The Many Lives Inside Hogwarts
Reducio
It was miserable. By the time Nightmare mustered the courage and strength to leave, he was no longer the small twelve-year-old he had been when he made the stupid decision to eat those stupid apples. His body had grown, warped by time, Nightmare was now a lanky teen. Or- maybe he was lanky, maybe he was still perfectly proportionate, the goop covering his bones always made his limbs seem longer than they actually were. Nightmare wished he could still tell the different. He wished that the rain would wash all this ick and wrong off of him. But it never did. Nightmare was sure this corruption was bound to his very soul.
The strange spirit started to wander. At first, Nightmare just wanted to get as much distance as he could between the reminders of all his mistakes. And then, he didn't know how to stop. Movement was familiar and easy, it was the distance he needed from his crimes.
Those years after he left were very strange years, given how Nightmare had no real way to tell how much time had passed. Day and night seemed meaningless, he never felt hungry enough to go out of his way to find something. Which in itself was odd. Nightmare used to eat three meals a day. Sure, sometimes they weren't the biggest, and sometimes he would still feel hungry after, but since the incident, several years ago now, Nightmare didn't remember eating anything even once. It was almost as if this new form of his was sustaining itself on something else.
Eventually, Nightmare was going to stop walking. He knew this, and he thought when he stopped, he'd make his way back to his brother's statue. That eventually, there'd be nowhere left to go but home.
But he was wrong.
One day, still walking away from everything, Nightmare came across something very strange. In the middle of nowhere, hovering about the ground, was a strange spot of- nothing. The world was jagged, warping and jumping around in that one spot. And through the clearest part, the middle, Nightmare could see more nothing. Blank white, like an empty canvas.
Nightmare had always been curious, and he had nothing left to lose, so Nightmare chose to walk through the strange, strange thing. He tumbled out into a vast expanse of absolute nothingness. It was like a void, though instead of the assumed black Nightmare always thought such a void would be, it was white. An anti-void, if you will.
The lonely spirit looked up, and above him was what could only be described a the largest spider's web he had ever seen. Made with thick, blue strings, the web was large, interconnected, weaving around what appeared to be souls, dolls, and pieces of parchment.
Nightmare glanced around and, at first glance, there just continued to be more nothing. Upon a second, much closer inspection, Nightmare saw a speck of something in the distance. And so he began walking again.
It was unsettling, walking in the anti-void. There were no landmarks to tell him how far he had gone, no noise or wind to occupy his time, there was only the vast white in front of him, and the blue webs above him. Speaking of, the web seemed to go on forever. No matter how far Nightmare walked, the web followed. New parchment, new dolls, new souls, strung up in the endless expanse. Nightmare had to wonder where they came from.
Eventually, he came across what he was looking for. The speck was... Certainly something, as he suspected, but Nightmare wasn't sure what. It looked like the strangest shaped bed, with a black boned skeleton curled up in it. The skeleton was jagged in the same way as the spot that brought Nightmare here. He still didn't have the right words to describe it.
The skeleton in the chair, particles of them shifting and moving, felt so- Well, Nightmare couldn't properly describe the cocktail of negativity that made up the skeleton in from of him. He hadn't felt anything like it back at the village.
"who the hell are you?" The skeleton asked, and Nightmare startled. He hadn't even realized they were awake.
Nightmare bowed, as it was proper to do. "I am Nightmare, guardian of the tr- ahem, guardian of negativity. And who might you be?"
"you are- so weird. i'm error. not that you'll live long enough for that to matter to you." Nightmare bristled at Error's words.
"How uncouth."
"why the actual hell do you talk like that?"
"Because I was raised proper and civilized. Though I cannot say that the same applies to you." Error blinked.
"...uh-huh. that's... nice." He glanced around. "where are you from, anyway? can just wipe out the whole au."
"Ah, yes. Well, I hail fr- Why would I tell you." Nightmare cut himself off.
"wanna help, i guess. you're interesting. i won't kill ya right away."
"That does not render me any more comfortable."
"i think i hate talking to you."
"Oh? It was not so obvious." Nightmare sassed.
"please leave me alone."
"Alas, I cannot. My path homeward is... I find myself lost on my own arrival here." Error stared at Nightmare for a very long time. The spirit fidgeted uncomfortable.
"must've left a glitch in some ancient au." Error grumbled to himself.
"Pray tell, what is a 'glitch?'"
"if i tell you, will you shut up?"
"Do you still wish to end my life?"
"and i repeat my question." Nightmare considered it. It was probably a bad idea to trust someone who had already voiced wanting to kill him. But he had no way to get home. Nightmare sighed.
"I supposed the choice is outside of my will. Yes, then."
"perfect. a glitch is this portal kind of thing, and it takes people from one au to another, or from an au to here."
"Fascinating. And what is an 'au?'"
"i thought you were going to shut up."
"It is no fault of mine that you are filled with curiosities."
"sure, whatever. an au is wherever you came from. those papers up there," Error gestured at the parchments caught up in the strings. "are all aus. and one of them is yours."
"H-"
"shut." Nightmare clicked his jaw shut. "its my job to make sure too many of you abominations are around. so, while this has been my least favorite conversation ever, it's time for you to die." The same blue strings that made up the webs wrapped around Nightmare's body, rendering his strange tentacle appendages useless and tugging his soul from his chest.
Nightmare hadn't seen his soul since the incident, but it wasn't pretty. What was once shining gold, almost identical to Dream's, was now an apple covered in corruption, mirroring how the rest of him looked.
"that's. new." Error said, pulling Nightmare's soul closer. "why's it shaped like that? 's far as i'm aware, skeleton monsters don't have any soul differences."
"I am not a skeleton?" Error looked at Nightmare with the most disappointed look Nightmare had seen since his brother. "Truly, I tell you. I am that of a spirit."
"uh... uh-huh." It would be great to stop talking about this, actually. "let me guess, your gaster's a spirit too?"
"Who is Gaster?"
"the other skeleton with you? aside from- actually- damn. i don't know if you share any names with anyone. uh, other than your brother, who's a skeleton like you?"
"Again, I am not a skeleton. But if you speak of other spirits such as myself, that would be only my mother, Nim."
"why is your au so weird."
"It would not help your state to explain that she was a tree, would it."
"no it would not??" Error sighed. "seriously, what is wrong with your au."
"A great many things. None of which you would like me to explain."
"damn right." The strings tightened around Nightmare's soul, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop Error from dusting him. Until they loosened. "you're important." He stated.
"I-" Nightmare coughed. "Whatever do you mean?"
"something's different about you." The strings retreated all at once, dropping Nightmare unceremoniously onto the ground. "find your way out. i'll deal with you later, 'nightmare of dreamtale.'"
"Of- pardon?" Nightmare tried to get his feet under him, but failed, instead using his tentacles to hold him up so he wouldn't collapse into a miserable lump on the ground.
"dreamtale. your au. the strings read code."
"I think I shall stop asking about your strange words."
"thanks."
"The au I hail from is called Dreamtale?"
"uh, yeah. i just said so, didn't I?" Nightmare hummed.
"It is- well. I suppose there is little humor in the fact that my home is named after my dear brother."
"nightmare and dream. huh." Nightmare nodded.
"Not that it is so consequential any longer. For Dream is... No longer with us."
"he's your papyrus, then. sad." Error said without any real sympathy. Nightmare still had no idea what he meant. He finally got back to standing, and his soul was no longer freaking out.
"If that is all, I will be taking my leave." Nightmare brushed off imaginary dust from his clothes (not only was the anti-void freakishly clean, he couldn't brush anything off of this corrupted goop if he tried.)
"good riddance." Error mumbled as Nightmare, a bit unsteadily, walked back into the anti-void. With no real way to get out.
And once again, Nightmare was faced with the void. Once he was far enough from Error, when he was certain the glitching skeleton could no longer see him, Nightmare collapsed to his knees. He knew fear, and knew just how much Error incited it within him. Nightmare's life was spared for some greater purpose he did not understand. He was nothing without Dream, and broken half of a whole.
During his wallowing, Nightmare felt a bolt of negativity run through him. It didn't feel like Error. It almost felt like- Nightmare pulled himself to his feet and tried to follow it. He didn't walk anymore, no, Nightmare ran. If there was the slightest chance his brother was alive, if he could apologize for everything, it would all be okay again! Nightmare could feel whole again!
It wasn't Dream. It was a short skeleton covered in goop, similar to Nightmare. But they were happy, and yellow. It wasn't- Nightmare turned away. It was stupid to wish that it had been Dream. Dream was dead. And it was Nightmare's fault.
"Happy 512th, brother." And with that, Nightmare stepped back through the portal. Usually, he would stay much longer, they had never spent their birthdays apart when Dream was alive, and Nightmare had never left him alone after he died. But- Something had changed.
Through the portal was a rather empty au Nightmare had been watching. He had been watching a few, and they were all interesting in their own ways. Something New was home to a strange little creature with liquid hate oozing from his eye sockets, Dusttale housed a rather classic looking Sans who- well Nightmare knew the situation was quite hopeless. Horrortale was stuck in the throes of famine. Nightmare saw a bit of himself in each and every one of them, but there was nothing he could do to help. At least, not yet.
The au Nightmare had walked into was none of the above, and instead an abandoned thing, with only the setting drawn out. The creator left it before they made any of the characters. There was a looming castle surrounded by a dark, dangerous forest. The empty rooms of the palace was the perfect place for the Sanses he had been watching to take refuge.
Well, they had been empty, at one point. Nightmare had taken the room with the biggest bed and decked it out in purple and gold. There were thick, fluffy blankets on the bed, and several more stashed away in the closet. The pillows were so soft, and the lighting was warm. (And yet Nightmare still found himself sleeping on the floor with nothing more than a curtain for cover. It reminded him more of sleeping under his mother's branches.)
There were three other rooms, properly decorated with similarly comfortable amenities. And, and a fourth. With a gold and sky blue theme was a room dedicated just for Dream. There were stuffed animals and slippers and fairytale books and- If Dream ever woke up, (Nightmare knew he never would) the room would be perfect for him.
The stuffed animal was still there, but the statue that had stood above it wasn't.
It seemed that Dreamtale's story was to continue, as a new player in the balance had been added.
WC: 2,275
Nightmare stayed at home for a very long time. He left gifts full of apologies at Dream's stone feet, he begged and pleaded and cried, hoping Dream would wake up. Nightmare didn't want to be alone! His body was different, his head constantly hurt, Nightmare was so lost and confused and afraid. Nightmare stayed by his brother's side constantly those first few years, stayed by the stump that was once his mother.Fandom: Undertale/Undertale Multiverse
Word Prompt(s): Moonlight
A quick explanation: I would like to explore a ton more of my Nightmare headcanons, since him and his gang are characters I hold close to my heart for reasons I am not disclosing. However, their stories are not... The happiest, lets say. I may or may not favor Horror out of all the characters. Regardless, I'd like to go over a bit of what Nightmare went through during those 500 years without Dream. Semi-connected to the ending of Chromatica. For my own sake, the Gang doesn't come around until after Nightmare finds out Dream isn't a statue anymore.
Also, as I'm writing NM's dialogue, I realize I didn't do the same old-timey thing I did here, with Dream. I do think they're both old, but I often let Nightmare shine more, because he actually grows up knowing a ton of more modern stuff and seeing it evolve. Dream wakes up 500 years in the future and doesn't have a clue what a "hoodie" is, much less cars and the internet.
It was miserable. By the time Nightmare mustered the courage and strength to leave, he was no longer the small twelve-year-old he had been when he made the stupid decision to eat those stupid apples. His body had grown, warped by time, Nightmare was now a lanky teen. Or- maybe he was lanky, maybe he was still perfectly proportionate, the goop covering his bones always made his limbs seem longer than they actually were. Nightmare wished he could still tell the different. He wished that the rain would wash all this ick and wrong off of him. But it never did. Nightmare was sure this corruption was bound to his very soul.
The strange spirit started to wander. At first, Nightmare just wanted to get as much distance as he could between the reminders of all his mistakes. And then, he didn't know how to stop. Movement was familiar and easy, it was the distance he needed from his crimes.
Those years after he left were very strange years, given how Nightmare had no real way to tell how much time had passed. Day and night seemed meaningless, he never felt hungry enough to go out of his way to find something. Which in itself was odd. Nightmare used to eat three meals a day. Sure, sometimes they weren't the biggest, and sometimes he would still feel hungry after, but since the incident, several years ago now, Nightmare didn't remember eating anything even once. It was almost as if this new form of his was sustaining itself on something else.
Eventually, Nightmare was going to stop walking. He knew this, and he thought when he stopped, he'd make his way back to his brother's statue. That eventually, there'd be nowhere left to go but home.
But he was wrong.
One day, still walking away from everything, Nightmare came across something very strange. In the middle of nowhere, hovering about the ground, was a strange spot of- nothing. The world was jagged, warping and jumping around in that one spot. And through the clearest part, the middle, Nightmare could see more nothing. Blank white, like an empty canvas.
Nightmare had always been curious, and he had nothing left to lose, so Nightmare chose to walk through the strange, strange thing. He tumbled out into a vast expanse of absolute nothingness. It was like a void, though instead of the assumed black Nightmare always thought such a void would be, it was white. An anti-void, if you will.
The lonely spirit looked up, and above him was what could only be described a the largest spider's web he had ever seen. Made with thick, blue strings, the web was large, interconnected, weaving around what appeared to be souls, dolls, and pieces of parchment.
Nightmare glanced around and, at first glance, there just continued to be more nothing. Upon a second, much closer inspection, Nightmare saw a speck of something in the distance. And so he began walking again.
It was unsettling, walking in the anti-void. There were no landmarks to tell him how far he had gone, no noise or wind to occupy his time, there was only the vast white in front of him, and the blue webs above him. Speaking of, the web seemed to go on forever. No matter how far Nightmare walked, the web followed. New parchment, new dolls, new souls, strung up in the endless expanse. Nightmare had to wonder where they came from.
Eventually, he came across what he was looking for. The speck was... Certainly something, as he suspected, but Nightmare wasn't sure what. It looked like the strangest shaped bed, with a black boned skeleton curled up in it. The skeleton was jagged in the same way as the spot that brought Nightmare here. He still didn't have the right words to describe it.
The skeleton in the chair, particles of them shifting and moving, felt so- Well, Nightmare couldn't properly describe the cocktail of negativity that made up the skeleton in from of him. He hadn't felt anything like it back at the village.
"who the hell are you?" The skeleton asked, and Nightmare startled. He hadn't even realized they were awake.
Nightmare bowed, as it was proper to do. "I am Nightmare, guardian of the tr- ahem, guardian of negativity. And who might you be?"
"you are- so weird. i'm error. not that you'll live long enough for that to matter to you." Nightmare bristled at Error's words.
"How uncouth."
"why the actual hell do you talk like that?"
"Because I was raised proper and civilized. Though I cannot say that the same applies to you." Error blinked.
"...uh-huh. that's... nice." He glanced around. "where are you from, anyway? can just wipe out the whole au."
"Ah, yes. Well, I hail fr- Why would I tell you." Nightmare cut himself off.
"wanna help, i guess. you're interesting. i won't kill ya right away."
"That does not render me any more comfortable."
"i think i hate talking to you."
"Oh? It was not so obvious." Nightmare sassed.
"please leave me alone."
"Alas, I cannot. My path homeward is... I find myself lost on my own arrival here." Error stared at Nightmare for a very long time. The spirit fidgeted uncomfortable.
"must've left a glitch in some ancient au." Error grumbled to himself.
"Pray tell, what is a 'glitch?'"
"if i tell you, will you shut up?"
"Do you still wish to end my life?"
"and i repeat my question." Nightmare considered it. It was probably a bad idea to trust someone who had already voiced wanting to kill him. But he had no way to get home. Nightmare sighed.
"I supposed the choice is outside of my will. Yes, then."
"perfect. a glitch is this portal kind of thing, and it takes people from one au to another, or from an au to here."
"Fascinating. And what is an 'au?'"
"i thought you were going to shut up."
"It is no fault of mine that you are filled with curiosities."
"sure, whatever. an au is wherever you came from. those papers up there," Error gestured at the parchments caught up in the strings. "are all aus. and one of them is yours."
"H-"
"shut." Nightmare clicked his jaw shut. "its my job to make sure too many of you abominations are around. so, while this has been my least favorite conversation ever, it's time for you to die." The same blue strings that made up the webs wrapped around Nightmare's body, rendering his strange tentacle appendages useless and tugging his soul from his chest.
Nightmare hadn't seen his soul since the incident, but it wasn't pretty. What was once shining gold, almost identical to Dream's, was now an apple covered in corruption, mirroring how the rest of him looked.
"that's. new." Error said, pulling Nightmare's soul closer. "why's it shaped like that? 's far as i'm aware, skeleton monsters don't have any soul differences."
"I am not a skeleton?" Error looked at Nightmare with the most disappointed look Nightmare had seen since his brother. "Truly, I tell you. I am that of a spirit."
"uh... uh-huh." It would be great to stop talking about this, actually. "let me guess, your gaster's a spirit too?"
"Who is Gaster?"
"the other skeleton with you? aside from- actually- damn. i don't know if you share any names with anyone. uh, other than your brother, who's a skeleton like you?"
"Again, I am not a skeleton. But if you speak of other spirits such as myself, that would be only my mother, Nim."
"why is your au so weird."
"It would not help your state to explain that she was a tree, would it."
"no it would not??" Error sighed. "seriously, what is wrong with your au."
"A great many things. None of which you would like me to explain."
"damn right." The strings tightened around Nightmare's soul, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop Error from dusting him. Until they loosened. "you're important." He stated.
"I-" Nightmare coughed. "Whatever do you mean?"
"something's different about you." The strings retreated all at once, dropping Nightmare unceremoniously onto the ground. "find your way out. i'll deal with you later, 'nightmare of dreamtale.'"
"Of- pardon?" Nightmare tried to get his feet under him, but failed, instead using his tentacles to hold him up so he wouldn't collapse into a miserable lump on the ground.
"dreamtale. your au. the strings read code."
"I think I shall stop asking about your strange words."
"thanks."
"The au I hail from is called Dreamtale?"
"uh, yeah. i just said so, didn't I?" Nightmare hummed.
"It is- well. I suppose there is little humor in the fact that my home is named after my dear brother."
"nightmare and dream. huh." Nightmare nodded.
"Not that it is so consequential any longer. For Dream is... No longer with us."
"he's your papyrus, then. sad." Error said without any real sympathy. Nightmare still had no idea what he meant. He finally got back to standing, and his soul was no longer freaking out.
"If that is all, I will be taking my leave." Nightmare brushed off imaginary dust from his clothes (not only was the anti-void freakishly clean, he couldn't brush anything off of this corrupted goop if he tried.)
"good riddance." Error mumbled as Nightmare, a bit unsteadily, walked back into the anti-void. With no real way to get out.
And once again, Nightmare was faced with the void. Once he was far enough from Error, when he was certain the glitching skeleton could no longer see him, Nightmare collapsed to his knees. He knew fear, and knew just how much Error incited it within him. Nightmare's life was spared for some greater purpose he did not understand. He was nothing without Dream, and broken half of a whole.
During his wallowing, Nightmare felt a bolt of negativity run through him. It didn't feel like Error. It almost felt like- Nightmare pulled himself to his feet and tried to follow it. He didn't walk anymore, no, Nightmare ran. If there was the slightest chance his brother was alive, if he could apologize for everything, it would all be okay again! Nightmare could feel whole again!
It wasn't Dream. It was a short skeleton covered in goop, similar to Nightmare. But they were happy, and yellow. It wasn't- Nightmare turned away. It was stupid to wish that it had been Dream. Dream was dead. And it was Nightmare's fault.
Nightmare pulled open a portal and stepped through into Dreamtale. He stood in front of his mother and brother. Nightmare took a deep breath and let it out. He still couldn't change anything. The spirit placed a small plushie at Dream's feet.
"Happy 512th, brother." And with that, Nightmare stepped back through the portal. Usually, he would stay much longer, they had never spent their birthdays apart when Dream was alive, and Nightmare had never left him alone after he died. But- Something had changed.
Through the portal was a rather empty au Nightmare had been watching. He had been watching a few, and they were all interesting in their own ways. Something New was home to a strange little creature with liquid hate oozing from his eye sockets, Dusttale housed a rather classic looking Sans who- well Nightmare knew the situation was quite hopeless. Horrortale was stuck in the throes of famine. Nightmare saw a bit of himself in each and every one of them, but there was nothing he could do to help. At least, not yet.
The au Nightmare had walked into was none of the above, and instead an abandoned thing, with only the setting drawn out. The creator left it before they made any of the characters. There was a looming castle surrounded by a dark, dangerous forest. The empty rooms of the palace was the perfect place for the Sanses he had been watching to take refuge.
Well, they had been empty, at one point. Nightmare had taken the room with the biggest bed and decked it out in purple and gold. There were thick, fluffy blankets on the bed, and several more stashed away in the closet. The pillows were so soft, and the lighting was warm. (And yet Nightmare still found himself sleeping on the floor with nothing more than a curtain for cover. It reminded him more of sleeping under his mother's branches.)
There were three other rooms, properly decorated with similarly comfortable amenities. And, and a fourth. With a gold and sky blue theme was a room dedicated just for Dream. There were stuffed animals and slippers and fairytale books and- If Dream ever woke up, (Nightmare knew he never would) the room would be perfect for him.
The day after his and Dream's birthday, Nightmare returned to Dreamtale to fetch the stuffed animal he had left Dream, to add it to the collection in Dream's room.
The stuffed animal was still there, but the statue that had stood above it wasn't.
It seemed that Dreamtale's story was to continue, as a new player in the balance had been added.
WC: 2,275
"The only thing stopping me from having a dragon living in my backyard is the law. Absolutely nothing else."
The Many Lives Inside Hogwarts
There is something to be said about the ability to change your appearance at will. One would think that it would become second nature, a completely normal and mundane part of your life, like things tend to do, no matter how exciting or extraordinary. And that is partially true. However, there would be cause for the opposite as well, a whole new slew of choices about yourself.Date: 2014-Present
Prompt(s): Mask
Characters: Morris "Mori" Agaricus
For example, Mori learned that they had the ability to alter their appearance when they were five. They had been positively mad that their parents had cut their hair. Sure, it had been getting on the longer end, but Mori liked it longer! After the tantrum that ensued, Mori had stomped to their room, careful not to slam the door, and slumped against the wall opposite their mirror. They hated how the new haircut looked. And then, they thought just a little bit too hard about growing that hair back, and what do you know? It did.
And then they proceeded to panic, because they did not want it cut again. Mori knew about magic, it'd be impossible for them not to, given that both their parents were magic. But this couldn't be magic! It just couldn't! Sure, Mori was upset, and they knew magic often reacted to emotions, but- They needed to cut it before someone found out. If this was magic, surely they would show another sign later, or a letter from whatever school was nearby would show up, and Mori could go off to magic school anyway.
They searched their entire room for scissors, and when they found a pair, Mori made their way back over to the mirror, ready to cut their hair again. But, all of a sudden, before they could even make the first snip, their hair shrank back, short again. They could change their appearance! Not necessarily at will, but it wasn't entirely unpredictable.
So Mori started practicing these changes in secret. They started with growing their hair back, making it longer faster, so there would be no questions when it was back to their preferred length. Then, Mori started messing with the color. It was most often its natural brown, but sometimes Mori had fun with it. Black was very simple and not too noticeable, from there, they liked turning it purple. Then, Mori tried even more colors! Blues, greens, yellows, and- White. Mori really liked how their hair looked in white.
After the experimentations with their hair, Mori started keeping a journal. It noted all the different things they tried, the end results, the possible backfiring. By the time Mori was eight, most of the journal was filled.
The later pages were filled with personal preferences rather than observations. And by eleven, Mori was taking those notes into account, hidden under their robes on the train to Hogwarts. It had been incredibly difficult to find an empty train car, but they had done it. Mori's hair had been long for quite a while, they started hiding it so their parents wouldn't make them cut it. So they didn't have to worry about that. On top of that, Mori had recently gotten a hold of some muggle hair dye, thanks to Hecate. It was a wonderful shade of white, and Mori had been using it for months. Again, it was rather easy to cover up. What Mori couldn't have worked on before hand, however, was their eye color. It was naturally a royal blue, but Mori kept it several shades lighter, bordering on almost gray. They also let their canine teeth be ever so slightly sharper. Not unnaturally so, but it could easily be pointed out.
And Mori stepped of the train a new person.
Through the years, very few people ever figured out Mori was a metamorphous, not even their closest friends. Most summers, they often worried that Hecate's more observant twin, Pyce, would notice something amiss, but they never did. Mori was quite subtle about it, so it was likely that they were just doing that good of a job. Besides, they were also incredibly consistent. Maybe too much so. Mori stayed on the shorter side, several inches below where he stood naturally, but that was fine!
Really, it was all fine.
Mori was- Mori was many things. They were a friend, an older sibling, a tutor. But, sometimes, when they looked in the mirror now, they couldn't see themself anymore. Sure, Mori wasn't entirely fond of their natural look, their hair and skin were too many shades darker than they liked, they stood too tall, their teeth too dull, but- Was it really them if they were hiding their appearance? It was something they had thought about many times. When they were younger the answer was simple: Yes. Mori was the one choosing how they looked, they liked it and kept it. It was so very easy to say that it was likely the truest form for them.
But was it really? So few people had even the slightest clue of their abilities! Their parents didn't even suspect anything! It felt like lying at the most fundamental of levels. Lying to themself and others. Hecate didn't know, and he was one of Mori's closest friends- by reason of being the only one who lived close enough to visit over summer break- and Timmy knew just as much, and he was Mori's brother! There wasn't a single person in Mori's life that actually mattered that knew anything about the truth!
But Mori couldn't deny feeling so perfectly comfortable in their preferred form. So what were they to do? It wasn't like it was some big, dangerous secret, but it sure felt like it. They lied to everyone in their life for years. Things wouldn't get better if they told anyone now!
So Mori kept their mouth shut. And that September, following summer camp and knowing they would likely be spending more time with one, or both, Rotanski twins, they packed. They brought their lovely pet spider, Todd, their trunk of clothing, their wand, books, and everything else, Mori stepped onto Platform 9¾ with everyone else from camp. They boarded the train, mask in place once again, and prepared themself for the school year to come.
"Hey, Mori!" Nile, a now second year Slytherin, slid into Mori's train compartment. "Want some company, buddy?"
"Sure. There's plenty of room."
"Perfect!" And Nile's grin was just a bit too wide, and her eyes too gold, and Mori knew, they weren't the only metamorph in the car. They had no idea how they hadn't figured it out sooner. Well, they did sort of know. Mori didn't make it a habit to spend too much time with the first years. They rather liked homework and study, so most of their free time was in the library. But, Mori could make time for this, they think. Maybe they could teach her a thing or two about keeping her shapeshifting on the down low.
Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad.
And maybe, Mori could learn a little something about themself from the overeager fellow metamorph in front of them.
WC: 1,190
Love giving Mori a hopeful ending. Despite being based on my dearly beloved D&D character, Morrel, Mori is not allowed to follow in their footsteps.
"The only thing stopping me from having a dragon living in my backyard is the law. Absolutely nothing else."
The Many Lives Inside Hogwarts
Reducio
Its job was simple, cleaning and maintenance. Moments after being powered on, it was handed a cleaning cloth and a mop. It got to work without question or hesitation, polishing every mirror, waxing every floor. It was a skilled, flawless drone.
Every now and then, one of the dancers or instructors would use it to hold and style a costume. It held perfectly still as they made the needed alterations.
Serial Designation O-001X10001 was a model drone. Which was for the best, as it was the only drone working at this location. And it did its job perfectly for years.
And years.
And years.
O got to work like he did every single other day. He started with his mop and a plastic bucket filled with warm, soapy water. His job was simple, a routine he was long familiar with. He started with the floor just after midnight, once everyone left, but far before the next people arrived.
Once the floor was clean, O would move to the many mirrors in the studio. Due to how tall they were, and how short he was, O used a ladder to reach the top, as unnecessary as it was to be so frequently cleaned that high up. O didn't mind, he didn't question. O just cleaned. As he had always done and as he was programmed to do.
The first group of people arrived not too long after O finished his morning tasks. O was now at their beck and call. So he spent the morning running back and forth, helping out the dancers as they saw fit. A gopher. Water bottles here, a towel there, snacks for break. He was always addressed as "Drone" or some variation of that. Maybe "Dee" by those who liked to pretend he was a bit more human. In his head, he was Serial Designation O-001X10001 or just O. The full thing was rather annoying to think. Even more annoying to say, if or when someone asked.
And that was when it occurred to O that, at some point, he had started thinking. Not just in orders and tasks, but actual, sentient thoughts. It was strange, suddenly being and not knowing it. O was confused, a new, yet, somehow not frightening feeling. Could O feel frightened? Well, if he could feel confused, or curious, or calm, he most likely could. He. O had been referring to himself as a he. That was also interesting. The dancers had been referring to him as such for a long time, but O never had. He had always been an "it." Until now, O supposed. He really wasn't sure what happened there. Worker drones weren't meant to be "he"s, they weren't meant to have a name preference, or feelings, or opinions. O was very weird for this. It was weird that O thought he was weird. It was weird thinking a lot of things. Was this how humans lived all the time?
"Deedee!" One of the dancers, a young adult brunette, called for O. He hurried over. "Be a dear an' wear this for me, would ya?" Augustine, that was her name, held out a stereotypical pink ballerina costume. It wasn't an unusual request at all.
O dutifully put the outfit on. He liked it. It had a floofy skirt and-
"Almost forgot. Here's the tiara!" Augustine balanced the silver accessory on the rim of O's helmet. O felt very pretty right now. It was weird being aware for this game of dress-up.
O held perfectly still after the tiara was placed on his head. As expected, Augustine began making adjustments. She cut loose threads, carefully replaced lost beads, and delicately added more fabric to make it poofy-ier. O thought he would have done pretty well as a tailor's drone. Well, JCJenson drones were meant to seamlessly adapt to any task asked of them. It made sense that O was so comfortable doing any task assigned to him.
There was something so different about thinking. O could spend forever lost in his new thoughts.
"There ya are, Dee! All done! Mind givin it back?" O gave a polite nod and promptly returned the outfit. He wondered, for however brief a moment, how it would feel like performing on stage with it. Augustine plucked the tiara off his head and bounded off to wherever she was needed.
And O felt strangely alone. It was certainly the most unique of the feelings O had experienced in his very short time of being aware. Most everything else felt like it had been bubbling so close to the surface, spilling over just today. But loneliness? That implied dissatisfaction. And dissatisfaction implied defect. O already knew something was wrong when he realized he was conscious. But for such a negative feeling associated with his very being? O knew what might happen to him.
Drones weren't programmed to be unhappy. Unhappy drones were dangerous drones, rebellious. O had a brief thought of proving the company wrong, and then decided that was an even more dangerous line of thinking. He would just keep his head down and act like nothing changed. (Which, his subconscious unhelpfully provided, was essentially the same thing, just quieter)
And so that was exactly what Serial Designation O-001X10001 did.
Of course, you can't really stop being aware once you're aware, you know? So life continued as normal. O cleaned, polished, and posed; everything that was asked of him.
And after so many years of service, something changed.
Lacey wasn't new to the studio, per say. She hadn't been coming in as long as O had been working here, but she was around before O woke up a sentient being. She was a ballroom dancer. O loved ballroom dancing. He loved an awful lot of dancing, but he was never asked to join, for obvious reasons. No one wanted to humanize him anymore than they already did. It made things awkward.
Which is why he was so surprised and thrilled when Lacey requested him to be her partner to practice. O stumbled over his feet in his rush to help her. Which was probably a good indication of what was to come.
Now, O had been living his whole life around dancers of any kind. From the very moment he had been powered on, O had been stuck in the studio. He had never stepped a single foot beyond it's walls. Of course, he hadn't been sentient enough to be actively paying attention to any of the dancers until recently, but that was besides the point. He had spent every minute of his existence here, music and rhythm were ingrained in his very core. O wasn't confident in his ability to dance, having never done so before but he certainly expected better than-
"Bahahaha! Oh, Ducky, how did ya even-" Lacey was wheezing. O was in a pile of his own limbs. It was a miserable little pile, sitting there. O's digital cheeks were burning from embarrassment. "Up ya get!" Lacey grabbed under O's arms and pulled him to his feet. Once he was good and steady, O felt fingers brush against his display screen. "I didn't know ya could blush, Ducky."
O stood ramrod straight and froze. "I- Miss Lacey-"
"I see. Well, Ducky, that just means I can teach ya proper!" Lacey tugged on O's arm, leading him back to the center of the room. "What's your name, Ducky?"
"I am Serial Designation O-001X10001." O stated. Such a long name, but he was not about to make another mistake in front of Lacey.
"Ain't given yourself one?" He shook his head. He didn't know that had been an option. Aside from just being O, it didn't seem like he should have a name. It was- very human. But, if Lacey had no issue, who was O to complain? "All fine, Ducky. You're O?" Lacey tapped a finger to her chin, before straightening. "Got it! What about Owen! It should be familiar enough!"
"Owen..." O tasted the name. "Yeah! I think I like it" Lacey beamed.
"Okay! That's your name now, Ducky!" O smiled back. "Now. Dancing!" The smile immediately dropped. Lacey giggled.
For example; Owen did not have a favorite color. Lacey used his master key to the building to get into a fabric closet. She grabbed as many different colored swatches of fabric as she could find. Lacey returned with her arms full of scraps and promptly dropped them in front of Owen.
"Okay, O. I've got every color in this building. Pick one!" Owen looked through them for over an hour. It didn't help that the textures were incredibly distracting. Pinks were nice, magentas. Teals were...
Before she left, Lacey gave Owen a question to find the answer for for when she came back. What was his favorite time of day? O did not know this. There were a lot of times of day, and Owen had experienced them many times. He had never preferred one over another, but then again, he didn't prefer much of anything until recently.
So Owen thought about it. Day was nice because it was bright and warm. Night was also nice, it was cool and quiet. Those inbetween hours of dawn and dusk, however? Owen thought those might be his favorite.
And all this was learned while Lacey still tried to teach Owen how to dance. His movements got... Better? He didn't trip and fall so often. Of all the things Owen failed to be good at, it was quite disheartening that it was dancing.
Until it came to an end.
"Drone, come here." Owen walked up to the owner of the studio, as obedient as ever. "We have gotten a newer model. You are no longer needed. You will be taken to a disassembly center today." He gave a slight nod. It was the inevitable. Drones weren't meant for more. The dance studio had been nice while it lasted.
"Wait, Ms. Vanderhall, I could take him! I've been needing a drone, he doesn't need to be disassembled!" Lacey. Oh, she sounded so frantic. But Owen couldn't do anything about it.
"Nonsense, Lacey. It's an old model. Get something better. Drone, follow me." The owner walked out and Owen followed. He listened, it was what he had been programmed for. And he was still good at it, despite all this consciousness business.
He followed even when he heard Lacey's agonized cry for him. He couldn't break his most basic function even for his best friend. And it hurt.
And Serial Designation O woke up.
WC: 2,653
Serial Designation O-001X10001 onlined under the bright lights of a dance studio. It was a typical model of typical stature. It had bright white eyes, a dark gray helmet atop its bald head, and a core exactly like every single other worker drone made by JCJenson.Fandom: Murder Drones. Again.
Word Prompt(s): Reflection
A quick explanation: So, going back to Serial Designation O, my beloved Murder Drones OC, I used them to try and figure out a lot of stuff within canon. For example, how drones age and such. One of the many things I had them explore was how disassembly and Tessa's revival affected the drones. I theorize that whoever Tessa brought back is not the same person as who was deactivated. It likely isn't as noticeable as it would be for other characters, seeing as O is an OC, but I still have no idea how to write past N. I will say that there are some flashforwards (of which I will warn, one covers a bit of the early gala) that reveal some differences between the person O originally was, and who he became after Tessa found him and brought him back.
It also explores some of how Tessa's workers might have become more sentient, that being a holdover from their past lives.
Also, parts of this may seem a teensy bit like a trans-allegory. That happens sometimes when I write.
Its job was simple, cleaning and maintenance. Moments after being powered on, it was handed a cleaning cloth and a mop. It got to work without question or hesitation, polishing every mirror, waxing every floor. It was a skilled, flawless drone.
Every now and then, one of the dancers or instructors would use it to hold and style a costume. It held perfectly still as they made the needed alterations.
Serial Designation O-001X10001 was a model drone. Which was for the best, as it was the only drone working at this location. And it did its job perfectly for years.
And years.
And years.
Serial Designation O woke up for the first time under the familiar bright lights of a meticulously cleaned, well cared for dance studio. He was a typical model of typical stature. He had bright white eyes, a dark gray helmet atop his bald head, and a core that was once exactly like every single other worker drone made by JCJenson.
O got to work like he did every single other day. He started with his mop and a plastic bucket filled with warm, soapy water. His job was simple, a routine he was long familiar with. He started with the floor just after midnight, once everyone left, but far before the next people arrived.
Once the floor was clean, O would move to the many mirrors in the studio. Due to how tall they were, and how short he was, O used a ladder to reach the top, as unnecessary as it was to be so frequently cleaned that high up. O didn't mind, he didn't question. O just cleaned. As he had always done and as he was programmed to do.
The first group of people arrived not too long after O finished his morning tasks. O was now at their beck and call. So he spent the morning running back and forth, helping out the dancers as they saw fit. A gopher. Water bottles here, a towel there, snacks for break. He was always addressed as "Drone" or some variation of that. Maybe "Dee" by those who liked to pretend he was a bit more human. In his head, he was Serial Designation O-001X10001 or just O. The full thing was rather annoying to think. Even more annoying to say, if or when someone asked.
And that was when it occurred to O that, at some point, he had started thinking. Not just in orders and tasks, but actual, sentient thoughts. It was strange, suddenly being and not knowing it. O was confused, a new, yet, somehow not frightening feeling. Could O feel frightened? Well, if he could feel confused, or curious, or calm, he most likely could. He. O had been referring to himself as a he. That was also interesting. The dancers had been referring to him as such for a long time, but O never had. He had always been an "it." Until now, O supposed. He really wasn't sure what happened there. Worker drones weren't meant to be "he"s, they weren't meant to have a name preference, or feelings, or opinions. O was very weird for this. It was weird that O thought he was weird. It was weird thinking a lot of things. Was this how humans lived all the time?
"Deedee!" One of the dancers, a young adult brunette, called for O. He hurried over. "Be a dear an' wear this for me, would ya?" Augustine, that was her name, held out a stereotypical pink ballerina costume. It wasn't an unusual request at all.
O dutifully put the outfit on. He liked it. It had a floofy skirt and-
"Almost forgot. Here's the tiara!" Augustine balanced the silver accessory on the rim of O's helmet. O felt very pretty right now. It was weird being aware for this game of dress-up.
O held perfectly still after the tiara was placed on his head. As expected, Augustine began making adjustments. She cut loose threads, carefully replaced lost beads, and delicately added more fabric to make it poofy-ier. O thought he would have done pretty well as a tailor's drone. Well, JCJenson drones were meant to seamlessly adapt to any task asked of them. It made sense that O was so comfortable doing any task assigned to him.
There was something so different about thinking. O could spend forever lost in his new thoughts.
"There ya are, Dee! All done! Mind givin it back?" O gave a polite nod and promptly returned the outfit. He wondered, for however brief a moment, how it would feel like performing on stage with it. Augustine plucked the tiara off his head and bounded off to wherever she was needed.
And O felt strangely alone. It was certainly the most unique of the feelings O had experienced in his very short time of being aware. Most everything else felt like it had been bubbling so close to the surface, spilling over just today. But loneliness? That implied dissatisfaction. And dissatisfaction implied defect. O already knew something was wrong when he realized he was conscious. But for such a negative feeling associated with his very being? O knew what might happen to him.
Drones weren't programmed to be unhappy. Unhappy drones were dangerous drones, rebellious. O had a brief thought of proving the company wrong, and then decided that was an even more dangerous line of thinking. He would just keep his head down and act like nothing changed. (Which, his subconscious unhelpfully provided, was essentially the same thing, just quieter)
And so that was exactly what Serial Designation O-001X10001 did.
O had decided that sentience wasn't all it was hyped up to be. He had been perfectly content in his life before he started being. He'd like to go back to that please.
Of course, you can't really stop being aware once you're aware, you know? So life continued as normal. O cleaned, polished, and posed; everything that was asked of him.
And after so many years of service, something changed.
Lacey wasn't new to the studio, per say. She hadn't been coming in as long as O had been working here, but she was around before O woke up a sentient being. She was a ballroom dancer. O loved ballroom dancing. He loved an awful lot of dancing, but he was never asked to join, for obvious reasons. No one wanted to humanize him anymore than they already did. It made things awkward.
Which is why he was so surprised and thrilled when Lacey requested him to be her partner to practice. O stumbled over his feet in his rush to help her. Which was probably a good indication of what was to come.
Now, O had been living his whole life around dancers of any kind. From the very moment he had been powered on, O had been stuck in the studio. He had never stepped a single foot beyond it's walls. Of course, he hadn't been sentient enough to be actively paying attention to any of the dancers until recently, but that was besides the point. He had spent every minute of his existence here, music and rhythm were ingrained in his very core. O wasn't confident in his ability to dance, having never done so before but he certainly expected better than-
"Bahahaha! Oh, Ducky, how did ya even-" Lacey was wheezing. O was in a pile of his own limbs. It was a miserable little pile, sitting there. O's digital cheeks were burning from embarrassment. "Up ya get!" Lacey grabbed under O's arms and pulled him to his feet. Once he was good and steady, O felt fingers brush against his display screen. "I didn't know ya could blush, Ducky."
O stood ramrod straight and froze. "I- Miss Lacey-"
"I see. Well, Ducky, that just means I can teach ya proper!" Lacey tugged on O's arm, leading him back to the center of the room. "What's your name, Ducky?"
"I am Serial Designation O-001X10001." O stated. Such a long name, but he was not about to make another mistake in front of Lacey.
"Ain't given yourself one?" He shook his head. He didn't know that had been an option. Aside from just being O, it didn't seem like he should have a name. It was- very human. But, if Lacey had no issue, who was O to complain? "All fine, Ducky. You're O?" Lacey tapped a finger to her chin, before straightening. "Got it! What about Owen! It should be familiar enough!"
"Owen..." O tasted the name. "Yeah! I think I like it" Lacey beamed.
"Okay! That's your name now, Ducky!" O smiled back. "Now. Dancing!" The smile immediately dropped. Lacey giggled.
Owen did not learn much that night. Lacey had been asking a lot of questions about O and his newfound life. O did not have a lot of answers for her. So they started working it all out together.
For example; Owen did not have a favorite color. Lacey used his master key to the building to get into a fabric closet. She grabbed as many different colored swatches of fabric as she could find. Lacey returned with her arms full of scraps and promptly dropped them in front of Owen.
"Okay, O. I've got every color in this building. Pick one!" Owen looked through them for over an hour. It didn't help that the textures were incredibly distracting. Pinks were nice, magentas. Teals were...
Teals were nice, but still not his favorite. Greens and blues were relaxing. But red. Owen liked red. It was deep and bright, and the red fabric was so soft."O? Are you okay?" N set a hand on O's shoulder. The cleaner was holding up a teal washcloth. He had spaced out. O shook his head and gave N a smile.
"Yeah." He assured the butler. O dipped the rag into the warm, soapy water. "N, do you have a favorite color?" The little butler tilted his head. O fought his visor to prevent a bright blush from painting his face.
"I like gold! It's a sparkly color! Silver is also sparkly... I like sparkles!" O smiled widely. "What's your favorite?" O looked down at the rag in his hand.
"Teal."
Before she left, Lacey gave Owen a question to find the answer for for when she came back. What was his favorite time of day? O did not know this. There were a lot of times of day, and Owen had experienced them many times. He had never preferred one over another, but then again, he didn't prefer much of anything until recently.
So Owen thought about it. Day was nice because it was bright and warm. Night was also nice, it was cool and quiet. Those inbetween hours of dawn and dusk, however? Owen thought those might be his favorite.
Time went on and Lacey and Owen continued to learn more about him. He couldn't taste anything, so favorite food didn't matter. His favorite animal was birds, but more specifically humming birds. Owen wasn't all that fond of plants, but there was a cactus on a window sill in one of the upstairs rooms that he had a particular fondness for.
And all this was learned while Lacey still tried to teach Owen how to dance. His movements got... Better? He didn't trip and fall so often. Of all the things Owen failed to be good at, it was quite disheartening that it was dancing.
Owen could never seem to get it right. It was still fun to dance with Lacey, though. So he cherished those moments.The moves flowed smoothly through O's body. Despite the somewhat restricting clothes, every step and flourish was perfect. Being a drone, his timing was impeccable, dancing to a silent, internal metronome. It was a sight to behold. A soft, awed breath that was not O's own swept across the ballroom.
"You're a wonderful dancer," An equally quiet voice breathed out. O opened one of his eyes, glancing over to where the voice had come from. "Eep! I shouldn't have- I didn't mean to-" O stopped dancing and smiled softly. In smooth, gliding steps, O made his way over to N.
"It's alright, N. Do you want me to teach you?" N stared for too long. O would have been worried if it had been anyone else in front of him.
"Yeah." N's voice was still quieter than usual. "I would love that."
Until it came to an end.
"Drone, come here." Owen walked up to the owner of the studio, as obedient as ever. "We have gotten a newer model. You are no longer needed. You will be taken to a disassembly center today." He gave a slight nod. It was the inevitable. Drones weren't meant for more. The dance studio had been nice while it lasted.
"Wait, Ms. Vanderhall, I could take him! I've been needing a drone, he doesn't need to be disassembled!" Lacey. Oh, she sounded so frantic. But Owen couldn't do anything about it.
"Nonsense, Lacey. It's an old model. Get something better. Drone, follow me." The owner walked out and Owen followed. He listened, it was what he had been programmed for. And he was still good at it, despite all this consciousness business.
He followed even when he heard Lacey's agonized cry for him. He couldn't break his most basic function even for his best friend. And it hurt.
Owen was loaded into the back of a car and driven away. He was let out sometime later at a disassembly center. It was... scary. And Owen knew that it was very likely he was the only drone who ever entered this place scared. Someone who worked there disabled his visuals, but Owen could still hear. He could hear the whirring of machinery and the folks talking about how to get him properly into the machine and- and- Owen could feel them attaching him to something, the humans started up the disassembler. And-O hadn't seen much of N for the gala. It made sense, of course, as O worked behind the scenes whereas N did not. N was likely out serving drinks or something. It was odd that he hadn't come into the kitchen at all for any reason, usually he found an excuse to see O. There was something wrong with it.
Taking a brief intermission from cleaning the endless amount of dishes, B was more than on top of that anyway, O went to the library. V could usually use some company during these busy times. He found the inactive maid and made sure she wasn't damaged or dirty.
Some dust was wiped off, and that was that. O did still have his job to attend to. And then he heard a scream. Familiar and so full of pain. N. It was coming from outside, and the only thing out there was- Was that stupid tree! O rushed over to the library doors, the ones that led directly to the tree. He threw them open and took his first step outside, he could see the tree, there was a new drone chained to the base. O needed to-
Pain flared through O's systems, he looked down and saw something going through his abdomen. He tried to tug himself off of it, N needed his help. But the thing was stronger, and before O could do anything, he was dragged into the basement.
O woke up again to a room bathed in yellow light, his body feeling wrong.
And Serial Designation O woke up.
WC: 2,653
"The only thing stopping me from having a dragon living in my backyard is the law. Absolutely nothing else."