of action sir?”

“What will be the outcome?” Stating Tesarus as he lifted the traitor onto the operation slab.

“Kaon seems to be fond of this wretch. So we can compromise with him. We will put him through the most torturous act that can be done to a mech but let’s add an Autobot twist to it shall we?” Speaking like a maniac as he wrung his servos together. “The Autobots have preached about being free and willing when in reality they have not. They’ve always been a badly upgraded version of the old Senate. Control by taking away whom you are by demechanizing a mech.” His claws danced over the mech’s frame. “We’ll force him back into his old alternate mode. But we will take away everything he has. We will remove his transformation cog, his weapons, his speech, his sense of reality, sense of self, everything. Reshape him into nothing but a mindless beast that will do our bidding and obey our every word. He can still be used against the Autobots.”

“What would that be boss?”

“Domestication to the greatest extent.”

The to dueted one another, “Perfect boss.”

“Let’s get started shall we?” Tarn sing-songed outwardly.

Each member grabbed a torturous device of their choosing from the walls. The whirring sounds of the famous chainsaw Tarn weld, made from the chainsaw slinging medic himself, Pharma. Made by his own design, perfected and built for Tarn and Tarn alone.

A purple servo slammed the mech’s helm into the operation slab. “I know you can hear me Dominus Ambus,” growling outwardly as Helex handed over a data pad. “I have your file right here. Look lookit here. Isn’t it delightful?” His servo slammed the mech’s face once more enough to make it bleed. “Hmmm.. let’s see here. Your file. Your old mode, a turbofox no less.” Holding it up to the mech’s face, the traitor refused. “Making it harder on yourself will make this worse.”

More back and forth commenced as Tarn spoke to the mech using his abilities, pinching his pressure points so he could control the mech for a moment while his other hand stroked the area over his t-cog. “Helex hold the pad so that it’s in his view.” Some more time passed and the traitor finally was forced into taking on his old form.

“Perfect,” whispered outwardly.

More time lapsed through Dominus’ domestication. The mech was hanging on, the trio excelled in keeping mech’s alive and perfectly aware through their torturous acts. And this went on for days on end, weeks even. Kaon was never involved. Forcefully removed from the situation.

“Who were you working with?”

There was never an answer. No matter how hard each of them tried to break him and they broke him. Perhaps he never knew. Perhaps he did.

“Next we will remove who he is as a Cybertronian, a transformer. We all know what that is? HIs transformation cog.” Tarn sung, ♬ ♫ “𝓦𝓪𝓴𝓮𝔂 𝔀𝓪𝓴𝓮𝔂 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓻. 𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓬𝓱. 𝓕𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷’ 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓶.” ♬ ♫

Tesarus dragged the mech close to the edge of the operation table so he could force the mech to transform into his beast mode. Once it was achieved both Helex and Tesarus flipped the mech onto his backside.

♬ ♫ “𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓪 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓓𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓸𝓷. 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓸𝔀. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓽 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓿𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓮𝓯𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓞𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓷𝓸. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓶𝓮. 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓸 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓶. 𝓑𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰, 𝓱𝓶? 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽’𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓙𝓓 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓻𝓮--𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓵𝔂 𝓲𝓼. 𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓴𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓪𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭. 𝓨𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓪 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷! 𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓮𝓯𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓼 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰.” ♬ ♫

“We will remove his t-cog then wipe his memories of all of whom he is before his final transformation.” Tarn removed his mask as he located the mech’s t-cog that hid in his abdomen. His claws dug out the armor to reveal the vital component. “Hold him down.” Both mech’s obeyed as Tarn leaned over the badly injured frame; his glossa flicked over his lip components before he descended downwards. His lips wrapped onto the organ and began to pull it out slowly from the beast’s frame. Line by line was broken, spilling energon onto Tarn and the slab below him. The mech howled in his pursuit. Once it was finally released from its prison Tarn slipped it out of his mouth and into his servo. “Tesarus, wrap this up and send it off to Autobot high-command with a message.”

“Yes boss.”

“Helex, patch him up before we start the mind wiping process. He’ll forget all he knows within a matter of a cycle. All he will ever know from now on is being a Pet to do our bidding. Nothing but a mindless beast.” Pausing the turned to Helex as Tesarus walked out to get the t-cog ready for transport. “No one will ever remember Dominus Ambus, the traitorous little Agent 113 the Autobots so loved. They’ll never know if he truly died or not. Oh they’ll assume he did but they’ll never know our little Pet will be attacking their ranks. Oh my an Autobot attacking Autobots--how delightful isn’t it Helex?”

[ Abrupt interruption -- disengaging.. ]

#severe dark themes/words ahead under the cut #im sorry Mare #the full process i did not write about #its a summary but #just be warned ya know #one day i might write a more in depth version of the domestication #{Memories}#panickedforcefield

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thelittlesttimelord · 5 years ago

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The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 30

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: The Death of the Doctor Chapter 30 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 30/? SUMMARY: The Doctor’s death is looming on the horizon and Elise is growing every day. What the Doctor doesn’t know is that he has 200 years to teach Elise all he knows. Amy, Rory, and River let Elise in on their secret, because River knows she will keep it. What will Elise do when he’s gone?

[A/N - Chapter 30! God, can you believe it? Just a few more chapters till the end! Are you ready?]

After retrieving Joe, they went back to the restaurant. Joe was lying on a table while the Doctor scanned him.

Rita was making tea for everyone.

Howie and Rory were trying to find things to barricade the door with.

“If we can wedge a chair under the door handles, that should stop anything from getting in,” Rory said.

Rita walked over to the Doctor and Elise with mugs of tea.

“Thank you,” Elise said.

“What exactly happened to him?” Rita asked, gesturing to Joe.

“He died,” the Doctor told her.

“You are a medical doctor, aren't you? You haven't just got a degree in cheese-making or something.”

“No! Well, yes, both, actually. I mean, there is no cause. All his vital organs simply stopped, as if the simple spark of life, his loves and hates, his faiths and fears were just taken…” The Doctor sniffed his mug. “…and this is a cup of tea.”

Well what else would it be? Elise wanted to say something, but the Doctor clearly wasn’t having any of her attitude on this trip. In human years, Elise would be classified as a teenager. Is that why she felt angry or sad all the time? Hormones?

“Of course, I'm British, it's how we cope with trauma. That and tutting,” Rita said.

“But how did you make it?”

“All hotels should have a well stocked kitchen, even alien fake ones. I heard you talking when you arrived. Look, it's no more ridiculous than Howie's CIA theory, or mine.”

“Which is?”

“This is Jahannam.”

“You're a Muslim.”

“Don't be frightened.”

The Doctor laughed. “You think this is Hell.”

“The whole '80s hotel thing took me by surprise, though.”

“And all these fears and phobias wandering about, most are completely unconnected to us, so why are they still here?”

Rita sighed. “Maybe the cleaners have gone on strike.”

The Doctor chuckled. “I like you. You're a right clever clogs. But this isn't Hell, Rita.”

“You don't understand. I say that without fear. Jahannam will play its tricks, and there'll be times when I want to run and scream, but I've tried to live a good life, and that knowledge keeps me sane, despite the monsters and the bonkers rooms. Gibbis is an alien, isn't he?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Okay. I'm going to file that under Freak Out About Later.”

“Doctor, look at this. I found it in a corridor, I completely forgot I had it,” Amy said, handing over the paper she found earlier.

The Doctor playfully smacked her on the head with it. “My name is Lucy Hayward and I'm the last one left. It took Luke first. It got him on his first day, almost as soon as we arrived. It's funny. You don't know what's going to be in your room until you see it, then you realize it could never have been anything else. I just saw mine. It was a gorilla from a book I'd read as a kid. My God, that thing used to terrify me. The gaps between my worships are getting shorter, like contractions. This is what happened to the others, and how lucky they were. It's all so clear now. I'm so happy. Praise him. Praise him.”

“Praise him,” Howie said.

Everyone’s heads turned towards him.

“What did you just say?” the Doctor asked.

“Nothing. Praise him!”

“This is what happened to Joe!” Gibbis shrieked.

“God, it's going to come for me now,” Howie moaned.

“You'll lead it right here.”

“I won't leave you. I promise you. You have my word on that,” the Doctor reassured him.

“I don't want to get eaten.”

“Calm down,” Amy said.

“He's going to lead the creature right here!” Gibbis yelled.

Elise really wanted to hit him to get him to shut up.

The Doctor pulled out his screwdriver. It whirred loudly and everyone went quiet. “Thank you.”

“Don't you see? He'll lead it right here,” Gibbis said.

“What do you suggest?” Rita asked.

“Look, whatever it is out there, it's obviously chosen Howard as its next course. Now, tragic though that is, this is no time for sentiment. I'm saying if it were to find him, it may be satisfied and let the rest of us go. All I want to do is go home and be conquered and oppressed. Is that too much to ask?!”

Elise opened her mouth to go off on Gibbis, but was cut off by Rita.

“It's okay. I'll stay with Howie. You take the others and go.”

“No. We stay together,” the Doctor said. The Doctor walked over to Gibbis. “Your civilization is one of the oldest in the galaxy. Now I see why. Your cowardice isn't quaint, it's sly, aggressive. Its how that gene of gutlessness has survived while so many others have perished. Well, not today. No one else dies today. Right?”

Gibbis nodded.

“Brilliant. Howie, any second, it's going to possess you again. When it does, I'm going to ask you some questions. Please try to answer them.”

They all sat down at a table, except Elise. She was too restless, so she settled for standing behind her father.

“I hope my mum's all right, she's going to be w-worried,” Howie said. Something came over him.

“Howie?” the Doctor asked.

Howie started smiling.

“Howie. Howie, you're next. We're all dead jealous. So, tell us. How do we get a piece of the action? Why isn't he possessing all of us?”

Howie laughed. “You guys have got all these distractions, all these obstacles. It'd be so much easier if you just let it go, you know? Clear the path.”

“You want it to find you even though you know what it's going to do?” Amy asked.

“Are you kidding? He's going to kill us all. How cool is that?”

They all got up, leaving Howie at the table by himself.

“It's as I thought. It feeds on fear. Everything, the rooms, Lucy's note, even the pictures in reception, has been put here to frighten us. So we have to resist it. Do whatever you have to. Cross your fingers, say a prayer, think of a basket of kittens, but do not give in to the fear,” the Doctor told them.

“Okay, but what are we actually going to do?” Amy asked.

“We're going to catch ourselves a monster.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They managed to trap the monster, which of course happened to be a Minotaur, in the spa.

“Quite fitting isn’t it? Labyrinth of a hotel?” Elise said, “Makes sense.”

“Nothing personal. I just think we should take things slowly. Get to know each other. You take people's most primal fears and pop it in a room. A tailor-made hell, just for them. Why?” the Doctor asked.

The Minotaur snarled at them.

“Did you say they take? Ah, what is that word? The guard? No, the warden? This is a prison.” The Doctor turned and smiled at Elise. “My clever girl.”

Elise returned the smile.

“So what are we, cell mates? Lunch?”

The Minotaur growled.

“We are not ripe. This is what Joe said, that we weren't ready.”

They stepped out of the shadows and faced him.

“So, what, what, you make us ready. You what? Replace? Replace what, fear? You have lived so long even your name is lost. You want this to stop. Because you are just instinct. Then tell me. Tell me how to fight you.”

Elise’s eyes filled with tears as her hearts broke for the Minotaur. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He wanted it to be over. She knew how he felt.

“My master, my lord. I'm here! Oh! Bring me death.”

“That’s Howie,” Elise said.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

The Minotaur put it’s large fist through the glass separating them.

“Rory, watch out!” the Doctor yelled.

Amy and Rita burst in.

“Stay back!”

The Minotaur smashed the glass and knocked Rory down.

Elise rushed to side. “Rory?” she asked.

“Where'd he go?” the Doctor asked Rory.

“Somebody hit me,” Rory said, “Was it Amy?”

The Doctor got up and ran down the hallway.

“Rory, are you all right?” Rita asked him.

“We should find the Doctor,” Amy said. She stood up and walked towards room 7. She opened the door.

Rita pulled her back and shut it.

Amy, Rory, Elise, and Rita met back up with the Doctor, who had already found Howie dead. They took Howie’s body and laid it out next to Joe’s in the restaurant.

Amy placed the goldfish on a side table in the reception area.

The Doctor walked past Elise and grabbed her arm.

“Where are we going? Why aren’t the others coming?” she asked.

“Because. We’re going to go find our rooms.”

Elise laughed sarcastically. “Okay, you’ve completely lost your mind.”

“C’mon. Don’t you want to know?” The Doctor smiled when he saw the curiosity in her eyes.

As they ventured through the hallway, they could hear whispers.

Elise walked past a door with a number 10 on it. It was calling to her to open it.

Elise looked at her father and he nodded. She opened the door and saw herself standing there. Over the bodies of everyone she cared about.

Her father. Both incarnations of him. Amy. Rory. River. Outside the window, Gallifrey was burning.

She stumbled back into her father’s arms as she let out a shuddering breath. She turned and buried her face in his neck.

“Shhh”, he cooed, as she stroked her hair.

He understood her greatest fear now. Being completely alone. Just like she had been in the last days of the Time War. Before he killed them all.

“Hey”, he said, pulling her away from him. He cupped her face in his hands as tears streamed down from her blue eyes. “I’m not gonna let that happen. Do you hear me?” he told her.

Elise nodded and he placed a kiss on her forehead. She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Did…did you find your room?” she asked.

He nodded and gestured to room 11.

Elise let out a watery laugh. “Of course.”

He opened the door, just enough to peak, before closing it and putting a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. “C’mon. We need to find the security room.

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor imagines #eleventh doctor fanfiction #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #amy pond #amy pond imagine #Rory Williams #rory williams imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: the death of the doctor

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sepiadice · 5 years ago

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DiceJar Campaign 0.3: Holes, Doors, and Blood (2020/03/13)

Finally killed my first PC as a GM!

Yup… Wasn’t intentional but… well, dice made things interesting, so I have to work with it.

We also didn’t have our rogue, which is unfortunate as she’s an enjoyable member, and also there were a lot of traps and locks this time.

The content went through almost the remainder of what was prepared for the previous session. I’d like to get through the content a little faster so the group can move on to actual role-play opportunities, instead of dungeon crawling. It’s an unfortunate result of my experimental Game Mastering a Module, and I’ll likely try and stick to homebrew in the future.

Or, at least, look for modules with more emphasis on socializing.

I did a medium job preparing this session. I got complacent and let the session slip far to the back of my mind leading up. I found my sweet spot session 2, so I need to keep that standard.

Cast

Mogui (IndigoDie): Druid. Does what he’s told by his employer. Indigo has played this module before. Yot (LimeDie): Cleric. Looking to redeem himself for past failures. Lime will commit to bits. Bernard 'Bean' Dipp (NavyDie): Ranger. Trying his best despite being so young. Navy doodles when he’s bored. Delilah Dunford (VermilionDie): Rogue. Searching for an identity beyond her family. Vermilion could not make this session. Game Master (SepiaDie/me): The world (a dusty, dusty world). The walls probably have stories to tell. I’m desperately trying to keep ahead with drawing the map.

Session Three

We reopen in the loot room we ended in the last session. Navy is given his rewards and I expound on the uses of the various items they received.

Now given the opportunity to read his letter, Navy delays long enough to wonder if he’s chosen to make Bean illiterate, but eventually he takes to giving the description: his mother wrote it, opening with a joke, and giving random updates about life in town despite the letter needing to have been placed before the arrival of the party, but it’s an opportunity for the players to expound on their families, so maybe his mother is a little airheaded?

The letter canonizes a High School which has a football team and a glee club. Will anything come of it? Probably not. Did I say with a sigh ‘Guess that’s canon now…’? You bet I did! Always say yes! Improv!

The party headed back into the room with the pool, tested the other door to find it locked, and moved towards the wailing.

The chamber to the East of the entrance contained several walls crisscrossing. A door stood locked to the south. The puzzle of this room is walking around various hidden pit traps while finding three switches that must be held down at the same time to unlock the exit. I originally ruled the switches take a few minutes to reset so the party can run to get to the door, but then I remembered Delilah is technically still there, so I reverted it to operate as written.

Bean and Yot both took turns falling in holes as Mogui moved around cautiously and managed to jump clear of the one pit he did accidentally trigger.

The three maneuvered around the chamber until they found the necessary switches, activated them, and Delilah held open the door so they could get through.

Walking through the next hallway, they finally reached the door for the room from whence the wailing was emitting.

They all decide to ignore it.

Which means they’ve skipped some plot exposition. Oh well, keep rolling and adapt.

Instead, they go down a fork and into an empty room, which formerly held a giant beetle, but I cut that combat as being wholly unnecessary. Instead, our party continues through into the next chamber, which has a fight I did not cut, as I thought it would have narrative value.

A fire pit smolders in the center of the room, a charred corpse within. Upon the arrival of our party, a dark apparition arises and squares up to fight our heroes.

Bean had acquired an Oil of Magic Weapon, granting his bow Plus-One Status, and rendering it a magic attack, so he’s able to harm the shadow.

Yot, meanwhile, uses Holy Flame. Fun fact about our apparition: it was born because a pyrophobic man burned alive in a structure already pretty rife with necromantic energies. That terror and agony was all it took to create the shadow.

So the enemy is real mad at being set on fire, sending out psionic screams for flavor.

Mogui just watches the fight.

After a few rounds of Magic Bow and holy flames, the Shadow perishes. Victory music for everybody!

The party leaves the room, continues to ignore the terrified wails, and enters the last available door.

Within is a round, domed room, with a wooden pillar, standing on an outcrop over a pit at the center of the room, that fires blunted arrows. This is felt to be rather unpleasant, and the party discusses how to deal with it.

Eventually, they check out the door, and find a mechanism built into it.[1] The party attempts to break the mechanism.

Bean then enters, and is pelted by blunt arrows. He walks around and tries to open a southern exit, finding it to be locked, so Bean attempts to approach the trap. Unfortunately, he takes enough nonlethal damage to get knocked out. Whoops.

After waiting for the mechanical whirring to stop, the other two call after Bean, receiving no response. So they cautiously enter.

The trap is now docile. And the southern door is unlocked.

So, what happened here, by the text of the module, is that the trap keeps running for ten rounds, at which time it’ll be exhausted of arrows, and the south exit will automatically unlock. The hope was the party would take the tower shields from the wood golem of last session to block the arrows.

Because of how they broke the activating mechanism (as they snapped off the metal arm in the door hinge that turned the machine off and on), I decided that now once it turned on, it couldn’t turn off. So after Bean was knocked out, the trap kept running until it ran out of rounds.

Don’t ask how the trap’s supposed to keep pelting adventurers inside the chamber after the door closes. Magic I guess.

Stop asking how traps work.

Mogui investigated the south exit while Yot checked on Bean. The door was, of course, unlocked, to the annoyance of Navy, and Yot was taking his sweet time healing Bean, but soon the party was on their feet again and ready for whatever came next.

The final room of the floor widened as it went, the ceiling supported by four columns. Stairs to the south lead to the… basement? Second basement? The crypt’s already underground, so what terminology applies here, I’m not…

Also, there’s two statues in recesses of the south wall. The Module text doesn’t call any attention to them, but they’re probably Kassen.

Our heroes enter this room, get to approximately the middle of the room, and four skeletons, with talon-like clawed fingers and blood dripping from their bones, step out from behind the columns, and menace the heroes.

Combat begins.

As does a series of horrible rolls from both parties. Just a lot of do-nothing turns. Yot tries to bash the skeletons and misses, Bean fires arrows and the closest he got sent the arrow through the ribcage of one skeleton. The skeletons weren’t faring much better, three of them crit fumbling at some point, which I interpreted them as falling prone for a turn.

The rolls were so bad I gently reminded my party that I set up a dice-roll bot in the Discord channel, if they wanted to put Roll20’s die-roller into dice prison. They didn’t go for it.

Back and forth the combat went, the skeletons getting a couple lucky hits on Bean. Eventually, and tragically, those lucky hits added up and Bean hit zero. Navy started making Death Saves, a realm where the exhaustingly low rolls followed and brought him to his death.

NavyDie then spent the rest of the combat doodling an increasingly elaborate death scene, with grave stone, candles, what was either a pentagram or an alchemy circle,[2] and death himself. Whatever self-amusement was needed.

As a narrative-first GM, Player Characters dying in combat is not something I enjoy. I am now in an awkward position of needing to figure out how to proceed and keep Navy involved. If he still wishes to play, of course. A couple options immediately spring to mind: bringing in a new character will be narratively awkward at this point, as we need to justify why the ignorant town would send back up, or why a kid is running so late; there’s an available NPC I could give Navy, but he’d be an odd (but doable) add; or, and this is an idea I like most, I can bring Bean back for a price…[3]

But I need to talk it through with NavyDie first.

Back to those still alive.

Mogui maneuvers to keep a safe distance, eventually coaxing one of the four skeletons back to the previous room, running a circle and returning to the main combat room, closing the door behind him. I rolled a die to determine the nature of the skeletons, and concluded they’re running on animalistic instinct, and thus can’t operate a door.

Also, this cuts down on enemies to delay the fight and rewards IndigoDie for clever problem solving.

Yot, growing tired of not hitting with his Mace, starts using Holy Flame again, forcing the Skeletons to use the horrible dice rolls to avoid damage instead of Yot using the same rolls to cause damage. Progress starts to get made.

Mogui turns into a tiger and starts running about and attempting to hit the skeletons, but still no luck.

There’s also some talk about how the skeletons aren’t taking attacks of opportunity, which had a very elegant explanation: I totally forgot about that mechanic, and I also just plain hate attacks of opportunity. They feel cheap and punish players for not carefully considering every minutiae of their actions.[4]

Eventually, the skeletons are finally either redead, or trapped in another room.

With one dead, the remaining three party members stare towards the stairs to the next floor. As the only escape is to fight the skeleton in the previous room, they mostly consider what difficulty they’re prepared to face.

Of the three sessions played thus far, this one felt of middle quality. I forgot to read my opening crawl text, and I waited until the last minute to write notes for the remainder of the floor (after copying over the leftovers from session two). Neither the combat with the Shadow (where I forgot to implement the smoke in the eyes mechanic the module wanted me to) or the Bloody Skeletons (with horrible dice rolls)[5] felt particularly fun or worthwhile. I’ll probably look to cut more superfluous fights going forward.

I’m also looking forward to moving out of the dungeon. I am learning a lot, as was my goal with running this module, but I’m missing being able to Role-Play as GM.[6] I’m certainly learning to answer questions the text didn’t bother to address, and also how annoying module formatting can be with where it explains things.

When I find time, I should sit down and design a dungeon of my own. That would also be a good learning experience, and also let me feel more at ease with making world-based rulings on the fly and implement elements I like and minimize those I don’t.

There’s just so much combat and map-based traps written in this thing. Makes it too difficult to abstract out the traps and rely on theater of the mind.

Most important take away: Attacks of Opportunity are dumb, and I hereby houserule them away.

I’ve already set things in motion for fun plot developments after this session’s events and feedback received, and hopefully the next write-up will come in about two weeks.

Until next time, may your dice make things interesting.[8]

[1] The party is really interested in the actual mechanics of these traps, which the module doesn’t explain, forcing their poor GM to try and reverse engineer it, and maybe I need to start shrugging and saying ‘I dunno, magic I guess.’ [2] Which is a good way to lose a sibling. [3] Just sent Navy a text asking if he’d like a level of Warlock. This could be fun. [4] Also, my experience with another player exploiting the mechanic to attempt to kill me. [5] Though based on his recap, IndigoDie enjoyed the combat for the bad rolls? Interesting guy. It felt like a bad joke that kept repeating to me, and I failed to improvise an Out for those involved. [6] Especially since Indigo sidestepped the opportunity I did have![7] [7] Whatever. Gives me time to give the man a less stupid name. [8] Despite working it into the opening, this sign off still doesn’t sit right. Feels too long… Magazines have little icons to mark the end. Maybe I should do the same?

#SepiaDieGMs #crypt of the everflame #Dungeons and Dragons #Fifth Edition #NavyDice #IndigoDice #LimeDice #VermillionDice

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deviationdivine · 6 years ago

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☼ Connor | Headcanons ☼

A/N: Headcanons for Connor (both deviant & machine) I personally feel, as well as some ones for my writing. Wanted to work on something light while focusing on wips especially for the reader/follower poll. Have this for today’s drabble queue! I will do RK800-60 & Nines as well. But first - can I get an amen?!

TW: Language, Smut (I had to go there!)

Deviant!Connor

Following the revolution Connor most likely will be dealing with his newfound freedom and sense of self worth. While he is free from Cyberlife control it still does not alleviate him of doubts especially when it comes to how other androids view him.

Feels a sense of guilt for hunting so many of his people before deviating despite Markus trusting him after the fall of Jericho. He has a sense of obligation to offer support to the RK200 if it’s needed as a sort of personal repentance.

Attempts to blend into society better but still feels a bit shunned by humans and androids alike. This is a personal hurdle he must conquer.

Afraid of dying in the full sense but keeps these fluctuating emotions inside. Often needs to validate himself otherwise.

Fears being taken control of again even if he used Kamski’s emergency exit. Amanda is an internal nightmare to him now.

Obviously remains working in tandem with Hank at the DPD. He’s a prototype android detective who gets his skills put to use in an official capacity.

Remains close with Hank in a familial capacity. Android son confirmed. Stays with the lieutenant until finding his own place in society. This will take some equal laws being passed first.

Uses more colorful language at times. Hank has rubbed off on him.

“Fuck...shit.”

“What the fuck did you say, Connor?!”

Really wants his own dog....maybe two. Or three.

He’ll wind up stealing Sumo.

Finds various species of fish pleasant to study on down time at work. There hardly is any down time for him though.

Hank makes him have down time. He works too fucking much.

Hones skills in both the programming field he was originally built and his emotional responses.

While deviant he still struggles with what he’s feeling. It’s a learning process but the android gets better at it.

Surprisingly has gained more support from coworkers. This doesn’t include Gavin but as Hank says, “fuck Gavin.” Honestly, Gavin doesn’t work here anymore. Bye bitch.

Picks up the emotions of others with more clarity than his original programming. Deviancy allots him better understanding and heightens his skills in a way.

Still very adept at combat and will take out an entire group of thugs on a case if need be. Is a soft deviant boy who can go John Wick in two seconds flat.

Has a few decorated awards under his belt for breaking open some tough cases including a huge red ice ring.

Hank is fucking proud but won’t admit it. Connor isn’t as naive as he was though, he can tell:

“Why thank you, Lieutenant. I did take them out impeccably as you would say.”

“Since when do I say fucking impeccably?”

Relationships

Understanding all of these new emotions means coming to terms with other things he’s feeling. Friendships are a bit easier if stilted at the start.

Social programs aside, Connor finds a genuine appreciation of the people around him especially those who support him.

Hank is always his biggest supporter now...obviously.

Finding himself in the company of others because they genuinely want him there is awkward initially. Gradually he develops a natural affinity for this.

Connor in love...?

Love is new. It’s strange. It can make his entire brain whir. Honestly doesn’t know how to cope when experiencing the first threads of it in his system.

Is a soft boy ready to discover what it truly means. He witnessed this between Markus and North end of the revolution after all.

Finds himself capable of the same as it hits him all at once.

You make him overheat but in a pleasant way. Oh, is that genuine arousal?

He is highly advanced so of course he was designed with the proper parts. Their origin was for more nefarious means built for Cyberlife missions but now it hardly matters. He has total control over his body.

An awkward badass. I mean he can kill you with a lopsided smile and wink and also kill a whole room full of bad guys. What’s not to like?

Truly wants to experience this whole new side of humanity with you and no one else but you. Connor finds being in love an epiphany. He feels more human with it. He feels more human with you.

Confident when you express affection to him even if he is an android. Makes him feel even more accepted and sure of himself.

Eases into things until he can no longer metaphorically breathe. That’s when everything snaps and he knows.

This android is in love.

Machine!Connor

Completely opposite of his deviant persona, Connor as a machine does not feel emotion for anything let alone anyone who stands in his path. All about accomplishing his mission no matter the casualties. This includes any allies he obtained from the DPD during his deviant investigations.

Will throw Hank off a rooftop if it’ll get him one step closer.

You can’t kill him...androids don’t die.

Deviants should be eradicated because they’re a clear disease with a virus in their program. He sees this as neither mercy nor punishment. He sees it as a mission to obey for the greater good of humanity.

Follows the side of his creators just as he was programmed to do. However, has no qualms taking out any human who stands in his way. Will mercilessly kill an entire squadron of soldiers if need be without batting an eye.

Only the mission matters... He only answers to Cyberlife.

Not adverse to torture or intimidation. Any tactic will do.

Any sort of software instability towards deviancy is readily pushed down until he does something unbearably ruthless to gain back his purpose of programming.

Machine Connor will not allow Cyberlife to deactivate him after completing his mission.

Amanda has no power over him in that regard. He is his own power.

Will slaughter anyone at the tower who tries to apprehend him for destruction.

While not a push to deviancy, Connor feels his time is not finished. Everything Cyberlife programmed to do he accomplished successfully. Discarding him is their greatest mistake.

He will destroy any supposed superior model before taking his place. No. This does NOT make him deviant.

Unstoppable killing machine? Definitely makes him that.

Relationships

Machine Connor uses connections to benefit him. If it will help the mission he will be whatever you want him to be.

This includes gaining favor with other humans around him. The friendlier he seems the better. Will fake emotions if need be. Hank throws this in his face later during this particular route so it’s natural a machine!Connor would do this around anyone he meets.

Love? I don’t think so. Any love you think he can possess is all a fabrication. If you believe a ruthless machine Connor actually cares then you’d be dead wrong. He cares for nothing, nobody but completing his mission and doing what he was designed to do no questions asked.

However, this does not prevent him using it against you. If you want to follow your weak human emotions and fall in love with a cold machine so be it. He will use and discard you like tissue paper breaking your weak humanity in half along the way.

As an RK800 built to accomplish dangerous missions and outfitted with clever negotiator skills, it makes sense he will have some high end upgrades. If seduction is required he will make use out of his advanced protocols and parts.

After using you he will leave you to perish if you try to stop him afterwards. Romance is not part of the equation.

Sex is an instrument he perfectly mimics as he mimics emotions and friendliness.

If you somehow start to spread the virus of deviancy in his system, Connor will correct it by any means. He will snuff you out if it comes down to it.

On the other hand if you do somehow by a miracle stick to him with your human virus he may deviate. It would have to be a big build up even then because most times it will not happen. He will choose the mission over you every time.

You are a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no fairy tale romance here but the foolish one conjured in your head.

Smut!Connor

Deviant

Connor is all about falling into his emotions. Becoming deviant makes the android want to experience everything that drives this humanity in his system. What better way than to finally share this intimacy with you?

Everything is full, passionate and just for the two of you. No one else is in existence while the two of you are together.

While it takes him a bit to understand the full meaning behind this act it stirs his synthetic heart. It’s obvious how much he wants to share a sole space with you. Being apart of your existence only makes his bloom further in the middle of sex.

He gets off on you tugging his hair. Clawing his back is another turn on as it makes him feel dominant.

As a negotiator android this is good for his programming origins but also his newly found ego. He loves that you want to grip onto him and the tighter it is the better.

Can be slow and methodical if you’re looking for a long night.

However, can be quick and rough if you ask him. There’s still that ruthless core he deviated from. He can easily tap into his more aggressive nature. It’s whatever you want him to be that particular time.

Cautious with you during rougher sex. Connor is aware of his strength and hurting you is never something he would do. This sweet boy would never forgive himself.

Likes to be the dominant partner but doesn’t mind lying back while you take over the reins.

Is all about foreplay especially with his tongue. You thought thirium licking was bad? Connor uses his tongue like a pro and will lap up every last drop between your legs to satisfy his own need. To him you taste indescribable and he wants more of that each time.

Scratch his synthetic skin, use your teeth against his epidermis to mark him as yours just as he marks you as his. While his healing component will ultimately take away any abrasions, Connor enjoys seeing them littering his body before they fade.

Same goes with hickies. He’s a master of placing them in secret places so others cannot see. That doesn’t stop him being a sneaky boy at times. Right on your throat? Just one? How about one on each side?

Loves to hear his name slip quietly from your lips while fucking you softly. Really gets going when you start yelling for him to pound you harder. He obliges...obviously.

Connor’s reactions in the moment are quieter. Groans, deep gasps and utterances of your name as he places kisses all over your face.

Let’s get this straight. This boy likes to kiss. No, he loves to kiss while going at it. As much as he loves having sex, he loves the closeness just as much. It changes things for him. They’re all good changes.

And when you ask to see him without his skin? Oh lord. Does this boy melt from your acceptance. He becomes super vulnerable about it but trusts you like no one else.

Timid having sex without the synthetic epidermis but eases into it after a few times. Genuinely surprised you enjoy it so much. Connor assumed it might be uncomfortable for you.

Actually, you personally love this android’s dick no matter what form it’s in. Whispering that in his ear dangles him on the verge of shutdown. It also gets him to throw you down fast and fuck your brains out for a change of pace. He’s that adaptable for your pleasure needs.

Either way sex with this sweet deviant boy is satisfyingly good.

Machine

Tenderness? It isn’t here.

Seduction programming can be utilized if you push him. He isn’t merciful. He will fuck you as hard as you want as long as you want. Don’t expect it to make him love you.

Pushing his buttons is not a good idea. Falling in love with him is even worse. Machine!Connor will take you out of frustration, asserting his dominance against a weakling who thinks they can get away spreading deviancy in his system.

Raw and animalistic.

Expect a palette of bruises/abrasions over your skin from sucking, biting and finger digging.

Nail marks are a thing. There’s no holding back.

Always dominant. Don’t even question it. Control is a kink to him if he could readily have one. But he doesn’t. He’s a straight up machine.

Will toss your body onto whatever surface is available. Comfortable or not he doesn’t care. Why should he when he’s a machine?

Wants to hear you beg. It means he has you where he wants you. Weakness is the best way to manipulate.

Fucking you from behind is a preferred option. It gives him total authority over your feeble human state.

Will bend you over the table in the interrogation room and fuck you without a care to who watches from the observation room.

Likes to impale fingers inside you and work them until tears collect in your eyes. He will sample the salty liquid on the tip of his tongue claiming another piece of you until he consumes all that’s left.

Never watches his strength.

Most times you wind up sore but he sees that as punishment for trying to turn him away from the mission. After all, he only does what you ask and you did ask for this.

Try to cuddle up and kiss him sweetly it won’t go very well.

Likes to bite your lips until they’re a swollen mess.

Machine Connor will purposely edge your orgasm and leave you whimpering for release. If he is not merciful to those he hunts why should he be merciful to you?

If you attempt to make more of this ‘arrangement’ he will end it right then and there. First, he’ll give you one last vengeful fucking to destroy whatever love you conjured for yourself is left.

If you manage to make him deviate well his routine won’t change much.

The only difference is that he will begin kissing you more during.

He might listen to what you want more but don’t expect a complete 180 overnight

Most likely he will not deviate so it’s pretty much futile to think he’ll love you. Just enjoy the rough fuck from him before he completes his mission because guaranteed they’ll be hardly anything of you left...

Tag List: @elydith

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summoner-stones · 6 years ago

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Summoner x Owain - Secret Admirer

For @contrxrian who was the final winner of my 400 followers raffle! Congrats and I hope you like it <3

Rating: SFW

Words: 1129

Genre: Romance

Owain knew that he and the Summoner were fated to be together. Deep in his blood and his passionate heart, the feelings inside him stirred. At first, he was a fool, thinking a curse had befallen him or that he was ill, and only until his companions opened his eyes did, he realize the culprit behind these symptoms. The Summoner, like a thief in the night, went ahead and stole his heart. Day and night his thoughts were consumed by the Summoner. Their beauty, intelligence, strength, a fated warrior from another realm just like him. They were destined to be together, he just knew it, like it was written in prophecy!

But…even a fated warrior such as him, had his faults. Dealing with his feelings and other…activities having to do with one’s affection had always been difficult for him. Put him against any worthy warrior and he’d win the fight, send him to another world to save it from destruction, he’ll do it in a heartbeat, but confessing one’s deepest desires…was something else that would make even him falter.

And so, he came up with an ingenious plan. If he didn’t have the courage to confess his feelings to the Summoner, then he’d secretly show his affection from afar! Yes, like a mysterious lover, spilling his heart unto them without them ever knowing his identity.

The very next day he spent most of his day writing a love letter to the Summoner. He was always proud of his ability to craft stories and make up names for weapons and moves, so he hoped his skills would transfer over to this blessed letter. However, the sheer extent of his love felt like they could never be rightfully expressed in the letter. The words that would normally flow from him, were hard to construct. All day he paced back and forth in frustration, picking up his ink pen, and then placing it back down in disappointment as nothing seemed right.

Finally, finally, in the very darkness of the night, did he finish. He was so tired, and his brain was overworked, but his masterpiece was finally finished! All he needed to do was sneak this into the Summoner’s room…

Step after quiet step, he made his way down the empty halls of the Askran castle till he reached the Summoner’s room. There was no lantern light coming from their room, they were either asleep or not there. If he wanted to, he could have knocked or waited for their arrival to hand the letter to them in person, and for a second, he wanted to. But as he thought about them possibly laughing or rejecting him, he quickly stuffed the letter underneath their door and fled from the scene without making much commotion.

The next day when he woke up, his first thought went to that letter. Immediately, his cheeks burned bright pink and he slammed his head into his pillow.

“Gah! What was I thinking?” he shouts to himself.

Would the Summoner even acknowledge the letter? Did they think the messenger to be a creep for sending a letter with no name? The questions whirred in his head in an awful cacophony. He just needed some fresh air.

Reluctantly, he left his room, feeling not as confident as he usually was, feeling awfully paranoid. The last thing he wanted was to see the Summoner in person, he’d probably make a fool of himself if they did. So, he headed towards the training room, hoping not to find so many heroes there. Maybe a few swings would clear his mind.

Swing after swing, his mind slowly focused on something else rather than just the Summoner. Inigo, who watched him practice, was always good at running his mouth, and it kept him distracted in the meanwhile. Maybe just maybe, he’d forget about them for just awhile.

But suddenly, Inigo went dead silent, and his eyes went wide as he stared at something behind Owain. Owain stopped mid-swing and followed where Inigo’s focus was on and he felt his heart drop as well.

Watching him train was the Summoner, smiling with papers in hand. Immediately, he felt cheeks betray him, and his strength fade from him.

W-What are those papers? Were they holding the letter he gave them, gods above, why do you torture me so?! he thought to himself.

“Ah, Owain, I was looking for you. I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” the Summoner approached him.

Inigo got up from his spot and excused himself to leave the two alone. Owain silently pleaded with his eyes for him not to leave, and Inigo shook his head and mouthed a ‘you can do it’ to him.

He gulped and looked back at the Summoner who was looking at him curiously. They were cute as ever…

“W-Whatever do you need of me, Summoner?” he asked shakily.

They got closer to him and stood close enough for their arms to barely touch. Just that small contact was starting to make him sweat, as he refused to look down at what they were pointing to. No doubt it was going to be his letter, that’s what they were showing to him.

“So, what do you think about this battle plan, Owain? Think you can handle it?”

“W-What?” he blinked.

He finally took a quick glance at the papers the Summoner was holding out to him. He froze. That…wasn’t his letter. No, the Summoner was showing him a map for battle plans. Not his letter.

He let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah…yeah that plan seems fine, Summoner.”

The Summoner looked at him curiously and rolled the map away. “If you say so, Owain. By the way, are you alright? You seem a little stressed out?”

“N-No! I’m just fine, Summoner. Just tired from practice. Even a warrior such as myself needs rest, you know?”

The Summoner nodded and smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll be taking my leave then. I’ll talk to you soon, Owain.”

Just as Owain relaxed his posture as he saw them turn around, the Summoner stopped in their tracks suddenly.

Huh?

In a quick spin, the Summoner turned around and skipped over to his way and with a quickness that he could barely comprehend, they got in their tiptoes, and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for the lovely letter, Owain.”

Owain felt like he could perish on the spot but felt absolutely alive at the same time.

“H-How did you know?”

The Summoner giggled at his silliness.

“Owain, who else would write that way? Of course, I knew it was you!”

Obviously, they would recognize the way he writes…how foolish of him not to change that.

“D-Does that mean you like me?”

“Haha, of course Owain, of course.”

#feh #fire emblem heroes #fire emblem imagines #fe owain #summoner #fire emblem drabble #raffle

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heartslogos · 6 years ago

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seas who could sing so deep and strong [147]

“He’s like you,” Kore says softly. It sounds almost menacing.

Judge shudders.

“He will literally run off in the opposite direction of me when I’m not looking,” Kore continues, reaching out and grabbing the MOA by its head and physically dragging it back to her side. It lets out a series of confused and disappointed chirps and whirs. “And then. And then. Once the fool is…three hundred or so meters from me. He dies. He just goes and dies and it’s a mad race to get to him while not losing my mission objective.”

“Let him die,” Chic calls out.

“Please do not let me die,” Punk says in a fake robot voice. “I am new and a baby. Let me live.”

“He’s not like me, I don’t die on you,” Judge says. And then grimaces. “Any more…”

Kore picks the Moa up, folds its long legs and tucks it back against her side. The machine lets out another disappointed chirp and proceeds to sulk.

“He’s learning,” Judge says in defense of the mechanical ally that’s apparently taken his place in Kore’s mind. “He needs to explore and learn new things. He’s curious. That’s how he’s going to get strong, through experience.”

“He was just born,” Kore repeats skeptically, “And his first instinct is to chase his own death? Did you build me a suicidal machine?”

“Perish,” Chic says

“He’s investigating a mystery!” Punk says. “He’s a curious little ‘bot.”

“Yeah, investigating his own murder,” Kore sneers. “Hades, I cannot let this robot out of my sight. It is a constant, twenty four hour cycle intensive defense mission in which my defense objective is prone to running as fast as it can towards trouble that I can’t see or perceive before dying. Alternatively, standing completely still before sitting down and entering rest mode so that some enemy can trip on him and proceed to beat the shit out of him.”

“He’s tired, let him rest.”

“Punk, shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

“But do you like him?” Judge asks.

Kore’s Nidus makes a very low, warped hissing sound that sounds like if white noise and static were tangible objects that had nails and were dragging said nails down glass.

“She loves him,” Chic says. “Because he’s exactly like you. Down to the way he pokes at security panels.”

Kore doesn’t answer, just continues to attempt to wrangle the MOA under her arm until it stops struggling to be free and investigate something new and dangerous.

“I’m not going to scrap it,” Kore says once she’s reasonably sure the MOA isn’t about to lunge away from her and run off towards gunfire.

“You love it,” Judge says.

“Of course I love it,” Kore snaps, “Look at its stupid beaky face. The dumbass was built to be loved and coddled. It’s a cosmetic.”

Judge gasps, “I would never build you a cosmetic item.”

“And yet,” Kore says as the MOA breaks from her hold and starts running towards the sound of Grineer gunfire, “Look at it go.”

The MOA abruptly crumples, screeching as its legs flail in the air.

“I’ll…go revive it,” Judge says.

Kore clicks her tongue. Her Nidus lets out a low groaning, like a ship that’s hull has been breeched with a swarm of Infested.

“I don’t think it even knows I gave it a gun,” Kore says. “I’ve never seen it shoot anything. Just stare at things and sometimes peck at them before whatever it pecks punches back and it dies.”

“It’ll get stronger eventually, Hades did.”

“I did, Persephone. You have to admit I did get stronger.”

“When?” Kore bemoans. “When will it get stronger? When will it stop getting destroyed by a single bullet to the gyro? Does it ever?”

“Ask the Empress,” Chic says.

“She has a MOA?” Judge asks.

“I mean…I don’t see why she wouldn’t,” Chic replies uncertain. “If Tenno use it to fight the Empress has tried it at least once.”

That makes sense.

“I’ll patch in a line to her,” Punk says, “While I bleed out over here.”

“I’m not going to help you,” Chic says. “You made your grave so lie in it. Dumbass. Bringing an unranked warframe to a relic run.”

“It’s just a lith fissure!” Punk says. “I didn’t know Percy was going to be letting her MOA run loose and wouldn’t have time for me!”

“I never have time for you.”

“Is this important?” The Empress says. “All I hear is chatter. Lith fissures? Are you honestly struggling with lith fissures? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t disconnect right now. No, Alpha. You stay there. You simply cannot just assist them every time they face a challenge. Don’t give me that look.”

Judge has no idea what look the Empress means because he’s never seen the Alpha’s face have any look.

“Persephone’s working on her MOA, the one Hades built her,” Chic says. “And it’s…getting downed a lot. We were wondering if you had any tips. Since you’re…you.”

“Leave it on your ship,” the Empress replies instantly. “It’s a cosmetic item and anything it can do you can do faster, better, and more reliably.”

“Ouch.”

“You’ve used MOA’s right?”

“Of course I’ve used them. But they simply cannot keep up with me at the speed and quality I require,” the Empress says. “My kavat is the superior option. Why meddle with inferior results when I can ascertain a consistent pay out? Besides. I don’t trust them.”

Judge blinks. “You don’t trust them? You build them yourself.”

The Empress’ words become very testy, “Sometimes certain machines…are unruly.”

The Alpha’s voice patches in, “Cephalon. She means her Cephalon.”

There’s a brief pause where Judge can only assume that the Empress and Alpha are talking privately.

“I am not going to rely on a machine which either your or my Cephalon is prone to taking control of,” the Empress says. “Especially not when the things are so easily influenced by them. Your Cephalon told my MOA to jump through a magnetic field. The thing was scrambled. Instantly scrambled. Just because your Cephalon thought it would be interesting. I am not throwing away my resources on this. Absolutely preposterous. If nothing else is needed I am cutting this connection, best of luck with the lith fissure and the MOA. Good day.”

#heartsfic #warframe #punk and chic #otp: space kids #otp: our ribs are cages

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thechocobros · 7 years ago

Text

“SEE LUNA SAFE TO ALTISSIA” - part 17

Pair: Nyx Ulric / Lunafreya Nox Fleuret

Previously: message me so I’ll give you the links ;)

Words: 9344

Plot: Luna and Nyx didn’t fell in the Empire’s trap, Nyx didn’t had to use the ring and he survived. What would have happened if Nyx really had the chance to ‘see Luna safe to Altissia’, like he promised to Regis? Part 17: The final battle has begun. Thinking that Nyx is dead, Luna tries to focus only on her mission to guide Noctis. She is determineted to tell him the truth about the prophecy and to dispose of the malicious Astrals, but this will come with a price ...

Personal Comment: LAST CHAPTER BEFORE THE EPILOGUE! (an epilogue i accidentally deleted from my drafts but ok -.- ) I’m sorry for the horrible delay, I know I didn’t update in an eternity. I hope this big finale will repay your patience somehow. It was an extremely complicate chapter for me to write, more than the other ones probably, due to the action sequences. But here we are, my fix-it fic is over. It was an amazing journey, I loved it. It was long, difficult, but both Nyx and Luna deserved it. I hope you all think the same.

Let me know what you think, guys :)) I just want to thank @loveiscosmicsin for the costant help she gave me and YOU ALL READERS, because I wouldn’t have finished this novel fic if it wasn’t for your amazing support. I love you all.

Stay tuned for the epilogue ;)

Luna stood paralyzed before Ardyn Izunia, mouth agape in sheer terror. She was fully aware that the man was the most inconvenient of obstacles at that point of the fight. Leviathan’s power raging in the background she had no energy to face the Usurper at the same time too.

But for some kind of destiny’s joke, the man didn’t seem to have come to fight for now. He bowed deeply instead, taking his hat off in sign of respect.

“My fair princess! How long I have waited to meet you! The pious Oracle - the Personification of Purity - who rebelled to the prophecy that decided your destiny. A model for the future generations, to never accept a fate written by someone’s else hand. I barely was able to contained my joy when you slew the Glacian.”

Lunafreya frowned and pressed her fingers around the indented grooves of the trident, seeking support in its comfortable power. She knew that if things would have turned out badly, she could count on her white magic, but at the same time gears whirred in her brain, seeking for other possibilities. Wit had always been her best weapon since she was nothing but a scared little girl, powerless in front of the cruel Empire.

“You seem very well informed for a mere chancellor, Ardyn Izunia. So am I.”

“Then permit us to be honest to each other,” Ardyn sang with his mischievous voice, mellifluous enough to impress her, but not enough to mesmerize her.

“I didn’t expect you would response with a smile to the death of one of the Astrals, the very ones who wish to give the true king their blessing.”

“In a matter of speaking, the prince receiving those blessings was originally part of my plan,” he was attentive to not using the word ‘king’. “But perhaps I can handle it better without that condition. I’m a flexible man, after all. Anyway, let’s not speak of myself. I came here bearing gifts! This is an altar where sacrifices are offered afterall” he continued, indicating Leviathan destroying the city just a mile away. The goddess’s tail swept away an entire building in one swift motion.

Despair filled the atmosphere and soon the bleakness of the situation will embrace the Oracle as well. Luna’s focus on Ardyn was frustratingly deviated by her worry for Noctis who she couldn’t see anymore. Her first instinct was to run straight to him as soon as possible but then Ardyn gestured to the airship that brought him here. The hatch of the ship automatically unveiled an unbelievable sight in the cargo hold. Luna gasped and widened her eyes in disbelief.

The Crystal.

The ancient artifact bestowed upon the Caelum dynasty of yore and the object of desire that Niflheim made off with in the confusion of Insomnia’s mayhem. It retained a calm glow as it was simply anticipating for one to exploit its magic.

“What is the meaning of this?” Luna asked, trying to divert attention away from her confusion.

“Oh, don’t recognize the Crystal when it’s right before your eyes? The Empire, obsessed by their greed and whatever shiny bauble that caught their attention at the moment, hasn’t quite tapped into it.”

“The Draconian and the Infernian are sealed within it,” Luna said, trying to connect the puzzle pieces.

“You’re right. And you should give them a good wake-up call.”

Leviathan moved and another earthquake summoned a sort of small tsunami which almost reached the altar and swept Luna away. When she was able to stand on her feet again, her knees had bled through her dress and Ardyn Izunia was staring at her with the most malicious of the smirks.

“What game are you imposing?” she challenged, raising her voice over the storm, simply not in the mood to entertain him.

Ardyn extended his arms, feigning concord in a circumstance that hardly was.

“Why does everyone jump to that conclusion? Do you think that I’m not capable of charity? Why, I came all this way to bring the Crystal to you.”

No, of course Luna didn’t believe in the gesture or his words for a second. In fact, she immediately considered the option of fleeing while there was still a considerable distance between them, a distance that the Chancellor was aware of.

To awaken two more deities into the chaotic fray would only wrought more destruction upon them all, she knew it too well. But at the same time, she contemplated that an opportunity would be wasted if she didn’t. At any rate, chances of survival after calling upon them were slim, and if she perished, who would have rouse Bahamut and Ifrit in her stead? She had to give Noctis the opportunity to fight the Gods and reclaim the power of the ring at all costs.

Perfectly aware of following Izunia’s twisted games, she decided to do as he asked for now. She aimed her trident toward the Crystal and let the white magic flow from her. She began to sing and pray, perpetuating the ritual, a performance done way too well by now. As the white lights around them flurried, the Crystal started to tremble so much it almost disintegrated, and everything else in the area subjected to silence. Enclosed in the proximity of her calling, there was the reason why both Ifrit and Bahamut shouldn’t have been driven from the Lucian Crystal in such a violent fashion. Once freed, nothing in the universe could encompass the awesome power of their combined antithetic might. But it was now or never and Luna didn’t really have other choice.

In a instant, the Crystal’s energy exploded.

A burst of an raw, unimaginable force.

The incredible effort sapped Luna every ounce of her strength, never had she been close to death’s gate. The blood from her face dissapated, along with breath bated and heart had skipped a beat. The feeling of losing control on her own body overwhelmed her more than the fatigue ever did and more than the illness looming over her. It was unusual and somehow… unclear.

In the depth of the silent absurdity, Luna reached for her stomach, where she felt something indistinguishably protruding from her side.

She blinked, seeing a dark substance coat her fingers. It couldn’t be blood. It was not the right color.

With Luna’s bearings regained, her eyes adjusted to the Chancellor who had enclosed the distance at last, offering a malevolent smile to the Oracle’s confusion. The blade that met the mark of its incision couldn’t be confused with an hazy dream. It was real.

She had been stabbed.

There was no reason to look for a particular motivation beyond the unexpected act. Retrieving the weapon from Luna’s reach, Ardyn casually wiped the dagger with a handkerchief. Her role fulfilled, she was expendable in his eyes.

As she gasped and instinctively applied pressure to the wound, Luna had a delayed reaction to the pain. She was occupied with the regret of not surviving long enough to speak to Noctis one last time. What would have given to have the chance to make amends, to finally tell him about the prophecy, and giving him the chance to choose to save himself. She would have sold her soul in exchange of the opportunity to apologize, the thought had been on the back burner of her mind, in their correspondance, but it was too late. How selfish she had been before Nyx opened her eyes? All her life, she deluded herself into protecting Noctis by withholding the truth of his destiny? She never told her childhood friend that bearing the Ring would cost him his life and now, it was too late. She didn’t deserve forgiveness, nor mercy. She earned this death sentence.

She lifted her chin, noticing over Ardyn’s shoulders the colossal visages of Bahamut and Ifrit raised from the nothing after their prison was no more.

She also noticed Noctis, standing on the top of a building, looking at the chaos raging against him. He was ready to face Leviathan and probably also the other Astrals, but he was alone and still not at the peak of his power. It turned out clearly he didn’t use the Ring yet. It was just a matter of time before he realized that his only chance of survival was to doing it.

A tear streaked Lunafreya’s cheek. Ardyn best not misunderstood it as a sign of weakness, but desperation filled her veins like never before. She would have told Noctis the truth about the Ring, and permit him to choose his destiny even if it was the last thing she did in this life.

But it would mean that she would be reunited with her husband in the Beyond.

—————-

Luna didn’t know that Nyx was not dead. He was alive, refusing to stand ground at a crucial moment.

As soon as he understood that the airship was not leading him in the right direction, he warped from one rooftop to the next, never stopping. Things started to be even more complicated after just a couple of minutes when Leviathan was repelled by the Oracle’s magic. Nyx understood that his wife’s negotiations didn’t succeed and chaos erupted. Debris, crashing walls of water, and explosions hailing around him made evading almost impossible. He had to summon all the tricks in the books to reach an intact building where he took cover for a minute to catch his breath. He felt exhausted already and he got nowhere. On the contrary, he lost track of the altar... or what was left of it. In spite of this, he was totally able to see the fight was growing exceedingly violent.

Soon enough he felt ready to warp again, but a different kind of explosion prevent him from doing it. He froze, looking to the sea, outraged by the scene before him. Two huge and threatening entities appeared not very far from Leviathan, raising from the darkness with cries of hysteria and writhing manically as if they were wild beasts released from restraints. Maybe that it was, especially considering the circumstances.

Nyx couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Bahamut and Ifrit?” he murmured, stupefied. Aside from fairy tales, he did not know anything about the Astrals before meeting Lunafreya, but she recently educated him about mythology, even at cost of sacrificing the safe and intimate moments they shared in bed. Not like Nyx could fault his wife’s bad timing of a time and place, it was a terrible habit, but at least the private lessons turned out to be useful. He was now able to recognize the Astrals.

The Glaive was aware that Lunafreya would attempt summoning Bahamut and Ifrit later on, but he was also aware that the Crystal was under the Empire’s control, possibly very far from here. So how come Lunafreya summoned them already? Something he couldn’t known must have happened.

“How is it possible? Where did you find the Crystal?” And then realization hit him like he was struck by lightning. “Izunia!”

The mere pronunciation of that name send a chill up to his spine. If the Chancellor found a way to Lunafreya, it meant that she was in mortal danger. And Nyx couldn’t believe she accepted to envoke two more enraged gods into the fray. It could only mean the situation was desperate.

“Damn, pulling the brave princess act again,” he cursed beneath his breath. He would tell Luna in person soon though. If he got to her in time.

“Nyx!” The unexpected voice which called up for him sounded like the frenzied mix between surprise and relief.

Nyx turned around to meet eyes with the Crown Prince of Lucis, covered in grime and soaked with sea water, a very far image from the one of royal blood would be presented. Now that Nyx knew the prophecy that Noctis should have fulfilled, the one of him becoming the True King of Light, he wondered if the Astrals have been not only malicious but also befuddled all along because there was nothing majestic in that skinny and clumsy young man. The universe dictated that he was the Chosen One? With a small smile, Nyx thought that maybe it was because Astrals thought he would have been the perfect lamb to lead slaughter – silent, pliable and compliant. Like in Lunafreya’s case, bad news were in store for them.

“Your Highness.”

“What are you doing here?”

In that moment Leviathan’s move threw a debris in Noctis’ direction and if Nyx didn’t warp in time, the impact would made its mark.

“About to go save Lunafreya’s ass, but I guess I can make time to save yours.” Nyx yelled in the attempt to be heard in all the confusion. “What’s up with you royal types and attracting the worst of every situation possible?”

Noctis lifted his chin and shoved the Glaive off him.

“It’s not like I asked for this and yet, here I am.”

Nyx sighed dramatically. This wasn’t the time or place to discuss this, so he didn’t comment any further and just helped the boy up.

“We gotta go. Did you use the Ring already?”

“They wouldn’t be alive if I did,” Noctis grunted, staring at the Astrals raging in the distance. “I … still don’t feel ready.”

When he caught the apprehension in those words, Nyx felt hesitation knot inside his stomach. If carrying the ring on a chain on his neck made the Glaive feel like he had a leash, wearing it on the finger must have felt like succumbing to the death. And the prince was nothing but a boy, brave but naive. Strong but inexperienced. Did he sense where putting the ring would have lead him? Did he guessed the required blood prince beyond it? If he did, he didn’t say anything.

“Should I wear it now, Nyx?” Noctis asked instead, looking at the Astrals in the distance. There was so much distress brimmed in his eyes and an hollowed echo in his voice that Nyx almost wished to shield Noctis away from every possible harm. Sadly, fleeing was not an option.

A pointless response was on the tip of Nyx’s tongue and remained unsaid, leaving him insecure of how to answer the prince. He had to have faith in his wife, trusting she would have guided Noctis until the very end, doing the right thing, and revealing him the truth, all with a smile on her lips. His main goal now was to protect them both.

So Nyx took Noctis’ shoulder and pulled him close, to encourage and to assure him he would have stand by his side, no matter what. Noctis seemed grateful for that hasty but heartfelt gesture and exchanging an understatement nod, they warped ahead at the unison.

The prince and the Glaive, off to save their princess.

———

If those were her last breaths, Luna would have used them to blow things in a way that Ardyn couldn’t ever predict.

Watching with distraught eyes of her own blood dripping on slippery stone, she retrieved her trident again, imparting all her power to it. A thick ring of light encircled her, vibrating and taking everything down like a tsunami. Her white magic yearned to reach the target, searching every perimeter of the atmosphere with spasmodic accuracy until it finally found the prince and another very dear person that Luna didn’t expect to sense.

———

Warping closer to the Astrals felt like shooting against the world’s end. It was fire and water, wind and earth, the elements shaken, the certainties lost in a vortex of unknowns. It hurt. It really did.

If Nyx and Noctis didn’t have each other to rely on, there was no way that they could safely navigate through the vortex of destruction on their own. There was only forward, but obstacles before them forced them to embark detour after detour and time wasn’t on their side.

But then, they sensed Lunafreya. Like a sudden slap on the face, they suddenly knew she was there. They did not see her face, nor her figure. But it was her and she was everywhere.

“Your Highness, it’s time!” Nyx screamed, seizing the prince’s arm as he pointed at Leviathan, the closest divinity. “Take her out, I’ll cover you!”

Noctis nodded to the Glaive and focused, absorbing Luna’s magic from the chaotic atmosphere with deep breaths and closed his eyes. He secured himself to the wall of a building but he was rewarded for his concentration when he begun to levitate, the ancestral Armiger appearing from the nothing and circumnavigated about him.

Nyx looked at him in awe, holding the kukris in his hands, feeling that his own weapons couldn’t compare, much less leave a dent. For a moment he was certain that Noctis would have been fine against Leviathan without his help and such an intuition found confirmation when Noctis projected the first attack.

It was a blast.

Fueled by the Oracle’s white magic, Noctis warped and slit, weapons serving him like a dozen of new arms. Nothing dared to move again after his lethal and unstoppable contact. Nyx had troubles in following his lead in the chaos but whenever he caught him, he saw him hitting the target with great precision and he felt so proud of him and even more so of Lunafreya, who lent such an outstanding strength to him.

It was then his mind caressed the memory of Luna that he felt his heart ache in the desire of being reunited with her as soon as possible. He quickly gazed the altar and the gods in the distance with renewed resolve and his feet started to move by themselves. First, they trotted, then they ran, and in the end, he warped. Without taking his eyes off Noctis, he got closer to his wife and finally reached for her.

———————

But what he expected to be the fulfillment of his promise and an happy reunion, quickly turned into the worst nightmare when he faced the truth of what happened during his absence. An absence that almost swept away the light from Luna’s eyes.

“Nyx…” she whispered, letting the trident fall and trying to lift herself up from her forearms.

Luna would have thought she was dreaming if the pain she felt reminded her that the time on this world was to a close.

“Lunafreya!”

Luna lifted her chin enough to see the Glaive warping next to her, panic spreading all over his face. She found again all the details she thought she lost forever: the small tattoos, the braids, the shape of his jaw, the perfect lips now split and covered with blood. His strong arms picked her up, touching her with desperation and at the same time, delicately.

“I thought you were d–” Luna started, but her breath halted abruptly, stealing away her words.

Nyx adjusted her in his embrace and checked her out from the point of her head to the tip of her heels. His heart fell in a black abyss as soon as he noticed the wound on her abdomen and the urge of doing something almost brought him to the edge of the sanity.

“I’m fine!” When he screamed, he was angry. Damn, he was so angry. This was not supposed to be happening. “What happened to you? What–?” A grimace of pain moved on Luna’s beautiful forehead and she felt the urge to hide her face in his neck to alleviate her suffering. She wanted to cry because he was real, he was alive, and she was dying instead. Where she was headed was somewhere her Nyx would not be.

“Nyx. Nyx…” Her voice was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I did all that I could, I–”

“Hey, the prince got the Ring, okay? He’s gonna fix this mess. You did it. Now look at me. Stay with me. You’re not dying on my watch, Lunafreya.”

Luna smiled and looked at him expectedly.

“You did your job. You delivered the Ring to Noctis… and you came back as promised.” Nyx got drawn by the sweetness in her tone and in that moment everything around them disappeared, the raging Astrals, the decadent city, the chaos, the wounds. It was just the two of them, looking at each other in the eyes, trying to stop the time and capture eternity in the middle.

“Told you I would,” Nyx whispered, caressing her cheek with the thumb, wiping away the water of the ocean. Or maybe, it was her tears.

“Thank you… My dearest Nyx. Help Noctis now, I beg this of you. I beg you.”

“You still have to tell him about the Ring,” Nyx said, frantically, hoping to offer her more reasons to stay, like his wish to remain forever together wasn’t enough.

Luna surprised him by answering, “I will.”

Her promise left Nyx speechless. Then her lips moved, but no sound that he could make out until he leaned in. She gained all her remaining strength to whisper, “I love you” and closed her eyes, looking so tired and pale.

Nyx’s eyebrows furrowed, panic stirring in his chest as soon as he understood what was happening. The acutest pain hit him and paralyzed him. He wanted to say something but couldn’t. His lips were trembling badly. Tears pushed and asked to be released, but he couldn’t do that either. So he just stared at his wife, numb.

“Nyx!” Nyx recognized the voice. It was Noctis, calling for him from a close distance, like an echo, it barely reached him. Another voice joined, a different one, with an aristocratic accent.

“Noct!” This was Ignis. He arrived there, too.

But the Glaive ignored them both. He kept staring at Luna. He got closer to her lips and pressed his forehead to hers, trying to gift her his warmth, praying in vain to save her.

When he failed, he felt the world stop moving.

—————–

When he almost finished Leviathan off, Noctis had ran toward the altar, sensing Luna’s magic abandoning him. The attempt had caused him pain not only because Leviathan’s hysteria: Bahamut had joined the battle, taking the Goddess of the Sea’s side and throwing the young Prince in the ocean like he was a mere puppet. Noctis couldn’t explain how he survived that.

He felt the Ring calling for him, asking to be used but he did his best to ignore it, certain he had to wait a bit longer. Just a bit longer.

So Noctis swam to the river, Luna’s white magic sneaking away from his veins. As soon as he reached the altar he understood why. She was dying. So pale, so beautiful, curled in Nyx’s arms.

“Nyx!” he called, but then Noctis fell to his knees, a sudden tiredness embraced him. Something else was happening, something inside him. He didn’t even had the time to panic because energies were quickly abandoning him. He had the time to look for the Ring in his pocket, pressing it against the palm of his hand.

“Noct!”

The prince turned aside and noticed Ignis alongside with Ravus. He smiled to his loyal advisor then his sight got blurry. The ring toppled to the pavement and he fainted.

————-

Ravus was still paired up with Ignis when they headed for the altar. But as the High Commander’s breath hitched in seeing his sister’s corpse, Ignis ran to Noctis’ side instead and quickly checked his pulse. Sensing it was still there, he sighed in relief but at the same time searched for the cause of his fainting and founded nothing but the ring beside him. He took it with justified fear and then swallowed, turning around to look at Nyx and Ravus.

The Glaive was huddled there, staring at the woman in his arms. His eyes were empty, haunted by the final words bestowed to him. Not even Ravus, destroyed by seeing his sister lifeless, could equal his level of numbness.

Ignis understood. He understood far better than Noctis or Ravus ever could. He knew what meant dedicating your life to someone and not being able to protect that person in spite of every effort. If Noctis wouldn’t been revived, he would have felt dejected from existence in the same way. So he stood up, thinking of getting closer to Nyx and Ravus to offer them comfort, but there was not time for mourning because the Astrals were still raging in the distance and because someone appeared not very far from them.

“Ardyn!” Ravus seethed, recognizing him.

“Hello there. What a happy reunion in such a distressful time.”

Ignis quickly assumed a defensive position, certain that he wouldn’t have let him closer to Noct or Luna. “Nyx Ulric! On your feet!” he called, praying that the Glaive would abandon his comatose status and react because they needed him now more than ever. “Nyx!”

When Nyx lifted his eyes, there was death inside. "Give me the Ring,” he said.

Ignis gasped. Nyx knew what using the ring would mean. When Insomnia was under attack he saw Ravus using it and suffered the consequences. Lunafreya had told him that Noctis himself - the Chosen one - would have consumed his life for using it. So when he asked to Ignis to hand him the Ring, he knew that what would have been the consequences, but he just didn’t care. Lunafreya, his princess, his wife, his reason to live, had died in his arms and this made him reckless. His life meant nothing now she was gone. He failed his mission. He didn’t protect her. To atone for such a sin, he would have sacrificed his life to kill the murderous Astrals and maybe also the Usurper, so Noctis didn’t have to.

“No, Nyx. Using the Ring is a right reserved to the True King and only Noct –” Ignis started, but got interrupted by the Glaive’s prompt response.

“You wouldn’t use it if it was Noctis in Lunafreya’s place?”

Ignis didn’t reply, averting his gaze with a grimace. So when Nyx reached for the Ring, Ignis hesitated just for a second before handing it over to him. Damn the consequences.

It was fast. Nyx wore it before Ignis’, Ravus’, and Ardyn’s shocked eyes. And the darkness fell on that dimension, bringing Nyx face to face with the powerful kings of the past.

—————————-

Blades of grass caressed Noctis’ cheek and he woke up. At the beginning he couldn’t recognize the perfume of the sylleblossoms, too much time was passed since he last smelled it. Twelve years, probably.

As he stood up and the blue color of the flowers filled his eyes, he understood he was inside a dream, there was no other explanation to such a contrasting scenery. Trapped inside the body of when he was just a eight years old boy, he looked around, searching for Luna, the only one he shared the memory of the sylleblossom field with.

“Noctis?”

There she was, the younger version of her. Blond hair on her tiny shoulders, the cute little dress, she was exactly like he remembered in her fondest memories.

Noctis felt his heart warming up, childhood dreams filling with bittersweet tenderness his mind repressed from the associated pain of her visage.

“Luna?”

“So you found your way here.”

Noctis stood up and looked at her. Once again, they were two children in a flower field, talking surrounded by peace.

“And you found me” Noctis whispered then, comforted by that thought.

“A chance to see you once more. Who would have thought?”

“Luna. Where are we? What’s happening?”

“I needed to have a moment to speak with you, Noctis. Before I go.”

“Go where?”

In that moment, the wind swished graciously and Luna’s beautiful white dress follow the breeze, getting longer in the air. When Noctis lifted his chin to look at her again, the child was gone and an adult woman, mature and emotionally drained, replaced her instead. Still, she was beautiful.

“Where you can’t follow, Noctis. I’m dying. I enjoyed my moments of happiness. Since I left my goodbyes with Tenebrae months ago, I knew this day would have come,” she whispered, but her echo could be heard from the distance in the irisdescent atmosphere. “The Astrals ordained my death and rebelling against them came with a price. I’m ready to the fare as long as you, Nyx, and the all of Eos are preserved.”

The mention of that name in the conversation woke doubts in Noct’s mind. Even if he was trapped inside the body of a child, his memory of an adult was able to reach for the image of Luna dying with Nyx’s lips on hers. That caused him pain but also a dazzling feeling of emptiness.

“You love the Glaive, don’t you?”

Luna let a second pass and then nodded.

“I was happy, Noctis. He made me happy, even for just a little while. So don’t think you couldn’t save me because in a way... He did already when nobody else could.”

Noctis forgot how to use the tongue to speak for at least one minute straight. The feeling inside his heart was confused and uncertain, very similar to the frustration of not being able to do what he always wished to: helping Luna.

“What… What should I do then? What do you want me to do?”

“Your burden is heavy enough. You still must banish the Darkness from our Star, Noctis. Ardyn Izunia is the Usurper and even if we’d succeed in killing the malicious Astrals, he still would try to have his revenge on your lineage. The only power able to destroy him is the one restrained in the Ring, but about that you must be warned of something your father and I never had the courage to share with you.” Luna could barely conceal her sadness looking at the child she shared so many fond memories with. He really cared for her, as much she cared for him. It was about time to speak him the truth and guide him one last time before parting ways. They were like parallel lines, after all, always so close, never destined to entwine.

“What is it about?”

“The Kings ask for a blood price. The Old Wall can be summoned from drawing the essence of your life.”

“Does it mean I’m gonna die…?”

Luna’s heart ached.

“So speaks the prophecy, Noctis.” The spark died in the boy’s eyes and Luna had only a faint hope to offer him. If she would have suggested him a corect line of action which implied saving his life, she would have considered her calling of Oracle really fulfilled. Guiding him was her mission, after all. Making him happy was her wish. “But you can defeat it, together with your best friends and with the loyalty of the Glaives like Nyx. So many people are ready to stand by you all along, Noctis. So many people are ready to challenge fate to see you safe. Not a single life will be taken if you will share your burden with all of them.”

“Share my burden…? How?”

“Inside the Crystal, you’ll find an answer. The Kings of Yore will show mercy to their descendants. Once you’re inside there, your trials will start and you’ll enter into reflection. Remember you’re not alone. If you’ll keep in mind that you don’t have to carry your burden alone, you’ll manage to survive the cruel fate the gods chose for you.”

A sudden and far noise broke the peace of the meadow. The sylleblossoms delicately waved, the earth underneath their feet did, too.

Noctis panicked a bit like the kid he seemed, while Luna looked upon the sky with sad eyes. Understanding what was happening, she got so close to tears and had to battle a lot to be strong.

“What’s going on up there?” Noctis screamed. The dream they were trapped in started to collapse.

“You belong to the realm of the living, Noctis” said Luna then, aware of running out of time, “Godspeed. Reclaim your throne. Nyx has certainly used the Ring already like the stubborn fool he is. Don’t let the Kings burn him alive for his recklessness, I beg of you. Join forces with him.”

The sylleblossoms around them started to melt and moved like waves of water. Still, Noctis had questions.

“What about you?” Luna shook her head in response. “No! Luna!” The mysterious flow pulled Noctis away from his friend and no matter how much the boy streched out to reach for her, he just couldn’t touch her.

Luna didn’t ask to be saved though. She was smiling, because she told Noctis the truth in the end because Noctis would have saved Nyx and together they would have saved the world.

Her duty was done.

Her calling finally fulfilled.

———————

Nyx found himself floating in an indefinite blue space, surrounded by darkness and clueless of what expecting next. He figured that such a place was an alternate dimension used by the Kings to get in touch with the mortals but he couldn’t be sure. Yet, all that space, with no appropriation of space or size, made him even more anxious than he already was. He was sure that the Kings of Lucis wouldn’t have welcomed his impudent initiative, so he stood there alone for a long minute, in silence and uncertainty, contemplating the possibility of his imminent death.

“Show yourselves, Kings of Lucis!” he called out in the end, tired of waiting.

Like they were sparks of blue fire bursting out of a volcano, the spirits of the kings appeared all around him, minacious and powerful. They didn’t make a sound nor move a breeze. What did he expect from ghosts? And Nyx hoped that ghosts may go gentle on him.

“You call upon the wards of this world’s future, mortal. And if you come lusting for our power, you must first stand in our judgment,” one of them started. Nyx thought it was the most important among them so he turned around until he faced him.

“You did nothing as Insomnia burned and now, you did nothing as the woman who did so much to preserve the light in the world - the woman who dared to challenge the gods when nobody of you did – suffered and died. She is the blood of the Oracle, but you let her alone in this fight!”

Nyx’s voice trembled as he spoke so, but didn’t end it there. On the contrary it screamed out loud. He was angry, he was in agony, he was ready to fight not only the Gods but also the ghosts of the Kings of Lucis in order to receive even the slightest hope of bringing Lunafreya back. The pain of having lost her had hurt him so badly that he was ready to try and risk everything. He would have gladly got down in hell, sunk his feet in the river Styx and fought the devil himself if it was necessary. Everything. Everything to keep her safe - or in this case, to bring her back.

He didn’t want to think it was over and that she was lost forever, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that the situation was kinda desperate.

“Man is a fool creature, clinging to his past and cowering from his future” answered the Kings in fact. “Wasting his strength on bygone days. And what future are you wards of? So shortsighted. And cursed never to rise above it. It does not fall to us to guard your city or your woman.”

“But it falls to you to guard the future!” Nyx screamed back.

“Guarding the future is something we do of our own accord. At a time we so choose.”

“The longer you wait, the more the world burns! Old or new, or whatever it is, give me your power. Now! Destroy the gods. Banish the darkness. If you can’t save her, don’t let Lunafreya’s death be in vain!” Nyx’s voice was starting to get not only reckless, but also really desperate. With Lunafreya gone and the prince unconscious, if the Kings of Lucis would have refused to help him too, there would be no hope.

He wanted to save everything and everyone, it was something written in his blood and he couldn’t help with it.

“You do not command us. Yours is not even royal blood.”

That statement hit Nyx’s nerves. He couldn’t believe that the Kings would have been so irrational and stubborn to refuse his request just because he wasn’t a member of the royal family. Truth to be told, he could have asked nicely, but there was no time for it. They had to listen to him, and quickly. So he opened his mouth to try to work out a response and give them a piece of his mind when another voice joined the conversation, interrupting him.

“His may be not. But mine is.”

Nyx boggled and turned around in shock.

He may have not spoken with that voice so often, but he would have recognize it between a milion similar ones.

Noctis was standing there, some steps away from him, lifting his chin to face the Kings, an unspoken courage on the face. He was raising his right hand in the air and it was then when Nyx noticed the ring on his finger. Puzzled and confused, the Glaive checked his own hand, seeing that the ring had dissapeared from there to materialize on the prince’s. This caused an hesitant smile dawning on his face.

“The Ring. How…?” Nyx whispered, adressing to Noctis. “How come you’re here?”

Noctis glanced at him briefly and smiled wryly. “Luna.”

That name made Nyx’s heart lighten and enlarge. “You spoke with her…?” he asked increduolously.

Despite his question, Noctis walked ahead, ignoring him to address the Kings instead.

“Father.” One of the shadows twirled gently and bent down, getting closer to Noctis with obvious familiarity. He didn’t say anything, so Noctis did first, “Grant to Nyx Ulric to go on living. I’m gonna need him as much as I’m gonna need the support of my friends. That’s how I can defeat the prophecy, isn’t it?”

“The prophecy is matter of the gods and the Kings put it into action. You must know by now that the power of the Ring costs a life because it’s fed with vital energy. No one can change this” the mechanical voice of the ghost king replied.

“What if each one of us sacrifice a piece of their own life instead?” Noctis asked it as a question, but he looked pretty confident about his suggestion. “In that case, you’d have your blood debt and we all would survive long enough to enjoy the light of the dawn for years.”

A deep silence fell among the ghosts of the kings.

“Who plotted this scheme?” Someone asked. Surprisingly enough, there was stupor in the question like they were outraged that someone actually dared to elaborate such a proposal.

Noctis didn’t answer but his grin milded with a tender expression, revealing the truth without speaking a word.

Luna.

It was certainly her the one behind the suggestion.

King Regis - it was clear it was him under the solid armor which made him hard to recognize - stepped ahead, slowly. “For years I mourned your fate, Noctis. I would have done anything to save you and I still would. But your life is very high valued, your request cannot be granted so easily. If we accept, how many people would have to share your burden when it was meant to be only yours to bear?”

“I don’t know. How many people died for me until now? Without my knowledge?”

Regis boggled at the veiled accusation, hit right in the feelings. In his mind shocking images of Insomnia’s destruction probably appeared, because he immediately seemed to submit.

“I’m sorry, Noctis. I was only trying to spare you the pain... I thought your destiny couldn’t be changed.”

Noctis’ face frowned in suffurance. “I wish I knew about what gods had in store for me, Dad. We would have find a solution together. And maybe … you’d still be here, too.” The boy almost started to cry but he quickly hid the feelings behind a mask of resolution, determined to settle down the right priorities. He looked at his finger, were the ring was positioned. Glowing with a menacious shade of red, it looked like an horrible instrument of death.

“But we can still change destiny, Dad. I’m going to get home back. Trust me. Believe in me.

King Regis took a long minute before nodding. For some reason, Nyx imagined he was smiling under the helm.

“My wayward son is ready to be a king, then” he said then, a voice so human in spite of the eerie reverberations. And he stepped back, to rejoin the rest of the Kings. “He’s right. A lot of people will be ready to lend him their strength. We must prepare to pay our blood debt and Noctis will do what he must. Let’s grant him our power and send the Glaive back with him.”

There was a long silence, but for some reason, the King who spoke first - the most hostile one - didn’t bother to object. It was like he trusted King Regis completely even if he was technically the latest addition to the club.

“Very well, Chosen. You and the impudent Glaive return to the realm of the living. We’ll grant you our powers. And then you’ll enter into Reflection, for you, the journey has just begun.”

But Noctis didn’t seem to be satisfied yet.

“The world is going to need a guide while I’m inside the Crystal. Who should I trust for this? Ravus? I don’t think so. You all know that Eos always looked to only one person for inspiration,” he added, knowing exactly he was crossing a line he shouldn’t have get close to. Asking to the Kings a ressurection when he just obtained the greatest powers almost for free was really… audacious. In spite of this, there was the sparkle of a smile on his lips. Like he knew that Kings wouldn’t ever deny anything to their beloved last heir.

Nyx realized he was not so shameless compared to him. And for this reason, he promised his eternal loyalty to that young King instantly.

“Now, now, Young King. We take lives, we don’t give them” one of the Ancestors replied though. “The favor you’re asking is something only the gods are able to grant. Throw them on your feet and they shall do as you order. They will give back the life they slowly sucked away all along. The Oracle is not of our concern.”

Noctis turned. He and Nyx shared a deep and meaningful glance.

Nyx didn’t know what to say, so great was the confusion and the emotion. He just saw history being written under his very own eyes and he could barely realize it.

“Of course. The Six ripped off Luna of her white magic, and if we kill them one by one, they’re gonna give back what they took. Luna’s life included. So, we can stick to our original plan” Noctis whispered, opening the palms of his hands and closing his eyes. The Ring glowed again, glowing red, and Nyx understood they were going back to reality with an unbelievable pact sealed with the old Kings of Lucis. Unable to formulate into words the strong emotion he felt inside, he just stepped ahead, closer to Noctis. As he reached for his shoulder, King Regis interrupted him in the attempt of stealing another promise.

“Nyx Ulric. You used the Ring and this will take a major tool on you, no matter if you’ll survive or not. The old wall is no joke and you was so reckless to ask for it. However, I am getting used to trust you with the lives of the dearest people I still have on earth, because I know you didn’t let me down and never will. Take care of my son.”

Nyx took only one instant to figure what Regis wanted to say. The Ring was made of black magic, the darkest and the most powerful one. If it was true that the life price would have requested a certain amount of strength from Noctis’ best friends, a major price would have come upon Nyx, because he dared to use the Ring, going way too far. He couldn’t think of playing with fire without getting burned. At the same time, he couldn’t regret trying. So he nodded with a serious expression.

Regis probably was satisfied of his courage, so he added, “However, once that Luna is back, she will help you fighting the darkness of the Ring’s repercussions. Godspeed.”

And if that was the deal to be struck, the darkness didn’t scare him.

So, he smirked like he was used to, “Where do I sign?”

——————-

With a flash made of light, they returned back to reality.

Ardyn didn’t got any closer and the Gods were still raging behind, so both Nyx and Noctis realized that just a couple of seconds had passed since they left the real world to speak with the Gods.

So they didn’t lose any more time, they both sprinted up on their feet and summoned their weapons, Nyx the kukris, Noctis all the ancestral weapons in his arsenal. Shoulders against shoulders, they shared a nod and silently agreed on what to do.

They parted ways without even the need to wish each other “good luck”, because no luck was needed. They both had the power of the Kings of the past and that was an assurance of victory already.

Noctis threw himself agaist the Astrals first, knowing they were the priority if they wanted to clear the path to Ardyn and if they wanted Luna back. With the Ring on his finger he was unstoppable and lethal while Leviathan was heavily injured already. He didn’t took a lot of time to knock them off, one by one, but Nyx didn’t notice anyway. In fact, everything happened so fast that Nyx could barely aknowledge the sequence of action at all. He didn’t have the time to see Noctis killing Leviathan and Bahamut, then Ifrit, then summoning Titan and Ramuh and dispose of them too. He didn’t have the time because he was busy keeping Ardyn occupied until Noctis would have been back and he did it amazingly.

Like Regis’ ghost warned him, the power of the ring was taking a toll on his body already. He was feeling the dark magic of the Kings running through his veins, leaving marks similar to burning cinders on his skin. In spite of this, he didn’t bother. He would have kept the promise he made to Regis: he would have stood by Noctis side, no matter at what cost. He would have gifted him his own vital energy at the right moment. And he would have survived to see Luna running back in his arms.

Nyx learned that hope was the most powerful magic in his own arsenal. Without it, he wouldn’t have been the hero everyone labeled him with when for the first time in forever, he felt to stand the title.

Thinking of this, the power of the ring overwhelmed him to the point he completely lost the control on time. Maybe the pride and the self condidence were pushing him towards the darkness quicker than he could expect. Once again, he didn’t care.

Ignis and Ravus came to help him and that was when Ardyn himself started to lose the fight. All of a sudden, the Usurper couldn’t avoid the blows delivered by the kukris, nor the trajectory of the magic, and Nyx felt the darkness inside him getting stronger and stronger, he lost his soul to it.

He kept casting death spells, until the climax brought him to the point where he could barely remember how to breathe.

That was the moment when a voice called for him.

“Nyx, that’s enough.”

He couldn’t stop immediately, even if he wanted to. He kept attacking Ardyn, like another wave of darkness had deleted his rationality, replacing it with pure fury. It was not until he recognized the voice calling him that he halted.

“Nyx.”

He gasped.

His vision blurred.

He stopped this time.

He let the kukris falling on the ground and all of a sudden he felt like the powers of the ring abbandoned him, which made him kneel down and almost faint. His heart missed a beat, confused by the lack of adrenaline he previously lost himself to. If a pair of pale arms didn’t embrace him, he would have certainly crushed his face to the ground.

The scent of her hair hit him first. Then the warmth of her skin. Nyx sighed deeply, finding relief even before completely aknowledging what was happening. He used his last reserves of strength to hug her so tight that he feared losing her if he didn’t hold her close.

“Ardyn is gone,” she whispered in his ear, delicate like a sylleblossom and gentle as a breeze.

He was not instead. Trembling and panting, the Glaive asked harshly, “Is he dead?”

“No, my love. But he will be, one day. By the hand of our King, not ours.”

Fair enough.

Only then, Nyx sighed deeply, slowing regaining control on his muscles. As the power of the kings started to leave his body, he felt the skin melting and the brain going empty. He almost wanted to cry to give to vent the numbess, but he ended up abandoning himself to her, burying his nose in her hair.

“We both did enough, Nyx. Let’s take a break.”

Her voice was so calm, and that was the only thing that prevent him from falling apart.

Nyx flinched back to look at her, eager to involve other senses in the relief of having her back. And Lunafreya was there, real and alive. He admired the square shape of her jaw, the bones of her collarbone, the crystal blue of her beautiful eyes. She was covered in powder and dirty water, but she never looked so human and beautiful. He immediately reached for her cheeks, to caress them and wipe away a tear stemming from the source.

“You’re back,” he whispered, still shaking. The spirals similar to burning cinder reached his neck, but the only touch of Lunafreya’s hand took it away with a glow. Her healing magic was his cure. Not even when he made love to her thinking there was no tomorrow, he felt more intimately connected to her like when she cured him in that specific situation. She literally sucked away the darkness inside him with the delicate touch of her fingers and that felt like heaven. With a sigh of relief, he leaned forward to kiss her smile. When they interrupted the kiss a minute later, she finally managed to nod.

“What did you offer to the Kings in exchange of my life?”

“Nothing more than what we already planned to offer. The lives of the Six.”

Luna opened her mouth in disbelief and immediately checked the marks on her stomach. Nothing was visible under her thin and white dress, which meant they were all gone. The knife wound created by Ardyn was gone, too, and only the stain of the dark blood smudged the fabric. The destruction of the gods inverted the course of her destiny, exactly like they originally expected. When Noctis killed them, their death gave back her life, her magic and her health.

Realizing this, Luna gasped but the shock on her face was well concealed by the calm of her inner confusion. She was just too surprised to actually show it. She just stood like that, Nyx’s hands on hers, and said nothing.

In the meantime, around them the fog had cleared, revealing that Ardyn had dissapeared. Ravus and Ignis - exausted by the surreal fight - limped toward Nyx’s and Luna’s direction, dismay on their faces that in Ravus’ case quickly turned into excitement.

“Lunafreya!” he screamed, shamelessly stealing her from Nyx’s arms to hug her like he never did before. Luna gladly accepted his affection for once, wondering why she had to die before seeing his brother act like when they were children. “You were dead. How…?”

Nyx stood up with difficulty, looking at the weird spirals on his burning skin slowly dissapear, leaving behind scars. Shelving the mixed feelings he had towards the Ring’s blood price and Noctis’ survival, he focused on the view of Altissia around them.

Destruction and chaos was everywhere.

The corpse of the gods had dissapeared immediately after their death, but the signs of their rage remained in the felled buildings and broken bridges. The darken clouds in the sky opened a little, so the weak rays of sunshine could touch the flowers destroyed by the water, the upside down tables and chairs of the restaurants and the broken glasses of the windows. It was a distressing view, but Nyx could only feel relief.

The Gods were gone. Somehow, they accomplished the impossible. But if the battle was won, so it wasn’t the war. Izunia was still alive and he would have spread the Darkness upon all Eos.

As a matter of fact, he looked for Noctis and noticed him up there where what was left of the altar was located. He stood all alone with the Crystal next to him. Even from the distance, the ring on his had was extremely visible, as much as the sad expression on his face.

His eyes met Nyx’s, and he smiled. That look meant a lot for them both. It meant “I will be back soon I promise”, “go, we’ll settle the rest”, “hold on until the day I will reclaim the throne”, “take care of them” and also … “take care of her”. Nyx somehow understood all the layers of the glance and simply nodded, clenching the jaw in a nervous and silent movement.

Then, Noctis quickly glanced back at Ignis, looking for Prompto and Gladiolus who were running in their direction. A soft smile warmed up his expression. In that moment, Nyx noticed that something was different in him, already. His way of standing tall was different, his shoulders were straighten up, his face looked more mature. And when he turned his back to his friends to enter inside the Crystal, Nyx observed the awareness in his walking.

The young prince would have been a great King once he would have come out of the Crystal. He would have lived long enough to rule well on Eos, sharing his burden with his loyal friends. With him, too.

While he was thinking at this, Luna’s fingers slid between Nyx’s ones, delicate as feathers. The Glaive turned to watch her positioning next to him, holding up to his arm. Her eyes were glowing like diamonds under the rays of the sun, a sun that would have shown rarely in the next years.

Nyx found inspiration in watching her, knowing that she would have lead Eos during Noctis’ absence, spreading hope in his return.

So, it was it. The moment of the separation had come. Darkness would have fallen upon them. But it would have been temporary.

Nyx and Luna stood in silent reverence as they watched their future King dissapear inside the Crystal, leaving the burden of the world on their shoulders.

#lunyx #lunafreya nox fleuret #nyx ulric #final fantasy xv #kingsglaive #ffxv #see luna safe to altissia #obina writes and this is weird

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ebaeschnbliah · 7 years ago

Text

LOVE IS A BURNING THING

________________________________________________________________

"He (Sherlock) wants to rise above us like a snowcapped mountain, but he’s actually a volcano." Steven Moffat (IGN interview, February 2014)

A volcano is associated with fire, flames, heat, explosions, erruptions, ash .... One could easily say that the inside of a vulcano is a rather hellish place.

Recently @gosherlocked wrote a very interesting meta about the topic of fire ('Set this house on fire') and @tendergingergirl added some equally interesting informations about the fire symbolism in dreams.

What I want to play with here, is 'FIRE' as a metaphor for LOVE ... as I did already a little bit in a comment on this post by @sherlockshadow which got this whole FIRE=LOVE theory in my head really going (and Johnny Cash, of course). :)))

If Sherlock BBC is a story told from the inside of Sherlock's head - partly or entirely - the audience perceives those parts exactly how Sherlock envisions certain things .... and not how they really are.

All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots ... love is a dangerous disadvantage ... the chemistry is incredibly simple, and very destructive ... all emotion is abhorrent to me. It is the grit in a sensitive instrument ... romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people ... and so on and so on ....

This is what Sherlock thinks about emotions and LOVE. Would it be very far fetched to assume, that he might compare LOVE to a serial killer or to a poison, to fire and flames. Anyone can become LOVE's victim and then even the most clever and intelligent people tend to turn into useless idiots. Does Sherlock view LOVE as something extremly dangerous and destructive to his mind and therefore to his work? Or to put it much more dramatically: does Sherlock depict love as a spawn from hell, created by the devil?

Let's see what FIRE (in all its shapes) is able to reveal ... under the cut ....

The 'pink case' .... already a red-hot topic

It's much more obvious in PILOT (here) but in ASIP the pink case is indeed a 'burning' one as well ... though mostly hidden by the chair.

Effectively (not on Sherlock though) the serial killer uses a fire-spitting gun.

Dragons are fiery creatures

And a rather dangerous dragon - a yellow one, the color of fire - rises its head in TBB. It threatens Sherlock and drags his heart (John) underground into it's dark den .... to shoot at it (Sarah the 'pretty doctor companion' as mirror for John) with a really, really big arrow (X)

Explosion from the outside

A bomb explodes opposite 221 in the very house where in canon (in ACDs The Empty House) the words are spoken: 'journeys end in lovers' meetings' (Shakespeare, Twelfth Night X X ) It shatters the windows and throws Sherlock violently to the ground.

Challenged by a mysterious player, Sherlock discovers a new and exciting game. The boredom vanishes and he feels elated .... he is 'on fire' ... until suddenly this 'novel' game changes and 'fire' turns into a mortal threat. 'I'll burn you. I'll burn the heart out of you'. Ohhhh ....

The Boomerang-Effect

That's when carefully laid out plans are starting to backfire and heads are smashed in by things returning from the East.

And fire does expose Sherlock's priorities. Protect the heart! He reacts by sending the threat away to a forsaken place ... to perish there. Hot and dry. Full of whirring heat by day, freezing cold by night. A desert. But then ... in the end Sherlock can't let that happen ...

Dewer's Hollow

The entrance to hell? Where the devil resides? Who lets loose a ghostly monster hound with glowing red eyes.

A hound from hell who creates fear and panick to keep the inquisitive at bay. Poisoned air directly from the depths of hell .... released with every step one takes ... driving people into insanity ... into seeing things that aren't there ... seeing monsters where no monsters are.

What's the final problem?

Has Sherlock worked out by now how it will be done? How he will be burned to a crisp like the gingerbread man?

He has been told, but did he listen? How can he escape that handshake in hell? By running away? Maybe? He will try ...

An ocean of flickering candles

Is it here where Sherlock lands after his .... flight? Fire and flames everywhere he goes? Fire and torture ....

Escaping the dungeon and back into the fire

A case from the past destined to lure him back ... involving a fire damage. Sherlock knows it's fake.

Soon the burning starts again and gets worse than ever. His heart (John) is thrown into a bonfire and left to roast. It's a last minute rescue. And the danger is still far from over.

A massive attack is imminent! Sherlock's brain knows this. But where should he look for it? A network of underground transport .... trains and tunnles. Of course, it can only be underground. And it's not just a bomb .... not just a giant bomb ... the whole carriage is the bomb and demolition charges are installed everywhere ....

Sherlock has a vision: He is inside that carriage ... a man engulfed in flames ....

The whirring heat goes right up the high tower, spreads through the whole parliament, the goernment, the brain .....

The palace is hit by a massive explosion. Old walls of solid stone are cracking and bursting and crumbling down into rubble and ashes and licking flames.

Oh, shit! Sherlock uses the off-switch just in time to stop his brain exploding! Now he can play the 'danger' down and risk a joke with his angry heart ....

The living, breathing facade

A proud warrior, the former commander of a heart ... but now living an isolated life, way out in the middle of nowhere ... with a badly burned and useless hand, with visible scars in his face (and how many might be hidden under his uniform) This soldier watches in stoic calmness how a heart (his heart) decides to marry a facade.

And Sherlock ... who has planned and rehearsed this wedding down to the last detail ... watches his mirror watching .... and takes a look at the inexplicable.

Another last minute rescue and a revelation. Something has taken hold and is growing. Oh .... might this be .... ???

Keeping the heart safe

That's still Sherlock's first priority ... to keep his heart safe behind the facade. But the drug, the poison (the chemistry of love) is working already. A man pisses into a cold fireplace, a bullet is fired into Sherlock's chest, a memory stick gets thrown into the fire and another bullet to the head 'deletes' the mind palace of the businessman who pissed in the cold fireplace..

'Stand fire! Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!' ... the brain shouts bevor it tries to sends Sherlock away to the East ...... to die ....

two hidden notes inside a library of secrets and scandals

two times Sherlock is ready to go away forever to save his heart

two times Sherlock is brought back by the criminal mastermind ... because his heart is in danger if he leaves the heart alone.

Taking on a new case

'Sometimes, to solve a case, one must first solve another.' That's what happens in TAB. Sherlock lays aside the 'burning pink case of romance' and opens another one ... a very old one .... the cold case of: 'what made me like this?'

TAB is set in victorian times. And from the beginning to the end it is filled with real fire. No electric light but living, breathing, flickering flames. Burning candles, gas lamps, candelabras and torches. Braziers ablaze in flames illuminate the crypt where the secret cult is chanting. The shut down voices of 'a league of furies'.

The consulting detective and the criminal mastermind .... both are bathed in the red and orange hue of licking flames ....

The whole episode is on fire - dark and glowing at the same time - and Sherlock ist high on an overdose of drugs (chemistry of love) throughout it.

When a facade is crumbling down

A young man, back from Tibet, burns in his car and a blue Power Ranger melts on the grille.

A journey through many waters. From the waterfall in TAB to a licking wall of blue flames which consumes the fallen facade.

Blue is the color of water and emotions. In TST even the fire seems to be colored by emotions .... becaus the firewall is gone now and the path clear again for the Eastwind to come ....

The angry heart

Another episode where Sherlock is 'high' from beginning to end. And again fire plays a big role. This time though mostly in words.

Sherlock left his flat? .... 'Was it on fire?' .... 'Quality food' licked by open flames .... 'We must not burn our bridges' ..... 'I'm burning up! I’m at the bottom of a pit and I’m still falling and … I’m never climbing out' .... 'I’m a mess; I’m in hell!'

And that's Sherlock's mission .... he has to go to hell .... to meet another serial killer.

He has to go to hell to trick his angry heart into action. His angry naked heart who has lost the protection of the facade and refuses to speak to him. It is deeply hurt and seething with rage. Nonetheless they need one another. And Sherlock's plan works. In the very last second (with a littel nudge out of the door) his heart rushes to his rescue .... armed with a .... fire extinguisher.

The final problem

Eurus sends the 'passions grenade' to 221b Bakerstreet ('patience greande' I know :) And because Eurus sends this 'passions grenade' I call her a very wise woman/incarnation/anima/shadow ... whatever. :))))

The explosion goes off right in the middle ot the living room and it hits 221b with massive force. Realistically, no one could survive this. Neither Sherlock, John or Mycroft ... nor Sherlock's Belstaff or John's chair or any other flammable thing in that room. Therefore I consider all three of them ... deaded .... completely and utterly deaded .... Thankfully, this whole story happens inside Sherlock's head and therefore 'deaded' doesn't mean 'dead' in real life. It's just a metaphor ....

'Killed in an explosion of burning love' ... sounds good to me. :)))

The burning of old Musgrave Hall .... is it a sign for a past trauma? Or is it a sign that an old proplem has been resolved? Will there be more stories to tell? If so ... when and where will Sherlock, his heart and his brain reappear? The last scene shows them running right onto Rathbone Place. Well, maybe Sherlock isn't quite done with his thought journey yet ..... there's always something ..... :))))

December, 2017

I leave you to your own deductions. Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

@gosherlocked @loveismyrevolution @sagestreet @sherlockshadow @kateis-cakeis @raggedyblue @tjlcisthenewsexy @sarahthecoat @monikakrasnorada @darlingtonsubstitution @tendergingergirl @possiblyimbiassed

#love is a burning thing #fire and flames

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athyrabunlord · 7 years ago

Text

LLSHP 13 - Fallen

Arc1: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]

Arc2: [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14]

Arc3: [Chapter 15 - Under The Black Lake (TBD)]

Interlude: [Carbonado (1)] [Carbonado (2)] [Of Feathers and Wind] [Delphinus (teaser blip)]

[Brief note about School Term] [other LLSHP AU stuff] [YohaMaRuby concept arts] [ChikaYouRiko concept arts] [KanaDiaMari concept arts] [Hogwarts Staff]

[FFN link] (finished the interludes!) [Pixiv Link]

A/N: Here we are, number 13, also this story’s title (sort of). I’m pleased to be able to finish this chapter barely before Season2 starts. I’m proud to have made it here, thanks to you all awesome supporters! Anyway, won’t say much except this chapter definitely focuses on our beloved narrator. Any feedback is appreciated! Words: 6,279

Yoshiko throws her backpack at the corner of the room, and winces at the loud noise. She has every intention to throw a tantrum, to vent out her stress and frustration, or even scream into the pillow.

Yet her anger at the world drains away the longer she stands in the middle of the room. A flood of helplessness hits her then, her throat aching and her eyes stinging. Wearily, she slides down against the wall, hugging her knees against her chest. She takes a deep breath and stares blankly at the wall.

Is this what her life is going to be like?

She’s only starting middle school, a bit too young to be worrying about life, but the despair tends to rear its ugly head from the corner of her mind whenever she is alone.

Which is often enough.

She grew up at the orphanage along with a dozen other kids. People came and went, some adopted by childless couples or were picked up by their distant relatives. Yoshiko Tsushima have no such luck. All she had of her family was a surname that she wasn’t even sure belonged to her.

She was told that her parents perished in a car crash, as were many of the other kids. Accidents, unfortunate events and whatnot, something that kids were too young to understand and no longer questioned as they grew into teenagers. When she was younger, Yoshiko had spent a great deal of her time fantasizing her possible background. Perhaps she was of royal lineage, or had really cool parents who were just too busy helping the world like the superheroes in movies.

Maybe, just maybe, her parents were angels and she had inadvertently fallen from the celestial realms, thus stuck as a mortal and unable to return to where she belongs.

What else could explain the things she could do? There’s no scientific explanation behind how she could sometimes cause small flares to blaze on candles with a simple wave of her hand, or how she could end up on the roof when she was on the ground just a moment ago.

Alas, that’s also why she is ostracized by her peers and even the adults in her life.

She trusts no one but herself. People can pretend to be nice because they always, always have an ulterior motive. That’s the harsh truth she’s learned growing up.

She tries to blend in, be normal so she doesn’t stand out. Maybe in time, her abilities would fade away and she would finally become a normal kid.

But that’s not what she truly wants. Deep down, she’s always yearned to be acknowledged for herself, that her special powers are something to be admired instead of to be frowned upon.

Instead of being forced to go to see those horrible psychiatrists or counselors.

Sighing shakily, she buries her face in her palms. Earlier today at school, she’s slipped up and preached to her new classmates about little demons, fallen angels and whatnot. There goes the dream of having an ideal school life, just when she’s finally graduated elementary school and was able to move to a new school district too!

Upon hearing a knock on her door, she cringes and resigns herself to another dragging reprimand from the orphanage’s matron. She just hopes the matron wouldn’t force her to go see a psychiatrist again.

She’s normal! There’s nothing wrong with her!

Frowning, she looks up and peers at the small mirror on her desk. Her own reflection stares back at her, a lost and unhappy girl.

Yoshiko smiles wryly.

Well, who’s she to say that there’s nothing wrong with her?

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“Tsushima, there is someone who’s here to see you.”

Though scowling, Yoshiko reins in her displeasure at having her ritual interrupted. There’s going to be a full moon tonight, so she plans to have all the materials prepared and ready to go as soon as night falls. This is the newest black magic ritual that she manages to discover on a forum she frequents, one of the few things she looks forward to during this dreadful summer break.

The younger kids go to the playgrounds, while the only girl closest to her age has an outing with her friends. What’s a fallen angel got to do in this dormitory-like orphanage?

Oddly, the matron’s placid expression has a hint of apprehension, which in turn makes Yoshiko nervous as well as she descends the stairs. Just who could this guest be? No one ever visits her at the orphanage, except for the few times school officials had to drop by due to her ‘disruptions in class’.

Maybe, a long lost relative has finally found her and she could leave this hellhole?

The moment she steps into the living room, she knows there’s something different about the visitor. The woman is tall and dressed sharply in an expensive suit, adding to her already austere aura. Her crimson wavy hair is tied in a gentleman’s ponytail with a royal blue ribbon, and her piercing violet eyes seem to glimmer behind her monocle. Everything about this stranger is formidable, that any hint of disrespect would not be forgiven.

Even the matron, the scariest person Yoshiko knows, appears to be in awe of this lady.

“This is her, Yoshiko Tsushima.”

Yoshiko stands a bit straighter, averting her eyes even as she feels the redhead’s oppressive gaze sweeps over her.

“I trust you have read the letter and understand its contents?” The woman says coolly to the matron.

“Yes, I have, but I still don’t understand how she could’ve gotten in such a prestigious school-”

“That is none of your concern,” the redhead stands up gracefully. “I will be briefing her as we go acquire her school supplies. Expect us to be back prior to dinnertime.”

Yoshiko glances between them and, after a forceful nod from the matron, she hurries after the stranger. She hasn’t missed the slight relief from the matron’s expression.

That old hag… she’s probably happy to finally be getting rid of me! But wait, where am I going anyway? What is this about a school-?

“Hogwarts provides dormitory and meals for its students, so you do not have to return here during the holidays if you wish.”

Blinking, Yoshiko dares to peer up at the tall woman. “Hogwarts huh… I don’t think I’ve heard of it, and I don’t remember applying there? H-How did I get selected?”

“Have you not wondered why you can do certain things when others can’t?”

“You’re not-! I knew it! T-This Hogwarts, it’s just a fancy name for the crazy people isn’t it!” Yoshiko glares fearfully at the stranger, hating how pitiful her voice sounds. “An institution for freaks! Well, I ain’t going there, I’m normal like everyone else!”

For the first time since her arrival, the crimson-haired lady’s severe expression softens. “Of course, it is up to you to decide whether you wish to attend Hogwarts or not, though I would think that you’d jump at any opportunity to leave this place?”

“I do! B-But, I’m not… I don’t want to be-”

“You’re not a freak, but you are indeed special.” They are still within the residential area, and there aren’t any passing cars or people then. With a flick of her wrist, a small wooden stick slides out of holster under the woman’s cuff. Smiling faintly, she does some sort of motion with the stick and a flower on the nearby lawn changes into a raven!

Yoshiko gapes at the woman, who gestures with the stick again and transforms the bird back to a flower.

“That, is a magic spell cast by a wand. I am a witch, Tsushima-san,” she says evenly at the flabbergasted teenager. “And so are you.”

“I am a witch-?”

“Yes. At the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you will learn all about magic and study with the rest of our kind, fellow witches and wizards. Well then, Tsushima-san, what is your decision?”

Yoshiko stares at the wand, an ordinary-looking stick that oozes with unknown power. As outlandish as it sounds, she’s just seen magic being performed with her own eyes! To think, there’s actually an explanation for her powers, and that there are many, many other people who are just like her!

This is her chance to be normal, to be acknowledged for being herself, for being Yoshiko Tsushima!

“Yes! Hell yes, I’m so going to Hogwarts!!”

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“13 inch, Yew and Unicorn Hair. Interesting.”

“Is that a good thing or bad thing?” Yoshiko is still in awe of her newly acquired wand, carefully cradling it against her chest. She couldn’t wait to cast awesome spells of course, but for the time being she just wants to hug it and make sure it’s safe within her grasp. It wouldn’t do if she drops it and damage it so soon after getting it!

“I cannot say. The wand chooses its master after all. It is up to you to bring out its potential.” Professor Nishikino, a teacher at Hogwarts as Yoshiko finds out, is rather cryptic yet frank in a way. She’s apparently quite well-known as well, since many folks at the Diagon Alley would greet her and stop for a chit-chat.

“Heh, just watch it, I will be the most awesome student Hogwarts has ever known!” Already, this magical place is making her mind whir but in a good way. If it weren’t for her constantly pinching her own cheeks and feeling the pain, she would’ve thought she’s dreaming! The Professor is nice enough to stop by each shop and allow her a certain time frame to inspect the items. She also answers any questions, even though Yoshiko realizes moments later how dumb some of them sounds.

Still, this is looking good! Her life is finally getting better!

“Well, unfortunately, I teach Astronomy, a course that’s offered to older students and I’m usually tied up with other matters,” the crimson-haired Professor pauses when she notices Yoshiko’s disappointed look. “Many of the staff members are my friends, I can vouch for them. They would be more than happy to help you out if you have any questions.”

“Oh… um, I’ll think about it,” Yoshiko tries to rein in her reluctance. In a way, the Professor is the one who frees her from the orphanage, hence she is more relaxed around the woman. However, she couldn’t see herself being as open with other adults, even if they are just as nice as the Professor.

“Don’t force yourself. I’m just saying that’s an option available to you if you wish,” the Professor’s sharp gaze is observant. “Or, perhaps, you’d find irreplaceable friends, ones you’d entrust your secrets to. There are endless possibilities at Hogwarts, Tsushima-san, so don’t worry too much and just be who you are. That’s one of the most valuable lessons I had learned during my time there as a student.”

“Y-Yeah? You think so?” Yoshiko drops her eyes to the ground and mumbles. “You think people would accept me?”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it?” The Professor’s lips curve in amusement. “For whatever accomplishments you wish to achieve there, you’ll have to obtain with your own hands. Trust in yourself, trust in your wand, the wand that has chosen you.”

“Right. It picked me for a reason! I won’t let it down!” Grinning, Yoshiko couldn’t contain her excitement anymore. She carefully peels away the wrapping around the wand and points it at the sky.

“Get ready, Hogwarts! Here comes the great fallen angel Yohane!”

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Raw anger, confusion and frustration render her immobile, making it difficult to breathe or even think. All she could do is stare at the two girls in front of her.

At Hanamaru’s calm expression.

At the look-alike’s smirk.

At the cherry wand in her hand. Riko’s wand.

Yoshiko grits her teeth and clenches her fists so hard that she could feel nails digging into her palms. How dare the imposter hold Lily’s wand. A wand chooses its master, yet this doppelganger, this self-proclaimed fallen angel has stolen it after hurting her precious sister-like figure so much…

How dare she just stand there?

How dare she call herself Yohane?

“What? Cat got your tongue?” The raven-haired girl giggles elegantly, those feathered wings shaking slightly along her mirth.

Lucifer growls beside Yoshiko’s head, the little creature’s warmth and sounds bolstering her courage. She licks her dry lips and speaks fiercely.

“Get away from Hanamaru.”

Yohane tilts her head and tugs the brunette even closer. “Hmm? But she wants to be here, don’t you?”

Hanamaru doesn’t reply, and she barely reacts when Yohane leans down to kiss her cheek.

“Get away from her!” Yelling, Yoshiko fires a Stunner at them only to have it deflected by Hanamaru’s immediate Shield Charm. “What are you doing, Zuramaru? Get away from that imposter!”

Hanamaru stares at her a moment before shaking her head.

“... what? Stop this sick joke already!”

No response.

“Hanamaru!”

Finally, the brunette’s placid expression wavers as she drops her gaze rather sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry, Yoshiko-chan.”

“H-Huh? Why are you… what do you… No, it’s you! It must be you!” Yoshiko aims her wand menacingly at this so-called Yohane. “You’ve cast a spell on her, haven’t you! Brainwashed her!”

“I may and may not have,” Yohane furls her wings behind her, her fingers whimsically tapping Riko’s wand. “The real question you should be asking is, when was a spell cast on her, hmm?”

Yoshiko recoils, her eyes wide.

Yohane smiles prettily, an innocent gesture that belies the malicious bite in her words. “Why do you think she naps so often? Sure, you can get tired from reading but, come on, haven’t you ever wondered why she’s always so tired?”

Yoshiko glances at Hanamaru helplessly, trying to recall all the times the Hufflepuff talked about feeling tired. She had always yawned and spoken in such a sleepy voice, and there were times when she had fallen asleep in the middle reading. Riko and sometimes even Dia drifted off from too much studying too, so none of them ever suspected otherwise.

“I wish I didn’t have to do it, prolonged exposure to Imperio causes a great deal of stress to the mind after all,” Yohane murmurs, her voice actually sounding apologetic as she caresses the brunette’s hair. “But I had to convince her, had to show her the truth.��

The Imperius Curse. One of the three Unforgivable Curses along with the Cruciatus Curse. As outraged as Yoshiko feels about this revelation, she is just as relieved to know that her girlfriend isn’t doing this willingly.

She’s being controlled. I must save her!

Yohane scoffs. “Heh, you’re probably thinking I’m controlling her? There’s no need for that anymore. She knows what’s at stake, she knows what needs to be done… don’t you?” Smirking, she nestles her chin against Hanamaru’s head.

Sparks of magic cackles at the tip of Yoshiko’s wand. “I said, get away from her!” She fires consecutive spells at her enemy again, scowling when none was able to get past Hanamaru’s Protego.

“She is mine.” Yohane’s expression darkens abruptly and familiar tendrils of magic seem to seep out from her wings. “Don’t you get it, you silly mortal? She belongs to me - she always has, ever since the day we met at the playground.”

Cold fear slithers down Yoshiko’s back at those words. In spite of Lucifer’s comforting croons, she finds herself taking a step back. “What did you just say-? No, I was the one who-”

“You are nothing,” Yohane lets out a deep sigh as she takes a step forward, the dark magic dissipating now that her demeanor has changed to that of pity. “Very well. You… you are still a part of me. It’ll be too horribly tragic if you were to be ignorant before your inevitable demise.”

“Just w-what are you saying?”

“Hmm, where do I even begin? Ah,” Yohane spreads her majestic wings and gestures at the dim chamber and damp walls. “Do you know where we are, O Lost One?”

“What’s that got to do-”

“We are at the Chamber of Secrets, built by the great Salazar Slytherin himself back when Hogwarts was first founded. You should care,” Yohane grins giddily, her vermillion eyes shimmering in pride and reverence. “I… well, we hail from the House of Slytherin after all.”

“Wha-? I thought we… I’m a Muggleborn-?” Her mind’s starting to get muddled from how Yohane talks about them. Are they related? Why does the word ‘we’ sound so singular?

“We practically are, yes. The blood has long diluted for who knows how many centuries… presumably, an exiled Squib from that bloodline had married a Muggleborn, and the magic had remained dormant until I came into existence. I was able to confirm my lineage because I am a Parseltongue. You, however, do not share the same ability, O Pitiful Clone.”

“What did you just call me?” Yoshiko’s voice trembles, her breaths becoming hitched when Hanamaru lowers her wand and closes her eyes sadly.

Yohane shrugs. “Anyway, it’s most unfortunate that I am unable to locate the famed Basilisk of the legends. It would’ve been cool to control the King of Snakes to my bidding, no? A beast of hell, a faithful demon for the great fallen angel!”

“Why are you telling me all this? I don’t care about any of this stuff!” Yoshiko tries to keep her hand steady, her wand never leaving its target. “Just who the hell are you!”

“I’ve already told you, I’m Yohane.”

“W-What’s that supposed to mean? Are you like, my long lost twin or something?”

She sweeps her frantic gaze up and down the winged-teenager, hoping for some sort of clue or any minor detail that could expose this fraud. However, Yohane truly looks just like what the Boggart had transformed into. Other than those feathered wings, they look identical. She’s posed in front of her mirror countless times after all. Deep down, she feels that she innately knows who this Yohane is.

And that revelation frightens her.

Shaking her head, Yohane takes out a black quill from her robe’s pocket, the exact same one they’ve seen in Riko’s memories. Yoshiko shudders, eyes widening and her heart galloping as a familiar sensation tugs at her mind.

It wasn’t like this in the Pensieve. Here, seeing the quill in reality, she feels this violent urge to hold it, to reclaim it, to mold her own magic with it. Before her mind blanks out, the scarf around her neck tightens and snaps her out of her daze.

She gasps harshly like she was underwater for a long time. Fearfully, she peers up at the grinning girl, who holds up the quill rather tauntingly.

“Miss it? You should be the most familiar with this quill.”

“...what-?”

“But first, let me show you.” As Yohane speaks, the quill begins to jot down words that blaze in the air. “Do you know what a Horcrux is? Of course you do. Lily had explained it to you.”

“How dare you call her that, when you’re the one who-!”

This time, her Bombarda is powerful enough that the excess magic shatters the tiles in front of Yohane, but she remains unscathed due to Hanamaru’s fast Shield Charm once again.

“Why are you protecting this… this evil person? She’s the one who hurt Lily, Dia-san, Chika-san, You-san, Mari-san… all of us!”

Hanamaru’s expression remains sad but her hand twitches a little then, as if revealing her true thoughts on the matter. She must be still under the Imperius Curse. Yoshiko is about to inch closer when the fallen angel’s next words stops her cold.

“You know, I could have killed her,” Yohane murmurs, holding up the sakura wand in a dismissive manner. “We didn’t need her anymore, after retrieving the information we sought. Yet I allowed Lily to live… and carelessly allowed her to escape and put us in this predicament. Be thankful that your petty mortal feeling was able to affect me to an extent.”

“Huh-? My-?”

“Nothing important.” Yohane wiggles her finger condescendingly, and the quill mockingly scribbles a sakura flower before slashing the petals and force the pieces to dissipate. “Back to topic again, my sad other half. Think about what you know of Horcruxes.”

Yoshiko stares at the spot where the magically-drawn flower was and finds herself repeating the very same words Riko had told her. “It’s a Dark object that contains a piece of the creator’s soul, for the purpose of gaining immortality. But what does it have to do- and besides, a Horcrux can only be created through murder-”

“That’s correct.” Yohane gives her a chilling smile.

Yoshiko blinks slowly at her mirror image, then at the image of a dark-haired man that the quill conjures. He could be considered handsome, in a mysterious and cool sort of way but his grin gives him a warm disposition. The ache in her heart is quick as it came, as well as the sense of familiarity.

She knows this man.

Yet she doesn’t know him either.

Yohane’s smile is still cold as her whispered words seem to echo in the chamber. “Ten years ago, a burst of accidental magic killed my… our father.”

Yoshiko stares.

The man’s image vanishes as if a violent ripple has completely obliterated it.

“Magic is a fickle thing. Even now, after millennia of wizards and witches studying bloodlines, the Origin and any relevant spells or rituals, there are still so many things we do not understand,” Yohane confidently approaches the frozen girl until they are only a few paces apart. “Either way, on that day, somehow, a Horcrux was created in the form of a quill pen, this quill pen, an antique that our father treasured as a family heirloom. Now, do you know how a Horcrux actually works?”

Still, Yoshiko could only stare.

She doesn’t want to know. Suddenly, she very much wants to flee away from this place, away from Hogwarts and this world of magic. She still despises how her life used to be like back at the orphanage, back among Muggles, but at least she’s still a human there, as much of a freak she was labelled as.

With the way Yohane talks, it’s almost as if she isn’t quite human.

Terror doesn’t even begin to describe her feelings then.

“A Horcrux is able to drain one’s life energy, enough to eventually allow the fragment of soul to manifest itself, a corporeal form, kind of like a parasite,” Yohane reaches out towards her, her voice soft and even gentle.

The coldness of her hand almost burns Yoshiko, forcing her to flinch away from the contact. She’s too scared to run, and Yohane firmly grasps her chin to hold her gaze.

“Once the host’s life force is completely gone, the Horcrux would become its own living person, no longer forced to be attached to a simple container. That’s how the concept of immortality works through a Horcrux.”

Yoshiko shakes her head feebly, unable to pull away from the grip. The quill then sketches another image, a woman who resembles her and even wears her hair with that trademark bun. Her expression is kind, though a flick from the quill morphs it to a horrified grimace before the image abruptly vanishes.

Yohane’s husky voice is no less condemning as she stares coldly into her eyes.

“You killed my mother, Yoshiko.”

“NO! YOU’RE LYING!!”

Upon her outburst, Lucifer sinks its teeth in Yohane’s hand, drawing blood and forcing her to tear back with a yelp. Yoshiko immediately blasts a Reducto at the imposter, though those thick feathered wings block her powerful Curse like it’s a mere puff of air.

“The truth is too much for you,” Yohane shakes her wings, nonchalant with the aftermath of the spell singing some of her feathers. “Don’t you see? Everything makes sense now, does it not?”

“No, you don’t make sense!” Yoshiko screams hoarsely, firing spell after spell at her adversary. “W-Why are you here? Why are you ruining my life, just when it’s finally getting better?!”

The wings shield Yohane effortlessly, the magic sizzling upon collision. It’s only when Yohane unfurls her wing to block a badly aimed spell from hitting Hanamaru that Yoshiko freezes in mid-motion.

Gasping for breaths, she could only watch as Yohane steps sideways to stand protectively in front of the brunette, like she was the enemy instead.

“No, no no no no…”

“Deny all you want. Think about it, why are there so many blank spots in your childhood memories? Simple - those were my memories,” Yohane wraps an arm around Hanamaru’s waist again and hugs her close. “Why don’t you remember meeting her? Heh, because you never did - I did. You didn’t even exist then.”

“N-No… no…”

Tears well up in Yoshiko’s eyes as she cradles her head, gazing imploringly at Hanamaru for her input, but the latter isn’t facing her.

“Admittedly though, I did not know of your existence for the longest time.” Yohane whimsically caresses Hanamaru’s cheek while the quill jots even more nonsensical words and images in the air. “I’ve always felt something was off about me, after the incident that left me parent-less, but I never knew why. But then, surprise surprise! When I saw someone who looks exactly like me show up at the station… even they were not expecting you either.”

Yoshiko tries to suppress her shudders and rein in her chaotic emotions. Lucifer is still hissing warily and circling above her head. “...they?”

“Hnn. I was still just a child after all. I needed guardianship, someone to teach me how to control my magic.”

Yohane spreads her wings wide and calls upon the black tendrils of magic to cover them like a veil. Then, similar to dry ice evaporating, the wings disappear like they were never there.

“We call ourselves the Fallen.” Yohane chuckles sardonically, summoning the black tendrils again and the wings reform behind her. “We have determined the magical core is the cause of all anomalies, such as accidental magic and the reason why some Pureblood descendants are Squibs. To complete our research though, we need more and more samples.”

The quill sketches several more images, of creatures Yoshiko has only seen in textbooks, and some archaic symbols and letters that resemble Latin and hieroglyphics.

“Magic has existed for millennia. Since the very first witches and wizards, their magic has passed down from generations to generations, its essence untainted within Pureblood families. Then, what’s the cause for Squibhood, forcing them to become the bane of a proud Pureblood lineage? Was there a mutation?”

Yohane begins to walk towards Yoshiko, ignoring the latter’s trembling and Lucifer’s warning rasps.

“And speaking of mutation, how did lycanthropy come to be? What made merpeople and centaurs differ from humans? What of the sphinx and those capable of human speech? Fascinating isn’t it? We’re able to work with what we have about werewolves, and the results were spectacular, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yoshiko flinches, recalling the havoc wreaked by the Moonstruck incident.

“Its level of instability and burst of magic during transformation are almost similar to that of accidental magic, this mutation of the body. Then, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to view the… accidental creation of a Horcrux as a mutation of the soul through magic, yes?”

Before Yohane’s hand could touch her again, Lucifer dives down and tries to bite the winged girl. A powerful flap sends the little bat careening away and struggling to maintain flight.

“Silly creature. It’s a failed Horcrux, y’know?” Yohane giggles at Yoshiko’s sharp intake. “Oh yes, we’ve experimented with many things. Your existence permanently damaged my soul, so much that whatever I came in contact with would have just a little bit of my soul imbued within it. Luckily, I’ve learned to contain my powers in the form of these lovely feathers.”

Tendrils magic enshrouds those angelic wings, power and sentience evident with the way that the air seems to grow heavy upon movement.

“Of course, those feathers are not the same. They’re not Horcruxes, far from it, and eventually the fraction of soul would find its way back to me. Well, some disappears into ether, but too meager to be of any consequence,” Yohane shrugs and takes a step towards Yoshiko.

This time, Lucifer fearfully keeps a distance behind, squealing in confusion.

“That portion of my soul that bat had, well, it’s long returned to me, yet I can see it’s forever changed. It’s gained intelligence beyond the scope of its brethren.”

Lucifer hisses but doesn’t dare to approach. Yohane shrugs again and turns her gaze towards Yoshiko.

“Oh, poor you. All of this is a lot to take in, isn’t it? Just what are you, indeed?” The cold hand lightly yet firmly grasps at Yoshiko’s cheek, forcing their eyes to meet. “You’re not the same as and of the past known Horcruxes of history, so maybe you’re not even technically one! But now, do you understand? We must obtain the purest and strongest of a Pureblood’s blood, a sample that’s at its prime yet still malleable enough to be experimented upon. We need the Kurosawa heiress.”

Yoshiko could barely hear herself speaking, her voice having grown so incredibly feeble along with her light-headedness. “...why D-Dia-san… there are, other, Purebloods…”

A fanged grin is her response. “Frankly, none of them are good enough. Either they’re too weak, or their lineage is not as pure. We Fallen are unfortunately few in numbers, and only have so much resources. We’d like to remain hidden in the shadows, at least until we’ve reached a desired milestone. The Unbreakable Vow is such a handy thing, no?”

Yoshiko couldn’t look away from those mesmerizing vermillion eyes, her consciousness dimming. “...why… Lily… why… her…”

“Unfortunate collateral damage, but she’s served her purpose.”

“Ngh…” Yoshiko bites her lips, struggling to remain in control of her mind even though her body is becoming numb. “And...me-?”

“Indeed, what should I do with you? My little demons have already left Hogwarts and long relocated. I am the only one here, because I wish to know.” Yohane leans in until their foreheads are touching, their breaths mingling and their eyes only seeing each other and nothing else.

“You should return to me. You’re a part of me after all. We’re suppose to be one and the same.”

Something breaks inside of Yoshiko then. The terror of ceasing to be - it’s worse than dying, for nothing will remain behind. Nothing.

“You should have never existed.”

Tears trickle down her cheeks as she summons the last ounce of her strength to push Yohane away. “No! No, no, NO! I’m Yoshiko Tsushima-!”

I’m the fallen angel Yohane.

That line, the very line she’s countlessly repeated to people, overlaps with this winged girl’s introduction, and the voice reverberates painfully inside her mind. She covers her face with shaking hands and collapses onto her knees.

“-I-I have friends… friends who care about me! T-They-”

Chika and You were tortured, Kanan almost lost her arm, Mari almost lost her magic, Riko may never wake up, Dia and Ruby are suffering and Hanamaru has long been controlled-

She curls up into a ball, shivering and shaking her head as she sobs beseechingly into her sleeves. “Ngh-! I’m real! I’m my own person! I-I have my own d-dreams... nggh…”

“I should hate you, I really should, but you’re still me. And, looking at you, so pathetic!” Yohane’s quiet voice is practically hypnotizing. “Makes my heart ache, y’know? Come on. I can end your torment. I can take it all away-”

Suddenly, Yoshiko finds herself enveloped by warmth, a familiar presence that brings peace upon her cracking psyche. Even though her hearing is muffled by the hug, she could sense the surprise and displeasure in Yohane’s tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Yoshiko-chan… is hurting…”

Swallowing another sob, she timidly looks up to see Hanamaru’s worried gaze, though her lips are still set in a placid frown.

“She’s not even real. I sent you to meet her at King’s Cross Station, blocked the wall so you’d have the chance to get to know her more for me. Whatever play-game you had with her, it meant nothing.” Yohane sounds exasperated.

Yoshiko trembles as another wave of nausea and pain crashes into her mind. Before she could pull away though, Hanamaru tightens her arms even as her eyes glaze over.

“...it wasn’t… nothing…”

Hope flickers inside Yoshiko’s heart. A dying flame it may be, she clings onto it and takes several deep breaths to try to calm herself down. She can think again, without all those negative emotions crushing her. “Just how long-? How long has she been-?”

“Longer than you can ever imagine, silly mortal.”

“How can you… how is that even possible-”

“Heh, think of it as, hmm, something similar to Muggle hypnotism. The Curse is to work at certain circumstances, certain suggestions.”

“But, Mari-san and Dia-san checked… she’s better at Occlumency than any of us.” The hopeful flare grows stronger as she tentatively shifts within Hanamaru’s arms to try to get to her wand. “No way the Imperius Curse would’ve gotten to her!”

“Well, you can’t really trespass the mind of someone who’s already under another’s influence, can you? It’d create the illusion of an impenetrable wall, although I can see it’s been waning… Imperio.”

A violent shove causes Yoshiko to topple on her side. Coughing, she peers through teary eyes at Hanamaru, whose posture is stiff and expression oddly relaxed.

Yohane smirks cruelly as she points Riko’s wand at the brunette. “Go on.”

Hanamaru jerks and blasts a Stinging Hex at Yoshiko when she is fumbling for her wand. Yoshiko yelps in pain as a red welt strikes across her forearm. Out of reflex, she returns fire only to gasp when her spell slices past Hanamaru’s glass frames and leaves a thin red line on her cheek. Yoshiko’s heart drops in guilt as the glasses slowly fall apart and shatters on the floor.

“I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean-”

During her hesitation, Hanamaru fires another Hex which barely misses Yoshiko’s head by a small margin. Lucifer suddenly flies towards them and swerves for Hanamaru’s wand, but Yohane is faster. A vicious Stunner renders the bat an unconscious heap on the ground.

“No!” Yoshiko snaps out of her stupor, her anger successfully keeping that horrible, hollow sense of worthlessness at bay. “This is between you and me! Leave Hanamaru and Lucifer out of this!”

“Didn’t I say already? She belongs to me!” Yohane beckons at the brunette, who obediently approaches her like a puppet.

I must save her.

For the first time since her descent to the Chamber of Secrets, Yoshiko has regained the clarity of her mind. Fake human, clone, pseudo-Horcrux or whatever, she has more important things to focus her mind on now. She has responsibility to save the girl who means so much to her.

Her feelings are real.

What they have between them, that is real.

Yoshiko shields herself from another Hex with a fast Protego and lunges to the side to fire an Expelliarmus. Memories of all those dueling sessions against Dia and Kanan flash in her mind, putting her body on autopilot as she instinctively counters and exchanges spells. Yohane’s malevolent Curses disrupts her tactics a few times, but it seems like the winged girl is more intrigued in seeing them duel.

Amused at the predicament she forced them in.

Growling, Yoshiko Transfigures some of the rubble from the cracked tiles into bigger, sharp chunks, hurling them at the cause of her misery. Expectedly, however, Yohane destroys the projectiles with those black tendrils of magic, and remains unmoved and unscathed from her spot.

A vicious Reducto forces Yoshiko to dodge, for she knows that her flimsy Shield Charm would not have held. Hanamaru, even under the Imperius Curse, appears to retain everything she’s learned from those practice duels and thus makes her a formidable opponent.

Yoshiko doesn’t want to hurt her, which puts her at a great disadvantage already without Yohane interfering every now and then.

“Incarcerous!”

The Conjuration spell doesn’t work like she wants it to, the conjured ropes falling limply from her wand before disappearing. She has yet to master advanced spells like this one, or any other incapacitating spells for that matter. Sweating now, she dodges a Bombarda behind an erected tile and cringes when a large fragment past her neck.

“Expelliarmus!” “Diffindo!”

The two spells collide with a thunderous crack, the small explosion propelling both parties several paces apart. Unfortunately for Yoshiko, she misses her footing and slips at the edge of the wet walkway.

“Impedimenta!”

The Jinx bludgeons her hard in the chest, striking her onto her back in the shallow pool. Wheezing, she could hear Hanamaru approaching but her vision is spinning too much for her to get up. The cool sensation of Immobulus slithers over her body and she collapses back into the even colder water.

However, no spell comes for her for the next while and allows her to regain her bearings despite being immobile. Confused, she looks up to see Hanamaru’s wand trained on her.

And tears are leaking out of her ochre eyes even though her expression remains blank.

“What’s the matter?” Yohane’s voice is dangerously soft.

Hanamaru’s hand shakes as she continues to cry, but nothing happens.

“Use the Cruciatus Curse on her.”

The trembling worsens and her breathing becomes labored.

“Use it… now,” Yohane growls with great impatience, Riko’s wand half-raised and her wings unfolded.

“... I won’t. No more.”

Before Yoshiko’s wide eyes, Hanamaru snaps her own wand in half.

#athyra writes #LLSHP AU #yoshimaru #datenshi yohane #I can't believe I made it #to this point ;A;#one scene in this chapter was the first thing I wrote when planning/outlining this story #another one would be in the next chapter #\0/ can't believe I've made it this far #thanks to y'all!#I know this chapter prolly creates more questions than answers XD;#lotsa revelations #some shouldnt' be a surprise tho I think #again it's a hard chapter to write #hopefully the characterizations given the circumstances are realistic #feedback please :'D #mk gonna go pass out now x.x

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machinakrp · 5 years ago

Photo

>> OPEN SONG JINSOL’S FILE …

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — drug chemist :// CLASS —native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —

jinsol’s magical is learned, and at the same time, seemingly twined into him. muscles and memory and nerves. it feels like it. something taught to him and adopted since he was old enough to let it manifest in his mind. it’s a second nature, nearly. infusing magic with medicine. or in his case, pseudo-medicine (he calls it medicine, at least). it’s something slipped in between measurement and chemicals and crushed herbs. built into molecules and compounding in a way that seems nearly impossible. should be impossible. but isn’t. a medical miracle, and maybe if he applied it different jinsol could be finding applications that would astonish, would’ve hefted him out of the slums of elysium on some miracle cure. but he doesn’t. just finds a way to manufacture emotion, to create a fabricated sense of bliss or love or warmth for people to envelope themselves in. like whiskey to warm yourself in the middle of a blizzard. a sort of danger ignored for that immediate sense of comfort.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

despite being an elysium native and building a large enough business that he has more means than most, jinsol doesn’t have many body modifications to speak of. just two.

the first is one he got done before he worked his way up, before he was able to pay enough for something above the books. but he’d needed it in the before period of his life. less now, though it’s a comforting reminder that it’s there. if you peel back the skin of his right wrist, there lies a hollowed out tube nestled between veins and bones. resting inside is a sliver of a knife.sharp and poised near a trigger spring. if he digs his finger in near his forearm and jams down on the end of the mechanism, it cuts out out. not entirely pleasant, considering it rips through skin on the way out. it also has to be manually wound back into his arm, meaning he has to seek someone out every time he hits the trigger. it’s meant as a last ditch defense system, for a hand ideally tucked up against a throat. he used to need it, back before he was working with hades. back when he was peddling his own goods and on his own. there’s a scar on his wrist now, a jagged sort of line left over from the two times he’s used it.

the second is less intrusive. a holographic tattoo on the nape of his head, a circle ring of a sun curved around the first jut of bone from his spine. something that shimmers and shivers and shakes before it implodes. then the hologram is looped back whole once again.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

tw: blood, drugs

RETRIEVING MEMORY…

21430102_sooji.vrml

a glitch – a vibrant flash of blue that reads so bright it hurts the retinas – the angle seems tipped. like the world’s off its axis. set instead on a lopsided table. baited breath, waiting for everything piled on top of it to slide off in a violent clatter. that’s the reaction the memory loop gives off when replayed. something not quite right that settles like nausea in the gut. trepidation. the unwanted kind. the memory holder’s perceptions, emotions flooding in. the room is sterile. blank-white floods the space. walls and sheets and floor. a glossy linoleum. there’s a rhythmic beep from a machine. a baby nestled in a set of arms – the memory holder’s – another glitch. the baby wails. the angle of the memory slips more. like the downward trajectory of a rollercoaster. from here, she plummets.

21430102_sooji.txt

lee sooji, a woman with too many secrets and unwillingness to divide interest from herself. naturally, a baby doesn’t fit well into the equation. even if it was planned. there’s not a lot of picture perfect anything that happens in elysium, but she’d always liked the idea of that. perfection. it’s hard to obtain though. even with a knowledge of chemical-infused magic that gave her the ability to create and shape her own world in the form of hallucinogens. is it a surprise that the marriage fell apart? probably not. a lot of things fall apart in elysium. dismantled by the society around them. he moved on, she was stuck with a baby that she didn’t really want. ignored at first. sharp cries, neglected fits. palms fit to ears of someone who constantly decided she was too young to deal with this mess of a life.

her feelings changed overtime. not dramatically, in a wild shift of personality. but slightly. when jinsol started to take shape more as a human than living soundbox. she liked some things, and she could list them off in a way that was reminiscent of explaining why one preferred a certain restaurant. she liked the adoration in his eyes. the way words could be pieced together into loving sentiments, something that seemed to runaway along with her ex husband. and sooji had always liked that. adoration. she valued it above nearly anything else. instilled the same beliefs into a young mind. he grew under fickle reliance. like a plant with a broken trellis, bent with the whims of her emotions. whether or not she felt like being a mother. whether or not she felt like being free of his shackling existence.

21490714_jinsol.vrml

it’s a humid day. it’s distinguishable based on that summer haze of warped air that makes the floor look bent. the click-whir of a broken fan. the chunks of ice jinsol has shoved into his cheeks, like an overambitious chipmunk. not that jinsol has any idea what a chipmunk is, he’s never seen one. just the scattered pigeons with broken-toed feet that loiter near the bottom step of his building. he looks like a wild thing. a smattering of band-aids covering scabbing, knobby knees. overgrown hair that hangs knotted in his eyes. a dirty smudge near his nose. gangly colt legs thrown over the edge of a dilapidated couch. he’s alone. some might say he’s too young to be alone, but he’d brustle up defensive at that. independent. biting off more than he can chew, but he’d rather swallow it down and half-choke than risk his pride and spit it back up. there’s a children’s cartoon projected up from an old holo-box sitting on a coffee table. sometimes it fritzes, and he stretches out a leg to thwack it with his heel. every ten minutes it seems like there’s a run of commercials hoping to sell him synthetically flavored juice. eventually, he loses patience and separates himself from the show, slips outside the door. some might say he’s too young to be running around the streets of elysium on his own. jinsol would cut them a smile, jagged and feral. a boy raised by chaos and the immediate impulses of a six-year-old.

21490714_jinsol.txt

jinsol’s youth is cut up into fractured pieces. the moments when his mother was there, and the moments when she wasn’t. his morals are ambiguous, lessons learned infrequent. and sometimes best avoided anyway. it depended on her mood, that’s what he learned. and it turned him desperate. seeking affection in a way that could turn near-violent. he’s a mirror image, in some ways. her reflection. has a constant needing for affection and validation. and when she gives, he takes. soaks it up. he likes it best when she’s at home with him, and jinsol babbles this out often. she regales stories in his ear, drifting off in the crook of her arm. humid ‘ i love you’s whispered against her neck, and she tells him just how much she loves him back. he can tell when she’s going to disappear by the look in her eyes. it’s like a lightswitch that only she can reach. a blank stare, or an emotion he can’t quite piece together yet, but he knows it’s bad. knows it makes him feel bad.

it’s resentment, but that’s a connection he makes later.

and then he’s on his own. raiding the fridge for non-perishables left behind and amusing himself. sometimes he skips school. it doesn’t matter, nobody notices he’s gone in the overcrowded classroom. wanders the streets instead, making friends with stray cats slipping through gaps of buildings too small a fit for most anyone else. a grand adventure, that’s what he’d tell himself to keep from feeling lonely. and then she’d come back, and it’d warm his bones. chase away that feeling. would try to grip to her with nails embedded into skin when he saw that look in her eyes. until he was pried off. he thinks he left scars, when he reminisces back nowadays, kept up late at night, sleepless. tries to reimagine his mother. but he can’t remember just how violent his longing for her to stay was.

21601130_jinsol.vrml

he’s older this time, pushing the bounds of maturity. stick-skinny still, and he drowns in his clothes. his hair is stained purple. so are the tips of his fingers. a smell of potent chemicals hang in the air, something nearly palpable. it’s either from the fresh dye or the burner he’s bent over. there’s a vial clamped above it. something bubbling and neon when the fluorescent flicker of the overhead light decides to work in brief moments of unsurity. his mother’s next to him, fingers tracing spirals up and down the line of his spine. every so often she redirects his hand. murmurs words into his ear. a palm pressed to the small of his back, and it’s nearly like a transferal. pressing magic into nerves. he doesn’t think it’s how it works, really. but it felt like it at the time, sitting in that tiny, cluttered apartment. a flicker of fire and warmth and belonging as his mother taught him secrets that were hoarded in his family. jinsol wonders if they’d ever been illustrious. if this strange magic ever mattered. there’s a sizzle-pop of a noise. a change in color. the vial’s removed from the fire. eventually, his mother tests it. he holds his breathe, waits to see if there will be a change in her eyes.

21601130_jinsol.txt

jinsol loves and hates it. the knowledge he has, the strange way he can cut chemicals with magic. something that grows larger and more complex as he does. now though, all of seventeen, and he loves the connection it’s forged between him and his mother. the way she’ll gravitate back to him, pass down this strange family heirloom. and he hates it, because it robs him from her too. how she’ll twist herself up in these strange moods and slip out of his life. to find someone, something, more capable than him. more fulfilling. but he took those mismatched emotions and jammed them into his own ambitions. his mother had never really scratched past the surface of capabilities.

jinsol became obsessive, in the same manic way he tends to become obsessive about a lot of things he cares about. and with that same strange of caring, an emotion caught halfway between love and violence. he found ways to bottle bliss, press desire into pills. a manmade euphoria, and he expanded his experimentation as he got older. found a way to coax out truth from an unwilling tongue and an addled mind. trust from the wary, if only they’d swallow down some of his magic. how much of jinsol’s success is luck? if one knew what he could make, the obsessive lengths he’d go to carve out what he decided he was owed, it would be a laughable question.

21630214_jinsol.vrml

the setting’s changed in this memory. the apartment’s even smaller, and the window’s stuck. the corner doesn’t fit down all the way. a cold gust slips underneath everytime the wind howls, angry and cutting with frost. a worn curtain flutters. there’s hardly a point in it, it’s nearly transparent from sun damage. jinsol’s fingers are white from the cold. there’s a scattering of pills on a table. his hands are sticky with blood. so is his wrist. half-congealed. his face is white too, but he looks ghost-startled over cold. the shock of a situation that saps the life, leaves everything devoid of color. eventually he fumbles for an old shirt, jams it over his hand. the blade’s still visible, sticking out from his arm. his own blade. his own modification. he slipped it into the side of a client broke enough to think wiping out jinsol inventory might’ve been a good idea. a heavy-sounding curse falls from his lips. a messy swipe of his hands as he tries to collect everything upturned on the table. manic eyes and chattering teeth. a glamorous life. it’s what he yearns for. he can’t meet his own expectations.

21630214_jinsol.txt

eventually, jinsol got sick of his mother’s dizzying circles that left them both lost. he moved out, on. hellbent on turning everything she taught him into a tool for himself. a way to crawl from the sheer desperation he seemed to live in. he craved opulence and wonder. awe and admiration. for all he’s seemingly worth now, jinsol’s initial endeavors were small, touch and go. dealt with the sorts of people that were elysium born and bred. namely: none too kind. but addiction’s a market all its own in this sort of place, and jinsol took advantage of it. he’s used his mod all of twice. a painful thing, and it’s left a scar. he doesn’t know what happened to either of the people on the other end of it. he’s callous enough to wish them dead. human enough that he wakes up in cold-sweat at four in the morning sometimes wondering if he’s a murderer.

it took a while to work his way up, and maybe he used some underhanded methods. doses meant to coax out secrets, understanding, trust. worked his way up and out of what seemed to be closets advertised as apartments. until he could afford a better supply, turned his brand into a necessity. ended up getting to know some bigger players around elysium. tried so very hard to pick up his mother’s mantle – to continue that endless, pointless quest of building a perfect life.

21680512_jinsol.vrml

jinsol looks almost garish. almost. draped in twined gold necklaces and delicate rings stacked along the lines of his knuckles. catch him in the right light of the fluorescent club-shifting-neon and he might glimmer like imitation sunlight. a white silk shirt and bottle service tucked away in a back corner of the afterlife. he has money, and he wears it like bragging rights. but he thrives on it. the stares. the attention. jealous, wanting. he craves it as much as people seem to crave his drugs. a symbiotic relationship. music thrums too loud around the room. enough to shake at bones. he spins a pill between he knuckles, and his eyes follow it. like he’s considering slipping it underneath his tongue. eventually, it’s pocketed. he doesn’t want to be his mother – as losing a battle as it seems to be.

21680512_jinsol.txt

twenty-five and he’s managed to carve out his own legacy. something built on the backs of vices. exploitative to be sure. but he’d argue a necessary one. doesn’t everyone deserve to be happy? he’s got connections, buyers, more than enough clients that he’s long ago been able to afford to move into an apartment with more than one room. he likes old school opulence. likes gold and velvet. likes paper-thin silk shirts, the subdued glimmer of diamonds. maybe he’d have more money if he didn’t waste it all so carelessly. it slips like water from his fingers. jewelry, furniture, perfumes, alcohol. anything that catches his whims, the unhoned impulse controls he’s given into all is life, only now he has the means for bigger mistakes.

21690326_jinsol.vrml

jinsol’s sprawled out on a couch. crushed velvet. it’d look lavish if not for the blotchy purpled wine stain near one arm of it. music spirals from a metal-boxed contraption in the corner. there’s a blanket tossed on top of it, maybe to hide a hologram it’s meant to simultaneously project. every time he takes a breath, it sounds wet. like pneumonia’s made a home from his lungs. his eyes are unfocused, and there’s a sheen of sweet on his brow. laid out next to him are vials in a shimmering variety of colors. an uncapped bottle of something that smells potent and alcoholic. there’s a retch of a noise, but nothing comes out. he rolls to his side and nearly topples. a manic laugh follows him.

21690326_jinsol.txt

new creations are in need of a willing test subjects. that’s what he tells himself, to keep himself from reflecting that warped image of his mother. bad habits catch up to him, pile up. he ignores the repercussions. it feels, sometimes, like he grew up wrong. like he’s constantly searching and seeking and coming up empty handed. but what he’s searching for is unknown, and without a name. despite it, he tries to continue his image of faux-perfection. what else is there to live for in the wasteland that is elysium?

#neobio #neoapollo #neo lee taemin

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machinakrpx · 5 years ago

Photo

>> OPEN SONG JINSOL’S FILE …

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — drug chemist :// CLASS —native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —

:// MODIFICATIONS —

despite being an elysium native and building a large enough business that he has more means than most, jinsol doesn’t have many body modifications to speak of. just two.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

tw: blood, drugs

RETRIEVING MEMORY…

21430102_sooji.vrml

21430102_sooji.txt

21490714_jinsol.vrml

21490714_jinsol.txt

jinsol’s youth is cut up into fractured pieces. the moments when his mother was there, and the moments when she wasn’t. his morals are ambiguous, lessons learned infrequent. and sometimes best avoided anyway. it depended on her mood, that’s what he learned. and it turned his desperate. seeking affection in a way that could turn near-violent. he’s a mirror image, in some ways. her reflection. has a constant needing for affection and validation. and when she gives, he takes. soaks it up. he likes it best when she’s at home with him, and jinsol babbles this out often. she regales stories in his ear, drifting off in the crook of her arm. humid ‘ i love you’s whispered against her neck, and she tells him just how much she loves him back. he can tell when she’s going to disappear by the look in her eyes. it’s like a lightswitch that only she can reach. a blank stare, or an emotion he can’t quite peace together yet, but he knows it’s bad. knows it makes him feel bad.

it’s resentment, but that’s a connection he pieces together later.

21601130_jinsol.vrml

21601130_jinsol.txt

21630214_jinsol.vrml

21630214_jinsol.txt

21680512_jinsol.vrml

21680512_jinsol.txt

21690326_jinsol.vrml

21690326_jinsol.txt

#neobio #neoapollo #neo lee taemin

0 notes