#the two of them are constantly at war with themselves over their purity and corruption kinks

[merakiui]

this is sunday:

[joe-england]

Working on this last Zebra Girl book is hard.  It’s taken a lot of my focus, I haven’t had the motivation to simply make art for months.  It’s depressing, but my muse finally perked up when I got the strange urge to do like I never do and draw serious. I’m going to bare my soul here.  Okay?  I want to be honest.  That’s me up there.  Notice the baggy jeans, hanging from my belt because I lost weight years ago and I tend to wear old pants that are too big for me now.  I’m fairly slender at this point, but I’ve still got a slight spare tire I have yet to shed.  See?  Well, I may have taken liberties with the ears and such. More to the point, you may know that my brand is “Obsessive Thoughts”.  I chose that term as a label because it’s not just a name, it’s a lifestyle.  I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, the tendency to… well, to compulsively obsess.  And not about important things, usually, but in response to a universe full of gremlins.  You feel like you have to do certain things, like it’s necessary to do them, like you’re holding the world together, and dropping the ball will have urgent existential consequences.  It’s a persistent source of stress. So I’m going to describe my perspective, and bear in mind that on a conscious level I’m well aware of the inherent nonsense.  But I want to get this out into the open.  This is what some part of my psyche tells me is happening, if not all the time, then for most of my waking hours: I move through the world surrounded by contaminants.  I must constantly be on guard against spiritual infection.  I dodge, react, and cleanse myself through tiny rituals performed hundreds of times a day.  Nearly every part of my body is involved in a clumsy dance.  Repetition of movements is cleansing.  I move haltingly as my extremities catch on contact points which demand my instinctive tactile attention.  My fingers mostly lead, forced to twitch and touch and straighten and flex, casting towards acceptable directions (I observe the spasms as I type this very sentence, words punctuated by stops and starts as a fingertip lightly taps an extra key, or jerks to the side, or briefly hovers in place, or just wriggles a bit towards empty space, all obeying some ritual I can no longer decipher).  Like guns, pointing them in the wrong direction at the wrong moment risks compromising myself since they relay the sickness.  They are primary soldiers but also prime targets, and they must hide themselves whenever deviant sights or sounds threaten my purity. Objectionable surfaces must also be avoided, such as pictures of people I don’t like.  I have to touch some things.  I have to avoid touching others.  My feet do their part too, tapping the front boards of stairs as I climb them one by one or intentionally bumping a crevice or some panel around my desk in order to banish the bad mojo running through my system.  I scuff the bottoms of my shoes as I walk to insure that the ends of my being make appropriate contact with separate boards of wood or concrete panels, whatever I happen to be walking on at the time. Meanwhile, up top, my head is kept on constant alert, my eyes a busy terminal of positive and negative input and output.  Abstract moving imagery tends to be a threat, for If a subversive pattern appears before me I must vibrate my sight by summoning pressure through my skull, defeating its hypnotic effect (and a diminutive voice in me frets even now that I am spilling my secrets to the tired old conspiracy running its tendrils through all electronic devices). Meals are more of the same.  If dirty energy ever infects my food with stray data (for instance, if an offending name is uttered while I’m looking at what I’m about to eat) then I must negate the pollution by holding the offending morsel up to my eye and matching its transparent double image against an acceptable surface to banish the corruption before I allow it in my mouth (a technique which also applies to my fingers, and which happens often when I watch the news during meal times, horrid politicians constantly threatening to invade my essence with their ugly souls).  Whenever a contaminant aura does slip inside of me then I must cough it lightly out, willing it from my guts and off the tip of my tongue.  Noises issued from my throat contribute to regular maintenance, further warding against evil spirits.  My nostrils serve a likewise function now and then. Similar duties are assigned to my knees, my toes, my elbows, or whatever piece of skin is ever exposed to undesirable elements and conscripted in my never-ending war with the invisible forces.  Beside my shuffling feet, my shadow must also avoid contact with any and all acknowledged threats, including my own dialogue.  Any word uttered risks assigning its deleterious quality to any part of me caught in my sight at the time of its mention (spoken or otherwise).  This includes the insides of my eyelids, which often disrupts my  efforts to sleep at night as I must force them open to expunge toxic  names that cross my mind. The campaign extends to inanimate objects, which constantly suffer the touch of my overworked fingers “wiping off” phantom sediment, or which serve as conduits for various energies, or as goal posts which must sometimes be met before an arbitrary time limit has expired (for example, a turning point in a song).  This was worse when I was a child, and had to race onto a carpet or couch whenever a toilet began to flush.  I thankfully managed to shed some of the more overt habits over time. But it should go without saying that the very inner monologue running through my brain must abide by its own arcane set of rules, because words and names cannot be used carelessly, even in my thoughts.  As for that, two particular words have special functions in my mental arsenal:  “Not” and “Narf.”  “Not” is a mantra, since it is a pure expression of expulsion, and I throw it constantly at negative influences, especially bad imagery or text that gets out of hand.  Conversely, “Narf”, a noise coined by a cartoon lab mouse named Pinky, is a safety mechanism, since it means nothing, thereby safely absorbing any malign concept and allowing me to make idle unspoken noise without risk.  Both words are subject to distortion as the situation requires, ghosting through the roof of my mouth in various ways, shapes, and forms, a single altered syllable sometimes called into play, expressed through the smallest push of saliva hitting my teeth.  “Nt, nt, nt.  Tt.  Unt.” I could go on. Looking at this stuff, it’s hard to believe that I’ve lived with it my entire life.  Typing it out really makes it sound crazy.  I don’t want to be insensitive to other people with issues like this, but it’s hard not to have that reaction when I put it into writing and recognize that this is what I’m actually doing all the time.  I always knew it was odd, but I always figured that I would grow out of it, and when I didn’t I just tried to mitigate it.  And I thought I was doing alright, because it used to seem worse!  I beat it back when I was younger, and my ego encouraged me to accept what was left as part of my genius, or something.  But looking at all this, I find myself wondering if I didn’t just make it more subtle through complexity.  Or maybe it’s only gotten worse with the stress of the past few years.  I don’t know. But I want people to know about this.  Now I’m not sure why I always tried to keep it to myself.  I feel like bringing it out into the open might help, might serve as a spark to finally burn away the web and let it all go.  There are definitely people out there who have it worse than I do.  Maybe you’re one of them!  We all have our crosses to bear.  And like I said, I’ve managed to cut some of it off.  But now I think it’s time I started fighting it again.  God only knows how much of my time I could get back if I wasn’t twiddling my fingers. Hey.  Thanks for listening.

-Joe

[imababblekat]

Imagine Optimus/Smokescreen/ Megaton Being Reunited With Their Missing S/O

((A/N: Oof this is a long one, but damn if I’m not happy with it!))

S/N: 

Angst

Mentions of Torture and Trauma.

Characters For Ask:

Tfp Optimus/Tfp Smokescreen/Tfp Megatron

~

Optimus:

when Optimus had lost his partner during the war he was devastated

he felt it was his fault, even when he constantly warned you of the high risk that came with being in a relationship with the Autobot Leader and yet you still said yes

both of you did everything you could to keep your status on the down low, not even trusted friends knew, so whether it was specifically because of your ties to him, or you just happened to be unlucky wasn't clear, but the Prime hoped it was the latter, because if it were the former he'd never be able to forgive himself

when he and some of Team Prime reach a crashed pod the Ratchet had picked up on the scanners, he's on the tips of his peds, blasters glowing and ready to fire when they see the Decepticon insignia on the side

upon closer inspection by Arcee and her claim that inside is an Autobot and not a Con, he of course goes to take a look at the potential new member

his optics go so wide, and his spark just drops at the familiar sight of the bot inside, especially when he takes into account just how beat up their frame is

his teammates are calling his name, trying to snap him out of his trance when he finally comes to only to tell Ratchet to quickly prepare the medbay and open a bridge back

everyone's very confused at how stiff he is, even if just slightly, and while they've known him to have calm urgency for them, his friends can't help but also notice just how much urgency he has for the person in his arms

after Ratchet's fished fixing them up, which was no easy task as the doc said they were in very very bad shape, Optimus spends quite a bit of time around their sleeping form

he'll check on them with passing glances if he's busy, but any free time he's allowed is spent standing by their side

he has no choice but to tell the others the truth, and when they find out that this unfortunate Autobot lying with dark optics on the medslab is there leaders partner, they all but understand the seriousness of this situation

the moment they start to come through, Optimus is right there beside Ratchet to help assist, anything, for his reunited s/o

he's completely thrown back by how they lash out, screaming and nearly cutting Bulkhead and anyone with in a close enough proximity to them

Optimus knows of bots coming back and ready to brawl after having been knocked out in battle, but this, this was just heart wrenching to see, especially how they're optics reflected no remembrance of him

all of Team Prime feel a heavy weight settle upon them once the new member calms down enough to recognize their leader and explain what had exactly happened to them; the torture of having to watch their whole squad killed of in horrifying ways one by one by the Decepticons, and the un-imaginable torment that they themselves had physically and mentally been put through

Optimus feels so many emotions; guilt, regret, sadness, anger, enraged, and many more along similar lines, but as any Prime, he doesn't show it on his face

however, Optimus will allow himself the simple, yet not so simple act of a hug to his broken and beaten partner, taking them into his large frame and shielding them from the world as he wished he had done in the beginning

Smokescreen:

Smokescreen still remembers the day he met his partner during training for the Elite Guard, how they both graduated together, how they both been assigned guard duty at the Iacon Hall of Records, and how terrified but determined to fight his companion looked when the Hall had been attacked

he hadn't seen them since then, not even when he searched the ship he'd woken up on as thoroughly as he could

while the young guardsmen hoped they were still out there somewhere, a pit in his intake said otherwise

after all, he hadn't heard from anyone else from their squadron

working with Team Prime has helped to keep his mind from wondering what had happened to them; always cheery and ready to go, and as such was the same when his team had been alerted of a crashed Decepticon pod just a few states over

as enthusiastically as ever, he went racing through the ground bridge with Bumblbee and Arcee close beside him, transforming and ready for battle

when no battle occurred he'd admitted to being a little disappointed, though that disappointment was quickly thrown out the window when Arcee suggested checking the pod

. . .he really wished he hadn't been the one to check it

inside, looking way beyond repair, was someone he hadn't thought so deeply about in a long time

Smokescreen is frozen to the spot, optics locked on the mangled Autobots form, and if Ratchet didn't have a monitor on their spark pulses, one would think it had come to a stand still, yet, it was quite the opposite, pulsing at a very rapid pace

Ratchet's inquiry about what's happening to Smokescreen is only replied with Arcee demanding the medbay be ready immediately as they have found a wounded alley, and Bumblebee has to practically drag Smokescreen from where he stands as they cross the bridge, his optics set dead on the limp form in Arcee's arms

the whole time his partner is in recovery, Smokescreen is by their side

at first Ratchet grumpily tells him that they'll make it and he's needed else where, but when even the promise of a mission to raid some Decepticon's doesn't cause the young bot to even twitch, the other's become very concerned

it takes some coaxing from Arcee to get Smokescreen to finally speak, but when he does his voice just sounds so broken, they can tell he's trying to keep it together, and all of their frowns collectively deepen when the kid tells them that this bot right here was not only his best friend, but his partner

when his partner does finally wake, Smokescreen feels his whole self just light up, and he smiles so bright, breathlessly stating that he can't believe they're awake, but when he goes in for a hug, he suddenly feels a sharp pain in his side

it doesn't take long for him to realize that he's been stabbed, but the real pain of it all is that it was his partner who did the heinous act, their optics petrified with fear and no recognition what so ever

after being patched up by Ratchet, Smokescreen demands to see his partner, even though they had attacked him moments prior

he's led to one of the garages of the base, two of his teammates standing guard by the sides, and feels his spark break even more when Optimus informs him that they locked themselves in the room after remembering Smokescreen just a little too late

the only information the Prime was told by the other Elite Guardsman, was that during the attack on Iacon Hall of Records, they had been tortured for information

at least, that's the PG version of it; Optimus lets Smokescreen know that it would be best if he were spared the details the Prime now carries on his shoulders

and honestly, while a part of Smokescreen demands to know what exactly happened, the other part of him is still frozen and deeply scarred by the gruesome, gaunt image of his partner in that pod

Megatron:

Megatron, though very lost from his once sane mind, still recalls the day his partners base of operations had been invaded by Autobot soldiers; no one was reported to have survived

when he was told their body hadn't been recovered or found however, he held out hope that perhaps they were still some where in the midst of all this chaos

he'd sent multiple search parties out, always saying that this they held valuable information, but never stating that they had also been his partner

eventually he had to call it off, a big part of his Decepticon army being needed at the climax of Cybertron's downfall

then he'd always mentally apologize, wishing, hoping, that his partner were still out there to forgive him for not continuing his search

now, he doesn't look back on those days even once; his mind corrupt, and not even the Decepticon cause he once faught for still exist, not in purity anyways

Soundwave reports to him about an Autobot shuttle crash landing near by, and while he typically wouldn't deal with something so trivial, he can't help but indulge himself in the thought of welcoming an Autobot to this planet in a not so nice fashion

his drone's take the first peak, ready and armed in case the occupant decides to jump out with aggression, only to state that inside is a Decepticon

this has him suspicious, so with a great stride, Megatron walks forward to investigate, only for said stride to quickly falter, and his broad shoulders to go slack

there they were, the person he'd given up searching on and had all but practically forgotten about, lying in stasis with a broken frame

had Soundwave's report not shown the spark of his partner, one would automatically assume they were dead by how ghastly they appeared

Megatron waste no time lifting them effortlessly from the pod, comming for Soundwave to open a bridge and for Knockout to be ready for operation

Knockout feels pressure the whole time he's repairing the broken Con, due to Megatron standing right behind him, watching his every move and any sign of discomfort from his partner

the red doc feels that if he so much as breaths on them, Megatron will erupt, though he has no idea why

Megatron always ask for the status of the wounded soldier whenever Con's come to him with reports; everyone curious as to why, but no one dare ask after what happened to Starscream when he did

the night his partner wakes, he can't help but be thrown back when they're first action is to lunge at anyone near by, and then cower when he approaches

he supposes that he does have quite the frightening appearance and assume that’s why, but after his partner explains what happened to them, all the torture, all beatings, all of the relentless nights of their brain and body being twisted and burned for information, Megatron quickly dismiss his original theory

the War Lord can only stand there, rigid and lips a tight line, taking in the sight of his damaged partner, and the sounds of there breaking vocalizer as they sob and try to keep it together as they continue to explain everything to Soundwave for record

Megatron's servos, hidden behind his back, constrict into violent fist, as scenarios begin to play out in his mind of the exact things he's going to do to the next unfortunate Autobot who happens to walk in his line of sight

~xXx~

[gffa]

Aftermath: Life Debt | by Chuck Wendig This is going to be a follow-up to this post + there’s going to be a lot more quoted under the Read More because this is really fascinating to me.  I KNOW ONLY LIKE THREE OF US ARE INTERESTED IN THIS ASPECT OF THINGS, BUT IT’S SOMETHING I’VE BEEN HUNGRY FOR FOR AWHILE.  A lot of this is due to @thewillowbends‘ commentary about how the canon doesn’t really reflect much on the New Republic making the same mistakes as the old Republic and I’m constantly caught between, “Star Wars has never been that deep.” vs “Yeah, I agree.” Life Debt is probably the book (that I’ve read so far) that comes the closest to trying to touch on that--Sinjir (who comes across as at least fairly narratively reliable) says that the New Republic is failing because it’s not enough, that it’s too afraid of becoming the Empire that it’s not actually becoming a government that can help anyone.  At the same time, a big, looming, unanswered question is, “Why are we going after this Imperial agent, when a worse person was right over there?” Then there’s this entire conversation and I’m honestly not sure where the narrative is placing its reliability--because, on the one hand, this is a fictional story being told in a fictional world, which tends towards good vs evil as a theme, that moral purity is a good thing.  You help your friends over creating a sensible, stable government.  That’s how a good story is told.  And it’s about not losing who you are, once you’re in power, which is what Commodore Agate was telling Norra--that she’d rather lose to the Empire as themselves, than win as remorseless killers. But on the other hand, Mon is portrayed with utter sympathy here, she’s clearly a good person and genuinely trying to look out for the bigger picture.  She’s giving away her authority right and left, as well as even Leia can see that without structure, all these different factions will fight each other in the aftermath of the Empire falling. Ultimately, I think the most important line of this scene is:

It’s aware that Leia is an idealist, while Mon is a realist.  The two are coming into conflict, as they clash over how to proceed forward.  It’s not precisely talking about how they’re making some of the same mistakes as the old Republic did, but it’s at least touching on how the New Republic is making mistakes and they tend to be some of the same ones as the old.  It’s not about corruption (at least not yet?) but it falls exactly in line with what George Lucas was talking about was at the heart of the prequels:  “You sort of see these recurring themes where a democracy turns itself into a dictatorship, and it always seems to happen kind of in the same way, with the same kinds of issues, and threats from the outside, needing more control. A democratic body, a senate, not being able to function properly because everybody's squabbling, there's corruption.“ It’s being a little coy about drawing the line between the two but oh boy is it there.  In the narrative, it’s more about how they’re trying so hard to avoid becoming the Empire that they’re not seeing where they’re headed VERSUS how they still have to figure out some form of government because otherwise it’s chaos. I think the scene ultimately landed more on Leia’s side than it did on Mon Mothma’s, if nothing else because the First Order is exactly what Leia thinks is wrong about letting the Empire’s infection burn itself out. On the other hand, the New Republic letting everyone just do whatever the hell they want led to all this squabbling about Loyalists vs Centrists, which led to the government being in utter disarray when it comes time to deal with the First Order. It’s unquestionably the right moral thing to do to help Kashyyyk, no matter how useful they are or aren’t to the New Republic.  But Leia’s argument for helping them basically boils down to that they’re her friends, that you should be willing to sacrifice everything to save your friends.  Which is a perfectly fine personal code to have, but is it fair to risk the stability of everyone else in the New Republic who needs a government to quell the warlords and slavers who are going to take power in this vacuum?  If the New Republic burns itself out helping Kashyyyk, puts resources there, that could have helped shore them up elsewhere, and ultimately fall because they’re not strong enough (as they do in The Last Jedi) then was that the right course to take? The book definitely seems like it’s not 100% siding either way, that it doesn’t have an answer to these questions, only that the best thing they can do is look at the immediate problems they face, rather than the bigger picture.  And that that in and of itself is a problem (as Sinjir notes) but it’s the only path they can at all see. Leia wants them to be heroes, not a government.  And I guess that’s the question--is Star Wars about even the government being a group of heroes, rather than an actual functioning government?  Because there very much is an argument about how this is a story being written by writers, that realism only has so much of a place in a space fantasy fairy tale.  As much as we want to point out realism and map it onto the stories we consume, sometimes that deeply goes against the grain of what the actual narrative is trying to do. Or are we meant to go, “WHOA HEY PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO NEED PRAGMATISM IN THIS SHIT, THAT IS HOW ANYTHING GETS DONE.” because Star Wars is also about a reflection of the political landscapes of the time.  George Lucas explicitly said the original trilogy was about Nixon and about Vietnam.  He explicitly said that the prequels were about the rise of fascism and we all saw the parallels to Bush era politics.  The sequel trilogy (and, for all that this is set closer to the OT, it’s much more a Trump era politics book) is set now and I think there’s an incredibly important point about how moral purity is absolutely killing the left when we need to be more pragmatic. I think it probably leans more towards the fictional aspect than the realistic political aspect, but trying to untangle these things is the kind of ridiculous thing I am on this blue hellsite for. FULL QUOTE UNDER THE READMORE

[coreshorts]

Mine

Her mind turned again and again to the sight of the younger girl, slowly withering, her normally plump, hourglass figure starting to shrink, her eyes heavy with dark bags, porcelain skin almost ashen. When she felt her, it was was even worse. Her aether slowly draining away, she felt as though she was constantly slowly dying, something dark and vicious welling up within her to take her place.

The first time the shinobi had noticed her Moon begin to wane, she had frantically begun searching for answers. She needed options, ways to combat what was being done, that she could grasp and bring to bear against this panic-inducing problem. She was given a small number, some of which were far more preferable than the others.

Hali was forced to settle upon an option which was the best she could hope for in such short notice: She had been told by a close friend - an incredibly accomplished mage by name of Naoh Tayoon - that her best bet without outright killing the girl she had come to so adore was to obtain a charged Amdapori Wardstone. However, the ruins of Amdapor were heavily-guarded and access strictly forbidden. She, herself, had one, but it was not charged, and the only person who came close to knowing could not remember.

"...charge one...” Fiona had muttered over the private line, “I- I think I remember. Just- nnnh. I remember doing it. I don't remember how."

The only other solution would be to use an Onmyouji ritual which not only required multiple practitioners, but would cut the girl off from her aether use entirely - forever - even though it would mean that she could never be possessed again. It was beyond that last thing that Hali wished to do, and the half-elezen’s response chilled her blood.

"...we should keep it in mind. Just in case."

Thus, she turned to Naoh, who instructed her on where to search in the ruins to find Wardstones. She was, after all, not only a shinobi, but one of very high aether sensitivity, which would help her not only infiltrate the ruins, but potentially locate a stone, as well. Loathe to go alone, however, she brought her former teacher - her best friend and sister in the shadows - Kaori, seeking her help to sneak in and out while keeping one another safe.

It was a fortunate thing that she had. The ruins of Amdapor were crawling with horrible creatures. Due to the way the entrances and perimeter were guarded, the two were forced to take a back route through the abandoned keep in order to access the city. 

Though it was suspected that the keep ruins might hold what they sought, it was quite the opposite. The absence of long-established Amdapori artefacts of white magic to stave off the Mhachi void magic and wild beasts that roamed the area has left the entire structure to be overrun by the void in the wake of multiple attempts by the Lambs of Dalamud - some of whose reanimated corpses they had found, already slain - to summon their god back to the star.

Hali found it funny. If Dahlia truly was Dalamud incarnate - if she was some kind of god, they were all wasting their time. She almost thought to tell the mage upon her return, but not knowing her relationship with the cult, she assumed to likely be negative.

It was rough going after they’d fought their way through the maddened flora and fauna both, both of which fought them at every turn in the overgrown keep. She had visited once before, but it had never been quite as overgrown as it was then, she’d thought. By the time they reached the passage needed to slip through catacombs and into the city, Hali had wound up sick nearly twice due to the sheer amount of corrupted aether in some areas. Guarding the passage, they had even encountered a powerful voidsent who struck Hali as mildly familiar. A man she had met before, named Resh, who had been heavily voidtainted and even possessed, bore a very similar voidsent which could materialise separately from his body. Fortunately, the two shinobi made short work of most things in the keep, void included.

The passage put them right by the entrance to the city, and the two made their way down. Mould assailed their lungs, giant insects assailed their bodies, and doubt assailed Hali’s mind. The investigation of the keep had proven fruitless, but her initial scouting of the area around the Lost City had some promise. Deep within the city, she could feel something, and it was very close to what she sought. For a mercy, it had begun to rain, clearing much of the spores in the air, but bringing out insects much larger than either of the two Au Ra. However, they managed to dispatch most of them with ease, even having moments to admire some of those less hostile.

Despite their skills in combat, it was no easy task. In what Hali regarded, in hindsight, though not at that time, as a stroke of irony, Kaori had been assaulted by a massive moth - a creature almost resembling the guardian spirit of their village - and stuck down. Thankfully, Hali had managed to bring supplies enough to complement her admittedly-weak conjury, which, she had found, grew significantly easier and more potent in the ruins, which gave her some hope. Once Kaori was healed properly, her arm set and functional again, and Hali’s panic abated, they moved on.

Continuing deeper in, they were best by ever-increasing wonders. A seemingly-bottomless chasm surrounded them with platforms that connected with aethereal bridges, old wards still present, lingering from when their source stones were once in place, though nothing remained within them for them to protect. Hali’s hope grew again at that, and ,especially,when they found a host of voidsent and reanimated magi who had been attempting to breach a heavily-warded door. After having cleared them out, the two were able to set to work on breaching the door, themselves, seeming unaffected by its protecting wards.

What they saw on the other side was something akin to another world. Blissful, pure, and almost heavenly, they had found themselves in something akin to another world, constantly shifting ivory and gold pillar surrounding bridges and platforms that seemed to manifest from nothing. Sprites of pure light and torches of white fire that sang melodically lined the bottomless - and skyless - expanse of pure radiance.

The two shinobi found themselves almost unnaturally enraptured by the purity and bliss of it all, resolving themselves, one day, to return, though their aims were significantly different. Kaori wished to calm herself and to find inner serenity to better herself, but Hali found herself giggling at the thought of a pocket world created by mortals; it was her ticket to unlocking secrets that would allow her to shape reality to her whim, and she would, one day, have those secrets.

They, finally, reached what seemed to be a council chamber of sorts, empty of all things but a massive winged statue, armed with stone sword, shield... and three charged Wardstones - smooth, red, fist-sized stones that emanated a pure aether - set in its breast and behind both hands. In her excitement, Hali rushed in headlong, Kaori on her heels. The statue, like many others, was a gargoyle, enchanted by Amdapori magic, inset with Wardstones to make it effective against voidsent in the War of the Magi, she assumed. Fortunately, between their skill with ninjutsu, despite the stone being highly resistant to their poor blades, dinged and damaged from assaulting stone creatures, they managed to exhaust the statue’s animating magicks.

Prying the still-gleaming stones from the statue, Hali made one last attempt to contact Naoh, asking how to work the stones, and what she could do with three, rather than one. There was no response. Wherever they were in Amdapor, they were cut off entirely from the outside world. She and Kaori decided to beat a hasty retreat, vowing to return in the future in order to pursue their goals in that wondrous place.

When they neared the entrance to the Lost City, Hali’s heart jumped into her throat as a familiar presence became apparent in the patterns of aether around her: Dahlia. However, it was not simply her Moon. Her aethereal presence had all but winked out, and swirling about it in a writhing, chaos mass was the void-tainted aether of the voidsent that had possessed her, driving Hali to their task in the Lost City in the first place. Kaori and Hali immediately followed their shinobi instincts and made themselves scarce, watching the warped woman, clad in a strange outfit and mask, descend the stairs toward the landing where Hali has used her Vanishing jutsu to hide herself from him.

“Naras... wasn’t it? Come out...” the possessed woman crooned in an unmistakably male voice.

Hali’s heart pounded in her hiding spot. Dahlia’s form had shifted ever-so-slightly in the imbalance between her aether and that of her possessor. Her normally-mis-matched green and brown eyes had turned a deep red, one darker than the other, the edges dark and almost sunken. Her nails had grown into long, sharp claws, and she had a terrible, deathly pallor to her. The voice that came from her was not her own. It was Mirseleiris.

Securing the stones to herself as she frantically called Naoh for help over a linkshell that she knew Dahlia did not have, she was given an idea: all she had to do was get them close, so if she could grapple Mirseleiris, the stones would be able to do their work and suppress him, forcing him into stasis within Dahlia and giving her back her body and her control so long as they remained near. From time to time, she threw a small rock, skipping it on the stone stairs to make it seem as though she was sloppily fleeing further into the city. Fortunately, it seemed to distract the voidsent.

“[Kaori,]” she had said in Hingan over that same shell, “[I am going to do something very stupid. I am counting on you to back me up.]”

“[I will do what I feel is necessary,]” the other shinobi had said, adding, “[Trust me.]” Trust was something Hali had learned to put in Kaori. Though she could hardly trust the whole of the world - it was, after all, most assuredly out to get her in any way possible - she trusted Kaori to be able to handle things, every time.

Having slowly climbed atop the archway above the city’s entrance, she leaped from it, using a Shukuchi to rapidly get closer to Mirseleiris as he searched for her, taunting her. Arms wide, one Wardstone tied tightly to each of her palms and one affixed to the chainmail beneath her ningi, she attempted to embrace Dahlia’s possessed form, only to have the voidsent controlling her move her quickly away.

“Another new trick?” he crooned, then, realising what she had attempted to use, the proximity alone causing his head to spin, hissed, “Wardstones...”

Kaori, however, had been ready, and popped up from a ledge below the landing on which they had engaged Mirseleiris. Grabbing Dahlia’s ankles, she wrenched the Ishgardian’s legs from under her, causing the voidsent to tumble and temporarily release his grip on her. When she landed, it was Dahlia’s voice again, claws and eyes changing back slowly as Mirseleiris‘s presence faded.

However, when Hali straddled the girl, beginning to affix the Wardstones to her, she wound up in, she realised, a trap. Mirseleiris quickly took control of Dahlia again, one hand shooting forth to try and slash at her face and the other attempting to take her by throat. Thanks to Kaori’s quick reaction, smascking the first strike with the spine of her katana, the swipe only managed to tear part of Hali’ hood. However, the voidsent managed to take the heavyset Raen by the throat, choking her with vicious claws sinking into the skin at her neck.

Hali did everything she could not to lose control. It was chaos. It was fear. It was pain. It was rage. The thoughts had started to become murmurs, voices telling her what to do.

Kill her. Kill them both.

Knock her out.

Kill yourself.

She could hear Kaori, but no matter how she tries, she could not understand what she said amongst the din. Then, it got worse as a scream shook her very soul: Dahlia was screaming. Before her, Kaori had thrust the tip of her blade into the mage’s abdomen and drawn it clean, causing her to begin bleeding profusely.

“WHy... WOn’T... yoU... lEavE HeR?!” her body screamed in a disturbing dual voice, one belonging to Dahlia, the other to Mirseleiris, his grip slipping between the mageling’s intense pain and the Wardstones weakening him.

“W... why w- won’t... youhhhh...” Hali wheezed amongst the chaos and pain, before finally being released as Dahlia wrested control once more from her possessor. 

With the time the distraction gave her, she began fastening the second stone. The chaos in her head reached another crescendo as, Dahlia now fully in control and aware of her state, began screaming in agony again.

“Hali... Kel... help...! GahAHAhAHAhAhAHAHAAH!” she pleaded before Mirseleiris began to emerge again, mad dual-toned cackling beginning again, “She’s mine, mine!”

That tipped the scale in Hali’s head from fear to blind rage, and she screamed in response, “SHE’S MINE YOU WORTHLESS SHITSTAIN! SHE’S MINE! I’LL SODDING KILL YOU FOR THIS!” She couldn’t help, after the fact, remembering what she had yelled and how, deeply embarrassed at such melodrama, but she couldn’t help herself. Her mind was slipping, and fast.

“TheN If I cAn’T HAVe hER, I’Ll taKe hEr WIth mE!” the dual voice cackled maniacally, and the claws that had gone to Hali’s throat when, instead, to Dahlia’s poised to tear her own throat out in desperation.

Kaori had busied herself with activating pressure points and calling out to Dahlia, given Hali’s panicked and addled state, in order to try and help. At the same time, despite the start of a protestation from the other Raen, the hand holding the third stone rose, abandoning attempting to tie it to the girl’s choker, and came down hard on the side of her head, immediately knocking her out, as Hali, too, attempted a rather desperate manoeuvre, giving in to the voices as they screamed at her to do it, do it, do it, DO IT. 

Mirseleiris could tell what was coming and, instead of attempting to prevent it, lashed out one last time with claws and a kick, sending Hali reeling backward as not only did she gain two deep gashes across her nose and an eyebrow, she was hit in the death wound at her stomach, sending a massive cramp through her that caused her to lose her breath and fall over.

Silence, however, was the next sound, rain falling lightly upon the three, heavy breathing from them all following the struggle. Hali recovered just enough to carry Dahlia, and they managed to return to the Bountiful Chest. All three were in dire need of healing. Kaori’s arm was still in poor shape from the behemoth moth’s awful bites, and she had some minor wounds and inhalation of mould besides. Hali, too, suffered from inhaling the mould, though not as much, but the slashes across her face and puncture wounds around her neck required treatment. Dahlia’s were, thankfully, only superficial thanks to Kaori’s skill with her blade and proactive tactics, save for the concussion from Hali’s desperation.

Hali, once healed, could only lay in her bed in the medical ward and cry, her mind racing. They had done it. Dahlia could be safe - or even just relatively so while the stones were near or on her - until they had a more permanent solution. They had discovered in their hunt amazing things beyond description. Hali had a new lead into bettering herself, even to the point gaining the power to alter reality to her whim as she had seen done in Amdapor. Yet, she still could not stop panicking.

"Oh, gods, what did I do? She's going to hate me. This is all my fault... Fuck! Why did I say anything?! I knew he was listening! I shouldn't have done any of this... I should leave her alone, but... is she okay...?” she thought to herself on and off in a mad train of thought between bouts of panicked crying.

Slowly, eventually, once she had overheard that Dahlia had been healed and her concussion faded in the process, she shakily got up from her bed, sniffling, to move a few beds down toward hers. Silently padding across the floor on the other side of the curtain, she carefully climbed into the bed in which Dahlia slept. She curled up next to her and just cried, silent and shaking, almost afraid to touch her but still wanting to be close. Everything was still chaos. She needed something.

She’s not yours, you worthless creature; she is my Moon, and, with any luck, will always be mine.