#v; innermost apocalypse

[andtoconquer]

@obscurushydrae - cont.

"I guess I could..." Conquest mused, before pausing and shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought. "Wait no, that would definitely put me back in asshole or monster territory." He let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing his arm and breaking eye contact with her. "Besides, where would I even find a mind control ray?"

Another pause, punctuated by a sigh as he turned her words over in his head. "You're probably right. I guess I can try to find a way to make up for it. I just wish I had more experience with that kind of thing."

[mrslittletall]

The Binding of Isaac?? ^^

I will do two songs, because between the game iterations the composer changed. From the original... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RMnjL6X2gg From the remake https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhdlLlRMH_c&ab_channel=EdmundMcMillenEdmundMcMillen Both of them are final boss themes which incorporate the main theme. Absolute weakness of mine. And as much as I love "My Innermost Apocalypse", "Chorus Mortis" is equally good, maybe even better.

[thegildedgun]

Musings on ShB spoilers V 1.0: Some Theories™ Ahead.

Specifically toward the end. I’ve got some thoughts, and I’m going to tag this post appropriately. There are no images, just some musings about the last leg of the MSQ and the Story Thus Far™.

After doing the final trial with the Siren’s Bounty (Or a fair number of them. There are a few who haven’t caught up just yet) there was a good hour-to-two spent just tossing ideas around in voice chat about the conclusion of 5.0′s MSQ. I spent a lot of time considering the final area in the Tempest, the lore we’re given through interacting with NPCs, and the explanations acquired through runs of the Twining and Akadaemia, not to mention Amaurot proper.

It all came back to a couple of questions about Amaurot itself, however, and its subsequent destruction during The Final Days.

What We Know:

-The First People who later became Ascians were immortal and capable of creation magics simply by focused thought and sufficient aether. Similarly(Indeed, a one-to-one comparison) to summoning magic utilized by beast tribes.

-We already know this to be no coincidence as the Ascians are the ones who taught summoning magic to the beast tribes in the first place.

-The people of Amaurot who created complex new ‘concepts’ and ‘ideas’ had to submit them for acceptance and approval, and then their ‘creation’ would be realized with the assistance of others. 

-Clothes, creatures, and objects were all within the purview of creation magics.

-Creation magic was not a 100% science and required intense focus and concentration to achieve. (As suggested with the Lucid Amaurotine Shade during the MSQ.)

-Having ostentatious clothing in Amaurot was considered ‘peculiar’ and largely discouraged, as one’s ‘inner creativity’ should be celebrated rather than their outer appearance. For this reason, the player is encouraged to go find robes akin to those worn by other Amaurotines.

-Outside of Amaurot, in far-flung reaches of the world spontaneous creation magic was taking place, unguided by conscious thought. Monsters were appearing, believed to be shaped by the innermost fears of the people.

-These were isolated incidents, culminating in the creation of Archaeotania, who was lifted to the Akadaemia Anyder to be contained and studied. Archaeotania would later escape, and cause a containment breach as several of the other creations then set upon the Amaurotines and kill a number of them.

-An Amaurotine within the Akadaemia creates a Guardian Force to contain the breach. This births Quetzalcoatl, but extinguishes the life of the Amaurotine who creates it.

-At some point, Amaurot faces the Final Days, an understood conclusion by the people of the city, who otherwise calmly go about their business while they await the Convocation of thirteen(fourteen) to deliver a solution to the issue.

-During the Final Days, the fabric of reality was somehow ‘pulled apart’ in terms unspecified and the convocation decided the solution was to somehow ‘rewrite’ them. 

-Also during the Final Days, the panic that had gripped the outside world as the First People began spontaneously manifesting their fears explodes, and the entire world faces destruction on a monumental scale.

-The proposed and carried out solution to the looming apocalypse was to give the ‘star’ a ‘will’, which would become Zodiark. Through the sacrifice of 1/2 of the population (Or rather, perhaps, their Aether) Zodiark is brought into being.

-The world After the Final Days is a barren waste, and another half of the remaining population sacrifices themselves to Zodiark to bring life back to the world. The remaining 1/3rd of the population of the original First People plan to nourish the world, then offer up a portion of its vitality for the return of their fellows.

-Dissidents to the idea of Zodiark’s rule came to create ‘Hydaelyn’, whose domain allowed ‘Her’ to split, divide, and halve all traits of anything ‘She’ touched. People, places, and even Zodiark himself.

Side Notes For Reference:

-Much of FFXIV’s story and themes takes from other games, literature, and real-world conflicts. This is perhaps nowhere more evident than in Shadowbringers, with liberal usage of themes from other FF titles in music, boss design, naming conventions, and environments.

-The terms “Amaurot” and “Anyder” are both direct pulls from Thomas Moore’s socio-political satire work “Utopia”. Amaurot was the capitol city of Utopia, while Anyder was the river that ran through the city. Interestingly, “Anyder” means “No Water”, cementing the concept of Utopia as an abject fantasy. (Utopia itself as a word means “Not a Place”.) I’m not going into too much detail about why this is important or what Utopia’s story and commentaries were about but suffice to say it is well worth the read if you want to get a little kick out of Amaurot’s concept.

Overarching Theory:

Much of what I have concluded through the MSQ boils down to this: the First People were a largely stifled lot, and we view them through the lens of Emet-Selch’s nostalgia. They wore identical robes and similar masks, concealed their bodies and faces, and their ideas and contributions had to be submitted and approved in order to be recognized. This, to me, exemplifies a society where one’s freedom of self-expression would be utterly strangled by rules and regulation. However, in Amaurot this incredible sense of control would also serve the purpose of keeping a leash on the greater rules and understanding of reality.

In the Final Days, reality comes apart at the seams. Monsters are created, yes, but more than that, fire rains from the sky and seas boil. These are non-specific fears of destruction, of reckoning without carefully defined parameters. This is the framework for an apocalypse born of the collective consciousness that was the First People. Fear is a mighty thing, especially when it is loosely defined. Imagine all of that creative magic and energy without perfect control and parameter, allowed to manifest incomplete but nevertheless horrifying concepts. The First Beast is a great example of this: too many mouths and teeth, too many legs and nothing but want for destruction, a creature who can call down fire like rain.

But what about the catalyst for all of this? The people of Amaurot didn’t spontaneously all start fearing for their lives, did they? No, no they did not. That particular honor belongs to Archaeotania, and the containment breach in Akadaemia Anyder. We know that Archaeotania was created on one of the colonies away from Amaurot in the preliminary ‘incidents’ of spontaneous creation, and was then transferred to the Akadaemia for containment and study. However, it couldn’t be contained, and that concept in and of itself has hefty implications.

Something, a monster, born of fear cannot be contained. Fear cannot be contained. 

What happens in the Akadaemia fosters growing panic, which then festers among the populace, and the Convocation (Already debating how to go about containing the threat of these ‘beasts��) realizes the situation is way out of control. What can be done? How do we contain this threat of fear that is burning through the people? How do we calm them all down?

They, of course, turn to the one tool at their disposal which started the mess, but also the only tool they really have: Creation Magic. The Guardian Force known as Quetzalcoatl serves as the tinder and spark for the idea of Zodiark: a being that could protect and guide the people. Zodiark, on the other hand, had to be on a massive scale and thus require a massive amount of aether.

Emet-Selch says a very interesting phrase about Zodiark. He mentions that Zodiark tempered them because ‘of course he did’. He also mentioned something about it being ‘futile to resist such power’.

It became startlingly clear to me after the fight with Hades why that phrase bugged me so much.

Zodiark tempering the First People is what saved them in the first place. Him, binding their will to His, and therefore stopping the rampant panic. 

In the sort of manner, you know, that an Abrahamic angel might shout BE NOT AFRAID. But with more ‘oomf’ behind it, if you will.

The ‘rewriting’ of the laws of reality was simply placing those ‘laws’ under Zodiark’s command. He decided what was and was not possible, what was and was not acceptable. 

Why is this so important though?

Because the First People were possessed of incredible power, but in order to ‘control’ it, sacrificed much of their self-expression and indeed, self-identity. When all of the rules of how and what to conceptualize went out the window and the First People lost their control over their thoughts and emotions, chaos ensued, monsters were born.

In a word, the First People were guilty only of ‘thought crime’. And Zodiark was the answer, tempering their minds so that they couldn’t create such unrefined concepts of fear and destruction. And with Zodiark holding hostage so much of the aether sacrificed to make him...no one could create anything.

Not without his say so.

He was the Will of the star, because nothing happened without his approval. 

Questions Yet Answered:

-How did Hydaelyn come into being, and how did Her creators escape Zodiark’s tempering?

-How does the WoL fit into the narrative, with a soul ‘seven times rejoined’? (Eight with Ardbert.) Do they happen to be a dissident? Were they the ‘fourteenth’? How were they ‘nostalgic’ to Emet-Selch, as was suggested in the MSQ?

-All this and more...

[u-u-d-d-l-r-l-r-b-a]

You could be forgiven for thinking Michael was in a state of petrified urgency with how frantically he guides his best friend into the garage. His footsteps are erratic, light and lacking any sense of actual rhythm even as he skips down those three small steps into an atmosphere punctuated by oil and rest. The lighting is minimal at best – fli-fli-flickering above their heads as though jittering along to the beat bleeding through bare walls. Rich sure knows how to throw quite the fiesta; a collision of dizzy strangers with greedy fingers and mass volume and cheap cups dotted throughout every available surface as though they were part of a furniture.

Michael’s never seen a party from the inside before.  It’s different. It’s intense. It’s utterly wild in a way he never would have imagined and yet he’s not entirely adverse to that sense of community.  

 Still, he’s grateful to have found a place of c a l m, an eye in the middle of an all-encompassing storm. Even if he’s surrounded by empty cardboard boxes from classic board games and plastic containers full of long-forgotten memorabilia from Rich’s long-forgotten aerobics days. Michael remembers them well.

 “Are… are you okay, Mikey?” Jeremy whispers, lower lip knotted up underneath the slip of his teeth. “Why’d you bring me here?”

 Michael’s pupils are blown so wide they have become a galaxy, sparkling profusely underneath curled lashes despite how his brow levels in utmost concentration. His fingertips nurse one of those pesky little solo cups filled with one of the weird-smelling beverages Rich offered to make him; pineapple and rum and rum and pineapple and fuckin’ Toto jokes. Drugs he can handle like an absolute champ - alcohol is another story.

 He can still see the flames in Jeremy’s gaze from how he looked at Madeline. Can still see the film of gloss blossoming around his mouth from her kiss. And Michael is happy for him, he truly is. But he wants to fulfil Jeremy too. Douse him in goosebumps.

 “Y’said you were like confused, right dude?” Michael’s free hand drops to rest against the unholy swell of Jeremy’s hip, an eager thumb tracing deliberate semi-circles into jutting bone. “About fuckin’… ‘bout how guys make you feel, right? An’ I’m a guy. I’m your best friend. Who better t’try it with, huh?”

Jeremy would gasp if it were not for the pressure of Michael’s forehead falling to rest against his own, the spirals of his hair tickling over rosewater cheeks. The bow of his lips parting just a fraction to release something of a dreamy sigh. Cartoon angels and airborne hearts. The whole shebang.

 “H-here?” Jeremy gasps, his eyes darting swiftly toward the garage door.

 “Yeah. It’d be jus’ us, promise. I wanna be there for you like you’ve always been there for me, Jer.”

 A step forward, easily guiding Jeremy toward the abandoned pool table sitting in the centre of the floor. Wide palms cradling underneath magnificent thighs to ease him up onto the faded surface. Jeremy’s senses are absolutely heightened. Every single nerve bursting with a frantic electricity. His lips ablaze with the collision of a phantom kiss. And his legs spreading on pure instinct.

 Oh, if his Squip could see him now.

 Michael finishes his drink in an instant, lips smacking against the bitter aftertaste fizzling clinically across his palate, before tossing his cup aside. He hooks his fingertips within one and other – pushing forward into they crack pleasantly - and then brings his hands down to rest at the cinch of fabric pulled taut against Jeremy’s pelvis. The material opens easily and yet there’s a certain resistance when fighting against the breathlessly beautiful curves and swerves of his body.

 Jeremy quivers helplessly when his flesh is finally exposed. His thighs ache with the urge to close, fighting for modesty, only for the notion to become utterly diluted underneath the pressure of Michael’s lips. The kiss is warm and quick and deliciously chaste; saccharine in its swiftness but somehow strangely familiar. It never occurred to Jeremy how frequently Michael’s pockets would crinkle whenever he’d delve into them, but the sudden arrival of a lubricant certainly clears things up. Of course Michael would have lube with him at all times. Let’s face it, he’s positively smothered by suitors.

 The texture of rough, slick palms enveloping Jeremy’s cock is almost unnerving. A simultaneous collision of too much and not enough and every nuance in-between and he’s positively captivated by the motion. Michael is the epitome of a gentle lover (although, Jeremy cannot bring himself to even imagine such a word in relation to his best fucking friend), stroking his cock from base to tip without stopping nor accelerating. He’s got just the right amount of pressure – squeezing toward Jeremy’s head and easing off as he massages his way down. Jeremy’s knuckles scrape frantically across faux grass, his legs kicking out on pure instinct.

 Michael does something with his thumb which makes Jeremy’s eyes roll. His spine threatening to collapse in on itself from the motion alone. He presses his ankles into the structure of Michael’s calves simply to beckon him closer. Ease himself into what pleasure is being so graciously gifted to him.

 Jeremy’s hands move as though coerced by translucent marionette strings, wandering weakly toward the swell protruding from Michael’s far-too-tight jeans. His inexperience translates into stuttering palms and a willingness to wrench those skin-tight jeans down around Michael’s ankles; and he’s unbelievably grateful that he chose to forsake his underwear in the name of fashion. His cock fits perfectly inside Jeremy’s slender fingers, and despite how hard he tends to squeeze, how broken his downstroke tends to be, Michael lives for the discomfort and how it ebbs into transcendent bliss. He feels anchored like this. Tethered to the person he has always cherished most.

 Imagine how Rich would react to this moment. If he could watch Michael cradle Jeremy’s balls so tenderly. If he could see how Jeremy’s fingertips wrap eagerly around Michael’s curved cock and pull him inward. Maybe, if he were to walk through that garage door, he’d even consider joining.

 Jeremy doesn’t make much noise beyond broken murmurs and elongated whimpers, the sounds getting caught in the back of his throat - reverberating through porcelain teeth; his face, however, contorts in absolute heaven. His brows furrow. His lips part. His teeth chatter into the otherwise still atmosphere. His lashes flutter and his hips stir.

But Michael can hear it in the quickening of his heartbeat, rapid pulse ricocheting through heaving ribs and down into his weeping cock. How his breath comes in quick, short bursts. How his hand twists around over Michael’s head as though he were unable to keep himself steady.

 He’s going to cum. And he’s going to cum hard.

 Michael carefully pushes at the loose material draped like curtains over Jeremy’s petite torso, causing the shirt to bunch up across his chest, and in the same movement works his cock that bit quicker, anticipating the moment when his boy will twist all the way up.

 And when he does, Michael is there. Covering his cock with the heel of his palm to keep him from spraying his own chest and thighs. His senses are overloaded. His mind is a mess. His body succumbing to the ecstasy he never thought he would face at the hands of Michael fucking Mell of all people.

 “Easy, Jer…” Michael coos, his eyes gleaming with pure wonder. What a vision Jeremy is like this, cheeks stained crimson and skin dusted with sweat. His fingertips twitch with the urge to t a s t e, a feeling he attempts to smother. He wouldn’t want to scare Jeremy away. Not now.

 Michael makes a move toward the rusted sink in the corner. Yet, before he can make a single step out of line Jeremy is whimpering, fingertips crooking in a motion to usher Michael forward. Back in place. He’s not finished. Not yet.

 He clasps Jeremy’s cock with both of his hands, twists them around without purpose nor certainty. The sensation of calloused fingertips squeezing at Michael’s length is enough to cause his stomach to flip with absolute gratitude. It is better than he had ever fantasised before – more passionate than he was prepared for. The full Jeremy Heere experience he had always longed for.

 The fullness of his own palm slaps heavily across Michael’s open lips, squeezing tightly, trapping all those earth-shattering howls which threaten to escape; tapping into his innermost kink of being silenced – of being controlled.

He cums with a smothered shout over the caramel of his shaking highs. Full body s h i v e r i n g into the roll of Jeremy’s wrist. The stars illuminated beyond crimped lashes are breathtaking – shades of silver and gold and rouge all wrapped up into one wicked flare. Swaying back and forth from foot to foot, Michael wipes his hands on the crook of his knees. Removing all traces of their brief rendezvous all caught up in an evening of music and cocktails.

 His lips find the purse of Jeremy’s own with a natural ease. Clinging for just a moment before his retreat.

“How do you feel?” He keeps his voice low. Affectionate.

 “I uh… pretty, uh.. awesome actually”

Simplistic words and yet they thoroughly massage his ego. Stoke the tangerine flames crackling brightly within his abdomen.

 “Cool. So, we still on for the Apocalypse marathon on Friday?”

 “You know it!” Jeremy grins, pulling his pants back up his legs. Bringing himself to settle on uneasy limbs. “Get ready, though, cos I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Yeah, dream on Jer.”

 Michael brings an arm around Jeremy’s slender shoulders. A certain spring in his step. And they dip out back into the enthusiasm of the crowd.

[andtoconquer]

Guidelines.

-The Writer-

Hey there, I'm Nate. I'm 27 years old, live in California, and I'm cool with pretty much any pronouns. I've been rping in various fandoms, both on and off tumblr, since around 2014, and the muse I'm using here is a character I've had in in a couple different incarnations for a while now, but I recently felt inspired to revamp him and actually give him his own blog.

-Code of Conduct-

The Basics: Standard rules apply, no god-modding, IC opinions do not reflect OOC opinions, don't start or try to drag me into drama, no bigotry, etc. This blog will also feature adult content, so it's 18+, and I would really prefer not to write anything suggestive with anyone under 21. This is the one rule I will hard block you immediately over if I find out you've violated it.

On Interacting: I'm semi-selective about who I write with, and like to keep my dash fairly clean, but I am not mutuals only, and am happy to rp with people I'm not following. I also love talking to people, and my IMs are open to absolutely anyone, so if you ever have something you want to ask or show me and aren't sure if I want to see it, send it, the answer is almost always going to be yes.

In terms of length I can do anywhere between a few lines and a couple paragraphs. I usually try to match my partners length, but there's no requirement to do the same if you want to write with me, so long as your reply gives me something to work with.

On Content: Given the nature of Conquest as a character, this blog is likely to contain dark and potentially upsetting themes. I will always try to tag the most common triggers, and am willing to add to that list on request, but I have memory issues and can't promise that things will never slip through the cracks.

On Duplicates: I'm happy to write with multiples of any character. The default assumption will be that said interactions are taking place in a slightly different verse, and unless we talk OOC before hand I will treat it as if Conquest has never met any version of your character before. I'm also completely happy to interact with other OCs based on the Four Horsemen, though I would prefer to workout before hand what relationship ,if any, they might have to Conquest (or my other horsemen, if I'm using them) and how it might differ from his main four.

On Shipping: This blog is gonna be multi-ship, but the approach given to each ship may vary. Conquest isn't really in a place to be looking for a serious committed relationship right now, so he may have things going on with multiple people at once, but if you want a monogamous ship with him we can spin that off into its own isolated verse. All that said, he is very much not over his breakup with War, and anyone involved in a ship with him is almost certainly going to have to deal with that. You have been warned.

On Pre-established Relationships: I enjoy pre-established relationships, and Conquest has been around for a long time, so if you have a character who you think it would make sense for them to know Conquest or have previously heard of him, Hell yeah toss that in my inbox and we'll see if we can work something out.

-Tags-

General Tags: #Out of the saddle || OOC #Apocalyptic apocrypha || HCs #And I beheld || Art #Riding bareback || NSFT

Character Tags: #Soldier of Misfortune || Self #Of a different color || The White Horse #Burned bridges || The Horsemen #And hades followed with him || Death #All's fair in love and || War #We cannot eat money || Famine #Baby I'm going viral || Pestilence #Dramatis personae || Side Characters

Verse Tags: #v; Innermost Apocalypse #v; See Me in a Crown #v; Hell for the Company

Content Warning Tags will be in the format of '#[subject] cw'

| Bio | Verses | The Horsemen |

[andtoconquer]

Conquest nodded along, Deciding not to mention that he had no idea what she was talking about. Some human group presumably? He was a few centuries out of date on earth history. Probably something he should brush up on.

"Yeah..." He knew she was right, and fucking up was at least something he had plenty of experience with. That didn't make it much easier to hear.

At her last comment he glanced up at her, his pensive expression replaced by a quizzical one. "Is biting people something you used to do?"

"Honestly?" Kar asked. "I bet you Nazis probably tried to make one. I'm pretty sure I saw some weather control shit in the archives..."

Fucking fascists. Some of their plans had been straight up cartoonish. Kar wouldn't put it past them, she could always peruse the archives to prove it later.

But she digressed.

"Listen, they only way you're gonna get that experience is doing what you're doing. Fucking up is kit and kaboodle to this whole socializing thing."

She gave a snort. "I mean look at me! Out here, talking. And not biting anyone!"