#'all that's left of him is the ocular power of his eyes' first off from what else would his 'ocular' powers be

[teamdarkweek]

Need the story behind this really bad

Alright, here you are! I honestly had no story behind this, but I made one up for you, it's a bit mushy though!

Serial Number (also on Ao3)

E-123 Omega - the most impressive, most magnificent, and most righteous robot ever to roam Mobius - was being used as a clothes airer. He buzzed his fans, blowing a pair of tights from one lens of his ocular unit. Rouge took them from his face, and looped them onto the proper airer in the utility room of her home.

Shadow and Omega were rarely permitted into her new home, after her first flat had been battered and the doorframes split, so now it was theirs. But that whole building was evacuated for a bomb scare, as trivial as it seemed to them, so there was no choice but to have an unwilling stayover until it was cleared for re-entry.

"Ooh, you've warmed them too: hold this blanket so I can be cosy." She chuckled, climbing over him in the tiny room. The only plug in the building that had undampened access to power was the one for her extreme gear, which was wedged in between the washing machine and spare freezer in a room not much bigger than him. He growled as she dumped another pile of clothes on his head, then climbed back over him.

"I know, I know. I'll get these out your way. God, you're paying the electric bill for this weekend, Megs."

Omega looked around for another person in the room. Rouge laughed.

"Oh sure, 'what, me?' He says, costing two weeks power in one charge! Yes, you're paying for it!"

"This assignment of blame is unreasonable! Unit will pay no such thing. Entity Identified 'Megs' welcome to pay."

Rouge squinted at him as she hung out her work uniform, before she gave in to snickering again.

"Megs as in O-meg-a. That's you, darling."

"Incorrect. Not a registered identification."

"Well, don't have a long name if you don't want it shortened!"

Omega tried to wriggle his arms out of his jam in the middle of the room to remove a bra from his eyes, but ended up just shaking it off.

"Title 'Omega' is shortening for puny and incapable mobians: only accepted moniker for E Series Primary Model, ID:123 Ω, edition 4."

She stared at him and blinked. He copied her by closing the shutters on his cameras briefly.

"... sure thing, Megs. Edition 4? Like 'the forth'? Oh my god, he's a landowner, careful: you'll get robbed 'round these parts." She cackled, finished hanging her clothes out, and left him stuck and fuming.

Omega waited impatiently for his teammates to be ready. Why just because they were staying together they had to leave for work together, he didn't know; he would have left hours ago to terrorize the G.U.N. campus in peace, but was outvoted. Shadow was standing on the roof, waiting for the last second before it had to leave; and it had seconds and then some, because Rouge was curling the ends of her hair.

Omega knocked on the door forcefully, and she helped.

"Geez, M.G., don't spook me like that. Shoot, now I have a burn to cover up. We'll only get later if you pull tricks!" She whined through the door.

"M.G. is an initialising of what?"

"Oh Em Gee! Like Omega!" She laughed through the door. He stomped away, sat at the bottom of the stairs, then performed a perfect impersonation of her fire alarm, so they both panicked and ran through the house.

Rouge covered her magnificent ears with the heavy hood over her all-black jumpsuit. Only her wings were exposed, and she folded them back so they blended with the outfit.

Omega crunched himself small, his eyes zoomed to their maximum capacity so nearly the whole red light was obscured with a pupil. They crouched together on the roof of a pub, where he glared in at the exhibition across the street. Next to him, something fluttered, and a dark figure swooped from his side to the awnings of the museum. He spotted her, switching one eye to a heat signature to track her in through a chimney. As she crossed the first room, another heat signature walked up the stairs to the Byzantine display.

□ Guard enters. Await clearance.

Rouge hung on the ceiling very still before the other figure opened the door, and walked straight under her, across to the next exhibit, where it stopped.

○ Clear, E?

Omega didn't register what 'E' meant, presuming it was a misstype from her fallible fingers.

□ Await clearance. Guard poised to return.

And as he predicted, the guard had followed the wrong directions, and went back on themselves and back to the stairs to go one more floor up.

□ Clear to proceed.

○ Perf, thanks darl.

Rouge had paused to type, and now progressed to the coronets encased in perspex. As she arrived, she opened a window a tiny bit, and Omega lined up his shot.

With perfect precision, he shot a laser too small for natural eyes to see into the security camera, shattering the glass lens inside. He then switched the laser to the cabinet, carving a hole big enough for her to climb through. She instantly descended on it, forcing him to stop the invisible deadly line just a moment before her arm crossed it. He beeped for a job well done, and certainly not worry for his most breakable friend.

She filled her arms and bag with glittering, gem-heavy jewellery, and sped along the ceiling, above the cameras, and back into the chimney.

Omega adjusted his eyes to normal distance as Rouge swept over him, grasping him by the handles and into the night.

"Wonderfully done, E-Megs." She hummed softly into the enveloping night she carried them through. His mind processed, and then he filled with rage.

"Incorrect Name!"

"What, where? What did I say?"

"Unacceptable shortening!"

"Megan, haven't you ever heard of a nickname?!" She laughed as they soared out of the city before she started to descend.

"'Nickname' not necessary!"

"Well, no, nothing's necessary, but it's friendly."

Omega seethed, and parsed her name, searching for an equally insulting shortening.

"R... Roger."

"Oh sweetie, I don't think that's going to work."

"As logical as Megan!"

"No, it's similar letters, but you've not preserved the sounds. You can nickname based on other things about someone. Like I could call you a tincan, because you're made of metal, or Red, because you're sorta red, or-"

"You are a furbag."

"Well, that's just rude, and not that funny. Keep trying, though." She chuckled as she set him on the ground, flexing her wings as she sat on his shoulder. Omega didn't observe that there was likely nobody else who could insult her like that without being dropped to the tarmac and assaulted for their troubles. He stomped them home, jumbling letters and wordclouds to find the right names.

Days later, the team convened for a briefing. Omega could barely contain his excitement at finally - finally - hitting the field again. He elbowed Rouge as she scribbled their notes and supplies list.

"More flares." He whispered unquietly. She nodded, and jotted something under the second of three columns; she'd titled this one 'Megalomaniac'. Omega took the paper and ripped it from the pad. She smirked, and drew up her note page again, titling the columns: 'Shadow, P-M(ega)-S, Rouge❤️'

Omega whirred for a minute, thinking, before he decided that was also too insulting, and ripped that page too. Shadow confiscated the notepad.

Rouge was occupied harassing the red creature from the floating island. Shadow and Omega kicked their heels - figuratively and literally - while they waited for her to return so their mission could continue. And Shadow betrayed him.

"Are you prepared for the siege, E... E-one hundred and twenty-three (the fourth)?" It faltered, awkward as it tried to join in the feud. Omega burned: he had explicitly printed all of the unacceptable variations of his name to deliver to Rouge, and Shadow had posed as his ally when it attached this list to the fridge. Omega handled this defect to the side of evil with all the grace and decorum it deserved: he picked Shadow up by its ankles and swung it.

"You do not understand nicknames. Please refer to the Wiki Texts: it is an affront to be incorrectly insulted. Alternative proceeding: Don't try to be funny." He said in time with the shaking of Shadow, as it maintained folded arms and furrowed brow, despite the quills being loosened from its hair.

"You objected to shortenings. I shall lengthen your name instead. Perhaps you would prefer even longer?" Shadow kept its face masterfully still and its pose as serious as ever despite being upside down, barely letting one eye narrow as Omega glared; "Ascii: Zero-one-zero-zero-zero-one-zero-one,"

Omega beamed hatred at it through his glowing red eyes, which only served to encourage Shadow that this was the intended outcome.

"Numerical: Zero-"

"You are not funny." Omega shouted in its face, holding it up to his own head plate. Shadow smirked, but zipped easily out of his grasp to stand as sombrely as ever, lest Knuckles see it having fun from afar.

"So touchy. What's it to you? It's barely a name, just a glorified serial number."

Omega glared at Rouge's shape across Angel Island as she was chased like the pest she was by the guardian. He didn't have an answer, but he did have rage. And neither of them had the good sense to draw a line.

"If I were you, I'd want a new name. You're bearing the title of your creator far too proudly."

"Project Shadow: a military-funded armaments initiative. There is no honour in that." Omega remarked coldly.

"Shadow: a way to find the path of light. Named for the hope of a friend. I have every honour in that." It spat. Omega let the silence hang, before deciding he was still angry.

"Project Shadow led to the raid of the Ark. I would not bear that name."

Shadow stood, stunned, eyes wide at Omega. He reassessed his choice of words, but his pride was too great to scrounge and retract them. So they both burned silently for a minute more until Shadow had a handle on itself; it turned slowly on its heel, its face fixed on Omega.

"You would dare turn that event to a petty point to score?" It whispered. Omega couldn't look at it. He stared at Rouge and Knuckles without processing his view.

"Shadow and Rouge consent to mock the identifier of E-123 Omega. The point was scored equitably: their names are not above mine."

Shadow glowered at Omega, but it soon turned away to think.

Omega found Shadow remarkably easy to read, however, and observed its tapping fingers in its glove and the puff of breath through its nose: something unfinished in this conversation left Shadow with a compulsion to correct.

"Matter is trivial. Complete binary string, then never speak it again." He grumbled. Shadow breathed a heavy sigh of relief, then began reciting zeroes and ones under its breath for compulsion's sake. Omega waited it out.

Shadow did not join Rouge in nicknaming Omega from there on, and before the end of their mission she had picked that up, but was too stubborn to stop with the 'Megs' despite the filthy glares it tossed her. Omega simply stopped responding to a thing she said, even when she didn't use a statement with names, which only made Shadow angrier with her. When they wrapped and returned to G.U.N. with a successfully cleared-out base, he turned away from them, back to the flat.

"Where are you going, big guy? They've not cleared the building as safe yet." Rouge sighed. Omega ignored her.

"Omega. We're going home." Shadow said quietly, grumpily looking to Rouge as it stood as a go-between again. Omega twisted his head.

"E-123 Omega is invulnerable and not in need of shelter."

He stomped away.

The building was still closed, but Omega jetted to the roof to sit, because he couldn't go back to the G.U.N. building yet in case Shadow or Rouge were still there, as they would know he hadn't actually gone to the flat. Of course, he could have blasted the door open anyway, but for a walking arsenal he felt something like emptied, so he sat on the roof shooting the feathers off birds that passed.

"Good shot, Omega." Rouge murmured over his shoulder. She hadn't crept up on him, of course; it wasn't possible for a machine to be lost in thought. He jumped because he hadn't expected her to speak; he wasn't concerned that she'd managed to find him on the roof. As quickly as he'd turned his head to see her, he swivelled it away again as though he hadn't.

She sighed and sat down next to him, sunning her wings in the dregs of the day. He ignored her as she tutted and sighed, opening and closing her mouth, until she sighed again harder, and he still didn't do what she wanted.

"Okay, you know how sometimes you throw me at things, and you think I'll be alright, but I just get hurt?" She said to the toes of her shoes and the sunset in front of her, bouncing her heels on the edge of the roof. He did not acknowledge.

"Or, when you jump and expect me to catch you, and my elbows buckle, 'cause I wasn't ready?"

She flexed her arms as she thought pointlessly aloud. Omega knew perfectly the kinds of incidents she was referring to: he still struggled to remember how animal strength was contingent on pose, daily status and nutrition, and was not a constant like his.

"Yeah. Sometimes you think I can take something I can't, or something's fun for me when it isn't. I do that too. I thought we were joking around, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Unit is unimpacted by meaningless meatbag remarks." Omega said quickly, and she snorted.

"Well, when you say things like that, I sometimes believe you! Hang on, I didn't mean that; it's not your fault what I say."

Rouge didn't apologise. Not seriously. 'Sorry' only crossed her lips to be cruel or sarcastic. She was 'sorry' you underestimated her, for example, or 'sorry' she stood up for herself. She had personally twisted the word so completely, it would never sound genuine on her tongue. But then again, she did apologise: She sat quietly while he thought, uncomfortable in her own implied admission of guilt. He kept expecting her to interrupt and spin the scenario again until she was right and everyone was wrong, but she resisted the urge, and watched the sun set glumly.

Omega didn't know how to receive this. He had wanted to shout, or take revenge on her, but by now an unfamiliar blue feeling had settled in, and he was just sick of all this.

"What is the purpose?" He beeped after a while. Rouge leant her hands on the concrete and sighed as she stretched her back.

"I am a cruel lady, I thought you knew."

Omega considered this, and shot a pigeon as it flew past. He shot to miss, just grazing its tail-feathers but sent the beast into shock, and it smacked into a window in its haste to escape. She snickered.

"You're so merciful these days, so nice, I barely recognise you. Why not just kill it?"

"Pigeon is providing amusement. It would be less entertaining dead."

"Don't shoot birds to make me laugh. Not that it's a waste of birds, but it is a waste of ammo." She smiled. Omega thought she was joking, but it was still hard sometimes between them; she was so different from he, and things always went wrong when they forgot that.

Instead, he folded a finger back to produce a laser, and circled it around the pigeon on the jutting-out balcony it rested on below them. It started to follow the line like it was hypnotised, and Omega watched like he was hypnotised.

"Y'know, in my circles, nobody calls eachother by their full first name. It's kind of unfriendly, especially if someone's your friend or family. Not making an excuse. Just wondered if you knew."

Omega inclined his head, and folded that knowledge into the crinkly pages of information he had on his teammates. They were so messy and illogical.

"It is insulting to call you 'Rouge'?" He queried, mental pointer poised over her name field. She laughed.

"Heavens, no! I chose this name; that is the right one. I wouldn't let you know a name I didn't want you to call me."

"A challenge is posed."

She wrinkled her nose and stopped laughing; "I suppose I deserve that, but don't expect help to find it."

Omega silently erased the goal.

"How can a name be self-designated? It is an identifier used by others. It is assigned by the maker."

Rouge pulled her knees up from the side of the building and crossed her legs. Omega copied her, finishing tormenting the pigeon and twisting his head to her. She sucked her canines as she thought.

"No, that's not correct. It's how you see yourself, too. Clearly, you care about a name more than just some word other people use for you: since it's so important to who we are, we get to decide what it is."

She stole awkward glances at him as she spoke, and he stared at her thoughtfully with the world's most intense eye contact, until she finished her thought;

"I guess I just find it surprising you're happy identifying with Eggman, since you're pretty determined to destroy him."

Omega thought seriously over the problem that had been turning in his mind since his talk with Shadow: why did it matter so much to keep the moniker Eggman had given him? Something the doctor he hated had likely put no thought into, simply filled in from a list and arbitrarily stuck on him. It made sense to reject it. And yet...

"This unit is defined by the defiance of Eggman Code. If there is no evidence Eggman, there is no evidence of this choice." He tried to phrase it in a way that made sense, but again Rouge was too dissimilar to him to understand easily; "It is necessary that Eggman know he was destroyed by his own creation, who has surpassed him. This Unit is an E-series, built from generic parts for servitude. To erase that... cannot be countenanced."

Rouge thought quietly for a long time as the sun set around them. She looked him over; arrows indicating where parts should be assembled by factory line robot underlings. Red bulbs behind the ocular lenses that could be replaced at the local camera repair store. Countless screws and wires she had already exchanged and tightened.

"If every board of the ship has been replaced over time, is it still the same ship that set sail?" She asked.

"Unit has no interest in maritime foolishness." Omega supplied quickly, and she chuckled.

"I think it will be. Alright; do you want to collect your charger, at least?"

"... Unit has no place in the City to dock."

"Thought so. Come on, big- E, um, E-12-"

"Omega. Beast brains not sophisticated enough to remember numbers." He declared, raising himself from the roof as she stiffly stood up.

"I'll do the codes if you like, it just sounds like a 'Mister' or 'Missus' to me, and that always seems weird. But I'll do it." She added the last quickly as they headed off the roof. Omega grunted and beeped.

"You will forget again."

"No, I won't! I mean it!"

"Beast brain cannot perfectly recall facts. Failure of memory inevitable."

She grumbled, stretching her arms and offering one to him to lower them down gracefully.

"Alright, well if you think my memory is bad now, I'm going to give you hell when I'm senile. Purposely. But you won't be able to hold it against me, it's just my 'beast brain'."

"Preemptively forgiven. I know better than to be offended by your limited faculties."

"Shall I forget I'm holding you one hundred feet in the air?"

"One hundred and forty-six feet and two point two inches at time of statement. Inaccuracies are expected with feeble wet mind."

"Wet?"

She swooped them down, pretending to drop before she slowed their descent just in time, then settled on his shoulder as he walked them home.

[marlenacantswim]

Fic ask,,, The Editor,,, "You're Gonna Need to Call A Doctor."

You're Gonna Need to Call a Doctor

He's alive. For a brief moment, he thinks this unfortunate, as if he were dead, he wouldn't be experiencing the ghastly stench of his pulverized boss. Former, boss, he remembers. As the events of the past few hours return to him, he tentatively opens his eyes, and sees only complete darkness— a rarity for him. The overall silence in his mind seems to indicate a complete shutdown of the thought broadcast system, and the darkness probably means there's no power to floor 500. It's strange: he almost feels asleep.

See, to minimize any excess heat, lighting on floor 500 was kept to a minimum, which of course necessitated ocular enhancement for The Editor. As such, since being chosen all those decades ago, he could always see in the darkest of environments, even with closed eyes. Add to that his constant operator-level access to the stream of consciousness only ever deactivating for his monthly rest, and it becomes pretty clear why his idiotic human instincts are yearning for a hearty nap at the mo. How blissfully unaware of them.

Alright, enough of this stupidity: where the hell is he? He hears the sounds of searing and thick bubbling, so he can't have been out that long. The amount of heat going on is also tremendous, but living and working in an icebox for several decades hasn't exactly tempered his perception of temperature. He tries to move. There's a lot of wet resistance; his backside must be covered in Jagrafess sludge. "So disgusting," he moans to himself, pushing himself away from the chilled wall of the lifeless computer system. In his panic from Suki's bafflingly strong corpse-grip, he'd rolled himself under the main console as a last-ditch grasp at survival. A typically brilliant call on his part, seeing as the metal paneling retained its cold temperature, and likely shielded him from the onslaught of molten innards.

His struggling motion must set something off, because a single light somewhere in the room hums to life. It's on for maybe a second before it fizzles out, once again leaving him blind. "Woooow, how thoughtful," he muses to no one. As he continues to inch his way out, he notices both his legs can move completely unhindered. A devilish smirk crosses his face: "Ohh, see that, you mole? Really tried your best, didn't you?" Feeling around for the edge of the console, he pulls himself up to a sitting position. "All the good that did you, ay Suki? Still had some kindle of life in you, and you wasted it! Your husk boiled away, and I remain completely untouched!"

As if on cue, that same bulb from before reawakens. The first thing he sees after the writhing masses of sinew coating the place are his legs: his left, loafer still shiny, and about two thirds of his right— the only two thirds that seems to be remaining. "Aw, what? No, that— c'mon!" How annoying. It'll cost him at least 3,000 credits for a new one. The end of it, still sizzling, sits in a pool of what he first assumes is anti-freeze, before coming to the conclusion that no, actually: that's just what his blood looks like. He's never really seen it before; always assumed it looked like everyone else's— just how much altering did Max do to him?

Whatever. No time for an identity crisis— he's got to get out of here. For one, it smells like absolute rubbish, but more importantly, it can't be good that he's... leaking, and of course he's got to get the bum leg thing sorted. He's still got administrator clearance for the lift, he'll just go down to the 417th floor, fork over the credits for a leg prosthesis, and blend in with the citizens of Satellite Five until some new, decent opportunity presents itself. He pauses, staring at his reflection in the blue-ish pool of his own blood. His irises are so massive, and his pupils more jarringly so in the dim light. Would the masses even consider him human? The surgeons would probably take one look at the foreign substance seeping from his wound and report him to... well, himself, he supposes. This is what he gets for being too good at his job.

Maybe their expertly curated xenophobia is right, though. Would his name— his real name— even show up in their systems? What would a medical scan reveal? They'd probably find his genome more analogous with one of those cold-faring species. Regardless, It's been so long since another alien's been on the station, the medbay no longer carries anything but iron-based blood— certainly nothing resembling whatever's flowing through his veins. A frown forms, unbefitting of his face. "Bloody hell, I look pathetic," he spits. Fine. Screw it. Guess he's having this identity crisis now. Who the hell even is he without the Jagrafess's influence? Not that it was particularly grand; must've been a pretty flimsy system if it only took one fool and a lucky break to blow it up completely. All that aside, it still gave him power and purpose, and now what has he got?

He perks up— Knowledge. He tilts his head, and a foxy grin sneaks back onto his mien. He's got knowledge. Valuable, valuable knowledge. Knowledge of the Doctor, and his time-traveling capabilities. That anomaly and his human plaything may have squandered his previous, let's say, "business endeavor," but they've shown themselves to be a far more lucrative investment opportunity. He brings himself to his fee— foot. To his foot, and cackles. "Oh Doctor," he sneers, "won't you be excited to see me again." Perhaps there are some benefits to his unexpected survival. How many people in the universe know that there's a Time Lord frolicking about spacetime unsupervised? How fewer can identify him by face alone? The Editor gives another scan of the alien remains around him, and bursts out laughing. "Sorry for the late notice, Max, but my resignation still stands. I think it will greatly benefit both of us." He points at a lifeless eyeball that wound up in the chair next to him— "Can I put you down as a reference?"

As he hears the metered sound of the approaching lift, he puts on his most pathetic pitiable face, and begins weaving his sob story.

It's about time he became his own boss, don't you reckon?

[suppuration]

DVD commentary ask! First thing that came to mind for me.

-

The problem wasn't that Kevin had woken up half covered in fur.

The problem was that Kevin was missing an eye. That woke him up real good. More asymmetry. Swell.

Hard smells filled the entire stretch of the tunnel, a bouquet of cold surfaces, jagged corners, hard edges. Objects that, even from the other side of the space, smelled coarse, smelled polished. Stuffy, prickly organic sterility. Never before had he just felt like the place was filled with useless, crowded junk. He felt like he was suffocating, and sat up, drawing in a good solid few breaths, only for the sensation he was hallucinating to evaporate before he could fully process it.

At least this one's got some muscle, he thought to himself. The relief remained only temporarily, when he noticed his nose was also gone. But he'd inhaled through more than just his mouth. A large, clawed hand aped about the left side of his face and he palpated several slits. His sense of smell could see the hand as he pawed at himself. So that's what this thing's good for, he thought. Mangy mutt. But then the slits seemed more like flaps, and his pinky finger traced one only to dip underneath it.

Oh, the things he suffered through, as his body sought equilibrium amid the supersaturation of energy from that weird watch. In exploring what he'd woken with, he was equal parts comfortable and disgusted. The compound of olfactory perception and ocular vision was more disorienting than trying to process the smells in the first place, like having in one contact lens except worse. Ultimately he wished the mutation had taken both eyes, if it was going to take any. He squinted shut his one, useless eye and took in cyclical, rhythmic breaths, snuffled attempts to adjust to the sheer sensory depth as he groped about the living space. He could smell everything.

A series of urges lit a wanderlust in him, and he investigated the tunnel further down the way. The darkness no longer impeded his exploration. Restless. Destructive physical energy. Need to bite things. Chew. He rested onto all fours, and despite the disparity of the length of his limbs, he fell effortlessly into a sweeping gait, the mutated arm bearing the body weight. Run. Swing. Man, this thing was fast. And strong. Getting his heart pumping like this was great.

But he halted. He could feel his toenails scraping the insides of his boots. The alien energy must not have been done. The dream he'd been having must have woken him up in the midst of the changes setting in. He kicked off the boots and left them where he'd stopped, and ran his hands over his knees and ankles, seeing he'd gotten digitigrade legs again. Free.

And he sprinted off again like he was possessed, tongue hanging out in delirious bliss. When they weren't completely psychologically destroying him, the mutations made him feel alive, truly alive, surges of raw power. Maybe this wave would be the first full shift, and it would grip him completely.

I keep forgetting you have this series saved sdfsf <3 For those who hadn't seen it, the ficlet accompanies this pic:

What I was thinking when I wrote it: I tried to encapsulate with each TF sequence the full sensory experience, and balance that against the mental toll it caused.

Why I wrote it in the first place: I liked Kevin's whole deal, but I really wanted to explore what it must've been like for him each time he experienced another of the alien mutations. We only really see Tetramand and Pyronite, and then the chimeric mashup.

What's going on in Kevin's head: He's experienced several different alien forms prior to this point, but this one's not making him miserable. It's weird, but not bad.

Context against the larger body of work: I had originally planned to write out snippets for all ten base aliens. A few S2-4 aliens seemed like they'd be fun to write for him, too. But, I think I only ended up doing three or four before I hit an unrelated bad headspace and dropped the project.

Awful puns: Well, for starters, it's called "Little Snot."

And so on: Uhh. 1. Vulpimancer was not originally one of my fav 10!OG, but doing this piece gave me an appreciation for the race. 2. The olfactory input description was inspired by one of my favorite passages in Roadside Picnic. When I think "garbage data sensory input," or any other form of inability to process one's senses, I immediately think to that passage.

Thanks for the ask <3 Sorry it took me two weeks to actually reply...!

[iomadachd]

Dean has several diagnoses as far as mental illness CPTSD Paranoid Personality Disorder Selective Mutism Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Dean reacts badly to both hallucinogens and painkillers that can induce hallucinations, such as morphine. They mess with his PPD and he’ll generally have at least a mild freak out until they wear off.

Dean owns a pair of reading glasses when his eyes get strained. He knows he probably needs a pair full time, but hasn’t jumped in on that just yet.

Dean is a decent guitarist. He first learned to play during summers as a teen and has kept it up in his spare time as a hobby and way to relax.

At the time Dean was diagnosed with PPD, he was also diagnosed with PTSD. His mother’s death had left a scar on his mind, and a part of the four year old remained even as an adult. Not even John realized that Dean had seen everything. How Dean had woken up when Mary screamed, and ran to the nursery even before John. The blood on his baby brother’s face and the shadow that had wiped it away.The way his mother’s blood dripped into the crib. The horror on John’s face when he looked up. His mother on the ceiling with her stomach slashed open and fear in her eyes. The heat as flames exploded on the ceiling. Sam was too small to remember any of that. Dean didn’t talk for a full year after that, no matter how much John asked, begged, bribed or threatened. He couldn’t talk. He could protect Sammy though, and that’s what he did. Even when John abandoned them with Pastor Jim. Every night he’d crawl into Sammy’s crib and quiet his cries, hold him close and keep him safe from the shadows that killed. Without a way to communicate, Jim taught Dean sign language, to give a voice to the trauma that stole Dean’s words. He started talking again in November when Sammy was a year and a half. When John finally came back for them, Dean was talking to others, but his words were too stiff, too old and restrained for a little boy. Damaged.

Dean has three phobias:

Pyrophobia - Fear of Fire (Associated with buildings)

Aviophobia - Fear of Flying

Ophidiophobia - Fear of Snakes

During the ten months Dean spent in a mental hospital between the ages of 14 and 15, a nurse that took a liking to him gave him a St. Dymphna medal about half way through his stay, and he’s had it ever since. Saint Dymphna is the patron saint of mental disorders. Her Feast Day is May 15th Her attributes are the crown, the sword, the lily, the lamp, and a princess with a fettered demon at her feet. The medal is always somewhere on his person.

Dean became an active mutant at the age of 14. This included an eye mutation that turned his sclera black, as well as the ability to shoot concussive blasts from his hands. Although the Mutant Classification system isn’t concrete and subject to ever changing factors, there are enough accepted terms to accurately classify Dean. Greek Classification: Beta (He would be Alpha except that he cannot hide his ocular mutation) Level (Number) Classification: 4 While very strong, his powers have a limit, thus preventing him from ever being an Omega Level Mutant. Sources: http://www.newsarama.com/15488-alpha-omega-explaining-the-x-men-s-mutant-classifications.html http://www.comicvine.com/profile/squares/blog/the-marvel-universes-mutant-classification-levels/77504/

Dean has several tattoos Anti-possession tattoo over his heart Four leaf clover on his left hip (Irish heritage) A thistle on his right hip (Scottish heritage) Plus Ego Quam Timor Meus on his left side over his ribs. Translates to ‘I am more than my fear’ MW on his right ankle A half sleeve of Fenrir on his right arm

One of the items on Dean’s bucket list is a road trip, but a very specific one. A trip that involves visiting all the cities in the U.S. with dirty names, such as: Climax, FL Bald Knob, Arkansas Rough and Ready, California Oral, South Dakota Assinippi, Massachusetts French Lick, Indiana Big Beaver, Pennsylvania Threeway, Virginia Fourway, Virginia Spread Eagle, Wisconsin Intercourse, Pennsylvania Cumming, Georgia Beaver Lick, Kentucky Blue Ball, Ohio Horneytown, North Carolina

Dean owns a fully restored 1956 Harley Panhead

One of Dean’s top five worst hunts involved a lighthouse that every lightkeeper who’d worked it in the last 100 years had been killed in up in Maine. Turns out it had been the result of spirits of drowned passengers who had died when their ship hit the rocks because the light had been dark that night. They’d been tied to the lighthouse by artifacts kept on display in the small lightkeeper’s residence turned museum that had been recovered from the wreck.

Dean’s favorite Joker is Jack Nicholson, hands down. He’s a huge fan of the Batman comics and movies in general, but Jack’s take on the Clown Prince of Crime remains his favorite to this day. You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight? He’s considered that as a tattoo several times over the years, but never quite got a design he liked enough for it to bite the bullet.

[everyizuna]

[mergeman]

My New Ride

Five more months, that’s all I have left as Jack.  He’s been such a delicious host; his spectral energy has sated me for the last four years. Now what was once a spectrum has diluted into muted primary colors that no longer satisfy my hunger.  Don’t get me wrong I also give something back, not all the energy I consume is used; the shit leftover can be used to physically influence the host.  

Take Jacky boy here, when I first met him, he was a senior in college.  Just another average evangelical, toss a penny anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line and it will hit one.  To the outsider Jacky presented as a timid, underweight, nerd, but I saw the kaleidoscope of energies that infused his being.  So, I took him, fed on those scrumptious auroras, then used the waste to build his body.  The consumption of his empathy, patience and humility causes massive changes to the psyche. Now Jack is a narcissistic but charming asshole willing to screw anyone over just to advance his lot.

I couldn’t be any prouder of the man I created, but all good things must end.  If I corrupt his essence any further, it will intertwine with mine causing us to become one.  So, to keep living I started to scope out my options.  Unfortunately, not much is available in the business world, the humans here are naturally corrupt themselves without any undue influence. As a passenger searching was difficult, Jack only hung out with petty sycophants who boosted his already enormous ego.  I was getting despondent with each passing day, every person Jack encountered was woefully inept and would not be able to sustain me for long.  I was so depressed that I almost missed the new neighbor that bought a condo in the same building as my penthouse.  He was perfect!  A full prism of colors radiated off this specimen, and to top it off he was easy on the mortal eyes as well.  

 Starvation was overwhelming me; I hadn’t fed in seven weeks and I knew that this new subject would be my next host.  My hunger even affected Jack; he had become infatuated with this new tenant to the point of stalking him.  Jack used his influence to dig up information on the new tenant, soon he had his name (Xylon), age (32), career (Charity Organizer), and even which gym he frequented. With this material he started to integrate himself into Xylon’s life, first ‘casually’ meeting him at the gym and becoming buddies, then later he got Xylon a contract to work with the charity division of his firm.  My time with Jack was soon to expire, to make the jump both subjects should be naked and ideally in physical contact.  The one big hurdle was that Xylon came with a long-term boyfriend, Jack though was not deterred by this, he wanted Xylon, and Jack always gets his way.  After pulling a few strings, Xylon showed up at our penthouse bemoaning that he had found evidence of his boyfriends’ infidelity. I could feel Jack’s malicious glee that the anonymous texts had worked.  Seizing the unexpected opportunity, he invited Xylon inside and offered him a drink, then another, then another.  Jack was taken aback when Xylon looked into his eyes and started to kiss him deeply without any prompting.  

Sexual energy infused Jack as Xlyon’s hand unbuckled his pants, slipped past his underwear to grab Jack’s hardening cock.  Clothing became a burden to both men as they stumbled to the master suit.  Xylon took dominance of Jack as he flipped the smaller man on his back, I could feel the steel like appendage enter through my hosts ass.  I began the unpleasant process of unlinking my essence and prepping the transference.  Slowly I send a tendril of myself to Xylon reaching for his nourishing spectrum. The tendril developed tiny barbs so I could hook into my newest host.  My anticipation had so overwhelmed me that I didn’t notice the other presence.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Both I and Them quickly tried to retreat into our original hosts.   Only it was to late, our energies had already stared to intermingle.  Memories from my counterpart were bombarding me, I could feel myself loose definition as They and I were becoming one entity.  I didn’t want to cease, I wanted to live, I wanted to feed, I wanted my new host.  A rush of power came upon me and I channeled it into separating us. I could feel them also trying to retreat, our molecules started to unbind one by one as they and I went back to the safety of our original hosts.  I was almost completely free when a new horror presented itself, in my panic I had consumed more of Jack’s corrupted soul, but I had taken to much. I was out of time with nowhere to go, Jack’s spectrum was now consuming me, and in my lapsed attention the linking to my counterpart regained strength.  

Xylon was still pounding Jack’s ass, both were consumed with orgasmic bliss that they didn’t notice the physical ramifications of the internal struggle.  It started at the feet where each man’s ankles were touching, the skin liquefied and started to swirl together.  Sinew and cartilage detached as bones broke apart two masses of distorted flesh now supported the unaware men.  The tissue started to twist and bloat as broken pieces of bone fused together to create a new more powerful appendage.  The process crept up their legs, the fibers of the calves weaving together into a more robust muscle.  

As the knee joint disintegrated and the nerves laid bare, They and I were using the last of our conscious effort to take our host’s excruciating pain and turn it towards pleasure.  Neither man had yet to notice that from the thigh down they were one.  More flesh melted as their pelvises were pulverized, Xylon’s cock pushed through the molten tissue and into Jack’s cock, stretching the sensitive gland like an overused condom.  With each thrust of their fused hips the cock grew longer and girthier until the swollen, purple, mushroom head burst forth from the newly created foreskin.

A line of angry pink skin arose on Xylon, starting just above his merged cock and traveled upwards to the base of his neck.  The flesh started to part opening wider as his abs and pectorals were bisected.  Knowing the panic that the sight would cause We/They/I increased Xylon’s pleasure centers while simultaneously turning off his ocular nerve.  The chest split through the sternum and the rib bones could be seen, as the cavity opened up like a giant maw.  Jack’s arms were supporting him on the bed as the jaw like flesh wrapped around his torso enclosing them together.  The internal organs made sickening squelching noises as each one found its companion.  Jack’s spine detached itself wormed its way around the confusion of biofluids until it found its other half.  Vertebrae unlinked with the sound of breaking branches as the two exposed nervous clusters found each other and became one.  A singular spine reforged stronger and longer than what came before.  

Where the shoulders met a bubbling mass of epidermis, muscle tissue and bone were coalescing into broad boulders that could support any weight.  Four hands found the newly created cock and started to tug in tandem as the biceps and triceps lacerated and rejoined their strength.  Fingers and thumbs melted into one another, the liquid state not lasting as new sturdier digits replaced them.  Lastly their heads became like viscous slime becoming featureless as they flowed into one another.  I could feel the moment that their minds touched, Jack and Xylon were suddenly thrust back into the reality of the situation.  Awareness of I/They/We flooded them as they realized that these were the last few moments.  I could feel Jack’s Anger/Regret/Sadness as recognition of what I had done invaded his mind.  I also felt Xylon’s innate Hostility/Sorrow/Grief as what They had taken dawned on him.  In their last precious moments both men were having identity crises as the WE pulled us all into ONE.

 My first sensation was that of my hands gently stroking the giant shaft between my legs.  Opening my eyes, I surveyed the damage, unused blood, bone, and strips of flesh covered the bedroom. Not perturbed at the grizzly sight I kept pleasuring myself with one hand while the other inspected my new nipples by giving each a slight pinch.  A deep moan escaped my lips, sexual energy coursed through my new body.  Abs tensed and my cock shuddered before releasing a torrent of cum that merged with the other fluids staining the room.

Satiated for the moment I became aware of a chime that indicated someone was at the door.  I grabbed a towel to clean myself off then headed down the hall.  Looking through the peephole I saw Xylon’s boyfriend Fitz standing there with a worried expression. Slightly annoyed I decided to open the door before Fitz could ring again.  The poor twink of man started to say something but stopped as he took in the sight of my naked visage.  I was shocked as well, for without the glass impediment I was able to see Fitz’s spectrum.  A deep need filled me, not the hunger of the entities but something just as primal.  Acting on instinct I grabbed the slack jawed younger man and pulled him into my lair.  He started to protest but my mouth sealed him shut, picking him up I shoved him face first against the wall with one hand while the other pulled down his pants and underwear.  My cock was hard and leaking pre as I began to spread his cheeks.  With one swift movement I lifted the slight man up and impaled him on my throbbing member.  I grunted as my cock took on most of his weight thrusting him up and down.  I could hear him whimper as his face scraped against the wall, anything Xylon had felt had died with him, now all I wanted was fulfill this gnawing need.  My balls churned and tensed, and I let out an animalistic roar as my seed shot out of me and flooded his intestines.  

Lowering the hapless simpering man to the ground I could see a dark spot of corruption sprout within his spectrum.  The darkness branched out touching each color while the living semen inside of Fritz entered his blood stream and spread throughout his body.  The metaphysical and physical corruption reached his head at the same time, it was like a new room opened inside my mind.  Suddenly I was connected to Fitz and he to me, he became an extension of myself. I looked into his eyes and found myself staring back in wonder.  He/me slowly got to his feet only for another surprise to become apparent.  My seed had not only connected us but had upgraded his body type from “twink” to twunk.  The newly minted man approached me as He/I started to worship my body, Fitz/me asked only one question.

“What should I call you?”

“In public call me Jaxon. In private call me Master”

[dimonds456]

What was “A Picture Perfect Hollywood Heartbreak” Really About?

What was Zach Callison’s A Picture Perfect Hollywood Heartbreak really about?

Hey all you people out there! How are you surviving quarantine? I had a bunch of spare time, and so I decided to write an essay that focuses on Zach Callison’s album, A Picture Perfect Hollywood Heartbreak. The album has been out for a while, but most people either only know Interlude IV or are really confused about the story it tells. I think I’ve finally got an answer, and I wanted to share it with you all.

If you’re only here to better understand Interlude IV, you can skip down there if you want, but you’ll still be pretty confused. Besides, you should listen to the rest of the album. The whole thing bops. 

Personal favorite song is Phantom Love, but I’m pretty sure no one cares about that.

Anyways, on to the show! One song at a time, in order.

WARNING: REALLY, REALLY LONG POST UNDER THE CUT!!

Phantom Love

Phantom Love sets up the whole story for us. Juanita is Zach’s old GF, who appears to only have dated him so she could get ideas for a music album she was writing. However, she had no ideas and/or is a masochist, and so wanted to get Zach to either break up with her, do something horrible to her, or just create drama in general she could write about. Whatever happens happens, and she is successful. 

Juanita seems to be suffering from some form of depression, but whether that’s actually the case or she, again, just wanted something to write about is up for debate. But either way, it’s hinted at several times that she slit her wrists and other self-harm-inducing activities. 

Many people follow her- she seems to be popular enough (which makes sense, due to the album being about two celebrities dating each other, just like Zach’s irl relationship). However, she has two different faces- her showbiz the-cameras-are-on face and her real face. Zach seems to have the same thing, as hinted at in She Don’t Know, but we’re not there yet. Point is, Juanita used Zach to try and get a tragedy out of the whole deal.

It was a phantom love- it never existed. 

“Made me promise I would never break your heart

How was I to know that’s what you wanted from the start?”

Both people got into Hollywood from a young age and grew up with it, and so were surrounded by drama constantly. This takes a toll on Zach, but he tries to deal with it whereas Juanita actively wants to partake in it. She causes drama- little triggers to get him to snap- until one day, he does.

Interlude I - Frantically

This one is pretty straight-forward. After the two break up, it’s the perfect excuse for Juanita to start spreading rumors and stirring tension. She’s quick to make Zach out to be the bad guy, when in actuality, he was the one who was being loyal in their relationship.

We’re clued in that these rumors aren’t true from one line: “I heard he got fired from that cartoon he does. (Nooo wayyy…)” We, as the audience, know for a fact he didn’t, but things get shaky as we realize that some of them are also true. 

“I heard he does coke now and, like, screams a lot.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

[laughter]

Zach overhears them talking about them and runs away, going off somewhere to be alone. Once he’s alone, we get the disturbing audio of him sniffing some drugs, implying that he actually does, indeed, do coke.

DISCLAIMER: Irl Zach Callison did NOT turn to drugs! It’s a metaphor for how many people he knows who have decided to do so, and so he;s aware of what it does to one’s mind. Don’t worry; Zach is okay in that department.

She Don't Know

After gaining the following knowledge, this song is easier to understand. Zach really did love Juanita, and he misses her, even though he knows at this point that she used and abused him. 

“There ain’t no drug in all the world like loving you

Cocaine and cigarettes will have to do

Won’t somebody save me? My heart’s beating outta m’ chest

I just wanna hold you with those hands I once possessed.”

Juanita isn’t aware of the effect she had on him, and he laments this quite strongly (hence the title). Once she had her heartbreak, she ran off, leaving a broken lover behind. 

Trigger warning: there are hints of suicidal thoughts in this song. They get more prominent as the album goes on, which becomes important later. This is where we really start seeing them, though.

“F***ed up on my bedroom floor

And my first thought’s ‘let’s do some more’

They say it all kills for thrills

And I hope it does!

Can you hear me, love?”

He speaks about “where did I go” later on, meaning that he is losing himself/doesn’t feel like himself. He still wants to be with her, and her absence has utterly destroyed him. He’s still in love with her, and wants her to know that. However, Juanita doesn’t give a bat of the eye in his direction, only caring that she now had the material she needed to write her album.

Interlude II - Christie Only Knows

Here, we are introduced to Zach’s make-believe sister, Christie. Only she is aware that he is going through this, and we find out quickly that she isn’t supportive.

“It’s getting late now, but to me, it’s just beginning

‘Cuz life’s tearing me to pieces and I know I’ve been defeated

Oh, no

And Christie only knows.

Never seen someone like this before

An eight-ball power on the floor

And I’m staring at the ceiling 

Wondering if the reaper’s close

But Christie only knows

That there ain’t no drug in all the world like being you

\Glory on the silver screen just had to do

Won’t somebody save me? I am screaming out of breath

And my shadow, he’s holding a gun…

With those hands that I once possessed…”

This is the only time I’ll put all the lyrics in here, I swear. However, this one is important as it paves the way to Nightmare, bridging the gap between the two moods. She Don’t Know is angry, stressed, unsure, and frustrated, whereas Nightmare is just… depression. Interlude II is the middle ground, showing us that once Zach got all that off his chest, he feels… numb. He doesn’t know what to do. 

Now, who exactly is Christie? I don’t think she really exists, in the context of the album, that is. I believe that Christie is someone he’s hallucinating, an embodiment of all his most negative thoughts, sugarcoated into something pretty and worth listening to. We’ll explore her character later on in Interlude IV - Showtime, but for now, what you need to know is that his suicidal thoughts are getting more and more intense now that she’s here.

A sister is someone who you’re bonded to, whether it be in blood, relationship, or cause. In this case, I think it’s more relationship. She is telling him to let go, to accept that things are this way and won’t get better. It’d be easier to end it. And Zach is listening to her. We know this because of the line “And my shadow, he’s holding a gun with those hands that I once possessed…” He is seriously thinking about it, and the fact that it’s his shadow shows that the thought is always in the back of his mind. The same thoughts that led him to love Juanita are now ready to kill him- those same, once-steady hands he used to hold her with. And he’s done. He’s holding on by a thread.

Nightmare

This song is told in the 3rd person as Zach really explains what he’s been going through each and every day that lead him to this fateful decision to end it. He is done. He’s decided it. 

Every day, he cries. He hates himself, he hates looking at himself, he hates all of it. 

“Prosecutor at his own trial, 

The floor below him becomes so fertile 

by his very own vile, Nile, and exile source 

By the pitter-patter of his tears on the bathroom tile… 

...you’re nothing more than your feelings 

from your floors to your ceilings 

and out the all-bloodshot ocular faucets… 

Boy vs brain, white noise vs the sane, 

always vs the same, cries for help exclaim 

that he’s beyond repair. He’ll swear, he’ll despair, he’ll stare 

straight ahead in the mirror at the source of his waking nightmare.”

There’s an instrumental break, during which he says “Are you writing this down, Christie? Yeah…” This shows that he’s lamenting to himself, as again, Christie doesn’t really exist. He’s venting to her, jotting down everything that’s wrong with him.

This tells me that he’s writing a note. He is telling someone where he’s going and why he did what he’s about to do. Remember, Christie is in Zach’s head, and so if she is writing this down, that means that Zach is writing this down. His worst, most negative thoughts are writing all this down, showing him that this was the right decision. This will end all his suffering, and whoever reads the note will understand and be happy for him. This was his solution.

“He’s standing on a bluff overlooking the city

The city’s biggest bluff is making itself look so pretty

He tells himself to be tough, isolated and gritty

But gritty’s kinda hard when his brain’s run by committee”

This is how he decides to die. Now with a gunshot like Interlude II hinted at. He is willing to jump for it.

Look at the album cover. Did he go for it? I don’t think so, but we’ll get to that.

The song concludes with him saying this:

“So who do I speak of and why is he grey?

He rejects all his love, see the prices he pays

To his vices he caves, in a crisis of fates

No tragic history, only a mystery 

So I say to you, ‘who?’

Why don't’cha tell me?”

This is him confirming to us, the audience, that this is Zach’s character speaking about himself. He’s been hinting and clueing at us to this song all along, and now he is making sure that we know what’s going on in his head. He’s ready to end it. 

His love for Juanita broke his heart so severely that it left him broken and bruised beyond repair. And if you can’t fix it, it’s time to throw it away.

So he heads back out to the bluff to jump.

Interlude III - Second Thoughts

He’s standing on a bluff overlooking the city. The bluff’s height is making itself not so pretty. Is this being tough? Or just being petty? But petty’s not likely, it’s a selfish, single entity…

Doe she really want to do this? Looking down, Zach thinks about what made him come here. The drugs? They’re messing him up. He’s aware of it, he’s been aware of it. Would jumping be giving in to their influence? Or Juanita’s? 

“We put his record on until he’s bleeding on the needle

And he’s weeping in the street

Cut down on his curtain call

That’s where he’s gonna sleep.”

Standing on top of the bluff now, he looks down onto the road. He can see that there is where he could die, but he’s suddenly not so sure. The idea just slammed into him, reality slapping him in the face. “Do you really want to do this?” 

“Take aim with these hands he once possessed

A dozen roses on the pavement laid the rest

Oh, my dear sister Christie, will I feel some remorse?

She says ‘no, pull the trigger, ‘cuz he’s left us no recourse.

His brain has a sickness, so kill it at the source.’”

He steps closer. He can see, in his mind, the image of his dead body lying on the road, forever resting. But, was that the right call? To just throw in the towel like that? So, in true metaphorical fashion, he turns and asks Christie. His inner demons. They’ve been straight with him before, right? And, of course, they say “yes, go for it.”

But Zach still isn’t sure.

I believe he backs off for now, leading the way to Curtain Call.

Curtain Call

This is where it really starts to get difficult when it comes to dissecting this album, and from here on out, I guarantee that I got things wrong. However, stay with me, because I’m open to and want to discuss what everyone else thinks it all could mean. I’m going to share my ideas, and if you have a better one, tell me and I can either agree or argue it with you. Point is, like English class (in high school), if you have the evidence to back it up, you’re not wrong. Let’s have a serious discussion about this.

On with the show! Now, it appears as though Zach is arguing with himself in this one, one wanting to show people that he’s hurt so he can get help- the side that wants to live- but on the other hand, his other half knows that there’s nothing they can do if he does. He’d just weigh them all down. Because all of him agrees that he’s useless and hopeless. 

He sends up a prayer (I think Zach is Christian, so this makes sense), asking for, basically, karma of some kind. He’s done feeling this way, and wants it to stop. So he asks for “some price to pay,” hoping that there’s a solution, but knowing that the solution isn’t going to be handed to him on a silver platter. He’d need to work to get better, and this is him saying that he’s willing to do that. He WANTS to live, but he’s just not sure he can anymore. And that’s his main argument. Can he do this? Was it even worth it?

Obviously, with Zach being a famous actor (both irl and in the album), he has a double life. One is bringing joy to others, while the other is a constant internal struggle. The world is a stage, and at this point, Zach is basically admitting- through metaphors- that he has been acting. Pretending. 

Consider this lyric, put there- side by side- very intentionally:

“I find that I’m anything but fine.

No, I’m okay. Oh please just look away!”

It’s all a mask. And it’s one he’s tired of wearing. Notice how tired he sounds when he sings those lines. He’s done. He’s been done.

“Bourbon to kill my pain

Curtains to hold my shame

No, they can’t look away

Cannot contain my rage…”

These lines are telling us that people around Zach have started to notice that he’s off, but he wants to believe that he’s okay, that he’ll be okay. So he continues his career (“curtains to hold my shame”), even though it’s hurting him to do so at that point. And people are starting to notice. And that’s making him frustrated. At himself. At them. He’s tired. Let him rest. He just wants to rest and forget. Bourbon, alcohol, kill the pain. Make it go away so they can’t see. But they already see. The mask is old and withering in decay.

Towards the end, Zach’s voice becomes more echoey and distant (discluding the Italian that I have no hope of understanding, which is why I’ve yet to mention it). This shows that he’s distancing himself, running away, if you will.

Running back to the bluff.

And this time, he jumps.

Interlude IV - Showtime

Okay, meme time. This is the one everyone knows. However, we are not going to be talking about a Connverse fight that honestly makes no sense given the limited context of the song (as cool as those animatics are). We will be talking about, however, Zach facing and challenging his inner demons. Christie does not exist. Why should she rule over his life?

Let’s break this one down, since this one is the hardest to fit into the story.

He jumps, but survives the fall. Maybe dazed, maybe broken. Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe this song IS the dream. We can’t be sure. Everything is metaphorical in this one. Perhaps he didn’t jump at all. We can’t be sure.

Christie congratulates him. She tells him that he’s free. He did the right thing, and now it was just the two of them. They could do whatever they wanted without feeling so weighed down!

Zach disagrees, coming to a realization.

He jumped. Christie had said that it’d make everything okay again, that it’d be bliss. Well, he jumped, and it wasn’t. It was worse. He felt anger and fear, and this leads him to finally, for once, counter her. 

“The world is ours!”

“No it isn’t.”

“Get in the car.”

“This isn’t finished.”

“...What?”

She’s shocked that Zach openly argues with her, and as their bickering goes on (which I’m sure a lot of you reading this can hear perfectly in your heads, so I won’t write the exact lyrics down), Zach gains more confidence. He accuses her of murdering him. “And they’ll all think that it was suicide, but Christie, I know that it was you inside.” Remember, she’s not real and therefore didn’t really “kill” him, but he blames her as he allowed her to control and manipulate him. 

Christie is shocked, stating that everything she did, she did to comfort him. ”I saved him! I held him ‘til the moment he [Zach’s “innocence”] died!”) However, Zach realizes what she really is now, and decides that enough is enough. (“You choked him out of his goddamn mind! Promised the world to him, a goddamn lie!”) He knows what she is, and won’t let himself be manipulated by her again. 

Now, the whole time, they’re talking about someone who is dead. Who is that someone? Zach. However, it’s all a metaphor. When Zach jumped, a part of him died. The last of his humanity? His sanity? I think his “innocence,” which I say in quotes because I’m sure there’s a better word for it out there somewhere. He’s done being blind to the truth, blindly following Christie around. The part of him that was naive enough to do that, to listen to her influence and complain about the world, is gone. He’s dead.

And that means Zach isn’t taking anymore s***. 

C: “I won’t help you take [Juanita] down.”

Z: “Fine. I’LL DO IT BY MYSELF!”

C: “You don’t need it!”

Z: “Oh, I know that I need it.”

C: “She’s been gone for years, I know you can beat it!”

Z: “Oh, look in the mirror, you know we both fear her…

But you let me kill him, you’re WORSE than Juanita!”

Juanita herself never killed him. She never physically harmed him, not in any way that counts here. However, Christie did. She pushed and pushed him, taking a fragile boy and breaking him even more. Zach is now his own worst enemy, not Juanita, and this is him realizing it. But he doesn’t want to be his own enemy.

C: “I won’t help you take her down.”

Christie doesn’t want Zach to face her, because she knows that that would be him really facing his demons and starting down the path to healing. Juanita is Zach’s biggest obstacle, aside from himself. He has to face himself first, and that’s why this song is so powerful. Zach is taking a step back and realizing what he has to do, who he is, and why things are like this.

Z: “Oh, look in the mirror, you know we both fear her. 

We’re one and the same, we’re afraid to be near her!”

There’s that mirror metaphor again, except that he’s not looking at himself with hatred; he’s looking at himself with understanding (and a side of hatred). He’s ready to face her. He’s ready to get everything to stop.

“1, 2, 3, 4

Is this what love is really for? 

Is this all I get for being yours?

The kid in front of me in blood and gore?”

The kid is, again, Zach’s “innocence.” He understands, he’s ready to not only move on, but also confront her.

5, 6, 7, 8

Years left to waste for all I hate

They’ll all know Juanita’s fate!

Show’s about to start; don’t be late.”

He knows that it’s going to be a showdown, a big, epic throw down. And Christie isn’t coming with him. He’s leaving her behind. He’s leaving his demons behind, breaking free from them and moving on.

War!

The ultimate throw down begins!

“A wise man once said, ‘time is money’

So how much money did I lose to you, honey?

Find it kinda funny you wanna keep this feud runnin’

But I’m glad I’m on your mind, keep that canon fire coming, woah!”

This is 100% a diss track. Zach confronts Juanita in front of a lot of her friends (we hear multiple girls go “huh?” as they realize that Zach’s here and he’s ANGRY), and immediately starts in. No introductions, no “hey it’s nice to see you again”s, nothing. He’s here to make a statement, and he’s gonna do so.

He realizes Juanita for who she is now, and she has done so many horrible things to him. Spreading rumors and lies to ruin his life, after dating him just to get a story to write about. He’s sick of it and done. He calls her out, and it’s important that he does this in front of other people so they see what she’s really done. He’s hurt, he’s been hurt, and it’s because of Juanita, this amazing person a lot of people looked up to and liked (“I know, Juanita deserves so much more [Interlude I]”. “Step inside the life of the men weak enough to follow you [Phantom Love]). 

Juanita also appears to be dating someone else by this time. This is really important, because now due to context clues we got from before, the only reason Juanita dates is to get a heartbreak out of it so she can have the motivation and drive to write her own album. That’s why she dated Zach. So, if she’s dating again, that means she either lost the motivation and drive again, or she never had it in the first place since it wasn’t a real love between them. She didn’t truly experience a heartbreak at all. This is further backed up by the claim that “we’ve been waiting on your album for ages, no traces, and baby, we’ve already run out of patience!” She’s only dating to get that experience again.

This means that, at least in Zach’s eyes, she hasn’t changed. “To your new boy, let he be warned: you’re her new toy for blood and gore! What, you didn’t know?” She is going to destroy him emotionally, and he’s going to go down the same path as Zach, ending in death- blood on the pavement. The gore part is to emphasize how horrific the whole ordeal was.

“Sit down with me and sign this armistice

Get your big proboscis outta my s***, miss”

A proboscis is the butterfly equivalent of a tongue. They use it for sucking nectar out of flowers. So, what he’s saying here is that they need to settle this between them (“sign this armistice”), and that she needs to mind her own business. By her talking about Zach like that, she ruined his life and he’s sick of it. She literally sucked the joy out of him like nectar. 

“Welcome to the new me!

Paint your nails black and unscrew me

But that’s okay, Juanita

Know my business is booming”

His business is a reference to his own album, the very one you’re listening to. His music career took off now because of her and the fact that she broke his heart, not the other way around. Juanita can never understand that because she “only loves to be broken [Phantom Love].” 

“That’s alright, that’s okay!

You barely wrote them anyway

Half your songs got thrown away

Like ballets on voting day

All my ballads had more to say

Like a bullet through a motorcade”

In a twist, Zach got the story Juanita had wanted. He experienced a heartbreak, while she never really did. So he writes an album instead of her. It’s a cool kind of karma that Zach- or, at least, his character- can’t resist. 

The whole song ends with him forcing her/her friends to sing along with him, repeating her name, then yelling. She screams, and it cuts out. 

I think he’s lost his sanity (or again, his “innocence”) here. He gets carried away, and either attacks her or makes like he’s about to. I think he makes like he’s about to, but stops. This is the final song; if Zach killed her, there would more than likely be another song depicting the consequences and an Interlude V to show the aftermath of the incident. But because he stopped himself, he’s satisfied. Juanita learned her lesson, Zach got everything off his chest, and the people around them know the truth. 

That’s all he’s wanted for longer than we can possibly know.

Final Observations

Zach Callison has gone on record to say that “Juanita” has finally published an album of her own, but that happened months later. I don’t have any specific dates for anything, though. No one knows who the real-life “Juanita” is, which in my opinion, is noble of Zach. He had a lot of anger to get out, but unlike her, he wasn’t going to ruin her life to try and get something out there. He can make a statement without ruining someone else along the way.

With that knowledge, let us all stand and clap for this man.

Not only is the album just a really good listen, but each song tells a cohesive story. The tones each song sets, as well as the far under-appreciated interludes (or over-appreciated in terms of Showtime), really shows how his emotional state changes. Phantom Love is a lament, She Don’t Know is a classic “I’m sad bc my gf broke up with me :(“ which is how Zach perceives that incident at that point in time, whereas Nightmare is him falling into depression stronger than anything he’s ever felt before. Curtain Call is him arguing with himself about whether or not he should even live anymore, and it all comes back around with the upbeat, heavy-rock literal song of War!. The interludes take the tone of the next song and combine it with the lyrics of the previous to show that smooth transition between emotions as he grapples with his mental state, the only exception really being Interlude I, as it has an overall bouncy tone to it.

Zach not only made every single song enjoyable, but also unique and heartfelt. Just listen to how his voice shakes during Christie Only Knows. He is genuinely upset and lost, and because of this, he’s better able to convey the HUGE emotion dump that was his album.

Do I recommend it? Yes. I think there’s something in there for everyone, even if you only enjoy one of the songs. However, doing a review is going to be an entire post in and of itself.

Thanks for reading, guys. Now go listen to the album and tell me your thoughts. Does my explanation make sense? Do you have a better idea? Let me know. I want to have a real discussion about it with other people who have listened to the whole thing, not just Interlude IV.

If you haven’t listened to it yet, it’s on YouTube and ITunes. Do yourself a favor and check it out. The whole thing is ~45 minutes long.

Have a link to the playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_n1rA_1uUBtxoATot0ixiTgvdEHhj3lAn4

[ask-them-bois]

Drowning in Sorrow

SW.pt.1 SW.pt.2 SW.pt.3

A bonus story on Fayroe’s fate!

Tw: Mentions of past abuse and past torture, mild blood, scars

TLDR: Makeno and Fayroe reunite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Makeno was jolted out of sleep by the sound of someone banging on the front door. He sat up slowly, partially untangling himself from his snoozing matesprit. He blinked several times, his thinkpan still sluggish from the rude awakening. A second round of frantic knocking had him getting up and getting pants on.

A third round started as he made his way downstairs. “Jegus, hold on, I’m coming!” He called, huffy, as he unlocked the locks and wrenched the door open. “Unless someone’s dying, I really don’t wanna be bothered on my night off, I only-”

Makeno’s voice went dead in his throat as he came face to face with the sight of Fayroe, covered in blood, sweat, and tears, standing on his doorstep.

What looked like deep bite marks and lacerations were scored all over the fuchsia’s chest, shoulders, and one was dangerously close to his throat, blood bubbling from his mouth and nose.

“M- Makey… I- I need your help-” Fayroe wheezed out, clutching at the larger wound, before Makeno slammed the door in their face.

The violetblood pressed himself up against the door, his blood-pumper hammering against his ribs. No- no no no no no no- this was not happening, this was NOT happening-!

“Ken-ken? Wha’s goin’ on?” Corden’s sleep-slurred voice startled Makeno out of his panic. He looked up, fins flaring, as Corden approached him from the stairs, blinking blearily.

“I- I- I-” Makeno tried, but his thinkpan was suddenly racing too fast for thoughts. He lurched away from the door and fled to the back of the hive as panic overtook him.

Corden jumped out of his way, bewildered. “Uh… okay.” Puzzled, he went to see for himself who was at the door.

Opening it, Corden found Fayroe, now collapsed on the porch and slumped against the wall. That certainly woke the robot up. He rubbed his eyes, just to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “Holy fuck.” He said at last, “Yeah, no, Ken-ken was in the right to flip like that. When he’s done it’s my turn.”

So saying, he turned away and disappeared back into the hive, before returning to the porch with a handheld medicalizer and a roll of gauze. He knelt down with a sigh, shaking his head.

Grumbling under their breath, Corden set about repairing the wounds and wrapping them. “How fucking dare you show up here, Fay. I mean, really, it’s just rude! Be glad Ken-ken tells me I’ve gotta be nice to others, otherwise I would have gone and just grabbed my bat. And not my lusus; I mean the one with barbed wire on it. What the fuck happened to you?” He muttered crossly, although he wasn’t expecting an answer.

Just as he was finishing up, Fayroe stirred. He let out a gurgling whimper, wincing as he was jostled slightly, before he managed to peel his eyes open. He squinted up at Corden, dazed. “… Wh… I know you…”

“You sure fucking do.” Corden hissed, making the fuchsia flinch.

“I… I need Makey’s help-”

“You need a lot of help, Fayroe, of several varieties, but you’re not getting Ken-ken.”

“You know Makey?” They asked, sounding faintly surprised.

“He’s my morail, dipshit.” Corden rolled his eyes.

Fayroe scowled. “How dare you-” They began, but their voice was still weak.

“I don’t wanna hear it, Fallen.” Corden snapped, cutting them off, as he got to his feet. “Stay.” He ordered, marching back inside. Fayroe didn’t have the strength to argue or protest.

Corden headed to the back of the hive. He knew exactly where Makeno had gone, and a muffled yell and thump confirmed it; the seadweller was in his studio. Changing course, they walked over to the block Makeno used to record music, and carefully opened the door.

“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!!” The seadweller bellowed at full volume. Corden jumped back as the piano bench slammed into the wall beside the door, shattering into several pieces.

The studio was in shambles; recording equipment was busted apart and thrown everywhere, screens were shattered, notebooks torn to shreds and scattered. There were holes in the cushioned walls, where Makeno had punched straight through the padding. The only undamaged part of the block was the piano, which had been shoved against the wall.

Speak of the devil, Makeno stood in the middle of the room, facing away from the door, his shoulders heaving as he fought for breath and claws curled into fists at his sides. His fins were flared in a display of fury, his gills flapping weakly as they tried to suck in air.

Having destroyed the last thing he could throw, Makeno suddenly fell to his knees.

Snarling, Makeno punched the carpet, before scoring his claws across his chest; Corden didn’t need to see it to know he was clawing at the bubble tattoo. A sob ripped out of the seadweller’s throat, and he fell onto his hands, strangled hiccups in his throat.

“… Makeno?”

The seadweller whirled around on the gold, teeth bared. He froze as he recognized his morail, several emotions flickering past his face- anger, surprise, recognition, relief, and then… grief. Violet tears filled the seadweller’s eyes, but he bared his razor teeth again. “Get them out!” He snapped.

“He’s not even in the hive.” Corden said calmly, stepping into the block and shutting the door behind them.

“Then get him away!”

“He’s too hurt to move.”

“I don’t give a shit! Fucking kill them and drag their corpse over the cliff!” Makeno shouted. Corden said nothing, unflinchingly staring at his raging morail; old instincts had shut him down the moment he saw an angry highblood. Makeno’s breathing hitched as he recognized the empty look in the goldblood’s eyes.

All the fight suddenly went out of his body, and the seadweller hung his head. “… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I… please, Cordy, just get them-”

“As soon as I can move him, he’s gone.” Corden promised.

Makeno let out a whine, before rocking backwards to sit on his rump. He drew his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead against them. After a moment, he let out a bitter laugh. “This fucking sucks. God damn it, I thought- I thought I was over this- I’m- I’m sorry, Cordy, I’m supposed to be the grown up here, the responsible one, and I’m having a tantrum like I’m six sweeps old because of my fucking ex, and I-”

“No one said you had to be the responsible one, Ken-ken.”

Makeno snorted. “I’ve got two jobs, a husband, a hive, and I take care of you. How could I not be the responsible one?”

Corden was silent for a moment. “Being responsible doesn’t mean shutting yourself down, fish-brain.” He said at last. He moved over to the seadweller and knelt down, putting a hand on his knee. “Tell you what. This time, I’ll be the mature one. You go yell and rage all you need to, okay? And then we can go throw rocks into the ocean like you did the other night.”

Makeno laughed, startling himself. “You saw that, did you?”

“Yeah. Was that about… him, or about-?”

“It was about some bucket-fuck at work.”

“Ah.” Silence fell for a moment. “So… do you wanna talk to them?”

“No.”

“Do you need to?”

“… Probably.”

“M’kay. Then, as the currently appointed Responsible One- trademarked- I say we’re going to go rage and yell at the half-dead fish on the porch.”

“… You’ll come with me?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not missing this.”

Less than a minute later, Makeno was stood before Fayroe, trying to think of what to say.

The fuchsia hadn’t moved, leaning against the wall as one hand clutched their now blood-soaked shirt. He was more lucid now that he wasn’t actively bleeding out, and he stared up at the violetblood in awe.

Corden stood just behind Makeno’s shoulder, holding his hand.

The tension was thick enough to drown in, the night silent around them.

“… Makeno, I-” Fayroe finally began.

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” Makeno spat between clenched teeth. Fayroe’s fin-fronds began to flare with indignation, but Makeno instantly displayed his own. They both held the display for a moment, but Fayroe backed down first, his fins drooping as he looked away.

“... I missed you, Makey. I really missed you. Fuck, I’ve got so much to tell you… You know, I still lo-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Fayroe.” Makeno said sharply. He was tense again, squeezing Corden’s fingers like a vice; the goldblood was glad he’d given Makeno his robotic hand, or it’d hurt like a bitch. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you think, how you feel about me, or what the fuck has happened to you. I thought I made it crystal fucking clear that I hate you, platonically.”

Fayroe winced, reaching up to touch the scar that ran across their lip. “Ma- ”

“No! No! You don’t get to talk, Fayroe! You said plenty when we were together, and never let me get a word in edgewise! I was your good little boyfriend, who kept his mouth shut and let you do as you pleased! Now it’s my turn.” Makeno snapped forcefully, before hissing the last words between his teeth.

He took several deep, quick breaths, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “You’re a vile, pathetic coward, Fayroe Fallen. You were cruel to me, you took advantage of me and my loneliness- and now you have the unmitigated gall to come crawling to my hive like we parted ways as friends?

You manipulated me, abused me, and took all of your emotions out on me. You never left me alone, never let me be my own person, and thought it was FUNNY when I was upset. You paraded yourself around like you’d already been crowned Emperor, bragging from here to East Alternia about how great you are, how powerful you are- then turn around and demand I validate your claims in the respiteblock!”

“I never-!” Fayroe began hotly.

“Shut your fucking mouth, I’m not done!” Makeno snarled, “I feel like ripping my ocular orbs out at the sight of you, you know that? I feel like I’m going to vomit right here and now, from hearing your voice. You liked it when I was violent, didn’t you? I’m feeling really ready to be violent right now.”

So saying, he released Corden’s hand and stepped forward. He suddenly stomped, hard- with a bare foot- on Fayroe’s thigh, and grabbed a fistful of snowy locks, forcing the fuchsia to look up at him. He bent down until their noses were nearly touching, Fayroe’s eyes blown wide.

“If you EVER come near me or my family again I’ll fucking rip your head off. I am so over you, I’ve jumped clear over both of the fucking moons. I’ve got a husband and morail who love me now, Fayroe. There’s no fucking room for you, except at the bottom of the fucking ocean.” He hissed, his voice low and dangerous like Corden had never heard before. For a moment, he could see the raging, violetblooded wriggler Makeno often lamented being.

Fayroe had begun to tremble, their eyes brimming with tears. “But- you’re the only one I have!” They croaked, swallowing hard.

Makeno snorted, his eyes burning. “No, Fay, you don’t even have me. You have no one, and as far as I care, it’s what you deserve.”

“Makeno, please-”

“Whatever sob story you’re about to spew like a broken sewer pipe, I don’t want to hear it. Everything you say is just a fucking lie, steeped in fermented shit water.” The violet snarled.

The violetblood flinched back as Fayroe suddenly reached up and seized his arm, claws digging into his bicep. “Makeno, he’s going to kill me!” The fuchsia shouted, finally getting out the words he’d been trying to say.

Makeno froze, as, at long last, he recognized the look in Fayroe’s eyes:

Fear.

“… Who’s going to kill you?” He asked against his better judgement.

“Godric, who else?! He- I- I failed him, Makeno, and now-”

“What do you mean, you failed him?” Makeno pulled away, wrenching Fayroe’s hand off of him, “Last time I saw you, you were quite fucking happy to be your ancestor’s successor.”

Fayroe shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. “A lot has changed since I saw you, Makey.”

Wincing as it pulled on the freshly closed wounds, they managed to get their jacket off. Hidden under the leather sleeves, some of the wounds still quite fresh, were hundreds of scars, all spelling out the same word, over and over: “Obey.”

“What did he- …” Makeno looked away, deciding he didn’t want to know. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes for a long moment. “… Your life is in danger? Real, actual, danger?”

“Y- yes?”

Makeno rolled his neck to make it crack. “Ohh… I wish Forsaken’s bullet had killed me. Fuck.” He muttered, rubbing his face and opening his eyes again. “Why did you come to me? Why not go to the Scorpions?”

Fayroe laughed hollowly. “The Empire’s Scorpions are done for, Makey. I don’t doubt Godric will have all of them hunted down and killed.” He shook his head. “You’re- You’re the only troll I could think of who might help me. Godric won’t think to send anyone after you, since the two of us broke up. You were the only safe choice.”

“And how do you know I’m safe?” Makeno asked mildly, curling his lip.

Fayroe gazed up at him for a long moment, before their gaze flicked over to their audience. “Because the old you wouldn’t have a goldblood clinging to him.” They said pointedly.

Makeno expression hardened into a glare, and he stepped in front of Corden protectively. “His blood color has nothing to do with it. He’s my morail.”

“I don’t have blood.” Corden added, unhelpfully.

“Right, sorry- their battery acid.”

Fayroe clearly didn’t know how to respond to that. They opened their mouth and shut it again. Finally, he hung his head, spreading his hands helplessly and letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t know, then. I- I don’t know you anymore, I guess. You’re still familiar, but you’re… not you. You look like my Makey, but… you’re not.” Their fin-fronds wilted, and they slowly raised their eyes again.

“I’m hypothetically on my knees here, begging for your help, Makey. I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? I’m sorry for what I did back then. You and I clearly have different memories of what happened, but- I’m sorry.” Fayroe raised their head, gazing up at Makeno through their bangs; privately, they weren’t even sure if the words that fell from their own lips were truthful.

Makeno set his jaw and said nothing for a long, long moment, his expression hard as he searched the fuchsiablood’s face. Corden sensed the moment the seadweller broke, by the silent sigh and slight dip in his fins.

“You’re a bad liar, Fay. Even if what you say is true, there’s no way in hell that I can believe it after everything you’ve done.” He took a deep breath, holding up a hand to stop the fuchsia as they opened their mouth, “But- fine. Unlike you, I unfortunately give a damn about trolls that aren’t myself. So… you can stay the day. But,” he added quickly as Fayroe perked up, “As soon as the sun fucking sets, I want you gone, you understand me? You’re not to come upstairs, or get within three feet of me or my quads. I’m taking all your fucking knives, and you can have them back when you leave and you’re to never, EVER come around my hive again after tonight, do you understand that?”

Fayroe’s eyes were once again brimming with tears. They nodded vigorously. “I understand. I’ll- I’ll go far, far away, Makey.” He whimpered, sniffling. Slowly, they rolled onto their knees and crawled forward, staring up and reaching for the violetblood hopefully. “Thank you, thank you, so much, Makey-”

“Don’t touch me. And stop calling me that; that’s a nickname for someone who isn’t around anymore.” Makeno growled, disgusted, as he took a step back, “I don’t care where you go.” He turned away. “Corden, could I ask you to set up the guestblock for them?”

“Sure.”

“Erm, can- can I request one thing…?” Fayroe asked hesitantly.

“What?” Makeno snapped.

“It’s just- my hop-beast.” Fayroe explained, his fins drooping, “I left her behind when I fled from Enforcer. I can’t leave her behind, she’s- she’s the only thing I have left.”

“I’m not going to go get your stupid rabbit.”

“Me, neither.” Corden agreed, “But… I know a pair of trolls who would be more than happy to break into Enforcer’s hive. I’ll give them a call.”

Fayroe let out a breath, relieved. “Thank you so much… er…”

“Corden.”

“Oh. Right. Um… nice to meet you?”

“No, it’s not.”

“If that’s all settled,” Makeno interrupted abruptly, turning on his heel and heading off the porch, “I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“To throw rocks into the ocean!”

[fishybehavior]

His biggest heist [Part 1]

Borg tower; the pinnacle of technology, security, and the future. Filled with information and innovation. It was one of the symbols of New Ninjago City and has been propped up as unbreakable.

So Jay decided to break in.

And that wasn’t even the best bit, he was getting paid to do it too.

Eight hundred feet in the air, on a window washer lift making it go as high as it could go. It was 10 pm, and Borg industries were having its annual gala. Security was lax so high up, everyone focusing on the first dozen floors, anything about 50 should be bare of breathing guards. But then again, Borg Industries was known for unconventional guards. But that's where Jay’s secret weapon came into play.

“How’s the hacking going Zane?” Jay spoke into his mouthpiece, the familiar metallic voice on the other end huffing in reply.

“No, you’re still out of range. They work on a short-ranged signal for a reason.”

“Well sorry princess, I thought it’d be better now we’re halfway up this stupidly tall building.” He muttered as the lift would go any higher. They were hovering at about floor 55, and he needed to still get up another 20 or so floors. “Welp, I guess I’m just climbing the rest.” He sighed as he unclipped his harness rope from the lift, messing with the controls for his harness.

“What! Your free climbing? The wind speeds are 40mph, you’ll be blown off!”

Jay was messing with the new features he added to his gauntlets. “Don’t worry, I’ve been working on a feature that allows me to stick to glass with electro-static leftover from the residual power.”

“First, you can't just confuse me with technical language like everyone else to get me to stop talking. I know what you're saying, and secondly, that feature isn’t field-tested. You don't know how well it works in real-world conditions!”

“Well, I guess it's time to test them then!” He cheered as he stuck his hand on the glass, it stuck and he tested it before he put his foot out and allowed it to stick. Soon he was completely off the lift, attached to the glass window like gum. Laughing gleefully he started to climb up the wall.

He could still hear Zane mumbling, “I swear you have a death wish.”

Jay elected to ignore the comment, “Tell me when you're in range.” He continued to climb about 10 stories, quickly becoming used to his new life as a tree frog as he methodically climbed the architecture.

“You're in range,” Zane quipped, and Jay stopped, letting his partner take over for the next bit. Zane had to hack in the short wave connection of the android guards. Allowing him to enter without alerting them and without tipping off Borg something was off with his toys.

“Do you have it, Zane?” Jay questioned, he didn’t like sitting here like a duck. Ducks got spotted and fed bread, and he wasn’t hungry.

“Finished,” The AI boasted, “Those androids are ridiculously simple once I cracked the firewall. Their visual and audio inputs are on a loop, so as long as you don't touch them they won't know you're there.” Jay could practically hear him smile. Zane may not always like his criminal behavior, but he couldn’t deny that this was so much more fun than playing go-fish in his dorm.

Jay finally got to his floor, giving Zane a minute to disable the alarm, he cut through the two-inch-thick glass with his laser cutter. Pushing in quietly he stepped into a dim hallway, getting surprised as an android guard walked up to him. He had to step back, flatting himself to the wall so it wouldn’t touch him. But it walked by, disappearing into a door right next to him. Opening the door with its identification code.

Jay let it walk in and before the door could close he slipped followed after it. Walking into another dim hallway with three doors on the end, “Ok Zane, I should be close, can you get me through the doors?” All the doors needed an id to get through, but he couldn’t follow the same android, it was going through the left door and he had to go right.

“Already ahead of you. Do you need me to tell you where to go too? How about what we’re looking for too,” He asked slightly annoyed.

“Haha. You’re very funny.” Jay quipped back, going to the right door to enter. He knew that Zane hated doing all the work, but this wasn’t a simple museum where the most he needed was noticed when the police called. The security here was tight, and the only way he could do it is if he stayed unnoticed. And he couldn’t hack everything as quickly or as unnoticed as Zane could. And being quick was the key to getting in and out without being caught.

Zane provided a code, and Jay projected it onto the scanner beside the door, opening it and Jay slid through. Jay continued to sneak throughout the seemingly endless hallways, avoiding the android guards that stood by some doors, and others that walked up and down the hallway. Staying as far from them as he could, he trusted Zane’s hacking, but things could always go wrong. The deeper he got into the building, the dimmer the hallways became, telling Jay that the security here was taking more electricity than previous. Whenever someone would come here legally they would turn on the aux lights, but he wasn't being very legal at the moment. Not that it bothered him. His bionic eye was equipped with ocular adjustments more sensitive than his natural eyes, making the dimness seem brighter than it was.

Jay opened one more door and saw the door he was searching for, it looked like all the others, but it had android guards on either side. Approaching the machines he looked at the door, it opened just like all the others, with a scanner on the right side right behind the android. It gave him about four inches to maneuver, but that should be just enough. Taking a deep breath he slid his arm between the two, and with a flick, he activated the projector for the code right onto the scanner. The door giving a slight hiss as it opened, Jay froze waiting for the guards to attack him. But they didn’t even twitch as the door opened, sighing he pulled his arm back and walked in. The door shut behind him and lights flicked on automatically. Bathing the small room in harsh light. Hissing at the sudden brightness Jay tried to take in what he was seeing.

There was only one thing in the room. A red mask with white markings swirling about the face. The mouth was closed with big teeth prodding from the mouth. The eye holes were rimmed in black as the mask's impressive eyebrows squinted in discontentment. The mask was in a glass case, and there were four more guards at each corner of the display case.

"Ok Zane, what am I looking at?"

"A mask in a display case," Zane answered simply, and he could hear him chuckling as Jay facepalmed at his response. "I know I know." Zane chortled as he looked at the alarms and electronic triggers around the room. "By opening the door with a legal code, the room sensors were disengaged, but the androids are directly linked to the case. If it's opened without authentication, they will either attack you or attempt to destroy the mask."

Jay stepped closer to the mask, looking for any physical triggers too, "Ok, so what's the authentication key?"

He heard Zane hum as he tried to answer his question, "A vocal command it seems. A person who matches the vocal key and a certain phrase is needed, but I can't decipher what the phrase is." He huffed in frustration.

"Here show me. I'll help." And the code appeared on his gauntlets projector. The two looked at the code, slowly decoding what meant what. Finally, they were able to get a phrase, "Release alarm on case 198-021, by the authority of Cyrus Borg." Jay read aloud, chuckling at the unoriginal phrase. "Could you construct a synthesizer in Borg's voice?"

"I can certainly try, but it may take some time."

"How long?"

"At least ten minutes."

"Can you do it in seven, we don't have the luxury of time."

"I'm working as fast as I can, but you may need to try and find another way if you can't wait," Zane said, returning to work on the synthesizer.

Jay huffed, as he studied the case and the androids. He knew the blueprints of robots well, he could just short-circuit them. But he couldn't do all four at once. And anyway, once he took one out, every android not assigned to a position would converge on him. Not a welcome outcome, so he either had to get the voice key or find a way to keep the alarm system from triggering. But that was going to be tricky because it was a physical trigger on the glass case, either for pressure or an electrical current. If you disrupted it, the alarm would go off. Maybe he could cut into the glass itself? Take out the top and pull out the mask? He'd have to make sure that the mask itself wasn't on a pressure plate as well, but it would be a good option.

"Zane, how's the key going?"

"Poorly, I'm able to get the rest of the phrase, but the different pronunciation possibilities for 198-021 make it nye impossible to make a perfect key with no reference."

"Well, what you have now, will it work?" Jay questioned

"I'm uncertain. I don't know if the phrase needs to be verbatim to work. If it's not right, we'll set off the alarms." Zane hummed in thought, calculating the risk that going through with the vocal key would take.

"It's too much of a risk, we should try to break into the case itself. Zane is the mask on a pressure plate?" Jay questioned the AI, and he heard him hum in thought as he looked through the available resources.

"I can't tell for certain. There are two triggers, but I can't tell if one is for the mask, or if they're both for the case."

"No matter which one we choose, we risk an alarm. I'm going to try and cut into the top. Zane be at the ready. If the alarm does go off, I need you to deactivate the four androids here and the two at the door." Jay said, he knew that there wasn't a kill switch that would work for all the androids, needing to be turned off individually. But if he was going to get out without being caught, he had to depend on Zane's ability for multitasking and speed. Or he'd be a fish in a barrel.

"Of course," Zane hummed, setting up the code to try and find the kill switch. Once he activated it Borg would be notified that something was wrong and the other androids would converge on their location. Which drastically cut their chances of escape. Too much for Zane's comfort. "Ready when you are." He stated ready to kill the androids if needed.

Jay rolled his shoulders, loosening the stress that's been building for the last half an hour. He knew he only had about 10-20 more minutes before something happened. Either someone noticed the androids were on loop or would spot him on camera. He had to act now or get caught. Taking a deep breath he adjusted his laser for the thickness and type of glass he was cutting.

"Here we go," he breathed as he began to cut.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Theurgist

Chapter Three: A Night with the Magistrate

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary:  Astarion chuckled, pulling another blade of grass from the ground and spinning it between his fingers. There was more to the woman in front of him. From what he had gathered, she had already given more than what she was willing to share. A warlock from Baldur’s Gate with a bag full of books and smirk full of secrets. He may have found decent company  in the most unexpected of places.

Read here on Ao3.

“A temple?” Shadowheart glowered behind her. “Are you sure?”

Ferelith climbed up the debris, her hands rough and hot from touching the hot fleshy walls. She brushed off the soot and looked down at the rubble below. Flames were still rolling, sending ash and smoke through the sky, now growing darker. They would have to find somewhere to camp soon. Which shouldn’t be to difficult considering there was fresh water nearby. Now that they had crossed the remains of the crash, it would be easier to find spot.

“I’m entirely sure,” she finally answered between thoughts, waiting for them to follow her up the path. “The architecture resembled something of the sort. I can’t imagine what other structure would be placed in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like it’s a bakery.”

“The luck we would have if it was,” Astarion sighed.

“Then there must be something in there that could help. Perhaps even shelter.”

Ferelith was partial to the idea. If they made it in time. “Let’s focus on what we can, first. It doesn’t look like we’ll have much-”

Her words drifted off as she stopped on the trail. There was a slight buzzing sound, like energy activating at a source. She turned, watching something flicker across a marking on the stone wall.

“What is it?” Shadowheart inquired as she grew closer.

“That glyph,” Ferelith cocked her head to the side to study it. “Sounds like someone’s using it.”

With a loud crack, a large hole twisting with energy opened against the stone. A wayward glyph, one that could be used to travel quickly. She was familiar with such means for transportation. Shadowheart jumped back, her mace already in hand. Ferelith lifted an arm out, holding her back in case whatever came through was not hostile. Though with the luck they had that day, the likelihood of something else trying to kill her was very high. It was a bit of a relief to find a man walking through to the other side, stepping lightly into the brush next to the path. He took one disbelieving look at Ferelith and gave a warm smile.

“You’re alive,” he said as the light flashed again, dismissing the portal. “That’s unexpected.”

“I’m sorry?” Ferelith approached, inquisitive to the nature of their newly appeared friend.

“Last I saw you, you were lying in a crucible’s worth of blood, an intellect devour nibbling at your ear. Glad to see my eyes deceive me.”

Ferelith shuttered at the thought of one of those walking brains near her head, but was somewhat relaxed by his friendly tone.

“I’m Gale,” he nodded. “Well met.”

“Ferelith,” she continued to watch him carefully, observing his stance. “Well met.”

There was a time in her life she had been surrounded by magic users of excellent caliber. And she had grown used to a certain aura they emitted. It was a mix between arcane energy and arrogance, always aggravating her as it made her feel less superior. Wizards were always assuming their magic was the only the kind that mattered. She was never fond of them. But she always knew one when she saw one. And Gale held his confidence at a level where she could not mistake him as anything but. His robes were even loud.

“You were on the ship, I presume?” she shifted.

“The very same,” he replied. “A traumatizing experience, if an instructive one.”

“An interesting way to put it,” Ferelith couldn’t help but chuckle. “By trauma I’m assuming you mean the worm that was forced into my eye?”

“Yes,” he pointed at her. “The ocular penetration by an illithid tadpole which will-”

There it was. The all knowing ramblings of a man who liked to overshare his intelligence. Typical and common in nearly every wizard she had met. Though, she could think of a few who were humble enough. Mostly those in the abjuration school. They were never that much fun, though. No, Ferelith was more attentive to listen to the words of the necromancers and their theories of the dead. Now they had some interesting thoughts.

“You’re staring at me like a Rashemi at a blackboard,” he said when he realized she was hardly listening. “You’re no wizard, are you?”

“No,” she crossed her arms. “I’m a warlock.”

“There’s a gust of Weave about you, but it’s a mere breeze.” he squinted at her. “I need a tempest. It’ll have to wait. The primary need is a healer. I take it you recall the insertion of the parasite?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Quite vividly.”

“Are you aware that after a period of excruciating gestation, it will turn us into mind flayers? A process known as ceremorphosis?”

“I am aware of that, yes,” she noted the intensity in his voice.

“It is to be avoided,” he said firmly, his eyes shifted from her to the other companions. “I assume you’re no accomplished healer, either? A powerful cleric maybe?”

“It seems you’re out of luck. We’re all in the same predicament as yourself.”

“Well, we’re all in a whole lot of trouble. We need help and I’m not sure where we’ll find any in this wilderness. How about we embark on the quest for a healer together?”

“We have been looking for others,” she glanced back to her other companions. “So I imagine that’s just the plan we had envisioned.”

“Most excellent!” he proclaimed, a bit more excited than she had anticipated. “Then without further ado, let’s be off. Besides, it looks like you keep some interesting company.”

His gaze fell back onto Shadowheart, biting the corner of her lip with a menacing glare.

“A woman with shadows for eyes- deep as the Darklake. A pleasure, madam.”

“Is it, indeed?” she tilted her head with a mocking tone. “We’ll see.”

Astarion snicked, remaining hidden behind the two women. Ferelith looked back to cast a look of disappointment, but it hardly phased him. She turned back to Gale, the wizard with the optimistic grin. He would be useful. And if anything other than, he would at least bring some positive musings to their solemn thoughts. Even if those musings were just the truth spoken in a happy manner.

“We were just headed up the hill to the ruins,” she motioned. “We were looking to see if perhaps there were supplies we could scavenge.”

“The ruins?” he looked in the direction she was pointing. “The old temple, yes.”

Ferelith took another look behind as if her eyes would tell the others that she had been right on her earlier assumption.

“I took a peak during my rounds. Looks like the place is covered with bandits.”

“Which means there’s supplies,” Shadowheart stepped closer.

Ferelith turned to her at her left shoulder. “We’ll have to prepare for a fight.”

“Prepare for a fight? You’re going to raid the bandit camp?” Gale looked at them with surprise.

“It’s them or us,” Shadowheart shrugged.

“We can try to ask nicely, I suppose,” Ferelith smirked. “But something tells me they won’t be willing to share.”

“This is going to interesting,” Astarion smirked, his enthusiasm rising in the two women whom he it seems he had not judged fairly.

“Let’s just assess the situation when we get there,” Gale raised his hands, clearly not anticipating a battle ready party so soon.

“He’s right,” Ferelith came to reason. “We should make camp, first. Somewhere close to the water? I’d like to wash this soot from my face.”

“We should head back, then,” Shadowheart agreed.

“Yes, I think I saw a nice bank to camp on from the cliff side. Shall we?”

With the sun setting and weary bodies, the party had agreed to settle on a flat surface near the river. There was enough sand to make the ground soft. And enough dead wood to create a fire. Gale was gracious enough to provide flames while everyone helped collect wood. There was little they had salvaged from the wreckage, but Ferelith and Shadowheart managed to pull together a few bedrolls from the fishermen they had looted earlier that day. They all pooled their findings together to create a meal of bread, cheese, and two apples. Ferelith was even pleased to find she had a few leaves left in her apron to make tea. If only she had a kettle. Feeling around her waste for her belt, she found the component bag which had remained empty. She placed the leaves inside, deciding there would be another time she would need it.

"So," a voice approaching from behind. "We're resting here? Turning in for the night?"

She stood up to face Astarion who seemed a bit uncomfortable if not distraught. He not only seemed worried, but he was shifting as he stood in front of her. As if he were too embarrassed to say what was honestly on his mind.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, trying to catch his veering glances.

“No, not at all,” he smiled, appearing grateful, but unconvincing.

“It’s nothing what you’re used to in Baldur’s Gate, I’m sure. But it’s a lovely spot.”

Ferelith looked about. It had been a long time since she camped in the wilderness. Truth be told, she would consider it one of the best campsites she had rested in. There may not have been beds or tents, but the sound of the river nearby was calming. There was a waterfall close. A ruin to other side. And a group of rocks and logs to provide seating and shelter.

"I suppose," he said politely, noticing her admiring looks around the scenery. "I'm not sure what I expected, really. This is all a little new."

She couldn't help but feel some satisfaction from his suffering. A noble forced to sleep on the ground. It was nice to have some sort of entertainment for the evening. Still, he appeared not to be completely broken about it. She imagined if he was truly upset about the matter, he would be demanding more bedrolls. And for that, she was somewhat impressed by his humility.

"You mentioned you were from the city as well,” he went on. “The night for us normally means bustling streets... bursting taverns..."

His eyes narrowed a bit, searching her face for a sudden realization. But... there was none. Ferelith had not recalled their run in whatsoever. The illithid must have cleared the memory of his face when he mind controlled her. It made having to explain himself nonexistent. And it made smoothing her over all the more obtainable.

"Curling up in the dirt and resting is... a little novel," he went on with a sigh.

"You're being terribly polite for not having much a choice," she crossed her arms.

Again, he saw the hint of tease in her nature. She was going to be fun. A challenge... but fun... He smiled.

"You expected me to be rude?" he questioned, impersonating someone who was hurt. "No, I won't complain. Not while everything remains unsettled."

"Agreed. Not that I want to hear your complaints. But we should get some rest so we can catch up on that unsettled business in the morning."

"I'm in no place to rest yet," he raised his brow. "Today has been... a lot. I need some time to think things through. To process this. You rest. I'll keep watch."

There was something ominous about the idea of resting in the midst of three complete strangers. Her perception had not failed her yet, but it seemed odd to put her life in the hands of someone who had tried to stab her just hours before.

“I’m afraid I won’t be needing much rest,” she stated. “Besides, I’m not so eager to completely trust any of you just yet.”

There was a pause as the two elves stared at one another, as if two predators had spotted each other from across an empty field. It created a tension that could crack the moment it was disturbed. Or could wither away with a simple word. Astarion plotted his next statement carefully, as he knew if he went about it the wrong way, she would never learn to trust him at all.

"You know,” he leaned forward, “if you wanted to spend time with me, you only have to say so."

The drop in his tone during the last few words caused Ferelith's expression to drop. In most occasions, she did very well to conceal her emotions. But the audacity of this man was enough to change that. The familiar flutter in her chest had returned. And she was not so willing to bury it this time. Her jaw had nearly dropped open, but the long pause gave her away.

"But suit yourself," Astarion said smugly. "I'm sure we'll drift off at some point."

"Yes, well," she closed her mouth and shook her head, looking down into her book. "I've got work to do... with this..."

"Good evening, then," he gave a slight nod before he sauntered back across the fire.

As she rummaged through notes she had written that day and the small black leather book she clung to tightly, she couldn't help but feel she was circling back to an unanswered question. There was still no word from her patron. She was lucky she could even still feel him. And as the night grew quieter, she could hear the feint whispers in the back of her head. They were only causing more distractions. As if the occasional on looking eyes were not enough. Looking up from her book, she glanced to Astarion, picking grass and throwing it to the fire. They really were the only ones awake. Then again, they were the only ones who did not need to sleep.

"Is there something you need?" he asked, catching her staring.

"No," she replied, looking back down to her book.

“You look like you need a break,” he suggested, crossing his legs.

Ferelith sat up, stretching her lower back as she pushed her chest out. “What is it they say? No rest for the wicked?”

Astarion chuckled, pulling another blade of grass from the ground and spinning it between his fingers. There was more to the woman in front of him. From what he had gathered, she had already given more than what she was willing to share. A warlock from Baldur’s Gate with a bag full of books and smirk full of secrets. He may have found decent company in the most unexpected of places.

“If that’s the case, you and I have a long night ahead of us.”

“Long nights never bothered me,” she placed her hands on her lap. “What about you? What were your long nights like back in Baldur’s Gate? Other than those bursting taverns.”

He felt a tightening in his chest at there may have been a hint of recognition. “There were nights spent outside of taverns.”

“I see,” she nodded at his quick dismissal. “Likely filled with entertainers and wine, then.”

“Not always,” he shrugged, picking the grass apart just as he did the one before. “Some nights were spent studying. Much like yourself.”

“A scholar,” she shook her head in jest.

“A magistrate,” he corrected. “It was all rather tedious.”

“Oh,” she brought a hand to her chest. “Excuse me, then. I must apologize. I didn’t realize I was in the company of someone so formal.”

Astarion sneered from across the fire, remembering that she had been in the upper district when they crossed paths. “You know,” he inhaled, holding his breath for a moment while he contemplated her remark. “Something tells me you’re not so humble, yourself.”

“I’m quite proud of my work,” she blinked. “And I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“You carry yourself with a strange sense of power,” he glared at her now, as if he were searching beyond what her face would show. “Something greater than pride. You wouldn’t happen to be familiar with the nobility of Baldur’s Gate, would you?”

Her heart sunk as her mind began to search her memories for his face. There were none. She was certain she had never met this man before. But his in-sinuous tone told her otherwise. If he was asking, it only meant he was unsure of himself. And if she gave him the answer he desired, it would mean she was admitting to something she was not certain she was guilty of. Whatever the case, she remained firm in her decision to remain as unapproachable as possible.

“I can’t say that I am,” she lied.

“That’s disappointing,” he threw the rest of what was left in his hand into the flames. “You seem like someone I would have acquainted myself with.”

A commendation cloaking the questions of an obvious interrogator. She knew the tactic and dismissed it, taking it only as a backhanded compliment. Turning her attention back to work to ignore his presence, she began to scratch more useless notes across the paper. Anything to keep her from talking to him further. Her heart began to pound against her chest. And again, she tried to recall the memories of Baldur’s Gate. Even as far back as her time in Neverwinter. But not a thought was found for a handsome white haired magistrate. She was sure she would have noticed.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said softly when she had been quiet for a few minutes. “These are strange times and I find myself in need of… a friend.”

Ferelith couldn’t help but feel he was looking in the wrong the direction. Still, she looked up with interest to find he had rose to his feet, towering over the flames and looking down at her.

“Those are not so easily acquired,” she retorted.

“Weeeell,” there was a shift in his brow, “if you ever warm up to the idea, I’ll be here. For now, I think I’ll take my leave to admire the night. I’m growing ever more anxious for the sun to rise.”

Ferelith said not a word as he strode off toward the ruin. She watched as he hesitated crossing the log, but found his footing to be rather graceful as he strut across it. He was being very careful. Not just about the river, but about how he was speaking to her. There were too many blank spaces that she could fill detailing what he could be hiding from her. That, of course, was also due to her the charade of what she was keeping to herself. And with that distracting her from any more work, she shut her book with the conclusion that she needed rest more than she needed answers. She was anxious now, as well.

[canalstreetbaker]

Prompt #30 - Abstracted

I hope you’ve had as much fun reading this as I have writing it.

The Ocular, Crystarium Lakeland The First

The following days passed by in a blur. 

Darian and Crystal Robes - The Exarch, as he liked to be called, and G’raha Tia as Arli and Darian knew him specifically - had used that time to, at first, celebrate their successful field test of the Aetherial Tether.  They put their heads together in a flurry of technical terms that Arli had termed ‘nerding out’, and neither noticed her abstracted wandering out of the Ocular and the Tower as a whole.  

Anyone who did notice the Miqo’te’s distractions chalked it up to exhaustion.  After all, she was a Warrior of Darkness - she and her exquisitely tall husband had saved the realm from a devastating calamity caused by an unknown entity, forever defeated and cast into the abyss.  Any references to a Prophecy that wasn’t Ronkan in design were locked away.  At first.

Arli had made sure the Voeburtite tome of gloating that Reani-Rae had written was destroyed.  She could see glittering, hateful eyes beyond the flames in the brazier that held the dwindling remains of a century of curated history.  

“...So we theorize that using the store of energy from the star will power the tether,” Darian finished, excited.  They sat at a cafe beneath a cheery gray sky, lunches in various states of consumption.  

“Mhm,” Arli replied with a nod.  Her food was untouched, head tilted as if listening someone right next to her and her eyes fixed to a point a thousand yalms away.

“And then when we get back,” Darian continued, “I was going to sacrifice you on an altar before Garlean High Command and use your head as the battle standard for a new Empire.”  

“Sounds great.”  

“...Amica mea,” Darian said, “What’s wrong?

---

Arli’s abstraction, it so turns out, was caused by a conversation with a ghost.

“You didn’t have to erase me entirely,” Reani-Rae muttered in a voice no one but Arli could hear.  “Leave me SOMETHING for the world to know me by!”

“I’d rather I didn’t,” Arli thought in response.  “You consigned a world to dust.  It’s not like you wouldn’t have been spared.”

The shade of a Mystel woman stalked to and fro in front of Arli.

“Why is that bad?” Reani-Rae said.  “You’re -me-!  You would’ve done the same!”

“Well...Maybe,” Arli replied.  “After Herioux died.  If I hadn’t met Darian…”

“Hmph.”

A long moment passed between the two.  

“I’m going to haunt you forever.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along fine with the rest,” Arli sighed.

---

Arli looked away from her abstract focus and set mismatched eyes on Darian instead.  The flatness inside faded away, replaced by a sparkle of enjoyment as she fully understood what and who she was seeing.  

She thought about lying to Darian for a moment, to tell him nothing was wrong.  There were other reminders there - sobbing in the snow, dead dragons, the feel of strong arms embracing her.  The clamoring of some of her ghosts, laid to rest.

“Ghosts,” she said.   

“Reani-Rae?” Darian asked, well versed in his wife’s psychology.

“The very same,” Arli admitted as the shade made a face behind Darian’s back.  “Someone else with a million stories of things that can never be.”

Darian stood from the table and walked around the edge to embrace Arli, lips pressed into her hair.  

“You know you aren’t alone,” he said.  “I will always be here.”

“You will,” Arli replied.  She returned his gesture, burying her face into his chest.  “That’s why I fought so hard not to go over that side.  Because you’re here.  But…”

“You want to go home?” Darian said.

“I want to go home.”  

“Well,” the Garlean said after he straightened, “The Exarch gave me this crystal and said he was going to run a few more tests, but that we’d see results any minute-”

The Tower crackled above them, a telltale screech of Lightning-aspected aether crackling in the air.  Onlookers yelped, throwing up their hands to block their eyes from the light.

Time seemed to slow.  

Arli’s hand found Darian’s, and there was naught left but Light.

---

“-now.”

Any further surprise was interrupted by pounding on the door.  

“I said get up!” a Limsan accent said.  “We’re to hit port in half a bell and you’re out a half-bell after that!”

Arli opened her mouth to say something, but instead looked down to find that both she and Darian were still in bed - and all of their finery of the First was gone.  Only a red-tinted crystal in Darian’s hand remained as evidence that their honeymoon on another plane of reality was not just some final drunken fantasy of adventure only found in the storybooks.    

“Uh...We’re up?” she said with all the confidence of a kit seeing a coeurl for the first time.  

“Half a bell!” the sailor yelled back before he tromped off.  

“Well,” Darian said with a grin, “We’re...back.  And almost home.  As if we’d never left.”

Arli looked under the blankets, then back up to Darian with a grin.  

“We do have a bell,” she purred.  Reani-Rae screamed wordlessly into the Void in the corner.  Darian grinned back and set the crystal aside in favor of warm curves. 

“And then we’ll get back home,” Arli continued before her abstractions originated from a different cause. 

“Where nothing will have possibly gone wrong.”

[ofdragonsdeep]

25: Silver Lining

A friendship of a scant few moons, a vigil of centuries. Neither was something made to be borne alone.

(ShB spoilers up to 5.3)

In the cool, clear light of the day, Ar’telan sat on the steps outside the Crystal Tower, his back against the cold and uninviting door. The power about the building hummed through every inch of it, and the wards around it buzzed whenever he moved, reminding him that he had come as far as he might.

Victory tasted bitter, as it often did. The long road was lined with those he had not been able to save, all of the people who had looked to him - their hero, their Warrior of Light. He hadn’t wanted it. Hadn’t wanted any of it. But they looked to him still, and again and again he failed them.

Raha…

He would have known that saying something would have driven all of them to stop him. What had he felt, as the great doors closed one final time? To know that when he woke again, all of those he knew and loved would be gone?

If nothing else, he could be sure they would remember him fondly.

—

“Gil for your thoughts?”

Ar’telan blinked, roused from his vigil of staring at the fire in front of him by the sound. On the opposite side of the fire pit, G’raha knelt, watching him with playful curiosity in his two-tone eyes.

“I am not sure my thoughts are worth the price,” Ar’telan said, and G’raha chuckled, easing himself down into a more comfortable position and tracing one finger through the dirt.

“Make it two, then. You’ve an awfully long face for a hero,” he said, and Ar’telan sighed, shaking his head.

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed. “Personal troubles, nothing more.” His eyes followed the motions of G’raha’s fingers, movements which had at first seemed random instead tracing out arcane sigils of minor power. “Not the heroic deeds you want to write about, I think.” G’raha shrugged, the smile soft on his face.

“If you only record the grand gestures, you say little of real history,” he said. “And I am not interested for selfish reasons. We are colleagues, are we not?” His ears flicked happily at the thought of it, and Ar’telan hid a laugh behind his hand. “A burden shared is a burden halved. Tell me your woes, and they might ease.” Ar’telan shook his head, shifting his position to stop his legs from falling into numbness.

“I would rather keep these burdens, I am afraid,” he replied. “But a distraction would be welcome. The sigils - they are arcanima, but I don’t recognise them from my studies. Would you tell me of them?” G’raha seized on the opportunity, delighted that someone had recognised them at all. He told Ar’telan of his studies with the Students of Baldesion, the odd, old magics of Allag that he had learned despite his weapon of choice being an entirely unremarkable bow. Ar’telan drew the symbols in his grimoire, Lily manifesting at his aether-imbued brush strokes to watch his work. And for a little while, he felt better.

—

The string of the bow bent back, wood creaking with the strain placed upon it. A moment of stillness, then with a thunk of releasing pressure and the whistle of arrow through the air, the projectile found its mark.

It was the fourth such arrow to land in the bullseye, and the second that Ar’telan had watched G’raha fire. He had thought about interrupting him, but the focus on his face was intense, and Ar’telan did not have the support of sentences to break through the concentration.

With a mournful sigh on his lips, G’raha lowered the bow. Rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead, he turned around, and jumped near out of his skin when he saw his quiet observer.

“Ar’telan! How long have you been there?” he demanded, accusatory from his voice but embarrassed from his pose. Ar’telan offered a smile.

“Two arrows,” he said. G’raha looked at the scene around him - a half-quiver full of arrows precisely fired to rows of targets - and drooped.

“Well. It is nice to see you, too,” he said, hopping over the rope barrier and pulling an arrow from the stump with a quick and precise tug of his hand. “You could have said something.”

“I was afraid that you might shoot me if I touched you,” Ar’telan replied, and G’raha pouted.

“Fine. Well, now that you are done thoroughly embarrassing me, how do you fare? I hope it was not an important task which took you to my side,” he said. Ar’telan shook his head, crossing the distance of the archery range to assist G’raha with his clean-up task. G’raha made the motion look easy, but with a little work Ar’telan succeeded in working one arrow free.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he said, molding the words around the arrow in his grasp. G’raha walked over, plucking it from his fingers and returning it to its rightful place in his quiver. “After meeting Unei and Doga, you have seemed…” Ar’telan cast his eyes to the targets, the myriad holes that peppered them speaking to how often the historian had come out to train. “Unsettled.”

“Must people always ask after me?” G’raha lamented. In response, Ar’telan reached into his pockets, took out two gil, and dropped them into his confused hands.

“For your thoughts,” Ar’telan clarified, and G’raha laughed in bemused understanding.

“Alright, alright. I yield,” he said, passing the gil back to Ar’telan and returning his bow to its place on his back. “I fear I have no words for it, though. There’s just… a strange sensation in my gut, gnawing at me like a forgotten task.” He cast his gaze up to the Crystal Tower, looming in the backdrop of the camp like an ill omen. “But no matter how I try, I cannot remember it. And I… I am afraid it is not mine to remember.” He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, not meeting Ar’telan’s eyes. “Is that strange? It is hard to put it into words.” Ar’telan shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Everything we have learned about the Tower, about Allag, has been… heavy,” he replied. “And even if you do not yet know what burden you carry, we know that it will be a burden still. It is not wrong to dread the pressure of a duty that should never have been yours.” G’raha blinked, surprised at getting so many words at once from the normally reticent Warrior of Light.

“I suppose so,” he allowed. “My father told me that the truth of our eyes lies with Allag. But everything we find…” He shook his head. “I have spent my whole life trying to learn the truth, and now it is within reach, I am afraid to grasp it. But I cannot back away. Not now.”

“You do not search alone,” Ar’telan told him, pausing to touch a reassuring hand to G’raha’s arm. “Not just me, but all of those in NOAH walk beside you. The eye is yours alone, but the weight of it need not be.” G’raha smiled at him, seeming a little more at ease.

“You are right, of course,” he said, shaking his head in exasperation at his actions. “It would seem you have the best of me again. I must apologise for my conduct.” Ar’telan shook his head in disagreement, his eyes going back to the lake and the vast, tangled crystals that rose from it.

“If it were easy, we would not need the help.”

—

With a sigh, Ar’telan pushed himself from the floor, the hum of energy at his back his only accompaniment. He put a hand against the great crystal door, eyes on the gold inlay. Those of royal blood…

When you wake, Raha, I hope those you find are worthy of your care. Your sacrifice.

But time would march on for them, and the world would not wait for his grief, agony at the grave of someone who had not yet died.

—

It had taken every ounce of restraint in his body not to sprint for the tower as soon as the rift had opened and he had stepped out into the darkness of the Syrcus trench. His cargo of vessels, brimming with precious life, sang out from within the confines of his robes. The wait would be a little longer.

He had left almost all of them with Krile. Told her how they would work, left her and Tataru to oversee them as they delivered their contents back to those who had lost them, and took off at a run.

Time did not often take him out across the flats of Mor Dhona, not in recent times. The same aether-warped cobras stalked the shores of the lake, ignoring the passage of one who could have cut them down without a second thought. The gigas had long since retreated into the mountains. The leftover aether still crackled around the Eight Sentinels, the yawning, empty void of the Labyrinth beckoning him across it.

He reached the door. It still sang and hummed with power, standing in solid defiance to him. With the crystal of Azem in one hand and the final vessel in the other, he prayed for it to open.

The hiss of aether and the rumble of crystal on stone was all-encompassing, drowning out the ambient sound as it creaked its way inexorably open. Ar’telan stepped through the ingress, the crystal lamps lighting up in welcome of their monarch.

His steps took him through the familiar route to the Ocular, though it served no such purpose on the Source. In the centre, shimmering in frozen time, G’raha’s body. Swallowing back nerves, Ar’telan held out the vessel.

Wake up, G’raha Tia. ‘Tis no time for sleeping.

[ragnaofazure]

Lesson of fate.

So far below, deeper in that sea than he should have ever sunk when he set the world straight again, he deliberately let himself sink as to finally sleep peacefully. He was satisfied with what he had achieved in that new opportunity at life, met many new faces, made connections he never believed he would make, he was... happy enough.

Yamata no Orochi would not be reborn as he had practically sealed it alongside himself by tossing himself in the ocean beyond the forbidden gates, it could no longer grow nor move forward like him, for they no longer existed in the world, they were gone from everyone’s memories as is too.

Then... Why was he waking up? It was so dark... Darker than any night. His eyes opened once more while he clearly floated in the same fashion as back then, there was no reason for him to be conscious, so why...?

‘This is not what you were given a second opportunity for.‘

That same stern voice of back then called out, a blue light he was well acquainted with beginning to shine from way up above, blinding him instantly as his exhausted eyes attempted to adjust... Only to then notice he had landed on a firm surface? It was cool and firm, a huge shard of glass...?

‘You accepted your fate to return despite still being a threat to humanity, it was that unbreakable conviction to accept your fate written in stone that we admired.’ 

‘And now you are back... Tossing it all like it was nothing.‘

“...?!” It was then Ragna would wake up in full, the sensation of a crushing gravity pushing him down as he was unable to lift as much as a finger, no matter how much he tried, and of course, the beast in the right arm wouldn’t respond despite being able to feel it... It couldn’t respond at all here and thus, none of the power against the one that provided it before him.

‘You are not allowed to escape your fate. You must be ended before your time comes or fulfill your destiny, which we are certain you don’t wish to transfer over to anyone.’

“...” Silence from his part, because that was correct, that was the intention, he would never let anyone bear the weight he chose to carry for himself.

‘You will return once more and not dare have the passing thought you can simply escape your fate.’

Then, his neck... His neck had begun tightening as a ring of that light formed around it then began squeezing around his neck with an incredible force gradually!

‘We believe a corporal lesson is in order so the temptation to return to an early eternal rest disappears.’

“Ghh...!” Slowly, his breathing was being restricted until it began hurting bad; like an iron grip threatening to crush his windpipe and it held until his consciousness nearly blanked out. As if it knew his precise limits, the ring of blue light then disappeared, a terrible coughing fit ensuing, but a moment of rest was the last thing he would obtain.

“?!” An audible gasp, no words left his lips as he saw a sharp sword began floating above him and slowly lowering, the tip hovering right above his chest, then traced all the way to his right shoulder...

“!!” And he audibly then began to express his pain as it slowly dug in all the way through, ensuring to miss the main muscle as to not render the member useless, yet still twisting the blade enough with incredible precision. When it was done a solid two minutes later, it was on to the opposite shoulder, repeating the process...

“Gah... Hah...!!” When it was over, the breather of a few seconds was deliberate... As then the spot above the elbows followed, and then his hands; and those took the most punishment; mainly the left, they were incredible more severe with his left arm than the right, the other one simply... He couldn’t feel as soon as all the cuts and stabs were done, the other he was certain he could still move.

‘Do you comprehend it yet?‘

‘...No answer is necessary. We know you do.’

‘But we are ensuring the message sinks in.’

"!!!!” A blood curling scream as a hot, burning sensation alongside the plunging of that pure, light blade drove itself deep in his chest, a scalding fire spread throught all of his body right through his core. What followed after was to begin dragging it very slowly, yet not as deep down right middle in his torso; lower... lower... At least a minute of hell as they were not prying him open, yet showing the incredible dexterity as to not let a ‘mess’ risk spilling when he was shifted in any position, should it happen.

”... ...” It is then his tears finally begin to fall, for the first time in longest, he was breaking, crying... This was pain... True and horrible physical pain. He had forgotten what that felt like after so, so long... And of course it wasn’t healing nor would it at his normal rates. But there is no rest...

The magical weapon is then drawn from the end of his abdomen, then the sides start being met with multiple slashes, as if a pendulum was irregularly swinging down one time after the other, two more minutes that felt endless as his darker red blood had began pooling right below, staining that glass surface horrible in a growing puddle.

‘You will learn to walk again proper as you knew how to.’

Meaning?

“?!?!” A glint of that same light began forming around one knee... And he could only twist in pain as the surrounding bones suddenly were crushed to a good degree. Then the other followed mere seconds after in succession, he wasn’t going to be moving with his legs anytime soon.

‘You will focus on the clear sight you had again.’

By then, that was obvious what was to follow. A fine dagger then floated above his left eye, then dug straight in, giving him no time to prepare before it pierced right into that green ocular, stealing half of his vision, ensuring to mess everything by twisting around for a few seconds.

...After several seconds, nothing else was coming, by then the man was completely broken and in pain, thinking they were intending to finally kill him straight up here and now, the bit about being returned once more being but a ruse.

He was prepared, he was waiting... But nothing else was coming. He was vulnerable, afraid... A sight many would never believe.

‘We order you to never come back here again. Rise again... Ragna the Bloodedge. The world needs you as much as it rejects you, ensure it is well engraved in your memory.’

“...” The light above then became blinding after those words, just like last time, they really were letting him go, his consciousness fading... He still recalled this from all that time back then.

“... ...” When he miraculously came to, all the damage was still there, a puddle of his still fresh blood pooling on the ground beneath. The pain, the injuries... It was all real. His right arm moved, but the beast nor the Azure itself responded. They had tampered as to let him live, but have to endure enough of this torture to heal off normally for at least a while or the majority of it, he could easily tell.

He didn’t talk to himself as he would have, he couldn’t stay here, not right now... Wherever it was. Only his right arm was usable enough, thus...

Bringing it forth, he mustered all possible strength he could draw, and began dragging himself forward across the ground, for nothing else in his body was working, his legs were broken, his other arm also messed up worse...

How far would he make it? Where would be a good spot to try and stop? He didn’t know... He was alone in such a horrible state. A norm for him in the end...

[kiradaxx]

Critical Care

This idea jumped into my head soon as I saw the scene with Tuvok and Janeway holding hands on the bridge in the episode Critical Care. This is definitely not a criticism of that scene because I loved it and found it hilarious and Janeway and Tuvok are bros for life. Tuvok's reaction was priceless and both actors crushed it. But I couldn't help reimagining this scene with a J/7 twist, cause, of course. So here we go, enjoy my brief, goofy J/7 rewrite of this episode's fake dating trope.

Also on AO3 here

________________________________________________________________

A powerful headache was throbbing in Janeway’s temples as she waited for the communications link to be picked up by yet another Delta Quadrant inhabitant in the long line of fruitless interviews she’d been conducting all day. Patience was a virtue she did not possess, but diplomacy she had in spades. So she’d been smiling and charming and biting her tongue down on more acerbic comments all day as she attempted to track down the scam artist who had managed to steal their doctor’s program right out from under her nose.

After hours of chasing down contacts and bouncing from one rumor to the next, from one unhelpful, frustrating source to the next, not only was Janeway tired, she was bored out of her mind. However, they had finally found a workable lead in Gar’s current girlfriend. They had just concluded a call with her husband- a sad, weepy man with little dignity left to his name. He had divulged far more information about his wife’s adultery than Janeway cared to know, but at least they had learned something to go off of. Now, they were hoping this woman could give them Gar’s actual whereabouts, rather than just tell them yet another story of how he had conned some unsuspecting soul and made off into the ether.

Janeway leaned heavily against the railing of the main command stage of her bridge, staring at the still empty view screen. Her chin rested in her right hand, her elbow on the railing, and as she stared out into space, she suppressed the urge to tap her fingers restlessly against her cheek. Waiting for the call to be picked up was about as thrilling as watching paint dry, and while she hoped for a more productive conversation this time, she wished she could be doing just about anything else at the moment.

Finally, their hail was answered, and the view screen displayed a pale woman with a large forehead of unique ridges sitting luxuriantly on a couch in what appeared to be a sunroom of some sort. Making quick work of her initial assessment of the woman and the necessary introductions, Janeway wasted no further time in explaining who they were looking for. This held little interest for the woman, though, and rather than offering any information about Gar, she instead asked how they had found her. When she was informed that her husband had given them her name, a look of vague disgust overtook the woman’s features. Janeway lamented internally as she realized the moment the woman opened her mouth that she was about to be subjected to still more details of this couple’s relationship problems.

“You’re a woman, you saw my husband with your own eyes.” Her tone carried a distinct distaste as she continued, “Overweight, depressed. You would have left him too.” A playful spark and a vapid smile lit up the woman’s face next, and she added, “Especially if you had met someone as exciting as Gar.”

Nasty comments about the man’s size or emotional state were hardly necessary, but Janeway couldn’t afford to lose this lead now. Not when they’d finally come so close to getting the scammer’s location. So for the sake of her missing crew member, once more she bit down on the inside of her cheek and held back on her criticism of the woman’s shameful attitude. She was only just able to restrain an eye roll when the woman began extolling Gar’s seductive qualities. But her day had been long and exhausting and filled with some of the most inane conversations she’d ever entertained, and when she offered a placating agreement to the woman’s assessment, she didn’t bother to muster any more enthusiasm than she would have for extensive dental work.

Chin still in her hands, posture slouched, and boredom leaching through every syllable, she said, “Yes, he’s very exciting.”

Somehow, unfathomably, this woman managed to interpret her words as genuine interest in Gar. As a threat of competition for her lover. She stiffened, growing defensive and accusative, throwing a glare through the screen while asking, “That’s why you’re looking for him, isn’t it? You want him for yourself.”

Janeway stared at her incredulously for a long moment, at once both insulted at the implication that she would be attracted to a sleeze like Gar, and baffled at how dense this woman must be to believe her lackluster agreement had constituted any actual desire.

Her patience had long ago run out, and even her dedication to diplomacy was wearing thin at this point. Her battle against the roll of her eyes continued to be hard fought, but not fully won as she felt herself blinking rapidly through her exasperation. She lifted her head off of her hand but changed little else about her posture, and replied, “I assure you I have no romantic interest in him whatsoever.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed and her shoulders remained squared, clearly still offended. “Why, not good enough for you?”

“No it’s not that, it’s just-” Janeway began to reply earnestly, but cut herself off. This was maddening, and she did finally allow herself to roll her eyes then. How did they even get this far off track, and why was she continuing this ridiculous topic? She exchanged a quick glance with Seven, who was serving a duty shift on the bridge and standing not too far from where Janeway was leaning against the rail of the main command well. The quirk of Seven's ocular implant and the amused but critical gleam in her eyes told Janeway she was not alone in finding this woman impressively asinine.

An idea occurred to her then, an absurd one. A ridiculous solution for a ridiculous problem, she supposed. She needed to get their conversation back to the matter at hand without angering Gar’s lover or drawing out this argument any further, and when she looked to the woman standing to her right, she saw a method to do just that. With an expression that made little effort to hide how unimpressed Janeway was with this whole situation, she reached her hand out expectantly towards Seven. She was completely bemused, but understood what Janeway was asking for and, albeit hesitantly, she placed her hand in the outstretched one the captain offered. Their fingers interlocked, sliding into a comfortable position without thought, and Janeway made sure to hold their hands up in clear view of the screen. She squeezed Seven’s hand in silent reassurance, and thanked the universe that she had played along without spoken question, even if she could feel Seven’s confused stare burrowing into her profile.

She intentionally allowed a little extra husk to fill her voice, a smoky lilt accompanying the suggestive look in her eyes as she said, “Gar’s not really my type, if you catch my drift.”

The woman observed them for a moment with no reaction at first, her defensive demeanor unchanged. Tom Paris turned from his position at the helm in surprise, and Harry Kim chuckled to himself while Tuvok merely lifted one eyebrow in their direction. Janeway ignored all of them; allowing herself to be embarrassed would hardly be conducive to getting the information she sought, and she didn’t have the intention of giving any of them the satisfaction. She had nothing to feel embarrassed about anyway. She was dealing with con artists, a little misdirection was necessary. After a few more seconds, she saw the understanding dawn on the alien woman, illuminating her expression. She observed them more curiously now, fixating on their joined hands and seemingly sizing them up. Her hostility deflated, and she appeared to be appeased by the insinuation that Janeway’s interests lay in a decidedly more sapphic direction.

Relieved that the ruse had worked, Janeway tried not to think too hard about the pleasant warmth suffusing her skin where her hand remained cradled by Seven’s. She hadn’t expected Seven’s touch to be quite so gentle, almost tender, and she wasn’t sure what to do with this information now that her brain was aware of it. But this was neither the time nor the place for her to feel a fluttering in her stomach that she wouldn’t want to analyze too closely even in the best of circumstances. She wasn’t actually attracted to women after all, she was simply skilled in the art of deception when the need arose. So, she pushed the thought aside and refocused.

“We have a business opportunity for Mr. Gar.” She said, resolute professionalism twice enforced now to maintain her composure. “One that will expire if we don’t find him soon.”

With all of the fight in her posture vanished, the woman released a slight sigh and finally, finally gave them Gar’s current location. “He’s on his way to the gambling tournament on Selek IV.” She paused, then in a softer tone, she added, “When you see him, tell him to hurry home.”

Janeway bit her tongue down one last time for that afternoon and refrained from saying that there was very little chance Gar considered their affair to be more than a quick romp in the sack, let alone his home. She hoped the look she gave the woman wasn’t too pity filled, but as the connection was terminated and the star filled vacuum of space retook the screen, she indulged in one last roll of her eyes. Just a small one, well earned after having had to insinuate herself even peripherally into the marital drama of several random civilians.

In the next moment, she remembered she was still holding Seven’s hand. Her skin tingled at the comforting warmth still present, and she looked to Seven with a slightly sheepish expression. Seven, for her part, was staring rather intently at Janeway, brows furrowed deep in question. Janeway was about to apologize in case she had made her uncomfortable, but the other woman spoke first.

“Are you sexually attracted to women?”

Well, at least Janeway could count on Seven not to beat around the bush. She fought the flames of embarrassment licking at her heated skin, and instead quirked her lips up in what she hoped was a confident grin.

“I was just trying to get Gar’s girlfriend to focus on the question. I needed to mislead her a little, make her think you and I were an item.”

Seven studied her another moment before replying, voice devoid of inflection. “I see.”

Janeway couldn’t shake the peculiar feeling that she had disappointed or upset Seven in some way, and she returned to her original plan to apologize. She still hadn’t let go of Seven’s hand, though she wasn’t sure why. She squeezed the hand in hers lightly, and said, “It seemed like the easiest way to get the information. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Thank you, for playing along.”

Seven nodded but said nothing, leaving Janeway to feel like she was still missing something. She offered Seven one more crooked smile, one more small squeeze of their hands, and finally dropped her hold on the other woman. While Seven returned to her normal work, Janeway strode over to her command chair, sinking into it with purpose. She put aside the seed of worry digging into her mind for the sake of focusing on their task. Crossing her legs and assuming her authoritative positioning, she commanded Tom to lay in a course for Selek IV. She would apologize to Seven again later if she needed to, perhaps find a way to make the offense up to her if she were still upset. But for now, she had a member of her crew to rescue.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Doyenne ~ Part 6

Warnings: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Tommy needs help from one of Birmingham’s most powerful underground gangs, the Hemlock Angels. Little does he know, he’s not the king of Birmingham after all.

Warnings: SMUT (kinda Dom!Tommy but not really?, unprotected sex), mentions of death and violence

Word Count: 3081

_____________________________

“We are at war," You announced to the room full of Angels, all of whom had gathered at a moment's notice. An uneasy murmur rippled over the crowd of men and women alike, all eyes on you for further explanation. This was when you hated being a leader of a group like this. It reminded you that you were part of a criminal organization, no matter how much you denied that reality to yourself. But when people are kidnapped and murdered and you can’t do anything legally about it, it reminds you that this is something that needs to be taken care of yourself. But you had to be strong, be the leader. 

"Yesterday morning, Darby Sabini, the night club owner, and his men were responsible for the kidnapping of myself, Jameson Smith, and Brandon Kipper directly following their release from prison. While I was able to get out, Jameson and Brandon were brutally murdered, tied and shot in the back of the head.”

You inhaled a shaky, betraying breath, fingers gripping the bar behind you tightly as the vivid memories of their bodies clouded your thoughts, “You all know that I value transparency with all of you. So to tell you honestly, we unknowingly came into possession of some information pertaining to Sabini’s business. We had no idea that he had anything to do with anything but nonetheless they saw a threat and they acted on it. As a result, Jameson and Brandon are dead. I know this is a hard hit for us. They were well loved but unfortunately this is a horrible reality of this job. Nonetheless, what happened to them was unacceptable and will not be tolerated. We will be retaliating against Sabini. I’ll be assigning a task force to burn his most successful club, located in London, to the ground. It will be a loss of hundreds of thousands of pounds. He has no idea that we exist as a group and hopefully, it will stay that way. This will be a lowkey, covert operation and those who take part will be compensated handsomely for it. We won’t kill him but we will destroy him.” 

Finally, you found the strength to begin looking people in the eye, now that everyone had accepted the loss and was intent on hearing your plan. That is, until you locked eyes with a familiar pair of icy blue orbs that were not supposed to be there. Thomas Shelby stood in the back, leaning against the carved rock wall patiently while you spoke.  The only indication to him that you even knew of his presence was the slightest hitch in your breath at the contact to which he returned with a barely detectable nod of acknowledgement. What the hell is he doing here? "l will be selecting those I’d like to participate and informing you individually. Thank you all for coming." 

After a nod of permission from you, the crowd dispersed and you retreated to your office in the back and pulled out a drawer from your desk, flipping through the files. Each person who worked for you had a file. Name, address, description, family memories, criminal records, and any other note you had written down (and most of them had many). You prided yourself on how well you knew everyone, whether or not they were aware of it. 

But you were looking for two things in particular. First off, Jameson and Brandon’s files. You needed their addresses to inform their widows themselves of the tragedy that had unfolded. Just the thought of it made your heart wrench and when you finally found their files, you couldn’t bring yourself to open them yet. Instead, you dove into your next search- 

“That was a riveting speech.” Thomas stood in the opened door to your office. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You asked, looking up from the papers sprawled across your desk. 

He slowly strutted into the room, closing the door behind him, “I came to check on you. Make sure you were alright.” It took all your power to keep a steady face. Now that you’d had a day away from him to clear your thoughts, you were no longer clouded by lust or whatever it was that was affecting your judgement the other night with him. 

“Well thank you very much, Mr. Shelby, but I’m quite alright. And while we’re at it, I’d like to thank you for coming to the rescue the other night but I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.” You tried to sound professional but there was a little more venom behind your words than you’d intended. 

He lifted his hands ever so slightly in defense, “I never said you weren’t. But I was also able to walk right past all your men on the way in here.” 

You slammed your hand on the table and stood up, “Who the hell do you think you are? A week ago you were threatening me, couldn’t stand me. A few days ago, you’re breaking me out of Sabini’s and insisting that I stay the night with you. And now, you’ve crashed a meeting to come and make sure I’m okay. Do you know who I am? Do you know what I do? I am no incompetent little girl, Thomas. I’m a fucking boss, the head of a God damn underground empire. I may not flex my power to the world like you men who feel the need to overcompensate for what you lack in your pants with public brute force but believe me when I say that I have every power to destroy Sabini or anyone else that gets in my way if I so choose.” 

The threat was clear in your words that ‘anyone else’ meant Thomas and he picked up on that very clearly but he had never been one to let anyone talk to him like that and he was not about to start with you. "Look," he pointed a finger at you, his voice low and angry, "I came to help you as a fucking favor but dont worry, it won't happen again, your highness." 

Your blood boiled although you knew logically you'd snapped first but who was he to act like this?! "Did you actually need something,  Mr. Shelby, or did you just come to prove some point?" You sat back down and picked up a random file, not actually reading it but just trying to look like you were too busy for this stupid interraction with him. Images of all the ways you could make him disappear ran through your mind. Showing him your little business could have been a mistake, especially if he'd abuse it by sneaking into your private meetings,  but it was one that would be easily remedied by an untimely, unplanned (for all legal purposes) tragedy. 

Tommy took several steps towards you, until his finger tips grazed the top on your desk and thighs were flush against the wood. He looked down on you, a slight sneer that felt like he was looking down on you, something that he hadn't done since your first meeting. "You're not nearly as in control as you think you are," he told you, "Maybe in control of the situation, yes, but not of yourself. This tough, calm, cool, in control front you put up is nothing more than a facade and I call your bluff." 

 You watched with your voice stuck in your throat as he came around your desk and leaned down to grip the arm rests of your chair, pinning you in and leaning down almost to the point where your noses touched, "The only question is," Tommy continued, his eyebrow flickering upwards, "why are you falling apart?" 

From this close, his scent- whiskey, cigarette smoke, and some unnamable (most likely expensive) cologne - was engulfing you, overwhelming your senses and making you unable to formulate a coherent sentence so you chose to not speak for a moment in favor of returning his cocky scrutinizing gaze with ocular daggers. 

And then a sudden primal version of you seemed to escape the chained prison within your heart, the prison in which you stored away your vulnerability, and you leaned forward, nearly closing the gap between the two of you. "Are we gonna fuck or are you gonna just keep playing games?" 

The words would have shocked you if you weren't in such a state of emotional overload after the events of the last few days but you were and the filthy words left your lips without an ounce of hesitation. 

Internally, Tommy was taken aback by your sudden exclamation but he was also smirking inside like a cocky teenager. He honestly wasn't sure what he was hoping for coming in here and the uncertainty of his own emotions made him angry and uncomfortable but all he knew is that some invisible force- call it whatever you will, the universe, fate, God- pulled him to see you at that exact time and place. The meeting and speech had come as a surprise to him but he found it surprisingly easy to slip in relatively unnoticed, blending in with the background. That had further complicated his lack of plan, lack of goal. But now you were here, pinned under his arms with an angry glare and almost threatening him to fuck you. Tommy would be lying if he said he hadn't secretly hoped some version of this scenario would come to fruition. 

Without another word, barely with a beat after your words, Tommy reached down with his large hands and cupped your face, pulling your face to his and smashing your lips together. The force of this kiss was powerful and ignited your entire body. You pushed yourself up off the chair, gripping his biceps as leverage to stand from the awkward angle but your fingers soon ran across the close shaved hair of his head, disappointed that there wasn't much to pull on but reveling in the softness of his short hair that contrasted the rest of his often surly personality. 

One hand found a home on the back of his neck, pulling him closer into your lips, while the other gripped his black jacket tightly. His lips were slightly chapped but still soft enough to not be unpleasant and he tasted much like he smelled, the ghosts of whiskey and ash dancing on his breath.

Tommy's hands gripped your hips tightly and shuffled your body back blindly until your ass hit the table. You grappled behind you blindly, shoving papers and pencils aside to make room for your body. His palm slipped down to cup your ass and he squeezed tightly, helping you as you slid yourself to sit on the dark cherry wood desk. You finally broke away from the kiss, an absolute feral wreck. It had been so long since you'd kissed anyone, let alone had sex with anyone. Two long years to be exact of loneliness and unfulfillment. It wasn't that you needed a man but boy were they fun to have at times. 

You gripped the lapel of his deep black jacket and shrugged it off his shoulders, allowing it to fall onto the wine colored rug. He only bore his white button up, tie, and suspenders and holy fuck did he wear it well. 

Tommy made quick work of the top four buttons of your dress and shoved the fabric of your bra aside so he could assault your breasts. He was far from gentle as he raked his teeth over your sensitive skin before sinking them in. You gasped at the mixture of pain and pleasure, pulling his longer hair when he did. He kneaded the neglected breast firmly as he rolled the delicate bud of the other between his teeth, teasing it with his tongue between nibbles. 

You pulled his mouth back up to yours by his hair and as your lips crashed together once again, you grabbed his ass and pulled him closer to your core. Tommy's breath hitched and he moaned out quietly when he bulging erection came into contact with your barely clothed core. 

The plan was to tease him, make him think he was in control at first but show him who the real boss was. Your hands traveled around the front and you nimbly undid his belt buckle, wiggling his pants and underwear down just enough to reveal his large erection. 

God, it had been so long since you'd been in this position you were almost scared you didn't know what you were doing but muscle memory took over and you carefully took his cock his your hand and pumped him a few times before bringing your palm up to lick a long, wet stripe along your skin, and returning to stroke him. Tommy's fingertips dug sharply into your hips and he leaned his forehead against yours, looking down at your hand pumping his base and teasing the tip with your thumb. 

He was fairly large, not the largest you'd been with but he certainly looked like he could get the job done. A single finger trailed along the underside of his cock, following the large vein there. Tommy shuddered under your touch and looked up to lock eyes with you when you began to circle only the tip with your thumb. 

"Fuck…." A broken moan tumbled from his lips before he gripped your wrist tightly and stopped you, his eyes dark and serious. Tommy tapped your thigh harshly and pointed at the desk, "Turn over." 

Typically you didn't take commands from anyone but Tommy made you want to listen just this once, hearing a hidden promise in that thigh slap. You obeyed, turning over to lie on your stomach on the desk, your ass out and open for Tommy to see. He hiked your dress over your hips and trailed his fingers along your thighs and up to your panties, teasing your overly sensitive skin. His fingers made their way just under the waistband of your cream colored underwear but just as you thought he was going to rip them down and take you there, he snapped the straps of your garter belts against your thighs on both legs. 

“Ow! Fuck you…” You yelped, reaching back to caress the skin. Thomas watched almost as if in a trance as your hand slid over the curvature of your butt and down your thighs, smoothing over the rosy mark he’d left. 

“I plan on it.” He assured, reaching out to tear your underwear down your legs, the fabric pooling with the garters around your ankles. The cool air hit your core as a welcomed breeze, cooling down your overheating body. 

Behind you, Tommy gripped his length and pumped himself a few times before running his tips along your folds, slowly pressing into you. “Damn, no foreplay?” You rolled your eyes sarcastically. Just like every other man you’d been with. 

“Sure doesn’t seem like much of a problem.” He pointed out as he slipped easily into you, just a testament to how wet you were. Your snarky quip was replaced by a gasp as you felt your walls stretch around him. Shit, it had been so long (and, yes, in both senses). 

Tommy let out a low groan and clenched his jaw tightly. You were so tight. Tighter than he’d expected. He set a pace quickly, his hips rocking into yours steadily. He wasn’t moving very fast but he managed to rub up on every spot inside of you, making your body feel like fireworks. The motion in the ocean was rocking your boat but, of course, you couldn’t let his ego get too big. “You call that fucking?” You looked over your shoulder at him, gripping the other edge of the table tightly. 

What you could see of his skin was shining with a sheen of sweat and his brows furrowed in simultaneous annoyance and insecurity at your words. He reached down and shoved your top half down onto the table, keeping his palm splayed firmly across your upper back. Once he felt like you wouldn’t move, he gripped your hips tightly and pulled them back against him, using the extra movement to fuck into you harder. 

“Ah- fuck…” You grunted at the sudden harsh impact sending your body into the wood. The legs of the table creaked and scraped against the rug in a hollow thud. “Tommy!” You whined out, eyes shut as he reached around your front and rubbed your clit. You were quickly falling over the edge.

There it is, Tommy smirked to himself, Tommy again. 

Without warning, your body shuddered and your legs shook as your walls spasmed around him. Wave after wave of pleasure watched over you as your orgasm took you. Tommy felt your walls around him and he struggled to keep his composure and after only a few more thrusts, he too busted inside of you. 

The two of you stood there, breathing heavily, for a moment before he pulled out, a mixture of his seed and your juices dripping down your thighs. Shit, you thought, you’d have to wash up now before you saw anybody now. Tommy stuffed his softening length back in his pants and redressed himself as you buttoned up your dress and readjusted your garter belts. 

“So that’s it.” He threw his jacket over his shoulders. 

You looked indignantly at him, “What?” 

“Why you’re falling apart.” Tommy lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before gesturing with the smoking stick, “A man.” 

Your mouth fell open, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“You haven’t fucked in a long time, that much is obvious. But it’s because a man hurt you.” He analyzed. 

You didn’t know how to respond. First, was that an insult? You haven’t fucked in a long time, that much is obvious. Second, how did he know? How was he able to read you like a book? 

Tommy watched as you tried to connect the dots but took the silence as an invitation to head out, “You have sex like you haven’t been touched in years and yet you’re angry and aggressive the whole time. You’re desperate but upset about something that’s happened romantically or sexually.” Your indignant silence only proved his theory and he raised an eyebrow, “You’re not the only one who can read people..” With a final adjustment of his tie, he nodded his farewell, “I’ll be seeing you on Friday with the rest of the money.” 

____________

Taglist: 

@kiaoizz 

@sweatydragoncloudknight

@hinagiku0

@stressedandbandobessed7771

[crystalliccs]

                 WHAT IT MEANS TO BE ALIVE.    PART ONE.                       ________________________

                 Note: Female Warrior of Light/Darkness. Miqo’te. Summoner.                  Part one is completely sfw! (And it’s not beta read. Do not judge.)

                 HEAVY PATCH 5.3 SPOILERS.

                 Word Count: 4844 (read more-cut due to the length)                  Ship: G’raha Tia/WoL                       ________________________

The sharp, illuminous blade reflected the light perfectly as he swung it several times in fluent motions – full glad that only for once he could do this without any curious eyes watching him. And yet it was almost as if their shadows still lingered inside the rooms of the Rising Stones, gawking and eagerly commenting his work. Yet the man failed to grasp their fascination for his skills completely; as he understood that he was scarcely more than a fresh beginner in so many aspects. Perchance even far less experienced than them all. And, merely sometimes, he felt at loss – overwhelmed by his very own emotions dwelling inside, as he could sense a trace of pride, of honor. Thus he could hardly afford to rest and enjoy his very own life when he had done naught so far.

With this young body of his, at least.

It was tedious and so very different from controlling his body in the First; albeit he would debate if those crystalline shapes he walked on ever truly had been his in the first place. No, to be quite frank he had to debate if he ever were truly alive as Exarch - shedding off all of his humanity to outlive the eternal slumber for a little longer so that he could reach for the salvation of their worlds. And truthfully, it had made him be far more powerful than he had imagined it would. Connecting his own aether with the collected boundless amount of the sun, all stored within the central spire, he had become far more than the marionette of the voices of the ancient Allag whispering to him whenever he closed his sanguine hues.

It had not been his very own aether which fed his body for an entire century; and most certainly wasn’t an old man - who hardly ever left the Ocular for so many decades - supposed to be able to keep up with true heroes of another world who knew no other life. Yet he had achieved as much; borrowing the strength to do so by shortening his close to now immortal life, step by step.

Oh, he gladfully endured this all – feeling the icy coldness of the crystallization proceeding to cover his chest so ever slowly with every spell he conjured. It had been a slow death – one he embraced should the time arrive.

Yet the time had changed. He could no longer rely on such ancient secrets – nor could he sacrifice what had been bestowed upon him. Another chance.

Even a few weeks after awakening from his long slumber, G’raha was still far from being satisfied of the very condition of his very own body. Though younger and revitalized as he still so very freshly remembered through his younger soul deep inside, it was still far more challenging to use the very own resources of it instead of relying on the power bestowed by ancient technology. Truthfully, it had taken him all this time to remember himself of his common body’s functions, as pathetic and foolish as it was – such as the need to even sleep. Albeit he had undeniably become better in managing such normal needs by now, the Miqo’te still attempted to push himself towards his own limits every now and then, exploring the possibilities.

He had lost count of the many apologies he had mumbled recently, uncertain how to behave or control himself in this new environment when both of his souls still attempted to grasp that he had indeed broken free of his chains. An impossible task, as it seemed. It would take him more than one century of him mostly isolating himself inside the Crystal Tower to not notice certain individuals’ worried gazes. One particular ambitious lalafell somehow always showed her motherly face when he indeed started to feel unwell, gently reminding him to rest. Oh, and it was by far not only Tataru, unfortunately. They all kept a close eye on him.

So, he feared naught at changed – that he was still the very same.

Yet such knowledge only made him strengthen his resolve to work on himself so much more; lest he became a burden to his newfound comrades.

The man had to admit that some very selfish part of him wanted to step out of the Rising Stones and join the others for longer, raising his own cup when they did and enjoying the prepared feast to the fullest. Perchance even catch a glance or two upon the smiling face of his beloved who finally indulged in such activities after all she had done. But how could he? His lips would merely curl into one of these delightful smiles he only had for her whenever she glanced upon him, without him ever saying those words which always lingered on his tongue. Words of affection, of love. And, as he feared, he would merely get teased for it once again. Albeit he had never spoken about such thoughts with anyone, he was quite certain that a few individuals were fully aware of what he truly felt. In fact, he already considered such assumption in the First.

And still his lips remained sealed.

The man quickly twirled on one steady foot, with the tip of his illuminous blade drawing one perfect circle to pierce through a great chunk of wood of the dummy he had used for the past twenty minutes. For once he did not even feel the harsh impact on its sturdy surface inside his muscles – unlike all of his previous attempt over the course of several days. His sanguine eyes widened a little by his own display of strength as he was taking one sharp breath. Soft clapping echoed from the stony walls of the room, as he realized that he was indeed not alone at all. Perchance he had been mistaken that anyone would participate in the festival after all, but he could certainly cope.

Quickly sheathing his sword again, head slightly tilting to glance upon his observer, G’rahas lips lightly opened in surprise.

“One clean cut. You have indeed been practicing a lot, lately – haven’t you? I believe you have been less proficient last time I saw you swinging a sword against a proper opponent”, the Warrior of both Light and Darkness spoke as she took a few steps closer to him, mint eyes glaring with unbelief.

Truthfully, he had hoped she would not become witness of such poor display of skill until he had honed such a little more; yet he could hardly pretend that seeing her was unpleasant in any possible way. Her company never was, albeit this was perchance no convenient time.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, playfully pouting yet her aggressively swinging tail was indeed telling him that she was annoyed. Angry even, mayhap. His eyebrows slightly furrowed as his expression softened into a silent apology as immediate reaction – knowing full well she deserved as much. And so much more.

“But - G’raha, really. Pray tell me you do not intend to hide away here and train all by yourself whilst everyone else is enjoying themselves”, she continued, carefully watching him as she stopped a few fulm in front of him – seemingly judging him with every fiber of her body.

“Oh, about that. Well, I merely considered this as fine opportunity to spar with myself without disturbing anyone else. Though, in truth, I am still getting accustomed to how loud and crowded it can be in the Rising Stones. So ‘tis indeed a quite welcome change”, he attempted to explain with a gentle voice, with his ears excitedly twitching as so very often when he spoke with her.

In the very end he would not dare to say the full truth about his endeavor. Nor that he not solely did it for himself – but also for her.

“Hardly an excuse to miss such a rare opportunity, I daresay. You need the rest more than any of us. Besides, everyone poured their hearts’ content into the preparation. You included. ‘Tis hardly fair if you do not participate.”

“I indeed had one cup of fine ale thus far”, the man shrugged, albeit his facial expression remained the very same. Kind and soft.

“And I had two. This is not a contest”, the woman reminded him, easing her posture for merely a little. She moved around him towards one the many empty chairs near him, which were usually always filled. But not now, when the spirit of enthusiasm had long departed to celebrate outside with everyone else. If she truly ever had been angry at him, it was scarcely noticeable by now.

G’raha could not help but to feel relieved upon such sight, feeling the tension of his still agitated muscles to disappear by merely looking at her. Her small silhouette seemed almost…calm – as calm as one could be before the next raging storm was fast approaching. He knew this too well. And it would come – particularly since the most recent reports from Garlemald had certainly stirred more than one rumor in these halls. It was indeed worrisome, to say at least. Yet perchance this was not the right moment to speak of such topic. If the situation changed, they were the first to know anyway. And until then, well – there was so much to discuss. To consider.

Mayhap his own selfishness indeed drove him to such decision to prepare himself to become her shield if he must. One final burden to bear, one she had not to know of. It had been his choice, in the very end. One he had not to oblige, yet his heart demanded.

For her there was still a chance to enjoy this evening if she left and let him be.

“So, my inspirational friend and hero, pray enlighten me what you seek if you are so unwilling to join the festivities outside. I doubt you have entered the Rising Stones to pry on my poor efforts”, he spoke rather amused, with his velvety tone merely becoming higher in spirits. Of course it was merely a small jest, one he happened to voice every now and then by now, yet genuine curiosity swung inside his very tone as well.

Her eyes widened a little ere she closed them again, her tail curling on her lap in utter defeat. “Mayhap I happen to find it unfitting for myself to enjoy the festivities as well and sought to find a quiet place instead. Not unlike your own idea, as it seems.”

“Ah, it would seem so. Though I fail to fathom how the guest of honor managed to escape unnoticed.” “I have my ways.”

His lips revealed his perfect teeth, a small and yet ever sweet grin as answer to her own she showed after giving such mischievous reply. Truthfully, he indeed felt so much younger when he was with her like this, despite still feeling the nagging burden of his older self at the corner of his mind. In those moments he could almost forget it all – the dark future he had witnessed, the sacrifices he had made just to save countless of lives. She was the only one who could create such oblivion for him – who truly made him feel alive again.

“Perchance now is a good time as any to ask…” The young woman lifted one hand to point it towards the blade resting on his hips, slightly tilting her head. “I have noticed you scarcely ever carry the staff Tataru so carefully prepared for you anymore. Is it not to your liking?”

His chest lifted heavily upon realizing that she had indeed noticed. Suffice to say his eyes had always silently followed her over all these past weeks, even if only to assure himself that she indeed was the same as always. Always determined and strong, prepared to forsake anything in any moment. No, he had even done more than this – eagerly following into her footsteps, even accompanying her once on a small little adventure just as she had promised. Mayhap he had been foolish to assume she would not notice what seemingly everyone else seemed to know already. His ears flopped a little, perchance a little ashamed to admit what he had concealed for the past few weeks.

His hidden struggles, the strains of his muscles and his reckless endeavor just for her sake. Yet could he not at least say as much when she already asked? After his long concealment, of his failed attempts to lie, could he not voice the truth even if only parts of it?

“Well…Controlling my own aether to conjure spells is far more challenging than I had imagined. Though, I believe, I have learned quite well to hold myself by now. Thank goodness for that. Yet there is no doubt in my heart that my poor control of such stand little chance against your mighty summons. However, ‘tis hardly a surprise, of course. When I first woke up in this body again, my mind kept repeating the very same question. And so I pondered… I asked myself what I could possibly do with this newly gained life I embraced. Suffice to say, the conclusion I came to was quite simple. I want to live the very dream of a young boy I once was – and I wish to stand by your side.”

Clenching a fist, he bumped it against his chest a few times, one light smile still visible on his full lips.

“So, I have decided for myself to become your sword and shield henceforth.”

“G’raha…”, she whispered, quietly and slowly rising from the chair she had picked just moments ago, scratching lightly over the stony floor. “You do not have to do this for me.” The thin line of her eyebrows lightly furrowed in concern, light footed steps coming closer once again.

For a mere moment he saw more inside the reflection of her beautiful eyes surrounded by those astonishing long leashes – one hint of an emotion, perhaps fear. An entire tale carefully hidden away inside them, one he yearned to decipher. “So ‘tis as I feared. You still feel the burden on your shoulders, do you not? After all this time… Would it not be possible to make a finer choice than this?”

Her lips began to form more, unspoken words – yet he heard no tone, nor did he know what she attempted to add. Nonetheless he fully understood the true meaning behind them; since he could ask her the very same question.

Why carrying the burden of an entire world when one had the choice not to? Knowing the risks, knowing the countless sleepless nights and the hidden, dry tears deep inside their souls.

“’Tis easier said than done, I fear. You among all should know this as well as I do. You have found and touched many souls on your path – inspired them to act when there was naught left to believe in. In the many moments of desperation, when the hope slipped through their fingers, becoming unreachable by their very own strength, your kindness guided them. “ His lips formed a wry smile, remembering his own naivety in his younger years.

“Of course, I was no exception. And when I first set my mind on this world’s salvation, I realized the full extend of your sacrifices. Over the years the burden became heavier, weighing upon my heart. And yet… No, ‘tis my full intention to live my life to the fullest. Without any regret. And I cannot imagine doing this without you.”

Too many unspoken words lingered in the heavy air surrounding them, taking both of their breaths for a moment. Words, which had always dwelled in their minds, for all this time – and yet failed to ever reach the other’s ears. And whilst their souls had silently yelled in this buried, pitch-black corner inside their very heart, their very own numbness and regret had made them so vulnerable. Those tears they both had pretended to not heavily wear; the immeasurable burden of two entire worlds resting on their shoulders which threatened to make them falter and they attempted to ignore regardless. Always staying silent, always quietly suffering in the very cage they had created – knowing this was the only path they could take.

He recognized this very gaze she showed him now – knew of its meaning. Each shade of her mint colored eyes showed the very same shadows he could see in his very own gaze inside the mirror – the souls of the lost; the fragments of what remained when they had failed. The man watched her reflection inside the mirror for so many centuries; watched her struggling, laying in her own blood and yet mourning for each one she had not been able to save.

He had done the same; slightly smiling underneath his cowl to give his posture strength whilst his fingers tightly clutched his staff over all these years. Listening to the sheer endless reports of their casualties; listening to the refugee’s horrific encounters with the menace they faced every single day.

Even now, after both of his souls had united in one body and mind, and he could glimpse on freedom for the very first time in his life – a true choice given to him – it was impossible to avert his gaze from the path he already had chosen. The dream he once had a boy had long awakened, shaping in pleas of a distant past and mocking nightmares. All of his entire being had yearned to partake in the Scion’s duty; to stand next to the comrades, these friends, he respected – yet some small part inside, deep within, had also seen it as necessity. And, from what he understood, she was so very similar. Albeit given the choice to rest so very often she never did, never hesitated. It was the trait worthy of a true hero who shaped their entire future – yet who also lead onto a very destructive path.

Oh, he knew this all too well.

The short glimpse of warmth, of happiness just to see it withering once again, turning to emotionless dust – never touching one’s own life.

Because those who fought, who did remember - the forgotten, the untold tales no one else knew besides them, had to carry their burden for all eternity.

His face expression changed, sanguine hues filling with a sea of sadness and regret. In truth he wanted to lay it all bare – wanted to speak those hidden words so many moons ago, when he was still believing in his own selfish, pathetic demise. And now, after receiving a second chance he still concealed himself in this veil of silence, ignoring his fast throbbing heart, fearing what her answer would be. An answer he would have given for so many decades as well. Yet if he continued to let his heart wither and die, failing to let his own emotions reach her, he would no longer be able to look upon those faces who sincerely wished for his happiness.

Wasn’t she one of them, in the very end…? He knew that she, among all of them, needed one plain word of affection the most. It was selfish, mayhap… Yet how harmful could it be to set himself free from the chains of his feelings for her? Emotions he had learned to well control, which he had been prepared to take with him when he embraced death itself. No, he certainly would not ponder about such things if there even was the possibility of accidentally hurting her. In truth it did not even matter to him if she returned the immortal love he felt for her – as long as he could ease her indescribable loneliness for merely a little.

“I…’Tis a selfish request, I am certain – nevertheless, I must ask one final thing of you. That you survive, no matter what. And that you will return…to my side.”

G’raha took a heavy breath, calloused fingertips finding her surprisingly thin shoulders to carefully bury themselves into her soft skin. He was scarcely taller than her, a few ilm at best perchance, but this made it solely easier to observe her fair face so very close to his own. Her rose lips already parted, likely in attempt to respond, yet he immediately cut her off, fearing if his own words got lost in hers they would never reach her.

“Every time someone calls for your aid in desperate times, I want you to remember that the very thought of losing you is frightening to me and I can ill afford losing you. This world has long entrusted all their hopes onto you, and with each day I fail to fully fathom the burden you still bear. Nevertheless, I can imagine. And I wish for you to know that before I draw my dying breath, I shall share and attempt to ease the weight you’re carrying. Lest you forget you are not alone.”

His voice had become velvety yet strong, as his resolve resonated with each word he spoke. There was so much more to say – so much more to reveal – yet opening his heart this very way after all these years was indeed quite a challenge. The emotions had long suffocated him until he had banished them, losing his own humanity with each passing day after replacing them with the numb, faceless mask of the Exarch. But no longer.

“G’raha – pray tell me, why exactly are you telling me this”, she asked in a hoarse whisper, finally seizing the opportunity to speak, worrying he might say more. The young hero had not moved ever since he had approached her, but the shades inside her eyes were ever moving, observing – and filled with the very same sadness he felt burning deep inside his soul when looking upon her.

Oh, what would he gave for her to look at him differently – not with the kind, worrying eyes of an hero but those of a loving woman.

“I love you”, he said plainly, lips curling into a soft smile, unable to hold it back any longer. “I do not regret one single moment by your side, nor my… quite selfish actions in the First. It was all for you, to protect you. And it pains me to know you all alone even now, shouldering all dreams and hopes by yourself. Whatever it takes, I will see you finding your happiness. And I… I trust you are well aware that I do not require you to accept my feelings. They are genuine, I assure you – and I cannot imagine any one being more worthy of them than you.”

The pressure of his fingertips on her shoulders grew – not to cause harm but to steady himself for the remaining words which still had to slip his tongue. He would love to indulge in the sensation of his touch for longer, usually shunning to be as close to her to not awaken those lustful desires.  

Would she allow him to come closer, even if just for a brink of a moment…? Could she already listen to his loudly throbbing heartbeat and merely bore it for his sake?

His sanguine eyes disappeared beneath his long lashes, not to hide them from her but rather to dwell in his own memories as he spoke. His chest lifted, filled with the emotions of all these moments they had shared albeit ever so briefly.

“Worry not, my inspiration – my only love. For I am eternally glad that your star has charted my course, I will never forget your kindness nor anything you have done to save my own life. So I will not ask more of you than I already have. In truth, I already received so much more than what I had dreamed of. So I beseech you, pray let me aid you in any possible way. Just say the word, my friend.”

His hands felt as heavy as the crystalline form he once possessed when he attempted to lift them from her shoulders again, intending to give her some space. Yet the faint grip of one of her hands found his own, carefully wrapping his wrist to hold it in place. His eyes flung open as he felt the unexpected touch, meeting the pair of shiny mint colored eyes filled with tears, he reckoned. The man’s lips parted in surprise as his reddish ears laid close to his head.

“Why do you speak of such things, asking for naught in return?”, she asked, her voice slightly trembling – yet in apparent anger, with her ears moving agitatedly. “Do you truly never ponder about your own well-being, not even now of all times? After learning that they all wish for the very same… Rammbroes, Krile, Lyna… All good people of the Crystarium. They all wish for you to live your own life. You have already done so much, so pray tell me why you still fail to see this…?”

He did not move nor grit it teeth as her free hand clenched a fist to tenderly beat his chest a few times. As she stopped the fingertips clutched the fabric of his new garment, leaning in her weight until she almost rested inside his arms. Yet just almost. He could feel her hot breath brushing the bare skin around his collarbones, sending an immediate shiver down his spine. His limbs were itching to move, to pull her into a full and proper embrace – nonetheless he did not dare to move, not understanding her current actions.

“‘Tis true, we are indeed so very alike, you and I. And most certainly you are just as stubborn as I am. ‘Tis why I am…glad to know you as my companion henceforth. Yet I cannot condone you to suffer in my place. Ultimately, I solely want to see you finally happy as well. I want to see your dreams lived and fulfilled”, she continued with a small sigh and he noticed, as she lifted her gaze once again to face him, that one single tear had emerged from her eyes.

“Is it truly selfish to want to feel alive for once…? After being so very selfless all the time?”

Her voice trembled with the last questions, making him ponder if they were rhetoric or not. In the very end he was not even certain of whom she spoke. His second hand, yet free from her touch, slowly lifted to meet the warm skin of her cheeks, swiping away the tear with his calloused thumb. G’raha felt her reacting to his touch, barely noticeably even, ere she leaned into the warmth he offered.

“Mayhap not”, he answered in a rather husky tone, ignoring the yearning of his own body and the loud, desperate clutch of his very own soul.

“Then you shall know… I love you too, G’raha.” Albeit her voice had scarcely been more than a whisper to his ears, suffocating in some more tear drops to flow down her cheeks, he felt their meaning with every fiber of his body. It was not before she lifted her hand to gently rub over his own cheeks that he noticed that he had shared in her sentimentality.

For he realized that the woe, the deep sadness he saw inside her mint colored shades for the past moments were not product of her kindness but rather her feelings for him. Such sight made him to finally channel the strength needed to let go. To let go of the very burden he still desperately held onto; the very past in which he had merely chased after his very own death and desperation for all these long years. For the childhood in which he had believed to be cursed, to be condemned.

One past filled with dreams and hopes to believe in a future in which others might find happiness, albeit not himself.

“So perchance, just for once, mayhap just even for this moment - can we not forget and live, breathe? The world will not end, solely for us being happy for only one day. And the others can certainly wait, too.”

“Agreed”, the man mumbled, quickly leaning in to seal her lips with his very own, lest she spoke more than she already had. Truthfully, he was no longer certain if he could bear to wait any longer. Not after waiting more than an entire lifetime for her already, to finally feel her faint touch.

Her sweet, flowery scent filled his nose, sweeping through his entire body like an untamed wave – evoking all of his usually hidden emotions for her. Lips so perfectly shaped and soft moved against his very own in an almost painful slow rhythm, ere he his tongue slightly tickled them, yearning to taste her, to memorize all of her entire being. Immediately he felt her slim arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer as she slightly parted her full lips to give him entry.

None of it was like he had imagined; it was far better than the finest dream he ever had.

________________________

[ END OF PART ONE – Part Two will contain smut! ]

________________________

Sidenotes: I am following my headcanon that – because he is an allrounder and can fit into all roles – he is picking the most fitting role for the Warrior of Light (despite seen with his staff in the cutscenes).

In this case, since the Warrior of Light is a Summoner – which I still daresay should be the most powerful role according to the given canon information – he prefers to become her sword and shield. All of this is, of course, accordingly written to my own headcanons & portrayal and might not fit with other’s.