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sekhisadventures · 1 year ago

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What Every Adventurer Needs: Avalon

SO! This is something that came about because of a Thing that happened on a server I'm on. Someone asked us to talk about any magical/named items our characters have, so I went down the list, and they wanted details on the following: Weapon, Armor, Talisman, Enchanted Item, and Arcane Item (where applicable for those.)

Sadly I have to break this up into sections as it turns out for SOME asanine reason Tumblr only allows 30 images per post... so imma do it by Avalon, then Savage United, then Others.

But yes... HEY COBRAK! IS THIS ENOUGH FOR YA, YA BOOPER?! OwO

Nelen Fullmoon, Worgen Magus

Weapon: Staff of Gordrinn. Nelen is a worgen who tends to spend the majority of his time in his human form. This is for practical reasons as much as anything, as he is a scribe and worgen claws would do tremendous damage to paper goods. He has long since come to terms with his lycanthropic nature however and crafted this stave to show that, even in his human form, the wolf is never far away.

Armor: When Nelen first became a worgen he had a horrible time balancing his two halves. He would often lose control and slip into a feral state, requiring help from his druidess friend Shalandrae to regain his mind. At the suggestion of Jaie Swiftpaw he travelled to the Jade Serpent Temple to learn how to manage his worgen side. The pandaren had to manage their emotions carefully for generations due to the risk of attack by the Sha, the only difference was that his Sha was within himself. He learned much there, and wears pandaren robes as a mark of respect for the monks who helped him.

Talisman: Idol of the Earthwarder. Nelen keeps a small statue carved from a dark purple crystal of a black dragon, the gemstone statue enchanted to grant him greater arcane focus. While some would argue that this would be a statue of the infamous Deathwing, he points out that it never mentions a name other than “Earth Warder” and that its meant to embody what the TITLE represents rather than a specific dragon.

Enchanted Item: Nelen has a spellbook that follows him around on occasion containing the more complex ritual castings that he uses infrequently, as opposed to the more frequent uses of evocations and such. He refers to it as ‘Spelly’ sometimes as a little joke as the book is not aware or sentient, just enchanted to follow him and be able to fly.

Arcane Item: Nelen’s stave doubles as his arcane item.

Jaaie Swiftpaw, Pandaren Monk

Weapon: Spear of Xuen. A spear used originally by the monks of the Temple of the White Tiger, many of these spears lay scattered across Pandaria where their owners fell in combat against the Mogu, Mantid, or other threats. Nelen found one during his time in Pandaria working with the Jade Serpent Temple monks and had it carefully restored for Jaie’s use as thanks for helping him.

Armor: Jaie’s armor is a mixture of Kul’Tirian styled armor, a cloak and tabard made by the Tuskaar of Iskaara, and such. She just tends to grab whatever she finds most comfortable and wear it as, being a monk, comfort and ease of movement is more important than protection. Enemies can’t hurt what they can’t hit.

Talisman: Its not magical, but one of Jaie’s treasures is a rough gemstone that her late father, Shi Won Swiftpaw, gave her before his death. She could cut and polish it, but she would rather leave it how it is as to preserve his memory as much as possible.

Enchanted Item: Ysemerald Pendant. Jaie wears a pendant she crafted from several deep green gemstones after landing in the Dragon Isles. She is a jewelcrafter by trade, enjoying the work as it helps her practice focus and concentration as well as make lovely and enduring jewelry. The ysemeralds enhance her agility, giving her the grace of the Dreamer and allowing her to move and land blows with much greater haste.

Arcane Item: Jaie does not use one as she is a martial artist. She puts her faith in her fists and agility to see her through a fight.

Dareley Steelhammer, Dwarven Paladin

Weapon: Kyrian Sword and Shield of the Silver Hand. One old, one very new. The Sword was forged with the help of the Stewards of Bastion during Dareley’s time in the Shadowlands and imbued with the power to help focus the power of the Light, while the shield is a trophy of his time in service to the original Knights of the Silver Hand during the Second War. Both are battle tested and well used to protect his allies.

Armor: Handcrafted plate mail. Dareley’s last name is Steelhammer, and its not just a play on words. His family have been blacksmiths in Ironforge Mountain for generations. His armor is handcrafted and maintained by the paladin and he blesses each piece as he finishes them.

Talisman: Silver Hand Locket. Normally hidden by Dareley’s thick beard, he always wears a locket that looks at first glance like his shield in miniature… but inside is a small painting of a dwarven woman much younger than him with a note in the other half of the locket reading: “Dareley, the Light ain’t the only thing watching out for you. Love always, Misti Steelhammer.” The note and painting are mementos of Dareley’s late wife, Misti, who died when Lordaeron Castle City fell to the Scourge during the Third War. He is never without them.

Enchanted Item: Paladin’s Libram. A well worn and dog-eared book that rests on Dareley’s belt. The Libram is the Paladin’s equivalent to a spellbook, full of various rituals and prayers to the Holy Light as well as other holy texts. In the back of the book, written in Dareley’s own hand, is a list of names. After Misti’s death he fled Lordaeron City with as many survivors as he could, guiding them to Ironforge Mountain to escape the Scourge. The list is the names of those who didn’t survive the harsh trek through the Eastern Kingdoms and fell to injury, age, fatigue, attacks by wild animals or trolls, or the like. Every Winter’s Veil he makes a pilgrimage to the Cathedral in Stormwind City, lights a candle, and says a prayer for every name on the list. Misti’s name is at the top of this list, and under it is “Yvain/Adrann Steelhammer.” Misti was pregnant when she died, and Dareley never found out if she was going to have a boy or a girl, so he wrote both names they had picked out. This one is always the hardest prayer for him to get through.

Arcane Item: Dareley’s Libram doubles as his Arcane Item, which he uses for his most frequently used prayers in combat to heal his allies.

Shalandrae Deeproots, Kal'dorei Druidess

Weapon: Journey’s End. This staff was crafted for her by her allies in the adventurer group Avalon for Winter’s Veil three years after the defeat of Zovaal. Every member who could craft put a piece into it. Nelen made the stave itself from a tree branch that came from a tree Shalandrae had planted and imbued with her own magic two years prior, the eyes are Sunstones from Pandaria that Jaie cut and polished, the wrappings are leather from the Broken Isles treated with Leyblood by Sam, and the antlers are solid Phadrium from Ardenweald that Dareley had mined and shaped. All of these together, combined with the fact that the wood is from a tree the druid herself planted, make a uniquely potent weapon for Shalandrae, more an extension of her own body than a mere stick.

Armor: Meaningless to a druid. Shalandrae is a shapeshifter and spends as much time on four legs as two. Because of this her armor means little outside of what is needed for modesty. She tends to go with whatever is easy to wear and leaves more skin exposed so that she can feel the touch of nature on her skin. She rarely wears any sort of footwear infact.

Talisman: Alchemist’s Stone. Shalandrae is an alchemist herself, and her own stone is similar to Edwood’s but rather than extending the effects of her brews it instead hastens how fast her body can shrug off the side effects of such potent potions, allowing her to imbibe them with greater frequency.

Enchanted Item: Seed Pouch. While not really enchanted, Shalandrae was a herbalist and salve-maker before she became a druid, and infact it was this connection to the natural world that allowed her to do so. Thousands of years of working with the plants of Kalimdor had granted her a powerful connection to them, and she keeps a pouch full of seeds handy for her magics. Casting them at her allies or enemies can result in a burst of healing pollen, a sudden growth of massive roots and vines to entangle foes, or the seeds even growing into man-sized treants to attack her enemies.

Arcane Item: Shalandrae has no other arcane item beyond Journey’s End. She does not need any others given how powerful a connection to the world of Azeroth the staff already grants her.

Samantha Montebank, Ren'dorei Rogue

Weapon: Void Crystal Daggers. Rather than metal, these daggers are sharpened crystals of pure void energy. They allow Annulus, a void being that lives within Samantha’s consciousness, to extend her powers into the material world and, normally, into Sam’s enemies… with devastating results.

Armor: Samantha wears armor that favors freedom of movement more than anything, vitally important for any rogue. Darker colors, with a few little decorations as she can just use Annulus’ power to turn invisible if needed.

Talisman: Sam doesn’t keep it with her, but the closest thing she has to a talisman is a stash of hidden treasures that have a sentimental value to her. Things that she stole in the past that she can’t fence because either nobody would buy them or they would be too incriminating, but which she doesn’t want to dispose of because, well, they were just fun to steal.

Enchanted Item: Her gauntlets and boots are set with void crystals as well, which allow her to use Annulus’ powers in other ways. Annulus can imbue a dagger or other thrown weapon with her essence, causing it to inflict various effects on her enemies with her gauntlets, or using her boots she can allow Samantha to step through shadows, though she can only use such a power a couple times before needing to rest.

Arcane Item: Samantha is a rogue, and beyond her void crystal equipment needs no further arcane items.

Zhan-min Irontummy, Pandaren Shaman & Alecrafter

Weapon: Keg-maces. Zhan-min wields a specialized pair of kegs made into mace like weapons that he uses for his chosen profession, beer brewing (yes I’m serious.) He fills the kegs with beer base before a battle, then during the fight he channels the elements through them to imbue the beer with magic. The resulting drinks are both very potent and intoxicating and also can manifest strange powers as well… and no, blood doesn’t affect the taste as the kegs are air tight before anyone asks.

Armor: “My Iron Tummy!” Zhan-min eschews armor, bragging that his surname of “Irontummy” isn’t just a name. He’s proven it often enough too, his pandaren pudge is pretty tough.

Talisman: Flask of a Lost Friend. Hanging from Zhan-min’s belt is an empty flask that used to house a small Alemental, a fragment of the one that had caused chaos at the Stormstout Brewery so many years ago when Gao Stormstout’s fumble fingered mixing created it. When the Niffen village of Loamm fell under attack from Fyrakk, the small elemental creature fused with Zhan-min to transform him into a giant alemental so that he could use his powers to douse the flames engulfing the city, conjuring sprays and rains of Spirit-infused ale to cut through the shadowflame left in the corrupted dragon’s wake. The flask has no real magic to it, but Zhan-min can’t quite bear the thought of leaving it behind.

Enchanted Item: Set of measuring cups. Beer brewing is an exact science, and Zhan-min keeps a set of measuring cups ranging from a teaspoon all the way up to a single cup with him for doling out various ingredients in his mixtures. His constant use over the years has imbued them with some minor power to preserve and enhance flavors, but otherwise they aren’t really anything magical.

Arcane Item: Totems of a Pandaren Shaman. Zhan-Min keeps a set of small keg-like totems with him, though unlike his maces these ones only LOOK like kegs rather than being the real thing. He summons them to enhance his own powers in a melee, and will sometimes look for excuses to do so as the energies they channel can also affect whatever beer he’s working on.

#adventures in azeroth #warcraft fanfiction #warcraft roleplay #alliance #world of warcraft

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years ago

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Tia sighed, pawing at her eyes. “Ugh, dag-nabbed lenses! Someone pass me a wash cloth. My eyes are getting foggy again.”

Odina was, by circumstance, standing there. She undid a bandana and tossed it over to her. Something about the what Tia had said that, though, stuck in her mind. “’Lenses?’ You’re talking about eyes, not prosthetics or something.”

“Same difference for this set,” Tia said.

“Come again?”

Tia leaned in close, her long neck bending slightly. She nudged at one eye, and it shoned with a plasticine sheen, the lens in the center glowing faintly. Odina saw that it was mechanical, a tiny camera or perhaps a prosthetic eye after all.

“What the heck?”

“I got lazy and didn’t feel like figuring out what works best for a land-based build,” Tia said. She poked at the side of her head, probing deeply like she was trying to dislodge something there. “So many problems with light reception and injury! So i just grabbed some cameras out of the garbage and shoved them into my head. But they’re a nuisance to clean.”

“Okay, I guess I see that-”

Odina was interrupted by a faint pop. It was one of the cameras being forced right out of Tia’s head.

Unconcerned, Tia caught it. “There you go!” She said brightly, and industriously began wiping at the camera. Odina stared, muted and mouth wide in horror.

Tia went to the other eye. Her skull subtly changed shape, perhaps without the pressure of her eyes to keep her soft body in place. One after the eye, she cleaned them, and them popped the eye back into a completely random part of her head, which shifted around as the eye... migrated, towards a position like the original one.

Tia blinked furiously. The lens flickered through a variety of colors, until settling on a soft pink. “There! Clear picture!” This put her in a position where she could see Odina’s look of distraught revulsion. “...What.”

“Please, next time you do that... warn me first. That was the most disgusting thing I’ve seen since the undead weirdos tried out the...” She shuddered. “The entrails titan.”

“You know I bet I could probably get someone to help me make a pair of robot eyes that turn into little hands,” Tia mused. “I could blink and little robot fingers come out from my face, wiggling and waving.”

“OH GOD YOU’RE TRYING TO SCREW WITH ME AREN’T YOU,” Odina blurted, looking genuinely nauseous.

“I might be,” Tia acknowledged, looking contrite. “Come on, honey, let’s get you some stomach medicine. Or possibly some brain bleach.”

#twitchy!ocs #twitchy!tiashar #twitchy!odina #fics #my writing #twitchy's oc storebox #they actually DO have a product called brain bleach here #it does indeed remove troublesome memories from conscious recall #but it tends to be a bit.... imprecise #its actually a procedure of sorts #usually involves removing your immortality implant and giving it a good scrubbing #since that's where long-term memories tend to be concentrated #the physical brain is more short term memory storage so to speak #the short term being mortal lifetimes tbh #queued

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totebagchiqbarista · 3 years ago

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Heyy can i request a luka x fem!reader fic? Like you know how how luka is always calm and cool? What if he turns into a living mess after he meets reader? Like no stuttering or something but hes ranting about her to juleka all the time and cant concentrate when shes around??

what are you doing to me? // luka x fem!reader

request: anonymous

warnings: fluff, swearing?, Luka being a mess

pairing: Luka Couffaine x Fem!Reader

a/n: I really wanted to write some Luka stuff and this kind of stretched out to a good amount of words so I hope you like it! :)

"Dear God, Luka, stop talking!" Juleka shouted at her brother who entered her room uninvited for the 4th time today. She had understood he didn't have anybody really to talk to, but Lord was he getting annoying at this point.

"But I have to tell you something"

Pushing him out of her cabin one last time, Juleka stood at the door frame and stared at the blue boy. "Go out and find a life!" Of course, she didn't mean it like that, but before she could manage what she is doing, she slammed the door shut in front of him.

Luka was taken aback by the change in Juleka's attitude. He didn't flinch though. He was always that one collected and calm person in every group. Anger never fulfilled him in the ways it sometimes filled his mother, for example.

Anarka had never been the type to prohibit them of their freedom, but she tends to let her emotions take over her. When somebody mentions their dad, she turns red, wrathful at the memories that flow across her head. And it's never long until she completely lets rage form her.

But Luka was different. He was always the serene boy you would find in the back of the class writing songs, practicing riffs. When somebody took it out on him, Luka sucked it in, forgetting about the scene in a few days. He had never lost his temper, beat someone up, melted at someone's touch...

He didn't mind it, after all, there was nothing to whine about. He had all his emotions under control, and even though he would never admit it- it made him feel superior to others.

So Luka decided to go to the park. Whenever he had nothing to do, a simple solution always came to his mind- a warm walk through the park.

"Hi, Nino" he exclaimed seeing the familiar couple by the water fountain. "Hi, Alya."

Alya offered him a soft smile, taking a piece of Andre's ice cream. Nino lent him his famous handshake. "I'm excited for tonight!" said Alya, referring to the private hangout at Couffaine's that was yet to come.

Luka had completely forgotten about it. How could he do such a thing? Still, he kept his cool exterior, nodding his head in agreement. "Me too"

"Oh shoot! I forgot I was supposed to meet Y/n tonight" Alya looked back on her schedule.

"Who's that?" Luka questioned, having never heard of that name before

"An old friend of mine. She just recently moved here"

"She can come, too."

"Really?" Alya's face lit up in joy "You would do that?"

The blue-haired boy laughed "If there's one place in Paris everybody is welcomed, it for sure is the Couffaine's ship!"

"Great, we'll see you there soon!" Alya added before collecting her phone and her boyfriend, running to meet up with her long-term friend.

Luka was left alone by the fountain, staring faintly at the water drops in the pool. Hot summer day took a toll on him and his eyes closed slightly under the pressure of the beaming sunshine.

A wooden bench called out to him and so he sat underneath the cooling shade of the trees. Moments passed and Luka grew to be more impatient. Guests were to come tonight, maybe he should return and help Juleka set up for the evening hang out...

Just on a mark, a girl ran to the park, out of her breath. She seemed worn out as she breathed heavily from the excessive physical activity. She looked at the phone in her hands, it responding with a typical GPS lady voice.

"Shit" she mumbled as she frantically tried to get the directions from the small machine.

"Hey" Luka called out to her from his sitting position in the corner "Are you lost?"

The girl looked around, making sure the blue boy was talking to her. "Yeah, I guess I could say so." Just as she returned him the look, Luka was struck by her beauty. It seemed like such a cliché, really. And Luka hated clichés. Yet, he was mesmerized by the girl who stood before him.

"Right... Where do you need to go?" He asked, collecting himself by her feet.

"Uh," she let out an unknowing hum "Here"

The picture she showed was blurry but Luka figured the place. It was a place he liked to visit sometimes, too. He showed her the directions, making sure she knows all the tracks.

"Thank you so much" The girl beamed with happiness in her eyes "Thank you for helping me"

Luka nodded, and the girl turned around to leave in the direction he just showed her. Luka contemplated for a second before asking a question just as she was about to leave "Can I know your name, at least?"

Hope in his eyes, he stared at her for a full moment until she broke the silence. "We only just met. Besides, where's the fun in that?" Sending him one last wink goodbye, she disappeared into the streets of Paris.

Juleka wasn't a person one could easily talk to. Except for Luka. Luka knew his sister was quite an introvert and a rather shy soul. He respected it and grew to watch over her, protecting her privacy with others. But with him, she was sometimes an extremely cheerful and bubbly person. Hell, there were moments he wished she could stop talking!

So when the two of them collaborated in decorating the harbor for their friends, they finished rather quickly. In under 2 hours, the duo managed to make the best party ship anyone has ever seen.

"Alya is bringing a friend," Luka said as he and Juleka tried to put the last fairy lights around.

"Really? Who?"

"An old friend who just moved here. Y/n as I recall."

Juleka nodded, trying to remember the name "Oh yes, Y/n. Alya told us about her. I'm glad to finally meet her."

Soon enough, the guests started to gather and their home was erupting from chit chats and music. Luka talked to everybody, getting lost in the crowd. His mind always found its way back to the silhouette of the lost girl from the park. There was something he couldn't get enough of in her...

"Luka, could you play us something?" asked Marinette to what Luka only nodded, heading to his room for the guitar.

"Alya is here!" Rose exclaimed when she noticed her friend at the entrance. Next to her stood a girl, a girl Alya has told them almost everything about.

"Hi, guys! This is Y/n" everybody welcomed them, all eyes prying on the newbie.

Marinette came closer and hugged her "I'm Marinette" she addressed as she offered her a soft smile "I've heard so much about you!"

"I could say the same" Y/n returned the sweet gesture.

"What took you so long?" Nino asked looking at his watch and then back at them.

"My bad. I got kind of lost."

The moment Luka stepped on the ship, the last thing he expects to see was the girl he couldn't stop thinking about. The girl that has been playing in his head all day, since the moment they met. Well, not exactly met.

"You" he blurted without thinking as he set his guitar down.

The pair of orbs he remembered from this morning, looked up at him, as surprised as him. "You" she joked back, not breaking the eye contact.

"You two know each other?" Marinette asked looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Not really. He helped me find the way this morning" Y/n explained

"And she didn't even tell me her name"

"It's more fun this way, don't you think?"

Luka chuckled offering her a handshake. "I'm Luka"

"Y/n"

The night moved slowly and Luka found himself growing more and more nervous whenever Y/n was around. This can't be! He's always the calm one, the collected one, the untouchable one. No, no. It's just a mire admiration. Nothing much, really. He's as steady as ever...

"Spin the bottle!" Alya shouted out of nowhere

Numbers of confused faces turned to her in a moment. She proceeded, explaining her outburst. "Let's play spin the bottle"

The teens looked around, meeting with other's sights, nodding in agreement. Soon enough, the group was sat on the floor. Upon choosing a seat, Luka looked around. There were 2 left: beside Y/n and opposite of her. He wanted to sit beside her, really. Oh, just how he wanted to sit beside her, their knees touching... But he was so nervous. His palms sweat just for the thought and his heart raced with a speed unknown to man.

So he sat opposite of her.

"Right, so, we are playing spin the bottle combined with truth and dare. A person spins the bottle and they ask "truth or dare?" the one who the bottle has sat on." Alya explained.

Marinette went first, the bottle landing on Y/n. The bluenette smiled softly and asking the question. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth"

"Are you happy to be in Paris?"

"Very!" The two exchanged graceful smiles earning a groan from Nino.

"Where are the fun questions! C'mon dudettes!" he cried obviously disappointed in his friends.

Marinette looked at him in confusion "What do you want me to ask?"

"I don' know, something interesting. Like, describe your perfect type, or something"

Y/n laughed for a second. "Well I don't really have a type but guitarists hold a special place in my heart"

Luka looked at her in surprise but wasn't met with her gaze. That was it. He'll lose his mind because of this girl and there's no turning back. He'll be defeated, if only he wasn't already.

Y/n grew to be a great addition to the class and the friend group. And she grew closer to Luka's heart, more close than he liked to admit. When she was around, his mind was rollercoasters, when she was away her melody played in the back of his head. It was exhausting, really. Luka had never acted this way, especially not for a girl. It was all new to him.

It had been almost two months since Y/n's first day in the city of love. Never had she imagined that she would fall so in love with the people, the culture, the capital of France in general. She was standing on her balcony, looking at the most beautiful sightseeing- the Eiffel tower.

"Mom, Dad, I'm leaving, see you later!" she shouted as she closed the front door behind her. Juelka had invited her to help her out with band stuff. She was a bit surprised to say at least for Y/n wasn't much of an intellectual in that field.

The traffic was light and soon enough she stepped foot on the magnificent ship. The boy she already knew very well was strumming his guitar in the corner.

"Nice tune" she whispered, coming behind him

Luka jumped a little, taken aback by her unexpected figure. "Y/n? Why-"

"I invited her, I need some help," said Juleka from the door. "I'll be back in a second" and with that, she disappeared.

Y/n sat on a chair beside him, feeling the tension rise. Luka's melody became more insecure, more unsteady. It felt as if he was trying too hard.

"What happened?"

"I don't know" Luka answered, regretting holding the guitar now. It was true, when she was around, it was not much he could do. His mind always wandered elsewhere.

An uncomfortable silence took over them. Juleka was nowhere in sight. After some minutes of complete dull, Y/n stood up eager to leave. "Tell Juleka I'm sorry, but I just remembered I have to go."

Luka wanted to say something, but he couldn't. He was afraid of blurting out something way more stupid. So he nodded, regretting his decisions. What has she done to him? He can't even think straight, what to do, what not to do. He's a mess and it's all because of her.

"What are you doing you, idiot, go after her!" Juleka stormed out of the ship, scolding her older brother.

"What?"

"Go after her! Tell her how you feel! God!"

"What are you talking about?" Luka played it off dumb

Juleka's anger only grew "Oh please, mister untouchable, you're not so secretive about it. You can never concentrate when she's around, when I mention her, you grow all impatient. You talk about her ALL THE DAMN TIME. I can't listen to you anymore!"

Luka shifted in his spot "I don't talk about her that much"

"You literally stormed in my room last night talking about her humor and how cool she is. Go tell her how you feel, Luka"

He contemplated for a minute making Juleka impatient "Now! Go!"

The blue boy nodded, setting his guitar aside, and running as fast as he could. He ran the way he remembered Y/n to go. His legs could sprint only so fast but somehow he managed to run it all the way through.

Just by the bridge, she saw her walk by herself. It was already getting late, the sun was just around the corner, held by its fingertips to not yet say goodbye. She was looking to the river, calm and alone. "Y/n!" he shouted, putting all the energy he had to pull it through.

"Y/n!" he screamed once more to what the girl turned around. Just as she was about to ask what was happening, Luka panted taking her hand in his the moment he got the chance.

"No, no, I talk." He said taking a deep breath and looking right into her eyes. "Y/n from the moment we met in the park, I couldn't stop thinking about you. You took a tool on me, god, I'm wrapped around your finger! I can't focus when I see you, I lose all my senses when you smile"

Y/n smiled at the ongoing love declaration. "And no matter how hard I tried to cover up my feelings, to forget you, there just is no escape. I am lost, I'm losing my mind. God, what are you doing to me? I rant about you to Juleka, dear Lord. You made a mess out of me, Y/n, and I love, I love, I love you."

And before thinking, Y/n pressed her lips against his. She kissed him long and lovingly, making him melt under her touch.

"That makes the two of us"

#luka x reader miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous marinette #miraculous au #miraculous luka #fanfic #oneshot #luka couffaine x reader #luka couffaine #adrienette #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupen chang #miraculous #miraculous fanfic

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fortisfiliae · 4 years ago

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Promised Part 14 - Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 3.7k

Part 14 - Gaunt Manor

The weeks after Nagini had shed and you had added her skin into the antidote got more and more exhausting. The potion needed tending up to twelve times a day now and unfortunately, you didn’t own a time turner. Both Tom and you had not gotten a full night’s sleep in a while and it started to show. Every day that went by seemed to last for an eternity while the circles under your eyes carved deeper and deeper by the minute.

The curriculum had gotten more challenging, as the teachers were preparing their students for the N.E.W.T.s. Homework was harder and more time consuming than in any other year before and you had to study for hours afterwards as well. These things alone were enough to wear out most students from year seven. Because of that, thankfully no one got suspicious of how drained you looked. Except for Camille. She had started to ask a lot of uncomfortable questions whenever you had left to take care of the potion. She knew you too well. Sneaking out every two hours to go to the Come and Go Room on top of your studies and school work had drained you to the point where you must have looked like a walking corpse.

One day, when Professor Leveret had dismissed you after an exceptionally long Astronomy lesson in the late evening, you had reached your breaking point and were on the brink of tears, pondering about failing every single subject at the end of the term. There was little to no energy left inside of you. So little, you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry, but merely stared into space with reddened eyes and parted lips. Tom brought you to his room that night and went to the Come and Go Room alone. And when you were in bed, you were too tired to fall asleep. How ironic. You never knew that was even possible. But once you weren’t distracted anymore, your mind started to wander. It was impossible to keep up with everything at once. You would either fail your N.E.W.T.s or spoil the potion. The latter would be worse of course and for no price would you let your sister down, so you mentally prepared yourself to either leave Hogwarts without graduating or repeat your entire seventh year. Oh, there were the tears. Finally. They ran and flowed along with hollow sobs and wouldn’t stop now that they were coming.

What if the Gaunts were so appalled by your failure that they would call the wedding off before you could cure Elsie? They could easily paint you as a disgrace for not completing school and make your sister pay for it. No matter how it would turn out, they would take it out on her. The plan had worked so well until now and yet you were still desperately trapped inside Marvolo’s web.

Half an hour must have passed when Tom came back. The cushion beneath you was damp from the tears that had rolled down your cheeks and you held your breath to prevent another whimper from escaping your mouth. You hastily wiped your face and turned your back on him, trying to breathe slowly and act as if you were asleep. But he noticed, of course. And even his well-chosen words of comfort couldn’t ease your mind. You couldn’t let yourself fall into his touch and allow yourself to drift off to sleep because you knew that in two hours, the circle would start once again.

The next day, when you sat on Tom’s sofa together to study for Transfiguration, and you had just started reading the same paragraph for the third time since you just couldn’t concentrate, it just rolled off your tongue.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Tom looked up from his book. “What, the twentieth chapter? I just-”

“No, not this,” you sighed and threw your book on the coffee table. “I mean everything. This whole situation. It’s too much.”

“Well,” he said and laid his book aside too. “It certainly is a challenging time. The N.E.W.T.s, the schoolwork and the antidote.”

Challenging was an understatement.

“I just need a full night’s sleep, or two,” you mumbled. “And you do too. We need help, it’s inevitable.”

“Help?” he asked, brows raised. “What do you have in mind? Ask Hilt to look after the potion?”

His expression changed once he had seen how you shifted. “No. Don’t tell me that’s what you were thinking.”

“I thought about asking Camille for help. She wouldn’t tell anyone and she’s always been great at Potions,” you explained. “And then I thought, Ben would ask her where she’s going all the time. He wouldn’t leave her alone anyway. So I considered telling them both.”

Tom looked like he had been petrified for a second, not moving a muscle. “But you’d have to tell him about the pact.”

“I know.”

“That’s what he was after since the beginning.”

“Yes. But I think we can trust him.”

“You think?” he asked. “Why, because he’s stopped Freda’s quill? That’s enough to gain your trust?”

“It’s not like we have a lot of options, Tom,” you replied, slowly but surely getting annoyed by his constant suspicions. “Camille wouldn’t be with him if he was a snitch.”

“We will just plan better. It won’t be easy, but we-”

“No. This is too much work for two people. Just look at us. We’re both barely keeping up. It won’t be long until we’re completely worn out. We need help.”

Tom’s brows were furrowed, still not convinced even if he understood. You stretched out your hand towards him and waited for him to hold it.

“If we don’t ask for help we’re going to mess up. I’ll either fail my N.E.W.T.s or the antidote won’t be finished. No matter what happens, Elsie will pay for it. Please.”

Camille and Ben looked at Tom and you like you had both lost your minds when you took them to the seventh floor. They had asked so many questions on the way there, but you were far too tired to answer them all. Besides, they would just be able to see for themselves in a bit.

When you had arrived, you said to them once more: “I’m going to show you something now. And it is unbelievably important that you understand this needs to stay between us. No one else must know.”

Camille and Ben nodded, both with serious and still confused looks on their faces.

“And might I add,” Tom said as he looked directly at Ben. “That my memory charm is very powerful. If you can’t keep your mouth shut I’ll obliviate you and I might even make you forget that you have magic running through your veins.”

Ben nodded again. “Alright mate, I got it.”

The door to the Come and Go Room appeared and the two wore the same expression that you must have had when you had first seen it.

“Come in,” you said as you opened the door.

The room was a bit tight with the four of you in there. You stirred the liquid inside the cauldron like you did each time while Ben and Camille looked around curiously.

“A potions room?” Camille asked once the door had been closed. “Now, can you please tell us what’s going on?”

You looked at Tom, who stared back at you, lips pressed together and still unsure if what you were about to do was a good idea. But still, he nodded. He had every right to be suspicious, you had to admit now that you had brought them there. But Camille was to be trusted and frankly, you were far too tired to think of any consequences.

So you began to tell them everything from where it all had started, a day before the school year, at your house. Camille knew half of the story already, but once you told them about the Gaunts and that they were the ones who had cursed Elsie, she stood there wide-eyed, just like Ben.

“And this is why I wanted to ask you both for your help with the potion,” you said once you had told them every detail. “If you don’t mind of course. If you’re willing to help, everyone would just have to come here three times a day. That would make our lives a lot easier.”

They didn’t even need to look at each other and nodded right away.

“Of course,” Camille said. “It all makes sense now. Oh, you must be exhausted. Twelve times a day?”

“I can come more often if you want,” Ben chimed in. “I don’t have as much to do as you, my N.E.W.T.s are still a year away and I wouldn’t have bothered studying much this year anyway.”

“What a surprise,” Tom muttered, even though there was a hint of a smirk on his face.

“One more question,” Ben said. “What about the last ingredient? Banshee tears you said, right? Where are you going to get those?”

“Well. That’ll be the final obstacle.”

“My uncle owns a flask,” Tom explained. “He and my Grandfather will be out next week and we’ll go and try to get them. Our house-elves will be on high alert however, so it’s going to be risky.”

“So,” Ben said. “When are we going?”

“We?” Camille and you asked simultaneously.

“You can’t sneak your way in anyway with the elves around, right?” he said. “Four people are a better distraction than two. I’m in.”

“You weren’t even invited in,” Tom said.

“I don’t care,” Ben shrugged. “I’m still in if you need me.”

Tom sighed as he walked in circles around the cauldron, his hand covering his mouth while he considered Ben’s offer. “As much as I hate to admit it,” he then said. “I think you might be right. A distraction could be of benefit.”

“See?” Ben chuckled. “The muggleborn isn’t that dumb after all.”

“Oh brush off the arrogance, Hilt. We don’t have the flask yet.”

“Boys, please. Let’s discuss that another time and let me show you how to tend to the potion.”

You spent the following week planning for Saturday, when the Gaunts would leave their manor to attend the honouring of the Order of Merlin. You had also gotten some most needed hours of sleep. Not only that but just knowing that Camille and Ben were taking some weight off your shoulders made it much easier to concentrate on school and homework as well.

On Saturday evening, when you met at the fireplace connected to the Floo-Network, you went over your plan again.

“And don’t forget,” Tom said. “There are two house-elves. They’re loud, but not very bright. Much like Gryffindors.”

Camille stifled a laugh and looked over to Ben.

“Mate,” Ben replied. “Can you stop bullying me? I’m helping you out here.”

“Sorry,” Tom answered and bit the inside of his cheek. “I was just joking.”

“Oh yes. Riddle’s first joke in eighteen years and of course I take the fall.”

“Guys,” you scolded. “Get it together. Do you remember everything?”

“Yes,” Camille replied. “We are Theresa Carrow and Connor Prewett, your new and very pureblooded friends. We’ll be distracting the house-elves while Tom and you look for the flask. Once you got it, Tom will obliviate them and we'll come right back here.”

“Alright then,” you said as you watched Tom disappearing inside the fireplace. “See you there.”

The green flames consumed you whole once you let the Floo Powder fall and transported you swiftly to Gaunt manor, where you found yourself in a dark hallway, the reception hall, perhaps.

Tom was there already and offered his hand for you to step out of the fireplace. Camille came next, followed right by Ben. Before you could say anything, you heard two raspy, high-pitched voices coming your way.

“Who is it?” one voice asked. “Master? Is it you?”

“Show yourselves,” the other voice croaked and the elf snapped her fingers, making all the candles around the room light up. It still was dim, but you could see them a bit better now. Both of them were wrinkly and old, their faces scrunched up in suspicion. They didn’t look like the elves at your home at all but were hunching and worn out, completely different to Tummy. The male elf, Scrook, missed a large piece of his left ear and the female one, Hokey, walked with a severe limp.

“Master Riddle,” Scrook said once he had detected him and bowed tediously. “What do we owe the honour? Master Gaunt didn’t tell us you would visit today.”

“He didn’t?” Tom asked. “He must have forgotten. I told him that I’d come by today. Isn’t he here?”

“No Master,” Hokey answered. “They just left thirty minutes ago. Should we inform them for you?”

“Not necessary. I just wanted to treat my friends to dinner, you see. May I introduce you to Miss Carrow, Mister Prewett, and my fiancée.”

“Oh, networking, yes,” Scrook said and bowed once again. “Welcome to Gaunt manor.”

“Shall we prepare some food for you, Master?” Hokey asked.

“Certainly. Bring my guests to the sitting room, will you? I’ll join in a bit.”

“Of course, Master. Of course.”

The two elves escorted Camille and Ben to the back, bickering and wrangling like an old couple.

“Quick now,” Tom whispered to you and walked the opposite way, towards the basement. The whole mansion was cold and dark, mahogany bleakly spread across the floors and even on some walls. The marble staircase in the entrance hall might have looked impressive, but only added to the frigid aesthetic of the house.

“Allow me to ask, Mister Prewett,” Scrook said while Ben and Camille took a seat. “What magical family do you belong to? I’ve never heard your last name before.”

“I, uh. I’m related to the Black family,” Ben said.

“The noble and most ancient house of Black,” Hokey crowed. “What an honour.”

The corridor to Morfin’s chamber was long, you had walked there for at least a minute, and it got even colder with every step you took. When you finally reached the door at the far end, Tom halted and you took a deep breath. Tom turned the doorknob, but the entry remained closed.

“Locked,” he said. “Alohomora.”

The door stayed shut. Tom frowned. That would have been too easy.

“A different spell?” you asked. “Or is there a key somewhere?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s a charm.”

Merlin’s beard. What could it be? You thought about what Morfin could have done to lock the door. Something that only he or Marvolo would be able to use.

“What about Parseltongue?” you asked. “Does Morfin know it too?”

“Yes,” Tom answered and proceeded to speak unfamiliar words in the language. The doorknob clicked and sprung open by itself. “There we go.”

Meanwhile, in the sitting room, one of the elves got more and more interested in Ben and Camille’s backstory. “Can Scrook offer you a drink Miss? Sir?” he asked, while Hokey was busy in the kitchen. “Please, if you don’t mind, Mister Prewett. Would you tell me how exactly you’re related to Arcturus Black? Master Morfin is on good terms with him and I wonder why I’ve never heard of you before.”

When you entered Morfin’s chamber you were surprised by its size. It was almost as large as the entire Potions classroom in Hogwarts. Dead bats and shrunken heads were hanging down from the low ceiling here and there, along with strange feathers and strings that must have been some creature’s strands of hair. Despite its size, the room was crammed with bottles, finished potions and ingredients of all sorts. It wasn’t messy, not at all, but very chaotic for anyone unfamiliar.

“Morfin arranges everything by type,” Tom said. “Liquids from living creatures must be in this corner then.”

You both started opening the drawers and looked for anything that could possibly be Banshee tears.

Ben and Camille still got cross-examined by Scrook. “Interesting, interesting. Mister Black is your great-uncle, you say. Have you met him lately?“

In the chamber, you had searched for over ten minutes already, and gone through hundreds of little flasks. The number of different liquids in this room must have been in the thousands. Slughorn’s stock was absurdly small compared to this.

“Can’t we just use a summoning charm?” you sighed, going through your fifteenth drawer of vials filled with animal blood.

“No,” Tom said while closing a drawer. “The elves would notice it immediately.”

You shoved yet another drawer shut. “Bloody hell. What if it’s hidden?”

“That’s possible,” he mumbled, still scanning over all the flasks inside the cupboard.

“Wait,” you said. “What if we’re looking in the wrong place?”

“All liquids are here, as I said.”

“Yes, but I just remembered. Slughorn said this years ago. Banshee tears when stored, turn into tiny, pearly white crystals.”

Tom lifted his head to look at you.

“Where are the solids stored?”

He pointed at the opposite corner of the room. “Over there.”

At the same time, Hokey brought appetizers into the sitting room. “Enjoy,” she grumbled, her tone not fitting her kind words at all.

“Thank you,” Ben said after he and Camille had taken some canapés from the tray.

Both elves froze in shock, deeply offended. “Sir, you have not just thanked Hokey, have you?” Scrook asked.

“Of course not,” Camille stated, holding her head high. “What are you thinking? He thanked me for handing him a canapé.”

“I see,” Scrook said, eyes narrowed. “I’ll go and look for Master Riddle now. He’s taking awfully long, whatever he’s doing.”

“No!” Camille and Ben shouted which lead the elf to turn back around.

“No,” Camille repeated, her voice a lot calmer. “I’d like to know more about this house. Can you tell us how long you have worked for the Gaunts?”

In the chamber, you went through the flasks and glass containers on the other side of the room, where the solid ingredients were stored, while Tom still roamed the liquids. And finally, between fairy wings and unicorn liver, lay a tiny flask of Banshee tears.

“Got it,” you called. “There it is.”

Tom walked right over and checked out the flask too. “Good girl, very smart thinking.”

You lightly pushed him with your elbow for what he had just called you and smiled. “Let’s go.”

Scrook had gotten disturbingly close to Ben. “I’ll gladly tell you all about this house, Miss,” he said, not taking his eyes off the boy. “When Mister Prewett reveals his real name.”

“My real name?” Ben asked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not a pureblood, are you?” the elf hissed. “I can smell it.”

“Excuse you, elf!” Camille bellowed. She was a much better actress than Ben. “You surely didn’t mean to insult Mister Prewett in that way. I must have misheard you. Now apologise.”

Before they knew it, Scrook had gripped Ben’s hand and pulled it towards his own face, sniffing at the inside of Ben’s underarm. “I knew it!” the elf yelled. “Mudblood! Hokey quick, alarm the Masters!”

Hokey came running in from the kitchen at the same time as Tom and you arrived in the sitting room. All three of you stood there in the archway and looked at Camille, Ben and Scrook in disbelief.

“Traitors!” Scrook screamed and accidentally knocked the tray of canapés off the table. “What have you done, Master Riddle? Bringing a mudblood into these halls.”

Ben had finally wrenched his arm away from the elf, holding on to it tightly while standing up straight, his chest heaving.

“The Masters must know,” Scrook whined and turned around. “We have to tell them immediately, Hokey.”

“Enough,” Camille said as she rose from her seat. “Stupefy!”

In an instant, Scrook fell to the floor without another word, completely unconscious. Hokey let out a yelp at the sight, turned around and ran toward the kitchen.

“Quick, before she apparates,” you shouted.

“Stupefy,” Tom called with his wand pointed at Hokey. “We don’t have much time. The charm wears off on elves much quicker than on humans.”

Ben and Tom dragged the two elves to the entrance hall and dropped them next to the fireplace, while Camille cleaned up the mess on the floor, where the canapés had landed.

When you had gathered by the fireplace again, Scrook already opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

“Leave,” Tom urged and pointed his wand at the elves. “Obliviate.”

Camille went first and disappeared into the flames, followed by Ben and you.

Back in Hogwarts, when Tom stepped out of the fireplace, you finally felt like you were able to breathe again.

“We did it,” you said and fell into his arms. “I can’t believe we really did it.”

Tom held you for a moment, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, then moved his head and looked at Ben when he let go. “What happened?”

Ben still hadn’t calmed down. He rubbed his hands on his trousers repeatedly and shook his head. “I don’t know. They were shocked when I thanked them for serving us food. Then the elf said he could smell that I’m not a pureblood.”

“You thanked them?” Tom asked. “Elves don’t accept that.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I’ve never seen a house-elf before.”

“Forget about that now,” Camille interrupted. “Did you get them? The Banshee tears.”

“Yes,” you said and pulled them out of your pocket. “We got them.”

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senju-sekhmet · 4 years ago

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The Leash (Part 10)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death, angst with a happy ending ~8100 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8; Part 9 Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut! again, used for updates too. sue me

DISCLAIMER! PART ONE of the finale! READ THE WARNINGS... especially the last one... Other than that: enjoy my very self indulgent work, filled with my own headcanons and angst galore. Let me know what you think and thank you so much for reading!!!! ________ The next few days became a blur. Tobirama cycled between the laboratory, your room, and the interrogation and information headquarters - just like he had been the last few days. Sleep was scarce, if he allowed himself any at all.

The pace was dictated by your condition pretty much, which did not fare any better. Quite the opposite.

Every passing turn, the interval by which they could stretch the administration of what remained of the leash diminished. You, on the other hand were paying a price that was nothing less than your sheer life force, it seemed. The amount of support they had to provide via the seals increased constantly. As time passed, they couldn’t lessen it anymore during your lucid phases, even - rather, only increase it further, step by step. A couple of seals were added when your chakra overload allowed it - as they had not been tending to your injuries from the torture anymore, they gained a little manuverability in that regard. It was not much, but you dearly needed any edge you could get. Both of your legs, arms, your abdomen, your chest were painted with medical seals that each supported your cardiovascular system, retained organs' functions, everything. There was little of your skin left unused.

It was painful to see.

“I surmise this is why the Stone did not use the withdrawal as an accessory means to put a victim under more duress,” Tobirama stated utterly caustic tone once. You’d been sedated after they had administered they leash again and both he and his brother were monitoring you while the war inside your body came to a well-known break. “Putting someone under the physical and mental strain of torture while also dealing with the effects of the withdrawal could easily kill a prisoner.” His bluntness hurt him - thinking about how you might be the one dying - but what was the point in sugar-coating anything?

Tobirama's mood was dismal, though his resolve still zealous.

“Indeed,” Hashirama agreed, slightly strained by the focus he’d been keeping up. “Frankly I’m wondering how they managed to not overload the amount of what foreign chakra Y/n could take with how they… injured her and the poor quality at which they kept healing her.” In the end, there was sorrow in his voice.

Tobirama instead felt anger overshadowing his ache. “I don’t think that ever was a concern of theirs, anjia.” In fact, Tobirama could hazard a guess as to what fate would've awaited you had they finished torturing you - had he not found you in time.

They shouldn't call it the Leash - the Noose seemed to be a better fit.

Still, chakra overload was unpleasant - uncomfortable, and to a point medically concerning, too, but lethal? Hardly. That is, if a patient was not in such a grievous state you found yourself in.

Yet the worst was your loss of vitality overall. It manifested in more agonising ways - it wasn’t as though you were becoming more haggard than you had been since the rescue - it was the way your hair lost its shine, the paleness of your skin, the tired gaze of sunken in eyes, the rasp of your voice as wheezing coughs wrecked you.

Numerous of your organs had begun to show signs of failure more and more rapidly as soon as the withdrawal settled in. Soon, they barely had enough time to recover during the times you weren’t under the effects of the withdrawal - a vicious circle Hashirama monitored closely and one Tobirama dreaded like little else in life. If the balance tilted - if your body couldn’t recuperate enough any more - then your life was all the more on the line.

Those hours - they felt the longest. He’d pace anxiously in your room, demand updates until Hashirama allowed him to join in his efforts. Or until he did politely tell him to wait. Politely.

Tobirama couldn’t remember when last he had felt so miserable in his life. He was watching you wither away in his hands, in the safest place he could think of in the entire world, due to a decision he had ultimately agreed to. Whenever he was with you the pain in his heart froze his entire being, his breathing was felt as laboured as yours and all of the world was numb besides the plight you were suffering. And he - he had allowed it. And if he hadn’t - if he hadn't… he didn't want to finish the thought, ever.

Worse yet, your consciousness began to wither more and more during the precious phases of lucidity, when the leash spared you from the hellish withdrawal. You simply were too weak to stay awake for long. But you tried. How you tried - and he knew why. For him. Your fierce spirit would keep fighting.

“How… is it going, Tobi?” you’d ask him always, your voice no more but a broken whisper.

He nearly collapsed by your side, the guilt corroding him inside out for not having accomplished his task yet. Every time his hand was under your head to stabilise it some as you looked at him; wanted to look at him - while the other held yours to his chest, stroking it tenderly. “I’m getting there, Y/n. Rest, please,” he implored you brokenly, each time, “I’m here, Y/n. I’m here.”

His heart broke when you didn’t find the strength to quip back at him like you usually would.

You just smiled bravely.

For all the agony this put him in - all the torment you went through - it only fuelled his resolve to recreate the leash. The extra time you were giving at such great expense he put to good use - and there barely was a time there weren’t some shadow clones working on refining his copy of the leash. The price he paid for this was staggering. Each time he released them, the exhaustion almost floored him. Their experience and memories were invaluable for speeding up the process infinitely - to even give him a sliver of hope to make it in time - but a few days in and Tobirama was forced to sit down before he let go of the very jutsu he devised. Practical, it was. But the toll it took on one’s body was hellish - his vision would blacken, his knees shake and he was sure he fainted a couple of times, too, for the sheer amount of concentration each of his clones had poured into the task at hand.

Yet every time Tobirama felt he was teetering on the brink of a collapse, he simply reminded himself of what was at stake here.

Hellish became a relative term, then. He paid the small price, he figured.

And there were ways and means to keep going beyond any physical signs of exhaustion. Tobirama turned to them quickly when the usage of his shadow clone technique became too taxing - various medications starting with simple caffeine to more sinister substances if taken for too long a time. He didn’t care for that risk. Sleep simply was lost time. Needed, surely. He’d catch up, eventually. Because ultimately - ultimately, this whole game would be over very soon, way too soon. Cynically he did wonder sometimes when he’d start to see white mice running up the walls, hear voices whisper or other hallucinations - but his thoughts never strayed from either creating the leash or your current condition. There was no room for anything else. And he was nothing if not focused on his task.

Kimi’s blood samples had been valuable leads in the whole process of making this damned drug. They demonstrated how his alternative had affected her - which wasn’t far off the shot when it came to the muting component of the leash. The disruption only rudimentarily resembled the real leash. Nonetheless, he felt confident with enough shadow clones - he’d continue down this path and start to weave his chakra in better and better to get where it had to be. After all, the result had been promising. Lucky for him, because it did strongly suggest no jutsu was involved in creating the leash as such. It really boiled down to the weaving process and its complexity. He wondered how long it had taken Zenji to master creating the leash.

Weaving - as such it seemed to be a process that couldn’t just create a leash but any other kind of chakra infused drug.

Interesting.

His experiments on the prisoners supported his theory about the weaving further. Progress was exponentially accelerated due to his shadow clones, and as such the intricacy of his own weaving pattern made for better results. More and more, the immediate effects of the leash were becoming comparable to the actual leash - with no small amount of satisfaction, he observed how their chakra became just as muted and sluggish as yours, longer and longer. And with the same satisfaction he meticulously examined every second of their quite painful withdrawal to compare it to your symptoms and sufferings to ensure it’d be exactly the same - the fact the prisoners didn’t just harbor the same dislike for him they did for everyone at the headquarters but rather flat out hated him was entirely beyond him. He didn’t care. They were means to achieving a goal, nothing more.

Especially Zenji used every opportunity to count down the time to what he believed would be your demise. His perception of such must be entirely broken, as he missed the mark he prophesied would be your end - much to Tobirama’s smug glee. Though he knew better than to let anything on. Bickering with this man - with any of them - was just more waste of time. He simply went in with Ikuro, sometimes one of his subordinates, to brutally administer the leash and start to observe the prisoners and take blood samples. If any of them acted up in whatever ways they could - which wasn’t much, given their restraints - they were punished, harshly. He couldn’t risk spilling these experimental drugs, either. As Tobirama’s patience wore down alongside the remaining supply of the leash - and ultimately, your life force - more jaws were broken.

Naturally, his cold, almost brutal demeanour wasn’t noticed by the prisoners only. More than once Ikuro had to call him off for pushing the limit on what a subject could take - or disagree on continuing interrogation. Things Tobirama mentally rolled his eyes at but never spoke up against save for curt affirmations past his clenched teeth. Ikuro would be well within his rights to stop his proceedings altogether - or worse, report to Hashirama. It was a silent understanding that if the experiments became too dangerous, Tobirama had to stop and provide medical aid to the stone shinobi. As much as he hated it. He had to make better progress. You were paying the worst price.

Unfortunately the leash’s creation proved to be about the best guarded secret of Zenji’s mind - and with how he was biding his time, he was extremely determined to last longer than Tobirama, or rather, you. They gleaned all kinds of information not just from him, but also the other prisoners - the better Tobirama became at replicating the leash, the more effective the interrogation was. He surmised there may be even more complex machinations at work in how this drug worked in a person’s mind, but he had no proof of this, only theories. Not that he cared - it didn’t matter right now. Still, Zenji remained the toughest fortress; he’d die before cracking. Although Ikuro did appear to be more lax when it came to torturing and experimenting on him; Tobirama was not.

Just like Zenji, Kimi was refusing to surrender what little she knew of the leash, no matter how extreme the pressure. Two of their compatriots had cracked while under the effects of Tobirama’s leash-copy, a victory he did not celebrate at all. It was useless unless Zenji broke or he perfected the recreation of the leash. Anything else would result in your death. Still, it was one of the rare occasions he allowed himself a moment of smugness in front of Zenji.

No more than a sneer did Tobirama give him.

Zenji was fuming. “You think you’re so fucking clever-” he spat.

Tobirama raised an eyebrow and cut him off coolly. “I am. Despite your assertions, I am getting closer to recreating this precious leash of yours every day. And after that, you will be useless, given how your fellow shinobi keep cracking.” The last bit was spoken as darkly as he meant it to be.

Zenji bared his teeth - but not out of anger. He was grinning. “I’m sticking to my word, Senju - I will relish telling you the secret once Y/n died one of the most painful deaths imaginable while you sat by.”

Tobirama knew better than to let the ire that was flooding him show. Zenji’s jaw was barely healing.

Well, there were other bones to break, though.

“You might get closer to creating the leash, but you won’t succeed, and I’d give my damn life to see the helpless look on your face when Y/n takes her last, tormented breath, whispering your name in sheer agony as life-”

Tobirama’s arm shot forward before he could think. But he knew better than to punch the prisoner again. His vice grip had seized the broken jaw, nails digging into his cheeks to prevent so much as a scream coming out. Only a slow moan of pain. His scarlet gaze was murderous. “Actually, your pathetic life hangs on Y/n’s survival, Zenji. Do you realise that, you very, very clever man?”, Tobirama explained, frightfully calm.

Zenji stilled completely.

“I care not for something petty like revenge or your fate ultimately,” he continued icily, “but Konoha does not need to feed mouths that are useless to us nor send them back to the enemy to use them against us again. I think you can figure the rest out.” He released him as brutally as he could, turning on his heel. He had to leave before he did more to this man.

Zenji stopped shouting at Tobirama after this.

Even so, Zenji’s words had not rung hollow. As much progress he made when it came to the weaving process, permanence of the effects would not be attained. The more time - really, each passing hour - pressed him, the more desperate he became to solve this riddle - this seemingly last riddle stopping him from creating the perfect copy of the leash.

It was after yet another quite fruitful session of experimentation that he -

“Damn it!”, he shouted, smashing his balled fist on the lab bench after analysing the yield of the day thoroughly. The woven pattern was swirling brightly like it would in the leash, the complexity well fit the real drug and the experiments were showing promising results.

However… “It’s not a damn leash yet-” he breathed through his clenched teeth, swaying back, vision tunneling. He gripped the edge of the table just in time before he lost his foothold. The exhaustion from releasing his clones before had struck viciously again.

Hitting inanimate objects out of frustration was one thing. Talking to himself another. He dragged both palms over his face. By his current calculations, they had about sixty hours left.

Sixty hours, then they’d be out of leash and your time was cut very short.

Ice flooded his veins and his vision blackened completely briefly.

It couldn’t be helped. He needed a jutsu - or a seal - to perfect the leash. At this point - with this little time left - his previous evaluation of such a technique being an obstacle he'd scale easily compared to what he had done so far seemed quite daring. In fact, how could he have thought anything about this was going to be easy? Even when he had already guessed he’d need this, sooner or later.

Ultimately he started to divide his shadow clone force between perfecting the weaving process and starting to figure a seal out to make the effects last - rather, the disruption. Since the muting component did wear off at a comparable time in his own creations now, it was a fair assumption no technique sealed this effect in. And the way the disruption almost branded itself into a victim’s blood - that was all the more telltale. But how to create a seal that worked in a liquid? Back when he initially assumed such a seal to be of inferior quality due to a lack of external evidence, he automatically assumed it should be simple to create one himself. Now, it almost felt like starting over again - like when he was weaving the second component in. A seal that did not just ensure permanence of the effects but rather only concern a single effect - ridiculous. Somberly he realised actually back then, he simply had not grasped the complexity of all this fully to make such an assumption in the first place.

More guilt to burden him, ultimately.

Just as he feared, initial tests proved to be difficult in the way a seal damaged the delicate weave of his chakra in the base liquid. He quickly discarded the approach in favour of starting from scratch - if only the disruption stuck, then it was quite possible a seal was applied before the second component got woven in. That worked better - slightly, if just for the fact the substance was less intricate like this and a seal was simpler to apply like this. Even so, Tobirama could think of a handful of seals to preserve chakra in some capacity. He’d have to take a logical approach: given there had been no outward sign of a seal being used, it must be a simpler one. Furthermore, he knew from your blood samples the way the drug didn’t just cling but nearly branded itself to you; therefore there must be a way for the seal to interact with the victim’s organism as well. That seemed doable; seals followed the rules the user created. Like a string of orders. He felt confident in his skill to pull it off - if it wasn’t for the fact he was trying to place a seal in a liquid substance right now. A seal on a parchment, sure. Medical jutsu that required seals, absolutely. Seals in combat, too - but in a liquid?

He had no time to dwell on whether or how that was possible. Once more his shadow clones would aid him in trying out different approaches: applying seals to the vial first, weaving the disrupting component in and then trying to seal it off, or even trying to weave in a seal alongside the disruption. The last of the approaches appeared to be more fruitful than the others truth be told, but the more effort he gave it, the less the tender fabric of the drug tore apart for it in either one. The leash really was about patience, a knack for handling very fragile threads of chakra and a lot of concentration. None of which Tobirama could claim he had in great quantity right now. By the end of this session releasing his clones resulted in him losing consciousness for a solid thirty minutes. When he woke, he had a headache as though someone drilled a hole into his skull.

Naturally that didn’t stop him. All three of his experiments were tested right away and despite Ikuro’s concerns to not divide Tobirama’s attention between three prisoners, the man enforced his will by ultimately reminding everyone of the ticking clock. Each passing second made him more desperate and the life of a Stone shinobi less valuable. Even if he lost all three. He still had three more.

“They still hold information we have not yet cracked,” Ikuro warned sternly.

“Testing each of these one after the other is going to cost hours that Y/n doesn’t have,” Tobirama spat back, unfazed. “I’m here, I can use a shadow clone to divide my attention if need be,” he elaborately nonchalantly.

Ikuro crossed his arms. “That’s not the same.”

Tobirama growled exasperatedly. He wasn’t about to explain his own damn jutsu to Ikuro now. “I assure you, it is. Let’s use the broken prisoners, they’ve lost value, if that eases your concern.” The coldness of his tone made clear what he was implying.

Unsurprisingly, Ikuro wasn’t taken aback by his lack of regard for human life. His job demanded a certain detachment from just that, Tobirama figured. “Alright.” Even though Ikuro still didn’t seem quite sold on Tobirama’s plan. The life of a Konoha shinobi still bore greater weight than that of Stone prisoners.

At the end of that day, Tobirama realised his intuition had been right: the test subject with the third method showed a prolonged phase of withdrawal, serious symptoms - serious enough to warrant medical observation that Tobirama left to the unit with clear instructions. He didn’t have time now. Sadly the seal’s permanence was not on par with the leash’s yet - the withdrawal had been fading, too.

But this - all this, it was the right direction. He knew it. If he gave his all into his and worked with the time he had left, he felt he could reach this insane goal of recreating this drug.

Following the experiments, he sat by your side that evening while you were allowed a short moment of simple sleep. No withdrawal, no terrors under the effects of the leash. He dared to feel a sliver of hope. No more. Gently, his hand stroked your forearm as his heart ached from watching you. You’d open your eyes briefly and recognition flashed in your gaze - he simply let his chakra coat your network in a warm embrace. Stiffness eased out from his shoulders as his eyes prickled again.

“I’m getting there, Y/n,” he simply whispered, tenderly.

You gave no reply or notion of having gotten the message. His heart hurt more for it.

Of course he already had a handful of clones working on the approach before he left for your side to join them in the endeavour.

The final race began after that. Using as many clones as he possibly could, he started to create the leash - really create it, not just parts of it, practicing weaving or trying seals out. This was it - he would need to perfect this procedure until an immaculate result in a prisoner was achieved. Once he tethered one of them to the leash, he knew he had succeeded and could make more for you. The proverbial light at the end of this hellish tunnel kicked his system more into overdrive than any substance he could take to keep himself on track. It was a real high, almost.

Hashirama tried to get him to rest once he caught wind of the fervor with which he worked.

“You’re doing what?!”, his brother near shouted, horrified.

Tobirama rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this. “Get out of here and back to Y/n,” he ordered sternly, not even looking back at his brother, standing in the door of the makeshift laboratory.

Hashirama’s footsteps drew closer, a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder had him whip around with unconcealed fury. “What.” Tobirama’s voice was an infuriated growl through clenched teeth. A warning everyone heeded. Except his brother, of course.

Hashirama didn’t pull his figurative punches now. “You’re using way too many shadow clones, you’re not sleeping and is-” he pointed on the lab bench, eyes wide now as he recognized the substances Tobirama had been taking, “-is that-”

“You worry about your work, and leave me to mine, anija!” Tobirama shouted back with unbridled ire, seizing his brother by the shoulders to start shoving him out.

Sadly, he was determined to stand his ground, swatting the hands away. “Sure, destroy yourself so the first thing Y/n can do after recovering is mourn you!” His dark eyes were ablaze now. Even for a non-sensor shinobi, the magnificent aura of his riled up chakra was easy to pick up on. For Tobirama’s senses, it was suffocating, like staring into the sun. The overload just fueled his anger more.

“Get. Out.” The heat was gone from his voice. It was a threat now.

Hashirama held Tobirama’s scarlet gaze for far longer than anyone else did. Wordlessly, he summoned a wood clone. “I’ll watch you. You’re not going to kill yourself, brother.” Then, he turned on his heels to leave the laboratory.

Tobirama was floored for a moment. How dare he. Then, he proverbially exploded as the fury burned so bright inside of him, it was painful. “You will do no such thing!” He yelled after his brother, following with swift stomps. “Take your damn babysitter with you, I don’t need one!”

Hashirama all but ignored him and simply kept on walking down the corridor. Tobirama rushed back to the laboratory where his clones were still at work to eye his brother’s wood clone with sheer antipathy. Briefly, he contemplated destroying it - but ultimately decided against that just for the fact that might break anything precious in the laboratory.

That meant he just had to conceal his exhaustion better now. And no more help from additional medication.

The rush to the finish line of the gruelling race was just as Tobirama had expected it. He didn’t measure time in days anymore but hours you had left. Your condition kept on worsening and ultimately, Hashirama decided they no longer could risk you going into withdrawal at all. That cut back the time slightly, but not much. Enough for Tobirama to not even feel the slightest bit of exhaustion anymore. Frankly during his work he was nothing but sharply focused. It was when he was by your side the emotions boiled up - the ache that teared at his heart, the suffocating sensation of sorrow, guilt. Overburdening protection paired with crushing worry. Your sheer will had bought them necessary time, he’d just make it work now. It was all he could do.

But now, even in what should be your rest - the precious hours in which you may wake - you barely opened your eyes anymore. They were forced to amp the seals up to a maximum of support to deal with the backlash of all the times you had suffered from the withdrawal, and either Hashirama or Tobirama constantly found themselves at your side to ensure your condition didn’t worsen. Every bit of additional chakra your strained system could take went into stabilizing you further from the inside. It was an extremely fragile balance they upheld - but the truth was, in the Stone shinobi’s hands your body had suffered grievous, outward wounds and now your inside was just as impacted by everything it had gone through.

Your path to recovery would be an arduous one. One Tobirama did not doubt one second you’d walk strongly and gracefully, one on which he’d not leave your side, at all. He still felt tremendous guilt for everything they - he - had been forced to do to you, everything you went through under his watch. Even now, what little time he spent monitoring you, examining your condition, he never let the warm connection fade - hoping you might at least feel that.

That you weren't alone.

Progress on the leash was as exponential as expected. His shadow clones and his own vigour ensured as much. Over and over he perfected the results he produced. Time would not allow for lengthier tests anymore as the better his craft became, the longer a test subject suffered from the effects of his leash. He had to cycle through the prisoners who barely caught a break now, not that he cared, of course. But every experiment needed to start from a fresh slate, otherwise the result might be muddled. What he could do in the laboratory was to compare his own substance with the actual leash - which he did with unmatched diligence. Once a confusing swirl of chakra, intricate and impossible to pick apart easily, he now saw structure in it. With the experience of not just himself but many copies of himself, he now was sure: learning to create the leash might take months, if not years.

When your hours were down to a single digit, he was unable to find a difference between his version of the leash and the actual drug.

An eerie kind of excitement gripped him. His head spun dizzily from it. Had he done it? Was this it?

Only one way to find out. And no time to waste. They had just a single dose of the leash left to give to you.

Tobirama turned to what he sarcastically dubbed his babysitter. “Tell my brother with luck, I’m off to the interrogation headquarters for the last time.”

The last time he slept was forty-one hours ago. Involuntarily, at that. Overwhelmed by releasing the shadow clone jutsu, as it was.

The wood clone nodded and turned to leave.

Tobirama used his hiraishin seal to teleport to the interrogation headquarters after slipping the vial into his pocket - he had placed a branded piece of parchment there days ago. Another way to save time.

He headed straight for Ikuro’s office. By now the members of the interrogation unit knew when not to stand in his way - it was the kind of thoughtfulness he appreciated, even though he never uttered a word to that regard. Given the time of the day, early morning, Ikuro was behind the desk. Tobirama didn’t even knock but tore the door open.

“We need to start another test now.”

Ikuro glanced up from the document he was reading. By now he knew not to expect ‘good morning’ from him anymore or other pleasantries. Still, this was quite straightforward even for Tobirama’s standards. “You’ve been here last night,” he replied evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“And I’ve made progress since then. I have reason to believe I’ve done it.” Finally.

That elicited a whistle of surprise even from Ikuro, who seldom did more than smile slightly at whatever was tossed in his direction. But a frown followed. “I don’t need to tell you that-”

Tobirama slammed his palm on the table a huffed through clenched teeth. “I know and we don’t have any time left,” he hissed, borderline desperate now. The fact this would be his last shot before you - he refused to finish the thought.

Ikuro’s mien was stony, but he rose to his feet. “Kimi should be most recovered.”

He followed silently down into the holding block. Whatever gazes he might have felt upon him he either was accustomed to or forgotten. Except for Zenji’s stare. The damn, knowing stare. He never looked more than a spare second into his eyes.

Upon unlocking Kimi’s door, the woman’s head raised up slowly to muster her new company with contempt. The last days had left traces on all the prisoners. Like her compatriots, even the mental bulwark of seeming sheer insanity was showing cracks. Kimi had dark rings under her eyes and the proverbial paint was flaking off. “Is Y/n not fucking dead yet?”, she commented lazily, gaze settling on the vial in Tobirama’s grasp. They had long passed the stage of feigned pleasantries, inquiries about your wellbeing, or even Ikuro behaving like a friend towards her.

All of this had become a well practiced ritual the prisoners knew better than to resist. In a way, they had broken them all in that regard.

Ikuro seized the back of her head already and gave Tobirama a nod.

Kimi’s nostrils flared. “Can’t be much longer now. Y’still gonna keep trying to make the leash after she’s dead, by the way?”, she spat, fighting against the vice hold of the interrogation master.

Tobirama walked closer slowly, expression steely. As cold as he felt inside. He always did when he was down here - these people were barely human to him, anymore. Threats like Kimi’s were their favourite to make. He knew better than to react. His hand shot forward to grasp her jaw - her resistance was notably weaker than it had been a few days ago.

Good.

Easily, his hand could coax her jaw forward to open her mouth and pour only a small portion of the vial in. Ikuro shot him a questioning glance. “I’ll explain later.” Tobirama answered gruffly as he secured her throat to prevent her from spitting anything back at them. She gagged briefly, prompting Tobirama to up the pressure until she swallowed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, but her pupils dilated already.

Ikuro closed his eyes to get to work. Tobirama monitored the effect of his leash unfolding briefly and with no small amount of satisfaction. The muting component hammered Kimi’s chakra network just like yours had been. His heart beat faster. Swiftly he withdrew to take a first blood sample of the initial effect and continued to monitor Kimi, who had surrendered to the torture silently by now. Unusual. Most of the time, she found ways to spew colorful insults at either him or Ikuro.

Interesting.

The rest of the experiment proceeded just as perfectly. Tobirama felt near dizzy from the nervousness that gripped him and he was surprised to find he wasn’t shaking from excitement when the withdrawal began to hit the stone shinobi as the muting component wore off - sooner than usual, thanks to the smaller dosage, but it still took quite a while. Ikuro wasn’t finished with the mental interrogation yet, but a frown wrinkled his forehead.

“She’s becoming weaker,” he noted.

“I know. Keep on going.” Hell, they might even crack her now with the added pressure. After all, Tobirama was painfully well-versed in dealing with withdrawal effects, and Kimi’s body was not suffering from chakra overloading at all.

The shift in the dynamic hadn’t escaped Kimi, either. Restlessness was gripping her. “This doesn’t change anything,” she pressed out, breathing laboured. Her forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. It wouldn’t be long now until the withdrawal will become painful.

Tobirama ignored her and gripped her throat tighter as he examined more closely. If the disruption didn’t fade he -

“It doesn’t change-,” Kimi choked out again, against the vice grip he held her in. “-fucking anything!” Her voice had become a fine sneer in the end.

Tobirama opened his eyes to find the prisoner grinning, staring at the ceiling with a hollow glance. That didn’t sit well with him. Kimi knew more about the leash - knowledge they hadn’t yet gotten out of her.

They’d still proceed now. No turning back.

More time passed. She shouted out again a couple times, more slurred than the other before a tremor gripped her body and the words became gargled moans of pain. Inflammation began to kindle inside of her in an awfully familiar way. The disruption was starting to wreak havoc inside of her. Time for the next blood sample, which Tobirama took swiftly.

“Her mind is becoming fragmented, Tobirama,” Ikuro warned, pale eyes opening. That wasn’t good. He wouldn’t continue like this.

“I’ll stabilise her. I need to know if this fades or not,” he answered tersely, blood rushing in his ears. If it didn’t fade - then he’d -

One step after the other. Carefully he let his chakra strengthen each of Kimi’s organs somewhat, only enough to keep her going. The tormented groans subsided if just slightly, and Ikuro closed his eyes again as the haze that surrounded Kimi’s mind became thicker again. So close. They were so close.

Relief did not last long for her. Very soon, the prisoner was deteriorating again.

Tobirama almost shouted from the utter relief he felt. It could only mean one thing. His heart beat so frantically it might as well jump out of his chest at this point.

Ikuro gave him a stern reminder to watch for Kimi again, but Tobirama’s hand had seized the spasming jaw of the prisoner already. Silently, Ikuro watched as he poured the rest of the vial in only to directly continue monitoring her again.

The disruption subsided swiftly as her chakra network became near mute again. Kimi stilled completely, raising her head slowly to let out a drawn-out groan. Her gaze fixated Tobirama, pupils blown wide. There was recognition in it, but in a deranged, wild way - akin to an animal rather than a human person.

Tobirama's scarlet gaze was ablaze, his eyes widened. A low, utterly satisfied growl resounded through the cell - "Yes," he muttered, entirely absorbed in his examination.

Her reply hit like a kick to the gut.

“The leash is tied to a person… and the hand that holds it.”

Right after, her body went limp again as she surrendered to the psychotropic effects of the drug.

Tobirama took a step back, reeling. The blood still rushed in his ears and the elation had cracked like glass that had been put under too much strain. What the hell was that supposed to mean? What was it now? What else did he possibly have to think of? The experiment's result was perfect.

By all means, this woman was tied to the leash now, the leash Tobirama had created.

He just had to make more of it now - you’d be safe and he could work on a cure. But why was he feeling like his breath had been stolen from him? As though he had run the mile, won the race and yet still had to keep running, or else? His hands trembled slightly as he kept staring down the limp prisoner.

Ikuro cleared his throat. “That’s enough for today. Follow me, Tobirama.” His voice sounded urgent. Startled, Tobirama’s eyes widened slightly, he nodded only.

As they passed Zenji’s cell, the man stirred. “So,” he called out, chains clinking as he threw his body against them. “You made it? Tied Kimi to the leash?” His tone was about as icy as one might get.

Tobirama stopped in front of the cell to give him a lethal glare, all nervousness subsiding in favour of sheer fury. Ikuro stopped as well, giving Tobirama a warning glance.

“I won,” he sneered back, eyes narrow. “As I said, I recreated that little tool of yours.” His voice was dripping with caustic arrogance.

Zenji attempted a grin that looked crooked by how swollen his face still was. “I wonder about that.”

Icy dread was pooling inside of Tobirama faster than he could control it. His mien turned stony as he tried to just not rush in and break Zenji’s jaw again for his insolence. And yet the words were haunting him. Just like Kimi’s had. “You had better start thinking about another way to appear useful to us.”

Without allowing another word from the prisoner, he walked towards Ikuro, heading for the office. Surprisingly, Ikuro shut the door as soon as they were inside.

The burly man cut straight to the chase. “Kimi’s mental defenses were extremely low today,” he began. Tobirama’s heartbeat picked up again. Ikuro frowned. “I was able to glance at her knowledge about the leash. Perhaps she wanted me to, I don’t know.”

“What did you learn?”, Tobirama snapped back before he even realised what words his brain had chosen. His tone wasn’t just stern - it was commanding.

“The Stone’s interrogators use the leash frequently.” Nothing new there, Tobirama figured. With how much effort that went into this drug. He was ready to ask for more information, but Ikuro beat him to it. “However, it seems once the leash is administered to a prisoner, they always receive it from the same creator, or one of his students.” Ikuro’s frown deepened.

The realisation hit Tobirama before he could coherently process the words. The dread that had formed earlier spiralled out into every vein of his body, an ice cold shiver ran down his spine. No, he had not come this far to learn this - all this-

“What does that mean?”, Ikuro inquired when Tobirama gave no answer.

He turned around slowly to put his hands against the doorframe, taking deep breaths now. His head was swimming. This information - all he knew about the leash - it was already pooling into his mind to form a muddied mess that wouldn’t produce a coherent thought.

His breaths were raspy and short. Finally, he swallowed against the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to speak about this. He had to return to the lab. Now.

“It means Zenji might be the only one able to create the leash for Y/n,” he answered, voice dead.

_______

He had precious little time left until you needed the last dose of the leash. After that, your lifespan was down to a mere few hours. Tobirama’s heartbeat never slowed down as he arrived in the laboratory, his shaking hands placing Kimi’s recent blood samples in the rack containing a great variety of vials now. His vision was tunneling.

Only one shot.

Kimi’s statement - Zenji’s following it - and Ikuro’s information pointed towards one thing: the creation of the leash and the following interaction with the victim’s body was such a complex reaction that it didn’t allow for a different torturer’s leash to be administered to the same victim. Why was that? Tobirama could easily guess. With how much time he had spent weaving this damned drug all the little intricacies, the finicky process, it was easy to think there might be different ways to create it. Different patterns. The leash demanded repeated doses of the same drug for the disruption to be muted by the muting component - they were woven together like threads of fabric. A different pattern would not fit. That much his experiments had ascertained, too.

Lucky for him - for you - he had stuck closely to Zenji’s sample and while primarily trying to imitate the effects of the drug, he had unintentionally copied the weaving pattern of the man himself. That much he was sure of - he had analysed his version and Zenji’s, finding no difference.

Did that mean Kimi and Zenji just thought Tobirama had - somehow - found out how to weave the leash differently? It was a possibility.

He grabbed the blood sample that contained Kimi’s blood right after administration of Tobirama’s leash. Closing his eyes, he began to examine it in great detail. The drug had spread through it hazily, coating it thickly - clogging and fuzzy. Just like it had been in you. No, exactly like it had been in you.

A first wave of relief washed through him. There was no doubt about it - had someone placed a vial of your blood under the initial effect of the leash in front of him and that of a prisoner under his own, he could only tell the difference by the innate chakra signature every body part carried, available to his fine sensor skills only. Otherwise, this was the same.

His body vibrated with tense energy, teetering on the fine edge between nervousness and sheer panic. Things he’d never show to anyone. But in the privacy of this lab - his hand shook, his heart was jumping out of his chest.

Now to the second sample.

He clasped Kimi’s blood sample tightly and shut his eyes again. Examining closer and closer, the disruptive component became obvious - the sharp edges of the chakra that had coated the blood’s cells, scathing as they went, damaging, scratching. Just like in Zenji’s leash. That, also was to be expected - after all, he had tailored the effect as per the example he had been given.

Then why did he feel on edge? Why was time still running out? Something - something -

He took an even closer look.

And almost dropped the vial when it struck him.

“It’s the seal,” he muttered, shock and frustration fighting inside him as he felt as though he was bursting inside. The way his leash had near branded itself to Kimi’s blood - it was different, in such insignificant and tiny ways, Tobirama would’ve overlooked it. Were it not for the damned comment the lunatic witch had made, the information Ikuro had gleaned - there was no question about it. Zenji must use a slightly different sealing technique in his own version of the leash.

What would happen if he administered his own leash to you now?

Tobirama groaned painfully, rubbing a palm over his face.

This is a nightmare. It can’t be. You only had little time left until the next - the last dose of the leash. And he had no idea how to even figure out how Zenji sealed the disrupting component of his leash.

His breaths were coming faster now and the tightness in his chest became painful - so painful he clutched the black fabric of his shirt, wheezing. Closing his eyes, his other hand reached for the edge of the laboratory bench for support as his knees shook. Distantly, he realised what the panic attack for what it was, now. Logically, he recognized it. While all the same he figured he did not have time for this.

He had to work now. He had to try - to try and do - do something-

“Damn it,” he panted. His breaths were coming in abruptly, rashly.

His vision tunneled.

He had no time- He had to work- This wasn’t-

Darkness crept from his peripheral reception into the center and Tobirama closed his eyes to force his breaths to slow down. Weakness. This was nothing but temporary weakness he had to overcome swiftly.

By sheer willforce only quite possibly, he was riding the anguishing sensations out slowly before his body would obey him again.

Then, he grabbed the precious tiny sample of Zenji’s leash and did the only thing that came to mind: to try and dissect it for any clues. Anything at all that might tell him how Zenji sealed off his leash - anything for Tobirama to guess at the process to copy it. He began the procedure much like he’d perform an autopsy on a cadaver: from the outside to the inside. Peeling off layer after layer, removing bits and then cutting them apart into tinier pieces to examine them more closely. Systematically - thanks to his extended knowledge about the leash, there was some of that to his approach here. Of course the leash didn’t have organs like a body did, however since he knew how it was woven, he was able to trace it back this way, sort of.

Zenji’s seal was woven into the disruptive component like Tobirama’s was, intertwined in an intricate fashion he frantically sought to unravel.

But try as he might - it was impossible. Since there was no ink work - no physical trace of the seal left save for the chakra threads alongside the disruptive component - there just was no telling just how his sealing technique might be working. Tobirama knew this.

He knew - he knew it simply was not possible.

Yet he kept on looking, searching for any clue - until the last bit of the tiny sample was entirely dissected.

And he was left empty handed.

His heart stopped for a moment and ice-cold shock burst in his chest.

Was this it, now? Had he come this far to surrender to this damn detail? He closed his eyes slowly as breaths came in faster and faster again, more ragged each time. The world was frozen. Time stood still for a moment as his mind raced faster into nowhere, while his heart, his heart knew well enough there was nothing left.

Crushing sorrow followed the shock, his lip quivered. Wetness formed under his lids and quelled down his cheeks.

“Fuck!”, he shouted - no, roared as he smashed the vial containing the useless sample of the leash against the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, -” he kept yelling the profanity over and over as if that brought any relief, his hands in his white hair, pulling. He didn’t feel any physical pain - he felt nothing except for overwhelming despair that filled every crack of his mind and emotional pain too great to put into words yet his heart was being torn into two.

He’d lose you - you, the only person he’d ever entrust that silly organ to.

He had promised you -

After all he’d done -

Limply, he sunk down with his back against a wall of the laboratory, having no idea how he had gotten there. Tears were streaming down his face freely now, he didn’t even make any effort to wipe them off or reign in any feeling anymore. It was all too much. Wheezing and sobbing he sat there for who knows how long - letting desperation and grief crush him like metal between hammer and anvil. Jaw taut as he clenched his teeth, eyes hidden under his palm - he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to.

He had failed you.

And now you’d die. ______ the story isn’t over yet! but i reckon I should be hanged for this cliffhanger. STAY WITH ME THOUGH OKAY!!

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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morningstar-descended · 4 years ago

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Here's a challenge for ya, 📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂📂, there should be at least 100 there for ya, have fun 😊- 🦀 anon

Mammon was an accomplished soldier in the Celestial Realm

Belphie used to be a little Lucifer Mini-Me when he was a young Angel

Lucifer would sing his siblings to sleep, Before

He didn’t tell his brothers about Lilith because he didn’t want them to interfere with her new life. It was hard enough for him not to.

Diavolo’s older brother, Beleth, has a scar covering the left side of his face from where Dia ground him into the dirt to try and get him to yield.

Their formal fight for the crown lasted three days.

Diavolo’s younger brother, Amaymon, is Asmo’s sugar daddy.

Diavolo’s Mom is also still alive, she has her own estate in another part of the Devildom. She can suplex him.

Lucifer will absently neaten up his brother’s clothes for them while he’s lecturing them.

Lucifer has fed demons and unruly Witches to Cerberus before.

Mammon has never had a partner in any sense of the word.

Satan was ‘born’ as a baby.

Asmo used to dress Satan up in little outfits when he was small.

Satan can repeat almost everything he’s read verbatim.

Lucifer has to double check that he knows where all of his brothers are before he can rest at night, unless he passes out.

All the brothers wore their hair long as angels. Lucifer’s the only one who’s never grown it back out since their fall.

It took Lucifer around six hundred years to develop proper feelings for Diavolo.

Lucifer is deathly afraid of Diavolo’s father.

Barbatos is possibly--not counting Diavolo--Lucifer’s only friend.

The Sport Beel plays is a type of Wrestling mixed with MMA and Capture the Flag. It’s played topless.

Lucifer will occasionally ask Levi to explain the plot of an anime or game to him if he wants to zone out for a while. He’s listening, but because following what Levi is talking about takes a lot of concentration, it’s almost like meditating.

Lucifer’s hair got its white / gray streaks when they lost Lilith.

Lucifer actually does have some wrinkles, he just hides them most of the time.

No matter how hard he tries, Lucifer just can’t get good at video games.

Lucifer will write out bits of sheet music when he’s bored.

Lucifer has more demon markings on his body than just the diamond on his forehead.

Lucifer’s hands are very scarred, mostly from dealing with small child Satan.

Beel’s sport is unnamed because in Infernal, it literally just is called “The Sport” since there’s only one.

Almost all of the siblings have physically torn an opponent to shreds and or consumed them. Asmo and Mammon are notable exceptions.

Satan went through a phase where he spoke solely in riddles.

Levi was hardcore into theater before animation became more of a thing. he still has a lot of opinions about it.

Belphie spent most of their early fallen years either half asleep, or completely asleep.

Beel is incapable of chewing gum or sucking on a jaw breaker properly. He impulsively swallows whatever goes in his mouth.

Lucifer has been summoned to the human world successfully only twice in his existence. He killed both summoners for the audacity.

The entire garden around the house of lamentation was of Lucifer’s design.

Mammon has the best control over his shape-shifting--able to stay in a false form for longer, and able to retain his humanoid form despite high emotions.

The brothers are, quite literally, Devildom Celebrities.

Diavolo has never kept a pet before.

Lucifer is ambidextrous, but prefers his left hand.

Mammon is left handed.

Gluttony demons tithe to Lord Beelzebub on his birthday in the form of whatever food they fixate on.

The first angel Lucifer killed after his fall was one he didn’t actually recognize.

The first angel Mammon killed was one of his friends from the Celestial Guard.

Lucifer will never forgive the other Archangels for turning their back on him.

Lucifer has only ever had two partners in any sense of the term in his entire life.

Beel used to be the smallest, before he hit his growth spurt and overshot all of them.

Lucifer swears almost exclusively in celestial, when he’s pissed off enough to actually swear.

Satan doesn’t really have any of Lucifer’s memories, but he retained the emotions based around them. It’s confusing.

Lucifer can cook just fine, but he can’t bake to save his life.

The Longest Lucifer has stayed awake without any rest was about a month. It wasn’t pretty.

Half of the time Lucifer says something funny it’s unintentional.

Most of the Devildom’s current infrastructure was pioneered by Diavolo’s father.

King Diavolo’s real name is Ba’al.

Lucifer can play basically any instrument that’s been invented, apart from electronic only ones.

Levi’s skill in painting could put any of the great masters to shame.

Lucifer isn’t a fan of a poultry, ironically.

The fact that they can get Belphie to wear his complicated RAD uniform everyday while being the Cardinal Sin of Sloth is a point towards how well Belphie controls his sin.

Being a shutin used to be cool and mysterious-- Levi mourns that social shift often.

Lucifer considers Levi the easiest brother to handle because he doesn’t really leave his room.

Mammon, while definitely being guilty of lots of grifts and get rich quick schemes, actually has at least five jobs on top of his stipend for being a Sin.

Lucifer has been trying to figure out how to kill those three witches for causing him problems by proxy, but he hasn’t figured out a legal way to justify it yet.

Amaymon is Diavolo’s youngest sibling. Lucifer can’t stand him.

Flower arranging is one of Asmo’s hobbies.

Asmo also has the best eye for interior design aesthetics, even if he uses them to make a room look... Like That.

For Centuries Lucifer couldn’t even begin to talk about his interests without Diavolo flooding him with related gifts. He’s gotten better about it since.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s relationship was purely physical at first.

Beel often uses the fact that his brothers think he’s stupid for his own gain. Most of the time it’s to get more food, but whatever works works.

Lucifer is completely fire proof now as a demon, inside and out.

He has nightmares of fire, though.

In one of the battles of the Celestial war, The Archangel Michael did his Signature “Step on Lucifer’s face/head trick” And Lucifer nearly took his leg off for it.

All demons can both purr and growl.

Lucifer’s back is heavily scarred from his fall and Satan’s creation both.

Mammon physically regenerates the fastest, and Belphie the slowest.

Levi, due to Envy’s ability to constantly and unintentionally buff the demons around him, is always helping his brothers in some small way whether he means to or not.

Beel still has specific nightmares of Lilith’s death, and will often crawl into Belphie’s bed to hold him after.

Satan never knew Lilith, but he’s emotionally attached to her because of the vague memories he inherited from Lucifer.

Asmo’s hair, if he grew it out, would be loosely curly.

All Lust type demons are Incubi / Succubi / Concubi.

Wrath type demons are the ones who cause classic hauntings.

All sleep paralysis demons are Sloth demons, though.

Pride type demons are the most prone to possessing humans in power, despite Lucifer having never possessed a human before.

Barbatos is actually a little bit older than Diavolo, but not by much.

Luke is basically Michael’s son.

Simeon is the younger brother of the Archangel Jophiel (the Angel of Beauty).

Asmo, if given the chance to defect back to the Celestial Realm, would seriously consider it.

Mammon acts like a fool, but isn’t one himself.

Belphie and Beel aren’t quite telepathic, but they always know where the other is, or if they’re in trouble.

The Cardinal sin of Wrath traditionally writes all of the punitive legislation in the devildom, so Satan is the one who writes out what crime gets what punishment.

The Devildom’s economy has never flourished so much before Mammon became the sin of Greed.

A good 60% of the work Lucifer does is paperwork that should actually be handled by one of his brothers.

Asmo’s painted his nails with his own venom before, and then used it to kill people who piss him off.

The only person Lucifer can accept losing to is Diavolo.

Lucifer isn’t a functional person until around 2 hours after he’s woken up. Luckily he tends to get up around 4:30a.m. / 5a.m. so when normal people have to interact with him, he’s mostly aware.

Mammon likes to over-saturate his foods with toppings and sauces, which is why Beel can’t stand his cooking.

Asmo likes the taste of straight vodka.

Lucifer once slapped another demon’s head clean off when they spoke back to him while he was addressing Diavolo’s court.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s first real “Date” was in the Royal Garden.

Any part of an Archdemon is worth a small fortune, as they’re rather potent spell ingredients.

If you talk shit about Mammon near a Greed type demon they WILL beat your ass.

Diavolo loved Lucifer on sight. Or, well, he loved the look of him.

#{ Mun Post }#Ask Meme #{ fuck you. never challenge me again ghdhghsdhg }#Anonymous #long post #dialuci

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potteresque-ire · 4 years ago

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Hi. I just wanted to say that I really like your blog and posts. I mean your analyzing and viewing all this cp and fan culture stuff from wider perspective are so interesting to read. I really enjoyed your last anon answering post. What do u think about the statement that usually cpf are just teenagers and young girls(I really don’t like ageism) who overreact. But as I noticed as for many cp especially for BJYX (i was surprised)I saw that many of cpf are young adults or even much older and experienced people. So can we say that one of most used accusation by antis that cp is only for “little girls” with rich imagination doesn’t work, right?

Oh, thank you very much for your kind words, Anon! And ...

Are you asking about older turtles?

I’m not familiar with the demographics of CPF / RPS fans in general, but I think that’s a common misconception in every corner of fandom ~ that it’s a playground for (very) young women with an overactive imagination. It’s ageism and sexism, but it also reflects some truth in the sense that fandomers do skew towards the young and female. Re: the age aspect, RL does tend to get more and more in the way as years go by, and with few exceptions, fandom engagement requires more concentration and effort than, say, Netflix and Chill. One can zone out easily while watching TV, but it’s quite a challenge to zone out while interacting with most fandom material, be it reading or writing, making art and gifs and memes, or doing FBI-level work and creating candies.

I’ve read about c-turtles who missed Gg and Dd’s performances because they had to take care of their children. Somewhere else, they mentioned a survey that analysed the difference between how younger and older turtles would convince others about SZD ~ younger turtles tend to make a long list of evidences / candies, while older turtles tend to simply say “I’m married. I have eyes”. Whether this survey existed and the analysis was accurate, I couldn’t tell without seeing it, but these are hints that turtles aren’t limited to the young.

I’m an old fandomer and can only speak for myself. Like the older turtles in the maybe-real survey, I don’t feel a need to convince others, and that silence, perhaps, fuels the perception that fans like myself do not exist. And if I’m truly pressed to do the convincing, I also wouldn’t go the route of listing candies, a method that tends to take up more space and create visibility.

For one, listing candies requires a memory I don’t have. For two, because I feel that the strength of many candies / evidences are based on whether one has already assumed BJYXSZD. The more recent candies are also often stacked on the older ones -- and so it requires knowledge and trust of the old candies, of the BJYX canon already written.

Since solo fans do not share the same assumptions, knowledge and trust, convincing is difficult to do without getting into circular arguments, without the mounting frustration in doing so escalating the discussions to quarrels and fights.

Here’s an analogy I can think of, and I hope it isn’t offensive to anyone (I sincerely apologise if it is.) For non-Christians, have you had someone try to convince you that their faith SZD? I have multiple experiences of that when I was younger, and the convo usually went like this:

They: God SZD, because the Bible says so. Me: But the Bible may be fictional? They: It can’t be, because it carries the words of God. Me: But I don’t believe in God. Isn’t that how our convo began? So the statement “the Bible carries the words of God” means little for me, in terms of how true or fictional it is. They: But it’s a mistake to not believe in God. Me: Why? They: Because the Bible already proves God SZD (returns to the first point; restarts the convo).

You see how these arguments could go on forever, not because either of us were awful people, but because our starting assumptions (the nature of the Bible) were different and They, the persuader, failed to see that? Over time -- and perhaps that’s where age kicks in -- I’ve realised this: the best persuader for a cause isn’t the one who can list the most evidences or who can say them with the loudest voice, the utmost conviction. It is the one who can best see the others’ perspective. Who can put on and remove their cause-tinted lens in a heartbeat. Who can think in the opposite sides’ shoes. Sympathise. Spot a “lost cause” quickly and retreat while keeping peace -- because few “lost causes” are truly permanent, except those who feel their perspective has been slighted. Insulted.

Getting back to BJYX, if I must try to convince someone SZD as an old, unmarried turtle with an admittedly awful eyesight for romance, I’d only say the following:

I trust there must be some truth in what millions of eyes have claimed to see.

PS. Here’s another likely sign of age: I may thank whoever calls me “a little girl with a rich imagination”. 5% for the “little girl”, 95% for the “rich imagination”. Do you know how BORING and TEDIOUS the 30+ world can be?

#Anonymous #pie answers #yizhan #bjyx

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rosaguard · 4 years ago

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❀ . ━ ❛ FINAL FANTASY VII TERMS & LORE.

this is a lore dump created to help mutuals who aren’t familiar with the lore of ffvii should they wish to interact. this post will only cover information from the original game / OG ( ex. information that did not originate from the OG such as the arbiters of fate in the remake or deepground in dirge of cerberus is not going to be covered in this post ).

final fantasy vii is, on average, a 40 hour game with an entire compilation built around it that consists of prequels, a sequel movie, novels, a remake and more that build on ( and sometimes retcon ) parts of the original game. i cannot cover everything and thus this posts serves to be a stepping stone to help understand the basic gist of the lore before doing your own further research if you desire to. obvious spoilers will be present so read at your own discretion.

● AVALANCHE : an eco-terrorist organization that opposes shinra due to them slowly draining life from the planet. the organization has multiple cells ( or factions ) within and outside midgar with barret’s group being somewhat shunned due to their methods of bombing mako reactors being considered too extreme.

● CETRA : also known as the ‘ancients’. a migrant race that worships the planet, have the ability to speak with it directly, cast magic naturally, and can manipulate the lifestream’s energy. the ancient civilization was nearly wiped out by jenova thousands of years prior to the events of the game and canonically, aeris gainsborough is the last living ancient until her death.

● GAEA : a living organism and the planet that the story of ffvii takes place on. when injured, the planet is capable of healing itself with the lifestream and on rare occasions, it can be ‘heard’ by non-cetras when in extreme pain or distress. gaea is generally referred to as only ‘the planet’ by characters in-game ( *gaia’s used in the compilation but it’s never used in the original game - nor is the planet given a ‘name’ in general. i’m choosing to use ‘gaea’ because of a location in the northern crater that has the name, i like the way it sounds, and i can do what i want:tm: ).

● LIFESTREAM : the river of life that flows within the depths of gaea. the lifestream is both the planet’s consciousness and source of all life on the planet. all things are born from the lifestream and all things return to it to be born anew. the lifestream contains the knowledge, memories, and emotions of every life that returns to it after death. in my blog canon, aeris merges with the planet’s consciousness and becomes the personification of the planet / lifestream itself.

● PROMISED LAND : a fabled land in cetra legends believed to be a place of ‘supreme happiness’ that the cetra would find at the end of their journeys. shinra, believing it to be a place abundant in mako, desire it for an endless supply of energy. it’s speculated that the promised land isn’t a literal ‘place’ but the event of rejoining the lifestream once a life comes to an end.

● HUMANS : currently the most prominent race in gaea. humans were cetra that lost the ability to commune with the planet and use magic naturally when they abandoned their duties to cultivate life and traded their nomadic lifestyle for leisure and convenience. while the cetra civilization was decimated by jenova, humans were able to survive in greater numbers by hiding until the alien was locked away.

● JENOVA : otherwise known as the ‘calamity of the skies’ by the cetra. it is a creature of unknown origin that crashed onto northern gaea around thousand years ago via a meteorite. the crash inflicted so great a wound to the planet’s surface that the cetra to migrated north to heal the injury where the ‘calamity’, disguising itself as one of the cetra, would emerge and infect them. the cetra fell into ruin as they turned into monsters or died by their own kind’s hands before a few survivors were able to eventually seal the creature away.

● JENOVA PROJECT : thirty years prior to the start of the game, a team of shinra scientists discover the remains of the creature that fell from the skies thousands of years prior. mistaking the creature as a cetra, it would be named ‘jenova’ by professor gast and shinra would green light multiple projects in an attempt to produce a human-cetra hybrid - the most ‘successful’ being project s.

● PROJECT S : professor hojo and lucrecia crescent, two scientists on the jenova project, agree to use their own child as the subject of the project. the fetus is injected jenova’s cells while in the womb and although the speciman, sephiroth, couldn’t commune with the planet, he displayed impressive abilities greater than any natural soldier. the data and research of project s would lead to the development and creation of SOLIDER.

● SOLDIER : an elite group of super soldiers ranked by three classes - first class being the highest. although it is known to the general public that they are infused with mako to get their heightened strength, candidates that approved to be in SOLDIER are unknowingly injected with not only mako but jenova cells as well.

● MAKO : the liquid form of the lifestream. although mako can erupt from the group naturally, it is most often forcibly extracted from the planet for use by the shinra electric power company. due to shinra monopolizing mako energy and spreading mako reactors globally over the past forty years, mako is the main electric power source across the planet until post-meteorfall.

● MAKO POISONING : the state one enters into when exposed to a high concentration of mako for too long. since mako is essentially the lifestream, those who experience mako poisoning and survive are often left in a comatose state due to being overwhelmed by the sheer memories and thoughts that the lifestream contains.

● MAKO REACTORS : machines built to extract mako. areas near reactors tend to be devoid of life and barren as a result of the reactors slowly draining the lifestream from the area. outside of the city of midgar itself, mako reactors are typically built in remote, backwater towns.

● MATERIA : crystalized mako. as the lifestream contains the memory of all things, materia is embed with the memories and wisdom of the ancients, natural magic users, which allows the user to cast different types of spells when equipped.

● THE BLACK MATERIA : a materia used to summon meteor, the ultimate destructive magic. due its danger, it’s locked away by the cetra in the temple of the ancients before eventually falling into sephiroth’s hands during the events of the game. the black materia is used by sephiroth to summon meteor in order to ‘injure’ the planet and absorb the energy of the lifestream once it tries to heal the wound.

● THE WHITE MATERIA : the black materia’s counterpart. the white materia summons holy, the ultimate white magic, that can cleanse the planet during a crisis and ensure the continuation of life - even if it means the destruction of humanity in the process. initially unaware of its importance, aeris treats the white materia as a keepsake from her mother and wears it tucked inside of her pink ribbon throughout the events of the game.

● MIDGAR : known as ‘the city of mako’, midgar is the capitol of shinra’s operations. the actual ‘city’ of midgar consists of giant plates that are divided into eight sectors which each being powered by their own mako reactor. the circular plate that makes up the city midgar sits on creates a literal divide between those who live in comfort in the city above and the poorer residents in the slums below. although the city has its own mayor, president shinra is considered to be the true power behind any decisions made in midgar.

● NEO MIDGAR : the new city president shinra hopes to build in the fabled promised land that will be powered by the endless supply of mako there. shinra uses propaganda and the promise of building a utopia to lure the general populace into supporting their cause.

● THE SLUMS : the home of those who live under the ‘rotten pizza’ known as the plate. originally eight separate towns, they each lost their individual names after shinra began the construction of midgar on top of them. each area of the slums is now just referred to as whatever sector of midgar it sits underneath, ex. sector seven vs the sector seven slums. crime and monsters are equal dangers within the slums and citizens are left to fend for themselves regarding both.

● NIBELHEIM INCIDENT : after what was supposed to be a routine check of a mako reactor in nibelheim, sephiroth discovers documents regarding project s and the origins of his birth in an abandoned shinra mansion within the town. believing that he’s the last cetra and that his birth mother is ‘jenova’, sephiroth experiences a mental breakdown that’s followed by him setting the town of nibelheim ablaze and murdering a majority of its residents as they try to escape. the incident ends with sephiroth being thrown into the lifestream after cloud strife tosses him directly into the mako at the bottom of nibelheim’s reactor in order to protect tifa lockhart and zack fair.

● SEPHIROTH ‘CLONES’ : the remaining survivors of the nibelheim incident that weren’t able to escape and captured by shinra to be experimented on by professor hojo. the subjects, all injected with mako and jenova cells, are either given numbers once they become mindless slaves to jenova’s will or are left to slowly die if they hold onto their sense of self. after being kept in mako tanks for nearly five years, zack is able to escape along with cloud - although the latter is left in a comatose-like state throughout their escape.

● REUNION THEORY : a theory proposed by hojo regarding the nature of jenova cells. it’s theorized that the cells will always seek to be ‘reunited’ when separated from the main body and that they can influence the mind of any person or creature its been injected inside to achieve that. sephiroth uses this ability to influence cloud’s actions throughout the game.

● SHINRA INC. : fully known as the shinra electric power company, shinra is a mega-corporation that’s the dominant political and economic power on the planet. originally a weapons manufacturer, the company greatly expanded over the years due to their financial gains after discovering the use of mako as an energy source. many, if not all, of the problems in the game are a direct result of shinra’s actions - even if the consequences are not seen until decades later.

● WUTAI WAR : a war sparked between shinra and the nation of wutai after the latter refused to have a mako reactor built in their region. the war would last presumably close to a decade, both sides taking heavy casualties before wutai surrenders and bans the use of materia as a sign of their defeat. with wutai being the last nation to fall to shinra and sephiroth emerging as a global war hero during the war, many travel to midgar and enlist in its military in hopes of becoming a first class SOLDIER. despite their loss, wutai still plots against shinra and is an active supporter of avalanche.

#❀ . ━ ❛ blood of the ancients ❪ headcanon ❫ .#long post //

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alternativewinxcontinuity · 4 years ago

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Planetary Spotlight: Callisto

Callisto [Cal-ih-stow] Callisto The Hunter's World. Callisto The Wild Lands.

The Planet of Callisto is something of an anomaly in the Magical Dimension, since it is unclear to outsiders exactly which Thematic Domain the world truly belongs to.

A world of forests and plains, mountains and valleys and oceans, the planet has vast expanses of wilderness and one of the smallest populations of any of the Keystone Worlds*.

The Thematic magics which appear on Callisto tend towards plant or stone aspects of nature, animal talents - whether specific or general - and some... slightly more unusual types which suggest Callisto either has no true Thematic Domain, or a history of immigration.

Cultural Overview:

The Callistei [Cal-ih-sty] have a long history as hunter-gatherers, despite their level of technological advancement. They prefer to keep their technology compartmentalized from the majority of their lifestyle, except in cases where it truly is a lifesaver, such as certain facets of medical technology or water purification.

(This gives them the appearance of being less technologically advanced than they actually are at first glance.)

Callisto has one of the highest concentrations of Wild Magic found anywhere in the Magical Dimension, and is thought to be the rightful 'Homeworld' of the chaotic force.

The ability of the trained Callistei hunters to track their prey across galaxies has gained the people of Callisto a fierce reputation as a warrior race**, though they themselves laugh at the notion. While their culture does contain many of the markers of a warrior race, the concept of what a warrior race is and what it is believed to be are so different that they simply do not care for the term.

Personal and societal honour and responsibility are important facets of the Callistei culture, if one of their people goes 'bad', they will take whatever measures are deem necessary to take care of the problem rather than leaving it to others, even if the problem occurs on another world.

While Callisto does prefer rehabilitation as a first resort, it is one of the few worlds which have an outright death sentence, though this is considered to be a last resort, and many forms of truth and forensic magics will be used to determine a perpetrator's guilt before such measures are reached.

Butterflies and Boon:

Because Wild Magic is so prevalent on Callisto, it is not uncommon for Magicals to undertake the challenge of Nature's Boon, travelling to Graynor to train under the Ancestral Spirit of Nature in order to learn to work with Wild Magic and not suffer the normal, and oft unpleasant consequences.

Care of the Crown:

The governance of Callisto is considered to be one of the oddest of the Magical Dimension. The ruler is granted the title of Emperor or Empress (->Their Imperial Majesty), and since the title is not passed through bloodlines or marriage, the spouse or children of the ruler are granted no special titles.

The title is passed after an event called The Corona, a 'ceremony' which can last for a decade. (The longest Corona being 11 ½ years.)

The Corona is begun when the reigning Emperor/Empress feels that they are close to the end of their reign. They select several candidates from the fairies, wizards and witches of Callisto who are in, or are working towards, positions in the Callistei government.

These candidates are granted the title of prince of princess for the duration of the Corona, and are often sent to act as representatives of Their Imperial Majesty in instances of interplanetary meetings of royals.

The rules of the Corona state that there must not be less than three candidates, though no maximum has been specified, and the largest group of candidates recorded was twelve. Candidates may 'abdicate' during the Corona, dropping themselves from the running, but in any instance where all but one candidate 'abdicate' an official inquiry must be held to ensure no foul play has taken place.

A candidates inability to Bond with an Astri Ursin does not insure their failure to ascend to the ruling title, but it is very rare for a candidate without such a bond to become ruler, having happened only three times in the recorded history of Callisto.

Despite – or perhaps because – of the reputation of Callisto, it has good relations to almost every world, though it shares especially good relations with Solaria, which is their closest, inhabited planetary neighbour.

(This is especially fruitful for Callisto, as Solaria lies directly in the travel path from Callisto to Magix, one of the Magical Dimension's 'hub' Worlds which are considered to be 'neutral' in the Magical Dimension's politics as they are often Colony Worlds, built by many cultures coming together to create a shared space.)

Varanda of Callisto – Fairy of Protection

A Corona candidate at the time of Winx Club Season 1, Varanda became friends with Princess Stella of Solaria during a political conference before Stella's first year at Alfea. Despite her candidacy Varanda was slated to attend Alfea on Magix, but decided to remain on Callisto after a 'small' series of attacks on her home world changed her mind, she felt that she would be able to do more good on Callisto than at Alfea. (She was correct, and earned her Enchantix on Callisto shortly before the siege of Magix several weeks later.)

Varanda's magical abilities lie with protection and defence, and she is one of the few magicals alive capable of constructing a Devouring Shield, a magical shield which eats the magical energy of any attack that strikes it, converting the attacking energy into extra shield power.

Though her hair is darker and her eyes greener, Varanda bears a striking similarity to Bloom of Domino. This is an ethnic similarity made more apparent by the rarity of the people of Domino. Varanda's grandmother was a refuge from Domino. (If stories are to be believed, Varanda's Grandmother was a member the Dragon's Teeth warriors of Domino when the first siege happened, and was off-World – escorting wounded to a nearby planet for medical treatment due to the loss of medical facilities on Domino – when the second siege happened.***)

Notable Fauna:

Callisto is home to the Astri Ursin, or Celestial Bears. One of the few creatures that can interact with Wild Magic without ill effects, it is often sought after by magic practitioners crazy enough to pursue the 'mastery' of Wild Magic.

The Astri Ursin are often the Bonded animal companions of the rulers of Callisto, and so have a sacred place in the culture of the World.

On a smaller scale, Callisto is also home to the Bardic Glider, a small creature similar to Earth's sugar gliders which live in colonies and possess a group memory they can share with other creatures they trust. Bardic Gliders are very small, the largest of the species requires one and half (average adult) hands to hold securely, while most only require one.

*Keystone Worlds:

Like Solaria is the planet of the Sun, Ruler of the Worlds of Celestial Bodies and Primary House of Light, as Zenith is the World of Technology, Keystone worlds have existed since almost the beginning, and represent Aspects of Reality and the Nature of the Universe. Keystone Worlds were created by the Great Dragon to bring Order to the Universe, like Fairies and Witches had a Thematic Power source, Keystone Worlds also belong to a Thematic Domain. Thematic Domains can be anything from Nature to the Aspect-of-Nature-which-is-Plants, to Technology, to a specific celestial body, to all celestial bodies, to a terrain like the sandy deserts, to an aspect such as death itself.

One of the few Aspects that is not truly represented is War, though several 'Warrior races' exist, and there are Worlds with 'proving grounds' for young warriors to test themselves, no Planet or World is Thematically Dedicated war. It was thought that War was not considered to be a natural Aspect of Reality, but debates rage on, because the existence of Zenith proves that even things which are created by beings lesser than the Great Dragon are considered to be 'natural Aspects', War should therefore be considered a 'natural Aspect'.

Magical Historians and Religious researchers also agree that one of the natural states of the universe at the time of creation is in fact Conflict, which is to say, 'War'.

Some philosophers posit that a World under the Thematical Dominion of War would not last long and would quickly self destruct, and given the history of wars through out the Magical Dimension, it is possible that to avoid such a fate, the Dominion is shared by all Worlds, just as they all share the Thematic Dominion of Order by the sheer virtue of their purpose in the Magical Dimension.

These philosophers are not well loved and are often considered mad or insane.

4th Wall Break:

**I honestly picture the Callistei a mix of the Xena/Hercules Amazons, and the Star Wars Mandalorian race.

***Varanda’s grandmother’s name is Europa. Yes, that Europa (I think I’m so smart😉)

#winx #winx club #Winx World Building #Winx Club Alternative Continuity #Winx Alt Con #Planetary Spotlight #winx callisto #winx varanda #Planetary BS

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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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the mandalorian season finale that i wish we could have

Take with a grain of salt that while I am well-versed in the OT and the prequels, my knowledge of CW and Rebels is pretty limited (I’m watching now), and I know nothing about the EU. Disclaimer that this isn’t quite fic, or headcanon, or meta, or speculation - kind of a bastardization of all of the above, maybe.

Because he is a man of discipline, and because he suddenly finds an opportunity to channel all of that downtime in hyperspace into something productive, Din decides as they leave Corvus that he has no excuse for letting the kid’s powers fade.

He has no delusions that floating the shifter knob across the cabin is in any way challenging to the kid. Kriff’s sake, Din’s seen him lift a mudhorn and channel a gods-damned explosion. But Din knows from hard-won experience that there’s a major difference between power and finesse, and that the more comfortable the kid becomes with casually accessing his powers, the easier his eventual reintegration with the Jedi will be.

Besides, if Din is to be responsible for delivering the child to his kind, then he will see to it that he’s done more than just the minimum of keeping the child alive and unharmed.

They start with simple things. A quick game of catch with knob, Din asking the kid to reach his own utensils, rather than Din handing them to him.

Din realizes quickly that the child, like any child, is quickly annoyed with the exercises. I know you are capable of so much more, Din thinks, raising his hands in a moment of frustration. He only realizes that he’s spoken aloud when the child blinks up at him.

Din has a distinct feeling of frustration. It raises a memory, long since forgotten, of his early combat training. He’d longed to go out to the range and shoot his blasters, rather than endlessly taking them apart and reassembling them.

Connect with him, Ahsoka had said on Corvus.

So Din does.

He learns to make it fun. Grogu, like any other gifted child, craves a challenge. “Float the ball,” becomes a game of catch. Silent steps evolves into hide and seek. One day, Din lowers to cabin temperature to near freezing, then watches proudly as the kid summons his blanket from the lower level.

Din also learns the value of calling the kid, Grogu, by his name.

Din doesn’t tend to think in the way of proper nouns. He is a Mandalorian. His charge is a Child. This is the Way. To separate the individual from its classification only complicates things.

But the kid, Grogu, likes being called by name. At first, Din uses it reluctantly, as last-ditch effort to capture the child’s attention. But there’s this subtle thrum of rightness that swells briefly beneath Din’s skin when the kid hears it. His eyes light up, and his ears quirk, and Din finds himself smiling beneath his helmet. The name quickly becomes habit.

As Grogu’s reluctance to tap into the force fades, Din’s challenges become more complex. Din learns, little by little, what Grogu is capable of, and he adjusts his training accordingly.

He’s getting better at reading Grogu, too. It starts as little impressions - the thrill of anticipation while watching him hunt yet another frog, the dread of bathing afterward, a sense of weary contentment as he settles Grogu into his hammock after a long day.

Then the dreams start.

At first, Din doesn’t remember them. He wakes with vague impressions, confusion/fear/longing/emptiness. Din isn’t usually a dreamer, and the intensity of the residual emotions unsettles him.

He rolls with it, though, like he rolls with every bizarre development that the universe throws his way, until one night he wakes panting, sitting straight up in his bunker, cold sweat running in rivulets down his spine.

Darkness. Fear, no, terror, pervasive and all-encompassing. The acrid scent of smoke and cauterized flesh. Screams cut violently short. Heat and heavy footsteps. An eerie blue glow that hums as if alive, familiar and dreadful and encroaching ever closer. Loss, aching and empty and devastating beyond belief.

A familiar trill brings Din back to himself. Grogu is sitting up in his hammock, wide awake, staring at him with his head cocked.

And suddenly, Din understands.

He doesn’t speak, just lifts Grogu from his bedding and holds him close. Grogu snuggles close into the softness of his cowl, and Din feels his tiny heart beat fluttering wildly in his chest.

“Ni ceta,” he tells Grogu. I’m sorry.

From that moment, Din starts to become aware of a bond between them. The intense, foreign feelings, the dreams that feel so real, that new, instinctual understanding... it’s all Grogu.

Now that Din is aware of it, the connection is obvious. Grogu doesn’t communicate with words, no, but if Din is concentrating, he can determine which emotions are his and which belong to the kid.

At first, it terrifies him, and twice, he nearly sets a course for Corvus to ask Ahsoka just what the kriff is happening in his head. But Grogu understands more than Din has ever given him credit for, and Din knows, whether by instinct of through the force, that Grogu won’t use his power to harm him.

In fact, Din finds that their bond is beneficial for more than just mutual convenience. Sure, he knows when Grogu is telling him that he’s tired or bored or hurt or hungry, but Din discovers that if he quiets his mind and concentrates, he can get a vague impression of how Grogu is doing. Where he is, if he’s content or not. Din can’t initiate a conversation between them, not in the way that Grogu seems to force himself into Din’s brain with all the subtlety of a baying bantha when he pleases, but Din finds that this casual awareness of Grogu’s continued existence is enough to convince him of the utility of their connection.

He even finds that he appreciates it.

Grogu, for his part, comes to recognize that Din is more than just a passing master who is casually training him in the ways of the force. Grogu doesn’t have words for what Din is to him, but his instincts determine that it is something outside his own experience. He is familiar with the concept of master and padawan, and the bonds between them. This, still, is not correct. Mando, as others call him, or Din, as the Mandalorian calls himself, is not a master. That much is clear. The Jedi Order doesn't have a term for what he is, so Grogu lifts the term from the Mandalorian’s memories as he sleeps.

Buir.

At some point, Moff Gideon is going to catch up to them. Din discovers the tracker in the Razor Crest too late, and Gideon takes Grogu. Din is angry, rabidly, ferociously so, until he feels that oh-so-subtle, familiar prompting at the back of his mind.

Reassurance. Safety for the moment, if not comfort. Absolute, unassailable trust that Buir will find him.

Din chokes. It’s the first time that he’s heard that term so clearly in Grogu’s thoughts, and it alights something primal in him. He contacts Navarro on a secure channel, delivers his message, and then retreats to his cot.

The Mandalorians of old told legends of the Dream Walkers, warrior sages who harnessed their dreams to tread the stars, to learn visions of the future and past. Din knows already that his bond with Grogu is clearest in his dreams, so he calms his nerves, tamps down on all of his adrenaline, curbs the instinct to go/run/fight/protect, and sleeps.

Din dreams of steel corridors and bright lights. He is strapped down, facing many open windows that look to the sky above him. Cold drips into the crook of his elbow, running chills up his skin.

The stars, Din thinks as loudly as he can, as aware as he can be. Look up, Grogu. Look at the stars.

Then Grogu looks up and sees the stars.

Din wakes alert and jittery. less than 90 minutes after collapsing into his bunk, and sets a course.

Cara meets him planetside with a ragtag team of hunters and ex-rebels. More are coming, she promises.

Din won't wait.

They surround a small moon on a backwater planet at the edge of the galaxy. Din doesn’t know the name of the system. He doesn’t care.

Grogu is here.

They fight. Din makes it to the lab, nearly has Grogu in his arms before imperial reinforcements swarm the base. Din is overwhelmed, and Grogu is pulled from him.

Knocked down, but not quite out, Din watches as the star destroyer prepares for the jump to hyperspace. With all his strength, Din reaches for his kid, and his kid reaches back. “Cara is coming,” Din says aloud, hoping that Grogu hears him as he stumbles to his knees.

He is overwhelmed with images and impressions.

The stark chill of hyperspace. A growing dread. Hands that grip him too tightly. A thin voice behind him, panicked, pleading. “We don’t know how it could affect the final results!”

A struggle. Fear. Pain. Anger.

“Surely, Pershing, you understand that the final results is are irrelevant if the initial samples cannot be gathered. This will ensure that there are no more undue... interferences.”

“No, please! He’s only a child!”

A mind-shattering scream, cut ominously short.

And then, silence.

So I’m tired of writing this like fic. I’m fairly sure it’s canon (or at least, it’s very popular fanon) that force blocking technology is a Thing. Gideon might not be force sensitive, but he’s probably studied Jedi, and could reasonably assume that there’s some sort of communication between Grogu and Din. At the very least, Grogu would use his newly redeveloped strength in the force to make things difficult for Gideon, and it would certainly be worthwhile for Gideon to cut him off.

But silencing Grogu’s access to the force would disrupt the bond between Grogu and Din. Din, who in true overprotective space dad style, has become dependent on that bond in order to assure Grogu’s comfort and safety. The sudden loss of the bond would certainly be absolutely shattering, and Din, who has no other context, would naturally assume that Gideon killed Grogu.

Now, I’m a slut for the “presumed dead” trope. Din would-burn-the-galaxy-and-everyone-in-it-if-you-harm-a-hair-on-his-head Djarin seeking vengeance for the murder of his little green son is something that I would pay dearly to see. We’ve never really seen Din lose control, not like this. We’ve never seen him fully invested, with absolutely nothing to lose.

I want to see him bet everything on this, call in every favor and exhaust every contact on tracing Gideon’s star destroyer around the galaxy. I want him to have time to acknowledge his grief of losing Grogu. I want him to accept that Grogu was his kid, and to regret never taking those Mandalorian adoption vows. I want Din swearing justice, knowing that infiltrating Moff’s star destroyer is a suicide mission, and just not giving a shit.

Cara manages to talk a little sense into him. Wait, she says. I can’t understand how you feel, but I know why you have to do it. Let me get some people together, let’s do this as a team. We can take them all out, make sure they can’t harm anybody else.

It kills him, but Din delays his vengeance long enough to allow them to form a plan.

I would really love some scenes between Din and Ahsoka, with Ahsoka attempting to help Din deal with a severed bond. Though her padawan bond with Anakin Skywalker wasn’t quite the same as the bond that Din had with Grogu, Ahsoka has experienced a similar loss before. It’s all a little more complicated because Din isn’t inherently force-sensitive.

Basically, Din is shattered.

The Day comes, and Din tears though the destroyer, cutting down anybody and anything that dares stand in his way. He takes great delight in blasting Pershing three times through the heart, but the sniveling imp presses a code cylinder into his hand as he dies.

“Take it,” he chokes, looking desperately into Din’s visor with glazing eyes. “Save... save him...”

Din grips the cylinder, still clammy from where Pershing had held it, and something in him quickens.

Ignoring the ensuing battle and his mission to find Gideon, Din hacks into the ship’s computer. He finds a lab, well hidden, accessible only to Pershing and Gideon himself.

Hope rises, fierce and glitteringly painful, but Din tamps it down, doesn’t dare give it power over him. He storms to the lab anyway, using the code cylinder to make quick work of the security protocols, and there, just beyond the door, is Grogu.

Bruised, anemic, far too thin, but alive. Reaching for him.

Ad’ika, Din is suddenly aware of saying it aloud. He still can’t feel Grogu, is still painfully aware of the emptiness at the back of his mind, but the word feels right, and Din says it again. “Ad’ika.”

Grogu coos, and Din notices the manacles on his wrists.

Beskar, but not any alloy that he’s familiar with. They are warm, almost painfully hot even through his gloves, and Din can see the scars from where their heat has burned Grogu’s skin.

Din hardly has time to process this before he realizes that they are not alone.

Din naturally has to have a massive showdown with Moff Gideon in order to take his kid back. Lots of darksaber/mandalorian/beskar/jedi lore that I don't have the knowledge to delve into, but in my head, it’s pretty cool. No idea how Grogu would get rid of his manacles, but I would love to give him something to do in this fight, rather than him just being rescued by Din. I imagine that the beskar gets hot when Grogu attempts to tap into the force; the scars on his wrists are from the many times he’s tried to defend himself or reach out through his bond to connect with Din.

Also, damn, as soon as the manacles are off and Din can feel Grogu in his head again, he’s going to be absolutely overwhelmed, but in the best way.

Lots of healing/comfort in the aftermath. Din is dealing with some heavy guilt, especially as he’s tending to Grogu’s scars. Grogu is pretty insistent that Din doesn’t take the blame, and eventually, they work it out. Din drops his helmet and swears those adoption vows as soon as they are alone on the Crest, and the bond between them only strengthens because of it. Din learns a lot about Grogu’s history and the Jedi in general. Ahsoka is much more helpful now that she knows that Din is committed to raising this kid and not just fobbing him off on her.

Din turns down the title of Mand’alor, unceremoniously tossing the darksaber to Bo-Katan because he just doesn’t give a shit about it. All Din wants is his ship and his kid, and that’s what he gets.

#the mandalorian #tm spoilers #din djarin #baby yoda #grogu #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fic #mandadlorian #dad din djarin #the mandalorian meta #metanalysis #star wars #chapter thirteen the jedi #the jedi #ahsoka tano #cara dune #mandalorian #probably a lot of this is based on coffee-quill's amazing fic #and possibly others #the truth is i've read way too much good fic in the last two weeks to remember who inspired what ideas #but feel free to inbox me and i will give credit where credit is due #dream walking is based on lucid dreaming #which is a real skill that anybody can learn to do #din djarin is a good dad #they live happily ever after #traveling from temple to temple learning jedi shit and picking up bounties along the way #grogu grows up to be this scrappy little mandalorian/jedi/force-using abomination #and dad is so stupid proud of him #guys i need fandom friends #feel free to shoot me a message or hit up my inbox

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boxboysandotherwhump · 4 years ago

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Chapter 8 is finally finished and boi was it a fight. Thank you again for proofreading @haro-whumps <3 and for anyone else who might wonder, the dish Paxton is cooking in this drabble is a traditional polish dish called Zupa Mleczna

Tag list: @albino-whumpee @orchidscript @finder-of-rings @haro-whumps

CW: mentioned past abuse, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe typical slavery, aftermath of conditioning, fucked up headspace of whumpee

The week had simultaneously stretched into an endless expanse of getting to know someone new, and flown by like the flutter of eyelashes.

Paxton’s box had caught dust, halfway forgotten in the attic by now, and Paxton had grown used to sleeping wrapped in warmth, when he was particularly lucky even in his master’s arms, and he savored every second of it.

Life in the shared flat never ceased to amaze Paxton, every new day leaving him less scared, rather eager to learn more about his new master, this new world. He cherished every newly revealed facet of Amal as he tried to assemble them into something comprehensible, piecing together the most wondrous and complex puzzle he’d ever seen.

In those last days for example, Paxton had discovered that Amal drank his tea piping hot, risking to burn his tongue rather than waiting for it to cool. He seemed to be like that with most things, always in a rush to reach his end goal as quickly as possible. The only times Amal could be patient was while creating something or when he was with Paxton.

Amal also tended to snack half the dinner ingredients, getting full before dinner was even ready but eating a portion nonetheless. Maybe, Paxton had thought, it’s because Amal often forgoes eating for hours, so absorbed in his work projects he seemingly forgets he exists in a physical body at all. Perfectly still and focused, his only movements pencil strokes over paper while he works on new tattoo designs. At certain points he would suddenly jump up, run to the bathroom, and raid the kitchen to gorge himself on all the snacks and leftovers he could find.

Paxton had made it a point to cook whenever Amal got ‘in the zone’ as Miss Meryem had jokingly called it, and even if his master had told him he didn’t have to, Paxton thought that he wanted to. Especially when it meant he could watch Amal munch away with that grateful, delighted expression of his, whenever Paxton prepared some tea or food.

Even Mister Finnegan had grown fond of Paxton, and had started dragging him up to the attic, teaching him all about the plants overwintering there, waiting for their replanting in spring. Or how to bind winter wreaths from twigs and dried berries. Mister Finnegan had been surprised, the first time, how quickly Paxton had learned, and had praised him so much his face was still flushed red as they climbed down the attic ladder some time later.

In moments like these, Paxton wished he could still read and absorb all the precious information from the plant care guide Mister Finnegan had given to him. He longed for a time where his head didn’t explode with pain whenever he squinted at writing for too long. For when he wouldn’t get catapulted to the limits of his body, or worse, the borders of his own mind. Pain reduced him to a prisoner of bone and flesh, misfiring neurons became his jailer.

Paxton poured noodles into warm milk with a soft sigh, careful not to burn them. A strangely familiar smell filled the kitchen while he cooked, cinnamon and sweetness anchored him in the here and now. Snowflakes danced beyond the kitchen window, crystals of cold sending phantom shivers down his spine. Paxton unrolled the soft green sleeves of his wool-sweater, letting them cover his scarred hands, soothing itchy skin, gentle like a caress. Warmth bloomed in his heart, with every slow stir of the wooden spoon, creating ripples in the milk.

What did it matter if he couldn’t read anymore? He still had his intuition, could still find parts of himself in tastes and smells and muscle memories. No, with his master’s permission to experiment, ‘or go crazy in the kitchen’ as Amal had put it, he didn’t need books, or to learn new things. The only things that mattered were that he remained good for his master, cooked things his master would enjoy, cleaned satisfactorily, (which was easy enough with such lenient masters in such a small flat), and kept his master happy. Which was the easiest part of them all, since Amal seemed to delight in everything Paxton did. Even if he just lied on the couch, curled under blankets he couldn’t ever truly earn. But the rules were different here and Paxton’s heart began to buzz whenever he saw his master, not only with anxiety but with a warmth he thought he’d lost in an ice-cold white room.

Satisfied with the noodle’s consistency, Paxton stirred in cinnamon and sugar, turned down the heat and started to pull bowls from the shelves as his master suddenly burst into the room, some kind of oversized smartphone clutched in one hand and a pleased grin plastered on his face.

“Paxton.” ,he said beaming.

The sudden intrusion of his cooking space made Paxton flinch, despite himself.

Even though Amal was often buzzing around him, trying to help while he worked, it still set Paxton on edge, feeling utterly improper. A Boxboy receiving help from his master, inconveniencing him with undignified tasks like cleaning or cooking, was unforgivable! Sometimes Paxton even found himself wishing for Amal to be stricter. Yearning to just be punished by him, to be shown his place instead of being constantly overwhelmed by this kindness he didn’t even deserve.

Something must have given his unease away. His master’s grin softened into a sheepish smile as he sat down, slowly, gently placing the smartphone-like device on the table.

“Hey. Hi.” Amal’s voice grew soft, sounding almost shy and Paxton couldn’t help but return Amal’s smile. His lips and heart and body reacted all on their own around Amal. Separated from his desire to act appropriately, to be a good pet that could serve his master without breaking down crying every other day or stealing all his master’s blankets at night.

“Hi…. Uhm, welcome back… sir.”

Paxton watched his master bite back a protest at the title, allowing him to use it like he’d promised.

“I came up with something for your reading… problem.”

Turning off the stovetop, Paxton turned around, hoping the hurried steps to his master’s side wouldn’t give his eagerness away.

The way Amal’s eyes glimmered up at him, crinkling with his smile, told Paxton he’d seen right through him. Like he always did.

Paxton looked down with warming cheeks, his stockinged feet shuffling over the polished kitchen floor. “And what, uhm, what… would that be? Sir?”

A bright grin lit Amal’s face up as he brought the device to life with the press of a tiny button. “Tadaa. A friend gave me this tablet. Like, super cheap.” His master’s grin stretched even wider, and Paxton wondered for a second if his cheeks didn’t hurt. “And it has google voice search.”

He perked up. The term sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quiete place it. “Voice search?”

“Yes. Yes, come here.” Amal scooted over, shoving the tablet under Paxtons nose as soon as he’d sat down. His master leaned closer and his small body pressed up against Paxton, green curls tickling his chin as Amal rambled, his face flushed with excitement.

“Here see, I already set it up so that only the symbols are visible. There’s no writing if you don’t go in the menu. So the important apps first. This is the Netflix symbol. Netflix is awesome because you can-“

Amal rested his elbow on Paxton’s thigh as he explained the virtues of streaming platforms and Paxton’s head blanked. His master was so close and small and warm and smelled so so good and Paxton was utterly unable to concentrate on the tiny screen symbols for a moment.

Focus! Focus! Focus! Master said this is important.

“Okay but what’s probably the most useful for you is youtube.”

Paxton watched him tap on the small red icon and big pictures with little texts under them popped up. Thumbnails, as master called them. If Paxton squinted a bit he could ignore the letters enough to evade a new impending headache.

“There are tutorials and documentaries and video essays for basically everything you could wish for. You just have to press the little microphone and hold it while you ask.”

“Uhm, ask- ask what, Sir?” All this new information made Paxton’s head spin.

“Uh, I don’t know,” his master confessed as he scooted back with a bashful smile and Paxton swallowed a frustrated whine. The leg master had just leaned on felt suddenly, terribly cold. He wanted master to nuzzle back against him and continue to explain new things to him in this adorably excited way of his.

Stupid, stupid Pet. You messed up and now master is just going to leave and never show you anything he likes ever again because you’re too stupid to understand it. You useless-

“Anything that interests you I guess. Hm let’s see, something other than cooking maybe.”

Paxton’s heart sank. Was it not good that he liked to cook? Master always said he didn’t have to but-

Amal waved his hands apologetically “Not that there is anything wrong with cooking.”

His master had seen right through him. Again.

“But maybe we could search for more things you like?”

You’re a pet now. What you want is irrelevant 626.

Paxton gave an insecure little nod and Amal pressed the little microphone symbol with a smile as he demanded,. “Funny cat videos.”

Sure enough, thumbnails with cute little kittens plopped up just as his master had ordered. His voice had been direct but warm. Firm. Paxton really liked to hear his master order for something, and the hope that he would maybe at some point talk to him like that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, right to- His leg twitched as he took the tablet from his master’s hands.

“I- I want to- to try.”

“Go ahead then.” A smile tinted his master’s voice but still, this could count as an order. Right?

Unsure, Paxton pressed the microphone symbol. “Uhm, could you, you please show me how to bind flower wreaths. Please?”

Unlike when his master did it, no thumbnails appeared. He stared at the thick black letters in confusion. He must have done something wrong and the letters were meant to punish his failure. Paxton could already feel the impending headache throb behind his eyes. He wanted to endure it, to force himself and look at those letters of damnation, but Amal took the tablet from him.

Now he must have messed it up.

Fearing for the worst Paxton glanced down at his master. Amal’s eyebrows were drawn together and the corners of his mouth twitched as teeth dug hard into his bottom lip. White sunken into pink flesh.

Surely this was it. The moment of punishment had finally come. Even his master’s patience must have reached its limits after Paxton messed up such a simple order.

Bracing for the impact he froze as his master doubled over snorting.

“Oh god you’re so cute, you know that?!”

Paxton’s mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on land. His head spun the same way it did when he had been choked for too long. Cute? He?! Had his master ever really looked at him?! “Wha- wha- wha- what?”

Amal swiped a little tear from his eye, as he grinned up at him, still giggling. “You can’t literally formulate a whole question, you know?! Just use buzzwords or the search engine gets confused.”

That wasn’t the only thing that was confused right now.

“Buzzwords, Sir?”

“Yeah.” Amal nodded. “Like: flower wreathes tutorial.”

“But, but,” Paxton gasped, flushing red like the soft new leather collar he had chosen in a tiny salacious shop with his master yesterday. “That would, would be utterly impolite.” His voice dropped into a whisper. “I behave improperly enough as it is.”

“Hey.” Amal’s hand came up and cupped his cheek, turning Paxton’s head gently to face him. He melted into the tender caress, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before he willed himself to meet his master’s soft smile. “You’re perfect, okay?! And besides, it’s impossible to be impolite to a computer program. So would you try again? For me?”

It was not fair. How could he ever deny his master if he asked like this?! Now it dawned on Paxton why Amal didn’t use any form of punishment or disciplinary measures. His master simply didn’t need to, with his dark big eyes blinking up at him like this, his full lips curved into an encouraging smile. Paxton knew he would cut his own hands open without hesitation if Amal would wish for it, so what was ignoring his training to always remain polite compared to that?!

Taking a deep breath he whispered, “Flower wreaths tutorial,” and just like his master had promised it worked. Amal rubbed soft circles in his back as pictures of artfully arranged flowers appeared on the screen. “See? I told you you’re perfect.”

Buzzing under his master’s praise, Paxton felt his own words vibrate in his chest, shatter some invisible barriere with the force of the first brick thrown June 28, 1969. A grin revealed a flash of white teeth as he whispered, “I did it.”

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