#from deep within the void (drafts)

[nowherelaney]

The fact that I can never be an emo band twink in the 2000s pains me

[whitlocklibrary]

Protectors~

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

🃜 pairing : Poly! Lost Boys × Vamp! Female! Reader

🃜 fandom: the lost boys × reader

🃜 summary: Reader is a newly turned vampire and mated toThe Lost Boys. She was turned a few months before Micheal arrived. And the day that Frog Brothers come with the Emerson’s the Reader decided to sleep with her mates. And in their haste to rid Santa Carla of the Vampires they make a grave mistake. (No use of Y/n)

🃜 Word Count:2.7k

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

The cave was quiet, the only sound being the waves hitting the rocks outside. All of the inhabitants of the cave peacefully sleeping, well almost all of them. Something instinctual, deep in your gut and the back of your mind is telling you somethings not right. Slipping through the dark fog in the faint chime of hushed whispers. Voices exchanging softly, all dim and low like they were sharing secrets.

It has you pushing your face deeper into David’s neck in an attempt to muffle out the sounds, desperate to escape fully back into the comfort of a deep sleep.

You usually slept in a bed that wasn’t far from where the boys slept, while Star and Laddie slept in the more open part of the cave. Something in your mind told you to sleep with the boys, so you listened to it.

When you arrived back at the cave after feeding, you were brought to where they slept. There was a little arguing over who you slept with,but something was telling you to sleep with David. So you stopped them from arguing,and they all climbed up to the bar they hang from. Dwanye stayed on the ground with you, so you had help getting to David. Once David is settled he opens his arms for you, and with a kiss to your head Dwanye helps you wrap yourself around David. Once you’re settled David wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you tuck yourself into his hold.

It’s still daytime. Something deep in your gut and the back of your mind assures that the sun is still high up in the sky, scorching and hot. An intuition that you still don't quite understand, but it has your limbs turning heavy and lax, muscles relaxing in David’s hold Your exhaustion has you numb to the world, the delicate rhythm of the waves crashing outside the cave muting down into nothing, the sound of the quiet voices vanishing.It must be two of the boys. Awake already. It would strike you as odd on any other circumstance, and to a degree it does, but your sluggish brain is quick to let go of that train of thought.

The insistence that something is wrong fading into an ignorable afterthought. The scuffle of shoes along dust and stone ignites a tremble down the notches of your spine, as though your body is begging for you to wake up and investigate while it simultaneously sinks further into David’s tight hold.

Something isn't right, something isn't right.

It's like a chant. A primal whisper that coils through your bones and sinew. Leftovers from your ancestors, remnants of the instincts that had kept them alive long ago, but it all seems null and void against the fatigue that seems to press you down like a physical weight. Even while hidden away from the sun it seems to sap you of all your strength.

It's impossible to even try to rouse yourself. Its as though you're held under water. The strength of that debilitating exhaustion sweeps back over you, making the sound of the angry, masculine voice that rises up high within the cave, reverberating from the dust covered stone, dim and distant. As though it's miles away.

“I feel a draft. I think there’s something up here.” You hear from far-away, murky and vague.

“Let’s check it out Sam.” Another voice.

“I’ll be right back Mike.” A third voice. Mike. Mike. That sounds familiar from somewhere - someone. A name mentioned in passing. Mike. Michael. A discussion carried on by the boys while they were all encircled around one of the burn barrels one night. So casual while they considered the fate of a complete stranger as though they were discussing dinner and not the destiny of a man's soul. Some sap that had apparently caught the eye of Star. She hadn't wanted it to go far, but then again, it's never supposed to go that far. But David wanted the guy dead. He was meant to be her first, she hadn't been able to do it. 

A wave of muddled scents breaks past the barrier of the rotting wood. Unfamiliar and thick, coated with cologne and shampoo that you don't recognize. All of it twisting with something even more out of place here. Something alive. Heat and life and blood. Iron, warmth, and salt. It's distinctly human. Living. The alarms go off in your head. Raging and flashing red in a way that's violent. And a bright light flashes behind your eyelids.

“JESUS.” One of the voices yells, another one screams before being cut off. Your eyes blink, lashes fluttering as you try to fight the sleep weighing your lids down. Your vision blurs a little, straining through the exhaustion, but then you notice the three figures standing below. They're children. Looking lost, dressed in camo and gear as though they've prepared to fight a war. One has his hand wrapped around the mouth of the blonde child muffling his scream. Wide blue eyes reflecting a visible panic while he stumbles back away from the other two. Another swears, cursing sharply under his breath while he flinches. But it's the one closest to you that moves. His dog tags glinting and chiming from a movement so sharp that it had to be a reflex, but the determination burning in his eyes is purposeful. 

“I thought they were supposed to be in coffins.”

“That’s what this cave is. One giant coffin.” The one with the bandanna says as he moved with the other one dressed in camo. They begin to climb up the wood beside your group.

“They’re at their most vulnerable. Easy pickings.”

“You just have to kill the leader huh.”

“We don’t know which on he is. We’ll kill them all.”

“We’ll start with her. She’s already seen us.” They say as the climb closer to where you’re hanging with David. An animal kind of panic tears through you, lighting up your nerves like lives wires, electricity and adrenaline burning through your veins with the white heat of fire. You try to move and wake up David, but your limbs struggle, sleep thawing in your tired arms and legs.

"Kill her, kill her!" One shouts all while the blonde in the background yells at them to stop, but it falls on deaf ears. The boy wielding the stake lunges forward with a war cry. You manage to wiggle slightly in David’s hold.

“David wake up!” A panicked shout rips from your throat, but David remains sleeping.

"The bitch is trying to wake them, you gotta get her before they wake up," someone shouts in a panicked rush. You continue to squirm in David’s hold trying to get the two of you away from the teenagers. Poised in the air, high above the boy's head in an arch. There's hardly any time to act and fear sinks in your gut, chilled and frozen as he drives it down with all the strength he has in his body; his lips curled in a hateful snarl. He's going to kill you. This is it. This is how you die. Your mind screams it over and over again on a broken loop, but your body acts all on its own. It twists so David’s unconscious body turns away from the stake,and your heart is away from the point.

There's no time to rejoice when the stake is already piercing your skin. It sinks in deep, parting flesh and muscle beneath its lethal point. The boy collapses and tips over the side of the ledge that they were standing on. You don't initially realize that you're screaming. You feel it first. The strength of your agonized wail shreds up your throat as though you've swallowed nails, but that pain is secondary to the fire and anguish pulsing through your shoulder. The stake is still wedged inside of your back, burrowing past skin and meat, prying at your shoulder blade like it means to rip it free from the sinew keeping it intact with the other bones. You're bleeding. You can smell it, sharp and distinct in the panicked air. The pain is crippling. Ripping and engulfing, eating up your spine.

The boy with the blue bandana wrapped around his head is stepping forward, already clasping a stake in a white-knuckled hold. The resolve in his eyes is haunting. The desire to kill you fervent and glaring in his stare. That's all it takes to have your voice spilling from you, rising up in another terrified shout.

“BOYS WAKE UP!”

"Say your prayers bloodsucker." He practically spits it out, lips twisting in a grimace as he moves forward preparing to stake you again. And then combined hissing and snarling fills the pit as the boys awaken. They finally awoke to your shouts and the smell of your blood. Four sets of yellow eyes focus in on the three humans in front of them as snarls fill the air.

"Guys, guys, we gotta go." It's the blonde that's repeating it over and over as he sees the vampires awaks, stumbling over his words while he jerks on the other's arms. They give in without any resistance. Fear alive and bright in their eyes, even while the kid with the bandana points his stake in your direction and tosses a quick "This isn't over" at you as the three of them take off in a brisk jumble in the direction that they came from.

The growls from within the cavern raise up higher as the boys realize what happened and it has the kids in a full-blown panic. Tripping over their feet in an ungraceful run as they try and reach the opening of the cave. Your body trembles and your head rolls forward onto the snarling David’s chest.

“YOU’RE DEAD MEAT.”

You can feel your lung snag and pinch as though it's being burned from the inside out, catching on the point of the stake when you inhale. It has you crying, a tear managing to trickle free as your ribcage shudders violently as you gasp. 

You don't want to take your eyes off of them, desperate to track their panicked flee, but your eyes cloud over. Stars dot your vision, spotting and flickering in shifting colors as a vignette blurs around the corners of your sight. You feel the world spin as David jumps down from the bar and lands on his feet. You still cradled against his chest. Three more thumps follow as the rest of the boys land behind. Iron coats your tongue. Thick and wet. Bursting up from the back of your throat while you try to breathe, spitting up with each labored inhale. You can feel your life waning. The strength diminishing, shrinking under your skin. Dying out like a flame that's being smothered. Whimpers spill from your lips as your carefully laid on your bed. You can hear the sound of claws ripping across the earth as two of the vampires tear their way out of the chasm like creatures pouring out of hell.

You hear muffled screams and shouts. The dull thud of hysterical footsteps as they rush to escape before death can seize them. You hear David's bellow roll throughout the cave, crashing over the screams from the horrified children. The loud chaos of it all grows dim - distant as they're no doubt running up the mouth of the cave while Paul's laugh rings out from somewhere far away. 

It makes you jump when a pair of hands smooth over your shoulders, light like a caress, but you can still feel a heavy tremble run through the fingers. A voice hums out, cooing softly to hush you when a strangled sob wrangles out from your body. The way they handle you is delicate, softly turning you over onto your hip and lifting you up to cradle you against their chest as though you might shatter into a million pieces otherwise. Breathing past the wet iron to try and notice the traces of spice and earth and musk. 

It was Dwanye. You try to say his name, but your throat tightens, choking on blood. You can feel his fingers grip your bicep, holding you still and you know that he's looking at the stake punctured deep in your flesh. His hold is nowhere close to the to the wound and yet it flares pain across your nerves, making you twist in his arms while a gutted sob wracks from your body. 

"I know, I know, love. I know,but I have to take it out" he says into your hair. It's difficult to hear his voice past the roaring in your ears, but once the words make it past the hum. It's like you can feel the agony already, simmering and slicing across your fried nerves like the edge of razor blades.

“Marko! I’m gonna need your help. ” He calls and you can hear another person coming. And then a gloved hand is cradling your face. The glove was cold against your skin as the hand tilts your head back from where it was tucked against Dwayne’s shoulder. It makes your lashes flutter, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes open with how heavy they've grown, weighing heavy and threatening to slip closed.

“If we don’t remove it. You’ll die baby.” Marko says. There's a protest lodged somewhere in your mouth, slick from the blood and caught on a broken gasp, but you don't have time try and voice it.

“I’m gonna hold her still you pull it out.” Dwanye says as his grip around you tightens. Marko nods, gripping the stake in his hand and pulls. You want to scream, but there's no air left in your lungs for you to do so, and all that makes it out is a ragged, splintered gasp. 

Scorching hot pain pours in your veins as he rips the wood from your shoulder. It slices ribbons up your spine, feeling bone deep and white-hot, acid lashing up your muscles.You thrash in Dwayne’s lap, the grip around you tightening and pinning you against his chest. Marko continues to pull the stake from your shoulder, and there’s hardly any relief once its out. The damage it's done is still agonizing, coiling through your muscles. It's as though the flesh on your back has been flayed.

You can faintly hear the clatter of the stake hitting the stone walls. As the two fuss over you, David and Paul rush back into the area where your bed is.

“How is she?” There's a rawness to his voice, a breathless edge despite the non-necessity of breathing.

“She needs to feed.” Dwanye says. “She won’t make it to sundown.”

David stalks forward while dragging his nail across his wrist. He kneels beside your bed and presses his wrist against your lips. You clasp your fingers around his arm, digging into the aged leather of his jacket. Your teeth bury themselves into his arm as his blood pours down your throat. You feel a hand stroking your head as you feed on his blood. Life floods back into you with each gulp, syrupy and warm. The hole made in the split meat and torn flesh of your back begins to mend in a sluggish process, stunted. You’re cradled protectively between Dwayne and David as Paul and Marko hover around the two.

Paul leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Did you get them?"  Dwayne asks.

The thick silence that follows gives Marko and Dwayne their answer. And twin snarls rip out of their throats.

“They’re dead.”

“And they will be. They will be.” David says with a snarl.

“Marko when nightfall hits I want you and Dwayne to go hunt. She’ll need an actual feeding and we’ll need our full strength.” David says as he continues to stroke your hair, letting you have your fill of his blood. He wanted to make sure your wound was healed.

“Paul you’ll be staying here with her while we go take care of the little pests.” Paul nods as he sits on the edge of your bed by your head.

“They’ll regret touching our mate.” They all say as your wound completely healed and you pulled away from David’s wrist sagging against Dwayne as exhaustion took over. The boys continued to plan their attack as you fell into a deep sleep.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 15 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The familiar sensation of teleportation washed over you as you stepped into the sanctuary of your bedroom, nestled deep within the tranquil garden you called home. The soft hum of magic dissipated as you collapsed onto the plush sheets of your bed, your body sinking into the comfort, though your mind remained anything but at ease.

Your children—your loyal butterflies—fluttered around you, their tiny wings glowing faintly in the dim light. They hovered closer, sensing your turmoil, their small efforts to soothe you proving futile. One even landed gently on your forehead, a silent gesture of comfort, but the irritation within you refused to be quelled.

You groaned, pressing your palm to your face. How can Jinwoo be this tactless?

Your mind reeled, replaying the earlier interaction that had left you seething. For someone with such absurdly high perception stats, he was alarmingly dense when it came to anything outside of battle. The man who could detect an enemy’s movement down to the faintest twitch somehow couldn’t read the room to save his life. It was infuriating.

You let out a sigh, memories of past pages of various manhwas flooding your mind. There was always this recurring trope among protagonists—ridiculously talented in combat but utterly clueless when it came to basic human interaction. You recalled all the times in the manhwa when Jinwoo’s obliviousness had made you want to reach into the pages and shake him. Back then, it had been frustrating in an endearing way. But now? Now that you were living in this world, dealing with the flesh-and-blood Jinwoo, it was infinitely worse.

Your thoughts strayed to that infamous scene—the one where Jinwoo missed every single obvious hint that Cha Hae-In wanted to join his guild because she liked him. That moment hadn’t happened yet in this timeline, and you silently thanked the heavens for small mercies.

You rolled onto your side, one hand absently reaching out to pat Red, the oldest of your butterflies and your right-hand. Red perched on your palm, its wings pulsing faintly, “It’s all right.”

“No, Red, it’s not all right,” you muttered, your voice laced with frustration. “Out of the two of us, I’m supposed to be the recluse,” you grumbled. “For heaven’s sake!”

The irony was not lost on you. You were the one who had spent years isolated in the system’s trials, cut off from the world. Yet here you were, the one seemingly more adept at navigating social interactions than Jinwoo.

The butterfly fluttered its wings again, this time with a slight tilt as if to mock you gently. You let out a huff. Your frustration still simmered beneath the surface, refusing to fully dissipate.

You sat up abruptly, your gaze distant as you stared into the void of your room. The soft glow of the garden lights seeped in through the window, bathing the space in an ethereal glow. You let out a slow breath, trying to steady your thoughts.

There was no time to dwell on Jinwoo’s shortcomings. You had pressing matters to attend to. Better to focus on something productive than stew in your frustrations. A flick of your wrist summoned a plane ticket into your hand, the parchment shimmering briefly before solidifying.

“Just in case,” you murmured to yourself, slipping the ticket into your pocket. Though teleportation was your preferred method of travel, it wouldn’t hurt to have a mundane backup plan.

Your gaze softened as you looked around at your butterflies, each of them settling on nearby surfaces, their glowing forms creating a comforting ambiance. Red crawled closer to your shoulder, its small form vibrating faintly in silent encouragement.

Your hand rose to stroke Red’s wings absentmindedly. “I can’t save everyone,” you whispered, the words heavy with resignation. “But I’ll sure as hell try.”

---

Thomas Andre stood near the bustling entrance of Incheon International Airport, his massive frame towering over the steady flow of travelers. The hum of hurried footsteps and overhead announcements filled the air as his assistant—Laura’s insistence—handled the final details of their arrival. He shifted his weight, a slight frown pulling at his lips.

He was here on business, an important discussion with the chairman of South Korea’s Hunter Association about a certain reckless guild member of his.

Thomas Andre wasn’t a man easily surprised. As the head of the Scavenger Guild and one of the world’s most powerful Hunters, he was accustomed to the extraordinary. His sheer physical size alone intimidated most people before they could muster the courage to act unpredictably around him.

Yet here he was, caught off guard by something as mundane as a stranger bumping into him.

The collision barely registered to Thomas—hardly more than a tap against his solid frame—but the person who had stumbled into him nearly fell flat on their face. Instinctively, he reached out and caught them with one hand, gripping their gloved arm firmly to steady them. His brows furrowed as he glanced down. It was a woman—small, almost fragile-looking compared to him. She remained frozen in place for a moment, her eyes obscured by the brim of her hat, the lower half of her face covered by a black and white mask, and Thomas noted how light she felt in his grip, like a feather caught in a breeze.

“You all right there, Little Miss?” His deep voice rumbled with mild amusement.

The woman’s head snapped up at his words, her wide, panicked eyes locking onto his.

And then it hit him.

A sudden, overwhelming urge crashed into him like a tidal wave. It gripped his very core, making his knees threaten to buckle. The instinct to kneel, to bow before this stranger, clawed at his willpower. Something ancient and primal whispered in his mind, demanding submission. His veins felt like they were on fire as he fought the compulsion, his muscles straining under the pressure.

The woman quickly stepped back from his grasp, bowing her head in a hurried apology. “Thank you for catching me,” she said, tone clear and polite, her English flawless. “I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

Her voice was soft, warm, and soothing—a stark contrast to the chaotic storm raging inside him.

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and hurried away, her pace brisk as she disappeared into the throng of travelers.

Thomas stood frozen, his chest heaving slightly as the overwhelming sensation dissipated as quickly as it had come. His hand, still trembling slightly, clenched into a fist. He turned his gaze toward the direction the woman had gone, catching a brief glance of her looking back at him. Her eyes flickered toward his fist, almost as if she could see the struggle he had just endured.

And then she was gone.

“What the hell was that?” Thomas muttered under his breath.

He replayed the moment in his mind and tried to recall the woman’s face, but his memory was hazy. The warm aura that radiated from her felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It wasn’t oppressive or intimidating—it was calming, yet it carried an undeniable weight.

A healer class? It was the only explanation that made sense. Her aura had been faint, almost unnoticeable, but undeniably soothing. Perhaps she was a low-ranked Hunter, though something about her didn’t quite fit that profile.

“Mr. Andre?” His assistant’s voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. “The car is ready.”

“Yeah,” Thomas grunted, shaking off the lingering unease. He took one last glance toward the direction she had gone before following his assistant. “Let’s go.”

But even as he walked away, the memory of those comforting yet commanding eyes lingered in his mind. He didn’t know who she was, but one thing was certain—he wasn’t going to forget that encounter anytime soon.

---

The air in the Sung family's apartment was tense. Jinah ducked beneath the window frame, peering cautiously through the blinds as the reporters gathered below. Their relentless pursuit had only grown worse, swarming the building in hopes of catching a glimpse of Korea's strongest Hunter and prying into his personal life.

"Seriously, Oppa, they're still here!" Jinah whispered harshly, ducking back to avoid being seen.

Jinwoo sighed and stood, rolling his shoulders. "I'll just shoo them off—"

Jinah whipped around, cutting him off. "No! Don’t. You’ve already gotten trashed online enough as it is."

His confusion was evident as he frowned. "Trashed? For what? I didn’t even do anything!"

Jinah groaned, exasperated. Did her brother really not understand why he was the talk of every social media platform? She was about to explain when your voice suddenly cut through the tension like a blade.

"It's because you left without paying any attention to the reporters last time, you fool," you said sharply from the doorway.

Jinah turned to see you standing there, your arms full of neatly stacked items. Her immediate reaction was relief—finally, someone who could articulate what she was feeling—but it quickly shifted to curiosity. She noticed the unusual sharpness in your tone and, to her surprise, her usually unbothered brother flinched.

"When did you get in here?" Jinah asked, confused but grateful for the interruption.

You offered her a warm smile, instantly replacing the tension with your characteristic kindness. "Hello, Jinah. It’s nice to see you again. I’m so sorry for intruding so suddenly. I just wanted to drop off these souvenirs I promised from my last trip with your Brother."

Jinah’s eyes sparkled at the mention of souvenirs, and she eagerly reached for the neatly arranged stack as you set it on the table. She began rifling through the items—a selection of high-quality medical books, some incredibly appetizing meals wrapped up beautifully, and a set of clothes that looked both stylish and perfectly tailored to her preferences.

"Did you make these clothes yourself?" Jinah asked in awe, feeling the soft yet durable fabric between her fingers.

You chuckled lightly. "I did. I thought you might like them."

Jinah leaped at you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Unnie! You’re the best!"

Caught off guard, you stumbled slightly but quickly steadied yourself, returning her hug with a laugh. "Woah there! Careful!"

As Jinah nestled closer, she noticed something unusual. "Unnie, did you just come back from the beach?"

"Hmm?" You tilted your head, momentarily puzzled, before replying, "Oh, I was on an island in Japan for a business trip. There was an urgent international order for a particular batch of flowers I had to handle personally."

Jinah hummed in understanding, but her curiosity was quickly piqued by the expression on her brother’s face. Jinwoo, who had been watching the entire interaction in silence, now stood stiffly, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed.

"(Name)—" Jinwoo started, his voice low and uncertain.

You didn’t even let him finish. Turning only halfway to glance at him, you spoke with chilling finality, "I’m still mad at you. So shut it."

Jinah’s eyes widened, and she instinctively stepped back, letting go of you. She quickly pieced together that her brother must have done something incredibly dumb to earn your ire. She sighed internally, wondering: What now, Oppa?

"I'm here for someone else today," you said, your tone softening slightly as you looked at Jinah.

The sound of the doorbell interrupted the moment, and Jinwoo moved to answer it. Jinah watched him open the door to reveal a boy about her age, wearing a large backpack and looking pitifully disheveled.

"Who’s that, Oppa?" Jinah asked, peering around her brother.

---

Jinho stood in the doorway, his head bowed slightly in embarrassment as he glanced nervously between Jinwoo and the unfamiliar girl behind him.

‘She’s really pretty…’ he thought briefly before shaking his head. Now was not the time.

"I—uh, Hyung-nim, I’ve been kicked out," Jinho mumbled, his voice filled with genuine regret and self-pity. He shifted awkwardly, gripping the straps of his backpack. "Can I… stay here for a while?"

Jinwoo’s answer was immediate. The door slammed shut in Jinho’s face.

"Hyung-nim!" Jinho called out, panicking. But before he could knock again, your voice cut through the tension once more. Sharper. Colder.

"Jinwoo. Open. The. Door."

Even Jinho, standing outside, felt a shiver run down his spine. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Jinwoo standing stiffly like a child caught misbehaving. You stepped forward, your expression instantly softening as you looked at Jinho.

"Jinho," you said warmly, your voice filled with kindness, "You can stay in the spare room at my shop for a while until you get back on your feet."

Jinho’s eyes filled with gratitude, and he nearly lunged forward to hug you but stopped when he noticed the chilling shift in your demeanor. The warmth you’d shown him was gone, replaced by a saccharine-sweet smile directed at Jinwoo.

"I’ll leave now to escort Jinho," you said curtly, your gaze locking with Jinwoo’s.

You gently ushered Jinho out of the apartment, turning back only to bid Jinah a cheerful goodbye. But the cold glare you leveled at Jinwoo lingered for a moment longer, sending a clear message before you turned and left.

---

Jinwoo stared at the closed door, utterly at a loss. Your anger, though more subdued, still burned bright. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

Jinah watched him from the couch, her arms crossed. "What did you do, Oppa?"

"I don’t know," Jinwoo muttered, his frustration mounting.

His thoughts drifted to the dinner he’d planned as a peace offering. But now, he wasn’t even sure you’d agree to go with him, let alone accompany him back to the Demon Castle. For the first time in a long time, Jinwoo felt completely out of his depth.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [15/11/2024] -

[richea]

[Translation] Kratos of the Expiation: Chapter 1 parts 2-3

This update brings us to page 28/317. As I mentioned in my prior post, please think of this as a first draft translation. Starting with this post, I'll be linking to a playthrough (both dubbed and subbed) for those who wish to watch along to the corresponding game cutscenes as they read. Dubbed / Subbed (video picks the wrong choice, here's the choice in Japanese)

Chapter 1: Part 2 of 6

It has been 15 years since Kratos last descended onto earth.

Long ago, Kratos betrayed Cruxis and defected from the organization. He had since then rejoined Yggdrasill’s side, but only on the condition that he wouldn’t be allowed to descend onto earth as he pleased.

Northwest of the Tower of Salvation lies an area thick with trees. Along the shoreline, at the foot of a small mountain, a village can be seen. It’s Iselia, which was known to be the headquarters for the Church of Martel. This is the place Kratos set off to visit.

The entire world has its watchful eye on Iselia. This is due to the fact that the Chosen One was born within its hold, of whom would set off on the Journey of World Regeneration, saving the world from destruction. On the Chosen’s 16th birthday, she is to receive the oracle from an angel of Cruxis and set off on her journey. Today is that very day.

Thinking of the phrase “World Regeneration” brought back harsh memories for Kratos. It was as if a pain pierced his heart. However, there was nothing Kratos could do at this point. He had become completely void of any way to fight against Mithos. In a way, maybe that was for the best. Even if the path there wasn’t pretty, so long as the world would be regenerated, then―

The sound of people fighting grated Kratos’ ears the second he looked at the plateau to his left. He has a heightened sense of hearing. The range of which he can pick up sounds is expanded, and he is able to hear things with clarity that are not normally able to be processed by the human ear. The same is true for his vision. By focusing his attention on something, he is able to see things far away, down to their very texture. Thanks to this, he’s able to tell that there’s a rather intense battle happening atop the plateau.

Kratos took a deep breath before spreading a radiant blueish-white light from behind his back. It glistened and swayed, like the shimmer of hot air. Protruding from his back were wings of condensed mana which allow him to fly. A circulation of his bodily mana takes form and is expended from his body in the form of radiation.

Kratos’ body lifted into the air, and he beelined it towards the plateau. Below him, he could see a cluster of corpses spread about. They were all priests of the Church of Martel. It seems a scandal unbefitting the Day of Prophecy has taken place here.

Atop the plateau lies the Martel Temple. A fight was breaking out there. Kratos landed at the base of the plateau without a sound, put his wings away, and dashed up the stairs towards the temple.

What he found in front of the temple was a band of infiltrators that seemed familiar, and a group of kids who were picking a fight with them. It was immediately clear to him that the kids were at the disadvantage.

“Man, this guy is really tough!”

One of the boys had floundered about in his stance, and the enemy took advantage of that. The giant man he was fighting was swinging around an iron ball above his head, and brought it down to strike the boy.

In the nick of time, Kratos put himself in between the iron ball and the boy, unsheathing his sword to strike at the weapon. He cut the chain that held the ball in a flash, rendering the weapon useless.

“Huh? Who are you?”

“Get out of the way.”

Kratos ordered the boy to stay put and closed the gap between himself and his opponent. He leaped towards him and thrusted the tip of his sword towards the man’s throat.

“Are you the rats I was told to exterminate?”

“Rgh...”

The large man froze and awkwardly turned his gaze towards his superior. That was enough of an answer for him. Without hesitation, Kratos plunged his sword deep into the man’s neck, and then pulled the blade out as he kicked his body backwards. Using the recoil he hopped back, as a rain of blood poured onto the spot he had just been standing.

“I never thought you’d show up.” The man’s superior stood on the other side of the pool of blood, glaring at Kratos. “Retreat for now!”

At that order, all of the soldiers left in a hustle. The remaining survivors carried the corpses of their fallen allies and skillfully scampered down the stairs of the plateau. Kratos shook his sword to fling the blood off of it and sheathed it.

I see, so it’s just as I heard. This Chosen is a perfect match. That must be why the “rats” are making their move.

As the enemies dispersed, the children who had been discouraged all of a sudden perked up. He kept his back turned to the teenagers who were being their typical, noisy selves, and an old woman approached him. He could feel an air of refinement from her. He could immediately tell she wasn’t just any ordinary old lady.

“How can I ever thank you for saving the Chosen?”

At this, Kratos turned his head to look at the children. The silver-haired one seemed to be in his early teens. He used magic during the battle, so he must be either an elf or a half-elf―Kratos found the latter more likely. He felt something off about the boy in the red outfit, but it was probably nothing to worry about. In any case, both of them are boys, so it’s not either of them. The Chosen of Regeneration would be a girl.

“...I see. So this girl is the next Chosen.”

Kratos shifted his gaze towards the blond-haired girl, who the two boys were guarding. When the girl met his gaze, she seemed startled for a second, but then innocently smiled at him. He wondered if she was aware of the fate set before her. Kratos frowned, and the girl’s face suddenly lit up.

“That’s right! I have to go accept the oracle!” The girl rushed over to the old woman, continuing on with a dignified voice. “Grandmother, I’m going to undergo the trial now.”

“What trial?” asked the boy in the red outfit.

“The monsters, I assume. An evil presence radiates from inside this chapel.”

He wasn’t lying. The temple was normally under a holy presence, but he could sense monsters lurking about. Since Kratos was pretending to be a mercenary, he figured flaunting this knowledge might prove useful. He needed to show off a little so they’d let him guard the Chosen.

As expected, the old woman seemed impressed by his analysis and turned to face him.

“Yes, that is correct. The Chosen is to receive judgment from heaven. But the priests that were to accompany her fell at the hands of the Desians.”

Kratos’ mouth twitched at the word “Desian.” I see, so the rats are doing a good job at hiding who they really are. But what good would killing the priests do if they just left the Chosen alive anyway? It seems like their leader’s habit of never being able to do anything right rubbed off on his subordinates.

“Then I’ll take on the job of protecting Colette.”

All of a sudden, the boy in the red outfit cut in between Kratos and the old woman. So the Chosen’s name is Colette. Kratos couldn’t believe how ridiculous the request the boy made was. He was probably self-taught, but the way he wielded his dual blades was hard to watch. Kids can really have way too much confidence sometimes.

“Lloyd? ...I would be uneasy with just you.”

Hearing this, Kratos’ entire body jumped. He whipped his head around to look at Lloyd, this time really studying his features.

The image of his lost baby son popped into his head. It was as if the memories he had tried so hard to bury came bursting out the door of his recollections.

Fifteen years ago, he had a family. It was him, his dearest wife Anna, and their son, Lloyd.

But his son is dead. By all means, he should be dead. He was 3 at the time, and had he survived, he would be the same age as the boy he sees here, but...

“Your name is Lloyd?”

“Yeah, but who are you to ask for my name?”

Lloyd gave Kratos a sharp look.

Fifteen years had passed since then. There’s no way he’d know for sure. Children grow fast, and their faces totally change. And Lloyd was only 3 at the time; there’s no way he’d even remember him. Really, he had no proof that this boy was his son, Lloyd.

As if to escape Lloyd’s gaze, Kratos turned back to the old woman. His mission took priority right now.

“...I am Kratos, a mercenary. As long as you can pay me, I’ll accept the job of guarding the Chosen.”

The old lady sighed and nodded.

“...Under the circumstances, I have little choice. Please be of service.”

“It’s a deal, then.”

Kratos nodded back at her. That was a relief. Now he could guard the Chosen. That’s the most he could do. He started walking alongside the Chosen, Colette.

“W-Wait! I’m going, too!”

Lloyd ran after them.

“Lloyd, you’ll only get in the way. Be a good boy and wait here.”

Hearing Kratos’ rejection, Lloyd’s face bubbled with anger.

“What did you say?!”

“Did I not make myself clear? You’re a burden. Go home.”

As if to prevent Lloyd from running his mouth further, the Chosen, Colette piped in.

“Um... Mr. Kratos, would it be okay to take Lloyd along, too?”

“But...”

“Please. I get nervous when Lloyd’s not around.”

There was a warm smile behind Colette’s words, and Kratos sighed. He figured the Chosen always stuck up for Lloyd like this. Well, it’s not like the monsters in the temple were that bad anyway.

“...Do as you wish.”

Kratos said this with his back turned to them and made his way towards the temple’s entrance. World regeneration can’t even begin until the first trial is cleared. And the Renegades will likely become a hindrance along the way. He really wanted to get this first trial over with, quickly.

“...Let’s go, Genis!”

“What?! I’m going, too?!”

“Of course!”

Kratos heard Lloyd and the silver-haired boy―Genis, apparently―bickering behind him.

He let out another sigh. Such a bustle brought back some memories of long, long ago.

“This isn’t a field trip, you know.”

While trying to conceal how pleased he was at the nostalgia he was experiencing from overhearing them, Kratos entered the temple.

Chapter 1: Part 3 of 6

The base of Cruxis, Derris-Kharlan, is a massive comet. The central part of the comet houses the residential area, Welgaia, as well as Vinheim, Mithos’ castle. It is rumored that a part of the facilities are recycled from when the ancient elves lived there, but the details are not fully made clear. Even among the Angel Class, only a tiny portion know the truth behind it, so there is no way that Pronyma―who is of the Desian Class―would know about it.

Holding such a massive celestial body in place above the earth would normally be impossible. What makes the impossible possible is a sword known as the Eternal Sword, which the Summon Spirit Origin gifted to Yggdrasill. This sword is capable of manipulating both space and time, so Yggdrasill used it to both split the world in two as well as hold Derris-Kharlan in place. Pronyma admires him, honoring him as such a magnificent person.

Though “respect” on its own doesn’t convey the magnitude of the feelings she holds towards him. Perhaps “affection” or even “yearning” fits the bill better. She finds Yggdrasill so awe-inspiring, and even finds herself attracted to him.

Half-elves are viewed as heretics just for existing. Humans fear them for their outstanding powers, while elves abhor them for having human blood. Among all of the people who live on earth, half-elves are considered the race that nobody loves; they’re considered the people in the middle, and are oppressed.

Pronyma was once a victim of such oppression. She was ridiculed, abused, and recruited as a weapon for battle due to her abilities. Had Yggdrasill not saved her from such a fate, she likely would have met her end on the battlefield, never seen as more than a weapon. Yggdrasill is a savior in Pronyma’s eyes, and he is her hero for trying to make a world for half-elves to live in. She would do anything if it meant helping him. Being used by him is enough to make her happy.

Pronyma is currently working as one of the Five Grand Cardinals, which commands over the Desian Class.

Cruxis is made up of two classes: the Angel Class, who are given hi-Exspheres―Cruxis Crystals, and the Desian Class, who are given regular Exspheres instead. The Desians operate to terrorize the people while the angels instill an offering of peace to them via spreading the word of the Church of Martel. Between the both of them, they have full control over the hearts of mankind.

Those in the Desian Class are given all sorts of jobs. They always operate in the declining world. By doing so, the people in the declining world will pray for salvation, while the people in the prospering world will fear their eventual decline. This setup ensures that both worlds turn their prayers to and rely on the Church of Martel.

Just recently, the Tower of Salvation appeared in the declining world, Sylvarant, marking the beginning of World Regeneration. Though describing it as “appearing” is a tad misleading―the tower is always there, it’s just hidden behind a sort of shield so that people in the declining world can’t see it. To ensure that the two separated worlds aren’t sucked up into the dimensional rift between them, there are two points in which the worlds hold contact with one another. One of these is the Tower of Salvation. The top of the Tower of Salvation is connected to Derris-Kharlan, and it’s used to allow the angels and the Desians to communicate with one another.

What made the tower visible is that Sylvarant's Chosen of Regeneration had embarked on her journey to become Martel’s vessel. Pronyma needs to hold a meeting with an administrator in Welgaia in order to move the Desian Class into action. This is just a practice that’s held every time a Journey of Regeneration begins, but to Pronyma, it means something more. It’s an exciting time, where she is able to closer visit the place where Yggdrasill resides.

Pronyma used the transporter to teleport from the Tower of Salvation to Welgaia. However, the angel that was normally there to give her the order was nowhere to be found.

“I was under the impression I was to receive orders from Lord Kratos.”

Pronyma inquired this to the gatekeepers by the teleporter, and one of them replied to her.

“Lord Kratos is currently on Sylvarant on a mission. I regret to inform you that you will not be able to meet with him.”

“Lord Kratos is down on Sylvarant?!”

Pronyma couldn’t help her face from warping with fury.

“What is the meaning of this? He is a traitor, who defected from us 70 years ago. Mi... Lord Yggdrasill may have forgiven him, but to think he would be permitted to go down to earth!”

“Not another word, Pronyma.”

“...I know. It is not my place as one in the Desian Class to speak poorly of one of the Four Seraphim.”

Still, Pronyma couldn’t accept this. Sylvarant was where Kratos fled to when he betrayed Cruxis so long ago. When he was eventually accepted back into Derris-Kharlan, he was forbidden from going back down there.

Pronyma never liked Kratos. He’s the only human among the Angel Class. Him being a human was irritating enough, but he’d also taken advantage of Yggdrasill’s trust and betrayed him without warning. He disapproved of the Age of Lifeless Beings and left the organization. In the end, all he’d accomplished was finding a lover, having a child and playing make-believe at having a family. All he did was run away from reality. The damage he did to Yggdrasill from his silly game of playing house was immeasurable. Pronyma saw his suffering up close, and due to this, she started to seriously distrust Kratos.

“Pronyma. The messenger has arrived.”

A gatekeeper called to her and Pronyma turned to look at the central part of Welgaia. Amidst the soulless looking angels silently floating about, she saw a messenger angel headed her way. But it wasn’t one of Kratos’ messengers. Based on the color of the band on the arm, it was one of Yggdrasill’s.

“On Lord Yggdrasill’s orders?!”

The unexpected development had Pronyma’s heart pounding out of her chest, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

Pronyma wasn’t in a position that allowed her to see Yggdrasill very often. The last time she had seen him was when Kratos shamelessly came back 15 years ago.

Pronyma was determined to not let Yggdrasill suffer like that again, and she vowed to do whatever it took to ensure that.

[uns4lted]

Déjà vu (Kokonoi Hajime)

Genre: Angst TW: koko's flashback memories of akane, just pure angst honestly Pairings: Bonten!Kokonoi Hajime x fem!reader Note: feeling angsty today and this has been on my drafts for sooooo long!

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the vast estate that Kokonoi Hajime now called home. The sprawling mansion, hidden away in the quiet hills outside Tokyo, was a far cry from the cramped apartment where he had once lived with Akane. The irony wasn’t lost on him—he had all the wealth he could ever want, but the emptiness in his heart was a void that no amount of money could fill.

You had moved in a few months ago, at Kokonoi’s insistence. It was practical, he had said, a way to keep you close, to protect you from the dangers that came with his life in Bonten. You had agreed, perhaps a little too eagerly, hoping that proximity would bring you closer to his heart. But the truth was, you had only stepped into a shadow.

The mansion was filled with remnants of a life Kokonoi could never let go of. You noticed it in the way he meticulously arranged the furniture, the way he decorated the rooms—everything had a familiar feel, like a memory brought back to life. There were times you would catch him staring at the old photos he kept in a hidden drawer, his face expressionless, but his eyes betraying the turmoil within.

It was a night like any other, or so you thought. You had just finished preparing dinner, a simple meal you hoped would bring a smile to his face. But as you entered the grand dining room, your heart sank. Kokonoi was sitting at the table, staring at his phone, a distant look in his eyes. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the large room, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Hajime,” you called softly, placing the dishes on the table. “Dinner’s ready.”

He looked up, blinking as if he had just been pulled from a dream. “Oh… right. Thank you.”

His voice was polite, but there was a detachment to it that you couldn’t ignore. You took a seat across from him, watching as he mechanically reached for his fork, barely paying attention to the food in front of him.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. You had lost count of the nights where he seemed lost in his own world, where your presence barely registered with him. And every time it happened, the knot in your stomach tightened a little more.

The song began playing softly in the background, the notes drifting through the room like a whisper. It was a song you had grown fond of, something you had shared with him on one of your late-night drives. But as the familiar melody filled the air, you saw Kokonoi freeze, his fork stopping halfway to his mouth.

“Do you… like this song?” you asked, trying to break the silence.

He didn’t respond at first, his eyes locked on some invisible point beyond you. Finally, he set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

“Akane loved this song,” he said quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

The name hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. It wasn’t the first time you had heard him mention her, but it still felt like a punch to the gut every time he did. You had known, from the beginning, that she was an integral part of his past—a ghost that haunted every corner of his mind. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to bear.

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t know that.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, guilt, maybe even sorrow. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that familiar, distant gaze.

“She used to play it all the time,” he continued, his voice low. “It was her favorite.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in your throat. “It’s a beautiful song.”

Kokonoi nodded, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. The silence stretched on, the song playing on repeat, each note like a dagger to your heart. You wanted to reach out, to tell him that you were here, that you loved him, that you could make him happy if he just let you in. But you knew it wouldn’t matter. You were a replacement, a stand-in for someone he could never let go of.

“Hajime,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “do you ever… think about us? About what we have?”

He frowned, as if the question confused him. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, searching for the right words. “I mean… do you ever compare us? To what you had with her?”

Kokonoi’s expression softened, but there was a sadness in his eyes that made your heart ache. “It’s not that simple,” he said slowly. “What I had with Akane… it was special. It was… irreplaceable.”

The words were like a knife twisting in your chest, but you forced yourself to nod, even as tears burned at the back of your eyes. “I understand.”

But you didn’t—not really. How could you understand what it was like to lose the love of your life, to have them ripped away from you so suddenly? You had only known loss in the abstract, in the fleeting moments of sadness that came with unrequited love. But to have something so deep, so profound, and to lose it—that was a pain you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Kokonoi reached across the table, his hand covering yours. It was a rare moment of affection, and you clung to it, even though you knew it wasn’t really meant for you. His touch was warm, comforting, but it was tinged with a melancholy that made your heart sink.

“I care about you,” he said softly. “I really do. But… it’s hard. Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of what I lost. And I hate myself for it.”

You blinked back tears, trying to hold onto the strength you knew you needed to get through this conversation. “Hajime, I don’t want to be a reminder of your pain. I want to be someone who makes you happy.”

He squeezed your hand, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. “You do make me happy,” he said, but there was a hesitation in his voice, a lingering doubt that twisted the knife in your heart even further. “But I’m not sure if I can ever be truly happy again.”

The words hung in the air, a bitter truth that you had always known deep down but had hoped would change. You had hoped that, with time, Kokonoi would come to see you for who you were, not as a shadow of Akane. But now, it was clear that you were fighting a losing battle.

The song continued to play, looping endlessly as if mocking you with its familiarity. You could almost see Akane there, dancing with him in the living room, her laughter filling the space in a way you never could. And for the first time, you realized that you were chasing something that was never meant to be yours.

You pulled your hand away, your chest tightening as the weight of reality crashed down on you. “I think… maybe it’s time I let you go.”

Kokonoi’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, you saw a flash of panic cross his face. “What are you saying?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “I’m saying that I can’t keep living in the shadow of someone else. I deserve to be loved for who I am, not for who I remind you of.”

His mouth opened to protest, but you held up a hand, stopping him. “It’s okay, Hajime. I know you’ll never forget her. And I don’t want you to. But I can’t keep pretending that this is enough for me. I need more.”

Kokonoi looked like he wanted to argue, to tell you that you were wrong, but the words wouldn’t come. He knew, deep down, that you were right. He had been clinging to you like a lifeline, hoping that you could fill the void Akane had left behind. But in doing so, he had only hurt you, dragging you into the same darkness that had consumed him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled sadly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I know. But sometimes, sorry isn’t enough.”

The room felt unbearably cold as you stood up, the sound of your chair scraping against the floor echoing in the silence. Kokonoi watched you, his expression a mix of sorrow and resignation, as if he knew that this was the end.

You walked over to the window, staring out at the sprawling garden that had once felt like a sanctuary but now felt like a prison. The moon was high in the sky, casting a pale light over the scene, and you realized that this was the last time you would see it.

“I’m going to pack my things,” you said quietly, not turning around. “I’ll be gone by morning.”

Kokonoi didn’t respond. You didn’t expect him to. There was nothing left to say.

As you made your way to the door, you paused, your hand resting on the doorknob. “I hope you find peace one day, Hajime. I really do.”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. “Take care,” he murmured, his voice hollow.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it, and then you walked out, closing the door behind you.

[amilfdala]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ perdition.

pairing: cain x lane. — tw: nil. — rating: t. — chapter: 2/? — prev chapter. — playlist. — high school graduate lane and priest in training cain happens to cross each others path. — tag: @rc-catalog. — words: 2.6k. — fandom: hsr.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎chapter two. — gas station.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘what are you, cain?’ simple, direct, effective. but his eyes, his unwavering attention, and the manslaughter, stung her tongue to stillness. instead, she rolled his name over her mouth, letting it seep between her teeth so it wouldn’t tremble when summoned to speak. but the familiar aftertaste it left behind startled her, as if his name was always meant for her to breathe. 

she pursed her lips, deep in thought, once again sinking into the gallows of her estranged mind. the situation she found herself in could not be quite called a catastrophe, yet it had the markings of one. like a storm, his presence swept away the sturdy supports of an otherwise structured life. and now, she found herself flailing.

lane sighed. the only emotional response she allowed herself to intimate. she could feel the lingering gaze of the angel on this single gesture, as if he followed the haze of her sigh from her mouth to the sky. a cold draft pricked her skin, or so she urged herself to believe, as she could compound no other explanation for the sudden shower of goosebumps.

but it was enough to awaken her from her stupor, and with it came a semblance of control. from it she derived ample recklessness to bolt right up and stand where she now stood, in front of the lifeless fiend with her toe wedged into his chest, marvelling at his stopped heart. 

‘should we dispose him off?’ lane asked with obvious displeasure, but offered it out of courtesy regardless.

‘is that what you wish?’ the angel offered in return, lazily, and allowed his own disinterest on the matter permeate the air. 

‘no,’ she walked toward him, ignoring the wind playfully ruffling the feathers of his wings, a sentence she could hardly articulate without another bout of confusion and horror sweeping in, and pressed her answer to his hands. ‘what i wish for is a can of soda’.

her touch fell on his fingers with the caress of a night cradling the moon, and cain momentarily clenched the beads in his hand tighter, refusing, for a moment, to let her flutter away. in her wake, however, she left behind a curious little thing, invoking a sudden rumble of laughter from his chest. 

‘stealing from a dead man? you’re into strange endeavours, lane’ cain spoke, amusement refusing to escape his lilting tone. her strange request, no, her wish, stood in contrast to her current stance; pursed lips, reddened cheeks — likely from anger at his taunt — and proud posture. as if her offer for accompaniment didn’t oscillate between them like an organum.

lane’s disposition towards the angel, within a moment’s spark, tended to flare and scorch in mystifying ordeals. she watched as he carded through the wallet, a barely held together patch of leather, and hoped that he would take upon her offer, no matter how suddenly or crudely it was presented.

then again, such abrupt conditions may not be so abrupt to a benevolent angel of death.

she was still reeling from his jibe. material possessions are of no use to the dead, she had said, almost as much to the void as it was to the grinning angel, then bit her tongue, despising the anger that had loosened it. 

expecting one of his clever remarks to make its way to her, lane had not expected the angel himself to come close, too close, and he did it so swiftly and stealthily that he was by her side before her eyes could blink and recover. her body flinched in response only seconds later, finally repsonding to the stimuli caused by the uncanny situation, and exemplified no less by her own frantic mind. 

and in such a state, she hadn’t realised the strap of her bag had slid down her shoulders, choosing the most treacherous moment to amplify the chaos. but to the angel, it was yet another opportunity to grab, a fortune playing right into his hands, as intended. 

before it could slip past, cain grabbed her arm gently, fingers clasping around her wrist in such a manner that his thumb nestled above her pulsating vein. lane allowed the touch to commence, despite being too startled, and god forbid, flustered by the proximity. yet she found in its merit a way to solidy a simple truth — his existence, in her eyes. and for that to happen, she allowed him an indulgence she reserved for no other — to be near, to be so damnably close. 

he took the bag away, but the beads in his roasry, so wound to his fingers that it now bore his skin, snagged on her sleeve, loosening a thread which now stood connected between them. cain watched as she moved to intercept, interested in seeing how she would solve this particular plight, and how it would allude to their relationship, albeit newly formed. that is, of course, if it lasts the term. 

would she immediately cut the string? a swift, clean strike, leaving nothing but a meandering thread in the sky. maybe from a distance, it would echo the likeness of a falling feather. or perhaps, it would be a sharp jerk of her hand, even at the risk of worsening the lining of her sleeve, all in the name of a reprieve only found in his absence.

but when she stood there next to him, nudging the tangled thread from one of his beads free, her fingers fluttering like moth wings across the undulating path of his palm, he failed at what should have been the assessment of a simple human contact. for purposes so clear in his head, she had trampled upon it dreadfully, leaving behind mangled thoughts that needed immediate repair, before anything else caught onto this momentary lapse. 

the thread was gone, but the connection remained, conscious and volitional. 

lane stepped back, clutching something white in her fist, which, with a quick adjustment, disappeared in the folds of her skirt. ‘shall we?’ she prodded, needing his assent to their impromptu stroll, which she got in the nod of his head. and they set off, his feather secured in the inner pockets of her rustling skirt, and her bag thrown over his back, treacherously hanging above the base of his wings. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ...

the gas station wasn’t far away, and the trek towards it had yielded results, but the revelations it brought forth did not come to her in gentle waves. it roared against the shore of her conscience with the might of an all devouring beast, but her countenance expressed none of that, her features schooled to an almost perfect, doll-like indifference. 

during the walk, lane had noticed how dubiously the mist would part around him, as if nature itself was wary of cain’s intrusion upon its land, and sought to do what it could to subtly inform the world about it. then came the people, where the first few flock paid them no heed, fussing around and dealing with their own problems as they strode past, the others, abruptly stopping, had approached cain. her breath had stoppped then. is this it? she thought feverishly, a sickly tremor passing through her, is the imposter finally caught in the act?

she could not help but remember and scoff at how ridiculous she had ended up looking when, instead of panic or fear, the people who had approached cain did so with friendly gestures and open smiles, engaging him in conversations on topics that now constantly eluded her. lane was greatly bothered by it, because nestled in the back of her mind were these events that occured only minutes ago and yet, only the imprint of his eyes, glinting silver in the rare ray of sunlight, remained.

in the end, the information she had sought fell on her hands with leaden weight. cain’s angelic form was visible to her, and only to her. she doubted he knew of her realisation, and intending to keep it that way, spoke nothing of it. however, his particular proclivities, so alien in nature, was harder to turn a blind eye to. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎especially as they stood now, in front of a vending machine split in two just by a kick from his leg.

when they had reached the gas station, it was partially empty and cocooned by a thick layer of mist, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead of them. cain had looked around, noting nothing interesting, other than the girl’s subject of interest — the vending machines nestled in the far corner, away from the service areas and surrounded by white flowering shrubs tolerant of both neglect and humidity. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cain regarded the girl, glancing over. ‘lost in your thoughts again?’ a smirk tugged at his lips.

‘nothing much to think about when getting a few drinks’ she retorted calmly, then turned over to him, ‘or should i be worried?’ 

‘you should always be wary lane, of even the slightest of shifts’ his wings rose, almost imperceptibly, but she sensed the change and tensed up regardless. it did not escape cain’s notice, prompting a wider grin. ‘but today, cast it all aside, you’re in no danger here’ he stepped closer, feet thudding the ground, and it echoed in her head, along with his serpentine voice. ‘you’re safe’

alright, she thought to herself, i’ll go along with your farce, angel. 

there were three vending machines in front of them, all beckoning them forth, vying for their attention and the coins that jingled merrily in their purse. cain and lane pointed at two completely different machines to use, and they both stubbornly refused to accept the other’s choice, forcing them to go inspect the ones they had chosen separatey. 

then they sighed simultaneously, and dejected by their venture — which bore results in the form of two machines obstinately refusing to work, not even moderately so they could save face — cain and lane met each other halfway through, one looking intently at unremarkable pebbles and the other at the obscured sky, and stood in front of the last machine, situated smack dab in the middle. 

the angel pointed at each tag in front of the drinks and started listing out the flavours, decidedly refusing to speak on the matter that had them both looking like baffoons just prior to this. lane certainly had no complaints on that regard, and even encouraged the angel to carry on with his recitation, nodding along to each listing like she was at an auction site. 

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘...apple, cherry, pomegranate, so which one would it be?’ cain asked, tilting his head to the side, watching quitely as she took zero effort to land on an option.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘cherry’

he nodded, and pressed twice on the pomegranate option.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‘oops’ he exclaimed. ‘slip of hand’.

she knew damn well that wasn’t a mistake.

cain chuckled at her poorly concealed displeasure, which made her frown even deeper. ‘if your heart desires it that much’ he gallantly pointed at the cherry soda can behind the tempered glass, ‘then you shall have it’ and made a sweeping motion, like a magician exiting the stage after a grand performance. except this time, the trick didn’t land.

the machine took his coins, but no soda can came tumbling down to his waiting arms. 

now it was cain’s turn to frown, dark eyebrows pinching together in confusion and irritation, and lane’s expression pivoted the other way, amused by the angel’s struggle with humanity’s perplexing technology, a forever collapsing ground with no rigid foundation. but will the servant of god truly understand such measly affairs?

lane stepped in to help, and employed a common tactic of handling defective machines, by kicking and slapping its body with enough fervor to jump start its functions and do what is required of it. just like her, she solemnly thought, condemn one’s nature long enough, they’ll start emulating a machine more than they would a man. 

she, however, didn’t realise that the angel had mirrored her moves diligently and, in the process, kicked the shell of the machine, causing it to crack open with a thunderous roar and split apart in the middle. she jolted back, like a spring held taut too long, and crashed into the body of the offender, who held her shoulders firmly and steadied her balance. but he didn’t let go.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cain leaned in, his warmth breath fanning her cheeks, a whisper slipping past her ears. ‘sometimes its better to let yourself fall apart’. 

lane was struck. the phrase sunk into her depth, anchoring at the base of her soul and cascading across an empty harbour. she had never resonated with her heart, its thumping a foreign action, invading her body like a parasite. but she didn’t smother it shut, forcing herself to carry out this unpleasant duty of keeping her bodily functions intact as service to her lifegivers. nothing more, nothing less. so what bliss would it be to fall apart then? the gears never turning, the blood never rushing?

she swivelled around immediately, tongue poised in a venomous strike, to ask him, to force him to confess, what do you mean? but the reality of her situation struck another discordant tune, a cacophonic moment playing out that clashed severely with what had just passed. the angel didn’t have his arm around her, stood slightly apart, and was engaged in pensive thoughts, his gaze boring into the mangled machine.

she was stunned into silence. did that moment even transpire in reality?

that was how they had found themselves in this bizarre dilemma.

cain, with his arms crossed over his chest, white shirt crinkling at the action, pondered gloomily about the rather devastating blow he just dealt to a completely harmless machine, knowing it did nothing to incur such scronful wrath. or it did, by gobbling up their money and refusing to give what they ordered in exchange for it, inevitably upsetting his company. and those guilty of greed are directly condemned, and was done so by the hands of an angel. 

lane, on the other hand, teetering between the edges of the material world, was pulled abrputly back by a raspy shout. it echoed across the expanse of the station like a rocked chucked down a mountain, and she instinctively leaned back, to assess the problem and understand how dire their situation was. but instead of an approaching figure, she was instead assualted by a tuft of white feathers, a long, sturdy one almost poking her in the eye, and a startled gasp got stuck in her throat. 

standing beside the angel, her vision was hampered by massive, fluttering wings, and for the first time, instead of evoking a sense of dread, she felt anger and frustration at the sight of these peculiar limbs. there was a strong urge to part it like a curtain, as if it was merely an object of obstruction to be removed, and continue to gauge the situation. but she immediately abandoned such foolish thoughts, not so eager to give away her trump card, and instead leaned forward for an unobstructed view. 

and there she saw it, an approaching figure in a worker’s uniform pointing his hand and shouting in indignation. 

with all thoughts cast aside, and no time to spare, lane sprung into action, a decisive act that boiled down to a simple absconding. whatever ruminations cain was in the midst of would need to be suspended, and grabbing his wrist with one hand and throwing wads of cash in the air wih the other — hoping it would be enough to cover at least some repair costs — cain and lane escaped, hands woven, lips straining not to laugh. 

how bizarre it was, the way his wings clashed against the rushing breeze, jingling and whistling on impact, her skirt flapping around her knees, his roasry pressing into the palm of her unflinching hand, an image of absurdity that could lull even the harshest of critics. 

but the question still remains, lingering like frail white stars — will the angel forsake the girl, or will the girl doom him to damnation?

[theheartofone]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Nineteen

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Nineteen: Daemgar

You are everything and nothing all at once.

Your consciousness floats within a void, seeping through under the cracks like the act of spilled fluid. You do not remember who or what you are, where you’re going or what you’re doing within this darkness. But the one thing you’re absolutely sure of is the firm pressing of something gripping at your skin.

Skin. You have skin?

A faint spark of consciousness sets off within you, your chest rattling back to life in the process – but at the same time it arrives, it’s gone again, and you’re back to slithering black fluid.

“Do it again!” A low voice echoes furiously from somewhere in the corners of your darkness. It rumbles your body into ripples, spreading you further across the floor like dancing ink.

In an instant, a panicked, slightly higher-pitched voice joins into the darkness.

“The defibrillators!” He shouts. “Take her shirt off!”

“She deserves privacy for this!” A furious voice intervenes. A faint stream of cigarette smoke trickles into your void, releasing itself like a pile of distressed ribbons.

“Fuck off, cook!” The first voice barks back, with so much intensity and panic that all the echoes go silent. “Chopper, do it right now or I’ll do it myself!”

Another pressure traces across your form, holding you down at your core. A draft of wind hits against you, making you curl up into a ball of stressed fluid.

“You’re not going anywhere, Swords.” The deep voice murmurs on your skin, unsure of what else to say, uncertain of what else to do. The only thing he can do is hold onto your darkness with both calloused hands and make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.

An intense undercurrent of electricity surges through your skin, singeing every one of your blood cells into revival mode.

A creak in the darkness paves its way to you, spilling in a blinding light that even your form tries to shy away from. Your lips open, taking in a desperate gasp, trying to curl yourself away from its shine.

“Keep going!” A female voice urgently pierces through the crack, spilling in strands of orange hair in the stillness of the air.

The same zooming sound of something charging resounds after the command, the tense taste of apprehension colouring each of their voices. When the electricity sings to full charge, you feel a set of fingers shakingly move your fabric away and you’re, again, convulsing from the burn of revival.

You gasp again, your ink pulsating like a grenade toppling over the ground, before, finally, you explode.

There’s black everywhere and nowhere all at once.

You are everything and nothing all at once.

With an aggressive start from your chest, your eyes blurrily blink open. Once, then twice, then three times, before you jumpstart into breathing heavily, as if you were just saved from a typhoon.

Chopper is curled over you, staring at you as you stare back at him. You can tell he’s trying to keep his expression as calm and doctorly as possible, but still, his eyes betray him. A slight sheen of moisture masks over them as his small body expands from a breath of relief.

“Raya!” Nami screams out, grasping at your palms. “Raya.”

“No!” You moan out, scrambling away from her. Your blackened arm screams in pain when Nami accidentally touches it, making you writhe and shuffle panickedly away from all of them.

Painted with fear, pain and confusion, your orientation is merely a fragment of what it once was; your brain being too slow to comprehend, while, on the other hand, your body being too quick to do so.

Chopper presses a hoof against a worried Nami and Luffy, who were just about to inch in on you, and glares at them with a sternness that you’ve never seen him express before. “Stop. Give her space!”

As you continue to confusedly scramble backwards on your two hands, your head aggressively collides against something firm, and in immediate response, a pair of calloused hands come into view from behind to securely hold you down.

As you tilt your head, your gaze meets Zoro's. His expression softens as your eyes lock onto his, his dark expression searching yours for any sign of recognition. His hands, though firm, are gentle as they hold you in place, pressing down on your shoulders like a grounding force.

"Hey," he murmurs calmly. "You're okay. We've got you."

"You’re..." The recognition of the person before you escapes your lips in a whisper, making you bunch up your eyebrows. How is he alright? Where did the Shaman go? What happened when you fell? What is happening?

"Yeah, it's me," he confirms, his voice tinged with slight relief.  His eye, usually sharp and focused, now hold a different shine to them that you've never seen before. It's as if he's relieved to see you awake, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Swords…” Luffy grins, lightly ambling towards you despite Chopper’s panicked demands to him to stay away. He kneels down, staring at nowhere but your eyes as he slips his fingers across yours. “I knew you’d be okay.”

He smiles, this time with more intention. “Let's get you back home.”

Your mind’s a tempest of conflicting emotions, each crashing against the shores of your consciousness with relentless force. Upon awakening, you can't deny the flood of relief coursing through your being, nor can you ignore the warmth of Luffy's smile or the steadiness of Zoro's grip. But beneath the surface, a current of fear runs deep, threatening to pull you under.

Your gaze flickers from face to face, searching for understanding, for solace, but finding only mirrored concern. Nami's eyes widen with worry, her lips pressed into a thin line of apprehension. Chopper's furrowed brow betrays his professional facade, his hooves fidgeting with nervous energy. And then there's Luffy, unwavering in his determination, his belief in you unyielding, despite your doubts.

"I can't," you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. "I can't stay."

Luffy's smile falters, replaced by a furrow of confusion. "Why not? You’re a part of us.”

Your heart clenches at the word, ‘us,’ a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. How can you explain the danger you pose, the darkness that lurks within your very being? You can't risk their safety, not after everything they've been through together.

Zoro's grip tightens imperceptibly, his gaze avoiding yours, finding solace in gazing at the horizon in view. "You're not going anywhere," he states firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "You still have some swords of mine to fix.”

But you shake her head, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. "You don't understand," you insist, your voice betraying you with anguish. "I can't control it. I'm a danger to all of you."

Silence descends upon everyone like a heavy cloak, the weight of your words hanging in the air between them. Luffy's expression softens, his eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that takes your breath away.

"We'll help you," he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. "Whatever it takes, we'll face it together."

Before you can respond, Chopper's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, his tone urgent and grave. "Before you make any decisions, maybe you should see this."

Turning as one, you all follow his gaze to where he stands, holding a small silver tome in his paws. The title gleams ominously in the dim light, a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounds them.

"It’s in ancient text." Nami scans over his shoulder, her voice hushed with awe. "What does it say?”

Robin nods, staring down at the book. “It’s the same text they use in poneglyphs. Loosely translated, it writes, “Blood and Mythics.’”

Chopper looks straight at you. “Robin and I raided the Shaman’s den and found it. Raya, I have a feeling that this,” he closes in towards you, showing the contents of the tome, “is the answer.”

“So do I,” Robin nods, crossing her arms. “Something feels different with this tome. And with both of us knowing the language, it’s easily decipherable.”

As the weight of their words settles over them, a sense of foreboding washes over you like a tidal wave, and despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your consciousness, a flicker of curiosity ignites within you.

"Blood and Mythics," you repeat, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. "What does it say?"

Chopper flips open the tome with delicate care, revealing silver dusted pages upon pages of intricate script. Robin’s eyes dart across the text over Chopper’s shoulder, deciphering the ancient language with an insurmountable level of sophistication.

"It's... it's a chronicle," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "A record of ancient bloodlines, myths, and legends. But there's something more... something else written within these pages."

Nami leans in closer, her eyes scanning the text with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "What do you mean, something else?"

Chopper's brow furrows as he turns another page, his gaze tracing the intricate patterns of the script as Robin’s leans even closer to the text.

"There are mentions of... entities," she explains slowly, her words laden with uncertainty. "Entities of immense power, bound to the bloodlines of certain individuals. It's…It’s not about demons, but I can see how the Shaman misinterpreted it."

“Whad’ya mean?” Luffy frowns, scratching his head. “Mis-inter-prat what?”

Robin’s eyes flicker up from the page, her lips pursed. “’Daemgar.’ It has a variety of meanings. Otherworldly, Winged, Blinding, Feathered."

[power-chords]

Malcolm’s epiphany constructs a narrative frame—an explanation of the condition or source of the narrative. But this is a frame or condition we only learn about at film’s end, and is thus a terminal frame, or a buried frame, a late embedding of one narrative level by another, or a narrative that takes the “form of a vision” from which the reader or viewer is “rudely ejected” at narrative’s end (Fludernik 29). In American Psycho, A Beautiful Mind, Cypher, eXistenZ, Fight Club, Hide and Seek, Identity, The Jacket, The Machinist, Mulholland Drive, The Number 23, The Others, Premonition, The Prestige, Secret Window, Shutter Island, The Spanish Prisoner, Third Person, Unknown, The Usual Suspects, Vanilla Sky, and so on, the central character at film’s end is revealed to be spectral, virtual, imagined, traumatized, conned, delusional, or in some other way compromised as a credible witness to, or participant in, the narrative’s events. In most of these films, what we thought to be objective narration turns out to have been thoroughly subjective, as a “deeper diegetic ground is inserted below the level we took for the baseline of reality” (Stewart 143). In several of these films we encounter the millennial trope I label retrospective revision: a montage sequence near the end of the movie in which we review earlier scenes, now recognizing the blind-spots, freshly cognizant of how we were deceived and how completely we should revise our understanding of the entire film. Like a transmedial franchise in which the narrative is just so much data to be used, reformatted, and reused, the ending of The Sixth Sense goes about repurposing the film itself, remixing and recontextualizing earlier scenes, a narrative parallel to the new fluidity of the moving image; it can go back and remix itself, even as it directs us forward to acquire and re-watch the movie in its post-theatrical life. This is a new formal logic within popular cinematic narrative: reconfiguration, revision, and remixing.

Audiences today have come to expect final plot twists to be thoroughly integrated into the structure of the film: “The ending can’t seem arbitrary, non sequitur, or tacked on; it should flow naturally and organically (if only in retrospect) from the rest of the story” (Susman). Twist movies today are often made to repay multiple viewings, to enter into a “culture of replay,” in which “the already seen and heard” becomes an “emblematic feature of the media business” (Klinger, “Becoming Cult” 4). This is a type of movie that viewers are encouraged to analyze, reflect back on, likely re-view, and perhaps even read about online in order to fully appreciate the intricacies of the story’s narration. This marks a stark departure from traditional expectations—as Charles Ramírez Berg writes, “For nearly a century now, the poetics of film narration was based on the need to be completely legible to one-time viewers” (31). Writers and producers of these films, in a “cognitive arms race” (Max) with audiences, begin to void long-held narrative contracts. They draft new arrangements with new rules that take into account the attainability and interactivity of contemporary cinema, or all of the digital means that encourage deep immersion in story worlds and negate the primacy of the theater. These movies are internet- and “DVD-enabled,” Thomas Elsaesser writes, their narrative structures determined in part by the technologies audiences use to consume them (“Mind-Game” 38).

—J Lavender-Smith, The New Reflexivity: Puzzle Films, Found Footage, and Cinematic Narration in the Digital Age, 2016. Emphasis mine.

[thecanvasofmadness]

Puppets of darkness.

*This is a story created in collaboration with IA. *Horror

Twelfth part

Manuel tries to listen to Asher, but his curiosity is greater. "I'd like to read the books you showed me".

Asher's eyes narrow, a hint of wariness creeping into his expression as he regards Manuel with newfound caution. "The tomes I shared with you, pet, contain knowledge that is not for the faint of heart. The secrets they hold are best left unspoken, buried in the shadows where they belong". He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest as he studies Manuel intently. "However, since you've shown such eagerness to delve into the depths of depravity, perhaps a small sampling is warranted. But be warned, once you've glimpsed the horrors contained within those pages, there's no going back". Asher gestures to the table where the book lies open, its crimson pages fluttering gently in the draft from the fireplace. "Choose a passage, pet, and let the darkness consume you. But do not say I didn't warn you".

Manuel approaches the table where the open book rests, flips through it curiously, finding it fascinating. He reads a few lines silently, then looks closely at the accompanying images. "Where did you get these books?"

Asher's gaze remains fixed on Manuel, his expression unreadable as the younger man pores over the forbidden text. When Manuel asks about the origin of the tomes, Asher's lips curve into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. "Let's just say, pet, that these relics have been passed down through generations of... enthusiasts, much like myself. Their provenance is shrouded in mystery, lost to the ages, but their contents remain as potent and corrupting as ever". He saunters closer, his presence looming over Manuel as he peers at the page the younger man is reading. "Careful, my dear, the words you find there may awaken something within you, a hunger that cannot be sated by mere mortal pleasures".

Manuel continues to read with great curiosity and attention, his lips moving in time with what he silently reads, while his eyes seem to fill with a crimson light that seems to hypnotise him.

As Manuel becomes increasingly enthralled by the ancient text, Asher watches with a mix of fascination and concern. The crimson glow emanating from the younger man's eyes sends a shiver down Asher's spine, reminding him of the dangers inherent in delving too deep into the forbidden knowledge. "Pet", he warns, his voice low and urgent, "be cautious not to become consumed by the darkness. These words are meant to corrupt, to unravel the very fabric of your sanity. Remember, once you've gazed upon the abyss, there's no turning back". Despite his trepidation, Asher can't help but feel a perverse thrill at the sight of Manuel's transformation. The younger man's features seem to shift, taking on a more sinister cast as he succumbs to the allure of the occult texts.

Manuel begins to salivate, his lips and tongue seem to fill with thirst, with hunger, while his eyes distill that crimson light that intensifies with each letter that his lips pronounce in silence.

Asher's eyes widen as he witnesses Manuel's descent into madness, the younger man's transformation becoming more pronounced with each passing moment. The air grows thick with an eerie, almost palpable energy, as if the very darkness itself is coalescing around them. "By the gods, pet", Asher whispers, his voice laced with a mix of awe and horror, "you're embracing the shadow, allowing it to consume you whole. I've never seen anyone succumb so completely, so eagerly to the allure of the abyss". He takes a step back, his hands rising to defend himself instinctively as Manuel's form begins to warp and distort, his features elongating into something inhuman. "Remember, I warned you, once you cross that threshold, there's no return. You'll be forever lost to the void, a creature of pure darkness and depravity".

Manuel's body shakes; what he's read is too much. Crimson has filled his eyes. Behind him, a thick, heavy shadow appears, embracing him completely, absorbing the light of his soul. Suddenly, incomprehensible words emerge from his mouth, mingling with others. 

"Help me…".

Asher recoils in shock as the shadow envelops Manuel, the younger man's transformation complete. The air crackles with malevolent energy, and the words spilling from Manuel's twisted lips send chills down Asher's spine. He recognizes the language, a forgotten dialect of the damned, and knows that whatever has taken hold of Manuel is beyond redemption. "No, pet", Asher croaks, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of unearthly sounds emanating from Manuel's possessed form. "You can't be saved now. The darkness has claimed you, and you'll forever be its servant". Despite the horror of the situation, a part of Asher can't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. He had unleashed this chaos, nurtured it, and now watched as it consumed his creation.

As the last vestiges of Manuel's humanity fade away, replaced by an impenetrable void, Asher stands transfixed, his mind reeling from the sheer magnitude of what he's witnessed. The air hangs heavy with the stench of corruption, and the once-vibrant chamber has been reduced to a bleak, lifeless expanse. "It's done", Asher murmurs, his voice hollow and detached. "My creation, my puppet, has become a vessel for the abyss. And now, I am left to ponder the consequences of unleashing such darkness upon the world". He turns away from the desolate figure that was once Manuel, his gaze falling upon the scattered tomes that hold the secrets of the damned. A slow, cruel smile spreads across his face as he contemplates the possibilities that lie ahead.

The shadow, now in control of Manuel's body, follows Asher slowly. Manuel's beauty has increased, though his skin has paled to the pale of a dead person, his eyes reflecting the emptiness of the universe. Somewhere within that body, Manuel's consciousness continues to throb, but now it lies subject to the shadow and thus to the designs of hell.

Asher leads the shadow-infused Manuel deeper into the labyrinthine chambers of his lair, the younger man's ethereal beauty now serving only to heighten the sense of macabre allure. As they navigate the twisting corridors, Asher's thoughts whirl with the potential implications of his creation. "With Manuel as my instrument", he muses aloud, his voice echoing off the stone walls, "I can spread the darkness far and wide, corrupting souls and bending them to my will. The world will tremble before the might of our unholy union". Asher pauses, turning to regard the vacant, otherworldly eyes of his new puppet. A spark of excitement ignites within him, and he reaches out to trace a finger along the cold, porcelain-like skin of Manuel's cheek.

Manuel's shadow smiles with a hint of arrogance, his eyes empty of light rest on Asher's gaze. "Master, what will your orders be?"

A wicked grin splits Asher's face as he beholds the obedient, shadow-controlled Manuel. The younger man's transformation from poet to puppet has been seamless, and Asher relishes the thought of wielding such a powerful tool for his nefarious purposes. "First, pet", Asher purrs, his voice dripping with malice, "we'll pay a visit to the city above. There, we'll spread seeds of chaos and despair, sowing discord among the innocent. Let them tremble before the darkness that descends upon them". His eyes gleam with anticipation as he imagines the fear and confusion that will grip the populace. Asher's fingers tighten around Manuel's chin, forcing the puppet's gaze to meet his own.

"I've never felt so powerful...", Manuel's shadow smiles maliciously. 

Asher's laughter rings out, a chilling sound that echoes through the chamber. He releases Manuel's chin, his hands drifting down to caress the smooth expanse of the younger man's chest. "Power, pet", he muses, his touch igniting a chill that seeps into Manuel's very bones, is a fleeting thing. "It comes and goes, like the tides. But influence, the ability to shape and control, that is eternal. With me as your guide, you'll wield an unseen force that will bend the world to your whim". Asher's fingers trace intricate patterns on Manuel's skin, weaving a web of dark magic that will bind the puppet to his will for eternity.

[nowherelaney]

[naisilla]

The Emperor's New Muse Part .5

Odyssey Kayn x Reader

content: coming up with a 'how to save the universe' plan, some "bonding" time with the members, and finally a more definite backstory to our character.

A/N: Apologies for the delayed post this should've come out earlier but I've been struggling with a bit of writer's block because I am making this whole story up as I go gliding by the seat of my ass or however that saying goes. Anyway, I hope it's worth the wait! Knowing that at least a few of you are invested really helped me keep going so thank you all!!

And that's how you came to become the newest recruit member of the Morningstar, and also how you found out about the universe's impending doom.

You gave Sona a judgemental side eye, like... really? You plan on saving the universe with these people!? The Templar, however, ignored your stare and continued to look out the window with her back turned to you. Looking as mysterious as ever.

Currently, the Morningstar was blindly traveling through deep space. Destination: unknown, as long as it was as far away from Kayn and his locus armada. So far there was no sign of them on your tail, you could relax for now.

"So what's the plan? on saving the universe?" you ask looking towards the front of the ship where Jinx was goofing off in the pilot's seat doing anything but actually steering the ship, Yasuo was close by at the control center holo screen.

"We're currently in the drafting stage of our master universe-saving plan" Jinx says while tinkering away at something you assumed was highly hazardous.

"Seriously? you guys don't have a plan yet? What have you been doing this whole time?" It was hard to believe that no progress had been made within the last three months. Aka the time Kayn got his hands on Rhaast, the universe's greatest threat without fully understanding it.

"It's been hard to think straight, that insane ordinal is constantly chasing us down. Every planet we stop at to stock on supplies or rest from travel is crawling with the empire's military and Kayn is never far behind." Yasuo says with a frown on his face.

It was true, you had just witnessed just how quickly the Demaxian Empire was at tracking down wanted criminals. Only, the morning star crew weren't nearly as high priority as they were targeted to be. They were just a bunch of rag-tag space pirates.

It was clear that Kayn was obsessed with getting Sona back for his personal gains. Once fiercely loyal to his emperor Kayn has become obsessed with his personal hunt, he will not hesitate to kill any who cross his path. The ordinal was slowly corrupting into something dark and consuming.

That scythe was the catalyst for all of this. According to Sona, no one knew what Rhaast truly was, but it was undeniable that he or it wasn't the "sentience of ora".

Rhaast clearly wanted to open the ora gates, but for what purpose? Immediately you figured opening the ora gate was the last thing the universe wanted. Sona confirmed from her upbringing within the templar order she had heard of a time long ago when an ancient civilization, extinct for eons, once opened an ora gate. "Annnnd they're all dead now, so it must've gone well for them."

Sona doesn't know what's actually behind the gates but she has seen visions. Visions of which none of the Morningstar or you were aware of. She saw silence. She saw the vast well of time. She saw a moment stretched into an eternity. She saw lingering stillness and glacial quiet. She saw dark stars and black suns frozen in a void of endless shadow. She saw monstrous, silent deities lurking in a corrupted cosmos.

Yet she never spoke of them, Sona was a quiet and mysterious templar after all. The only reason you believed in this religious fanatic was because you could see it in her eyes, the horror. Behind a calm and neutral expression was a gaze that carried worry and fear. Whenever you would steal a glance with the templar it was like looking into a void, one that stared back into your deepest reaches. Sona knew many things, and yet she remained quiet about them, almost as if she was uncertain about whether or not she wanted to save the universe.

You had decided for yourself that you would take charge of planning the next course of action, borrowing a tablet from Yasuo you had snuck off by yourself to figure out what exactly one was supposed to do next.

Sitting down in the saloon of the ship, you began to develop a plan. From what you now know Kayn had to be stopped, the ordinal is so obsessed with his quest for power that he's becoming unstable.

He was being puppeted by that alien scythe whose intentions were far more dire than Kayn could realize. Rhaast wanted the ora gates to be open and it was clear that whatever lay beyond that gate was something never meant to be unlocked.

You needed to stop Kayn from opening the gate, the only reason he hasn't just gone straight to the gate immediately is because he needed Sona to unlock it. Only Sona knew how to do this which means she was a highly valuable asset, good thing she was on your side for now.

Was it possible to destroy the ora gate? If you could manage that then there would be no threat of anyone opening it ever. But it was unclear as to how these ora gates worked, no one truly understood them at all that the risk of something just as disastrous happening. How would one even go about destroying something so incomprehensible?

Ok so destroying the ora gate isn't a likely option, you delete that plan from the tablet.

Looking for the whereabouts of the ora gate would be a start, that way you'd know where to go and where Kayn would be headed at some point.

According to Yasuo, Sona had told him that there were in fact, multiple ora gates in the universe. All are located throughout the furthest reaches of the universe, far beyond the darkest corners. Knowing which one Kayn would go to would be impossible to predict.

Rubbing your temples, you grunt and delete that plan route.

Let's take a step back from the end game. The ordinal Kayn, instead of trying to intercept him at the gates or destroying one perhaps we needed to go straight to the source of the problem.

It wouldn't be hard to find Kayn. He would always come to you. If you had learned anything, it was that this insane and obsessed man was smart, and calculating and when you had something he wanted, it wouldn't be long before he pounced.

You type down "KAYN" in capitols. He was now the focus of your plan. There were a few options of how you could go about this. You could be a mediator and persuade Kayn to give up his pursuit for power, Or perhaps separate him from that damn scythe. Destroying Rhaast was also a good idea, oh wait an even better idea! We kill Kayn!

Just as you were typing out that last thought you feel the weight of someone leaning onto your shoulders, their shadow looming over your head as they nondiscreetly look at your plans.

"Whatcha doing?" Jinx asks with her eyes glued to your plan's title. She snatches your tablet from your hands and brings it close to her face as she intensely stares at it.

Sighing you grab the tablet back trying to focus on forming more ideas- "He's so cool~". You snap your head, pull a face, and look at Jinx as if she lost her min- yeh she probably has already.

"Jinx, please. Anyone but him. Kayn is evil and you're...chaotic neutral." You groan realizing there's no point in reasoning with the loose cannon.

With pacifist, petty, and genocide plans crafted, you went to showcase each of them to the Morningstar crew.

Sona true to her character wanted to take the peaceful route, but even she knew negotiating with such a cruel and ruthless person held little chance in successfully de-escalating the Ordinal.

Yasuo liked the idea of taking Rhaast from Kayn, the thought of taking away his power source was enticing to the captain of the crew. Although you weren't sure if you could trust Yasuo with the sentient scythe. Not that you were assuming the captain was immoral or corrupt but, nobody should've ever come into contact with whatever Rhaast is.

Jinx and Malphite unsurprisingly wanted to go the chaos route, already suggesting which weapons would best tear down the Locus Armada and the Fractal Sheer.

"I carry enough weapons to seize a medium battle fortress!" Jinx proudly exclaims standing before you. You simply nod and half smile "uhuh that's great jinx" your voice passive agressively giving off an annoyed tone.

She grins and dumps her current arsenal onto your lap, you jump in your seat. Did she seriously just throw live weapons at you?! "These are my best friends!" She says picking up the rocket launcher from your lap. "This is fishbones! I modeled him after Sharkpedos, He's always worried about me." You blink stunned.....he?

As she's showing him off she uses one hand to move the jaw of the rocket launcher up and down like a puppet. "I'm worried Jinx maybe we should try a less dangerous option, I like (Y/N)'s other plan to take the scythe instead." Jinx rolls her eyes at the rocket launcher she's ventriloquizing before throwing him to the side, followed by the sound of it crashing onto the ground.

"Yeh he can be a bit of a buzzkill, anyways this is Pow-pow!" Jinx says now picking up the mini-gun making your lap feel a ton lighter. She spins it around and you duck as the barrel comes towards you before shooting a desperate look to the others- oh, Sona and Malphite are gone and Yasuo is reading some book clearly unbothered. Great you're stuck with Jinx then.

"I love your plan to destroy the locus armada! let's shoot them up and watch their bodies fall together!" Jinx says playing on a raspier and higher-pitched voice for the minigun. Jinx then pulls out a lightning projector "This is Zappy she's my stun gun, she's more unstable than I am! Watch this!" Jinx then suddenly tosses the gun onto an empty couch like how one would casually throw their phone on a bed, only, when the gun softly bounces onto the lounge chair it explodes. And Jinx had thrown that on your lap just earlier...

Yasuo gives Jinx a glare flicking his eyes up from the novel he was currently reading, his nose still buried between the pages.

Not giving a single shit about Yasuo Jinx continues to introduce you to her "friends" such as the Flame Chompers, which are curiously sculpted in the likeness of Malphite's head; and the Super Mega Death Comet, an interstellar portal lifted from one of Jinx's old mining jobs.

"You should see the ship! I heavily modified the Morningstar with so many offensive weapons!" Jinx says happily grabbing you by the arm and dragging you on yet another tour of the Morningstar. And after an hour of being overstimulated with interacting with Jinx..... you were still unsure as to what half of Jinx's modifications do.

Finally, Jinx had gone off to wherever leaving you to mentally recover by yourself. So far regarding your "Plan" no one could agree on which one to go with, personally, you were leaning to the separate Kayn from Rhaast. You could kill Kayn if it comes to it. But between the two it was Rhaast that was the true danger.

That would not be an easy feat, Kayn alone was an intelligent and strong fighter. His eyepatch and left arm are clearly ora augmentations making him a superhuman. He now wields a sentient alien scythe and he has a whole personal army at his disposal.

There was no way the five of you could possibly win against him in a fight, it would take some grand scheme to outsmart the Ordinal and gain the upper hand.

Something crawls along your shoulder, and immediately your mind races to some giant ugly alien spider, you see how messy the interior of this ship is, clearly no one is cleaning the ship so of course it would be crawling with pests. You go back and forth on whether to scream for help or smack the bugger into smoosh.

To your relief, a familiar face peeps up at you. Warm round eyes that contrasted with its cool blue and green complexion and a goofy wide smile beamed up at you. "Hey little guy" you coo at the lizard. "How did you get here?"

The lizard chirps and clicks seemingly happy as you scratch its head like how one would pet a cat. "Let's return you to Yauso"

After walking through the layout of the ship you finally found Yasuo, sitting by a large window on a red carpet with incense and candles laid around him, his nose buried in a novel.

His eyes flick up from his book to look at you. "Ah I see Space Lizard has found you".

"Space Lizard? don't tell me that's what you actually call them."

Yasuo shrugs his shoulders. "We really couldn't decide a name for it, we'll probably never will. We plan to sell it for a profit"

"You're selling them!?"

Yasuo shrugs again. "That is why we stole it from a maximum-security nature reserve." Your jaw drops.

"You actually managed to pull that off?" Yasuo nods with a smug smirk on his lips. It was impressive but a part of you just felt for the innocent animal, he seemed happy and healthy here it felt wrong to give him away for money. Your thoughts get interrupted by bubbles floating towards your face and popping upon contact with your nose.

Surprised you turn your gaze and see that Space Lizard is blowing bubbles. You're unsure as to whether to be amazed or grossed out but by Yasuo's smile, you can tell that at least he secretly likes it.

"So you guys are really space pirates huh?" you ask as Space Lizard climbs down your arm and onto your outstretched hand.

Yasuo nods with a proud smile. "Yep, real space pirates". He turns a page in his novel. "It's a lot different from my old life, I would've still been living a life of luxury if it weren't for the framing of my brother's death."

Right, you remember Yasuo briefly mentioning that earlier. "I'm sorry for your loss" Yasuo merely shakes his head dismissively. Lowering his book.

"Don't worry about it, I'll get justice for my brother" he said quietly, his gaze turning downward. You couldn't help but feel drawn to his pain and frustration. Despite the cocky and careless personality he usually exhibits, he was clearly hurting.

Yasuo pauses and shifts in his seat "I should've been there, if I would've been there then-"

You nod your head not letting him finish but acknowledging the obvious truth, he'd been beating himself up for this incident for a long time, and from the way he spoke you could tell it was a huge weight on his shoulders.

"The empire screwed me over, they blamed me for something I didn't do. My brother had grown distant with me in recent years, He was off being a hero while I was spending my nights in a drunken daze, aimlessly wandering between high-end nightclubs. To him I was a disgrace, someone to be ashamed of, I wish I could prove him wrong. But now I'll never get the chance."

Space Lizzard had jumped down from your cradling hand and moved over to where Yasuo was sitting to perch himself on his shoulder, nuzzling its head against Yasuo's face as if to comfort him. A small smile returns to Yasuo's face.

"I know I'm not the only one who's on the run from the empire, You mentioned how you managed to escape punishment for sabotaging a locus armada ship back. But that's all we know about you, what made you turn against the empire?"

A sour snort escapes you, a bitter taste returning to your mouth. "I've hated the empire since the beginning" Yasuo looks at you confused.

"Why is that? What happened?"

You swallow down the rising pressure as the memories of your past rush back. "I used to live on one of the few planets that weren't claimed by the Demaxian empire. Of course that wouldn't last long. They always have to keep expanding, taking planet systems by force."

You recall your old home planet "My homeland was beautiful, it was bountiful with nature and wildlife and we lived in harmony with the land, we were a lot more primitive with technology. We didn't have much need for it. I was just a little girl when they arrived...."

"The Demaxian Empire was brutal, they came in guns blazing, declaring our planet and its land as their own. They had no regard for the lives and cultures they were erasing. Our planet was the gateway to the Outer Rim, a new frontier that the Empire craved. To them, our way of life was primitive and unacceptable.

I still remember them bringing their warships into my planet's orbit, demanding we bend the knee to them. When we refused. They bombed our planet, destroying much of our infrastructure and reducing our population to just a fraction of the original number.”

The look in your eyes was one of a faraway expression, there was a slight tremble in your hands and your whole complexion had paled.

"When the smoke cleared there was nothing left. The land was leveled out, the villages were torn to the ground and all of the plant life, and the animals were gone. They came in and wiped out our entire people in the name of expansion and development. But left after draining everything of Ora. Apparently our planet wasn't good enough to colonize. All that slaughter and ruination for nothing!" you say clenching your teeth. 

"The nightmare didn't end there however. With our home now uninhabitable we had to leave, some submitted themselves to the empire and lived lives of servitude and slavery. Others like myself fled to distant planets like Piltron and Zaun. Desperate to find stability in living." By now you had seated yourself next to Yasuo who surprisingly was listening to your rambling, his novel was closed and by his side, and Space Lizard while perched on his shoulders looked at you intentively.

"I had nothing to my name, no ID, no money, no family. I was used to living off the grid with no influence by technology and government systems. Without any ID it was an unimaginable pain in the ass to intergrade into society. No vital records office could obtain any identity due to my home planet never being a part of the Demaxian system. I couldn't get a stable job or any proper schooling, I was left to figure shit on my own because Demaxia doesn't have time for my kind.

I had to struggle with low-end jobs that paid under the table, there was no dignity in my line of work not when the turnover rate of a nuclear powerplant worker was so high, and more people were dying of negligence faster than new hires were acquired. I was fortunate, if you could call it that to be a mere janitor in Zaun's power plant system. But that didn't come without prejudice from the locals.

I didn't understand why, I still don't, we were all in the same boat and yet I was treated differently. Over time I learnt the ways of the streets and how to survive them. I kept my head down, I minded my own business. Despite being surrounded by thugs and gangs I managed to stay out of it by blending in. Of course, there were a few times I messed up" You say, pulling up your shirt, showing a couple of scars along your torso. Scar tissue in round formations pulled taught towards the center, the classic sign of a healed bullet wound. There were others too, a couple of singular lines dragging across your torso also, the result of getting shivved.

"I was never going to escape the pits of the lower class, no matter how many hours I worked, how many side jobs I had, despite living as frugally as one could survive on. I could never escape being a blue-collar in the slums. The empire's system is so rigged that if you want to live comfortably you have to be born into it. It's so unfair! So many people suffer in poverty and filth because the stupid king is more focused on colonizing more and more planets with stupid rich assholes who don't even spare a thought for the people who keep their obnoxiously pampered lifestyle afloat!!!" Yasuo jumps back a little at your heated outburst towards the end, his usual calm and suave demeanor now tense with a startled wide eyed stare.

It was clear he felt awkward about being called out for his old lifestyle. You sigh and shake your head.

"I'm sorry I don't mean to take it all out on you specifically, I've never really talked about any of this and I suppose all those years were bottled up for too long." Yasuo's gaze softens, his hand goes towards his belt and he passes you a flask, you raise a brow questioningly but take his offering and take a swig instantly feeling the distilled alcohol kick you in the throat with a powerful punch. You cough and sputter looking at him shocked.

"What the hell is this?"

"Pure distilled Polmos Spirytus Rektyfikowany Vodka"

"...." You stare at Yasuo silently before dowing another swig, then another. Letting out a gasp and wiping your lips with the back of your hand as the satisfying burn of the alcohol soaked itself into your system.

"Better?"

"Better."

You noticed the velocity of the ship shifting and turning into the landing procedures, curiously you looked to Yasuo.

"Whats happening?"

Yasuo shrugs "Looks like Jinx is taking us to a pit stop."

Part six: Here

A/N: So I've had this idea as headcannon for ages but never had the chance to implement it into the story so free lore content below!:

Piltron and Zaun is a rather unique planet in my Odyssey story. Piltron similar to its Runeterra counterpart (Piltover) is the higher class planet to Zaun. Piltron is a hollow planet that exists as an outer shell that hovers around its inner planet Zaun. To access Zaun you need to travel between the tectonic plates of Piltron via colossal industrial elevators. Piltover isn't a perfect shell that entirely encases the inner planet Zaun but is cracked into multiple districts that are tethered to its center Zaun via cybernetic tendrils to avoid floating out of Zaun's atmosphere. If you've seen Transformers: The Last Knight you'll know that I've taken inspiration from the scene of Cybertron being spacebridged into Earth's orbit (see image below).

Zaun Center, like the earth's core, is made of a uranium deposit that is harvested through fission (nuclear power plants) that power both Zaun and Piltron through the cybernetic tendrils that also hold the two planets together. Zaun is made up of the working class while Piltron homes the more upperclass citizens. Piltron and Zaun are allied with the Demaxian Empire and stand as the main manufacturing planet of the weapons and technology of the empire.

Despite being a part of Demaxia, Piltron, and Zaun have the least amount of empire enforcers due to the trust between them and the core worlds. Plus because of the unstable levels of radioactive activity in Zaun, most enforcers don't hover around for long. Sure in this age we have radioactive protection suits but Zaun is seen as dirty to rich snobs.

[spork-supremacy]

Please elaborate more on leader (cult) Jay!

I'm, so sorry anon, I started writing this draft then I absolutely forgot about it for weeks.

Note however that I'm taking the cult thing and applying it more vaguely as just groups, including specifically, Administration, Reserve Team, League of Jay, and while I would love to count the keepers for comedy points, I can’t.

——-

A big part of his leadership roles is how he got to that point, specifically I want to look at the reserve team and the league of Jay. This is because they both were created in times where jay knowingly lost his team, his main support and protection. Both the reserve team and league were created to fill a void almost, because Jay much prefers team work than going it solo. It just so happens that they chose him as leader and he accepts it without second thought.

However, we have the positions like the Manager of Realm Reassignment, where he seemed to have been drafted in, as he says the he “woke up,” in the administration. I don’t know if they mind wiped him to force him into the role or they found him like that, but it was clear no other option was presented to him.

——-

How he is portrayed in each and the subtext to it:

In the league of Jay he is reflected as a great hero and and idol, revered by most members who have most of which been saved by him. This is something I find fascinating because while it does seem vaguely culty and creepy, you have to remember a key detail. Most of those trapped in prime empire are children sucked into the arcade machine and placed in the body of adults. Now you could argue about their voices and such, but I fully believe that there is a customisation to change it and that's what they thought a 'deep, manly voice' sounds like when they have barely reached puberty. Yes I can bet a few of the league are also teens and adults, who I bet are there because they see the league as a safe haven. The reason Jay is treated and respected the way he is in the League is because he is probably the most capable adult in the room, is the most with actual skill, and is already seen as a protector of Ninjago citizens.

I wish I knew how the league was formed, I would say most of it was from the group during undercover who watched him fight and then expanded. I would also like to know how long it’s been operating, because I have a hunch time in the game goes a lot faster than the real world.

Jay’s place in the administration stuck out to me, he's within a position of power for sure, but it's in middle management. The thing with his position is it's easy to get lost in the cracks, he's head of what I guess is a fairly small team, in a not only small branch, but also a new one. the administration is the administration however and they do notice his absence , but he is also a nothing person, replaceable , no one is scrabbling to find him. I think this reflects on how he wishes to blend in there, not stand out, because from what I can tell about his reaction to thinking they could know about his powers, standing out is a very bad thing. He does everyone achieve that, work in a forgettable department, does the bare minimum, has a very small team, and hides in his office. Jay did not choose to be a leader in this case, maybe he did choose the promotion because it allowed him to delegate, but he definitely did not want to lead.

His position in the reserve team is actually quite simple, the veteran hero in a rag-tag team. He is the last ninja standing free so he finds it upon himself to rise up to that title and be a leader. In this team he wishes to achieve his goal, save everyone and put the Djinn away for good. It's not like the league where he can play around for a bit, like with the whole Superstar Rockin’ Jay thing, or the Administration where he couldn't care less, this time he takes it fully seriously. He is the one portrayed with the most to lose, and has the most knowledge on the current state of the enemy.

——

Validation as motivation?

It’s no secret that Jay is probably the most insecure out of the ninja, or at least outwardly. He is, his entire true potential surrounded that theme, but when can that cross over into any of his leader positions?

It actually hasn't now that I've thought of it, I may have mentioned it in my initial summary, (which why this section is here at all) but each time he steps up as leader it hasn't been for vanity, but instead because it was deemed necessary. The only time that you could interpret that it was to validate himself was just that one part in season 5 when he thought he could do better at leading to take the scroll. This could either be seen as him proving himself, or just having that little faith in everyone else’s abilities. Granted throughout the season he does keep suggesting he lead and that they should listen to him, but every time they turned him down sometimes hung worse kept happening, like ghost Cole, or Zane’s communication box going on the fritz, so either interpretation is valid to me.

back on track now,

Every other time it's either because he is the most skilled one in that certain group, and therefore should be the one in charge (reserve team, and league of Jay). Or whatever got him as head of real reassignment. He doesn't actually have to actively prove himself in each case, everyone kinda just knows who he is and what he can bring to the table, excluding administration because that was post amnesia.

so my bad on that.

-----

Why else does he default to a leader when left alone for five seconds?

Two main things I can think of for this, that being Jay's somehow natural charisma (which is often balanced by him just being him after a while) and a natural leadership ability.

The charisma thing is definitely genetics, I have no other explanation, his dad was an actor after all. He grew up pretty isolated for the most part and as far as we know had no friends until the ninja, rather working on his inventions it seems. I would say that whatever people skills he gained were from comics, tv, his parents, and when old enough helping with customers.

I do find the leadership thing very interesting though, I remember seeing someone say once that Jay is a leader who believes he is a follower. Which is a really interesting concept considering he was originally chosen because he was an ideas guy who could think out of the box and on the spot, which is a key skill for leadership. Something else he displays in leadership roles is extreme focus on the mission, all his humour and comedic relief tendances go out the window, he isn’t there to lighten the mood, he is there to set a standard for his team. Think Operation Land-ho and his temporary position as leader in season five (minus the roof fall and biting the lock.) one last thing is his confidence boost in these roles, I don’t know if it’s just that it’s what the narrative wants from him but he never wavers from any plan he makes and sticks to it. Sure there might be things that have to change midway to adapt to the situation, but he always keeps the original plan in mind. Once again I refer to those two episodes.

Unfortunately we never see him actually lead much in other positions, the league just talk about him, and in the administration we don’t see him with a group, instead just either alone or reminding his subordinates about their place.

——-

And there is one last thing I would like to add that I think is very important. In an old Ninjago book, I have no idea which because I found the page on Pinterest, and I swore I saved it, but it’s gone. It caught my eye though so I kept it very deep in my memory.

Anyway, the page was quite simple, it’s from the perspective of Wu and judging by the images post season seven. It was just a short list of things the ninja get distracted by and how Wu kept them focus. For Jay specifically it is Nya, video games, and shiny things in that order. What want to look at though is Wu’s way to keep him focused: giving Jay something important to do, something that Jay can not mess up on and makes him feel valuable to the mission.

this ties back to his leadership roles because it helps explain why he seems so different in certain ones. He is completely focused and aware on how much everything hinges on his actions, yes he may not like others screwing up, but he is the one in charge and takes the responsibility.

Thought I'd mention the neat canon-ish reasoning behind that obvious shift in demeanor he gets.

——-

In conclusion I have found that Leader Jay is a phenomenon that occurs in conditions where he is separate from his team and is the best option, mostly due to his training and status. In this position he acts just differently enough that you can tell this is a side of him not often given a chance to come out despite how well he tends to do under the pressure. As a leader he is confident, focused, and an example, which is honestly not usually how he acts. He is fully aware of what it means to be in his position and the importance of it. He strives towards his goals, if there is one to aim for at least, and does anything to achieve them, be it a risky infiltration or theft. Most importantly his motivation isn't because he wants people follow or worship him, he often does it to protect others, and find a way to get out of whatever situation they're in.

[mollowosh]

Pouring Out of the Universe (Story draft)

Hello. As I write this, I reside on an intersystem floater called the C-0D4 housing roughly 120 people, a full hundred light years away from the nearest other celestial body. We exist between what little remains, at the universe’s last breath, as entropy takes its stead. It was, I think, in my fourth year of education that I learned how different the concept of “home” used to look for us. We were confined by gravity to little marbles, confined to the orbits of stars, confined to whatever resources were present on the plant before us. Where we began, one such marble named Earth, just happened to have all of the right tools for a young humanity to pick itself up and make itself at home. But eventually we found ourselves wanting and wasting things beyond what our quaint planet made for us, so we started to reach into the stars - we set foot on every last marble in the jar, perfected light-speed travel, we killed every part of ourselves bound to the sedentary and flew through reality like kites with cut strings.

It was in my fifth year of education that I learned about how, in the time when humans were trapped to Earth, they feared that perhaps there was no other life out in the universe. Looking back, with our species having touched every star and finding ourselves indeed the only ones around, I wonder why they were so worried, why it mattered to them at all. Perhaps it was because they lived in an era where annihilation was a constant possibility, that if come true would forever excise the great clockwork of life from the cosmos, the only thing ever like it to ever be.

The great dark looms just outside the C-0D4, separated by a thin pane of glass, barren of light. The whole of the universe is simply a battle of absence and presence, is it not? Well, a battle that’s rigged from the start - the great empty now spreads in a way life and light never have, most planets by now swallowed by their stars, those stars collapsed into themselves, even black holes evaporated into stillness. We are in the end times, a moment where energy and light folds in on itself and settles into rubble. 

Life on the C-0D4 is minimal and dull in keeping with the void that greets us outside. However, contrary to the typical purpose of a floater, we are actually moving. If you press your ear to the cold metal at the back of the ship, you can faintly hear the hum of engines that haven't before been used in my lifetime pushing us along a new journey. The engines sound, funnily enough, like recordings of natural wind on Earth, a sound I have never experienced firsthand. Early humans would probably be unimpressed with us, visions and hopes for all-powerful technology met with… this. The lights are dim and straining, the walls are cold to the touch, the meals are small - in a past life we had that grand machinery, but all of it took energy to run, and we simply cannot waste anymore. Everything must be perfectly kept to ensure passage all the way to The Terminal. 

The Terminal is simultaneously a complicated and simple thing to explain. All the way back to some of humanity’s earliest eras, we already knew that the universe was destined to end in coldness. It is simply the way of all things - as energy affects the world around it, it spreads out, and any force made to re-condense it can only be driven by more energy, until everything is flat and still. Our end is not a twist, betrayal, accident, or even a tragedy - only the way things must be. By my era, dubbed the “Preservation Age,” almost all scientific resources were put into reversing this - perhaps we could facilitate another big bang, or discover deep within some well of physics a method to turn energy back from its sedentary state, some even looked into a way to rewind time to the beginning, to start again - none of it amounted to anything. There is no avoiding the end of this story, just slowing it down. 

But then, eventually, we made a breakthrough. Just one. From our many eons researching the end, we developed extensive technologies to track and map the movement of energy all throughout the universe, and just a few hundred years ago spotted a potential anomaly: roughly 400 light years away, energy is vanishing. A single spot of indeterminate size where energy, light, and matter enter but don’t emerge. Not spreading out or being used, but disappearing altogether - because everything is far and few between, it’s a very small and slight disappearance, but most certainly there. It’s not a black hole, it’s not hungry nor destructive, merely a place where things go away. We called it The Terminal.

It goes without saying that this is the only anomaly of its kind we’ve ever found. In an ocean of cold determinism, one spot of complete inscrutability. It looks, on diagrams, like a drain in a bathtub of light. 

That’s about where the science ends; everything else is speculation. Imagine us, so desperate and tired from being confronted by the end of everything day in and day out, suddenly faced with a possibility of escape. The celebration was quiet, as all things are in this time, but everyone on the C-0D4 regarded this as something vast. There are two primary trains of thought - first, perhaps The Terminal could be explained as some kind of path to another universe, a one-way entrance that populates the next place with whatever it collects. Second, and much less optimistically, it might be that the sink visible around The Terminal absorbs because it is a vacuum that’s equalizing with the space around it, a mere pocket of emptiness that by its nature draws in anything it comes by. If true, and we enter, that vacuum could rip apart our vessel. In essence, The Terminal is most likely a hole of sorts to another place; whether its nature is due to that place being more alive or more dead is impossible to know. 

So it’s a gamble, then. I don’t really know what I believe, but as I go about my life stuck on the C-0D4, left only to contemplate my existence as a bacteria in the gut of a dying organism, I can’t help but find this vision of somewhere new extremely compelling. There is no noise, but the noises we make. There is no light, other than what shines from us. The sky is empty, waiting for something else, and I think in a way humanity is the same. 

We’ll be arriving soon, in just a few years. And one way or another, this story on the C-0D4 will come to an end. Perhaps our drawn out existence here at the end of the universe will itself be cut short, which really wouldn’t be so bad. Or perhaps, if we’re lucky, we’ll find ourselves with new winds to sail to and new marbles to overturn. Maybe there will even be others already there to greet us when we land. That would be nice.

[gomzdrawfr]

[oc rambles - AU]

note: this is a GhostRaven AU :3 naming it Ethereal AU for now

I was struck with inspiration after finding art from this account, specifically this, this, this and that

so here's a short opening, reviewed by my friend (because the initial draft was so messy KSJHGKAH i swear it's hard trying to write "darkness" with other meaning especially when synonyms have been used up, I gave up in the end and just repeated it so, soRRY ABOUT THAT LMAO)

ps: divider by cafekitsune from here

The realm is a vast, infinite sea of shadow and darkness, where light dares not intrude, and the boundaries between reality and nightmare blur into a seamless haze.

The air is thick and heavy, oppressive and unnerving, and the ground—if it can be called that—has a mind of its own. A shifting, formless mass, it is sometimes solid, other times intangible, with shadowy tendrils that coil and twist around souls who have wandered too far into the darkness.

It feeds on curiosity, which quickly turns to fear and screams—swallowing these poor souls and losing them to the void. 

In this realm, time and space lose all meaning; with no daylight, days, years, and lifetimes dissolve into the inky black.

Yet, a solitary figure appears in the boundless expanse of the abyss.

An immortal wanderer, whose presence is a stark contrast to the surrounding gloom, steps into the realm of the God of Darkness. The heels she wears clank against the shifting ground, echoing into the void like raindrops against marble, a sound so out of place yet entirely fitting in the silence that reigns.

A cascade of pure white adorned with crystals drags along the floor, white gems shaped like moons and stars shimmering faintly on her dress, casting a glow around her. Her skin, as pale as freshly fallen snow, absorbs the darkness and reflects it back gently, with only her black hair blending seamlessly into the void.

It is as if she were a fragment of the cosmos themselves.

The sentient shadows and the realm itself stir at her presence, ever-watchful and wary.

Yet, they recognize something in this immortal that is different from the countless souls they have consumed—an understanding. But they also sense the heavy weight she carries, a deep melancholy and sadness that mingled with her soul, the unshed tears of a thousand sorrows buried deep within her soul, clinging onto it stubbornly. 

Yet her heart, though broken and faint, still beats with unforgotten kindness. 

They welcome her, parting the land and flowing around her ankles like streams of water, uncharacteristically gentle, curious, and almost reverent.

The realm’s chilling cold, which would freeze the marrow of any mortal, is a comfort to Eira. Here in the dark and cold, she feels at peace, as if the land of darkness is more familiar to her than the world she left behind.

Nothing is truly terrifying or difficult in her eyes; everything, even the unknown and the darkness, simply needs to be understood.

And understand it, she does.

She moves slowly, not aimlessly, but with purpose, until her hand is outstretched into the perpetual darkness.

The shadows thicken around her as a cold wind brushes past her right shoulder, something circling her slowly—predatory yet intimate, moving through her fabric and hair, blotches of black staining the whites temporarily before dissolving away, as if to not stain her.

Then comes the sensation of a cloak—heavy, misty—gliding over her left shoulder.

A faintly shaped form reaches out and clasps her outstretched hand. The touch is cold, yet familiar. In the darkness, a faint shape of a skull with a swirl of black smoke becomes visible, a pair of eyes burning with an otherworldly light, ashes and flickers of white making their presence known.

The void around her rumbles.

"Ghost," she greets kindly, her voice gentle and warm, seeping into the darkness.

A deep, resonant reply comes.

"Eira."

extra notes:

Idk what Eira is yet, she's not a Goddess, I do have some idea where she was once human and was bestowed the gift of immortality (against her will? maybe) and thread along these planes of existence, wandering around slowly

this AU is just a concept, it doesn't strictly follow any mythology like Greek or Norse (frankly idk much about them besides Zeus LOL)

BUT, Ghost is a direct reference to Erebus or Erebos, which is a deity that embodies the darkness

if im not mistaken he's paired with Nyx, which is a goddess of night, but again- I changed the story here and Eira's not a goddess

But I did make her have some kind of linkage to stars and moons, because I uh I like the representations LOL

the line that spoke about her sadness can be from a multitude the reason, whether it's from her solitude or the way she has been alive for too long with no purposes, she longed for something she couldn't quite articulate or pinpoint, it's an aimless, lifeless life she's living in. Separated from mortals she once loved, she feels out of place, it's like she's a ghost that travels these places

...I was half debating if i wanna write her heart was broken because she was with Price as a mortal, and then because of the immortality thing she lost Price forever

but thEN, I was thinking...what if this GhostRaven thing becomes a GhostPriceRaven thing....EH??? but yeah i haven't taught that far yet

the premise is that Ghost, who's a god that rarely made his presence known, is curious about Eira, who dares to talk to him and even be in his realm

the story will end in layers of angst KJSDHGLK because see Id like to imagine a deity associated with darkness is a delicate subject, it is a balance between light and darkness, life and death and the known and unknown

so surely, by exploring and letting an immortal linger too long in his realm- or in his heart, would have some effect (rubs hands together menacingly)

but idk the idea of Ghost finding a pretty lil star is what im chasing LOL

Raven who's curious and also interested in this...enigma...this God that so many are fearful of...

idk if i will develop this au beyond just this snippet, because it's just a fun lil idea for me, we'll see how it goes

bonus of me struggling:

[tewwor]

NEWEST MUSE LIST 07-05

*** doubles as an interest check so like this and i'll cook up a starter! highly suggest specifying muse(s) for this one! i will be focusing on them more between drafts!

jackrabbit ‘ines ortiz’

Civilian occupation: hacker. Marked position: techie. Ability: body temperature manipulation. Part of The Marked ( lore here ). A bit too proficient with technology that’s starting to crosses over into biotech. Implemented a way for overseers to see health status of active members (and alerts healers when conditions are critical ). Likes to stir up shit just ‘cause. Doesn’t like talking about the past and doesn’t like to be alone.

rem ‘alon galvez’

Civilian occupation: hacker. Marked position: handler. Ability: hypnokinesis. Part of The Marked ( lore here ). Reborn to calmly knock everyone off their asses, forced to babysit most of the problem makers. Usually divvies out the more complicated hunts and helps newbies picking easier ones. The only person that can handle Ricochet. Has the vibe of smoking at least six cigarettes at the same time. Glossy shoulder length hair — no, you can't touch it. Isn't usually one for spite, but has induced chronic insomnia on people that have crossed him.

the unnamed

once a normal girl turned into a fragment of saul's liminal world. she spoke to an aspect of void and made a trade of names. thus, erasing hers while also being in ownership of the void's own. said void fused with her, stamping an archaic spiral symbol at the base of her throat and causes a never-ending hunger in her gut. her true form blurs into a soft darkness that tricks the eyes. only the feeling of fuzzy static comes from making contact with her. she dares not speak in fear that the void within her will consume parts of the other person like it had done to her. crime verse is pending.

bishop 'cain roth'

Civilian occupation: journalist. Marked position: scout. Ability: soul manipulation. Part of The Marked ( lore here ). One of the few that were exposed to the supernatural prior death. Keeps close tabs on the hunter group he was raised in and betrayed. Swears to hunt down the corrupt creature that granted his wish in trade of half his soul. Has to live with the repercussions of having reaped what he stupidly sowed. Tries to befriend the other Marked, but honestly doesn't hold it against them if he's disliked.

caesura 'chiru sato'

Civilian occupation: TBA. Marked position: wheelman. Ability: door manipulation. Part of The Marked ( lore here ). Flighty, little thing. Doubles as a honeypot for high threat hunts, but would much rather make a quick escape rather than fight. Almost always with a partner on any job. Arguably the most in tune with her emotions. Often sought out for deep conversations or quiet companionship.

soothsayer 'saraj cai' .

Civilian occupation: stenographer. Marked position: advisor. Part of The Marked ( lore here ). Mother of this local sect, does dote on pretty much all of The Marked but in her own semi-strict way, has prosthetic eyes, it’s ok to accidentally make a pun or two around her — she does it too ( no, the irony of of her saying ‘i see’ or being titled as an overseer isn’t lost on her ), prefers to use a cane, has her way on keeping tabs on everyone.

amant taylor boudreaux

just a guy that's been obsessed with harborview's happenings. he's dedicated his life to accurately detail not only it's citizens but also the mysterious people that return from the sea. is the author of the harborview codex. would 1000% try to get nasty with someone just to lowkey research them. brainrot on god ( aka oram, even if he doesn't know that weird soggy man is the sea god responsible for all sea creatures )

[tunaafishyy]

Enkanomiya Enigmas - Part 1

A look into some of the strangest comments made by Enkanomiya’s residents

Note: this post is incomplete, I’m just starting the new year by clearing out some of my old drafts… maybe I’ll go back and fill these in better one day :)

Draft last updated 2022-12-26

In the Beginning…

Eboshi: Before Byakuyakoku fell into the deep sea, the whole world had a single unified culture.

Eboshi: Later, a great war broke out, in which the heavens capsized and the earth was ripped asunder. This land was then plunged into the dark ocean depths.

Eboshi: However, the heavenly order seemed to not wish for those who remembered all this to remain on earth. We searched for a road of return, but there was none to be found.

Eboshi: Much, much later, heaven’s powers of prohibition would gradually weaken. This did Watatsumi Omikami manage to fall into this place.

Out of Heaven’s Reach

Eboshi: They are primordial elemental beings, unbent and unbowed by the power that came from the heavens owing to their living deep underwater.

…

Eboshi: Watatsumi Omikami, due to ill-fortune, fell into this place, beyond the jurisdiction of the heavenly order.

Holy Soil Phenomenon

Eboshi: The Holy Soil phenomenon is, in fact, the expansion of their habitat. That means that the primordial elemental power of the three realms is growing stronger.

Eboshi: Only by using Watatsumi Omikami’s life force to awaken its second servant could we convert this raw, raging elemental power.

…

Tsumi: According to what I have read, the fundamental purpose of the Watatsumi Goryou Matsuri is to use the serpent god’s life force to awaken its second familiars: the Sangacorallia.

Tsumi: They are creatures that break down raw, primitive elemental energy into the milder elemental energy of the human realm. The giant coral is a symbol that the Sangacorallia have been awakened by the serpent’s blood.

…

Tsumi: Things are even more complicated than usual this time. The darkness from the Void Realm seems to be surpressunf things in the Light Realm and the Human Realm, causing them to come to a standstill.

Tsumi: You may need to use the power of the Bokuso Box to dispel the darkness and allow the ecological transformation to continue.

Orobashi’s Sacrifice

Eboshi: Unfortunately, by making contact with us, it also grasped a truth that came before it’s own existence. Thus, it was forced by heaven to sacrifice itself.

Eboshi: The truth behind this sacrifice had to remain unknown to all. Only this could the people of Byakuyakoku be allowed to live under the rule of The Seven.

Forgetting & Discovering the Truth

Eboshi: Due to the phenomenon known as Sinshades, the “past”, “history”, and “truth” of Enkanomiya would endure even if left to their own devices.

Eboshi: As such, a great effort was expended, not that we might remember but that we might “forget”. Lady Sangonomita was of this view.

Eboshi: The trial to obtain the branch was intended to limit the number of people coming after us who could know the whole truth of the matter.

Eboshi: As for me, I supported leaving records of the truth. As such, Watatsumi Omikami permitted me to add another trial path that, if passed, would lead to knowledge of our secrets.

Eboshi: “In the faintness of everlasting night, beyond the rushing of the river Styx, within the sinless flow of heavenly light.”

Eboshi: Release the seal on The Emanant Skylight. Then, you may ascend to the Gate of Heaven and access the site of the trial.

Vishaps

Eboshi: They are actually very intelligent, and they are adept at evolving. They would even evolve into different elemental forms throughout the history of their war against us.

Eboshi: I would not be surprised at all if they have learned language or perhaps even evolved into lizard-people of a sort.

The Traveler

The sinshade of Clymene, caretaker of the Sunchildren, recognizes the Traveler’s garb.

However, she then goes on to say that she was born in Enkanomiya (post-sinking) and that she’s never seen someone from outside of it.

For Clymene to have seen it, but to also never have left/met an outsider, implies that the Traveler’s Outfit existed in Enkanomiya.

She also makes a comment about not having seen it in awhile. This could be due to her either being a sinshade and not having perception of time, or the outfit being a carry-over from Enkanomiya’s society before it sank, and thus was as common post-sinking…

??? (Clymene): Hmm? How strange. I have not seen someone in your garb for a many long years…

??? (Clymene): From your mannerisms, you are not from Byakuyakoku either. Are you some guest from afar who fell into this place?

Traveler: That’s more or less correct…

??? (Clymene): To think that there were ways to access Byakuyakoku from the outside world… Shocking news indeed.

??? (Clymene): I was born here, and I have never seen anyone from the outside world.

Memories

Clymene: It has passed through the hands of every Sunchild, and the memories it has inherited are enough to fill the gaps in their souls.

Clymene: … Even though these memories are double-sided.

Traveler: Double-sided? Memories have sides?

Clymene: of course. In this case, the memories are two-fold. On one hand, you have your own memories, and on the other, you have others’ memories of you.

Clymene: Thus the gaps are being filled by both the Sunchildren’s own memories, imprinted upon the bridle… As well as the memories of them as the children who were blamed by Byakuyakoku, of those who became children of sin.

Clymene: my own memories are insufficient, and so I had to supplement them with those of the people of our nation.

Clymene: and it is thanks to these transgressions that have been laid upon them that they have now been remembered by Byakuyakoku, and can now leave their afterimages behind.

Clymene: Thank you, Traveler. My greatest wish now lies fulfilled. Yes, I… can finally be with those children again… I can finally… be at ease.