#*posts this then retreats back into the void for a bit*

[good-beanswrites]

Just wanted to plant an idea if you wanted a bit of fuel: Mahiru asking Yuno to come to her cell before everything goes down.

Edit: I forgot the ask didn't say it but this is part of Kyanako's incredible Order Of Attack AU!

Didn't mean for this to become a mini Mappi study but here we are ✨ Thank you for the request! I fully intended to write them hanging out, but it's more right before they hang out lol. Went a bit on-the-nose with foreshadowing, but isn't that the fun part? It has become Emotional Over Mahiru Hour...

I kept things vague, but TW for mentioning her boyfriend's state of potential self-harm

Mahiru tried not to act superstitious, she really did. As much as she loved the idea of little luck charms, or avoided easy signs of misfortune, it was easier to keep quiet about such ridiculous things.

Maybe catching a bride’s bouquet meant no guarantees; maybe there was no real harm in stepping underneath ladders, maybe a coin tossed into a fountain had no real magic to its wish. However, the one thing she knew for sure held power was a lucky presence. Being in the right place at the right time could alter everything. And today was the right time for something. There was this waiting in the air. The prison had been holding its breath. Mahiru knew it was time to release it all.

“You must be so lonely, why don’t you let big sis Mahiru keep you company?” She beamed at Amane.

She often recalled the good fortune that she and a certain young man had crossed paths on the university terrace. She used to laugh with him about the wonderful coincidence of bumping into each other outside of the bakery, then the convenience store. 

Though she’d never spoken about it to him, she was also grateful for many occasions where she walked in on him at the precise moment to talk him out of something reckless. She always told him that they’d do everything together. He didn’t need to be alone anymore. 

“I wish to be alone. I need peace of mind to think.” Amane turned away from the cell door.

It was a good thing, too. Mahiru’s smile wasn’t as convincing as she said, “o-oh. Of course.”

She made her way around the panopticon, hearing Fuuta pace his cell in anticipation. He must have felt it too, this holding of breath. 

Or perhaps not. He turned down her offer for a bit of company, including a few more colorful words than Amane had. Mahiru just apologized for bothering him and headed back to her cell. She wasn’t sure where Mikoto was at this hour, but she didn’t feel like smiling through a third rejection.

She shook her head back and forth. She wished the motion could rattle the voices inside, she wished she could shake them all away. With her arms secured in place she could no longer cover her ears. She used to hum to keep them at bay, but lately they’d been too loud to stifle. They just kept on talking.

Their words told her the two were right. Nobody needed her company. No – nobody wanted it. Being together hadn’t helped her boyfriend. In fact, being together had been the very thing that got him killed. No wonder Amane and Fuuta wanted to avoid her. 

So then, this was for the best. She would rather deal with the brief sting of refusal than stumble in one day to find them hurt… or worse. As much as she tried to avoid the superstition of it all, the voices reminded her that her very presence could mean life or death. 

“Mappi, are you alright?” Mahiru hadn’t realized a tear had slipped down her cheek until she hurried to swipe it away in front of Yuno. 

“Hah, I’m fine! Just fine.” It was impossible to fool her, Mahiru had learned, but that never stopped her from trying. 

At least she always spoke tactfully. “Rough morning?”

Mahiru shifted her arms in her uniform, making a small sound of agreement.

“Can I do anything to help? What if I stay with you for a bit? I can do your hair, and…”

The voices were right. Amane and Fuuta knew it, too. Presences did hold power, and Mahiru’s was cursed.

But she would sound foolish admitting such a fear to Yuno. She'd heard plenty from the voices about how stupid and airheaded she was, there was no use in getting the same lecture from someone as grounded as her.

Mahiru managed a weak protest, unable to explain her real reasoning. Yuno was insistent. She didn’t give much of a choice. Could she feel the strangeness of the prison, as well? 

At last, Mahiru allowed her shoulders to sag. Yuno was lucky. And kind. Having her nearby would do her good. Amane and Fuuta would be alright. Mahiru had tried spending more time with them after verdicts were announced. Now, she made a mental note to pull back. If her love couldn’t save anyone, at least she could spare them from her curse. They would be safe. 

“Yes. Please stay. The truth is... I don't want to be alone.”

[radiance1]

@puppetmaster13u You called Danny a space whale in the tags of one of this post.

Now what if that was literal?

Hear me out, Danny outlives his friends, parents, sister. Danny becomes a literal whale.

Well, not a literal one because he's a ghost, but he takes the shape one of at the very least. He's just a giant, glowing white whale that looks pretty divine not going to lie.

Danny leaves earth. It wasn't safe for him anymore, what with the GIW and all that as even the ghosts found it not even worth anymore to visit the mortal world.

Except for Desiree and Spectra, but that's besides the point.

But Danny doesn't retreat to the zone, he's always longed for space, but because of his new half humanness he doesn't get believe he could've ever gone because, well. Yea.

But Danny goes fuck it and goes anyway. His form shifts from human to that of a giant whale, and he swims out into the vastness of space.

Years pass, and Danny does start getting bigger as he aged. He explored the vastness of space, marveling at many things, the different planets, the stars, the formations of rock and other things.

Then he encounters someone he never though he would've.

Vlad.

Well, he knew Vlad was left behind in space by his father but he didn't think he would find him again and Vlad seemed... different, from what he remembered.

For one thing, he didn't even know where Vlad began and space ended. He got only see those red eyes that even hinted at it being the man. His body was void black and filled with stars upon stars, all glittering from his body and Vlad barely even seemed to notice him, or if he did, he didn't seem to care at all.

So, Danny took him.

He was both curious and felt a bit bad about what happened to Vlad, even if he didn't know exactly what happened, and he couldn't just leave him there either.

So on his back Vlad went, and his travels continued.

It seemed to be the correct decision, really, because slowly overtime Vlad seemed to be regaining his awareness. Then slowly, tentatively, started to speak with him through ghost speak.

Vlad only seemed to vaguely remember what he was before space. He remembered hating a man, loving a woman, wanting a son, loneliness and a boy with white hair and toxic green eyes.

Even though Vlad was his former enemy, his nemesis, and someone who took the world hostage.

He couldn't help but feel pity for him.

Then their travels continued.

Years pass unnoticed, when in space, with Danny slowly getting bigger and bigger as the two travel throughout. They've come into contact with various civilizations, some hostile, some peaceful, some neutral.

The hostile ones never lasted long, even if Danny never lifted a flipper to do anything most of the time, Vlad made sure of it.

They came at went as they pleased, and Danny believes that they've gained a bit of a reputations over their adventures, but neither he nor Vlad knew exactly what they said. It did prove useful in some cases, however.

A few more years, and Danny feels that this system is vaguely familiar. Which happens sometimes, considering he's been travelling for so long. He then finds out why it was so familiar.

He came across Earth and, oh. When was the Earth so small?

Well, not small really, but when was he just only a bit smaller than it?

Did it shrink when he was away? Or did he just grow?

That doesn't matter though. What does, is the fact that currently seemed to be an invasion going on, on his home planet thank you very much. He did not like the fact that there was a massive fleet parked right outside his home.

So he spoke to Vlad, expressed his displeasure, Vlad responded back knowingly and went off to make the source of his displeasure disappear. That doesn't Danny was idle either, the fleet was big and, well.

It's been a while since he's stretched himself in a fight.

[yuri-is-online]

And Your Name Is? (Malleus and Ace)

Synopsis- After successfully resolving whatever was causing NRC to be trapped in an endless time loop of overblotting and disaster, one last reset should give him a chance to experience a normal school year with you. But instead you find yourself trapped in the here and there, appearing as a vague shadow around the school that vanishes as soon as he catches up to you. The kind thing to do would be to allow you to be forgotten in the chance it lets you return to your world.

But this is Twisted Wonderland where the kind thing is seldom done, and he wants you back as much as you want to find him again.

a/n: The first version of this can be found on my masterlist here (x) . I have been thinking of a million scenarios for each of the boys because I am real attached to this sort of trope and will probably write more in the future.

notes: they/ them pronouns used for Yuu, angst with the intent of comfort. Everyone in this post is a wee bit pathetic but then these two kinda are. The love triangle of all time I tell you /j

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is a king, his rule is absolute and his word commands the reality around him.  Literally sometimes, it would appear, as he looks up longingly at the ramshackle window.  A shape flickers there, one he has flown to greet many times before.  For memories that don’t exactly belong to him they are vivid, the shape and feel of your hand weighs heavy in his as he wills himself to remain on the ground; there is no guarantee the night sky will remain cloud free if he is forced to watch you disappear now.  He used to think the thought of a power beyond him laughable, but when he sees you now, this strange colorless void that refuses to fully leave his world, he is almost certain that there must be.  There must be some divine force in the world that is punishing him for his hubris in thinking that he could stop the wheel of time; punishing him for refusing to treasure the time he had to spend with you and thinking he could spend your life as he pleased.

It was ironic really, how powerless he felt when you disappeared from view.  Like you were the god and he was the child of man groveling at your feet for a chance at salvation.  An introspective part of him wonders if this is how his people see him; it is most displeased with how little he cares, all regalia abandoned at the foot of a human that cannot be saved with any magic he can weave.

“Lilia says I should see this as practice for when you are older.”  His guardian had decided to be considerate of his feelings when he came to him for advice.  If Lilia had been acting only as an advisor, it hurts his heart to think of what he would have said.  “I wonder, would you prefer me if I was human?  Would this be easier, could I have made you stay?”  You do not immediately appear to reassure him, no one does.  He supposes no one could, Malleus Draconia is not above wishing for things despite what Sebek might think.  A light layer of frost covers the walls of the old mansion, it is becoming harder to focus on the stars.  “It is cruel of me to wish to keep you here with me, children of men do not belong trapped in the dark; but what a sight you would be.”  He can picture you clearly, time is cruel but this re-set timeline is much crueler.  Your face and the sound of your voice are still his to cherish, but he has no pictures or records to refresh his memory when it inevitably begins to fail.  

“Tsunotarou?”  Yes, the frost begins to retreat as he resigns himself to his grief, that is what your voice sounded like.  Someone reaches to touch his face, and to his surprise he allows them.  Yes, he takes in a deep breath that goes on for so long it almost hurts him, this is your scent, your appearance filling his vision and blocking the stars from view.  “You look so lonely.”  And you look so confused, but more importantly you look unafraid as he takes your hands from his face and intertwines your fingers.

“And if I am?”  He tries to give you a charming smile, one that he knows will only work on his family and you.

“Then…”  you look confused, like you are searching his face and recognizing him but unaware of what you are looking for.  “If you are my Tsunotarou, then I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.”

“Then stay.”  Stay here and keep him company until you are nothing but the dust you were born from and allow him to stay by the side of your grave forevermore.

Ace Trappola

This was unfair.  Infuriatingly, ridiculously, beyond merely mildly unfair.  Ace had never been more enraged with the way things work at Night Raven College.  “The strong bow to the weak” his ass, how many of these housewardens (and Jamil) bowed to you only to dismiss your current status as not their problem?  It was their fault, and as far as Ace was concerned they were well beyond needing to take responsibility for their actions.  He had no problem telling you as much, pretending the way you were constantly out of his reach was not his problem.  That it didn’t bother him to run after you for hours, chasing you down hallways, through the rose maze, anywhere you went Ace Trappola followed.  If you were not made of memories and mist it would be just like it was before.  You went and he followed, if it would bring you back to life he’d crawl.  Riddle had said his behavior was unbefitting of a card soldier.  Ace had told him he was one to talk.

And just like that he was back on a couch in Ramshackle, a collar around his neck he swore up and down didn’t belong.  But you were not here to see it.

“Honestly, who does Riddle think he is?”  He grumbles as if you could respond, sometimes he swears you do.  Deuce thinks he is losing his mind, Riddle probably does too.  They might be back in the past, but Riddle remembers his mistakes and what little growth he’d squeezed from the stone cold loop of time.  He is strict, but seldom tyrannical, if Ace wasn’t in the middle of a spiral he would be willing to acknowledge his housewarden’s willingness to try and help you.  “Hey-” the door doesn’t open for you when you appear, Ace doesn’t think you can interact with objects the way a ghost can but that doesn’t stop him from talking to you like you are one.  “Bet this looks familiar.  Honestly, how many times am I going to have to show up like this before you let me take the bed?  I’m super skinny and you’re not- you’re not there.”  Memory isn’t like a video Ace can replay, but from the timelines he’s spent chasing after you he is almost certain this shade of yours is simply following an echo of your routine.  It has a set path, if he gets too close you will evaporate from view, but still he reaches when you approach, praying that this time his hand will find purchase.  “Just what is it you wanna hear huh?”  He finds something, cold and slightly wet like this shimmery shape is made of melting ice.  “That I didn’t think you would be my type because I already knew you were?  That when I said what was really important was finding someone you could laugh with I thought of your face?  That I’m a coward who couldn’t reject a girl he didn’t like and who couldn’t face it when he saw what he actually wanted?”

“I want Ace.”  He feels it more than hears it, as much as he wants to smile and hide behind himself Ace Trappola is smart enough to know he can’t.  Not this time, he has to watch you fill in your outline, eyes unhurried and unfocused but locked solely on him.  If he doesn’t watch you come to he will never believe he is looking at you again.  “I want to stay with Ace.”  Your arms are around his neck pushing him back onto the couch with a thunk and he wraps himself as much around you as he can.   “Just what am I going to do with you?”  He tries to laugh but between the collar and you it’s hard to breathe, but he can’t bring himself to move.  “I guess I’ll have to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

[infcrnalstars]

have a body again, under air, under gravity

summary: autistic!grian dealing with the beginning of season nine after floating in the void for so long

notes: HI so i originally had this autistic grian series posted on my ao3 but i keep getting logged out of ao3 so i thought I'd just post it here for you all to enjoy. if you want the other fics in this series here's the link!

anyway, please enjoy and keep in mind this is all written from my perspective as an autistic person myself. thank you!!!

warning for minor scrian (hinted at only) and some self destructive behaviors.

Grian sat on top of The Entity. He buried his toes in the moss on top and grinned. After floating through the void for so long, it felt good to be grounded again.

Sure he was avian with those big, colorful wings, but he was still part human. And the human part of him really liked to have his feet safely planted on earth and not aimlessly floating.

The Entity came to him in a dream within the void. Perhaps he accidentally touched another sparkling universe, one of where other Entities existed. But regardless of how he came up with it, it was living breathing and all his.

“Grian!” Mumbo called out from behind him, near his vault.

Grian turned, pushing to his feet. Mumbo came rushing over and pulled something from his pocket. It was white, just a messy pile of dust in his hands. Grian’s heart stopped.

Waxing the copper had been a prank, he undid it after he was caught too. Now Mumbo was here with bone meal, prepared to ruin his creation.

“Mumbo,” Grian said, slowly moving forward, towards his friend. “Don't—”

Too late. His friend had already thrown the dust, causing the stone right under Grian to turn to moss. To his surprise, Grian slipped as the moss tore from the rock. He fell, landing hard on his back. His wings ached.

“Grian!” Mumbo called out in alarm. He hurried to his friends side. “Why didn't you fly? Oh your wings, are they okay?” he asked, fretting over Grian.

Grian shrugged. “My wings haven't worked right since the void. The gravity…it's almost too heavy. It's why I didn't build an actual base…it hurts.”

He sat up, giving his wings a small flutter. He yelped, his one wing being particularly painful.

He looked up at The Entity, feeling his own heart beat with the one pulsing inside. Something about being near it was comforting. But then, just as Mumbo had injured it, he too was injured.

“You ruined it,” Grian whispered, tears welling in his eyes.

“I’ll fix it later, right now you need medical attention on X can give you,” Mumbo said.

“You can't fix it,” he said, kicking away the moss near his feet. “It won't be the same.”

Grian pushed to his feet. The pain in his wing was almost unbearable with gravity weighing him down. Stubbornly he retreated to the interior of The Entity. He curled up in the center, under the beating heart, wings wrapped around him.

He was always so particular about his builds, but this one. It was so important that it was made exactly how he envisioned it. He knew it was silly to be upset about this but now it wasn't exactly how he wanted it.

He curled in on himself, shaking as adrenaline gave way to the pain. He bit down on his finger as the sun set on the world outside.

He was exhausted. He just needed to rest, he'd be okay in the morning.

“Grian?” a voice said softly.

He perked up. Gem. Gem was autistic and an unusual hybrid. She made him feel a lot less alone. He sat up as she entered The Entity.

“Mumbo told me what happened,” she said softly. “Would it be okay if I took a look at your wing?”

Grian hesitated but nodded. He turned his back to her, letting her have a look. He felt the deer hybrid gently feel along the frail bones, moving a few feathers aside to get a better look. He'd normally refuse to let people touch his wings, they were sensitive and required great care, but he trusted Gem.

She had antlers that needed to be taken care of, ears that needed proper cleaning. She had a tail that was just as sensitive as his wings. She knew what she was doing.

Normally Scar would help him with his wings. The third and final person allowed near his wings was X. X didn't know where Grian came from, why he was a hybrid, but he ran the server, he could understand in ways Grian couldn't in matters of his wings.

“Just a little fracture, I think,” Gem said. “I think a healing potion will fix it.”

She moved so she was facing him. She was quick to mimic him, sitting criss cross apple sauce.

“Mumbo said you were really upset about him adding moss to your base?” Gem asked quietly, pulling a fidget toy out of her pocket for him.

He happily took it, playing with the various buttons on the cube. “He ruined it. I know it's just some moss, but I don't know…It's just different. I'm not mad at him, but there’s something about The Entity. I feel connected to it.”

She nodded along.

“We travelled through the void you know. There are so many other worlds out there, we passed by all of them. There was one that I saw. It felt so familiar. It had all sorts of creatures but at the heart of the whole planet was something like The Entity,” Grian whispered. “I dunno if it's where I'm from or what, but it's important to me.”

Gem nodded with more understanding this time. “It's just super special to you.”

Grian nodded this time. “So important.”

“Well, I think you ought to explain that to Mumbo.”

“Okay,” Grian said softly.

“Now, how about we head back to my base and we get you that healing potion?” she asked.

Grian’s good wing fluttered in anticipation. “Sure.”

Together they walked along the stone bridges ro Gem's treehouse. He sat by the water while she hurried in to get it for him.

He heard wings flapping overhead but before he could even look, Pearl was landing next to him. He jumped, but the motion made his wings ache more.

“Pearl, you scared me.”

“You're hurt,” Pearl said automatically. She moved behind him to look at his colorful wings.

She had her own wings, but they were so different from his own. Hers were shades of brown and they curved in a way he didn't but still. She was the only avian he’d ever met.

She didn't touch, she knew better. She moved to sit down beside him, wings tucked in.

“You'll hurt your wings if you keep sleeping in the Entity. You need a real house with a real bed,” she said quietly. “Don't go telling me you're fine, we both know sleeping on a stoney floor does a number on the wings.”

Grian kicked at the pebbles along the shoreline. She was right. She usually was.

“I can't fly,” he admits to her. “It's too heavy now.”

“I was in the void too. I can fly just fine. Gravity isn't the issue. You're sleeping in a hollowed out boulder! I mean, come on—”

“Pearl,” Gem says kindly, coming to sit on the other side of Grian. She gave him more space than Pearl did. “Can you talk about this later? I called you to comfort him, as his sister.”

“She's not really my sister,” Grian said, just as Pearl said, “I'm being very sisterly right now.”

Gem shook her head, handing Grian the potion. She got up to set the wing, her hands gentle her firm. He drank the potion and felt a familiar tingle throughout the wing.

“You've got a bit of moss back here…When was the last time you cleaned your wings?” Gem asks.

“Dunno.”

“May I?”

Grian nods. He closes his eyes and stretches his legs out so his toes dip into the cool water. It feels nice.

He hears Pearl leave and he's sure they'll have a whole conversation later, but right now he focused on the relaxing sensation of Gem’s fingers sorting through his feathers.

“Are stoney floors really that bad for wings?” Gem asked.

“Only if you sleep on your back. You end up crushing them and then you get these weird cramps—”

“Like sleeping on your neck weird?” she asks.

“A bit like that, yeah.”

“So then…Why sleep like that?”

“I like the pressure,” he shrugged.

She reached a spot he knew was a mess. Feathers unaligned and ruffled from sleeping on the floor. His wings fluttered away from her gentle hands.

The spot was painful, but it did need to be dealt with.

“Grian,” Gem reprimanded gently.

He sighed, pulling out his communicator. He distracted himself by messaging Scar while Gem finished her hard work.

Grian: Hey Scar, what are you up to?

Scar: I'm working at my base.

Scar: What's up, G?

Grian: Can I stop by in 5?

Gem plucked a loose feather and he yelped.

“Sorry!” she says with a deep frown.

“I haven't cleaned them since we got here;” he admits. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It's always my pleasure.”

His communicator beeps in his hand.

Scar: Your always welcome.

Grian smiled, tucking the device away. He turned to see Gem peering over his shoulder.

“How are you and Scar?” she asked.

“How are we?” he repeats, a bit confused.

Gem shakes her head. “I've got to get back to work, are you going to be okay?”

He nodded. “I'm heading over to Scar’s. I'll be fine.”

Gem smiled, giving his shoulder a squeeze before disappearing back into her treehouse.

Grian got up, starting to flutter his wings to fly, but even moving them like that felt uncomfortable. It felt like they were weighing him down.

He tucked them in close to his back instead and walked across the bridges that had been constructed over the small rivers and canals. He headed towards Scar’s impossibly large treehouse that he built entirely by hand.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

Just being here was soothing.

He hurried up into the tree and found Scar working on the upper levels. He had a workbench set up at just the right height for him in his wheelchair.

He was hammering something together, a half constructed bed on the floor next to him.

“Scar,” Grian said.

Scar jumped a little. “I didn't hear you come in,” he laughs.

Grian just smiled. “I'm light on my feet. What are you making?”

“I'm trying something new for my bed. I think it'll turn out super cool,” Scar said. “Anyway, what's up?”

“Just had a rough afternoon, Thought it could be better by seeing my best friend,” he said, watching Scar’s face light up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Scar asked, setting his hammer down.

Grian sat himself down on top of the work bench, pulling his knees up to his chest. He sighed and explained what had transpired to upset him so much.

Scar listened. He was a great listener, especially for Grian.

“Ah, that's why Mumbo stopped by earlier,” Scar said, returning to his tinkering. “He feels really bad.”

“He stopped by?” Grian asked.

Scar nods, not looking up this time. “Yeah, something about an apology gift to make you feel better. I suggested a new blanket so you can make a little nest for yourself. Like you did last season in your starter base.”

Grian smiled a little bit. That would fix his sleeping on the floor problem, and it was a sweet thought. His felt warm and tingly - happy. He was happy.

“Thanks, Scar,” he said quietly.

“I also heard a rumor that your wings have been bothering you,” Scar continued on, venturing deeper into his workshop. He returned holding a strange contraption in his lap. “I might have to adjust the size, but think of it like my wheelchair. It's just an aid to help you out. Hypothetically, it should help create a draft and take the pressure off your wings so there's less strain.”

Grian took the device into his hands. It reminded him of the elytra everyone used to fly around. He

looked up at Scar and down at the device, setting it aside carefully. He pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, G.”

[rolloollor]

Abandoned Draft of an Unnamed Mallerollo Dragon Sacrifice Fic Part 2 and 3

The first part is here. Just note that this isn't polished and I didn't double check it for typos or anything before posting it because it's scraps. Always be sure to keep your discarded writing because even if it didn't work, you might want to reuse an aspect (especially a description of something). There's no conclusion, this is just a novelty to see another AU and also how Bound by Briar evolved from this.

Chapter two

He could not see.

It took less than a few minutes of walking for the void within the cavern to swallow all light. The world narrowed to the cold all around him, the sound of water droplets hitting wet rock, and his own cautious footsteps.

It was stupid. Perilous. At any moment, he could fall down a pit or encounter some beast lying in wait for foolish humans to stumble blindly in the dark. His body still ached. Each pace sent an aching twinge up his legs, demanding he pause and sit down. But who knew when the dragon would return? Better to put distance between them.

He tread slowly, testing the integrity of the ground before he shifted his full weight on it. At times, the surface rose and fell, growing slippery and treacherous.

Tingles dribbled down his spine, telling him to retreat. The gloom seemed a physical thing now, heavy, thick, enveloping him and everything else to the point that he was breathing it in. It occupied his lungs, making him unable to inhale properly—he had to pant. Doubtless it hoped to lead him astray. If only he had a torch…

He frowned, stopping in his tracks. In a way, he did have a light source. He could illuminate the area if he used magic. Though engulfing his body in fire once more did not strike him as wise… The dragon had claimed that the variety of magic he had used was too much for him without a ‘mage stone,��� whatever that was. If his heated clothing was any indication, Malleus knew far more about this than Rollo did, so it would be prudent to believe that statement.

Could he create something smaller? An ember, perhaps?

Rollo held out his hand in front of him, though he could not see it. He envisioned a spark catching on a candle wick and eased a bit of power through channels still sore from his earlier efforts.

A flame as long as his middle finger appeared in his palm.

The sight of it sent a brief stab of panic into his heart as he imagined it swallowing him like it had Jehan. For that moment, the flickering orange grew, doubling in size. But it did not hurt. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The glow shrank back.

Rollo stared at it, gritting his teeth.

How dare it not consume him? Why had it killed Jehan, but did not deign to singe him? What had Jehan done to deserve such a miserable end? He was only a child!

He trembled. Did magic have some will of its own? Had it spurned Jehan in favor of Rollo? His fingers itched to extinguish the flame he had conjured.

Doing so would leave him adrift in an ocean of black. He had little choice but to rely on the inexplicably placid flare against his skin.

Rollo’s gaze finally left his hand. The area around him was more open than he had expected—across from the wall where he stood, the faint light he had created faded without reaching an obstacle. Stone formations the shape of pointed teeth reached down from the ceiling, crowding each other like the mouth of some misshapen beast. The ground rippled, but was much better than what dwelled overhead.

Man had neither the right nor the ability to live in a place like this. Rollo continued on, regardless. He had to find a way out.

The cave grew narrower as he walked. After what could have been ten minutes or an hour, Rollo found himself faced with a passage so tight that he would have to step through sideways. He swallowed. What if it never widened? Would he become stuck and starve to death? That could be worse than getting eaten… Then again, he would at least have the satisfaction of denying the dragon a meal.

As he considered this, a sound overcame the silence. Somewhere beyond this hindrance, water flowed, rather than merely dribble.

Could it lead to an exit? It was at least moving. This might be his best chance.

If he could get to the other side, of course.

Rollo shoved his hand into the miniature couloir. The light danced against the cramped space and his fingers cast long shadows against the craggy slabs. However…

Something furry occupied the area, as well.

A creature dangled above. It was only a bit larger than the fire Rollo held. Leathery wings wrapped around itself.

A bat.

It stirred, the fire likely disturbing its slumber. The bat turned its ugly face toward him, its nose akin to a pig’s with some added deformity. Beady red eyes met his.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Run. He had to run. There was something wrong with this animal, some strange intent he couldn’t discern.

His flame went out.

Rollo’s heart leapt into his throat.

Wings beat against the air as the bat swooped past him, giving short, piercing shrieks as it went. The sound drilled into his ears. He covered them with his hands and crouched down, waiting until the noise faded into nothing.

Now what? The darkness pressed against him again, seeping into his eyes, frigid and deadly. He tried to summon fire again the way he had before—by picturing it in his mind’s eye and allowing that despicable force to move through him.

It did not work. He couldn’t remove whatever blockage prevented magic from sliding out of him without his consent.

What had he done to deserve this?!

His head pounded. His breath came shallow, scraping his throat.

Faintly, in the distance, a deep voice called his surname.

The dragon. Had the bat gone to fetch Malleus? Perhaps there were more waiting all around this cave. Maybe he had passed some before he had come to this obstruction and they had left, too.

“Flamme?” came the voice again, bouncing around the walls, louder now. He was coming closer.

Until this point, the cavern had been open enough for a beast of Malleus’ size to wander through. He could not fit through this passage.

Rollo shoved half of himself into the crevice. Uneven rock abraded the right side of his body, biting through his clothes to get at his skin. He could deal with the consequences later—if he could just get to the water, he might be able to escape!

He squirmed his way through, the area so tight around him that he couldn’t take a full breath. One step, two, three—!

His right foot careened downward and encountered nothing but air. Rollo yelped, his stomach lurching. He clung to two jutting stones, his arms straining to hold him upright. Pebbles and bits of sediment tumbled down around him. Water splashed somewhere below, but how far he could not tell.

He was going to fall, he was going to drown, he was going to freeze to death, and his life had amounted to absolutely nothing.

Warm fingers closed around his left wrist. Rollo screeched. A man? Woman? Demon? Whatever it was, when Rollo turned his head its way, two green eyes glowed in the dark. The dragon? But these had pupils and were much smaller… They hovered only a few finger-widths above Rollo’s own line of sight.

“Do you intend to go for a swim?” Malleus asked, his tone placid. “It would be your last. Come, Flamme. You stand to hurt yourself if you go any further.”

Rollo had no retort. The dragon had caught him. Running was not an option now.

A moment later, the jaws of the cave vanished. He stood before those chartreuse lights, faint as they were. Had Malleus moved him with magic?

“Hm, you have ruined your clothing and injured yourself.” Malleus breathed in through his nose. “And you have continued to use magic after pouring out so much earlier… You smell of ink. It is a good thing Lilia restricted your channeling when he did, otherwise...” A pause. “How do you remain on your feet?”

Rollo said nothing. His body screamed at him to lay down, but he did not have the luxury.

“What a strange creature you are, Flamme.”

“Hmph. You’re one to talk,” he said, a wheeze to the words. “Why did you grab me with a human hand?”

It must have been some projection or a false creation made to, what, soothe him? It was better than claws or teeth, at least…

“Ah, I suppose you cannot see me.” Malleus released him. “It is far easier to maneuver around the vicinity in this form, constraining as it is. Now, hold still.”

He could occupy a humanoid body? Grotesque. It must have the wrong bones and misplaced limbs—a frightening thought.

Then he had told him to ‘hold still.’ An absurd thing to say. What did he think Rollo was going to do? He couldn’t bolt if everything was black.

Hot prickles spread along his stomach. Rollo grimaced. They soon faded and Rollo brushed his fingertips against the area and felt nothing but smooth skin. Of all things, Malleus had healed him.

“Why?” he blurted.

“Hm?” The pair of eyes tilted.

“Why bother?”

“You would rather keep your wounds?”

Rollo scoffed. “What does it matter if you intend to eat me regardless?”

There was a long pause. In the darkness, it seemed to stretch on forever, and it left Rollo wondering if Malleus hadn’t used magic to depart.

“Eat you?” Malleus asked at length. “You believe I will eat you?”

“What else could you possibly want from me?”

“Was I unclear? Hmm… You have used a great deal of your strength today, so I suppose you aren’t thinking properly. Know this: I do not integrate food into my household.”

That statement sank into him piece by piece.

It could have been a lie, but why would that be necessary? In truth, Malleus could consume his flesh whenever he saw fit. Whether it be in this cave or out in the fields. As a goatherder who had stood out in open plains without any companions save animals, he would have been an easy target, as could a number of other occupations. And yet, he had never seen a dragon until today. Indeed, outside of stories, he had never heard of a dragon eating anyone.

Maybe he was not in mortal danger. Which would mean he had tried to flee through the caves for nothing…

“Regardless,” Malleus continued, “I thank you for this amusing game of hide and seek, but you need rest. Let us return.”

Another trek was the last thing his body wanted to accomplish. Still, he readied himself to move.

Then, within the span of a blink, his stomach twisted. Bright light slammed into his face. Rollo cringed and covered his face with his hands. A breeze fluttered about him, its temperature mild.

When the streaming sun no longer hurt, Rollo looked around. They had returned to the entrance. The dragon lounged nearby, watching him as the trident tip of his tail wiggled back and forth.

Rollo sat on the floor and let out a long sigh. More magic. His legs ached and his feet throbbed, so he supposed he could not complain about the way they had skipped another hike.

Each time he allowed his eyelids to close, they threatened to refuse to lift. It had been a long, long time since his body had yearned for sleep like this, rather than forcing him to lie awake at night.

“Flamme. I have prepared food for you.”

Rollo turned toward the voice. Atop its head, in between its horns, the bat with the ugly crescent nose from earlier perched. So the dragon had allied itself with flying rats.

Next to them was an entire cow lying on its side. Its chest did not rise or fall, but its coat was pristine.

“Go on. You still hunger, do you not?” Malleus gestured one of its claws toward the cow. “No need to hold back.”

Oh, he did not have the endurance for this. Did Malleus expect him to bite into a cow, hair and all?

“Raw?” He shook his head. “No. I’m too exhausted to eat, anyway.” Rollo eased himself down so he was lying on his back.

“You will doze?” the dragon asked.

“I intend to try.”

“I will assist you.”

Assist? What did that…?

He did not have time to finish that thought as his consciousness faded. Each of his muscles relaxed, some for the first time in months if not years. Rollo fell into a deep, deep slumber.

***

Malleus stared at his human pet as he slept.

Such creatures were so fragile—a mere thimbleful of magic-use more would push Flamme too far. And yet, he had been able to stand and even speak. What allowed him to do so? Was he unique among humans? Malleus had, thusfar, few dealings with them, despite the fact that they were his subjects as much as any other being that dwelled on his land.

Lilia hopped off his head and flew up to the ceiling. He gripped onto it and hung upside down.

“And where did you find this slippery human?” he asked.

“Did you notice that surge of magic some hours ago? It was beyond our forest.”

One of Lilia’s large ears twitched. “He was the source?”

“Yes. His control is childlike, but he can force a dangerous amount out into the world at once. It would have killed him.”

With a thoughtful hum, Lilia wobbled side to side until he was gently swinging. “I see. But why bring him here?”

Malleus turned toward Flamme again. His gray eyebrows had furrowed, which made him appear as though he was irritated that he was asleep. Did his oddities ever cease?

“I saw an opportunity in him. Despite humans’ ignorance of magic, they are a species not incapable of learning. If I teach him how to control and harness it, perhaps I could send him back into the world so he could then inform others, who would then spread that knowledge further. After many generations, this could prevent most human overblots.” He paused. “Though his herd would not likely accept him back… but there are others.”

Lilia slowed his swaying until he came to a stop. “Hm! Your grandmother would never have considered taking a human under her wing.” Lilia grinned, showing off tiny, but sharp, teeth. “Yes, it is an unorthodox idea, but it is suitable for a youth such as yourself.”

Malleus’ tail swished against the stone floor. “The humans of this land are my subjects as much as the fae and the animals, after all.”

And, like it or not, humans were the only beings creating gargoyles. Fae did not need them and animals had no concept of them, but humans had a fascination with functional decoration.

“Indeed!” Lilia chirped. “Ah, you are maturing so well. I remember when you still had eggshell on your snout…” He pretended to sniffle, but quickly dropped the façade. “You are quite lucky that I’m an expert on raising mammals.” Lilia shuffled his feet around the small outcropping he hung from until he looked in Flamme’s direction. “First, you should make him a nest.”

Most creatures did prefer to sleep in some sort of structure. Malleus did not mind sleeping on the floor, but he did not have a hoard that lent itself to a comfortable night’s rest.

“What sort of nests do humans use?”

“A variety. I see them when I have a craving for blood of the animals they keep.” Clawed toes released and Lilia was on the air, gliding over to Flamme. He flew in a circle around him before returning to Malleus and landing on his nose. “He’s of the variety that sleeps inside a square. I can tell.” Lilia brushed the nails on the tip of his wing in four connected straight lines.

“Inside a square?”

“Yes, they build them from tree carcasses and go inside, as though crafting their own tiny caves. Some have triangles formed of mud and straw on top. They also light fires inside them, the silly things.”

This had more complexities than he had previously imagined. But Lilia was much older than he was and more worldly, so he knew a great deal about these things compared to Malleus.

Thus, with his instruction, Malleus crafted a proper lair for his pet. Building it from wood did not strike him as wise considering Flamme’s affinity for fire, so he opted for a facsimile. Four walls of stone in the shape of stacks of logs and sticks rose around Flamme in a tight square, scarcely larger than the man himself. As far as Malleus knew, prey animals preferred tight spaces. Nothing lower on the food chain than a dragon could be a pure predator. Doubtless he would feel safe.

As for the crowning triangle, a mix of mud and dead grass struck him as too base and mammalian for his cave. More rock would do just fine. This did result in Flamme becoming trapped inside his little home, so Malleus took one of the walls away.

Finally came the flooring.

“Humans line their burrows with straw,” Lilia said. “The ground is too hard for him.”

Why were humans so particular?

Rather than fetch any plant matter, Malleus turned the area beneath Flamme into sand. That would be good enough.

Lilia crawled around the newly formed hovel. He moved one limb at a time—first a wing with his single thumb claw scratching against the cavern floor, then a leg, then another wing, and so forth. What he lacked in terrestrial prowess he made up for in silent flight. When he had done a full revolution, he gestured for Malleus to lower his head. He did so, placing his chin on the ground. Lilia then climbed up his face to settle between his horns once more.

“How long will you have him slumber?”

Malleus glanced up at the opening of the cave mouth. The light outside was shifting into pinks and purples.

“When the scent of ink fades.”

“It will be sunrise before that. Hm, and the sun is setting at this very moment!” He tapped a limb on Malleus’ head. “I should call upon Silver and see if he is all right. It would do him no good to fall asleep standing up again.” Lilia hurled himself into the air and flew toward the sky. “Until morning, Malleus!”

And then he was gone.

Malleus peered at his pet once more. His feeble chest rose and fell, but that frown of his had not retreated in the least.

To think that Flamme had thought he planned to eat him. Would he not be shocked to find himself a comfortable little human home when he awoke? How grateful would he be? Immensely.

But Malleus could not sit and stare at Flamme all night long. No. He had important business to attend to.

He hadn’t visited his hoard in hours.

In a flash, he teleported to a hidden chamber of his den. There, exactly eleven pieces of masonry waited.

Gargoyles.

Malleus curled up in the corner and let his gaze roam around his prizes, each doubtless created for him. Humans had named them after his great-great-great grandfather Gargouille, which was evidence enough that they meant them as offerings. Some took the forms of ugly birds or humanoids, but the oldest, and his most treasured, donned a reptilian appearance with roaring mouths and outstretched wings.

Each was beautiful in its own way. He did not begrudge the craftsmen for giving the gargoyles different shapes—variety made his collection more vibrant. His heart swelled at the sight of them.

Humans alone created these works of art, all in the service of honoring dragons. It would be rude to spurn them. He accepted any and all that he saw, but he had not seen many in his flights around his land as of late.

If he treated Flamme well… could he convince him to craft a gargoyle? He may even do it of his own accord. Malleus could make his own, of course, but that would be pointless. The appeal of these objects was the worship that went into them.

Oh, the possibilities!

Hours passed as Malleus turned these thoughts over in his mind. What sort of creature would Flamme carve? Where would he place the waterspout?

Only time would tell. And Malleus had plenty of that.

Chapter three (just stops when I got bored)

Rollo woke and found himself encased in uneven stone. 

A tomb.

Sweat trickled down his brow as his mind raced. Had the dragon been some hallucination he had conjured as he was dying? Or had it been something he had dreamt as his fellow villagers had buried him alive?

A rush of hot air swept across his feet all the way to his head. He turned his gaze toward it.

A massive green eye blinked.

Well… Maybe he hadn’t woken up after all.

“Flamme,” the dragon said. “It is morning.”

“...Is it?”

“Yes. Now… Tell me your thoughts about the nest I made for you.”

The what?

Rollo reached over and touched the ceiling above. It hovered perhaps a hand width over his head, offering him little maneuverability. Grains of sand cascaded off his arm. Why? It was all around him.

The dragon had made this? 

“It’s cramped.”

“Yes,” Malleus said, as though he complimented it.

Rollo frowned. “I thought it was my tomb.”

There was a pause.

“Is it common for humans to die in their nests?”

Rollo let out a long sigh. There was little point in expecting a dragon to know how humans lived, he supposed. It had made an attempt to give him a comfortable place to sleep, which was kind, even if he had failed.

“It can happen. Would you move? I must crawl out if I hope to leave and you’re blocking my exit.”

It obliged, shifting its mass away. Rollo, scarcely able to turn himself over, inched out backwards on his hands and knees. 

Once free, his stomach growled, more insistent than it had been the day before. Malleus gestured to the bovine carcass again.

This was going to be a long morning.

First, he had to relieve himself. Malleus insisted he do it outside of the cave, which suited Rollo just fine. When he was out there, among the grass and the trees swaying in the wind, he considered running. But if the dragon had no intention to harm him, then what reason did he have to leave? His village would do him harm in a heartbeat, as would others in the region once they heard about what had happened. Not that it was his fault, of course. They had threatened his life—he couldn’t be blamed. Not that it would stop anyone from doing so.

In the end, he had returned to the dragon of his own volition. 

Then came the matter of breakfast. He had to explain that humans skinned and cooked animals before they ate them. He could accomplish this—someone had to slaughter and prepare the goats that served no other purpose—but it would take time. If he wanted to eat sooner, it would be better to find some fruit.

The dragon had tilted his head. “So particular. Well, if it must be that way, then so be it. I will dissect the cow for you.”

That did not sound promising.

“In the meantime,” it continued, “I suggest you wander about the forest. There are plum trees and mushrooms and so forth.”

The dragon did not seem at all worried about him bolting, which in turn meant that ensuring he remained was not significant. He genuinely must not intend to crush his bones between his teeth. 

Malleus lifted Rollo with an invisible force—magic, no doubt—and brought him to the mouth of the cavern. Then Rollo was on his own. 

So much had changed in the span of a day. Yesterday morning, he had woken on his bed made of straw and prepared to tend to the village’s herd of goats. Now, he lived with a dragon. To what end? Malleus must want something from him, unless… unless he saw him as a pet? 

He wrinkled his nose at that thought. Did he want to spend his life sleeping in that ‘nest’? 

For the moment, he had to at least recover his strength. He need not make a decision on what to do next so soon.

Light streamed through the canopy of leaves. The endless storm of the past week or so had ended. The elders that had survived must have been happy about that. 

As Rollo wandered, the scent of greenery, of life was all around him. Birds tittered and flitted from branch to branch while bugs inched along the ground, seeking sustenance. Not unlike himself, he supposed. 

It did not take long for him to stumble upon a tree bursting with golden mirabelle plums. He plucked one and devoured it, heedless of the juice that dribbled down his chin. No one was around and he could not be blamed for being sloppy when he hadn’t eaten in over a day.

Rustling leaves sounded behind him. Rollo whirled around. Fool that he was, he hadn’t considered what dangers might lurk in this forest.

Some paces away, a fallow deer with shining silver fur stared at him with eyes of swirling pinks and purples. It sniffed the air, its ears pointed at Rollo. From its thick and sturdy antlers hung an ugly bat, its wings tucked about itself like a blanket. 

Did those cave bats have allies all over this forest? It couldn’t be the same one he had stumbled upon the day before, could it?

The buck took a cautious step forward and paused, its gaze never leaving Rollo for an instant. It strode forward again and stopped. It then lowered its head. Was it trying to bow…?

“You must be the human Lord Malleus brought home,” it said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Rollo leaned backward. A dragon being able to speak was one thing. Malleus had shown himself to be a magical creature with its own intelligence. A deer was a common animal, so how could it communicate? However… the coloring of its fur and the fact that it had approached him did imply it was something more than the average deer.

“Do all the animals of this forest speak?” he asked flatly.

The buck blinked, its long eyelashes briefly resting against the fur of its face. “No. Only fae or those under Lord Malleus’ employ.”

Fae… Long ago, it was said that fae and humans lived together, but repeated conflicts had driven the two apart. Never in his life had he taken these tales seriously. He did have to admit that they were far more plausible now that he had met a dragon…

He should have paid more attention to stories of that nature. As it was now, he knew next to nothing about fae.

[jimmy-carmine]

So, some problems accessing D2 today so I instead decided to go back in time 10 years to where it all began

This may be the first time in a very long time that I've used my Xbox, given my inability to find the controller

This guy is still kicking around. Having missed out on the character transfer from D1 to D2, I've let this guy retire. The character is always there if I want to use it, but headcanon is he's out at Lady Efrideet's pacifist retreat, exploring better ways to use his Void Light beyond slaughtering Fallen, Vex, and Cabal.

He's having a great time...

Less so this guy, I really wish I could hold down the Screenshot button on Xbox like I can with Steam, there was an amazing bit of sideye your character gives the Speaker while he's mid-speech

Hello, I am familiar looking dumbass space wizard dude, I sure hope nothing bad happens to this fancy tower and the room where I keep all my stuff

So, I've gone back and created my D2 Titan in D1, I know my original headcanoning was that he was a post-Red War New Light, but I decided to go full George Lucas and retroactively change everything!

That's right, I was The Young Wolf the whole time!

This also gives me a great excuse to play The Taken King and Rise of Iron, which I missed out on first time around as I had drifted away to offline gaming due to my housing at the time not really having much in the way of useful internet

I've clocked in about 7 hours of Destiny this evening (which wasn't the plan for tonight) and I'd forgotten how different the game felt from Destiny 2. Not that it detracted from my enjoyment, it felt like no time at all had passed and I was back at it again... a feeling probably helped by the fact I ran the D2 Sepiks Prime strike yesterday so the D1 version felt very familiar

I'd forgotten how much I loved the original Tower, and the nostalgia when I was in Orbit or Warping my way to Venus/Mercury for the TTK Solar quest was incredible

I think I'm going to enjoy popping back to this every now and then

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Armageddon

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing

Ramirez’s execution of their escape had been possible, but not particularly pretty. He could fly a shuttle sure, but when they were all used to Adam taking the joystick, to have anyone else do it was a bit of an ordeal.

“Should have seen that coming.” Sunny snarled, “Should have known she was going to backstab us like that.”

Lanus, busy scrolling through baby pictures, looked up at his daughter from where he sat next to his son in law. The expression on his face was one of deep sadness. Sunny had had plenty of time to get over whatever lingering feelings she might have had for her mother, and move straight on into hatred, but Lanus had died before really experiencing what she had become.

The wounds were still fresh.

Out the front windscreen, things were not looking much better.

Shots were yet to be fired, but the two standing armadas bristled with waiting action, slowly forming into more cohesive attack formations. On their left was the Maker army, with the Empyrean at the center of a wide formation done in ever decreasing concentric circles.

On the right, was the void armada, and they were doing something…

Odd.

Adam stood rom his seat, walking forward to rest his hands on the back of the copilot’s chair, “What are they doing?”

Behind him, the others crowded inward. Adham rested an absent had on his shoulder squinting out towards the flurry of motion baced by the blackness of space. The ship were difficult to see, but the orange light emanating from their engines gave them away enough to watch as the armada retreated, forming a vast sphere around the Necritorium.

As they watched, a russet grid of orange polygons began to erupt around the planet, forming some sort of defensive shield. Ship engines glowed orange as their energy stores were expended.

The russet shield pulsed.

And the planet began to turn, rotating vertically even as it continued to spin on its axis.

“I don't like the look of this .” Adham muttered 

The rest of the crew couldn’t help but agree, but all they could do was watch in helpless confusion as the entire planet was rotated into place. Behind it the black hole pulsed with many waving tendrils of blackness stretching out from its center and out into the black reaches of space, Apollyon defying the very laws of nature.

“Where’s the architect?” Ramirez said 

The question was very sudden, almost out of the blue, but when he asked Adam realized that he had been thinking the same thing this whole time. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the architect, probably not a matching tentacle mass but in white instead of black, that would have been a bit too obvious, but the man stepping up to take hold of the empyrean and lead their armies might have made more sense.

Adham was silent for a long time, and Adam was surprised when it was Lanus who spoke next, “We don’t know.”

Adam frowned, “What do you mean you don’t know.”

Lanus shrugged, “The architect is…. Surprisingly unobtrusive. The few times he shows himself he takes a new form every time. He likes to disguise himself as common soldiers until he is needed and tends to communicate telepathically when something needs to be done…. his … presence is all around us. It is just simply not as tangible as some might prefer.”

Adam sighed, “Well that is incredibly helpful.”

Lanus shrugged

Adham sighed, “Either way, what matters now is figuring out what they are trying to do wi-”

He was cut off as the ships comms buzzed.

“Who?” Adam asked.

“Empyrean, patching them through.” Ramirez said 

They were close enough to the empyrean now that the people on board could probably have waited, but whatever the empyrean needed to say, they needed to say it fast. “Adham sir, the empyrean is detecting massive energy readings of the necrotorium. We have stealth shuttle images of the surface of the planet. They’re uncovering some sort of massive hole reaching down towards the center of the planet. Our calculations figure its aimed right at the center of the black hole if that means anything.

Adam shifted nervously and glanced at Sunny, “I really don;t like the sound of that.”

“That makes two of us.” She said, reaching out a hand to rest on his arm.

“What else do we know?” Adham asked

The radio was partially silent for a moment before the voice continued“The energy buildup, as soon as the hole was uncovered we detected massive energy readings, and I mean massive. Something never before seen is kind of massive.”

“I don't like the sound of that.” The sentiment was voiced by multiple people inside the shuttle as they approached the docking bay.

“Yes sir, if they were to reverse the directionality of their funnel and use all the energy they have collected from the Necritorium….. Well, they would essentially be feeding Maker souls directly into the black hole…. Directly to Apollyon.”

Adham went very rigid and very silent. The rest of the shuttle took a little longer to understand what that meant before Ramirez finally caught on whispering, “He’d eat all the energy….. Destroy the maker souls….. Destroy all of that energy.”

Who knew, the black hole could get bigger.

He could destroy everything 

Make it so that nothing existed…..

Again.

“Holy shit.” Adam muttered

Lanus squeezed Sunny by the shoulder, his face grim.

“We have to do something.”Adam said, just as Ramirez touched them down upon the ship’s deck inside the safety of the Empyrean’s belly. He slammed his fist against the release catch on the shuttle hatch and stepped out onto the frantic landing bay. All around them, ships were being outfitted for war, but he ignored them as he turned to look at his companions, sweeping his eyes over each and every last one of them until his eyes landed on Adham, “We have to stop them. The necritorium, we have to shut it down before they are able to open that beam.”

Adham nodded, ‘That is at least something we can agree on. If that beam goes off, if they do what it looks like they are planning to do, trillions of lives, trillions upon trillions will be lost. Apollyon will grow in power and begin to consume the universe as we know it. Everything will be destroyed. This is the first step in that plan.”

Adam nodded, “Only option is to go down there, dismantle everything, free the trapped souls if we can.”

“Kill Kazna.” Sunny growled.

Lanus paused, “I am not sure if that is a  good idea…. She might be more powerful dead.”

Sunny frowned, “We will burn that bridge when we get to it.

Adam nodded, “This is it, it's going to take us a battle to get to that planet, to make it through that shield. We are going to have to put together a strike team with the best chance of getting things done,”  He looked at Adham, “You make a team, and I make a team. Hopefully one of us is going to make it through.”

“You have someone in mind?” Adham wondered.

Adam smiled only slightly, “In fact, I have an army.”

***

He wasn’t kidding about the army, at least not really. Adam had been expecting something like this, and aside from the armada he had legions of foot soldiers to follow along, and many others had offered their services to the cause including plenty of familiar faces.

Of course there was Celex, Sunny, Ramirez and Conn serving most commonly at his side since the early days, then there were others, people like Kanan, Dzara, Etium,  King James, Queen Xanthia, Sgt Kimball, Steel Eye soldiers Jane and Lindsay, Hijan, who insisted on coming despite her age, she wished to die in glorious battle and this may be her last chance to do so despite the risk at which she put her soul. 

There were hundreds more, thousands more, Thousands of eager drev warriors, including the clans headed by Hizad and Ranasash, Neospartans, UNSC soldiers under the command of President kelly. There was lord Avex and millions of Celzex soldiers all ready for battle, entire swarms of Burg ships. All of these supported by Finnari and Vrul  eager but terrified to be involved.

But his only goal now was to make it to the surface of that planet.

That was the plan.

A full orbital assault, like nothing that had ever been coordinated in the history of the GA.

He spoke with Adham, they would attack from all sides, and hopefully one of them would manage to make it in.

This was it 

This was the day he would go to die.

It was the one horrible thought he kept in his mind as he prepared his jet, an F-90 Darkfire, an old model now but one he was familiar with. If he was going to go down it would be here, now in something familiar. He certainly didn’t expect the tap on the shoulder that nearly startled him out of his flight suit.

He turned, Surprised to find Krill standing at his back, not in his human form just then, but followed by a rather winded looking soldier who  huffed and puffed against a cart upon which he pushed a steel eye suit.

“Krill, is everything alright.”

The little alien buzzed his antenna.

“I will be coming with you.”

His proclamation was enough to floor adam for a brief moment, until he found himself confused and sputtering.

“No, I need you back on this ship, to take care of the injured.”

“You are taking an army into enemy terretory, and the consequence of you dying is getting your soul sucked into a torture funnel. I do not wish to let that happen.” 

Adam shook his head, “Krill I can’t allow.”

“This was not me asking for permission, Human.” Been a while since Krill had called him that.

“I will help you, I will see this through to the end.”

“But…. your body, the G forces of something like this WILL kill your normal body.”

Krill shook his head, “I have thought of this, and I have a plan.” 

[opal-owl-flight]

hi! i love your aus and art with that lying egg, but im a bit confused on when the different story arcs or aus started. are they tagged? thank you!!

I actually havent started on the others ISJSEKJZ

But basically… (LET THIS BE THE MAGOLOR ARC MASTERPOST!) everything under the cut. Its super long KSJS

Pre-RTDL. Havent actually posted about it, if I remember correctly. But this ask kind of covers what happened to Halcandra. The arc is Mags surviving in the destroyed planet with Void Termina being a little shit and feeding his desire for vengeance (blowing it up into a hatred towards the universe) and playing on his insecurities. Finding the Lor, meeting Marx, etc etc. (Related: the timeline of events including the two galactic crises that befell the Ancients)

RTDL has a retelling which I havent touched on in my own posts yet (its usually me rambling in the tags). Involves Mags interacting with the Popstar Four, growing fond of the planet, finding friendship with them as a not so bad thing, growing hesitant with his plans for conquest… Termina convincing him otherwise.

post-RTDL-SA has a retelling, which I should talk about more. Mags is still a little shit for a while, still thinking about conquest or power, stealing relics, manipulating the Four. Reminiscent of the stuff in the light novels. He only makes legit attempts at turning good after Robobot (bc Kirby was able to drive away the HALTMANNS, who destroyed his old home)! SA has him proving himself as a good ally. Shaky trust with the Allies but hes taking it.

SA-FL has him trying harder to build more trust. Not the best attempts but he really is trying!

FL postgame. False Paradise. Talked about briefly here (the link on the ask details it a bit more)!

Zero3 arc. Not talked about yet. Will someday! AFTER I FIND A MORE PROPER NAME FOR IT. (Considering Into the Darkness or something that involves eyes). Referenced here and here! (And here too!) Melania looks for knowledge and finds out about/summons Zero to “know true despair”. Morbidly curious fellow, she is. Anyway, as for Mags, his attempts at being good are much more legitimate here. He cares for Popstar, he cares for the Allies. He wants to be better for them bc they have…somewhat accepted him into their home. Part of the ending here!

Mangoes and Berries. This is the romance arc with Mags and Meta. I dont really tag this one bc its just the two being gay disasters AKDJEK. Touch of angst bc Mags is stupid in love with Meta and is drifting away from Marx. But they all make amends. Such a shame that all those promises of staying together get smashed in the next arc.

Back to Zero. This is tagged as such! Starting here. Everything’s in the link, this post’s already long ENOUGH

Recovery arc, will talk on it more. Usually tagged as back to zero, but needs its own tag. A post about it here!

Legacy arc. Revelation about the Haltmanns. Im currently messing with this one as I learn more about Robobot. Its on the first link I posted, and then delved into more here and here.

Rising Storm. A new threat brews… is Mags really the last of his kind? Starts here, but its tagged as such as well!

The Retreat. Mags is called by a mysterious force. He ascends into a higher form at the end. Posted about it here

Bonus next gen stuff. The “epilogue” as I call it. Here, here, and here!

This is all ONE au/interp. A month or more of work…Ive been watching this egg grow into someone honorable. Im proud of him.

[accidentalmistress]

Accidental Mistress - Take

Know what today is? IT'S DOUBLE POST DAY.

That's right, I'm posting two Accidental Mistress fics, because the one that was scheduled to be posted today (this one) is really dang short. And you, my lovely readers, deserve more. So more you shall have!

Also this one is kind of sad and doesn't have any sneeze content, only whump. WARNING: this piece delves a bit into Noelle's past trauma and therefore may be a little heavy. If you're only in the mood for sexy fun, you may want to skip to the next piece.

(More Accidental Mistress content can be found on the Master Post.)

Title: Take

Word Count: 660

Content and Warnings: whump, sexual assault (remembered)

In which painful memories make a midnight manifestation.

---------------------

"You are forgetting your place, my dear little Single-winged Sparrow."

Such a voice, soft as a mother's caress and beautiful as the rain, should not be able to say such things. If felt as an injustice to the very order of the world.

"Remember, I have but a single use for you, as you have failed my every other expectation."

Fingers cold as death touched her face. She wanted to shrink away from that touch, but her body would not obey.

"I do not tolerate failure, my dear… but I am not wasteful of things with some value. There is still a chance for you to bear the Sisterhood a daughter who possesses the aptitude you do not. So long as you serve this purpose, you have worth to me."

Those fingers grabbed her jaw, sharp nails digging into her cheeks, as the smoking void that was a face glared at her with unseen eyes.

"I will send another this night. You had best hope that this time your womb accepts the seed, for if you cannot fulfill even this simple task… then I have no use for you."

The hand released her jaw with a harsh shove that knocked her back onto the floor.

"Things that are useless, worthless, have no purpose or value—such things I do not squander my time upon. I am not wasteful. Remember that, little Single-winged Sparrow."

Somehow she found her voice as the sound of footsteps retreated and darkness closed in.

"Mother… Please, no… Please! Mother?"

The gilded cage with the void-face inside swayed as it was carried further and further away, ignoring her cries.

"Mother! Please don't… I don't want to…"

As the last of the light faded, leaving her in suffocating darkness, another set of footsteps approached. Heavier. Harder.

"No… No, please! I don't want to! Mother!"

A vague shape in the dark, an oppressive shadow, pressed in on her, smothering her as rough hands touched her body, held her down. Her movements were sluggish and weak, powerless against the unfolding horror. The shadow forced her legs apart, even as she sobbed.

"Mother!"

Noelle shot up in bed, clutching her blankets to her chest as sweat ran down her back and dripped from her brow. Her lungs pulled in gulps of air with shuddering breaths. The room swam in the darkness without her glasses, but relief washed over her with the affirmation that it was indeed her room.

"Mmh? What is it?"

His sleepy voice beside her was tinged with concern. Even as traces of the nightmare lingered in the tears on her cheeks, she didn't want to worry him. Those memories belonged in the past.

"It's n-nothing." Her voice betrayed her with a quaver. "Just a… a dream."

She waited for him to turn over and go back to sleep. She could process this on her own, always had. Instead Oraion sat up next to her, his touch a gentle warmth on her arm.

"What do you need?"

A sob welled in her throat. His hands were never rough with her, never touched her in ways she did not like, never forced her to do things she did not want. Noelle fell against him, pressing her face into his chest. How could a demon be the kindest person she knew? The only people in her life that deserved to be called demonic were always human.

"It's all right, I’m here. I will never allow anything to harm you… my dear Mistress."

Strong arms pulled her in close, rubbing her back with a large, warm hand. Sheltered in his embrace, she believed him. Under the protection of Oraion, wielding the power of a Greater Demon, she would never again experience those horrors. Even if she was a sparrow with only one wing, Oraion would always be there to lend her his.

Once Noelle’s tears had dried, she fell asleep cradled in her beloved Servant’s arms, and that night she dreamed no more.

[danse-or-farkas]

TESFEST22 Day 2: Magic

June 12th - Storms / Magic

I had enough notes and bits left in the WIP from yesterdays entry to throw together a chapter 2. There is now only a few hundred words left in the doc, the tank is empty, the well has run dry.

Please ignore that its technically the first hours of day 3 in my timezone.

Just short of 2400 words. will be posted to AO3 too.

Farkas entered the chamber, his sword held at the ready.

The air wasn’t tomb dry, that taste of magicka suspended rot and old earth drowned out by something else. Velum and scribes ink if he had to guess. No matter how he tried to find what about it was alerting him it slipped him by, growing ever more insistent by the second.

The Whelp was a handful of paces behind and letting him take the lead. Geir was usually much more heavy in his footfalls, perhaps taking the task seriously for once. Between Vilkas, Farkas, Skjor, and Aela they had gambled on a game of Pale Pass who was to be his sponsor and mentor in this task. Farkas’ losing cards decided the task fell to him alone.

They stepped down into what appeared to be some sort of meeting chamber, the draugr here slain as had the others along the path. Their wounds were seared, likely by silver, the hint of cooked foul meat something he had missed the first time this had happened.

He picked up a book from a table, crumbling between his fingers like it had before. He was supposed to make a comment about it, instead staring at it as it dissolved into dry flakes and fluttered lightly to the ground.

The trap room snapped shut, the trellis falling, and Miraak simply tilted his head and made a mildly interested ‘hmm’ at it.

Looking at him properly for the first time it came back to him. Oblivion, the masked man, the inability for him to dream of anywhere but the Infinite Library.

The Silver Hand poured into the room, weapons ready as Farkas stared at that golden mask.

He only paid them any attention when they started to say their lines, more irritated that they didn't have the courtesy to stay dead after the first and real time.

This time Farkas gave them no opportunity to gloat, tearing the armour from his chest with a snapping of quick release bolts. One of them whistled past Miraak with some force, shattering an urn behind him. He didn't even flinch, sparing it only a passing look.

Fur and muscle and teeth and claws burst free as the armour fell away cleanly, to the immediate panic of the hunters. The script they were following wavered, Miraak watching those half born things of memory and void plasm fall from their purpose and for a brief moment become almost alive.

They had barely a moment to respond when their leader had their head sent an impressive distance away and the one behind them lost their throat and jaw with only a swingle swing of razor sharp claws. One of them managed to swing their sword, clumsy and untrained, missing entirely. They had no time to try again,  having their arm snapped like a dry twig for the effort before it was torn free from their body entirely.

Farkas dropped low onto his haunches and launched himself into the other two, crushing one to the floor hard with a dry crunch as their skull connected to ancient stone. They convulsed once under paw, blood trickling from anywhere it could escape before they simply went limp. The other was thrown back, barely managing to even get back onto their feet when they were torn to ribbons from navel to neck.

He turned with a snarl, gripping the bars of the cage with enough force to bend the ancient metal inwards.

“Are you quite done?” Miraak simply looked right into those burning white eyes, catching the moment of surprise with mild amusement. That hadn’t been how it had gone the first time around either, Geir had responded with undisguised disgust.

The fur retreated with a snapping of tendons and reforming of bones, folding back into itself until there was just a man holding himself up against the bars, wet with gore and panting with exertion.

“I think I am.” Farkas said, somewhat understanding what was happening and where he was.

“So what did you say when this actually happened?” Miraak smiled to himself, hidden by the mask. Farkas was very good at regulating his body language and expression, or more likely simply didn’t express himself outwardly much, but Miraak was getting very good at spotting the tells. His shoulders would square up and tense, and he would run his tongue over his teeth when irritated or disappointed.

“Hope I didn’t scare you.” He almost mumbled it, his quest to get anything but a raised eyebrow from Miraak still failing.

“I can imagine it terrified the person you were actually with.” Miraak could see just how it would be. Farkas had been a beautiful force to witness, skilful in that form in a way he had not seen in a very long time. There had once been a great many werewolves on Solstheim, near all of them savage things lacking grace or control. Farkas was certainly a cut above them. Not that Miraak would actually admit it aloud.

“What about you? Nothing?” It was hopeful, almost endearing. Almost. Miraak had once kept the company of the highest castes of scholars and priests, now he was reduced to a dreaming werewolf and the utterly humourless Daedra that floated around like jellyfish.

“No.” Miraak considered elaborating, the truth harmless to give away. “I have spent years beyond count in Oblivion. There are things here beyond mortal comprehension capable of horror beyond sanity. You are nothing to fear against such twisted things.” There was leviathans in the ink seas with jaws wide enough to snap up whole sections of library deemed useless to Mora, jellyfish like masses that floated through the stacks and fed on the flesh of lost travellers as they found themselves paralysed and terribly aware of it all, and humanoid masses of pale worm like creatures that dragged themselves through the dark maintaining the oppressive silence with their very presence.

“Sorry to hear that.” Farkas actually meant it, and for the first time in several nights of suffering their presence Miraak found himself without a sharp response.

“If you wouldn't mind, you are woefully underdressed.” Miraak swiftly changed the subject. He had no need nor desire for the pity of another damned soul. The Daedra had them both, the difference being Miraak could feel the bindings of Mora where this lost wolf soul could not feel Hircines. Yet. Hircine would put no collar upon his hound, but he would be a slave even without it once the Hunting Grounds took him.

“I have nothing to hide.” Farkas pushed back off the bars, folding his arms over his chest.

“And direly little dignity either.” Miraak gently lifted his mask ever so slightly, dropping it back after a cooling moment of the outside air. In better times his temple had entertained beauties so fair and warriors handsome, they had danced and sang and debauched for his pleasure, all eager to warm his bed. Now he had only the fleeting sight of a naked werewolf. Eternity had apparently done terrible things to his standards.

He had conversed often and fiercely with poets and scholars, philosophers and mages, the finest minds of all of Mereth and beyond. Now he only had that same naked werewolf that was happy to answer questions with grunts of negative or affirmative.

He couldn’t decide which fall was worse.

He had not yet fallen so low as to allow something as base as petty lust inspired by isolation cloud his judgement. He would be Mora damned twice over before bending knee to Sanguines sphere.

“I’ve got no shame in the body the gods gave me. I thought you were a Nord.” The only Nords offended by bared skin were those raised as Colovians, too many generations of proximity to the Nibenean Imperials had made them prudish and stuffy.

“In my era we were warrior scholars, noble and forthright, the light of civilisation in a land of ice touched savages. We were brought low only by the yoke of the Dovah. Since then it seems we have become feral and dull.” Miraak gave him a deliberate look up and down, exaggerated and obvious. “And apparently also quite happy to let it all fly free for the chill winds of winter to take. Clothe yourself.”

“If you insist.” Farkas recovered his armour parts, sitting naked upon the cold ground as he fixed a set of temporary rivets into the holes and reassembled it.

It hadn’t once occurred to him that he could have simply thought it back together, Oblivion unlikely to resist his will over the image he pressed upon it. Miraak considered suggesting it, much happier to simply let him endure the pointless task. He was reduced to petty victories, utterly unable to do any harm to him beyond sending him back to the Mundus.

“Feim.” Miraak spoke the Word and stepped through the bars, Farkas’ head turning sharply toward the sound.

“You can Shout?” His brow crinkled in confusion, watching as Miraak snapped from barely there to real in an instant. He had been witness to his Thuum once before, but the pressure had struck him deaf before the words had reached him. Now he understood a little more just how he had been caught off guard. That would not happen again if it came to it.

“I am Dragonborn. The first of my kind.” Miraak snorted, mildly offended that his art was not shown the proper deference. The Tongues of the years after his fall, and worst of all the fool Windcaller and his Greybeard acolytes, had taken what he had forged and elevated into a divine art form and twisted it first into a brutish weapon and then a cowards mantra. He would spit upon them all given half a chance.

“Some good you’re doing stuck here. The Dragonborn we’ve got still hasn't done their job.” Farkas laughed, dropping the armour over his himself and shimmying until his head popped out of the right hole.

“I am aware.” Even Farkas felt the ice in his words. That was not a topic to be spoken lightly of. Or at all given how Farkas could almost hear him gritting his teeth.

“You’re aware?”

“I can’t see them, not directly, but I see the ripples they make upon the world. They shy from their duty out of cowardice, seeking profit with thieves and assassins over ending Alduin.” A sharp breath was drawn, Miraak clenching his fists so tight the scaled plates started to scratch and screech in protest. “They see the world teetering on the edge of the abyss and they do nothing.”

“You’re safe here in Oblivion though?”

“Am I?” Miraak’s laugh was sharp and bitter.

With a simple flick of his wrist the candles snuffed out, plunging the room into perfect darkness. He had seen the draugr walks the corridors of a hundred grave fortresses, unshakingly carrying out their orders to keep every last detail in its right place without understanding just why they did so, and that included keeping the candles lit. A strange thing he had never properly considered just where they got fresh wax or tallow from. If he had cared to check he would have found fat rendered tallow could be drawn from adventurers, tomb robbers and bandits just as easily as it was scrapped from the hex hatched walls of a bee hive.

He raised a hand, drawing a lazy circle with one finger. The image formed from the wispy almost colour of illusion magic, a pinprick of green and blue against the darkness that grew to show vast continents and oceans, the turn of storms and sunlight cast from somewhere beyond the purview of the spell.

“The Mundus is the focal point of reality, the binding point anchoring the Towers and holding the Void back.”

Miraak clasped his hands and pulled, the image drawing away. Farkas finally realised had been looking at the mortal world when he saw the familiar shape of Tamriel alone in the middle of an ocean, such a small thing between four great landmasses it barely compared to. He only could give name to Atmora, grim and white to the north, and Akavir coiled and verdant to the east. The shattered charred black mass to the west and the sprawling islands to the south were wholly unknown to him.

Vilkas might have known, or at least been able to make an educated guess. Farkas would have asked him if there was a way to explain that he had been spending his nights in Herma-Mora’s plane of Oblivion talking to a clearly very bored masked sorcerer without his brother thinking he had completely lost his mind. He had to suppose his situation and madness were one and the same, the touch of The Woodland Man and the Mad God not too different in the end.

The image pulled away to show their worlds place as a grain of sand suspended between eight pillars of white and glass, fire and brass that he knew by the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach were so impossibly large a mortal mind could never truly fathom them. Between each sat sixteen bright stars floating in something like oil or thinly diluted tar, ripples and waves upon them casting strange patterns and colours.

Miraak reached up and plucked the mortal world from its place crushing it between thumb and finger.

“Alduin wins and Oblivion sinks too, it’ll just take a few days longer.”

The pillars cracked and crumbled, falling away. The sixteen stars strained and fought as their light dulled, the ocean they had formed around themselves flowing away into nothingness. Soon there was darkness again.

Miraak snapped his fingers and the candles flickered alight again.

“That is the fate of all worlds should your fool of a Dragonborn fail.”

He turned, hoping to see his unwilling companion at least a little impressed by his feat of magic. He found only an empty chamber.

He tried not to be disappointed. It was a losing task, something he was becoming intimately familiar with.

Time had gotten away from him, dawn snatching his only company.

[fantasy-so-far]

Day 7 - Terrible Twos

In the weeks following the Grimm Twins’ second nameday celebration, Lily and Rataskr had their hands full. Not only was Violetta now tall enough to reach the front door’s lock without lifting her brother, but Valerian had taught her, in their own special language, how to disengage it quietly. Even with predatory improvements to his senses, twice Rataskr did not realize the twins had gotten out of the barrow until their echoing giggles resounded from the exterior hallway. He was fast enough to catch them each time, but where he was frightened and frustrated, the twins measured their success by the obscure milestones they explored during their brief escapes. Often, they would return chewing on some foreign bit of lichen or a stone they picked up as they made a run for it.

There was accounting for taste, just as there was no reasoning with two-year-olds.

Rataskr, though able to stay awake and alert without tiring, was not always able to remain home. It was during one of his night trips that he received the most distressing call from his wife.

“Rataskr!” Lily rasped as she ran through the halls of the compound. “I need you to return. Violetta’s gone. She slipped out with Valerian while I was cleaning up baby sick. I found him, he was stuck in a drainage gutter, but no one had seen Violetta. Everyone’s looking, but no one wants to breathe a word of this to Our Patron. Please, return as fast as you can!”

Though still unfed, Rataskr transported himself back to the subterranean compound with little response. He had been mortal long enough to remember fear. His heart shuddered in his chest, unable to pound, and his breath was ragged even though he wasn’t panting. He scented the air near the kitchens, seeking his daughter’s aromatic presence, but found there was nothing. He felt genuine fear at that.

Violetta never voluntarily left her brother’s side.

Frantically and with no regard for the comfort of witnesses, Rataskr tore through the halls, searching ferally for his daughter. Lily offered progress reports, listing off the people she had talked to and the lack of sightings, between weepy sighs and sobs, but the Rataskr was only half aware of her. His search was swiftly becoming a hunt, and his mind was slipping into all the darkest parts of his twisted adaptation.

After exhausting every public space in the inner sanctum and residential tunnels, Rataskr turned his attention to the three unguarded exit tunnels. Though there were no patrols regularly posted in these tunnels, the local parasitic fauna and decaying state was often enough to keep people from traversing the routes. If no guards saw Violetta toddling along, he was left with only those decrepit paths to tread.

And it was at mouth of a webbed mite lair that Rataskr finally found his daughter.

“Violetta!” He shouted.

This call was answered with a squealing giggle as Violetta barely glanced back at him before wobbling faster toward the predator’s cave. A roar of frustration was cut with the chorus of dark magics crackling through space around her. A spray of blood and void buffeted the toddler as Rataskr appeared before her. His eyes glowed and he bared his double set of fangs at her, causing her squeals to become gasping shrieks. Never had she seen her father in such a way.

Was he even her da at all?

His sudden appearance scared her enough that she fell roughly onto her padded backside, scraping the hand that tried to catch her. She raised the other to shield her face as she started to wail and howl in terror.

“What do you think you are doing!?” Rataskr snarled.

He thrust a clawed finger back at the mite cave entrance as he yelled at his daughter, not registering her fear as anything more than a distraction.

Because that is what it was when he hunted.

Fear was a distraction presented by prey who were in denial.

He took a stalking step forward and, finally, when his daughter weakly scrambled to retreat, he recognized himself. He saw himself, as if reflected in the wide, tear-filled eyes of his beloved daughter.

“Oh…Violetta,” he said softly as he dropped to his knees and opened his arms. “Violetta I am so sorry. I was so scared.”

Being only two years old, Violetta didn’t understand his remorse. She didn’t know forgiveness or apology yet. She only knew those primal, instinctual reactions that were practically automated.

For several breaths, Rataskr was sure that once his daughter got her feet under her, she would run again. He knew that he’d have to catch her. Until that moment, though, he was resolved to sit in prostration before her. He couldn’t know if she would remember this trauma, but he knew he would.

When, at last, Violetta managed to get to her feet, she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. She blinked and whimpered as she managed to rub mud over her face. This new struggle and distraction bought Rataskr a few precious seconds.

“Violetta, come here. I will wipe your tears,” he offered, his voice a desperate whisper.

To his genuine surprise, his daughter opened her eyes and immediately walked to him, wailing yet again. She dropped herself into his arms, seemingly still frightened by some monster, but no longer aware that -he- had been that monster. She buried her face into his chest as he closed his arms gently around her and took solace in what he represented. If Lily was the face of guidance, he was the bulwark that kept his family safe.

“Oh, Violetta…I am so sorry. I was so scared,” he repeated.

As promised, he cleaned up Violetta’s face. He peppered her dark crown and stubby ears with kisses, and then finally picked her up to make the trek home. On his way, he called to Lilly.

“Lily-my-love, I have her. She’s alright. A bit scared and likely tired, but I found her. I will be home soon.”

Lily stemmed a tide of questions that rushed in with the wave of relief, and agreed to have a bath run for the twins. Rataskr took his time getting back, dividing the time and his thoughts evenly between comforting his daughter and reflecting on his condition. This only solidified his future self-sacrifice, because in his eyes, he was not fit to be a father to his children.

Monsters didn’t deserve precious things like family, love, or forgiveness.

[Master Post]

[cptn-m]

One Piece chapter 1108 review

Ooh, this is actually heating up right when I was expecting Egghead to start winding down and continue cutting off sources of tension. There was a point a year and a bit ago where the question might have been asked, 'why this arc, on this island?' If Oda is rushing to the finale, what does Egghead offer that Elbaf doesn't, and what will it add to contribute to the macro-level plot? Up til now, aside from wrapping up stories for supporting cast members like Bonney and Kuma, it seemed that maybe the main thing here was getting the scientists in the party and setting up more Void Century teases to develop more later. Well I think now we're getting the big thing that made Egghead unskippable.

But first we've got a Jump cover here, the latest in a long line of 'Luffy is about to punch you' covers, now in Gear Five form, and a very relaxed colour spread. Sure, why not give Uta another appearance in the manga. But what's that going on between Reiju and Tashigi? But my favourite thing here is the dapper canines in the portraits in the background. Cute stuff.

Caribou's scene feels like more of a recap than anything. I'm actually surprised to see him and the Blackbeard Pirates again so soon, I would have been satisfied if their time on Egghead wrapped up with the last chapter. Of course, there's no chance they choose not to take him with them, even if Oda leaves it ambiguous.

Now, I'm not a firearms guy. I don't live in one of those countries where you see them regularly. But is it just me or is Augur's form with the rifle really bad here, with the stock all the way out the back. You're meant to use that thing to brance for the recoil, right? So if he pulls the trigger this weird way he's holding it, the whole thing just slips between his arms and goes flying backwards, wouldn't it? I'll accept corrections for anyone who does know guns on this point.

I love getting names for all the vice admirals here. It's the details. Guillotine is still my favourite design of the batch.

The talk about taking back control of the Pacifistas by eliminating Bonney feels odd though. Is that how it works? So a person of equal rank in the hierarchy can't override orders, but the death of the current top dog will let someone lower down cancel their standing orders? Pacifista control is a mess, and for all the ways Egghead has been a breath of fresh air post-Wano, it's complicated contrivances like this that drag it down in the end-of-arc retrospective.

The giants' meetup with Franky's group has some interesting points. First: they don't recognise Franky because his bounty picutre was changed to the Sunny's figurehead. But that's still weird. It can't have been done just to set up this half-second misunderstanding. Franky's ready to square up, making the at this point safe assumption they've come as enemies, which is great from him. We learn that Usopp's been talking about his time with the giants to the crew since Franky joined. You have to assume that kind of offscreen bonding is happening, but it's always nice getting the little confirmations of it.

Glad to see one of the weaponised sea beasts survived. And Bluegrass and Doll manage to look very cool riding it back to Egghead. I wonder if Doll's connection to Saul is setting up a bigger arc or moment for her, or if it's just an excuse to remind casual readers of his name.

Saturn is truly terrifying in his new form. That's fantastic design. Even before Sanji points it out, you can see something is wrong with his eyes. That is one intense stare. And the fact that he doesn't speak once in the whole chapter makes him feel all the more inhuman. What is this man now, if he's still a man at all?

But where did Borsalino go after the last chapter's standoff. Has there been a little offscreen clash with Luffy and Sanji he's just retreated from? Was he forced to get out of the way as demon Saturn stampeded in? I'd rather have seen either of those things than releared what Caribou knows at the start of the chapter. It's not a hard one to explain, but it still feels like a continuity glitch, which is frustrating. It came up during the 'who fed Luffy' discussions in the past week that Luffy's position changes before and after the flashback, last seen in Franky's hands going in, then lying a decent way away from the group with no apparent action taken by him or Franky after. If there was one thing you could absolutely say in the Onigashima battle's favour, it's that it was intricately and carefully mapped. We had the layout of the whole castle and knew where everyone was inside it. No one teleported from one side to another in a single page, they got at least a little bit of offscreen time to travel before popping up somewhere new. The attention to detail was a highlight there, which makes it all the more disappointing that this battle's staging misses beats like this.

I can't help feeling really bad for Vegapunk as he lays dying here. Not because I'm super personally invested in him, but just because it feels so wrong for the character design. He's so goofy and cartoony with the apple head and forever-lolling tongue that he feels like he should be incompatible with blood. This guy should be giving me the tutorial of an edutainment game, not having his guts blasted out. Like a child, or a housepet, the apparent innocence makes it feel even crueller to attack him. (Apparent innocence only, we all know his morality is questionable at best given the horrors he enabled for the World Government.)

Borsalino getting to finish the job is a shock, and yeah, the monitor at the end does make me think the job is finished. Rough, and unexpected. I was better on Kuma's death and Vegapunk's rescue, but it looks like I got it the wrong way around. Luffy's giant transformation is an awesome panel, with just the intensity you want for a moment like this. No notes. I also love the smaller panel of the page showing him from ground level, towering over the buildings. Would love a bigger and more detailed form of that next week please.

And then the stinger. Vegapunk seems to have set up a dead man switch with some big secrets. This is great. Perfect thing for the smartest man in the world to do, especially considering how long he'd been expecting an attempt on his life was coming. And it has the potential to be huge for the world. A turning point. Potentially the start of a war or several. I don't think we're getting the full Void Century here, of course, but it's hard to imagine it playing out without at least one major reveal. And how will the Government respond? With the Buster Call running too slow, will Imu turn the Mother Flame on Egghead, triggering an escape sequence (and maybe cutting the exposition dump short because this is One Piece). The potential for this is huge. Huge.

I'm always happy to be getting three chapters in a row, but I'm so glad this one didn't line up with a break. See you all next week when the bombs drop.

Read on Wordpress!

[mitzyandme]

Reclaim the Void

Healing country through community and weaving. This is what I've just returned from after 9 days in the desert. An ambitious project, Reclaim the Void: weaving country whole was "born from Ngalia elders in Leonora... expressing their pain and grief at ‘those gaping mining holes left all over our country’. The idea was conceived to symbolically ‘seal’ one of the holes with an artwork expressing the story of country." To read more about the project, head to https://www.reclaimthevoid.com.au/

Originally meant to only be out at Leonora, due to heavy rain closing the roads we started the retreat for 3 days at Lake Ballard, so I came back. I didn't mind though, as I felt like that land was still calling to me (I really didn't want to leave it in the first place).

Back in the red dust, I learnt a bit more about the significance of the place and that the rock in the centre of the salt lake actually is the seventh sister laid to rest, and the First Nations people of the area request it's not climbed. So, I made sure to have my little moment to apologise to Her for my ignorance when I climbed her the other day. I hope she accepted it.

We all trickled out there and found a spot tucked away in the dunes, however it took no time at all to feel like it was just a gathering of old friends. It's amazing how a project can call to such like-minded people. We had Jodie and Rochelle, Alex, the M&Ms (Maureen and Moira), Kal Karen and Karen, Michelle, Lyn, Erin, Ang, Jane, Gale, Julie, Nikki, Tanya, Deb our hosts Rachael, Fi and Viv and of course our cook Boonji (I really hope I got everyone!) Our Indigenous leader was Zabah and his trusty dog Smokey, who didn't meet up with us until we were on his Country in Leonora.

Mitzy turned quickly into 'Mitzy's Cafe', becoming a resting spot for flat whites, cuppas and respite from some wind and rain that got us into night two. We even fit the entire retreat under her awning at one point! She was also a charging station and was useful to help un-bog the kitchen truck with my trax. It felt good to provide :)

Our days consisted of rising at about 7am, moseying in camp and around the fire enjoying coffee and tea, eagerly awaiting Boonji's delicious porridge or polenta or scrambled eggs. Then, after enough gas bagging, we'd get to the important stuff which was weaving! Often it was interspersed with lovely nature walks, painting or naps.

Sadly, we did have to say goodbye to our beautiful first camp in Lake Ballard to travel to Leonora. I'll make another post about that!

[highqueenofelfhame]

Follow my writing blog @highqueenofelfhamewrites! Turn on post notifs there for more reliable updates, i don’t do a tag list anymore! Sorry folks. Master list is on my pinned post (use the google doc version if the other doesn’t work.)

Part one

Rowan could tell when Aelin was screening his calls. He could tell when she was busy with work around her family’s multi-million dollar company because it would ring through to her voicemail— words he could recite like a script by now.

Hi! You’ve missed me, which is horribly sad for you, but if you leave a message maybe you’ll be lucky enough for a call back.

Rowan never was.

He could tell when she saw it was him calling and chose to reject the call, sending him to the void of her mailbox. Every call went unreturned, every text he was quite sure was deleted as soon as it appeared on her screen. There had even been a handful of times that he’d knocked on her apartment door, each thud of his fist echoing into the sound of the television beyond. Once, he thought maybe she was going to answer, the door knob jingling like she’d wrapped her fingers around it and prepared to pull. Yet her soft footsteps had retreated. There was no getting through the golden girl who had poured fire and sunlight into his life after spending so much time sulking in shadow.

The worst part of all of it was that she couldn’t have been more wrong about their relationship, his feelings for her, about every bit of it. She had sent him away before he could protest and though he knew he’d had a moment to try, Rowan was also sure more than anything she wouldn’t have believed a single word out of his mouth. Instead of lazing in bed with Aelin the last few weeks, he had managed to endure the radio silence with nothing but a brooding attitude and shattered heart while he trudged through his days.

So when he spotted her coming out of her favorite coffee shop early in the morning, blissfully sipping the iced caramel macchiato that she had every day, Rowan had bolted across four lanes of traffic without a second thought of what he was doing. Car horns blared and brakes screeched as he ran, one car coming so close to hitting him that his hands slammed onto the hood of the car while he mouthed an apology he didn’t mean. He would have gladly let that car hit him if it’d gotten her attention. It said plenty about his desperation that he was willing to lose life and limb just to have her simply look at him.

“Aelin!” he shouted once, twice, four times while he jogged down the sidewalk. Bewildered eyes tracked the seemingly crazed man while he chased the woman down. A police officer had even taken notice, following at a brisk pace that Rowan was oblivious to. He was close enough to hear the click of her heels down the cement while she dutifully ignored every syllable of her name that exploded from his lips.

“Aelin!” he shouted one more time. Heads turned their way the same time his hand wrapped around her bicep and jolted her to a stop.

In her surprise, the grip on her cup tightened and the lid popped off, sloshing a chilly espresso drink down her bare legs and into her shoes. Rowan was sure he would have to grovel for ruining the patent black heels, but it would be worth it if she would just listen to him.

“Rowan,” she said, shock lacing her tone as she pulled an earbud free and looked down at her stained skirt and soaked toes. A frown had tugged her lips into a frown as the officer caught up with them, hand going to Rowan’s chest like he intended to put space between them.

“Is everything okay, miss?”

“I— what? Yes. Of course. Thank you.” Her voice was vacant but dismissive while she waved her hand nonchalantly, eyes not leaving the ground. The officer looked skeptical but finally distanced himself by trailing a few feet away. As annoying as it was, there was a surge of comfort knowing if he had been some creep, someone would have stepped in for her sake.

“You can’t drop some bomb like that and then ghost me.” Sure, there were more delicate ways to put it but Rowan was beyond that. With her eyes still averted to her feet, frustration was boiling under his skin. What the hell was it going to take to get her to look at him? Just as he was willing to kneel at her feet to catch her eyes, she looked up at him with that frown pulling even tighter.

“There’s coffee in my shoes.”

“I’ll buy you some new godsdamn shoes if you’ll look at me for five minutes and let me talk.”

“And then you’ll leave me alone?”

“If that’s still what you want when I’m finished, yes. I’ll buy your shoes and leave you alone.”

Aelin’s mouth twisted to the side while she thought. Despite the offer, Rowan could see the hesitation in her eyes, that golden core of her iris flickering like a flame.

“Fine,” she said, finally. Her arms crossed over her chest, freshly painted black nails digging into the white button down shirt she wore. “You have five minutes or less. I have to get to work.”

The tone of her voice was strong and tense, but the anxious bouncing of her foot and the way she was wiggling her fingers along her biceps to a melody only she could hear. It was a habit, he noticed, that when she got anxious she would drum her fingers along to the Stygian Suite to keep her emotions at bay. He wished she wouldn’t.

“You are… I’m so mad at you, Aelin.”

“You’re making really good use of your five minutes, I—“

“Would you let me speak?” Aelin’s mouth snipped shut, jaw popping from the tense lock.

“I’m so mad at you. For about a hundred different reasons but mostly thinking you could tell me you were in love with me and then not letting me have a single word in. For telling me you love me and making me leave in a way that I knew if I stayed to fight it would only make it worse. And then as if that wasn’t enough, you stopped talking to me. Stopped taking my calls. Stopped answering the door. Told Aedion to stop giving me updates about you because I didn’t deserve to know. Which is so much bullshit, by the way.”

“Do you have to yell at me like this in public?” Her voice was soft, eyes downcast at her coffee sodden shoes. Rowan glanced around for the first time, taking in the small crowd that had stopped their busy morning to see what the commotion was about. It was then, with her bottom lip quivering and an audience around them, that he pulled her hands from where they pressed into her arms. Rowan guided them around his waist even though she resisted, then took her face in his hands with heartbreaking gentleness that made one of her tears finally slip free.

“I’m sorry that I yelled,” he said quietly, bending down to kiss another fallen tear. “But, baby, I have been in love with you since I met you. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

“You love me?”

“If you had just told me like a normal person—“

“Chasing me down the street in downtown Orynth and shouting at me is like a normal person?”

“Desperate times. I almost got hit by a car. You missed the good parts when you had your headphones in.” Instead of laughing like he hoped, Aelin reared back and immediately began to inspect him.

“Hit by a car!? Rowan Matthias!”

“I’m fine.” Aelin huffed, pulling away from him and folding her arms back over her chest. Rowan’s hands slowly fell back to his sides, desperate to hide in his pockets from what felt like a rejection. A stern look that he’d seen several times on her father’s face took over her features, setting them in stone while she tapped a sloshy toe.

“Be that as it may, you got something in your story wrong.”

“Have I, now?”

“You have. See, I never told you that I was in love with you. You jumped to that conclusion all on your own, and—“

Rowan couldn’t help it, he started laughing as the corners of her mouth began to twitch. He took her face back in his hands and leaned down to kiss her, something slow and sweet and full of promises he couldn’t keep in the middle of a busy street.

“Don’t make me drag you home and coax a confession out of you,” he mumbled into her mouth, sweeping his tongue in lazy strokes that he knew she liked on other parts of her body.

Aelin’s lips spread into a full grin as her arms settled around his neck, the remainder of her coffee dribbling down his back and seeping through to his skin. He couldn’t find a single reason to care as she whispered, “I was kind of counting on it.”

[sroloc--elbisivni]

tf fic: a war inside my head (fae au), part 4.

Once you trade something--memories, a spark, a firstborn--to a fae, you can never void the deal. Prowl, after three deals made to win the war, knows this all too well.

This only applies to the original dealmaker. Jazz, going crazy with boredom and seeking adventure in a post-war world, knows that all too well.

ao3 (COMPLETE)

Boomstick is quiet until they’ve left the Otherworld, through the closest and safest route to Prowl’s residence Jazz can find. He’s carrying the cube with Prowl’s spark and memories in one hand, and holding onto Jazz’s hand with the other.

They’re close enough to walk from here. It would be faster to drive, but Jazz is okay taking it slow for a bit. Letting the adventure wind down. Taking a little more time before he finds out if he’ll have to leave.

“Wait,” Boomstick says and shoves the cube with Prowl’s spark in it at Jazz. Jazz manages to catch it, despite a brief fumble, and stomps on the terrible little mission instinct of ‘target acquired, time to bolt.’ Boomstick is picking through the rocks at the side of the path.

“Got one,” he says, and trots back over with a shapely rock in one hand. He grabs onto Jazz’s leg with the other until Jazz shifts his grip on the spark and reaches down so they can keep holding hands. Then they walk again.

“What’s the rock for?”

“I need to bring Prowl a present,” Boomstick says. “This is a cool rock. He’ll like it.”

“Okay,” Jazz says. Prowl probably will like the rock. He’s a nerd.

They make it another ten astroyards and the kid says “I don’t wanna be Boomstick anymore. I wanna be Laser.”

“Okay, Laser,” Jazz says.

Another ten astroyards, walking pretty slow, and Laser asks “Do you think he’ll like me? When he can again?”

“Sure,” Jazz says, immediately.

“I’m serious,” Laser says, with a little bit of a whine.

“So am I,” Jazz says. “You’re cool. Like a rock. He’s gonna like you.”

“You promise?” Laser asks, urgently.

Jazz usually knows better than to promise anyone anything, but he remembers Prowl, cradling an engex bottle, staring at nothing and talking about the child that wasn’t his anymore. Too small for the eyes he had. Too small to be believed. How Prowl didn’t even know if he could talk yet or was somehow fully grown, didn’t know what it looked like for a child to age in the Otherworld.

“I promise. He’ll like you.”

Laser doesn’t seem to trust this promise. He hides behind Jazz’s legs when they arrive at Prowl’s hab. Jazz lets him, conspicuously tripping the perimeter alert and loitering at the edge of the boundary line so Prowl won’t feel encroached upon.

Prowl comes out slowly, like he’s not sure what’s happening, and Jazz leans down to try to nudge Laser at least far out enough to be visible. He looks back up as Prowl draws within arm’s reach, close enough to see the glow in the cube and the little head poking out from behind Jazz’s legs, and sees the realization hit.

Prowl steps closer, staring wide-eyed at Laser with his lips already shaping a word, and then at the cube, and then at Laser again, hand rising to reach out. He pulls back, hand drawing up to brush against his spark chamber, face absolutely expressionless, and then he meets Jazz’s eyes. He looks ready to call a battle where they already know it’ll be a retreat under fire.

“What is the price?”

Jazz twitches. He didn’t—does Prowl think that of him, seriously? Rude. Laser’s hands are digging into his leg, now, denting his armor.

“Price is take this back and take better care of it from now on, seriously, Prowl.” Jazz shoves the cube at Prowl’s chest, and his own optical feed must glitch or something because one second the repaired spark is lighting its container like a lantern and the next it’s gone. Prowl takes the cube, stepping backwards like he’s taken a blow, and Jazz can see that there’s a difference. It’s a good one. “Don’t go giving that away to anyone, not even me, it’s yours. Won’t do anyone else as much good as it’ll do you.”

“Ah,” Prowl says, and crumples to his knees. He’s just staring at the kid now, face frozen, the memory stick rattling around in the cube as his hands holding it shake

Jazz reaches down and pries the kid’s fingers off his plating, one by one, and nudges him forward. “Go on. You came a long way for this, remember?”

It seems he does, because he takes one hesitant step forward, and then another, and then another, cool rock held ahead of him like a torch.

“Hi. I’m Springer.”

Prowl’s vents all sputter, and he tips forward in a sparkbeat, scooping Springer up into his arms rock and all.

“Of course you are,” Prowl says, and Jazz feels like he maybe isn’t supposed to hear this but he doesn’t want to leave. “Of course.”

Jazz’s job here is done. Mission complete. He should go now, right?

He starts to take a step away, to think of a good parting joke, a perfect ending one-liner right before he transforms and rides off into the sunset to find his next adventure. Prowl looks up, cleansing fluid streaming down his cheeks.

“Jazz,” he says. “Please stay.”

It’s not a question, or a bargain, or an opening bid. It’s not exactly a mission, and it’s definitely not a threat.

Just an offer. Please stay.

Jazz does.