#/ please don't feel the need to match! I just have a tendency to word vomit

[faebhaal]

@dracourge ☆ S.C.

In grass surrounded by a ring of fungi lies a skeleton, completely cleaned and bleached from the sun. A myriad of flowers bloom amidst the bones; twisting, turning and peeking up. Including nightshade. How far down do the worms hide? It's beautiful really. An enchanting sight that invokes a feeling of mirth mixed with sorrow.

But she's not so far gone in a dreamy daze for his appearance to go unnoticed. There's a snap of a twig at the same time a toad hurriedly hops out from the ribcage.

"Careful where you step. Don't want to get spirited away, yeah?" It's a joke...mostly. It's highly unlikely that a doorway would be in a place like this. Ithaca looks up and up and up at the dragonborn. Blood on snow, is the image he evokes. The mere thought of blood starts a snowball effect of carnage filled thoughts that she has to quickly bury back down. Normal conversation --- stick with normalcy.

"Did Gale finally get dinner started? Or is he still trying to mediate between Lae'zel and Shadowheart?" There's an awkward little laugh coupled with a lopsided smile. But her fingers --- oh how they twitch; they twitch and itch. "Didn't mean to wander off just...needed to think."

[atlas-likes-writing]

June of Doom Day Two - Double-crossed/Forced to Watch

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Characters: Veritas Ratio, Aventurine, Sunday

Ship: Golden Ratio (Aventurine/Dr. Ratio)

Summary: An AU where Sunday knows about the three Cornerstones during the confrontation between himself, Aventurine, and Dr. Ratio. Chaos, whump, and angst ensue.

Word count: 3,364

Tags: Whump, angst, graphic depictions of violence, torture, mind control, mind manipulation, illusions of pain but it isn't technically real, manipulation.

Author's Note: I don't know how I vomited up over 3000 words for this, but here I am. I hope you enjoy! As always, please comment and reblog as it helps me out a bunch (and gives me a much needed serotonin boost). This is not beta-read so please let me know if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes/goofy pacing.

@juneofdoom

Masterlist | Day One | Day Three

Two men stand side by side in front of huge oak double-doors, both in elaborate clothing; one in green, black, and white, and the other in blue, white, and gold. They are presumed to hate each other. They do not. Far from it, actually. They have found a special kind of companionship during their short period of knowing each other. Who would’ve thought a Stoneheart of the Interastral Peace Corporation and a professor of the Intelligentsia Guild could get along? Especially with temperaments as different as theirs. Aventurine: a “crazed gambler” as the other likes to put it. A man of extraordinary levels of luck and the tendency to value petty bets over his own life. Veritas Ratio: a “stuffy doctor” as the other likes to playfully tease, much to his dismay. A professor of profound intelligence, continually disappointed by the divine entity that refuses to cast THEIR gaze in his direction standing next to the man cursed to withstand the favour of another. Both are pitied. Both are revered. Both are about to stab the head of the Oak Family in the back.  

“Sunday is just beyond this door. Are you ready?” the doctor asks, his head turned towards the shorter man beside him. 

Aventurine’s eyes remain trained on the door in front of him. “Yep. You?” 

“Tell me your plan.” 

“I’ll play it by ear.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“When am I not?” 

“Is that a serious question?” 

“It was a rhetorical question, Doctor.” 

“Mine was nothing of the sort, Gambler. Are you telling me you do not have a plan for facing Sunday?” 

“Three chips will do.” 

After that short bicker, Aventurine winks at the man and steps forward to push open the door. It takes everything in Ratio to not sigh and roll his eyes. Doing so would only encourage the man in front of him further, so he instead schools his expression to one of his usual neutrality and calmly strolls into the room behind his companion. Inside sits Sunday, who raises from his seat on the opposite side of the huge circular table and welcomes the two men with a gesture of his hand. 

“It seems my puzzles are too effortless for you, IPC ambassador,” he begins. 

“I see you put a lot of effort into welcoming me, Mr. Sunday. However, this is no way to greet a guest,” Aventurine replies coolly, crossing his arms. 

Sunday smiles, teeth glinting in the light above him. “Well, this isn’t an invitation, but a summoning. Before we speak, I need to test your character. You understand, yes?” He gestures to Ratio, whose expression remains unmoving. “I imagine this knowledgeable doctor friend of yours has been of great help, hm?” 

Aventurine’s faux smile matches the man in front of him. “Certainly. You ought to know this better than I do – he has already faithfully fulfilled his duties, hasn’t he?” 

“Yes. The doctor has assured me of your noble character. He considers you, like himself, a virtuous person who can be trusted by The Family.” Ratio is getting a little sick of being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room. He doesn’t let that show on his face, of course, but he can’t help but feel a little irked. 

“You don’t look too well,” the ambassador suddenly states bluntly. “Am I making you anxious? If not, then it means I’m on your side.” 

“You’re a wise man, Aventurine.” The Halovian places his hands behind his back – the image of grace. “My only concern is that you’ve used your wisdom at the wrong time to meet the wrong person and put yourself in a situation where you shouldn’t be.” His sister’s death. “If I wasn’t mistaken, you have just made a serious accusation against The Family.” 

“You are not mistaken. Depravity is creeping in around you, Mr. Sunday.” This is certainly not how Ratio would go about this. This is creeping into increasingly dangerous territory. “There’s no need to be evasive. Let’s talk about your sister, shall we? Many suspect her death to be the work of outsiders, but I know you are of a different opinion.” 

Ratio can’t tell for sure at this distance, but he could have sworn that Sunday’s posture tenses. 

“Now, your noble status has become a shackle, preventing you from apprehending the murderer and avenging your sister’s death. You’re feeling anxious because you’re out on a limb. But don’t worry. I am on your side.” 

Despite the tightness of his shoulders, Sunday’s voice betrays no such tenseness. “I’m immensely honoured by your concern for me, Mr. Aventurine – since you’re so selfless and generous, I believe you wouldn’t ask for anything in return, would you?” 

“Naturally, you wouldn’t incur any loss from this. I simply want to reclaim what is mine: my liberty, and my personal items under the Family’s custody – the bag of gift money, and-” 

“The Cornerstone and the box that it inhabits.” 

“That’s right.” 

“A treasured asset of the Strategic Investment Department, a sacred stone that seals the Emanator of Preservation, granting significant power to each of the Ten Stoneheart's, yes?” 

“You would be correct.” Where is this going? This is like an elaborate chess game, two players taking the other’s pieces for their own gain. For all his intelligence, Ratio can’t figure out who has the most pawns at their disposal. He knows he is one of them, but his move has already been made. 

“For an object so precious, it probably comes at an even higher price than other forms of recompense.” 

Aventurine frowns – a performed frown – but a frown nonetheless. “I’m sure you’re aware of the high level of risk I’ll be undertaking to bring the truth to light-” 

“Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday starts, raising a hand to silence him. “When you’re out and about, do you always make adjustments to your appearance? Your tie should be on the centre line, your shirt must not protrude from your vest, your trouser creases should be perfectly straight, and always aligned with the tips of your shoes.” 

The blonde nods. “Of course.” 

“I don’t, because it is not appropriate to do so in the company of others – you should make sure you are presentable and in order before leaving the house. Unlike you, I’m not the kind that takes risks. The Cornerstone must remain in the custody of The Family.”  

Looks like the first piece has been taken. Aventurine sighs. “...No room for negotiation?” At this, Ratio moves from where he stands next to the IPC ambassador to the bookshelf closer to Sunday. Ratio must admit that he is a pawn to both players. He doesn’t like it, but it’s a necessary evil. This room is a giant chess board, and he just took his turn. 

Sunday shakes his head. “Please don’t let me turn you down twice.”  

“...Fine. The gift money is fine. I suppose you wouldn’t mind that, yes? After all, a businessman can’t function without a bargaining chip.” To that, Sunday lets himself raise an eyebrow. 

“You compromised quicker than I thought you would,” he notes. “Unfortunately for you, it is a gambler that needs a bargaining chip, not a businessman. I have no qualms in giving you your gift money, but before that, I need you to tell me-” 

Suddenly, Aventurine gasps and takes a step back. His eyes glaze over, and he looks at the Halovian in confusion. It’s a look that appears real. Sunday’s halo glows a myriad of psychedelic pinks and blues and yellows and greens. Ratio must turn away to prevent his distaste from becoming apparent. Sunday is using the power of the Harmony.  

“What exactly is in the box that you have decidedly forsaken?”  

Sunday raises his arms reverently and looks to the ceiling. “Oh Triple-Faced Soul, please sear his tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that he will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.” 

“...What is this?” Aventurine shoots a glance towards Ratio, but sees his head turned. 

“Under the light of the Harmony, all wickedness is revealed. I implore THEM to shed THEIR light, and I’ll ask you questions on THEIR behalf. You have two minutes to prove your innocence and gain my trust.” 

“...And if I refuse to answer?” 

“You can certainly try – at your own risk, of course.” Sunday grins. “We’ll see if the Harmony rejects you.” At Aventurine’s decided silence, the sky-haired man begins his interrogation. Ratio turns his head back to the two men. Despite his disgust, he cannot help but be a curious man, so he watches. 

“Question: Do you own a Cornerstone?” he asks. 

“Yes.” The answer is immediate, almost as if it escaped Aventurine’s mouth before he had the chance to think about it. Not good. 

“What a simple answer,” Sunday states, nodding in faux approval. “You, too, understand that nonsense leads only to your expense. Let us continue.” 

“Did you hand over the Cornerstone to The Family when you entered Penacony?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does the Cornerstone you handed over to The Family belong to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is your Cornerstone in this room right now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you an Avgin from Sigonia?” 

What has that got to do with the current circumstances? 

Aventurine falters slightly at the question, clearly taken off guard. “Yes. Why do you know that?” 

Sunday ignores his question. “Do the Avgins have any ability to read, tamper with, or manipulate one’s own or another’s mind?”  

“What?” he barks out a laugh at the apparently ludicrous question. The action makes Sunday’s halo brighten and Aventurine winces before answering properly. “No. Does it matter?” 

“Do you love your family more than yourself?” Sunday asks, tilting his head to the side. These questions are getting weirdly personal. Ratio crosses his arms. 

“Yes.” An immediate answer. 

“All of the Avgins were killed in a massacre. Am I correct?” 

“No.” 

“Are you your clan’s sole survivor?” 

Aventurine hesitates. “...Probably.” 

“Do you hate and wish to destroy this world with your own hands?” 

A second hesitation. “No.” 

“Alright. Final question: Can you swear at this very moment, the Aventurine Cornerstone is safe and sound in this box?” 

A third. “Obviously.” 

Sunday nods. “Very well. I have no further questions.” 

Ratio gives out a silent sigh of relief. Sunday moves around the table and strolls towards Aventurine, his halo is so bright that even Ratio can feel it. The atmosphere of the room is suffocating in the will of the Harmony. The high-inducing rainbow of colours escaping from behind the head of Sunday is becoming overbearing for the doctor, let alone for Aventurine. He can’t help but feel pity for the Sigonian.  

Sunday halts a few steps away from the Stoneheart. He taps his finger against his chin as if pondering something. “You know, if there could only be one thing I detest in this vast Universe: it would be dishonesty, Mr. Aventurine.” 

Wait, what? That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. Ratio can’t stop himself from shooting a glance towards Sunday from where he stands behind him. 

“I- I beg your pardon?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You have been lying through your teeth ever since you stepped onto this planet.” 

“Well- yeah. I haven’t exactly tried to hide that. Isn’t that what your mind-fuckery is all about? To get me to tell the truth? Or are you just trying to show off?” he asks, subtly glancing at Ratio. “Or does your ‘power of the Harmony’ not work?” 

“I can assure you, the Harmony influences all. However, I will admit that I have hidden something from you, Mr. Aventurine,” Sunday replies, his wings pitching downwards a little. 

“Well, isn’t that a surprise,” the gambler retorts, evidently filling his words with as much sarcasm as he can muster. His knees buckle slightly, clearly struggling under the weight of the Emanator’s gaze. Ratio can’t look away. 

“While my powers of persuasion have every capability of forcing the truth out of your lips, I decided to do a little experiment to see if you’re capable of honesty of your own volition,” the angelic man says. “You apparently are not. Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Aventurine stays silent. 

“I’m saying that I know that you’re lying to me.” 

Throughout this entire negotiation, this is the first time Veritas has felt fearful. The room becomes even more suffocating, if that’s even possible. He forces his own face to remain neutral. He plays the role of traitor in this grand play, after all. He must see it through for his companion’s sake. 

From where he stands, he can see Sunday’s shoulders shake. He’s laughing. He’s enjoying this. 

“I know about the Topaz Cornerstone. I know about the Aventurine Cornerstone. And, as similar as it is to your own, I know about Jade Cornerstone.” 

Oh. Shit. 

“How you managed to sway not one- but two individuals from a group as discordant as the Ten Stoneheart's to go along with your terrible plan is beyond me.” Sunday barks a loud laugh. “Truly, you are too much of a risk-taker, Mr. Aventurine. Now-” the man lifts an arm out in front of him, as if reaching for Aventurine from a distance. Ratio can’t stop himself from taking a step forward. He can’t let the man he cares for break in front of him. 

“Kneel.” 

His knees hit the floor, the full force of the Harmony crashing down on him. The scolding feeling of something forcing itself into his brain causes him to squeeze his eyes shut. He opens his mouth to scream, but it’s as if his throat has closed. Useless and silent. 

“What on earth are you doing?” The other man looks on, frozen. 

“You are not the only liar in this room, Aventurine.” He turns. “Come here.” 

He leans forward from where he kneels and falls onto his hands and knees. He crawls over to the Halovian, stopping only when his head almost hits Sunday’s thigh. He falls back onto his calves, looking up at him in pure disgust. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” His face is forced into neutrality against his will. “Let’s play a game, Aventurine. Tell me what your plan is and what Ratio has to do with it, and I’ll let him live.” 

From where he kneels, Ratio turns his head to gaze at Aventurine, unable to look at him in any way except for indifference. He’s fucking terrified, but he can’t make that obvious no matter how much he wants to. 

“Can’t you just force the truth out of me? Why not do that instead?” he asks, looking at his companion on the floor with an expression Ratio wishes he could mirror – fear. 

“That’s boring,” Sunday replies simply. His calm demeanour is steadfast but with a smile that is growing wider with every passing second. “I find this maintains much more efficiency.” 

Aventurine scoffs, still attempting to keep his act. “What does killing an Intelligentsia Guild member do for you that maintains efficiency? You’re mad.” 

“It maintains efficiency because you care about him, Mr. Aventurine. I see all in the Dreamscape. I see the looks shared between the two of you. The companionship you fostered in the short time of knowing each other. You may think you’re able to disguise your relationship with insults and petty arguments, but you cannot. It is frightfully obvious. Besides, you’re more likely to answer truthfully if the life of someone you care about is at stake.” 

“This is pathetic! He has done nothing to you.” It’s obvious that Aventurine is grasping at straws here. 

“You’re right. He has done nothing to me. He has lied and told falsehoods but only because you told him to. I have no reason to do this,” Sunday shrugs, his grin becoming a little too wide. 

There is an oppressive silence that follows. One that draws the line between predator and prey; master and slave; the controller and the controlled.  

“I’m doing this because I hate you, Mr. Aventurine. And you love him.” 

With that, an excruciating pain sets Ratio’s nerves alight. It rips through his mind and tears into his heart and lungs and stomach and extremities. His back hits the floor and he spasms where he lies, agony devouring his senses. 

Veritas Ratio screams. 

He is not a man that screams. Not usually. At pain he normally gives a small grunt and gives a debilitating glare to whomever or whatever caused him harm. Anything more would infer a weakness he doesn’t have. Not here. Here, his voice is guttural and raw and pitched and agonising. It echoes around the room and rises above the Choir of the Harmony that deafens everything else. His eyes snap shut so tightly that he sees stars dotting around in the darkness of the underside of his eyelids. 

“Open your eyes,” several cacophonous voices demand. 

He does, his eyelids shooting open through a compulsion that makes him sick. The psychedelic neon colours of the Harmony streak across his vision and blind him. He continues to convulse on the floor. The pain causes him to double over as stinging tears rip themselves from his eyes and smudge the red under his eyes. 

“Look at him.” 

His head snaps up and his eyes meet Aventurine’s. He’s frozen in place and looking at him in pure horror. Undoubtedly, he has been compelled to stay where he is, made obvious by how much his legs shake and his fingers twitch in futile attempts to reach Ratio. The doctor’s breaths come out in short wheezes, his chest rising and falling in quick succession as panic sets in his bones. While he is not a man to scream, he is also not a man to panic – it is a brief episode of intense anxiety that the brain concocts and transforms into a physical response. Ratio is a man of knowledge and has ways of stopping panic in its tracks before it takes root. In this case, however, knowledge is stripped of him and thrown out of the window. In a small corner of his mind, Ratio knows that this onset of fear and panic is caused by the effects of the Harmony. It is superficial. It is not real.  

But Aeons above – it fucking feels real. 

It carries on for what feels like hours. For all Ratio knows it could have been. If he was more cognizant, he would wonder what Sunday’s goal in this endeavour is. Is it to drive Aventurine into telling the truth? To prove a point? The answer to that is between Sunday and his Aeon. 

He’s sure he blacks out every now and again, the pain writhing across his spine easily becoming too much for his body. He faintly hears the calm voice of the Halovian above him standing resolute as he speaks to Aventurine. He can’t make out coherent words, but by what he can tell from the Stoneheart’s expressions it’s nothing good. He should have been sent to the waking world by now, right? That’s what everyone in The Family says happens. If you want to leave the Dreamscape, you can. You can wake up in your designated Dreampool whenever you want without hindrance. Or is Sunday stopping that as well? He doesn’t know if that’s even possible.  

It’s only when he is once again on the edge of falling out of consciousness that the power of the Harmony lifts from his trembling and fragile body. It isn’t slow like he expected it to be – but rapid. It is immediate and the loss of such a suffocating presence is almost as painful as it was before. He quickly feels arms wrap around him from where he lies limp on the floor, the familiar fluff of the collar of Aventurine’s coat warming his cheek.  

“I’m sorry, Veritas,” he whispers in his ear. “I should never have let this happen to you.” 

Faintly, the doctor hears the wooden door of Sunday’s office click shut. It’s then when he realises, he has been picked up and brought out of his room. Through pained eyes, he gazes at Aventurine. He then lifts a heavy arm to cup the man’s cheek, before slipping into unconsciousness for the final time.