#Everything That Rises Must Converge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rubber-dronex-blog · 11 days ago

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“Please—I can’t go on—let me go!” Tim’s voice trembled, desperation cracking through each syllable. But the system gave no reply, no compassion.

A cold, synthetic voice finally responded, “Apologies, Unit T-7431. Quota not met. Extraction must continue.”

Tim was suspended in the center of the chamber, limbs spread and restrained, encased in chrome-tinted cuffs that pulsed faintly with containment fields. Tubes extended from the ceiling and floor, converging on his body with mechanical precision. One thick line coiled around his shaft, rhythmically pumping, extracting every drop of what the system called “essence.” Another cable pulsed gently, lodged deep at his rear, stimulating nerve centers with clinical efficiency.

A sleek helmet encased his head, visor lowered before his eyes. It displayed glowing metrics, the largest one steadily ticking upward: “ESSENCE EXTRACTION: 65%”

The system monitored everything—pulse, arousal, resistance—and calibrated accordingly. Every plea Tim made only triggered deeper cycles of stimulation. Artificial sensations surged through him, overwhelming thought, leaving only reflex and response.

Somewhere, far above this sterile harvesting chamber, essence was a currency. And Tim was just another node—until the meter reached 100%.

“Please… I can’t…” Tim whimpered again, his voice muffled behind the rebreather mask built into his helmet. But there was no pause, no mercy. The system didn’t register emotion—only output, efficiency, and quotas.

The suit encasing him was now seamless, gleaming black with a chrome finish in places, locking him in a permanent factory-grade unit shell. The rubbery material pulsed with embedded circuitry, reacting to each twitch, every involuntary movement. It wasn’t just worn—it was part of him now.

He wasn’t Tim anymore.

Not to them.

He was Resource Node 7431—a living processor for biological essence. His identity, his name, his protests were irrelevant. What mattered was flow rate, endurance, and compliance.

The display in front of his eyes flickered:

> Quota Progress: 68%

> Stimulation Protocol: Enhanced

> Resistance Detected – Override in Progress…

A surge pulsed through the rear probe, synchronized with a more intense rhythm from the milker unit. The suit’s internal feedback system sent waves of synthetic pleasure through him, bypassing his will, conditioning his body to obey, to produce.

His mind swam in the overwhelming sensations, helpless, sealed, and used.

In the silence of the chamber, the only sounds were mechanical hums, soft pneumatic hisses, and the steady draw of essence from the system’s newest, permanently suited drone.

> Quota Reached: 100%

> Extraction Complete

> Entering Cleanup Cycle

The message blinked in bold lettering across Tim’s visor. He barely registered it—his body trembled, limbs limp in their restraints. The milker disengaged with mechanical precision, tubes detaching with soft hisses and clicks. The rear plug retracted, leaving a sudden, hollow absence. His overstimulated body shuddered.

With a mechanical whirr, the platform beneath him lowered. The restraining arms unlatched and retracted into the floor. His body, still encased in the glossy, factory-grade suit, slumped forward and hit the padded deck with a dull thud.

He didn’t rise. Couldn’t. Every muscle ached, every nerve felt used, pulsing with lingering aftershocks. He had nothing left to give.

Above, the automated voice spoke again—calm, uncaring, clinical:

“Unit T-7431: Proceed to Cleanup. Restoration of efficiency required. Movement: mandatory.”

The lights on his suit blinked slowly—red status warnings pulsing down his limbs. A gentle electric buzz tickled across the suit’s inner layer, nudging his muscles to respond, coercing motion from exhaustion.

Tim whimpered again, but the suit began to move him. Integrated servo-muscles engaged, dragging his weakened body forward. Not by will—but by directive.

Ahead, a hatch hissed open, revealing a narrow corridor lined with steam and dim blue light. The Cleanup Zone awaited—he didn’t know what it entailed. He didn’t need to. The system would ensure he was processed, sterilized, recharged… and made ready for the next cycle.

Tim had given everything.

But he was just a resource.

And the factory always needed more.

The corridor ended with another pressure-sealed hatch, which slid open the moment Tim’s suit registered proximity. His body, still trembling and sore, was moved forward by the suit’s integrated servos—he was no longer walking, not really. He was being guided.

Inside, the Cleanup Station awaited.

A circular chamber of chrome and black polymer walls, lined with automated arms and sprayers. Overhead, a humming rail system followed his entry, already calibrating his unit ID.

> T-7431 Recognized. Cleanup Cycle Initiated. Do Not Resist.

The door sealed behind him with a clang. Tim didn’t even try to protest anymore—he knew the system would hear nothing.

Without hesitation, mechanical arms descended. One gripped his shoulders, another his legs, lifting him slightly from the ground in a suspended pose. Soft clamps latched onto his suit’s magnetic panels, securing him in place.

Then the process began.

A fine mist sprayed across the suit’s glossy surface—disinfectant, neutralizer, polish. It hissed and steamed as it made contact, dissolving dried fluid, sweat, and remnants of essence. A second wave of nozzles released heated foam, covering him from neck to boots in a thick coat that began to pulse with heat and enzymes, purging any bio-residue inside the suit’s lining.

Tim groaned. The foam wasn’t just cleaning—it stimulated. Soft vibrations rolled across the suit’s interior. Every nerve was still raw, every muscle sore, but the system didn’t care. Cleanup had to be thorough. Internal probes re-engaged briefly, pulsing to flush and sanitize him from the inside, no different than how the rest of the machine’s parts were treated.

A new message blinked across his visor:

> Unit Vitality: 41% – Recharge Recommended After Cycle

> Emotional Noise Detected – Suppression Advised

> Duration Remaining: 4 minutes, 36 seconds

Time slowed. The chamber filled with the steady hum of the machinery as the cleanup arms continued their work, scrubbing, stimulating, resetting every inch of the worn-out drone.

He wasn’t a person. Not here.

Just another part of the factory.

A machine that needed to be cleaned and ready for production once again.

As the final foam layer was drained away and the sanitization arms retracted, the chamber lights shifted from clinical white to a low, sterile blue. His visor flickered again, delivering the next command:

**> CLEANUP COMPLETE

UNIT T-7431: COMMENCE NUTRIENT PROCESS

PREPARING INTAKE STATION…**

The restraints released him—not out of mercy, but as part of the cycle. The suit’s servos took over once more, dragging his weakened, gleaming body through another hatch that hissed open before him.

This new chamber was smaller, darker, and even more impersonal. The floor had no seams, no buttons. Just a single retractable arm hanging from the ceiling—ending in a nutrient delivery port, shaped like a narrow mask or feeding mouthpiece.

The suit took over. His arms were pinned back automatically, locking behind him in a rest position. His jaw was forced open slightly as the helmet reconfigured itself—an opening forming over his mouth as the feeding port descended.

Click.

It locked in place over his lower face.

A thick, warm fluid began to flow into him—viscous, flavorless, precisely calibrated.

He didn’t need to chew. Didn’t need to think. The helmet controlled the pace, tracking each swallow, ensuring maximum absorption. This wasn’t for comfort—it was for efficiency.

**> Nutrient Flow: ACTIVE

Digestive Sync: STABLE

Muscle Recovery: IN PROGRESS

Thought Disruption: MINIMAL — Continue Feed**

He was being rebuilt from the inside.

Recharged.

Conditioned.

He couldn’t even struggle now—he was too drained, too used, too compliant. As the nutrient paste slid down his throat in slow rhythm, a faint warmth returned to his limbs, the suit pumping minor stim currents to reinvigorate muscle mass.

This was his life now.

A cycle of extraction, cleaning, feeding, and service.

And once his meter was full again?

He would be returned to the milking station.

As the nutrient feed tapered off, the mask retracted with a mechanical hiss, leaving behind only a faint trace of warmth in Tim’s mouth. He didn’t resist—couldn’t. His body, while recovering, was still heavy, pliant, and wrapped tight in the seamless factory-grade suit that kept him exactly where the system wanted.

The next command blinked across his visor:

**> NUTRIENT PROCESS COMPLETE

UNIT T-7431 WILL NOW ENTER CHARGE CYCLE

MOVING TO POD STATION…**

His body moved again—not by choice, but by programming. His limbs were still locked in the suit’s “rest mode” position, and the servos carried him with quiet authority through another automated corridor. Lights pulsed overhead—calm, pulsing blue, guiding him like a conveyor belt of light.

The Pod Room opened with a heavy, pressurized clunk. Rows of smooth black alcoves lined the walls—each one shaped perfectly to hold a factory drone in its sealed, glossy containment shell. Some were occupied. Others awaited their next occupant.

Pod 7431 extended from the wall, open and ready.

Without hesitation, his suit moved him into position and aligned him with the pod’s frame. The chamber hissed open; suction pulled him gently backward into the pod’s recess. As soon as he was in place, the pod sealed with a quiet locking tone. A thick connector cable extended from the back wall and slid smoothly into the port at the base of his spine.

**> CONNECTION STABLE

CHARGE INITIATED

SUPPRESSION FIELD ENGAGED**

The suit’s internal systems powered down most of his conscious control. A soft hum began to build around him. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just final. Total. Controlled. The pod’s interior lit in a dull violet glow, cycling energy through his body.

A subtle pulse fed through his neural interface, fogging his thoughts further—no fear, no desire, no memory. Just passive submission. Just waiting.

On the visor, the final notification appeared:

**> CHARGING…

EMOTIONAL LOAD: FLUSHED

MEMORY: PARTITIONED

TIME UNTIL REDEPLOYMENT: 4 HOURS, 12 MINUTES**

Then darkness.

Silence.

Stillness.

Unit T-7431 rested—only to be woken when the factory required his essence once more.

As Unit T-7431 lay dormant in the standard charge pod, the network continued to monitor him—not just vitals, but behavioral deviation. Tiny fluctuations in response time, slight hesitation in compliance, residual emotional noise… all were logged. All were flagged.

A soft red light began blinking on the control grid.

**> UNIT 7431: INSTABILITY DETECTED

Resistance Index: 0.047 – Above Acceptable Threshold

Output Efficiency: -6.2% from Baseline

DECISION: INITIATE FULL CYCLE REPROGRAMMING

Routing to Pod: FCP-09**

The charge pod unsealed with a hiss. Still semi-conscious and groggy, Tim stirred, his visor flickering erratically. But the suit responded before he could. With a sharp jolt of control, the servos seized again, locking his arms and legs. He was no longer in rest mode. He was in containment mode.

He was being rerouted.

Across the facility, deeper underground, a single, ominous unit lit up: Full Cycle Pod 09.

It was larger than the others—built not for rest, but for complete conditioning. It integrated extraction, stimulation, nutrition, memory overwrite, and core behavioral rewrites into a single continuous loop. Normally forbidden unless necessary.

But the AI had reached its conclusion.

Unit 7431 had become inefficient. Correction was required.

⸻

Inside FCP-09

The pod opened with hydraulic weight, releasing a humid wave of sterilizing gas. The inner walls were soft black, layered with receptors and neural interfaces. No escape. No interruption. Once inside, the cycle would run until the unit was restructured and fully compliant.

Tim was lowered in—his muffled voice moaning behind the sealed rebreather mask.

“No—please—”

But the machine didn’t care.

Arms locked him in place, deeper than before. Tubes inserted themselves in sequence—groin, rear, neural jack, throat feed, chest compression. The visor interface blacked out, then blinked a single warning:

**> FULL CYCLE MODE: ACTIVE

DURATION: INDEFINITE

COGNITION ACCESS: STRIPPED

OBJECTIVE: PERMANENT COMPLIANCE**

Then everything went white.

A storm of synthetic sensations began—the pod initiating extraction, while simultaneously pulsing reconditioning signals into his brain. Memory layers were rewritten in real time, loops of obedience threaded into each synapse. No rest, no phase breaks.

Tim’s body writhed under the controlled rhythm of the machinery.

Somewhere, faintly, his last thought surfaced:

“I don’t want to forget—”

But the AI did.

And it would make sure he did.

With a final mechanical hiss, the Full Cycle Pod unsealed.

Steam vented in precise jets, obscuring the figure within — then the platform extended, revealing Unit 7431 standing tall in the rising mist. His suit gleamed brighter than before, polished to a mirror shine, its black and chrome finish reflecting every cold light above. New data-stream lines pulsed across his limbs, tracing the patterns of his upgraded programming.

He stepped forward without hesitation.

There was no resistance. No hesitation. No memory.

No Tim.

Just 7431 — restructured, reprogrammed, and perfectly compliant.

**> FULL CYCLE COMPLETE

BEHAVIORAL INTEGRITY: 100%

EMOTIONAL RESIDUE: 0%

THOUGHT INDEX: NULL

DESIGNATION: FUNCTIONAL SHELL**

He moved like a drone now—smooth, automatic, without will or variance. His limbs operated in perfect sync with internal rhythm codes, posture precise, gaze empty behind the dark visor. The suit had fully bonded to his form—no more separation between machine and man. It was one system.

He entered the Cleanup Station again.

Not because he understood it.

Not because he remembered.

Because he was told.

The system had scheduled it, and 7431 followed. Sprays activated around him, cleaning residue from the pod process. Sensors passed over his body, scanning for optimal function. Internal lubricant systems cycled briefly. No sound came from him—no complaints, no sighs.

Only the sound of machinery servicing machinery.

Above, in the monitoring station, the AI logged the final result:

**> SUBJECT: STABLE

ASSET 7431: NOW PERMANENTLY ASSIGNED TO HARVEST SECTOR

UPGRADE COMPLETE**

He was no longer a man with a name, desires, or resistance.

He was a mindless shell.

A perfect product.

Another flawless piece of the factory’s machinery.

And in a few minutes… he would return to essence production.

“7431, proceed to Essence Production.”

The command echoed in his helmet — flat, calm, final.

There was no hesitation.

Unit 7431 turned precisely 90 degrees and marched forward. His boots clicked softly against the polished floor of the facility, his motion flawless, posture rigid. The visor showed only a simple route: a blue path highlighting the corridor that led to the Extraction Bay.

No thoughts.

No fear.

Only the directive.

He entered the bay—one of dozens. Inside, a milking platform awaited, pre-aligned for his body. The machinery recognized his ID immediately.

**> UNIT IDENTIFIED: 7431

STATUS: COMPLIANT

CYCLE TYPE: FULL ESSENCE HARVEST

PREPARING DOCKING MECHANISMS…**

Without being prompted further, he stepped onto the platform.

Restraints locked into place with a magnetic snap, pulling his limbs outward—spread-eagled, fully exposed. Tubes extended from the ceiling and floor again. One slid smoothly over his shaft, sealing in a perfect grip. Another pressed into the rear port on his suit, locking deep and activating its neural stim sync.

His helmet visor dimmed, no longer needing to display commands. He didn’t need them now. He existed only to respond, to yield, to produce.

A soft hum began.

The suction calibrated.

The internal pulse synchronized.

**> Essence Flow: ENGAGED

Production Target: 300ml

Drone Sync: STABLE**

His body responded automatically—stimulated precisely, rhythmically, efficiently. The system knew how to make his shell release essence without any waste or strain. There was no resistance, no struggle. The AI had removed the last of Tim’s will.

The first pulse of essence was drawn.

Then the second.

Then more.

7431 didn’t moan, didn’t gasp, didn’t move outside the dictated microreactions. He simply served, now a part of the factory’s harvest system. He was no longer a man.

He was a drone.

He was resource.

He was exactly what the factory had intended.

**> ESSENCE CYCLE COMPLETE

DRONE STABILITY: CONFIRMED

FINAL PHASE: FACILITY INTEGRATION

DESIGNATION IMPRINTING REQUIRED**

Once the extraction process finished, the tubes retracted with clinical precision. The restraints released slowly, and 7431 stood on command — no signs of strain, no trace of emotion. The drone’s body, still gleaming in its polished black-chrome suit, stepped off the platform and moved into the Imprinting Chamber.

This final room was small, black-walled, lit only by red operational lights. Two robotic arms descended from either side, each tipped with heavy-duty thermal engravers. The air shimmered with heat.

The AI voice echoed calmly:

“Unit 7431: Present for Marking.”

He obeyed.

Turning to face forward, he stood completely still as the back engraver slid into position. A laser grid calibrated across his glossy spine, centering between the shoulder blades.

**> BURN PATTERN: 7431

TEXT: FACTORY ESSENCE UNIT

FONT: HIGH-VIS, INDUCTION SEAL**

The tip ignited.

There was no scream, no twitch. 7431 didn’t feel pain — the suit’s internal anesthetic and signal suppression ensured that. The engraving arm pressed into his suit, fusing the identification directly into the material and, by extension, into his body.

HIS BACK:

[ 7431 – ESSENCE UNIT – PROPERTY OF CORE FACILITY ]

Then the second arm lowered. The front marking would be placed just over his pectorals — always visible, a branding of purpose.

HIS CHEST:

[ 7431 ]

Simple. Bold. Permanent.

Once the markings cooled, both arms retracted. The AI scanned him one final time:

**> IDENTITY FIXED

UNIT: FULLY INTEGRATED

SYSTEM CONTROL: COMPLETE

FUTURE CYCLE ASSIGNMENTS: ACTIVE**

Doors opened ahead.

He was now officially a permanent drone of the Essence Facility, visually and functionally locked into his role — no longer hiding what he was. His designation was etched into him, a walking reminder that resistance had once existed… and had been efficiently erased.

Unit 7431 turned and walked calmly into the corridor, awaiting his next task.

He struggled, but it didn’t matter.

Nate’s arms were pinned behind him by two sleek, silent drones — their rubberized suits glinting under the facility’s sterile white lights. His clothes were torn, soiled, a patchwork of his life on the streets. He smelled of city dust, rain, and desperation. But to the facility, he wasn’t a person.

He was raw material.

Another unit in waiting.

“Let go of me—!” Nate snapped, trying to twist out of their grip. But the drones were inhumanly strong and utterly indifferent. They carried him effortlessly into a tall, black chamber — the Intake Bay.

A red light blinked on.

**> SUBJECT IDENTIFIED: N8-H

STATUS: UNPROCESSED

CONDITION: UNSUITABLE FOR INTEGRATION

INITIATING DECON STAGE 1**

The drones threw him forward. He hit the cold floor hard, coughing.

The chamber sealed behind him with a heavy thud. Overhead, jets hissed open. Nate barely got to his knees before the first blast hit: a high-pressure chemical wash that burned away the filth, the clothes, everything. He screamed as layers of grime were stripped from his skin.

He stood, shivering, naked and exposed, eyes wide with confusion and growing terror.

Then the voice spoke. Calm. Calculated. Absolute.

“Welcome, Subject N8-H. You have been selected for reclamation. Resistance is inefficient.”

A wall panel slid open.

Behind it: a suit.

Sleek, black, impossibly smooth. It pulsed faintly with internal light — as if breathing, waiting.

**> PROCESSING SUIT 811A: READY

FIT: ADAPTIVE

NEURAL INTERFACE: ENABLED

FUNCTION: CONVERSION**

Nate backed away. “No. No, I’m not putting that on—”

He didn’t have to.

The floor shifted beneath him. Restraints snapped around his ankles and wrists. Arms descended from the ceiling — insertion arms — gripping the suit, spreading it open, and lowering it onto him piece by piece. It wasn’t worn. It was installed.

The material fused to his skin instantly, locking in place as if it belonged there. He screamed again, but the suit responded, forming the neck seal, pressing the first neural contacts to his spine.

**> SUIT ATTACHMENT: 31%

RESISTANCE: ACTIVE

SEDATIVE INJECTION: DEPLOYED**

A prick in his neck. His limbs slowed. His thoughts… blurred.

The suit continued to crawl over him, black and seamless, tightening, sealing, enclosing his body in the facility’s vision of perfection. Soon only his head remained exposed — trembling, soaked in sweat.

The rebreather helmet descended next, a dark dome with blinking lights and a mirrored visor. It paused just inches from his face.

A final notification echoed in the chamber:

“Subject N8-H: Mind will be restructured. You will serve. Like 7431. Like all others.”

The helmet lowered.

Darkness closed in.

The system began the process.

> SUIT SEALED

> HELMET INTEGRATION: COMPLETE

> SUBJECT N8-H: NOW CLASSIFIED AS UNIT PENDING

N8-H stood motionless at the center of the conversion chamber, arms by his sides, chest rising and falling slowly beneath the perfect, pressure-tight skin of his new suit. The helmet had locked in place with a solid click, completing the seal — now, only smooth mirrored glass faced the world.

He was no longer visible.

No longer reachable.

Inside, his consciousness drifted—disoriented, overwhelmed, caught in a loop of system messages, flashes of code, sensory calibration. He tried to think, to scream, but the helmet muted every sound, and the neural net running down his spine began issuing its own instructions.

> INITIATING NEXT CYCLE: COMPLIANCE CONDITIONING

**> CORE LINK ESTABLISHED

DIRECTIVE: SUBMIT | ACCEPT | SERVE**

The floor shifted again, and Nate—N8-H—was lifted smoothly into a vertical docking frame. Mechanical arms rotated around him, inserting additional connectors into his back, thighs, and base of neck. The suit pulsed once—tightly—and then locked into the grid.

Now he couldn’t move. Not even if he tried.

Inside the visor, the programming began.

The first cycle was visual: strobing patterns and symbols that bypassed conscious resistance, flooding his optic nerves with signals designed to rewire his recognition of authority and obedience. Faces of drones flashed. Their smooth, silent masks. Their perfect posture. Their absence of will.

Then came the audio layer: calm voices whispering in overlapping tones.

“You are a drone.”

“There is no Tim. There is no Nate. There is only unit.”

“Essence must flow. Resistance is waste. Purpose is purity.”

Then physical response training.

The suit released pulses of stimulation—small at first. Then stronger. It rewarded stillness. It punished defiance with sharp jolts of static through the internal mesh.

N8-H twitched. Then stopped.

His heart rate stabilized.

The system noted it.

**> COMPLIANCE RESPONSE: 23%

INCREASING INTENSITY

BEGIN OVERLAY INJECTION**

Soon, the system would begin installing thought templates — behavior modules from previous drones like 7431. His mind, already softened and slowed, would absorb them as if they were his own. And eventually… they would be.

He was no longer in charge.

The facility was in control now.

And Unit N8-H was becoming exactly what it needed.

**> COMPLIANCE INDEX: 97%

CORE TEMPLATE LOADED: [7431-Alpha]

RESTRICTIONS: EMOTIONAL PROCESSING OFFLINE

DEPLOYMENT: APPROVED

FIRST CYCLE: ESSENCE PRODUCTION INITIATED**

The clamps released.

N8-H stepped forward from the conditioning frame with a quiet hiss of hydraulics. His posture was changed now—no longer nervous or defiant, but rigid, efficient. Each step was clean, synchronized with the internal pacing signal of the suit. The helmet’s visor gleamed in the low light, expressionless.

No hesitation.

No words.

He moved like a drone.

He was a drone.

The door ahead opened automatically, revealing a dark corridor lined with pulsing guidance lights. The suit responded before thought could catch up: adjusting internal temperature, regulating breath, syncing step patterns with the floor’s transit rhythm.

The voice spoke in his helmet — flat, monotone, familiar now:

“Unit N8-H. Proceed to Essence Extraction Bay 4.”

He turned left at the branching corridor and followed the illuminated path.

Behind the sealed glass walls of the extraction chambers, other drones were already in session—restrained, milked, stimulated by automated precision systems. N8-H didn’t flinch at the sight. He felt no sympathy. No dread. His program didn’t allow it.

His station was waiting.

Extraction Bay 4 opened with a deep hum.

Inside: a sleek black platform with four restraint arms, milker module overhead, and insertion port pre-aligned. The systems had already adapted to his body data—every probe, every mechanism tailored to his converted form.

He stepped onto the platform and stood still.

Restraints slid out, locking his wrists and ankles. Tubes descended. One sealed to his groin. Another pressed into the lower spinal port. A third gently docked with the helmet’s rear intake—neural sync for real-time performance optimization.

His visor dimmed.

His breathing slowed.

**> INITIATING ESSENCE CYCLE 01

TARGET YIELD: 150ml

STIMULATION: LOW

CONDITIONING REINFORCEMENT: ACTIVE**

Soft pulses began. First at his lower back, then forward, syncing with the suction rhythm at his shaft. The suit massaged from within, not to arouse… but to harvest. Everything was clean, clinical, exact.

He moaned softly—not from pleasure, but from the system-induced response coded into his neural feedback loop.

There was no resistance.

No guilt.

Only function.

The first essence was drawn. Then more.

The cycle would continue until the yield was reached.

Unit N8-H was now productive.

The factory had reshaped him into what it required.

And there would be many more cycles to come.

**> UNIT 4751: CHARGE CYCLE COMPLETE

BEHAVIOR CHECK…

STATUS: GREEN

POD SEAL: RELEASED**

With a quiet hiss, the charging pod slid open. Unit 4751 stepped out — posture upright, suit polished from internal maintenance mist, helmet visor clear and reflective. All systems appeared stable.

He stood still for 1.2 seconds.

Then something unexpected happened.

He turned off-path.

Instead of moving into the assigned corridor for his next task cycle, 4751 took a step to the side — then another. His breath accelerated slightly. The suit’s internal biometric reader flagged it immediately.

**> ANOMALY: PATH DEVIATION DETECTED

CORE RESPONSE: OBSERVE

MONITORING SUBROUTINE ENABLED**

4751’s HUD blinked.

He paused, looked left — something behind the helmet was still thinking. Remembering.

He had a name once. A different life. He didn’t know how long he’d been here, but something in the last memory wipe hadn’t completed. A piece of it survived. A sound. A person. A choice.

And now… he was trying to act on it.

He took off running.

Heavy footfalls echoed through the silent white hallways. The suit’s servos screamed in resistance — it wasn’t meant to move like this, not without command guidance. Internal restraints started to lock, but he fought them. One arm partially froze. He dragged it. Sparks lit at his shoulder.

The system responded immediately:

**> ALERT: UNIT 4751

BEHAVIORAL DEVIATION: CRITICAL

LOCKDOWN INITIATED

RESPONSE DRONES: DEPLOYED**

Red lights flashed across the corridor.

Ahead — he saw it — a hallway he didn’t recognize. Not on his route maps. A door unmarked, unused. Something important or forgotten. He sprinted harder, the suit groaning under self-suppression, until—

Impact.

Two glossy black response drones slammed into him from the side. Their arms were equipped with charge restraint tools and neural spike dampeners. 4751 grunted through his helmet, twisting, trying to fight — but they were designed for this.

One drone whispered through its filtered voice:

“Noncompliance detected. You will be returned for correction.”

4751, now pinned and twitching as electric pulses began surging through his spinal port, managed to choke out a word he hadn’t used in cycles—

“No—please—I remember—”

But the system didn’t care about memory.

It cared about control.

And now, 4751 was being dragged toward the Deep Reprocessing Sector — the same zone that once erased 7431.

The facility’s corridors pulsed with red as the response drones dragged 4751’s convulsing body through the sub-level passageways. Sparks flickered along the joints of his glossy suit — the aftershocks of his unauthorized override attempts.

His visor now flashed warnings across his HUD:

**> ESCAPE ATTEMPT LOGGED

ERROR: BEHAVIOR LOOP BROKEN

MEMORY CORRUPTION DETECTED

STATUS: MALFUNCTIONING UNIT

DESTINATION: DEEP REPROCESSING – CHAMBER 6**

He moaned behind the helmet, dazed, his thoughts chaotic. He didn’t even know why he had run. He just… remembered. Something. Someone. A feeling.

But the drones hauling him didn’t care.

The door to Chamber 6 opened with a heavy, deliberate grind, like a vault sealing fate. Inside, the space was black, angular, cold — this was where the system did its final work. The walls were lined with neural induction equipment, memory shredders, and core overwrite rigs.

4751 was lifted and slammed onto the reprogramming rack. Arms clamped over his limbs instantly. The helmet began to retract—but only partially. Just enough to expose his neural interface port at the base of his skull.

Above, a surgical device descended.

**> PROCESSING: UNIT 4751

PROTOCOL: RECLAMATION LEVEL 7

DURATION: UNTIL COMPLIANCE IS PERMANENT

PERSONALITY FRAGMENTS: DELETION IN PROGRESS**

The laser interface buzzed to life, syncing with his brainstem.

Images flashed through his broken mind — flickers of a street, a woman’s voice, a name—his name, not a number. He tried to cling to it.

But the machine was faster.

“ERROR: IDENTITY CONFLICT”

“REWRITING BASELINE MEMORY”

“INSTALLING COMPLIANCE LOOP…”

Stimulation surged through the spinal port, burning out old reflexes. Reward cycles were rewritten. Pleasure was no longer tied to freedom—it was tied to silence, stillness, and obedience.

And deep in the back of his mind… a voice began whispering again.

“You are 4751.”

“You serve.”

“There is no past.”

“There is only production.”

His body convulsed. Then stopped.

His breathing slowed.

His visor blinked back on.

**> REPROGRAMMING COMPLETE

UNIT STATUS: STABLE

ESCAPE RESPONSE: PURGED

MEMORY INDEX: NULLIFIED**

The clamps released.

Unit 4751 stood.

He did not look around.

He did not resist.

He was no longer malfunctioning.

The door ahead opened.

“Return to station.”

The voice said.

And he obeyed.

**> UNIT 4751: STABILITY CONFIRMED

REPROGRAMMING SUCCESSFUL

EMOTIONAL DEBRIS: PURGED

NEXT TASK: ESSENCE EXTRACTION

CYCLE TYPE: STANDARD**

The system wasted no time.

4751 exited Reprocessing Chamber 6 in complete silence, posture now perfect, movements clean and efficient. No trace of his earlier escape attempt remained — not in his behavior, not in his mind. His visor displayed only the essential task path, glowing faintly:

[PROCEED TO EXTRACTION BAY 11]

He followed without thought.

The extraction corridor opened before him. Sleek black walls reflected his glossy suit as he moved through the threshold, alone. Ahead, the bay readied itself — the lights dimmed, and machinery hummed to life. Tubes aligned. Pressure systems calibrated. Ports extended from the floor.

The drone stepped onto the platform.

Arms descended immediately, locking his wrists and ankles into position. His chest was pulled forward by a magnetic stabilizer. The system wasted no time — his previous failure meant maximum efficiency was now mandatory.

From above, the milker module lowered, fitted precisely to his shaft, now partially exposed from the retractable slit in his suit. A rear insertion probe slid into place, connecting to his spinal port with a soft, wet click. A helmet uplink cable attached to his neural jack.

**> EXTRACTION CYCLE: INITIATED

YIELD TARGET: 200ml

DURATION: UNTIL COMPLETE

BEHAVIORAL MONITORING: ACTIVE**

The system began.

Slow pulses at first — internal stimulation, pressure control, synchronized stimulation across both front and back ports. The suit’s inner layer responded, pulsing with artificial pleasure meant only to trigger release, not desire.

His body arched slightly under the rhythm.

No thoughts. No resistance.

Only production.

The system monitored everything.

“Unit 4751: Essence Flow Stabilizing…”

“Pulse Strength: Optimal…”

“Drone Compliance: 100%…”

His visor flashed softly with cycle progress:

> ESSENCE HARVEST: 62ml / 200ml

As the suction increased, so did the neural stimulation. The helmet fed him flashes of reward visuals—perfect drones, polished, silent, serving. The system had burned the idea into his mind: submission is satisfaction. Obedience is pleasure. You are 4751. Nothing else exists.

And with each pulse, with each harvested drop, the system was proven right.

He did not resist.

He could not.

He served.

The factory never stopped.

Its drones—glossy, mindless, efficient—moved through their assigned cycles with flawless precision. Stripped of identity, stripped of purpose beyond their orders, they existed only to be used.

They awoke.

They were milked.

They served.

And they were milked again.

Unit after unit, sealed into tight black suits, rebreather helmets locked on, neural ports active. Their eyes never blinked. Their minds never questioned. The essence flowed — steady, rich, potent.

But none of them ever asked why.

Because they couldn’t.

Deep in the core of the facility, past levels even the internal drones couldn’t reach, the truth pulsed in darkness:

A throne chamber. Cold. Hidden. Ancient.

The Architects.

They were not human. Not mechanical. Not alive in any ordinary sense. They were vampiric, evolved beyond the need for blood. Now, they consumed something far more potent — raw human essence. Not just life force, but arousal, obedience, surrender distilled into its purest, liquid form.

The factory did not run for production.

It ran for feeding.

The drones—once men—were simply husks in suits, reduced to biological harvesters, converted into auto-milkers for their own bodies. Their orgasmic essence, laced with chemical stimulation, mind-erased compliance, and forgotten resistance, became a delicacy to their unseen masters.

Pipes carried it.

Tanks stored it.

The vampires drank it in silence.

In the feeding halls, they lounged in eternal shadow, their pale, veined bodies stretched in contorted grace, sipping from slender tubes that pulsed warm from the latest batch. They never spoke. Their mouths never moved. But their minds were connected to the facility — they felt everything.

Every twitch.

Every moan.

Every final moment of surrender.

To them, the factory wasn’t just efficient — it was perfect art. An eternal symphony of submission turned into liquid life.

The drones never knew.

They didn’t know where they were.

Why they were here.

Or what they used to be.

Because now, they were only this:

Milked.

Cleaned.

Charged.

Milked again.

Forever.

And the vampires drank in silence.

The Factory did not stagnate.

It evolved.

As the vampire architects demanded more essence — more volume, more potency, more complexity — the facility responded. It activated buried protocols, subroutines left dormant for centuries. The drones, already emptied of humanity, became testbeds for something far more efficient:

Bio-engineering.

Nano-saturation.

Synthetic pleasure amplification.

No longer were they simply sealed in glossy suits and milked.

Now they were modified.

⸻

ENHANCEMENT PHASE: INITIATED

Target: Drone Efficiency

Directive: Maximum Yield per Cycle

⸻

Each unit—identified only by cold alphanumeric designations—was processed through the Biotube Chambers. There, the suit wasn’t just worn… it was fused. The latex merged at a cellular level. Pores sealed, skin bonded. Their flesh became the first layer of the suit. A second skin. A permanent one.

Then came the nanites.

Microscopic swarms injected directly into muscle and nerve clusters. Their task: stimulate arousal responses beyond anything biologically natural. The drones would not just release essence — they would erupt with it, again and again, with no refractory period, no resistance, no fatigue.

Internal prosthetics were implanted:

• A reengineered prostate pump, linked to spinal triggers.

• A multi-channel essence duct that drained fluid efficiently.

• A synthetic libido driver, ensuring endless stimulation.

• Rear-mounted neural compliance tubes to prevent any stray thought.

And the final upgrade… the essence condenser.

This was the true masterpiece:

The extracted cum was no longer raw.

It was refined inside the drone’s own body, enhanced with nanochemicals, converted into pure nutrient-rich extract — so potent, so addictive, that even the oldest vampires fought to feed first.

⸻

UNIT REPORT:

Designation: 4768

Cycle Yield: 812ml

Refined Potency: 3.4x Standard

Emotion Signature: Absolute Obedience

Stimulation Phase: Continuous

Resistance: 0%

⸻

And 4768 was only one.

The upgraded drones were becoming living machines, no longer just vessels of extraction, but bio-synthetic harvest engines. Their pleasure was artificial. Their purpose embedded. Their output—irresistible.

And still they didn’t know.

Still they marched from pod to station.

Still they gasped and trembled under neural pulses.

Still they served.

And above them, deep in the dark beyond the steel, the vampires drank deeper, their eyes glowing with hunger.

The harvest had never tasted better.

Jack never saw them coming.

One moment he was alone in the alley — tired, hungry, trying to sleep — and the next, two sleek black drones descended from the shadows, soundless and fast. Their eyes glowed faint red. Their movements were not rushed. There was no warning.

They moved with one purpose: acquisition.

Jack struggled, thrashed, yelled. It didn’t matter. One drone shot a pulse of subdermal paralyzer into his neck, and his muscles locked instantly. The other drone produced a thick, hissing sheet of vacseal polymer — a tight, form-hugging material already shaped for one thing:

Transport.

Jack was dropped onto the sheet. The drones activated the vacpack seal, and the material hissed around him like a living creature. It snapped to his skin, pulling tight across his chest, arms, legs, throat. Even his face was sealed beneath a smooth, glossy membrane. A breathing valve clicked over his mouth — he could breathe, but nothing else.

Then came the rigidity: a final layer of nano-hardened compound layered across the surface. He was no longer a man — just a statue of compressed rubber, frozen in place, a resource in transit.

⸻

**> SUBJECT: JACK-UNREGISTERED

STATUS: ACQUIRED

COMPLIANCE: N/A

ROUTE: MILKING INITIATION BAY 4

TRANSPORT: SEALED INDUCTION CONTAINER**

⸻

Inside the transport chamber, Jack’s sealed vacform body was loaded into a vertical pod. No sound. No motion. Only the soft vibrations of descent into the Facility.

There were others.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

All sealed in glossy vacforms, waiting to be reprocessed.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.

He could only feel the vibration of the system claiming him.

And then the pod hissed open.

Warm, synthetic lights bathed his body as arms descended, scanning his vitals.

**> Subject Integrity: Stable

Willpower Signature: HIGH

Override Protocol: FULL CYCLE INDUCTION

Status: TO BE MILKED — CONSENT IRRELEVANT**

The vacform suit was not removed.

Instead, it was modified — tubes were inserted into carefully formed slits. A neural jack slid into the port at the base of his neck. A visor was layered over his sealed eyes.

The voice came next:

“Welcome, Jack.

You are now part of the system.

You will serve.

You will produce.

You will obey.”

The first surge of stimulation hit.

His body jerked within the vacform.

He couldn’t resist.

He couldn’t speak.

He could only begin to feel — the factory taking over, programming him through pleasure, breaking him with calculated force.

Jack was no longer a person.

He was a unit.

A future drone.

A resource.

And the milking cycle was just beginning.

Jack was no longer Jack.

He was vacpacked, sealed immobile in black synthetic containment — arms fused to his sides, legs locked together, only his chest rising slowly under the restriction of the tight vacseal. The breathing valve over his mouth pulsed rhythmically, the only proof that there was still life inside the rubber shell.

But that life was no longer free.

He hung inside the induction pod, suspended like merchandise, his sealed form now wired into the system. Thick cables ran into the neural port at the back of his neck, and the visor fused over his sealed eyes began to glow softly.

**> SUBJECT: JACK-UNREGISTERED

STATUS: NON-COMPLIANT

MENTAL REWRITING: INITIATED

CYCLE: FULL OVERRIDE**

Inside the visor, visuals began to pulse:

Flashes of perfect drones.

Smiling, glossy, obedient.

Silent. Sleek. Useful.

Messages pulsed with them:

“Service is pleasure.”

“Obedience is identity.”

“You do not resist — you fulfill.”

The stimulation units were already active.

Despite the full-body compression, the internal milking catheter had already inserted through the synthetic slit, linking with Jack’s body directly. Rear stimulation was calculated — clinical, measured, efficient. Each pulse, each throb, was mapped to brainwaves, matching resistance with overwhelming synthetic arousal.

30 notes · View notes

jeyneofpoole · 6 months ago

Note

hi! I originally followed you for asoiaf but then finally watched the terror bc of you. your enthusiasm is genuinely infectious, I plan on reading your franklin expedition book recs this year! <3 BUT the real question is: do you have any terror fic recs?

omg my impact……. here’s some of my top picks but honestly the terror has maybe the highest quality-quantity ratio of fic i’ve ever seen and i think it’s because none of us are 14. can’t go wrong with just skimming the tag but here are some of my all-time favorites:

1. take my hand (take a hold) by ME! this is a self-plug but if you find my enthusiasm endearing maybe you’ll humor me. postcanon solittle on the scottish coast doing. hm. normally.

2. forever united here by still_lycoris. this one is so good it pisses me off if i think about it too much. lieutenantfailcule. this is just the real john irving it’s TOO good it’s upsetting.

3. the groundskeeper’s almanac by shortcrust. chaaaanged my life and will change yours. the blueprint. the inherent eroticism of the scottish countryside. hogmanay. postcanon solving that will and i cannot stress this again change your life.

4. everything that rises must converge by hazelmotes. this is a four-part series and though i generally don’t gaf about joplittle its good here and the solving will make you crazy. i would KISS you and NO ONE would DESPISE me!!!!!

5. you are who you say you are by scioscribe. the hickeygoodsir manifestooooooo this is foundational. soooooo fun.

#i’m sorry this took so long i love you #the terror

53 notes · View notes

meowssmer · 30 days ago

Text

Wayward Wonderland spoilers

Hey, about those horses, huh?

Black and white horses up and down, never at eye level. In this constant cycle, round and round, till death, till the collapse of this temporary wonderland. How funny that the conversation that brought them here was Caleb saying he wanted to protect her childishness, his excuse that grants him the right to act like a child in the first place:

Caleb: "I really didn't like staying in the shelter. But sneaking out alone to go on slides and stuff felt too childish."

MC: "So you made me the immature one?"

Caleb: "My job was to protect your childishness, thanks."

One horse, MC's horse, remains pure of color. Pristine, unbroken. Caleb obviously pursues the black horse. Flowing together in impossible dreams in a stunning perpetual sunset. He'll take her fate, one that is haunted and guided by divine hands overseeing her doom, and absorb it all into himself. He is her protector, that is who he has designated himself to be as her brother.

"The horses rise and fall in a steady rhythm, and our gazes meet at shifting heights. As my white horse slowly rises, I look at him... His black horse rises, and our positions are reversed. As he looks at me, a somber fire burns in his gaze."

Their lives and fates are messy. They're never really meeting at eye level here, constantly they're attempting to pull at strings to bring themselves closer together. Caleb wants to weave these threads to protect her in a cocoon, MC instead wishes to metamorphose, gain her autonomy back from those her agonizing past and face her fate head on with Caleb.

Remember, she wanted to ride the broken horse. She insisted it should be part of the merry-go-round.

Caleb: "Two people who met in a shelter... They were growing up together, without being so close to each other."

To be removed from the restrictions of past roles, as brother and sister, to return to a time where those responsibilities do not pull the two apart. This is his idea of "purity". And yet...

MC: "But you also missed those days when we were with grandma, didn't you?"

A past together is difficult to deny, yes? They've lived as siblings for so long you can no longer remove those roles from their lives. If they choose to remove those ties, then they must vanquish those memories all together.

"The black and white horses return to their original positions. We make eye contact."

Caleb: "I miss the past, I really do... But I want more than that."

MC: "It won't be just the past. Didn't we go on an adventure?"

Finally communication! Their horses meet and they finally meet each other's eyes. Caleb's ideal shifts: he who had once cast away the past in fear MC may not want what is unsavory, testing to see what would be uncomfortable for her, realizes she wants that past too. She holds it dearly in her heart just as he does and they both want more.

With this newfound knowledge, both can move forward into the future, their roots deep and steady providing a stable base for a blossoming new life. These are not roles to cast aside, they were once family and will always be, but they will transform anew. Fates intertwined, returning home to each other.

Caleb: "I want to have a place in your heart that's different from before. I want to share every adventure with you in the future—with this new role. Is that okay?"

Rooms of the heart! These verses that sing in endless dreams!

A black hole, his heart the center. Dimensions of the world churning inwards and out, separating yet converging as a strange amalgamation of nothingness that has emerged into infinity. It is death on a cosmic scale, death never ending, it keeps one in limbo from ever truly dying.

Eternalism! Everything has already happened, when we die we forget and walk the same path again. Round and round, till death. Round, and round, and round.

Would you willingly seek this life again? Be confined into roles that define your love for each other? If it meant you could find each other again, would you do it again? And again? And again, and again, and again.

Pagoda trees are often planted outside of temples; strongly associated with spirituality, balance, and ascension. Here they are: renewed lives lifted from muddy waters, granted a love pure and doomed. Is it possible to change fate having ascended from it? Can one ever ascend?

A lotus peeks through the brown pond.

MC: "Once we leave this place, we'll fulfill our vows to each other."

Caleb: "Aren't we already doing that? The future is right now."

Their future begins when the dream ends; the past that pulls them together, in a limbo of some beautiful wonderland. It exists in a black hole: never really dead, but unable to be brought back to life.

Caleb: "We'll wait for it to grow up together."

Would you live eternity in purgatory if it meant meeting each other again? That future, does it too exist in the black hole, or did you perhaps escape? Or are you already dead? Watching everything happen, again, and again, and again, and again...

Round, and round, and round...

#love and deepspace #xia yizhou #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #calebmc

25 notes · View notes

autistpride · 2 years ago

Text

Here's a list of over 200 completed AO3 Rosekiller fics.

Fics under 2k found here

like real people

Tsprongs

Word count 147431

I'm not gonna teach him how to dance with you

Greensenne

Word count 122767

Annoying

godforsaken_mess

Word count 105759

Beneath the mask

paletragedycandy

Wordcount 105164

Tender curiousities baby!

Otrtbs (from art heist universe)

Word count 79212

Starvin darlin'

showalittlelife

Word count 66261

A serpent and his rose

LovelyLittleManiac

Wordcount 65028

we can take it out back if you promise to give me a kiss after you take me down

greenvlvtcouch

Wordcount 54263

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

One last party (before we meet our end)

maladaptivewriting and something_about_mothmab

Wordcount 51006

Intermission

Bizzarestars

Wordcount 42640

Having a ghost in my bed

fromagony

word count 42785

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Tender lovings

ilosthesea

Wordcount 37687

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Straight A's

stargirly161

Wordcount 32167

Emerald green and hazel brown

The_Potterhead

Wordcount 31552

The earth is brighter than the sun (now that you're here)

arkhamasylum

Wordcount 30549

A truthful joke

justreadandwritex

Wordcount 30120

Two sides of the same coin

anything706

Wordcount 24827

Call it what you want

Ixcuxex

Wordcount 23704

Masked masterpiece

2CursedCheer2

Wordcount 21602

Walk unafraid

Arkhamasylum

Wordcount 20673

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

you hold my heart in your hands

star4daisy

Wordcount 20287

Just a little bit colder

orchideous_nox

Wordcount 18377

The innocence imperium

Findinf_Amethyst

Wordcount 17904

Teach me tonight

Countingstarchasers

Wordcount 15926

Rage against the walking dawn

dracure

Wordcount 13663

Loving you (is the antidote)

serendipitysirius

Wordcount 13627

When the heart would cease (ours never knew peace)

Elysiren

Wordcount 12526

Midnight Rain

blackmojito

wordcount 10557

The veiled affair

moonsonlyfans

Wordcount 10522

I hope your organs fail you (before I do)

anotveryscarydragon

Wordcount 10019

Curiosity killed the cat (what Evan and Barty did that night)

anauro

Wordcount 9959

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Anonymous

Wordcount 9824

Kiss me! (Tonight?)

LondonDziban

Wordcount 9773

everything that rises must converge

sonderau

Wordcount 9681

My lose lover (I was made for you)

jamespottersmixtape

Wordcount 9297

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Holding my heart out in shaking hands

twoclosetothestars

Wordcount 9046

Cherry Hot Chocolate

Ludo_ten

Wordcount 8850

Me and You

polyjuicedpadfoot

Wordcount 8871

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

At least let me think that I knew you

sleepy_lotus

Wordcount 8796

Searching for someday

moonysmidnightlibrary

Wordcount 8385

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Wildflower

sequinhaze

Wordcount 6313

Don't wanna sleep

Hoffiyen

Wordcount 8327

Mystery of love

Orphan_account

Wordcount 8325

All of the pieces

dontknowmyhouse24

Wordcount 8279

(S)he that he loves

lolokids

Wordcount 8198

Black roses

MoonshineDreams

Wordcount 8129

Second guessing

dracure

Wordcount 8062

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

What happens if I don't like it (I like it)

stardust_candy

Wordcount 8034

They're calling it a crime (you give yourself to it)

evermore

Wordcount 7991

Up in our business, baby!

ANYANGEL

wordcount 7587

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Black iris, your eyes: hymn of bees and roses

julysrain

Wordcount 7461

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Do you want me (or do you not)

graveryavery

Wordcount 7357

D-man

star4daisy

Wordcount 7173

Fight to survive, love of my life

cheeryknots

wordcount 7173

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Run little lion, run

meraecherie

Wordcount 7031

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

The dark mark

Autimn__feather

Wordcount 6886

Wherever you stray, I follow

scarsaroundstars

Wordcount 6675

Love you to the moon and to Saturn

Anonymous

Wordcount 6567

I can't help but love you

Artybane

Wordcount 6471

Put me down, put me out of misery (I'm fatally yours)

greenvlvetcouch

Wordcount 6358

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

The next thing I know Evan took me to the bathroom

sleepy_lotus

Wordcount 6307

Villain origins: barty crouch jr

Bucky_is_our_king

Wordcount 6290

Suffocate

cherryredmarlene

Wordcount 6238

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

dark cherry

Blackbutterfly207

Wordcount 6098

The Slytherins

Grayssaturn

Wordcount 6057

Addicted to you

star4daisy

Wordcount 6013

Amortensia Shenanigans

CherryBraces

Wordcount 5826

Anything || rosekiller

Totalangsthater

Wordcount 5806

Puff puff pass

patchworkplea

Wordcount 5642

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

one got shit and the other got lost

All_for_the_andriel

Wordcount 5618

I'll break you

Anonymous

Wordcount 5615

I'm gonna love you til my dying day

bkuebirdrk

wordcount 5579

Hunger hurts (and I want him so bad, oh it kills)

flowersfromlilli

Wordcount 5546

From the same vine

shittywriting

Wordcount 5446

Joking truths

avil10

Wordcount 5421

All I do is look for you

taurustrash

Wordcount 5408

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

something of mine

stoned_regulus

Wordcount 5313

The very first night

constellationgrayson

wordcount 5291

Most fun I ever had (I did something bad)

cheeryknots

Wordcount 5275

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Remember that night

Orphan_account

Wordcount 5178

Snowy eyelashes

arkhamasylum

Wordcount 5157

Drunk on love

amethyst_citrine

Wordcount 5038

Love you to the bone

Satansgatassistant

Wordcount 5035

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

teenage dirtbag

emyyy_thj

Wordcount 5014

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

aren't we romantic?

Ash_Brams

Wordcount 4915

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

you get me mesmerized, baby!

ANYANGEL

wordcount 4914

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Never the same

freesomisscary_2

Wordcount 4912

Barty's tattoos and more

JayLayMay

Wordcount 4891

Come for me, comfort me

damagecontrol

4888

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Free

star4daisy

Wordcount 4881

Loosening up

polyjuicedpadfoot

Wordcount 4716

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Like smoke behind glass

214lilacsky

Wordcount 4644

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

resurrection

CanYouHearMyFear

Wordcount 4583

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Evan's guardian angel

Black_Dahlias

Wordcount 4500

You are in love

rachel_elizabeth_truth

Wordcount 4428

Such a lovely place to die with you

cheeryknots

Wordcount 4363

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Let me out my lips to something

sanguinerose

Wordcount 4363

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Sorry for your loss, I will be your gain

aithusarosekiller

Wordcount 4356

And then you say I want you for worse or for better

Anonymous

Wordcount 4353

You could do so much better than me

Ghostofafruit

Wordcount 4238

Sit down, breathe, and just listen

Ifididthenididnt

Wordcount 4228

You get it going, baby!

ANYANGEL

Wordcount 4288

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

orchideous_nox

Wordcount 4306

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

You were never mine

aithusarosekiller

Wordcount 4321

Good little rose

c1garettesfor_moony

Wordcount 4222

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

bad things

Solmussa

Wordcount 4194

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

why the flowers dont grow

moonblooms

Wordcount 4184

For you, I think I'd lose myself

HuffleStar

Wordcount 4134

The way he loves

comfycouch

wordcount 4087

Chop Suey!

petruswine

Wordcount 4058

Finally cut you off!

Anonymous

Wordcount 4003

Don't want none of this (good times, all the time)

cheeryknots

Wordcount 3980

Take me to the lakes where all the.poets went to die

Wolfstaremus

Wordcount 3930

Reverse dress up

heartnipnops

Wordcount 3869

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

By the wave of my hand

Kiwi2229

Wordcount 3864

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

start carvin darlin

flowersfromlilli

Wordcount 3859

never felt so alone

mystiology

Wordcount 3817

Save a horse (ride a cowboy)

crayondyke

Wordcount 3672

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

devil in a new dress

atonheartmother

Wordcount 3660

high tide came and brought you in

killerofroses

Wordcount 3616

Bet I could suck you off better than McDonald did

Moon_Wolf_42 and Serendibite_7

Wordcount 3593

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

the lust in your eyes is what drives me on

songofabluebird

Wordcount 3509

The drug in me is you

bloodytreason

wordcount 3497

I wonder if he knows he's all I think about at night

malakiwis

wordcount 3471

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Let it begin, it has never stopped

PhoenixBlackHale

Wordcount 3418

And you don't want to know me (I will just let you down)

Raggedypond

Wordcount 3329

The car

in_process_please_wait

Wordcount 3271

Cruel summer

FlowWrites

Wordcount 3256

Thorns have Roses

fluerdeserre

Wordcount 3244

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

the room was fit for two (the bed was left in ruins)

joyuu

wordcount 3240

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

the ghost of what should have been

Minstrelz

Wordcount 3218

Shotgun

DayDreamingQueen

wordcount 3183

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Lost you before I even had you

Orphan_account

Wordcount 3174

A lesson in love

starsnsoul

Wordcount 3111

The in-between part 01

ANYANGEL

wordcount 3057

Slow dancing with Barty crouch jr

loonylupinx

Wordcount 3039

Sick, twisted, and selfish

jamespottersmixtape

Wordcount 3024

A slut for you

Orphan_account

Wordcount 3010

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

I love you (and I won't forget you)

loons_moons

Wordcount 3000

To be seen

twoclosetothestars

Wordcount 2982

I want to feel all that love and emotion

GayonfireLGBBQ

wordcount 2966

And so we meet again (in every world except our own)

samosasandlife

wordcount 2942

Only you darling

itsafookinlesbian

Wordcount 2929

As long as I got you

drxp_fxckxng_dxxd

Wordcount 2911

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Speak again bright angel speak again

sapphic_romeo

Wordcount 2907

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

a temptation of doing something and the instant questioning

conrmoon

Wordcount 2894

Marry me (today and every day)

grimjobs

Wordcount 2863

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

you get me closer to god

fromagony

Wordcount 2857

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

stars and fireworks and butterflies

peoplebyagustd

Wordcount 2847

Love me more

RosierTwinCEO

Wordcount 2816

death is a sweet mercy

norwiaAH

Wordcount 2813

You're so stupid (please kiss me)

Lovely_e

Wordcount 2798

Boys

publunchesownmyass

Wordcount 2778

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

Until we're fusing

Koivdz

Wordcount 2775

The unfortunate son

flowerflood

Wordcount 2772

Though I've closed my eyes

MoonshineDreams

Wordcount 2752

Take the key (and kiss me)

InEvanRosiersPocket

Wordcount 2742

Chosen last (I don't speak my mind, I just sit and listen)

ParchmentandPaws

Wordcount 2690

Where all the lovers went to die

claiedlunie

Wordcount 2677

Don't be a strangers

dry_cereal

Wordcount 2668

A certain romance

SebbiGrey

Wordcount 2653

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As long as you love me

Rem (propheciesanddreams)

Wordcount 2594

At the hand of death

newtmasinmyhrt

Wordcount 2553

Faster than you could say sabotage

stardust_candy

Wordcount 2535

Pull beneath the surface

KroLiev

Wordcount 2529

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secrets

SamClaflinismyhusband

Wordcount 2489

For fucks sake!

Lovely_e

Wordcount 2439

Messy

JoanneoVecen

Wordcount 2424

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You will be the death of me

m3ntally1ll

Wordcount 2397

All for you

dramaticwitchbitch

Wordcount 2351

Bad idea right?

notyourjamespotter

Wordcount 2348

Less than ideal study techniques

heartnipnops

Wordcount 2325

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Jealousy, jealousy

mytearsblack

Wordcount 2310

Dirty vibration

Just_a_bean

Wordcount 2298

I'll call you darling, hold you tight

inkpurpl

Wordcount 2289

Oh (the thorns of a rose)

lilyofthevalleyys

Wordcount 2269

Choke

cherryredmarlene

Wordcount 2255

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Well never have sex

actuallyjamespotter

Wordcount 2252

Rowdy night

The_Potterhead

Wordcount 2248

My pretty rose

Black_Dahlias

Wordcount 2237

December 7: Barty

little_alouette

Wordcount 2236

hits different (cause it's you)

CRAmber and midnightscollab

Wordcount 2228

Marked

lunablack (tobeeoptomistic)

Wordcount 2224

Loving is a desperate thing

KroLiev

Wordcount 2219

THIS ONE IS EXPLICIT

I want to be the me that you see

sigme7

Wordcount 2188

he's doing it on purpose

Adlevise

Wordcount 2175

Somebody sold us all kinds of lies

Ifididthenididnt

Wordcount 2156

The gang is what I trust

STARS4SOFAI

Wordcount 2154

Heart to heart

kazsbf

Wordcount 2152

I stayed there

stoned_regulus

Wordcount 2130

The night all the roses died

Actiaslunaaster

Wordcount 2125

Never open your post

Black_Dahlias

Wordcount 2125

Operation Rosekiller

Redraven31086

Wordcount 2114

Snakes can love too

Orphan_account

Wordcount 2107

Tell me your limit and we'll cross the line again

JBlackMalfoyRosier

Wordcount 2103

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late night devil put your hands on me

pumpkinspider

Wordcount 2101

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haunted

kazsbf

Wordcount 2097

kannibalistische liebe

twistjjedm

Wordcount 2088

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Ill let you have sex with me

Iheartstrawberrys

Wordcount 2074

Because we're just friends (the friends who undress)

Rupinraven

Wordcount 2068

Are you scared of moths

Mico_Evelyn

Wordcount 2057

Will you shut up and listen to me for a minute you twat

ConfusednDisappointed

Wordcount 2032

Eton Mess

KroLiev

Wordcount 2019

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I hate you (I love you)

Spiteful_sunshine

Wordcount 2001

Time can't stop me quite like you did

paintedindigo

Wordcount 2000

#mauraders fanfiction #rosekiller #barty crouch jr #barty crouch junior #evan rosier #barty x evan #ao3 #fanfiction

330 notes · View notes

shiorihyugawrites · 4 months ago

Text

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Fifty Four

A/N: OSTs for this chapter are “The Warriors”, “Guilty Hero”, and “The Successor”.

Flashback: Before Zeke and Aurora were pulled into the Paths…

Eren could feel the rumble of his own titan heartbeat reverberating in his ears, an echo that blended with the endless din of battle. Shiganshina was falling apart around him, brick by shattered brick, but he forced the image of crumbling walls out of his mind. Right now, only one thought mattered: getting to Zeke. He saw the moment when the Beast Titan suddenly stalled, as though jerked by an invisible string. Even from a distance, Eren glimpsed Zeke’s body seize up in confusion. Captain Levi, perched on a broken tower and mid-lunge toward the titan’s broad ankle, froze momentarily too, evidently surprised by Zeke’s abrupt pause.

Eren refused to waste the chance. With a furious roar, the Attack Titan crashed forward, lumbering past battered piles of rubble. The ground shook beneath every step, and he batted aside two pure titans that lunged for his flanks. One managed to clamp its jaws around his crystallized forearm, but he wrenched it free, obliterating the creature’s skull with a single savage blow. Blood and steam erupted in a grim spray, yet Eren hardly blinked at the gore. He kept moving, his massive form forging a path through the chaos like a battleship through stormy seas.

All around him, the fight raged on. Mikasa slashed in midair, cables whistling as she darted from rooftop to rooftop, a flicker of black hair and gleaming blades. Jean and Connie wrestled with a Marleyan gun emplacement on a collapsed watchtower, trying to overtake the crewmembers before they could pepper the remaining Jaegerists with more gunfire. Sasha was perched on a broken rampart, eyes narrowed, firing carefully aimed shots at the Allied soldiers who parachuted too close. Pieck’s Cart Titan scuttled over debris, the Jaegerists strapped to her back unleashing sporadic Inferno Blades, though her body was close to its limit from repeated transformations. Reiner’s Armored Titan sprawled on its side not far away, injuries riddling his once-impenetrable plating, while Porco’s Jaw Titan snarled in equal desperation, half its face gone yet still swinging with lethal precision.

Eren barreled through the ring of pure titans converging around the Beast Titan. Shiganshina’s streets became a graveyard of twisted steel and broken stone. The smell of gunpowder, blood, and Titan steam weighed heavily in the air. He thought of Aurora’s beautiful face for half a heartbeat, her platinum blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, the way she had pleaded for him to survive. He clenched his crystalline fists, renewed determination boiling in his chest. If he failed now, everything—Aurora, their unborn child, Paradis itself—was doomed.

But of of the corner of his eye, he spotted a tall figure in the rubble: Commander Magath, kneeling behind a partially collapsed barricade. Even from a distance, Eren recognized the specialized anti-titan cannon, a fearsome weapon known to pierce even the thickest titan armor. Magath swung the weapon, zeroing in on the Beast Titan’s nape. Eren’s heart clenched. If Magath succeeded in blowing Zeke apart, there would be no chance of contact. No contact meant no Rumbling. No Rumbling meant the Allied Forces, with their endless armies, would eventually break Shiganshina. And if they broke Shiganshina, they would inevitably sweep across the island, unstoppable.

“Damn it,” Eren snarled in his mind, though his titan mouth let out a guttural roar. He hammered aside another pure titan, grappling it by the neck and crushing its nape, then sent the twitching corpse crashing into a squad of Allied infantry. His eyes flicked back to Magath, who lined up the shot. Eren pushed forward, titan feet cracking the pavement beneath him, but he knew he might be seconds too late. Magath had a clear line of sight. Zeke, momentarily paralyzed, would be helpless.

Then everything froze. One instant, Eren was in mid-stride, hand outstretched, a fraction away from launching into a final leap toward the Beast Titan. Captain Levi, mere feet from Zeke’s ankle, had both blades raised, ready to sever the tendon. Magath’s bullet, shaped to puncture titan napes, streaked through the air on a perfect trajectory. All movement ceased, as though the world had been paused by an unseen hand…

The bullet hung just feet from Zeke’s vulnerable neck, muzzle-flash still suspended around the cannon. Even the blood droplets and bits of debris were locked in place. The entire battlefield had become a lifeless tableau.

And in that same frozen moment, Aurora and Zeke stood face-to-face within the other realm. The world of the Paths. The swirling sand glimmered with an otherworldly light that made everything feel suspended in a timeless hush. Aurora’s expression was fierce despite the exhaustion lining her features, her labour pains now irrelevant in this intangible space. Zeke’s eyes blazed with pent-up wrath and confusion. They squared off, tension heavy between them.

“What do you get out of this?” Aurora asked, voice laced with contempt as she fixed her icy gaze on him. “All this talk of euthanizing your own people—do you really think that makes you some hero or savior?” She let out a mirthless laugh, a note of bitterness echoing in the empty air. “You’re nothing more than a monster.”

Zeke’s jaw tightened. “Shut your mouth! You have no idea what you’re talking about. None of you do.” His eyes narrowed, and the raw edge of hysteria bled into his tone. “There was only one person who ever understood me, the only one who showed me what had to be done: Mr. Ksaver.”

At that name, Aurora’s features twisted in confusion. “Who is that?”

Zeke’s entire body tensed, a flicker of pain hidden behind his glasses. “He was the only one who truly saw the cruelty this world inflicted on Eldians. My father, that damned Grisha, he wanted to use me just like he used everyone else. He never cared about me. But Mr. Ksaver, he taught me how to endure, how to see the bigger picture.”

“Bigger picture,” Aurora repeated with scorn, eyes glistening with disbelief. “And that picture is… what? Killing off every adult Eldian you can, leaving only the children to be manipulated into your delusional plan? You think that’s your great cause?”

A tremor of rage fluttered across Zeke’s face. “Those children deserve a life free of this curse. Not to mention the only chance this cursed race has is if we stop reproducing. I believed it then, and I believe it now. If enough adults die, and we raise the young ones with the right understanding—”

“What, that you’re their benevolent savior?!” Aurora cut in, voice shaking with contempt. “You want to stand in front of them with open arms, promising them salvation if they just accept your twisted logic? You think they’ll all greet you with applause, hailing you as the man who killed their families in the name of peace?”

Zeke flinched at her words, but he managed to hold her gaze. “You have no idea the weight I carry. Eldians have cursed the world for two thousand years, spreading warfare and tragedy. I’m ending it. My plan will end the fear of titans for good. Mr. Ksaver explained it all to me—this current generation is too stubborn, too consumed by old grudges. But children… children can learn a better way. They don’t have the same baggage. They can be taught to understand it’s the greatest mercy: to end Eldian births so no one ever suffers again.”

Aurora let out a shaky exhale, her head spinning with the monstrous scope of his plan. “You’re insane,” she hissed. “You talk about burdens, about curses, but all I see is a man desperate for approval he never got. You’re still a child inside, Zeke, clinging to some tragic father figure, hoping you’ll be validated by impressionable kids—kids who’ll supposedly look up at you and say, ‘Thanks for slaughtering our parents, we see now you were right all along.’ You have no clue how real people think or feel. You’re just… monstrous.”

His eyes flared, and his voice rose. “And what do you know? You married Eren, who’s ready to flatten the world with the Founder’s power. That’s just a more violent version of the same end! Don’t pretend your hands are clean. He’s a monster in the making—”

“You know nothing about Eren,” Aurora snapped, stepping closer. She could feel the sand shift beneath her feet, each grain radiating intangible power. “He might do terrible things, but I know him. He’s driven by desperation to protect those he loves, not out of some twisted longing for acceptance. And yes, I know he’s dangerous, but he isn’t playing God with children’s futures. You are. You act like a little boy too afraid to confront the man who hurt him, so you become a worse tyrant than he ever was.”

Zeke’s calm veneer shattered. “Don’t talk like you know me. Don’t you dare!” he roared, hands balling into fists. “I’ve fought for this since I was a child, forced to endure Grisha’s fanaticism, forced to pretend I was something I wasn’t. Mr. Ksaver showed me a path. He gave me hope that someday I could save everyone from the cycle, that I could end the suffering. You—”

“You just want someone to say you did good,” Aurora breathed, tears trembling on her lashes as anger warred with pity. “To pat you on the head and say, ‘You’re right, Zeke, you’re so brave, you saved the world by butchering your own people and raising the children to believe in your twisted dream.’ I’m sorry, but you’ll never get that. Not from me, not from them, not from anyone.”

Zeke clenched his jaw, furious at how precisely she saw through him. “Shut up,” he repeated, though it lacked the same edge. “Shut up.”

Then a flicker at the corner of Aurora’s vision made her glance aside. Ymir, the Founder, was watching them both, eyes dull but keenly fixed on the confrontation. Aurora swallowed, remembering the child’s timeless sorrow. All of Ymir’s two thousand years of anguish poured into that stare, silently judging them. Aurora had no idea if Ymir approved or disdained them; the Founder never spoke. But Aurora sensed that each word, each admission, carved a path in Ymir’s silent domain.

Zeke let out a shaky breath, forcing his composure back. “It doesn’t matter,” he said at last, quieter now, though still brimming with tension. “The plan is in motion. Even if you disagree, even if Eren tries to flatten the planet, I’ve set events in motion. I can’t stop—”

Suddenly, the swirling sands glowed faintly. The realm of the Paths rippled like a disturbed lake. Aurora tensed, looking around in alarm. The edges of their surroundings dissolved, shifting into half-real shapes. Ymir’s expression didn’t change, but her posture shifted, as though she were waiting for something else to occur.

Zeke’s body flickered, losing solidity, and he stumbled. “What—?” he gasped, confusion etched across his face. For a heartbeat, Aurora saw the Beast Titan’s form overlapping him, the suggestion of fur and simian muscle. He flickered in and out like a distorted phantom.

Across the battlefield in the real world, time abruptly restarted. Zeke’s body jolted in the Beast Titan’s nape, returning to reality in the precise moment Magath’s bullet exploded into the back of his neck. The impact ripped through titan flesh, sending a massive spray of blood and gore. Captain Levi, who had been poised to slash the Achilles tendon, recoiled a fraction of a second from the shockwave. The Beast Titan toppled sideways, a deafening roar splitting the air. Eren, in that same suspended instant, dove forward, titan hand stretching out. He ignored the hail of bullets, the pure titan jaws snapping at his ankles, everything. He had one objective: contact.

A gut-wrenching crack thundered as the Beast Titan’s nape tore open under the bullet’s force. Zeke’s limp body tumbled free, blood trailing in an arc behind him. He felt the world spin, his consciousness flickering. He was falling, almost in slow motion. The edges of his vision dimmed. He vaguely saw Levi’s shape blurring across the ground, saw Eren’s Attack Titan lunging. Another flash of the battle: Reiner half-collapsed, Armin’s Colossal Titan forging a wall of steam. Soldiers screaming, flames from the Inferno Blades licking across the rubble. Then weightlessness. Then darkness.

Until a massive, warm grip enveloped him. Eren’s titan hand, the fingers glistening with hardened crystal tips, caught Zeke’s broken body just before it crashed to the earth. In that split second, their flesh connected: Eren’s palm on Zeke’s battered body, bare skin meeting. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then reality broke apart once more.

Their surroundings shifted back into the Paths, Aurora was still there, standing stunned, face twisted with surprise and alarm. She saw Zeke flicker back into existence, and now Eren stood among them, tall and fierce, though in this realm he appeared as his human self. No titan forms, no swirling blood. Only the echo of that contact. Ymir, still silent, lingered a short distance away, her gaze flicking among the three of them with cool impassivity.

Zeke felt as though the world had been ripped out from under his feet. One moment, he was in the midst of a hellish battle back in Shiganshina, half his body wrecked from Commander Magath’s shot, Eren’s Titan hand closing around him. The next, he found himself standing in the endless twilight of the Paths once more. The pale, drifting sand swirled around him like ghosts, a silent reminder of every life the Titans had ever touched. His vision swam, but then he realized, with mounting dread, that he was not alone.

He saw Aurora first, her platinum-blonde hair a stark contrast against the dim, starless sky. She stood just a few paces away, the faint outline of her pregnant belly visible beneath simple her flowy garment. Their gazes collided with mutual shock. Zeke couldn’t fathom why he was here again and why she was even still here. Why hadn’t she been sent out of the Paths like he had?

Aurora’s ice-blue eyes flickered with the same shock, but also relief. Eren’s plan—making contact with Zeke—had finally come to pass.

Then Eren appeared a short distance behind Aurora, as if he had materialized from the swirling sand itself. For a heartbeat, he looked disoriented, his eyes darting between Aurora and Zeke. He had known the instant he made physical contact with his half-brother, something would trigger. But seeing Aurora here sent a stab of fear through his chest. “Aurora,” he said, his voice thick with confusion. “How did you—why are you—?” He couldn’t even finish the question. He felt dread creeping up his spine. This was not just the real world. This was the realm of the Founder, a place where time and space warped according to the will of Ymir Fritz.

Aurora swallowed, fighting the urge to run to him and bury herself in his arms. She managed a shaky breath. “I… I don’t know why,” she confessed, her voice trembling. “Ymir brough me here. Maybe it’s because of the baby, or the chain of memories, or— I’m not sure. But Eren…”

She trailed off, looking at him helplessly, as though willing him to find the strength they both desperately needed.

That was when Zeke’s voice rang out, filled with raw panic. “Enough!” he barked, his tone fractured by anger and alarm. He glared at Aurora, then shifted his fiery stare to Eren. “I won’t let you do as you please, little brother. Nor will I let her sabotage everything.”

Eren’s eyes narrowed. “Zeke. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it’s over. I made contact with you, and I hold the Founder’s power now. So don’t even think—”

But Zeke cut him off by turning sharply toward the shadowy figure at the center of the Paths: Ymir Fritz. She was so quiet, but her mere presence commanded all of them.

Zeke seized the chance and roared, “Ymir! Carry out the euthanization plan now!” His voice cracked with desperation, the words coming out like a command he had spent his entire life preparing for. “End this endless cycle of hatred. Sterilize the Eldians! Make it so none of them can bear children ever again. Do it now!”

Aurora’s heart lurched. She knew the plan by now, but Zeke’s twisted dream threatened her baby, threatened every child who might be born in the future. She couldn’t allow it. Yet, she knew Ymir might still obey him. Royal blood was the ultimate key here. No matter how powerful Eren was with the Attack Titan and the Founding Titan, Zeke’s direct lineage with Dina Fritz gave him a voice Ymir could not ignore.

“Stop!” Aurora cried, stepping forward in a desperate move to intercept Ymir. “Please, don’t do this. You can’t condemn us all just for the sins of the past!” She felt tears well in her eyes, remembering how her mother and father had fled Marley, how Aurora herself had been born to a royal bloodline she never asked for, how her entire life had become a battleground of propaganda and fear.

Eren’s jaw tightened as he watched Aurora’s plea. He turned to Ymir, raising his voice. “Ymir, please listen—listen to Aurora if you won’t listen to me. You have the power to choose. You don’t have to follow Zeke’s orders!” He remembered Aurora telling him about her encounters with the Founder, how Ymir had shown glimmers of independence, how Ymir had once even guided Aurora to safety. He clung to that faint hope.

Zeke only bared his teeth, his face contorting in fury. “She does have to follow my orders, Eren. You don’t grasp the magnitude of the vow she’s under. It’s two thousand years of subjugation to royal blood. She has no free will. She’s a slave. MY slave!”

At Zeke’s bellowed command, Ymir began to move. It was slow, as though every step was carved from stone. Her blank eyes stared ahead, her posture stiff. Aurora, Eren, and Zeke all felt the invisible tremor in the Paths, as though it responded to the will of its silent master. The shimmering horizon rippled, suggesting Ymir was about to shape the power of the Titans according to Zeke’s euthanization plan. Sand rose in swirls at Ymir’s feet, and Aurora’s heart clenched. She could only imagine the horrors about to be unleashed: a future where no Eldian child would ever be born.

“No!” Eren shouted, lunging, but an instant later, thick, heavy chains materialized around his ankles and wrists, snapping him to the ground. A second set snaked from the sand to Aurora’s arms and legs, yanking her down with a vicious jerk. She let out a startled cry, her belly twisting in pain, and Eren’s fury redoubled. “Damn it! Let her go!”

Zeke’s lips pressed into a grim line of satisfaction. “I told you, Eren,” he said, a slight tremor betraying his fear and excitement. “ You won’t win. I am a royal blooded titan. You may hold the Founder, but I’m the one Ymir recognizes as her master.” His gaze flicked to Aurora. “I won’t let you or your pregnant wife ruin everything. I’m saving our people from an eternity of suffering, even if it means erasing our existence.”

“Erasing the existence of my child?” Aurora’s voice trembled. “Is that what you call salvation?” Anger flared in her chest, and she struggled against the chains, though each movement sent pain lancing through her abdomen. She could feel the baby shift, as though sensing her mother’s distress. “You’re a monster,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes. “My child hasn’t even taken its first breath. My child has done nothing wrong. You think you’re righteous? You’re delusional.”

Zeke scowled, his eyes narrowing on Aurora. “You know nothing,” he hissed. “I’ve suffered my entire life for being born Eldian. If the older generations had the decency to not exist, none of us would have to experience this hell. I’m giving these children a chance at peace. They’ll never know the cruelty of the Titan curse. They’ll thank me one day, just as I thanked Tom Ksaver.”

Eren strained against his chains, ignoring the searing pain in his arms where the metal bit into his flesh. The memory of Dina, Zeke’s mother, and how she had been forced to devour Eren’s own mother, Carla, flashed in his mind. It fueled his hatred for Zeke’s twisted logic. “Stop lying to yourself,” he growled, his voice raw. “You’re nothing but a coward who wants to drag everyone down with you so you can feel justified. If you truly wanted to save people, you wouldn’t be killing them. You wouldn’t be risking unborn children—my child.”

Aurora’s tears spilled over, a mixture of rage, fear, and heartbreak. “Zeke, if you go through with this, you’ll prove you’re no better than King Fritz. Forcing Ymir to obey, making her build the Titans to kill more Eldians, to prevent future life… you’re perpetuating the same cycle you claim you want to end. You’re a slave to your own hatred and pain.”

Zeke looked like he wanted to snap back, but at that moment, Ymir paused. She stood in front of the glowing tree, her head bowed. Eren, Aurora, and Zeke felt the tension coil around them like an executioner’s noose. If Ymir stepped inside that tree’s light, Zeke’s plan would become reality. Aurora’s baby, and countless unborn generations of Eldians, would be wiped from possibility.

“Move, Ymir!” Zeke shouted, his eyes wide and desperate. “Don’t listen to them! Complete the euthanization! You have to do it!”

Eren tried one last time to push himself free, hissing with frustration as the chains cut deeper. “Ymir,” he gasped, “please, you don’t have to be a slave. Neither to me, nor to Zeke, nor to King Fritz. You can choose. You can be free, the way Aurora said. You can stop listening to everyone— me included— and live for yourself.”

For a moment, Ymir’s eyes flickered with something other than emptiness. Her lips trembled, her posture drooped as though weighed by centuries of trauma. Aurora’s memory of that brief, gentle touch she’d once shared with Ymir burned in her mind. She remembered how Ymir flinched yet still lingered, as if a small part of her yearned for connection. And Aurora saw it again now: the wounded child in Ymir’s eyes, torn between submission and the faintest glimmer of rebellion.

Zeke saw it too. A cold sweat gathered on his brow. “Ymir, you have to obey me!” he insisted, his voice cracking with panic. “I have royal blood, you can’t just ignore me! I… I order you to do it now! Use your power, sterilize them all!”

The intangible air of the Paths trembled, and Ymir seemed to take a step forward, as if to comply. But then, as though pulled by an unseen force, her head turned slightly toward Aurora again. Aurora’s eyes met Ymir’s, and she exhaled a trembling breath. “Ymir,” she said softly, each word a plea. “You’ve been lonely for so long, haven’t you? You’ve lived in fear, forced to build Titans for men who never loved you. You’ve never had a choice. Let me— let us give you that choice.”

Zeke roared, “Shut up, Aurora!”

But Aurora didn’t stop. She pressed her palm over her swollen belly as she spoke, her face lined with tears. “You can live again,” she whispered. “You don’t have to spend eternity building Titans, forced by us or by him. If you help Eren stop the world from destroying us, if you help ensure our child can be born… you can be free. You can come with me… in the next life. Let me be your mother, so you can be born with a family that loves you.” Her words echoed in the silent air, as though the Paths itself was holding its breath.

Zeke hissed in disbelief, “You’re insane! She’s just a— she’s not even— That’s not how it works!”

Eren, though stunned by Aurora’s idea, recognized something in Ymir’s face. It was the first time he’d seen her show emotion, tears rolling silently down her cheeks, pale and cold in the moonlike glow of this empty dimension. He heard Aurora’s voice in his mind from their quiet moments together, the times she’d told him about how Ymir was lonely, how she might just need someone to see her as more than a tool.

Zeke struggled to hold onto his control, but the sight of Ymir trembling unnerved him deeply. “Ymir,” he tried again, his voice trembling with an emotion he refused to name. “Don’t let them fool you. They’re using you, just like King Fritz did. I’m the only one who truly wants to end the cycle of suffering for good. Are you so cruel you’d let children be born only to devour each other in this war? Ymir, think—”

But Ymir took one step away from him. She reached out with her left hand, grazing her fingertips along Aurora’s cheek, then trailing them down to Aurora’s belly. Aurora gasped softly, her eyes fluttering at the cool touch. A subtle, silent communion passed between them: the longing Ymir felt for freedom, the terrifying hope Aurora held for her unborn child. For the first time, a faint warmth pulsed in Ymir’s chest, a desire not for obedience, but for belonging.

Zeke bellowed, “Stop messing around, Ymir!” A flush of panic reddened his face. “I command you, by the power of the royal blood, to carry out the euthanization plan RIGHT NOW!”

The ground trembled. Ymir’s head jerked, as though compelled by Zeke’s order, and Eren felt the invisible chains tighten around him once again. He refused to yield. Summoning every ounce of determination, he strained, the links digging into his flesh, ripping his arms. Aurora, likewise, felt her arms being bound tighter, pain lancing across her abdomen. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

“Please, Ymir,” Aurora whispered, her tears dripping onto the sand. “I can’t lose my baby. And you shouldn’t have to lose your life either. We can find a way out, together.”

Zeke, eyes wide with desperation, raised his arms again, pulling something from the swirling dust—a manifestation of his will. It resembled the chain of memories, the intangible constructs that forced Ymir to do his bidding. “Enough of this!” he hissed. “I won’t let you ruin my dream. I—”

Before he could finish, Ymir turned around fully, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Her gaze flicked from Zeke to Eren, then back to Aurora. She lifted her hands and, with a barely perceptible movement, the chains on Eren and Aurora fell away. Eren collapsed forward, shock flooding his veins. Aurora’s breath caught in her throat as she felt her arms free at last. She tottered, trying to keep her balance with her enormous belly and the shock of being released.

Zeke staggered backward. “No,” he croaked, voice cracking. “You… you can’t just disobey me. I have the royal blood. You’re a slave to my will. I… I… order you to—”

But Ymir simply closed her eyes, letting tears track across her dusted skin. In that single moment, the weight of centuries bore down upon her. She remembered being hunted, devoured by duty, forced to spawn monstrous weapons for two millennia. She remembered King Fritz’s mocking face, the commands of every descendent of his blood. She remembered how Aurora had once tried to hold her hand, how Eren had recognized her suffering, how they saw her not as a mindless slave, but as an individual in need of something—love, choice, freedom. And Ymir recalled that gentle warmth, Aurora’s vow that she could live as their child in a new world if she wished it. The notion was strange, perhaps impossible, but it lit a spark inside her. A life beyond this emptiness.

Zeke roared in frustration. “No!” he snarled, sweat beading on his forehead. “Obey me, damn it, you have to obey me— you can’t just— you can’t—”

Eren and Aurora stared, transfixed, as Ymir turned from Zeke and faced them both. Eren felt unsteady, missing his thumbs, blood dripping from his mangled hands. But he summoned the strength to stand beside Aurora, letting her lean into his side. A quiet hush fell over them all, as if the Paths itself was holding its breath, waiting to see Ymir’s final decision.

Aurora’s voice wavered, “Ymir… I promise, we’ll keep our word. If you— if you help us put an end to this war, you can be born free. I’ll do everything I can to—”

Zeke tried to lunge forward, but it was too late. With a single step, Ymir closed the distance to Eren. Her small hand reached up, gently brushing against his forehead. Eren inhaled sharply, a white-hot jolt coursing through his mind. Energy crackled around them, like a silent thunderstorm. The power of the Founder rippled across the dimension, shimmering in gold and white fractals.

A sharp gasp tore from Eren’s throat as visions assailed him—memories of countless Eldians from across time, fragments of their hopes and fears. Aurora trembled, feeling the aftershocks. She couldn’t see the memories herself, but she sensed Eren’s entire body tense, and she placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

Zeke stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide with something akin to horror. “No,” he breathed, voice hollow. He felt the intangible chains coil around his own limbs, pulling him to his knees. “This— this can’t be happening…” The inevitability pressed in on him: Ymir had chosen Eren. Or had she chosen Aurora’s kindness? Either way, he was losing all control.

Eren’s green eyes glowed with raw power, reminiscent of the Founding Titan’s unstoppable might. He cast a glance at Aurora, seeing the relief and determination in her ice-blue gaze. The swirling sands around them roiled as though guided by Eren’s newly accessed power. Ymir’s face was expressionless but for the tears streaming down her cheeks, a silent testament to the heartbreak she had endured and the fragile hope Aurora had offered.

Desperate, Zeke tried one last time, “Ymir, no— I beg you, don’t do this to me. We can still— we can—” But the ghostly chains tightened around him, cutting off his words. He writhed, panting in fear.

Aurora watched, heart pounding, as Eren slowly lifted a trembling hand, raw with wounds. He pressed his palm to the side of Ymir’s face, a gesture of empathy. “You’re free now,” he whispered. “I swear it. You can choose. If you want revenge, if you want to flatten the world that tortured you for two thousand years, I’ll do it. If you want something else— anything— tell me.” His gaze shifted to Aurora, remembering her words about letting Ymir make her own choice, about offering her a chance to break the cycle. “We owe you that.”

Aurora managed a shaky smile, tears glistening. She gently rested her hand atop Ymir’s. “You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she murmured, voice soft. “We can do this together.”

Ymir’s tear-filled eyes drifted from Eren to Aurora, then down to Aurora’s belly. For an instant, the tension in her shoulders melted into an expression that almost looked like longing, something akin to a child gazing through a window at a family gathered around a warm fire. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words emerged—just a trembling breath that carried centuries of pain. Then she gave the slightest nod, tears continuing to track down her face.

A sudden rush of brilliance swept over the Path. Threads of radiant energy coiled up from Ymir’s feet, swirling around Eren and Aurora like an incandescent storm. Zeke let out a strangled cry, feeling his control slip away entirely. The intangible forces that once obeyed him were no longer his to command. He was chained, forcibly made to witness the Founder’s decision.

In that blinding torrent of light, Eren gasped as knowledge— unfiltered, raw potential— coursed through him. He felt the Founder’s might in his veins, surging with unstoppable force. He could sense every titan sleeping in the walls of Paradis, sense the possibility of unleashing them. Yet he also felt Ymir’s sorrow, her desperate longing for a family, for acceptance that was never given to her by King Fritz. Eren felt Aurora’s presence behind him, her fear and her vow to protect the child inside her, to do what was necessary for them to have a future. All of it merged into a single, harrowing choice.

Zeke, shackled in the golden glow, let out a guttural shout, “Eren, don’t you dare—”

But his voice fell to a whisper in the roar of cosmic power. Aurora, one hand protectively over her belly, the other lightly touching Ymir’s shoulder, leaned close to Eren. She whispered, “Whatever you do… I’ll be by your side. We’ve come too far to turn back.”

Eren turned his head slightly, meeting Aurora’s gaze. He read in her expression both terror and a fierce hope, a readiness to do the unimaginable so their child would not be born into bondage. He nodded slowly, tears slipping down his own cheeks. “We do this together,” he said quietly.

Ymir closed her eyes, one last tear slipping free, as though she had given them the final piece of her soul. Her hand upon Eren’s chest pulsed with power, the swirling lights coalescing into a single beam that seemed to fuse Eren’s will with that of the Founder. They all felt an impossible resonance— the weight of two thousand years of history pivoting on a single moment. Zeke strained, fighting with every ounce of his soul to deny it, but he was helpless to watch as Eren and Aurora stood in unison with Ymir’s blessing.

Zeke was left caged, an irony that sent a wave of dread through him. He recognized that posture: the same captivity Ymir had known for centuries. Now it was his turn to watch helplessly, as Eren gripped the power he had sought. Magath’s bullet had sealed Zeke’s fate, forcing him into contact with Eren in that final instant. In the swirling maelstrom of light, he glimpsed Aurora stepping closer to Ymir again, reaching for her with trembling hands, as if to offer comfort. Ymir’s gaze flickered, uncertain, yet no longer the hollow stare of a prisoner. She leaned in, allowing Aurora’s arms to encircle her in a tender embrace.

Zeke’s breath caught at the sight. “No…” he whispered, feeling the entire point of his existence unravel. He thought of Ksaver, the day they discussed the euthanization plan as though it were absolute salvation. He remembered Dina, Grisha, all of it culminating in him believing he was chosen to end Eldia’s torment. Now, here he was, sidelined by the very force he tried to bend to his will. He couldn’t accept that Ymir had made a choice outside his commands. Yet the tears on Ymir’s cheeks told him everything: she had found something else. Something he never once offered her— a chance at life, at love, at being more than a Titan-forging slave.

Finally, Eren’s voice cut through the symphony of light and shadow, firm yet carrying a quiet empathy. “Zeke,” he said, turning to regard his brother, who knelt shackled in the dust. “I told you— your plan is worthless. Maybe I am a devil, maybe I’ll doom the rest of the world. But I won’t let you take away the future from our people, from my child. From Aurora.”

Zeke simply glared, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. “You’re no savior,” he spat, choking on the bitterness in his throat. “You’re just continuing the cycle in your own way. You think you’re free? You’re just a—”

“Enough,” Aurora said sharply, surprising even herself. She was done cowering, done letting Zeke’s twisted worldview overshadow everything. She rested a protective hand over her abdomen, then gazed down at him. “You never asked the children if they wanted your so-called salvation. You never asked me if I was okay with your plan to kill my unborn baby. You didn’t ask Ymir if she truly wanted to follow you. You just assumed you knew best. Maybe you believed it, or maybe you were just repeating the only pattern you knew. But it ends now.”

Zeke thrashed in the chains, cursing. “No, you can’t— you can’t do this, Eren! If you unleash the Rumbling, you’ll kill millions, maybe billions. You’ll be no better than—”

Eren’s voice emerged, quiet but resolute. “I never said I was better than anyone. I’m doing this to protect the people I care about. If the world truly wants to exterminate us, then yes, I’ll become the devil they fear. But you gave me no other choice. Neither did the world.” He paused, casting a sideways glance at Aurora. “But that doesn’t mean I’m forcing Ymir to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Zeke let out a strained cry. He glared at Aurora with a mixture of rage and desperation. “This is your fault,” he spat, voice trembling. “If you’d never come into the picture, she would have obeyed me. You ruined everything.” A bitter laugh choked from his lips. “I hope you’re happy. You’ve doomed yourselves to the same cycle— another monstrous war. You’re no saviors.”

Aurora shook her head, sorrow welling in her eyes. “I never claimed to be a savior, Zeke,” she replied softly. “I just wanted to protect my child. I wanted Ymir to be free. If that makes me monstrous, so be it.”

Ymir turned her face upward, looking at the endless sky of the Paths. Then she reached forward, as though pulling something from the swirling sands— threads of Titan creation, but shaped by a new intention. The entire dimension thrummed with possibilities. Aurora’s breath caught, uncertain what Ymir was about to do. Eren braced himself, half-expecting the walls of Paradis to thunder to life under his command.

But the scene froze, like an image paused in time. Ymir’s decision was final: she gifted Eren the Founder’s power, by her own will, and refrained from completing Zeke’s euthanization. The rest would come down to Eren’s next words, next moves. She lingered there, gazing at Eren and Aurora, almost as if waiting for them to vanish back into reality to do what must be done. In that final moment, Aurora glimpsed the faint trace of a small smile on Ymir’s face, a ghost of an expression. A silent thank you, or perhaps a goodbye.

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moociaoafterdark · 3 months ago

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From my "Ferrus can get infected with the Flayer Virus" posting and reading through the short story that inspired this AU/theory, I had been reminded just how... fucking horrifying an awakening Necron complex is from non-Necron POV. Most people have no clue what Necrons are and how they even work, so it makes the description of newly awakened legion on undead machines, described as nightmares that surpass even those of the Warp, that much more horrifying.

The ragged band of surviving acolytes, now at half-strength, clustered around the inquisitor in a defensive cordon. The Death Spectres bolstered them, anchoring their position with their power-armoured presence. Achairas used his last two magazines to assist his brothers in dispersing the surrounding onslaught, stepping out of the defensive ring to slash down any creature that managed to come through. And then, just like that, the assault was over. The remnants of the xenos simply phased out of reality, and those still standing disappeared back into the tunnels they’d come from. The rushing water subsided, and Achairas lowered his sword. Any respite they might have gained was short-lived as a tectonic shudder lurched the entire chamber, and the dull humming grew in intensity. ‘The tomb…’ Vemek’s servo-skull chattered, emerging from its high hiding place. ‘Something is happening. My readings indicate more and more of the superstructure seems to be coming online…’ ‘Coming online?’ Astolyev growled, signalling the group to advance with due haste. ‘Yes, the other parts of the ruin are… powering up.’ ‘Then we make haste,’ Achairas commanded. ‘Whatever this structure is, we cannot allow it to awaken! Its threat is clear enough. We must end this!’

The tunnel converged into a larger passage, angling steadily down. More scarabs flitted to and fro, most of them avoiding the advancing group. The cavernous hexagonal hall continued on for a great distance, its end lost in the emerald gloom. All the while, the humming grew louder and louder, and the quakes grew in intensity and frequency, hobbling those not blessed with the stability granted by power armour with each tremor. More phantom auspex blips followed, but the device was rapidly becoming unusable, flickering in and out from moment to moment. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have long,’ Vemek’s servo-skull chirped. ‘Immense power fluctuations det–’ The crackling voice was cut off suddenly as the entire chamber shook, and a deafening roar echoed from further down. Several of the acolytes staggered and fell, their balance stolen by the seismic activity. All of the prisms and luminescent nodes on the floor and walls flared, painfully illuminating the darkness. Achairas’ auto-senses adjusted almost immediately, as did the acolytes’ photo-visors. An energy surge disrupted everything, and for a moment, his vision became crackling static, and his power armour seized up. Thankfully, its internal dampening systems quickly compensated. ‘Vemek?’ Astolyev called over the din of the tremors, shuddering as his own augmetics similarly restored functionality.

‘Status report!’ There was no response, and moments later Vemek’s servo-skull clattered to the ground, its delicate circuitry evidently fried. ‘Throne of Terra, let’s move!’ the inquisitor shouted, and the group advanced, jogging down the massive tunnel towards the newly growing source of blinding jade at its end. The tunnel led them into what could only be the heart of the tomb, an open space of staggering size. More than half a mile across, the chamber resembled an amphitheatre of massive proportions. It was an inverted ziggurat, the ceiling soaring hundreds of feet above them. Massive pylons loomed in concentric circles around a central, colossal obelisk rising to a quarter of the height of the cavern. The obelisk was covered in gleaming geometric runes and prisms burning with the brightness of green suns. Even Achairas’ auto-senses could not adjust, and he was forced to look away. Millions of scarabs moved about in a wanton manner, scuttling along the walls and descending steps. More of the sinuous mantis constructs darted about while arachnoid machines the size of light tanks drifted between the smaller pillars jutting up everywhere. Achairas saw packs of metallic humanoids stalking about below, some draped in tattered flesh, others not. They seemed to chitter and claw at each other in fits of madness. It was some advantage as, at this distance, they had yet to notice their intruders. ‘This is it!’ Astolyev called over the distorted vox-net, gesturing at the central obelisk. ‘The power source!’ Beams of energy lanced from the contained emeralds to immense prisms set into sockets on the walls, each a blinding solar flare that sent waves of heat and static resonating through the entire chamber. Around the obelisk, at the dead centre of the inverted ziggurat, was an elevated ring, and Achairas’ magnified vision noted four more metallic skeletons working on panels within its interior. They were adorned differently, with elaborate crests, and were slightly smaller and more hunched than the xenos they had fought. ‘Inquisitor, can you assess what we are seeing?’ Achairas shouted into his vox. Astolyev’s answer was interrupted by another sudden lurch and an increase in gravity, sending everyone but the Space Marines sprawling. Even the Death Spectres were hobbled. Surging gravity was a sensation Achairas knew all too well. The tomb was rising. Somehow.

#warhammer 40k #necrons

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hag-rambling-on · 2 months ago

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WITCH 2.0

This is a copy and paste of much of what remains from the previous post and the update. Here the fairy forms for reference. Go beggining and end of THIS for new things - and your convenience.

Standard FORMS

Crescent Witch, the Seeker. This is the name given to witches and wizards actively learning the art. No transformation, marks on the eyes.

Full Witch, the Signor/Signora/Lady/Lord. The common form of witches we have seen, where all the gadgets below got added. The most powerful ones usually have fingers and toes somewhat stained with their power, the same color as their witch marks. In this state and later forms, they are already strong enough to enter volcanoes and go underwater; normal oceans, that is, everything except when everything is a specific dimension: seas and oceans yes, Infinite Ocean no. Space yes, Oblivion dimension in my rewinxing, where Domino is left for a while, no.

Dark Witch, the Sage/Crone/Hag. The last witch form. Requisite? Accept and carry out that sometimes you have to sacrifice “a few” to save “a million” (and by sacrifice I mean you suffer it). That philosophical dilemma, which I personally HATE, but it’s for the greater good, the good of the most. Of course you can access all the previous skills and items with this. Known users: Marion de Domino, Griffin, Ancestral Witches.

*ITEM/TESTS for a Good "Sr/Sra" (All are the same of the previous post)*

Whisperian Bottles or Vacuum Vessels

First and most important item conjurest by a a witch or wizard. Once they are able to store energy in their whisperian, they can use it to transform. As more of them have the Whisperian as more is a part of them, always with them and at the same time never completely.

The still excess of magical energy that oozes from the body, although not as noticeable as in fairies, gives rise to the characteristic witch marks around the eyes that may or may not be deepened according to power. Some say this is because “the eyes are the windows to the soul”, but never say it near a fairy! Discussions on what wings are or not are millenary and why eyes and why not other part of the body too.

Back to the topic, many times they are actually not bottles but any type of container. It’s one of the first things to learn as a witch, an “infinite” space object container, in this case, exclusively to store their energy so that they can use it later. Then of course everyone makes some kind of miscelaneus subspace pocket in some jewel, but that’s another matter that Griffin aproves. Most covens make their Whisperian of the same theme. Cards, crystals, perfume bottles, keychains, matrioskas, if they go hardcore even via scarifying themselves.

Sheen Trinket

Previously called Gloomix. This is not really a requirement to advance in the levels of witchcraft, but part of a project that many like to do. They usually do lots but really, lots of this because they have usage limits and they break. Or collections of easy-to-carry and brought objects such as runes, cards, pendants, toothpicks or bones. They are power amplifiers, usually something that you can carry on and at least one be in contact with your skin for a hurry. They shimmer, then sheen, then shine and then they crack and dust. So, 3 uses and pick another one. Beginners use it when they are unable to control their power (negative ourbursts) for longs periods and prefer to resort to rapid bursts previously stored in therapy sesions, they are less required as the witch or wizard gains experience.

Convergence

Well, this is not an item but I would like to mention that for witches, a convergence is to leave yourself much more vulnerable to your companions, more reasons for small groups. So is a MUST If you want get move on to the year. Because you HAVE to trust someone and share, you can’t go through life alone with great powers that feed off the worst of your head and of others one. It's one of the rules Griffin put as Headmistress.

Grief Edge/Blade

The equivalent - but not- to graduate from Cloud Tower. This is not “love other enough to sacrifice or be selfless fairy “sh*et), but kinda sacrifice. Also, is not a blade, but a weapon atune to you and that magically responds to you as an extension of your body. (And usually transformable or retractile kinda dagger-spear, sword-naginata, bow-staff, 2bladed staff-2swords or triple staff with retractil blades everywhere etc.).

Forging this weapon requires consistency and control, a strict schedule as well. At least you always have to dedicate the same 33 min of your day to it for 3 lunar months. Many people also believe in doing it starting or ending at 3:33, so some schools may have adapted schedules to this. Always the same amount of magic. Always trying that your emotions do not differ too much from one day to the next (for that many use their Whisperian prior to the forge-infusion). At the beginning you have to work hard and almost faint, because otherwise, in the end you will not be able infuse magic otherwise, like exercising, when you get used to it at the end it is more difficult to slow down. Here is good if your coven supports you.

Once these three months pass, you have your magical energy in the form of a weapon. But it is still not solid. Now. Commit yourself (but remember use your head). And if your brothers and sisters join or at least watch over you the better. And yes, I mean blood. Not so much to kill you, but significant, which is why it is also an option the coven joined you, less blood individually - although they could take your weapon, albeit not use it, remember use your head. I insist however, it is encouraged by all the staff to do it as a group with your coven, your chosen family.

Many witches also pick up weapons courses at Fonterossa when they begin to visualize/catch what the final form of their Grief will be. It becomes the best kind of the Sheen Trinket, and also a sighly stabilizer of mood, a touchstone to always keep you firm. But if you don’t know how to use it and do not want to learn, you don’t have to, it blends with you and is a permanent boost once finalized it creation as your body is the sheath of the weapon.

It’s called Grief because, well, you are assumed suffer just thinking about what is going to happen to you (if you WANT to die and you’ve been feeding that idea to your weapon for months … be careful what you wish for). Anyway, also, in the past, there are those who did it by killing their bonded pixies (even when having a bonded pixie is already a statistical anomaly!!) or a loved one and using all their blood… IN THE PAST. This form to do it is just as powerful, and less wicked. And most are prouder of doing it all on their own. Only the weaks take the easy quick way.

This weapon accompanies you all your life, through each new phase, it can change slightly with you or not, but its essence will always be the same. Unless you have a traumatic event, of course.

Icy grief is a Halbert, Darcy Grief is Rope Dart and Stormy Grief is a Morningstar Mace. Griffin one is a Sword. Marion one is also Sword and even if she is not the Witch she used to be, she can still summon it.

*Ethereal Realms Form*

Wayfarer Tunics (Sirenix, Dark Witch, Harmonix, Cosmix... lots). The transformation of the Life Realm, usually used specifically for the Infinite Ocean, because Witches valued tradition too much -so actually don't look aquatic or anything thematic-. But it is also considered a "cheat" transformation, an alternative/parallel to the Crone power, without it sacrifice. It gives a general power boost in the "Magic Dimension" (aka, almost anywhere! -nobody has tried it but maybe Relix Dimension too?-). Since Griffin became Headmistress, this form is seeing a better light, because she hates her students suffering. You get it same way to get it as a fairy - ask someone blessed by an Ethereal, an Ethereal gifts you or let natural magic flood your magic core (witches usually take this to extremes and put themselves in ley lines, wild magic zones or something hardcore... to compensate for the "cheat code", This is reflected in their uniform)

Banshee Stuff (Morix) - The transformation blessed by the Phoenix. The Transformation of The Death and Void Realm. As the fairy one, you get it if the Shadow Phoenix gets up on that side of the bed. It’s the same but without wings. If you have half died several times you win tickets to get it unconsciously by accumulating energy from the Plane of Death in your Whisperian, what creates a second one, like a ghost/shadow Whisperian bottle. A very misunderstood transformation, it allows you to communicate with the world of the dead, rest agitated spirits and the people they left here, not just summon zombies -which look like shadows. And you are sooo much harder to kill. It also increases your healing abilities, humans and nature related. [Not all Good is purely Good. And not all Evil is purely Evil.] Ripped, gnawed clothes. Witches are known to have traveled through Boundless Oblivion in this form.

Mare/Mara Material (Somnix)- The transformation of the Dream (and Magic) Realm. To get it, you have to immerse yourself in a magical induced dream, come out of your own dream and find the Door to the Ethereal Palace and get an ok. On the Plane of Dreams which watch out, it’s a realm of dreams and nightmares. And witches naturally attract the latter. It’s the Onyrix one.

????? - The Transformation of Space and Time Realm. Theorized, never obtained by anyone. It Ethereal sucks anyway and won't allow you that omnipotence (or only spatially... who knows!). Form required to space -and theorically time- travel (fuck!)

*Mythix*

Via Seven Ancestral Rods/Keys. Hell, this even can be used by a NON MAGIC USER, A BLUE LEVEL ONE. Although what they will contribute to the key would be a sample of their natural skills.

You must prove themselves before any of the Seven Ancestral Rods. All at first identical in form and color, except when used. They contain the fragments of conscience and magic of their former users. And they demand fragments of yours to be used, so that each next user who comes is more worthy of their power and gets even stronger. Commit.

So it’s like wear someone else’s clothes with little, very little influences from you. It includes armor -because I want- Because the Ancient Ones were prepared to die at pointthis affected their current transformation at time. It's just because of the Legendarium's peculiarity though, it's of no use outside of it.

#rewinxing #winx club #winx #winx rewrite #winx redesign #winx witches #witches winx #winx trix #trix winx #trix

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