#hammer stamp sure is an ability of all time

[nhaneh]

So, Pictomancer huh

[nmyphomania]

╰┈➤ ❝ [Kinktober Day 3: Breeding]❞

Summary: Some advisors piss Zuko off about a baby, and he decides you’re the only one who can fix this situation.

Warning(s): F! Reader, breeding, mating press, messy kissing, rough sex, snowballing, mouth-spitting, minor dirty talk, dub-con if you read in between the lines, creampie, multiple orgasms

WC: 1.6k

•𑁍•

You never really understood how you and Zuko could possibly go from one situation, to an entirely different one in seemingly mere minutes. More appropriately, an hour or two ago. His advisors were talking to him about how they oh so needed an heir to the throne to be conceived at once. How they preferred a boy to become the next to hold the title of the Fire lord, another preferred that he should be taught extensive firebending training to become as powerful as Zuko was by sixteen. Zuko came back to his quarters pissed as ever just listening to the advisors, he couldn’t believe half of the shit that ran loosely from their ignorant mouths.

The more thoughts of the meeting streamed through his head, the harder he plowed his hips down into you. Thinking about the situation never made his temper falter from any less upset he was in those moments, the bed underneath began to thump against the solid walls unforgivingly. Zuko’s hands went to grip at your fleshy hips, hammering himself forcibly into your salivating folds that could only go basically numb from his assaults. She submitted to his every will during his bout of anger, wails somewhat muffled out due to the thickness of the duvets on the bed, eyes going straight to the back of her head each time Zuko would slam dead on her g spot.

“You want a fucking heir, I’ll give you one, maybe even fucking three.” He spat, more to himself than out loud. You, however, heard this and wholly melted into the mattress with a significantly louder sob than the rest. The man above you lifted his leg up to stamp flatly in the mattress to support his impossibly deeper movements, they sped up smoothly with all his preceding thrusts, greatly affecting the ability to intake a proper lung-full of air. It's like he was a different person when he was upset, there was no negotiation on power play, no playfulness, nothing. He just raw-dogged your insides into a thick pulp with your fucking third orgasm of the night.

His hips spanked fat red marks into the underside of your ass, the rough contact didn’t even hurt anymore. The pain had grown so great that now every time he slapped painfully on your skin, the harsh sting was reduced to a dull, numbed out soreness. From your fingers flying all the way down to your toes felt like pins and needles prickling the surface of your naked body, even your throat started to burn from all the screaming your vocals could barely even support. He finally groaned longingly once your walls came in on his dick, spewing out another trail of juices from the couple’s connection. A strong hand gripped until fingernail marks dug into your flesh, aiding him to propel you back onto his length to intensify his hips’ jolts forward.

A burning sensation now stinging at his pelvis from the reckless use of his toned hips along with his propped up leg, the ecstatic crescendo of his orgasm peaking just behind a couple more thrusts. Drilling the head of his cock so deep he was sure he made it to her heated womb desperately asking for his cum to breed her to the brim and beyond. To plant whatever he could produce from his depths in the midst of her beaten up insides. Heaving his angry arousal along the embrace of her gummy walls around him.

“‘m gonna, do it in you. I hope that’s alright..” He muttered out almost apprehensively. You choked out whatever intelligible words you could form, “Y-yes…Zuko.”

Zuko abruptly flipped you around to stay put on your back, legs being pushed back until her knees hit the mattress beside her head. Standing slightly above her, he moved closer to re enter inside of her in such a crude position on the surface of the bed. From over her own body, he planted deeply inside of her messy pussy, roughly molding out his dick inside of her pitiful sex like some hungry animal. Tears accumulated at the corners of your eyes from the physically demanding position you were now forced into, your legs felt like they could give out from being pushed beyond their flexibility limits. All liquids being forced out of you splashing on his face, creating a wet sheen over his body.

Long, drawn out keens from the both if you sounded into the atmosphere of the room from your mutual stomach-caving finish. Zuko fucked his orgasm inside of her even further, plunging whatever wasn’t already balls deep inside of her. It's like his cock touched the very part of her soul that made something snap in her mind, continuing his jarring pushes downward. So deep, so big, so amazing, you could virtually feel the thickness of the base of his dick in your throat, never letting up fucking you as passionately as he did.

“Give me another I know you can do it f’me love.”

Everything went impractically faster leaving you a filthy mess, you couldn’t even think straight without thinking about how his dick is currently beating down your guts at the moment. Drool seeped steadily from the corner of your mouth, eyes twitching from the immense amount of pressure and jerks from the overwhelming senses of their sex. You could barely wrap your arms around him as he had you mostly pinned down in this foreign position, so deciding it was best to just lay there and take it like some desperate bitch. Sputters, some bubbles and your eyes glued to the back of your head, your mouth left gaping as he leaned over to kiss you gently on your exposed neck.

“Good angi, give it to me Zuko!”

The breathed-out comment sent something rushing through his veins, he couldn’t decipher it but god, the way she looked him into his eyes taunting; hell even daring him to get her all sorts of knocked up. As knocked up as he could even get her, filling her up until her stomach bulged even more prominently. He grew dizzy, legs failing to keep him up through the process of gaining one more blissful finish, his voice nothing more than hoarse whispers of sighs, pants, all telltale signs of him getting so much closer.

Zuko strokes decelerated gently, allowing him to continue to delve inside her deep, relaxing his body so that he can place a firm hand to wrap itself on the base of her neck.

“Open.” She listened wordlessly, he conjured up a petty strand of saliva to spit into the warmth of her open mouth. Letting her lap at his dribble by sticking her tongue out wide, and flicking at anything that came from him. This urged you two into a languid kiss, breathing frantically against each other’s mouths whilst Zuko resumed his previous pace from before. Their lips would meet every now and then, but not for long. You sucked in his bottom lip, licking up into the unexplored space of his mouth. He took the chance to wrap his lips around your tongue, bobbing his head unhurriedly, almost methodically.

As the night dragged on, the both of you were nearly drunk off each other’s lips, hands, skin even. Another couple of orgasms came out of the time and effort both of you put into loving on each other all of his cum only reserved for going inside of you, now working on the final one of the night, the two of you were pressed on the wall rutting into each other like some hormonal teenagers. She threw her head back on the wall with a thud, swallowing thickly, a slightly painful climax ripping through her sobbing pussy. Zuko pulled out of you entirely once he finally came, making you drop on your knees to catch his cum in your mouth. His whole figure tenses and jerks erratically in the heat of the climax, clouding his mind and any thoughts that seemed to run rampant. He huffed, bringing his hand up to bite down on a fist while he blew his literal bodily capacity inside your tight mouth.

As you took all of the stripes of white flinging all over in both your mouth and throat, his abs convulsed and rolled under his pale skin. You watch as he furrowed his eyebrows, dropping his fist out from between his teeth in awe at how hard he came.

“Don’t swallow, c’mere”

Going to pull yourself up with the use of the nearby nightstand, he brought both of his hands to snake around your neck before pulling you into a deep kiss. He swirled around his own essence with his curious tongue, wiping away the stray trail falling from the side of your mouth. It was thick, sloppy, and almost sweet tasting; and the two of them shared how ever much could be evenly distributed between each other.

His right hand went to trace around your figure that outlined your body he knew all too well, traveling across the stuffed swell of your stomach. Maybe, and hopefully so, that a few healthy babies could be conceived from your bred and worked out body. Some of it dripped along the plushness of your thigh, running out from between your naked folds from the overfill he bestowed on her from the events of that evening. Just beautiful, he never said this aloud but he thought it, sliding his hand down even further to fully palm possessively at your throbbing heat he could most definitely lose his mind over.

•𑁍•

Tags:

[bumblekastclips]

BODY SWAP: Whisper & Silver

KYLE CROUSE: Alright, here is one from Normal Person, "now I just want to complete the trilogy of generic body swap scenarios. Final Hedgehog Silver swaps with Whisper, how would this comical mishap go? To add more to this Whisper is only restricted to Silver's Telekinesis." So she can't time-travel, I guess, huh? Or whatever else he can do?

IAN FLYNN: Hmm. Well, I mean, are we gonna say... are we gonna say that she can teleport, or is that an extension of his telekinetic abilities? I think it's supposed to be... KYLE: Uh, I think that's an extension of it. IAN: We won't count Chaos Control, then. I think that's a different discipline. KYLE: That's Shadow's thing. IAN: Although, how terrifying is the idea of a sniper assassin that can stop time? Oh, God. KYLE: [Laughing] She's -- Uh, I mean -- She's already overpowered enough as it is, you give her Silver's powers on top of that, and, uh... I mean... hm! IAN: [Laughing] So, Whisper in Silver's body is going... KYLE: She can't use her wispon, apparently, as Silver. I don't know why not, Silver has hands and eyes, you could-- IAN: [Chuckles] It's for the sake of the scenario. KYLE: I know. IAN: The TK particles mess with the electronics. Sure, why not? KYLE: Alright! IAN: Uh, she is going to take a dedicated amount of time to figure out how this works. Like, small movements at first; floating, rising, moving small objects, manipulating them within space, learning the limitations and the scope of it. And if they haven't swapped back by the time she's figured it out, she's going to be the most pointed and, uh, decisive TK user you can imagine. None of this big, grandiose, giant meteor of junk, no systematic trying to rubber stamp you with semi-trucks -- she's gonna find something thin and sharp and launch it from a great distance before you even know what's goin' on. Like, that container is going to move, close around you, and go into the deepest end of that lake and stay there until the job is done. She is going to flit in between various rooftops and teleport into vantage points you would know -- you don't even know she's coming! She is going to be absolutely terrifying. The only saving grace is that she glows when she's using her powers, so maybe, MAYBE you stand a chance... you don't. KYLE: [Laughing] You don't! You really don't! IAN: Silver, meanwhile, after he gets done geeking out about being the Guardian Angel of the Battlefield, uh... he can't get it to work. And for the longest time, he thinks it's just user-issue, like it should be pretty straight -- it's got a trigger. You pull the trigger, why does it not do...? Until he realizes the wisps are actually stopping him. They are not gonna let him fire off a single shot until he knows how to use this equipment. So he hast to learn how to wear the mask properly, he has to learn how to operate it, he has to listen to their instructions on how this goes, and he has to go through the drills, and he has to take his time, and THEN he can use the gun, okay? Okay. And then once he's got his learner's permit, I -- he's terrifying. Like, he is not as, uh, precise with the application, but he does know how to maximize the effect. KYLE: Uh-huh, yeah. IAN: He is going to move into position, launch that rocket, follow up with a hammer strike, and you don't even know what happened. You were just havin' an ice cream, and all of a sudden boom! Bang! Boom! Colorful lights everywhere! And you're gone. KYLE: So basically, both of them would be terrifying, and possibly more terrifying than if they -- than before switching bodies. IAN: I mean, the only difference is their volume level. Y'know, Silver -- Whisper would say, [quietly] "Boom. Headshot." Silver would go, [maniacal cackling in Silver's voice] "Hahaha, gotcha!" KYLE: [Laughing] Yeah. Yeah, that's true. Trying to imagine that voice coming out of Whisper, though. [Laughing] Weird. IAN: [Laughing] God. Silver -- Whisper teleporting into position, about to drop a city block on somebody? [quietly] "It's no use." KYLE: Uh-huh. Someone's looking -- [laughing] someone sees Silver and thinks, "Hey, Silver, what are 'ya squinting for?" IAN: [chuckling] Let's just say, if it was up to Whisper, we wouldn't be having a discussion of the Iblis Trigger. KYLE: No. IAN: It would be past-tense. KYLE: No, the-- yeah. Yeah. Yeah. [chuckling]

[miqo-tales]

Jobs at 100 - CASTING

RDM

Dunno if I like Grand Impact. Feels awkward? It is pretty high potency though, so I just need to force myself to use it when it's up.

Manafication giving a free use instead of gauge is nice. Once again I'm confused that some jobs get that and some don't.

...not much else to say, really.

LVL100 AF thoughts: Very swashbuckler/pirate-y. The gloves are kinda boring and I'm not sure about the hat, but overall it's really nice.

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SMN

Third verse, same as the first.

So, it's been more than 10 years with Big Red, Big Yellow, and Big Green. It is long past time for the other three to show up.

So I really hope that by lvl 120 or something, SMN alternates between access to Ifrit/Titan/Garuda and Ramuh/Shiva/Leviathan.

So Bahamut, I/T/G, Phoenix, R/S/L, YugiOh Bahamut, I/T/G, and so on.

Alternatively, SMN could get something like PCT's Subtractive Palette that swaps Ruby, Topaz, and Emerald Arcanums for Amethyst, Diamond, and Sapphire Arcanums (or whatever gemstones might fit).

LVL100 AF thoughts: Looking back, SMN has had a weird mix of styles for AF. And none of them have really been any good, have they? Whereas this is another of the "wow it's an actual outfit" ones for this expansion. I mean it's just so startlingly practical; I wish every job got this look. I don't like the head piece that much though? It's the one thing in SMN AF that shouldn't be understated.

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PCT

Really don't like this job sub-60. Not having subtractive palette kinda sucks.

Can we all agree Hammer Stamp is the best thing ever? Yea whatever cute moogles, I just wanna go all Akane on mobs all the time with my interdimensional cartoon hammer.

As big as the AoE for Starry Muse is, you'd think I wouldn't have trouble staying inside it for 5 casts and yet, somehow...

The animations for this job are so good. As much as Viper is the poster-job for Dawntrail, I think Picto is arguably a better one. This job could not have been released before now. This job is your character having fun.

Also, yeesh, the damage this job can do sometimes, particularly in lower level content. "Hits like a truck" is not descriptive enough. This job reincarnates mobs to different worlds. Every time you kill something, a new light novel is created.

I dunno what this job's optimal rotation is, and I'm not sure I wanna go find out. I suspect playing it optimally will ruin it for me.

LVL100 AF thoughts: Kinda wish we'd gotten Relm's mantle/cape instead of the jacket, but not a big deal. In any case, it's cute and I like how it dyes. However, I gotta say, I'm not impressed with any of the in-game brushes.

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BLM

As I thought, the change to how you regain MP is a major bonus for me. I could never get a handle on the old way it worked.

I can actually play BLM now, which is nice. Though I'd only qualify as "okay" in most content, so not like I'm gonna use it a lot all of a sudden.

I wish the Thunder spells were genuinely oGCD (meaning they didn't reset all other ability timers). Also kinda wish Flare got upgraded to Despair instead of it being a separate ability.

3 polyglot charges is kinda disgusting.

The revamp to Manafont is pretty cool, but damn, the updates to Umbral Soul are maybe the best thing ever. Just straight up stopping the Enochian counter? Full umbral hearts outside of combat? Yes thank you.

Flare Star is pretty cool.

LVL100 AF thoughts: Like so many others, it's an actual outfit! Easily the best looking AF so far. It's not even close.

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[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: While on a walk to clear his head, Alex is attacked by Caleb as a warning to him and his friends. Shaken, he refuses to tell the band what happened, but he does tell Willie who is furious and protective. Fluffy ending. (This was edited/simplified just to make it shorter.)

Oooh, this was a really good request! All the details were really helpful too, so thank you for that. I really enjoyed writing it, especially the fluff at the end. I really hope this is the sort of thing you were after. Thank you for requesting it, I hope you like it!

TW: injury, blood.

Tripwire

It was safe to say that since Alex and the boys had left the dark room there had been a lot to process. Being dead, for a start. Adjusting to being a ghost had been a whole other ordeal too. Meeting Julie, forming the band, everything that had gone down with Caleb. Willie. Throughout those few months it had been non-stop, one thing after another, and Alex hadn’t had any time to slow down or take a break, not one single moment to really think about what was going on.

Now, somehow, all the difficult stuff was over and done with. Nobody had seen Caleb in weeks, Alex had managed to free Willie from the stamp, and the band had five more gigs lined up, plus a record deal on the horizon. While things were still definitely busy, it wasn’t so constant anymore. Alex finally had the time to just take a breather – or whatever the ghost version of a breather was, seeing as he couldn’t actually breathe. He had settled on his tried and tested method of going for a walk to clear his head to take the time to wrap his mind around it all.

The freedom of teleportation was nice, but it was definitely one of Alex’s least favourite ghost abilities. He couldn’t help but worry he’d somehow end up in the wrong place every time he did it, or that he’d poof out and never reappear anywhere else. It didn’t have the safety of walking through walls or being heard and seen when the band played together. And it might have been freeing, but it wasn’t nearly as freeing as just walking. Walking was slow and repetitive and methodical, rhythmic in a way that was relaxing. When Alex walked he didn’t have to think about where he was going – he could just let his feet take him there while his mind wandered elsewhere.

So that’s what he did. As he walked through the streets of Hollywood, Alex let his mind wander. He thought about everything that had happened since they came back, everything that might have happened in the twenty-five years before that, and everything that could happen in the future. Alex didn’t often think about the future; he didn’t like dwelling on things that were out of his control and the future was certainly that. But as he thought about it then, it didn’t seem quite so daunting – after all, nothing bad had happened in weeks.

As he was nearing the Orpheum, Alex suddenly felt as if something was wrong. It was an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, a bad feeling that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Dread, maybe. Or perhaps just the intuitive feeling that something was coming and it couldn’t be anything good.

Ahead of him, no more than ten feet away, a mist was gathering, a light lilac cloud spinning faster and faster until it was so thick that Alex couldn’t see through it, growing taller and taller, wider and wider. The cloud spun so fast that Alex could feel wind rush past him from the movement of it, but it was gone as soon as it had come. The cloud dissipated with a soft whoosh, leaving behind a few sparkles drifting on the breeze it had created, and stood where the cloud had been was Caleb Covington.

While he wasn’t happy to see Caleb again after so long, Alex was glad to see he hadn’t lost his flair for the dramatic.

He knew he wouldn’t have time to get away, but he still considered it. Maybe if he ran instead of walking he could get away. He considered poofing out, but his mind had gone completely blank of places to poof to – all he could think of when looking at Caleb was the Hollywood Ghost Club, and going there was nothing short of the worst idea he could ever have had. So he stayed put, staring Caleb down, trying to stop the shaking of his hands and the hammering of his non-existent heart.

“Hello, Alex,” Caleb drawled. His hands were folded atop his cane and he wore a purple suit so dark it almost looked black, his cape wafting ever so slightly in the breeze, his top hat perched neatly on his head. Childishly, Alex wondered if he had the courage to walk up to him and knock the hat off his head. “Long time no see.”

“What do you want?” Alex demanded, trying to sound as if he wasn’t desperate to run away. He was aware that Caleb probably knew just how scared he really was, but if he didn’t show his nerves then he might have been able to convince himself that he wasn’t really frightened.

Caleb tutted. “Come now, is that really how you greet an old friend? I might have expected it from Luke but certainly not from you, Alex. I’m only here to see how you’re getting on without me!”

It felt like a trap, but Alex didn’t know what tripwire he was supposed to avoid.

“We’re doing fine,” he said firmly. “We don’t need you.”

“So you keep telling me,” Caleb replied. He flexed his hands, still grasping his cane. “Tell me, Alex – how did you and your little buddies manage to free yourselves from my stamp, hm?”

“Why should I tell you that?” Alex spat. It was a braver way of saying ‘we have no idea’.

“Oh, I don’t think you should,” Caleb admitted. “If you told me how you did it there would be dire consequences for you and your friends, but it would be extremely helpful to me. If you want to keep this newfound freedom with your silly little band, you shouldn’t tell me how you got the stamp off.”

“Then I’m not telling you,” Alex said.

“But,” Caleb continued, a malicious twinkle in his eyes, “if you want to walk away from this little chat unharmed then I suggest you tell me everything.”

Up until then, Alex thought he had been doing a very good job at standing his ground, maybe even looking a little intimidating. But the threat broke him. He felt himself freeze, his mind halt, and suddenly he was far weaker than the man in front of him.

“Unharmed?” he repeated. “What do you mean ‘unharmed’?”

Caleb cocked his head to the side like he didn’t understand the question. “Isn’t it obvious?” When Alex didn’t say anything, Caleb chuckled darkly. It sent shivers down Alex’s spine and made his stomach twist sickeningly. “Alex, if you refuse to tell me exactly how you got my stamp off, I am going to hurt you. And let me tell you, you’d be surprised just how much you can make someone hurt even after they’re dead and gone.”

Alex’s mind was spinning. There was no good option here, no way out. Caleb had trapped him in yet another impossible situation. He cursed himself for not poofing out while he had the chance.

But it didn’t matter how scared he was now, he would not let his friends suffer just to stave off his own pain. He had to take one for the team, even if he was dreading it. The smirk on Caleb’s face said that he knew he had won this round no matter what, smug and self-satisfied. Alex wanted to slap the smile right off his face, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight.

He steeled himself, set his jaw, tried to look like as much of a threat as he could. “I’m not telling you anything. Nothing you do can make me talk. Do your worst.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but he nodded. “Alright then. You’ve made your decision. I can’t say I’m surprised – you’re not as weak-willed as you look. But you’re still weak. I can still hurt you.”

He tucked his cane under his arm and stalked towards Alex. Too late, Alex wondered if he could have taken that brief opportunity to run away, but he would never know because Caleb grabbed his wrist. It was just like how he’d put the stamp on, a quick touch and a slight sting. When he let go, Alex looked at where his hand had been – there was a blood red mark there, swirling on his skin. Its shape constantly changed, but Alex was sure he picked out a blade before it twisted and morphed into something else.

“What is it?” he asked Caleb.

“You’ll soon see,” he replied, already walking away. He threw the words over his shoulder as he left Alex alone. “Consider this a warning to you and your friends. Willie, too. It isn’t over. There is plenty more I can do to make you suffer. It’s up to you to decide whether you’re willing to put yourselves through all of this just to stay away from me. I’ll see you soon, Alex.”

And he was gone.

For a moment, Alex was confused. This stamp, whatever it was, didn’t seem to be doing anything. It was just moving about on his skin, as fluid as water, like a cool tattoo. He wondered – hoped – if Caleb’s spell hadn’t worked.

But then it hit him. It felt as if he’d been struck by lightning and hit by a bus at the exact same time, unimaginable pain slamming into him and knocking him right off his feet. It was infinitely worse than the pain of the jolts Caleb had inflicted on them before which should have been impossible because those felt like death. And yet there he was, lying on the ground, winded and light-headed, pain surging through his body, unable to move.

Another one. This time it felt like he’d been kicked in the temple and had his face stamped on. He was sure his nose was broken even though that probably shouldn’t have been possible. He lifted a weak, shaking hand to his face and touched his upper lip – when his hand came away, his fingertips were drenched in blood. Alex had been sure that ghosts didn’t have blood, so he wondered whether he’d been wrong or if this was some sort of sick illusion Caleb had created. He decided it didn’t matter, not when he was vulnerable and hurting, in agony worse than dying.

Again, like being stabbed in the gut.

Again, like he’d broken his legs.

Again, like a knife twisted in his back.

It went on and on, attack after attack, pain after searing pain. It hurt too much for him to even scream for help, not that it would have done any good. All around him, lifers walked by without a care in the world, not knowing that he was right there, a snivelling wreck, bloodied and bruised. He curled in on himself and waited for it all to be over.

Eventually, it finished. The last jolt came like a punch to the jaw and when nothing else happened for fifteen minutes, Alex began to come to his senses. He opened his eyes and eased himself up into a sitting position. Even that hurt like hell. He studied his body – his legs, even though they felt like they had been snapped in half, seemed fine; there were a few bruises on his arms, but nothing major; every aching joint was killing him and his head was pounding; again, he touched his upper lip and felt blood crusted there, but none of it was fresh enough to be wet.

He could only imagine how pathetic he looked.

How was he going to explain all this to his friends?

Never mind an explanation – he needed to warn them.

Slowly, he picked himself up off the ground. He regretted it immediately as his head started swimming, he swayed on his feet, almost slumping right back down to the ground. He wouldn’t let himself be beaten by this, he wouldn’t show anymore weakness. His vision blurred (by pain or unshed tears, it was impossible to tell), he focused as much as he could on the studio and forced himself to poof back there.

The feeling of teleportation was uncomfortable at the best of times, but in such a state Alex couldn’t have imagined anything worse. He landed in the studio, his feet hitting the floor with such force that it sent shockwaves up his spine, nothing compared to what he’d just been through but still unbelievably painful. Distantly, he could hear his friends stop talking, muffled and indistinct voices crowding all around him, their faces swimming in front of his eyes.

“Alex,” came a voice. Maybe Julie’s, maybe Luke’s, maybe Reggie’s, maybe none of them. “Alex, buddy, you alright? Come on, speak to us, Alex. What happened? Alex? Alex?”

There was little strength in his arms, but he used it to push them all away and staggered his way to the couch. He collapsed onto it, suddenly feeling weak, somehow more vulnerable than he’d felt lying on the ground as Caleb’s stamp beat him bloody. He checked his wrist now – the stamp was gone.

He came back to himself a little at that; if the stamp was gone, he couldn’t be hurt anymore. He was alright now, he was with his friends, Caleb was nowhere to be seen. But knowing that didn’t stop the tears pooled in his eyes from sliding down his cheeks or his hands from shaking so intensely they might fall off his body. Someone – no, not just someone, it was Julie – crouched down in front of him and gently laid a hand on his knee.

He jerked away from the touch like it burned him.

“Alex,” came Julie’s soft voice. “Alex, please look at me. What happened?”

All he could do in response was shake his head and curl in on himself, body heaving with every sob he was too weak to suppress.

“Alex,” Reggie tried. Alex felt the couch cushions depress next to him as Reggie sat beside him. “It’s alright, man. You’re safe here with us.”

“You’re not alone, Alex,” came Luke’s voice. “Just tell us what happened. Who did this to you?”

But still Alex could only shake his head.

No one said anything for a while. The only sound in the studio was Alex’s laboured breathing and ragged sobs. He’d never felt so pathetic in all his life and death – he could make it through torture without crying like this, and yet just being around his friends after the fact was enough to set him off. He felt useless, he hadn’t even tried to stop Caleb in any way. He’d let this happen, he was the reason he was hurt. This was all his fault.

After a while, he heard the sound of one of the boys poofing out, presumably Luke because Alex could still feel Reggie sat beside him. Only a minute or so later, there was the sound of someone poofing back in, but Luke wasn’t alone now.

“Alex?”

His haggard breathing stopped altogether as Alex opened his eyes to see Willie in front of him, crouched down where Julie had been before. There was a soft smile on their face, reassuring, but Alex wasn’t blind to the tears in their eyes. Alex timidly reached out a hand to him and Willie interlocked their fingers.

“I’m here,” Willie said, his voice wavering. “I’m here for you, hotdog.”

At that, fresh tears began streaming down Alex’s face. He pulled Willie to him, wrapping him in a fierce embrace, holding them so tight that it made his new injuries sear with pain, but he never wanted to let go. The pain was worth every bit of comfort that simply holding Willie provided, every moment, every second, everything.

“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Julie said quietly.

“What?” Luke protested. “No way, I want to find out who hurt Alex and I want to hurt them.”

“Luke,” Julie said, gentle but firm. “That’ll come later. I’m sure we’ll find out everything, but right now we shouldn’t surround him.”

Alex, still holding Willie like his afterlife depended on it, heard the three of them reluctantly leave him and Willie behind. He was grateful for the most part, but a little bit of him still wanted them there. It would have been harder to tell them all what had happened at once, but he would have preferred not to repeat the story.

Willie just held him. They didn’t press for him to talk, didn’t let go before Alex was ready, he just held him in his arms and occasionally whispered, “I love you. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Alex couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have someone like Willie care for him.

Eventually, he pulled away. It hurt to see Willie’s face streaked with tears, especially knowing it was because of him. Alex softly tucked a lock of hair behind their ear.

“I was out for a walk,” he rasped, his voice strained from crying. “Clearing my head. Like the day we first met. Same place and everything. Then there was this weird cloud and Caleb appeared. He said if I didn’t tell him how we got the stamps off then he’d hurt me.”

“Oh, Alex,” Willie breathed. Alex could see their heart breaking.

“I wouldn’t tell him. It’s not like we know anyway. So he… he put this other stamp on me – it was like, red and swirly and it looked like…”

“Death,” Willie finished for him. Alex nodded, looking at the ground, trying to still his breathing again. “It looked like death.”

“It felt like it too,” Alex said dryly. “Or worse.” He choked on his words, remembered it all, broke again.

He fell limply to the side, but Willie caught him, pulled him into a hug as he cried. There were images racing through his mind, one after the other – Caleb’s mirthless laughter and sly smirk, the stamp dripping across his skin, himself lying on the ground covered in his own blood. He still hadn’t figured out if that blood had been real or an illusion, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore because right that moment he felt as if he couldn’t breathe and his legs were numb and the walls were closing in and he was losing his grip on reality and losing his grip on Willie and–

“Come back, Alex,” Willie said, his voice cutting through Alex’s hopeless thoughts. “You’re not there anymore. It’s over. You survived. You are in Julie’s garage, I’m holding you, nothing can get to you. Come back, Alex.”

Slowly, Alex dragged himself down from his thoughts. He focused on the feeling on his hands clutching Willie’s hoodie, the tickle of Willie’s hair against his cheek, the warmth of Willie’s hands on his back. He focused on Willie and it brought him back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t apologise,” Willie told him, sounding almost outraged. He watched as Willie took a moment to collect himself, and when they spoke again their voice was much calmer. “You have nothing to apologise for. None of this was your fault. Please tell me you know that.”

Alex couldn’t have truthfully said so, and he wouldn’t lie to Willie. Bottom lip trembling as he held back yet more tears, he remained silent.

“Alex, this wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known Caleb was going to attack you. You couldn’t have predicted any of this. And it could have happened to any one of us. We all would have done the same thing. You made it through, Alex. This wasn’t your fault and you’re not weak for getting hurt.”

After a moment’s pause, Alex weakly repeated back to them, “This wasn’t my fault.”

Willie pressed a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. “Good. Please remember that. You don’t need to feel guilty about this, alright?”

All he did was nod, closing his eyes and resting his head on Willie’s chest.

“I can explain the stamp if you want,” Willie said, carding his fingers through Alex’s hair. “It has some fancy Latin name that I can’t remember. When Caleb uses it on someone, it takes the most pain they’ve ever been in, and it multiplies it by a thousand. It’s a good thing he can’t use it on lifers because if he did it would kill them with the first jolt.”

“I’m not surprised,” Alex deadpanned.

“The first time he used it on me I thought he was trying to kill me. Again. Or force me to cross over somehow.”

At that, Alex sat up and stared at Willie, wide-eyed. “The first time?”

Gently, Willie pulled Alex back to his lap and laid him down again. “He would use it on me if ever I stepped really out of line. The last time was the day you guys performed at the Orpheum. But I’m free now, so as long as we avoid Caleb it’ll never happen again. If we all avoid him – me, you, Luke, Reggie – then none of us have to get hurt.”

“I don’t think we can avoid whatever he’s got planned,” Alex mumbled.

“Maybe not,” Willie admitted. “But let’s not think about that now. Right, hotdog? I mean, you made it out today. Let’s focus on that. Is there anything you want to do?”

Alex thought for a moment but all he came up with was: “I just want to sleep. And I want you to hold me.”

He could hear Willie’s smile in their voice. “Of course. Whatever you want, Alex.”

Alex felt his eyes drifting closed, sleep catching up with him all at once, the exhaustion being a by-product of the agony. He didn’t mean to say it, but he heard his tired voice breathe, “I love you.”

And just before he fell asleep, he heard Willie whisper back, “I love you too, Alex. Sleep well.”

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Worthy (pt6)

A/N: once again - just keep poking me until I start tagging you if you want tagged. @rampant-salamander​, @bolontiku​

...

I looked from Tony to Thor and back to Tony.

“I don’t understand your question,” I responded, and threw back the drink. To hell with being moderate. I was pretty sure I was about to lose my dream job on my second day, I may as well go out with a bang.

“Ella, there has to be something special about you to allow you to lift that hammer,” Tony spoke slowly. That was probably a bad thing. I suspected slow speech meant a really active brain. I was now a mystery that needed to be solved.

“There is nothing special about me at all,” I argued.

“You can lift Mjolnir. That is special.” Thor was like a sage who spoke in riddles.

“But being able to lift Mjolnir isn’t what makes me special enough to lift it. That’s a redundancy.” I, like Tony, was slipping into scientific method in order to try to sort things out.

“Do you have Aesir blood, Ella?” Thor asked.

“My family is from Washington. By way of Wisconsin,” I replied. Tony snorted and Thor shot him a dirty look.

“Before this Wisconsin?” He pressed. The way he said Wisconsin made it sound unfamiliar and strange.

“Norway and England.”

“Norway. That is where the Northmen resided.” Thor looked thoughtful. “In the time of the Vikings, the Aesir traveled on Midgard much more frequently than they do now.”

“Are you suggesting that some ancestor of mine got knocked up by a god?” I could feel my eyebrow rising. Tony smothered a smirk behind his hand. My tone was lost on Thor.

“We are not gods, Ella,” Thor corrected. “And I am unfamiliar with knocked up. What I suggest is that your ancestor was impregnated by an Aesir.”

“But in order to lift your hammer, wouldn’t it have to be you that got this mystery ancestor pregnant? I’d have to be your descendent?” I could feel the blood draining from my face. It would be just my luck that the hottest guy I’d ever seen would be related to me. Thor’s smile was mischievous.

“Not necessarily. I would have discovered offspring of mine on Midgard by now, and I know left none. But I think it reasonable to consider you may have Aesir blood in your veins,” he explained. “Which makes you very special indeed.”

“Can everyone in Asgard lift your hammer?” I asked. Thor shook his head.

“None but I.”

“Then I don’t buy it. I keep telling people, I’m nothing special.” I was getting frustrated with the scrutiny. I never thought I would be desperate for a cute guy to stop paying attention to me, but in that moment, I would have given anything to be able to just go hide in obscurity in the lab, building my washing machine.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Ella,” Tony interrupted. I’d nearly forgotten he was there, Thor had such powerful bearing. I didn’t think it was possible to lose track of Tony Stark, but I guess in the presence of not-actually-gods… “You are something special. That’s why Pepper and I lept on your application like we did. How did you make it through university with such a bad self image?”

“I don’t have a bad self image. I know I’m a fucking amazing engineer. I just fail to see a correlation between my ability to understand math and build things and my purported mystical ability to lift a magic hammer,” I snapped. I turned back to Thor. “You’re sure no one else can lift it?” Thor glanced at Tony, almost as though he was looking for approval. Tony gave a slight nod.

“I believe that Captain Rogers would be able to lift it, should he have the opportunity. But that remains untested,” Thor admitted. I sighed.

“Of course. He’s a legit hero. Full of righteousness and honour and nobility.” My tone was more sarcastic than I’d intended.

“Yes, intangible and arbitrary measures of worthiness. Who is to say you don’t meet the parameters in some way?” Thor shot back. I looked into my empty glass, wishing it were still full.

“Did you not see me level that d-bag in the elevator?”

“Tis nothing I would not have done myself, and yet I am still worthy,” Thor shrugged. Pepper had walked in at some point during the conversation, and Tony turned to her expectantly. She sighed and blinked slowly.

“We’ve had a discussion about appropriate professional behaviour. He is aware that if there are any further incidents he will lose his internship.” Pepper reached out for the glass of wine Tony was offering her.

“It’s a bit of a PR nightmare if we lose a second intern in as many days, Pep,” Tony commented.

“It’s a worse nightmare if, right as we’re rolling out a gender equality program and girl’s STEM mentorship program, the media gets ahold of information about how we’re allowing someone guilty of sexual harassment to remain in a prestigious and competitive internship,” she retorted. He pursed his lips and paused. After a moment he nodded in agreement.

“What do I know? You’re the boss.” His acquiescence was met with laughter from Pepper.

“What do you know, Tony? How many times did you attend the SHIELD seminar again?” She choked on her wine. “Trust me. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s a smart guy, and I’d like to think he’ll be respectful from now on.” Tony responded with some other comment and I slumped back into my seat, watching the show. If you didn’t know they were stupidly in love with one another, you might assume they were on the verge of war. But I think Tony liked to goad Pepper, and she rose to the bait. Not because she was gullible though. At least, I didn’t think it was because she was easily duped. I think she rose to the bait because it was how they clicked together. I looked away from them and over to Thor, who was sitting back on the couch, completely relaxed. The hammer was propped up beside him, handle leaning against the bolster. It was uncanny how powerful he looked, even in jeans and a t-shirt. I relaxed a little and just enjoyed looking at him, taking in the contours of his biceps, and the definition of the veins in his hands. There was a lot of him to look at, and it was all very pleasing to the eye. At least, everything I’d seen thus far.

I didn’t realize how overt I was being until he smirked. He turned to look at me, and nodded.

“Is it not considered poor manners on Midgard to stare at others?” There was a teasing tone to his voice, but I blinked and looked away, feeling my cheeks colour.

There was really no way for me to deny that I was staring at him. The only blank wall in the entire place was right behind him. I couldn’t even beg being distracted by some of the weird art that seemed to be all over the building. 

“I, uh, well,” I stammered. “I was looking at the hammer?” It sounded like bullshit, even to me. I heard a stifled laugh from Tony and shot him a filthy look. I pushed myself to my feet and glanced at Pepper. “If you don’t need me, Pepper, I’m going to try to catch up with Angela. I have some things I need to pick up for my suite.”

“You can order anything you need from distribution,” Tony offered.

“Except, apparently, towels bigger than a postage stamp,” I retorted. My ears were burning and I was having a really hard time not looking over to see if Thor was following the conversation. He probably was as there was no one else for him to pay attention to.

“You are aware there’s varying sizes of towel?” Tony’s tone was sarcastic. I rolled my eyes.

“Not that this is really a conversation I feel I want to have with my boss, but I grabbed the biggest one. It still barely covered me.” I was ready to pray for a hole to open in the floor and swallow me.

“Well, you’re not exactly supposed to be lounging around in your tow –“

“I wasn’t!” I interrupted. “I was just getting out of the shower when Thor showed up and I didn’t have time to be getting fully dressed before I answered the door, and then the towel slipped and oh my god I cannot believe I’m telling you all this.” I took a deep breath and looked back to Pepper. “Can I go? Please?”

“Let me walk you to the elevator,” she offered and led the way. As we walked away, I heard Tony clear his throat.

“You’ve seen her naked already, you sly dog?”

“That is enough, Stark. How you have lived so many years on this realm and not noticed how modest some of your women are, I have no idea. But you embarrassed her. Like many Midgardians, she lacks comfort with the physical form.” Thor’s words were a chastisement, and I somehow felt even more embarrassed about him having seen me naked. Because now, not only was I naked in front of the freaking Norse god of thunder, but also he took more notice of what a prude I am than that I was naked. I leaned against the wall and banged my head against it.

“That’s not how you call the elevator,” Pepper teased. “I know we all collectively keep telling you to relax, but, yeah. Relax. If Tony is already giving you a hard time, he’s assimilating you into his world as a permanent fixture. This will be something you laugh about in future years.” Her eyes were warm with empathy and it was so reassuring.

“You seriously need to do something about the towel situation, Pepper.” I stepped onto the elevator and pushed the button for my floor. Once the doors shut, I texted Angela to see how far she’d got without me. I didn’t have to wait long. I was swiping my passcard to get into my room when she stepped off the elevator.

“So, towels? Maybe a beer?” She followed me into my apartment.

“Yes. To both.”

XXX

For whatever reason, I expected getting beer with Angela would be more Sex-in-the-City than it was. She pulled me into a quiet bar after we’d found appropriate towels, and we ordered wings from the kitchen and beer.

“So I did some research today while you were meeting with Markus,” she volunteered over a heap of wing bones. I made a noise that was easily interpretable as curiosity and she continued. “I might have hacked some of Tony’s files about that hammer. Thor wasn’t kidding around when he said you shouldn’t be able to lift it. It was apparently forged in the heart of a dying star, of some crazy space-metal. And the Odin enchanted it so only Thor could lift it. Which is clearly a broken enchantment because apparently you can lift it too.”

“It says right on it that if you’re worthy, you can lift it,” I corrected her with my mouth full.

“Obviously it doesn’t take table manners into consideration!” She laughed. I hung my head in mock-shame, but made sure my mouth was clear before I spoke again.

“I don’t know how it determines worthiness. Honestly, isn’t that a little creepy? Is the hammer sentient? Does it consider the merits of each individual that touches it in that split second between grabbing it and trying to lift it? Or does Odin have some sort of approval system for worthiness, and he gets interrupted from whatever it is he’s doing to approve people in that same fraction of an instant?” I pondered.

“Way to ruin magic with science,” she groaned.

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. That’s Clarke’s Third Law. The other two are pretty good too,” I shrugged.

“Oh, that was a kill shot! Come on, let me have some sort of fantasy about the mystical powers of the damn hammer, Ella!” Angela threw her hands up in frustration. I smiled and nodded.

“Of course. The hammer is mystical and powerful and absolutely should not be questioned,” I acceded. Angela swatted at me and flagged the waitress over for another round. I felt myself relaxing and forgetting about the overwhelming stress of the past couple of days as we decompressed over a second beer. When Angela dropped me back at the tower, I realized she may very well live on-site as well, but I was tired and had a bit of a beer buzz and forgot to ask before stumbling through my door and crashing on the sofa.

[phantom-wolf]

Day 8: Pirates and Cowboys

Old life, New Beginning

A/N: I'm going to put content warnings in the tags and also before the story just in case

For @usukweek

Content warnings: character held captive/ prisoner, mentions of robbery, use of guns, mention of insects, 10 year age gap, minor character death, suggestive themes 

Summary: In 1875, Arthur Kirkland decides to travel to Europe. On his journey the ship he's on is attacked by pirates. Lo and behold one of those pirates is Alfred Jones.

You can also read it here:

A familiar four clicks accompanied the movement of his thumb as the hammer of the single action was cocked. A spatter of blood and gore soon accentuated the deck as one of the pirates took the bullet that tore from the blond's revolver. He instinctually ducked as bullets whistled by and nearly found their mark. The only thing roaring in his ears was the sound of his own heartbeat, unimpeded by gunfire but rather spurned to a faster beat as adrenaline flooded his senses. The ringing in his ears that would've been acknowledged by a novice went unnoticed.  Fragments of wood dispersed as bullets embedded themselves into the deck and masts of the ship. 

The male found himself in a less than ideal position, forced to take cover in a location that left his rear exposed and able to be flanked. He couldn't afford to let his attention divert to this fact in the chaos of battle. All he could do was hope that the others could fend off the invaders and that there was no second point of entry. Another click distinguishable from the sound of the hammer was audible as the last chamber of the Peacemaker was emptied. Instead of wasting time reloading he reached for the second gun in its holster, a relatively newer Smith and Wesson model three he had bought off someone whose name he couldn't recall. Before he could properly grip and raise the weapon he sensed a presence behind him and felt metal dig into the back of his head. Instinctually he froze and mentally cursed himself for acknowledging the weakness while doing nothing to prevent it. 

"Hand away from your weapon."

Weighing his options he complied, slowly feeling himself relax as the barrel was removed from the back of his head. He turned to face the perpetrator, sizing him up, taking note of his broader figure, dirty blond hair and estimating his age to be in his thirties before his focus shifted to looking down the barrel of the weapon. A gleeful delight overcame him, a catalyst for confidence whereas in a different situation he may not have had. There wasn't a round chambered in the barrel. His eyes flicked to the other man's blue ones before a laugh escaped his lips full of contempt and amusement, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as the fear drained from him.  Pointedly he stated "If you're going to be aiming a weapon at someone it should be loaded." 

His attacker had enough common sense to look slightly embarrassed, eyes widening slightly before narrowing once more, his finger curling tighter around the trigger and his thumb brushing against the hammer of his revolver in an attempt to regain control of the situation "There are five rounds, all it takes is a quick rotation of the cylinder. So I suggest you cooperate."

The pirates' attempt wielded no fruit as another snicker left the other's mouth." This was poorly planned on your part. If I was a- duller gentleman what would stop me from pulling my secondary and shooting you on the spot?" 

The pirate looked affronted. "The fact that by the time you would've pulled it out I would've taken the end of this weapon and hit you over the head. Or simply pulled back the hammer a few times and shot you before you could me." Arthur could see the stranger practically bristling as he continued. "Anyway, what's wrong with you? Who decides to look down the barrel of a gun pointed at them?!" To his utmost amusement he could hear the man murmur under his breath about how in all the years- 

"You're confident in your abilities I'll give you that. And you're lucky I'm no gunslinger." Arthur started, peeking over the barrel that served as cover and scanning the deck for any other resistance from the other crew members of the merchant ship. Finding none he decided not to risk being shot by the thieves who had boarded during their conversation. It had seemed the victors were decided. "To answer your question, a very clever man."

"Or a very stupid one" The pirate grumbled and narrowed his eyes, giving him a glance over before stopping on his face. Despite the now rather medium length beard that accompanied his features and some grey poking through his wild blond hair he could see a multitude of things flash through the other's expression, the two most prevalent being surprise then recognition. 

"You're- Arthur Kirkland." 

Arthur let another curse leave his lips not caring enough to hide his rather foul mouth as the stranger shouted to the others and he was guided on board the pirate's ship. 

--

Now he found himself imprisoned aboard some ship he knew nothing about. A rich orange light filtered in through a circular window of some kind, slowly retracting and leaving strange shadows in its wake as the sun started to set. Left to his own thoughts for entertainment, he mulled over the irony of the situation and mused that if he had wanted to be in a cell he would've walked himself into the local sheriff's office. He mindlessly swatted festering insects away as they found their way into his holding through the opening, torn between being grateful for the ventilation while also loathing it for being an easy access point for flies. He'd come acquainted to the soft creaking of wood and boisterous voices above drowning in whatever alcohol they could scrounge up. Several days, ten since his capture and a few days on board his previous vessel had granted him the mercy of letting him adjust himself to the sway of the waves underneath them. His body ached and he wasn't sure if it was from the hard floor below him or from the moisture that was in the air. It was however a definite reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

 A nearer, heavier creak caught his attention and he turned his head to the source spotting a silhouette in the doorway. With the illumination of the kerosene lamp his visitor clutched he could make out the details of a familiar figure. Deeming him as non hostile he relaxed and decided to greet his company. "Come here for free entertainment? If you did I apologize. I'm not very interesting."

"I came here to give you some food"  The familiar voice of the pirate who had found him in the first place spoke. "And to deliver some news. As for that second part we both know that's not true."

At the announcement of food Arthur sat upright and moved to the bars. "We'll thank you for the compliment" He murmured more focused on what the other carried then the conversation. He kept his composure despite the rumbling of his stomach, stamping down any ebbing curiosity that threatened to reveal itself. News was an inconsistency in routine that had been made over the past several days and frankly he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what that meant.  "What is it this time?"

"Some dried beef and some beer today." 

A little humorous and witty remark rolled off his tongue easily."You pirates' meals are quite bland, you know that don't you Alfred?" 

Sensing the humor in his words Alfred chuckled. Somehow he managed to juggle the beer, meat and lamp by keeping the drink close to his body with his arm and gripping the wrapped cloth that had the dried meat with the same hand, letting the other carry the light source."You're lucky you're not eating the biscuits. The bugs like to make their homes there."

At that Arthur grunted, disgusted but not surprised. "The bugs make their homes everywhere. It doesn't surprise me they are embedded in your food as well."

"Your food now." Alfred responded with a light hearted grin deciding to take the lasting conversation as an invitation to stay. He'd done this every time he brought food and drink. Arthur held no hostility to him, not minding the company either. Afterall, if he had been in the pirates' place he would've done the same thing. Extra money wasn't something that was stumbled upon frequently. He supposed he should even be grateful that Alfred hadn't decided to shoot him right then and there. Although conversing with the man led to one of the answers he was searching for. Turns out Alfred didn't like to kill civilians if he didn't need to. At the time he had figured the situation was under control and sensing the opportunity for an ambush had done so. He'd much rather use intimidation tactics to manipulate the situation. What the quartermaster hadn't realized was that the newest edition to the crew, Jackson had been shot until after. These things tend to get lost in the chaos of gunfire and screaming. 

The lamp was set down as a hand slipped between the bars with the cured meat clutched in it, which he eagerly took and was soon followed by the beer. He knew it was beneficial to them to keep him alive, however that was a very...broad term. He doubted the bounty poster specified that he had to be in pristine condition to claim the reward. So he was happy to accept some of the more quality food. 

They stayed in silence for a few moments, Arthur slowly tackling the meat and washing it down with beer until Alfred broke it. "You're to be brought up to the deck today".  

Upon hearing those words Arthur nearly choked on the beef, managing to swallow without incident. "What?" 

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly, although had appeared concerned when the other almost choked. "I did say I had news for you."

"You could've mentioned it earlier!" 

"Yeah I guess so. But then you wouldn't have eaten, insisting to go now. This way you have energy. So finish your food and then I'll bring you up." 

Arthur seeing no other option simply ate a little faster. 

---

Arthur was grateful for the sun's position upon stepping out onto the deck for the relative lack of light. He was sure if the sun had been higher an unforgiving headache would've blossomed behind his eyes at the sudden influx of light. His joints popped from the exercise he found himself able to partake in. It felt nice after being confined to a small cell for a little over a week. He was still weary however. Years of experience had taught him that nothing was easy in this world. Nothing was given, everything came with a price. Not even stealing was without its dues. This situation was quite the reminder. 

He sensed Alfred's eyes on him and turned to look at him. It was at this moment Alfred spoke up. "Captain Williams wants to talk to you." 

There it was. "Oh? And why's that?" 

"That's something you'll have to ask him yourself. But don't worry! Whatever it is, it will be alright. After all, you got me on your side! I'll do my best to protect you!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at this statement dubiously. "My hero" he retorted with a roll of his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Alfred seemed to brighten up at that not seeming to either notice or care that it had been sarcasm. Not wanting to ruin the man's mood, Arthur wordlessly followed Alfred to the Captain's quarters. Williams was waiting for them, looking up as the door opened and Alfred greeted him. "Mr. Kirkland" Was the simple greeting he'd received. At least the captain seemed to hold a little respect for him. 

Arthur gave a small nod of his head, tilting his hat in recognition. "Captain Williams. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked hoping his sarcasm from earlier didn't bleed into the words for his own sake. When he locked eyes with the older man's brown ones he was met by a stare not so unfamiliar. Experienced, calculating, straight to business. A non verbal and pointed reminder to not cross the pirate captain. He met the challenge with his own confidence only tempered as to not get on the man's bad side. 

"A deal has been made between myself and Jones. You'll be considered part of the crew and will fill in for the member you shot and killed.  During this time you will not take a cut of any bounty we receive until the price on your head is paid in full." The captain responded. "You may discuss Jones's part of the deal on your own time with him." 

It didn't seem like he had much of a choice in the matter. Very well- he'd chose limited freedom to a cell any day. "Thank you" He said mustering up as much sincerity as he could and giving Alfred a side glance. 

Alfred gave him a faint smile quickly tilting his head to motion for them to depart, thanking his captain as he did so and turning to leave the cabin. Arthur spun on his heel but before he could take a step forwards William's voice rang out again. "Oh and Kirkland, if I hear any stray word about a mutiny that has passed from your lips. I'll take your tongue."

A small sly smirk threatened to etch itself across his lips however he was smart enough to keep himself straight faced. Of the same breed indeed. "I would never even consider doing such a thing" He responded turning his head to make eye contact with the one in charge. "Thank you for your mercy, Captain. I will serve you well." 

"You better. You're a three hundred dollar investment." 

---

Once they were back out onto the deck a peaceful silence fell between them, Arthur relishing in his new found freedom of sorts and Alfred undecided if he should interrupt the quiet. The sun had long departed by now, leaving the celestial bodies of the stars and moon to paint the night in light. The waves below reflected this light, swirling it in unpredictable patterns before being swallowed by the depths and replaced. The temperature had dropped a few degrees but neither seemed too affected by it. The silence was broken by Alfred who found himself uncomfortable with it. "What was being a cowboy like?" He finally blurted. 

Arthur looked at him startled out of his thoughts at the outburst. "Did the stories I told you when you visited with food not paint a good picture?"

"They did. I just wanted to know if you had more" Alfred responded embarrassed with himself, a  faint red painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Sounds pretty fun." 

Arthur grunted graciously deciding not to comment on how red the other got.  He took a moment to think of his response wording it in a way as to not get too personal. "Fun isn't what I'd describe it as. It's hard work as many things are in life. You have to be observant, be able to think on your feet. A thousand pound animal isn't going to stop stampeding because you told it to. Then combine that with upwards of a thousand other animals of the same size and the horses you're riding on top of it. It definitely makes for a good excuse to always be on guard. But generally things didn't get too exciting. The only 'exciting' thing I could count on daily was the game of: will I get bit by a snake when I get off my horse to take a piss and die a few hours later? Or on a more rare occasion, if bandits would be stupid enough to try to rob us. The real fun happened once we arrived in town after a successful transfer of cattle. Once we arrived we had to load the cows into a train cart then we got paid. After going a few weeks without a bath or proper entertainment I'm sure you can imagine what happened at the saloons" the wink accompanying that statement  went unnoticed. "I'm sure you can relate to such sentiments out at sea yourself. Minus the snakes of course". 

Truthfully Alfred enjoyed hearing Arthur tell his stories. He'd get so enthralled as he talked about his past experiences, spoke with a passion that let Alfred know that Arthur had enjoyed the job. It was one of the times where Arthur became truly expressive, a little less on guard. When Arthur got going his words painted such clear imagery that Alfred hadn't needed to be there to feel like he experienced it. Admittedly as much as he enjoyed hearing him talk in this moment he got… distracted. He accidently ended up staring at his lips briefly, wondering how they'd feel pressed against his own then dismissing the idea and blaming it on the fact he hadn't had much company lately. He blinked shaking his head of any stray thoughts and cleared his throat. It caught Arthur's attention but when he didn't say anything the cowboy now turned pirate continued. 

"I worked in the northern plains. Montana actually. So it has taken me a while to get here. The local deputies and pinkertons had started poking around on a lead that someone matching Arthur Kirkland's description was in town. Some folk from the East must've recognized me while I was celebrating a successful drive. Upon seeing the unwanted attention I decided that frankly I have been chased enough to last a lifetime and thus my decision to come to Europe. Offered the merchant ship my gun if anything were to happen and some cash as well. However nothing is ever that simple clearly." 

He partially processed the others words, nodding along but was too distracted giving the other a once over to truly hear what was being spoken. The older man's attire alone stuck out now that he had been declared part of the crew. The Englishman had a white, tall crowned hat with a narrow brim that was curled upwards on the sides. He adorned a navy pullover shirt made of cotton with a black vest made of the same material. He also wore grey wool pants with an additional layer of fabric to reinforce the seams. Of course his clothing wasn't in pristine condition, various stains and the occasional stitch from where it had been mended littered the outfit. They'd taken away the black bandana that had originally been tied around his neck, fearful that it may be used as a weapon against one of the crew or himself. 

"Wait a minute Arthur. I'll be right back" Alfred chirped, turning to head underneath the deck and deeper into the ship. Arthur watched him go before turning his attention back to the ocean, focusing on the feeling of the breeze in his face and the sound of crashing waves that surrounded the ship. 

Alfred returned with his bandana in tow holding it out and offering it to him. Afterall with the freedom now granted if Arthur wanted to, he'd have better things to use against them than a bandana.  "You will probably need some new clothes more suitable for the sea. But for now we can't buy anything since we aren't in port and we technically aren't making anything off the next several exchanges-"

"We?"

"Oh right! I gave up my cut as well until your bounty is paid off and the credit makes a profit. Technically I promised them six hundred dollars so we're going to be living on some scraps for a while."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in suspicion and curiosity, cocking his head as he looked back to Alfred."Why go through all the trouble to save me?"

Alfred gave a disarming half smile upon sensing the others suspicion trying to prove he had no ulterior motives and a shrug. Sure he found him attractive but that was not why he saved him. "There's something about you I like. You're clearly clever, a hard worker and we needed a new member of the crew. And I think you have a story to be told. Would be a shame if it were to end prematurely." 

"Don't we all have a story to tell-" He murmured, shifting his body to lean against the closest mast of the ship and crossing his arms as he was securely balanced. "And you didn't take any of the crew from the merchant ship?" 

"We offered but they declined." 

Arthur gave a hmph of disbelief. Pirate's tended not to give people many choices. The two options usually consisted of join their crew or die which brought the next question to mind. "Are they fish food now?" 

"No, we let them go." Alfred responded. When Arthur proceeded to stare at him with his eyebrows raised for further explanation he continued. "Captain Williams tries to avoid casualties where they can be avoided. He also doesn't like to take people who are likely to turn tail at the slightest hint of freedom. Took a lot of convincing to get him to accept you for that reason. As for your job on the ship you'll have to learn how to rig the sails and some level of carpentry. If those aren't your thing perhaps you could help the doc out and learn from him- or maybe the cook." 

The older male took a minute to digest this information weighing the situation. He supposed it would've worked better for him if they had been killed. There would've been fewer loose ends, less mouths to talk if the wrong parties came looking. Oh well. "And for your information I do know some carpentry and my way around a needle. Ropes shouldn't be an issue either although you'll have to teach me any particular knots you use." 

"Good and no problem. Isaiah is the ship master. He can show you some duties and I'll also be helping out when I can. The others will also show you how we operate if neither of us are available.  We all have a part to play after all. In reality most of our time is spent on ship maintenance."

Arthur couldn't help but be curious."You're going to have to be more specific when you mention maintenance because frankly I have no idea what that entails."

 Alfred paused mentally counting off, his fingers moving from a curled position to straight as he counted with them before disregarding whatever he had been doing. "Cleaning the decks, checking rigging and ropes, checking for any potential leaks or holes and repairing them. You also eventually may get to make sure everything on the gun deck is properly stored and cleaned- just to name a few. Oh and did I mention cleaning bird shit off the deck?" 

"Sounds-" a pause and despite not trying to be rude he couldn't exactly color himself enthusiastic at the prospect "...delightful. When do I begin?" 

Alfred looked smug, probably happy that some of the more unpleasant tasks were going to be now dished out to the newest member of the crew. With a clap on the other's shoulder he chirped "Your duties start right now!". With that he began to back away towards the stairs leading to the lower decks. 

"Wait where are you going?!" 

"I'm going to sleep. Isaiah is at the stern. I'll see you in the morning!" 

"Where's the stern?!" Arthur called letting his frustration seep out through his words, scowling at the retreating pirate's back. "What does Isaiah look like?" 

"Guess you'll have to figure that out yourself. Goodnight Arthur!"

Cheeky bastard. He didn't even get to shave. 

---

Both their hands were calloused, jagged chunks carved out of them from one experience or another. The years had only added to the collection of scars and disfigurations. The black bandana that had first accompanied the cowboy-ex-outlaw-pirate was now draped over one of each of their hands, both using their free hand to knot the material and bind themselves together. Together, promising to watch over each other despite what altercations that could find themselves apart of. In life and death they'd take care of one another. 

A cheer arose from their spectators as mugs were risen and beer sloshed onto the floor which would promptly have to be scrubbed later. "How about that Mr. Outlaw. You're now properly married to a pirate however fitting that may be."

"Cowboy" Arthur corrected. "I prefer cowboy although, I suppose neither occupation is particularly civilized. And the correct term is matelotage." 

"He does learn! Would you look at that" came a playful quip from one of the crew members. 

"I've learned quite well. It's you who still gets confused when I rattle off cowboy terms at you." A flippant and well timed reply caused snickers to erupt amongst the band of people gathered around. 

Alfred decided to interrupt after chuckling to himself. "Arthur I don't think there's a single civilized thing about you" earning a playful eye roll in response. 

"I don't think either of us have ground to talk" Arthur hummed giving him a small smile. The newly wedded partook in the drinking activities and celebration for a little while until Arthur directed a suggestive and flirtatious wink towards his beloved, earning him a smirk. To further drive his intentions he gave a slight tug on their bound hands. "Boys, thank you for the celebration but I suggest you clear out of the cabins for a while. Enjoy your drinks!" 

---

Alfred found himself ahead of Arthur, deciding to clear some of the rooms up ahead, his gun raised as he did so. Upon entering one he was thrown off balance as someone barreled into him from a blindspot. He stumbled but caught himself, his body twisting to take the brunt of it as his back collided with the wall and he tried to throw off his attacker. They struggled for a brief moment until Alfred found himself a second too slow. A sudden crack filled the space as the weapon was brought down against his head. A sharp pain rattled his skull causing him to fall forward as the stranger stepped away. He nearly face planted onto the wooden floor only managing to distribute some of the weight with his hands, his jaw hitting the floor and causing his teeth to clack together. He helplessly watched his weapon clang as it hit the floor and bounced out of reach. He doubted it would be of much use to him anyway with the way his vision was doubled and the room was spinning. He let out a groan as everything slowly became bearable, rolling into his side to look up at who had ambushed him. 

His attacker stood over him, weapon drawn and pointing at him. Perhaps this was karma for being over confident. In a final act of bravado and defiance he stared at the other man, their gazes interlocked. His pain only manifested through a clenched jaw and partially squinted eyes, managing a cold but accepting smile. "You know I don't like killing civilians. If I were you I'd stand down." Whether the next unfolding of events was pure luck or divine intervention he wasn't sure. An echoing boom sounded from the hallway ripping through the relative quiet of the lower decks. His attacker slumped lifelessly and collapsed partially on him before he could scramble out of the way. He blinked, staring at the corpse before his attention was caught by approaching footsteps. 

"Unfortunately for you, I don't share such qualms" The familiar accented voice of Arthur sounded. 

Alfred scooted away from the body, a relieved smile tugging on his lips and letting his tense body now relax. Needing a reprieve from the close encounter he decided to diffuse the situation with humor. "Took you long enough. I got a smack to the head thanks to you" He said no malice or bite to his words just teasing affection. Feeling the adrenaline leave him and feeling safe with Arthur's presence he took a breath and leaned back, closing his eyes. 

"You're gonna get a smack on your arse if you keep it up" The other fired back, relief flooding his voice as he moving over him and crouched beside him to inspect the wound on his head. Deciding that nothing could be done here he placed a hand on the other cheek, encouraging him to open his eyes. "You need to get up Al" He murmured, standing up to a more appropriate height to help him up. He outstretched a hand expectantly. 

"That sounds kind of hot Arthur" He teased indeed, opening his eyes and taking his cowboy's hand. Once up he felt the others hand on his back to support him. He gave a grateful smile before wincing and running his hand over his left temple to see if there was any blood. Thankfully there wasn't. 

"We'll try it sometime if you'd like. But for now let's focus on the task at hand. Just because I'll get your cut if you were to die does not mean I want you dead. Let's get you back to the ship to be looked at by Johnson." 

"We need to-"

"The others have everything under control. You're going to the ship. End of discussion." 

Alfred decided not to waste the energy with arguing especially because Arthur was right. He took half a step, stumbling as his vision doubled again. At that Arthur pressed against his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders for some extra support. "Thank you" he whispered, enjoying the others' warmth. His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle kiss to the right temple. 

"A reminder not to go too far ahead alone next time."

"Of course my love" He agreed. When they reached the doorway sunlight flooded Alfred's vision. He hissed squeezing his eyes closed upon finding a newfound sensitivity to the light. Arthur paused and shifted around a moment before he felt something pressed to the top of his head. He opened his eyes slowly, the sunlight limited by the narrow brimmed hat on his head. It was a little small but it would do. Alfred found himself grateful for the fact Arthur incorporated his old attire with a more seaworthy one. 

--- 

All Alfred knew was that the sensation of having Arthur over him, the other pinning his arms above his head while their lips captured each other's hungrily was addicting. No matter how many times they'd done it for the past few years, it always managed to thrill him to no end. The way their bodies arched into one another, lips worshiping and marking everywhere they possibly could. And afterwards basking in glory as they settled down from their escapades. Surely they realized that with the life they lead they sacrificed the longevity of it to do so. But they could at least enjoy each other until the end of it. 

[littleredlie]

chaos - part one

chaos masterlist 

1.5k+ words 

“you don’t smile anymore,” she cups his cheek while her heart shatters to pieces, her dark brown eyes can no longer recognizing the green-eyed man that sat in front of her. “i miss your smile.” a sob dares to escape from her throat, a single tear drips down to their conjoined hands where his grip is strong and his thumb absentmindedly caresses her soft skin. she is meddling with the barely used hair tie that adorned his wrist, the one she gave him.

who was he? she didn’t know.

his eyes look empty, sad, angry, lonely, dark, all in one and it tore her apart. this was not the man she met three years ago. this was not the man she fell in love with. 

“i miss you eren,” she whispers as the hum of the blimp vibrates around them. the skin of his constrained hand is cold contrasting her warm skin, which she gained from whipping around in the air for the mission they just fulfilled. the chaos of their actions dying down as they got further and further away from marley and eren’s destruction.

the couple was on one side of the room they were in, but she knew that she didn’t have much time left to talk to him. it was only a matter of seconds before hange came out of the cockpit or levi walked back over from the hushed conversation he was having with armin and mikasa. the highly skilled soldier wasn’t even that far but he wanted to give the two young adults a little space as much as possible. but it wasn’t like her lover was talking. 

her darker hands abandon his touch and she stands, taking a few steps back.  zeke yeager’s body finally comes into her vision and she could tell that he was listening. but she ignores him. despite eren’s plan and his importance, she did not like him. she probably got that from levi. yelena stood in between the yeager brothers, but she avoids looking the tall woman in the eye.

“i would like for you to come back,” hesitantly, her hand raises from her side to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. he looked like a damn mess but to her, he looked so beautiful. and she knew it was because she hadn’t seen him in so long.

the titan marks were slowly disappearing off of his face and when she pulled her hand away, her fingers grazed them softly. this caused him to finally look up at her and her full lips deliver him the smallest of smiles. he could see the small teardrops decorating her black skin and the way her eyes were filled with worry. worry for him. 

before either of them could say something, levi walks over and she distances herself from the titan shifter, firmly placing himself beside the man who was shorter than her. “you should go check on your brother.” the older man says, his eyes looking at eren but addressing her. he wanted her to leave, because he knew that her admiration for eren would cloud her judgement. he already witnessed the great strength she had to use to restrain herself when he kicked eren earlier. 

“okay,” she softly says, her hands clutching the bandage that was wrapped around her hand and up her right arm, blood staining the white fabric. “you would think that after all the couple of years you spent training me, i would get out of this unscathed.” the horrors of the night flash behind her eyes and she shuts them tight. so many bodies, so much blood, so much chaos.

“get better before you die.” levi bluntly answers and she looks at him to find him looking at her. she gives him a firm nod and walks towards the cockpit door. before she enters she looks back and sees eren sitting, watching her walk away while levi is still looking down at him, a steely look stamped onto his face.

she opens the door and steps in. her eyes cast on the floor as she walks closer into the cockpit. her distracted mind causes her to run into hange who is overlooking onyankopon’s ability at flying the blimp. “i’m sorry hange.” she rushes out, her heart hammering in her chest. the brunette scientist lays a hand on her shoulder and grins. 

“no need to look so scared, i’m not going to throw you off the blimp,” that brings a smile to both of  their faces. hange could see the weathered down look on her face because they also could see the obvious affection that she displayed towards eren. when he disappeared behind enemy lines, the worry manifested in her actions, and now hange didn’t know what eren’s actions would push her to.

“of course.” slightly bowing her head, she then continues to her destination and hange continues working.

“onyankopon, how long do you think it’ll take to get back to paradis?”

“a few hours.” her brother looks out to the landscape below, the hum of the blimp is louder there. “how are you doing, nyame?”

“i don’t know, kopo.” she sits in the seat to his right, assisting him with some of the buttons. “did you know he’d do this? did yelena?” her brother is quiet for a while, but nyame doesn’t say anything that could possibly accuse him. 

“everything will be alright.”

“will it?” she whispers, her mind going back to times where everything was better. times where she would find her stare lingering on eren and those private and secret moments the two would find together. shy and hesitant kisses and hand holding. what has she gotten herself into?

her hand passes over her thick hair, there is blood matted into it and it disgusts her. taking the hair tie from her wrist, she wraps the curls oh her head into a bun as best as she could. the quick movements of her hands was a technique that she learned from sasha, someone who always had her hair up. nyame used to always have her hair down, but when she started learning how to use the odm gear, sasha advised that she either cut it or put it up in a practical design. 

the braids must have come undone when she had to thwart the flying obstacles thrown by the beast titan. the thought reminds her of the throbbing pain emitting from her right arm. her movements were sloppy when they were put under the test of speed and it caused for her throw her body onto sharp debris. connie had helped her bandage the wound as soon as she landed in the blimp. but what she really wanted to do was discard of the black and white uniform that she still had on and wash off all the grime that was present on her body. 

“don’t think like that, nyame.” her brother gives her a soft look, the only comfort he could give his little sister at the moment. “but hopefully next time you’ll listen to me when i say don’t join the military.” the teasing pulls out a chuckle from both of them.

“i had to make sure you weren’t gonna go and get yourself killed. but it all wasn’t so–” nyame’s interrupted by a commotion coming from the room she was previously in. her and her brother’s eyes meet and he gives her a nod, getting her to move out and see what it was. she moves around hange, who’s focusing on something else, and towards the door.

when she is back out there, jean is at the entrance, clutching the bodies of two bruised children. “who are these brats?” nyame is able to catch as she steps further into the room, the door to the cockpit closing slowly behind her.

“they killed lobov and used his equipment to board the ship,” there is a slight anger accompanied by sadness and nyame feels as if there is more to the story. “and then... this girl shot sasha. i don’t think there’s any hope for her...” the last of his words got softer and softer, as if falling into a void where he hoped that what he said would become false.

at that mikasa and armin run past the trio and out to where they last saw sasha. nyame hesitates, not knowing if she would be allowed to grieve with them. sure, she had gotten close to them over the years but she was still an outsider. she looks to eren and he has a look of shock on his face. but she couldn’t decipher him, which saddened her even more. and without a second thought, nyame also leaves the room, chasing down her comrades.

the sight that was introduced to her eyes is a heartbreaking one. connie passes by her towards the room she just came from. she can see the tears swimming down his face and the tension on his forehead. mikasa and armin are crying and screaming beside their fallen comrade. 

sasha is gone.

all nyame can do is stare. her heart slows and her hands clenched into fists ignoring the pain that radiates from the action. her vision gets blurry as tears begin to silently escape. the sound of screams overcoming the sound of her thoughts. a pressure begins to grow in her chest and she realizes that it is her heart breaking even more. staring at the scene before her, disbelief grows at her brother’s words. everything will be alright.

and in a harsh whisper, while looking at the empty eyes of sasha braus, nyame proclaims it. “will it, kopo? because i don’t think it will.”

____________________________________

A/N okay, so this fic idea has been on my mind since i watched sasha’s death and we met onyankopon (it was easier to add another black character, not like that will stop me). and i am fucking obsessed with eren and levi. i will continue this cause i fucking love this anime/manga. i will be following closer to the manga though, so like yeah. i also had a short reiner fic in mind, but that won’t be a series like this one will be. let me know what you think

part two

[manitamuerte]

Tarkin’s Folly - Ch. 2

Pairing: Armitage Hux x Enyo Tarkin (OC) Word Count: 2,001 Tags: Canon-Compliant until TROS, Awkward Romance, Emotionally Repressed Hux, Fixing Canon With A Hammer

Summary: Admiral Tarkin’s presence on the Steadfast is of no comfort to General Hux. The lofty weight of her family name and the reputation which proceeds her does not bode well for his future on High Command. [Read it on AO3] —

ADMIRAL TARKIN STOOD AT THE END OF THE LONG AND GLOSSY BLACK TABLE.

She quietly waited for the Supreme's Leader permission to speak, which he gave to her with a slightly bored wave of his hand. Hux could make out the slight eagerness he masked with the gesture, watching the way his shoulders relaxed as he sat in the place of honor. The General quickly turned his head so that Ren wouldn't catch him looking.

Admiral Tarkin's voice held a clear and grandiloquent quality begotten from her Eriaduian accent, which was a borrowed dialect of the Core-World's Basic – made sharp by Imperial Remnant influence. "Allegiant General Pryde and Supreme Leader Kylo Ren have asked me to prepare and present a simple evaluation of any of the high-ranking officers currently serving here on the Steadfast. I was allowed to pick anyone of my own choosing, and provide my own materials as I saw fit."

Hux felt his stomach drop. Tarkin had to know how Pryde and Ren felt about him, and she'd truly be foolish if she didn't leap on the opportunity to disparage him again in front of all the others. He knew he was the weakest link on the Council. This would be like a final nail in the coffin of his failed career, a springboard for which she could use the momentum to further her own. And if she truly was a Tarkin-- then she was no fool.

In the week she had been on board, Hux had not had a single chance to speak with the woman -- nor had much time to even consider her presence much besides on the first day of her arrival. Ren had him running off on unimportant missions, personally seeing to it that his day-to-day life was absolutely miserable even when he could not physically be there to see it.

Admiral Tarkin's grey-blue eyes pierced his skull as she turned her gaze to him for a brief moment, causing him to avert his own. Some at the table squirmed uncomfortably, either knowing the sequence of events about to happen and pitying Hux -- or more likely: Worried that her report would be about them.

She pulled a small holoprojector device from her pocket and activated it. An image of a grid and a flat rendition of D'Qar appeared and spread out over the table, and Hux immediately knew what sort of awfulness was about to transpire.

"If you could all draw your attention to the holoprojector, please. This is a representation of the failed engagement at D'Qar," She began, her voice settling in a calm and practiced lilt. "As I'm sure you all know, The Resistance was able to flee from this encounter despite the odds being heavily in First Order favor."

From the corner of his eye, Hux saw Ren lean forward in his chair with interest -- but felt the helmeted man's heavy gaze on his own countenance, watching him for any sort of reaction. He tried very hard not to give him the satisfaction, but a lump was forming in his throat that he had to swallow eventually.

"The active ships in the engagement are as follows:" As she spoke the names, the images appeared on the grid in formation. "One Mandator-IV Class C Siege Dreadnaught called the Fulminatrix, and Three Resurgent-Class Battlecruisers --plus, later, our scrambled Tie-Fighters. This was against the Resistance's One MC85 Star Cruiser, several MG-100 StarFortress SF-17's, several small squadrons of X and A-Wings. There were other Resistance ships present, but not strictly combat builds. To remind you, The Resistance was in the process of evacuating from their base of D'Qar and thus not in any sort of intelligent formation."

"Thankfully," She continued, "Their base planet-side was destroyed by the Fulminatrix's commander Captain Moden Canady. Our ships came upon the planet from hyperdrive, however you must note the formation that the ships are locked into."

The clear tactical mistake was on display for everyone to see. Hux's eyes averted from the grid, unable to take the wave of shame which washed over him. He felt Ren's eyes.

"The Resistance was able to drop a payload and destroy the Fulminatrix at the end of the engagement and escape due to many errors, including a delayed scrambling of our Tie-Fighters, as well as allowing an enemy ship behind our lines to take out all surface point-defense of the Dreadnaught. "

Hux had known the Resistance was failing, that this evacuation had been a last-ditch effort to survive. If he had simply destroyed them without the fanfare he was hoping to use for propaganda -- this would have been their final stand. His hubris haunted him -- He could have been in Pryde's place, promoted. He could have been hailed and applauded as the man who had finally stamped out the Resistance. But now he was forced to sit through a demonstration about how terrible of a commander he had once been -- a mistake, a moment of weakness -- and it's forevermore a mark against his otherwise impeccable file. Well, this and the fall of Starkiller base.

The holovid continued forward, the ships changing position. "Furthermore, I believe it was pure negligence and miscommunication which lead to the death of our personnel and the loss of the Fulminatrix. The battle formation as depicted is simply inefficient. To the point, the very sight of it makes one wonder if the commander of the engagement -- General Hux -- was purposefully sabotaging."

Hux jolted in his chair. How dare she accuse him of such a treasonous act? It was fine that she criticize him, but that was a measure too far. He felt his face grow hot in anger. His eyes locked with hers for a brief moment. He was surprised to find her expression was devoid of emotion.

"I have suggestions for how the engagement should have been handled." She clicks the holoprojector, playing a few more seconds of the holovid before pausing. The ships shift on the grid once more. "As you can see, this formation makes more sense. The battlecruisers would take escort position as I believe was intended, and thus would have the ability to create a defensive line for our Dreadnaught." The holovid illustrates this perfectly, and continues to animate as she speaks. "Furthermore, the Tie-Fighters should have been scrambled immediately, to take out the flotilla before it drew near. As an aside, I would have had the Dreadnaught prioritize the base just before or immediately after targeting the MC85 Star Cruiser -- if they had nowhere to go, the Resistance would have to take a moment to regroup and think of a new plan. This hesitation would have been our moment to attack. We direct our Tie-Fighters to clean up the survivors, and the Resistance would have been crushed."

The animation shows the rest of the ships being destroyed, then finishes. The blue glow of the projection ceases, and she places the holoprojector back into her pocket.

Ren is the first to speak, voice clipped by the vocoder of his helmet. "I applaud your...Subdued aggressiveness, Admiral Tarkin. To accuse General Hux of treason is not the angle I expected, but amusing. Furthermore, although it was not your task to come up with them -- your suggestions are...Noted."

Hux felt like a stone was lodged in his throat.

Tarkin’s face does not pale as a lesser person's might, though perhaps it was because she read Ren's comment as the compliment it was while discarding it's back-handedness. She stares right into the visor of Ren's mask. "I only provided the facts as I saw them, Supreme Leader. I expect my charges to go above and beyond in their tasks, and I uphold myself to my own standards."

"A commendable trait of anyone in a leadership position, indeed." Ren mutters, leaning ever forward. Hux hated the way he said it, in that voice he used when he pantomimed responsible authority. "However, it would do you well to be careful that your aspirations do not exceed you, Admiral."

Her mouth twitches downward, the confident mask cracking ever so slightly. This seems to be the result Ren wanted, because he leans back in his chair, looking smug and satisfied even with the helmet on his head. "Of course, Supreme Leader --” She answers, “Wise council indeed."

Ren defers to Pryde, nearly cutting off the end of Tarkin's sentence. "And what do you think, Allegiant General?"

Pryde seems to perk up considerably, his posture tense. "I believe her presentation to have been satisfactory, Supreme Leader."

Ren's voice is tight. "But what do you think, Allegiant General?" He presses. Pryde's face conceals his panic well.

"...Admiral Tarkin's suggestions are spot-on, and if I remember correctly, Captain Canady had also expressed displeasure with General Hux's methods before his untimely death. The engagement was a failure, through and through -- our victory at D'Qar quite phyrric for both involved--"

"Make no mistake, Allegiant General. The miscommunication was on Captain Canady's part." Tarkin interrupted, her voice sharp and eyes laser focused on her target. It was suddenly clear to Hux that she did not like Pryde in the least, which was of some – little – comfort. "The comms history shows General Hux attempted to have the Captain launch the Tie-Fighter squadrons upon exiting hyperspace. The problem was his lack of further correction. Captain Canady seemed to have misunderstood the order as preparation of launch only -- though I couldn't say why. I believe this was likely due to his personal feelings about the General, as I understand it. It is a disgrace." She spat the final word like it was poison. "I suspect we ask more of our officers, do we not? We shouldn't let personal grievances or opinions cost us valuable tech and personnel in the midst of engagements."

Hux was felt a cold sweat begin to break upon his brow. His embarrassing past was no secret, but he hated that she knew. Everyone knew. Canady, Pryde -- all the older ex-Imperial officers. Friends of his father. They watched him grow up, and even though he was nearing his 35th year many of them still saw him as a child and a mere extension of his father. A failed extension, even.

Pryde's face immediately flushed with anger, both from being talked down to by a lower officer and from understanding her underlying meaning. He did not chastise her with the Supreme Leader present, realizing Ren's lack of protest meant her comments were allowed. "...Of course, Admiral."

From his peripherals, Hux watched the Supreme Leader's helmet slowly turn to his side of the table. The tightness of Ren's voice was gone, instead replaced with barely filtered amusement. "General Hux, what do you have to say for yourself? Admiral Tarkin has suggested you appear so incompetent that it looks like purposeful sabotage."

The General grit his teeth, gnashing them in agony. Ren was enjoying this way too much -- and he wondered if he really set this all up just for the express purpose of his own amusement. It certainly wouldn't be out of character, that's for sure.

When Hux spoke, his voice remained level but wavered at the edges with hesitation."I am, of course, appalled at the accusations of treason suggested by Admiral Tarkin -- however, I must agree that the engagement at D'Qar was poorly executed."

Pryde snorted. "Of course you do, Hux. It's plain as anyone can see." Hux noticed Ren stiffen at Pryde's sudden outburst, curiously turning to face the Allegiant General but saying nothing.

"...Have you anything further to add, General Hux?" Was what Ren did say, after a moment of tense silence.

"...No, Supreme Leader."

"And you, Admiral Tarkin?" Ren asked, his helmet tilting slightly to suggest his gaze shifting.

"No, Supreme Leader." She echoed, sounding the smallest bit pleased with herself. Hux stole a moment to glance at her face and was not surprised to find a smug expression on it. He averted his eyes to the table like a kicked dog.

"...Very Well. You are all dismissed."

[mattzerella-sticks]

Natural One (Fabian Seacaster/Riz Gukgak, 5.8k)

5 times Fabian rolled a natural one, and one time Riz rolled a nat 20

Fabian and Riz stand with their backs against each other - well, with Riz’s head pillowed by his lower back - surrounded by tiny gnomes baring their tools menacingly. Hammers and saws meant for building were slowly tearing them and their friends apart. One lucky swipe slashed his arm and earlier one of their attackers bashed Riz’s knee in. For tiny creatures they have a ginormous ruthlessness to them.

If they survive this, Fabian will bind Fig’s hands together with enchanted chains. So she can never again anger a room full of sleep-deprived mechanics by pressing the only button that would destroy their hard work.

“Why would you even make a button for that!” Fig screamed, swinging her guitar wildly, “It’s like hanging a piano with fraying rope. One way or another it was getting smashed!”

“Less pointing the finger and more apologizing !” Adaine said, tossing up a shield to block the flurry of screws pelting her.

Now while their friends handle the main engineer, Riz and Fabian stay with the stragglers.

“I never thought it would end like this,” Riz mutters, fingers twitching against his trigger, “After so many close calls… taken down by a bunch of gnomes hopped up on coffee and Adderall.”

“Don’t say that Riz,” Fabian says. He glances at the smaller boy, attempting a reassuring smile. “We’re adventurers. We have the final say on when we perish… and that day is certainly not today.”

Riz meets his stare, mirroring his expression. “Thanks, Fabian.” The words drift towards Fabian’s heart and wraps around it, squeezing. The uptick of his mouth feels more genuine. While he has confidence in his premier abilities and skills, Riz’s support is a special kind of blessing. A gift far greater than any Kristen’s terminally positive deity could give. His faith in Fabian is unshakeable, even when some of his actions and misadventures were questionable.

Why he never realized he loved the eager goblin sooner Fabian blames on tunnel vision. Too focused on aiming for precise points on the dartboard that he completely missed the bull’s-eye.

Once he realized where he should be firing, though, his aim faltered.

Fabian faced the encroaching gnomes, ready to fight. He crouches and leaps, twisting over the pack blocking him. Picturing how amazing he must look - twirling in the air, fluorescents flashing behind and casting him in a vengeful shadow, preparing to swing, slash, and drop his enemies.

Except he lands wrong. Foot sliding, Fabian falls to the floor. His sword flies elsewhere, wrung from his hands. The last thing he hears before succumbing to swirling darkness was Riz calling his name.

It doesn’t make him feel as warm as it did seconds earlier.

He comes to surrounded by the other Bad Kids. “It’s all smoothed over,” Gorgug says, “I managed to convince the boss that Fig blowing up their machine was a good thing.”

“Helped that he thought you were his son,” Fig chuckles, elbowing him in the ribs, “Seriously, who knew so many gnomes adopted orcish orphans? Apparently it’s really big in the gnomish community.”

Gorgug whines, “But he’s not my dad!”

“Honestly?” Kristen says, leaning on her staff, “It was a little touch and go there.”

Adaine nods, “I saw you mumbling to yourself. ‘No, it can’t be… three dads is too many’.”

“I got there in the end, that’s all that matters!”

Fabian sits up, waving his hands and cutting into their argument. “Wait a minute! It was that easy? But what about the other gnomes we were fighting?”

“They stopped pretty quickly after their boss offered them paid time off,” Riz tells him, “After you went down -”

“Which I took pictures of,” Fig adds, “very funny.”

“After you went down,” Riz repeats, “the gnomes closed in and were about to end me. But when the gang rushed in with the PTO forms they rushed home.”

“I can’t believe I got knocked out almost as the fight was over,” Fabian groans, “What did I even slip on?”

“Some loose nuts and bolts.”

Fabian slams his head into his knees, hoping the concussive blow could force him unconscious once more. “Please,” he says into his legs, “No one speak of this.”

“Too late,” Fig says, “I already texted it to the entire school.”

All he wanted was to impress Riz. He surely wouldn’t find a laughingstock that worthy of his affections.

The Hangman sped in as the group said their goodbyes, promises to meet up tomorrow and discuss their findings. Fabian couldn’t leave fast enough.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coach Gorthalax stressed how important this game was for the Owl Bears. Winning this meant that they would advance to regional championships, playing bloodrush against some of the top schools across the lands. And with their final competition being the boys from Hudol, there wasn’t any doubt they’d move forward.

“Even if their players are pale, nerdy weaklings, with so little muscle development they can barely hold up their books,” Gorthalax said during the huddle, “I don’t want you slacking. Being lazy now is just the thing that’ll give them an edge over us. If we all focus we’ll win and have a good time!”

“Yeah!” Ragh screamed, pounding his helmet against his chest, “Let’s go and mutilate the other team! Woo!”

“See, now that’s some great enthusiasm,” Gorthalax wags his clipboard at the orcish player, “I want to see that from all of you. Now let’s hear some hoot growls. Hoot Growl! Hoot Growl!”

“Hoot Growl! Hoot Growl! Hoot Growl!”

A stampede of cleats and warcries filled the pitch as Fabian and the other Owlbears stormed the field, startling the opposing team as they sipped at their tea. Watching a biscuit drop and crumble onto the grass made Fabian grin, an omen for how the game would play out.

Hudol didn’t stand a chance. The Owlbears played to their strengths. Fabian and Ragh never let them have the ball, and on the off chance they did Gorgug tackled them once they stepped foot near the goal. Height and long limbs had their advantage when guarding. Riz helped by confusing them, rolling up into a little ball and jumping into their arms. Sometimes a Hudol boy ran towards Gorgug only to find Riz in his arms smiling. Distracted, they never saw Gorgug until it was too late. They high-fived over the prone figure below them.

Halfway into the third quarter, though, Riz sat on the sidelines. Helmet off and chatting with Fig, their assistant coach and manager. He didn’t think a student could hold such a position, but one day during practice she came in with a whistle and two hats - ‘Ass Coach’ stitched onto one and ‘Womanager’ on the other.

“Is this allowed?” Gorgug asked, “What did Principal Aguefort say about this?”

“He liked my moxy and wanted to know if  I could be coach as well,” Fig said, smirking, “I told him thanks but assistant coach and manager were already enough. Then he did a bump of cocaine, offered me some, and hopped out of his office window.”

Riz arched a brow. “You didn’t take it did you?”

“What are you, a cop?” she huffed, rubbing her nose.

They were most likely discussing plays and maneuvers. Fig surprised him with her skills in both roles she took on. During practices she pushed them harder and further than even his mother during sword practice. Outside the field Fig kept their successes circulating in the school paper and once, for an overnight away game. booked them the nicest motel.

“I didn’t think the school had the budget for something this fancy,” Fabian said while waiting in one lobby with its own water feature. Gorthalax spoke with the lady behind the front desk while the others ran to their rooms.

“Oh it doesn’t,” Fig said, “That’s why I used Gilear’s credit card. Not like he’s spending money on anything other than yogurt.”

Caught up in the memory he doesn’t see the leg of  Hudol player until he’s tripping on it. The ball in his hands goes flying.

Luckily an Owlbear snatches it and powers through over to the Hudol goal. Fabian glares, shoving the boy who tripped him as he stood.

Ragh jogs over to him and slaps his shoulder. “Head in the game, Seacaster. Hoot Growl!”

“Yes, yes - Hoot Growl!” The teams move to set up for the next match after the Owlbears scored their latest goal. Fabian waits in the middle for the referee's whistle. Glancing over to the bench he sees Riz staring at him intently. Under such intense scrutiny forces a blush to settle on Fabian’s cheeks. Trying to will it away only causes him to miss the whistle and see Hudol steal their ball.

“Get it!” Gorthalax screams, “Get the ball!”

Fabian spins and chases the player, bulleting over. Leaping forward Fabian tackles the other boy and rolls with him until he’s crushed underfoot. Grabbing the ball back, he takes a moment to appreciate the cheers erupting from all around. The stands go crazy. He spots a sign held aloft by Adaine and Kristen, both girls stamping their feet in excitement. On the bench Fig is shouting at him, but he can’t notice over the pride glowing from Riz’s face.

He craves more of it. “This one’s for you, Riz,” he says, and charges towards the goal. Fabian slams the goalkeeper to the side and scores a point. Overcome with delicious victory, Fabian throws the ball and begins dancing.

Suddenly someone knocks him to the ground.

Ragh rages over him, teeth bared and drool leaking from his mouth. “You idiot,” he says, “you cost us a point!”

“What?”

Gorgug groans from his side. Craning his neck far enough, Fabian can see the taller boy hunched in on himself. Nursing his wound from the vicious attack he laid upon him.

“There goes our perfect game!” Ragh seethes, “You working against the Owlbears? Is it some kind of elf thing? Because if there’s one thing I don’t like it’s a traitor -”

“Get off of me!” Fabian says, shoving Ragh off of him. Standing he looks past his friend and notices the rest of the scene. His teammates glare at him, scowls hidden behind their helmets. The crowd flipped on him. They boo and taunt him, Adaine and Kristen hiding behind their hands. Gorthalax shakes his head while Fig breaks her clipboard with her knees and sets it aflame.

And Riz winces, as if the overwhelming embarrassment crushing Fabian was too painful to watch.

“Get it together,” Ragh shoves him, jogging over to the starting line, “We have a game to win.”

Owlbears triumph over Hudol with a wide margin. However the celebrations are muted since it wasn’t the landslide they were expecting. The locker room was silent where Fabian changed. No one clapped him on the back or flicked a towel in his direction in good cheer. What he did receive were fumbled assurances from Gorgug - who brushed off his apologies, saying there was no need - and Riz’s attempted jokes.

All Fabian wanted to do was crawl into his bed and die.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fabian sits at Riz’s table confusedly following the red strings criss-crossing the corkboard in front of him. “Wait, how is the Daycare connected to the Pixie smuggling ring?”

Riz sighs, sipping at his coffee. “Okay, so the Pixies…” He launches into another explanation, Fabian doing his best to focus. But like before he stops listening and instead focuses on how Riz’s mouth moves to shape his words. The way his hands flit around and, at times, shake so much Riz nearly drops his coffee. And when he turns to point at his work Fabian’s eyes drop low to appreciate how his slacks cling to his tush.

“And the money from their operations gets funnelled from the Daycare and into these shell accounts,” Riz finishes, facing Fabian again, “Do you get it now?”

He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods.

Riz smiles. “Good. Then that’s exactly how I’ll explain it to the others when we see them tomorrow.”

Fabian returns it, fiddling with his own mug. Like always they and their friends were wrapped up in some serious trouble. This time Kristen, in trying to set up a physical location for her Church of Yes?, accidentally rented out a space that used to hold illegal artifacts between trades. They discovered this when Gorgug picked one up and unleashed an army of gremlins that wrecked the barren floor. After beating them and destroying the orb Riz sent the evidence to his mother.

Hearing how it was stolen piqued their interest, and once again launched them on another adventure.

A few days of serious investigation later the group reconnected and went over their findings, Riz taking it down and setting the clues on the corkboard. The night dragged on and one after another their friends dropped. Gorgug left first, promising to meet them at school in the morning. After him Adaine said she needed her rest and invited Fig to join her and Kristen for a sleepover.

“Sure,” she said, “can we have a few brewskis and kick it before we hit the hay?”

“I don’t know,” Adain shrugged, “we can always ask Jawbone?”

“Sick!”

That was over an hour ago. Fabian felt the siren call of sleep singing to him, tempting him with the wondrous beauty of sleep. He fought against it as he did everything in life; clawing tooth and nail for what he wants. In this moment it’s to share the cramped kitchen with Riz and his cluttered corkboard.

Riz settles in the seat across from him, pouring another cup of coffee. “You want me to top you off?”

Fabian shakes his head, pushing his mug away. “I really shouldn’t. Too much and I might not be able to hold my sword without it shaking.”

“You get used to it,” Riz says, “Years of drinking this stuff allowed me to take into account the jitters for when I’m shooting my gun.”

“How early did you start drinking coffee?”

“Same as everyone else. Five?”

Fabian bites his lip, unwilling to shatter the illusion for his friend. Instead he glanced behind him at the corkboard again. “I must say, that sure is something…”

Riz follows his gaze. Smiling, he leans into the chair and takes a huge gulp of his drink. “We did a lot of good work. I know officers who can barely think past their patrols who wouldn’t have been able to do this.”

“I think the real credit goes to you,” Fabian says.

The other boy directs his smile at him. “You think so?” he asks, a small tint to his cheeks. Seeing him fluster brings a rush of warmth racing up Fabian’s chest, and he hopes a blush isn’t blooming across his own face.

Everyone knows how deeply Riz loves detective work. Aside from how he dresses and the never-ending supply of mystery novels he keeps in his briefcase, Riz also treats everyday matters like an investigation. Once a water fountain broke and, before the janitor could react, Riz canvassed the area with caution tape and began questioning witnesses for motives. During lunch he explained how, using deductive reasoning, Riz found the stolen item in his Rogue class and where his teacher hid it.

“That’s amazing!” Fig cheered, “Now do Porter! Find out exactly what evil schemes he’s working on!”

No matter what situation they were faced with Riz approached each mystery with a ferocious tenacity for finding the answers. Not willing to rest until every stone was uncovered and the truth was set free. Fabian cannot count the amount of times Riz’s quick thinking saved them or helped them see an important piece of evidence they missed earlier.

With the way Riz’s eyes sparkle under the flickering light bulb, Fabian wants to tell him how much he values and appreciates him.

Instead, what comes out is this. “No one else is as this obsessed with mysteries than you, The Ball.” Wincing, Fabian pinches his thigh in disappointment. Especially when Riz’s face falls.

“Oh…”

“That, I didn’t…” Fabian sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant to say at all.”

Riz tries to smooth his expressions, except Fabian can clearly see the lines marring his pretty face. “It’s late, I get it. Why don’t you turn in for the night?”

“Don’t you need my help?”

“It’s like what you said… I’m the only one obsessed enough to stay up this late. You don’t have to worry. I’ll crash on the couch if I need to.”

Fabian leaves, drained of any energy to stay and apologize. He shuffles over towards Riz’s room, closing the door behind him. Stepping over empty coffee mugs and sheaths of paper he stops at the smallish bed. Fabian strips off his jacket and jeans, folding them gently and leaving the pile on a clear space of floor. Then he curls up on the bed and wraps the wrinkled sheet around his shoulders.

There’s an ache in his chest where his heart is. Sleep won’t come until he’s finished lambasting himself for shoving his foot into his mouth. At least the smell from Riz’s pillow eases the blows, and gently cradles him as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sitting at his desk, Fabian thinks that he finally found a way to confess his feelings to Riz.

He got the idea from his mother after a particularly grueling day of training. Fabian laid on the lawn, gasping for breath and waiting as Cathilda prepares a protein shake for him. Hallariel stands beside him, checking her makeup using her sword’s reflective surface as a mirror. A few feet away, sitting on a lawn chair, was Gilear. His mother’s boyfriend played keep away with a seagull who wanted his yogurt.

Turning away from a remarkably hilarious sight, Fabian asked his mother, “How did father win your heart?”

Hallariel shrugged, “With his passionate lovemaking.”

“ Mama !”

“What? You asked me a question and I answered it. Did I do something wrong ?”

“No, I…” Fabian sighed, leaning up on his elbows, “I wanted to know if there was anything he did that might have made you… swoon . Something sweet and romantic. ”

Hallariel’s gaze darted away from her face to her son, smirking. “Does my darling boy fancy a girl?”

“Mama…” Fabian ducked away, blushing, “it’s not a girl …”

“Even better,” she grinned, “now you won’t deal with the crushing disappointment when you realized she could never be as good as your mother.”

He rolled his eyes. “There’s no one who could be more perfect than you, mama,” he said, reaching forward to accept the shake from a returning Cathilda, “except maybe Cathilda. If you’re number one she’s definitely number two.”

“Bless your heart, you young thing,” Cathilda said, hand over her heart, “the sweetest you are.” She moves over to Halladriel, “What were you two discussing now?”

“Fabian wants to know if Bill ever did anything romantic,” Halladriel explains, “probably so he can use it for inspiration in winning over his little crush.”

“Oh! Why don’t you tell him about the letters?”

“Letters?” Fabian asked, “What letters?”

“The sweetest things they were,” Cathilda tells him, “your father, Bill Seacaster, would write these beautiful letters to your mother and send them whenever he was away for months on end. Whenever they arrived I’d always read them aloud as Haladriel drifted off to sleep.”

“Papa wrote you letters?” Fabian looked to Haladriel, “Why didn’t you remember this?”

She shrugged again. “Honestly I was toasted so much during my time with your father a lot of it is still a blur…”

Cathlida clapped, drawing their attention towards her again. “We still have them!” she said, “They’ve been put away, but I can dig them out for you if you’d like?”

“I would be delighted.”

Reading through the letters provided Fabian with a lot of details he didn’t need, learning that the beautiful prose was essentially foreplay for his parents. Imagining Cathilda read about his father’s length forced him to pause and spend the next few minutes hovering near the toilet. When he recovered Fabian focused on finding the little bits that weren’t explicit. Where his father compared his mother to the beauty of the sea or explaining how his newly earned riches would look better once locked away with his most valued treasure - his family.

While a letter was deemed gauche by today’s standards, Fabian found the practice intimate. Halfway through composing his own letter, though, he was hit with the worry that his letter wouldn’t arrive. Maybe on the way to his apartment it would be lost or damaged. Perhaps someone other than Riz opens it up? Squanda, to check and make sure the letter wasn’t a bomb. Fabian wouldn’t be surprised if Fig stole Riz’s mail that day and read his feelings, only to then tell Riz and butchering his meaning.

He succumbed to the anxiety and decided on a more direct approach. Fabian transferred his writings to his phone, finishing the letter there to send through text.

Re-reading it for the third time, Fabian realizes he needs to send it.

Fabian copies the text and switches from his notes app over to the messages. Working quickly while the courage of his father swims through his blood Fabian clicks on Riz and his messages. He pastes the text and sends it, slamming his crystal onto the desk face down.

Staring at it won’t make Riz respond faster, yet he cannot pull himself away. Each minute ticks by slowly the longer his crystal stays silent. Allowing for horrible images to flash across Fabian’s mind. Like Riz laughing and sending the letter to their friends, a highly impossible outcome. But the one where Riz spends time crafting the kindest rejection is unfortunately a sound possibility.

Suddenly his crystal flashes to life. Fabian snatches it with terrifying speed, opening the newest message.

It isn’t Riz.

Aelwen cooly thanks him for his devotion, offering him a night of passion if he’s willing to make the journey. Scrolling upwards he sees all the words that poured from his heart - sent to the wrong person.

He hadn’t talked to Aelwen since his disastrous attempt to free her. Fabian managed to follow through on his promise and fought for her freedom alongside the ragtag crew he gathered for the mission. Dodging spells and powering through guards, Fabian rode the Hangman and crashed through her cell. Then, after a kiss filled with searching hands and tongue, he helped her onto his motorcycle and fled to his ship.

Halfway across the Celestine Sea, Aelwen showed her true colors. Fabian found her preparing a dinghy for leave one starless night. He asked her where she was going.

“I’m leaving,” she said, “Is that not obvious?”

“But… but why?” Fabian asked, gut screaming as if stabbed. “We’re almost to Solace. And there we can be together… I - I thought…”

“You thought what?” Aelwen snickered, “You thought that I’d go with you because you freed me? Sorry to break it to you but I don’t slum it with trash, even if they’re somewhat cute and entertaining as you.”

Vision spinning, he staggered backwards. “W-what?”

“Thank you for all your help,” she said, untying the last rope, “But I must return to Fallinel. A friend offered me a room at her estate when I was free and I’ve kept her waiting long enough.” Hopping into the dinghy, Aelwen winked at him one last time. “Do tell my sister one thing for me? Even though she’s now an oracle she still can’t see what a colossal disappointment she is to the Abernant name. Farewell!”

The rope slips from her hands and she drops into the ocean, nothing left but the splash on her exit. Fabian doesn’t run to see her off, rooted to the deck as the pieces of his heart spear through his boots. When he collects them, Fabian shuffles towards his cabin and hides them until they reach shore.

His reception wasn’t well received. Adaine screamed at him until her voice was hoarse, pounding against his chest until she slumped over and was led away by Kristen. Fig and Gorgug didn’t say anything but kept their distance for the next few weeks. Only Riz stuck by his side.

The other boy sat with him after everyone left, understanding that Fabian had to go and see Aelwen. “Once you make up your mind about something,” Riz chuckled, “it’s hard getting you to change it.”

Riz’s words held no judgement. Even as Fabian confessed everything, including how Aelwen used and left him; he asked how that made him feel and hugged him through the rolling wave of depression that swelled inside.

Things returned to normal after a while. Adaine forgave him, and their group drifted together again. Except it wasn’t the same.

During the days Fabian and Riz were left alone he finally began to take notice of how special and important the goblin boy was to him.

So seeing how disastrously he messed up something as easy as a text, sending it to the worst person imaginable, turns his hopes into ash.

Fabian deletes the messages and leaves his phone on silent.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s now or never.

Fabian needs to take a leap of faith and lead with action. His father would chastise him thoroughly for how he’s tiptoed across the whole ordeal. Inviting embarrassment by tiptoeing around Riz. When he should do first and apologize later - if at all.

The group sits huddled together in Basrar’s, enjoying some milkshakes. Ever since Adaine freed him from his curse, Basrar has branched out to include other items in his menu besides various ice creams. To varying levels of success. While his milkshakes were delicious Fabian suffered at the hands of his chicken nuggets.

But they’re not slurping them as vigorously as they usually do. Too worn out from fighting pirates all day at Seacaster Manor.

His crew from the Aelwen misadventure came calling for Fabian, demanding their pay. He should have seen this coming since, bereft of any common sense by the heartbreak, he gave them a map rumored to lead to the grandest treasures of all. Except he drew it up in less than five minutes and water-logged it with tears.

When they finally discovered the ruse the ship set course for their newest mission - robbing the accumulated riches of Bill Seacaster.

Pirates were no match, of course, for the combined efforts of his friends, his mother and housekeeper. “And Gilear,” Halladriel added, standing over the corpses of their enemies, “we couldn’t have done it without his help.”

He glared at the sad elf his mother rubbed against, her hands tugging at his jacket. They knew Gilear added nothing of value to the battle save for the accidentally flung yogurt that sabotaged the cannon firing at them. Halladriel wouldn’t hear reason and began undressing Gilear in front of them.

“Best to run along, children,” Cathilda ushered them away, “Who knows how long they’ll be at it.”

Kristen swallowed her vomit. “Gross.”

“It’s not gross,” Fig defended her second father, “it’s good for him.”

“Well it’s awful for me,” Fabian hissed, “let’s go before we hear anything.”

“Oh!” Halladriel cried from a distance, a cold chill shooting up his spine, “You taste so sweet! What is that flavor?”

“Nothing too adventurous… just a simple vanilla mango yogurt…”

Fabian led them away with blinding speed. They decided on Basrar’s thirty minutes into their wandering, too sore to stay upright for long. Sliding into the booth the group ordered and enjoyed the calm environment. For once the group rested quietly, enjoying the silence.

It was so peaceful Fabian could think clearly for the first time in a while. An epiphany floated down from above and entered his spirit, imbuing it with strength.

Riz rests against his shoulder, skin tingling under his shirt and jacket. The smaller boy was injured pretty badly during the fight. Kristen’s healing only helped so much and Riz looks seconds away from sleeping. Kept awake only by the gentle shakes from Fabian every so often.

He wants to do this before sleep lulls him away, so Fabian softly whispers Riz’s name. Riz glances at him, frowning. “Yeah?”

“Riz, I…” A voice that sounds like his father cuts through his mind, telling him to stow his words. Show the other boy what he feels and steal a kiss. Cooling his nerves, Fabian leans down to do that. To capture Riz’s lips with his own.

But then something cold drips onto his nose.

“What’s th-” A blob slams into Fabian’s face and knocks him backwards, falling onto the floor. He curses and wipes the mess clear. Investigating what hit him, Fabian finds the culprit was a stray scoop of ice cream.

“Oh my God!” Fig screams, “it’s raining ice cream!”

Ice cream pelts their station, inspiring different reactions from the group. Unlike Fabian they cheered at the surprise dessert storm.

“How is this possible?” Adaine asked, chocolate ice cream melting on her head, “Our wish was already fulfilled?”

Basrar drifts over, smiling. “That is true, yes. However, I received a call from a man named Gilear asking that I serve you kids a treat so you would stay far from the Seacaster manor a bit while longer. He asked me if I could conjure some yogurt, but I told him that my magic does not create something so... sad . So then he asked if I could give you all frozen yogurt, which I could only assume was a strange way of saying ice cream!”

“Are you kidding me!” Fabian growls aloud, “How did Gilear even find out where we were?”

“I texted him,” Fig says, scooping ice cream off of Kristen’s shoulder. “Figured he’d want to know where we were in case more pirates came back.”

He groans as more ice cream pelts his prone body. Squinting one eye open Fabian sees all his friends save Riz enjoying the treat. Riz smiles down at him, fondness shining in his eyes. Fabian flushes, turning away from the stare.

Shoes squish onto the ice cream as Riz jumps out of his seat. He offers a hand to Fabian, “Need some help?”

Fabian answers by weakly taking Riz’s hand, pushing forward.

Instead of standing Riz tugs Fabian closer to him and slips an arm around his waist. Riz kisses Fabian, surprising him and earning catcalls from their friends. He ends their embrace, still smiling.

Fabian cannot wipe the shock from his expression. “Did you-?”

“Do what you should have done from the start?” Riz chuckles, “Yeah. Did you like it?”

“Did I like it -?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lou slams his fist on the table. “This is some bullshit,” he says, “How is it that I’ve spent countless games rolling nat 1’s trying to seduce you. And the first time you decide to flirt back you roll a nat 20. Bullshit!”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Murph laughs along with the other intrepid heroes, “Usually my rolls are the crap ones.”

“Is that why you never helped out until now?”

Murph grins, winking. “Nah, I liked seeing how many times Fabian suffered.”

He scoffs, “You think that’s going to make me want to kiss you again?”

Brennan jumps into the conflict, shoulders shaking with contained laughter. “With a nat 20 Fabian and Riz begin making out in the storm of ice cream.”

“Oh come on!” Lou cries, “Fabian’s supposed to be the dashing hero! He had to make the first move! These dice are cursed.”

Emily shakes her head, cackling. “Could be worse. Riz could’ve rolled a nat 1 and we’d have to sit through another round of you trying and failingseduction rolls.”

“It’s not easy,” Lou argues, “Love to see you try and get a nat 20.”

“I so could,” she says, “you saw how hot and heavy me and Dr. Asha got. The next time we see him I’ll roll and ask him to marry him.” Brennan rolls some dice, drawing the group’s attention. He barks a quick laugh, looking to Emily. Her smile falls, “Uh oh, what?”

“All the commotion of raining ice cream and teens making out means the entire store is looking at your booth. Especially one seat at the bar where a dwarven doctor relaxed after a long shift at St. Owen’s Memorial Hospital,” Brennan explains, chewing on a chip he sneaked. “He walks over and, to Fig, asks, ‘Dr. Keller? Why are you hanging with these teens and not at home watching the kids?”

Lou erupts with laughter, leaning back in his seat and clapping. Emily scowls, grabbing for her dice. “What do I have to roll.”

“Let’s start with a deception.”

“Okay I’m good with deception…” She rolls, slapping her hand against the table. “I got a four. But that’ll be over a ten.”

“Say what you’re going to say.”

Emily clears her throat, shifting in her seat. “I needed a break from the kids and release the inner child in my heart with these… actual children?”

Brennan squints, head skewed to the side. “Dr. Asha is taken aback by that, slightly, but wants to believe in your relationship. ‘Did you at least get a babysitter’?”

“Yeah, yeah they’re fine…”

Lou turns to her. “So, are you gonna ask?”

“I’m getting to it, I’m getting to it…” Emily says, “So, Dr. Asha, I know we’ve been seeing each other, and we have kids… I think we should take this to the next level. I think we should get married.”

Brennan rolls another die. “Make a seduction roll, with disadvantage.”

“Fine.” Emily drops two dice on the table. Looking between the two, she screams and drops her head onto the table.

“What did you get?” Brennan asks.

Zac, at her side, uproariously laughs. “She rolled a twenty and a one.” They all hiss at the disastrous roll.

“A twenty,” Emily chuckles self-deprecatingly, “How can I split it this bad?”

Lou asks Brennan, “What happens?”

Brennan rolls a few more dice before smirking at Emily, doom curling his lips. “As you ask this Dr. Asha’s phone lights up with a call. He answers it, and the real Dr. Kelly speaks from the other end. Asking if he can bring home a pint of ice cream for the twins.”

“Oh, crap.”

“And,” the dice ominously tap against the table. “When he hangs up a couple enters Basrar’s - one elven ranger and the other a ginormous demon. It’s Sandralyn and Gorthalax!”

“Seriously?” Emily hisses, “How is this possible?”

“It’s possible because of the dice, baby,” Brennan says, “They see you and come over. Gorthalax starts up, ‘Fig! Oh, my lovely daughter, Fig. We didn’t know you’d be hear. Are you having fun? It’s so great to enjoy the days of youth before it’s all over. Being a high school student can truly be some of the best times of your life. Anyway, we won’t cramp your hang - get home at a reasonable time, though!’ They seat themselves far away, leaving a stunned Fig and Dr. Asha.”

Chin trembling, Emily asks, “Does he still accept my proposal?”

Brennan claps, laughing. “Dr. Asha leaves immediately.”

“Dammit!”

“See,” Lou says, “it’s not that easy.”

Emily rolls her eyes, “Just enjoy making out with my husband, okay?”

“I will!”

[distressedpanda]

Her Song (Loki X OFC) Part 6

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Blood

A/N: I actually made it on time guys! Hooray!

As always let me know if you want to be tagged.

Tags: @whosaidididthat​

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

"So how is my brother?" Thor's voice boomed across the training room. 

Iloa had been training with Thor for the past few days, Natasha having gone out on a private solo mission. Not having to hold back against him, she had enjoyed the change of strength and pace, until today. Now he was incessantly asking questions about her and his brother's non-existent relationship. It had been almost two weeks since he had opened up to her, in this very training room. The evidence still present on the wall, to the disappointment of a very disgruntled Tony Stark. Eleven days, six hours, three minutes and no telling how many seconds, since the mission that had both pushed them closer together and had somehow torn them further apart. But hey who's counting?

She panted from the exertion and hurled a Kunai at Thor's head to get him to shut up. He flicked the blade away effortlessly with Mjölnir, "Touchy subject?" he asked nonchalantly, grinning ear to ear. 

She blew her hair out of her face, "I wouldn't know, Thor. Haven't spoken to him since the Russia assignment."

He chuckled, "I thought he would have spoken to you by now," he jabbed at what, he was unaware, was an open wound.

She screamed at him and he went down on one knee holding his head. She was on him in an instant, Kunai at his throat, "I am not his keeper, you asshole!" Moving the dagger, she shoved his head down and walked back to her side of the room squaring off at him again.

He chuckled again without mirth, returning to his feet. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"Again?" she asked. Extracting a new Kunai from her belt, she lifted her arms adopting a fighting stance. She watched his muscles tense, preparing to charge. 

Lifting Mjölnir to his side, he let out a fierce battle cry and was on her in a few steps. Dipping and sliding under his swing, she slashed at his side narrowly missing doing real damage. Instead, the dagger tore a large hole in his shirt.

He righted himself, pulling at the hem of the shirt to inspect the damage. "I really liked this shirt," he whined, but was still grinning.

"Quit pissing me off and I won't do the same to your jeans," she baited him.

He attacked again, swinging the hammer down at her. "Have you told him yet?"

He was trying to distract her and it almost worked, she narrowly missed the swing. Spinning her body away, just in time. Of course, there was no real danger. Anytime Thor saw that she couldn't escape getting hit, he would halt the hammer short of making contact with her.

She stood up a few feet away from the God panting heavily but not from the fight. She was agitated to say the least. He was the only person in the tower that knew her full story. Where she came from, what she was. “Don't you think if he knew, we wouldn't be having this conversation?” She snarled at him, then tried to reign in her anger, “I dropped a hint once, but he didn't take the bait. I even told him point blank that I wasn't a mortal. Twice. I am just not interested in fighting him to let him know.”

“You are his Disir, you most know that now,” he argued.

“Stop,” she screamed, Thor crumpled again. Holding his head in his hands, Mjölnir falling heavily to the floor. She breathed heavily, fighting the anger building in her mind. Taking deep steadying breaths, her hands trembled, gripping the daggers in a white knuckle grasp as she fought for control. She couldn't lose control, not here. She was afraid of hurting everyone in the tower, not just the pig-headed man on the ground before her that couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Thor looked up at her, “I am sorry,” he apologized, leaning back to a seated position. Still messaging his temples, the pain didn't stop him from adding, “But you know it's true.”

Iloa had had enough, turning on her heels, she ripped the belt from her waist tossing it and the Kunai in her hands on the ground next to the door. Exiting the room, she heard him call one last time, “You are only mad because I am right!”

She grit her teeth, grumbling under her breath about how he could take his damned prophecy and shove it up his ass. Rounding a corner, she came up short.

Loki, was at the other end of the hall, nose buried in a book. His brow furrowed in concentration, as he was reading and walking towards her. In a green button down the same shade as his eyes, black slacks, and patent leather shoes, tapping lightly on the floor. Beautiful just wasn't a strong enough word for the vision of elegance before her.

Her breath caught in her throat, Thor's words ringing in her ears. She wasn't even sure she understood what a Disir was anyway. When Thor had first met her, he had told her what she was. She had spent far too many years on this earth wondering why she had stopped aging. She was stronger, faster, more agile and durable, with quicker reflexes and more stamina than anyone she had encountered before. Then her ability had shown itself, throwing her into even more confusing territory.

It had never made sense to her, until Thor had forced her to let him explain. But now standing there with a quickly approaching Loki, this information meant nothing if he wouldn't even talk to her. She crossed her arms over her chest, stepping into his path. But as he got close to her, he stepped around her never looking up from the book in his hands. 

She dropped to her knees, hands on the floor barely holding herself up. He couldn't have hurt her more if he had actually hit her. Acting like she didn't exist was so much worse. She curled in on herself, her heart ripping from her chest and following the man walking away from her.

She didn't bother fighting the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. She was so angry at Thor, confused about Loki, hurt by his actions and the fact that she could very well be his Disir. She was a raw ball of mixed emotions and she couldn't fight them anymore. She sat back against the wall, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She sobbed, bowing her head into the private space her curled body created.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, it felt like an eternity. She had stopped sobbing, reducing herself to small sniffles, a while ago. Slowly she lifted her head, wiping at her eyes.

Thor and Loki were sitting across from her, the former staring at her with sad eyes. While the latter with his arms and ankles crossed, looking anywhere but at her. 

She yelped at suddenly seeing them there, and both men groaned in pain. She couldn't make herself feel sorry though. She ducked her head and looked away from the two, letting her hair shield her face. “What are you doing here?” she croaked out of her emotionally raw throat.

Thor cleared his throat, “Loki has something he wishes to say to you.”

She scoffed at the idea. 

Silence reigned in the hall and she was having none of that. Abruptly rising to her feet, she headed down the hall away from the pair. Her wrist was grabbed, and she immediately yanked herself free, whirling on whichever of the two had touched her.

Loki stood there, his arm still outstretched. The familiar electricity unable to reach her through the raw mixed emotions thrashing around her brain. Like living creatures trying to tear her apart. He slowly drew back, sliding his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He started to chew on his bottom lip, which aggravated her further. She crossed her arms, glaring at him, “What?!” she shouted.

Loki felt that single word with all the force she had delivered it with. He actually stumbled back reaching out to the wall to keep himself up right. He didn't want this. It was better for them both, if they had nothing more to do with each other. He couldn't bear to lose her in any form. But he knew that because she was just a mortal, if he allowed himself to let these feelings form fully in his heart, it would hurt even more when she died. The mission had made that perfectly clear.

He tried to form a sentence, to tell her these things. To be truthful to this woman that meant so much to him already. Unfortunately, he just stood there gaping foolishly, unable to utter even a syllable. 

She turned again, but Thor had overtaken her and was standing in her way. Her hands formed fists at her sides, “Thor, you are already on my shit list. If you don't get out of my way this instant, I will kill you,” she breathed the warning.

Thor raised his hands defensively taking a step back, “Okay, but listen,” he didn't get to finish, because Loki scoffed.

Iloa turned her burning sapphire gaze back to him and this time she was eerily calm. Loki was unnerved by her appearance, flinching away.

“Hey, back over here,” Thor begged, trying to keep his voice calm and assuring despite the tremble there. “Focus on me Iloa,” she drew her steely gaze back to him and he flinched too. “You have to calm down or you are gonna tear this entire building apart.” He kept his voice soft and gentle. She started to breathe more evenly, closing her eyes and concentrating on stamping out the raging fire burning through her veins.

Loki's brow knitted together, his brother was not just scared of the girl, he was terrified. He opened his mouth to ask but Thor cut in again, “Brother, please stop talking, unless you want us all to die.”

He couldn't stop the question from falling from his lips, “How can she kill us? We are Gods.”

There was just enough snark in that question, to reignite the fire in Iloa. She turned to him again but Thor stepped between them just as she began to hum at Loki. Loki crumbled to the floor, holding his head and screaming in pain. The walls around them, started groaning and shaking. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickering, as the ceiling started to splinter and crack. Loki could hear the building protesting at her power. All this did was further confuse him, as he fought to save his life with his seiðr.

Thor started over, “Iloa, look at me please. You have to stop or you will kill him,” Thor looked down at Loki writhing in pain on the floor. Blood had started flowing from his ears. “Please, Iloa,” he begged. “You will never be able to live with yourself, if you hurt him. If you bring this building down, you will kill everyone here. Don't think about him. Focus on, Tony and Steve, Banner and Natasha. She is back home now. I know she is you best friend here, right? You don't want to hurt all of them do you?”

A tear rolled down her cheek, she exhaled loudly. Everything stopped moving and Thor breathed a sigh of relief, crouching to check on Loki. His pain had stopped but Thor had no way of knowing how much damage had been done. He looked back up to Iloa but she was gone.

“How did she do that?” Loki asked through grit teeth, “She is just a mortal.”

Thor rolled his eyes, deciding whether to leave the idiot on the ground or not. “She isn't a mortal, you fool,” exasperated, he knew it wasn't his story to tell. But he'd had enough of this repetitive fight between the two. 

That seemed to clear Loki's mind enough to be astonished, “What?”

Thor chuckled, “She is an Asgardian, just like me. Well, not just like me,” he admitted.

Things started to make sense to Loki. She had mentioned that there was more to her than he knew. Had even stated that she was more than a mortal, more than once. But of course, being true to form, he had stubbornly never allowed her to explain. He hadn't bothered to earn the answers either. She had lived through being mortally wounded, only needing a 'nap' to fully recover. He sighed, sitting up slowly. Wiping the blood dripping down his neck, off with his sleeve and the back of his hands.

Thor watched him with worried eyes but Loki waved him off. “I was able to keep her from doing permanent damage with my seiðr.” He dropped his head into his hands, “I am a fool.”

Thor lent his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, absently inspecting the fissure cracks that had formed there, “Yep,” was all he had to say to his brother.

[fadingcoast]

Death Of The Lie  ||  Chapter 15: Woman

AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism​​ & @fadingcoast​

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: None RATING: Teen

MASTERLIST

Feedback is always appreciated and reblogs are encouraged!!

Chapter 15: Woman

Loki was not looking forward to going back to Asgard in his current form, but he had promised his mother, and there was no backing out. He had been avoiding coming back for several decades after Erik left, feeling it would be too much for him to deal with his family while heartbroken. Besides, the wedding of the Vanir Princess was to be a sure subject, and he definitely didn’t want to talk about that.

Master Indilwen refused to help him shift back. You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out, she had said. You’ll figure it out, don’t worry! Yes, he would, but not as soon as he wanted. Even King Frèyr saw it as a valuable learning lesson and refused to help, instead reminding him to make use of the extensive collection of books in the library.

In order to keep the facade that this was intentional and not accidental, Sigyn trained Loki in how to be a proper lady, and Gwyn was most pleased by it. He would never admit it, but he was enjoying it. The heeled shoes were a nuisance, but the dresses and the bodices were a surprising luxury. Even the undergarments were much more comfortable and aesthetically pleasing! Alfheim tailors were skilled and fast, and Loki had a new wardrobe in time for his departure. Sigyn even taught him the basics of makeup usage, but he couldn’t get the finesse of it, so he let Gwyn do it when he felt like wearing some.

Armed with faux confidence and new garments, Loki arrived on Asgard on the first day of summer. His mother was waiting for him as was their custom, and he braced for her reaction. Frigga was shocked, and Loki rushed to explain his newfound shapeshifting abilities and how he had come to feel comfortable with this particular one. Frigga eyed him suspiciously, but if she wanted to argue the real reason why Loki now possessed a woman’s features, she didn’t.

“You will give Thor a heart attack.” Frigga chuckled.

“Well, that makes it even more fun for me,” he said cheekily.

No mention of what Odin’s reaction would be was made.

The first couple of weeks, things weren't that bad. Loki and Frigga visited the shops, the tailors and the blacksmiths to get Loki proper Asgardian attire. None of them dared question why the prince was now a princess, but Loki did not fail to notice their stares, returning them with silent venom.

Loki had the distinct feeling that Frigga was the one behind Odin being fairly absent in their day to day lives, for which he was grateful, although slightly hurt that his father hadn't asked to see him in the first place. Loki convinced himself that it was better this way. He had enough with Thor being utterly confused by the whole shapeshifting thing and behaving like an overprotective brother, refusing to train with him in fear that he would hurt him.

“Thor, we’ve trained together for centuries!”

“I know, but now it’s different!”

“Oh, please! Go and tell Sif you don’t want to train with her just because she’s a woman and we’re oh-so-fragile you might break us!” Loki said exasperated. “Let’s see how she reacts to that!”

Thor gulped. “She would hurt me. Badly.”

“Then shut up and train! Properly this time.”

Combat training had been tricky with his new body. He was shorter now, and had flesh in parts where he wasn’t used to. His center of balance had changed as well, but he found himself more flexible and agile once he adjusted to it. Loki found a sort of freedom in women’s armor, which was mostly just a breastplate, vambraces, and greaves, and he could no longer fault Sif for choosing it over the bulky full-body armor designed for men. It didn’t take long for a curious crowd to form around the unorthodox pair the first time they fought this way.

And it didn’t take long for a couple of men in the crowd to throw distasteful and lewd comments Loki’s way. He tried his best to ignore them, but they were getting under his skin, and he was becoming distracted, which, while training with Thor, was a dangerous thing to happen. He wished he could transfigure those men into pigs right now, seeing they were behaving as such.

Despite the distraction, Loki couldn’t fail to notice how red his brother was turning. Thor moved to attack, but instead of directing the attack to him, sent a bolt of lightning to the rude commenters. The shock sent them flying several feet back and they fell heavily to the floor, grunting and sputtering.

Loki looked at Thor, and he was raging. His jaw was clenched and his brow furrowed, huffing and muttering indignantly as he strode towards the offenders.

“Keep your thoughts to yourselves if you cherish having your heads attached to your necks,” Thor said, threatening the men with his hammer. “Loki is a Prince of the Realm in whichever form he chooses to be, and you will show some respect.”

The men and their companions sputtered several apologies, clearly terrified of Thor. Loki was mostly shocked. First, to see his brother standing up for him like he hadn’t done since he’d left Asgard and second, by the lightning display Thor had conjured.

“Since when can you wield lightning?” Loki asked, when Thor had chased the men away and came back to the pit.

“Oh, this is sort of new,” Thor explained, a smile softening his features once more. “I am afraid it is not my doing, but Mjolnir’s, that has given me the ability to control lightning. So you’re not the only wizard now,” he added with a wink.

Loki wanted to blurt out all the differences between seidr and Thor’s lightning, but he stopped himself. “I imagine it has been very useful,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

Thor smiled awkwardly. “What kind of brother would I be if I didn’t stand up for my sister’s honor?”

“Oh, do shut up.”

Thor becoming an overprotective brother was bothersome most of the time, but Loki was grateful nonetheless. No one dared make fun of him or they would risk the wrath of the elder Prince.

Of course, as the Norns would have it, Loki couldn’t avoid his father forever.

The first time Odin decided to join them for dinner, weeks after Loki’s arrival, the color drained from the Allfather’s face when he came into the dining hall and saw the raven-haired woman sitting in Loki’s seat. Frigga eyed him carefully and acted like nothing had changed, but Thor was less subtle.

“Are you alright, father? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Clearly Frigga had prepared him in advance, because Odin was able to manage a straight face as he stared at Loki. He cleared his throat and sat at the head of the table, looking to his left where Loki was watching him expectantly. His eyes darted to his wife and back to Loki and he took a deep breath before deciding what to say.

“I see that you’ve, ah, been practicing transfiguration,” was all Odin could muster. The rest of his tirade was still visible in his furious gaze, but it would have to remain there because, as Loki noted smugly, Frigga was staring him down from the other end of the table.

“Yes, Loki is quite talented, wouldn’t you say, dear?”

The Queen had left no room to argue, and Loki had to stamp down his laughter that was bubbling under the surface. Odin’s face flushed a deep crimson as he scrambled for a response. Finally, after a few moments’ tense silence, Odin’s expression softened and he stared down into his tankard.

“You look just like your mother.”

Loki and Thor looked confused. Only Frigga noticed the small tremble in Odin’s hands and was quick to add, “Except for the hair, of course!” She smiled. “I’m afraid there aren’t many portraits of my youth in the palace.”

The atmosphere lightened up, for everyone but Odin. Loki did look exactly like Hela when she had been a teenager. Before the wars and the violence, before she became his best weapon and general of his armies, before she had forsaken him and married Laufey. He couldn’t help but notice Loki’s mannerisms closely resembled those of his mother. The way he rolled his eyes, or glared under the fringe of hair… Thor hadn’t been wrong: Loki, in this form, was as if Hela had come back from the dead just to haunt him and his decisions.

At the very least, Odin had the sense to keep quiet for the rest of the dinner.

.-

Weeks into his visit, Loki escaped with Sif to the tavern after dinner. She had become enjoyable company, and a welcomed relief after having to deal with Thor and his manly friends.

Fandral had become an issue. His reputation for pursuing after everything with breasts was widely known across the realms, but Loki wasn’t prepared for Fandral to go after him. His comments were rude and crass, his stares were tasteless, his wandering hands had to be stopped several times a day. Of course, the spineless prick would behave when big brother Thor was around, but Loki knew Fandral was only waiting for his opportunity the second Thor had his back turned. It was despicable, the way Fandral and the other warriors had treated him all his life, and all of a sudden just because he had taken on a new form he was supposed to just forget all of it.

Sif, of course, agreed with Loki. She had seen it all, and had been on the receiving end of a few of his attempts. The pair were comparing stories about Fandral’s unrestrained whims and Thor’s attempts to rein them in, laughing over their tankards of sweet mead, and for once Loki felt like someone in this realm aside from his mother could actually understand him.

Loki peered over his shoulder when he heard a familiar voice come into the tavern and his smile fell. Tapping his nails against the tankard, he groaned in annoyance as Fandral approached where he thought they were hidden well in the shadows of the back corner, facing away from the door. Fandral’s idiotic flashy boots tapped loudly on the floor and attracted attention that Loki had been trying to avoid. When the warrior’s knobby ring-covered fingers slid across the table toward Loki’s free hand, Loki knew he couldn’t give Fandral an inch.

“What do you want, Narcissus?”

Fandral scoffed, unsuccessfully disguising his confusion at Loki’s insult, and walked around the table to sit on Loki’s other side, his eyes raking over Loki like he was appraising jewelry that he wanted to snatch off of someone’s neck. “Is it such a crime to want to talk to the princess? You are a princess now, right?”

Loki narrowed his eyes at the warrior. “What of it?”

“Oh, nothing.” Fandral leaned in closer, his breath stinking like cheap mead, and gave Loki what he probably thought was a charming smile. “I think we should do something about this… unspoken thing we have going on here.”

Loki was so preoccupied with Fandral’s greedy expression that he didn’t notice him moving his hand until it was resting on his thigh. Instantly he grabbed the warrior’s wrist and held it firm, squeezing it until the bones ground together and Fandral tried to jerk it out of his grip.

Sif spoke up, trying to dispel the charge of anger in the air. “Fandral, you need to leave.” Her hand went to the scabbard of her sword and held it lightly, a silent but clear threat.

When Fandral refused to acknowledge Sif, Loki dug his nails into his wrist. “The only thing that remains unspoken, you pompous, self-entitled oaf, is the loathing and disgust I have for you every time I am forced to lay eyes on you.” Finally Fandral pulled his hand away and Loki rose to his feet. “Woman or not, I am still a child of the King, and as such you will remember to treat me with respect, lest you find your ever-wandering hands cleaved from your body.”

Loki turned to walk out the door before his temper made anything worse, Sif casting an annoyed glance in Fandral’s direction before joining him. In one last tempt of fate Fandral patted his hand against Loki’s backside with a chuckle. His rage peaked, Loki whirled around, skirts flying, other patrons gasping in shock as he conjured a gleaming black dagger the length of his forearm and pinned Fandral to the wall by the throat with it. He bared his teeth in warning, pressing just hard enough against Fandral’s neck to make sure he knew it was there, but not hard enough to draw blood, though it would likely leave a mark regardless.

“Touch me again and it will be the last time you have hands,” Loki snarled. Fandral made a gurgling noise in response and raised up to his toes trying to get away from the blade, but Loki only pushed it harder.

“Loki.”

Sif’s gentle but firm voice slammed him back into awareness of his surroundings. It was Alfheim all over again, only this time everyone knew who he was, and there was no keeping this from reaching the Allfather’s ears. Loki vanished the dagger and hardened his expression, backing away from Fandral to put some distance between them.

A smile spread across Fandral’s face as he steadied himself on his feet. “Let’s see you use that silvertongue to get yourself out of this one, princess.”

.-

The morning after was a whirlwind.

Loki was summoned to the Throne room right after breakfast. Odin had been holding audience with several patrons who witnessed what had happened between him and Fandral the night before. Fandral himself was asked to testify, and Loki had to show tremendous restraint not to smash his head on the tiles listening to his blatant lies. Fortunately for him, Sif was there too, her vision and story more accurate.

It wasn’t until after everyone left that Odin let Loki know he knew the real reason behind the turmoil, the necrosword Loki had conjured and attacked Fandral with.

“I thought sending you to Alfheim was supposed to put a stop to your reckless magic,” Odin bellowed from his throne, nearly shaking the ground. Frigga stood firm beside him, her eyes soft as she watched Loki’s unchanging expression. “If they’re not teaching you to control yourself, then why do I bother sending you there to begin with!?”

“I wasn’t out of control!” Loki bristled, trying not to lash out. “Fandral attacked me. I was merely defending myself!”

“Now you listen well, Hel - Loki.” Odin sighed deeply and closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked to his wife, moving his hand out from under hers. “Your mother and I have decided it is best for you to return to Alfheim until such a time that you change back into your male form.”

Loki scoffed. “So you’re sending me off again, early this time, because I’m a woman? You think being a woman offers me no control over myself, is that it?” He shook his head, feeling his hands turn cold and crossing them behind his back. “Very well. Blame me for the way I am treated, just as you always have. I should have expected no more.”

Before Odin could respond, Loki turned on his heels, vanishing in a swirl of green magic and appearing in his bedroom. Another wave of his hand sent his belongings to his trunk, tucking them neatly inside to be sent off to Alfheim. He knew Frigga would try to talk to him before leaving, if only to dispel any resentment, so in order to avoid her Loki went ahead and teleported himself to Heimdall’s post and left without a word to the Gatekeeper.

.-

The quietness of the castle was broken by a loud crashing sound, making Sigyn jolt in surprise. She muttered curses under her breath: a long paint stroke was now ruining the otherwise pristine portrait. Another loud crash made her jump from her stool. Gathering her seidr, she walked out and followed the noises to Loki’s room.

“Loki?” Sigyn knocked the half open door and let herself in. “What are you doing here?”

Loki’s fists were clenched, lips pressed in a tight line. His trunk was turned over, its contents scattered all over the floor. It was evident now where the crashing sounds came from. Sigyn could feel the temperature of the room dropping dramatically, fog already clouding the windows and frost forming all around Loki.

“Hey, hey…” She said, standing in front of him and taking his hands. “Breathe…”

Loki closed his eyes and clenched Sigyn’s hands, practicing one of the many breathing exercises they had learned to control his anxiety. After a moment, Loki sighed deeply, and let go of Sigyn’s hands.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “I didn’t see many guards outside. I thought the castle would be empty.”

“Almost,” she pointed out. “My father is on Vanaheim, for my cousin Finja’s name day-” Sigyn stopped mid sentence, noticing how Loki pursed his lips. “Yes, I excused myself from that family gathering. Lucky for me, the chancellor has been indisposed for days and couldn’t take over in our absence,” she rambled, getting rid of the weird atmosphere. “Anyway! We have the castle to ourselves and I might have stolen a few crates from the brewery.” She smiled cheekily.

Loki smirked. “Is it berry infused?”

“Of course it is!” Sigyn giggled.

Back in her room, Loki told Sigyn everything that went down on Asgard, up to the fight with his father that very morning, as they drank the stolen mead. Loki was glad to have the distraction of the alcohol. Sigyn looked appalled, yet not that surprised, that Loki had been the one to suffer for Fandral’s wandering hands, though she knew this was definitely not the first time Loki had paid for his brother’s friends’ crimes.

“While I was here, no one batted an eye at my transfiguration.” Loki gulped down the last of his ale, and pushed the bottle at the end of the bed. “On Asgard… everyone had an opinion, everyone had something to say.” Loki bit his lip and uncorked another bottle. “Most of them weren’t nice at all.”

“You know of Asgard’s backwards visions on things. The whole of the Nine Realms do.” Sigyn said. “Were you really expecting men to behave? All they do over there is boast their very primitive views of masculinity. I pity the poor women who have to suffer them on a daily basis.”

“I wish I knew enough transfiguration to turn the lot of them into pigs! Especially Fandral!” Loki let out an annoyed grunt. “Please, tell me I was never that crass!” He looked at her, and Sigyn chuckled.

“You’d have to ask Lorelai, or Amora, or Gyda, or Brenna, or Ingrid…” She counted with her fingers, and Loki nearly choked on his ale. “Or maybe even Erik, or Ingvar, or Trygve…”

“I get it! I get it!” He said, stifling Sigyn’s giggles with his hand over her mouth, straddling her thigh.

Loki frowned slightly and looked up into her eyes, promptly forgetting whatever it was he was going to say. Maybe it was the mead talking, but he hadn’t quite noticed just how beautiful Sigyn was before, so soft and inviting and… was he drunk?

He removed his hand from her mouth. The room was spinning as he sat up, and he barely noticed Sigyn sat up as well. In a flash of boldness, Sigyn closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to Loki’s, sinking into it as she realized how good it felt, how- right.

Seconds ticked past, slow as hours, before Sigyn broke away panting. “Okay, that was-”

“Great?” Loki said, holding his breath.

Sigyn held her hand over her chest as if she was keeping her heart from bursting out of it. “I was going to say weird, but it- wasn’t?”

“Maybe-”

This time it was Loki kissing Sigyn. This kiss was longer, deeper, and more confident. It made Loki’s head swirl, and he knew it wasn’t just the mead. He only pulled away when he felt Sigyn’s hand sliding up his side to his left breast.

“Told you they were nice.” Sigyn said softly, but removed her hand quickly. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-” She blushed profusely and pulled away from him. “Perhaps you should leave. We’ve had too much to drink anyway.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah,” a very speechless Loki muttered.

Sigyn cleared her throat and picked the empty bottles of ale that littered her bed, sending them to the kitchens in a flash of blue. Loki stood from the bed and awkwardly watched her for a while before turning to leave.

He wasn’t halfway back to his own room yet when he turned around and stumbled back to Sigyn’s.

<< Chapter 14  –  Chapter 16 >>

.-

@igotloki @xalgaliareptx  @christy-winchester @silverhart93 @claiming-loyalty-to-loki @honeybournehippy @unseelie1963 @mischievousbellerina @manager-of-mischief @angryowlet  

[darkshreaders]

here is a primarch OC

Primarch: Raktra Akarro Homeworld: Uran

Legion: XI

History: The gestation pod that housed the infant Primarch landed in the centre of a prison complex, obliterating a large portion of the structure with the impact of its landing and causing a mass breakout. As is typical of many large prisons, several dozen gangs had formed during their incarceration, one in particular calling themselves "The Children of Desolation". Basing their faith on the belief that the haunting creatures colloquially named 'angels' that prowled the skies of Uran, descending upon the native humans at random for unknown purposes, were the heralds of apocalypse and the end of all life, they alone searched for the reason why their confines had been destroyed. Coming across the infant Primarch emerging from his capsule and tearing dozens of unnameable tubes from his flesh, they swept him away with them as they found a hiding place to lay low.

As time passed on, the young Raktra grew quickly, as all Primarchs did, and was soon strong enough to ram his fist completely through the body of the largest of creatures that opposed The Children and tear their hearts out in one swift motion. Witnessing his incredible development and terrifying strength, The Children began to herald him as their messiah, following his word and emulating his actions. Of course, being a child raised on the actions of psychotic death row criminals obsessed with their own impending doom, these actions became the stuff of underground nightmares before long. Eventually The Children began to impose their wills on the other gangs from the breakout, tracking them down and either threatening them into compliance or, more commonly, taking their loyalty by force. Raktra himself would challenge the ringleaders to personal combat, brutally crushing them and burning their bodies to ash to be used in The Children's tradition of marking one's flesh with the remains of their foes. By the time Raktra's outlaws were ready to take their first city, he had tattooed himself so heavily with the ashes of his victims that his flesh was permanently stained the grubby white of old snow. Within the space of a few years, the vast majority of the planet was under the control of Raktra and his followers, and society showed it. The previously calm, if perpetually nervous, cities and settlements of Uran had become places of brutality and oppression, with anyone speaking out against the new regime silenced with a boot to the throat or a hammer to the temple. A sense of cold arrogance and perceived might spread throughout the populace, resulting in more and more people being stolen away by the Angels as they brazenly marched across previously avoided mesas and ignored warnings from spotters. Heeding the pleas of his closest advisors, Raktra gathered the most violent factions in The Children and made a declaration; they would draw them out and prove themselves to the Angels. For the first time in the history of their world, they would kill a flight of Angels, and in doing so send a message to the bastard creatures that had plagued them for so long that they would no longer roll over and accept their threat.  The Uran horde journeyed far and wide, desolist priests chanting rituals of warding and performing blood rituals to lend their brothers strength, the rest sharpening blades, loading guns and roaring in anticipation. Raktra stood at their head, a great motorised chain-blade shackled to his right hand and a lash of heavy chain gripped in his left. On the third day, as the sun broke through the shroud of the night, a great wind picked up around the assembled humans followed by the deafening sound of thousands of wings beating against the sky.  The world had become a spiral of blades, claws and gunfire before a normal man could even draw breath. The Angels lay about themselves with bird-like talons, rainbow-feathered wings and gobs of unnatural flame that simultaneously burned and froze those it struck. Some where able to resist where the desolists still stood, others finding themselves mysteriously invigorated by their wounds, but most fell screaming to the dirt as their corpses crystallised. The slowly-shrinking circle of killers pulled tighter and tighter against each other, slipping over the unbelievable mound of dead and bleeding underneath their boots, and as they confined themselves to what they believed was an inevitable death, salvation came.

Bolter rounds and volkite charges ripped through the monsters, inhumanly precise aim preventing any friendly fire even with the ridiculous amount of dirt and motion that surely had to be obscuring the vision of the new arrivals. With the tides turned and the Angels repelled, The Children finally got a clear view of their saviours.

Hulking, sea-green armoured warriors stamped towards them, at their head a pair of giants dressed in black and gold. The Children stared in awe and dropped to their knees, all except for Raktra who approached them with a curious glint in his eyes. The black-clad man nodded curtly to him, whilst the man in gold spread his arms and came closer.

"My son," he said. "I have found you at last."

Raktra met the already existing members of his Legion, and found himself disgusted by them. Examining their history and battle records, he saw how merciful they were in their invasions and how readily they would take and make comfortable their prisoners. Worse, he saw the glowing admiration that his supposed "father" heaped upon these actions, and felt his stomach churn. If these were to be his men, there could be no pity, no innocence. Any semblance of forgiveness had to be stamped out, by any means necessary.

New recruits were brought in from his home world and the Legion took on a shape more to his liking. The greater numbers of former members of The Children began to fill the ranks, and the combination of their violent culture and newly-enhanced bodies brought out a fire that the Uran people were keen to let wild upon the universe. Raktra, meanwhile, was versed in the ways of the Imperial armies, and educated by his Primarch brothers. Being the charmless bastard that he was, he forged few connections with those he bore genes with, and even those bonds were strained. The closest he came to respect were Ferrus Manus of the Xth, and later Angron of the XIIth, appreciating the brutal honesty and direct nature of the two, but little else, and the grim creature that was Mortarion, the only one he would call "brother", though this was a rare occurrence. In Mortarion he found a similar set of core beliefs - that the universe was dark, life was bloody and everything died in the end. Of those he disliked, none were more hated than the lord of the IXth, the great Sanguinius. Though Raktra would never admit to it, seeing such a powerful and skilled fighter leading a force of so-called "angels" whilst appearing himself as an angel of some ancient Terran faith, clawed at him with the first feelings of fear he had ever known.

By the time they were prepared to venture out into the galaxy on their own, the XIth Legion had transformed their colours from a gentle duck-egg blue to the greying black of burnt coal, their arms a grubby white to link themselves to their Primarch, and to better show the blood spatter from the beatings they dealt out. Raktra himself had his chain blade modified and improved by Legion artificers, naming it "the Grinder", and dressing for war in a loose-fitting suit of artificer armour that left his arms and head bare to maximise his range of motion when swinging his sword. His appearance matching his methods and his men finally suited to his needs, Raktra ordered his Legion's old name expunged from all records, to be replaced by their new title - the Berserkers of Uran. The Crusade ground on and Raktra became more and more distant from his brothers who were less appreciative of his methods than others. While that had no direct effect on his ability to wage war, rumblings of dissent began in his own Legion. Fractures between the various chapters grew wide, morally separating the native Uran recruits and the "off-worlders". The Uran would trample over everything and everyone in their path, leaving the survivors to fend for themselves whereas the off-worlders would employ the typical Imperial tactic of rebuilding and re-educating the locals to assimilate them into the acceptable standards set down by the Emperor. Eventually the Legion barely resembled one coherent fighting force - if anything, it now operated as two demi-legions, and the gaze of the Emperor was drawn. Hearing whispers and rumours and letting his own bitterness guide him, Raktra prepared his more 'loyal' men for the then-almost-unheard of act of marine-on-marine combat. He knew the Emperor would send the Space Wolves. The so-called "executioners" of the Astartes were his favourite choice to send as a reminder of his rule, though Raktra could never figure out why, given that each time it had been rumoured they had been sent out to curb the behaviours of other Primarchs they had returned with their tails between their legs and their task essentially failed. He recalled the famed "Night of the Wolf", told to him by Angron as they nursed their wounds after a drawn-out battle in the Conqueror's gladiatorial pits, and he recalled them laughing their broken laughs at the Wolves' ineptitude.

He gathered his men and marched out into the open as soon as long-ranged scanners detected a group of Astartes craft entering the atmosphere of Uran's moon, the location of their secondary outpost. What met the Berserkers on the ground was something they did not expect, and something that rattled them to the core - blood red Thunderhawks bearing sculpted white angel wings, and the ominous IX of the Blood Angels.

The angel led the host, Sanguinius walking in his beautifully graceful way towards his younger sibling. If his skin was naturally-coloured, Raktra would've turned sickly pale. Blood rushed through his ears as his twin hearts beat faster than he thought possible, drowning out the voice of Sanguinius as he tried to reason with him. Sanguinius reached out his hand to his brother to invite him in, Raktra stepped back, and in a moment of panic, uttered a command to his men. "FIRE." The battle was brutal. The Berserkers were far outmatched by the Blood Angels, even with the small element of surprise on their side. Raktra himself faired no better than his sons, throwing himself wildly at Sanguinius in a blind fear-induced rage, desperately trying to kill the man who embodied his only fear. Simply put, it didn't work. Raktra was ground into the dirt, the Grinder shattered along with his jaw and hand, and one eye carved out by a badly blocked sword strike. A foot on his spine kept him pinned down, and Sanguinius ordered his men to return to their ship before any more blood was shed by either side. Raktra scraped at the dirt and struggled to free himself, as the angel chastised him for his selfish and harmful ways. With one last breath of regret, Sanguinius followed the rest of the Blood Angels and left, and the Berserkers collected up their broken Primarch to be healed. This humiliation broke the last vestiges of loyalty that lay in Raktra's soul. In secret, he gathered those chapters who bore more trust in the works of their Primarch than the works of the Emperor, and lay down his plan; together, they would emancipate themselves from the Imperium. They would take the current pool of recruits still on Uran, and then raze the cities to the ground. They would find the Chaplains that professed the Imperial Truth to them, and they would put a bullet in their mouths. They would reinstate the priests of The Children, and grant them the genetic gifts of the Space Marines. They would take all the ships they could, and sink the rest into the galactic void. And finally, they would catapult themselves across the universe, evading retribution as best they could until they could mount a proper defence when they were inevitably found. And if their off-worlder elements stood in their way at any point, they would break them like children beneath a landslide. And so it went, and for the second time, the Emperor ordered the destruction of a Space Marine Legion from all records and memorials. The statue of their Primarch that once stood tall outside the entrance to the Imperial Palace was torn down, its empty plinth a grim reminder to the other Legions of the price of betrayal, echoing its II legion twin in disgrace. Many months of intensive psychic examination and soul-scrubbing performed by none other than Malcador himself assured the loyalty of the remaining Marines, and they found themselves placed into the hands of the Ultramarines, swelling their ranks to incredible numbers.

For the second time, the Emperor witnessed the hatred for him that could be born in his son's hearts. Had he saw the signs elsewhere, it could have also been the last.

[suolainensilakka]

First Meeting

(Characters belong to myself and @enderchest !)

This was a really, really, really bad idea, Duster thought to himself as he shuffled from one pede to another, trying his hardest to blend in and stamp down his nervousness as Sentinel Prime marched in front of the group of soon-to-be Elite Guard cadets, scrutinizing each and every bot with trained precision and likely gauging whether or not they were worthy of recruiting officially.

“And what do you do?” he heard the Prime’s voice say, and tried to refrain from wincing. He wasn’t really yelling, per se, not even close, but the volume was still enough to make Duster cringe. The mech being questioned chuffed with laughter, but the much smaller minibot couldn’t see him properly from behind the mass of armored pedes blocking his view to the left.

“Gimme a target and I’ll show ya,” the mech replied with an audible grin. Sentinel’s optics narrowed at the informal language but he didn’t comment further, instead pointing towards the row of blandly painted training dummies standing behind him, stepping aside.

“Alright then, knock yourself out.” He was clearly skeptical, but there was a small glimmer of curiosity in his optics as he watched the newcomer step forward with confidence.

Duster leaned over to get a better look, only barely managing to catch a glimpse of a light brown and green mech before he suddenly launched forward with almost frightening speed and collided with the closest dummy, shattering it into near-symmetrical splinters that exploded outwards and sent all nearby mechs jumping backwards with surprised yells. The mech paid them no mind, instead whirling towards his next target and obliterating it in a similar manner. One was split in half with a single kick, another was sent flying several dozen feet into the air, and all the remaining ones were taken out so fast Duster’s optics almost hurt while trying to keep up with the bot’s incredible swiftness.

The mech finished his mock battle with a victorious whoop, turning to face his audience with his arms spread outwards and frame physically radiating heat from exertion. He paused for a moment before speaking, huffing as his frame struggled to cool down, but it was clear from the look on his face that he was quite proud of himself.

“How’s that for a demonstration?” he asked, grinning. There was a beat of silence as Sentinel simply blinked in response, before brushing a few stray flecks of debris from his shoulder with a short hum.

“Quite impressive,” he said, voice slightly strained from annoyance at the mess scattered about, but nonetheless still pleased. “What’s your name, soldier?” he then barked sharply, and the bot in question let out a short laugh.

“Name’s Breakbrawl.” He paused for a moment, flexing his arm cables in an almost comically exaggerated manner before continuing, “Sorry ‘bout the mess, by the way. Things kinda tend to go boom when I’m around.” Breakbrawl then chuckled at his own little joke, shoulders shaking and teal headlights flashing briefly.

“... Alright then, Breakbrawl, you’re in,” Sentinel replied after a pause, his trademark smirk settling back on his face as he gestured for the bot to step back into the line. Breakbrawl let out another joyful whoop, practically leaping into the group and moving to stand on his previous place with newfound energy and brightly glowing optics.

Duster had been watching the performance in almost complete silence, utterly captivated by the mech’s movements and the almost physically tangible confidence rolling off his shoulders in waves, and for a moment he’d almost forgotten why he was here in the first place. His earlier nervousness came crashing back in when Sentinel snapped back into drill sergeant mode, asking for each bot’s designation and function as he gradually moved closer and closer to Duster. The brown minibot briefly considered hiding behind one of the taller mechs, but immediately - albeit reluctantly - shook the idea away. You’re here now, you’ve come this far, you’ve put in too much effort to give up now. Stay calm.

Sentinel’s pedesteps grew closer. Duster tensed. His audials were online and perfectly functional but seemingly refused to process any noise filtered through beyond unintelligible muttering, and his spark hammered against its chamber with almost enough strength to visibly shine through its protective casing - calm down, you’re not going to die, just stop panicking - and Duster fought against the urge to bolt with all his might. Then, finally, after an agonizingly long ten minutes, Sentinel stopped in front of him and turned to look. The Prime’s stern expression briefly twisted into confusion after seeing no one there, and Duster - trying hard not to let his internal screaming physically spill out of his vocalizer - cleared his throat and waved a servo nervously.

“D-down here, sir!” he croaked, wincing slightly at the spontaneous voice crack. Sentinel nearly jumped in surprise before swiveling his helm towards the voice, and a wide, amused smirk appeared on his face. Leaning down towards Duster, he folded his arms behind him and tilted his helm slightly to the side, as if talking to a lost sparkling who had wandered too far from its guardians.

“And who are you, then?” he asked, clearly unimpressed. His tone sounded almost condescending, sending another wave of fear dancing through Duster’s spark.

“I... “ the minibot began, before pausing to clear his throat again and looking back up at Sentinel. “M-my name is Duster, sir.” A raised eyebrow was his only response for a moment.

“... Alright. What’s your specialty?”

“My--” Oh. Oh. Duster’s optics nervously flicked to look at the mechs around him - all had their optics trained on him and him alone, all understandably curious - and suddenly Duster realized just how awful his idea to come here had been. He didn’t have any special abilities or strengths that he could name. Not any he knew about, at least - it was becoming glaringly obvious that Sentinel, however, was very keen on knowing.

“Well?” the blue mech prodded impatiently, and Duster swallowed nervously.

“I-- uh--”

“Drawing attention away from teammates and distracting enemies, then. Got it,” Sentinel suddenly interrupted, grin widening even further. Duster’s vents sputtered, belching out clouds of soot in surprise.

“W--” he coughed, squinting slightly. “What?”

Sentinel’s optics narrowed marginally, adding a vaguely hostile edge to his already condescending expression.

“You heard me. It’s obvious you don’t have a lick of fighting spirit in you, and judging by that flimsy, paper-thin excuse for armor you’re wearing you wouldn’t last a nanosecond in a real, up-close fight with a Decepticon.” He leaned even further in, forcing Duster to take a nervous step backwards with his audial fins pinned tight against his helm, and jabbed a digit towards the minibot’s chest where his spark was rapidly pulsing within its glass casing. “And that might as well turn you into a big, red, screaming target with the words “shoot me” painted on. Honestly, it’s a miracle cleaning models like you are even allowed to apply.” Slowly, with an infuriatingly smug air clinging to him, Sentinel rose up and turned away, seemingly ready to continue to the next bot. Faint murmurs echoed all around - some sounded concerned, some snide, and it made Duster’s plating rattle faintly in discomfort.

“So, am I… am I in…?” he squeaked softly, watching Sentinel pause for a moment before turning his helm to peek at the minibot with a glare.

“For the time being, yes. Try not to waste my time too much. This oughta be fun…” he huffed, although Duster could tell the last part was more meant to be a low murmur than a comment directed his way. The Prime then turned away with a dismissive sneer, apparently choosing to ignore Duster from that moment onwards.

It was probably a good thing he did, too. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would last pinned under the Prime’s piercing gaze. Not without completely dissolving into a coughing, anxious mess, anyways. The fact that he had actually managed to get into the training program helped in softening the blow, but his joy was still vastly overshadowed by the obviously mocking way Sentinel had delivered the news - he just had to hope he could keep his calm for the rest of the training program, too.

“Well then, folks, it seems like you’ve all been - for the better of worse - accepted officially. Make no mistake, this does not mean that I’ll be going easy on you.” Sentinel’s gaze hovered over the group, optics narrowed. “Any of you.” Duster could hear some of the new cadets shuffling around nervously, too intimidated to talk. He couldn’t blame them, really.

“Now, since this particular training area is currently… “ the Prime began, before pausing and gesturing to the destroyed remains of the training dummies behind him, “... inoperable, we’ll be using the one further north until this mess is taken care of.”

Ah. Duster had a sinking feeling he knew what Sentinel was implying.

“You, over there. Duster. You’ll clean this up while we begin.”

Yep. Knew it.

Duster repressed the urge to sigh out loud, before nodding firmly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Sentinel flashed another - insincere - smile his way, before turning around to address his troops. “Alright, off you go now,” he barked sharply, and a chorus of loud “yes sir”s met Duster’s audials before the group trotted off with thundering pedesteps, and left the brown minibot standing alone on the clearing.

“Wow. Tough luck.”

… Well, almost alone.

Duster’s helm fins twitched towards the noise and he turned to look at the source of the voice, seeing a slender, dark silver and green mech - Shutdown, he recalled from the earlier demonstrations - standing a few feet away with a sly grin, leaning his weight on one pede and arms crossed. Duster merely raised an eyebrow, silent.

“What, not even gonna reply?” Shutdown snorted, visor flashing. Duster simply rolled his optics in annoyance, moving to pick up the nearest piece of discarded rubble on the ground and twisting the shard around in his servos.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” he asked dryly, tails twitching idly. He heard Shutdown give a harsh, ringing laugh behind him and tensed, listening as the mech’s pedesteps grew closer.

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you be somewhere too, I dunno… where you’re actually useful?”

Duster’s joints froze, vents sputtering out another cloud of dirt. What…?

“I dunno why they even let you in. Like, what are ya gonna do, blind the ‘Cons with ultra-polished armor? Dump a bucket of cleaning solvent underneath their pedes to trip them? Face it, you ain’t made to be a warrior.” Shutdown’s words each stung like a sharpened blade cutting into Duster’s armor, each one more vehement than the last - don’t defend yourself, don’t provoke him, stay still, the minibot chanted mentally, struggling not to visibly tremble - but it seemed like the green ex-racer wasn’t done yet.

“Keep trying, janitor, maybe you’ll actually make it to a full week,” he snarled, leaning almost uncomfortably close to Duster’s frame.

Don’t defend yourself. Don’t defend yourself. Don’t defend yourself. Don’t--

“OI! Knock it off, chump!”

Duster blinked, armor clamping down onto his protoform in surprise. That voice…

Shutdown actually visibly flinched, whirling around to look at the mech standing a few feet away with his teal optics narrowed, engine rumbling a low, threatening note.

“I mean it. Quit badgering the little guy and haul your aft back to Sentinel’s group before I punt you across the field myself,” Breakbrawl snapped sharply, and Shutdown paused to shoot another nasty glare at Duster before quickly slinking away from Breakbrawl’s piercing gaze, still muttering under his breath what Duster assumed were things he dared not say out loud himself.

After the mech’s back vanished from view, Breakbrawl strolled over to where Duster was still paralyzed and crouched down, optics visibly softening.

“Hey, fella, you okay?” he asked with an almost shockingly gentle voice, and Duster simply blinked in response before a nervous smile found its way on his face and he gave a tiny laugh.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. Why…” Duster paused to cough out a puff of smoke, grimacing, “... why’d you… help me?” He really couldn’t comprehend why he of all bots would deem him worthy of assistance - as much as he hated admitting it, there wasn’t anything special about him. There had never been. So why…

“Eh, I just don’t like bullies,” Breakbrawl replied, stretching his neck cables with a faint grunt. For a second Duster thought he saw a veiled look of sadness flash in the mech’s optics, but the cryptic expression was soon gone before he had time to really notice it. Breakbrawl then flicked his optics to look into Duster’s own, and despite the mask covering the lower half of his face they almost gave the impression of a warm smile. Something in Duster’s spark shifted.

“Seriously though, you okay? Do I need to kick his aft?” Breakbrawl said, winking playfully.

That got a louder, more genuine laugh out of Duster, vents billowing out soot as his shoulders shook.

“No, please don’t,” he squeaked quietly, grinning. Breakbrawl gave a chuckle of his own in response, waving an arm through the air in a relaxed manner.

“Alright, alright, I won’t.”

Duster was just about to reply before a loud shout pierced the air from somewhere behind him, dragging out a frightened gasp from his vocalizer.

“Hey! What the pit are you still doing here?”

Breakbrawl’s armor had flared out like a startled cyber-cat’s at Sentinel’s yell, but he soon smoothed down his plating and turned towards the Prime with a sour look.

“I was just making sure Duster’s okay. Is that a problem…” He paused, narrowing his optics. “... sir?”

Sentinel glared back, before shaking his helm with an irritated sigh. He paused to glance at Duster, then back at Breakbrawl, scowling.

“Well then, if you two are such great buddies now, why don’t you clean up this mess together? That oughta teach you some manners, soldier,” he finished with a disapproving mutter, before sharply turning around and marching back to where the rest of the group was in the middle of completing an obstacle course. Duster simply stared for a moment, before looking at the mech next to him with a timid smile.

“Jeez, what crawled up his tailpipe and died?” he quipped, gently elbowing Breakbrawl’s side with a dull thud. The taller mech simply gave a casual shrug in response.

“Beats me,” he replied with an audible grin and a chuff of laughter. He then paused for a moment, picking up a nearby shard of debris and weighing it in his servos with a thoughtful look. His optics flicked up to look at the back of Sentinel’s helm, where he was barking out orders to the cadets, and Breakbrawl’s optics soon gained a mischievous glint. “Say what, Dusty… Should I nick ‘im with this?” he asked, slyly eyeing the Prime before shifting his helm to glance at Duster. The brown minibot burst into a short giggling fit, rapidly shaking his helm with a mildly exasperated look on his face.

“Primus, no! Don’t!” he chided the larger bot, whose face was glowing with both glee and genuine joy of having made the skittish minibot actually laugh.

“Well, if you say so,” he replied, snorting quietly. There was a short, relaxed pause between the two before he then slowly crouched down and started collecting the surrounding debris, quietly humming a cheerful melody Duster didn’t recognize. The minibot then jolted with a faint gasp, suddenly reminded of his original task, and bent down next to Breakbrawl to reach the rubble a bit further away, face glowing blue.

Breakbrawl’s optics briefly flicked to look towards Duster with an unreadable but relaxed expression, but he soon returned to work without comment. Duster simply allowed himself to get absorbed in the soothing, repetitive motions of cleaning, replaying the earlier conversation in his memory files and spark only briefly stalling at the realization that Breakbrawl had given him a nickname.

… Maybe Elite Guard training wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Contrary to Shutdown’s harsh insult on his first day, Duster didn’t get kicked out after a week.

He managed to last an astounding two and a half weeks before Sentinel seemingly got tired of having to pretend to tolerate his presence, and loudly and gleefully announced Duster’s involuntary exit. The shocked, dumbfounded silence that followed the announcement still haunted Duster to this day as he organized his belongings with automated motions, mouth pulled into a thin line and tails twitching idly. He remembered feeling shock and disappointment, but those feelings still paled when compared to a resigned, tired acceptance. He didn’t expect to last that long, but it still stung a little. Duster paused for a moment, looking at his arm pensively - it was probably for the better, anyways. As much as he hated admitting it, Sentinel was right about his unusually thin armor being unsuitable for combat.

A sudden but gentle knock to the door in his shared quarters with Breakbrawl broke the silence, and Duster’s armor flared out as he whirled around with a startled yelp. The door slid open and in came a very apologetic-looking Breakbrawl, audial fins pinned back as his optics gave the impression of a grimace.

“Sorry, pal, did I startle ya? Didn’t mean to do that, my bad,” the larger mech said, ducking his helm to avoid knocking it against the top of the doorframe as he strode in. Duster merely blinked, still frozen, before smoothing down his armor and waving a servo through the air nonchalantly, chuckling softly.

“‘S alright. Training’s over already?” he asked, tilting his helm to the side. Breakbrawl’s expression softened a bit more to his default relaxed look, and he gave a short nod in response.

“Yup. That’s… not the only reason I’m here, though,” he replied, and Duster raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Yeah? Everything alright?”

Breakbrawl’s face, though still covered by his mask, almost looked mildly smug. The expression disappeared shortly after, but Duster was already suspicious. The minibot narrowed his optics as Breakbrawl walked further into the room and sat down onto his assigned berth, the metal creaking slightly with the impact, and took a deep breath.

“I quit.”

Duster’s pistons froze for the second time that day, before his vents soon came back alive through a sputtering, choked squeak of alarm that sent clouds of dirt billowing everywhere around the brown minibot.

“What?” he hissed, optics flying wide open. Breakbrawl waved his servos in a placating manner, expression abashed, before he went on to explain.

“Easy, Dusty, easy! Don’t twist your cables into a coil, I’ve made my decision and I ain’t changing it,” he said with a small chuff of laughter. Upon seeing Duster’s still shocked expression, he let out a small sigh. “Look, I just…” he began, idly scratching the back of his neck. “... I dunno. It was really unfair of Sentinel to kick you out, especially in front of everyone like that.” He paused, optics flashing in a smile. “It just didn’t feel right to stay when I got this far this easily and you constantly got bossed around like you were nothing. Which definitely ain’t true,” Breakbrawl added with a huff.

Duster listened, silent save for the soft whirring of the gears beneath his protoform. He didn’t know how to respond. Breakbrawl’s expression softened further, and he leaned slightly towards Duster.

“B’sides, it just… it wouldn’t feel right without you,” he murmured, voice hushed to the point Duster wouldn’t have recognized him as the same mech who oh-so-gloriously demonstrated his fighting prowess the first time Duster ever saw him if he hadn’t seen this side of him once before. Duster took a small, hesitant step forward, swallowing the lump building at the back of his throat tubing.

“Y-you…. you could have become an Elite Guard, Brawl. You could have been promoted even further - you could have become a Prime, for crying out loud!” he spoke, voice trembling. “You could have become all that - gain the respect of the entire Autobot army, even - and you quit?” Duster felt something prickle at the corners of his optics. “F-for me?”

While Duster might have imagined the expression before, now there was absolutely no mistaking of the glow of pride on Breakbrawl’s face as the bot looked at Duster with what may have been the most fondness he had ever seen on a mech’s face before this moment. The barest hint of blue glowed on Breakbrawl’s cheeks as the mech chuckled, before a sly grin found its way on his face and his vents blew out a gust of air in a scoff.

“Tell ya what, Dusty, they can keep their damn Primes and promotions. Your company is perfectly good ‘nough for me,” Breakbrawl spoke with confident triumph, servo placed on top of his spark chamber to show the sincerity in his words.

Duster’s vents gave a small, choked whine he barely managed to stifle, and the minibot broke into a small, nearly hysterical fit of giggles. Breakbrawl looked concerned for a second before Duster quieted down, shoulders still shaking slightly.

“That’s… wow,” he finally replied with another muffled snort, grinning. “You…. seriously? That’s like… the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” Duster murmured softly, and Breakbrawl’s optics shone.

“Yeah, well, you deserve all the nice things in the whole world if I had any say in it.” He ignored Duster’s flustered sputtering for a moment before continuing with a grin, “And I’d say you’ve gone through enough scrap in your life as it is.” Breakbrawl paused again, expression softening once more. “Say what, how about we go exploring together? I can get us a small ship, we could just…” he spoke, slowly dragging his opened palm across the air in front of him as if to imitate a starship’s trajectory, “... fly through the cosmos, just you and I, no strict higher-ups bossing us around, no Sentinel to breathe down our necks, no limits or boundaries between us and the galaxy.”

Duster listened quietly, helm fins twitching with curiosity as he nodded slowly, optics gradually gaining back their passionate shine as he watched Breakbrawl animatedly gush about their future journey. The larger bot paused for a moment, glancing at Duster in a silent question.

“I heard there’s a small team of Autobots currently stationed on a planet called Earth and that they could use some backup. A change of scenery would be pretty nice wouldn't it?” Breakbrawl asked with an audible grin, tilting his helm to the side. “Whaddya say, lil, buddy? Wanna go on an adventure with me?”

Duster gave a short, delighted laugh in response, launching forward to wrap his arms around Breakbrawl’s chassis in a hug.

“Absolutely,” he said, burying his helm into the crook of Breakbrawl’s neck with a wide smile.

[white-devil-of-uran]

The Bio of Raktra akarro aka the white devil of uran

Primarch: Raktra Akarro

Homeworld: Uran

Legion: XI

History: The gestation pod that housed the infant Primarch landed in the centre of a prison complex, obliterating a large portion of the structure with the impact of its landing and causing a mass breakout. As is typical of many large prisons, several dozen gangs had formed during their incarceration, one in particular calling themselves “The Children of Desolation”. Basing their faith on the belief that the haunting creatures colloquially named ‘angels’ that prowled the skies of Uran, descending upon the native humans at random for unknown purposes, were the heralds of apocalypse and the end of all life, they alone searched for the reason why their confines had been destroyed. Coming across the infant Primarch emerging from his capsule and tearing dozens of unnameable tubes from his flesh, they swept him away with them as they found a hiding place to lay low.

As time passed on, the young Raktra grew quickly, as all Primarchs did, and was soon strong enough to ram his fist completely through the body of the largest of creatures that opposed The Children and tear their hearts out in one swift motion. Witnessing his incredible development and terrifying strength, The Children began to herald him as their messiah, following his word and emulating his actions. Of course, being a child raised on the actions of psychotic death row criminals obsessed with their own impending doom, these actions became the stuff of underground nightmares before long. Eventually The Children began to impose their wills on the other gangs from the breakout, tracking them down and either threatening them into compliance or, more commonly, taking their loyalty by force. Raktra himself would challenge the ringleaders to personal combat, brutally crushing them and burning their bodies to ash to be used in The Children’s tradition of marking one’s flesh with the remains of their foes. By the time Raktra’s outlaws were ready to take their first city, he had tattooed himself so heavily with the ashes of his victims that his flesh was permanently stained the grubby white of old snow. Within the space of a few years, the vast majority of the planet was under the control of Raktra and his followers, and society showed it. The previously calm, if perpetually nervous, cities and settlements of Uran had become places of brutality and oppression, with anyone speaking out against the new regime silenced with a boot to the throat or a hammer to the temple. A sense of cold arrogance and perceived might spread throughout the populace, resulting in more and more people being stolen away by the Angels as they brazenly marched across previously avoided mesas and ignored warnings from spotters. Heeding the pleas of his closest advisors, Raktra gathered the most violent factions in The Children and made a declaration; they would draw them out and prove themselves to the Angels. For the first time in the history of their world, they would kill a flight of Angels, and in doing so send a message to the bastard creatures that had plagued them for so long that they would no longer roll over and accept their threat.

The Uran horde journeyed far and wide, desolist priests chanting rituals of warding and performing blood rituals to lend their brothers strength, the rest sharpening blades, loading guns and roaring in anticipation. Raktra stood at their head, a great motorised chain-blade shackled to his right hand and a lash of heavy chain gripped in his left. On the third day, as the sun broke through the shroud of the night, a great wind picked up around the assembled humans followed by the deafening sound of thousands of wings beating against the sky.

The world had become a spiral of blades, claws and gunfire before a normal man could even draw breath. The Angels lay about themselves with bird-like talons, rainbow-feathered wings and gobs of unnatural flame that simultaneously burned and froze those it struck. Some where able to resist where the desolists still stood, others finding themselves mysteriously invigorated by their wounds, but most fell screaming to the dirt as their corpses crystallised. The slowly-shrinking circle of killers pulled tighter and tighter against each other, slipping over the unbelievable mound of dead and bleeding underneath their boots, and as they confined themselves to what they believed was an inevitable death, salvation came.

Bolter rounds and volkite charges ripped through the monsters, inhumanly precise aim preventing any friendly fire even with the ridiculous amount of dirt and motion that surely had to be obscuring the vision of the new arrivals. With the tides turned and the Angels repelled, The Children finally got a clear view of their saviours.

Hulking, sea-green armoured warriors stamped towards them, at their head a pair of giants dressed in black and gold. The Children stared in awe and dropped to their knees, all except for Raktra who approached them with a curious glint in his eyes. The black-clad man nodded curtly to him, whilst the man in gold spread his arms and came closer.

“My son,” he said. “I have found you at last.”

Raktra met the already existing members of his Legion, and found himself disgusted by them. Examining their history and battle records, he saw how merciful they were in their invasions and how readily they would take and make comfortable their prisoners. Worse, he saw the glowing admiration that his supposed “father” heaped upon these actions, and felt his stomach churn. If these were to be his men, there could be no pity, no innocence. Any semblance of forgiveness had to be stamped out, by any means necessary.

New recruits were brought in from his home world and the Legion took on a shape more to his liking. The greater numbers of former members of The Children began to fill the ranks, and the combination of their violent culture and newly-enhanced bodies brought out a fire that the Uran people were keen to let wild upon the universe. Raktra, meanwhile, was versed in the ways of the Imperial armies, and educated by his Primarch brothers. Being the charmless bastard that he was, he forged few connections with those he bore genes with, and even those bonds were strained. The closest he came to respect were Ferrus Manus of the Xth, and later Angron of the XIIth, appreciating the brutal honesty and direct nature of the two, but little else, and the grim creature that was Mortarion, the only one he would call “brother”, though this was a rare occurrence. In Mortarion he found a similar set of core beliefs - that the universe was dark, life was bloody and everything died in the end. Of those he disliked, none were more hated than the lord of the IXth, the great Sanguinius. Though Raktra would never admit to it, seeing such a powerful and skilled fighter leading a force of so-called “angels” whilst appearing himself as an angel of some ancient Terran faith, clawed at him with the first feelings of fear he had ever known.

By the time they were prepared to venture out into the galaxy on their own, the XIth Legion had transformed their colours from a gentle duck-egg blue to the greying black of burnt coal, their arms a grubby white to link themselves to their Primarch, and to better show the blood spatter from the beatings they dealt out. Raktra himself had his chain blade modified and improved by Legion artificers, naming it “the Grinder”, and dressing for war in a loose-fitting suit of artificer armour that left his arms and head bare to maximise his range of motion when swinging his sword. His appearance matching his methods and his men finally suited to his needs, Raktra ordered his Legion’s old name expunged from all records, to be replaced by their new title - the Berserkers of Uran.

The Crusade ground on and Raktra became more and more distant from his brothers who were less appreciative of his methods than others. While that had no direct effect on his ability to wage war, rumblings of dissent began in his own Legion. Fractures between the various chapters grew wide, morally separating the native Uran recruits and the “off-worlders”. The Uran would trample over everything and everyone in their path, leaving the survivors to fend for themselves whereas the off-worlders would employ the typical Imperial tactic of rebuilding and re-educating the locals to assimilate them into the acceptable standards set down by the Emperor. Eventually the Legion barely resembled one coherent fighting force - if anything, it now operated as two demi-legions, and the gaze of the Emperor was drawn.

Hearing whispers and rumours and letting his own bitterness guide him, Raktra prepared his more 'loyal’ men for the then-almost-unheard of act of marine-on-marine combat. He knew the Emperor would send the Space Wolves. The so-called “executioners” of the Astartes were his favourite choice to send as a reminder of his rule, though Raktra could never figure out why, given that each time it had been rumoured they had been sent out to curb the behaviours of other Primarchs they had returned with their tails between their legs and their task essentially failed. He recalled the famed “Night of the Wolf”, told to him by Angron as they nursed their wounds after a drawn-out battle in the Conqueror’s gladiatorial pits, and he recalled them laughing their broken laughs at the Wolves’ ineptitude.

He gathered his men and marched out into the open as soon as long-ranged scanners detected a group of Astartes craft entering the atmosphere of Uran’s moon, the location of their secondary outpost. What met the Berserkers on the ground was something they did not expect, and something that rattled them to the core - blood red Thunderhawks bearing sculpted white angel wings, and the ominous IX of the Blood Angels.

The angel led the host, Sanguinius walking in his beautifully graceful way towards his younger sibling. If his skin was naturally-coloured, Raktra would’ve turned sickly pale. Blood rushed through his ears as his twin hearts beat faster than he thought possible, drowning out the voice of Sanguinius as he tried to reason with him. Sanguinius reached out his hand to his brother to invite him in, Raktra stepped back, and in a moment of panic, uttered a command to his men. “FIRE.”

The battle was brutal. The Berserkers were far outmatched by the Blood Angels, even with the small element of surprise on their side. Raktra himself faired no better than his sons, throwing himself wildly at Sanguinius in a blind fear-induced rage, desperately trying to kill the man who embodied his only fear. Simply put, it didn’t work. Raktra was ground into the dirt, the Grinder shattered along with his jaw and hand, and one eye carved out by a badly blocked sword strike. A foot on his spine kept him pinned down, and Sanguinius ordered his men to return to their ship before any more blood was shed by either side. Raktra scraped at the dirt and struggled to free himself, as the angel chastised him for his selfish and harmful ways. With one last breath of regret, Sanguinius followed the rest of the Blood Angels and left, and the Berserkers collected up their broken Primarch to be healed.

This humiliation broke the last vestiges of loyalty that lay in Raktra’s soul. In secret, he gathered those chapters who bore more trust in the works of their Primarch than the works of the Emperor, and lay down his plan; together, they would emancipate themselves from the Imperium. They would take the current pool of recruits still on Uran, and then raze the cities to the ground. They would find the Chaplains that professed the Imperial Truth to them, and they would put a bullet in their mouths. They would reinstate the priests of The Children, and grant them the genetic gifts of the Space Marines. They would take all the ships they could, and sink the rest into the galactic void. And finally, they would catapult themselves across the universe, evading retribution as best they could until they could mount a proper defence when they were inevitably found. And if their off-worlder elements stood in their way at any point, they would break them like children beneath a landslide.

And so it went, and for the second time, the Emperor ordered the destruction of a Space Marine Legion from all records and memorials. The statue of their Primarch that once stood tall outside the entrance to the Imperial Palace was torn down, its empty plinth a grim reminder to the other Legions of the price of betrayal, echoing its II legion twin in disgrace. Many months of intensive psychic examination and soul-scrubbing performed by none other than Malcador himself assured the loyalty of the remaining Marines, and they found themselves placed into the hands of the Ultramarines, swelling their ranks to incredible numbers.

For the second time, the Emperor witnessed the hatred for him that could be born in his son’s hearts. Had he saw the signs elsewhere, it could have also been the last.

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 104 Thoughts

Hey Galliard.

Hey. Hey. Galliard.

LET’S SEE YOU GRIT THOSE TEETH.

We’re reaching the end of this arc segment, and I think the relief is making it a little easier to appreciate all the things happening. ...I mean it would, if anything remotely positive were still going on in this world.

Wait, Falco’s alive.

Okay team, there’s still hope.

I’m still having trouble working out why all of this is the chosen strategy. Paradis has caused an incredible amount of destruction, and disposed of most of the top brass, so looked at from an Us vs. Them situation, as long as the Scouts and Eren make it out okay, this is a pretty successful operation. It’s going to take some time for Marley to chase after their island with all the devastation.

What’s the score? The harbor, a bunch of surrounding cityscape, plenty of the interment zone, most of their top brass, and... let’s call it four Titans.

The frustrating part is that I’m having a really difficult time working out the scale of it all. In every section of this battle that we’re shown, Paradis has won somewhat easily. But I don’t know how large Marley is. Magath and Willy are willing to offer up the internment zone and all of the talking heads inside of it in order to gain allies in their offensive. They were ready for Eren. They were not ready for their Titans being out of reach, and they were not ready for Armin.

Since Eren’s decision to play along as the villain of Willy’s story, I’ve been sulking and wondering what the endgame is. What’s the point of playing right into Marley’s publicity stunt? What’s the point of making yourselves look so bad when your only contact with the outside world has been self-defense?

Reading this chapter, it’s hard not to think, “what’s the point of standing back when you know you can win?”

(Even though they’re all so very screwed if their escape blimp plan gets derailed. Like. Their eggs have 1 (one) assigned basket. And Eren’s already nearly died several times during this mess. Dun dun dun.)

And I’m not sure how much of that is a sign that Paradis has landed a fatal blow against Marley, and how much is just... here’s where our focus has been. In a very tiny corner of the world, Paradis has the upper hand.

Marley, unlike the rest of the antagonistic world, fights wars with Titans. The lowercase ones too. In this battle, they have lost two of them, one with the unique ability of controlling ravenous hordes of cannon fodder, one with the unique ability of making very kickass weapons.

What they’re left with is Reiner, Galliard, and Pieck. None of them in a state where they are a dominant force.

Magath wants Marley to enter a world where their military strength isn’t determined by Titans, but you can’t change that overnight. Their greatest trump cards have all been beaten or stolen away. In terms of Titan strength, Paradis wins right out. Marley has the numbers to win a siege war, but that isn’t the war being fought at the moment.

A few things are happening with this battle. One (the most annoying, being something Willy and Magath plan to exploit), Paradis is doing a fantastic job of selling themselves as the demons everyone calls them. Two, they’re making it clear who wins in a battle of Titans (however dicey things are during the fight, Paradis is leaving (hopefully) with three of Marley’s Titans horrifically maimed, one MIA, but presumed dead, and one actually dead). Three, they’re leaving a country that the whole world has bad experiences with in a very vulnerable position.

Marley might be putting work into making Paradis the scapegoat, but the night they declare war Paradis stomps every weapon they have faith in. Ambassadors from other countries get along with Willy, less so with Marley. One night of sympathy for the Eldian plight their buddy Willy has gone through isn’t going to change that.

The hope in the aftermath of this might be that Paradis has proven itself too dangerous to be left alone, so other countries will gladly work with Marley to stamp them out of existence, but... I’m wondering a little if those other countries might be more interested in wiping out their known enemy before turning their attention to the island. Marley has zero good will built up.

Ugh, I don’t know. Thinking about all the different ways people could respond to this makes my head hurt. Especially since Paradis does have links with other countries now, and that makes it harder to get the Beauty and the Beast mob song going.

And again there’s the question of scale. Which is really just me questioning how many Erens Armin just pulled, and how many Erens it would take duplicating to raze all of Marley to the ground. Armin’s feat is obviously destructive, but.

Fuck it, I want five pages of next chapter devoted to graphing out population and military personnel of Marley. With real numbers. The sixth page can provide Paradis’.

Has this operation hamstrung Marley as badly as their morale makes it feel like, or not? That’s all I want to know. Acceptable sacrifice vs. monstrous horrifying mass murder of horror is easier to parse out when the mission objectives and accomplishments are written in plaintext.

...It’s obviously going to end up being both anyway. I still feel really lost.

In character land, where things are slightly simpler, Armin’s having his own version of Eren and Reiner’s conversation. If Eren and Reiner are the same, so are Armin and Bertolt. That’s... oy.

I complain a lot about action chapters because I always feel like I just want to watch the anime version and get on with it without turning over every rock, but some of the complaining comes from really, really wanting to get back to the sad monologuing about feelings everyone in this series is prone to indulge. Hell, pull a Naruto and let everyone get a significant backstory flashback when it looks like they’re in mortal danger.

Armin’s from Shiganshina. Ground zero of this war. He’s one of a small percentage of people who lived through watching Wall Maria’s destruction. He’s standing right there when everything their people have known is annihilated.

Bertolt also burns him to death. Basically.

Now Armin’s the one holding all that power in his hands. He kills people and takes away their homes just by taking a few steps.

The good news is that he knows he has an expiration date, so he can look forward to that instead of seeking therapy to help him later in life.

...

Yeah, there is no good news. Let’s pan back to Falco, who is breathing and somehow showing more signs of mental stability than Gabi.

Kid’s made of some stern stuff. If Eren’s betrayal doesn’t completely shatter him, he might be able to make a bright future for himself if he stays alive. He’s compassionate and doesn’t freeze in a crisis.

Unlike some people.

-cough- Jean -cough-

Nah, that’s mean.

From the looks of things, whether it’s Pieck’s interference or Jean’s own heart getting in the way, Jean’s mind was absolutely prepared to kill the little boy if that meant removing the Cart Titan from play. I don’t know if he tried to arrange a shot that would dodge Falco, but I do think that he accepted that there was a good chance the kid would die in the crossfire, and went for it anyway.

This series was so much happier when people were getting eaten alive.

-looks at rest of the chapter-

-rest of chapter looks back-

Well. You know what I mean.

I’m glad Pieck’s alive, even if it’s only for now. Truthfully, I don’t think I want any of the Warriors to die. Their lives have been hell. I want to think that someday, all of the Eldian kiddos get to breathe free air without being a tool of war. If they die, it’s just another footnote to a sad story.

Then we have Galliard, who.

..Yeah.

(btw

Does Titan inheritance run on some kind of lottery system, and does that matter?)

I thought Eren would be done horrifying me after the civilian slaughter. I mean, where else can we go from there? Dead children hit one of the highest tiers of tragedy. Maybe more of them will fall out of the cracks, and surely the psychological trauma of individuals like Reiner will continue to be bad, but we’re done with any of it being shocking.

...

.....

Eren’s a fucking tryhard.

Okay! Okay. Uh.

Points for... pragmatism?

“Aha, I have cracked the case, if not the crystal! Hark, I shall have Jaws crack the crystal, and I shall drink up this woman’s juices as they drip from his teeth while he silently screams at me to stop!”

Eren with the Jaw Titan in the Conservatory.

I mean. If you think about it.

I have been calling the Warriors tools for ages.

Eren using Galliard as his own personal nutcracker is really only the natural evolution of that.

Yike.

I’m surprised Reiner’s already up and about. It makes sense that it’s to protect Galliard (Porco is going to have so very many issues when he wakes up), because protecting people is the one thing the world hasn’t broken inside of him. Even after all he’s been through, he still wants to be the good guy, keeping his comrades safe.

But the dude’s dead inside. He has the strength to stand, but not much else, and I don’t know how the story can lead him into anything dynamic when he’s so screwed up.

Also of curiosity is... Eren’s perfectly willing to nom Galliard. Reiner shows up, gets punched maybe a building length away, is very obviously in no state to win any kind of fight, and Mikasa and Eren walk away.

All of the other Titans are removed during the festival by strategy. Pieck and Porco get dumped down a hole. Zeke is probably working with Eren, and he’s still escorted out.

Reiner gets a conversation.

Reiner’s participation in Eren versus War Hammer would have turned the tables. The only reason he isn’t part of it is because his conversation with Eren robs him of his final will to live.

So uh. ...Eren? Not to be rude or question your moral character or basic sanity... but... I don’t know... how, uh, on purpose is Reiner’s current emotional state?

...On a related note, is that your way of keeping him alive? ...Am I. Am I going to have to start shipping you two seriously?

This has the feel of something else I’m going to find easier to discuss in later chapters, but looking at the last few pages... Eren has the chance to kill Reiner and Galliard. He definitely has no problem nomming Galliard. What changes? Reiner caring about Galliard?

Eren easily could have taken out two of Marley’s Titans, and he chooses not to. It’s a decision Mikasa is either fine with or encourages. I don’t quite know what to make of her very excellent stoic face after Eren punches Reiner. She goes from that to zooming over all “Eren!” and... does that mean killing Reiner has been judged the wrong decision all around? What’s with the interruption, you two? Is that closeup of Eren’s eyes on the opposite page just there to look pretty, or is something going on?

Look, you’ve killed everyone else in the general vicinity, I’m allowed to wonder what makes this special. What, Eren can see his sparkling eyes when his face isn’t armored up and can’t handle the dokis?

Geez, this was a chapter.

Next month we get to see how great the great escape is--only guarantee is that there is no escape from the monsters in their heads.

...I’m with Mikasa. Can we go home now?