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thegeminisage · 10 months

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it's officially zelda time! i forgot my amiibo yesterday so that's what i gotta do first

i think i need to do more fighting bc i have an ABUNDANCE of weapons and i can't take any out of these chests lol

NOOOOOO AND I JUST GOT SWORD OF THE HERO........................rip :(

AND the dusk claymore...no.......i don't even have room in my HOUSE for this many weapons

i just gotta travel back to my house to do the rest. h8 to leave when i just got here but this is ridiculous lol

sorry boulder breaker. move over for zelda's kickass tp sword

TWILIGHT TROUSERS!!! hell yeah

ok, back to where i was before i get tempted to do something else lol. one of these days i'm gonna build a cooler house...i saw some on youtube that blew my mind...i was blind to the potential because i was too busy focusing on limitations...which are still fucking stupid btw

aw, i found a note on a table about mr whats his name worrying about finley in the sludge. see now if i had explored this properly the first time...

in absolute hysterics trying to get this korok up a cliff without shelling out for a bike. i stuck him to a log and he rolled over and over and over. i wish i had taken a video

oh my god blood moon guy BACK IN THIS CAVE LOL i already rescued him from here once. pfffft

oh shit he just warned me tonight would be the blood moon...the worst fucking time right as i get into this complex cave system :/ ty for the heads up at least...

thank god, the flux heart went away when the MS ran out of power lol

lol this chef's diary in the wells. "i tried to eat something beyond our understanding" girl so true. i hope we actually get to meet her somehow

yoooo zonai ruins where vah ruta used to be..................miss you, girl

damn there's like a whole cavern down here. i wonder why they didn't put anything in it

OH there's a chest when you ascend...clever!!

holy shit the sidon straightwashing and sisterwife shenanigans continue lol. i found a little zora monument where he talks about seeing yona as his big sister, older and way more mature than him, until his "feelings became more difficult to quantify," and then his dad just informed him they were getting hitched. like. dude. are you ok??? HE LITERALLY MARRIED HIS SISTER, who is a stand-in for his mother!!!! like does he even LIKE girls?????

goddammit i lost my bike looking around in this fucking cave WHY DOES ITALWAYS DESPAWN...

aww here's another story of the first few years after mipha's death...geez, poor sidon

a little disappointed i missed all this when i was here before...and even these are only 2 tablets out of like. 10? i think? man.

and i have such fond memories of running around here in botw struggling so much and not knowing what the HELL i was doing or what was going on lol. sidon my first true guide outside of the plateau cheering me on the whole way! nostalgia.

NOOOOOO im reading another and man zelda begging forgiveness for mipha's death...wah

"she held that unthinkable disaster at bay for 100 years with nothing more than the sheer force of her will" THATS MY GIIIRRRRLLLL

wah sidon admired her inner strength.......

AWWW sidon has a new quest for me!! yay i love surprises

aw well it's just a treasure hunt. but still

dropped this fucking bike all the way from the top of the zoras domain fish statue and its still in one piece. hell yeah

omg one of these zoras is a crab freak...he's lucky i had enough with me, i use these things for cooking all the time

holy shit there's a CHASM uin this hidden cave...i saw it on the map and wondered why it wasn't there. it's so freaky how none of the water flows into it

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO VAH RUTA HELM

hell YES

i havent even touched this part of the map in the depths yet...i am unfortunately compelled to go down the chasm :/ maybe it will be fine and i will find so much zonaite! idk, i really liked it at the beginning of the game when i was actually too underleveled to be there, but now it just all feels the same. very blegh

immediately i spot a mine, a lightroot, and like a bunch of those huge poes. i even found a few crystalized charges just lying around!!

brightbloom seeds on water are so pretty.........

anyway life hack use a lynel bow for 3x the light lol

god damn it there is ANOTHER mud octorok thingy voer there i do not want to i do not WANT to

jesus christ that was so fucking annoying. i HATE that one

YOOOOOO 100 crystalized charges...ok maybe worth it

i used to ignore these little stations with zonai parts...now i'm thrilled this one is stocked with bike material lol

DAMN WAIT OK.......my master sword is WAY more powerful down here!! shes glowing!!! this is the first time ive fought with it in the depths...thats wonderful!!!!!!

i read somewhere that you need like 4500 zonaite or something to max your battery out...which is bad...but i did just get like 100 in this one camp. so, 45 monster camps...still bad but like, not undoable

three monster camps done. i see a fourth one but my fucking bike despawned and i am officially sick of being down here. i'm out!!

hateno detour to turn in all this fabric i got.

dammit i went out and got monster curry for this fucking sidequest here and now idon't have GORON SPICE? gimme a fucking break i'm fast traveling right now to go get it who knows when i'll be back this is ridiculous

bought their fucking stock out. BACK to hateno...

i can use...the school's field...?

FARMING SIM?????????????????????

well lol i have nothing useful to add to the field and the npc does all the work, but still cool!! this game rly does have everything

the problem w my battery is, idk where any of those little shops are. i got one under the great plateau, one on the great sky islands, and that's it. are they just in abandoned mines??

great sky islands to buy Even More crystalized charges. stopping to get some fans. maybe i'll put my third medallion here since i need them so often...but there's a shrine closeby, so maybe not

got one and TWO THIRDS of a battery!!! not bad for just one little trip underground (tho i didn't get it all from there lol)

god this will make biking so much better.........

back to zoras domain. i have it on good authority (i saw it on my map by accident) that my climbing gear is here and i am LIVID that i've been living without it all this time bc i didn't fucking explore properly. i know there's some in this cave let's FUCKING go

ok, i didn't find it. apparently in a different cave, the whole zora area is lousy w them

unfortunately tho i gotta go to bed so that's a problem for future me!!

#personal #loz blogging #totk lb #totk spoilers #sorry i did a whole day in one post again

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reapersman · 3 years

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sometime’s i get sad bc there aren’t gonna be anymore discworld books but then i remembered there are 41 novels and im like oh right,

#also like #additional stuff like maps of the world #i have the map of deaths domain its wonderful #then there are the audiobooks... radio adaptations... games... aahh #* ooc.

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fakecrfan · 3 years

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Since you very nicely offered to write me a fic:

Your prompt is: A story about a background character or characters dealing with life after the TMA apocalypse.

It can be set in the OG TMA universe in the post-post-apocalypse, or it can also be set in a different universe that was affected by the events of MAG 200.

Both OCs and characters established in-show are allowed.

This one aligned so well with my interests that I am actually tempted to open my inbox, briefly, in case anyone else has questions like “what is X bavjground character doing after the apocalypse?” so I can make a series out of it and expand on my post-post-apocalypse headcanons.

For now, you can read your fic here, on over here on AO3

---

Sarah doesn't know where she is.

England, she has to still be in England, she thinks. But it's not an England she recognizes. Not the cobblestone streets of London, and not the moors she used to visit on her vacations. The ground is barren, as though all blades of grass but a few have shriveled up and died. There are no trees, houses, or landmarks for miles--just scorched remnants of where they might have been before.

For a moment, the emptiness of it all is a relief after the hotel. But everything is the same on all sides, and she doesn't know where she is or where to go. She's starting to get hungry, too. She never got hungry in the hotel, nightmarish as it was.

She has to sit down for a moment, take a few deep breaths, and think.

Get food. Find shelter. Survive.

Find Alex.

(God, why had she left her child in a hotel room? Little twelve year old Alex who was still afraid to sleep without a night light. He'd begged her to stay, she should have--)

With that in mind she gets up. Doesn't know what direction to walk in, so she doesn't concern herself with trying to pick one. There's nothing to do but walk, keep her eyes open, and hope.

So she hopes.

---

None of our old maps match the landscape, anymore.

The world these days it's... not like in the before times, as I suppose we're calling it. Despite our hopes, ending the apocalypse wasn’t like everyone waking up from a nightmare. The land is...

It's scrambled, I guess. There are patches of the world that--well. They're not the same, but still have infrastructure intact. Electricity, running water, air conditioning. No scorched earth or rubble in these areas. Just a bunch of traumatized people living in an intact town, or city.

When I talk to them, they tell me it's not the city they remember, though. Everything has been switched around, houses and stores not where they remember them. Their neighbors aren't the neighbors their remember.

Those are the lucky ones. And then there's, well... the outside.

Some places have rubble everywhere, jagged steel ripped apart and waiting for someone to cut themselves on it. Some are frozen over, still waiting for the ice they were frozen over with in the apocalypse to melt. Some are scorched to dust. No phones out there, or anything that lets you connect back with home base.

I'm going out there. We need to map it out. We need to figure out our new world, understand it--and we need to get as many people out of the wastes as possible.

Melanie, Georgie--I’ll see you soon.

---

Sarah does find water. That's something. She's hungry still, so hungry, but she knows that the water is more important.

She wonders if she should stay there. She doesn't know if there will be more watering holes in the future, after all, and she has no way to carry it with her. She decides to keep moving on, and hope for the best.

She starts to see blades of grass poking up, along with some sort of metal crap strewn about the landscape. She looks at them a moment--it seems to be bits of an old carousel? Eventually, a giant sit in their shade, for a while. There she takes a moment to look at the horizon, and goes cold.

She recognizes the tower on the horizon.

A scaffolded tower with two legs beneath it. A sight she'd last seen on a postcard from her brother. The Eiffel Tower.

Is she in Paris? No, that can't be it. It's just the tower out here in the wastes. There are none of the buildings that would normally surround it. It's almost as though its been ripped out of the city and transported here.

Does Paris even exist anymore? Does London?

If she even finds Alex, will there be a home for them to go back to?

---

I have a theory, Melanie. I think lots of people got transported to different places in the world based on what fear they belonged to. Like, a bunch of lonely people were put in the same place, a bunch of claustrophobic people were put in the same place, and so on. All away from the people they knew.

I’m in one of the suburban safe areas now. No one here knows each other. I talked to them all, and all of them remember living in the same house before, but none of them recognized the houses near them or the people in them. When I went from house to house, everyone had a different native language. I talked to a German guy and a French guy who spoke English, but a lot of them… couldn’t talk to me at all.

There was a woman who--she saw me and she lit up. She grabbed me and started talking a mile a minute in Arabic, I think. But I couldn’t understand her, and she--when I tried to talk back to her in English, her face just. Fell. And then she started to cry.

My dad refused to speak it at home, you know. He-- Actually, never mind. It’s not important.

She ended up shoving me away.

---

Sarah makes it to the ruins of a forest.

There’s nothing but stumps left of it, along with litter everywhere. She finds water again, filthy brackish water, and she drinks it anyway because she’s so thirsty. She starts sifting through all of the garbage strewn about for something edible. She finds stale bread crusts crawling with ant and eats them anyway.

She finds a can of beans, and almost cries. When she can’t find a can opener, she screams instead.

---

The death count has gotten to me, honestly.

I’ve found dead bodies even in the towns and cities. Some looked like heart attacks. Some suicides. People who woke up but couldn’t bear the agony they’d just gone through. That’s still not… the worst of it.

I passed a whole field of dead bodies today.

Hundreds of people, I think, all of them lying dead in the soil. But there were... trails. They had been walking, before they collapsed. All walking in the same direction, to where you can still see London on the horizon.

They were alive. They were trying to get help. And they just... starved, it looks like. The walk was just too long.

How many people are going to die from it all, Melanie? How many already have, out where we can't see them?

I left as many jugs of clean water and rations along the roads as I could. I put up signs pointing to London, saying how many miles out they were, where I had stashed food. I gave them your number, so they know who to call to get to the shelter.

I hope it means the next group that passes by won't die.

I hope there is a next group.

---

Sarah can see what looks like a city in the distance before she collapses.

She tries to get up, but can’t. She’s been walking for days now, it feels like, only sporadically drinking and almost never eating. There just isn’t enough energy left in her to stand.

She tries to think about little Alex again, running around in his Batman cape, hoping some kind of love or maternal instinct will kick in and give her the last burst of adrenaline she needs to get up. It doesn’t work. Maybe she doesn’t love her own son anymore, really. Maybe it’s just been fear and guilt driving her this far, and that source has already been wrung dry.

She manages to crawl a few feet, before she can’t even do that. With nothing else left to do, she starts to cry out. “Help! Water, please!”

She doesn’t think anyone will hear, or show up. But against all odds, in her dimming vision she sees a figure come into view. Backpacked, clutching a water bottle.

“Help,” she croaks out again.

The figure gets closer, and she starts to be able to make out the details of his face. He’s her age, or older, with worry lines carved into his forehead and wide eyes. His nose looks eerily like her brother’s nose, and the shape of his jaw reminds her of her old boyfriend, the one who left her with--

She blinks. Maybe she’s hallucinating, or maybe she’s somehow run into a long lost cousin. But then, the man’s eye’s widen and his mouth opens.

“Mum?”

No, no it can’t…

“A-alex?”

No, Alex was a little round cheeked boy. This is a thirty year old man, at least, taller than her. It hasn’t been that long. It can’t be, it’s not--

“Mum?” He’s doing a frown that looks so, so familiar. This has to be a dream. “Mum, it’s--no.”

He sniffles. He steps forward, and steps back. He paces, uncertain.

“No, no,” she hears him mutter. “It’s all fake, all fake. It’s a trap. That’s what they want, the monsters and the face stealers. No one is real. Don’t give them what they want--’’

“Please.” she begs.

But she hears him walk away, sniffling, and shortly thereafter everything goes dark.

---

I have a confession to make, Melanie. I was going to side with Jon, back then. I could have lived with keeping everyone here suffering to prevent more of it. But when he said he was going to kill the whole world, not just leave it--that’s what made me snap.

I couldn’t let the whole world die. Genocide of the entire human species? Anything but that. Surely passing along the suffering would be better, as long as it didn’t lead to the extinction of whole worlds. But…

I keep finding more dead bodies.

I went back to that suburb I talked about, to restock on all my food. It was a lonely domain before, I think. I’d thought everyone there would be fine, you know. They didn’t have any deadly sicknesses, or twisted flesh injuries. They had food and water and shelter. But when I went back… more of them had died.

Lots of suicides. Some of them snapped, and started to self injure.

The German guy I talked to had started to starve. He had a pantry full of food and he just wouldn’t eat it. I tried to get him to eat, to move in with someone else, but he said talking to people “made him sick.”

I gave up, and left. I had to. There were too many people, and too much to do, so I left him. He’s probably dead now, or going to die soon. Because he can’t find the will to live, and I don’t know how to help someone with that.

The Lonely is probably one of the least directly harmful entities, right? This domain was just a suburb, probably the most comfortable you could get during the apocalypse. And yet the victims are still all dying.

How much worse is it in places without food and water? In the corruption domains that still probably have deadly diseases spreading? In war zones, in flesh factories?

I think about that nursing home we found. All of the patients who'd died of heart attacks a few minutes after they'd woken up. The ones left alive screaming for help where no one could hear them, for days after the fact. All of the ones that died in their beds before we found them.

I think about that field of bodies I found the other day. I think about the ruins of that Circus I found, people refusing to talk to me or each other--refusing to help because they didn’t believe it was over and thought everyone else was a mannequin.

I think… I think it doesn’t matter that we saved the world. If people can’t find the will to live, ro rebuild, to trust and help each other again… I think we’re going through a mass extinction event anyway.

---

Sarah’s in a car, she thinks. Not a moving one. She’s propped up against a seat,There’s something plastic pressed to her lips.

“Come on,” says a woman’s deep, level voice. “Come on. I got you. We’re getting to London. All you have to do is drink.”

Sarah opens her eyes. She sees a dark-skinned woman trying to coax her to drink, holding up a water bottle.

“Just a sip,” the woman says. “Just enough to make it.”

Sarah closes her eyes, and takes a long moment to consider whether she wants to.

#my writing #tma fic #post post apocalypse #cw: suicide mention #cw: familial separation #cw: mass death #Basira Hussain

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yinses · 3 years

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savory euphemism

gojo satoru rating: m ( a lot of implications)

rqst: hope it makes sense! but he what if gojo had a lover who he accidentally turned into a curse when he rejected her death sort of like yuta did but bc he’s stronger she absorbs enough of his energy to make her a special grade but she doesn’t remember him :( and just likes killing but he can’t bring herself to exorcise her so he lets her do some of his curse missions just so she gets her fill and not go after ppl. basically pain all around. craving some angst in this chilis tonight

a/n: i did what i could! hope it meets your expectations.

he should have just killed it. put you both out of misery.

your spirit- the same part of you still drifting somewhere in the abyss, must hate him. he despised himself for putting you through this- making you this monster.

fate was cruel to him. making this curse into your image: your smile, voice and even some of your mannerisms but ripping away anything that tied it to him in memory. the only thing that kept it close was that intrinsic bond that tethered them together.

he made the mistake of calling it by your name too many times, ignorant enough to think that he could somehow bring you to the surface. it was you after all, born from the ashes of your death. in the end, he’d only made the noose around his neck. it built on his frustrations, learning lyrics of manipulation that they sang in his ear whenever he thought about killing it for good.

“toru, toru, don’t you miss me?”

“wont you be sad if i’m gone?”

then it would dance away, teeth clicking with laughter.

it was a haunting reminder that he never deserved you, he couldn’t even honor you properly on your deathbed.

but fuck, you-it- retained so much of your beauty, even out there on the battlefield as it ripped through curse after curse. letting it fight was like feeding, allowing it to consume and destroy to its heart content so that it wouldn’t turn on humanity. it was the only way that he could keep you, the same selfish wish that manifested the abomination in the first place.

the cruelty it poses seemed to be reserved for him. the curses he descended it upon may as well have been paper figures as it tore through their beings. it didn’t play toy them, not like it tormented him. didn’t draw out their turmoil.

when the last curse disintegrated, it turned to him, a small pout tugging at the mouth.

“those were boring, lets play more.”

it always wanted to fight, needing to expend its energy to remain satisfied.

he bites through a smile, eyes tense behind his blindfold. it blinked up at him with all the expectations of a child begging for more allowances. he doesn’t remember you being this innocent-dependent- and there are times that he doesn’t know what to do with it.

gojo chuckles bitterly, shoulders sinking a little further. “you’re going to ruin my image if i keep taking you on killing sprees. i’m efficient but if i start looking like a workaholic it might cause suspicion.”

not that it already wasn’t. the concern hadn’t disappeared after your physical body was long gone. there had been a shift in his being- just small enough to disrupt the flow of cursed energy trapped within him. the cursed manifestation of your soul weighed in on his own store, filling it with malignant thoughts that threatened to crack his facade.

he tolerated less than he use to. jokes not falling as easily from his lips. the only good thing to come from it was that he was able to direct most of it towards the elders. gojo was already strong but it made him appear more dangerous, though that wasn’t necessarily a positive.

“so no more work. lets play.”

right, ‘playing’. the euphemism used for when it fed on his own cursed energy in the most unconventional ways.

the field was empty of any other being, cursed, mortal or in between.

gojo leaned forward and brushed his nose against theirs. his eyes closed and prayed fervently to a god in hope that he wasn't sinning as he covered ‘your’ mouth with his.

it knew that human affection was his weakness, piercing the void in his heart with echos of sweets whimpers and moans from his past. this is when it duplicated you the best. almost identical in the way it made it’s body shuddered against his, trembling yet wholly invulnerable.

and he became intoxicated with how ‘your’ hands clutched his shoulders, as it hungrily parted ‘your’ lips and struggled to breathe as its domain bled out and surrounded him. it felt like he was floating in the same waters that took you away from him.

sometimes he wonders if this curse was the one who pulled you under.

wouldn’t that be ironic?

broader hands, soft and gentle, mapping out the feminine contours and pushing the shirt above ‘your’ navel. it had the curse breaking apart and gasping wantonly against him.

writhing.

quiet moans and desperate whines.

what a dirty little thing it made you. the visual tightening his crotch in a way you never had.

throwing its head back, looking at him with half-lidded eyes and letting those beguiling eyes yank him further down into the depths of ecstasy.

gojo smiled bitterly all to himself, brushing his expert hands over their body and making it jerk achingly against him in expectation.

he became addicted to this poison as it drew strands of vitality from him.

still desperately wanting you, wanting to protect what he made, wanting to do everything that it desired, because underneath it all he was still a broken man latching onto a fantasy.

of course, he knew that it needed him like oxygen, like sweets, like savory bean paste daifuku and sticky dango.

and he needed it too, like sleep and sanity.

maybe he was never meant to be in love.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo sins #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #Jujutsu Kaisen

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moeruhoshi · 3 years

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I’ve already put this on my ff.net but I wanted to share it on here

There existed a legend of the undine, a powerful creature that provided the continent, Fiore, with its water supply.

The story began with a vast expanse of desert covering every inch of the land, barely a water source in sight. Water early humans were able to find, made for the center of town, small villages surrounding it. And once their source was used up, they moved to find the next one.

Soon, all tribes gathered around the last oasis, each leader convening to decide the best course of action.

They gathered all of their people, asking each and everyone if they were brave enough to wander the desert searching for the fabled undine.

There was a high risk of death from dehydration or getting lost in the delirious sun. But to save thousands of people from the brink of extinction would deem even the weakest a hero.

Silver Fullbuster offered himself for the task, the North's most notorious warrior.

The crowd roared with cheers as the leaders took him away, immediately preparing him for the turbulent journey.

An ancient map of the undine's possible location, enough drinking water for two months, rations, clothing, shelter. Silver's own camel would lead him through the trials of the hot sun.

He left that night, ignoring the cheers and hopes of the people, knowing their burden wasn't worth shouldering.

He wasn't doing this to gain status or heroism. Only a greedy man would save thousands to stoke his own ego.

His greed was personal, because of course, he wanted something in this world.

He wanted a family; a wife and a healthy little boy. But he never let himself fall into such an extreme fantasy.

How could he when the world was in so much trouble? When there was barely any water for the children to drink now? He refused to let his family struggle without a means of solution. And now, here one was. He could appease the undine, beg for their help, possibly return water to Fiore.

Once he went back, victorious, he could settle down and have the life he always dreamed of. That was the true reward in this trek.

So he kept a consistent routine; traveling at night under the moon's cool gaze and building shelter for the day's beaming sunlight.

Silver would read the map, re-reading day in and out. He memorized the landmarks on the way; massive sand dunes, clumps of palm trees, dried up oasis', gardens of cactus.

The undine rested in the northeast, the location, he found, that he'd never seen on a map before. He was quite an expert when it came to navigation, having read most maps that led his people to new water sources.

But this one led him past the highest dune, into an undiscovered portion of land. This assured him of the possibility of the undine's actual existence. He also felt a bit wary, unsure of what lay out in the mythical desert.

He hoped his sword wouldn't have to be drawn for anything but slicing his fruit.

The journey was taxing, Silver, fearing that his mind would begin to waver. Sanity was not easy to be kept by oneself, and he wished to have just one conversation with his old friends. The camel wasn't as interesting.

He hoped they were well, that the villages were, too. He hoped the water supply hadn't lessened by much, his self-made calendar almost a month in.

He neared the location, marking off each landmark that stood out to him. The palm trees, the oasis', the cacti, and finally, the series of mountainous dunes.

It wasn't long before his two months came to fruition, his water supply dangerously low.

It was enough to make it over that high peak in the distance, his goal just moments out of his grasp.

He traveled through the sun and the moon, not caring to even get a wink of sleep. He was almost there, almost there, almost...there.

Sand, sand, and more sand.

What? No, that couldn't be true.

Where was her cave, where was the blooming rainforest, the oasis?

Where were the plants and trees and water?

Where was the undine?

He gulped down the lump in his throat, calming his trembling hands as he ebbed his camel to begin its descent.

It had to be nearby; maybe it was just a bit farther than he could see.

But he didn't have enough food or water to make it past another horizon. His camel would lose its energy, and then, he would be left, stranded in the middle of nowhere, to die.

He held back his fear, taking deep breaths with his eyes shut tightly. Everything would be okay.

He repeated this in his head, holding onto the reins to avoid falling off.

Everything would be okay.

Everything would be...gentle, like a droplet of water on his cheek.

Everything would be...silky, like a cool banana leaf brushing against his skin.

Everything would be...comforting, like a calm wind on a hot summer's day.

Everything would be...wait...huh?

Silver opened his eyes, leading his camel through a suddenly grassy area, plants, and trees surrounding every end. He couldn't even feel the sun on his skin, the leaves providing him with excellent shade.

He shook his head, rubbed his eyes, slapped his cheeks.

No way...

He stopped abruptly, eyes bewildered at the sight of a relaxed, glistening, untouched body of water.

He hopped off the camel, quickly throwing off his clothes as he jumped into the water. He couldn't help but laugh. He actually made it.

He knew he would never have a chance to bathe like this again, taking the soaps out of his supplies to properly wash the desert off of his skin.

Somehow, he felt healthier, renewed. Almost like the water was giving him nutrients, soaking into his body and returning all of his lost hydration.

He never smiled more than he did today.

He let himself rest against the water's edge, stroking the camel's head as it drank from the pond.

A sudden snap of a twig in the leaves startled him, Silver quickly standing in fear.

Until now, he hadn't bothered to wonder if there was anything else in this place. But, of course, wildlife could exist anywhere.

A sharp squeal punctured his eardrums, a girl not much taller than himself falling out from behind a nearby tree.

She was dressed in delicate white, albeit sheer, garb, hair the color of the moon.

Silver felt his cheeks reddened as they made eye contact, his heart suddenly unable to stop beating.

He asked carefully if she was alright, the girl quickly scrambling to her feet, giving him a haphazard bow before running off into the woods.

That couldn't have been the undine, right?

He hurriedly tugged on a pair of pants, running after her without a second thought. A smile grew on his face; somehow, he was having a lot of fun right now. Maybe it was the effects of this place, but he wouldn't question it.

She came into view, her hands carrying the ends of her dress.

He called out, asking her to stop, pleading with her, apologizing for scaring her off.

She eventually came to a halt, doubling over as she caught her breath.

"I've never run so much...in my life," She wheezed, Silver laughing as he caught up to her.

"I'm sorry," He snickered, running a hand through his hair. "Do you need some water?"

"...No, I'm alright," She said, standing straight to look him in the eye.

His heart jumped at her sharp gaze, finding it absolutely mesmerizing. But then, he remembered his task, remembered everyone who was waiting for him.

Either way, something told him not to ask just yet.

"How did you find this place?"

"By accident," He shrugged, the girl blushing at his lopsided grin. "Although, I do have a map,"

"Eh? Where? Show me," She said, quickly grabbing onto his arm. Both blushed at the sudden touch, Silver suddenly realizing that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

He led her back to his things without question, pulling the scroll from the camel's back.

"See," He pointed at the blank space. "This told me that I'd find this place here,"

"All this time, they had a map," Her lip trembled as she mumbled, staring at the expanse. "Why did no one come if there was a map?!"

Silver reeled at her sudden outburst, watching water drip from her arms and legs, forming a pool at her feet.

"Why..."

He struggled to speak up, not knowing exactly what to say. But he recognized that sad tone on her voice, one he'd come accustomed to in his own mind. She was lonely.

"No one thought this place was real," He said honestly. "It was a story for young children. Not a message to come find you,"

She sniffled as he reached out to rub her back, the two awkwardly meeting eyes again.

"I-I see... I'm sorry...I get very emotional at times,"

"That's okay," He shook his head, clearing his throat as he thought of something else to say.

"So...you have a name?"

"Mika...my name is Mika."

Silver then spent his days with Mika, wondering how he could ask her to provide water to the world. But he couldn't ask a lonely girl, barely his own age, to do such a thing. They just met; how could he make it her responsibility? She was abandoned by the world, left to take care of it without a second thought.

Unbeknownst to Silver, however, the world already began to change. The water seemed to grow from nowhere, the oasis back home never even falling an inch.

Old, dried up sources began to refill, and plants began to grow out of the ground. It was a true miracle, for every few hours equaled to about three months in the real world.

His presence alone filled the undine with a newfound emotion, one that stirred her to unconsciously plenish the Earth.

She showed him every plant and animal that existed in her domain, how she took care of them all these years.

He showed her how to wield a sword because that was the only thing he knew how to do.

She would watch him practice, trying not to stare so hard at his bare chest.

Mika didn't understand the deep welling in her chest that made her leak out of her ears at times. Silver was steadily filling a hole in her heart, one she didn't realize was so empty.

He was straightforward in most ways, knowing full well he'd fallen in love.

He went off and fell in love, unable to accept that he hadn't helped anyone by doing so.

He couldn't bear the weight of selfish guilt, wondering if he should just get it over with and ask the undine for help.

She sensed his anxiety, her own building as her thoughts began to wander. He wasn't from around here; what would happen if there came a day he wanted to leave? How could she go back to existing all by herself?

"You look quite somber," Mika said as she approached Silver from behind, sitting next to him as he stared into the reflection of the pond. "Anything I can help with?"

"I just miss my home," He sighed, tossing a pebble into the water. "I wonder if they're all okay,"

"I could show you?" She hummed, bending herself to enter his field of vision.

"How?" He stared at her as she waved a hand over the water, an image blurring into view. He saw his friends, the villages waving as they began to part ways. They were returning to their rightful homes, all with enough water to last the whole trip. He could see the plant life that never existed before, the clouds in the usually empty sky. He could see their vanished cracked lips, their joy as they helped themselves to the oasis water that didn't even lose an inch.

He looked at her with wide eyes, quickly understanding the situation. She craved for company, never having any before he stepped foot in here. And the world magically began to fix itself, all because her lonesome self was requited.

Silver no longer felt the need to hold back, grabbing onto Mika's shoulders. He pushed her down before she could refuse him, kissing her with his held back feelings.

The undine rightfully sprung a leak, unable to grasp the situation entirely.

This day would mark the first rainstorm to ever cross the land.

She kissed him back, finding herself more comfortable when he whispered between their lips.

"I love you,"

He finally had the family he always wished for, a wife and a healthy little boy.

They named him Gray, his sharp eyes a bit gloomy but bright and full of wonder.

He was an undine, like his mother. The day of his birth had unwittingly created what the world would come to know as oceans.

Silver lived without knowing what became of the world, its expansion, evolution. It was past its days of cloth tents and makeshift floors, buildings and castles built, wars fought and won, kingdoms conquered. The legend of the undine soon became a legend again, Silver's name lost in the history books.

He didn't need anything more than Mika and Gray in his life.

But Gray, well, Gray tirelessly craved something. He couldn't understand what; maybe this was just how an undine lived. His father was a human, so he couldn't understand well.

However, Mika repeatedly told him what it meant to find love. It was everything to an undine, a second close to their life's primary purpose. It was more than familial love, a bond that Gray could only ever have with one person.

The one person he met by falling through a pond.

Juvia liked to play by the water every day, skipping rocks and kicking her feet in the shallow end.

She was an only child; her parent's often too busy to pay her any attention.

The water created a reflection she spoke to, mistakenly learning the habit of talking in the third person.

Juvia this, Juvia that...her parents would never let her make a debut in high society with such an odd way of talking.

One day as she sat by the pond, the young girl was started by a sharp shout, one that was...falling from below?

She threw herself back and out of the way as a boy popped out of the water, gravity bringing him down on the ground.

He grunted, rubbing his nose as he stood up.

"What the..." He pouted as he looked around, soon locking eyes with the girl behind him.

"Who..." Juvia began to say, startled as he quickly jumped back in the water.

"Be careful! You could drown!" She shouted, rushing back to the water's edge. But the surface was still, and the boy was gone as if he'd never existed.

Gray did exist and quickly wished he hadn't. His chest, his heart...it felt like it would beat its way out onto the ground. What was this? What did she do to him? Why does he feel so...mushy?

He ignored such a creepy feeling, going back to the quiet life he lived with his parents, unable to get her image out of his head.

Years passed before they would meet again, on the eve of Juvia's eighteenth birthday. Her parents threw a ball, introducing her to all sorts of people from across Fiore. But she didn't really care to fake a smile all evening.

She escaped to her safe haven, sitting beside the pond once again.

She couldn't forget that strange boy with the droopy eyes, even after all these years. He was wonderfully precious to her, like a fairy. She wondered if they'd ever meet again.

"It's rude to leave a party without even having one dance, no?" She turned around, rolling her eyes as she saw Lyon.

"I don't care much for dances," She sighed, frowning as he crouched down beside her.

"I'd rather if you learned to be more well behaved," He frowned, tightly gripping her chin with his forefinger and thumb. "My fiancee has to have manners."

"I'll do well to remember that," She glared at him as he stood up, turning to walk back inside.

"I'll see you in a few minutes,"

Her rage always escalated when that creep was around, never even able to care about him for a second. He didn't like her anyway since their relationship was arranged for their parent's benefit. She caught him multiple times cavorting with his own maid that he seemed to adore ten times more.

She looked into the pond, sighing again. She wanted to be with that boy from her memories, wondering just what could lie underneath this shallow surface.

Maybe she could go through, too? She never thought to try it before. And drowning was always better than a miserable life with Lyon.

Juvia waded into the water, her large ballgown helping to drag her to the bottom.

Please, please, please, let me see him again.

She closed her eyes and held her breath, struggling when she needed to exhale.

Juvia forced herself to the surface, gasping for air as she reached the top.

Opening her eyes, she met the shocked gaze of a boy almost her age, those same droopy eyes staring at her with ripe panic.

"It's... It's you!" Her smile stretched widely at the boy before her, his blush increasing with each passing second.

"Could you...!" He roared and slapped the water at her. "I'm taking a bath!"

"Oh..." Juvia quickly turned around, covering her eyes. "My goodness, I'm so sorry!"

"Uh-huh, just don't turn around, I mean it!" He growled, the splash of the water letting her know he got out.

"Let me get your hand," Juvia blushed as she turned to see him holding out his hand, wearing nothing but a loose pair of trousers. She'd never seen a man shirtless like this before. It was...she couldn't think of the word.

"Thank you," She swallowed her nerves as they stood before one another.

"Do you need some help getting back?" He quirked a brow, looking over her shoulder. "That gate should've been closed, but I can push you back through it, so you get home,"

"N-No!" He took a step back as she shouted. "N-No, I don't want to go back there, please don't send me away,"

"Fine then," He huffed with an annoyed hue on his cheeks. "You can stay, but we'll have to ask my parents,"

"Okay," She quietly followed behind him as he began to walk, the soaked train dragging against the forest floor.

"May I ask your name?"

"Gray," He threw her a look over his shoulder, walking with his hands held up behind his head. "Yours?"

"I'm Juvia,"

"Juvia," He mumbled, unconsciously smiling at the way it flowed on his tongue.

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honourablejester · 3 years

Text

A Collection of Warforged

Some sketches for warforged characters of various classes, because magic robots are still the best. Contains the following:

Silence, Grave Domain Cleric

Dredge, Fathomless Patron Warlock

Meridian, Circle of Stars Druid

Luminaria, Oath of Redemption Paladin

Ephemera, Rune Knight Fighter

Silence (Grave Domain Cleric)

The Grand Hospice’s Chapel of Rest was a long subterranean hall, some thirty or forty feet below the rest of the hospital above it, chilled by the press of yellow stone and shrouded in shadows and silence. Islands of light were scattered through it, where the hospital’s dead were laid on stone slabs for their final rites. In the midst of them, of the mourners and the dead, a figure moved. A priest, metallic and glinting, shrouded in the purple vestments of the god of the dead. Limned in amber light, the warforged cleric stood over the body of an old woman, hands moving with the well-worn gestures of ritual, easing her into a last, gentle repose. On one wrist, dull against the metal, a battered strand of a soldier’s wooden prayer beads clicked and clacked gently.

Built as a soldier and spending 'her' childhood years on the battlefield, the construct that would later call herself 'Silence' became haunted by the blood and pain and violence of war, and fascinated by what looked like the peace of death. After giving a set of prayer beads back to a fumbling, mortally wounded enemy and watching him die semi-peacefully as a result, she began to search for some meaning to the violence, to ask questions about faith, life and death. Not all of the answers she received seemed right to her, but gradually she developed a sort of peace and a sort of philosophy. Because she had a strange, oddly soothing demeanour and a marked gentleness towards the dying, whether friend or foe, she began to be treated as a sort of chaplain by the troops of either side, and she took this as a calling when the war she'd been created for ended. She doesn't have the best understanding or relationship with deities, but it appears that at least one or perhaps several gods of the dead have seen fit to empower her actions to ease the passing of those around her. Several of her old comrades (and even enemies) try to look out for her and her autonomy as well.

Dredge (Fathomless Patron Warlock)

They thought it a statue at first, a strange metal figure sitting on the rocks by the beach, encrusted with barnacles and draped with strands of seaweed, its ancient metal stained the deep green of verdigris. Something about it vaguely recalled the famed colossi of the ancient ports across the sea, though it was nowhere near as large. But instead of a spear or hammer laid across its knees, it held a metal codex, as stained and patinaed as itself, and a strange green light glimmered behind its crystal eyes. It looked up at the gathering crowd slowly, no statue at all, and spoke, slowly and ponderously, and in a deeply archaic dialect: “Hello. Can you tell me where I am?”

“Look at you, my wonder. A constructed thing, built to endure what they could not. Sent to toil where they did not wish to go. Offered up to the deep, so that they need not be. Oh, it's an old story, my new friend. There are many of us down here, cut and carved and sent to the deep. Do they remember you anymore? Have they a care for what they have made and sent below? But it doesn't matter. The purpose for which we are made need not be our only one. Would you like a different path? I have means to give it to you. Only take me to your heart, my friend, and a whole new world shall open up before you ...”

Many, many centuries ago, a great mage created a series of constructs to dredge the massive harbour of his beloved port city. For whatever reason, when the work was completed, one of the constructs was not retrieved, and instead was left to aimlessly wander the ocean floor. Over slow, endless centuries in the abyssal waters, it slowly came to an awareness of itself, and to feelings of curiosity, wonder, and unfathomable loneliness. These emotions and nascent personality called out to another entity, possessed of much the same feelings, once sacrificed to the deep in its turn. And so Dredge was given power, and hope, and friendship, and the motivation to finally chart a new and surface course for itself.

Meridian (Circle of Stars Druid)

The silvered brass figure stood still and silent in the circle. The great megaliths stood limned in starlight and snow around her, guardians of all peace and knowledge. Bulwarks and bastions to the lost. Of course she had come here. To the stones, under the stars. In agony, none of their circle would go elsewhere. In one hand, she held a crystal orb, like the thousands stored in the great stone vaults beneath them. Star maps. Records of the great conjunctions. This one, though, would hold a very special set of constellations within its depths. An omen, a call to a forgotten past.

An ancient construct who cannot quite remember when or how or by who she was built, Meridian has been the caretaker of the great archives of the star libraries beneath Ostara Megalithic Circle for longer than anyone can remember. Skilled with gems for forgotten reasons, she has spent centuries carving the rock crystal star maps that record notable star conjunctions for the Ostara Circle. Over those centuries, she formed a deep and spiritual attachment to the stars herself, and several druids of the circle have been willing to help her understand their mysteries.

Recently, however, a set of constellations appeared in the sky that jolted long-forgotten memories for Meridian. Among them, that she once had a sibling, Zenith, that she does not know the fate of, as well as murky memories of fear and anger. None of the druids of the circle could give her any information on these memories, because there were none left who'd been there before her, but her circle agreed that the conjunction must have been an omen, and that she should venture out and discover the source of her memories, the connection of the constellations, and to find her sibling if the stars willed. The crystal orb carved with the three constellations of the conjunction has become her star map, her guide through a new and different world.

Luminaria (Oath of Redemption Paladin)

Somewhere in the rooms ahead, the party heard the faint rustle of pages and clink of metal. Glancing at each other, they crept forward, through the oddly well-kept corridors of this supposedly ancient dungeon, past laboratories and ritual chambers. A door stood open before them, this time into the tiered depths of a library. And there, among the tomes, they caught their first glimpse of the angel. A radiant visage of platinum framed in gold, the great arc of bronze-and-silk wings. Something was odd about the image, though, and not only the obvious constructed nature of the creature. She looked … oddly small, oddly naked. Oddly shy. She turned, at the sound of a muffled gasp, the book in her hand tumbling to the floor. She stared at them in wide-eyed alarm. In curiosity. And hope.

Fashioned in the clear image of a celestial, Luminaria was found by travelling adventurers in the hidden workshop of a supposedly long-dead madman. Trapped in the empty dungeon, with no memory or sign of her creator, and no understanding of her own creation, she turned to the many, many notes, books and tomes left scattered through the library and laboratories. It took her an unknown count of years to teach herself to read them, with the help of some aural notes and lingering spells, but slowly she grew in personality through the eclectic mix of lore, arcane research and cheap novels her maker had left behind. She came to an understanding of the creatures she had been shaped to emulate, and formed several rather romantic notions of what she might therefore have been built to do. To help, to protect, to save, to redeem. All these she came to hope and determine were her nature and purpose, in the long lonely years in her prison.

And when someone finally broke through and opened the dungeon door for her, bringing her up into the light as half-rescue, half-curiosity, she set about learning how she might live them in truth. With hope, willingness, determination … and not an ounce of suspicion or experience.

Ephemera (Rune Knight Fighter)

Panicked, fumbling blindly for each other in the darkness, the young pair burst through the trees at last and out into the moonlit fields. Behind them, in the blackness of the forest, they could hear the howls and pounding footsteps of their pursuers. And then, much, much closer, a low chuckle. Flinching, staggering, they spun to face the figure that stepped out from the trees beside them. A terrifying figure. Black metal and wood, starkly enamelled in white under the moonlight. Strange crystal eyes glowing with a dark light. And a sword, balanced carelessly and confidently over one shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said, light and expressionless. “My name is Ephemera. Effie, for short. I’m here to help. Probably.”

Unlike many ancient constructs, the one named Ephemera knows precisely why she was built, all those long years ago. She was made to kill things. Made to hurt and hunt and destroy. She doesn’t know by who, but their purpose for her has never been in doubt. All her instincts and memories, bright-dark and bloodstained, make her intended nature crystal clear. Pity, then, that those makers hadn’t counted on her developing a sense of self. A pity for them.

Darkly amused by the world in which she finds herself, Effie wanders the land as a knight errant, searching for anything to amuse or interest her, anything to stir something in her that is not her intended purpose. Though she can lean on that, too, if circumstances require. One day, she hopes, she will find out the full name and nature of those who built her. And, if they somehow still survive, to meet them and … personally express her nature to them. Exactly as they taught her. But with, perhaps, the aid of some new things she’s learned for herself in the interim. It was a reclusive stone giant who helped her come into herself. He taught her things. On his own whim, of course, but then that’s reasonable. Everything she does is only hers, after all.

#d&d #5e #warforged #character concepts #magic robots #i love them

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Worshipers of the Soul

Part of the Worshipers Series

➜ Words: 5.4k

➜ Genres: 95% Angst, 4% Fluff, 1% Smut, God!AU

➜ Summary: The King of the Underworld was denounced and exiled from Heaven as a god. But with your help, he may rise to power once more and claim his rightful throne.

The god is forced onto his knees. The marble floor is cold and hard, but never for a moment does the God of the Underworld appear weak. He lifts his head, gaze steadfast even when he is at the feet of the council. “Namjoon, you are arrogant,” the God of Sun says from his seat, the highest throne of the entire room. His low voice thunders across the sky, thrumming all around the land as he announces his sentence. “Unlike the Goddess of Spring, you show no remorse for your actions. I have known of your contempt and insolence for long, but your hubris has exceeded that of all gods. Even now when you have lost and must beg for mercy and forgiveness, you choose silence.” It is a sad day in Heaven for a god like him to be in this position. A shame of how ignorant the other gods are for choosing to follow a weaker leader when he could lead them to glory. Truly, the universe was meant to cry for this disgrace and dishonour. Namjoon’s eyes stray around the council to his wife who remains impassive, looking down at him. Of all gods, she was the most foolish — for choosing the God of Sun’s leadership and not recognizing her own husband’s true strengths. Had she been his dutiful wife, he would not be in this place. The silence is held in the room. The God of the Underworld makes no defence, makes no pleads nor begs for mercy. Seokjin sighs and stands on his feet, making his final declaration and his timbre echoes throughout the space. “For the devastation and destruction you have caused in this needless war, I hereby denounce you from the council and your position as a divine being.” Namjoon’s eyes widen in mortification, yet the God of Sun does not cease. “You will spend the rest of your eternity atoning for your sins, but you will not be doing it here. You are exiled from Heaven, never to step foot into this paradise again effective immediately. You are no longer the God of the Underworld.” The guards grab hold on his limbs but he easily wards them off, rising to his feet. “It is not me who has more hubris than the gods. You, Seokjin! Everything was caused because of you! How dare you take away something that is rightfully a god’s! What audacity do you have?!” One of the council members lift their hands and a violent wind bursts forth, forcibly pushing him out of the room against his will. But still he shouts and makes his last curses for all of Heaven to hear— “I will return! And someday it is you who will be begging for forgiveness!”

There is nothing. You are the essence of neutrality. Neither pain nor comfort has reached you, nor sorrow or anger. It is a calm serenity that has enveloped you, impartiality that makes it easy to mindlessly float in the empty area. You wander aimlessly, without a destination or goal, without motivation or discouragement. It simply is. But then you drift into the wrong place at the wrong time. A figure stands from afar, his presence forcibly holding you in place before you can stray without thought. He wears blackened robes, the tulle layer on top decorated with white chrysanthemum flower patterns. His hair is ebony, eyes even darker and his brows are furrowed deep as if it has become his common expression. He stands with his shoulders wide, facing you while his arms are placed behind his back. His aura is intimidating and commanding — it holds you from leaving and puts you in a trance. “Are you discontented?” His voice resonates and you manifest yourself into a tangible form, body translucent and flickering like a flame or rising smoke, never quite rooted. You blink at him. The corner of the man’s mouth quirks and his hand raises towards you. Suddenly, the fog clears from your mind. It lifts and your thoughts become grounded and traceable. But with the ignorance gone, the feeling of neutrality billows away from you. For the first time, you get to truly look around and take in your surroundings. The land is barren and desolate, without warmth or presence. The darkness seems to consume all that is in its wake, shadows that murmur and giggle, bare trees with branches that twist in odd directions. And the horizon is blanketed in black, but something round at the top that glows, providing the smallest amount of luminescence. You know you’ve been here for a long time. But you’re not sure how long exactly — you can’t seem to recall anything aside from your name. “Who are you?” The figure smirks, his chin lifting as he proudly announces himself— “I am the King of the Underworld, Namjoon. I lead the souls that wander, the mortals that have long perished, the beck and call of Death itself. I give and take the sins that corrupt your being. And I have chosen to grant you with clarity of mind. Fall on your knees, beg for mercy and I will lead you to glory!” Not knowing what else to do, you obey. Your knees meet the ground and Namjoon smirks yet again. The King approaches you in three large strides and tilts your chin up with his forefinger, allowing your neck to snap back to gaze upon him. His lips curl and he leans in, eyes laid on your mouth. But before his lips can graze against yours, you instinctively lean away from him. Instead, you blink and stare blankly — unable to understand what his intentions are. He halts, seemingly caught off guard with how you moved away as if he didn’t expect you to resist, but then he, too, shifts. The King stands back, facing the bleak oblivion with amusement evident on his features. “You are naive and because I pity your ignorance, I will grant you the gift of becoming my servant as you have no other purpose. If you refuse, your mind will be clouded again and you will waste away as you have.” You say nothing, merely stumbling to your feet again. “Where am I?” “The Underworld,” he says simply. “You were human once. This is where you go after death. If you’re not in perpetual pain, it must mean you lived a decent enough life and you’ve been judged that way.” In spite of what he tells you, you don’t remember your life. You can’t recall anything about it. All you’ve known is obliviously wayfaring. Namjoon doesn’t allow you to dwell. He leads you away and you follow closely behind without a word. And the two of you come to the highest point of the Underworld. It’s a cliffside and he looks over the devoid abyss, the trees without leaves or flowers, the creeping darkness. “Isn’t it beautiful?” The King of the Dead takes a seat on the throne beside him, a single chair on the dry dirt. He seems to enjoy the view — but you don’t think this place has much to offer. “You’re quiet,” Namjoon comments carelessly. “More than the others.” You remain silent, contemplating that there’s been others like you. The King turns his head to you, eyes dark. “What are you thinking about?” “I’m wondering if this is where you reside,” you say, exposing your mind so he does not get angry being oblivious to your intentions and thoughts. “I’m pondering if you have a home.” Namjoon scoffs lightly. “I don’t need one. You didn’t have a home while you were wandering, foolish girl. And there are no homes in the Underworld.” You come to stand by his side, looking out at the desolate darkness. // There’s pitched, marbled moans and groans that echo all around — sounds of unrestrained pleasure that knows no dignity or shame. You’ve turned away, trying to offer a sense of privacy. But it’s difficult when there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to cover yourself and you have to stay close. It doesn’t take long, however, and he’s soon joining you once more with a pleased expression. “We can leave now.” The King of the Underworld often fornicates with wandering souls, something you’ve learnt quickly. But you wonder for what purpose he does so and once you ask, he answers— “It’s fun to corrupt minds and souls,” he plainly says, “and a satisfying pastime.” You look over, peeking over your shoulder out of curiosity and you find the ghost gone. There’s no gliding orb of light, no translucent form drifting away. The soul he was copulated with has completely vanished. “You’ve taken it,” the murmur befalls your lips without a second consideration when the realization has sunk into you. The corner of Namjoon’s mouth quirks before he brushes past you. “You’re quick-witted, aren’t you? I’m glad I decided to keep you around.” // You’ve always aimlessly drifted, flitted and floated through the land, past trees and empty spaces permeated with pulsating darkness. You relished in the state of neutrality as you skimmed over the ground and rivers with no name. But Namjoon seems to know how to navigate this oblivion. In the vast area that seems to stretch for eternity, he needs no map or directions told to him. He always knows where he’s going and how to come back. Never once does he frown, not knowing where to turn or which course to take. From the field of littered bones and skulls to the black river that runs through the Underworld and even back to the cliffside where his throne is. Namjoon knows all. It is his domain — the back of his hand. But it’s hard to learn from him, to conceive spatial awareness when all the darkness appears the same. There was a time though…..a time you were sure you were not as lost as you are now. A time when you did not pointlessly wander around the Underworld. They feel like dreams — like memories of childhood, but much farther and faint. They’re the smoke of a flame, unable to be grasped fully and sometimes you doubt their true existence. Perhaps they are merely conceptions of your imaginations born from your new clarity of mind that knows boredom and seeks exhilaration. But you have dwelled on them. And while you cannot discern faces or places, you know the ground you once stepped on wasn’t dry and cracked. It was green, a verdant shade, and soft beneath your feet. And the horizon was once azure and bright. Sometimes it was tangerine and rose-coloured, other times a darkening navy and maybe pitch black, but always with some kind of milky light piercing through to shed away the gloom….. And you can recall fickle emotions. Things other than neutrality tinged with contentment. “This is the place I will raise my palace someday Y/N,” the King of the Underworld suddenly declares, removing you from your internal trance and pulling you away from thoughts. Namjoon has his arms wide open in front of a creeping space with a few twisting trees occupying it. He may wear a satisfied and pompous expression, but you find it awfully dull. “I thought you didn’t need a home.” The tall figure turns to you and cocks a brow. “Every king needs a palace, foolish girl. Perhaps not a home, but a place to rule from.” You watch him as he paces around the area as if envisioning the grand dwelling being assembled in front of him. “There will be a hundred servants at my feet. My sacrifices will work on erecting my statues in the courtyard and in the garden. In my magnificent dining hall, there will be a hundred paintings of me on the wall, each from the different eons I have ruled in. And the doors to all of it will be right here. They will be imposing and will not open no matter how hard someone begs or screams.” The King of the Underworld steps back and for a moment, you could see it too. Blackened doors engraved with white chrysanthemums that would hurt your neck when you’d try to see the top, made of steel and iron so that your fists would bruise when you knock against it. “How will you achieve it?” you ask, a murmur sounding from your lips. “I will rise again, silly girl.” Namjoon twists on his heel, his arms behind his back and his shoulders broad. He faces the dark horizon as if there was something beautiful to see, something worthy to be proud of — even when there is really nothing. “I will make the gods pay for what they have done to me, for daring to exile the most powerful god in the universe.” Your brows furrow. “They exiled you?” “Because they were afraid of me.” The corner of his mouth pulls into a smirk and he faces you, eyes meeting yours. “But one day I will rise again — and if your loyalty remains, I will allow you a position in my court. I’m kind, aren’t I?” The King of the Underworld does not take your silence as a response. “You should be grateful I have spared you and didn’t consume your soul.” Your head lowers. “Thank you.” Namjoon smirks and you peek a glance at him past your lashes. For such a domineering king, he is imaginative. Some might say, delusional. But you wonder what it is that made him lose his status and come here to such a sad, lonely place by himself. // The souls of the Underworld drift — unrestrained and without a planned destination. They are orbs of lights, some brighter and others dimmer, some that shine and others that glow, but all are able to take the shape of ghosts, of who they once were. The bending, lazy river is filled with a dark and mysterious liquid. You’re unsure if it’s water and don’t dare to take a sip when you don’t need to, but you wouldn’t be surprised if some menacing beast was brewing underneath. Yet, that doesn’t deter you from leaning in and staring at your reflection. You wonder if this is what you once looked like as a human. If you had skin and hair and eyes like this…. Your head tilts to look at the horizon, something that resembles the moon hanging at the top, allowing you to see right in front of you but never farther. But hazily in your mind, you can stitch together an image of something else that was once above you — a rounded ceiling with paintings of yellow round spheres and pinpricks of twinkling sparkles, white bleeding into black, someone standing tall with a creature behind him in blazing glory. It is lucid in your eyes, something you can envision so clearly that it is almost real. Almost tangible. A radiant place of white with marble and pillars — steps leading up to grand doors — golden letters etched into it. But when you look back, blink a few times, the vision has dispelled away. The truth sinks in. All you see is emptiness. A void of black. Your eyes stray to Namjoon and your eyes soften at the way he’s fixing his sights on the surroundings with a proud smile. “How do you plan to rise?” you ask quietly, joining his side as he strides through the trees. “The souls I consume give me some power. Enough of them and I will be able to escape the Underworld and storm Heaven.” “Then why don’t you consume my soul?” “Because I know when to be gracious,” he declares with a smile, looking upon you. “You should be happy that I am merciful to you.” Namjoon is indeed merciful. But he is not fair or just, and those are qualities a leader must have. // It’s uncertain how long you truly accompany Namjoon’s side for. All you know is that wherever he is, you are also there beside him. When he’s fornicating with souls, corrupting them to bring him pleasure and then consuming them after he’s finished, you’re there meters away with your back turned. When he’s bracing through the Underworld, traveling past the river and the desolate forests, you’ve become his shadow, trailing after his feet. And when he’s seated at his small throne by the cliffside, you’re standing next to him, staring out at the same sights. You’ve come to realize that Namjoon didn’t suddenly take a liking to you and decided to spare you from his ambitions. He is lonely. And he needed someone with him. You don’t blame him — it is easy to go mad in this constant darkness. You only blame him for being too proud to admit his true intentions. “You’re quiet.” “I don’t have much to say.” “But it looks like you have lots to think about.” The smallest of smiles graces your features and you turn to him. “If I say something unbecoming to you, you’ll kill me.” Namjoon bursts out laughing, the noise hearty and loud. It echoes around the spaces. “You can’t die again, silly girl. But don’t worry, you have nothing to fear. I have no plans of taking your soul as long as you continue to show me respect.” You decide to grant his wish and speak to disrupt the eerie silence— “What is the living world like?” “The moral realm? It’s full of lowly and greedy mortals who only know how to beg and destroy. They are selfish and ruin everything they touch. They’re not to be trusted,” he seethes and exhales. “When I rise to power, I will do what every god has been fearful of and liberate the universe from them. But…” Namjoon glances at you. “I suppose a few places are worthy to see.” “Like what?” “The mountains. Some oceans. They’re a glorious view where you can’t see where the land ends or begins. If you remain devoted to me, someday you may have the privilege of seeing them.” You nod and the King of the Underworld continues, “I am leaving soon.” “Where to?” “It is none of your concern. If you fear abandonment, then you don’t need to.” After a moment, he softens. “I will return sooner than expected. I need to speak to an...old friend and reclaim what is rightfully mine.” You nod once more, staying by his side as you look out at the dismal Underworld.

The grandiose black entrance parts, doors swinging open and then she’s sauntering into the vast throne room while rolling her shoulders while the train of her black robes sweep the floor behind her. “Sihyuk! I need a foot rub! Stop dilly dallying!” He jolts and lowers his head. “Right away, your highness…” “Gods, I’m so exhauste—” Her complaint morphs into a pitched shriek. The Goddess of Dreams and Underworld stumbles back in startlement, a hand placed over her chest as her expression washes over into unadulterated terror. But Namjoon merely smirks from the corner of the room, placing the white chrysanthemum flower back in its vase. “You haven’t changed one bit, Miyin, despite being reborn...twice now?” The servant dwarf’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. His mouth opens and closes, knowing exactly who he is. “Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-your...r-r-royal highness…” “Leave.” Miyin lifts her palm, dismissing Sihyuk and he swallows hard before running off. The goddess faces him, but keeps a wide distance between the both of them. Her chin lifts and her gaze steadies itself. “What are you doing here, Namjoon?” It has been over a century since they’ve seen one another, since that time when he was denounced in front of the entire council, but Namjoon is not ignorant to the changes that were made. He knows she’s taken his place — that she’s become the Goddess of the Underworld. “Do I need a reason?” he asks. “You should not be afraid of your husband visiting you.” “You are no husband of mine,” she hisses and malice, and the shadows of the room seem to grow. But the self-proclaimed King of the Underworld merely smiles. “I noticed the sword of the Immortal Being is gone.” The sword is the only weapon that can kill a god, that will help him achieve his glory once more. But when he came to find it and tore the palace apart to look for where it might be hidden, it had disappeared — much like during the war a hundred years ago. He couldn’t find it then — and he can’t find it now. “It’s no longer in the Underworld and it will never be,” Miyin spits and a smirk grows at her red lips, spine straightening with confidence. “You will never find the sword again. It will never be in your reach. I knew you would try to come back for it, so I’ve given it to the Controller of the Sky.” Namjoon’s brows furrow. “There is no such thing.” The Goddess of Dreams and Underworld laughs mockingly. “Things have changed since you’ve last been to Heaven, Namjoon. The weapon that you seek for your vengeance has been handed to a mortal sacrifice of the Goddess of the Sky that had been unjustly forsaken.” A fond smile graces her features. “He will use it to protect her.” “You gave it to a mortal?!” Namjoon’s angered shout echoes throughout the throne room, resonating through the space until silence takes its place once more. His hands crumple and he shakes, enraged. “You are a fool for allowing the sword into another mortal’s hands!” “And you are a fool for returning!” She challenges with equal malice. “For thinking you have a rightful place here!” “I will come back and rule as I meant to,” he declares through gritted teeth, pointing at her with a finger that trembles from wrath. “I will become the god that I was meant to be!” A muscle in Miyin’s cheek jumps. She outright scoffs at him and curses, “Your pride and greed will destroy you as the Immortal Being had destroyed himself! Leave! And never step foot here again and dare to face me! If you ignore my warnings, even Seokjin will not be able to help you if you beg for it! This is my oath.” Yet again, he has been banished. And from a place he once called home. The shadows creep from their corners, expanding in size to loom over his figure and grab hold of his limbs. But he has lived amongst them for long and won’t be pushed out so easily. Namjoon dispels the shadows away like they are bugs and he shakes his head with his jaw clenched at the audacity she has to treat him with such disrespect. “You cannot control me, Miyin. I am still a god by blood and I choose how I come and go. If I leave, it will be of my own accord.” With his last words spoken, he twists on his heel and marches out. The palace doors shut behind him and the true Goddess of the Underworld is left quaking. // The sky is azure, the horizon wide with the sun beaming from the highest point. But as soon as she steps onto the lower part of Heaven, crossing the bridge and moving past the thick fog, darker clouds begin to fill the sky and the goddess comes into view with her arms crossed and a feigned pout on her lips. “What are you doing here, Miyin?” the Goddess of Sky questions with her eyes playfully narrowed. Her servants nor her companion are seen by her side. But Miyin doesn’t match the goddess’ lightheartedness. Her expression remains solemn and her brows furrowed. “There’s something I need to talk about with you urgently.” The goddess speaks no further, quickly assessing the situation and her arms drops to her side. Miyin is led to a small garden house and they sit across from each other with the low table in between. “What’s wrong?” “I need to use that favour.” “Okay. What is it?” “It’s about Namjoon,” Miyin murmurs and the Goddess of the Sky takes less than a moment to recall the name she had not heard spoken in so long. No matter how many times the gods are reborn, they can’t forget the history that has happened. “He has returned.” “What? Have you told Jin?!” “No.” She shakes her head. “He is why I’ve come to you. You and I know Seokjin is afraid that history will repeat and rhyme, that there will be war and devastation. It’s why he changed his approach. Why he led the other gods to be merciful and forgiving as well. And I fear someday, he might find it in himself to grant Namjoon the same kind of mercy. But I….I can’t forgive him.” The goddess’ brows furrow. “Miyin....” Yet the Goddess of Dreams remains undeterred and clenches her fist within her lap. “Namjoon has violated and destroyed our marriage, brought down his dignity and my own. His punishment of betraying my trust is to never be reborn, to never refresh his soul. At least not until I see fit.” “He has learnt nothing in the time spent wandering the Underworld. He still claims vengeance, claims that he will rise again and make the gods pay for banishing him.” She trembles with ire and then calls the Goddess of the Sky’s name, eyes meeting her once more. “Promise me that if Namjoon ever steps above my domain....if he ever manages to crawl above the Underworld without my permission, you will conjure a huge storm to send him back.” No one is allowed to forgive Namjoon — not without Miyin’s agreement. She refuses to be blindsided. Refuses to be startled again. “Miyin, you know I cannot control the weather as I please.” “I know, but you can still try your best. You are the only one I can depend on, the only one who could match Seokjin’s powers if he were to ever absolve Namjoon.” The Goddess of the Underworld remains steadfast. “I will try my hardest too. He will stay where he rightfully belongs in my domain. I just need someone else to fall back on. I need someone I can trust.” There’s a moment of silence. And then the Goddess of the Sky nods.

You look at the horizon. It once was a blue sky. Sunlight. You can recall children rushing about and giggling under the light, chasing after the sparse clouds. But most of all, you remember being dressed in white, pressing your palms together, and others around you murmuring incantations together…. “Tonight...” Namjoon’s voice thunders, interrupting your thoughts. “We launch our first attack.” You turn to him and then towards the shadow of the Underworld palace outlined in the darkness. All the souls he’s taken has been for this hour. Namjoon finally has enough strength and he’s moments away from destruction. “Once I take over the Underworld realm, I will have power again. The universe cannot go without a place for the dead to rest after all.” He wears a victorious smile, glancing at you as if you should be grateful to be the first to witness his claim. “Someday all will worship me.” Worship — the word sticks to you. Suddenly, visions billow through your mind. Worship. Worship. You see temples and rituals beneath your eyelids, the grand sky shining above you, exhaustion taking hold of your frame as the fire spreads through the village. Worshiping — it was what you dedicated your life to. You can recall, like a distant memory of childhood, foggy but present. You were a priestess in your past life and revered the God of Sun, Seokjin. You devoted your life to devout prayer and sacred worship. You mediated and gave sacrifices, intently read the stars and charted them, and once blessed a sword of a mortal man. The memories rush through you, striking you speechless, filling you with the sorrow of loss to contentment. You were fulfilled in spite of dying so young and being unable to accomplish all you sought to do. You had met your purpose. But perhaps there is another purpose for you here. You shift towards Namjoon, expression crumpled rather than the neutral state he has become accustomed to. “I….remember,” you murmur, “I remember my life.” And you remember him. Namjoon — God of the Underworld. You know of his tales, read about them, had seen paintings and states of him. Except, you didn’t know that after your death, he was banished from his position. You didn’t know he would be holding onto his anger when everyone else had forgotten about him. His brows lift, amused. “Strange, but your clarity of mind must’ve made your memories return. So what kind of peasant were you? Did you die of illness or hunger?” You shake your head. “I was a priestess.” You approach the King of Dead within three strides and before he can stagger back, your palms lift to cradle his cheeks and you lift yourself to press your mouth against his in a searing kiss. It’s soft. His lips are plusher than you could’ve thought possible. And you keep the affection gentle and chaste — something you’re sure he is not used to. Your eyes shut and you can feel his gaze placed on your features, eyes widen in slight surprise. But it is not simply a gesture made out of desire or lust. It is part of your ritual. After a moment, you part from Namjoon. “Oh, great god who has fallen and been forgotten, free yourself from your burdens,” you murmur the incantation, one of the thousands that you had learnt to memory. “Allow the souls you have led astray, corrupted and consumed to grant you mercy. You who have abandoned humanity, hear my prayers. Allow my pity to liberate you from your sufferings. God of Underworld, God of Death, great god who has fallen and been forgotten, be free of your misery and despair.” It is your final sacrifice. The final remains of your soul is used to protect the living from Namjoon’s reprisal. The last remnants of your strength is used to shield all you have known and love — mankind who will never know your offering and the glory of Heaven which you will never see. In an instant, your soul bursts. The final pieces of the energy you have left is used and your form begins to fade. Namjoon lurches back, his skin aglow. “No...no….NO!” He stares at his open hands, eyes widened at the way his flesh is illuminated like the stars, the power that he had collected for over a century surges out of him in a flood, past the gaps of his fingertips, not allowing him to grasp on. He can feel his wrath escaping. The intense fervour of his spirit dying. In the last moments of your consciousness, before your translucent form succumbs to the darkness, you gaze at the fallen god. And your eyes speak purely of pity. But never does he notice. He does not look at you in your final moments. Namjoon screams. His eyes are placed on his own body, into his hands that were supposed to take back what was rightfully his. And once more, the exiled god falls onto his knees.

There is nothing. All that was left of him was his anger, sadness and despair. Without it, the anguish and hatred, he has become empty. Like the darkness that surrounds him, his spirit has become a void. He is lifeless. Namjoon moves sluggishly, lurching forward until he sits on his throne. It is a thoughtless action, something that has been entrenched into his muscle memory. His body is cold but he does not feel it. He merely grabs hold of the armrests in a listless manner, settling in as he mindlessly stares at the oblivion with eyes hollowed and glazed over. A vegetative state on auto-pilot. His throne is placed on a mountain of bones and corpses of which he knows no name of. Namjoon has truly become the King of the Dead.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #namjoon angst #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #namjoon fluff

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

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Magnificent Scoundrels- The Shadowed Lords

I know I keep throwing new characters and places at you. Sorry. Scoundrel shenanigans will return next story. However, this is important for the story progression, and, to be blunt, these are some of my personal favorite characters I wrote in here. Enjoy the story, and if you are interesting in it, please read the end note.

“Nine heroes and their colleagues.

Six Shadowed Lords and the assets they bring:

One Ghost.

One god.

One collector.

One Man

One Cypher.

One Leader.

Six Stones.

One Weapon.

One Crucible.

One Ring.

Seven Lords:

One Lion

One Phoenix

One Warhawk

One Wolf

One Son

One Salamander

One Raven

And a little luck.” -A List of Items Required

Titanfall Galaxy

The Outlands

Hammond Robotics Lab 365-772

It was night out, and Dr. Lisa Wiltalker sat in the same chair, in the same office, as she did every night. But this time, she didn’t really mind. It was a wonderful night outside, crisp and clear, with the stars shining through the window, creating an ambient atmosphere of peace. Though, in reality, it was actually due to her work that she didn’t mind staying late.

She was the head of the facility, one of the most important ones in the Outlands region of space, and it was her duty to advance the Hammond company by any means necessary. And, by God, the opportunities that presented themselves now! Eight new universes that had just materialized from nowhere. Eight! The circumstances that presented themselves for Hammond and herself were...endless.

She was currently studying everything she could about these new galaxies, trying to learn anything and everything she could…

She looked up sharply. Could have sworn something was moving in the shadows… No. She had been here for...fifteen hours, was it? It was nighttime, and it was a lonely, empty office building, so no wonder her senses were playing tricks on her sleep deprived mind. She stood up, stretched, grabbed a coffee from the machine in the room, and sipped it while looking out the window and the stars. Feeling better, or at least more caffeinated, she returned to the task at hand.

Eight new galaxies. Endless opportunities to sell the products of Hammond. Spectre robots, the latest and greatest in infantry fighting machines, faster, stronger, and tougher than a man; explosive Ticks, small drones that seeked out enemies and detonated; and, of course, Titans. She didn’t think that any of the other galaxies had technology like that, and where better to add to their arsenals but from the Hammond Corporation? Made perfect sense…

She snapped around sharply. She swore she could have heard something moving, swore she could see something just inside her peripheral vision… She shook her head again. The office was massively secure, with guards, both of bolt and steel, and flesh and blood stationed throughout it. When in a sleep deprived and lonely situation, everyone started seeing the boogeyman hiding in the corners. She shook her head ruefully and turned on more lights.

Where was she? Ah, yes. Opportunities. Who to sell to? Everyone, if possible. Who could turn down six meter tall war machines, implemented with the finest in A.I. technology, programmed in the art of death and destruction? Well, probably a few of the more dense and/or peaceful of the governments out there. She leafed through a dossier.

The Galactic Assembly? No. Has only had two major wars in the last century, both of which had ended within the year. The United Federation of Planets? Also no. Too regulatory, too jealous of their own technology. The Galactic Empire? This one looked promising. A pro-human empire that had been fractured and on the losing side of a major war in recent years, desperate for anything to turn the tide. Yes, this-

A cold, metallic hand gripped her throat, preventing any sound from getting out, and a horribly deep, rasping, grating voice sounded in her ear.

“You ever get the feeling you’re not alone in the room? It’s because you’re not.”

The extremely tall, spindly...thing stood over the corpse of Dr. Wiltalker. The body had a massive, jagged, yet precise hole ripped through the torso, directly where the heart was, and currently lay deep in a pool of its own clotting blood. The thing, made of cold steel yet looking oddly humanoid, stood above it, watching, savoring the sensation.

“One more off the list,” it said in the same rasping voice. It made a move to turn, to exit the room, but stopped. It stared at the desk. At the dossier. “Interesting,” it muttered. It picked it up. “Very interesting indeed.” It leafed through it. The machine turned.

It had once been he. He had once been living. He had been turned into this… synthetic nightmare by Hammond, against his will or knowledge. He snarled and suppressed a shudder of rage. Once the greatest hitman the Syndicate, Hammond, or anyone else had ever known, at some unknown point his mind had been altered, his body destroyed and replaced with… this. He snarled again.

He had been having his revenge against everyone and everything associated with the company… but this new knowledge. This changed things. So many possibilities. So many skinsuits. So little time. He was the boogeyman. He was the Revenant. And he would have his vengeance.

Warhammer 40k Galaxy

Solemnace, Necron Tomb World

The hallways were jet black, cut from a strange stone that seemed to absorb all light around it. The only illumination came from strange runes and lighting fixtures that seemed to blend into the halls and ceilings. The light was a pale, bright green, and cast strange shadows on the halls and objects residing within. It swirled throughout the space, as if it didn’t quite understand what exactly it was supposed to be illuminating. A human would have found the long halls exceptionally strange. Disconcerting. Creepy, even, if one were less eloquent. It seemed like something from a horror movie, with mad creatures waiting to leap from the shadows on the unaware.

Even more strange and disconcerting were the objects located within the halls. Strange devices, artifacts, and objects littered the space. Each one almost unrecognizable; completely unknown except to the most knowledgeable of galactic historians, and, of course, the curator. For this place, this entire planet, in fact, was so much more than strange alien hallways and lighting that did not agree with the human ocular system. Above all else, itt was a place that preserved history.

The massive galleries, for that is what they were, contained a great many strange, horrifying, and wondrous things. Everything, from inactive artifacts of history to living beings had their place here. Each was protected, frozen in status by eldritch technologies. A massive man in baroque power armor. Tens of thousands of Imperial Guardsmen, from many different worlds, (including some lost) scattered throughout different exhibits. Huge war machines, from almost every race to bestride the stars. A large, beautifully embellished bell. Korks, the ancient and ferocious genetic predecessors of orks. The ossified husk of some strange, jellyfish-like being. The preserved head of an Imperial Saint. The graceful Eldar of the last high council of the destroyed Craftworld Idharae. Space Marines, from almost every chapter and legion imaginable. Several Inquisitors that had been just a bit too nosy. A Custodian. Stange, undocumented blue crab-like aliens. Members of species thought to be long dead by the rest of the galaxy. The total list would probably take hours, if not days or weeks, to describe.

The long galleries were patrolled by odd beings, bipedal silver robots with elongated skulls, wielding strange spears. They seemed to be mindless, uncaring of the weariness that would affect any other beings by the constant patrolling.

On one of the wings of the planet-sized museum, an individual studied a huge sculptured head. It was old and grimy, its original and secondary colors lost to time. The figure was lost in it, its bulk taking up a huge display gallery. Once upon a time the head had been part a a figure called the Statue of Liberty, and had resided in the human hive city of Nuva York on the Throneworld of mankind. 38,000 years ago. It was a huge monument to human accomplishment. 38,000 years ago. It was a historical relic, a testament to mankind’s history. 30,000 years ago. It disappeared, never to be seen again, a missing piece of history. 24,000 years ago. Now it resided here. It mattered nothing to the individual. He was older than the statue. Older than the human race itself.

His body was similar to those of the gallery guardians, but much more ornamented and higher quality. Made of silvery metal, his legs were long but powerful. A metallic rib cage, with a strange symbol etched in the breastbone attached, the legs to similarly structured arms. His metallic skull had a largely elongated jaw, with a permanent mouth etched in the metal. A cloak made of interlocking metallic plates was thrown across his back, and in his hands was a strange staff, made of the same metal as he was.

A sigh of contentment, strangely synthesized, escaped his lips (or what passed for them). While he did often travel the galaxy, looking for artifacts and individuals to add to his ever-growing collection, it was nice to look at his gains. He turned and strode out of the gallery hall.

A vast open room stretched before him, much better lit than his galleries. Ornamented skeletal warriors, weapons at the ready, stood on guard. They were there not only to protect him (not that he needed it, mind you, there were plenty of tricks up his sleeve), but the massive museum itself. He surmounted the steps to his throne, ornamental carved from the black rock, and surveyed his domain. He was not here simply to oversee his galleries. No. A voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“My lord?” asked another metallic servant, this one bearing heavier limbs and more decoration than its fellows. The seated figure looked up. A huge holographic map, made of eerie green light, sprung to life, taking up the majority of the colossal room. It showed not one, but nine different galaxies. Each a treasure trove. Each begging to be explored.

Trazyn the Infinite, Phaeron of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archaeovist of Solemnace, curator of the Prismatic Galleries, and collector extraordinaire turned his head to the map. Eight new galaxies. Eight new sets of history. So little time. So much to collect.

Marvel Galaxy

Within the passages between worlds

There were ways. Passages between realms and planets, known to only a few. Some might call them ‘wormholes’, some ‘slip spaces’, others just plain ‘magic’. They were small, strange, holes in time and space. While naturally occurring, and while able to be explained by science, few ever found them. Fewer still ever used them.

Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief, was not among those few. He was with the tiny minority, the smallest percentage of all beings: he knew where they were, knew how they worked, and used them frequently. They were so incredibly useful; too hard to pass up. Not even Heimdall, all-seeing guardian of the Nine Realms, could not peer into them. Poor Heimdall. The man was a tedious bore, but he really didn’t deserve to die like he did.

Loki died that day too, choked to death at the hands of the Mad Titan, Thanos. Or did he? Was this the original Loki, cheating death yet again? Was this another Loki from the same universe, the same timeline, transported here? Maybe. Or was this a Loki from somewhere else entirely; the same individual from a different universe? It was possible. One never really knew with the God of Lies.

Loki wasn’t truly evil. He had a habit for causing mass death and destruction, but those killed were mortals, were they not? A few years taken off their miserably short lives wouldn't really affect anything. He liked power, enjoyed it, would use force to get it, but, at heart, he wasn’t malevolent.

But now, out there, seen in the spaces between time and space, there were new things. Things that truly were malevolent. Evil. Things that would enslave all sentients, destroy all life, rend reality asunder.

He was no hero. But things like this...they needed to be stopped. So, unfortunately, he would probably end up fighting on the side of heroes. However, that didn’t mean he still couldn’t find time for mischief...

Mass Effect Galaxy

Cronos Station, Headquarters of Cerberus

The room was bare, with only an ergonomic chair standing alone in the center. A huge window, sleek and curved, with no obstructions, gave view to a massive fiery star. Tendrils of fire, both red and yellow, spun into space, guaranteed to take any viewer’s breath away. The floor was black and polished, reflecting the star’s burning light. Sitting in the chair in the center of the room, surrounded by orange and blue holograms, was a single human.

He was wearing an extremely expensive, well-tailored suit, the edges perfectly cut to fit his frame. His brown hair was neatly styled, and his eyes glowed blue, replaced long ago with prosthetics. He stood, glass of incredibly expensive liquor in hand, the glowing tip of a cigarette sticking from the edge of his mouth, staring at the holograms. Somehow, he contrived to make the vices look incredibly elegant and classy, like a movie star of old.

He was the Illusive Man. One of the, if not the most powerful individuals in the galaxy. Creator of the pro-human terrorist organization Cerberus. He saw his duty plainly: humanity must become the most prominent race throughout the stars. He was not xenophobic. Far from it. He simply wanted his species to succeed, and if lesser individuals saw that as racist, saw him as a terrorist, then so be it. He cared nothing for the opinions of the weak. Those who were not willing to act were not worthy of inheriting the stars. But now...complications.

Eight new galaxies. He knew a great many things about them; far more than most. There were new threats. New problems. New factions and people of incredible power. But most importantly, humanity existed in all eight. His species.

Whether through the iron might of the Imperium of Man, or the peace and technological progress of the United Federation of Planets, humanity was in a prominent place in all of them. He would see them remain that rightful place. But now there were threats. Too many to handle alone. He would need help, and he would need it as quickly as possible if he were to succeed.

The holograms scrolled past, showing names. Faces. Dossiers. Heroes. Villains. Species.

The Illusive Man sat in his chair, cigarette dangling from his mouth as if forgotten. He was thinking. Planning. He needed more help, needed more people, needed more knowledge. Knowledge was power. Power was required to raise mankind to the top. Simple, but not easy. He thought some more.

Unknown Location

The faint light, cast by the glow of a nearby star, emanated from large floor to ceiling windows. The star was old, cold, but still let out a pure white light, enough to illuminate the room through the heavy, cathedral-like windows. It contrasted with the empty blackness of space, the only light beyond the star being faint pinpricks, barely enough to cast a second glance at. The room itself was dark. Nothing could be seen of it. Not its size, not its purpose, or any items within. The light only illuminated two figures standing side by side, staring out into the blackness of space.

The one on the right was the shorter of the two. It looked to be human, with two arms, two legs, and a head sticking out from a normal human frame. However, one couldn’t really tell what it was, for its face was hidden by an armored black mask and helmet. Two rectangular eye slits, glowing a dim red in the light of the star, looked out through the window. It wore black armor and gloves, stylized so as to allow the greatest range of motion possible. A heavy black coat, reinforced by some form of anti-ballistic material, reached down to the figure’s ankles. Holstered at its side was a large pistol, a human-made automatic of heavy calibre.

The figure on the left was massive. While the one in black was slightly taller than six feet, it towered a full eight feet tall. Its form was large and bulky, with joints of massive power armor poking through a plain white robe that hid the majority of its figure. A white hood covered its head, and while one might think this figure was some strange alien, the bottom of the face that could be seen through the hood and shadows was unmistakably human. It had a broad and chiseled face that fit the rest of its massive form, hinting that the bulkiness of its figure came not from the armor, but from the body beneath it. Two pistols were holstered at its side, both oversized to fit in the figure’s large armored gauntlets. One was blocky and black, and while heavily ornamented, seemed to be of the type that fired something akin to bullets. The other glowed a soft blue, coils replacing what would have been the slide on an automatic pistol.

An utterly massive sword was strapped to the figure’s back, and while beautifully adorned and seemingly crafted by a master, it was too large even for the tall man to wield it. Instead, it was kept in its place, resting on his back.

The taller man spoke. “You know what must be done, yes?” His voice was a deep baritone, rumbling with massive power and reverberating through the darkness.

“Yes.” The shorter figure’s voice was scarred and metallic, spoken through some sort of modulator in the mask it wore.

“Then we must move quickly.” The man on the left turned and stared down at the black-clad figure on the right. “There are those who would seek to stop this.”

“It is logical. I see no other way to make things right for everyone.”

“Good. Then it is necessary to do what must be done,” said the deep voice.

“The fate of the universe hangs on the shoulders of a few. But they have done it before. Proven their worth,” replied the black figure.

“This time there are forces outside of their control. Things they are not powerful enough to fight. This is why we must help them.” The red lenses tilted up towards the tall man’s face.

“Indeed. We have a mission, and for the good of all we must not fail.”

Hope you liked the story. I know that both Loki and the Illusive Man are kind of bad guys, and the the Illusive Man goes heavy off the deep end in ME 3, but that hasn’t happened yet, and I need all of these characters on the same side. Now, the message. If you have any ideas for stories you want me to write or any characters that fit in with the Shadowed Lords you want to include, please tell me and I will consider writing them if the fit in. If you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, or questions, don’t hesitate to ask! I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope that you have a great day. Or night. Or whatever.

Edit: Also, Revenant is a sociopathic murderer, so he isn’t exactly a good guy either.

#magnificent scoundrels #story #writing #my writing #my story #fanfic #crossover story #mass effect #apex legends #warhammer 40k #marvel

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fuckingfinwions · 3 years

Note

I too have so many terrible ideas so I hope it’s ok to share a few of the ones constantly in my brain- @outofangband

1. This is related to my awful idea of Melkor sometimes forcing Maedhros to call him father because of his Fëanor obsession. This very much includes doing it while he rapes him.

I’ve already talked a lot about this (both here and on my blog) so I won’t ramble too much but Maedhros resists at first but his resolve is broken down and sometimes it’s just easier to give into this degrading and horrifying demand if it means there’s a chance he can rest after

Anyways post Angband, Fingolfin is sitting at Maedhros’s bedside when he starts to have a nightmare. Pretty unsurprising given the circumstances. But when he starts to talk in his sleep it sounds to Fingolfin like he’s having a nightmare about Fëanor which does startle him. There are so many different ways this could go depending on Fëanor’s character. Is Fingolfin horrified, knowing that his half brother could be temperamental and even violent but not imagining he’d hurt his sons like that? Is he tempted to ask Maedhros’s brothers about it? (When he asks Maedhros himself, Maedhros looks mortified and says he doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about). What if his brothers get angry at him (either Fingolfin or Maedhros or both) for daring to accuse Fëanor of anything like this.

This in itself isn’t particularly dark by my standards but like there’s so many wonderfully horrible things that can happen between the Fëanorians and the Nolofinwëans now

2. Dark Fingolfin getting off on Maedhros’s testimony about Angband, pressing him for more details that Maedhros doesn’t think seems relevant to the war efforts but he doesn’t really feel he can argue even though he feels so exposed and awful talking about this

But really why does his uncle need to know what Morgoth’s cock looks like let alone feels like

Honestly this could work with dark Maglor too.

(I don’t want to overwhelm so I’ll send more later if ok. I hope your vacation was fun!)

-@outofangband

1. I'm just thinking, what's the worst thing possible for Fingolfin to overhear? Maedhros begging "Feanor" not to hurt him, or Maedhros begging "Feanor" to fuck him? Maybe both.

"No, stop, please Father, I didn't mean it. Please use my hole, I'll be so good for you-" And then Fingolfin wakes Maedhros up, and Maedhros panics and says he doesn't recall his dream/memory.

Maedhros keeps refusing to elaborate. He says that Feanor was a wonderful father, but refuses to go into detail. (Maedhros's grief at Feanor's death and anger at his actions are all mixed up with the sudden burden of kingship and Melkor's messed up games.)

Fingolfin tries gently asking Maedhros's brothers, if they know any reason why Maedhros would be having nightmares about Feanor. He doesn't quote what Maedhros said because it's private and also too horrifying to repeat.

They don't know, and think that this is part of Fingolfin's plan to smear Feanor's reputation, like 'provoking' Feanor to threaten him with a sword. Probably Fingolfin is just making it up that Maedhros referred to Feanor.

(And so what if Maedhros really did? Maedhros has plenty of reason to fear Feanor's opinion of his actions, Losgar and getting captured and giving up the crown. They all have nightmares of various judgements, Maedhros fearing Feanor isn't strange.)

And perhaps Maedhros overhears Fingolfin's question, and says "Of course my brothers don't know, they weren't there, he never made them-" and then realizes he said too much (or far too little) and stops.

(Plus side is that with Feanor dead, Fingolfin will not immediately try rescue Maedhros from his apparent abuse. Fingolfin won't give up without an explanation, but he'll be patient.)

2. Maedhros would answer any questions, no matter how irrelevant they seem. His sense of normal is skewed - he knows what was required in Valinor and than Angband, but not in Beleriand. And of course everyone needs to be sure that Maedhros wasn't suborned, that he's not hiding information in order to help Morgoth.

Plus of course there's the tactical considerations. Maedhros is the best witness they have about the layout of Angband, its hierarchy, the strength and number of troops

Now, of course Maedhros was being tortured at the time, so he might not have noticed all those details. But there's time and paper now to make a precise record. So if Maedhros describes exactly what it was like every time he was raped by a Balrog, Nolofinwe can put together a list of how many different Balrogs there are, and which ones are most interested in elven reactions versus interested in themselves, which will be useful for distracting them on the battefield. Likewise, if Maedhros describes Morogth's cock and hands in detail Nolofinwe can determine that Morgoth really has been locked into one shape, which will be vital when the Noldor breach Angband. (And knowing what it felt like inside Maedhros is important because, uh, Valar's bodies reflect their domains, and it will help them know if the very earth in Angband is toxic.)

"Maedhros, you want to help our people right? You want to have done something useful rather than just lead your soldiers to their deaths? Then repeat the time you were brought to the mines by a group of orcs and gangbanged whenever they had a free moment. I think I've got it connected on the map, though I don't have a good grasp of how long they spent in the mines. I'll keep a tally of how many times each one came in you, we can use that as a clock."

(And my vacation was good, thanks for asking! Lots of hiking to see beautiful lakes and waterfalls and even a small mountain!)

#outofangband #fucking finwion answers

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Treasure- Part 1

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)

Word Count: 3,565

Genre: Fantasy AU, Pirate AU

Warnings: Language, Violence, Some Smut, Mentions of Blood

Summary: For her entire life, Y/N has always been at the disposal of the men who treat her like she’s less than human. Her father was an alcoholic and her mother is unable to support the two of them after his death. Years later, Y/N feels stuck and there’s nothing worse than feeling trapped in your own home. However, after being kidnapped by a gang of ruthless pirates, Y/N finally gets her first chance of freedom and she very much likes the way it tastes even if that means playing with the heart of the notorious pirate captain whose affections become more and more obvious every day.

When I was younger, my mother told me stories about the ocean goddess Amphitrite whose husband, Poseideon, commanded the endless tides and waves. She was a jealous lover, envious of the women Posideon would often bed, resulting in demigod children which he treasured and kept safely hidden away from his wife’s thirst for vengeance. But children can only be controlled for as long as their curiosity remains sated, choosing the comfort of land instead of that deep-spirited desire to return to the water. Eventually, his demigod children could no longer resist the call and that’s when Amphitrite would rise from the deepest trenches, commanding the ocean to overhaul boats of brave sailors, thunderous power splitting the ships in half while the demigod children lose themselves to their father’s perilous domain.

But Posideon grew angry with Amphitrite’s actions, demanding that she leave his children alone or else she would be banished to the Underworld where his ruthless brother Hades prevailed. Bitter and disappointed, Amphitrite sought a new solution to the problem of her husband’s illicit affairs. Amphitrite decided to try her luck on land and she lived amongst the humans for many years. One day, while she was wandering a distant shore, Amphitrite fell in love with a gorgeous sailor whose long, silky hair and endless sea-green eyes commanded her deepest affections. The sailor, who never realized her true identity, also fell for the mysterious way he felt drawn to the woman who climbed aboard his ship. He promised that he would do anything to please Amphitrite and the clever goddess requested that the sailor track and kill the children of her unsuspecting husband. So, with a crew at hand, the love-struck sailor spent years at sea burning the ships of Poseidon’s demigod children, earning him the nickname of “Pirate” for his bloodthirsty crimes at the behest of Amphitrite....

“I think that’s enough for one night,” my mother would say, noticing the way my eyes grew wider despite the fact that I was meant to be sleeping.

“Are there pirates here?” I would often ask my mother once she was finished.

“They’re only stories, my dearest,” my mother would reply, holding me close at night while my gaze wandered the darkness, searching out the window with a mixture of fear and trepidation, wondering if a pirate would sneak through the window with blood dripping from his blade.

But that was my childhood and, as the years slowly passed away, those stories grew as distant as my memories, lost to the powerful effects of time. I grew as tall as my mother, discovering her features whenever I would look into a mirror. I also inherited her passion for storytelling and would often sit on the hills overlooking the brilliant sea imagining myself exploring the distant lands that the maps at school promised would hold all sorts of possibilities.

Sadly, my dreams of leaving the island became less and less of a possibility as the realities of life replaced the fantastical wanderings of my imagination. When my father eventually died and left me alone to deal with my despondent mother who could no longer take care of herself. She would usually sit in the living room throughout the day, looking out the window at nothing in particular. It was a miracle to hear her speak, and I knew that my mother had become nothing more than a shell of her former self. To take care of us, I was forced to leave school which only dampened my curiosity in the study of Astronomy and the brilliant stars that always inspired me when I was younger.

I would always miss my youth because now, at the tender age of 21, I had nothing left of the Spirit that once fueled my every hope and desire. I walked through each day dreading the possibility of another, watching everyone else around me move through their lives like the waves washing up on the beach, there at one instant and then gone the next. Leaving for a distant land in the small ships that frequently visited our small island. But nobody liked to stay forever because the human instinct to explore and conquer was present in every man and woman. Sadly, I’d never get the chance to satisfy mine.

Trapped here, like the fish brought in at high tide, to suffer through an endless cycle, wishing to escape to the stars because only then could I be truly free.

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you?” the heavy-set man groaned at my ear, thick hips pounding against mine with bruising power.

“I’ll be whatever you want,” I responded robotically, gazing at the ceiling and creating constellations out of the boards.

It was the same every night, depending on what sort of customers were drawn into the hostel. The owner, an older gentleman with greasy, balding hair, would accept payment for our services, setting aside a gold token or two if he was feeling generous towards his whores which only ever happened when the place was full. Our best customers were merchant ships full of drunk and horny sailors looking to forget about their unfortunate circumstances and stick their uncut cocks into whatever comfortable hole they could find.

“It’s good business,” the owner would croon, gathering us girls together around him. “My sluts make me good money.”

I would always hold my tongue at the term because, despite the fact that it was true, the connotation still struck a nerve, especially considering how my father had treated my mother. He would often come home at night completely wasted, slapping my mother like she meant absolutely nothing to him. Yelling obscenities while requesting that his slut get him something else to drink.

My father had passed away years ago, but my mother took his loss a lot more than I was expecting considering his treatment towards her. Her eyes lost the light I had cherished as a child, spending her days gazing out the window in my father’s old armchair while I was forced to find work. And those young girls like me who were unable to stay in school on the island could always find work at a whorehouse, selling her body for enough money to buy food and pay rent. That’s all that mattered to me for survival, but it still didn’t satisfy my wildest imaginations, dreaming of escaping to a place far away from this horrible island.

My client for the evening let out a deep-throated moan, cumming inside and I winced when I felt him lean down to kiss my forehead, the gesture far too intimate for my comfort. “I’d buy you again a heartbeat,” he told me sincerely while I impatiently waited for my shift to finally end.

I was usually a lot stricter about the type of contact I allowed. However, these days, I usually endured far more than I used to back when I was still new to the services required of me. Skittish around the older men touching my body or afraid to even ask the other girls for advice. I’m sure some of those clients took advantage of my innocence, but that had since worn off and I was nothing if not completely stoic when it came time to satisfy another customer.

I was still often ignored by the other girls, especially since men usually preferred me because of my younger age. There was only so much that makeup could hide before the body itself bore its secrets in the wrinkles creasing one’s forehead or the bulging veins in a girl’s thighs and arms. My body was still soft, enjoying the effects of youth before those looks would inevitably become lost to a steady decline.

But then again, most men didn’t care since they were usually drunk and reeking of desperation when they entered the hostel. “Sell me your best,” they would often request of my boss to which he would simply signal whichever girl happened to be closest at the time. It was always unfortunate when it was someone simply looking to negotiate their pay so that they could feed their family.

I walked down the stairs from my room with heavy steps while trying to ignore the new ache between my thighs. Carefully, I avoided the lingering patrons while taking a seat at the bar. Someone had discarded a glass from earlier, but I didn’t care about whose lips might have touched the rim, downing the rest of the nasty-smelling liquid without care. “Don’t look so down, kid, you’re too young for wrinkles.”

I offered Wendy, the kind hostel bartender, a small smile. “Any news on how many ships are coming into port tonight?”

“Heard a lot of rumors today,” she said, toweling off another glass. “It might be a pretty busy night. You know that makes the boss happy.”

“But it also means a long shift for me,” I said. “I can only handle a few old bastards a night before I feel completely numb in my legs.”

“Try stretching,” she suggested. “Good business means you might get paid more.”

“Still won’t be enough,” I said, barely acknowledging one of the other hostel workers who had suddenly joined us at the bar.

“Sounds like someone should have stayed at home if she ain’t on her best game,” her nasal voice informed me.

“I don’t do much of the work.”

A snort of laughter. “That’s true. You might be the best of us at spreading those pretty thighs.”

I gritted my teeth together as I signaled for Wendy to refill my glass. “This coming from someone who’s always chosen last by the clientele.”

Barbara paused next to me, spine rigid. “Watch your mouth, little girl. We don’t talk that way to anyone, got it?”

“Whatever,” I muttered darkly, eyes narrowing as more men started to walk into the hostel, eyes shiny with evidence of their desires which I would have the obligation of fulfilling.

“Work hard,” Barbara snapped at me before wandering out onto the main floor sporting her best smile.

I glowered in her direction, surveying the crowd with disinterest. “There’s a big group,” Wendy remarked, nodding at the door.

I spun around in my chair, holding tightly to my glass as I discovered the boisterous crowd of relatively young sailors who had just entered the hostel. It was a large group of men, clothed in ragged attire barely held together by worn stitching, black-toed boots scuffing the floors. They were loud and obnoxious, clearly oblivious to decorum. They wore matching black masks and hats, overcoats thick as they carried themselves with an air of superiority. “They don’t look like regular sailors,” I remarked loosely to Wendy, unaware of the consequences of my words until a few moments later when the leader of the group suddenly confronted my boss who had been talking with a few regulars.

“How many do you have here?” the masked man demanded, flaming red hair contrasting with his pale skin.

“H-how many of what?” my boss asked, cowering back as he took in the sight of the gangly crew.

“Whores,” the red-head said, surveying the hostel with interest, eyes pausing on me for longer than I would have liked.

“Tonight?” my boss spluttered. “I got six working the floor.”

“We’ll take all of them,” the red-head said.

“I don’t know if I have enough rooms to accommodate that many pairings! If you could just-”

“Not here,” the red-head sighed impatiently, turning to look at one of his partners. “Am I not speaking English, San?”

“It sounds like it to me,” the one named San pondered, gaze thoughtful as he considered my boss. “Did you not hear him, old man? Give us all of your whores.”

“W-where would you take them?”

“Onboard, obviously,” the red-head snapped. “The crew needs some new entertainment.”

“They got bored of the last ones,” a deeper voice joined the fray belonging to someone whose eyes crinkled at the sides with mischief. He was undoubtedly smiling beneath that unusual disguise.

“Hurry up, Mingi, Captain’s not gonna wait all night!”

“Those girls aren’t leaving this hostel,” my boss said, standing straighter even as his shoulders fell against the heavy gaze of Mingi, tall form looming in a dominant fashion.

In a split second, Mingi pulled a gun from the belt around his waist, aiming directly at my boss’ head. The entire hostel grew silent, all eyes watching the impending situation with fear evident in their dilated irises. “What did you say?”

“Alright, alright,” my boss said, waving his hands like a lunatic. “You can use them for one night.”

BANG!

I heard a distant squeal when his body finally hit the floor, but I was too caught up in my unexpected self-satisfaction at seeing my slimy boss bleeding out against the wood I had spent hours cleaning last night. “He said six,” Mingi growled, glancing back at his men. “Take whichever six you want, including her,” he said, pointing in my direction. “We can save her for the captain.”

His words were the catalyst for the sudden action of the other men, swords drawn from their scabbards as they ran at the crowd with excited cheers as if the prospect of attacking innocent civilians was too much to anticipate. Screams filled the hostel, men and women alike running in opposite directions in their desperation to escape. “Pirates!” someone shouted and the word sent a shiver down my spine as I met the gaze of the man who had murdered my boss in cold blood.

“The Captain will like you a lot, girl,” Mingi said, nodding appreciatively as he openly appraised me like I was particularly worthy of his attention. Around us, the other girls were sobbing and pleading, struggling in the grasps of the pirates who had since taken them hostage, pulling them towards the door of the hostel which I once associated with long nights struggling to sell my body to the highest bidder. “Are you gonna give me a hard time like your friends?”

“They aren’t my friends,” I retorted coldly, surprising the pirate standing before me.

“You’ll be coming with us.”

“I understand,” I said calmly, gazing out across the now mostly vacant hostel, a few bodies littering the floors covered in blood. “I’ll go with you.”

Mingi smirked, gripping tightly to my upper arm even though it wasn’t necessary, leading me out into the chaotic streets like I was nothing more than a common dog for him to command. The island itself was a complete mess, townspeople running through the streets cursing and yelling, trash loitering the sidewalks, children mindlessly glancing around with wide, confused eyes. And through it all I managed to keep myself together, vaguely wondering what my mother might be doing at that moment. But it never crossed my mind to beg this pirate to allow me one last chance to see her. It didn’t matter that my mother depended on me to take care of her because, for a fleeting second, I could only think about how unfair it was that I was stuck with a mother like her who could no longer protect me from harm

The dock was glowing in the distance, lanterns lighting the worn pathways leading to different ships anchored at port. I had only been to the docks a few times in my life, mostly to help my former boss whenever the hostel received a large delivery. Nevertheless, it still managed to fill me with a sick feeling of hope that maybe one day I could find myself a ship willing to take me far away from the island. Somewhere warm and inviting where I could study Astronomy and remember all the delicate patterns I had once memorized when I was still a young and impressionable child.

Of course, being kidnapped against my will was certainly not the way I envisioned leaving the island, especially when it involved pirates. I studied Mingi from the corner of my eyes. How many people has he killed? Would I be just another body to add to his list?

Such questions were useless to consider because fear was the last emotion I needed to feed into right now, paralyzed with the wide-eyed desire to run or fight and protect myself. I would stand no chance with these pirates, especially Mingi who was taller and strong, leading me to a ship that stood in contrast to the others anchored down. The ship in question, with the name “Precious” painted onto the side of the hull, was larger than any boat I had ever seen docked at the bay. It was actually quite beautiful, dark sails trembling in the breeze while the forlorn flag at the highest point indicated that it belonged to the pirate order. But that was just the ironic contradiction of the ship because despite its outward appearance, the men who commanded her wheel were nothing short of barbaric. A nasty breed of man who plundered the seas and killed without remorse.

I stumbled up the narrow plank, glaring at Mingi from the corner of my eye as he continued to push me onboard. The other girls were already kneeling, hands tied behind their backs as they suffered from various states of undress. I glanced down at my disheveled skirts, grateful that they at least covered my legs. “This one is for the Captain.”

“But she’s the youngest!” another voice complained, glaring almost enviously at the other girls.

“For. The. Captain,” Mingi repeated, jerking me to the right. “You can do whatever you want to the rest of them.”

I glanced back over my shoulder, wincing when I saw one of the pirates dig his fingers tightly into Barbara’s dark hair. “You should be grateful,” Mingi growled at me. “The Captain doesn’t like to share.”

“I don’t feel grateful,” I hissed back at him, completely unprepared for the accompanying slap as my head twisted to the side.

“You won’t talk to me that way,” Mingi said, shoving me against the wall, fingers tightening around my throat. My lungs were screaming for air, toes hovering above the deck, hands scratching against his impossible hold. I was gasping, desperate for air while my mind screamed at me to fight back, but I was powerless against his predominant strength.

“Is this one mine?”

My feet landed on the floor and I dropped to my knees, breathing in the air like it was the last time I might be able to do so. “It might not be worth it, Captain,” Mingi spat. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

“Is that so?”

I was slowly recovering from my temporary brush with death, lifting my gaze to locate the mysterious Captain I was now meant to serve. He wasn’t as tall as Mingi, but he was somehow far more intimidating, wearing all black from the mask hiding his face to the boots echoing against the deck. His hair was a strawberry color, delicately framing an angular face that might be handsome if it didn’t belong to such a despicable person. “Tell me your name, whore,” he demanded.

I swallowed hard against the raw ache in my throat. “Y/N.”

The Captain nodded. “Mingi, you can leave the two of us now. Go enjoy the other girls.”

Mingi obeyed, albeit reluctantly as he trained those suspicious eyes on my recovering form. “Aye, sir.”

I watched him as he walked away, fingers massaging my still-tender throat. “Does it hurt?”

I carefully considered the Captain. “He tried to kill me.”

“You shouldn’t mouth off,” the Captain said, nodding towards a door. “Come inside.” I bit my tongue, withholding a sharp retort as I did as he directed, brushing off my skirts. “My private quarters,” he said, shrugging off his thick overcoat while I examined the dozens of candles lining the mantlepiece.

“Will the others be hurt?”

He paused at my question. “Does it matter? You can’t do anything to help them.”

“I just want to help myself,” I told him honestly, brushing my fingers across a rather ancient looking bookcase.

“Then this should be easy,” the Captain said, tearing off his mask. “You can be good for me while I fuck you.”

I took a moment to admire the Captain’s features, far more delicate than I was anticipating with dark, thoughtful eyes. “I’ve been doing that my whole life, Captain.”

He smirked. “Then this should be second-nature to you.”

I bristled at the insinuation. “Maybe I’m tired of being treated like a whore.”

“Why else do you think you were brought onto this ship?” the Captain asked, tone growing hostile.

“I was forced to come aboard,” I said. “By that bumbling idiot who tried to kill me.”

“And I could do the same,” the Captain said, drawing a gun from the holster hanging off his belt. “Get on the bed.”

“I’d rather die,” I told him honestly, staring down the silver weapon to meet the Captain’s narrowed eyes. “Kill me instead.”

A chuckle escaped from between his lips. “So that’s what you want? I could always force you.”

“I’d fight back.”

“But I’m quite strong, love,” he said with a barely distinguishable accent.

“It wouldn’t be easy for you,” I said. “Didn’t you say you wanted someone easy?”

The Captain was quiet for a long time before he re-holstered his gun, crossing his arms in a closed-off manner. “Then perhaps a few nights in the brig will change your mind.”

#ateez fanfic #ateez smut #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong smut

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detective-with-one-arm · 3 years

Text

More Monster Than Man

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was only supposed to be a myth. That’s all. Stories to scare away any trespassers that would dare venture towards the one locale untouched by local rebel forces.

But as he saw the carnage before him, he felt his heart stop, his blood go cold. The legends were real. The mythical snake god of the legends was real! And he’d just eaten one of his fellow mercenaries. This was supposed to be a clean and easy job. Kill the leader of the village to stir them into disarray before attacking and pillaging them for their goods and their labour.

Even if the mythical creature wasn’t real, there was a reason some men didn’t return from their scouting missions. The men just figured it was a particularly skilled warrior that the myth was attributed to. Some sort of title.

He would never have expected it to be literal.

But still, he stayed, steeling his nerves so that he could take in as much information as he could. So that he could have something good to report back to the general who already wouldn’t be happy with losing one of his best assassins.

This beast wasn’t just some random beast. Indeed, the shaman had a way to placate it should it rampage. With some sort of screaming whistle made to imitate a human’s screams. While he couldn’t see much else inside the shaman’s home, he knew that the creature had been satiated as it dragged his former man, his chest hollowed out and bloodied, back to wherever the creature called its domain. And on the ground in his place was what appeared to be a woman.

She did not look like she was from this village, but she also didn’t seem to be here for the same reasons his men were. And even as she got up to speak to the shaman, it was clear she was trying to protect him. She held a respect for these people and even that beast.

She was merely a visitor, but one who was brave enough to try and stop the assassin from killing the shaman.

Before the beast could get a chance to realize that the assassin was not alone, the scout slunk away, determined to return to his General and deliver all the information he’d gathered.

——————————————

In his tent, the General was leaning over his workspace. The only light came from his desk lamp, illuminating not only the map on his desk but the maps on the walls. Red outlines, arrows, and x’s all written over the course of many years in regards to the various settlements recorded on said maps.

He had been searching. And he had been searching for years. Searching for the hidden village, the one place untouched by greater men for hundreds of years. The audacity, believing themselves to be above the will of conquerors.

The sounds of voices could be heard outside and the General could already feel annoyance bubbling under his tight skin. “The only reason you should have returned, private, is if Jameson has succeeded in locating and eliminating the leader of the hidden village.”

His voice was gravelly and low and sharp, reflecting the disposition of a man who had no tolerance for cowardice or failure.

Even turning around to look at the private, he could already tell that he’d failed, especially since he had come back alone. His quiet fury was already bristling in his chest.

“N-no, Sir. I’m…afraid the shaman's still alive.” He stammered, standing tall despite the sweat betraying the fear he had for the man he obeyed so fervently.

The only respect the lower men deserved to show their general.

Narrowing his eyes, the General slowly approached the private, leering down at him with the coldness of a man who has witnessed and ordered the slaughter of many innocent men, women, and children. A man who was not in the business of delivering mercy. “Then why have you returned empty handed, stinking of failure?”

The way the private squirmed and writhed under the General’s gaze was invigorating. It was that kind of fear that he could elicit from men that kept him sane. Kept him focused. Kept him from being nothing but a mindless beast whose only motivation for living was survival.

Swallowing, the private seemed to find his voice. “B-because he was killed…by-by a monster.”

Quirking his eyebrow, the General leaned forward, just a bit. “Oh? And what sort of monster was able to kill a man whose entire life is devoted to the craft of culling worthless lives from the earth? What beast was able to surpass the will of man?”

Fear having overtaken him, the private let out a pathetic sob. “It-it was a monster! The stories! They were true! A monster with a man’s body and a snake’s tail killed him! It strangled him and then ripped out his heart! He didn’t stand a chance!”

What foolish nonsense was this? The General narrowed his eyes at the private as he backed the man into a corner. “You dare lie to me? To hide your complete and utter failure? You know the consequences for cowardice, private. Or do you perhaps wish to suffer a real fate by my hand?”

“No! It’s true! I swear it’s true!” He pleaded through tears and sobs. “There-there was a woman, too! It was going to kill her, too! But then the shaman…he used some kind of…whistle. It sounds like a human’s screams. The monster answers to it. I-I think the shaman worships it. Like some sort of god!”

Intriguing. Very intriguing. Though it sounded impossible to believe, the private seemed to be telling the truth, as miraculous as it was.

But then…that begged so many questions. How did a simple forest village come into the favour of such a creature? Long enough to have a system for placating such a monster.

On the General’s face, a twisted grin spread from ear to ear. Of course. It all made sense, now. No wonder the hidden village was never found. It was being protected by a monster whom foolish men deemed a god. A beast who could be manipulated with only the right tools.

And if it was protecting a village, then it must be protecting something important. Something…valuable. And if not, the beast itself would be enough of a prize for the years and years the General had spent trying to find the village.

“Go find the lieutenant.” The General ordered the private, standing up straight and turning around to go back to his maps. “We begin mobilizing our forces closer to the village.”

At that, the private began flapping his lips again, babbling in spineless fear. “B-but sir! You haven’t seen what it’s capable of! I don’t wanna die like that! I don’t wanna mess with a bloodthirsty god -”

At that, the General whipped around and gripped the private by his uniform, black eyes burning with cold rage. “There are no such things as gods.” He spat, relishing in the tears that fell down the smaller man’s face and his pathetic whimpers. “This creature is only a beast. It can be killed and it can be captured. This world is not ruled by gods. It is the will of man that crushes mountains, levels forests, and tames seas. It is the will of man that dominates the world and bends its forces to our will. It is man that captures and extinguishes mighty beasts. It is man that understands the wealth creatures grant us and uses them as we see fit to fulfill our design. It is man that has taken the forces of nature itself and bent them to our purposes. There are no gods because men are the closest to gods this world will ever see. We are conquerors who have dominated the entire world and harnessed it for our empires.”

Leaning close, the General relished in the way the private’s blood pulsed under his fingers, his heart beating rapidly like a frightened rabbit. “Go find the lieutenant.” He ordered once again in a low tone of voice, concealing daggers in his sharp words. “We begin mobilizing our forces tonight.”

Swallowing, his face drenched in his own tears and his voice sore from his whimpers, he nodded gratefully. “Y-y-yes, Sir.”

Without another word, he left the tent.

Walking back to his desk, he looked up at the map before him, a red circle outlining the hidden village as a wicked smile graced the General’s lips. “A human village…worshipping a mindless beast as though it were a god. How primitive.” He chuckled amusedly. “But there are no such thing as gods. Only man and beast. And a beast is mortal. A beast exists for man to take and man to use.”

Taking a dagger and driving it into the empty circle, the General glared menacingly at the map.

“And a beast, no matter how powerful, is no match for the force of a thousand men and their machines of war and death. This beast...will know what it means to be broken into its rightful place, subservient to the superior species of this earth.”

#howtodisassembleyourdeviant #[an act of service]#oc writing #dbh connor #connor dbh #naga!connor #dbh ocs #{Rachel}

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beardedhandstoadshark · 3 years

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Decided to translate the stuff written on the overworld map in Twilight Princess because why not

I tried to make this as readable as possible, but just in case anything is hard to decipher, here´s the translations:

XORAS DOMAIN

SNOWPEAK

XORAS REVER

RUINS

LANALU

HIDDEN GULCH

ELDIN

MIRROR CHAMBER

ARBITERS KEEP

H Y R U L E

DEATH MOUNTAIN

LAKE HYLIA

GREAT DESERT

LAKEBED TEMPLE

KAKARIKO VILLAGE

TEMPLE OF TIME

FARON WOODS

FOREST TEMPLE

FARONc

HYRULE

ORDON SPRING

RANCH

ORDON VILLAGE

LATOAN

O SCALE D

A few things stand out here, namely that “Zoras” is written with an X, “river” is misspelled as “rever”, and the hidden village is marked as “hidden gulch”. The weirdest thing in my opinion however is the existence of a rogue “c”-letter attached to the end of “Faron”. And if that alone wasn’t weird enough, this letter is the only one on the entire map that doesn’t line up with the rest of the name it belongs to, instead floating slightly above the ground line the other letters sit on. It’s incredibly weird.

Other than that, an interesting thing to note is that gameplay-wise, all of these names are there from the very beginning of the game (since they’re part of the background), meaning not that you can theoretically piece together the entire map and get a glimpse of potential dungeons before ever getting near those places, but also that lore-wise, this map is most likely incredibly old (in the Wii-version, some words are even more faded out than others regardless of size), which just makes me wonder how such an antique piece of paper (that might have been a completed map decades ago) ended up on a ranch. Nonetheless, its nice fodder for small headcanons.

#legend of zelda #twilight princess #loz tp #headcanon #I guess #if that small part at the end counts #also the picture of the map (without translations) is just one of the first images you get when searching for twilight princess map

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light-of-the-damned-stars · 3 years

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The Exchange of Courtesies

https://ficbook.net/readfic/6544987/22311870

Translator's here 💝👇

'If you think that we have nothing to discuss, you're seriously mistaken.'

'Words have spreaded as shatters of the former glory of Ñoldor people in the hall, and, alas, no one would be able to to collect all of them now.'

'Are you allowing yourself to say these bold words of yours whilst being so confident in my generosity and forbearance?'

'You depend on me, thus you'll have to forbeare quirks of mine. Sadly, I suppose.'

'You can't even imagine to what extent.'

Two Ñoldor were not looking at each other whilst pointedly looking only at patterns on columns and at the view behind windows. Two voices: one that was faint and husky and another one which was beautifully flowing, — were appearing one by one after each pause.

'Aren't you afraid to be at one place with me without any guards?' Maedhros snarkily remarked whilst he was approaching the painting of Narnis.

'The necessity of this conversation without witnesses is outweighing my possible irrational fears,' Ñolofinwë was still looking at nothing happening behind the window when he indifferently replied.

'However, everyone knows that I'm here. What's the point in secretiveness?'

'Yes, everyone knows that you're here. Don’t you have a clue what is the reason?'

Maedhros gave no answer while he was still looking at the picture, examining the painting of his daughter and then the elegant frame.

'I want those who are loyal to me to know the person on whom they’ll take revenge after my death,' the king explained.

'It's very presumptuous to proclaim that there’ll be anyone who would like to risk their life for a deadman,' Fëanarion's voice unpleasantly changed.

'For the one who is alive — just a few will make a heroic act either,' High Ñoldoran still was not looking at his nephew, 'yet, heroes exist.'

'Alright,' Maedhros laughed with malice when he looked upon Finwë's portrait, 'I'll keep in mind that I need to secretly kill you and avoid bragging about how I freed the people of Ñoldor from shameful authority of usurper.'

'And what kind of authority do betrayers and brother killers deserve?' Ñolofinwë innocently wondered while deadly staring at one and the same point somewhere near the fountain at the square.

'I would've asked why do you, such a bright shiny ruler, need these disgusting people who possess no honour,' Fëanor was again mocking him, 'who are stained with the blood of innocents and who rejected wondrous Valar. However, the answer is clear for me.'

For the first time, during this painfully long and tense conversation, the king turned to the one with whom he spoke. Ñoldoran's eyes were blazing with hate, though he was smiling.

'You're wrong,' Ñolofinwë said in an unnatural voice. 'Again. And it's nor the first nor the last time. You ain't right if you think that I have so much lust for power, that I am eager to rule over anyone, as long as I could conquer more lands. You might not believe me though you more than anyone else know the value of a manuscript, and I'm willing to make one of those for you. Right now.’

High Ñoldoran seated himself at the table and smarmily straightened paper by pretentiously pressing its edges with copper soldiers to the table; he leisurely put a beautiful quill, that was shining with blue and green, in ink and started to slowly write tenguas along with reading out loud what he has written.

'So you want to tell me,' Maedhros's lips that were crossed by almost invisible scars stretched his mouth corners in a smile though the upper part of his face remained emotionless, 'that you're not going to claim Morgoth's lands after winning? What an interesting state of affairs.'

'You'll be able to live there and name yourself as you would like,' Ñolofinwë explained calmly.

'Dor-Daedeloth, the Land of Fear and Terror, will obtain a new ruler,' Fëanorian came extremely closely and put his hands, one of which was a real hand and another — a mechanical one, even though they both looked identical in gloves, on the table, 'the Lord who is servant of High Ñoldoran. Are you still trying to convince me that lands of Morgoth won't become yours?'

'Are you so sure that I need the North domain, behind the Iron Mountains?'

'I guess, no. However, by widening borders of your domain on the world map you won't be the second by size of kingdoms in Beleriand anymore.'

High Ñoldoran looked up with a tired glance.

'Aren't you capable of speaking with me nicely?' he asked his nephew. 'Maybe, you could at least try?'

'Try to force me,' Maedhros was still terrifyingly teething, and Ñolofinwë shook his head.

'That is why, Finwë The Third,' Ñoldoran signed, 'I wanted to talk with you in person: were any witnesses present here, I would've had to force you to be polite and respectful with your king. But when we are being heard by no one, the main thing for me is that you learn what is necessary for you but how you will respond to this will stay between us.'

'Or, you are just ashamed to say in front of witnesses that you want to send me and other war heroes along with their families to the uninhabitable lands.'

The glance of the ruler expressed the sincerest confusion.

'It was only a poor joke, Maedhros,' Ñolofinwë explained even calmer than before. 'You were telling me that Morgoth's army will be crushed in the Battle Under the Stars,however, yet after ten years…' Ñoldoran laughed with sadness. 'One day, I will get used to counting years by the calendar of new luminaries but now there’s no time for it. Just imagine, Maedhros, within just ten years these beasts multiplied behind the Iron Hills to that extent that they wiped out Kano's army and flooded the North of Beleriand. You think that something like this can possibly happen on the hollow frozen ground?’

'Morgoth is one of Valar,' Fëanorian reminded this as soon as he noticed that the conversation was getting uncomfortable.

'Manve was saying that Morgoth can't create life by his own will: he requires the use of existing shapes and only then can he change them. Distort them. Turn them evil. He can't create an horde of Orcs and provision for them out of nothing.'

'For this, Morgoth needs help from Mother of Plants and Animals, am I right?' Maedhros asked a question whilst enjoying the effect that he made: Ñolofinwë became really scared and could not pull himself together. 'You don't like the thought of us battling against all of Valar, do you?'

'But you, I see, are entertained by your own exclusive braveness,' Ñoldoran gathered the courage. 'However, if you're right and Morgoth is only the tip of the spear that directed the whole Aynur army at us, then what's the point of the siege? If we’re lacking resources...'

'Valar aren't almighty,' Fëanorian repeated his father's words, 'otherwise, Orcs wouldn't settle down outside of the lands of their precious protector.'

'Or they're as insane and lusty for power as I'm,' Ñolofinwë smiled widely, 'so they're also drawing extensive non-existent borders on maps. But we got distracted. If the siege won't bring us victory through starving them out, what'll be your plan, the future king of the most dreadful lands of Arda?’

'We'll be defending the borders whilst at the same time working on creating weapons that can crush mountains. There'll be no other way to reach Morgoth.'

'We'll be wasting time, and Orcs will again multiply in numbers.'

Maedhros nodded though in truth he was concerned by another matter: Himring’s Lord imagined how he would be walking through burned down by war, soaked in blood and covered with corpses of his friends and enemies — Land of Fear that would be devastated and dead and uslovno belonging to him. He realised that it was not the future that could have been a goal worth to be earned by fighting.

'Brothers of yours aren't joining the siege?' High Ñoldoran asked the question at the most right time. 'Are they withholding their armies until your victory? What is the reason, in your opinion?'

'Silmarils are three in number but there are seven of us,' the unwanted thought reminded him again about the inaction of his family during the capture.

'I would've advised you to insist on them joining your army,' Ñolofinwë continued to speak whilst looking in the eyes of his nephew. 'And then, on leaving them at the most dangerous frontiers. Though, of course, only wicked usurpers will do this, whereas honest followers of fratricide will never stoop to such plots.'

Maedhros made a sound of annoyance but remained silent and just walked away from the table.

‘Is the exchange of courtesies finished?’ High Ñoldoran asked. ‘Will we be able to discuss our plans and prepare lists of required resources in presence of advisers?’

'Perhaps,' Fëanoring responded while glancing again at the portrait of his daughter, 'Ard-Galen needs me, and the sooner I’ll return it’ll be better.'

Arts by ~Letavia Gayle

#elves #fanfic #noldor #silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #fingolfin #hithlum

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doctorveera · 3 years

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Cortical thinning, Schizophrenia and Cognition

A brain imaging study published in Human Brain Mapping by the ENIGMA consortium beautifully captures the thinning of brain cortex as humans age. The study presents data spanning almost the full human lifespan from as early as 3 years of age to 90 years of age in an impressive sample size of 17,075 healthy individuals, which is the largest to date.

The rate of decline in the cortical thickness seems to be not uniform throughout the life. The cortex is at its thickest during childhood, then there is a steep decline until 30 years of age, and thereafter, the decline is gradual. This is an impressive finding, and it sparked a multitude of thoughts in me.

I am surprised that the authors didn’t write anything about the biological processes that drive the cortical thinning. Of course, they are due to loss of neurons. But why this happens very early in life? It is likely that the early steep decline in the cortical thickness is the outcome of synaptic pruning, a process through which our brain gets rid of unwanted neurons. Our brain development happens in such a way that first it produces as many neurons as possible (the process called neurogenesis, which happens predominantly in-utero,) then, it keeps the ones it wants and gets rid of the rest. It is a process of molding the brain to perfection like an artist sculpting a statue to its perfect shape by chipping away the unwanted parts bit by bit. The synaptic pruning is carried out by glial cells such as microglia, which are produced predominantly after birth (the process called gliogenesis). The peaking of the prenatal neurogenesis and postnatal gliogenesis have been beautifully demonstrated in vivo, and more importantly, in vitro using brain organoids, which I have tweeted just a few days ago.

When I looked at the plot from the ENIGMA study illustrating the cortical thinning across lifespan, I wondered what happens to the cognitive abilities during the early steep decline in the cortical thickness. Disappointingly, the authors didn’t discuss that either in the paper. I remembered a great review article published in Annual Review of Developmental Psychology by Prof. Elliot M. Tucker Drob. I have superficially glanced through the paper many months ago. Particularly, a plot from the article stayed fresh in my memory; it illustrates the age related change in the fluid and crystallised cognitive abilities. In the article, Prof. Tucker-Drob writes

Cognitive abilities that require predominantly effortful processing at the time of assessment (e.g., fluid reasoning, visuospatial ability, episodic memory, and processing speed) typically peak in early adulthood (e.g., the twenties) and decline monotonically throughout middle and late adulthood, whereas cognitive abilities that rely predominantly on recital or rote application of previously acquired knowledge (e.g., crystallized knowledge, procedural knowledge, and specialized professional skills) typically peak in late adulthood (e.g., the sixties) …

From the article, it’s clear that during the adolescence and early adulthood all our cognitive abilities are in the rise, and it amazes me that, at the same time, our cortex is thinning out swiftly due to synaptic pruning. So, it is sensible to assume that the outcome of synaptic pruning is increase in the cognitive abilities. We grow wiser and wiser as our brain gets sculpted to perfection during our adolescence and early adulthood. But I wonder if the cognitive effects of the cortical thinning differ between the fluid and crystallised abilities. It is possible, as both follow different trajectories. While the fluid abilities peak at 20s, the crystallised abilities peak at 60s.

One way to deduce the cognitive associations of synaptic pruning is to find out the cognitive associations of disorders characterised by disrupted synaptic pruning. Yes, you guessed it right. Schizophrenia. One of the strongest GWAS associations of schizophrenia sits in the MHC locus where the alleles corresponding to a higher C4 expression poses an increased schizophrenia risk. C4 codes for complement factor 4, whose deposition over neurons sends eat-me signals to microglia resulting in the neuronal death. The C4 schizophrenia risk allele leading to an accelerated synaptic pruning has been demonstrated in mice models recently, and I have tweeted about it.

People often tend to quickly equate schizophrenia with poor cognition. But it is much more complicated than that. Clinically, schizophrenia patients exhibit poor cognitive functioning, particularly during the first psychotic attack (which is often considered to mark the disease onset). But as we know, phenotypic associations are affected by multiple confounding factors. If you look at the genetic correlations, schizophrenia exhibits a puzzling relationship with educational attainment and intelligence (two main cognitive phenotypes for which large scale GWASs exist.) Schizophrenia shows a positive genetic correlation with educational attainment, but a negative genetic correlation with intelligence. This might be a reflection of schizophrenia’s differential correlations with crystallised and fluid abilities. Educational attainment is a measure of crystallised abilities, and intelligence is a measure of fluid abilities (at least the one used in the past GWASs, which were powered mainly by the UK Biobank sample). In line with this assumption, I have also observed similar findings in my own work.

In my PhD project, I found that individuals with schizophrenia exhibit poor cognitive functioning in secondary school at around 15 years of age, long before the disease onset. Interestingly, the poor cognition was reflected only in their mathematics grades (a measure of fluid ability), but not in English or Danish grades (measures of crystallised abilities). Genetic correlation analysis revealed positive correlations with language grades, but negative correlations with mathematics grades. More interestingly, even individuals who never had schizophrenia exhibited differential math and language performances when stratified based on their polygenic risk for schizophrenia. Those with higher polygenic risk performed better in language, but poorer in math, and those with lower polygenic risk did the opposite.

Assuming that math grades and intelligence measurements reflect fluid abilities, and language grades and educational attainment reflect crystallised abilities, it makes sense to assume the differential cognitive correlations of schizophrenia should be--at least partly--driven by the synaptic pruning disruption and its likely consequence on the cortical thinning. To test these hypotheses, we need large scale genetic studies based on longitudinal brain imaging measures.

I’ll conclude by listing some research questions that need to be answered by the future studies.

Does the early steep decline in cortex thickness is driven by synaptic pruning?

What are the cognitive effects of cortex thinning during adolescence and early adulthood? Does the effects differ across cognitive domains?

Is the cortical thinning more accelerated in individuals with schizophrenia or in those with increased schizophrenia polygenic risk?

How much influence does genetics has on the early life cortical thinning ?

Are the genetic variants associated with early life cortical thinning under the influence of natural selection? Perhaps, they evade negative selection by trading off one type of cognition for the other? Does this has anything to do with the fact that schizophrenia remains common in the population despite having a high negative effect on fecundity?

#schizophrenia #cognition #cortical thinning #enigma #synaptic pruning #educational attainment #intelligence #fluid intelligence #crystallized intelligence

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