#the white and delicate plague: intro

[cloversnstrawberries]

"palentine" parental!platonic yandere!supervillian & gn!neglected!hero sidekick!reader [oneshot] ! !

intro | masterlist

description; You and Malpractice spend your first Valentines day together. You just don't know it's Malpractice you're really talking to, and not local college student Jenny Schüler.

additional notes; hi!!! happy valentines day :)) since malpractice seems to be the most popular, he gets valentines day special privileges. don't mind how I have an actual cupid character I could use. you're getting terrifying plague man and his inherent desire to adopt reader on the spot.

warnings; Child abuse, neglect, and generally immoral conduct involving reader (done by the agency), possessive behavior, violent thoughts/plans to kill, overprotectiveness, corpses, talks of decomposition processes and dehumanization(?) (involving Malpractices 'puppets'), manipulation, mentions/plans of kidnapping, and if there's anything else I missed, please let me know!! the moment i write something, i'm afraid it disappears into the void :[

w/c; 2.8k

Malpractice has never been one for holidays.

Of course, nowadays holidays were a much bigger event then they were in his time. Especially Valentines day, which had morphed into something nearly unrecognizable (from his point of view) than the minor holiday he once knew it as.

Before he was... well, what he was now-- when he was still lesser than, still human; he'd get the occasional card with a silly pun on the front every one in a while, usually given by a co-worker out of self-imposed societal necessity.

But other than that, there was never much stock put into the occasion. Personally or otherwise-- as compared to now, where it was practically impossible to walk into a store and not see some sort of gaudy display. Full of red, white, and pink-- hearts and glitter that transfers to your skin.

At least, that's what Malpractice observes from afar. He's not much for stepping into your run of the mill Pharmacy these days-- not even with his macabre sort of puppets, made from some of the more in-tact cadavers he can snag from the local Morgue.

He tried not to let them be seen by anyone besides you-- there was always a chance that someone who knew who the cadaver had once been, who knew of their death; would be around.

Besides, there'd be no need for it-- unless he simply wished to spark terror. It's not like he had a prescription to be filled, after all.

Which, at the moment, he was actively avoiding-- he was avoiding making himself anymore known than necessary. Because if he did, than he's sure he'd scare you half to death.

You were such a delicate thing in his mind, and he often likened you to that of a baby bird. Because, in his mind, you really were. Fragile, even if you could sustain quite a beating out in the field.

The field you shouldn't be anywhere near, if he had it his way.

But, as it was, the agency had their claws stuck deep into you. Not emotionally wise, but legally; with you being in a sort of... ward of the state position, was the most comparable term he could manage.

Malpractice wished to dig his claws deeper, deep enough to rip whatever influence the agency had over you and take you for his own.

Metaphorically, of course! Oh, Lord knows he'd never hurt you. He'd find a way where you don't get sick with being around him-- get to a point where you won't be afraid of him afterward.

That wasn't quite in the immediate future, sadly. He had to stand by and wait, be patient-- he'd never been one to rush, but something about you made him feel an uncharacteristic amount of restlessness.

Maybe it's the fear that, if he waited too long, you'd slip through his fingers. You weren't made for the work you were being put through-- even if you weren't as young as you are, if you were of an adequate age for this sort of career,

You were still much better suited as a medic, maybe like he had been. Stay back in the medical ward-- you didn't have a flashy sort of power. But, then again, maybe the agency wanted to keep you as beaten down as possible;

Hoping that the little aches and pains that kept you up at night would make you less of a threat than they perceived you as. All because you had such a unique ability; he'd treasure it, just as he'd treasure you once he got you safely into his arms.

Unlike that blasted agency, that made you feel less than. That put you under a strict curfew, only allowing you waltz around on your own for a few hours at time-- even then, you'd have to alert them at least a week beforehand.

It was that controlled sort of 'freedom' that you despised, and had told him on multiple occasions.

...Or, to be more specific, had told various different 'puppets' the same complaint over the few short months he's been visiting you personally. You never knew it was the same sort of mind behind all the bodies, but with how you told every single one-- that was enough to rest his case that you hated it.

You hated how the agency tried to make you feel like you had a choice in the matter, when you really didn't. When your ability to go outside unmonitored and 'off the clock' was dependent on either how well you'd be preforming, or if the person reading the request had any semblance of empathy left in them.

Recently, you've been using all the time allotted to visit these puppets. You believed each to be a different person, unless you were a better actor than you caught on. Each having a different story-- to both enter, and subsequently leave your life before another cropped up shortly after.

Oh, how he hates to see you saddened by your 'newfound' friend having to skip town... but he'd try to wait until the very last minute until he did so. To the point where spots of necrosis were beginning to appear in more visible areas.

You never commented on the smell of death that'd follow the puppet during your 'last' meetings, maybe you'd become used to it-- with how you were, how your life had turned out.

But today, it was thankfully overcast; Malpractice was able to guide the puppet directly to the secluded, forested grotto he usually meets you in. That cut the commute about by about 10 minutes, since he didn't have to try and weave the puppet through the most sunless path possible.

When the puppet got to the grotto, you were already sitting on the crumbling stone bench in the middle of it. You didn't notice him-- until the puppet cleared its throat, and your head swung around to face him.

It was adorable, seeing how your face lit up. He'd thought that with all your 'new friends' coming and going, you'd become bitter. Develop a hardened shell, like he thought you'd already have by now--

However, with every new puppet, you were still as friendly yet disbelieving as you'd been while meeting the last. Like you just couldn't believe someone would want to be friends with you.

This puppet had been a jane doe, around her early to mid 20s. Due to the colder weather, this one had lasted longer than most; and it almost hurt him to know that eventually, the puppet would begin to rot despite his precautions-- and he'd have to find a new one.

You were rather attached to this one. Despite himself, he hopes he'll be able to keep this puppet until he can reveal himself-- only a few weeks more, and you'd finally be safe.

"Sorry for making you walk in this weather..." You started with, a sheepish, apologetic smile on your face, as the puppet sat beside you. "Not a problem, I'm more than willing to risk a cold to see you. I know how... rigid your routine can be."

With a little nod, you hummed before casting your eyes down and saying "Oh-- uhm, thank you." You always got flustered, whenever Malpractice-- or his puppets, he supposes-- shows you any sort of care.

Like you weren't used to being a priority-- because from what he'd seen, you very much were not. He'd even read parts of your intake records made shortly after the Agency took you in; they'd considered euthanizing you like a dog. That caring for you might've been too resource heavy-- until the sick bastards realized they could find a use for you and your unique ability.

It made him ill-- emotionally speaking, he obviously doesn't get physically sick anymore. He's practically the physical embodiment of it, it'd be silly if he could catch a cold like your normal, every day joe.

The unintentional stretch of silence was broken, as you jolted slightly-- as if remembering something. You swung around and grabbed something sitting by your other side--

Then, you turned to the puppet, and held your hands out. In them, was a little mesh bag of tin-foil wrapped chocolate hearts. The kind that'd be sold near the checkout lane at a grocery store during Valentines.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I just got you this." And-- oh, you looked so proud. He knew you didn't get much freedom at all, and you must've sneaked by to get this.

You may have have even stolen it-- there was a little bit of guilt lingering in your eyes, along with a strange sort of fear. Fear of rejection, he supposes. That whatever you'd gone through to get this wouldn't be worth it.

The puppet's hand reached out, before retracting slightly-- immediately, you noticed. Your little smile fell "Do-- are you lactose intolerant? I'm sorry--" And Malpractice laughed--

Not the puppet, so much. He's sure that, if you were a little older; better trained in your position, then you'd realize something was off with it. Some strange, uncanny value to it.

It wasn't cruel, he made sure of that. It was endeared, of course it was-- but he could never manage to quite quell the madness inherent to his tone. Not while he was laughing, at least.

"No, no not at all." The laughter died down, and the puppet gently took the bag of candy in its hands. He held it like it was the most precious thing in the world, and in his mind, it truly was.

A gift from you. He always treasured these sorts of things, but the previous gifts had been things you picked up off the ground-- pretty rocks, little knickknacks, an unordinary plant...

But this, you must've gone far out of your way to get this. And to just give it to him... he wonders, had you gone out with the intent to get it? No matter what, to just have something to show for valentines day?

After a few moments, Malpractice remembered that he should probably respond. The puppet looked at you-- fear and concern obvious in your eyes, deathly afraid that he'd reject the gift.

A soft smile broke out on the puppet's face, before he sighed and looked down. "Well, I don't have anything for you, is the problem--"

It wasn't a regular occurrence, you cutting him off. The Agency had all but tortured that possibility out of you, trying to make you into a perfect little cog more than the child you were.

Despite all that, your true nature shone through. You could never truly smother a children's light, he supposes.

"No!" You waved your arms frantically, shaking your head. You calmed down quickly, looking a little embarrassed from your own outburst. "No-- Uhm, I mean... well, you don't have to get me anything. I just wanted to do this for you,"

Malpractice went to respond, but it didn't seem like you were quite done just yet. He waited patiently, as you continued "Oh, and-- and I have something else." You dug into the pocket of your bland, practical gray coat; part of the few pieces of civilian clothing the Agency was willing to provide you with.

When he has you safe and sound, away from those (soon to be dead, if he had his way) maniacs; he'd be sure to let you express yourself however you'd like with your clothes.

He wouldn't force you into generic garments, given to you out of pure necessity.

You fished out a piece of paper from your main pocket, handing it to the puppet. It was an envelope-- handmade by the looks of it, held together by staples and closed with a small piece of scotch tape.

He turned it over to the flat side, finding it addressed to this particular puppet, written in shaky and inexperienced cursive. Jenny, he'd had you name it-- he did this often, with puppets. He'd have the puppet ask something like "well, what name do I look like?" And the first name you said, he'd take it-- the puppet would always respond with something like "Wow, are you psychic? That's actually my name!"

A shame, it was addressed to this false sort of person. This walking cadaver he took control in order not to scare you-- one in a line of many, but hopefully one of, if not the, last one.

Maybe next year, he'd receive an envelope addressed to himself. Maybe he'd even let you use his human name. He could help you with the cursive as well, even if it'd result in him basically addressing it himself.

He hasn't used the name in so long, hasn't felt attached to it for even longer; but with you, he doesn't think he'd mind you knowing him by it. To have an envelope handed to him, addressed to Maxwell S. in his own handwriting.

The puppet hummed, and flipped the envelope back over. He took his time, trying to use the puppets limited fine-motor skills to avoid ripping the handmade envelope.

Even if it was plain in nature, and not perfectly done by formal measures-- he'd still hate to mess up your handy work. It took some time, but eventually the tape was pried off and he could open it.

Inside was an index card, something you must've nabbed from the office section of the Agency; probably like the rest of the materials, if he had to guess.

It warmed his heart, to think that you'd risked so much-- even if they were meager supplies by most's standards, you'd really done a wonder with what little you had.

On the blank side was a little drawing, of a tiny cartoon version of you-- hugging this particular puppet. When he flipped it to the lined side, the words 'be my pal-entine?' were written in bright crayon, the letters alternated between green, yellow, blue, and red.

The puppet stayed quiet-- you were getting antsy, afraid of upsetting your friend. You leaned forward a little, Malpractice catching the movement out of the corner of the puppet's eye. Your brows furrowed, as you hesitantly asked "...Do you like it? It's not weird, is it? I've never really had a friend to do this with--"

You made the most adorable little squeak when, suddenly, the puppet surged forward and threw its arms around you-- it was cold, freezing to the touch; no way to retain body heat, but you didn't mind regardless. You leaned into it, despite the obvious shiver that ran through your entire body.

Sad, how he couldn't really feel what the puppet was. Oh, how he longed to hold you in this way, truly-- to feel your warmth, hear your heart beating and the blood rushing through your veins.

To know you're alive, you're safe within his arms. That you're far away from any wretched creature that dares to try and hurt his little bird.

Something annoying, something nagging that he thought he'd long since killed-- whispered in the back of his mind, telling him to just have the puppet pick you up and carry you back,

The impatient, quick-to-act sort of thought process he was known for when he was first reborn. It'd been hard to control the urges then, to act on every little whim just because he could. Just because nobody could feasibly stop him, not in a way that mattered.

The puppet held you a little tighter, and you said nothing of it. He presumes that you hold may have tightened as well, with how the puppet shifted in such a way as it did.

"So..." You said, muffled slightly as you pressed your face into the shoulder of the puppet. "Does this mean.. you, uhm, accept it?" Oh, you were so adorable that Malpractice felt like he might die right then and there, if it was possible for him to die at all-- of course.

The puppet didn't retreat, simply held you there as you melted into its cold, unnatural embrace. You must've felt it, how strange the skin felt due to the chemicals used to keep it fresh-- you either didn't want to upset them, or just plain old didn't care. Seeking any sort of comfort, not caring if anything seemed amiss.

Almost as an afterthought, too caught up in the moment-- Malpractice remembered to respond. You must've been so relaxed, so touch-starved, that you didn't notice the sudden shift in your friends speech patterns. How Malpractice didn't bother to keep up the facade of modern speech.

"Why ever would I not, especially when you've gone through all the trouble you have?" and you hummed, a soft laugh muffled by the fabric of the puppet's functionally useless coat. "...So you like it, then?"

The puppet, almost robotically, guided their fingers over your hair-- a comforting gesture to you, but it only made Malpractice feel anguished-- that he couldn't truly be here, couldn't feel you held within his embrace.

"Of course, little bird."

[dcathbccomcshim]

I know her eyes remain / At least I know she'll never fade / She moves about / I watch her move right across the floor and fade to grey / Belladonna lives inside us all in little ways

Headcanons:

I have never met a vampire personally, but I don’t know what will happen tomorrow: For an island that runs on blood, one would expect Victor to be a bit of a greater commodity. He is rotting from the inside out, his body turning foul and putrid as the very thing that kept him alive slowly drowns him, filling his lungs and eating him from the inside out as his body shreds itself, lesions he will never see coating his organs. And yet, despite that, he is permitted to remain on the ship, sailing it however far he can before going the other way again. Over and over this goes, and Victor has yet to be tied to a tree for the rot and blood that pulses within him. He can’t even remember the last time he had seen one of the island’s smaller, more blood-thirsty residents. It seems impossible that he could have made it this long without being expected to feed his new home with the very thing killing him. Perhaps he will jinx it by thinking such a thing. Is it bad how badly Victor wants to have jinxed it? Is it a note of his personal failings that he feels an obligation to the place that stopped the disease from taking him any further down the path to corpsehood? Perhaps. Perhaps he was always meant to find this place, to bleed himself dry in its thickets and on its thorns. He wouldn’t know. Victor’s never been involved like that. And though he would rather sink to the sea floor than admit it, he wishes he could have been. A debt owed is a debt to be paid and Victor doesn’t really like the idea of owing an island.

A dream within a dream: There is a surreal, impossible quality to the island that taints every memory Victor has of the world beyond it. When that fog tinges his memories, there is a time when he forgets the beast that lurks in his lungs, curled around his heart and mind and he becomes, for a moment, nothing more than a pirate, a caricature of himself in some little boy-king’s imaginings. And then the heat and the wet of the island will come and turn his chest into a mockery of lungs and all he can do is cough and cough. It feels, at times, as if both sides are the dreamings of the other. One, the pirate sailing master that occasionally dreams a tragedy of his own. The other, a man touched by death and blood dreaming of nothing more complicated than the waves. They live within each other and sometimes, Victor forgets which is which. He suspects it may be avoidance of the reality he ran from, but why should that matter? He ran so far that death can’t touch him anymore. Perhaps a little avoidance is exactly what he needed. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with finding immortality with blood in your chest. And perhaps he is trying and failing to lie to himself.

Searches after horror haunts strange, far places: It had been sheer chance that brought Victor into touch with the crew of the Jolly Roger. If it hadn’t been for that gigantic vessel that radiated menace and promised suffering, Victor would never have thought there had been a chance like Neverland. But he would be lying if he said he hadn’t taken to the sea in a desperate attempt to find something, anything that would stop the rot inside him. Everyone knew that tuberculous spelled death and that there was no real hope beyond fresh air and exercise to slow the progression. A ship promise both in ready supply and as a sailing master, Victor was to spend more time on deck than almost anyone else, sextant and map in hand. He had no idea if it had slowed the disease enough to get him to Neverland, but God was smiling on Victor that day. The miracle cure had been found, though it held him more in a state of limbo than anything else. He stands now partially rotted on strange, forgotten shores and thanks anyone listening for giving him that much of a chance. It was more than his sister had gotten, after all, and though he never dared mention her out of shame and regret for running when she needed him the most, he was determined to make the most of it. He was the last of his family and while the same thing that had eaten them from the inside out now lived in him, there was a chance. One chance was all Victor had asked for and he was determined to make the most of it. The sea had delivered an impossible ask, after all.

And with strange aeons even death may die: So many of the people and people-adjacents on this island have never met death. Charlie has, as has Ace. Ace perhaps had the closest brush with it in a way that Victor would recognize, but it is something different to know you hold suspended self-destruction in your very body. There is nothing on this island but time. Perhaps, if Victor waits long enough, it will die before he does. Perhaps it will crumble to dust like some crew members have before his very eyes. He already has outlasted the one person that could spill his secret to the crew. Victor misses Tristan, of course he does. The crew is the only family worth having in this damned place, but Tristan was smart. Victor is convinced he knew and every day sparked a new fear that that would be the day the secret spilled out from Tristan’s lips, that Hook would push him from the ship because he was wrong and diseased and entirely too dangerous to remain, lest he kill all of them from his own idiocy. Victor has outlasted Tristan, who was the second-most likely thing to kill him on this island. Surely he can outlast the tuberculous?

Random OOC Thoughts:

Victor fancies himself the dodger of death and the incarnate of rot among the pirate crew thanks to his disease. I do think it’s thematic for him to be weirdly close with the concept of death, which doesn’t exist in Neverland the way it does elsewhere. If it did, though, I think Victor would be the closest to it. If he were a Magnus Archives character, make him an avatar of the Corruption. Horror media that make me think of Victor: Annihilation, The Babadook, and above all The Last of Us. Also, he's very Karna from The Ravening War to me. I won't even lie about that.

[werecogsinthemachine]

End Times, Fall of Terra- Part One

>Activation Protocol Live, AI  Ultimum Actum online, temporal data storage crystal: Stable >Dimensional Bouy Online, Relative date and time: Unknown Error, SSDTB  (Shiva Standard Space/Time Broadcast) Not found, entangled partner missing >Lifeforms Detected, Class 4, Intelligent Humanoid, Sampling local dialect for translation if needed >Receptive device detected, Beginning preface data stream: Intro 001, video/audio recording

“Greetings. My name is Gaberil Reed. If you’re seeing this…well, hopefully we have won. Enclosed within this buoy is a compete record of the series of events leading to the launching of this device, including files on personnel. Last Light, the on board AI, will help you navigate these files. Know that what we did, we did for redemption.”

>Hello, I am Last Light. You may use your touch screen to navigate file selection. >… >You have selected Incident 34, Ley Line Necrosis >Beginning video/audio record. Please note: while one subject was interviewed for this, data was pulled from other reports and a clinically undead brain for a more complete picture for events. >Beginning playback of Memory Engram A-23, taken from infected individual: Jane Doe

>Sector 0034, Extreme Inner Disk area, 7000 light years from Galactic Core, Planetary system E289 “Daemon’s Playground”

Daemon class planets were the most inhospitable planets in the galaxy. The planets in the Daemon’s Playground were particularly bad. Liquid iron acid rain, unstable tectonic activity, winds like in the atmosphere of Jupiter, and problems with the flow of space/time due to their proximity to the gravity well of the galactic core were common.

Such rifts opened ways between worlds when reality was stretch especially thin, such as the cataclysmic end of the Cancer Mage, when his planet was torn apart by Nether Drives. Chunks of his infected world were ejected into the atmosphere of E289-3, one of the least nasty of the system with a few microbial species in its cave systems.

The chunk of rock that impacted was large enough to send ash into the atmosphere, wrapping the planet in a protective darkness, and coating the planetary fragment in a thick enough covering that what was left of the Cancer Mage was not dissolved. It slicked into the caves, infesting the microbes and twisting them to his needs. Calcium and iron deposits were drawn up from the ground, making a skeleton. Left over organics were pulled from a ship that had some remaining bits of humans left, and wrapped up in a cocoon of nutrients.

Two years passed, leaving E289-3 in the throws of an ice age, which in this case was a balmy temperature, helping the Mage to regenerate his body, while he gathered power from the Lay Line running through the center of the galaxy. The planet began to twist around him, reordering to his monumental will. Even the system’s star started to go gray and filmy, like an eye with a cataract.

As his influence slowly crept across space, infected individuals started coming to the system, taking orbit over the plague world, basking and mutating vile power that radiated from it. A massive fleet congregated after months, waiting for their master to rise from his world and lead them again.

>Beginning video playback of interview with subject Gaberil Reed, Fleet Admiral, Shiva Organization >Interviewer: AI Ultimum Actum, Last Light >Interview takes place aboard flagship Titanicus, enroute to Galactic Core

Last Light watched the Fleet Commander through his cameras and sensors for a moment before speaking. To an entity such as Last Light, who could run trillions of complex calculations in seconds and still have processing power leftover to do hundreds of other tasks, this was the equivalent of a few days.

The giant man was cleaning his armor. A relaxation ritual, or so his psychoanalysis subroutine was telling Light, that humans would fall into when under stress. Light wondered what the AI equivalent was to such a menial task. The Fleet Admiral was on autopilot as he worked on his armor, not having to think about

it much, since he had done this many times before. For an AI like Light, not thinking was impossible. He was, after a fashion, made of thought. There was no task he could really do simple to take up time. He filed the train of thought for later. Soon, he would have forever to contemplate such things.

Light did the AI equivalent of clearing his throat, playing a single chime to get Gabe’s attention, then projected his holographic form. An orange sized, crackling ball of flames sprang to life. Light felt his name sake was enough to choose his former for him, and he enjoyed the simplicity of it. He could convey emotion through shades of flame and intensity, and some humans seemed to find the tiny floating camp fire relaxing.

“Good evening, Fleet Admiral.” The AI said. His voice was a near baritone, tinged with crackles that would come with a camp fire, and sparks were projected to complete the hologram.

“Light.” Gabe said, not turning from his work. He was drumming a finger on a dent in his chest plate, using little pulses of kinetic energy to bend it back into shape. The rune etched metal glowed faintly from heat. “What can I do for you?”

Light’s projection floated forwards, seeming to look of the Fleet Admiral’s shoulder. An illusion, since Light was literally everywhere when he was loaded into Titanicus’s computer systems. “I’m here for our next interview. This one is a record of the Ley Line Incident.”

Gabe nodded as he worked. “The dimensional buoy. How are your other recordings coming?”

“Very well, sir. I have ten more to go.”

“Alright Light, I’ll start then.” Gabe set his armor aside and looked into one of Light’s many cameras, and began to recite his tale.

>Terra, Sol System, January 15th 2568 >Five weeks before Cataclysm

I knew there was trouble when news came down about the four ships exiting the Jump Gate. A Seelie and Unseelie ship, flanking a ship of the Circle. All three were instantly recognizable, the Circle blood red with gold trim and a gold circle on each side of the bow. She was a mage guild ship, and the golden trim and circle emblem were crisscrossed with complex runes and sigils that could be empowered for attack and defense.

The Fae ships were an exercise in opposites. To the right of the Circle cruiser, the Nova Court’s ship was golden, seeming to flow through space on her delicate solar wind sails. Her hull curved gently, a sight so pleasant it was relaxing to look at. While not obviously armed, I knew the ship could bring devastation through beams of pure Light strong enough to cook a Destroyer in a few shots.

On the cruiser’s left was the Unseelie, or Void Court, ship. She was like a predator stalking through the sky, all sharp edges hardly contained strength. She rode on a plume of darkness, an utterly black cloud that left a slowly vanishing trail behind her.

Behind all three was the last ship, wrapped in magic and being tugged along by means he couldn’t see, probably more magic. She was glossy gray and shaped like a dagger, her bow splashed liberally with something that looked like old, caked on blood. Her engine bank was dark, but a look showed she was a predator, and she held a pack within. Landing bays were across her flanks, ten to a side, and the smaller single Mas ships were buzzing around inside the magical shield like angry bees. A ship of the Wild Hunt, a group of Seelie who patrolled both the Solar and Void courts territories.

I wouldn’t have been worried if it had been one of these three ships coming to the heart of Shiva. It could have been a routine check in of an ally. But all four, together, represented most of the magical clout in the galaxy. Four power houses that could be a real problem for one another and Shiva, coming to his front door could only mean trouble. And one was being brought against its will

I found myself wishing for some wood to knock on.

Three of the ship’s requested docking in the massive orbital shipyard above Terra, and quarantine docking for the Wild Hunt cruiser. I sent a diplomatic shuttle up to pick up our guests. Royalty Didn’t like the bare bones military shuttles. Always send the comfort. I debated getting into something more official than my standard jump suit, which had “Reed” on the upper right of my chest, and two shoulder patches. One patch was the Shiva crest, a sword with wings coming from the hilt. The other was the crest of the Guardian Corps, a skull with a stylized blue eyes in the center of the forehead. The only decoration was on the tips of my collars, with the five starts of a Fleet Admiral. I figured that would be plenty.

My office was much the same, a spartan space, built for function, yet aesthetically pleasing. Six columns, three on each side, made the entry hall. Between each column was a work of art from an invaded parallel earth. A hold over from my past friend, Alberton Swift, when this had been his office. The hall led into the office proper. Four leather chairs were around a coffee table, and set into one wall was a bar with actual alcohol, rather then the cheap synthetic stuff. Further back was my desk and chair. The desk was a single slab of touch reactive computing crystal, could project images as well, and hovered over the ground on four repulsor units in each corner. Behind my chair was an alcove for my armor, and access to a private shuttle pad that would take me straight to Titanicus, which hovered above the building my office was in, ready to take to the skies at a moments notice.

A twenty minute wait later, a group of four was before me. I came from around my desk, shaking hands with the lead individual. He was dressed in the Circle’s power armor, crimson red with a circle of gold in the center of his chest. A cloak of white with gold edging hung from his shoulders, held there with a silver clasp. It was embroidered with runes and sigils, as were the edges of his armors plates. The clasp had a shield in the center, emblazoned with a crossed staff and sword.

“Arch-Mage Leon.” I said as I walked over, offering my giant hand to shake, looking down at him. It wasn’t in any way malicious, I’m just tall. Very tall. Through genetic engineering, all Shiva Marines are tall, usually seven to eight feet. I’d taken a bit too well to the engineering, and come out around ten. My hand engulfed his when he shook it.

“Fleet Admiral Reed. It would be a pleasure if things were no so dire.”

“I see that.” Between the two Fae Queens was another one of the Fae, though I had never seen one like this before. He was in armor of the strange metal that the Fae seemed to favor. It was fur lined and etched with scenes of great hunts. He was bound to a metal cross frame, legs together and arms spread. His head was pulled back and a metal bit, engraved with spell work was in his mouth, gagging him.

I bowed to two She Queens. “Queens Titania and Mab. A pleasure to see you both again.”

The two Queens were, like the ship’s they came aboard, completely different. Titania wore a warmly colored dress that seemed woven from the light and matter inside the heart of a nova with a necklace of bright rubies. Mab, on the other side of the prisoner, wore a body glove as dark as the void, fitting perfectly down to her feet. Diamonds, like glittering chips of ice, we’re about her wrists.

Titania came and clasped my hands between hers. “Gaberil, how lovely to see you again, child.”

Mab gave no such preamble, gesturing to the bound figure. “How have you been so blind human?”

I rolled my eyes slightly, walking to the figure. “I don’t even know what I’m looking at.”

Closer inspection showed he had been beaten, badly. His armor was pitted and scared, black shadows crawled across the surface, entering and exiting through rents in his armor. The bound Fae suddenly lunged up, mouth opening around the gag which unrolled and covered his mouth now. The lights in the room dimmed as he spoke words of power, the spellwork glowing red as it absorbed the curse. I leaned back away from him, looking at Mab with raised eyebrows.

“This is the Erlking, Lord of the Wild Hunt.” Mab said. “He took one of his hunting parties to fight a force invading Fae space. He came back like this.”

The Erlking’s attempted spell ended, and the muzzle folded back into it’s metal bit form. Black eyes glared at me. “What was invading you?”

The Arch-Mage handed me a data pad that he produced from a slot on the hip of his armor. A single image shown on the screen. A fleet of ships, all pocked and worn, hung in space. The lead ship was a mass of metal and tumors, radiating a sickly parlor, even though the image. “...the Cancer Mage?”

The Arch-Mage nodded. “He’s back, and worse now. He had learned to reach into the Ley Lines, and is drawing power from them. The King was able to resist, for a time, and gain some insight into the Mage’s plan before the hive mind overtook him.”

“And?” I walked to the bar, getting a bottle and four glasses. I can’t get drunk, more genetic engineering, but it was a strange comfort thing.

“He knows about Weaver King, and how to get to him. The Mage plans to kill it completely. He won’t have to travel for ages, he won’t have to bridge gaps between worlds. In one fel swoop he’s going to end everything, absolutely.”

The glass in my hand cracked. Information about the Weaver King was closely guarded. The universe as we knew it was the subconscience of a god like being. The spread of life was like a virus to it, and the Weaver’s immune system had reacted like any would, attacking the problem. We dealt it a debilitating blow, essentially lobotomizing it. Now it couldn’t fight back.

“How bad it is?” I asked.

“He’s spread over several systems.” Said Titania. “Absorbed several species we’ve not met yet. The void and stars are both sick.” As the Queens, both Titania and Mab had power over their respective domains. They could probably feel the sickness slowly spreading. “He’s turned his eye to Terra now.”

I set the glass down, turning to the Queen’s and Arch-Mage. “How long do we have?”

“You plan to stand and fight?” Mad raised her eyebrows. “This is suicide. We should be fleeing. Open the portals, let us leave this verse for a new one!”

“I can’t.” I crossed my arms. “Not with this plague. It may not even matter if we do run. He can take the knowledge of others and use it through the hive mind, use it to jump after us. But that may not be his plan...”

“You’re keeping secrets, Gabe.” Arch-Mage Leon said.

“Do you remember the visions?” I asked. The three went silent. Months prior, as far as we could tell, every living being received a vision, announcing the return of the Elders, and ancient race that created...well, everything.

“The instruments have dealt the blow, and Helios has seen it. Now you are summoned back, to become witness for the End you have brought.” Titania nodded. “We remember. We can’t forget it. None of the She can. What is it?”

“We followed the signal after the vision. It went to and Elder station that had activated. Life was a weapon. A disease created by the Elders to kill the their creations, the Weavers, who rebelled against them. We hurt the Weaver more than we realized, and now they have woken to finish the job.”

“What’s the End, then?”

“...which theory of the end of the universe do you subscribe to?” No reply. “Now multiply that by infinity, multilaterally speaking.

The silence was deafening.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Yes, we do. It’s being worked on now. I was going to contact you three for help, but since you’re here, I assume I can count on it?”

Mab, of course, was the one who took offense. “You assume of the Lady of the Void?”

“I assume you don’t want the End to consume everything, rather than just one verse.” I shot back. She fell silent. “The Elders have a machine called the Fate Driver. Think of it as a wireless power transfer and conversion system, that keeps the power from the Weavers in check and funnels it into the Elders, and keeps all the systems going. We’re writing a virus to reverse the Fate Driver, and give the Weavers the punch they need to win. But we need everything in its place in this universe”

“But what about when they turn on the life inside them?” asked Leon

“Only happens when life starts to consume too much.” I replied.

“I don’t understand something.” Titania said. “Why do you need everything from this universe?”

“In order to tip the power in the Fate Driver, it needs a jump start.” I took a keep breath. “It will require all the energy from this universe. Everything. Every being, every planet, every star. Every atom. Even if we ran, we would be picked out of whatever dimension we settled in.”

Silence.

“A suicide mission.”

“I like to think of it as a blaze of glory.”

A chime sounded from my desk, along with a flashing red light. “Fleet Admiral?” Came a voice from the desk. “We have a problem.”

[rowanthekitsune]

Zendeva pt1

Zendeva intro pt 1

One winter night, many years ago. Upon a remote island, in the south west.

The clock hit twelve, but the eyes of people within the room weren’t on it. The eyes are on the woman upon the bed, giving birth to a child. A few nurses surrounded her, helping her push, and offering their hands for her to squeeze. The husband looked on in worry, and excitement, he felt he was going to have his first son, and the thought made him happy. A proper child to carry on his legacy, unlike his other daughters. As the child was finally pushed out, and a nurse held him, the father gave a shout of happiness, and went over to his child, not even watching as his wife smiled, and whispered a name. After she did this act, she passed out. they were not fully sure until moments later. The father was told the name his wife had picked out, Zendeva. Zendeva would be the name of this child, his son, and his future. It wasn’t until moments later that he noticed something wrong, but we’ll get to that later.

About ten years later, in the home of Zendeva.

Zendeva stood in his room, looking at his.. Privates. They were wrong, he had his penis, but he also had what his sisters had.. He shook his head, and began to pull on his clothing. He was homeschooled by his sisters, as their father had recently ran out of money. Their mother died a few years ago, from some plague that had gone through the town. As he remember the final moments of his mother, her laying over a white bed. Telling each of her children of her how much she loved them, and how wonderful things would become after this.. The memory brought tears to his eyes. He shook his head, and went to look at himself in a mirror. He was oddly small for his size, something his bullies and sisters never let him forget. He was maybe 4’4, the size of a child a few years younger than him. He was always asked in public if he had to have help finding his mommy.. It embarrassed him. He didn’t have any body hair at all, not over his legs, his flat belly, and his soft and cute chest. Or even over his delicate arms. His face was always soft, and more like a girls than even a few of his sisters. He had shoulder length hair, black, which was the exact opposite from his skin. Despite living on an island, and his father and sister’s dark skin, he had gotten his mother’s trait, and had snow white skin. It made him feel unique. He smiled at himself in the mirror, and walked out of his room, heading to the main room where one of his sisters should be waiting to teach him.

It was when he got here that he noticed something wrong. All of his sisters, 5 of them, were looking to the ground. Their faces long, and full of sadness. As he stepped closer to them, and began to ask what was wrong, his oldest sister cut him off. “Zendeva.. Dad died. Debt collectors got to him..” Zendeva froze. His dad was dead. He didn’t know what to do, soon, he just fell to his knees, with tears running down his face. Each of his sisters came over to him, and they had a big group hug. This calmed him a bit, and surprised him. Most of the time, his sisters only acknowledged him to tease him, or to teach him. but , they were showing full on affection.. Their soft tanned bodies holding him close. Soon, his oldest sister spoke up again. “We decided what to do.. Each of us are going to work, and pay off the debt. So they don't harm us. We won't be able to teach you, and you can’t work until you’re older.. So you must stay here and take care of the house.. Also, we each have something to ask you. We could each use what little magical energy we have to make you more like a cute girl, if you’d like.. We’ve noticed how small you are, and dad told us of how you have both male and female parts.. We would be willing to push you towards being a girl, but not a boy. We researched, due to the imbalance within your system, if this is not done, you will simply not change much at all throughout puberty. But.. if we were to push it towards becoming feminine, you will grow a tiny bit in height, maybe get small breasts, and grow soft and sensitive.. Not to mention cute. What do you say?” Zendeva, still too shocked from his father’s death, wasn’t able to fully think over his options. He just nodded, and buried his face into one of his sisters, to hide his tears.

Several years later, yet again within the house of Zendeva.

It was hot.. That was all Zendeva could think as he slowly woke up. Something was wrong, it was winter, yet it felt as if he was heating up.. He looked out a window, and got a answer to his question. Fire was all over the small town, and upon realizing this, he ran to his closet to dress. He pulled on a long sleeved black shirt, that clung to his body tightly. He then pulled on some panties, a black lacy pair, before finishing off with a skirt. He had began to dress as a girl in the past year or so, after being pushed into it from his sisters to. After all, his body had changed so much. He was now about 4’8, and had long and soft legs. His skin was very nice, and in perfect condition. His hips were a little wide, and he had a debatably perfect ass. Of course, a flat stomach, and he had maybe B breasts. They were super sensitive, even his shirt aroused his slightly. Of course, he still had his delicate arms, but now, he had perfectly manicured hands. His black hair was now to his mid back. His facial features were now more girly then before, pouty lips, and soft features. Anyway, the boy ran out of his room, and downstairs. Looking for his sisters. As he got to the main room, he froze. He saw a odd woman, that looked like a complete giant. She heard Zendeva, and looked over at him, grinning widely. In moments, before Zendeva could react, she had hit his head with her hand, but with enough force to knock him out.

(this is gonna be a longer one, I will add pt 2 tomorrow or the day after, most likely. it will get lewd soon.)