#and that's the line of heresy he was walking

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Plato and Socrates as unordained high-priests - Ficino, I am once again asking how it is you were not done for heresy until the very end of your life. 

[muzansfangs]

His kink.

Starring: Satoru Gojo x f!reader; Suguru Geto x f!reader; Higuruma Hiromi x f!reader;

Format: short-imagines;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, anal sex, use of pet names, threesome (Satoru x f!reader x Suguru), slight degradation kink, blindfolds, sense deprivation (sight), use of alcohol but everything is consensual, use of cigarettes, overstimulation, dom!Satoru, dom!Suguru, sub!reader, dom!Hiromi, spanking, roleplay, clothed sex, teacher and student roleplay (fictional), small age gap between Hiromi and the reader, use of collar, oral sex (Hiromi!receiving), semi-public sex, implied exhibitionism;

Plot: You would do anything for your man. Even crossing some lines, allowing him to have the full control over your body. The moment you tell him to show you his kink, you watch in awe as his face lights up in delight and your body becomes a canvas for him to paint. Are you ready for him?

PART ONE | PART TWO.

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Satoru Gojo.

Threesome and sense deprivation.

It was supposed to be a simple date night with Satoru. Yet, the moment you saw Suguru, your boyfriend’s best friend, lighting up a cigarette on the balcony of Satoru’s flat, while the two men were allegedly involved in a convivial conversation, you knew it was time to explore that taboo in your relationship.

Your boyfriend’s ice-blue eyes locked with yours, a faint smile gracing his lips as he silently invited you to join them. Heart thumping hard into your chest, you did and accepted the flûte of champagne Satoru pressed in your hand. There was something different in the air that night, something electrifying in the way your boyfriend did not mind his best friend’s hand indulging on the small of your back, lips grazing the shell of your ear hazardously to whisper a silly joke to you. It was inevitable.

Hands curling around the edge of the railing, you arched your back as Satoru’s hands cupped your hips. His hot breath fanning your jawline, crotch pressing up against your ass, he eventually decided to speak out “Do you like him?” he whispered, nosing your cheek as you fluttered your eyes closed.

Suguru was a good-looking guy, hilarious as well, respectful towards you. Declaring you did not like him at all would have been a plain heresy, indeed. For someone like you, who valued honesty and trust above anything else in a relationship, lying about such things would have been the equivalent of defiling the pure bond you had with your boyfriend.

“Not as much as I like you. But I do” you admitted, head lolling back to rest onto his shoulder to peer up at a clearly excited Satoru.

The wolfish grin plastered over his face was enough to make your heart sink into your chest, the taste of the forbidden fruit only a step away from meeting your tastebuds. You had already talked about the possibility of involving Suguru into your sinful activities. Opening the door of your bedroom to him, your boyfriend’s best friend, someone you even liked and enjoyed the company of, did not sound that bad. Satoru wanted this. He was pretty clear about it, bringing up the topic whenever he had the chance to, going to the extent of not even restraining himself from whispering in your ear, balls deep into you, how much Suguru would have loved to feel your tight walls squeezing up his member. Or how much he would have loved to see you struggle to take his friend’s cock into you.

He had no shame, but who were you to chastise him?

“You know I am right here, right?” Suguru’s voice pierced your ears, making both of you crane your heads to glance at the raven-haired man putting out a cigarette on the ashtray settled on the coffee table.

“What a scandal. Are you offended, perhaps?” Satoru cooed, wriggling his eyebrows up as he gave you a gentle squeeze on your side to prompt you to walk back inside.

Suguru did not reply. You felt their gazes on you, boring holes on your backside and nape, almost stripping you of your clothes with their hungry eyes. Shivers ran down your spine, your feet leading you down the corridor and towards the bedroom, their footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor behind you. Stray dogs stalking a rabbit, Satoru and Suguru could barely restrain themselves from ripping your clothes off of your body and feast on you disrespectfully.

You knew exactly what to do. Satoru had made sure to instruct you ahead of time, seething with impatience for the day he could finally share you with Suguru.

Kicking your heels off of your feet, you stopped at the edge of the bed, eyes closed as a pair of strong hands engulfed your waist. That smell, that cologne were unmistakable. Peppermint and tobacco, definitely not Satoru. Your back leaned against the sculpted frame pressed against your spine, your neck craned as you peered up at a Suguru and his nihilistic smile.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that. I won’t be able to screw you up, if you give those eyes” Suguru chided you in the same exact moment that Satoru’s hand grasped your jaw and forced you to lock eyes with him.

His lips captured yours, sloppily, hungrily, his fingers skimming up your midriff before groaning softly against your mouth “Allow me to blindfold you, darling. I don’t want my friend here to feel remorse for having ruined a cute, little princess. He’s better at fucking whores. Won’t you be a whore for us, baby?” he crooned, earning a soft hum from you.

Before you knew it, your sight was gone. A silky black fabric pressed over your eyelids prevented you from seeing them. You were naked, scandalous moans erupting from your throat, as they thrusted into you aggressively. Your mouth kept on meeting Satoru’s one, sweet and tender exchanges of love and promises between you two, as he thrusted his hips upwards. He was hitting the perfect spot, making your thighs quiver as you held onto him for dear life.

But if your boyfriend whispered sweet nothings in your ear, the words coming out of Suguru’s mouth made your cheeks boil in embarrassment.

“Look at that. What a slutty bunny you got yourself. Two cocks inside and she still takes them as a champ” Suguru breathed out, groaning as he bottomed out.

Pleasure and pain mingled into you, as he abused your puckered hole. Arching your back, you could perfectly feel his rock hard abs brushing against your skin. His huge hands, calloused and strong, held you into place and prevented you from jolting forward more than it was necessary.

Unable to mutter something more than whimpers and whines, you let your orgasm wash over you, mouth agape as they dragged you down to join the haunts of Hell.

Suguru Geto.

Roleplay and clothed sex.

You had no idea your boyfriend was into roleplaying. Not until he saw you dressed up as a promiscuous nurse during the Halloween party Shoko had hosted last year and he had proceeded in rearranging your insides in her bathroom. From that day on, it was not unusual for him to ask you to dress up as various characters to feed his most depraved fantasies.

Cat woman and Batman, a mermaid and a pirate, the bunny and the wolf, the devoted nun and the devious priest. You had literally tried on every single costume you could think of. Or so you thought.

Pressing your thighs together, holding a chemistry book to your chest, you could not believe you had agreed to give a shot to the pornographic cliché everybody knew about. The checkered skirt you were wearing barely reached your buttocks, exalting your curves and revealing the virginal white thigh highs you loathed with every melocule of your body. Playing the part of the innocent student for the not-so-professional version of a professor, masterly played by Suguru, was turning out to be both intriguing and exhausting.

“You disappointed me, darling. — your boyfriend sauntered towards his desk, much to your dismay overlooking the balcony — Chatting with your friend during my class. That’s downright outrageous” he casually said, slender fingers gliding down the polished surface of the desk.

Hypnotized, your eyes drank in the way his fingers curled around the edge of the bureau, wanting nothing more than to feel them buried deep into you. He always had you in a chokehold, whatever he did or said. In the palm of his hand, you now proceeded to swallow your pride and portray your own part to please him.

“It won’t happen again, professor! I promise” you fretted, scurring towards him with doe pleading eyes begging him to be indulgent.

“You have been disrespectful, dear. Spare your breath, though. Even if I decided to accept your apology and desisted from putting you on detention, your indecorous way of dressing leaves me no choice but to send you home” he retorted, his tone authoritative albeit you could see the signs of his arousal showing up.

The prominent tent in his pants was the proof he could not keep this up for too long.

And, honestly, you could not neither. Darting your eyes back on his face, you pursed your lips and zeroed the distance between you two. Settling your book onto the desk at your right, you shook your head and made sure to get his attention by clutching the fabric of his shirt into your hands, consequently creasing it.

“Please, don’t! My parents will kick me out for real this time! Professor Geto, I beg you, I cannot afford another suspension. There must be something I can do to make amend!” you bewailed, flaunting a secret talent in acting exactly like that girl from back in high-school.

Having despicable classmates, apparently, had played in your favor.

Suguru grinned, his mask cracking under your own hungry eyes. He had to admit you were a talented actress, indeed. But more than your words, there were other details about you that he was particularly interested in at the moment. Your inviting eyes, the way you were pathetically clinging onto him, your bare legs. As much as he loved seeing you like that, he wanted nothing more than bending you over the desk and split your walls apart.

“Is that so? You poor thing, maybe I’ve been too strict towards you. — Suguru mused, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully, tapping steadily over the wooden surface with the pads of his fingers — You know, dear, I have just figured out a way to grant you the chance to make amend. Tell me, are you willing to do anything I ask of you?” he inquired, his almond brown eyes boring into yours as you eagerly nodded your head.

That was it. Before you could even blink your eyes, he had gripped your hips and spun you around. With your cheek pressed against the top of the desk, the edge sinking onto your hipbone rather painfully, you felt Suguru push a foot betwen yours and part your legs unceremoniously. You were mostly silent, except for the occasional gasps leaving your lips as he hiked your skirt up and gave generous squeezes to your ass.

He cussed, before his hand collided with your rear in a harsh spank, your body jolting forward for the impact. He knew you loved it, he knew the contrasting feeling of pain and pleasure meeting in a blurry line made you feral. Your cries only made him want to ruin you further and that is what he did, once he spotted the damp patch soaking your white panties.

“This will be our little secret, right, baby?” he huskily rasped out, the clinking sound of his belt unbuckled making you shudder.

“Yes, Suguru—” only for him to cut you off with another unforgiving spank, leaving you whimpering while his fingers tugged the fabric of your underwear to the side almost disrespectfully.

“Professor Geto” he hissed in your ear, one of his hand grasping the base of his cock to drag the tip up and down your slippery folds.

It was only the beginning of a rough session, your pussy clamping down onto him spasmodically, while your moans turned into notes to compose the perfect lewd melody you both loved to listen to. His thrusts were not gentle, but the way he made sure your hipbones did not get bruised by sliding his hands over them was affectionate.

“If only you put the same commitement I am seeing now into studying, you would not have to let your professor fuck you stupid now, is that not right?” he teased you, the hint of a laughter in his words as he went ahead. Apparently, he was still holding on tight into that roleplay shit.

The moment he reached his climax, his movements coming to an halt, he groaned through gritted teeth and bringing his lips close to your ear, he whispered a command he knew you would have followed unquestioningly “Go home and keep it all inside this slutty pussy. Keep it in your womb and I will give you more”.

And dear, how much you craved more of it.

Hiromi Higuruma.

Exhibitionism and use of collar.

Drool was running down your chin, the leather black collar fastened around your neck making you feel so vulnerable as you struggled to take all of him into your mouth. You did not have much space to move around too, hidden underneath the desk in a kneeling position. Your stressed out boyfriend had truly crossed the line this time and the worst part of it was that you always agreed in trying new experiences.

Under his lead, you helped him relax and release all of his pent up anger and frustration. Albeit there was a small power imbalance between you two, at least, in the bedsheets, you two worked together to bring out your worst and dark desires, reaching the apex of pleasure in such a delectable way that left you both satisfied in the end.

“A collar? Really? What am I to you, some kind of pet?” you had joked, quirking your eyebrow up as he was proceding in fastening the said accessory around your neck.

“You are far from being a pet, but I think you can use that tongue of yours to please me, instead of being sassy, my dear kitten” he replied in a casual tone, giving a playful tug to your collar. It suited you so perfectly. Honestly, he could not wait to ask you to wear it in the privacy of your bedroom.

As you shook your head and sighed, you pointed at the collar on your neck with a teasing expression on your face “Okay, I get it, but unless you want your colleagues to start gossiping about how indecent the best lawyer of the firm is, you have to unfasten it” you reminded him, winking at your boyfriend who was still contemplating the way the leather encircled your tender neck the same way his hand did during your rough session.

Yeah, those money he had spent on the collar had been definitely well-invested.

“Oh, please, I’m on my lunch break. No one’s going to annoy me for a while. Let me feel a perverse sense of power for ten minutes more, please” he implored you, dark coffee eyes boring into your landguidly, as he sat down onto his armchair.

You chuckled, standing between his spread legs tentalizingly, before sensually dropping to your knees “Well, in that case, let me purr for you” you suggested, hand reaching up for his belt and zip.

Skilful hands quickly getting rid of the clothes preventing your access to his dick, you finally pulled it out of his boxers. A few strokes and a deep grunt later, your mouth was wrapped around his cock, tongue teasing the tip to elicit those guttural and masculine moans Hiromi always let out around you.

His hand had fisted your hair, head lolling back on the head-rest, when someone knocked on the door. Your eyes went round, blood freezing in your veins as Hiromi’s grip on your hair almost made you wince out in pain. He glanced down at you, as you both realized it was too late to stop and you did your best to scoot more under the desk. He had to let that person in, there was no other choice but that.

“Come in” Hiromi said, after clearing his throat in discomfort.

As you heard his colleague walk in, you swallowed around him, causing Hiromi to let out a fake cough fit. It was not something you had done to tease him, you were actually paralyzed at the idea of being caught like that. But Hiromi was not having it. As you resumed your sucking and the man who had dared to interrupt his fellatio closed the door behind him on his way out, Hiromi hooked his fingers around the collar, pulling it tight against your neck.

You almost choked, as he groaned a tad louder “What was that? My pet has misbehaved, hasn’t she? Ah, I’ll gove this kitten something good to swallow for real this time” he sang out, the equivocal words sending chills down your spine as your little round played our smoothly.

At least, until Hiromi released down your throat without warning you. He had to admit you looked pretty like that, with drool and his sperm running down your chin as you coughed at his feet.

You were a good pet, after all.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I have finally posted the part two of my project! I truly hope you are going to like this part as well and thank you so much for the love you are showing to my works! As per usual, likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

x o x o

TAGS: @pseudowho @brittscafe @doumadono @mrskokushibo @axesfordays @gyomeisfavoritespermcell

@marinnnnnnnnn @deegausserr

[artyandink]

the art of heresy forged 2022

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, angst, smut, drinking, consumption of drugs, smoking, mentions of sex, blood, murder, gore, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), derogatory remarks, gunfire, murder, killing, lots of it, it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, crack, literal crack

STW: fingering, Ben being Ben, degradation, explicit spoken detail, practically manhandling

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Look What You Made Me Do by Taylor Swift

keep it quiet

NICARAGUA, 1983:

The sun hung low in the Nicaraguan sky, casting long shadows over the dense jungle. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to every leaf, every blade of grass, and every breath the small town's inhabitants took. A deep, unsettling quiet had settled over the place, punctuated only by the occasional call of distant birds or the rustle of leaves. The tranquility of the town was deceptive, however, masking the turmoil that had gripped the world beyond its borders.

In the heart of the town, a small news station buzzed with a rare energy. Reporters shuffled about, their voices tense, their faces drawn with concern. The camera lights were harsh against the evening gloom, casting sharp shadows on the walls of the makeshift studio. Outside, a handful of locals gathered, their curiosity piqued by the unusual activity. News had traveled fast, as it always did in small towns, and the disappearance of Soldier Boy was no exception. For the people of this remote corner of the world, the arrival of a famous superhero—however dire the circumstances—was an event worth witnessing.

Inside the studio, the main anchor, a seasoned reporter named Esteban Garcia, sat behind a worn wooden desk, straightening the stack of notes before him. His dark eyes were set with a determination that had been honed over years of covering stories that often blurred the lines between the ordinary and the extraordinary. But today, the story was unlike any other he had ever covered.

Esteban had been one of the first to receive the report that Soldier Boy, the legendary superhero and symbol of American might, had gone missing during a covert operation in Nicaragua. The details were still murky, shrouded in a haze of classified information and official denials. What was clear, however, was that the man who had once been invincible, the man who had been the living embodiment of strength and bravery, was now feared dead.

As Esteban shuffled his notes one last time, the door to the studio creaked open, and in walked a woman who seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. Crimson Countess was a striking figure; her red hair, usually fiery and untamed, was pulled back into a tight bun. Her crimson suit, once a beacon of power and confidence, seemed to have lost its luster, the fabric dull and wrinkled as if it, too, had been drained of life.

She moved with a heaviness that Esteban hadn't seen before, her every step measured, her every breath labored. As she approached the interview chair, he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly. This was not the Crimson Countess the world had come to know—the fierce, unyielding force that had fought alongside Soldier Boy for years. This was a woman on the brink, teetering between despair and the desperate need to hold herself together.

"Thank you for coming, Countess," Esteban said, his voice gentle but firm. He gestured to the chair opposite him, and she lowered herself into it, her movements slow and deliberate. "I know this must be an incredibly difficult time for you."

Countess nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she seemed unable to speak, her throat working to push down the grief that threatened to spill over. When she finally did find her voice, it was hoarse, raw with emotion.

"Difficult doesn’t even begin to cover it," she murmured, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, far beyond the walls of the studio. "I’ve… I’ve been through a lot with Soldier Boy. We all have. But this… this is different."

Esteban nodded, giving her the space she needed to gather her thoughts. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, with the weight of shared history and the looming specter of loss. Outside, the gathering crowd pressed closer to the windows, straining to catch even the faintest whisper of what was being said inside.

"He was… he is," she corrected herself quickly, as if to banish the thought of his death from existence, "the strongest person I’ve ever known. Indestructible, or so we all thought. To think that he could be… gone… it’s like waking up in a nightmare you can’t escape from."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she closed her eyes tightly, as if that could somehow block out the pain. Esteban felt a pang of sympathy. He had seen many interviews like this before—family members of the missing, the grieving, the lost. But this was different. This was Crimson Countess, a superhero, someone who was supposed to be beyond the reach of such ordinary, human emotions. And yet here she was, broken in a way that no enemy had ever managed to break her.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Esteban asked softly, careful not to push too hard, but knowing that the world was desperate for answers. "Anything at all that you know?"

Countess opened her eyes and looked at him. For a moment, she seemed to be weighing her words, deciding how much to reveal, how much to hold back. Then, with a deep breath, she began to speak.

"It was supposed to be a routine mission," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "We’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times before—go in, neutralize the threat, get out. But something went wrong. I… I wasn’t there when it happened, I was in a different part of the field, but I spoke to him on the comms. He was… he was confident, as always. He didn’t think anything could go wrong."

She paused, swallowing hard, as if the memory of that last conversation was too much to bear. "But then we lost contact. Just like that. One minute, everything was fine, and the next… nothing. No signal, no word. Just… silence."

Esteban leaned forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "And you haven’t heard anything since? No communication from Soldier Boy or anyone else on the mission?"

Countess shook her head, her expression one of helplessness, an emotion she was clearly unaccustomed to. "Nothing. It’s like they vanished into thin air. The government’s been tight-lipped, as always. They’re saying it’s classified, that they’re ‘looking into it,’ but I know what that means. They think he’s dead. They just don’t want to say it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. Esteban could feel the tension in the room rising, the weight of the world’s expectations pressing down on this woman who had spent her life fighting battles that most people couldn’t even imagine. And now she was fighting a battle of a different kind—one that she had no idea how to win.

"What does this mean for you, Countess?" he asked after a long moment, his voice soft with understanding. "For the team? For the world?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a deep, abiding sorrow. "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really don’t know. Soldier Boy was… he was the heart of the team. The backbone. Without him… I don’t know how we go on."

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words sinking in. Outside, the crowd had grown larger, their faces pressed against the glass, their eyes wide with fear and fascination. They had come to see a superhero, but what they were witnessing was something far more profound—a woman laid bare, stripped of the armor that had always protected her, struggling to make sense of a world that no longer made sense.

Esteban knew that he had to tread carefully now. He could see how close she was to the edge, how fragile her composure had become. But he also knew that the world was watching, waiting for answers, for some kind of closure. He took a deep breath, choosing his next words with care.

"Countess," he began gently, "the world has always looked to people like you and Soldier Boy for strength, for hope. In times of crisis, you’ve been the ones to lead us, to show us that even the darkest times can be overcome. What would you say to those who are watching right now? To those who are afraid?"

Countess stared at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something—perhaps a lifeline, perhaps an escape. When she spoke, her voice was stronger, more certain, as if she had found some small reserve of the strength that had always defined her.

"I’d say that fear is a natural response to the unknown," she said slowly, the words coming out measured and deliberate. "But fear can’t be the end of the story. Soldier Boy… he wouldn’t want us to give up, to let fear consume us. He’d want us to fight, to keep going, no matter how hopeless it seems."

Her voice grew steadier as she spoke, the words seemingly giving her strength. "I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know if Soldier Boy is… if he’s really gone. But I do know that he wouldn’t want us to stop fighting. He’d want us to keep pushing forward, to keep believing that there’s a way out of this, even if we can’t see it right now."

Esteban nodded, feeling a sense of respect for this woman who, despite everything, was still finding a way to inspire hope. "Thank you, Countess," he said quietly. "I know that wasn’t easy."

Countess managed a small, tight smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Nothing about this is easy," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But it’s what we have to do."

As the interview drew to a close, Esteban could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her body seemed to sag with the weight of it all. He knew that the moment the cameras stopped rolling, she would retreat back into the private hell she was living, the grief and uncertainty gnawing away at her resolve.

"Do you think he could still be out there?" Esteban asked, unable to resist the question that had been on his mind since the beginning of the interview. "Do you think Soldier Boy could still be alive?"

Countess looked at him, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation. "I have to believe he is," she said softly, the words laced with a fragile hope. "Because if he’s not… I don’t know how we move on from this."

The camera panned out, capturing the room in its entirety—the small, stark studio, the gathering crowd outside, and the lone figure of Crimson Countess, sitting in the harsh light, her face a mask of controlled despair. The broadcast would soon be over, but the impact of her words would linger long after the screen went dark.

NOW:

“Whatever you’re experiencing, it’s not real.” Your shrink - you still didn’t know whether her name was Emily or Earhart - assured you, but you knew better. “Vought only wants to help you get better.”

“They’ve been so called helping me for forty fucking years.” You gritted out, your fingers gripping the chair you were sitting on. The maroon chair, with some fugly beige cushions in this fugly beige room. You hated it.

Fuck all.

She sighed, leaning forward. “You exhibit signs of anger issues and PTSD. Vought is merely facilitating your recovery and return to glory.”

“They’re fucking with my head!” You burst out, standing up abruptly, surging forward and grabbing her throat, your eyes turning black, gleaming with wisps of purple. “Tell me the truth.”

Tell me the truth. It resonated through Eleanor’s head, and her eyes turned the same colour as yours, her jaw going slack as she stopped resisting.

“You’re not crazy.” She whispered, her eyes wide and unfocused. “You never were.”

You let her go, and her eyes returned back to normal, a shaky gasp escaping her lips. You bent forward, trapping her between yourself and the chair.

“You tell anyone what I just did, sweetie,” You warned lowly, “and I’ll snap your neck by the time I next come in here.”

“Of course.” She whispered, her voice cracking.

You sat back down on the armchair, cracking a smile as you examined the fear in her eyes. Good. “Shall we continue?”

They’d gotten into some weird shit.

“Is he always gonna be doing that?” Hughie whispered to Butcher, watching Ben crush some medicine and snort it like it was nothing. They’d broken him out of his cryogenic capsule, and it’s safe to say that he was an incredibly pissed off individual. Understandably so.

“Just let ‘im, it ain’t killing us.” Butcher replied under his breath, and then snapped into suave gent action when Ben cleared his throat and looked up. “Everythin’ alright, there, guv’nor?”

“Gotta add another name to my kill list.” He cleared his throat again, grunting distastefully.

“One more?” Hughie asked, eyes widening slightly, but he recovered. “Uh, w-who is that - the one you want to kill - who?”

Ben grunted again, snorting up more crushed pills. “Tricky bitch, she is. Superhero by the name of Psyke, she was my co-leader and fuck buddy. Real tricky to get past. She can create illusions that you’ll fall for if you’re a dumb piece’a shit, and if she gets her hands on you, game over.”

Butcher crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“One, she’s hot as fuck. And a great fuck.” Ben chuckled, reminiscing the days. “Second, she’ll just whisper a command and you’ll do it no questions asked.”

“No problem, guv.” Butcher smirked confidently, but Hughie raised his hand. “Put your hand the fuck down, we ain’t in school.”

“Cocksucker.” Ben snorted - not recreational drugs this time - drinking his beer. “What is it?”

“Psyke, she… she’s impossible to get to.” Hughie revealed, scrolling on his phone. “Apparently she had a psychotic outbreak after you were put in the freezer in ‘83. Vought’s holding her for rehabilitation and therapy. Has been for forty years.

Ben saw the picture of the old newspaper, the title blaring in his face. ‘Psyke in Rehab for Violent Behaviour’, but no explanation. It told him one thing— that you must have known something was wrong.

And Vought imprisoned you for it, the bastards.

There wasn’t a world in which Vought would imprison their darling, their golden girl. Not unless she went rogue.

“That means she’s deep in a Vought facility.” Butcher smirked, glancing between the two others. “We get the team together, launch an attack on the cunts holdin’ her, we can get her out quick an’ easy.”

Ben’s protective instincts over you flared up when he thought of what Vought could’ve done to you. “She gets out unharmed, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, guv. Not a scratch.”

Oh, fuck. You could go for one of those at the moment.

You were left on the ground, on your back, trembling. Your brain felt like it’d been stretched and then left to rebound against all four walls of your brain, close to turning into mush had you not been fighting the drug injected into your system with everything you had.

“She’s resisting.” You heard one doctor mutter to another, just as searing, white hot pain made the corners of your vision turn black.

And then they shaped into the nightmare land, taking over your vision until it was half reality half illusion, messing with your perception until you weren’t sure which was actually happening.

You could see Nicaragua.

The blood, being distracted by a legion only to find Ben being subdued by Novichok.

Fighting off every member of Payback, making them turn on one another with nothing but a hand on their shoulder and a persuasive whisper.

Getting hit with a cheap shot from behind, and both yours and Ben’s bodies were dragged across the dirt.

Only difference was that you were barely awake. Awake enough to see his unconscious face as they took him away and put him God knows where.

“Have we tried giving her a stronger dose?” A male doctor replied, the corners of your vision blinking from reality, back to nightmare, reality, nightmare, reality- nightmare—

Keys jangled. “We give her a stronger dose and she’ll go up in a stroke. Homelander wants her alive.”

“I don’t understand why, she’s a walking weapon.”

“Talking like I’m not there.” You rasped out, like you hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. A rough chuckle left your mouth as you shakily pushed yourself up, the pounding in your head still there but finding it easier to regain muscle control. “Ballsy move, especially for a couple of dickless scientists.”

You pointed at the lady. “You’re already dickless, so you don’t count.”

The two doctors looked between each other, getting more and more anxious as you found your feet, staggering towards them, almost shuffling, footsteps uneven.

“Uh, what are you-” They froze when you clapped your hands on their shoulders, leaning forward so you were speaking in their ears, your iris turning into gleaming purple mixed with black.

“Kill each other.” You whispered, and the command resonated. The urge to pick up their pens and go postal overtaking them.

Kill each other.

Kill each other.

It went through their mind, body, soul. Clipboards flattering to the floor as their irises turned black and swirled with purple, turning to each other slowly. Teeth gritting, veins popping as the two doctors looked into each other’s eyes with pure hatred and a chuckle left your lips as you watched them click their pens and go straight for the jugular.

Over and over again.

“Sleep tight, bitches.” You muttered in satisfaction just as armed Vought soldiers burst in, two forcing you to your knees while two others went to check the tangled, lifeless bodies of the two doctors running rampant.

And you did that.

It felt amazing.

1980:

Mmh, fuck.

“Bet you’re so wet for me, pretty thing.” Ben chuckled against your lips as you stumbled back into the his hotel room, the rapid undoing of clothes not privy to the two of you as the curtains were wide open. Everyone in the street below could see the filthy way yours and Ben’s lips joined together over and over again, eyes closed but hands familiar with where they needed to go to make the other moan.

Ben separated from you to go and close the curtains, leaving the taste of whiskey on your tongue, still in his slacks from the press conference while he’d ridden you of everything but that delicious fucking lace you’d worn under your dress.

He’d been eyeing you all day in that thing, and all he thought about was having it off.

“Didn’t have enough after coming like a faucet on my cock this morning, hm?” He added, toeing his shoes off and working on his belt, his lips descending to your neck and leaving hot trails of kisses and rough sucks. “Nah, you didn’t.”

Your hands slid up his chest, and then one went down to palm him over his slacks, which had the vein in his neck popping, jaw tensing as his head fell back for a quick second.

Then he took control of the situation, tearing your panties off and throwing you onto the bed, the bra going with it as he sank two thick fingers knuckle deep in your pussy.

“Shit-” You gasped, arching off the bed, your legs widening instinctively as he set a brutally delicious pace, leaning forward to lick and suck at your nipple, biting and tugging at it with his teeth at his fancy.

Ben only laughed, manoeuvring your body how he wanted, rocking your hips in time with his fingers, hearing your moans, seeing your eyes roll back, knowing you were close-

NOW:

“TMI.” Hughie groaned, putting his hand out and shaking his head. “Really, dude. Ew.”

Ben frowned. “TMI- the fuck does that mean?” He thought for a second, then waved Hughie off. “Eh, I don’t give two shits.” Then he chuckled at the memory, nodding and hitching his shield higher on his arm. “Psyke, man. Best fuck you could ask for. She’d ride me like a damn champ, knows how to suck you off too. Had a mouth like a goddamn vacuum-”

“As much as I want to hear about your old buddy’s jerkin’ off talents, guv,” Butcher cut in with a wave of his hands as they walked, “we have half an hour to get in an’ out.”

“We’ll get her.” Ben assured, finding a Vought guard and slamming his shield into their face, successfully breaking their nose and making them drop, crumpling like a wet sheet of paper.

“Fuck you.” He added, sneering at the unconscious guard before trudging further through the halls, Hughie and Butcher keeping up right as the alarms blared red.

The moment they did, you - in your cell - smirked, finding an opportunity. The guards were about to restrain you, but you used their grip on your arms to knock them into each other, rolling out of the way and grabbing their handgun, shooting them both once each in the head before anyone could react.

You barely dodged a bullet (literally), jumping and spinning, whipping your leg around so your heel could connect with the side of one’s head, snapping it sideways and sweeping another guard’s legs out from under them, grabbing their head and snapping their neck.

All the guards were down, so you got up, looking at the massacre - the art - you’d created with a small smile on your face and an approving nod.

“Cocksuckers.” You muttered under your breath before shaking your head, clearing the corners of your vision of Nicaragua, induced by whatever shit they put into your system. Wasn’t the good shit either, it was bad shit.

You really needed a smoke round about now.

But now wasn’t the time, so you picked up the guard’s assault rifle and pocketed a few rounds, making your way through the clinically white halls with it held up, popping a few rounds through the heads of the guards you met.

Eventually, of course, all your rounds were depleted soon enough, and you resorted to using your hands (and not in the sexy way), Nicaragua threatening to take over your vision

“You can check that way, guv, she might be there.” A voice with an accent said gruffly, and when you looked around the corner, you saw a boot disappearing down a side corridor, and two other guys. You stepped up behind the smaller one, your bare feet silent on the cold floor.

With a sharp movement, you grabbed the smaller one’s shoulders, yanking him against you as your powers activated again, ready to strike. “Move a muscle and I tell this one to dislocate his own shoulder. Maybe break a leg.”

“What the fuck- I don’t wanna break a leg!” The dude held to you squeaked to the taller guy, who turned around, taking one look at you and smirking.

“Guv, we found ‘er!” He yelled, and a large red and brown boot stepped out, connected to a much larger body that you knew all too well. Only difference was that his hair was darker and he had a trimmed beard. Oh, you’d have fun with that - you mused, right as a grin spread on your face.

“Son of a bitch.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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[moodymisty]

Just had a thought for a cute fic request. What if Lady Guilliman catches some nobles/inquisitors/clerics complaining about and insulting her husband behind his back, and just goes off on them. "How dare you! He's doing a fantastic job!" And what if Guilliman overhears his usually patient, even-tempered wife vehemently defending him? Just a sweet, supportive spouse moment. Because that man desperately needs it.

I know you're probably overwhelmed with requests right now, so I just want to encourage you to relax and take your time. No rush. We're grateful for whatever you give us, whenever you decide to give it.

Author’s note: Something short and sweet, and a bit funny XD

Relationship: Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None really

You aren't entirely paying attention to the conversation at hand, drifting in and out of interest until there's a moment that catches you again.

"I just worry about his, lack of interest."

You can infer by the quieter tone- the way they emphasize he - that they're referring to Guilliman. It's then that you realize that while these deacons and pontifices know that you are under the banner of the Ultramarines for your duty, they do not know your close relation to Guilliman at all.

"He had the cherubs removed,"

Another deacon says, her voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes dart between them all to feign interest so they'll keep speaking grievances in your company.

"I heard from one of the priests that he doesn't even allow them to say the armoring rights when he dawns his armor!"

You will admit you found that odd, at first. Then over time Guilliman has explained to you the galaxy he came from wasn't like this, and you understand now that the vehement nature of the current Imperium's worship over the Emperor is not something he has wished for.

He would've hated this. This galaxy now spits on the ideas he created us for. This all would've disgusted him.

You wish you could understand what he meant, but, it's the Emperor. Even you struggle to think about him not being seen as a god.

"What is going to happen if we allow a man who borders the line of heresy like this to lead us?"

You clench your fists, and open your mouth to speak unable to hold your tongue any longer.

"Lord Guilliman?"

The primarch looks up at the Ultramarine who approaches. His face seems, apprehensive? He nods at the man to continue speaking.

"Your lady has gotten into a fight with some of the Ecclesiarchy's deacons. They have begun to issue accusations of heresy at her in return."

Guilliman finds himself walking towards the marine sooner than he'd expected. The surprise of this, let alone that you are involved- and possibly in no shortage of trouble - is not something that he had expected.

"Where is this happening?"

Guilliman had known you would probably come into contact with the deacons at some point, but a fight? He rushes behind the Ultramarine through the halls, and soon hears your voice.

"If you are so upset over his choices, how about you just tell him yourself!"

Guilliman steps into the room and sees you pointing down a pontifice, face twisted with anger. You are spouting insults, some of which he has never heard before; Though he's sure by the expressions of surprise and anger on each of the deacons and pontifices faces that they are not insults used by the faint of heart.

"You all seem quite eager to accuse him of heresy, but you do know you're accusing the Lord Regent, correct? What does that make you if you're wrong?"

The pontifice at your center attention purses his lips and recoils, as his own vehement faith is thrown back at him.

"I suggest you all shut your mouths and let the Primarch who walked beside The Emperor himself decide what is best for all of us."

The primarch stands back for a few moments longer than he thought he would, watching you. The way you have defended him so vehemently, most would simply allow them to spout their lies before skittering away; To avoid the hammer of a institution so powerful as the Ecclesiarchy.

While it is most important to prevent you from getting into trouble, he can't help but feel... Prideful. He is not used to being the one defended.

Guilliman approaches before anyone decides to escalate things any further. Once the deacons notice him they quickly shut up, and you turn to look up at him in surprise.

"My men told me you all had gotten into an argument," He looks down at you. "Your shouting has given me all the context I believe I need."

Your mouth stays firmly shut as Guilliman turns to the others, and you wonder what the consequences of your outburst will be.

"I suggest you all learn to keep your muckraking to yourself. Or bring it up with me, if you're so bold as to accuse me of heresy." Guilliman nods in the direction away from him.

"Leave."

They waste no time in doing so, not forgoing proper farewells before shuffling away with tails between their legs. Guilliman has had more than his fair share of issues with them as they skitter around the Macragge's Honour, so he's eager to shoo them back into their rat holes for a bit longer. Once gone, Guilliman turns to you.

"You, have an even bigger mouth than I thought."

You raise your eyebrows at him and try not to laugh; It takes Guilliman a second to understand why and his face warms and wrinkles.

"That is not what I meant."

He shakes his head and continues his earlier thought without your inappropriate interruption.

"You cannot be getting into such big fights with these men and women. They have significant power."

He takes a kneel, putting his hands to your jawline.

"I, appreciate you defending my honor. But I do not need it. Do not waste your effort on the likes of them." You smile and nod.

"I will try but, no promises."

Guilliman leans forward and kisses your forehead.

"In this modern day, that is good enough."

[solspina]

Where is a Line for Justice Drawn?

magnus the red ⋆˙⟡

a short little blurb i threw together while i was trying to lull myself to sleep last night! not heavily edited, so i apologize for any mistakes!

heresy is unforgivable, and magnus knows this better than anyone. psykers are heretics, and leman russ knows this better than anyone. the blood of the crimson lady and a young red skinned girl is the only way to pay the price.

warnings: major character death, child death, mentions of burning/heavy injury, angst and more angst, leman is very cruel

Pride will be the death of you.

Among his brothers, it was a common misconception that the pride of Magnus the Red lay solely in his power and knowledge of the unseen universe. They believed that he took the most pleasure from understanding things even the emperor didn’t, or took great joy in knowing more than the rest of them.

Their judgements were far from the truth, for it lay instead in the things they failed to see. His pride was a perfect two sided coin, one in which the sides belonged to different women respectively, none other than his wife and daughter. His brothers knew not of this, all of them besides Leman Russ.

Leman knew the truth. He knew where the sorcerer buried his deepest weakness, it was within that pathetic psyker of a wife and the vibrant red skin of his half divine daughter. He knew of the heresy that had been committed by Magnus upon prospero. He knew how to bring Magnus to his knees. He knew that Magnus feared him.

Perhaps that was how Magnus had gotten into the position he was in today.

His wife lay motionless on the floor, her pure white robes were bloodstained and dirty, an indication that she had tried to run away. An arrow was nestled carefully between her shoulder blades, penetrating her heart and pulling her away from life incredibly slowly.

Magnus knelt by his wife’s side, weeping ever so slightly as his heart shattered further with every passing second. He avoided the gaze of Leman who stood across the room. The crimson king’s infant daughter was still in the arms of the wolf, but her voice no longer cooed sweet nothings into her father’s ears or babbled at absolutely anything. Her skin, the same color as his, now paled in comparison to its once vibrant beauty. His child was lost, gone before she could ever say her first word or experience premonition.

Aside from the great king’s gentle sobs, the crackling of flames and the screaming of entire families could be heard outside. The noises, along with the suffocating smoke in the air, came from the streets of Prospero as it burned.

“One of them felt no pain, Magnus” Leman’s voice echoed across the room as he looked down upon the crimson skinned child, not a wound on her body. He didn’t want to know how she died. He wanted no knowledge of what the wolf did to his daughter. “The other, though…”

Bruises and small cuts had completely littered every inch of his wife’s perfect skin, a surface that Magnus used to caress with such gentleness and care. It was undeniable that she would put up a fight. Inevitable that she would try to run, only to be shot through her most vital organ of life the moment she made it into Magnus’ arms. Unavoidable that Leman would walk into the room immediately after the shot was fired, their daughter lifeless in his arms.

Even now, she clung to him with the last few moments of life she had within her. Her hands were placed upon the primarch’s shoulders as she shook in terror against him.

“Please” her voice trembled as tears spilled from her eyes. “I don’t want to die… I’m scared, Magnus…” Her expression was full of fear and her voice was barely above a whisper. He could tell from the way she looked at him that she was desperately seeking comfort, but he failed to grant her that wish. He wanted to reassure her, to tell that everything would be okay, but his words caught in his throat.

He was frozen, unable to process the gravity of the situation. He could not bear seeing her afraid like this, nor could he bring himself to lie to her. Helplessness washed over him like crashing waves, pulling him in and out of reality as he cradled her in his arms, one last time. “Magnus,” she spoke once more, her words weakened as she became tired, his own voice still failing him to speak. “I love you…”

In the blink of an eye, she was gone. An incredibly broken “I love you too” finally made it’s way out of his throat, but far too late for her to hear.

Leman laughed maniacally, sickeningly. “A death fit for a psyker.” He spat, venom and contempt dripped from his voice. He walked across the room with a chilling calmness, Magnus’ daughter cradled in his arms. With a grotesque mockery of calmness, Leman placed the lifeless baby gently in her cradle. He had covered the young girl with her blanket, creating a display as if she had merely been asleep. He was teasing the weeping crimson king with every action, the cruelty of the executioner in its most pure form.

“My work for father is done here” claimed the wolf, his teeth beared in a smile as he looked down upon the pathetic excuse for a sorcerer cradling his wife. “Heretics are to be executed, brother” Leman declared, his voice cold and unyielding. He before turned on his heels as he prepared to exit Magnus’ tower, his tattered cloak billowed behind him. “You should know better.” were his final, cutting words to the crimson king as he left him to drown in his grief. His beloved tower, once home to both his family and infinite pillars of knowledge, had come to feel like more of a tomb.

Magnus carefully removed his wife from the ground and placed her down on their bed, one they shared while she was alive, before making his way to the cradle his daughter lay in. He lifted her from her bed and away from the blankets that Leman had tainted with blood, the face of the babe was peaceful and serene despite all that had happened, despite her lack of life. He opted to lay the baby in the arms of his wife, allowing the only two things that mattered more than knowledge to appear together one final time. He looked upon them with sorrow, trying desperately to convince himself that the two of them were simply sleeping. It had just been a long day and they were tired, that’s all this was.

His hands trembled as he caressed the baby’s cheek, her face illuminated by the bright orange flames that raged outside. He lay his own body next to the two women, one arm over the both of them. He spoke to them, sharing with them stories and knowledge that even humanity had not yet touched, they never would. Prospero burned, and the unrelenting flames would not cease.

Perhaps it was not selfish for the primarch to allow himself the liberty of dying next to his wife and daughter. The flames that burned his skin could never match the warmth the girls used to provide when they lived, and he’d take every ounce of the fading heat until he emitted none of his own.

Would it be selfish to become the monster that Leman had suspected? Would it be selfish to wish for change?

[ms--lobotomy]

Greek myth on the mind. Teehee. Also tagging @angronsjewelbeetle because he lets me go apeshit about Ferrus.

Summary: You've fought your way to the palace of Slaanesh. It's time to bring Ferrus home.

Word Count: 1979. oops

Content Warnings: Slaanesh should be his own content warning but things are only implied, a few headcanons happening here, short flashback to nsfw

Image Credit: @squishyowl

Entering the palace of Slaanesh was a grueling affair, to say the least. Countless times you had almost fallen to the Dark Prince, but every time, you remembered your fallen lover and soldiered on. You hadn't taken off your armor off for... days? Weeks? Months? You couldn't tell. The features of your face had hardened under your helm, and you only had one goal in mind. Bring him home.

You entered the palace with surprising ease, keeping your eyes upon the floor. Statues lined the halls, but you weren't going to look up and see what they were. Now more than ever, it was important to remember not to gaze upon the Dark Prince himself, lest you become another casualty of the Heresy.

You heard heavenly choirs singing the same song that you had sung with your lover years ago. Your hand clutched the pommel of your chainsword, something stolen from one of his sons. It was far too big for you, but you learned to live with it. As the chorus reached a crescendo, he strode out of the back of the palace, impossibly tall. You kept your eyes on the ground, finding patterns in the seemingly simplistic floor and admiring the viscera staining your shoe.

"Mortal," the Dark Prince said. His voice was that of a human man and human woman speaking at the same time. It reverberated through your body, and if you didn't know better, it would have been velvety and comforting. "What is your purpose here?" He inched closer to you, and you ducked your head further down.

"Give him back," you said in curt tones. You pulled the sword out of its scabbard, in case things were going to get ugly.

Slaanesh laughed. It was a contagious laugh, but you kept your face straight. "You won't even try to kill me, mortal?" he asked. His voice grew deeper and more monstrous. "You have the opportunity to rid the galaxy of one of its greatest threats, my dear. And you won't even try?"

"Give him back," you replied.

Slaanesh stooped down to get as close to your level as he could. "And why should I do that?" he asked, almost in a mocking tone.

Your mind moved faster than you could speak. "Think about it," you said. "Would you not have the pleasure of watching the Phoenician as he realizes his brother is back, for real, and that he has a second chance of making him fall?" You heard Slaanesh pause before he hummed something, and his robes rustled as he presumably turned around.

"Very well," he said, his voice morphing into something much more human. "You may lead your lover out of the Palace. On one condition."

You tensed up, ready for anything. "What would that be?"

"You will not, under any circumstances, turn around to look at him until you are out of my domain."

You exhaled. That was a lot better than you thought it was going to be. "Alright," you replied.

"His soul will be reunited with you once you turn around. After that, I want you out of my sight." Slaanesh stood up and turned around, walking back through the gigantic doors of the palace.

That was... easy enough. You turned to exit the palace, and you heard the sounds of none other than a Primarch breathing behind you. Ceramite creaked and shuffled over the impossibly shiny floor.

"...Ferrus?" you asked in disbelief. You undid your helm, and it made a light hiss.

He said your name, similarly bewildered. You heard his voice crack, and soon enough sobs wracked his body. "Is it over?" he asked, his voice choking up.

"It's over," you said. You wanted to turn around so badly, to hold him and tell him that Slaanesh's torture had ended. But you had to settle for words, for now. "You're going to be okay, Ferrus. It's over."

"Thank you..." he choked out, and you put one foot in front of another and began to walk forwards.

-6-

The Excess of Repose was gorgeous. It almost reminded you of the shores of your homeworld, where you would retire with him after a particularly strenuous campaign. The sun was slightly above the horizon, slowly but surely rising above the gentle waters. You looked to the violet clouds. You paused.

"Everything okay?" Ferrus asked.

"Yeah..." you said, fondly remembering the brush of his hand along your shoulder and back as he woke you up. Briefly, you felt a featherlight kiss at the crown of your head before you shook yourself back to reality.

"I'm alright. Let's keep going."

-5-

Soon enough, you reached the Excess of Achievement. It was a great forest, with faces in the trees. They wailed tales about great heroes that had went through the forest before, your name escaping their mouths. You felt your pace slow, the heat of your lover's body come closer behind you. Ferrus chuckled, and then sniffed.

"You're a hero," he said quietly.

"I..." you started. "If that's what this makes me, I'll take that label."

Ferrus chuckled. "It suits you very well, my diamond."

Your heart swelled again at the moniker. You'd missed him, you'd missed the feeling of his hands and his skin against yours. You missed when he would put his head against your chest and feel your heartbeat. You missed him. You missed feeling him, you missed his voice, you missed his face.

-4-

But you soldiered on. And soon you saw a swarm of people approaching you. Serfs and Iron Hands alike were running towards you, chanting your name and excitedly jostling one another. Ceramite and leather alike hit the ground, and they swarmed around you like a pack of wolves.

"That's... That's Ferrus Manus!" exclaimed one of the sons. A relieved laugh escaped his helm, and one of his brothers hit his back.

"Not just Ferrus!" he exclaimed. "The Savior of the Iron Hands is here too!"

You tensed up at the word "savior." Even if their genefather was back... there was no way that the Iron Hands would be so jovial in your presence. Back before Ferrus had passed, his sons were less than friendly towards you. They'd regarded you with a blank stare at the best, and hurl insults at the worst.

"Please," you started, edging your way through the crowd. "Be gone. I need to get your father back to the material realm."

The crowd started to protest, following you along. You broke into a run, listening to Ferrus's saunter speed up to a normal walk. As soon as you lost them, you laughed.

"I think that was the Excess of Adoration," you said, your pace slowing. You exhaled with a bit of a laugh. "I'm glad that's at least over."

"Yeah..." Ferrus trailed off. "Do hurry though, my dear. I am getting a little... anxious?" he said.

-3-

Soon enough, the scenery changed again. You could smell the air through your helm. It smelled like metal, dried vanilla. Beautiful forms entangled with each other, difficult to look at. One came up to you, a Daemonette with harsh features and built like a brick wall. You made easy work of it with your chainsword.

"Excess of Bodily Delights," you said.

Ferrus chuckled. "You don't have to worry about me leaving you here," he said.

"Me too," you said. "We're over halfway through now, my love. Just bear with me a little while longer?"

Ferrus shuddered. "I will," he said. You thought of when you lay together in bed, barely taking him while he whispered that he loved you, that he wasn't going anywhere. You shuddered. You couldn't get the expression on his face out of his head, that expression that was normally so cold but absolutely melted when he saw you taking him so well. Those kind words on his lips. The adoring look in his eyes.

-2-

Despite these thoughts, you made easy work of this realm, moving steadily towards the Excess of Sustenance. His face was on your mind, scarred and tough, and you couldn't even focus on any of the pleasures in front of you while you walked.

"I'm so glad you came for me," he said quietly after a moment of silence. "I cannot thank you enough."

"Of course," you said, stepping in a puddle of wine. "You only have to tell me as much as you're comfortable with."

"Thank you," he muttered.

You wanted so badly to turn around right then and there, and you tilted your head, but you'd stepped in a puddle and wine coated your shoe. You looked down. Your armor was silver and black, just like Ferrus's legion... long ago. Now, there were so many stains on it that you couldn't tell what color it was. But you would wash it when you got back into realspace.

You walked onto a bridge, and it creaked behind you. It seemed impossible for the rickety thing to support a man as large as Ferrus, but the Warp was full of surprises. You were hungry. So, so hungry. But thoughts of Ferrus consumed you, bleeding you dry. You thought of meals you'd prepared for each other, neither of you being the best of cooks but enjoying each other's food and company anyways. You'd thought of him taking care of you after you'd had too much wine, setting you on the bed and watching you like a dog as you went to sleep.

-1-

And soon enough, you made it to the land of the Riches. Gold surrounded you everywhere, but you hadn't any thoughts of riches on your mind. You were bringing a Primarch home, of course you'd be rewarded handsomely for it. Your thoughts were on Ferrus. His face, his arms, his everything. You took your helm off as you saw realspace on the horizon. Freedom.

But Ferrus. You wanted desperately to hold his face in your hands. You thought of him, idly talking to you about his latest project, you in his lap. You thought of sleepless nights where he'd stayed up with you, his diamond, grasping your hands in his. The tender look on his face that replaced the near constant scowl that adorned it. You wanted to see it again. You wanted him.

Without thinking, you turned around.

"Why do you turn?" he asked, reaching out for you. There was a scar along his neck, but he looked just like he did when you last saw him. There was a worried expression on his face. His form flickered in and out of the space he was occupying.

You felt your heart seize in your chest as you grabbed for him, interlocking your fingers with a large iron hand before his was all but intangible. You leaned towards him and he steadied you in a brief moment of bliss before he couldn't, and you fell to the ground. You felt a lump form in your throat, and you choked up.

"I missed you," you said, your breaths turning into sobs. "Ferrus, please. I need you like I need the air I breathe, the blood in my veins."

-0-

Slaanesh swirled a drink in his hands as Ferrus materialized in his palace. A look of pure terror adorned Ferrus's face, and Slaanesh did nothing but laugh.

"Your pretty little lover couldn't save you," he said in a mocking tone.

"They tried their damnedest." Ferrus's head was low, and his eyes were beginning to wet. Even if he wanted to look upon Slaanesh, he couldn't.

"Of course they did. It was only a matter of time before they looked at you," Slaanesh replied. He put the drink to his lips, lapping it up with that long tongue of his. "Do you think I would have allowed them this far in without knowing?"

Ferrus dropped to his knees, ceramite cracking against the ground. "Do not torture me further, daemon. Would you not have turned?"

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Silver, Azul: Equal Parts Noble and Naive

... Why's he making a Malleus "r u lost bby ghorl" face while also copying Lilia's chin-in-hand pose/Malleus’s Dorm Uniform pose 🤡 There's another Malleus parallel in the vignettes; Silver comments on the same Philip-Aurora dancing painting (that is shown in Malleus's Groovy) and says that he took up dancing too since he admired the prince. Boy was ready for GloMasq/j Malleus glaring at the happy couple and Silver determined to stand firm against a fearsome foe... ;v;

I don’t know if I should be concerned or not given the Groovy and potential foreshadowing for book 7 😂 since there’s fan theories about how Silver could be the “sword” that slays the dragon… *rubs hands together* but it would be fun if it happened…

Fun fact about this Groovy: it had to be corrected because during the initial drop the devs forgot Silver's eyeshadow www The first time this mistake happened, I believe it was on Platinum Suit Vil's chibi.

A Tale as Old as Time.

There was a magic to two sets of parallel lines, bound together to form a quadrilateral. A great number of things could be contained within it. Upon a storybook's page or a painter's canvas, endless possibilities and mystical beings.

Silver gazed at one now.

A spindly dragon, horned and with massive spines protruding from its back, was poised in a platinum frame. Its belly was a violent shock of violet, its scales black as the night. Leathery wings splayed, gaping maw glowing green, trails of smoke exuding from its nostrils, the fearsome beast was prepared to strike down any warrior foolish enough to approach it.

"This is the Thorn Fairy in her dragon form," Silver murmured, his expression set in seriousness. "I'd always dreamed of seeing it for myself someday."

"How wonderful that your dream has now become a reality," a slick voice crooned. It belonged to Azul, who had sidled up to him like an all-too-eager used car salesman. "Ah, but you seem to be troubled. What ails you?"

“It's just... for the Thorn Fairy to have assumed this form, it means she felt as though she was in danger. Someone may have threatened her or put her in this situation."

“That’s true.” Azul nodded. “As I recall from our Magic History lectures, fae tend to be reclusive creatures with rather tumultuous relations with other races.

“In the days when magic was branded as heresy, fae were particularly ostracized due to their natural affinity for it. Humans far and away wide feared them. It's possible that this painting depicts a struggle of a similar nature."

“A struggle…” The corners of Silver’s mouth turned down. “Yes, humans and fae have historically been at odds with one another. We are fortunate to live during an era of relative peace."

“Quite! My own people—the merfolk—have also had a strained relationship with humans. It was through the union of a mermaid princess and a human prince that we were able to begin efforts to mend that bond. I am most gracious to them! It is because of the mermaid princess that I’m afforded the opportunity to study on land.”

“That’s great, Azul. I’m happy for you.” Silver gave a smile that was as softy and airy as dandelion fluff. “It’s nice that we’re able to meet and share ideas with people from different walks of life. It makes the world a richer place.”

He looked to the painting again, his eyes tracing the curved horns of the dragon and stopping at the sharp tips. His liege, too, had a pair like those.

“… As much as I hate to admit it, it will be a while before fae and humans can reach that level of understanding." Silver folded his arms. "Sebek says the differences are too numerous, but I… I want to believe that we are capable of bringing about that kind of a future.”

His vision, so clear, so pure. It sparkled like the face of a polished mirror.

Azul pushed his glasses up, his hand concealing a smirk.

"Fufufu. Perhaps it is possible to achieve with your endless optimism and empathy, Silver-san. After all, I don't believe I've witnessed you losing your cool even once with Malleus-san, Lilia-san, or Sebek-san. That kindness and patience is your strength, stronger than any sword you could wield."

He pretended to hesitate. "Though... I do wonder what should happen if--no, never mind. Please forget that I said anything."

"What is it? You can tell me," Silver reassured him. Dread surged up from his stomach--but the spike soon settled.

"Well--" Azul made a little show of choosing his words carefully, as though he were thoroughly coming through ingredients lined up on a shelf. "Consider: what happens if the day comes when you are forced to point your sword at your master?"

"At Malleus-sama?! I can't imagine..."

"If, if. This is entirely hypothetical," his peer tutted. "Let us say that Malleus-san were to make a decision--a decision which has dire consequences for you, for all of humankind. Silver-san, would you be able to salvage that precarious peace?"

Surprise lasted for a second before it vanished from the knight. Back was a quiet stoicism, steel sharpening the delicate colors to his gaze. A hand clenching his chest, as if to keep his heart still.

Finally, he spoke.

"I will do what has to be done. I will not back down. If there comes a time when my lord strays from his path and into the darkness, then it is my duty as his retainer to return him to the light."

“And you are not concerned for what awaits you in the aftermath?”

“No,” Silver replied matter-of-factly. The answer was simple. “I will offer my hand.”

“I beg your pardon?! Am I hearing this correctly? You plan to help the person you just opposed back up after you defeat them?”

“That’s the right thing to do. Everyone deserves a chance for their feelings to be heard. If we listen, then we can find a solution together and keep the same misunderstanding from happening again. That’s my hope.”

His wish was like the buoyant notes of a bell. Clear, crisp, resonant. It flitted up, rising above the boys’ heads, at last bursting like a bubble and letting the words rain down on them in thoughtful flecks.

"… I see,” Azul mused. “So that is the type of person you are."

How noble. How naive. It seems that Silver-san is a very bit like the prince from the story he so deeply cherishes. Neither will recoil from foes, no matter how formidable.

The valuable piece of information, he tucked away for a rainy day. With his probing settled, Azul brought his hands together and flashed a winsome grin.

Here was a hero in the making, and he, the sponsor to the champion.

“Your character is commendable!! I look forward to witnessing your many friendship-fueled triumphs.”

[thedorkurge]

hey!! i absolutely adore your durgetash works, especially 'heresy'! i cannot wait for new chapters to drop <3 if you're taking prompts though.... can i get some gortash and the slayer form? particularly if we get feral slayer who still gives gortash special treatment (my guilty pleasure lol) either way thank you for sharing your works, they're absolutely lovely

Thank you so much! I hope I did the prompt justice<3 (And I'm working on Heresy, promise)

You can read it under the cut or on ao3

Morbid Fascination (2,5k)

There were many ways Enver liked to spend a nice summer evening. This wasn’t one of them. 

It was supposed to be a simple job, intercepting a shipment of crystals for his Motivators, stealing them from under the nose of an arrogant baldurian businessman who was unlikely to have decent security. 

He had miscalculated.

Now they were pinned down on the upper floor of a large warehouse, ducking behind crates with their stolen goods as guards sent arrows and spells their way.

And his bhaalist accomplice was frustratingly calm. 

“A little more urgency would be appreciated.” Enver’s tone was sharper than normal, the stress of the situation getting to him. Durge, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm, flipping a dagger in his hands as he waited for their opponents to come closer. His keen eyes never left the guards, yet he didn’t seem to be in a rush.

“I’ve got it covered.”

“Really? Because I wouldn’t consider the situation covered in any sense of the word.” He ducked slightly as some manner of fire spell burned through the top of his improvised barricade. Durge hadn’t even bothered to counterspell it.

“Even after all this time, you still doubt me.” It would have sounded like an accusation, if not for the amused grin on Durge’s face.

The dragonborn peeked around the corner, finally tucking his dagger into his belt, apparently deciding that their foes were close enough.

Enver knew his companion was slightly mad, but seeing the sorcerer walk directly into the line of fire still startled him. “What the hells are you doing?” 

He cursed slightly under his breath as Durge ignored him, preparing to waste more expensive healing potions on the reckless bhaalist.

The bhaalist in question was standing in the center of the room, untouched by the barrage as a shielding spell shone around him. 

And yet, he doubled over as if in pain. 

Enver watched with morbid curiosity as Durge’s claws sank into the skin on his face and shoulder, splitting it to release what lurked beneath. Sharp spines pierced through skin, a painful sign of what was to follow.

In a flurry of blood and teeth, massive limbs unfolded from the dragonborn’s body, each adorned with a plethora of razor sharp spikes. Four jaws opened in a bone-chilling scream towards the sky, as if the beast was celebrating its momentary freedom. Or perhaps just the bloodbath it was about to create.

The Slayer. 

A creature he had read about, but never seen in the flesh. He had thought it a lost magic, destroyed by Bhaal’s fall.

He never suspected that Durge possessed that particular ability.

Enver was granted a reprieve from the assault as the terrified guards aimed their spells and weapons at the most prominent threat, allowing the banite to peek his head out enough to witness the carnage.

The Slayer moved with a speed that seemed almost unnatural for its size. Not that any part of it seemed natural- It was born from Bhaal’s darkest desires, after all. Enver barely had time to register anything but a flurry of claws and flesh, coupled with the last pathetic attempts at resistance from the guards. The creature showed no mercy, reducing the guards to piles of viscera in mere moments. Its limbs dug and tore through bodies with terrifying ease. 

And then, as suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped. 

The creature was covered in burns and shallow cuts by the time the dust settled, but it didn’t even seem to notice. Enver strongly doubted that there would be even a scratch on Durge when he transformed back- transmutations were handy like that. 

Silence permeated the room-turned-battlefield, only broken by the faint sound of the Slayer’s clicking and chittering. It showed no sign of turning back into the Dark Urge’s dragonborn form as it scanned the room for prey. 

And then Enver moved. 

The debris shifted slightly under his boot, making the Slayer’s attention shift to him in an instant.

He was the only living being trapped in a room with murder itself.

Enver wasn’t easily scared, but he felt a cold wave of fear climb up his spine as the Slayer moved closer.

To his surprise, the creature didn’t leap at him as it had done during its massacre. It approached slowly, like a predator sizing him up. Its massive arms weren’t brandished threateningly, instead padding on the ground as it crept closer, as if it was bringing itself closer to his height.

It was all points and sharp edges, none of it meant for anything but murder. And yet, it approached him gently. He couldn’t know for sure if it was genuine, or simply an attempt to get close enough to skewer him. It hardly mattered, if this thing wanted to kill him there was little he could do to stop it.

If not for the grounding weight of his coat, he was quite certain that his heart would be beating out of his chest.

His hand curled around the flash grenade in his pocket, but he couldn’t bring himself to use it. He had the distinct feeling that antagonizing the beast would destroy any chance he had of survival.

He did, however, question his own decision making as the Slayer finally got to him. It looked even bigger up close, towering over him. He hadn’t even noticed that he was moving until his back hit the wall. 

When a large hand came up to hold him in place, it almost knocked the wind out of his chest. It was big enough to almost span the width of his torso, and he was held firmly in place by a claw on either side of his neck. The tail was raised behind it, a dagger-like tip aimed at his head.

He wanted to speak, to try to bargain with the monster, but no words came out. 

His hands instinctively tried to pry the claws from his throat, but the Slayer merely lifted a second set of arms to pin his hands to the wall. The hold itself was surprisingly gentle, even as the spiked skin dug into his wrists. And when the horned head finally lowered, it seemed mindful to keep the tusk-like protrusions from piercing skin. He could feel its breath in his hair, irregular puffs that reeked of decay.

It was smelling him. 

Enver forced himself to relax, despite every bone in his body telling him to run. Adrenaline coursed through him, making his limbs restless. 

The fourth hand gripped his hip tightly, as if to stop him from moving. The Slayer’s movements were clearly carefully measured, subject to the iron grip that Durge had on his urges. Enver had to trust that the Slayer didn’t want him dead. He had to trust that Durge could control himself, even in this form. Moving would just make it harder for the bhaalspawn to keep his lethal limbs away from Enver’s fragile mortal form. 

It had never been clearer just how much Durge was able to push his father’s control to get what he wanted.

The thought sent a red hot shiver down his back. He could feel his body reacting, not with fear, but with arousal. Unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. Enver had always known his preferences were fucked up. His time in the House of Hope had taught him that sex was all about pain and power, but even he had to admit this was a new low. 

The Slayer seemed to notice the change, a hollow screech echoing from its chest in a strange imitation of laughter.

When it finally let go, it carefully moved one limb at a time, seemingly all too aware that the slightest movement could spell death for the human. It seemed almost experimental, as if Durge was trying out something brand new. Enver had a suspicion that he didn’t typically hold the reins when the Slayer took over.

The smart thing would be to stay put, to wait for Durge to return to his regular form. But unfortunately, the behemoth presented a far too intriguing opportunity. 

Standing before Bhaal’s Slayer, one of the most feared monsters in baldurian history, and knowing it wouldn’t kill you? That was power. And Enver wasn’t ready to let go of that power just yet. 

As he moved closer, the creature’s head tilted slightly, as though it was confused by his lack of fear. It backed away further, shaking its head to warn him to stay back. 

But it was Enver’s turn to be in control.

“Hold still.”

The Slayer growled, but obeyed. A smug smile threatened to split Enver’s face in half.

His hand lightly traced the contours of the large clawed hand closest to him, examining it in great detail. The Slayer was pure bone and muscle, sinewy tissue with no protective layers. 

Deep set eyes followed his every move as his fingers moved to the spikes, and eventually the horns that adorned its head.

The efficiency of its form was fascinating. His mind was brimming with new ideas for his Steel Watch based on this alone.

The rapidly moving tail behind it reminded him that he was on very thin ice, even as the rest of the Slayer’s body was frozen. He wanted to keep pushing. He didn’t usually consider himself a reckless man, but this was intoxicating. 

When they had first initiated their alliance, Enver had thought the bhaalist little more than a knife-wielding maniac. And yet, he had managed to surprise him again and again with his brains, his skill and his power. Today was no exception.

“You are magnificent.”

Even the creature’s tail stilled at that, as if it was confused. He wasn’t sure how much Durge understood while in this form, but he was fairly certain that the Slayer had never been met with anything but fear. It sneered slightly, as if rejecting the positive sentiment. 

But then he grew too bold. His hand moved too fast, too close to the Slayer’s throat, and within seconds he was pinned to the floor. His ears rang and he tasted blood in his mouth from where the impact had made him bite his own tongue. His hands clawed at the foot placed on his chest, desperate to free his lungs from the crushing pressure. 

Strings of bloody saliva fell onto him as the Slayer’s jaws opened above him, ready to bite down. 

His arms flew up to shield his face, bracing for the pain.

And then the pressure suddenly let up, the Slayer’s form swept to the side as if yanked by a leash. 

Beside him, panting on the floor, was a blood-soaked dragonborn.

The Slayer’s teeth had left a faint scratch on Enver’s arm. 

It had been inches away from biting his head off. 

What a thrill.

A sharp laugh escaped Enver as his bruised head fell back to the floor once more, soon followed by a full blown belly laugh. Durge looked decidedly less amused. 

“That was stupid.” His voice was still raw. He wiped the remaining viscera off with sharp movements, clearly pissed off.

“Oh, but so very interesting, my dear.” He grimaced slightly as he sat up, the pain in his head blooming through his skull at the movement. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, it hit him like a rampaging rothé. He didn’t even notice Durge approaching until a scaled hand seized his jaw and turned his head painfully to allow the bhaalist to inspect the wound. 

“You got lucky.”

Enver was left to stumble to his feet on his own, only to be met with a potion bottle to the chest. He barely managed to catch it.

It was one of the expensive ones too, pulled from Enver’s own pack. Usually he would have voiced his displeasure more openly, but he had pushed the bhaalspawn far enough for now. So instead he downed the healing potion, feeling the skin on the back of his head knitting itself back together. 

Durge could deny it all he wanted, but Enver had felt his hesitation, the way the Slayer had stilled under his touch. Luck had very little to do with it. Durge had kept murder itself from ripping out Enver’s throat.

Durge’s realization that he didn’t actually want Gortash dead was still fairly new, so for Enver to have this kind of influence over even his most feral form, with something as simple as a kind touch…It had to be unsettling. 

Not to mention, Enver had compromised Durge’s carefully crafted control, pushing beyond the already stretched boundaries. Durge had almost killed him, and not on purpose. And then he had stopped himself. 

Stopped the purest embodiment of his father’s will.

He didn’t envy the bhaalspawn the war that was undoubtedly happening in his head. It was probably best that Enver broke the ice sooner rather than later, lest he wanted his partner to be distracted by religious guilt for the rest of the night.

“That was quite a show. I had no idea you had it in you.”

His casual tone had the desired effect, as the bhaalspawn gave him a withering look. 

“I almost killed you.” There was no guilt in his voice, just a statement of fact.

“But you didn’t.”

Durge sneered slightly at his lack of fear. The Slayer was meant to be the ultimate weapon, murder incarnate. For the banite to treat it like any old polymorph was a blow to the bhaalspawn’s ego. Still, Enver preferred an annoyed bhaalspawn over a conflicted bhaalspawn. 

“Perhaps I should have.”

Enver’s movements grew bolder, moving closer to the bhaalist. “My dear, we both know you’ll want that privilege all to yourself. I have the utmost faith that you won’t allow anyone else to steal your kill, not even your god-given form.” The appeal to the bhaalist’s personal desires was blatant, hardly a subtle attempt at manipulation, but it was effective. His hands traced a path down Durge’s arm, a mirror of how he had examined the Slayer, until he held Durge’s hand in his own. “You’ll want these hands to kill me. You’ll want to make it last.” As he lifted their joint hands closer to his own throat, he felt Durge’s fingers twitch slightly. “Until it’s perfect, you won’t kill me.” 

He said it with such certainty, leaving no room for nuance. He needed Durge to believe it. To believe that the Slayer could be trusted around Gortash. He had sensed a hint of hesitation in the beast, something Enver could grab onto and turn to his advantage. A challenge he was all too willing to take. The thought of Bhaal’s Slayer obeying him as easily as the bhaalspawn himself did… It was intoxicating. 

How could he resist?

[synthy-sizer]

??? YEARS AGO

………

The harsh light fades away and you're left with a small, cramped office. It's old and well-used, showing its age and character. Wooden shelves in varying sizes and grains line every wall. They're crammed with floppy disks. Against the back wall is an old, wooden desk. It's covered in messy stacks of paper, computer parts and more floppies. And there's a yellowing CRT with a keyboard and mouse. The office chair similarly looks like it's been in use for at least a decade.

“Hey, Jordan.” You turn around to see an assuming, shrew man standing in the doorframe, a white void cascading out. “If you don't mind, I need to get to my computer.” You stand aside and watch him walk over. You ask no questions, something that confuses you, but somehow you don't feel you need to ask. He sits down and swivels the chair to face you, then extends his hand. “Allow me to formally introduce myself. I'm God. Lovely to meet you.” You awkwardly shake his hand. “Now. You've done very well getting here. I know it's been difficult, and for that I apologize. And unfortunately, I also have to preemptively apologize, because your mission isn't done yet.” You finally feel the energy in you to speak. “I'm so tired…” He nods sympathetically. “I know you are. You've been a faithful agent. But you just need to get a little further now. If it's any consolation, I'll finally provide you with the answers you seek.” He gestures. “Sit down. It's ok.” You find a spot that's relatively clear of assorted papers and disks and sit on the wooden floor.

“When you return, 500 years will have passed. There will be people who are struggling to reclaim the world after the apocalypse. You need to guide them, so they can come to me. Their names are Violence and Lust. And you will be christened, ‘Heresy’. Do you understand?” You glance over at the bookshelves. There's a few books on them, on a small nook dedicated to literature rather than floppy disks. Your eyes land on one in particular; the first of the 3 books in Dante's Divine Comedy; Inferno. You look back at God and nod. “These people are important. You need to convince them of their path. There's also a girl named Sofia. Find her and bring her to you.” Your vision starts to go fuzzy. The words enter your mind but you barely register. Testaments, burned into your mind, unconscious directives for you to follow. “Now you can return to the world of the living. Go on.” You slowly rise and walk towards the void of white. “Oh, and Jordan…” You turn back to look at him one last time. “I know you grow your hair out and wear oversized hoodies. When you get back, do yourself a favor and bring those behaviors to their logical conclusions.”

…….

Well, here we are. Yet another novella complete. When I started Eden, it was something that I made up as I went along. I had recently watched Lost, Lain, and read Homestuck, and tried to mash elements from things I was passionate about into a project I would be forced to finish because it was being put out online. As the story progressed, it took shape, and I realized that if I wanted to keep actually making things out of my ideas I would have to keep writing. And so the overarching story began.

When I started Otherside, it looked different than it came out. I had an idea based loosely on a horror game, where someone was on a moon base, convinced the world was dead, and then a signal would convince them to escape and go to Earth. There they would find the escape to the moon was very justified. But I think Otherside marked the end of how different the premises of these stories start in my head and the actual end results are. I've had the ending to act 2 in my head since last year, when I was writing act 1. I hope the ending I have in mind for this series is as cool and exciting as I think it is.

As usual, I would like to thank @ice-fairy-chiruno for being the artist for the series. She brings to life things impossible to find online, and I both cannot thank her enough or apologize enough for my executive dysfunction leading to some rushed deadlines.

@technicolorxsn has been and remains my biggest fan, and honestly half the reason I write this stuff is for their reactions. It's so cool seeing your reactions to everything I write, and I honestly can't thank you enough for sticking with me and being excited for the stuff I make.

I also have to thank my friend @telltaletypist for offering writing advice and re-aligning me when I got too lost in the trap of chasing perfection. I feel much more refreshed and reinvigorated thanks to her.

See you next year!

-Synthy

PREVIOUS

[origami-butterfly]

Utterson Quotes

Because apparently the only way I'll revise english is by posting about it on tumblr. (If you know any more, PLEASE add them in replies or reblogs)

He is "austere with himself" (chapter 1) -> this contrasts him with Jekyll/Hyde who is hedonistic and indulges in his worst urges. It links to the theme of repression throughout the novel, with Utterson being an Ideal Victorian Gentleman™️ who doesn't participate in any disreputable activities. This also makes him trustworthy to the victorian readers because it establishes his strict moral code.

"I incline to Cain's heresy- I let my brother go to the devil his own way" (chapter 1) -> once again, portraying Utterson as an Ideal Victorian Gentleman- he doesn't interfere in his friends' lives, nor does he hold it against them. This quote is interesting when compared with "if he shall be Mr Hyde, I shall be Mr Seek" (Chapter 2- I love that quote it's so stupid) because here Utterson is in fact, interfering in his friend's life, by trying to find out the connection between Jekyll and Hyde, possibly suggesting Utterson's repression is beginning to wear thin.

"This document had long been the lawyer's eyesore" (Chapter 2) -> This quote refers to Jekyll's will, stating that if he died or disappeared for more than 3 months, his possessions should all go to Edward Hyde. It further establishes Utterson as a reasonable character, and presents any ideas of the supernatural as puzzling to Utterson, being a "lover of the sane and customary sides of life".

"You know me. I am a man to be trusted. Make a clean breast of this in confidence; and I make no doubt I can get you out of it." (Chapter 3) -> Here Utterson is directly opposing his own views- he is interfering with Jekyll's life, despite saying "I let my brother go to the devil his own way. " It demonstrates Utterson giving in to his urges, and is also an interesting contrast to earlier in the same chapter where he's described as "unobtrusive"- the mystery of Hyde has made him less repressed, because of his curiosity. This could also be Stevenson's way of highlighting hypocrisy in victorian society- which even Utterson, the Perfect Victorian Gent™️ is guilty of. Something to note here is that Utterson uses the phrase "clean breast" again, in chapter 8, when trying to get information from Poole- and both times, he's trying to save Jekyll. Definitely a parallel to be drawn there.

"We three are old friends, Lanyon; we shall not live to make others" (Chapter 6) -> Utterson is attempting to mend the rift between Lanyon and Jekyll, because to him, they represent normality- and after the events with Hyde, Utterson is seeking security. Later in the chapter, after corresponding with Jekyll and finding he is unable to reconcile with Lanyon, we get this quote- "in a moment, friendship, and peace of mind, and the whole tenor of his life were wrecked" which further reinforces Utterson's friendships being signs of security to him (there's also a quote in chapter 1 about his walks with Enfield that show this). There's also a sense that he's still trying to find logic in the puzzle that is Edward Hyde, trying to make sense of the irrational.

"God forgive us, God forgive us." (Chapter 7) -> This is after it is implied Utterson and Enfield saw Jekyll's transformation to Hyde. By not mentioning it, apart from this one line of dialogue, Utterson is continuing to repress his thoughts deemed "unacceptable" i.e. the idea that a supposedly reputable and kind man like Jekyll could hide (hehe) such violent cruelty, like that displayed by Hyde. Once again, this links to Victorian repression, and the hypocrisy of society at the time.

"Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his hat and great-coat" (Chapter 8) -> This is after Poole has asked him to go to Jekyll's, and here he's completely given up on inclining to Cain's heresy. His curiosity outweighs his moral code, and so he doesn't stop to question anything.

"It doesn't commend itself to reason" (Chapter 8) -> Bless his stupid heart, he's still trying to rationalise Hyde's existence, despite everything. He's still clinging to the last threads of logic, because he truly cannot accept the idea of Jekyll and Hyde being one and the same, even after seeing it himself in chapter 7. Once again, this can link to the hypocrisy of Victorian society, and a refusal to acknowledge the evil mankind is capable of- because that would mean accepting the evil within themselves- in a time where morality and purity was everything.

"I shall consider it my duty to break in that door." (Chapter 8) -> I think... this is the quote that concludes Utterson's arc. We never really see it concluded (which will forever gnaw at my mind) but this is the one that shows his development the most. The austere Utterson of chapter 1 would never even consider breaking down a door to save Jekyll. And yet here, he's releasing some of his repressed urges, and directly interfering with Jekyll's life- not only that, but he considers it his duty. As his friend, or his lawyer, or as a member of society, I'm not sure. This quote can link to the theme of repression once again, and humanity's inner evil- even the strictly repressed Utterson is not immune to his own desires, maybe Stevenson's way of showing no one in society is exempt from innate evil, even those that project a façade of respectability.

That's all the quotes I've got! But like I said at the start, if you can think of any others, and analysis for them, PLEASE let me know. You can tell I got more tired as this post goes on lmao.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

fucking going mental over this man 

Church: ok you’re a priest now. Maybe stop being a doctor?

Ficino: how about no? how about i never stop?

Church: 

Ficino: how about I develop theological underpinnings for my continuing to be a doctor because I love being a doctor? I shall do this alongside creating new theological underpinnings to support my obsession with Plato and my deep, all consuming love for Cavalcanti, whom I call Hero because he is my hero and my most perfect friend. 

Church: 

Church: fine. i guess. ?

[survivalist-anon]

Log 15: Heresy City

Rolling into town was a more complicated matter for the Imperial Fists and the boys. For it was not just a matter of parking space for a bus that could accommodate a whole football team, but a matter of size in general. The world was not built for Astartes their size.

It was a challenge alone for Wick to stay hidden, this was a Herculean task for the group. Parking their car roughly 5 mi away from a road down Blue Diamond Road, the walk to the nearest Casino was... strange to say the least.

Dressed in civilian clothing, the men accidentally looked more intimidating as a group. Following a signal tracking Wick, by a tracking device placed by Aldercon for security, Bilhard follows it intensively. Well Moors had stayed behind to guard the bus, Cahrilo, Sten and Toke follow close behind.

"How much further is that blasted Wick?!", Toke had been complaining about the heat, not for any good reason either, although he's not fully affected by the weather, it is still uncomfortable for him to deal with the heat without his power armor cooling him off.

Sten, more accustomed to the weather from his time traveling to warmer States throughout his time here on Earth, it's not really share Toke's adversion with the weather. "Yield your temper battle brother, tis small yet more populated city, I am certain we will be able to find him.".

Bilhard suddenly found that Wick's signal was on the move, not as fast as he anticipated but fast enough to see that he was mobile. "He's further down the metropolitan area. Hopefully he makes a stop long enough that we can pinpoint his location.".

Cahrilo was enjoying the stroll down the hot road. He looked towards some of the buildings within as line of sight, large thematic casinos, the sound of bustling cars and what he can clearly tell was plenty of activity. "Hopefully we well not attract too much attention.". He glances over one of the electrical billboards and notices that there was an advertisement for the South Point casino's most anticipated event of the year, the 'World Wrestle-ton'. "Perhaps maybe we will blend in better if the populace believes we are performers?".

The others looked over at the billboard, "well what a shame, Moor's probably would have enjoyed this mission if it weren't for him prioritizing the bus.", Bilhard knew that Moors along with a few others back at Fort Dorn had become accustomed with life on Earth to the point of enjoying what the planet has to offer in terms of entertainment and leisure. Along with modifying automotive and military vehicles, Moor's also enjoyed watching programs such as wrestling and sports.

It was not a surprise to anyone, but it takes a considerable amount of time for an Astartes to discover what entertains them. Some can go for decades without actively pursuing anything close to a hobby. Some immediately discover upon even witnessing the interest. It is fairly easy for an angel of the emperor to forget the notion of being 'human', a constant state of war in battle will facilitate such an issue.

Toke and Sten had become alert due to the incoming influx of auditory pollution and the potpourri of smells coming from the city.

Although Sten was a more experienced veteran, he was on high alert. "Something about this place....feels foreboding.", as he warns the others, an electric advertisement and quickly shifted to promoting a new upcoming masked wrestler from Central Mexico, 'El Nino'.

It may have not been obvious to a mortal human, but to any self-respecting Astartes, 'El Nino' had unfortunately familiar proportions.

Toke was more excited about the potential experience to come. "Aye, it's probably just a really ugly mortal. I mean we've seen a few before, Sten."

"I am certain we may not have much to fear, we just need to retrieve Wick, leave, and prepare ourselves for Wick's dressdown.", Cahrilo shrugged.

"Dress down?", Toke questioned.

Bilhard, "Lock it up, we're heading into the main street.", the four men stood out from the crowd just enough to be spotted as a group.

The looks and gawking of passerbys had a very different feel from those who were marveled at the sight of armored Astartes. Out of their armor, they were as bizarre and no more extraordinary as side show performers. In Las Vegas, this will work to their advantage.

"I don't get it, why are these mortals just staring at us.", he flashes his fangs at a ticket peddler for a split second before he could even begin to bother them.

"Mortals on this planet are not use to our presence. Aldercon after a few decades discovered the hard way. Here, we must stay hidden as much as we can. In the heavily wooded state of Oregon, we can move about rather freely...here...well...", Bilhard polited refused another peddler attempted to push advertisements for strip clubs, discounted promotional tickets. "This is were we come in. In highly populated areas, we retrieve loyalists and and dispose of any traitors to the Imperium. However in recent years....we have had to bend what defines chaos here....all of this," as he he shows the slowly lighting glows of the neon lights of Las Vegas in the late afternoon, "Is heresy to us...but it is.... leisure, business and...", all four become a bit distracted with a few dancers promoting the burlesque shows around the front of the Palazzo, "pleasure".

Toke and Sten look at each other, starting to piece together that there was a distinct reason why mortals were attracted to this place.

Cahrilo on the other hand, still rather young for his rank, was a little more distracted, "well....it's all in innocent fun from what we can see....but this place does attract the more...sorted crowd."

"What kind of sorted crowd? Cultists? Chaos traitors? Xenos?", Toke inquired.

"So far we haven't found any Xenos nor have we found...well...what we define as cultists or any cultists activities. Our sources outside of the state have theorized due to our exposure to the warp. We are the only ones that come to this place....well....at least it is confirmable.", Bilhard had been having trouble locating Wick through his tracking device, until it had become redundant to do so.

Another electric billboard appeared promoting Sleen's Greek mythology themed acrobatics show, "The Pantheon", as the imagines of the show had flashed on the wide screen. A quick clip of Selene gracefully defying gravity on top of a large representation of earth itself....with a familiar frame.

Sten was intrigued but wasn't surprised, "....so....I see he is .... artistically inclined."

"why is wearing a fracking towel? Also what is that on his head? Is...he dressed up like Primarch Gilliman?", Toke squinting to understand what he was looking at.

Cahrilo was a bit worried, he knew Wick was a little bit more adventurous when it came to his personal intrigues. However, to actively do something of this level was unheard of even within the ranks of the Raven Guard themselves. If Wick was of the Blood Angels or Emperor's Children chapters this would more understandable.

Bilhard was the only one of the group that have had a inclination on why Wick had gone to to lengths of exposing himself this way. ".... something is happening here....at least we know where we can find him now. There.", him pointing to the Paris Casino couldn't have been more unnecessarily dramatic, but dramatic actions call for dramatic antics.

At the door of the entrance, again onlookers stealing side eyes and glances at the group of overly tall, muscular men. The noses of Toke and Sten had begun to crinkle. The smell of cigarettes was just as part of the air as the oxygen around.

"ESCK! What is that foul stench?", Toke was surprisingly taken back by the smoke.

Sten as well could barley handle the overbearing oder himself. "This place is adhorrant, how can anyone even remain here?".

The two imperial fists were not too surprised of the smokey smell either, they were use to smelling strong, chemical odors. Cigarette smoke was nothing in comparison to what the both had inhaled on accident.

"I shall get us rooms here. We shall complete our mission in morning with the likely hood of running into Wick now astronomically higher.", Bilhard initiated.

Cahrilo walked ahead of Bilhard to beat him to the front desk. "Pardon me, would you happen to have four rooms available?". He gave a friendly smile that almost sent the front-desk clerk swooning.

"Ah l-let me check.", he quickly tries to find some rooms, that unfortunately weren't available. "Ohhh I'm so sorry sir, but we only have one available at the moment for last second check-in.", his friendly smile was more apologetic to the inconvenience.

Cahrilo awkwardly looked back at Bilhard and the boys. "Ugh....", turning back to the clerk, "How...big....is the room?".

The look on the clerk's face was understandably blank. "Hm...you know something I've never thought about that let me check."

After a few minutes, a room had been arranged so to speak.

"....I feel like Groxen in a shipping cart.", Toke, managing to sit on the bed, woefully.

Cahrilo, his back pressed on to Toke's bad, actively proving how small the room was with the four of them in. "Well, it's just for us to stay in for a night or two.".

"Well, now we must go and find Wick. If he is an active performer here in this establishment than I'm certain we can locate him.", Bilhard was attempting to message one of the battle brothers back home in order to find an internal map of the casino.

Sten had been meditating, being a Rune priest, he was sure to find Wick without having to notify anyone. "Hold on one second Bilhard, let me locate him.".

Bilhard had forgotten about that fact, "oh...have you found him?"

Sten hesitated to answer, "I believe so.....I keep seeing rather lude and lascivious visions of....well...I can say that he has been rather busy."

Toke and Cahrilo look at Sten.

Sten, now actively distracted by the both of them staring at him, "...."

"....c'mon, what are the details.", Toke frankly spoke.

"yes.... please do not hold back", Cahrilo more curious than actively being cheeky.

"LET HIM CONCENTRATE.", boomed Bilhard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My plan worked beautifully, everyone had successfully done their part.

Selene had been preparing for the show, I had been putting my...I do not want to call it a costume. Everyone was preparing for the show as scheduled....until the door nearly flew off it's hinges.

"WHERE THE HELL IS THAT LUMBERING, OVER GROWN WEASEL?!?!", Sleen....has returned.

"AND WHERE THE FUCK IS ANGELINA?!?", he growled by this point. A bumbling barbarian.

I pretended to look occupied, but very much ready to defend my fellow costars.

"Oh Good evening Mr.Sleen.", acting innocent as always, Angelina and her twin had been my best centerfolds for this plan. I owe them a great deal of gratitude.

"DON'T YOU "Good evening Mr.Sleen" ME YOU LITTLE -", the second I saw his hands, I decided to merely stand up from my seat. ".....there you are.....you sleezy.... greasy.....Adam Driver knockoff......you.... DISCOUNTED KEANU REEVES.....I know youre behind all of this....when I find out how...I will reserve a pleasant little plot of MANURE smackdab in the middle OF ARIZONA FOR YOU." brave of him to be poking me with that blushed baby carrot of an appendage he had the misfortune to associate as a finger on to my bare abdominals.

"....I was here in the hotel...doing nothing.", not my most convincing tone...but it was not like as if I could just reduce him to a partially liquefied mess on the floor this very second.

Sleen has the bravery to grab.... whatever he could of my tunic around my belt. I actually felt afraid of him tearing it off. It was a great overbearing deal of embarrassment to wear such a gaudy toga. It was worse to experience Sleen just ripping it off out of sheer anger.

"Do you have any idea the ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT I HAD TO DEAL WITH FOR THREE HOURS BEFORE GETTING BACK TO YOU BOZOS?!?!?", oh fantastic he was going to waste our precious oxygen to relive what I can only imagine was a mild inconvenience to a rational person.

"You! You told me to find this FUCKING BLOCK OF WET CONCRETE-", the battle brothers back home will be entertained for weeks once I have the time make the extended list of wonderful insults I have collected from Sleen alone, "-was at the Gold&Silver pawnshop to sell something and I spent my expensive time there because NONE OF THOSE FAT CLOWNS COULD ANSWER my questions. "Oh the best I can do is $170 for information" PHOOEY. lousy con artists, the LOT OF THEM.", I personally was enjoying Sleen's excessive tantrum.

He then turns to Selene, already use to his terrible outbursts, has not even once acknowledged him.

"oh...my little birdie, Selene....and where... prey tell is Hans?", the second I saw him about to lay his filthy hand on her I was ready to take to him up to the rafters and devour his head.

Yet, Selene's awe inspiring resolve and quick grace had avaided him by standing up from her vanity to complete putting her costume. "Oh...bonjour Mr.Sleen....Hans was with me for some time...and followed another girl. I had met with the others at the shopping plaza and came right back to my room for a nap.".

Sleen had not expecting such a quick reaction. "Hmm..a nap...figures ....".

I felt a quick tap on my arm, "Hey, pst, homes....what are you doing with the costume rack?", I had noticed I had accidentally crushed the metal pipe that the rack had been constructed by.

I was slipping. I need to concentrate on the show for tonight, so I can commence the next part of my plan. "...oops."

Tulio knew of my extraordinary nature, but to trust him with too much information was a risk I sadly can not take.

"Anyway.....GET BACK TO WORK! I don't want any more funny business do you all understand m-", Dylan, the show director comes in to purposely interpret Sleen. I always enjoy their banter. Considering Sleen would ruin his vision every step of the way. I had planned something different Sleen....courtesy of the years of abuse he would give to Dylan.

"Sir, I just want to tell you of some...well plot changes. Since our previous 'Artemis' quit and Hans is no where to be found...may I make one tiny...little incy wincy change in casting?", he gave a false smile.

Sleen could already smell something was wrong. "What...is it....also this better be a blockbuster hit the show starts in 2 hours.", he snorted.

"well... people are sooooo into reimaginings of mythology, there like a super awesome play with some Epic emotional beats and I was wondering if you know...have Orion...dance with Artemis during the last act? Instead of, like ew yikes, implying she was raped by him? I eck, so third century B.C.E.", Dylan was an essential and eccentric part of my plan. It was easy to convince him, it is understandable since he has been emotionally and physically lonely for a while.

My offerings of gentle kindness was all it had taken. He is another soul I owe, for he was not only risking his job, he was risking his reputation.

"...why? Didn't he fuck Artemis in the stories?", Sleen's vision of mythology was a depravity worthy of being considered heresy. Even Slenessh's more cruel deviants wouldn't find any sensibility in his show.

Dylan, visibly frustrated, "listen, it's bad enough I had to designs these brightly color preschool productions outfits that I SWEAR the cease and desist letters won't stop because of it. We're having WAY too many young audience members today and I think we should keep the production at the very least "PG 13", if you wanted a snuff film you could have driven to the shady part of town and boom you have your high production porno there." Oddly enough, he was the only soul who could talk to Sleen the way he did without any harm be felling on to him.

Sleen was many terrible things, but a fool in respects to the prospect of losing money was not one of them, " ok I'll bite...who did you have in mind to play Orion?".

Oh how I could sing my inner joy of watching Sleen fall to his knees in protest when he heard my name from Dylan's lips.

"Boss, Sleen bean, listen, you already have him wearing like.... seriously is that a table cloth, oh I don't care, you might as well have him wear the leotard besides it is just for tonight and people pay good money to watch big sexy men so big sexy shows, ok stop wiping your tears in my CELINE faux leather pants your leaving some weird residue.", he looked down on Sleen, who had just started crying.

"You... EVIL.... little Twink.", he uttered bitterly with tears.

"Mr. Sleen that's 'Mr. Evil Little Twink' to you, I'm a professional.", I was not certain what a 'twink' was...but I could only imagine how much bravery and valor they have when facing their foes to fell them in battle.

End of log 15

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster @starfrost740

@squishyowl @sleepyfan-blog @lawnchair86

[bnbc]

i was prowling through Isabella's tag cos oml i love her (warhammer ocs my beloved <33) and i was wondering what's her relationship like with the rest of the companions from the game? i'd like to hear the dramas between her team if there is any lmao

omg, thank you so much!

Such a great question! I have to confess I was so lazer-focused on Heinrix explaining Iza’s mechanical traits to make sense narrative-wise, I paid little attention to the rest of the team, but I do have some bits!

I have to note, that companions from the 3rd chapter stayed in the 3rd chapter, so Iza didn’t collect all the pokemon. She maintains a good and respectful relationship with all the bridge officers, but her best man is High Factotum Janris Danrok, they spend hours discussing trade partners, contracts, and ship logistics.

But, back to the main team!

________________________

“Abelard gave me a space to grow, even though it was Theodora-shaped.”

Abelard, my Abelard! They had some rough moments in the beginning when Iza felt like he tried to make her into Theodora's substitute and argued with him to insist on her position's duty and privilege. At the same time, she was checking his reactions to her actions and was relieved every time Abelard approved her. 

I think I already cracked this joke, but who’s gonna stop me? Abelard was in her team all the time along with Heinrix, and this is the most accurate picture of how the three of them looked: 

Ofc she did everything for Abelard’s family, and when he asked for retirement, she let him go on condition, that he would train his replacement personally because who could do it better then the best seneschal ever?

________________________

"Sanctioned or not, Idira is one of us. She proved her will and deserved the right to walk her path the way she wants. End of discussion."

Idira was… intriguing. Too different from Iza in a matter of personality and life experience to seek her close friendship, Idira gained her eternal respect for surviving for so long for having the will strong enough to keep the chaotic mind of her in line. Well, most of the time.

And when her breakdown happened, Isabella stood for her. Said, everybody can slip and everybody deserves a second chance. Time proved her right when both of the sanctioned psykers of her team had their own moments of losing control, hehe.

Anyway, never a close friend but a friend indeed, and one of few people who understand, Idira had a place in Iza’s team to the very end of her life.

________________________

"Sister Argenta reminds me of His wrath... and of His grace as well."

Argenta, with all the respect, makes Isabella feel uneasy. Reminds her that even though Isabella’s faith is strong, this alone might not be enough. (Ye, Iza sits on Iconoclast and Dogmatic chairs at the same time; she’s not too religious but she is a believer, which I think is close to heresy by WH40k standards anyway)

But gladly Argenta often stands up for protecting innocent people, and Isabella takes a breath of relief. 

i haven’t decided how to play through chapter 3 confession and its consequences yet, so sis is under development xD

________________________

"Lady Cassia... is hard to be around. I can only hope that the little time I can spend with her is enough to fulfill the Lord Captain's obligations to her Navigator."

Oh, oh, oh! Cassia is Isabella’s walking nightmare. Imagine yourself keeping your mental blocks 24/7 so as not to hear the noise of people's thoughts, and then meeting Cassia who casually floods you with her emotions. Isabella lost her shit during their first meeting.

Iza feels for Cassia, she really does, but she can not tolerate her presence for a long time. She tries her best for her navigator to feel welcomed onboard (look, you need to keep your Navi happy, all right), but mostly uses servants and Abelar as proxy people to communicate with Cass.

Why didn’t Iza change a navigator is a good question. I haven't found the answer yet.

________________________

“I… That planet two systems ago when we got ambushed, I had to connect to Pasqal’s mind for faster coordination. I don’t want to comprehend what I saw.”

Pasqal is complicated to understand, like most of admechs. Iza tries her best to know them better, but so far her best connection is Abel. She spends a lot of time talking with him.

But mostly she just agrees on all the Pasqal requests of equipment and lets him collect and study whatever he wants (N. included)

________________________

“Jae still can be useful.”

Everyone deserves a second chance in Iza’s book, but Jae used them all. The weight of her lies hit the critical mass at one point (remember, Janris Danrok is Iza’s bridge bestie). 

Isabella didn’t take away Jae’s papers (they didn’t fly half of the expanse looking for seals just not to take benefits of those papers) and didn’t end their partnership at all, but Jae was sent out of the flagship to do her business from some other spot.

With a warning, that if she abuses von Valancius name for some really dirty business, the consequences will be… final. Jae was smart enough to see the line this time.

________________________

“We are not talking about Yrliet again, Heinrix.”

IN THIS HOUSE WE DON’T TALK ABOUT YRLIET SHE JUST LIVES ON OUR SHIP AS AN AMULET OF LUCK

I’m a bit pissed that the game doesn't help me with giving reasons to keep Yra after the 3rd chapter, so I don’t know why Isabella let her stay except for her “second chance” rhetoric. I’m figuring this out. 

I mean in the 3rd chapter it was pretty much “we need everyone to survive” thinking, but later… idk yet, maybe something something cooperation is better than war. Something something I want to understand how aeldari thinks. Something something Yrliet’s voice is so cool! xDD

But I know that Iza and Yra were traveling together a long time after the end of the game.

The peak of character drama happens in the Dark City when Heinrix Abelard Yrliet and Argenta sit in a circle and each of them holds their neighbors' hands to prevent them from killing the opposite sitting person, Pasqal trying to comprehend xenotech and Iza suffering in the background because someone stolen her fav boots.

THANK YOU AGAIN FOR ASKING!!!

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

Betrayer (HH Vol. 24)

I completly understand now how people keep this specific author in such high regard. This must have been one of my fastest reads throughout the Heresy so far. My only complaint, really, as always with Heresy books, is the bullshit style-choice for the cover:

You would think this book is about Lorgar and Angron going totally ham on Ultramarines, and yeah that does happen, but this is not what its about. Like, I get it, the mace-swing makes for a nice composition, but all these covers feel like such low-effort shovelware.

Notice the dude on the bottom right. He's not even LOOKING AT THE TWO GUYS ABOUT TO KILL HIM. The Heresy covers in general always feel like such low effort, when a smart stylized image could have captured the book as a whole much better. Anyways, this book is definetly not about who murders who, it's about Angron, a broken man, and the potentially only family-member that might give a shit about him, which is Lorgar - and mirroring those two brothers, it's also about Kharn (not yet named Betrayer) and Argel Tal, a World Eater and a Word Bearer respectively.

Angron is dieing. The nails are slowly killing him, and Lorgar attempts to save him along with his original mission, which is "shroud Ultramar into a man-made warpstorm fueled by the genocide of dozens of worlds to cut the Ultramarines off for the Siege of Terra". The way he managed to combine these goals however is... well... Lorgar might really, from the bottom of his heart, genuinely care for his brutish brother. But Lorgar is also of the "I will manipulate you for your own good" type of person, who is absolutely hardcountered by Angron's thick skull which takes ages of working on the man to get him even remotely walking into the direction you want him to. Their dynamic is quite entertaining, Lorgar's frustration is just so understandable.

Angron on his own is a broken mess of a person. There's not much to say about it, and he's essentially a force of nature that brings murder and mindless rage wherever he goes - by his own words he is already dead. Whatever is here now is essentially the world's longest suicide note that, much to his own dismay, will drag on for at least another 10.000 years. He has his moments in the book, as he is definetly not a mindless animal and still capable of some seriously baller lines, but he's definetly not the star among the cast.

Lorgar meanwhile is a much more interesting character in the book, mostly for the fact how you realize that there is a difference between "serving Chaos" and "serving the Gods". Those two things CAN go together, but they do not have to. What's interesting is that he and Erebus do definetly not see eye-to-eye. He even tried to have the guy killed by Kharn in the end by just giving the World Eater a tiny information that just made the man go into absolute murder-mode.

Which is interesting, because Kharn might be one of the least murder-y World Eaters there is. Note that I said "World Eaters" here and not "War Hounds" (the old name). That distinction is quite relevant in this story. Just like Angron on his own he does not exactly carry the narrative, he's not as absolutely insane or reckless as someone like Sevatar (and that guy manages it without the nails even). He is more of a calm observer that finds his legion-brothers generally less interesting than hanging out with Argel Tal.

Oh and Argel Tal... we met him in "The First Heretic", but I'd like to avoid spoilers here. Let's just say that his bickering dynamic with Kharn is a smaller mirror to their Primarchs' interaction. They are essentially a married couple at that point if you ask me, except none of them has realized it yet.

There's also the support cast around the Legion Audax and Lotara, but they are not the focus here. They are nice to have around however, and none of their segment feels like weird filler. Overall a great book, and I hope there's more of ADB in the Heresy as I go to the next volumes.

[rollofleaf]

7 Snippets 7 People

Tagged by @cassynite ! Thank you for thinking of me, it’s good motivation to try and push myself to write more. Sorry it took me a few days to get to.

Tagging @arendaes , @iwoszareba , @bearvanhelsing , and @silversiren1101 !

Snippets are from various things I’m working on, I did a different character for each.

1. (Slight nsfw)

Marazhai lounged on his bed with all the smugness of a content cat, completely unashamed in his nakedness. He still proudly bore bleeding scratches along his chest and bruises on his thigh. Heinrix, on the other hand, was hurriedly donning his clothes, desperately avoiding the mildly amused gaze of the Rogue Trader that had interrupted his heresy.

Arethousa strode up to the psyker and grabbed him by the ear, pulling him close despite his gasp of protest. “Now, Inquisitor. If you ever see fit to question the bond I share with Yrliet again, I will be forced to remind you of what I just witnessed. Perhaps that will stop you from criticizing a Rogue Trader in public?”

He winced. Still, it was a fair request considering his shame. “Y-yes, Lord Captain.”

Arethousa released him with a grin. “Good boy. Or is that the xenos's line?” She promptly turned and walked out the door, in need of some soap to scrub the sight from her eyes.

2.

Grace groaned, furiously rubbing her temples as she pulled herself to her feet. She had slept through the night after her kidnapper’s ship crashed on the beach. And… Her mind was still a blank, impenetrable fog. Some part of her had expected her memories to return after escaping the illithids, but such hopes were dashed. She looked around. This place was wholly unfamiliar, though just about nothing was familiar to her. But she was near the ocean, at least.

Grace walked over to a small tide pool, staring into the water to get a good look at her unknown face. She was a tiefling, she knew that instinctively. Deep red skin, straight horns, short purple hair. She was pretty, all things considered. And her cheeks were stained with blood. Sweet, delicious blood. Enough to lick up, yet she wanted more, wanted enough to bathe in. She was hypnotized by the sight until her reflection began to move on its own and speak in a voice not her own.

“Oh, good, you’re alive! How are you feeling, love?”

3.

“You… You speak true. I am terrified… Will I learn to love you only after I kill you? To struggle so long to regain that joy, only to cast it aside in the process like the petals of a dandelion… But… I would rather love again and mourn you. I must do this. I must trust that this will lift the curse and pursue it. What else can I do?”

You can let me save you. The words hung on Ethyn’s lips, begging to be free. But they would mean nothing to her. She could only act for Nyrissa, not placate her with promises. She simply gazed up at the beautiful nymph that had crushed her heart. “If you’re so resolved, then do it. End me.”

Nyrissa raised the knife. Her tears fell on Ethyn’s innocent skin, blossoming into roses as they touched her. She plunged the knife down, into the bedsheets. She couldn’t do it. Even in a dream, she couldn’t force herself to finish Ethyn off. With a furious groan, she tossed the knife aside and rolled onto her back. “I… I cannot.” She laughed out. “A spider with sympathy for what’s caught in her web. And I cannot even feel sympathy… I do not love you. I cannot love you or anyone! So why do I feel this way? Why do you haunt my dreams, make my hands tremble, why do I trust you in this way? Why does that accursed word still hold sway over me?!”

4.

Hilde roared as she brought her axe up, bringing it down with enough force to decapitate the succubus. Arueshalae darted in front of the demon, barely managing to parry Hilde's swing with her starknife. The succubus's hands were trembling, her eyes squeezed shut as she shook violently. "S-stop. S-stop it!" She shook her head as she settled into a fighting stance, leveling her bow at Hilde. Arueshalae was fighting desperately against the control, her eyes pleading and desperate as they stared into Hilde's.

The other succubus let out a pompous laugh as she darted back and away from the melee. "Oh, darling! You want to be a stupid little mortal, so you'll be controlled like one..." Arueshalae flinched and loosed her arrow, crying out in terror and worry as it nicked Hilde's shoulder.

Hilde looked right past her friend, glaring at the succubus controlling her. "You're going to suffer for that. Arueshalae, don't worry. I know it's not you that's hurting me."

5.

There was a distinct skip in the elf’s step as she strode through the thick trees of the lands known as the Hinterlands. A terrible name, this land was anything but hinter! It was beautiful, nearly unspoiled, a treasure trove of unique life and people that Noriaralyn had spent nearly two weeks exploring with relish. What she did not expect to see or hear in her wanderings was the sound of crying. The elf’s long ears perked and flicked as she stopped still to pinpoint the source. Some nearby bushes… She walked over as the wailing grew louder, carefully tugging aside the leaves as the crying suddenly halted. The kaldorei found herself staring into the eyes of an infant, a baby dwarf. Pudgy fingers reached out curiously at the deep purple skin and bright green hair of the face staring into hers as Nori reached out to gingerly pick up the baby.

“Aww… Hello, little one… Why are you here all alone? Where are your parents?" The infant's wails quieted as Nori lifted her out of the bush, brushing some stray leaves off of her.

6.

Ssathera's vision slowly returned. Faded sunlight dappled the surface of the water above her, in her escape she must have thrown herself into the icy river. The ghouls hissed and growled at the water's edge, peering through the murky depths but unwilling to venture in. She let herself sink deeper to hide from them, the naga's gills happy to breathe water oncemore. Still, the chill only made the pain of her myriad bleeding scratches that much worse. Her scales had been torn away where the abomination's hook had landed, and her blue blood seeped into the water.

She felt fear far more chilling than the frigid depths rise in her breast, a tremble in her tail and fins. She should go back. She had sworn to fight and die with her kin and the blood elves. Her sisters, her allies, her friends. But how many had been cut down? She was one siren, what could she do? No, she had to go back, she couldn’t run! Her tail began to beat, propelling her through the water. Away from the battle. Try as she might, she could not fight her cowardice.

7.

The drow’s gaze flitted between Shadowheart and the imposing form of the Nightsong. The two shared unspoken words and Taliira turned to focus on Shadowheart. “I think you should do as your heart tells you to.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “Come now. You must have thoughts on this, -Selunite-.” She spat out the word with all the contempt she could muster. Her hand trembled. She needed Taliira to try to sway her, to fight her and give her the resolve to do what Lady Shar commanded. She needed the drow to prove her doubts right, to prove that she was just a lapdog for Selune that would try to turn her from her faith. If she wasn’t, then she didn’t know what to do with the doubt that swelled in her. If the doubt wasn’t subterfuge from Taliira, where did it come from?

[theminecraftbee]

further fire emblem au thoughts! this time on what the understanding of dragons are in the au.

long ago, the humans and dragons of this continent met. this is agreed upon. according to the humans, here is what happened next: the divine dragons, creatures who are like gods, saw the humans, and saw the humans may need help. in return for protecting their home and helping humans, though, the divine dragons requested certain humans hold to their divine word, and that humans serve that word as requested. for a long time, they did, and the gods walked among humans.

here’s where accounting of what happened splits.

according to our heroes’ home country, lapios, the dragons foresaw the greed and hubris of man, and, after leaving a way for the church and royal family to get to them, hid away in the realm of dragons. in time, if they try hard enough, the people of lapios can bring the dragons back by proving their worth. garnes is a kingdom of sinners and fools, those who would abandon the rules laid out for them by beasts.

according to those from garnes, however, the story is slightly different. in their accounting of the tale, the dragons abandoned their end of the deal, vanishing, leaving it to be the duty of man to lead their own country. only those fools from lapios would still follow their decrees, not after the dragons have been gone for a thousand years, abandoning man to suffering and, eventually, this seemingly unending war.

according to zedaph -

well, he doesn’t ever remember leaving, but he was being chased, fleeing due to a battle he couldn’t yet face, and was sealed away to sleep those thousand years. he really can’t say whether the humans or the dragons broke the pact first. he doesn’t think it can be broken all the way. look at impulse! zedaph could feel the remnants of the pact in impulse! so it can’t all be gone. but, well, he hadn’t been taught about any rules - all he knew was that it was a promise to keep each other safe, after the dragons had needed to flee their original homeland and come across this place.

impulse is pretty sure that would be heresy according to the church, which might explain why it’s important to keep zedaph away from the war on both sides when he can. as much as he doubts zed’s claims he’s from a royal line, he can feel it too - the promise the dragons and humans had made to each other had been a promise for peace. at least, that’s what he figures, between what zedaph said and the increasing drive to make peace for him.

he’ll have to ask them when he finally gets zedaph home, won’t he?