#tumblr is. truly a hellhole for several reasons

[thelemstar]

Rusty’s Trivia #1 - “The hells is a Nightkin  - and how did it happen?“

aka: oh boy, time for me to delve into his family history

Seems like the research isn’t going too well on his end. A short while ago, I’ve made the page for the bio of Rusty, my Final Fantasy XIV character. Fact is - beyond a bit of personal information and a few RP hooks, I very much deliberately omit backstory from character bios if I can help it. The reason for that being that a) I like people finding things out for themselves and b) there’s way too much I could possibly go into and I am absolute garbage at condensing things. However, as I figured none of this stuff is coming up in RP directly - as there’s no real way he’d ever find out all of it in person - but I still really want to write lore and condense it with already existing lore to give form to my complicated thought processes. Both to share it and to have motivation to get everything down on paper for myself, because dear freakin’ lord. Ultimately, I figured I might as well use Tumblr for doing so. This is going to be a long one, so bear with me.

To first of all explain in detail what these terms are properly - Nightkin are those that have made blood pacts with Voidsent, as well as their descendants, and Voidsent in turn are beings whose souls have been corrupted by astral darkness - a type of aether. That being said, the term Voidsent is apparently attributed by the people of Eorzea to everything that seems like it just couldn’t belong to their world. Astral aether / darkness is aether that causes chaos and is made up of wind, lightning and fire - as opposed to umbral aether / light, which causes stagnation and is made up of Water, earth and ice. Basically, there’s a whole order vs. chaos dichotomy going on - and normally, your soul needs both. Now, Voidsent have so much astral darkness they they might as well be astral darkness, driving them to insanity and giving them an insatiable hunger for living aether in the futile search of reattaining a normal balance of soul. Meaning they can and will eat you. Their home world - the Void - is entirely devoid of living aether, thanks to all of it being in constant flux. Voidsent are basically this verse’s version of demons, which so happens to be the name of one of the many subtypes of them, as well as an alternative way to refer to their species as a whole. The other side of the spectrum - Sin Eaters - can and will also eat you, and they’re the angel equivalent of this verse. Yikes.

The eternal night of the Void. Actually very pretty for a post-apocalyptic hellhole in which no life can survive. Then they get summoned from the Void and people enslave or make pacts with them to attain more power in black magic - meaning astral magic, meaning chaotic magic made to destroy things really hard, judging by the DPS a good Black Mage can do. So far, so good. Unfortunately, a certain whole nation of black mages - Mhach - ended up causing a war and summoning a whole lot of Voidsent to do it. And unlike the Allagans before them, who created the art but had no countermeasures in case things went wrong - and they eventually did - the Mhachi made void magic kind of their big thing. Mhach summoned weaker Voidsent by weakening the fabric between worlds to create a gate. However, to summon stronger Voidsent of their hierarchy, they needed to use corporeal vessels - so the Voidsent that was intended to be summoned could enter their world by means of possessing their body and taking their soul as tribute. Buon appetito! As you might be able to guess, this will be important later. They fought with the nation of white mages - Amdapor - and basically ended up causing the Great Flood because none of them cared enough to actually use water magic. Fittingly, the offensive toolkit of player black mages is fire / ice / lightning, and earth / wind for white mages. Water magic is only part of healing and support abilities, meaning Amdapori white mages forgot to actually heal while they were doing damage. Thus, the Amdapori were shitty white mages. Q.E.D. Seeing as the rampant, uncontrolled use of magic caused an apocalypse, the last few remaining mages of the time banned black and white magic and instead developed red magic in the country their ark ended up in - Ala Mhigo. Red magic uses a balance of both black and white magic and balances it with sword fighting techniques to limit the use of aether - in red magic, aether is only drawn from your own body instead of directly from your surroundings, thus requiring a significantly more efficient design of the discipline instead of “big explosions = big damage” - as is the black mage creed.

Yes, this ark is a real thing. It’s somehow still in decent shape - even after more than 1500 years! However, as we find out in the actual quest line for red mages investigating the Ziggurat in the Peaks, the earliest forms of it experimented with a lot of interesting things. Interesting things such as blood pacts with Voidsent to defy the physical limits of the mages. Clearly the result of some lingering Mhachi influence - and after considering that maybe this is a bit too dangerous, as it will end up with enslaved Voidsent freeing themselves and rampantly devouring everything they can get their hands on, as well as gradually corrupting the souls of your entire bloodline, this was promptly outlawed from the discipline. And this is where Rusty’s family comes into play. The last remnants of his family - who came over from the island nation of Aerslaent because everything there got flooded over - partook in research with blood pacts, thus causing their entire bloodline to be cursed with Voidsent blood. And unless the pacts were to be forcibly severed by using a Mhachi device called the Nullstone - their final solution to Voidsent troubles - the taint doesn’t truly go away, instead staying dormant until any further interference happens. Unfortunately, the Nullstone was still in the Mhachi capital - guarded by the immortal void mage Calofisteri, who is not exactly thrilled to give it up and be at risk to lose her power. To make everything worse, Rusty’s ancestors decided that their Voidsent target of choice was to be one of the highest rung - a Voidsent king they called Ba’al. Meaning they sacrificed one of their own to pull the soul of Ba’al into their body - offering up the soul of said poor person in the process - then took his blood for their research. Ba’al was eventually banished back into the Void - his now completely deformed host body included. Again, yikes. Naturally, they weren’t keen on still sticking around in Ala Mhigo and being witch hunted for good reason and thus eventually went back to their homeland - migrating across the continent Ilsabard, to the Far East, across the New World and then back to Aerslaent. They and their descendants continue to inspire stories of witches and monsters all across the globe. Probably.

No. Not you, Rusty. Try and act scary all you like. Rusty Axe is just another descendant of that family of black mages, born in Ala Mhigo more than a millenium and a half after the Great Flood - his father having previously left said family in Aerslaent and traveled the continent of Eorzea as a warrior mercenary. As to what happened next - that’ll be explained once I decide to do Trivia #2. Which may be whenever I get enough inspiration. Stay tuned! If you seriously just read this entire essay on this entirely fictional science and history and how it ties into my OC lore-wise, kudos to you. Seriously.

[ausllygo1direction]

Instrument of Darkness

So I’ve decided that I’m going to use my tumblr to kind of promote some of my fanfiction.  For those who aren’t aware, I’m Austin And Ally Go 1 Direction on fanfiction.net, and AAG1D on AO3.

The following bits are some excerpts from my latest fanfiction which was set in the Star Wars universe but with the Sherlock characters.  It was originally meant to be a short 8,000 word Sherlolly fluff one-shot, but the Sherlolly fluff dies pretty quick (It still ends with Sherlolly, but the story was kidnapped by a plot-line so the fluff got thrown out the window), and in the end it turned into an 80,000 word three-shot monstrosity of epic proportions.  I don’t know if anyone would be interested in checking it out, but if you like the following excerpts I’ll place the link to the story at the end so that you can go read the whole thing :)

Without further ado, I give you some bits of Instrument of Darkness.

///

The wind whipped harshly across the planes of the desert, sand scrapping unforgivingly against the weather-worn figure that stood amongst the nothingness.  The lean body was wrapped in scraps of beige fabric and nearly blended perfectly in with the environment.  It was only the shock of dark hair and the crudely made staff that contrasted the figure with the dunes of Jakku.

It didn’t matter though.  Sherlock Holmes was always out of place in the desert.

Why he had been abandoned as a child on such a wretched planet was beyond him.  The desert had hardened any soft edges he had once had, and the physical demands of survival were more than evident in the leanness of his form and the callouses on his hands.

Sometimes he wondered what he had done in a previous life in order to have been dealt such a cruel fate. A life as a scrapper was barely a life at all, and the endless sand had washed Sherlock’s mind of any good memory he might’ve had as a child.

The only thing he could remember was Molly.

The name was his only constant companion in his solitary, and the image of a face that time seemed unable to erase.  The edges were blurred almost as though something had tried to rid him of the memory-

A sharp pain caused Sherlock to grit his teeth and close his eyes against the harshness of the sun, seeking a reprieve to the headache that flared up when he reflected too much on the emptiness of his mind.  There was something missing, but he didn’t know why.

His only hope seemed to lie in this Molly woman.

For as long as he could remember, his only goal in his meager existence was to get off the back-water planet he had the misfortune of calling home, and search for the woman he was sure held the answers to his questions.  The name itself brought a wave of incredible longing to the forefront of Sherlock’s mind, and he was certain that he loved-

Another burst of pain. This one caused a grunt to break the stillness of the desert.

Putting his musings aside, Sherlock carefully unclasped his water skin, before allowing himself to enjoy a few refreshing drops of the too-little supply of water. They did little but coat the grittiness of his tongue, but Sherlock knew better than to indulge in any more. Refreshed as he was ever going to be, he resumed his trek across the barren wasteland.

There were too many holes in his memory to truly understand his past.  Thus, it only made sense to try and move forward.  He had a plan.  Get off Jakku.  Find this Molly.  And then hopefully the rest would come with time.

But for now, to focus on the present.

Besides, the smoking wreck up ahead looked promising.

///

JN-1871 was not having a good day.

On top of breaking some rebel pilot out of prison, commandeering a ship to escape the only hellhole he had ever known, and then having said escape plan go marvellously to hell, he also had somehow managed to crash land on Jakku.

To top it all off, he wasn’t used to being in harsh environments without the protection of his Stormtrooper armour, and he could just feel his skin beginning to burn.

Life was just peachy.

At first, his plan seemed foolproof.  Break the pilot out of prison, steal a ship, use said pilot to fly said ship, and finally be free from the hell known as the First Order.  It was a stellar plan.

Except for the variables he hadn’t factored in.

Variable one: The pilot was a cheeky tosser.  Mary Morstan, as she introduced herself as, did not take orders and apparently had a sense of sass that outweighed her sense of self-preservation.  By the time that they had finally gotten to the ship, JN-1871 was already wishing that he had left her in Kylo Ren’s interrogation chamber if only to have saved himself a headache.

Then there was variable two:  The First Order wasn’t exactly, well… you know, pleased with his escape attempt with their Resistance prisoner.  Hence resulting in a red alert being signalled before they had even reached the bloody ship.

He really, really hated shooting.

Especially when he was on the active end of the barrel.

By the time that the (ex)Stormtrooper and (ex)prisoner had made it to the TIE fighter all hell had broken loose, and Mary had jabbed several buttons on the control panel before shoving something into JN-1871’s hand and shouting “I’ll distract them. If I don’t make it you need to go to Jakku and get my droid.  It has the map that Lady Smallwood needs.”

“What- wait!  I don’t have a bloody clue how to fly this thing! That’s why I broke you out in the first place!” JN-1871 protested from where he had been all but shoved into the pilot’s seat.

Mary rolled her eyes as she continued punching buttons and yanking on wires.  “I’ve enabled autopilot and set the coordinates for Jakku. I’ll keep anyone off your tail.” With that the lights for the ship flicked on and the hum jolted JN-1871’s bones.  The pilot flashed the (ex)Stormtrooper a cheeky smirk.  “See you on the other side.”

“No- wait!” It was too late – before JN-1871 could so much as move the top of the fighter closed and Mary was running towards the next TIE fighter, JN-1871’s gun going off in her hands (When did she get that?).  The (ex)Stormtrooper barely had time to click his seatbelt on before the ship was whooshing out of the corridor, blasters going off behind him.

The rest had been a blur (And admittedly his eyes had been shut for, like, ninety-five percent of it).  There were explosions.  He was vaguely aware of another TIE fighter following his that seemed to keep the enemy fire at bay, until something went wrong, there was a blast of fire, the looming yellowness of Jakku, and enough tumbling to make JN-1871 puke more than enough for an entire lifetime.

At some point his seat must’ve ejected, and then, pain, and death, and oh my goodness he had just wanted a quiet retirement.

He had woken up to a mouthful of sand, an unforgiving sun burn, and the scattered remains of the fighter littered around him.

His mind was in a numb state of shock as he watched the bulk of the wreck begin to disappear beneath the sand.  

He was stranded.

On Jakku.

JN-1871 wanted to cry. Not only did every single part of his body ache, but he was now also a fugitive of the First Order and was stuck on a planet that was uncomfortably close to the Finalizer.  

His eyes travelled down to the odd thing still clutched in his hand.

It was a scarf. Specifically, the Resistance pilot’s scarf that she had shoved into his possession before running off.  He wasn’t sure why she had given it to him – perhaps it was a way to find the droid she had mentioned?  His head hurt, and it wasn’t just from thinking about his predicament.

Perhaps the droid was his way off the planet.  Yes. The pilot had thought he was with the Resistance anyways, and perhaps if he got the droid to this Lady Smallwood they’d offer him amnesty.  Besides, the pilot made this map thing sound important, right?  So it was almost guaranteed that they’d bargain for it.

New plan in mind, JN-1871 turned his back to the wreckage.

Time to find a droid and a way off this back-water planet.

///

On the whole, Mary Morstan was a fairly adaptable person.  She had to be – as a pilot for the Resistance it might as well have been a job requirement.  In all her years of service, she had been in her fair share of sticky situations and had seen more than enough trouble for a lifetime.

There was a reason she was so cocky.

And yet out of everything that she had seen and done, getting captured by the First Order and being personally interrogated by Kylo Ren certainly took the cake – and the wind out of her sails.

That said, if anything was able to raise her spirits it was the sight of a specific YT-1300. Even if it wasn’t being manned by its original owner, the ship and its cargo were the best thing that the pilot had seen all week.

“What- Mary?!”

Offering a slightly sarcastic salute with her good arm, Mary took that as an invitation to waltz further towards the duo.  “Hello boys.”

Although the ‘Trooper she had escaped with had lowered his pistol (Mary had to hold back a snort – he hadn’t been fooling anybody with his whole Resistance impersonation), the tall stranger only tightened his grip on his staff, eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?”

Mary eyed his fighting posture warily.  Despite all her bravado she was in no condition for a fight, and the other man knew it.  Thankfully, the ‘Trooper responded for her.

“It’s alright, Sherlock.  She’s Redbeard’s pilot.”

Mary’s eyebrows hitched at the name.  “Did you name my droid while I was gone?”

The other man – Sherlock – finally lowered his weapon, though he managed a somewhat haughty sniff. “I wasn’t going to call him a sequence of letters.”

She rolled her eyes. Mary had a feeling that she would be doing that a lot around these two.  “Where is he?”

The ‘Trooper took over once again, turning to head back down the hall.  Mary stayed close to his heels, overtly aware of how Sherlock’s eyes followed her every move – and not in the good sort of way.

“He’s up in the droid port piloting the ship.  We ran into a snare, hence why we’re currently out of motion.  Sherlock was fixing the wiring when you showed up.”

Mary made a humming noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat.  “I take it that means you haven’t had the map delivered to Lady Smallwood yet.”

The ‘Trooper shrugged awkwardly.  “The coordinates are set for D’Qar, we just need to recalibrate the-”

“Nevermind D’Qar,” Mary asserted, slipping into the vacant pilot’s chair and ignoring Sherlock noise of protest as her fingers began flying over the wires.  “We have a new destination.  The map can wait; There’s some more pressing issues at hand.”

It was only the weight of something very solid suddenly upon her collarbone that caused Mary’s fingers to freeze their musings.  The ‘Trooper’s sudden protests were lost to her as her senses directed solely at their current danger.

Sherlock stood menacingly beside them, his staff held dangerously against her chest.  Any sudden weight, and Mary was certain that he could snap several of her bones without even batting an eye.  There was something in his eyes, a kind of… madness that made Mary’s flesh crawl.  The ‘Trooper was still going off the rails.

“…Sithspit Sherlock, she’s on our side!”

Sherlock didn’t pay him any heed, his eyes still trained dangerously on Mary.  Finally, his baritone cut off the ‘Trooper’s ramblings.

“I was told we were going to D’Qar where I would be given transport to go my own way.  I am not interested in taking a detour.”

Mary raised her hands, and turned slowly so she could face him better, though her own eyes were narrowed.  “Well, if we don’t get to Sector 7G pronto, there may not be much of a galaxy left for you to fly through.”

The staff didn’t move.

“What are you talking about?”

“A weapon,” Mary was irked at sharing the information with someone with an obviously different agenda from the Resistance, but the weight on her collarbone hadn’t left her with many options.  “The First Order has designed a weapon that they call Starkiller Base, and it doesn’t just take out a single planet, it can take out an entire system.  If we don’t get over there and sabotage it now, we might not get another chance before half of the galaxy’s gone.”

A moment of stillness as her words sunk in.  Then:

“Sherlock if that’s true then searching for this Molly person would be pointless.  She could be dead before we’re even to D’Qar.”

Mary’s ears perked at the information, but she was more intrigued by how Sherlock responded to it, his eyes hardening in resignation while his mouth twisted in dislike. After a moment’s more of silence, the metal was finally removed.

Sherlock didn’t look any less defensive.

“Fine.  We go to this Starkiller Base” He said the name derisively, and Mary couldn’t blame him, “And destroy it before it can inadvertently kill Molly.  And then I expect to be transported somewhere and given a ship and the supplies needed for my search as thanks for saving the galaxy.”

Sherlock’s eyes darted between the other two people dangerously, as though daring them to contest his statement.

Neither did.

Giving a sharp nod of his head, the strange man spun on his heel and disappeared down the corridor. The ‘Trooper gave her a half-muttered apology, before dashing after the errant man who had threatened her life just a moment before.

Within a breath Mary Morstan was left alone with the circuit board, still trying to process what was happening.  She blinked, before a scowl marred her pretty features.

“So I’ll just fix the ship myself then, shall I?” She shouted into the empty space.

Unsurprisingly, nothing shouted back.

///

Destiny could be a funny thing.

Some people felt that it was set in stone, that once a future was determined it couldn’t be changed. Others felt that while the future wasn’t exact, the fundamental attributes of a person would always result in them making the same choices, leading to an inevitable destiny.

Sherlock thought that destiny was garbage.

And that the Force was too.

He remembered waking up to ash.  Pain had coursed through his brittle flesh that had been all the wrong colours in all the wrong places, and his lungs had seized at the filthy air around him.  He had tried calling for help, for his parents, for Myc, but his body couldn’t take the sudden movement, and instead he found himself curling up in the ash and soot, sobbing silently as the world passed on in silence.

That was how Lestrade had found him.  Broken, and helpless, and covered head to toe in fiercely angry burns and black, black ash.

If he had believed in destiny, he might’ve even said that the state in which Lestrade had found him in had foreshadowed that which he would become.

Destiny was bantha fodder though, so Sherlock dismissed the thought.

For a while, though, it was near impossible to believe otherwise.  The darkness had simply been so all encompassing that Sherlock struggled to keep afloat.  The other Masters and students had been rightly terrified of him, and more than once Sherlock had overheard stray thoughts throughout the Force, wondering when he would be lost to the darkness for good.

For a while, Sherlock had felt that he had no other option other than to forever be entrenched in the darkness.  He was a monster, an abomination, a sithspawn, and he had lost any hope he might’ve once harboured.

After all, when everyone else fears the darkness within you, it hardly seems polite to disagree.

Then, he had met Molly and everything changed.

For the first time in his life, he had felt like he could be good.  That perhaps he wasn’t destined for a future drowning in darkness.

His mistake, however, was in thinking that he could learn to swim.

For although he tried, the darkness never left.  And although he went through the motions, he never truly could be a Jedi.

After all, he had all but thrown himself at the darkness in order to save Molly.

Now, as he traversed the uneven ground with the bitter breeze threatening to blow his hood off, Sherlock still didn’t give destiny any credit.  After all, what had it done for him?  But he did have to admit that if it did exist it clearly had an ironic sense of humour.

Why else would Sherlock be on his way to find the one person who had betrayed him when it was most important?  The one person who could hopefully save the galaxy and answer some very pressing questions. The one person who had found him over twenty years prior.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes didn’t believe in destiny.  

But destiny believed in him.

And that was why he was always meant for the darkness.

Because destiny knew that he could also be more.

///

In the throne room, Sherlock was doing very, very badly.

With his attention split between the fight and his Force Bond with Molly, he didn’t stand a fighting chance on his own.  Molly had momentarily stepped back in her attacks as the two Praetorian Guards kept him busy, but if he didn’t figure out how to get through to her soon, his momentary relief would not last long.

In the end, it was his own stubbornness that did him in.

Mentally chanting that he was strong enough to keep up with the attacks despite the fact that he most certainly was not, Sherlock didn’t have the energy to pay attention to his form.  As a result, his right elbow clumsily was left out of position at the tail end of one of his blocks, causing a solid hit to the arm from one of the guards to loosen his hold on his saber.  

In the next moment, the blue was extinguished and Sherlock’s lightsaber went clattering to the ground, stopping next to the ugly throne where the Supreme Leader was watching the events unfold with an unsettling grin.

Weaponless, Sherlock barely managed to duck in time, the vibro-voulge of one of the guards skimming too close to his head for comfort.

Panicking, his body went on Jakku survival mode as his foot swung out to catch the guard closest to him, sending him to the ground.

Somewhere in his head, the Jedi part of him was shouting to use the Force to reach for his weapon.

But a much larger part that had witnessed first hand dirty fights in old wrecks of starships was muddling any useful thoughts.  He grabbed the vibro-voulge of the fallen guard, the shape familiar enough to his staff that the Scavenger part of him was able to relax slightly in ease.

It lasted about a half a heartbeat before he was bringing the voulge up to block the oncoming attack of the other guard.

Which was, of course, when Molly had to join the onslaught as well.

In his haste to stop the lightsaber from separating the top half of his body from the bottom, he forgot about the body of the fallen guard, and his foot went out from under him.  His eyes widened and his breath got caught in his throat, but it was like he was a child again and unable to control the Force.

He hit the ground hard, vision slightly blurry.

It was mere reflex that had him bringing the voulge up to block the lunge of the guard.  He blocked each attempted swing desperately, his grip on his temporary weapon weakened due to the awkward position and constant assaults.

His head lolled to the side slightly, and his eyes caught on the handle of his saber.  

Trying to fight down the panic, trying to regain some semblance of control, Sherlock reached his hand out.

He was a dead man if he couldn’t rely on the Force.

Please.

The handle twitched and the blade went flying.

…Right past Sherlock’s hand, and into Lestrade’s waiting one.

///

John and Mary were panicking.

Read: Mostly John was panicking.

It had been over five minutes and they were still as stumped as they had been before.  Mary had taken to reading every single label for the switches (Luckily for them, Stormtroopers were bad at nearly everything, meaning that the labels for each switch was incredibly precise).  Unfortunately, however, there was simply such a multitude of switches that she was still nowhere near finishing.

John was in a corner muttering to himself.  Up until a minute before he had been reading the labels too, but then he suddenly stopped without explanation and took up an almost trance-like murmuring about the plan.

Mary was getting fed up with the useless play-by-play.

“This would go a lot quicker if you helped, you know.”

John blinked owlishly at her.  Her vocal intrusion seemed to finally break him of whatever spell he was under, but then he opened his mouth and hollowly said something that Mary never expected to hear.

“I think Sherlock’s dead.”

Mary froze, the words on her label suddenly spinning.  Then her head snapped towards John with horrified precision.  “What?”

John gulped, a shaking hand coming up to card through his hair.  “The, uh, Force, thing.  It- it-” He shook his head in an attempt to gain control of his actions.  “Someone powerful and important just died.  It was as though the Force cried out for a moment before settling.  I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Mary fought to keep control of her own panic.  “But we don’t necessarily know that it was Sherlock.  Couldn’t it have been the Supreme Leader?” She reasoned.  “He’s also powerful.”

But John merely shook his head.  “They were good in life.  Otherwise the Force wouldn’t have acted as it did.  I don’t know how I know that, but I just do.”

The weight of his words was crushing, and Mary felt as though the room they were in had just shrunk several feet.  “If he’s dead… then we’ve failed.  The Supreme Leader lives.”

But John was already spiralling into grief, his having said his fears aloud allowing them to solidify into as good as reality in his mind.

“He was my best friend,” His eyes were distant, ears unhearing.  “I didn’t know him that long, but he was my best friend.  And now he’s gone.”

Mary was having none of it though, her grief doing the opposite and surging through her with new-found determination.  She stepped forward and grabbed John’s shoulders, giving his loose frame a good shake to snap him out of it.

“Listen to me,” Her voice was steady, for which she was grateful.  “Perhaps he is dead, okay?  But that doesn’t mean that we are.  Not yet, at least.  And I can bet every last unit I have that he wouldn’t want us to give up now, you hear me? I believed in Sherlock Holmes,” Here her voice did crack, ever so slightly, “And now, we must live for Sherlock Holmes.  You understand?”

Despite the haze that settled behind his eyes, John nodded ever so slowly.

“Good,” Her bravado was slowly slipping away, so she turned around so that John wouldn’t see.  “Now let’s get back to work.”

///

A/N:  Okay, so a lot of that doesn’t make sense because I had to cut a lot to avoid spoilers, haha.  But if you want to read more (With a much more cohesive plot, I promise) please check out the full story.  It’s set post-original trilogy, and basically follows Sherlock from age 7 till age 27.  The first chapter is completely set at the Academy, with the second and third being set within two weeks of TFA and TLJ timelines.  Hope you guys enjoy!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282052/chapters/38077163

ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13078770/1/Instrument-of-Darkness

-AAG1D

[i-read-good-books]

yoi lotr au

this is from several centuries ago but i think i never made a tumblr post for it and it’s my favourite fic that i’ve written so you know fuck modesty ayy

Title: "The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky."

Word Count: 4k

Summary:  Critics have always considered "The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky." one of the most faithful descriptions of Legend Victor Nikiforov, the greatest elven fighter for more than eight centuries. Although it is narrated by Plisetsky as an adolescent, and thus contains strong language and spends more time ridiculizing his travelling companions than giving thoughtful insight into Nikiforov's psyche, it still remains as an essential reading in every scholar that decides to study Nikiforov [...] //

Day 95: Caught Nikiforov writing love poems. Am appalled at bad writing more than anything else. Example: “I really like your dark eyes / and all the other parts of your face. Your butt is the perfect size / and I would love to see you in lace.” Hope the Hobbit cannot read, or am afraid this love story will not have a pleasant ending.

Alternatively: Elf!Yuri talks shit about Elf!Victor and Hobbit!Yuuri in his diary.

Link to ao3: here

Actual fic under the cut:

"The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky."

Critics have always considered "The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky." one of the most faithful descriptions of Legend Victor Nikiforov, the greatest elven fighter for more than eight centuries. Although it is narrated by Plisetsky as an adolescent, and thus contains strong language and spends more time ridiculizing his travelling companions than  giving thoughtful insight into Nikiforov's psyche, it still remains as an essential reading in every scholar that decides to study Nikiforov, as Plisestky was his protégé and closest friend. It is also, admittedly, an incredibly honest read, compared to some stories that overglorify Nikiforov and paint him as overworldly. The beginning of his relationship with Yuuri Katsuki, famous hobbit adventurer, is also illustrated in the book.

- Excerpt from "Victor Nikiforov: Legend and Truth", by scholar and famous entertainer Minako Okukawa.

Day -24: Nikiforov barges into my room in the middle of the night, wearing a pink frilly nightdress that I am quite convinced belongs to Mila, and announces, terribly loud, “Yuri! I have found my next adventure!” Proceeds to leave the room immediately, leaving glitter on my floor. My brethren and I have had our sleep disturbed for no conceivable reason. If this happens to be similar to the Human Pleasure Device Incident, will slit Nikiforov’s throat in the night.

Day -23: Nikiforov appears to be convinced that his adventure will be worthwhile. He has promised me he will not request me to undress a human female again. I have politely asked him not to ever mention the Incident again. Might have to invest in more of my daggers, as they have proved to be extremely useful. Nikiforov cheerfully informs me this adventure will involve hobbits. Do not see how this is supposed to encourage me to join him in his mad tourist trips across Middle Earth. Will ask Mila if hobbits are edible. Am unsure if she will know either.

Day -22: Hobbits are not edible, Mila is a terrible tattle tale, and Yakov is considering bringing me to a “place with other elves your age, lad”. If I am found dead come morning, Grandfather, ensure my fellow warriors find a safe place.

Day -21: Nikiforov will not consider my polite request to “leave me the fuck alone”, and continues to bother me at weapons training with plans for his reckless endeavour. He tells me there’s a magic hobbit in the Shire who can attract ancient creatures. Am glad, maybe this hobbit will get devoured before Nikiforov tracks him down. It would be fortunate.

Day -20: The Devil Himself (Yakov, Grandfather, I mention him sparsely, as I rather dislike him. He is too loud and much too tall) has declared he considers the idea of me joining Nikiforov’s wild trips marvelous, instead of repugnant. Do not know if simply stupid or just senile. Will consider murdering him to avoid leaving. Rivendell is not terribly disgusting at this time of year, and my warriors are comfortable here.

Day -19: Got caught trying to sneak into The Devil’s chambers. Mila informs me that “killing is not nice, baby”. Am not a baby. Am nearly 50 years old, you wrench.

Day -17: Neither threats nor pleading have persuaded my instructors. Am supposed to leave in two days’ time to get to the hellhole called “The Shire” to kidnap a prepubescent hobbit and force him to do our bidding. Have informed Nikiforov this sounds remarkably like “sexual harassment”. Nikiforov replies that I should stop reading Mila’s psychology novels. Am offended. I only read them for the plot.

Day -16: Hobbits are apparently smaller than dwarves. Cannot wait to be taller than someone. Am properly excited.

Day -15: Nikiforov apparently packed his whole wardrobe for the journey. Cannot truly say I did not expect this. My warriors hide in my cape, ready to spring on unsuspecting enemies and claw their eyes out. They are not “so cute!” as Nikiforov implies. He is an ignorant, and must be eliminated as soon as possible.

Day -10: Nikiforov has run out of natural glitter. Have never seen someone so utterly devastated. Must make sure to steal the glitter more often back in Rivendell.

Day -5: Nikiforov tries to tell me about the mysterious hobbit we’re supposed to abduct and manipulate. He says I will be happy, because the hobbit is slightly younger than I am in human years. I tell him I will not be happy, because I will be with a hobbit. Nikiforov has nothing to say to that.

Day -3: Arrival at The Shire. It is disgustingly cheerful. Nikiforov tells me to “keep still” until he finds the our target. I tell him to “go fuck yourself”, and proceed to wander around the Shire. Have discovered that hobbits are, in fact, quite shorter than me. They also eat ridiculous amounts of food. I approve of both these facts. Have written down several interesting recipes for Grandfather to make when I am back in Mirkwood.

Day -2: Nikiforov comes back with our kidnapped hobbit. He does not look like much of a magical creature. He is also, indignantly, called “Yuuri”, which amuses NIkiforov to no end, and ignores my attempts at being at peace, alone , insisting that I eat far too little. Am astounded he thinks I consider his opinions about me relevant. Believe the disgusting hobbit and Nikiforov are carrying on an illicit love affair, if their repugnant longing looks are anything to go by. I fear for my virtue.

Day -1: Hobbit: “Well, Victor, I don’t -” Nikiforov: “Did you...did you just call me by my given name?” Hobbit, while an alarming shade of red: “I’m so sorry, please, excuse me -” Nikiforov, the same shade: “No, uh, it’s fine.” I wish for the sweet relief of death.

Day 0:  After a day of making eyes at Nikiforov, like only the blind do, Frighteningly Cheerful Hobbit invites us to sleep at his “hobbit hole” before our journey… I do not know what his “hole” refers to, and do not wish to know. Grandfather...hobbits are such deviants.

Day 1: We set off. Hobbit has forgotten his Pork Cutlet Bowl knife. We return to his “hole” (a type of house in the ground, I was mistaken, Grandfather, although it was painful for the height of the ceiling. Nikiforov, I am happy to say, was hurt much more badly than I was. But he did share a room with the Hobbit, which is a greater punishment than any creature needs) and get it. We set off once more. Nikiforov has forgotten his hairbrush. I throw one of my warriors at him to end his life. Warrior just meows. Am tired of this journey already.

Day 5: Have finally reached Bree. Easily Terrified Hobbit fidgets incessantly and clings to Nikiforov’s arm like a pest. He, disgustingly, seems to enjoy it immensely, smiling besottedly at the creature and making the hobbit get flustered in increasingly obvious ways. Have decided to find some poison in case they act any more smitten around each other. Bought food and blankets for my fellow warriors, although it was of an abysmally low quality. Strangely, miss Rivendell, in a It-was-terrible-but-familiar way. Must make sure to never grow attached to any place again.

Day 12: Hobbit has learnt about elven mealtimes, and is horrified. “How dare you, Victor?” he shouted at Nikiforov today, “Yuri is a child , he must be fed much more than this! I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible! How many meals does he have a day, huh? Huh?!” Nikiforov, looking terrified and backing up, even though he is almost twice the hobbit’s heights, replied, “Um...three, four times per day?” This is my only source of entertainment, Grandfather. The Hobbit is currently not speaking to him, refusing to even look at him, and treats me like a newborn elf, which offends me greatly. Am glad he has seen the light regarding Nikiforov, although he is completely mistaken. I am not a child, and do not need feeding.

Day 17: ....the Hobbit’s cooking is surprisingly edible. Am fine with being a child for him. Hope Mila never finds out. Must destroy all evidence. Hobbit is elated, and calls me “dear”. Must kill him, too.

Day 18: After reflecting on it for a day, cannot believe hobbits are so advanced in the culinary department. Although they lack many other attributes (like basic intelligence and a sense of common decency), they certainly have a great amount of talent and ingenuity regarding sustenance. Truly remarkable creatures, these hobbits, even if they are inferior to us. They eat seven meals a day, Grandfather. Must market this. Inform the Financial Advisor, Yuri Purrsetsky.

Day 19: As of today, have been attacked by orcs, most of them riding drooling wargs (utterly repulsive), trolls and several unpleasant inebriated humans. Nikiforov is ecstatic that Hobbit attracts them to us. The Hobbit does not look as pleased with the confrontations, and has resumed his desperate clinging to Nikiforov, apparently forgiving him for starving me. I enjoy myself while making clever jokes about how the hobbit should learn to handle Nikiforov’s “sword”, and cackle evilly when he flushes.

Day 35: Mila has sent me a letter. It says: “LOL VICTOR SAYS YOU EAT HOBBIT FOOD YOU FUCKING NERD”.  Nikiforov will die tonight. Am prepared to run from the law.

Day 48: Hobbit insists my brethren are “adorable”. I inform him it is a slight on his part, as they are fierce warriors who could kill him in his sleep. Warrior Dreaded Claw discredits me by purring while the Hobbit pets him. Feel betrayed by my comrades.

Day 50: The Hobbit keeps touching my warriors. Get your hands off them, you filthy mongrel .

Day 53: Nikiforov has joined the warrior shaming, most likely to get points from Hobbit, who is delighted someone supports him.  Nikiforov takes advantage of this by putting his hand on the Hobbit's shoulder and walking him everywhere to "get stuff for your kittens, Yuri!". Hobbit makes a point to coo every single time he sees me with my warriors. Am offended this behaviour is allowed to continue without any repercussions, and consider it a baseless infantilization of my noble and solemn partners. EDIT: Must remember to heat the milk I bought for Sharp Fang, as she is sensitive to cold liquids and too young to be risking her health.

Day 60: The Hobbit Yuuko (AKA The Least Unbearable Hobbit I Have Ever Met) has sent me a letter. It is three feet of parchment long, and she explains in great detail how goats are raised in different climates. Am unsure what she means by this. Will ask Hobbit if this is part of some sick courtship ritual between these creatures.

Day 62: Not As Annoying As Most Hobbits has sent another letter. Apparently, the first one was for somebody else. In my letter, she tells me how to take care of my “luscious, glorious hair, Yuri!” and gives me advice on proper elven fashion. ...do not know which of the two was worse.

Day 73: They have not kissed. They very pointedly do not sleep in the same tent. I can feel the gods’ anger. Cannot deal with the residual traces of sexual tension in the air. Am unable to sleep for fear of them starting to become... intimate while I find myself in deep slumber, ignorant of the horrors happening next to me. Am considering calling the Furry Wizard to take me in, such is my desperation.

Day 80: Fought a dragon. Meh, could’ve been better. Hobbit rewarded us for saving his life by giving us some of its Pork magic dish.

Day 95: Caught Nikiforov writing love poems. Am appalled at bad writing more than anything else. Example: “I really like your dark eyes / and all the other parts of your face. Your butt is the perfect size / and I would love to see you in lace.” Hope the Hobbit cannot read, or am afraid this love story will not have a pleasant ending.

Day 105: The Hobbit has sewn pockets into my Tiger Monster cape to keep my warriors there as we travel. Hobbit is extremely worried for my health and that of my brethren, so I allow him to live one more day. Must use him as blackmail against Nikiforov.

Day 110:  "I wonder about all the eros you can give me." The hobbit thinks this is an intercultural thing, and is blushing in a ridiculous manner. I am concerned about the education received in the Shire. I fear for Nikiforov’s blood pressure. Do not know if I will escape to a safe place before he inevitably jumps the Hobbit.

Day 117: Fifty Shades of Gandalf visits us. He says, “Victor Nikiforov, the greatest fighter in the realm, whose name is feared and revered alike. What is your destiny, what dream are you chasing with this strange ensemble of companions and felines?” Nikiforov tells him some bullshit about becoming his better self and chasing something to challenge himself. Am convinced he thought, “Getting da booty.”

Day 134: Am sitting on a moderately comfortable rock, because this is the luxury a young, outstanding elf can find near the Misty Mountains. The Very Hungry Hungry Hobbit comes up to me. “Yuri,” he says. He is clearly nervous, fidgeting and glancing around us to see if anyone is in the area. I understand this because the Hobbit is incapable of surviving on his own (it is a miracle he has reached his age without being murdered) and I feel for him, the same way I do for small rodents, cockroaches, or Victor Nikiforov. “Yuri,” he says again, while I daydream about squashing him immediately after making him reveal the ‘Most Glorious Katsudon’ recipe, “Do you think Victor likes me?”

I…

I am going back to Mirkwood.

I cannot be expected to stand this. I’m out. Grandfather, I’m coming back.

Day 141: “But, like. Do you think, um, an elf and a hobbit would like, work ? Cause, um, I’m just… very out of my depth? I really appreciate you listening to me, Yuri.” I hate my immortal existence.

Day 158: Yuuko The Most Tolerable Hobbit sends me a portrait of her minuscule hobbit triplets with straw in their head and wearing animal skins, and writes below it, They have a new idol! Am unsure if I should be pleased with this or not. Must write to them about how to improve their fashion skills. Hmmm. On second thought, might be a good idea to have some minions.

Day 173: Nikiforov has decided to teach the Hobbit how to dance, and thinks that the best way for it to go is to educate his worryingly tiny mate in some elven dancing and rites. He has failed to take into account that the Hobbit’s head barely reaches his waist. Watching them flail is the best fun I’ve had in ages.

Day 174: Nikiforov has decided that, since I am only slightly taller than the Hobbit (a fact that I am immensely proud of) we must dance together. Although I thought it terrible and meaningless at first, am now greatly entertained when Nikiforov flinches the moment I put my hands on the Hobbit. Cannot control the urge to smirk. The Hobbit is, of course, completely oblivious.

Day 192: Wake up to the sounds of the Unpleasant Hobbit moaning Victor's name. Proceed to whack them with a stick and scream, yelling profanities at them. Human raiders attack us because of it. I regret nothing.

Day 193: Hobbit is sheepish and refuses to make eye contact with me (good for him), flushing and turning away, giggling, every time That Wretched Elf touches him. Nikiforov, on the other hand, enjoys pulling his undershirt down to show the disgusting marks he left on him. Retreat to eat dinner with my brethren, huffing.

Day 206: “I hope you know that… it won’t change things, that me and Victor are together. I know you two are close, and I don’t want to get in the way of that, Yuri. It would be great if you could come to like me, too. I think you’re a great warrior, and an even better elf.” I fucking hate Hobbits and I do not tear up, no matter what Nikiforov claims. I long for the day I can murder him without repercussions.

Day 218: Nikiforov decides to adopt some rabbits. Do not know if Hobbit will be okay with having children so early into their relationship. My warriors are not unhappy with the development, although Obscure Fur is still on the fence about the bigger one.

Day 219: Hobbit grows a spine and makes Nikiforov release the rabbits. “Victor, they need to be free!” “But you let Yuri keep his kittens!” “They’re his family , Victor, and they are adorable !” Am growing to like the Hobbit more each day. What a pity that he is such an inferior creature.

Day 226: Nevermind. Must remember to always sleep with my whacking stick in hand to avoid a repeat. Will be scarred forever. Did not expect the Hobbit to be this... adventurous . Will stop thinking about the Hobbit in that context.

Day 248: "Yuuri, I...I think you've changed me. I've never felt like this before, never wanted to be with someone else so badly that my heart ached. You're...you're a shooting star across the dark night that is my life, lighting my path." "Uh...yeah, um, me too, Victor." Do not know how hobbits are still alive, if that is their standard reproductive behaviour. Will inform Grandfather not to invest in the hobbit gardening industry, as it might end in the near future because of hobbit shortage. My stick has been graced with another whacking, and Nikiforov coincidentally has another bruise, this time not because of his disgusting deviant tendencies, which are quite unbecoming of an elf of his breeding.

Day 253: I…

Another dragon found us today, while we were travelling. I was not worried, as I have grown used to Nikiforov handling every monstrous creature thrown our way without trouble. The Flamboyant Elf didn’t disappoint this time, of course, but he took longer than usual. Hobbit, in his stupid panic, tried to help. Hobbit...Yuuri (I might call him by his given name, as he might be dead by tomorrow) got injured. I… Saw Nikiforov crying for the first time. Do not want to see it again. Grandfather...have you seen this before? The way an elf fears for their mortal lover? Is this pain the one the stories talk about, woven in the songs? Will Nikiforov, too, die with the Hobbit? ...Will I be left alone?

Day 255: The Hobbit hasn’t woken up. Nikiforov does not leave his side. The ingredients for the past two nights’ dinner are still in the Hobbit’s bag, but I am not hungry. My brethren refuse to eat, as well. That wretched Hobbit should die, as stupid and careless as he is. He will do nothing but bring us grief.

Day 279: After weeks of fever and incessant worrying, the Hobbit is once again healthy.  I tell him it would be a shame if he died before I could torture him to punish him for his misdeeds and insults to my person. He insists on fussing over me, as I am, apparently “too skinny, oh god, did Victor even feed you?”. His desire to take care of me (as if I needed it, the self-centered bastard) must wait, given the fact that Nikiforov hasn’t let go of him for the past twelve hours. Am shocked and repulsed to find that I do not find it as disgusting as I once did. Must be a side effect of living with these deviants.

Day 284: Send poison, Grandfather, I beg of you. My dutiful army of terrifying kittens, it is time to fulfill our destiny and end the suffering in this world. I cannot bear this any longer. Grandfather, you might be disappointed in me if I become a murderer, fleeing the law and taking refuge in the dwarven mountains, but I will not witness the Irritatingly Red Hobbit feeding Victor that Precious Katsudon once more. No more .

Day 290: The Hobbit insists on us visiting the Shire for some time. He says he must give news to his family, and it has been too long since he was home. Nikiforov immediately agreed with the Hobbit and disregarded my protests, because he is whipped. Heard the Hobbit talking about introducing Nikiforov to his family. Am slightly impressed with how manipulative he can be.

Day 302: One of my warriors gave birth to more of our troops last night. Hobbit is delighted, and helps me care of them. I watch him carefully to make sure he does not try to harm them, although I doubt he has enough of a brain to have ulterior motives. Nikiforov enjoys teasing me about them, “Weren’t they supposed to be fearsome warriors who needed no assistance, Yuri?” I retort with, “Weren’t you supposed to be pretty , Nikiforov? People lie.”

Day 305: Nikiforov is still sulking about the comment I made. Hobbit tries to reassure him he is pretty with an endless stream of compliments, and kisses an unnecessary amount of times in my presence. I do my best to ignore them, and fantasize about  tearing them apart limb by limb.

Day 317: Have finally arrived at the Shire, and am quite excited to see Yuuko, The Almost Pleasant Hobbit once more. Perhaps will enjoy my time with my “fans”, the triplets. Have received a letter from Mila. It reads: “Is it true Victor’s banging that Hobbit? Omg, take pictures!”. Did not reply.

Day 319: I take all my nice words about my fans back.Children are demons and I cannot wait to leave the Shire. Why must they exist? When I voiced my complaints to Nikiforov, who looks like an extremely suspiciously happy elf after leaving  Bumbling Fool Hobbit's room in the morning, he cackles very unattractively and says, "But you are a child, Yuri." Grandfather, this is harassment.

Day 321: Have caught a ‘cold’ from the fiendish triplets. I fear for my life. Grandfather, it has been good knowing you. Must say goodbye to my brethren. Wish to die surrounded by them, in proper elvish attire, while Nikiforov’s body burns on a spike.

Day 324: The Hobbit has established himself as my own physician, and pretends to know any knowledge about basic medicine while sharing his observations with an actual medical professional in the Shire. Have made peace with the Hobbit’s overwhelming stupidity. Nikiforov tries to  help, but Hobbit hisses at him and possessively calls me “his patient”. Am overjoyed that this makes the Drama Queen Elf pout.

Day 328: Am feeling much better, and do not think I will die soon. Yuuko brings me pie, which I feel is the least I deserve after her devilish children got me infected.

Day 330: Today, the Bondage Wizard With A Pointy Hat came to the Shire. He informed us that the Hobbit  does not in fact attract any magical creatures at all, and it was all his doing. Therefore, this journey was a road to self-realization (except I somehow got strung along. Funny how it is never wizards that get caught up in “destiny”.). Nikiforov looks slightly annoyed, but is disgustingly happy with the Hobbit. I am not blinded by these trivial matters, and proceed to whack the Bondage Wizard with my stick. Cannot believe I wasted a year of my life on this useless adventure. Will be back soon, Grandfather.

Day 373: Am back in Rivendell. Mila is calling herself “a huge Nikatsuki shipper”, which could possibly be her new cult name. Yakov yells at me, which is normal. Miss the Hobbit’s cooking, if not his presence. Definitely do not miss Nikiforov, not in the slightest.

Day 458: Have received an invitation to the Hobbit and Nikiforov’s wedding. Have advised Mila to bring arsenic in case they engage in intimate activities while in the presence of others. Will consider taking Grandfather with me, so he can inspect the culinary developments in the Shire. Yuuko says the couple is “so adorable, Yuri!”. Poor deluded hobbit.

fin