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awakenedsalamander · 6 months

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Promise is a promise. Let’s talk about my planned (but so far, never played) Werewolf chronicle, tentatively titled Blood Ripples Out.

Blood Ripples Out started from a few things, if memory serves. It began life as an idea for Werewolf: The Forsaken actually, but it morphed to Apocalypse as I got more into WoD over time (though I could still easily see myself playing it as Forsaken). But it mostly came from me dwelling on two video games:

1) Hotline Miami. Indie classic, full of hyperviolence and neon-soaked grime. A perfect aesthetic for Werewolf, I think, but I was particularly dwelling on the famous way almost all the levels end. After you tear through a place in a frenzy of brutal killing, the music cuts out to a dull thrum as you walk out of the bloodstained rooms you were just tearing through during your adrenaline rush, and you have to think for a moment… “Was all that a good idea? Was it worth it?”

2) Assassin’s Creed III. Almost a guilty pleasure of mine, this game. But what struck me about it was the sort of core premise of the second act of the game— the protagonist, Ratonhaké:don/Connor Kenway, desperate to protect his home and his loved ones from the colonial forces ravaging them, goes on a series of missions to kill the people leading those forces. Notably, despite his general tendency to downplay collateral damage and minimize violence, even his most precise and targeted assassinations tend to make the situation even more precarious. Ratonhaké:don wants to just stop the violence, but the violence follows him wherever he goes. It clearly isn’t his fault, he’s doing so much right… but when even doing the right thing doesn’t help, what is there to do?

You might be able to see where I’m going.

At its core, my idea for Blood Ripples Out was to empower players to act, while making sure their actions never quite fixed things. I know this is a risky path to some extent, because I don’t want the players and their choices to feel ineffectual or pointless— what I wanted instead was for them to think, with care and deliberation, about the consequences of their interactions with the world, and then be surprised by what they were able to plan for… and what they weren’t.

So to me, the chronicle was about tension cycles. Each arc starts with a problem— the first one I had in mind was a dangerous drug proliferating through the community the game was set in. This drug took advantage of vulnerable people— the addicted, the desperate, the wounded— and used them as a vessel to breed Banes and other Wyrm-tainted things. The person distributing these drugs may be aware of that being the effect, but either way, the Wyrm grows stronger so long as they continue spreading them. So, the player characters have to shut down their operation.

Then, the tension builds as the players investigate and try to find their target. They talk to the people affected, try to help them, maybe tracking down dealers and looking into suspicious activity. They might deal with threats violently, or with their supernatural powers— maybe they just talk and think their way through it all? I, of course, make note of the ways the world might respond to the player characters as they progress to the truth, and find the person who needs to die.*

Finally, the climax. All the tension is supercharged in one final mission for the arc— the werewolves know where their target is, and they hunt them down. Maybe they sneak in and kill them silently, or maybe they tear through their hideout in Crinos form, howling at the moon all the while. Perhaps they can arrange for a rival to take care of the problem for them, manipulating the situation to their advantage. Either way, it all culminates in confrontation and then, the tension releases as it’s resolved.

But then, next arc, the tension builds again. Did our werewolves solve the problem quietly and cleanly? Then there’s an easily exploited power vacuum. Maybe some shady medical corporation moves in and tries to push an equally nasty “cure” on an afflicted community, or law enforcement cracks down on all the drug trading now that no one is in control. If the PCs did things overtly, violently, then they’ve established that the community has their protection, but they might be scared of whatever things are stalking in the dark, and werewolf hunters might be tipped off to their presence. So on and so forth for any solution— nothing is perfect. But not eveyrthing is terrible, of course. People are finally recovering, maybe even benefiting from harm reduction and other community aid our PCs helped established. The people taking advantage of the community have been thrown out, at least for the moment, and the Caern grows stronger, healthier.

The core question of Blood Ripples Out, then, is not “Is what you’re doing right?” but instead “What will you do to make your choices the right choices, when the world resists happy endings?”

I don’t know the answer to that question, but I’d love to see a group try and answer it some day.

*Note: My initial conception for the game did involve a sort of metatextual requirement of the death of at least one antagonist per arc, to make the statement that the violence the PCs did was to an extent necessary, even when it did sometimes make the situation escalate. That said, such a conceit might work better for Forsaken than Apocalypse, and I would be interested in seeing how the concept of the chronicle works for characters who consistently search for nonviolent solutions.

#wod #world of darkness #chronicle idea #werewolf the apocalypse

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knife-moth-mc · 5 months

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Welcome To Haven

(a post-mortem of my Arc 1 poem)

One for the lost Two for the seeker Down in the void Where minds grow yet bleaker Trust for a monster Doubt for a curse A weapon or answer For wanting or worse Fear for a secret Friendship for guilt And for those who try To ease the world's tilt A hope for the future A cry for the past A play for the present Roles still being cast No respite for any With something to ask No choice without harm done For this thankless task No truth and no progress No blessing but doubt No hand to hold onto The hand reaching out This debris gathers No matter the cost Where none are forsaken Nor truly are lost

I told Gawain I would write this something like a year and a half ago now. I'd apologize that it took me so long but honestly I'm just glad it's done at this point.

@gawaininred enjoy!

So, first things first. This poem is clumsy. I don’t think it’s bad, by any means—I’m incredibly proud of what I did here. But this was a new thing for me, so I tried to make it easier by loosening rhythm and syllable constraints, and having relatively short lines. I think in the end this hurt me more than it helped me, which is why the arc 2 poem is so much stricter and more complicated.

One for the lost Two for the seeker Down in the void Where minds grow yet bleaker

I wasn’t at all sure where I was going with my plot at first—it wasn’t until the second stanza that I started to pull the bones of it together—so I gave myself an easy and ambiguous start. You can go pretty much anywhere from “one for the lost”! My original intention was simply to evoke the nursery rhyme that starts with “one for sorrow” (there are multiple versions with different second lines). I realized almost immediately that the poem was going to be a bit long to stick with that faithfully all the way through, but it’s still at the heart of the poem all the way through. Interestingly, I remembered later that I had started another poem with “one for the lost” a few years back. The full first line of that one is “One for the lost who no longer miss home”. Make of that what you will.

The “two” in “two for the seeker” refers to the two surviving cats, Dove and Moira. I knew right away that I was going to work them into lore, but I didn’t know exactly how until much later on. The seeking, of course, refers to the more general search for answers, as well. This is the stream in which everyone immediately goes to the place they were told to avoid, just in case there’s something interesting there, after all. Ending the line with a trochee was intended mainly as a challenge to myself, because I knew I was locking myself into a very limited pool of words to end the final stanza with.

“Down in the void” is ironically a pretty light-hearted stream given the gravity with which the void has come to be treated on Haven. At the time, though, I didn’t put that much thought into it.

The stanza ends with an unnecessarily long line—“where minds grow bleaker” would have worked just as well. But it felt very important to me to stress that the bleakness was not a new state, simply a worsening one. Would I change it now? Maybe. The difference in meaning feels less notable to me now than it did then. But I think it adds a little something—at the very least, the implications that c!Moth’s state of mind is already in some way unstable by this point.

Trust for a monster Doubt for a curse A weapon or answer For wanting or worse

The monster is Moth, obviously, but it’s also c!Sleep. I like to play with ambiguity in my titles, something I’ve leaned harder into during my second arc. Moth and c!Oz trust each other, to some extent. Meanwhile, Moth and Sleep trust each other immediately (Moth more so than Sleep). It’s not a naive trust, though; Moth is well aware that Sleep is a monster. It knew right away that Sleep was like it. It trusts him more freely and deeply because of that, which is a dubious choice, but Moth is at this point so terrified of someone learning its secret that having someone who knows but doesn’t care comes as an incredible relief.

This early in Haven, Moth’s secret hasn’t been explicitly stated on screen. The title referring to it as a curse is a nod toward how it sees itself. As for the doubt… this is when Moth’s spiral starts, I think. C!Gawain has such a strong theme of right vs wrong that Moth, in its aspect as someone desperate for approval, latches onto that simplistic worldview and doesn’t let go.

Both the weapon and the answer refer to Bird. They’re a mercenary, and Beanie has been doing a fantastic job of playing the nuances of that as an identity—how it shapes you, how you grow into it. As far as the answer goes, this is the stream in which c!Moth puts out a hit on its on-and-off tormentor, K. This doesn’t end up being a very good answer to its problems, but it’s very solidly an answer that ends up driving the conflict moving forward.

“For wanting or worse” is the title I’m proudest of as a title. It frames the act of wanting as something negative, and that’s a major theme to this arc. C!Moth has a tendency to put itself to the side, to prioritize the people around it over itself. It knows what it wants, deep down inside, but the struggle to admit that takes… honestly, until arc 2. There’s a specific moment in arc 2 where it finally plainly says what it wants. Until then, desire is something that it can only be scared and ashamed of.

Part of the tragedy of this arc is that as Moth comes to terms with what it wants, and starts trying to set boundaries about that, the people around it read its behavior as another example of it putting others before itself.

Fear for a secret Friendship for guilt And for those who try To ease the world’s tilt

“Fear for a secret” is pretty straightforward. Someone knows its secret, and it’s scared—at this point in the story, it’s pretty sure that Gawain is the only person who can meaningfully kill it. But I’m glad that this line goes to this stream; if fear and secrets are to be associated with any part of this arc, it should be the part full of sick desperation and attempts to curtail the spread of a painful truth.

The next line doesn’t have much thought behind it if I’m being honest. Moth feels guilty. Sleep is its friend. This is followed by “and for those who try,” which I am much more satisfied with. It’s not a plot-heavy stream, but it is full of people trying to be good to each other. What is that worth? Well, things could have gone any way at this point. I just wanted to highlight that the love was there. The final line of this stanza completes the thought with the idea of trying to make things better, make things right.

A hope for the future A cry for the past A play for the present Roles still being cast

Moth meets c!Angel and they hit it off great, but Angel wants to leave Haven and assumes everyone agrees with her. Moth doesn’t. The hope for the future is yet another thing to be afraid of. Conversely, it indulges in its fear of the past, allowing August to convince it to jump into the void where it experiences a memory of the person it’s hurt most. The title is also a bit of a joke, due to the fact that I did cry during this stream.

With future and past explicitly mentioned, I knew I had to do a line about the present, and I chose “play” as a word here because it evokes fun as well as struggle. The fun aspect is important because this is the stream in which Moth meets c!Renn, the living doll; the struggle aspect is a nod to the many Havenites making plays for control around this time if not on this stream.

The meat of “roles still being cast” is Moth confidently telling c!Jackdaw that it’s possible to choose to be a good person, something that it’s still trying to convince itself of. I think that this is the title that most speaks for itself in the context of its stream.

No respite for any With something to ask No choice without harm done For this thankless task

This is the stream in which it’s revealed that Anathema, the person whose body Moth is living inside, is still alive, ever present and aware. There’s no respite for him, and no respite for Moth, who now feels even more pressure to do right by Anathema but still lacks a way forward.

It asks its friends for understanding and support, and is denied. They see it as being self-sacrificing. Absolutely not! Doesn’t it know it’s valued? Doesn’t it know it’s loved? They rush to reaffirm it, and alienate it in the process.

Miserable and alone, it meets Sylph, who tells it that the iron golem walled up in the villager trading hall is hurt by being trapped. Moth, who is deeply uncomfortable with iron, tells Sylph to free the golem, effectively preventing itself from entering the hall itself. If harm has to be done, then Moth will take on that harm itself. Denied a chance to pursue its desires, it hurts itself in a mockery of what it wants.

The thankless task is, honestly, existing. Moth feels more helpless than ever. It doesn’t want to die, but it doesn’t want to keep the status quo, either. It’s treading water. It’s putting unsustainable effort into what others take for granted. The only person to meaningfully reach out to it is August, who gives it hope in the form of a possible timeshare of the body, but in a way that’s a thankless task as well—it knows Anathema won’t want to agree to the timeshare, and it considers him justified in his objections.

No truth and no progress No blessing but doubt No hand to hold onto The hand reaching out

Moth lies to Aster about whether it has potions, a moment that stuck out to me so much I named the stream after it. In the next stream, it meets Lux, the wannabe king of Haven. Moth is disappointed in Lux’s, well, everything, and decides it does not support him in this whatsoever.

The latter half of this stanza involves Moth reaching out for meaningful connection. It… kind of finds that, but not to the degree it really needs.

This debris gathers No matter the cost Where none are forsaken Nor truly are lost

I originally wrote this line as “this detritus gathers” and was promptly informed that I was pronouncing detritus wrong. I’m still upset about this. But debris serves the same purpose, namely labeling the stream in which Moth acquires TNT by participating in blowing up a(n admittedly abandoned) village.

On the other hand, I wrote the rest of this stanza before the streams in question, since we had already pretty tightly plotted what was going to happen, and I couldn’t be more pleased with how well it all fits. “No matter the cost” is the title of a stream in which someone declares that they’re unilaterally instating their vision of society above any objections, for one. I knew that Moth and Sleep were going to argue about their philosophies, but not to that degree!

This is followed by the bitter, ironic “where none are forsaken,” in which both Moth and Anathema are in fact forsaken. Moth begs for help in this stream, to the point of tears, and is only rebuffed. This refusal is completely unrelated to it—Gawain had recently run into problems of their own—but it doesn’t know that. All it knows is that one more person is trying to control what options it has. One more person is deciding against its will to enforce what they think is best for it.

And we come full circle, ending the poem with the same word that helped open it: lost. No one in this stream is truly lost, as the title says. Anathema, who doesn’t even know how long he’s been trapped in this hell, is set loose upon Haven; Moth is forced out of the light in his stead, but that can’t last forever, can it?

#haven smp #contains major spoilers for my first Haven SMP arc!#i'm still really proud of myself for writing this all approximately in real-time as the arc progressed #astoundingly coherent given that I didn't know how it would end until months after I started it

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hgduo · 1 year

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respond this later if you want but any thoughts on the ending of the arc i guess xD

Okay I won't mince words- when I saw your post with the word "brainwashing" I was fucking. livid.

I felt so much despair when they got fucking memory wiped- like no way- I was just sitting there in absolute despair like 'oh is this how my friends felt watching Tommy's dsmp ending?' I was PISSED-

... and then I started talking to some of my friends on discord and calmed down and was like... hmmm... hmmmmmmmmmmm? hmmm!

I don't hate this! Yeah I feel a bit cheated but like- I like the horror aspect of this powerful being taking these two people who despise each other and clearly need a long time if they are ever going to overcome their difference if it's even possible at this point! Two people who he needs right now to help protect this forsaken land... and so he essentially resets them against their will... for the greater good. Back to before the elections...

And it's horrific!

Yes Luzu and Quackity are on good terms again! But you can't enjoy it... because you know it's artificial- they were forced against their will to be friends again, hell they could easily make all the same bad choices all over again without that knowledge of their mistakes/seeing the worst sides of one another! It's a lose for everyone- it's painful- there is no satisfaction for people wanting to see them tear each other apart- and no relief for those who wanted them to patch things up- it's terrible... but that's kinda why I like it? Because it feels like the intent in way y'know? Like we aren't suppose to be happy with this because this is a very fucked up thing that has happened... or maybe I'm doing a buncha copium talk idk-!

Also, I'm really really really getting the feeling this solution won't last- Quackity is already questioning a lot of things not adding up... I'm getting the feeling this is like a temporary fix that will only make things worse... If Luzu and Quackity find out what happened to them they will NOT be happy. And hey... maybe Sapo Peta will get what he wants... Nothing unites people like a common threat.

It also helps that we're both shown the amnesia being done, why it's being done, and the fact that memory wiping isn't something new to Karmaland- all in all- I do still have mixed feelings because I was super invested in this arc and Q and L as characters and REALLY wanted to see Luzu be forced to face and make amends for what he did ( Was really really REALLLY hoping he was gonna get all his k4 memories back and realize how badly he screwed up by following in Auron's footsteps) so I am still mourning all of that ;u;

... BUT

It definitely was nowhere near as bad as what DSMP did, not anywhere close! Unlike DSMP this makes sense and with KV I get the feeling it's more "this is fucked up! this will have consequences!" and not DSMP's "aw look they can be friends now :)"- in a way it almost feels like KV looked at DSMP and went "This is how you fucking do amnesia you stupid bitch!" LMAO!

... Anyway yeah these are my thoughts for now, I'm gonna take some more time to process it all but I'm not as mad as I thought I was for sure! Also MAN I WISH I WAS FLUENT ALREADY AUGHHHH- I WANT TO REALLY UNDERSTAND IT ALL AND NOT RELY MOSTLY ON TRANSLATIONS ;U;!!!!!!!!!

#ask #karmaland #kl spoilers #donquacks #luzu #quackity #dsmp #(tagged for blacklist)#dsmp neg #long post #I spilt my food writing this :(#oops I forgot to add it also fits in with the theme of 'terrible shit being done for the greater good but ultimately leaving things worse'#it fits with the what launched this arc to begin with!

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motownfiction · 5 months

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if they ever cook your goose

Maggie’s reaction to seeing Roy is always the same, even when she tries to change it.

She spends all day in her room, just preparing. She always wonders what brilliant stories he’ll have this time. When the kids were younger, he used to have stories about how he went to college with the guy who wrote the second Star Wars movie, how they were both English majors, how he dated tons of girls who ended up with miniature arcs on Days of Our Lives and General Hospital. Of course, he never introduced Maggie to any of them, but she’s not angry about that anymore. She doesn’t admit to it, anyway.

And then, when Roy finally arrives at the house, she’s thrilled to see him. It’s just like when Mom and Dad brought him home from the hospital. Maggie remembers it. She was barely over two years old on an unusually balmy evening in mid-February. They put the brand-new baby in her arms and smiled like Maggie never remembered them smiling before. Mom said, His name is Roy, and Maggie said, I’ll love him forever.

She’s never told anyone, but it’s her earliest memory.

It’s that smile. At first, when Roy was really little, Maggie loved it when he smiled. When he was two, and she was four, she thought she had the cutest, sweetest little brother who ever lived. Maggie always felt so much older than Roy, so much more sophisticated. But, of course, that was then.

And as Roy got older, his smile didn’t change. Only instead of using it to be the cutest little brother on the block, he used to get away with things. Stealing candy out of the drawer on the day before Halloween. Knocking over Mom’s favorite vase and shattering it to a million pieces that Maggie almost stepped in. Getting a D on his math quiz because he was too busy reading unassigned books the night before. He did it all, and he smiled his way out of trouble.

If Maggie had tried that, Mom and Dad would have sent her to a convent.

Roy’s smile hasn’t changed. He’s flashing it at her right now, and he still looks like he’s a little boy. Thirty-seven is the new seven. Maggie wishes she could stay happy to see him.

And then she remembers everything he does … everything he is.

Roy, unencumbered by love, by children, by the fear that he’ll never be good enough to make it as an artist … Roy, who never saw any problem taking a risk … Roy, the bravest guy in the world, even when he looked like a wimp on the outside. He has everything because he lets himself have everything.

He has everything, and what does Maggie have, besides the ordinary?

“Hey, Mags,” he says. “Did you forget I was coming in?”

“Of course not,” Maggie says, wrapping her arms around Roy in an obligatory hug. “It’s just always a surprise.”

“What is?”

“When I remember you’re this much taller than me.”

Roy laughs.

“Wasn’t always,” he says. “Remember Anything Goes? Had to change that choreography on the daily. I thought you were gonna kill me.”

Maggie nods. She thought she was going to kill him, too. When Maggie was a senior at St. Catherine’s, and Roy was a sophomore, they were both in the school’s production of Anything Goes. Maggie talks about her role as Reno Sweeney all the time, but she conveniently forgets that Roy played Moonface, the bumbling gangster. Their duet, “Friendship,” was a hell of a time. When rehearsals began in the fall, Maggie was hilariously two inches taller than Roy, who wasn’t done growing yet. The choreography was all about the height difference, and Maggie had quite the edge. Until she didn’t. Roy kept growing like a forsaken weed. When April finally rolled around, he was seven inches taller than Maggie. The choreography swung his way, and he got all the laughs. Every night. Every show.

“I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” she says, more to herself than to Roy.

“Me, too,” Roy says. “If you had, then I wouldn’t have met these kids.”

He opens his arms to Sadie and Charlie, who have been practically jumping around at the chance to see him. Like everybody, every time Roy walks in a room.

“Hey, these kids!”

Sadie leaps right into a hug, and Maggie realizes she can’t remember the last time Sadie wanted to hug her like that. But maybe that’s expected. Sadie’s eighteen, practically a real adult, what with Daniel and college around the bend. Plus, she’s always stuck to Sam’s side, even when it might have held her back.

But Charlie? He’s supposed to be hers. He’s the kid who loves her when the older two are bored of her. He has to be. So, why doesn’t he get it? Why is he just as happy that Roy is here? Doesn’t he get that this is hard for his mother? Doesn’t he care?

She knows she shouldn’t be thinking this way. She also can’t make herself stop.

“Hey, Uncle Roy,” Sadie says. “I can’t believe you wanted to come to this thing.”

“It’s not a ‘thing,’” Roy says. “It’s your graduation. I wouldn’t have felt right if I’d missed it. My students’ stories can wait.”

“Oh, Lucy would probably love to read them for you. You remember Lucy, right?”

“Come on, Sadie Lou. I haven’t been gone that long.”

“Well, a lot’s changed since you were here last. I’ve got a boyfriend, Sam’s read all of Les Misérables, and Charlie …”

“Is six-foot five,” Charlie says, cutting in for his own (awkward) hug.

“I can see that,” Roy says. “Shit, kid, and I thought six-two was tall. I gotta look up to you. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“It’s terrible,” Sam chimes in.

Maggie’s heart stops a little. When Charlie grew to six-foot-five earlier in the school year, she was proud of him. He’s taller than any other Doyle boy, any other Brady boy, too. He must have done something right, and she must have shown him how. It’s just like Sam to make fun of him for it.

Sam and Roy are the same height.

“It’s good to see you, Charlie,” Roy says. “Even if I do have to look up.”

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Mike says, suddenly joining the conversation like it’s absolutely nothing – like he doesn’t know that Maggie’s relationship with her brother is complicated. “It’s like looking up at a statue.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

He looks past Mike and Charlie and stares Maggie right in the eye. She almost chokes on her own breath. Anybody else can look her in the eye, and she’ll feel nothing. But when Roy looks her in the eye … Roy, who’s seen her doubled over the kitchen sink, vomiting from the flu, who’s heard her cry because she slammed her finger in the closet door, who remembers the stupid posters she put on her bedroom walls when she was eleven, twelve, thirteen years old … she can’t hide from him.

Even when she tries to bury him.

“Dad must be proud,” Roy says.

Maggie furrows her brow.

“Huh?” she asks.

“About Charlie. Being the tallest guy in the family. Dad must be proud. He always wanted me to outgrow him. I don’t think he was satisfied with an inch.”

“I wouldn’t be,” Sam jokes, and Roy laughs just hard enough to piss Maggie right off.

“Yes,” she says sharply. “Yes, he’s proud.”

They stare at each other for a little while. Maggie can feel her family’s awkward stares, but she doesn’t care. This is between her and the first person she ever loved.

He is begging her to stop.

So, she must keep going.

“Charlie,” Maggie says, never once removing her eyes from her baby brother, “why don’t you play that song you’ve been working on? I’m sure Uncle Roy would love to hear it.”

“Yeah,” Roy says, never once breaking his stare, either. “I’m sure I would.”

Maggie hears Charlie shuffle around to the piano. He sits, and he plays. There are no words, but there don’t need to be. Roy knows how to fill them in.

Be like the bluebird / and sing / tweet, tweet, tra-la-la-la-la-la.

What Roy doesn’t know – or what he’s figuring out – is that Maggie told Charlie to learn this song especially for him. To remind him of Anything Goes. To remind him that Maggie was still the star of the show, that Sherry Plinkett, the girl who played his girlfriend in the show, broke up with him a year later before the Welcome, Spring! dance, that he would always be the silly kid who tripped over his shoelaces on opening night.

He gives her a look like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

She gives him a look like she knows.

#drabble #writeblr #ch: maggie doyle #ch: roy brady #ch: sadie doyle #ch: charlie doyle #ch: sam doyle #ch: mike doyle #series: these eyes #year: 1985

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codenamehazard · 4 months

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.:In The Dark of the Night:.

[TRIGGER WARNING FOR ARACHNOPHOBIA AND OTHER CREEPY CRAWLIES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!]

Chapter 24: In The Dark of the Night

Hey guys!

Holy Moly, I can't believe it has been almost an entire year since I started this journey with what was supposed to only be a simple one-shot of Cole saying "Fuck you" to the destiny thrusted upon him and running off into a Conduit Mad-Maxian playgound to have some fun. I even checked back on the creation date of "Breaking the Shackles" and it was back on the last day of March. March! That's insane!

And I have you all to thank for giving me the push to keep going on this story. So, thank you all from the bottom of my heart, I'm sending you all digital hugs.

The year is coming to a close and this will be my last chapter of the year. So with that, I wish you all a very Happy Holidays, whatever it is you celebrate, and here's to a safe and Happy New Year!

I've rambled on long enough, time to jump in! I hope it's a worthy chapter to close the year on!

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Everything hurts, everything. My muscles ache, my nerves burn, my brain reels and my heart constricts in fear. My entire world is nothing but fear, panic and pain, but I know I can’t stop, I won’t stop.

Not until Trish is safe in my arms.

My body begs for rest as I had been doing nothing but running, climbing and fighting non-stop for the better part of an hour. Even with the boost of being a Conduit, my body still produces lactic acid and it burns my muscles all the same. Yet I still climb, running on nothing but pure adrenaline and will-power. Pushing through the pain.

Every pull of my arms, every push of my legs brings me closer to her. The love of my life, the woman I would move mountains for, who I would scorch heaven, hell and Earth for.

I can hear his damned voice chastising me. Telling me how disappointed he is, how he expected more from me. How my selfishness is blinding me from whatever “big picture” he was rambling on about, but I don’t give a damn. As long as I have Trish, the whole world could go to hell and I wouldn’t care.

She’s the only light in this god-forsaken city I have left, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone snuff it out.

My heart soars when I crest the ledge and pull myself up with a flourishing flip, rushing over to the bomb and defusing it.

“Trish!” I call out, panic and relief mixing in my voice.

“Who the hell is Trish?!” The color drains my face and my blood runs cold as a stranger’s voice is what I hear. Who the hell is this bitch?! “Get me out of this!!”

“Looks like I was wrong.” That damn voice taunts over the radio as my blood freezes in my veins with the realization that I’ve been played for a fool. It was a trick, Trish is with the six and now I can’t get to her in time.

“COLE!!!” I can barely hear her voice over the sound of the bombs going off and the mounting static in my ears as I watch the six bodies fall.

“TRIIIIIIIIISH!!!!!!!”

—-----

The same word bellows out of my mouth as I scream myself awake. Black and red sparks arcing off of my body as I sit up with the start, objects fly off of me from my sudden movement. A woman’s scream only adds to the panic in my blood as Kestrel is startled awake and sent tumbling out of her hammock and onto the floor with a squishy crunch.

I hyperventilate as my eyes dart wildly, trying to remember where I am and what’s going on, it’s only then I get a good look at what was flinged off of my body.

Scorpions… Giant, gnarled scorpions, the size of my head! Seeming to be blinking in and out of existence… They were everywhere.

A panicked squawk comes out of the bird’s mouth as she scrambles onto her feet and heats up her arms, I just let out a disgusted yell before turning these things into target practice. Though with their ability to just disappear into thin air, it’s easier said than done.

“Kestrel, what the hell are these things?!” I bellow out as I stomp my feet around like the most fucked up game of Dance Dance known to man. “Blink Scorpions!” Kestrel shouts back at me as she uses her slug bursts as opposed to her typical shots.

“Blink Scorpions?!” I repeat. What the fuck does that even mean?! I get the name, but it doesn’t mean anything. “A little more detail would be nice, Kestrel.” I snarl in irritation as I narrowly avoid getting tagged in the ankle.

“Big, nasty, carnivorous arachnids with a taste for Conduit flesh, a sting that can completely incapacitate one. They can turn invisible and can only be revealed by UV light.” I stare dumbfoundedly at the girl, and they never told me about these things until now?! I’ll grill her on that question later, right now I have a bigger question on my mind.

“Did whatever the hell made the Warped make this fuckers too?!” I roar in anger as I turn another bug into a purple splat on the floor.

“Yeah!” Kes confirms. Great, so it’s not just zombies and living tumors I have to worry about.

Memories flicker in my mind, back to Empire City. The absolute nightmares that were the damn Cloaking Conduits of the First Sons. These overgrown cockroaches reminded me of them, made my blood boil with white hot rage as I fry them when they show their ugly mugs. As I kill, I think to myself; I struggled with the Cloakers because of their tech, but these things don’t have any.

Could the Radar Pulse find these bastards? Only one way to find out.

A simple pulse and holy shit, they lit up like Christmas lights. Well, that makes my job and Kes’ jobs easier.

“Hey little birdie!” I call out to Kes, she turns her head towards me. “Creepy crawly at your six!” She turns around and blasts it, splatting glowing purple gore on the floor.

“Thanks Cole!” She calls back as she continues to blast at the bugs flickering in and out. “How did you-” “Less talking, more blasting!” I interrupt. “I’ll explain later, just keep blasting where I call!” She gives me an annoyed look, but nods before we get back to playing exterminator with Kestrel painting the air blue with cussing and bitching.

“What in God’s name are these things doing here anyways?!” I hear Kestrel shout out as she dodges a sting. “Blink Scorpions aren’t even supposed to be here!” I blink and stare before punting the bug against the wall.

“What do you mean they’re “not supposed to be here?!”” I balk as I zap another blinker.

“I mean they’re not supposed to be here.” Kestrel snips back, firing off some slag shards to pin a bug that’s too close to my head. “These bastards are normally found near Arkansas, not here!” Arkansas?! That’s miles away!!

“Maybe they’re crawling south for the winter.” I snark a little and that nearly got me a slag-shot to the head.

“Very funny, MacGrath.” Kes shoots back as we finally clear enough room to get to the door of the trailer. We both grab the doors and swing them open, but before we could get outside, something sounding like a mix of nails on a chalk-board, a broken tornado siren and a human scream rings out. Kestrel and I cover our ears in pain.

The trailer jostles as whatever it is rams into it, making the two of us tumble out like the rug was pulled out from under us.

The freezing cold rain makes black and red spark jump and arc off of my body as I get back up on my feet, god-damn it, of all the times for a swarm of things to attack. I glare as I turn my head back to the trailer and…

Jesus fucking Christ…

What is crawling and attempting to flip the trailer over is… God, I thought the Summoner was bad… 8 creaking legs tipped with large claws, four giant eyes on its head with four smaller ones under the two on the front, fangs so big it could split a man in half and it’s body covered in stoney armor, so much so that if it stood still, you might mistake it for some random boulders in the middle of nowhere!

And the thing that makes this creepy crawly monstrosity all the more horrifying? Out of the nooks and crannies of that rocky armor crawl those blinking bastard scorpions that gave everyone the rude awakening.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together, those things were that giant boulder-spider’s babies and we just pissed off the momma.

It’s only when the cacophony of shouting and screaming starts that I notice the rest of the Misfits, rushing around and panicking. Mako and Pangolin trying to set up spots to take cover under and Kestrel rushing towards the armory to get weapons. I’d facepalm if I weren’t busy trying to keep from getting stung as in her fear, Kestrel forgot Big Momma is on top of the trailer that houses the armory.

A loud metallic THUNK rings out when Big Momma swipes her leg at the dumbass bird and sends her flying.

The panic in the air thickens as we all come to realize that we were going to have to fight with our powers, if Warped Spikes are anything like using powers in the mines, then we were going to ring the dinner-bell while trying to stay alive.

I fire off a Hellfire Rocket at Big Momma, but to my horror the electric missiles bounce off the stone armor. Memories of the Devourer flash in my mind when I see that, but this time there is no bigass mouth to chuck grenades into. I curse loudly as I feel a pit of helplessness sink inside my stomach and by the fearful look of everyone else’s faces, they’re just as scared as me.

The heavy hitters get to work on the stone-spider-nightmare, trying to crack the shell, Mako blasting sharpened shards of bone, Pangolins firing off shotgun like blasts of brick into the armor while trying to tank hits from the legs and Kestrel firing spears of Slag into areas that looked the thinnest, but the monster didn’t even seem bothered as she charges and swipes at the scrambling Misfits.

Dove and I are trying to do our part by keeping the tiny scorpions at bay so that the three wouldn’t need to worry about them. The little bugs were easy enough to kill, but there’s just so damn many of them and they seemed to be everywhere.

The pit in my stomach gnaws and scratches at me. I try to focus on my task at hand, but the feeling of helplessness and utter uselessness is suffocating and infuriating. I wanted to help take the big bitch down but knowing that my powers, all of them, are useless against her, causes the sparks on my arms to hiss and spit as I do the only thing I can do to help and take my emotions out on these tiny bastards.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the scittering bugs slip by. I try to zap it, but it is a jittery thing, making it hard to track. It’s making a bee-line to Kestrel. I’m about to call out to the Gunsmith, but Pangolin beats me to it.

I watch as the Brick Spartan spots the creature charging at Kes, tail raised and ready to sting, before he barrels into the girl. Knocking the bird out of the way, Pangolin takes the hit, right in the leg. Purple liquid oozes from the injury as the man screams out in utter agony. The same purple glow starts to crawl through his veins slowly as he collapses to the ground, his pinecone armor crumbling to dust as he writhes, powerless.

The sounds of the world become static and wailing as I watch Kestrel and Dove scream out in terror as the swarm rushes towards their victim.

“THOMAS!!!!”

[To Be Continued]

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cloneshipping7567 · 1 year

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Romantic Confessions Part 5

Part 5/30

5. "It's you. It's always been you."

Pairing: Waxer/Boil

Rating/WC: M/2322

Warnings: Umbara Arc, major injuries, background character deaths, deviation from canon.

~~~

Boil can't breathe. He just can't breathe. He has to shove he kriffing bucket off and let it fall to the force-forsaken ground of this hell planet, because his lungs refuse to cooperate and bring in air like they're supposed to.

He killed his brothers. Boil shot at and killed his own brothers, his blasts are what snubbed out the life of who knows how many 501st troopers.

He feels his knees give out as someone yells "This can't be happening. What have we done?" He vaguely recognizes that he isn't the only clone to crumble under the weight of what they've done.

Boil gasps violently, repeatedly, as his body fights to take in air. Who did Boil kill? Did he know them? Did he take out a friend? Friends?

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he almost fights back on instinct alone. But then he looks up and sees a trooper with blue paint and a red medic symbol on his gear. The bucket comes off, and an interesting lightening pattern shaved into the side of the medic's head distracts Boil long enough to get a breath in. "What's your name, trooper?" The medic asks softly.

"Boil," he manages to get out, choking on the single syllable. "I'm sorry," he gets out before the trooper can say something stupid, like how it wasn't Boil's fault. Wasn't his fault this medic lost members of his team, his brothers and friends.

"I'm Kix," the medic says, his expression grim. "Are you hurt?"

Yes. But, not in a way this medic can fix. Boil takes in another gasping breath, assessing himself quickly. "Not lethally," he finally answers.

Kix nods at him, patting his shoulder again. "Good man," he starts. Boil opens his mouth to argue, but the medic shakes his head once. "Think you can help me look for survivors? My COs are trying to figure out what happened, they usually help."

Boil nods quickly, and accepts the hand to help stand. He's surprised by how efficiently Kix was able to help Boil calm down enough to breathe. A simple task is all it took for the 212th scout to get refocused, how strange.

Boil goes after the clones who aren't moving first. A quick check of fingers to their neck, a hand on their chest to check for breathing. Nothing; he places their hands over their still chests to keep track of who he's already checked.

So many. There are so many. He loses count; doesn’t want to keep track. Can’t conceptualize how many clones were lost to bad intel leading to friendly fire.

"Captain," he hears Kix call, and looks up from the poor brother he was checking to watch. "I found the platoon leader. It's Waxer." Boil's heart stops, and he doesn't remember standing but he's already walking towards Kix. "He's still alive."

Rex nods gravely, and Kix starts to lead the way. Boil follows them, almost in a trance, to where they go.

He sees Waxer, being tended to by a 212th trooper as he lays against some tree-plant thing. His head is hung, and Boil worries for a second if Kix was wrong, if Waxer is dead, and-and-

His knees almost give out again at just the thought.

"Waxer..." Rex says, kneeling in front of the clone and removing his helmet. Boil does fall to his knees; he falls heavily, hand gripping at Waxer's arm tightly. Kix gives him a sad grimace, but everyone else ignores him.

Waxer lets out a groan of pain, and Boil subconsciously tightens his hold.

"Tell me who gave you the orders to attack us," Rex instructs.

Waxer fights for his breath even harder than Boil was earlier, and the thought of a blaster wound or broken ribs under Waxer's armor makes Boil want to scream. "It-" he cuts himself off with a pained gasp, head moving jerkily. "It was General Krell." He puts a hand on Rex's shoulder, the one not in Boil's death grip. "He sent us to these coordinates to stop the enemy..." He takes another gasping breath, and Boil looks frantically over to Kix.

Why isn't he doing anything? Why are they grilling Waxer about what happened; it doesn't matter who ordered this betrayal! Waxer is dying, and they only care about who's orders they were following!

"We thought they were wearing our armor," Waxer gets out, coughing once. Boil makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat, and Kix takes off his medic pack. "But...it was..." he gasps for air, and a tear falls down his cheek. Boil's own breathing starts to speed up, and he looks between Kix and Waxer desperately. "You."

Waxer hangs his head, his breath hitching in pain and horror both.

"Waxer," Boil whispers, face contorted in fear and pain. "Waxer!" He yells.

Rex steps back, a death glare set in stone. Kix takes his place, jamming a needle into Waxer's neck.

Waxer gasps in pain, eyes wide and jaw slack. But he's breathing and he's alert and alive.

"C'mon, Lieutenant, let's get you to the medical tent, yeah?" Kix says. "I can assess you better there."

Boil swallows thickly, finally allowing his shaking hands to release their death grip on Waxer's forearm. He moves his shoulder under Waxer's armpit, and nods at Kix once. Together they haul Waxer to his feet, Boil's hand coming to gently rest on Waxer's chest as the officer half-screams in pain.

"We have you, sir, we have you," Kix says, his right arm winding around Waxer's shoulder blades to help carry-drag him.

Boil uses his left arm to do the same thing, holding up around his waist but lower, under his ribs. "You'll be okay," Boil whispers, taking a small step forward and taking the others with him.

Waxer is practically heaving with the pain and effort of moving, jaw clenched so tightly that Boil is almost worried about his teeth breaking.

"You got this, Lieutenant, you can do it. The tent isn't that far away. One foot in front of the other." Kix keeps mumbling phrases like that as they march towards the tent, allowing Boil to set the pace.

"I'm fine," Waxer finally snaps through gritted teeth, practically seething. He hisses in air through his teeth, cheeks puffing out with each hasty exhale.

"You are," Boil agrees, increasing their pace just that much faster. He just wants Waxer to stop moving, wants him safe in a medical cot being looked over. He can't stand seeing him in so much pain, so close to dying. "So shut up and keep marching."

Kix raises a brow at the insubordination, but doesn't comment.

Waxer groans, leaning more heavily on Boil and Kix. "How much farther?" he barks some time later, and Boil notices that his breathing is growing more ragged and inconsistent.

"Not far," Kix says, his own breathing becoming heavier with exertion. "And when we get there I can give you a pain stim, and check you over. You'll be just fine. Just a bit longer, sir, you can make it."

"You will make it," Boil agrees, forcing himself to relax his grip so he doesn't crush Waxer. "It's just over there, can you see it?" Waxer looks up from where his chin was on his chest, eyes unfocused but dilated with adrenaline. "Just over there. Just a little longer."

Waxer grunts, and his own steps speed up. An end goal always motivates them; the last stretch is always easier.

They burst through the tent flaps, and Waxer practically gives up on helping them. Boil catches him heavily, and Kix leads them to an empty cot. Together, they're able to gently lower Waxer to the cot instead of letting him drop.

Boil kneels on the floor next to the cot, grabbing Waxer's forearm again and watching his face. Kix scurries off towards the back, barking orders to the other medics in the tent as he goes.

Waxer turns his head to look at Boil, panting shallowly. "Boil," he chokes out.

Boil squeezes gently. "You're fine," Boil says, his voice breaking. "Let me get you out of your armor, Kix will need to see."

Waxer nods once, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes to brace for the coming pain. "Make it quick," he breathes.

Boil unclasps the chest plate, pulling away the plastoid carefully. It still makes Waxer grunt in pain, but he ignores it. Boil carefully slides the piece off, leaving the back piece under Waxer. He doesn't see the point in putting Waxer through that just yet.

Boil's breath hitches at the sight; his chest is littered with blaster burns, his blacks scorched. "Where all does it hurt?" Boil manages to ask, voice shaking.

Waxer huffs an annoyed sound. "Everywhere."

Boil swallows thickly, unable to even roll his eyes. "Don't bite your tongue off," is his only warning, before he grabs the upper blacks and rips at it. He tears it in two, trying to jostle Waxer as little as he can.

Waxer still cries out once at a particularly long rip, eyes flying open in pain and shock.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Boil murmurs, pushing aside the tattered pieces. He almost stops breathing when he takes in the damage.

Waxer has one blast that went right through his chest, mere centimeters from his heart. Another blast scraped across his chest over his ribs, leaving burn marks. There are bruises everywhere, and Boil is almost curious where they came from; they aren't blaster shots.

"That bad?" Waxer asks, a pained smile attempting to overtake the grimace. Boil realizes his face is morphed in horror, and he tries to school it back into a neutral expression.

"No," Boil lies. "You'll be fine. It's-it's not even that bad."

Waxer huffs a laugh, and the movement makes the blaster wound jostle so he follows it with a whimper of pain. "You're...you're such a bad liar," Waxer manages to grit out.

Boil opens his mouth to retort, but Kix shows up then. He immediately jabs needle in Waxer's neck again. Waxer hisses, but then his eye glaze over and he lets out a relieved sigh. "Pain stim," Kix tells him, before dropping the rest of the supplies and setting to work.

Boil doesn't know how long he sits there uselessly watching the medic work over Waxer, but eventually Kix pats Waxer's hip gently and smiles at them both. "There. You'll be just fine, sir. Rex has almost an identical wound. Just take it easy, don't try to move too much. I have to get back out there, see who else needs my help. You have him, Boil?"

Boil nods, giving Kix a shaky smile in thanks. He watches Kix leave the tent, before grabbing Waxer’s hand and clenching tightly.

“I’m okay,” Waxer says, eyes half lidded with exhaustion. Whatever is in those pain stims is a god damn miracle

Boil nods, swallowing thickly. He clears his throat, a shaky smile working on his face. “I don’t know why I do it. Trying to keep you alive is the hardest job I’ve ever had.”

Waxer grunts a laugh, his free hand resting over his bandaged chest. “Yeah, but you always will,” he says cockily.

Boil scoffs, clinging to the positive mood change. “Next time someone else can save your ass,” he jokes.

Waxer’s smile disappears, and Boil’s heart skips a beat. “No, it’ll always be you,” he whispers. He squeezes Boil’s hand, and takes a deep breath. “And I wouldn’t want anyone else to save me.”

Boil blinks, shocked. “What?” He whispers back.

“It’s you,” Waxer murmurs, just a bit louder than before. “It’s always been you.”

Boil’s breath hitches, and he scoots closer to the cot. “Waxer,” he says, his right hand lifting up to run his fingers over Waxer’s cheek.

Waxer leans into it, a soft smile finding its way on his lips. “I love you,” he says plainly, eyes flitting from Boil’s face to where his fingers are on his cheekbone.

Boil laughs once, cupping his cheek fully. Waxer turns his head to kiss the palm, before nuzzling it carefully. “You weren’t supposed to go and fall in love,” Boil chides, but he can’t keep the elation out of his voice.

“Neither were you,” Waxer retorts, grin growing and his sleepy eyes trained on Boil’s.

Boil laughs again, bringing Waxer’s hand up to his lips to gently kiss the knuckles. “You don’t know that I am,” he argues.

Waxer rolls his eyes, tiredly squeezing Boil’s hand. “Yeah, because people who aren’t in love act like you did when you thought I was dying.”

Boil winces at the memory, clearing his throat. “Shut up,” he says.

Waxer chuckles deeply, eyes fluttering in his fight to keep them open. “Make me,” he mumbles, probably not thinking about the implications.

Boil does, though. He wastes no time; he leans down, connecting their lips in a chaste kiss.

Waxer gasps for just a moment, before his free hand rises to cup the back of Boil’s neck.

Boil tightens his grip on Waxer’s fingers, his other hand still gently cupping his face. He pulls away just an inch, smirking down at the lieutenant. “That seemed to shut you up,” he whispers.

Waxer huffs an almost silent laugh, pulling Boil back down to kiss him again. He releases Boil after a few seconds, touching their foreheads together instead.

Boil smiles, eyes closed. “I love you too,” he finally whispers after some time, rubbing his thumb along Waxer’s cheekbone.

Waxer hums, his hand slipping from Boil’s neck and down his chest until it falls just below his chest. “Knew it,” Is all he manages to mumble.

Boil rolls his eyes, leaning back and continuing to pet his face. He watches Waxer fall asleep, and a content sigh escapes his lips.

Despite the horror of the day, he feels like everything will be okay as long as Waxer is here and his.

#cloneshipping #waxerboil #waxer x boil #my writing

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onaperduamedee · 1 year

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On the characters in The Dragon Reborn

Lan turns out to be quite lacking compared to other characters. At best, he seems mostly bland, at worst he’s the paragon of my least favourite traits in heroic characters.

I am still quite neutral about Elayne, and her brothers for that matter, not because they aren't compelling, but because I struggle with seeing how they fit into the story.

Aviendha didn't leave more of an impression than other Aiel, whom I really enjoyed overall, so holding my judgment here.

Faile was love at first sight though: I loved her to bits, from her spunk to her stubbornness. From whispers of the fandom, I know she isn't particularly liked, but so far, she's a hit for me.

Rand was just not there in this book at all: when I wished we got less Rand, this isn't what I meant. The glimpses we got were captivating though and made it seem like his mind has already unravelled, which I hadn't expected would happen this quickly.

Surprisingly warming up to Thom and Mat, although the nasty streak in Mat, gift from the dagger obviously, can be jarring at times. I was always looking forward to their chapters, pure cloak and daggers fun, and both their characters are gaining depth and nuance.

Perrin remains my favourite of the boys, mostly because he struggles so much, is so lost, but is still a trouper who wants to help his friends.

Siuan, Moiraine and Verin remain the characters for which I will always say upon reading their name "now time's to be entertained": beyond the fact they seem to evolve in a web full of danger, intrigues and moral quandaries - you'd think this is a Le Carré novel in medieval times with Siuan visiting the kitchens to exchange intel -, they are just fascinating women to follow. And I crave more insights into the mind of Siuan and Moiraine because UH. I love them.

And yes, Moiraine gets a second bullet point because from the bare-hand fish-catching to the angry door-banging, with the bloody sleuthing around Forsaken and Darkhounds in-between, she remains such an absolute badass.

Loving Nynaeve is a bit of a rollercoaster: she sometimes can be such a fool, but many of my favourite scenes involve her, and she's indubitably the most relatable main character to me. And like with Moiraine, I spend an inordinate amount of time repeating “thank the light she’s here to supervise these idiots.”

To me, Egwene has grown into the most interesting psychology-wise: like with Nynaeve there is a lot going on in terms of her age and the way others perceive her, but there's also… She clearly has PTSD from her time with the Seanchan and gets no treatment whatsoever. Apologies for the armchair psychology here, but I was fascinated by her anger at Nynaeve being tied to the authority Nyn used to have over her and that is now a massive trigger after the Seanchan. The idea that she fought like a beast the Black Ajahs, almost burning herself, getting bludgeoned, to avoid being subdued again… I feel so protective of her and intrigued by an arc that could very well become a devolution: they are so rare and so good for women in fiction.

#the dragon reborn #wheel of time #wot book spoilers #remblai #wot meta #meta #had to make a separate post to make my notes less bulky #Egwene the unexpected favourite character of this book #Lan suffers greatly from the comparison to show!Lan I'm afraid

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apocalypticavolition · 9 months

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Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 24: Flight Down the Arinelle

You see that tower in the background of this updated cover image? It's complete and utter spoilers for stuff that doesn't happen in this book but later ones. This post is too, so if you're not into spoilers, please go somewhere else. We can all wonder together why the heck they put it on the cover of this book some other time.

This chapter gets us another harp chapter icon, which reflects our dear friend Thom. This chapter is when he becomes Rand and Mat's main mentor since all of the other candidates are MIA, so it's pretty heavily about his influence on the boys.

There were stone bridges and railless ramps everywhere, all sprouting off from broad, flat-topped stone spires, all polished and smooth and streaked with red and gold. Level on level, the maze stretched up and down through the murk, without any apparent beginning or end. Every bridge led to a spire, every ramp to another spire, other bridges.

Rand's wound up in one of those shitty Unity tutorials where it's meant to look super cool that the video game world loops in on itself forever but when you look at it in the editor it's just the one thing so there's no real content. Ba'alzy wanted something cooler, but he's working with what little's left over from the AoL.

(Okay that's clearly not QUITE how it works since Ba'alz becomes visible in the distance but I still feel that there's a relationship here from a Watsonian angle.)

The gritty heat prickled his skin, and his throat had long since gone dry as he trotted down the thorn-hedge maze. How long had it been now? His sweat evaporated before it had a chance to bead, and his eyes burned. Overhead—and not too far overhead, at that—boiled furious, steely clouds streaked with black, but not a breath of air stirred in the maze. For a moment he thought it had been different, but the thought evaporated in the heat. He had been here a long time.

I feel like Jordan's channeling some more of his jungle memories here, with the thorn maze being a quick substitute for the jungle.

His heel had overturned one of the smooth stones, kicked it out of the dry ground. He stared at it, and empty eye sockets stared back. A skull. A human skull. He looked along the pathway at all the smooth, pale stones, all exactly alike. He shifted his feet hastily, but he could not move without walking on them, and he could not stay still without standing on them.

The human skull: it's simple, it's basic, it's cliche, and goddamn if it isn't effective. The Forsaken should have used it more.

There was only one face in those endless mirrors. His own face. Ba’alzamon’s face. One face.

The thing that makes Jordan's inability to handle Perrin's (and to a lesser extent, Mat's) arc so frustrating is that he clearly had Rand's biggest story beats planned out long, long in advance. Here's how Rand escapes his destined death, staring us in the face.

They did not put in to shore, neither by day nor by night.

Rand really is an uncultured swine if this is a surprise to him. Wander around by the shore and the ship could end up stuck or worse. Best to just follow the river to the docks of Whitebridge. Don't adventure stories mention this, Rand?

Rand noticed that Thom Merrilin stayed clear of the crew when they began whispering together and frowning, though usually he was slapping backs and telling jokes and exchanging banter in a way that put a grin on even the hardest-working man. Thom watched those secretive mutters with a wary eye while appearing to be absorbed in lighting his long-stemmed pipe, or tuning his harp, or almost anything except paying any mind at all to the crew. Rand did not understand why.

A rare moment in this book of Rand not understanding the politics, probably because it doesn't seem like politics to him right now. Thom is of course paying close attention to everything to keep the crew from mutinying, as the three passengers would likely suffer one way or another if they did. Thom explains this all, which is more practical explanation into politics than Rand will get from Moiraine for a longass time. He also teaches them acrobatics and music, so he's way more well-rounded than she and Lan put together.

When Rand mentioned to Mat that Gelb would cause them trouble sooner or later, Mat looked around the boat, saying, “Can we trust any of them? Any at all?”

Two or three days into having a cursed dagger of paranoia +5 thousand and Mat is doing just great everybody!

In the middle of the first day, the Arinelle ran between high bluffs that stretched for half a mile on either side. For that whole length the stone had been cut into figures, men and women a hundred feet tall, with crowns proclaiming them kings and queens. No two were alike in that royal procession, and long years separated the first from the last. Wind and rain had worn those at the north end smooth and almost featureless, with faces and details becoming more distinct as they went south. The river lapped around the statues’ feet, feet washed to smooth nubs, those that were not gone completely.

I haven't mentioned too much about the LotR parallels (the attempt to go down the road is the initial attempts to go from Rivendell across the mountains, Shadar Logoth is Moria), but it's interesting that the Argonath statues get an equivalent as well. I assume that these bluffs reflect the kings and queens of Aridhol and so are two to three thousand years old, give or take, since they're so close to its capital and probably some distance from Masenashar's.

The Breaking left a thousand wonders behind, and there been half a dozen empires or more since, some rivaling Artur Hawkwing’s, every one leaving things to see and find. Lightsticks and razorlace and heartstone. A crystal lattice covering an island, and it hums when the moon is up. A mountain hollowed into a bowl, and in its center, a silver spike a hundred spans high, and any who comes within a mile of it, dies. Rusted ruins, and broken bits, and things found on the bottom of the sea, things not even the oldest books know the meaning of I’ve gathered a few, myself.

This conversation started with the Tower of Ghenjei, which is an interdimensional portal to a convenient side universe, and mentioned the lady Chodean Kal statue on Tremalking (also the Coramoor, AKA Rand), which is just a sa'angreal. Lightsticks we'll see later, same with heartstone; the former is self-explanatory and the latter is unbreakable unobtainium. Razorlace though doesn't get mentioned again. It suggests a very sharp lattice or clothing of some kind, but I'm not sure what the AoL would use for that. Maybe it's just regular razor wire all tangled up?

The crystal lattice that hums in moonlight is another mystery to me and I can't begin to guess what its purpose might be except some sort of yard decoration that grew out of control. The hollow mountain with a spike is a satellite dish, and it's clearly emitting some kind of high energy whatsits (maybe even just literal microwaves), likely because it's broken enough to be dangerous but not broken enough to be off.

As he turned to go, Rand heard him muttering under his breath. “I’ll bet he just doesn’t want anybody else going after the treasure.” He did not seem to realize he had spoken aloud.

I feel like this is further evidence for my, "Mat was already being fucked up by Shadar Logoth once he walked in" suggestion for his insanity.

On sudden impulse he unwrapped his legs from the stays bracing the mast and held his arms and legs out to either side, balancing against the sway. For three complete arcs he kept his balance like that, then suddenly it was gone. Arms and legs windmilling, he toppled forward and grabbed the forestay. Legs splayed to either side of the mast, nothing holding him to his precarious perch but his two hands on the stay, he laughed. Gulping huge breaths of the fresh, cold wind, he laughed with the exhilaration of it.

And here's Rand's second crazy incident. This is only four days apart from his channeling, so the gap's already closed a lot!

He looked down and was surprised to see all the faces staring up at him. Only Mat, sitting cross-legged up in the bows with his back to the mast, was not looking at him. Even the men at the oars had their eyes raised, letting their stroke go ragged. And no one was berating them for it. Rand twisted his head around to look under his arm at the stern. Captain Domon stood by the steering oar, ham-like fists on his hips, glaring at him atop the mast.

This is one of the few moments in the series where nearly everyone in the room has incomplete information and is still making the correct assumption anyway: each and every member of the crew thinks that Rand's going crazy from channeling. This is also the moment when Thom gets his crazy suspicions "confirmed", because Rand is undeniably channeling and having post-channeling crazies in front of him. He probably still assumes all three boys are candidates.

Also, this is as good a point to mention it as any: the crew is all dudes. So far as I can tell, all the known sailors of the subcontinent are male. This is another point where Jordan's background rather messes with the work, since there's way less reason for there not to be female sailors. Even if the comparatively prudish westerners expected unisex crews lest the sailors spend their downtime ravishing each other (in this age no one would ever suggest sailors are homoflexible, that's two ages back), you'd think there'd still be ships loaded with gals who did stuff like "Left home for Tar Valon, found out they couldn't channel, needed to find a new way to make ends meet" or whatever. At least the Sea Folk and Seanchan are more progressive on this front.

Rand squatted on his heels, with his arms crossed on his knees. “Where did you get that?” Mat said nothing, looking quickly to see if anyone else was close by. They were alone, for a wonder. “You didn’t take it from Shadar Logoth, did you?” Mat stared at him. “It’s your fault. Yours and Perrin’s. The two of you pulled me away from the treasure, and I had it in my hand. Mordeth didn’t give it to me. I took it, so Moiraine’s warnings about his gifts don’t count. You won’t tell anybody, Rand. They might try to steal it.”

You have to hand it to early book Mat for ensuring that Rand's literally terrifying an entire crew in the grips of acrobatic pseudo-fever is still not the stupidest or craziest thing someone is up to this chapter. I was willing to blame Moiraine for being a bit vague about the dangers of Shadar Logoth when the boys went exploring, but she was not at all unclear about how stupid it would be to take anything out of the city and Mat's still doing it. Of course, he is at this point clearly in its thrall, but still.

“I didn’t know you had such a good head for heights, lad. We might be able to play in Illian, or Ebou Dar, or even Tear. People in the big cities in the south like tightrope walkers and slackwire artists.”

Little cities like Samara too! Let's book you guys a showing. Year and a half from now sound good? I'll just put it down in Thom's name and he can do it with whoever happens to be there.

Rand’s gaze drifted to the top of the mast, and he shivered. What’s happening to me? Light, what? He had to find out. He had to get to Tar Valon before he really did go mad.

Does getting there after you go mad but also got better count? Because that's the best Rand manages.

Oh well, next chapter we'll touch base with someone who does get to Tar Valon before she goes crazy, and also Perrin who has abandoned all hopes of getting anywhere before he becomes an absolute lunatic. See ya!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #rand al'thor #ishamael #bayle domon #thom merrilin #mat cauthon

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ly0nstea · 1 year

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Im a little late but oh well, in tribute to that anon I'm going to break down some of the key points in zuzu's arc.

1. His childhood: undoubtedly shit, but not shit in anyway that makes him stand out from the rest of the show. Azula was raised in the same environment, but Aang, Sokka, and Katara definetly had it worse off. I mean, when Zuko looked back on his childjoodx pre-agni kai what were the wprst parts? His sister was mean, and his did had a favourite child. (Which again, is also an experience azula went through, idk why he gets such special treatment).

2. The agni kai: undoubtedly the worst part of zukos life, there isnt a lot to say here really. It was horrible, and upsetting.

3. Searching for the avatar: also not much to be said, brings up a lot of questions about irohs credibility as a leader/authoritt over both zuko and the world.

4. Season 1: zuko is objectively, the worst. Like, hes awful, he lies and cheats and sneaks and steals all for his own personal gain, he has no real allegiance to claim at this point. The fire natiom had forsaken him, hes fighting only for himself and his own crooked view of what honour is. His best moment was trying to save Zhao, its the only significant display of empathy from him we see to my recollection in thr season.

5. Season 2: im gonna say it, Zuko Alone, he fully deserved the treatment those villagers gave him, he was, and is, and aspires to be their direct opressor. They hsve no obligstion to like him no matter what they do. He pushes all the blame for his downfalls on azula, when in fact ozai is the prime offender. Crossroads of destiny saw him tomhrow away all of his development up to that point (which consisted of him falling physically ill for doing something moral) and was just disappointing really. Had zuko not down a complete 180, id probably like his arc more.

Season 3: zuko continues his trend of expected people he opresses of like him amd doing things for him, unfortunately for the gangs integrity it works. Zuko is just a bad a brither as azula is a sister. And he almost fails to best the shit out of a mentally ill child and has to have his friend clean up his mess.

Post-show: im not even... we dont have time to get into that here...

#atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #zuko #zukos arc

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herald-of-aurene · 1 year

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[@forsaken-constellation] 💥, 🍧, 🎵, & 💚 for Athinri? <3 (Bonus: 🎵 for Tanwyn & Spite too if you'd like to! ^^)

TY for the Ask (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

💥 COLLISON - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

Athinri has trouble dealing with anger, as a twilight bloom, Athinri has traits from both night and dawn, so she always tries to see the other person's side, why they would have done what they did, and what they're feeling. Even if she doesn't want to, she can't help but think that way.

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

While not an object, she does have a Sylvan hound from when she was just a sapling. They popped out right after she did, and he found her and started following her around, and they bonded. If he were to die or be taken from her she'd be devastated. She'd be hysterically crying, and it would be hard for her to sleep

💚 GREEN HEART - what things make your oc feel comforted? hugs, kisses, food?

Cuddles and kisses! Either forehead kisses from her kisses, or normal or nose kisses from Braham

🎵 MUSIC NOTE - what is their playlist like? their favourite artists? do you associate a particular song with them?

Athinri's playlist is fairly short, so far it only has one song, Shower Day by The Amazing Devil. It's not on her playlist, but I associate her with Fear Not This Night. (For obvious reasons lol) I haven't had her for as long as Spite, so she's still going through her arc. I've only decided what she does up to PoF

Tanwyn also only has one song, bc I've only just started fleshing out more than her backstory. The song is One Wrong Turn by Alec Benjamin! And bc her voice claim is jinx, I associate her with the song "get jinxed"

However, I've had Spite for almost two years now, and she has the most songs on her playlist! She has 7 songs, her playlist is really angsty. and I associate her with the song "the calling" by The Amazing Devil.

The songs on her playlist are:

Elsa's Song (The Amazing Devil)

Legends Never Die (League of Legends)

The Chosen Ones (Dream Evil)

The Calling (The Amazing Devil)

I Can't Save The World If I'm Not Happy (Eliza Grace)

Blossoms (The Amazing Devil)

I Didn't Ask For This (Beth Crowley)

#guild wars 2 #gw2 commander #oc: athinri of twilight #oc: spite scorchedearth #oc: tanwyn briar

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writer-komaru · 2 years

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Ahh working on so much writing is… a lot.

But it’s fun! Don’t get me wrong!

Tho I feel really bad that I haven’t finished any requests in a while. I’m so sorry to any one who has requested for taking so long! T T they will get done some time, I promise!

The best I can do is provide drabbles durning these trying time while I work on my actual stuff!

Contains spoilers to DR 3 Future arc!

.•*. ——————————————————.*•.

Words - 700? Idk

.•*. ——————————————————.*•.

+~ now playing - gentle rain = hoyo-mix ~+

Everyone remembers the scene. It’s stuck in my brain. Every single time I look at him, I can see it playing on loop. And it breaks my heart.

The scene I’m talking about is where Makoto almost kills himself because of despair. And let me tell you, I felt a heck of a lot of despair while watching it.

So imagine this…

You and Juzo were the ones who stopped Makoto from ending his life. Watching Juzo pin the almost unrecognizable man who you’ve fallen in love with since the killing game struggle, cry, and grunt in pain made your heart shatter into a million pieces. It was at that moment your hope had left you. After all those days begging stuck in that god forsaken school, your hope slowly repairing with the help of Makoto’s blind optimism and kind words to you, it all comes to an end as you collapse onto your knees, tears streaming down yours cheeks, but your too stunned to even speak. Just silence as Juzo smacks some sense into him. Even as he returns to his original hopeful self, your despair still consumes you. You slowly get up and walk over to him.

“H-huh?! Ah! Reader, are you okay? Why are you- Ackk!”

Your plan on just walking over to him fails as you fall on top of him, your voice finally returning to you. His eyes widen as you let out a pent up wail, full of agony and suffering. You try to convey your thoughts and feelings in words, but only your loud crying can choke it’s way out of your throat. Hearing your destainful sounds, the sight of you desperately clinging onto him as if he is sand between your fingers, tears and snot dripping down your face, eyes red and puffy from crying so damn hard causes his heart to break as well. Yes, you heard me right, Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows’ heart literally cracks due to your despair.

As Juzo leaves in disgust, you finally find your words.

“M-Makoto… I- Sniff- I-I-I don’t know-Don’t know what I-I would have d-done w-w-without you… p-please I- please d-don’t…. PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!! I-I… I love you!!! S-S-So m-much!! Wahhahhhhh!!

For a few seconds, time froze. You… loved him? Everything made since now. You always stuck by him, during and after the killing game, even before it started. You were so kind to him, you defended him no matter what, you always made him feel less alone. But he never thought you cared about him in that way. The funny part is that he has also had a crush on you since high school.

Enough with the ones got, HC’s are easier

After a long time of comforting you (maybe around 30 mins or something, he really wanted to amen sir you were okay) he apologizes for ever letting himself fall into despair and for the fact you had to see him like that. It must had been very traumatizing. And it was. After that touching moment together as you both hugged while leaving against the wall, still sat on the ground, you decided that after you both got out of there, you would start a life together.

And you did. You both found a place to live at the future foundation, at least what was left with it, and began your healing processes. It took many, maaaaaany nights of crying into each others chests, days off of work, and time spend talking to each other about everything that happened and how you both feel until it actually stated to get better.

Every night you both would fall asleep holding each other tightly, not even daring to let go in case something happened in the middle of the night. And sometimes, you both would have nightmares. Terrible ones. Sometimes, one of you would walk up by screaming while tears gushing down your cheeks, just to be greeted by the other who sleepily held on tight, wishing that all this pain you both experienced would go away.

Those nights turned to few, rare nights. And with months, but most likely years or hard work with therapists, medication, and spending time with each other, you both eventually got to a point where you could wake up almost every morning to be excited for the day ahead of you, instead of scared and dread-filled.

And on the last day of both of your theropods visits, he once again surprised you with how much hope he can bring to you by going down on one knee and asking you to marry him.

Brain Rot <3

#danganronpa x y/n #danganronpa #danganronpa v1 #future arc #future foundation #makoto x reader #makoto naegi #Naegi x reader #Naegi #makoto naegi x reader #dr makoto #drv1 Makoto #drv1 x reader #end of hopes peak #danganronpa x reader #Danganronpa angst #angst #spoilers #mega spoilers

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felacunti · 1 year

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I could argue that there are some saving graces about certain female characters in Zeta (aside from Lila, she was a queen thru and thru), but damn they did Fa so dirty and the worst part is that (to me at least) her situation is so weirdly... "real", she wanted to be a pilot like everyone else, but since she's good with kids (and seems to be the only person on this god-forsaken ship who actually gives a fuck about them) and she's a girl everyone pushes her in the direction of being their babysitter, it's always "Fa look after the kids", "Fa, how are the kids" yada yada... and I kind of get why she would settle for the role everyone expects her to accept, everyone is forcing it on her, there doesn't seem to be anyone who would support her own ambitions

maybe I'm just copying with this interpretation tho

also... why the fuck are those kids even there? i get that in MSG 0079 the kids didn't really have anywhere to go so they just stayed on the White Base but those two? why the fuck did Quattro even bring them on if he's not looking after them or taking them anywhere??? (still haven't finished Zeta, but I doubt that's gonna get answered)

sorry for rambling

sorry if this spoils zeta for you but youre looking around at posts about it so i guess it doesnt bother you much.

so heres my thing about the female characters in zeta, right? their saving graces are almost all conduits for them to be the boosters to male character's arcs. Either Jerid or Kamille. Even Haman, who by all means is the female character in Zeta with the most practical affect on the narrative and ability to voice her opinions and thoughts, is often framed via Char. Its a serious consistent issue. Reccoa is a sexual assault survivor and its pulled out as a surprise reveal in the last 5 seconds of her life and it retroactively makes her portrayal... kind of disgusting? that being said Fa does get it horrendously and she singlehandedly kind of undoes whatever progressive statements about feminism zeta tries to make. like, there are a lot of characters in the series with being misogynists as a character flaw, which is fine. but the idea that women shouldn't pilot mechs is kind of... right? In the narrative. The female pilots are either waifish hang-ons who suck (Sarah, Fa, Reccoa, Mouar) or they're irrational, impossible to control and prone to fits (Four, Rosamia, Reccoa). The exceptions are Lila (competent but killed because of the Jerid Woman Event Horizon), Haman (a Newtype and therefore a secret third gender), and Emma (does not care about her femininity which is supposed to be tragic (also gay! which is some great rep there.)) When Katz is a bad pilot, the series goes "Ok Katz get it together or you'll die." but he keeps getting to go. There's a period of time where Bright just says "lol no Fa is not launching in the Methuss, she fucking sucks."

ALSO YEAH I DO NOT KNOW WHY SHINTA AND QUM WERE THERE? like i kinda like them they were obviously introduced for levity and it was well needed but like. lmao.

#zeta gundam #butterfly's garden #it kinda breaks my heart that i dont like this series #because it was really promising and people love it #but man i just. cant abide by it.#it also makes a hilarious parallel to msg for me.#thought i was gonna hate msg. loved it.#thought i was gonna love zeta. hated it.

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dovahkiin796 · 2 years

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Reborn in the Flesh

Back in 2015 I wrote my first fnaf fanfiction called "FRIENSHIP WITH ANIMATRONICS". It starred my OC character named Serena Jones and the setting was the pizzeria in fnaf 2 since at the time that was the most recent fnaf game. I planned five arcs for the story. However, the fourth and fifth arc never got a name, nor were they ever expanded upon. I honestly couldn't tell you what the fifth arc was going to be about because I didn't think up of anything for it. But the fourth arc did have an idea, but again I didn't go far with it, so my previous statement is true from a certain point-of-view. I'll go into further detail at the end of the story.

The time has come. After weeks spent in the shadows, collecting essential materials and fervently reading any book related to witchcraft as if they were sacred texts, Springtrap is poised to end his nightmare once and for all. Kneeling with a piece of white chalk in his hand, he begins to draw a large circle in the center of a room within a long-abandoned building—until now.

His movements are meticulous; precision is key. Although the circle need not be flawless, carelessness is not an option. Once the perimeter is complete, he proceeds to inscribe lines within it, crafting an arcane symbol from their intricate intersections and curves.

Suddenly, the muffled struggles and grunts of his captive echo from behind. He momentarily disregards the disturbance, focusing instead on retrieving several large wax candles from a nearby cart. He places them at equal intervals around the circle—six in total. With a flick of his lighter, each candle is ignited, finalizing the setup of the ritualistic circle.

He turns around to address the other person he has in the room with him. That person being an eighteen-year-old girl with long-straight, shoulder length black hair, fair white skin, green colored eyes, a slim figure, and standing at the height of 5'8. The outfit she's wearing is an unzipped light-blue hoodie, black T-shirt, black jeans, and light-blue sneakers. Her name is Serena Jones.

Serena is currently being restrained by her wrists by two endoskeletons that Springtrap was able to fix up. Placed over her mouth as a way of silencing her is a strip of duct tape. Which explains her grunting from earlier. She glares daggers at the rabbit and lets out some choice muffled curses. He found the whole thing to be amusing honestly. As he not used to his victims being defiant towards him. As usually his victims were children who would breakdown crying the moment he would drop his friendly rabbit act.

But in the end, none of what she does will matter in another few minutes. Springtrap reaches over to the cart again though the item he grabs is a syringe. A syringe filled with some kind of metallic liquid to which he stares at thoughtfully. 'Remnant. The mysterious substance I've discovered all those years ago and have been researching ever since. Believing it to be the hidden key towards achieving immortally. I guess from a certain-point-of-view I will be finally going to achieve such a state.' He shifts his gaze from the medical tool to Serena.

Springtrap's plan is to inject the remaining Remnant he has into Serena so that he can possess her body and claim it as his own. Decades after his death, Springtrap has known nothing but constant Hell by being trapped in the forsaken rabbit suit he's confined to. Hardly being able to move any of his limbs do to age and rust, speaking almost limited to raspy snarls, always fighting against the suit's programming, and always having to hide in the shadows as not to be spotted. He's sick of all of it, but very soon it'll all end.

Now why he chose Serena to possess specifically? No real reason to be honest. The young woman is a complete stranger to him and the only reason his endoskeletons kidnapped her was because Springtrap ordered them to hide and wait by the local Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria and to snatch the first person they see. She just so happened to be that person when walking by the place. A true 'At the wrong place, at the wrong time' situation. Though the benefit with her being so young is he'll have the years again to continue his research on Remnant as there is still so much about the substance he doesn't know about. Maybe he can find new ways to use it he didn't think were possible before. He may even find the method to obtain the immortally he was searching for.

Not wanting to waste any more time thinking about the future. He makes his way to the bound female. The endoskeleton to Serena's right without being told, automatically pulls up the sleeve of her jacket, completely exposing her skin. Seeing what he was about to do with the syringe. Serena struggled even harder to break free from the two endos tight grip. But no matter how much she tried, the things were dead set on not letting her go.

The face of defiance she once wore now turned into fear as she saw the syringe's needle coming closer to her skin. Serena had no idea what this deranged rabbit was going to inject into her. But she knew it wasn't going to be good. Right then in that moment she felt the needle pierce her skin. Next, she feels the stinging pain of the contents within the syringe going into her veins.

After a second, "There, it's done." Said Springtrap in his raspy voice as he pulled the empty medical tool out and tossed it to the side. After he finished, Serena fully expected to feel either strange or woozy, but in truth she feels completely fine. "Now it's time to begin the soul transfer. It's time for me to finally be reborn again in the flesh."

The girl looks at him with wide eyes, "Sohhl tragfer!?" She said in shock. Turning around, the haunted rabbit suit starts walking back over to the circle and despite what she just said being muffled and not much coherent. He knew exactly what she said. "Yes, my dear, you heard correctly. I'm going to transfer my soul into your body so I that can possess it as my own. So that I can continue my research on what I injected into you."

Now standing inside of the ritual circle. He turns to face the female again and then gets down onto his knees. Closing his eyes, Springtrap starts to cite some kind of chant in a language Serena couldn't understand. Almost immediately the temperature in the room dropped and the small fires of the candles reacted as if a small gust of wind blown by. The chanting went on for another several seconds till from the animatronic's mouth a purple mist can be seen slowly emerging out of it.

Seeing this as their que. One of the endos removes the tape covering Serena's lips and not gently either. "God damnit!" The black-haired teen cursed. Though she couldn't say anymore as she felt her lower jaw being grabbed and forced downward. Keeping her mouth opened against her will.

They all watch as the purple mist completely exits the rabbit suit. Causing it to fall onto the floor in a lifeless heap since the soul that once inhabited it left. Without wasting a beat, the mist shot forward and enters into Serena's mouth. It took a few seconds for the soul to entirely go down Serena's throat and enter into her body.

Almost instantly, Serena begins to convulse under the endoskeletons' grasp, sensing the rabbit's soul striving to take control of her body, while she desperately resists its dominance. Unfortunately, it's an unequal struggle, as Springtrap's inhuman determination to remain in the living world far surpasses her strength.

After a few seconds of Serena's body convulsing, it finally stops and goes limp. Nothing happened for next second or two. That is until, Serena's eyes suddenly open, but instead of being their usual emerald, green color, they were an unnatural purple. Proof that Springtrap was successful in possessing the body.

Glancing up at one of the endos and the metal skeleton-like robot in turn seeing the possession was a success via the change of eye color. They both let go of their master. Within his new body, the first thing Springtrap-Serena did was take in a deep breath through his newly acquired nose. Right away he was hit with the nasty scent of rotting walls and mildew. Normally anyone would've gagged, but for the evil soul that went thirty years lacking the sense of smell. It's like smelling a bouquet of roses for the first time.

Next, he looks down at his new stolen hands and clenches them into fists, followed up with wiggling the fingers. The fluidity in them was stimulating to say the least. It has been so long since he last felt so much freedom in his ten digits. With his new fingers, ST-Serena runs them through his long black hair. The feeling was silky and soft, and he found it to be pleasant. Though he honestly can't remember if his hair from his original body ever felt like this. Speaking of his new hair, he'll have to get used to it being long.

"After thirty years, I, William Afton, am reborn in the flesh!" Springtrap-Serena declared with a sinister grin. Naturally, he spoke in Serena's voice, but instinctively added a light British accent due to his origins. Having escaped the confines of the Spring-Bonnie suit, he turned to the endoskeletons and pointed at them, commanding, "You two," then gesturing to the decaying rabbit animatronic on the floor, "tear it to shreds."

The robotic skeletons complied immediately, advancing towards the suit. Grasping a limb each, they began to tear it apart without mercy. Not a single component was spared; wires, bolts, fabric, endoskeleton, and even the mummified remains were all ripped apart. Throughout this destruction, Springtrap-Serena watched with a malevolent smile.

Once there was nothing left for the two endos to rip apart. They turned to face their master for new orders to be given. But before there could even be new orders. The possessed female looks around in his pockets to find some kind of I.D. since Springtrap never learned the eighteen-year old's name.

Eventually he finds a wallet and ruffles through it. He does indeed find the I.D. and learns the woman's name is Serena Jones and discovers her home's address at the same time. Calling for the endos to step closer to which they do, he shows them the plastic card and orders them to meet him at this address and not to be spotted while on their way there.

After a second of studying the address, they turn and proceed to the exit of the building. Once out sight ST-Serena begins to get rid of the ritual circle as he doesn't want anyone to know what happened here. Regardless of if people knew anything about Witchcraft or not. It's evidence he doesn't want to leave behind and he knew he'll have to be more careful in his continue study of Remnant. "They'll be no stupid bloody ghost kids to stop me this time." He said with venom in his tone.

A few days have passed since the possession and Springtrap has become fully accustomed to being human again. During the days that followed he spent most of his time tuning up the endos so he can present them to the manager at the local Freddy Fazbear's. He, of course, couldn't help himself but try and apply for a job there. There's something about the restaurant that calls for him. A dark desire he can't ignore.

He chalks it up to his past as he was the co-founder to the precursor of Freddy Fazbear. Plus, his first kill was at the originally location and the rush he felt was better than taking a drug, so the location left a mark on him. It having a steady stream of kids coming and going to gather more Remnant is only a bonus since he can kidnap a kid pretty much anywhere. There's no shortage of them.

Additionally, during the time he spent working on the endoskeletons, he was also crafting something else. It's nearly complete, though it could use some minor adjustments in certain areas. Despite his frustration over the amount of brown and white fabric required, he reassured himself of its worth. Indeed, he was correct; every Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria benefits from a friendly rabbit character to engage with the children. And with him inhabiting a female's body, earning the children's trust would be even easier.

Glancing at his phone, he realizes the hour is late. "I should head to bed; there's an interview waiting for me tomorrow," he muses. Springtrap-Serena leaves the garage-turned-workshop and steps into the house, poised to embark on a new chapter of life.

Yep. The fourth arc of my old story was going to have Serena be possessed by Springtrap. Also the method of how the possession was going to happen was through science. I actually prefer that the supernatural in fnaf is grounded with science, despite the science getting a little sci-fi as the games go on. Adding more to the supernatural will only make the already confusing lore a convoluted Marvel or DC comic storyline. The reason I went with Witchcraft in this one-shot was because I was having trouble with the science. Seriously I was getting a headache trying to write it out. Hope you all enjoyed what could have been.

#five nights at freddy's #springtrap #OC #fanfic #possession #body possession

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