#i just like cryptid dust the most.......

[hashileio]

i swear im normal about him

[click for better quality]

[vyzz-undercover]

[Squad Damocles/f!serf]

(11,000 words) (OOPSIEEEE MAXED IT AGAIN)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•intercourse [M/M/M/F]

•oral sex (m & f receiving)

•discussions on the codex

•discussions on reproduction

•essentially a bukkake

•vaginal fingering

•dubcon (via power imbalance)

•definitely size kink

•mild fear elements

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i live despite god, cato chapter 6 will be coming soonish ANYWAYS PSPSPSPSPSP heeeeere kitties kitties!!!! @moodymisty, @mothiir, @sinistermojo, @kit-williams, @primarisly-marooned, @thevoidscreams, @the-raven-lady, @lemon-russ, @blasphemme, @grimdark-raccoon, @pluvio-tea, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @ma1dmer, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @scriberye, @sinistermojo, @undeaddream, @historitor-bookshelf, @vivacious-hyena, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan. If you want on or off lmk!! I HAVE BAD MEMORY ILY!! ALSO SPECIAL FUCK YOU TO MY DEAR @triassicnautilus WHO IS TO BLAME FOR THIS FIC!!

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It is by no means an offhanded consideration.

Your familial line and ancestors have served the highest echelons of the great Angels for hundreds of years, and yet—of all of your far more worthy, servile kin—you're the first in generations to be sequestered to a new voidship.

It's terrifying.

You're not even sure if you're being demoted in status, because you drift between duties like they hadn't really planned to have you just yet.

When the head serf of the Barge finally has you delegated to a Primaris—it is to Lieutenant Demetrian Titus, of Second Company.

It has been less than a week, now. To say nothing of the fact he hadn't even acknowledge you in his dormitory, at first.

He has made no comment of your presence besides a huff. It's to be expected, as is his right. Your duty is to serve with or without order. But it's certainly not entirely unpleasant being freed of demands —pointedly, he appears to be largely self sufficient. Your new Lord sets his rest attire aside for you, folds sheets to be washed; and, once, brought his cot down from the wall when he saw you struggling at the task.

It takes three days of this for you to notice stern green eyes lingering.

Like most of the Adeptus Astartes who are more often called to active service, there's scant bric-a-brac to be organised in his lodgings.

Perhaps due to the fact that none of the souvenirs of his long service are small in any way.

Much rather, everything your Lord owns is each a hulking testament to his might in war. Like the intricate pauldron hung on the side wall that is the size of your ribcage, and the length of fine red fabric fitted within that which is almost the height of you.

Nonetheless, your Lord begins to try snag your gaze; despite the fact you most often keep your head bowed.

It begins first as you rise to your tippy-toes to dust off the chainsword upon a small outcrop.

It's a tap on his chest armour, that you turn to catch the sound of. Then, when you return with a small crate to stand upon to better reach the shelf, it's a rapt of gauntlet'd fingers on his hip-plating; and a curious focus in his eyes as you spin around to heed the noise.

Lots of little things to coax you to glance at him.

His strange plans pay off, more often than not. It's very difficult to ignore the out of place song of ceramite and steel being drummed against.

This all entertains your Lord, apparently. He doesn't go so far as to laugh or anything, Throne forbid; but he does huff a little from his nose while keeping a neutral, unchanged face. And to that ends, it's difficult to believe a great being as he would stoop to such.

But the Astartes aren't as stalwart every waking hour as the average individual would believe.

Your Lord included, it seems.

On the fourth day, he starts speaking to you.

Nothing more than, 'Good, serf.' when you neatly fold his sheets under the thin mattress and press the wrinkles flat. His voice is a steady lilt, stoic and rugged, and all you can do is nod doltishly.

Then it worsens. It worsens into fully fledged questions, that you shudder and hesitate to answer. At first, it's a stray comment of asking why you have hair still, and that too is a surprise—the serf's on this Battle Barge appear to be clean-shaven on their heads, and yet nothing has been asked of you to undertake such yet.

Then the situation nosedives.

"Where were you stationed, prior to this?" He asks as he's unclad, seated on his cot in a loincloth as you mop.

You haven't dared look at anything more than the skin below his knees as you labour. Even his calves dwarf you, they may as well be one of your thighs.

"I–" you begin, stammering. "I was previously assigned upon the Primarch's Flagship, my Lord."

"Truly? To whom?"

"My mother is indentured to the Chapter Master, as were her parents," you say softly, and clutch the handle tightly.

His brows furrow before asking, "And you were bade sent here? By Lord Calgar, of all people?"

You cock your head, and you aren't sure why his tone is accusative; nor can you parse out the confusion in it. The fact remains your family served on the flagship, the point of who matters not more than simple competence pedigree.

"Nevermind," he sighs, and tips his head down.

You realise you're actively looking at him a bit too late.

He is very handsome, ruggedly so. It is a fact you've viciously tried to repress acknowledging since your assignment to his service—he is as all of his kind is—tall, mighty statue given flesh, built for warring on a million worlds and excelling at such a leviathan task; yet there's a softness to your Lord in the warm, yellow-red candlelight not afforded to him under the harsh hallways lumens.

His chin is darkened with light stubble, and his usually sternly knitted brows are steadily becoming calm and flat. The harsh lines on his face aren't at all as unnerving when they're countered by the thoughtful expression he now wears.

"I believe you may be a sort of gift from him," he supplies dryly.

"A gift, m-my Lord?" You stutter, unseated by the hulking, unclad form of the Primaris Lieutenant so close.

"Titus," he corrects softly, leaning in; and the room is a little less frigid with him practically breathing on you.

"My Lord T-Titus," you adjust, and he snorts good-humouredly.

"Close, but not quite," he tuts, "You may call me Titus."

You lower your head nervously, keeping your gaze down; ultimately receiving an eyeful of his large chest and navel. The scars littering his flesh are a hodgepodge of livid cicatrix, old tissue, and the healed over pitted marks of bullet holes. He has a light dusting of hair across the span of his pectorals, patchy with the aforementioned damage.

Then it deepens to a darker, coarser shade down his dense abdomen, arrowing lower, and lower and—

"Calgar's privy to much," he chuffs, then reaches a large hand up and you're greeted to the sound of a palm scrubbing against stubble. "My predilections, too... worryingly."

You hesitate, completely bemused by the admission—you have no clue what your Lord is talking about. Point of fact, there's a need to reply hanging in your heart; but you stifle it down.

He seems to recognise this, and sighs.

There's a fey, strangled sort of anchor in his voice as he says, "Is it a stretch to say you've been with an Astartes before?"

You cock your head again, "I have served my whole life, my Lord Titus, I assure you that I am—"

He snorts, "Not that kind of service."

"I–I don't understand," you stutter.

"Have you bedded another?"

You hesitate, and feel very real fear seize your mind as you speak, "I-I—If you mean intercourse, such has not been sanctioned for me, m-my Lord."

He stares at you with a deep contemplation, and you can feel your heart thundering in your chest at the lie of omission.

"You can answer truthfully," he says.

Swallowing around the dryness in your throat once more you mumble, "Once, m-my Lord."

"We are evenly matched in that contest, then."

Eyeing the Lieutenant in place of further responding offers you little respite from the heat and panic boiling in your veins.

"If it's to your liking," he starts, "I could indulge you?"

You blink, "My Lord?"

"I'm not going to see you punished should you decline me," he says with that same terribly earnest tone, "I'd only ask you not to speak of this proposition occurring with any others."

There is something in the way the he speaks, the way his voice slips lower, into rougher and barer territories that vaguely resemble what you imagine your Lord might've-been propositioning you as a mortal man that is utterly staggering. It isn't even about what he is saying—it's more about how he is saying it.

The naked urgency is strange, and you're terrified and entranced all in one.

He pats what little space on the side of the cot his bulk doesn't consume and you take a half step before freezing on instinct.

He repeats the gesture and you drag your feet, cautiously approaching before perching yourself beside him and being swallowed by his seated form in the candle-light's shade.

His hand raises, and you shrink slightly.

Your Lord seems to recognise the worry and lowers it a little, only to leave it hovering over your tunic'd leg.

You imagine the great Angel sees you as some shivering wet animal at his mercy, somewhat. You eye his huge hand nervously but ultimately sigh out your nerves and relax a little.

If this was a test of some sort, surely the guillotine would have fallen by now—not that the thought eases you in any way.

His hand tentatively settles on your thigh, and you're shocked at the sheer heaviness of the thing. It's a pressure all it's own, and so heated that you're hyperaware of the warmth suffusing through your garb onto your skin.

It drags up, ever so slowly, and you inhale shakily—stunned by the strength in just one hand most definitely being more than you have in your entire body.

You feel like you should be squirming with the thrill of the gesture, moving against that huge limb; but are too frozen by the gravity of the situation to act.

"I will need an actual answer, however," he remarks belatedly, smoothing his calloused palm back down your thigh.

A cold, wild animal horror sinks in beside something wretchedly simmering as you dither, finally replying with, "I-I would, should you wish it, my Lord."

"Titus," He raises a dark, scarred eyebrow lazily, correcting you once again with a light sigh, "Calgar has schooled you on your manners a bit too well, it seems."

You frown, at shameful odds with maintaining discipline despite your Lord's repeated protest, and avert your eyes again. Trying to play off the shiver his voice so close inspires in your spine.

A choked grunt escapes him not long after and you meet his gaze haphazardly.

Only to be met by an uncanny sight, and heavy, clogged-engine laughter.

Your Lord's lips have skinned back over his teeth at you in a large grin. Charming as the gesture should be, it is certainly not something a fellow baseline would call a particularly friendly expression—maybe due to the fact it felt strange seeing so much emotion at once from him. It looks more akin to a beast in human skin baring it's fangs, and just as animalistic. The back of your brain screams there's a threat of being mauled.

It is a somewhat fey thing to witness, despite the fact it appears to be a genuine display of mirth. And when it falls away to a closed smile, it's much better to behold—the age lines on his face crinkle just right to make him just that little bit more attractive.

"We'll get there," he chuckles. "But first, you will need to be stretched."

That sounds painfully ominous.

You scowl a little in confusion and parrot the word, "...stretched?" back at him in an almost unconsciously quiet voice.

He hears it, and his brow raises a tad.

"You can't fit me ordinarily."

The breath you take in is almost choked with hind-brain panic, mind crafting a series of impossible sizes—crushing and rending, turning your insides to paste. Worse than the time you'd seen a servitor veer into the pulleys of the lift platforms.

"Move further up on the cot," he huffs,

You oblige, and slide back a little; ruining your earlier efforts of fussing with his sheets.

He lifts himself off the cot, kneeling, and breathes in solemnly; his face pinched a tad.

"Settle," comes the Lieutenant's affirmation, "I'll make sure you're unharmed... now, if you allow me see what I'm to be working with?"

You nod shakily, and the massive hand previously upon your thigh splays you out. His other joins it on the converse and mimics the gesture, spreading you.

He shuffles closer to the cot's edge on his knees and chuffs, "Lean back, and put your legs up on me."

Stuffily, you obey, resting your calves on his broad back as you sidle astride his head.

"Very good," your Lord hums; and Holy Terra, you can hardly believe that you're feeling his warm breath dance across your skin. You have a feeling of what he's planning to do, it's unfathomable—nor can you bear to watch one of the great Angels do this.

One of his huge hands cups your hip as he hikes up your tunic's hem to keep you still, nudging it up, and up, until you realise he's trying to coax you into disrobing—to which you oblige with a flustered timidity.

Emperor have mercy, you can't fathom the looming act, and it's consequence—so with scant preamble, you quickly cover your face with both palms.

What a wretched day to've forsaken briefs in favour of a longer garb. Now, you're stuck stark naked on the Angel's bed, and you can feel he's—he's kneading your waist, then squeezing your hip—you're so beyond forsaken it's laughable. You're doomed. But your insides are twitching at the contact, and the feeling of his worn palm taking a moment to grope your thigh has your nerves aflame with anticipation. What a great shame to have brought an Astartes so low, to have him disgrace himself in—oh, no.

A wide band of slick muscle drags upward, and the sensation is nigh ecstasy. The heat of his mouth is divine, and—and rolling against your clit.

Your Lord rumbles contentedly when your legs jump and you almost choke trying to hold back a ragged, stunned moan.

His huge tongue worms into you, big nose jammed against your clit; his mouth several times larger than your own forced to practically eat at your cunt—going at you with an almost desperate eagerness before raking up again and humming against your tender little nub.

"Are you aware you're in season?" He says, still smothering himself to your sex, and it is so offhanded it's jarring; like a finger stuck in a door hinge.

A flabbergasted whine is all you can offer in answer.

He steals another greedy lick of your entrance, "I already knew by how you smelt—but I can taste it too," he notes smoothly, and laps at you again.

Your Lord pulls away and you grow enough backbone to glance between your fingers. He has a blank look on his stern face, pupils blown out, rolling his tongue around his mouth before he apparently frees himself from whatever haze overtook him.

His chin and chops are wetted with clear, slimy lubricant—your slick—and he takes a deep breath.

It's a little mind boggling seeing his other hand rise up from beyond your view. Why is it already glistening slightly? Had he been...? Surely not, surely...

"Your turn with this, I suppose," comes the straightforward, depraved confirmation of your suspicions.

The hold already on your side turns into a vice; and then there's massive digits tracing your entrance.

"It's alright," he rasps, "It's only two."

—then you're crammed full of a Primaris' ring and middle finger.

The sheer size of just that alone is insane, but most of all, it's brilliant. And yet, somehow everything gets even better.

Your Lord's mouth claims its' place back on your clit and sucks.

A garbled whine, and the bliss has you shaking like a leaf.

His fingers stretch your walls as he scissors them out, only to curl in sharp, precise motions; as if your cunt is some weapon he's searching for the trigger mechanism inside of.

Wound too tight, it all comes to an embarrassingly quick end with you letting out a ragged sob, bucking sharply in surprise. Absolutely stunned into orgasm as your core muscles cinch up, keening.

Unfortunately, set on his goal, your Lord does not let up immediately—holding fast and unmoving—and is only disengaged when, cotton-mouthed to words by overstimulation, you blindly flail, stamping your heels into the massive span of his upper back.

He looks a little confused as he releases you, as if he'd been in some sort of trance again.

Blinking a few times and righting himself, he clears his throat, "We should... learn to coordinate that better," he admits, his voice a little rougher, "Tap three times to stop. Two to slow. Once to continue."

There's a short lapse of speaking after that as you ogle his face lingering between your thighs; until you abruptly realise he's waiting for your answer.

"Y-Yes, my Lord."

A big, dark brow raises, "I believe you're simply misbehaving, now."

Your stomach leadens as panic sinks its' claws into you and with a blubbering whine you stammer, "N-No, no... please, my Lord—I mean, my Lord Titus, I-I am not, I swear—"

"It's only a joke," he huffs, and his dark brows arch down a hint in a somewhat sympathetic manner. "Do... do I really frighten you that much?"

You swallow harshly and stutter, "I-I-I—I am a serf, my duty is humility."

It's not the right answer, that much is obvious. It's strange to say that some sort of childish disappointment passes over his features.

"You'll settle in time," he says softly, more like a prayer than anything.

His hands manoeuvre you onto your belly, so your ass is poised high at the edge of the cot for easy access.

Your Lord is tall enough to mount you on his knees like this, and it's clear that's his intent when a thick cock slides experimentally between your thighs.

You try to look behind you to see just how big a thing is to be rammed into you—but he clicks his tongue like you're some unruly little creature, and that's all the discipline you need to be dissuaded.

"You'll only spook yourself," he sighs lowly.

A fat, rounded tip prods at your entrance, wet and hot.

"I'll be gentle as I can," he continues.

You strain to fit even that, and then the burning starts.

Your Lord groans, his hips hitching forward in little motions as you shake, fighting to keep yourself presented on steady knees for him as he presses deeper.

The pain is incandescent, and you cry out—

"Breath," your Lor—Titus urges, sounding strained himself, "Breath."

You squirm, and there's a burning at your rim as he pushes a little deeper; it's a painful reminder of your own lacking size compared to him.

"Almost there," he all but growls, then you hear him raggedly ask, "How... how are you faring?" but you're nowhere near up to the task of responding.

Still, attempting to be dutiful, you try—and all that comes out is a seizing gasp.

You are far too preoccupied with twitching on the scalding slab of Primaris currently giving your insides a stern word to manage a sentence.

In your panic, you manage to smack some part of him twice, even if you have no idea what you're hitting—dragging your hand across wall-sturdy muscle.

Titus stills.

You freeze in fear, waiting for a reprimanding that never comes.

He takes a deep breath in and grits out, "It's alright, it's a difficult fit," to which you whine dumbly, and Titus continues, "I am... larger, than I once was," he says softly, pausing to groan when a shudder sends you squeezing on him, "You're still taking me very well."

He is large, that is true; but he's also warm. So terribly warm, he's almost fever-hot inside of you.

The pain abates in the interim as the pleasure of you steadily acclimatising replaces it, and slowly, you ever so carefully tap him once to continue.

Titus shimmies and you squeal at the burr of electric sensation that makes your mind melt for a half-second, only for your ass to coincidentally scud backwards into his hips with a sticky plap.

You're struck daft when a sudden shrill of lightning sparks up your spine as you feel him bottom out at last, hitting your cervix, blinding you for a heartbeat.

You whine loudly at the sensation.

"All in," he rasps, breathing harshly as he rocks his hips to keep you pliant. "You've done it, hush... it's all inside, little one."

Your cunt's tingling around every inch of him, clenching down—trying desperately to decide wether to buck back against him or scramble off and run for your life. You doubt you could manage the latter. Despite his strange insistence on altruism, there's no way you'd have the nerve to deny the great Angel, lest the Emperor Himself punishes you for it. But you're surely not about to complain about the situation when you're enjoying it so thoroughly.

It's dazzling having him so deep, it feels more akin to being impaled than simply filled.

His balls sit snug against your vulva, heavy against your clit; and you moan—rolling your hips back against his in a moment of delirious bliss.

Titus groans appreciatively, and you strain to tip your head into the big hand petting you while your chin is tucked into the crease of his elbow.

"You're tough for such a small thing," he begins with an airy huff of satisfaction, "I was stunned the last time I managed to fit in a baseline..." he hums, then apparently something seizes his humours and he grumbles, "...let alone now after crossing the Rubicon."

His voice rumbles in his chest where it's pressed to your back, like the purring, hardworking systems of some mighty machine spirit. But the strain behind his cadence plays havoc with your mind, and the sinking realisation you've got him hilted inside your truly takes root.

Your thighs shake, and the room feels stuffier—he feels impossibly closer, and your body is boiling despite the cold press of armour interface ports against your skin as he thrusts back and forth; to say nothing of the fingers fussing your hair out of your face—he's–he's so agonisingly tender.

"Are you finishing on me?" You hear him say, but you honestly cannot even tell if you're cumming because everything is a buzzing lurch of cramping electricity. "Good, that's... very good. Throne, you're—"

You're barely cognisant of him straining forward to a stop; but your body judders with satisfaction, and the rest of his words melt together in your ears into an insensible baritone as you struggle through dazzling ecstasy. It steals the air out of you, nigh agonising bliss sharp and rising from your belly—scrambling at the huge forearms now keeping you in place while he continues fucking into you, weakly crying.

When you return to having a functioning body, you're hyperventilating; and leaving a smear of drool across the interior of Titus' elbow.

Slowly becoming audibly cognisant beyond just the ringing in your head to the wet slapping sound of him chasing his own end in your cunt.

"You'll... you'll have to forgive me for being a little quick, on the first... round," he rumbles against your ear, panting as he nails you right through your afterglow. "It's been... so long, since..."

Titus doesn't even manage to finish his sentence. Instead, he snarls out a low, subharmonic sound and his hips slam forward into you. He's bending you up underneath him; forcing you to let him stuff himself to the base. You feel his balls sandwich against you, and you hear the sopping wet squish of him bottoming out.

His cock throbs inside you, and you're left warbling a dazed whine rife with pleasure addled pain at the sudden roughness.

Hot spend fills you and you keen, acutely aware of it spilling over and dripping out between.

The sensation of having it so deep and yet still too much to contain is playing havoc with your hindbrain, and in that fucked-out state you exhaustedly rock your hips.

A soft grunt is your reward for the effort.

"Careful, careful..." He grits out, panting as his hand draws a smooth, comforting line down the side of your leg before he manages, "You'll get more, just... give me a moment. I promise you, there's plenty where—"

You hear the sound of steel parting, and the white lights of the corridor near blind you.

"Brother," Titus says sharply.

You sober nigh instantly as your stomach proverbially drops to the floor, and your head snaps to the doorway shutting behind the form of a tall, darker Primaris.

"Brother," he receives in answer, "What are you doing?"

"Entertaining... a guest," Titus clears his throat against your ear and tips his head back a little, leaving you clearly shaking in mortification.

He still graciously keeps his body covering yours, and you try to hide under the mass of it.

"I was not aware this sort of entertainment was sanctioned," the other Primaris says, taking a deep inhale and making a strange face—hold on, you–you know this Astartes. You had served in his arming staff temporarily for a day while your judicator had been shuffling positions to keep you busy on the Barge prior to your Lord's arrival and your assignment. You remember the first letter. It was a C—perhaps Cato? No, it began with a digraph—like the end of the word stomach. Chrysion? No, no—it's Chairon—his name is Chairon.

"I ask only that you don't involve the Chaplain," Lord Titus groans, seemingly exasperated. "Just petition the Chapter Master and be done with—"

"No," Chairon interjects flatly as he exhales.

Titus' breath catches, "...no?"

"I want to understand why," he receives in answer, snorting a bit before taking another gulp of air and making the same strange face.

A long, tense silence—and you ought to be terrified and flee, but you can't do much more than squirm weakly on the fat cock stock stiff against your cervix. He still hasn't gone soft, why hasn't he gone soft? Is–Is this what he meant by first round? The frightening stamina of an Astartes in battle is one thing, but it extends even to this? How many rounds have you signed yourself up for?

Chairon harrumphs, "I've never heard of this sort of thing happening, so I want to understand."

Titus huffs hard through his nose like a sort of equine and regards his battle-brother with a knowing tone, "You want a turn then, I assume?"

"If you're willing to allow it," Chairon answers, then looks to you. "And if she's up to the task of two."

You hear Titus hum lowly, and then he gently—ever so gently—cups your chin and tips your head up to see his face.

"Are you?" He rasps, "We'll be mindful not to harm you, should you... accept, such a task."

It's painfully difficult to even think about denying Titus when his big, pupil-blown green eyes meet your own. Your insides ache where he's still buried, but nonetheless some brainless, whorish urgency sends you swallowing harshly and nodding, "Y-Yes, my Lord."

"Go on," Titus chuffs, clicking his tongue at Chairon as a gesture to sit.

Chairon lowers himself down on the thin mattress with one leg off the side of the cot and the other tented up on it, thighs spread.

"I ought to pull out, now."

"No," Chairon huffs, "Not yet, I have an idea."

"Very well," is Titus' answer.

You blanch, and the urge to curl up and simply die nearly overcomes you. You're still—you're still full of your Lord, in every sense of the word, what more can you fit?

Chairon slides himself a little closer until you're practically nosing at his loincloth.

A big hand tilts your chin up and stuffs a thumb between your surprise-parted maw, depressing your tongue.

"You have very pretty lips," Chairon hums as his metal hand pulls his garments away for you.

With a little pressure, you're being guided close to his mostly flaccid cock like a fish by the hook. Then his thumb leaves your mouth and you glare at the length presented to you.

You look up at Chairon's face next, and he raises a brow. So, in turn, you press a soft kiss to the side of his shaft; watching intently when he inhales sharply at the act, pursing his lips for a second.

Then he smiles.

He has a smile that makes you want to melt despite the fact he's an Astartes. It's warm, and suits his fuller cheeks—it's more personable in appearance than you would ever admit aloud out of shame.

You fluster and glance down, taking the head of him into your mouth. He's still huge, regardless of the fact he's mostly half-soft.

Your reward is a thoughtful hum, and a big hand petting your head.

"Lieutenant, do you wish to continue...?"

Titus apparently needs no further invitation.

You're being driven into anew, whining around the steadily hardening member in your mouth and time, for a moment, loses it's bearing. All your mind can bother to focus on is red hot pleasure and heat on your tongue, your own airy, cock-stifled sounds and two syncopated sets of groans and grunts.

"Her mouth's nice and warm," you hear Chairon moan above you.

There's no stall to Titus' pace of thrust as he pants, "I wouldn't know."

"Care to try?"

You have no idea how long you've simply been content in having them both sink in you, but you suddenly return to awareness when you hear Titus' curt, "Gladly."

Then you're suddenly being manhandled like a doll, the cock in you slips out with a pop—as does the one in your mouth—and the room spins as they lift you and change.

You groan in confusion, and paw for the familiar figure now afore you, glancing up.

Titus' hand combs through your hair softly and he chuffs that strange subvocal sound that makes you entranced for a moment.

"Deep breath," your Lord says, and then to your surprise—Chairon's cock presses into you.

It's actually largely easy to take, after having had Titus in you for so long. Chairon's is not as thick as to send you aching, yes, he's big of course, but it's a perfect, pleasurable size inside—and judging by Titus' length now a few inches from your face, it makes sense why he needed to stretch you.

It's practically a bottle of wine, how on Terra did you manage to—

Your thoughts wither as you're forced to moan heartily; namely due to Chairon bottoming out and settling against your cervix.

He moans back, and a huge, warm hand strokes down your spine, heat thudding in your face at the sheer show that he's enjoying you.

Then you're yelping, and something bitterly chilled is on your flesh, sending goosebumps arcing up your back as you flinch.

"Are you alright?" Chairon starts abruptly, and you groan at the freezing steel now pawing at your side.

Titus scowls as he finds the issue before you can voice it, "I think it's your augmentic."

"Really?" Chairon tuts, and leans down to ask, "Is there something the matter with my hand?"

It's clearly a lighthearted accusation, but you haven't been properly subjected to this sort of teasing by a Primaris until today, and you whine.

"It's—it's c-cold," You stutter, and nose against Titus' thigh for comfort; a little uneasy by the confrontation.

Chairon pouts, "I'll keep it's use to a minimum, then."

You swoon at the meagre kindness, and feel your already scalding face boil over as excitement rises.

Titus simpers down at you and remarks, "Is that to your liking?"

You nod and seek a closer hold on his leg for leverage, squirming a little before settling. Your cheek rests against the high point of Titus' thick leg—every so often able to sneak a lick of him.

Titus tuts, "She's very sweet."

The cock in you jerks when the hulking Primaris inside you laughs.

"She smells it, too," Chairon coos, "Don't you, sweet little thing? You smell like you're practically sugared."

You whine needily at the words, Titus' huge cock plastered against your cheek as you leer forward desperately and lap pre-cum from the tip.

"Because she's currently mid-cycle," Titus says flatly. "Her hormones are trying to convince you to breed with her."

Chairon hums thoughtfully, "Fortunate for her that we are, then—still, I'm glad to know that's what that is."

Titus pets you as you continue licking him, one hand carefully managing your hair as the other holds his length to better allow you getting it in your mouth.

Chairon bottoms out again and your body shakes, a trying whine escaping around the cock on your tongue as you relish the sensation.

"You're doing well," Titus rasps out at you, hips making small circles that let him dip into your mouth in short pumps.

Your reaction is wantonly pathetic, if you're completely honest with yourself.

It's a desperate, nasally whimper and a sudden eagerness to please that sends you letting his cock-head bump your epiglottis. Holding for a second despite the ache of your jaw and swallowing before inching yourself away; sputtering a little and moving the heavy swell of his member to warm your tongue instead, sucking on him.

Titus groans in approval, and his hand pets just that much more; earning a sigh when you try stuffing more of him in your mouth again.

Chairon's thrusts steady as he simply takes his time, pacing himself; it's all the better to give your Lord Titus a nice, wanting hole to fuck at his own pace.

"I completely understand... why you were doing this, now," Chairon hums, his pelvis skewing with a slight jerk.

All pretence of steadiness are banished as he starts grinding downward into you, causing a wave of hypersensitivity to stagger you daft.

You clench down hard with a flinch of surprise. Pleasure swelling out of the blue to a crescendo, tipping you over the edge only moments later. The roll of your orgasm ripping through you has your legs locking stiff for a moment, your internal muscles tensing on the intrusion.

Chairon inhales sharply, holding himself perfectly still as your insides cinch down hard around him erratically.

It's certainly not the only finishing happening though, because the cock in your mouth is suddenly painting the inside of your mouth and gullet as you hastily try swallow it down.

Your hear Titus hiss, and the hand in your hair tightens when his thighs start shuddering through heavy throbs of spend.

It feels for a moment as if it's going to come out of your nose there's so much. What doesn't go down your throat definitely tastes wholly unpleasant, but the resumed affections nullify any complaints you have.

You cough and carry on a little at the rapid succession of events and hide your face in Titus's lap again; half-consciously licking your spend stained chops where hopefully neither of them can see.

"My... apologies," Titus is still panting as he says, "I... I should have warned you."

A soft whine is all you can offer.

"Are you well?" Titus asks, tone a little ragged.

You practically shiver around Chairon's cock, and the sound you let out is long-suffering, but not enough.

His voice turns serious, "I need an answer."

A moan flees your throat, "Less—less than before, m-my Lord," you whimper, breathing hard, "But, I'm okay, I'm—n-ngh... not injured."

The grunt he makes in return is an amicable noise, and Chairon seizes your hips with his flesh hand. Lifting you to line up better with his rutting, trying valiantly to ease the pressure.

Oh, that's so much better on your internal walls—the pressure is bliss, and everything is warm and fuzzy and soft; you shut your eyes, moaning—and then you hear the familiar thunk-thunk-click-vshhh of the door opening.

"Titus, you've returned! I'm so glad to hear of your—" a voice starts, then rightly hesitates.

The silence is deafening.

"Chairon?" the blonde Primaris barks suddenly, "What... what are you... what is the serf...?"

You hear Chairon blubber for a moment before laughing in astonished horror, "I'm not even going to try explaining this."

"Gadriel, this is perhaps not a good time," Titus sighs.

The blonde Pri—Gadriel, looks at what little he can of you past your Lord's form and sneers.

The expression only deepens as he scowls, "What are you both doing?"

Chairon lets out a long, trying breath and you feel him lean back a little, yet still remaining inside you as he says, "At least let the door shut before you set about interrogating us, Sergeant."

Gadriel blinks and takes a step in, and promptly sets about putting himself in the furthest corner from the spectacle as possible.

"It reeks of molasses in here," the Sergeant huffs.

Chairon harrumphs, a little strained, "We have been at her a while..." then the attention turns on you, "...she's enjoying herself."

"And that's what the stink is?"

"That," Titus answers, "And seminal fluids."

"To what ends?" Gadriel grumbles and crosses his arms over his chest. "Procreation?"

"There's no restrictions on it in the Codex, believe me."

The look on the Sergeant's face is somewhere between intrigue and confusion, "I've never even heard of it happening."

"It does," Titus offers.

"Really?" Gadriel says.

"I wouldn't have guessed before either," Chairon scoffs.

"From time to time the odd one of us engages in it," your Lord digresses over them both, "But it's under absolute discretion."

"Interesting," the blonde hums.

"Sit," Titus says this time.

Gadriel pouts, "I think I'll stand by, for a while, Lieutenant."

"Suit yourself," Chairon scoffs.

It's distantly amusing watching the trio of great Angels bicker like baseline teenagers.

You might've even dared to laugh at the sheer absurdity, if not for the fact the instant you're about to start you're promptly being fucked stupid again—a heady plap, plap, plap of balls against your vulva and pelvis against your rear.

You try to hide your face in Titus's warm lap, but you're still visible to them all and it's mortifying. Squirming on the heated drag of a cock in you with nothing to shield the fact you're loving every second of it, you toss your gaze aside and accidentally meet the Sergeant's.

He's—he's definitely standing by, and he's certainly watching.

There's a growing redness on his patrician face that proves he's aware of the lewdness of the situation.

"How does it..." Gadriel starts, only to hesitate; failing to feign only vague interest. "How does it feel?"

"Warm and wet... and tight," Chairon rasps, and strokes a huge hand down your back.

Titus hums in agreement, "Very tight."

"Especially when you..." Chairon bucks forward, bottoming out and stealing a gasp from you as your cunt shivers around the sudden effort.

Gadriel's gaze half-lids with the distraction of the sound.

He shifts his weight between his feet irritably, and you can—on some strange level—tell you've got yourself into a looming predicament.

Three. You're to take three Primaris, sooner or later.

Evidently all the so-called inhuman warriors need to return to baser wants and lusts is an example and free reign.

"Where did you even get her?" Gadriel asks, and takes a step closer, keenly looking at your face as you drool on Titus' lap.

Too many eyes on you at your most vulnerable sends flustering, even if your cheeks blaze at the thought.

"I second that," Charion huffs out a wry, short laugh and pets you again, "Where, Lieutenant?"

You whine in embarrassment, insides clenching—there's an infinite torment to the moniker that sends your heart into your throat with lust so wanton you can hardly bare it.

"Lord Calgar apparently knows my tastes all too well," he says lowly above you.

His hand outstretches and cups the whole side of your head including your cheek in one huge palm.

You can't bring yourself to stifle the urge to moan at that, and lean into your Lord Titus' touch like a lovesick dog. "I'll make sure you're not hurt, hm?" Titus rasps, then, to your dismay, decides he's to extricate himself for the time being and starts to scud off the cot.

"Your turn, Gadriel," Chairon huffs at the Sergeant.

You can't really say how quickly he sets about swapping himself in place of your Lord Titus in front of you, because for some reason you blink and the Sergeant is there.

Quite frankly, you weren't sure how long you'd even blinked for. You might have dozed off for a few seconds as far as you're aware.

The cock in front of you is long, smooth, and pretty; with a thatch of dirty blonde hair. Which seems to match it's owner to a fair sum, and it's also already hard. Which is somewhat surprising, given the fact you'd had to mouth at—

"Get on with it, serf," Gadriel says with a stiff jaw; and sits a little more forward, thighs spreading, presenting himself. Big, sturdy quads that would surely be a perfect temporary cushion to rest against.

His cock's heavy with blood and leaning leftward, and you lap at the side—dragging your lips from the base lined by dark blonde hair to the flushed, leaking tip.

You slowly start pumping him with a small hand in a steady jerking motion as you keep the tip of his cock on your tongue.

"Not so bad, then?" Chairon ruts forward, and the push coaxes you to take the Sergeant into your maw.

"Not so bad," Gadriel groans, and a large hand cards across your scalp to fist rudimentary reins out of your hair.

He lets out a choked noise, hips jerking forward in shallow movements in time with the bobbing of your mouth.

It's too large of a thing to even manage more than a few inches, and when the Primaris currently hilted in your cunt decides he's simply got to start grinding himself against your cervix, you're nigh slack jawed on the cock in your mouth.

Big thighs judder beneath you as you let too much too far in all at once, and Gadriel makes a sound you only have a split second of sensibility to associate as an Astartes whining. Then you're gagging around him, tears in your eyes—before he rears back a little and angles himself against your soft palate, a hot flush thudding on your face when he sighs appreciatively.

You moan, and then you're being filled again; only this time it's from the back as nigh molten hot spend spills into your cunt.

Chairon makes an almost inaudible groan, subvocal and menacing; and then smoothes a war-calloused palm down your back.

A shiver races up your spine, innately aware of the feeling as Chairon lets his balls drain as deep as he can.

You're dazed and sensitive as he slackens against you, chuffing softly, "That... that was good."

"Let me have a turn," Gadriel huffs at him, to which he's obliged.

Without complaint, Chairon tentatively withdraws, moving you on top of the Sergeant as he settles on his back.

You swallow the excess drool pooling in your mouth, focus fixated on the sheen of sweat on his scarred face; raising yourself a little with a splayed hand resting between his large pectorals.

"Up, serf—" he rushes, and sneaks a hand between you both to hold himself straight, trying to quicken you sliding down onto his cock.

You can't entirely reign in the shrill whine that escapes your throat.

He's—he's a lot.

You slump against his chest and groan impotently into his large pectorals.

He's too long, and gravity is damning you.

It feels as if he's slamming into your diaphragm instead of your uterus.

Then you're being treated to a ride.

And Throne of Terra, the Primaris Sergeant is rough.

Rabid, even.

A particularly poorly executed thrust jams into your cervix so hard it makes you yelp, blindly clawing at the Sergeant's forearm twice.

He does not heed it, nor feel it, apparently; and continues rutting, head thrown back, heaving in great gulps of air—using you like a toy.

"Gadriel," you hear Titus interject, "Slow down, she's much smaller than you."

Titus' words sends heady attention rushing south despite yourself, and your insides squeeze around the Sergeant, matching the well-fucked ache that thrums through you.

"Can't, feels... ngh—" He bites out in answer, snorting harshly as the grip on your thighs grows bruising.

It hurts, but your mind is suddenly screaming harder, harder, harder—namely thanks to the fact your clit slams into his huge pelvis on the downstroke.

You slap his deltoid and claw down the skin pointlessly.

He sits himself up in reaction, with you in tow.

Your vision smears to colours and shapes for a moment and then you're limbless, being made to bounce on his lap.

He's heaving into against your small shoulder, using you to satisfy himself like a free hole to fuck to completion—and by Terra, he's dragging you along to the same place.

It all happens absurdly fast.

Your insides feel swollen and electric, then they're suddenly jerking, finishing with a quick, wet splash—and everything's stickier where the cock inside you sits.

For a second you can't breathe, it's torment.

But fuck, if it's not amazing.

There's a heavy moan afore you, laden with rumbling subvocals—then finally an airy, pitched keen—and you're pressed flush to the Sergeant despite the fact he can hardly fit all in.

He bucks, and tucks his head against you; and you feel a big slick tongue drag across your shoulder as his cock knocks into where your cunt ends again—sending you sobbing against the huge, scarred span of his chest.

Boiling, overfilling spend leaks out between, adding to your Lord's and Chairon's earlier expenditures in your cunt.

"T-Throne... that's—good," Gadriel strains momentarily, shivering as he grits his teeth and rides out his fulfilment.

Tears have blurred your vision again as your mind reels to understand that you've just been fucked to apparent incontinence. You've just had your insides over-screwed and bullied into squirting on a Primaris, Emperor help you.

Apparently, despite your horror—none of them seem to care.

A few droplets stray from your cheeks and land on the Sergeant's skin. He makes a strange, confused chuff before he realises what's happening.

"W-Why...?" Gadriel pants, attempting to gather himself before he adds, "Why are you... crying, serf?"

You sob weakly, face buried against the hulking swell of one of his pectorals.

"...are you hurt?"

You shake your head.

He inhales harshly, lifting you off him weightlessly with a wet, slick sound of you both disconnecting.

Gadriel's eyes glue to the cum sloughing out of you. It's mostly his, currently—and there's a foreboding look of rabid hunger on his face that almost makes you want to shut your legs.

Suddenly, another set of huge hands join the Sergeant's, holding you aloft as Gadriel moves to stand.

The metal of the right is frigid, and the pressure mechanisms are a tad too stiff to be considered gentle; but the other is warm and tender.

You glance up, and find Chairon softly looking down at you; his big brown eyes crinkled at the edges in a muted smile as he says, "He's too rough with you, isn't he, sweet thing?"

Chairon's lovely smile makes you dopey with sudden charm. It's an infectious sort of look, full of doting that makes you ogle him dumbly; trying to reciprocate with a tired, cock-drunk flutter of your lashes.

"You need to be more careful with her," Chairon glances at Gadriel and clicks his tongue before turning back down at you. The discipline seems purely theatrical, though—and that fact is wildly apparent when you hear the Sergeant scoff.

Then, Chairon is tilting his chin down to fuss over you; his wide jaw nudging your temple, nuzzling into you. Your heart jumps, and it's–it's painfully gratifying having a great Angel do such a thing. Even if you're being buttered up before finally being asked; "Do you still want more?"

You strain up to nose against the large Primaris' jaw, panting as you mumble in agreement.

"I believe that's a yes," Titus hums somewhere to the right, and your vision swims as it tries to find him.

Lo and behold, he's leaning against the wall of the small habitation, glaring low on your body over the rim of a water cup.

Chairon makes a similar sound and adjusts his handhold on you to your legs; splaying your thighs, presenting you.

"We've made a mess," he huffs amusedly.

Peering down yourself if absolutely lurid. Given how you're folded slightly, you can see the sticky lines of leaking semi-opaque white smeared down your thighs, and feel seed leak from you.

You can only imagine how egregious it looks from your Lord's perspective.

Strangely, Gadriel groans at the sight.

"Can..." he starts abruptly, "Can I have her again?"

Chairon laughs, "You've only just finished, she needs a break."

Gadriel grumbles, but gets distracted when you squirm a little and he says, "I... I could give her a break—" but abruptly hesitates and looks over his shoulder, "—unless you want her now, Lieutenant?"

Titus harrumphs, "I'll have her afterwards."

The Sergeant nods, and looks back at Chairon before asking, "Can you keep her up like this?"

"Only if I get her tongue next," he counters.

Gadriel huffs, "Haven't you already?"

"You're to be in her cunt twice," he claps back rather swiftly, "Why can't I do the same with her maw?"

Gadriel snorts sourly, "I'm not going to be just yet, I..." he hesitates, "I have a plan."

Chairon hums, "What sort of plan?"

"Just be careful with her," You hear Titus grunt from the sideline, and then—then you're being lifted a little higher, spread a little wider—and the blonde Primaris gets to his knees.

Two big thumbs spread your labia and you squeal, dithering at the fact he's fondling you in your current dishevelled state.

"If her mouth on us is pleasurable, then the converse must be the same..." he mumbles.

A loud, dry humoured, sarcastic huff from Titus is quickly followed by, "Impressive deduction, Gadriel, you've discovered cunnilingus."

Gadriel shoots a petulant pout over his shoulder at his Lieutenant, before your wriggling drags his attention back.

"You want to...?" Chairon hums.

Gadriel nods, "I just like the sounds."

"Fair enough," says Chairon.

"Now, where do I..." the blonde starts almost inaudibly, seemingly more to himself than anything.

Titus takes a ling sip of water before clearing his throat, "There should be a nub at her upper flesh, that's the female equivalent to our glans."

The Sergeant nods, then turns his big blue eyes up to yours.

"Can you show me, serf?"

You whine and chew your bottom lip, "L-Lord?"

"You'll show me, won't you?"

Your mind can't even begin to think to decline nor argue with him. Swallowing your useless shame, you tentatively move your hand and spread your own folds to give him a target.

Your skin is slippery with slick and cum and hard to properly get a hold on, but you manage and he grins.

It's not as vaguely friendly as Chairon's, nor as strangely brutish as your Lord Titus'... but it's still a little unsettling. Even if it's eager.

"Good, serf..." is the last thing he says before wet warmth is practically locked on your clit.

An airy whimper leaves you, and your body jackknifes pointlessly at the sudden acute pleasure.

You shudder bonelessly in Charion's arms, and you're only vaguely aware you're tugging two-handed at Gadriel's hair while you squirm.

His tongue curls against it, rolling in nigh tidal attenuation; making your hamstrings pull taut and shudder lax. He's not as precise in his torments as Titus, but the enthusiasm makes up for it.

Both Chairon's organic hand and mechanised one grip under your thighs, while Gadriel's firmly keep your hips still.

Throne of Terra, you can feel your own heartbeat reverberating through you against his tongue.

Your fingers dig into his scalp but it just makes him lap just that little bit faster, only for him to discover that sucking makes you cry out. Your abdominal muscles start to hurt at the strain of your body being tormented while reaching down to tug, as do your hips from being so wide.

Your left's fingers find cold metal instead of hair in a mindless haze and you hiss, and try to find a hold.

Gadriel's suddenly open-mouthed against your cunt, keening with a groan.

His scarred chin is saturated with cum and slick, and he's bright red across the belt of his cheeks and sloping nose; he looks dazed periodically, like a slavering hound going at it's cut of meat.

One hand moves from your hips, and a finger prods at your perineum—then jabs you in the arse entirely on accident.

To your surprise, there's enough of his semen coating you that half of it slides in with lubricated ease; still, you yelp loudly.

It burns almost as much as it stings and the stretch of just his finger is maddening, but it starts to disappear in an instant when he licks your clit again.

Chairon grumbles, "What did you do?"

"I..." Gadriel pants, huffing in bemusement as he licks his lips and pulls away from your cunt. "I only put a finger in?"

Titus groans and claps a palm to his own forehead, "In the wrong hole, Gadriel."

The blonde pouts, looking up to Chairon with open confusion, "Should... should I pull it out?"

Even squirming with a Primaris' ring finger up your ass, it's surreal to be treated to the spectacle of them bickering once again.

"It's not my rear," Chairon laughs a little and looks down at you, straining and thudding hot in the face.

Gadriel blinks and realises himself, then meets your gaze.

"Is this painful for you?"

You manage a quick, "F-Fuh—feels a lil w-weird, m'lord."

"How's this?"

His finger curls inside your guts and by sheer blind luck pokes right into the back of your uterus. There's only a membrane and a thin bit of muscle between the two channels, afterall; and the shiver of surprised bliss that assails you doesn't go unnoticed.

Gadriel's breathing quickens, "Is that better?"

You nod shakily as he repeats the gesture, and then ogles up at you from between your spread legs.

His middle finger suddenly crooks to fit into the hole he intended, and you're overwhelmed at the feeling.

It's a combination you can't even begin to explain, new and odd, but addictive and then you're crying out something—something you're barely even cognisant of saying, a high pitched; "P-Please, please—"

Gadriel all but groans at the words, drawing his fingers out and rearing up to lick your abdomen; trailing his mouth up to one of your breasts and dragging a wide band over one with his tongue before groaning.

Before you can even moan, Gadriel's crowded himself against you and his cock is sloppily pressing back into you.

A sob rackets out of your throat, and your eyes swim in their sockets for an instant. Head thrown back against Chairon's clavicle as you heave in desperate gulps of air.

You're hyper-aware of the two sets of massive hands now holding you in place, and the huge cock sawing in and out of you; kissing your cervix on every thrust. This position is easier on your insides, but not by much. Gadriel is still a fraction too long to manage sheathing himself without your mild discomfort.

Both their eyes are locked upon your face, one pair of brown and one pair of blue—both half-lidded and focused on the surely fucked-out expression you're wearing.

It's pure, utter debauchery; and you paw mindlessly at the Sergeant's pectoral, gasping as he grows more and more frantic.

"She's... she's s-still so tight," he groans.

Chairon laughs lowly, "Never thought you'd be brought so low by something so tiny."

Gadriel's too preoccupied to meaningfully argue beyond curling his lip derisively.

Time blurs into delirious moments of aching and bliss, and Gadriel is much less feral in his pace than the last time—every thrust is easier, as your body begins to learn to take it. Or at least, you're certainly getting there—even if there is probably another agonising orgasm on the dusty blonde's cock.

You're only cognisant of being spoken about when Chairon's smooth voice offers, "Put your thumb on it—"

Gadriel snarls, "I... I know."

You blink, and glance downward, confused—and then you're fighting uselessly against the massive vices holding you open.

A reedy, straining shriek tears from your throat as the Sergeant's finger depresses your clit.

Your struggles make the overwhelming sensation so, so much more intense; and you may as well be getting electrocuted for the abrupt sensation you experience. It's as if you're being doused in ice and steam and promethium in one fell swoop.

They're beasts scenting weakness like blood on the gale in that moment, for all intents and purposes.

Chairon rocks you forward into Gadriel's hips and you're overfull of cock and shaking—dragged insensibly into your finish with another scream.

Every nerve in your body is a live wire as you try to fight the severity of it, mindless to the fact you're clawing at skin that's too invulnerable to even hope to mark.

They force your crest higher and higher, Charon still fucking you into the Sergeant's animalistic rutting, even as you cramp and squeeze helplessly.

Lungs several times larger than your own gust out a rapid series of breaths, and abruptly there's a long moan reaching your ear—and fresh heat in your cunt.

A weak, exhausted moan leaves you as you're carefully relieved of the massive cock inside you and deposited on the cot, on your back—only for Chairon to take his place near your head like he had to begin with.

Except this time you're on your back, and his cock is already at your cheek.

Meanwhile, Titus moves your thighs to bracket his hips as he kneels; sliding himself in place, seating balls-deep.

A whimper tears from you at the heavy sensation of being filled so soon again, and you moan when he slowly pulls out, only to slide back in. The pace is tender but firm, keeping you alert to the stretch but not suffering from it. Your body has had what feels like—and what very well may have been—hours to get used to having an Astarte in it.

You mouth at the side of Chairon's length with a daft sort of hunger; drooling across the blood-fat shaft before tilting your head to let him angle the swollen tip of himself in.

"That's it," he huffs, and pets your cheek.

You can taste your own slick, plus he and Titus' cum, and it's still not an entirely pleasant of a tang on your palate—but the big hand raking soft strokes through your hair riles you to continue.

It's clear he's high-strung after having to help Gadriel with you to no service to himself, and it's all the better to give him that attention.

You're getting tired, but regardless, you offer your tongue to Chairon and try heartily to let him take what he can; and he's more than happy to apparently just use your mouth to keep the head of him nice and warm while he strokes the base of himself.

His breathing starts to stutter as Titus gains pace, and you're actively tipping your head forward into his thrusts to let him stuff more of himself into your mouth.

The thrill of having the two of them panting like beasts is sending you spiralling, bucking your hips up against your Lord's pelvis in time with his thrusts in a sloppy, uncoordinated desperation that he rewards with a moan each time.

You hear Chairon keen, heaving through his nose as his hips jerk forward; groaning heavily as he finally finds his end.

A fat, heated spill of cum on your tongue makes you whine and double down your efforts, swallowing the Primaris' load.

"Hah, there... you go," he grind, teeth gritted and sneering a little.

Chairon pets you again before he runs a thumb across your lips to wipe away the few ropes of his spend that you hadn't managed to wolf down. He promptly sits himself back and continues carefully patting you while Titus manhandles you closer beneath his frame.

You glance down to watch your Lord's cock disappear inside you, pulling free and then sinking back in before repeating the action; eyeing big sturdy hips made for supporting a huge cock.

The Emperor surely is all knowing given his proportioning of His Angels.

But you aren't given a chance to think further on the matter as you're suddenly being folded under Titus.

Squirming, you're deaf to the sounds being driven out of you as you're locked in place by a body infinitely stronger than your own.

You paw at his chest, whimpering nonsense and he groans—and you're all but stunned daft and pliant by what he says in answer.

"That's it, one more... good, very... very good," he pants, fucking just that little bit harder.

You're helpless to your own orgasm, crying openly when it's claws sink into you. It's too much, it's far, far too much and this is as far as you can go—anymore and you feel like you'll dissolve into the cot. And you can't even stop yourself from sobbing your Lord's name as the tide of it nigh smothers you.

"Finally..." He groans loudly and his rhythm deteriorates almost immediately to choppy little bucks—and with a last bit of effort, he keeps you pinned and held down despite your overstimulated squirming and his load is emptied right into your womb like it's always meant to've been there.

Titus keeps you like that for a moment as you barely scrape your sense off the proverbial floor. Legs twitching where hooked over his hips, all the while you cunt's milking him for every drop he's got.

"I think... I think you've had... enough, hm?"

Titus lifts himself away and pops loose of your sore, puffy hole with an audible wet slide and a frothing mix of cum layered on his cock.

A soft groan escapes you as the weight and toll of exhaustion sets in, drowsy and well-fucked almost to the point of limpness.

"Up," you hear Gadriel harrumph.

Despite the fact you feel like you're about to pass out, you try valiantly—and get about a forth of the way there, leaning forward while resting back on your elbows as Gadriel takes a seat beside you, with a mug of water precariously filled a bit too high in his huge hand.

Gadriel thrusts the cup close to your face, sending a few drops over the cusp and onto your chest, trailing down a cum splattered chest.

You and he both ogle the water dumbly for a moment in surprise, flickering your gaze between him and it a few times for good measure.

He pouts and his cheeks redden a little as he mumbles, "Drink, serf."

You lap at the side for a second and manage to gulp down a mouthful, swishing it about for a second before swallowing.

You get three more sips as he steadily tilts the cup into your mouth, before he decides you've had enough kindness for the time being and pulls it away.

Titus hums, "Up you get, little one."

You fuss, and try to rise once again.

"There we go," Chairon tuts as he lifts you by the arm as you struggle to stand, supporting you effortlessly.

The care is flattering, even moreso seeing as they've apparently drawn a line in the sand for your apparent usefulness as a seminal dump.

Titus has long since settled back into a kneel again at the side of the cot, petting your thigh like he's trying to calm a skittish stray animal.

He reaches sidelong for the discarded fabric of his loincloth, before promptly deciding it unfit; and reaches for a stray corner of the half sloughed off bedsheet, tearing a large piece away.

You start at the sudden display, half in belated surprise and half in concern for the state of his bed—it's your duty to make sure it's in good keeping foremost, and—

"Hush," your Lord says with a small chuff, "Don't worry about that, just stay still."

Gadriel lowers the cup towards Titus and he dips the edge of it in the water before carefully dragging it across your cheek.

The three of them are very much ogling you, and it's very hard not to dither and fluster at the attention as you're methodically wiped clean. Especially when the cloth dips between your thighs and drags over your abused, sensitive sex, making you whine.

Titus chuffs, "Sore?"

You nod sheepishly as your insides cramp, and rub your legs together, accidentally making a show of liquid leaking out of you.

"Poor sweet thing, look at you drip..." Chairon interjects.

You dare a soft, impish smile which your Lord mirrors.

But the comment makes Gadriel almost instantly tilt his head to watch your overfilled cunt weep their combined slurry of cum; to which he decides the best thing to say is, "Shouldn't have bent over for us so easily."

In your weary, near fucked-to-delusion state, the urge to frown sourly like a petulant child supersedes any decorum, and you're met by a husky snort of amusement from your Lord.

"Some of that's yours, Sergeant," Titus remarks dryly.

Chairon begins laughing as Gadriel's face colours a pretty, endearing pink.

[dadsbongos]

Oh my gosh the I GUESS part was so funny cfdjkfd It will always make me so sad that we'll likely never see the later seasons, it would have been SO funny omg How are you btw?? Anything fun you've done/have coming up? Also any random headcanon thoughts about possibly dating both laios and kabru would be as lovely as you <3 -Artemis

i giggle thinking about his snooty fucking "i GUESS" that and calling mika gay for being attracted to him, a man

i was in a bit of a rut the past week or so but i've been getting better, drawing a lot and working on personal writing projects. plan on going out with a fwend on Wednesday :3 and i'm trying to con a hot person into liking me

labru poly hcs below!!

ok to get together with these two is a nightmare though it is worth it!

i can see it being you and kabru chasing laios, being romantic rivals with laios not paying attention to either of you LOL

kabru gets charmed by you after viciously studying you for months on end to try getting a leg up on you and you're just like every other hot-blooded mammal and can agree that kabru's hot

i can see you confessing to laios (because god forbid kabru actually voice his feelings to someone) so kabru is just silently devastated until eventually being absorbed into the relationship

domestic chores were a bit of a battle at first because kabru doesn't maintain his own space and laios can't maintain common spaces bc he doesn't know what everyone else is okay with him tossing out and dishes are a NO for him

but kabru is great at delegating/managing tasks plus he can care for others. so he managed to think out a way for everyone to be happy: kabru does most of the basic chores (dishes, sweeping, dusting), laios does most of the yard work and shopping, and you the laundry/cooking ft. laios as a lil helper while picking up minor tidying (but obvi you guys can share and help as with all relationships yk)

non-negotiable tho you and laios and kabru are all legally obligated to indulging each other's niche interests. you and laios are ears OPEN to kabru's novelizations of world history and current gossip, and you n kabru listen to laios ramble about useless mythos and cryptids factoids

and ofc they listen to you prattle on about your own interests cuz that's love bby <3

when walking outside, laios likes to intentionally try finding cool bugs or dogs and kabru has to wrangle him by the collar of his shirt while you're just there like :) aw bfs

kabru looooves planning dates and doesn't usually like feeling out of the loop or surprised unless its something you three agreed wouldn't be orchestrated by him

blowout arguments are not common in any manner, since kabru's an ace at recognizing/dismantling how you feel and is flexible in asking how to better put your mind at ease

meanwhile laios just HATES fighting and arguments and is not the type to enforce his way of thinking/doing certain things unless it'll actually drive him insane (which is pretty uncommon)

kabru is probably in charge of finances cuz its just less stress for him

laios likes decorating the space but you and kabru have to nyx some of his stranger ideas (a fully functional bigfoot puppet hanging from the ceiling, fresno night crawler figures on the tv stand, etc.)

nautical themed bathroom is a for sure though i'm sorry i'm sorry, laios is white and kabru was raised by milsiril they're just going to have a nautical themed bathroom no matter how you feel about it

i have an idea i want to make a fic but can't find the time: basically the same thing where you n kabru hate each other but get along for laios' sake cuz you're both dating him. until you fuck nasty and bond for realsies <3

[zadralien]

He wanted Dib to beg for his life.

Dib has become his life.

Ficlet under the cut.

“Fuck, Zim!” Dib reaches up to gingerly press his fingers to his nose and feels the thick blood pooling down past his mouth. “I swear to god, you fucking bug, if you’ve gone and broken my nose again I’ll-“

“-Shut up!” Zim shrieks, pak legs unfurling and clanking onto the concrete. He rises above Dib and encroaches slowly, legs clacking with each step. “You.. you worm! Do you have any idea what you could have done?”

“Dude, it was just some papers. I didn’t even read them for christ’s sake. They’re in Irken, you of all people should know I’m slow at translating that chicken scratch of yours.” Dib looks forlornly at the stack of crumpled papers a few feet away, scattered and likely marked with a spray of Dib’s blood. He turns back to look up at Zim when he snarls, reaching out a gloved claw to shove Dib back hard.

“They’re not for you, they’re Zim’s private papers!” Zim leans further over Dib, tongue curling and spitting flecks of saliva onto Dib’s face. Dib scrubs at his face, remembering how disrespectful spitting is considered in Irken culture. It burns a little.

“I don’t give a shit what they are. I didn’t even mean to touch them! I just wanted to put my crap down.” He meets Zim’s eyes. They’re a deep red and set in a foul expression. “I’m not interested in your secrets. You can keep those. It’s not like I don’t know everything anyway.”

Zim stiffens and Dib’s expression softens despite himself. He runs a tired hand through his hair and steels his gaze.

“You don’t really think I’m that big of an idiot, do you? You’ve just been quietly shoving your fat green head into my life over the last year and suddenly you save my life. I don’t know man, a guy spends his entire life trying to kill you and then just stops you from bleeding out some random Tuesday? That was weird.“ Dib shrugs, looking away briefly.

“That does not mean anything, Dib-worm. You were bleeding all over my base, it was disgusting. Zim had to stop it somehow.”

Dib shakes his head.

“It’s okay, Zim. I know we’re friends. I don’t know why, and I don’t care to know - but I know you’re lost and don’t know where to go. I know, and it’s okay. I’m lost too. We can be lost together. Your leaders, the Tallest -“.

“Don’t.” Zim grits out, quiet in a way Dib has never heard, didn’t know was possible. Physically, he begins trying to reach one hand out to soothe, to touch, to reassure. Mentally, he begs his sister to come collect his corpse once she realises what most likely happened to him. Damn it, he hopes she realises.

He isn’t that surprised when Zim lunges at him, but he wishes he’d had more time to brace before an Irken claw punches into his chest to grab at the material of his shirt. He wheezes a little.

“You do not know what you speak of, you pathetic slime! Do not mistake your loneliness for Zim’s. Zim doesn’t need you, Zim doesn’t need this dust bowl of a planet. One more fucking word and I’ll finish what that disgusting cryptid creature started last year.”

The human swear word sounds weird coming out of the alien’s mouth, but it’s not the first time. He’d only ever heard Zim swear once before - specifically when he got shredded by a cryptid in the woods and, in a blood-loss haze, made his way to Zim’s base to start bleeding out on his frenemies floor. He knows how hard it is to admit how miserable you are on the inside, especially to the people that matter most.

Well, he had made it this far.

“I know you Zim, and it’s okay.”

Zim’s quiet for a moment before he speaks, clenching his jaw.

“Beg.”

“What?”

“Zim told you, one more word. Now you beg for your pathetic life, you insolent worm.”

“I’m not going to - Zim, stop it. You know I’m right. I care about you too! It’s fine!”

Zim snarls, fist clenched, pak legs raising him to his full height. Dib’s heart drops when he sees one leg glint as it lifts itself behind Zim, preparing to strike.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He might actually die today. Shit.

“Beg!”

“No!”

“Beg!”

Shit. The leg is calibrating.

“I’m all you have! Kill me and you’ll have nothing. You know it too!”

Zim stops. The leg pauses. His eyes are wide, frightened, conflicted. He chokes out a pained sound, continuing to clench and unclench his fist. He yanks Dib closer by the shirt still tangled in his fist. Dib breathes heavily.

“Beg Zim not to kill you.” His voice is raw, tired. His eyes roam over Dib’s face, carefully categorising and assessing. The stilted pak leg drops back to the ground.

Dib’s whole body un-tenses despite the proximity. The alien’s face turns slowly into a somewhat unreadable resignation.

Dib swallows the lump.

“Please.” He whispers quietly. Swaying, pressing forward.

“You fool.”

[synnamonroll666]

Angel Kisses

Pairing: Fujin x Fem!Reader Description: Fujin invites you to a special garden to show you just how special you really are to him... Warnings: Smut, P In V, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Third Person POV, Fluff, Public Nudity, Public Sex, A Tiiiiny Bit Of Fingering, And Sliiiiight Size Difference If You Squint... Word Count: 2.2k A/N: This fic was a request from the wonderful @mornandil. Girl, I sincerely apologize for how long this took. I hit probably the worst writer's block of my life recently and the second I felt myself coming out of it, I went right to writing this fic for you. I know how much you love Fujin so I wanted to make this as special as I could for you. I hope you enjoy it. 🖤 Main MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @koexchange, @yesitsloulou, @mistmoose, @jasonexo, @fortune-fool02, and @raven-the-cryptid. (If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

When you get invited on a date with a God, you cannot be late. Fujin—your boyfriend of 1 month now—had invited you to this unique garden this very evening. He said that when the sun would set, these special flowers would bloom and glow, lighting up the whole garden with their lights. He called them "angel kisses."

Intrigued by this, you hurried out the door and to the location he asked you to meet him: the forest. You weren't too afraid to walk in the woods alone at this hour. You knew that if trouble came your way, he would find you. He had this special way of knowing whenever you needed him the most.

So you rushed down the pathway that split the cluster of trees and bushes up, the excitement filling your heart fueling each quick step you took. Eventually, you found exactly what he had told you to expect—a wall of stone that stood about 8 feet tall. It seemed both man-made and created by nature at the same time. Your eyes roamed over the rocks carefully, trying to seek out that one different one. Once your orbs settled on the slightly different-colored stone, you pressed your palm against it.

Though you expected it, you couldn't repress the startled gasp from escaping through your parted lips as you heard the sudden shifting of the stones. Dust and dirt stirred in the air as a door opened within the wall, revealing a beautiful sight. Your feet slowly began to take subtle steps—almost subconsciously—into the hidden area.

As soon as you entered, the door slammed shut behind you, earning a yelp from your frightened form. It was a large contrast to the slow manner in which it had moved to begin with. As you placed a hand upon your chest to help calm your fast-paced heartbeat, you couldn't help but feel that it was almost as if it were being forcefully closed by someone nearby. That's when you heard the fond chuckle of someone familiar.

"I was wondering when you would join me." The soft voice of Fujin spoke with a sense of peace and kindness in his tone.

You turned back around to see the garden—so full of life and love. The air around you was fresh and inviting. A peaceful bliss fell over your body, causing your shoulders to slump slightly and your heartbeat to lower as you began to relax. White flower buds littered the deep green bushes around you, and a stone pathway led you to your man, who stood where the bushes broke apart, revealing a cliff edge and a gorgeous sunset. The sky was hues of vibrant pinks and oranges as the sun set into the skyline. And there stood Fujin before you, the sun's glow behind him, making him appear as some sort of angel.

Without taking much more time to investigate your surroundings, you ran to your lover, kissing him with need. You swore that your heart had grown two times its size at the very sight of him. He was wearing this silky robe—something like a true god would wear. It was far different than anything you had seen him in before—considering that most of the time, you would see him in combat or in meetings with the other champions and Radian—but you weren't complaining. It took a good minute for you to gain the will to pull back from the kiss to gaze up at him through your lashes—to admire how his eyes glowed with love and how his white hair cascaded down his neck and shoulders like a river.

His soft smile broadened just a bit as he reached up and gently caressed your cheek with his large hand—gentle, like you were more fragile than a delicate flower to him. His eyes lingered on your own for just a moment, before lowering to your lips.

You could see the thoughts swirling inside his mind. He had this playful look in his eyes, like he always had. But there was something else in his eyes that day—something alluring and tempting. Then he leaned forward once more, to place a more tender kiss on your lips, taking a moment to savor your taste. It was something he could never get enough of, and neither could you. You were addicted to each other—like each other's personal drug, though completely harmless and safe in contrast to others out there. With Fujin, you were never in harm's way.

"You're my angel, (Y/N)." He breathed while pressing his forehead against yours. Though your eyes remained closed, you could see his movements within your mind—the way his eyelids flickered subtly and how that soft smile remained in place. "Let me show you how much you mean to me."

He turned you to face the cliff edge and stood behind you, his chest pressed firmly against your back. You could see the continuation of the forest down below, with trees stretching out for miles and miles. That's when you felt his fingers trail down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Each touch of his skin on yours feels like a blessing, bringing you closer to heaven each time he caressed you. It's something special that you have never experienced before—hell, not every girl gets the privilege to date a god—but you thank the Elder Gods each day that you have the honor of calling this man your lover.

"Close your eyes." He whispered, his breath fanning the shell of your ear gently as he did.

You did as you were asked, letting your eyelids fall shut as your heart beat quickened ever so slightly in anticipation of what he was planning. Before you knew it, his presence was no longer felt behind your back, but a subtle breeze was caressing your body. It felt much more warm than something done by nature—warm like the touch of his soft fingertips. It came from all different directions, like a ghostly embrace around your small form.

"I'll be the wind beneath your soft, angel wings, (Y/N). I'm going to treat you the way an angel should be treated." You could hear him call out, though his voice was now more of an echo, nearly transparent in a way.

His voice—like a siren's call—beckoned you, so you reached out to feel him, but only a breeze flowed through your fingers like strains of hair. It was relaxing, to say the least, sending you into a trance-like state in an instant. That's when you could feel a familiar pair of hands on your sides, sending little shocks of energy flowing through your veins.

"Hold still," You could hear his voice whisper in your right ear when you flinched, his breath once again grazing your skin. Though now, a few octaves lower than before.

His hands then slowly slid down your stomach, letting those electric sensations linger within your blood. You could feel how tender his touches were through the fabric of your dress, and the urge to tear yourself out of it to feel his skin against yours grew strong.

This he must have sensed, because then his hands moved down to caress your thighs before stopping at the hem of your dress, his fingers toying with the seam of it as he patiently waited for consent. As you nodded your head, you could hear your lover let out a soft scoff. In this moment, you knew your error. But Fujin would still remind you anyway.

"I would prefer your words, my sweet." He expressed, a subtle amusement thick in his sentence.

It sounded as though he was smiling at your shy nature, which held you back from being very vocal in these situations with him. Not that you were in these situations with him often. The closest you had gotten before was a pretty intense make-out session, which ended in both of you cuddling up by a warm fire under the stars for the night. But something told you that tonight would be different.

"I consent, Fujin." You accepted his offer coyly, though there was a hidden confidence breaking through the cracks. You wanted this just as much—if not more—as he did.

With that, Fujin lifted your dress over your head, revealing your bare body to the world around you, although only you and him were present. The setting sun casted a golden glow over you both, and you could feel the heat radiating off of it seeping into your pores. It made you feel like a goddess—his goddess.

Your body finally relaxed again, and you took a deep breath in, inhaling the sweet scent of flowers around you and the scent of Fujin as well. It was different, to say the least. It was so unique and special that it was unexplainable in a way. And somehow, it was comforting to you. A pleased grin toyed with the corners of your lips, and you opened your eyes to see the continuation of the forest down below the cliff edge.

The sound of birds getting ready for a night's rest could be heard all around you. It told you that this was the home of many and made you feel grateful that you would be able to share it for a night with the man you loved so deeply. Fujin pulled your hair to the side and began pressing soft kisses to the column of your neck while carefully pulling your panties down your thighs and, soon after, your legs.

A shudder crawled down your form as a warm finger gently glided through your already dripping folds, and you could barely keep yourself from moving against him. And when the pressure of two digits entering your core met your senses, you were already seeing stars—putty in his godly hands. Seeing your need for him, Fujin discarded his fingers and then his robe, leaving him in absolutely nothing. When he returned behind you, you could feel the muscles of his broad chest press firmly against your back.

The sudden feeling of something thick and moist met your entrance before gliding through your folds, repeating the same pattern his finger made moments ago. Knowing what was coming, you couldn't help but smile. Anticipation grew quickly as he took his time to prepare you for what was to come. And when he finally pushed his long, girthy member within you, a soft moan broke your lips apart as your chest heaved with a pleased and trembling sigh.

Holding you from behind, Fujin's arms squeezed you ever so lightly as he waited for you to adjust. All it took was a soft utterance of confirmation that you were ready, and Fujin began at a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting in and out with loving care. The way his member dragged across your insides, the way his tip tenderly kissed your sweet spot, the way his lips met the side of your neck and found every pulse point to make your knees weak—even the way he breathed on you—had you already on the brink of letting go.

Getting lost in the sweet melody that was your pleasured voice, Fujin began to move faster, his hips snapping back and forth to edge you right where he wanted you. Your eyes—though just barely open due to the high—gazed upon the sunset. It was as if you could see him in its rays. It felt as though you could see him everywhere. He was your world, your God, and your everything.

But then the sun set completely, cutting off all sight with a sudden darkness. Though that didn't last long, as the flower buds finally bloomed, the white petals opening up to reveal something you could have never imagined being real. The flowers glowed brightly, like heaven's light calling forth spirits to come home. It lit up the garden as well as your heart, as suddenly you did not feel as if you were in nature but in an entirely different universe. It made every emotion felt in that moment feel 100% stronger.

And that, combined with a gentle press of his finger on your swollen mound, was all you needed to get that coil within you to snap. Your knees buckled as you finally released, but Fujin was quick to catch your fall. He held you tightly as your threads of sanity came undone by his love.

Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you moaned, you missed most of how the garden's white light lit the two of you up. But you felt it in your soul. Like how you felt Fujin release inside of you. Softly whispering what sounded like a thankful prayer in your ear as he filled you up. And after he finished, his lips returned to your ear, brushing its shell once more.

"You make me feel what it is like to be human." He murmured before placing a soft kiss on your now tear-stained cheek. You hadn't even noticed that you had started crying from the emotional overestimation of it all.

The garden's light had died down, and the two of you were left in darkness. But it didn't matter. The comfort of being in your lover's arms as your body relaxed from the intensity of your lovemaking was enough to bring you back to the light.

𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐⭒𖤐

(Some extra gifs I found because why not? 🤭)

(Man— 😍)

[weekly-und3rvers3]

Week 1 - Rushed, Unfinished Cross’s Birthday Thingy

Creator: Me :)

Word count: 1,401 Notes: Something intended for Cross’s birthday but I never finished. Keep in mind, most updates will probably be fanon like this one:

It was never quiet.

Until Cross would walk into the room.

Usually it was only Killer who had the guts to talk.

“Heeeeey there Crissy Crossy!!!” It was still weird to have someone call him by a silly name like that. He had barely just gotten used to people calling him ‘Cross’ over ‘sans’ never mind whatever weird code names Killer uses.

He gave a silent nod, looking around the room, assessing the situation.

“It’s your birthday, ain’t it?”

“My what?”

“Birthday!”

“Um….. sure.” He took a spot on the same couch Dust and Killer was sitting, but well away from them. He didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Metaphorically and physically.

“C’mon Crisscross, don’t act like you don’t know!” Killer exclaimed, quite loudly. It felt off with how quiet the room was. “Don’t tell me you’ve never celebrated a birthday before? How stuck up was your AU that you didn’t even celebrate birthdays?”

“No. We did.”

“Killer, lay off ‘em.” He heard the gruff voice of Horror speak. It was weird to hear a voice like that. It sounded strained and itchy and like it hurt. They didn’t even have throats, how did that happen?

“I just wanna know what he wants ta do for his birthday!”

“No, you’re going to try and twist it into something you want to do.”  Dust cut through. “You know the new guy is uncomfortable so you’ll manipulate him and pressure him into doing something you want to do.”

“Me? I would never!”

Cross just sat, quiet and unsure of how to respond. Killer was quite loud and passionate, Dust seemed to be the voice of reason. The serious one. Be wary of him and act carefully around him. Horror was a sort of middle ground? The one to call them down if they got too rowdy and heated in an argument or conversation.

It would take a while to analyze them all and figure out their respectives roles to see where he could fit in with the mix. 

“So, Applesauce, what d’ya wanna do for yer birthday?”

Cross looked to Killer, they laid in Dust's lap, feet resting on his own lap.

“Thirty what years?” Killer asked. “Damn, you’re old.”

“You’re one to talk, dude.” Cross shoved their feet off his lap. “You’re way older than me, cryptid.”

“Thank you, I identify as Mothman thank you very much.” Killer fought back, moving their feet now on Cross’s chest.

He couldn’t help but laugh, shoving the other now fully onto Dust.

“Ey, don’t give the dumbass to me.” Dust spoke, pushing Killer off his lap.

“OW- HEY!” Killer exclaimed, making contact with the floor and looking back up at them. “RUDE! After all I’ve done for you!”

Cross and Dust laughed as Killer continued to complain. It was strange to think that just a couple years ago he was so intimidated by the other.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

He went quiet, quickly reaching out for Dust’s hand and holding it tightly. An unconscious decision he made to make sure the other was okay.

He assessed the situation. He knew it was probably fine. Maybe a power outage? It was an old castle nearing the middle of October. 

But he didn’t have to worry as he heard a voice behind him.

“Happy birthday to you.”

He could immediately recognize the voice as Horror’s. 

The way it was gruff and deep and honestly really nice to listen to, but Cross would never admit that out loud.

And don’t even get him started on him singing. Beautiful.

It only got better as Dust and Killer joined in, Horror now walking in front of him to show a cake, lit up with multiple candles on the top and side of the cake.

“Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday to Croooooooossss”

“Applesauce.” He chuckled as he heard Killer mutter under their breath. They saw the sliver of a genuine smile on the other's face as they saw their silly little joke made him laugh.

“Happy birthday to you!!!!” 

Cross laughed as they hit a final note. And it was just….. indescribable.

Blowing out the candle, everything went dark as he heard the others cheer for him.

He laughed along, until he felt something grab his ankle.

“OH MY FUCK-“

The lights flicked back on, as he instinctively kicked whatever had grabbed him off. His foot, happening to make contact with Killer’s skull.

“Dumbass!” He cried at the other, sliding off the couch and onto the floor with Killer, grabbing his shoulder and holding his face gently, inspecting the impact.

“Hey there handsome~”

Cross made a face at Killer’s comment, a mix between disturbed, amused, and judgmental.

“You boneheaded.” The two chuckled as Cross clinked their foreheads together. 

“You okay, Kills?”

“Never.” Killer responded, holding Cross back.

“Alright chucklefucks, save it for after cake or get a fucking room.” They both looked to Dust who looked disapprovingly at them.

“Wanna get back up ona couch?” Horror asked, setting the cake on the table in the middle, before getting out plates.

“Yeah, get up here fucker.” Cross grunted, pulling himself and Killer up on the couch they were sitting on before, placing the other on his lap.

“Hey! You stole them from me!” Dust complained as Horror started cutting the cake.

“There’s still plenty of space, Sweetheart.” Killer invited the other, patting their lap and Cross’s chest. “I don’t mind sharing~”

“Gross actually. Nevermind. You can keep them.”

“Asshole!”

“Bitch.”

“Dickhead!”

“Loser.”

“Poopyface!”

“Woah guys, chill out! This is a safe space. That is no way friends talk to each other.” Cross spoke with an exaggerated teacher voice, breaking the two up.

“Hoe I sleep with that motherfucker. That bitch is more than just a friend.”

“Yeah I am. And I love you.”

“I love you too!”

“You’re great and I love you.”

“You’re amazing and I’m so happy to have you in my life!”

“You brighten my day and make my existence a thousand percent better.”

Cross just laughed, pulling Killer closer and hiding his face in their shoulder. 

“Oh my stars, I love you all.”

“We love you too, Cookie.” Killer spoke, putting an arm around him.

“Cake?” Cross looked up to see Horror handing him a plate with a slice of cake on it. 

“Thank you, Hun.” Cross smiled, taking a bite.

They all sat down, eating cake. Joking and laughing.

It was weird to think about, to Cross at least, how he’s come. How much he’s changed. How much he’s gotten to know the others. How much he had to face and overcome to get here. All the people he met, and all the people he had to say goodbye to. 

His first birthday here was a lot less eventful and a bit more awkward. 

Cake, generic presents because he was still new, no murder spree (to Killer’s dismay). But, that was about it. He didn’t even want to mention it was his birthday, he was surprised when Killer knew and blatantly asked him about it.

And now here he was. About five years with the Bad Guys. And he’s shoving them around, openly and comfortably telling them he loved them, making jokes and laughing.

He was glad it turned out okay in the end. He got to know everyone, and lived long enough to see today.

He was going to say something, no doubt something sappy, before he was interrupted by a voice behind them.

“….. Did you all really start without me?”

“Sorry Night.”

“Yup!”

“You were busy, didn’t wanna disrupt.”

“I blame Killer.”

Nightmare just sighed, taking a seat in his normal comfy chair. “Well, I’m here now. You’re lucky I care about you all and this is your birthday, Cross.”

Cross smiled softly, watching Nightmares dish a slice of cake. His first year, Nightmare didn’t even show up, too busy with his work. So he sent Killer on the job. That’s how Killer knew his birthday.

————————

“….what?”

“It’s your birthday, right?” 

Cross wasn’t sure, he hadn’t been keeping track for he days.

He turned to Killer who looked at him expectantly. And then to Horror who held the lit cake before him. And Dust, walking back over from turning off the lights.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Make a wish!”

This was weird.

He barely knew these people. 

Sure, he’s known them a little over a year, but he didn’t think they were close enough they’d do… all this…

[seabirdtxt]

Event batch 6

We're finally here! Last batch of event requests, I can't believe how many amazing ideas you guys trusted me to write for you! 🤭🩵 thank you all for being here and supporting my little fics!

🩵 Check out my other event requests! 🩵

All three of these are part of the same request, by @resident-cryptid 🩵🤗 an exploration of the SAGAU archons that aren't Zhongli, and the regret of their own actions!

SAGAU!Venti - Imposter AU, angst, on-screen violence, Creator does reincarnate

SAGAU!Ei - Imposter AU, angst, on-screen violence, torture, Creator does not reincarnate

SAGAU!Nahida - Imposter AU, angst, off-screen violence, Creator’s post-death status unknown

----- ⚘ -----

SHAKE

The wind never lies. That’s the only thought that runs through Venti’s head as he chases the impostor through the Whispering Woods. The wind is the origin of all speech, of stories and truths and whispers under your breath. The people who speak can tell falsehoods as much as they please, but the wind itself will never lie.

Which is why Venti doesn’t know what to do with his own heart when the wind tells him that the person on their hands and knees crawling away from him, because he’d shot both of their heel tendons with his impeccable accuracy, is the true Creator.

But Venti has his orders, and he has his bow, and he lifts the weapon with shaking hands as he takes aim. You plead to him in a language he doesn’t understand, and the tears that fall from your agonized expression shimmer like crystals as they fall to the ground. You drag yourself further, leaving furrows in the dirt.

A turquoise arrow pins your left hand to the underbrush, and you let out another shriek of pain. The universal language of all living things. Venti’s stomach churns.

Another arrow grazes your cheek as you turn your head to beg him for mercy, and though Venti is not usually one to drag something like this out there’s just something clawing at the back of his mind that wants him to stopstopstopstOPSTOPSTOP-

The next arrow does not miss its mark, but only just. There is a scream both in the air and deep within Venti’s skull as the arrow pierces the side of your neck. The sensation is debilitating, it sends the bard to his knees and he holds his head in both hands as he watches in horror as you writhe and suffer from the poor shot, pulsing dark red through the wound rather than the merciful shot he’d been trying for.

It’s almost a relief when you finally expire, the screaming cuts off abruptly from all sources and Venti collapses on his hands in relief. There’s nothing as he watches your body turn to glittering dust, the wind sighing as if in relief. As if in pain.

The dust coalesces a few feet away, you. On your rump, you scoot away with all four intact limbs, gasping and trembling. The wind betrays its Archon as it sweeps you up in a whirlwind of twigs and leaves and raw Anemo, leaving Venti alone in the woods.

The worst part about atonement is people assuming you regret the wrong thing. When Venti returns to Mond with the revelation that the impostor has been killed, at the expense of his own powers, people believe he regrets having given up his elemental connection.

In truth, what he regrets most are the words he says and fails to say. He knows now, he thinks, that the true impostor is the one who ordered your death. The one he carried out. But, in order to protect you from others who would seek your end, the same way he sought it mere hours before, he needed to lie.

That’s when his voice fails, and his breath is stolen from him by the very Anemo he used to command. The tall tale he'd spend the entire journey back practicing? It never leaves his lips. For the first time in a long time, the bard is silent. He isn't sure he can ever speak again.

The people infer the outcome on their own, but Venti never tells them, because to say he killed an imposter would be a lie. And the wind, the air that freezes inside him and prevents him from blaspheming further, never lies.

----- ⚘ -----

RATTLE

Is it overkill to order the entire Shogunate forces to bring in the imposter? It’s been so long since EI had waged an honest war. The Raiden Shogun had overseen the VIsion Hunt Decree, leaving EI mostly out of the action, and being in command of the armies once more is a feeling that the Electro Archon had sorely missed.

Maybe it’s that feeling of elation that carries her as she leads the hunt herself, at the forefront of her army. It's no competition for who finds the imposter first, and Ei’s own hand clasps around the pathetic creature’s wrists as she leads them to the Tenryou detention center.

The heavily guarded detention center is cleared out of all prisoners save for one: the imposter, you.

There's a thrill under Ei’s artificial skin as she drags the point of her spear over the impostor's skin. In the low light of the prison cell, the blood that spills looks almost black.

“Tell me why you have impersonated our Creator,” Ei demands, easing up on the pressure of her blade momentarily. “What is your purpose? If you tell the truth, I will make what follows as painless as possible.”

You spit a wad of blood with a weak cough, a result of punctured lungs from earlier sessions. “I don’t- don’t know what you’re talking about…” you wheeze through gritted teeth, the same answer you’d given every other time you’d been asked the same question.

The room is dark, to prevent you from seeing shadows through your blindfold and guessing your gaoler's next move. You can hear her moving around you, but without the advantage of seeing her shadow you have no idea what she’s about to do.

“You are persistent,” Ei remarks coolly. “You would be commended for your perseverance in the face of danger, were you one of my own soldiers.”

The flat of her blade tilts your chin upward, making you strain your neck to avoid being decapitated.

“... Unfortunately, you are not one of my soldiers. And I tire of your incessant lies.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream as Ei’s spear comes down with finality, piercing straight through your inner thigh and severing the artery there with deadly precision.

Ei watches almost dispassionately as you bleed out, mere seconds passing before you slump over, lifeless. With a single gesture, she commands for the torches to be lit once more.

The scene that greets her is horrific.

The dark blood she assumed was red is, in fact, a stunning deep gold. It’s splashed across every surface, decorating the room like foil leaf, and it pools under your body like a mirror, reflecting your empty, accusatory eyes back at her.

The realization strikes her like thunder. The bloodlust drains from her, directionless now that she finally spilled the blood she had unthinkingly demanded. The soldiers present witness as the usually stoic Archon crumples to her knees with a cry, palms clutching uselessly at the golden puddle as if she could put it back into your body with her own two hands.

What has she done? This is all her fault, if she’d only taken a moment to think deeper on her actions, if she’d lit the torches earlier, if she’d followed the instinct that roiled in her like a brewing storm, begging her not to do this…

This is all her fault. It’s Kitsune Saiguu all over again. It’s Makoto all over again. She paints your skin with your own blood, clumsy fingers trying to hold your wounds shut despite you already growing cold in her hands, until it disintegrates under her touch and you burst into thousands of shining particles. An unfelt breeze disperses your remains until every speck vanishes forever.

Ei gasps as something in her shatters, something she’d been trying to repair for such a long time. She retreats to the Plane of Euthymia, and leaves the confused Shogun puppet in her wake to deal with her mistakes.

----- ⚘ -----

ROLL

Nahida needs to know. She heard the rumors, she received the call to action, but she couldn’t be sure about the true intention of the so-called impostor.

What if it were simply an unfortunate circumstance? Surely it is to be expected, with the rate at which children are born in this world, that at least one or two lucky (or unlucky) people would be born with features similar to the Creator.

This, instead of ordering a manhunt, she requests that the forces of Sumeru retrieve the impostor and bring them in for questioning. She would hate for this to be the product of a divine misunderstanding, after all.

Or, maybe, she feels a strange kinship with the one who is accused of masquerading as a god. After all, didn’t Nahida also often feel as though she were but a mere replacement for another, better god? But that can’t be right, because Nahida has always been the Dendro Archon, and Irminsul would not lie to her.

It’s difficult to mass organize now that the Akashi system has been deprecated. Nahida’s orders are given via the matra, and spread to the various mercenary groups by letter or word of mouth. Somehow, along the way, the order is warped. Or, maybe, someone with an agenda purposefully gave the wrong order.

Which is why Nahida only hears about it happening secondhand, the letter finding her in her sanctuary, that the imposter has been caught and interrogated by Eremites somewhere in the Dharma forest. Dread seizes her, and she casts her consciousnesses out toward anyone familiar.

She finds the General Mahamatra on his way back to the city. In his mind, she begs the general to seek out this band of Eremites and prevent the loss of their prisoner. She impresses the importance that the prisoner be brought to her alive.

The swiftness at which Cyno travels is, unfortunately, not enough to prevent your demise. When he arrives at the scene, Nahida still riding behind his eyes, you have already been wrapped in a loose shroud, loaded onto the back of a cart to be taken into the city by sumpter beasts tomorrow morning. A shipment of one wanted criminal, dead or alive.

Nahida despairs in Cyno’s mind, feeling the world being overwritten. Knowledge seeps into the earth as the shroud covering you slowly deflates, your body evaporating into glittering particles.

As the keeper of wisdom, she is the first to know that you are not the impostor. In fact, she comes to the understanding quite quickly, as information filters directly through Irminsul and into her consciousness, that you might have been the only one who has kept their true face all along.

Venti embodying his dearest friend. Ei fashioning and possessing a puppet made in her sister’s image. Rex Lapis staging his own death to live as a human and cast off his responsibilities as a god.

And herself, who is a mere cutting from a larger, stronger, better plant. She remembers, now, the hopes that Lord Rukkhadevata had placed on her shoulders as she had entrusted the care of Sumeru to a lone, trembling leaf.

As all the world’s knowledge is restored, so too is the memory of the corruption returned to Irminsul, and Nahida isn’t sure what’s worse; knowing that she had let the Creator, you, die by her command? Or that your death may have placed her people in danger once more?

Is it selfish, she wonders, that she wishes she never had to know?

[water-to-drink]

The Great Vampire King Reawakens

(Pairing): Vampire!Al haitham x gn!reader

(Synopsis): You’re fascination with vampires leads you to explore a recently abandoned mansion and eventually you come face to face with a real vampire

(Tags/Warnings): Reader likes researching the supernatural, blood and gore, reader is chased and harmed, some foul language, Al haitham doesn’t show up until nearing the end, lmk if I missed anything

(Word Count): 2k

(A/n): Spooky season is here so why not start it off with a spooky fic!?

Myths and superstitions have been with mankind since its inception, attempts at explaining what once was unexplainable has always fascinated you. Entities to explain a whole range of natural and unnatural occurrences such as: angels for supposed miracles that might be hallucinations, demons for why people got sick and died without warning. The latter interested you more, especially vampires

You don’t know when you were originally captivated by vampires but you know you had a need to learn about them since an early age, you might have been a priest who would kill supposed vampires that were in actuality regular people at the wrong place and the wrong time

That same interest lead you to where you are now, driving a rented car to a mansion hours away from your house. Said mansion once belonged to a deceased woman who had the same fascination with the supernatural as you do and spent her life collecting items relating to it. Stuff like bones from cryptids or jars containing the organs of werewolves. You aren’t going there with the intention to steal anything, it’s just some normal, harmless urban exploration. You just plan on seeing the woman’s collection, take a few pictures, and leave before it gets too dark out to avoid meeting any unsavory characters

As the mansion gets closer into view you’re completely awestrucked by the magnitude of it. The steer size, the asymmetrical layout, the elaborate gold trim, the steep roofs! It’s the stereotypical spooky mansion and you’re loving it!! The deep purple painted all over the outside and clouds blocking out the sun despite it being mid day just adds to the ambiance!

Upon entering the mansion, you immediately notice how everything is oddly in good condition considering it’s been abandoned for over 20 years. Paint only slightly chipped, wallpaper peeled to show the brick that made up the wall, but a lot of dust bunnies and cobwebs

The rooms aren’t too interesting, just the usual stuff that you would expect in any mansion that was owned by someone with less macabre interest

However the further you notice these strange faded symbols that have been exposed due to the peeling wallpaper. The symbols don’t look like any you’ve seen before, they could be tags from former urban explorers or squatters, but that’s unlikely since ithe mansion looks like no one has been in this house since the owner died due to none of the valuables being taken nor any of the window still in tact. Could these symbols have been painted on when the house of built

After 10 or so minutes walking around you nearly called this journey a failure until you spotted something out of the corner of your eye, a mirror just slight crooked. Something looks odd about it, you don’t know why. It almost feels like you’re being pulled by some invisible force

On closer inspection you notice a little gap between the mirror and the wall. Upon removing the mirror you see a staircase leading to who knows where. Despite the stairs leading to an ominous abyss of darkness, you can’t help but be tempted to head down. A compulsion that feels stronger than mere curiosity, using the flashlight on your phone you walk down the spiral steps and find a massive library that’s in much better condition than the rest of the manor

You’re almost overwhelmed by the steer amount of books, but you decide to start somewhere so you picked up a book about vampires and decide to stick to vampires for the time being. Most of them had information you already knew of and some had new bits of knowledge you didn’t know about, however a good chunk of the books talk about a vampire king from a lost civilization. You had read bits and pieces about an ancient vampire king which you always just chalked it up to people on the internet making up stories so you never really dug further, a vampire king that’s ridiculous, but could there really be a vampire king?

All of these books are dated to be at least 100 years old but that doesn’t mean someone at a later date altered the text to fit some bias they had. So you kept reading and learned that his body was supposedly kept in the mansion when the owner was still alive. After the king’s death his body has been put into the possession of various people throughout the centuries to ensure that his coffin is covered in paper with special protection enchantments in order to prevent him from reawaken and causing havoc upon the world

Okay, maybe you should do some research about this vampire king in the safety of your own home later tonight, now that you think about it what time is it?

You pull out your phone and see it was well past sundown. Damn, you stayed way longer than you originally intended and need to get back to your car

You put the book back and walk out of the room and walk down the hallway humming a song ignorant to the figure looming behind you. An arm extends out to you and puts you in a chokehold, confusion begin to set in until the gleam of a hunting knife flashes in front of your face

“No one’s supposed to be here, but ain’t gonna let a nice catch escape me.” A gruff voice spoke just behind your ear

“I can give you my phone and wallet, just don’t hurt me.” You bargained as you turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of the man behind you. You can barely see his face, but feel his stubble scraping against your skin like sandpaper

“I don’t want that shit! I want to see what expression that cute face of yours makes when I gut you like a fish.” The space between your neck and the knife slowly lessens as the man’s breathing gets more heavy. “Fuck! I can’t believe my luck finding someone all alone in the middle of no where, god we’re going to have so much fun tonight!”

Without hesitation you swung your leg up and kicked the creep in the balls, he drops the knife and doubles over in pain. Using this opportunity you begin to run away from the potential murderer

“You motherfucker! I’m gonna make you watch as I rip your nails off!” The man shrieked behind you

Terror filled adrenaline quickly flows through your veins and fear clouds your mind just as quickly. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, the only thing on your mind is evade this killer! Your mind doesn’t register your sore feet yelling at you to stop nor does it register that you’re running into the lowest level of the basement. You shut the door behind you leaving you in complete darkness, using the flashlight on your phone you find yourself in some kind of cell. Weird symbols like the ones upstairs are painted on the walls and the floor littered with rotted slips of papers that have similar symbols. The room is completely bare of furniture saved for a rectangular box in the center of the room. Cautiously stepping closer you made your way near the box and tear the paper wrapped around it, finally getting the last few slips off a revolting stench reaches your nostrils. It almost threw up your lunch but you forced yourself to keep it together, you slowly reached for the top and opened the box and saw a dead body

Dried out flesh that lost all of its original color and the most horrifying part is the wooden skate embedded deep in the person’s chest

Dear god. Is that really someone’s body? Why is it here?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the door slam open

Shit! He found you

The light coming from out the basement obscured your pursuer’s feature’s while highlighting the knife in his hand. You put your arms up in an attempt to shield your face and the knife is stabbed into your forearm causing blood to splatter in various places, unknowingly on the face of the corpse you just revealed

The knife is violently yanked out of your arm and while you try to get out of the way you feel an ice cold hand roughly grabs your wrist and pull it back towards them. Your assailant stops from plunging the knife again and looks at whatever is holding onto your hand. Slowly turning your head your greeted with red glowing eyes staring right back at you, eyes that look vaguely human but contain a primal hunger you would only see from a straved wild animal. The creature slowly brings your arm to it’s face and fans puff of its breath on your wound. An inhumanly long tongue rolls out of the creature’s mouth and proceeds to lick the blood off

The creature reaches for the stake deep within its chest and pulls it out like it was nothing. You watched mortified as the wound in its chest closes up like a horror movie

Finally the creature releases your wrist and turns its attention towards your attacker, standing at full height the being towers over you and the man

“What the fuck are you-” Your attacker was cut off by the dismemberment of his hand

With the creature’s attention diverted away from you, you proceed run out of the basement. Once out of there you take the table beside a window and launch it through, you jumped out from the now broken window and tumbled onto the grass. Trying to get a grasp on where you are, you find yourself in what seems to be the back of the mansion

Shit! This means that your car is farther than you hoped for it to be

Standing up on wobbly legs you begin to make your way to the front and hope you get to your rental before that monster catches you. After what seems to be hours the familiar color of your rental slowly comes into few, a sense of relief washes over you until a wall of dried out vines suddenly appear in front of you, the surprise makes you fall on your butt

“There’s no use in running.” A raspy voice said casually right behind you

You wearily turn your head to be face to face with the monster, but instead of the dried out corpse you saw earlier you’re instead met with a youthful looking man with grey hair and a muscular frame staring down on you. One wouldn’t be wrong to think he’s human and not the monster that cut off a limb with his bare hand, but the red in his eyes and the blood on his clothes and lips reveal that this man is that very same creature you fled from

This is it, you’re gonna die at the hands of an ancient vampire king and afterwards he going on a massacre. You not only caused your own death, you caused the death of your friends and family and hundreds of innocent people

“What’s your name?” He asked voiced raspy from disuse. You give him your name, no used in fighting whatever is in front of you. “Be not afraid, for I won’t harm you.” He says as kneels down to your height and wiped away tears from your face, his hands radiate warmth a complete contrast to when his cold hands grabbed your wrist. “Tell me, what year is it now?”

“It’s 2023…” Each syllable coming out shaky and uncertain, but he seems to be satisfied with your answer

“You freed me from my prison in that casket, and for that I am eternally grateful. To show my gratitude I will offer you a deal.”

“What?”

“You have a desire to know everything about non human entities, so in exchange for my knowledge you guide me through your advanced world.”

What did you get yourself into?

[lovelywritinglady]

Can I request HC and reaction for Allen, Lavi and Kanda meeting an mythology/cryptid/monster/were/etc female Reader. They met Reader, when they were saving someone, destroying Akuma and dodge/run from danger in true form, while using magic that not belong to neither Noah side, nor Order side.

D.Gray-Men reacting to a mythical creature

Characters: Lavi Bookman, Allen Walker, and Yu Kanda.

Fem!Reader, Violence, cursing, reader is not human. Using 3 different mythical creature descriptions for each boy.

Lavi Bookman-

Lavi pov

“These damn Akuma!” I screamed out feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount. It felt like I had been here for hours.

“Help!” A small child screamed in the distance. I dashed to save them.

“Big hammer little hammer, grow, grow, grow!” I exclaimed ready to take out the nasty akuma.

A loud whooshing sound flew past me with speed that I had never seen before. They slayed the akuma with a strange power blast coming from her fingertip, saving the small child. After the dust cleared, I noticed it was a woman, and a beautiful woman at that. However, with closer inspection, I noticed that she definitely wasn’t human. She was glowing f/c with f/c butterfly wings attracted to her back. She looked ethereal and I felt my knees going weak. I guess she noticed me and set the child down flapping her wings up in the air.

“No wait!” I exclaimed wanting to talk to her

She turned her head as she kept herself in the air. Now I had a perfect view of her. Her mesmerizing e/c eyes were sparkling and her hair looked like it was in water. She was stunning.

“Who are you?” I asked trying my best not to scare her away.

“Y/n.” She responded simply looking into my eye. She then descended turning into a human?“You?” She asked with a confused by look on her face as her new form shone in the moonlight.

“Oh me! I’m Lavi Bookman! It’s nice to meet ya, y/n!” I spoke excitedly as a furious blush erupted in my face.

“You as well.” She whispered, turing back into her previous form and going back into the sky.

“Come down!” I asked her

“I’m sorry, I need to go.” She responded flying away much to my disappointment.

“Wait!” I examined running slightly after her. But she was too fast and the most beautiful woman I had ever seen flew away.

“I know I’ll see you again.” I whispered into the night. I then sighed turning around to make sure the child she saved was okay as I thought to ask Panda what she was knowing full well that that power she used wasn’t innocence or anything else I had ever seen.

“She was so pretty.” The child spoke looking up at where she flew off.

“Yeah, yeah she is.” I whispered.

Yu Kanda-

Kanda Pov

“Now Mugen go!” I yelled slaying three akuma that were laying waste to a small town.

I jumped in the air once more trying to attack more akuma. Just was I was about to attack a sudden blast from a level 2 Akuma was sent my way. I blocked the attack just in time but it sent me flying back into a stone wall. The air was knocked out of my lungs making me cough. The same akuma came lunging forward and I tried to fight but my body wouldn’t move like I wanted it to. Just as I grasped my sword something grabbed it. Vines?

“What the hell?” I muttered getting up ready to face whatever was next.

“Die, scum.” A mysterious voice spat crushing the akuma with its vines.

A forest green vine like creature with e/c eyes and the body of a woman took out a level 2 akuma like it was nothing. She looked at it with the same look that I’ve seen so many others make before except I had never seen such a power before. She wasn’t human in fact I’m not even sure what she was.

She then looked at me and the angry look in her eyes faded showing a softer look. She gave me a small smile before turning back and walking towards the woods.

“Hey, wait. Who are you?” I whispered as my voice was horse.

She stopped without looking at me and spoke in a voice so soft that any normal person wouldn’t have been able hear. And then to my surprise, changed her shape into a human like one.

“Y/n.” Was all she spoke before changing back and disappearing into the forest.

After I regained my strength, I battled every last akuma. I fought until it was dawn until the last one was slain just as the sun peaked through the horizon, completing my mission. The remaining towns folk thanked me as I made my way back to the Black Order, desperate for some answers. All the while my mind couldn’t get rid of her. How she liked, how quickly and easily she killed a level 2, and how soft her voice was. I needed answers and most importantly…

“I know I’ll see you again, y/n.” I spoke aloud as a strange sensation filled my chest.

Allen Walker-

Allen pov

“Tim-campy, go notify the nearest exorcist that I need some backup.” I shouted at tim.

There were too many of them, even for me. And I desperately needed to save the people of this town. Too many have already died due to many high level akuma terrorizing them. I wish Lavi or Kanda were here to give me support.

“Shit.” I exclaimed as I noticed an akuma just about to kill a small family.

I leapt to destroy it and save the soul trapped inside. However, I was shoved back by an akuma attack. I flew back into the ground coughing from impact. I tried getting up but more akumas began surround me and the small family. I began to panic a little, feeling overwhelmed and frustrated with the situation at hand.

“Dammit, I need help.” I spoke to no one in particular.

I killed the three akuma that were before be as they were blocking my path to the family. I acted as quickly as I could manage. Just as I was about to reach the family that was screaming for their lives, I say fir?

The figure swooped in slashing all of the akuma ;that surrounded the family, saving them. I was awestruck by the sight. It like a wolf but it was standing on its hides legs. It looked at me and I noticed it had yellow eyes and grayish hair. It was a scary, but interesting sight. However, it turned to the family and I worried that it might attack them. So, I rushed at it knocking it out of the way. I heard it whimper and I felt a small pang in my heart at the noise.

“Are you all alright?” I asked the family as they all nodded still in shock at the events that happened tonight.

I looked at the creature only to find the body of a beautiful woman getting up instead. I was shocked by her. How in the hell can she do that? Was it innocence? I couldn’t have been as she wasn’t wearing any clothes nor did I see the familiar innocence green. She looked at me and I could tell she was pissed. I couldn’t blame her considering how hard I had hit her.

“Are you okay, what’s your name? Are you okay?” I asked her feeling really bad for hitting her. She gave me a blank stare looking into my eyes with uncertainty and confusion.

“Y/n. That’s my name.” She stated

“Nice to meet you. I’m Allen Walker.” I told her stepping forward trying to greet her.

However, that only scared her as she immediately ran at an incredible speed truing back into her previous form.

“Wait, please! I just want to talk to you. I’m so sorry for earlier!” I pleated with her feeling disheartened.

She was gone. I shook my head forcing myself to refocus on the task at hand. It seemed that with her help, all of the akuma were slain. I smiled to myself thinking about her. She was pretty, maybe the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.

“I’ll see you again y/n, I know I will. Take care.” I whispered before going back to tend to the family and by others that were wounded in the village.

Thank you so much for reading ! 💜 I’ll definitely write more Head Cannons and more D. Gray-Man fic in the future. Thanks to the person who requested this! I hope you like it(it’s my first time writing these) I put my own twist on this.

Please feel free to like, comment, request, and reblog!

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my master list.

•I do NOT own any characters except y/n•

-L.W.L.

[afrogwhocantdraw]

Giving the Sbg gang Madilyn Mei songs- Ben

Each character has about 2 songs I think fit them best and I'm gonna explain in depth why I chose the songs I did

So starting off with Ben because he's where I started this whole thing, this will have backstory spoilers for him (which I highly doubt anyone hasn't seen before but regardless) I really reccomend listening to the songs first, mainly cause their really good. But this should make sense anyway if you don't really want to

Song 1: Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

This one's a pretty self explanatory one, the entire premise of the song fits with Ben, but particularly with his backstory, if there are phrases in quotes and in italics/bold are song lyrics

The first lyric of the song is

"I must be a sheep in wolfs clothing"

which is exactly what ben was, as it says above, despite Ben's outward appearance seeming intimidating, he is actually quite timid.

Another lyric slightly later on is "If you follow me, I won't know what to do, Planned on following you" Which is something that described Ben almost exactly, as Ashlyn says in episode 27

Ben doesn't know what to do with himself anymore, so he follows Aiden around to try find out "what to do" as the song says.

"I'll blow your house down, if that's what all the other wolves do" I think this (aswell as kind of relating to the way his house was actually destroyed) is when he begins to pick up street fighting. While he does it out of frustration rather than intentionally copying the people who bullied him (they are the "wolves" in this if you couldn't tell), he eventually did become similar to them.

"One day my whole brain had fallen out of my pocket now it collects dust on a shelf" I think this bit relates to when Ben loses his voice, because that's the turning point in his life, when he loses the thing most important to him. And after that he follows Aiden around ("now it collects dust on a shelf", he isn't following himself, he goes along with whatever Aiden is doing)

"I lie awake at night, counting all my old friends as I try to fall asleep, forgot what they,what they,what they look like"

While they weren't his friends, I think this relates to the group of people who bullied him back in sixth or seventh grade, he probably thinks back to that time alot and as seen below (which is probably just because it's Aiden recounting the event but it still counts) they aren't (aside from Shane, who I think is gonna be remembered clearly cause he made the most difference) shown very cleary, you cant tell exactly what they look like aside from their hair.

Song 2: Cryptid

This one's lyrics don't work as well but it's more about the song itself that I think fits Ben

The song is about (as the name suggests) a cryptid, who isn't seen as scary by others but wants to prove themself because they feel like they don't deserve a name. In the end they choose their own (simple) name which they feel they deserve. I cannot really explain why I connect it with Ben really it just seems to fit with his character.

The only lyrics I think explicitly fit ben are:

"they just laugh it makes me livid"

"I'm not scary, like I should be" This is the line I think made me make the connection, because of his size, people assume Ben should be scary, when in reality he's actually really sweet and that misconception affects him because that's what causes Shane and his gang to focus on Ben and start trying to recruit him.

That's all I really have for now! Gonna get started on the next one right away

( @rot-decay-erosion sorry for the tag again, would you like to be tagged in all of these or not?)

[princess-of-the-corner]

Lets say this is before the Lov and Chisaki team up, but after Kamino. So far the only members that haven't been affected are Mr. Compress, Magne, Spinner, and Twice. And they now have 4 kids + bonus teenager and are finding out a bunch of stuff. Tomura looks completely different and given he doesn't use hair dye that means a quirk was used to permanently alter his appearance. Which given the circumstances only increases the concern they have for him. Himiko whose parents called her monster (Spinner is doing damage control). Touya Todoroki aka Endeavor's son aka a dead kid???? Which fuck man what even is happening there. The cryptid baby Hawks who has attached themselves to Touya and hasn't said a word.

And the most concerning being Oboro. Because they recognize him. Maybe from a sports festival they once saw but definitely from the news of his death. UA didn't experience tragedy often and Oboro's death was a major thing. They know he died. And given what they know now of the Nomu (Tomura told em) and AFO's quirk? I think Mr. Compress and Magne seriously consider bringing them to UA. They see this as a chance to get both them and the kids out of the villain cycle before it destroys them completely.

Oh yeah they are SO fucking confused like. Obvs they know the group was probably normal kids at some point but goddamn seeing the innocence is killing them.

As for the Nomu thing....

So like It's kind of a thing on i headcanon that most of the group doesn't know exactly on the Nomus. It's something they don't like to think about but when they do think about it they assume more 'corpse harvesting' than 'using living subjects' because one is significantly more fucked than the other

but....

Oh BOY do I think this'd get sus.

Because like. Yeah just.

At least one of them remembers Oboro's name and can use the internet to double check that they're right and oh yeah he uh. He died over a decade ago.

Then there's Toya. Who they know for sure is supposed to be dead as that was Major News™. (Whether this is a more 'canon' where he was 13 or something CC-esque where he was 19 is up in the air)

Now. Himiko they already know her story and Hawks isn't giving them any info (Partly because he's a little cryptid child who doesn't speak much, partly because he thinks they know him already).

But looking up 'Tenko Shimura'...... well. He's supposed to be dead too. Whole family just fucking dusted. And while they /may/ connect Tomura's Quirk/the way Tomura talks about his family/the hands to 'oh some shit went sideways'....... it /is/ odd that that could happen and he'd end up disappearing/assumed dead instead of 'only survivor now sent to foster care'.

And /maybe/ they could make some leaps in logic but given two other scenarios of "presumed dead but shows up with the LoV under a new identity and looking fucked up in some way" they got with Toya/Dabi and Oboro/Kurogiri.........

Well it certainly paints a picture doesn't it?

[mediocre-noodle]

if you want some Family terms, lemme know— especially official definitions. theres only like 3-4 but i wrote them down and it gives context.

THE FAMILY/THE SYZYGY/THE EYES

normally are “born” when the higher ups notice them and their existence while they were alive. when those noticed have died, they are Chosen and Ascend.

5 head gods. 1 admin god, 4 mods if that makes sense. the head god is titled Apogee, nickname of aji (ahgee or ă-jē). altogether called The Syzygy.

- dallas is a mod after promotions bc hard work and knowledge and such. also nepotism /j (aji really likes dallas)

- (btw theyre all like. several thousand years old. minimum.

They normally Choose people who have been through A LOT of struggles but have stayed,,, relatively good people. like even if —— neutral on moral alignment, its fine.

basically They adopt the traumatized kids (even if they arent kids)

powers:

as immortal and omnipresent/omniscient beings, they can basically do anything. (you have to learn these once you Ascend though. its not just *snap* and you know everything immediately. its a practice thing. also like how humans work and absorb info as we grow. it may take years— maybe even decades to master it.)

- shapeshifting

- tend to try and fit in with the main species

- teleportation

- looks like black swan (hsr) except taht its gold and not wind(anemo) colored

- innate magic ability

- spells, potions, etc. allows for greater realm of magic

- wings

- MULTIVERSE TRAVELING

- but world interaction is uncommon. most like to just watch and guide from the higher dimensions. (dallas is just special)

- many members of the Family are multilingual. in fact, the only ones who dont know multiple languages are usually the newly Ascended. (“new” being lenient. time is weird for immortal beings.)

- blood turns gold when you Ascend and tastes acidic— lemony (dopamine machine by ferry inspo)

- send Eyeless to a prison/jail— BASICALLY HELL.

- can be incited by saying “may We See what becomes of you.” or something similar that has the same weight— judgement and justice being served bc you were an asshole

- (genshin ‘we will be reunited’ cutscene) dainsleif cutscene w him choking out the abyss lector? yeah. to set the spell up, you extend your arm like that and the magic aUrA or dUsT has to envelop them (specifically their arms to immobilize them. perhaps neck if need be.) and THEN the saying

- ONLY HIGH POSITIONS CAN DO THIS (The Syzygy and then those trusted by them to clean the trash of the multiverse)

- when the body dies, it fades like in genshin (without the weird falling thing) but theyre still there. it can materialize again if they want or not. if they exhausted themself too much , itll take a bit longer. most of the time, it takes maybe a min (because many normally die during fights so they have to get back to help faster)

- after one’s respawn, people will notice something… off about the body though. did they always have that scar? why are their eyes so bright?? why is their skin slightly glowing? the light around their head oddly looks like a halo if you focus.. huh. (other times, one might come back in full ascended form, all wings and covered in Eyes, fuckin cryptid bitch. scares the crap outta people who don’t expect the unexpected.)

RAHHHHHHHHHH how do u world build like that?????????????? so well???????????????????????????? im jealous????????

[quaranmine]

Hi yeah its me again, sorry for the spam, not my fault you made cool and inspiring stuff. This time actually, i couldnt help myself and have made a short crackpodfic of an alternative universe which is basically 'AU where Mumbo is frolicking in the wild and Grian doesnt exist cause itd be too sad for him to do so, so hes gone.' Its stupid, ist badly written (literally my first ever creative writing work other than a 300 word school asignment) but like idk. if you dont want to or cant read it (cause its so bad and burns your eyes out) you can just not read it xd idc honestly but decided to maybe give you the choice of reading it or not. Excuse my weird and unusual ways of writing dialougue and monolouges This is part 1 of 3

Jellie meowed cutely, demanding for food most likely just as a familar figure walked into his cabin. —Oh Hello Cub! It's wonderful to see you again! How was the trail, you're earlier than usual, no? — Scar exclaimed happily, looking at the sweaty man now standing before him. The air was hot, the many glass windows of the watchtower could make a great greenhouse. The open windows allowed for a warm flow of the early summer's air to pass by and refresh the mostly closed space. —Hey hey. Yeah the traffic was better than usual, but there was more sand in on the trail today. I think it could be the Sahara desert dust that was supposed to get carried in with the wind. — Cub said, taking his backpack off and pulling out a rag to wipe his head off. No matter how many times he hikes through this trail it never gets much easier. — Oh, Cub. The Sahara desert was blowing on Europe! And also it's the 80s and this specific situation you're referencing is gonna happen in late March of the year 2024! That's at least 35 years into the future! —Oh yup I forgot. Sorki bout that —Cub, you silly silly man! — Scar said in a singsong tone. Both of them started laughing and looked straight into the readers eyes, smiling.  Hi reader they both thought and went back to laughing looking at each other. — Actually, Scar, while hiking I heard some tourists talking about some newfound cryptid roaming these parts, what's up with that? – Eh nothing special, some bikers saw a 'humanoid lanky bugman' or something. — The man said — I've seen it all over, people come, they see a black bear or a deer in the shadow and think it's a newfound species. But honestly! I gotta give credit to the bikers relating said encounter cause the guys were better than most at storytelling! The missing food cans, rustling in the bushes all around them, the feeling of being watched.. Truly creepy stuff! And then — Scar took in a breath, talking so much in one long exhale left him almost dizzy —the moment when they saw it fully...They described it as 'particularly lanky with black fur' and something about purple-pinkish fingertips as well as residue on its paleish naked face with a weirdly shaped snout. 'Like a Walrus' they said! A crazy comparison for a bear, but you know, human mind can do wonders! — Scar clapped at the last statement and closed his eyes smiling charmingly at his companion who was now drinking the rest of his water.. After a while, comfortable silence filled the watchtower as both of the men enjoyed eachothers company. Jellie was now purring against scars leg and promptly jumped on his lap demanding more pets as Cub had finally spoken up — Any new paintings done in the meantime? I don't recognise these two, are they new or recycled? — He asked, curiosity clear in his voice, lookin at the, indeed, two new paintings decorating the cabin. One of them depicting a landscape with a sunset. From where Cub was sitting, he could watch the same, now hidden under an overcast, mountains and trees. The other painting was of a group of three tufted titmice sitting on a branch. Cub took out his American bird field guy and read a couple of paragraphs to scar on what kind of bird has he drawn exactly. It's weird that he saw these birds cause apparently they don't live in that part of the US! Crazy.

HELPPPPP this is completely insane the best way, thank you. Love that Grian doesn't exist here because it'd be too sad for him. Love the fever-dream quality to the writing. In all the best ways you're taking me back to the crack fics I'd read on ff.net in 2013, it's great. Love the breaking the fourth wall abou the Sahara dust and the (assuming) European birds. You've got a certain hint of Douglas Adams flavoring happening with the switching to an "above" perspective for a moment to give a wry little fourth-wall comment.

Mumbo Jumbo, new forest cryptid. I can see it. If Hermitcraft!Mumbo eats redstone, do you think forest cryptid!Mumbo would eat like...rocks??? dlfjskfljslkfs

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

In The Deep Woods [Chapter One] Propensity [Mello/Mihael Keehl]

Summary: Eliana Moore, an anxious forensic photographer with an eye for details, catches the attention of the third L who sends her to a rural mountain town in Tennessee to investigate a series of unexplained disappearances. Together with Mello, an unconventional detective, and his companion Matt, the three must uncover what dark secrets the town of Misty Pines hides, including what might be lurking in the nearby woods.

Warning(s): AU, supernatural elements, forensics, murder, cryptid, OC, anxiety attacks, slight gore.

No Minors Allowed!!

This was the part of her job that Eliana Moore hated the most; the part where her anxiety threatened to impair her. Murder was, to her dismay, ubiquitous. She could not control the propensity for violence in humans, just as she could not control her fear when thrown into a situation that triggered it. The former, she could at least do something about. That was why, even though she was on the verge of tears, she pressed on. After all, she agreed to take on the job, didn't she?

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Gianna Barella asked, raising a curious brow.

She was the lead photographer within the department, a woman well in her mid-forties. While she was hopeful to pass the torch onto Eliana this time, she was also uncertain. The call came in at noon, a body had been found inside the laundry room of a residential apartment building in the heart of "the Big Apple." There was not much else the team knew, but Gianna unfortunately was on her way to another crime scene and Eliana was the first eager face she had come across.

"Of course, I don't mind," Eliana retorted.

It did not take a genius to know that Eliana had an issue with tight spaces; the entire team could see how uncomfortable she was with them. Her trauma was not overlooked, but it was the reason she was snubbed by some of her peers. 

The look on Gianna's face slightly irritated her; she felt pitied by her superior. 

"I've got this."

Eliana left the department shortly after. It took her fifteen minutes to drive into the city and find a place to park that was close enough to the scene. Law enforcement stationed outside gave her no problems, letting her cross the barrier once she presented her laminated badge to them; she was one of the last of the team to arrive. Even the coroner was already there, waiting. 

After she redressed in a pair of white Tyvek coveralls, she followed an officer whose name tag read ‘T. Philips’ into the building; a key card was the only way to open the doors; each was locked at all times with a door lock that used RFID (radio frequency identification) technology, he explained. If she left the building at any time, she would have to find him to let her back in. He only spoke once more to her, to show her where the basement was. Eliana was on her own after that. She took a set of narrow stairs down into a shoebox of a room that in her opinion was straight out of a horror movie. It gave her a bad vibe. The overabundance of investigators only made matters worse. Why were there still so many people? The team should have almost been done. 

Eliana waited for a moment by the stairs for them to finish, but she was starting to feel uneasy. It was hot for some reason. She tapped her foot to distract herself, but the stagnant air was starting to suffocate her. As much as she tried to ignore it, the sensations brought back the memory of something she wished that never happened; the onset of her fear. It was all coming back to her, replaying like a film reel in her head; the fear of death and the sound of her panicked screams. Her heart started to race and she realized that she might have a panic attack. She had to quickly step away.

–

It was on her, Eliana admitted. She said yes to Gianna when she knew there was a possibility this would happen. But it was fine, she would be fine. She just needed a moment alone. 

Her warm sweet-scented breath, due to the dust mask she wore, wafted against her face as she took a series of deep breaths. Eliana was embarrassed for having to tuck tail and run, hiding at the end of the hall near the stairs, and while no one batted an eye, she was certain that they would talk; they always did. 

One half-assed pep talk later, she was as ready as she was ever going to be.

As she walked down into the basement again, Eliana was relieved to see that a few of the team had left. It was time to get to work. She clutched her Digital SLR against her chest and recalled the 3-3-3 rule that her therapist taught her. It was not necessarily meant to be used to do her job, but it helped her focus.

At a glance, what do you see?

Eliana carefully scanned the scene, noting how cluttered the laundry room was; a jumble of empty detergent dispensers and wads of lint were strewn about as though whoever left them there expected someone else to clean up after them. It was as one would expect the basement of a cheap residential apartment building to look.

At least there ain't any fuzzy creatures from outer space wanderin' about.

Just her team. Investigators in matching coveralls walked the grid. It was not required, since the crime scene was small, but there was a lot that could be overlooked, especially amongst the cobweb-covered boxes and rusted tools that added to the mess. It was a hoarder's paradise, and if not for the pungent scent that filled the stagnant air, the polyester suitcase, the one hiding the dismembered body that the police had yet to identify, would not have been found.

The deceased was discovered, to her knowledge, by a young man. She did not know much about him aside from the fact he had come down to find out what the overwhelming smell was that had come up through the vents into his mother's apartment. That led Eliana to the next detail. What did she smell?

Death was apparent, but based on the scent alone, she was able to determine how long the deceased had been dead. It was not pleasant, sometime after the decay phase. The fluids in the body after death are released through the orifices, a nasty process. In this case, the fluids had leaked from the suitcase and stained the concrete floor a dark greenish-brown; she could see it from the stairs where she stood. It was a cocktail of rotting flesh that she could not mistake for anything else.

Among that, however, she could smell the musty scent of mildew and something that was out of place; sharp and minty like peppermint. It was odd and a bit unexpected. Eliana ignored it for now and moved on to the next step. Movement. 

Her footsteps, muffled by the booties she wore, were slow and deliberate as she walked the grid; one step at a time. Eliana approached the first number tag, marking the evidence that was found, and raised her camera to snap a picture. She had to bend to one knee to get a better angle the second time, due to her boss, Henry Conners walking into the frame. He was the crime scene leader, a man who was as strict as he was full of himself.

"You took your time getting here. The coroner is pressing me about collecting the body," he mentioned.

Eliana frowned behind her mask. She had no excuse other than how uncomfortable she felt in such a cramped room. Redirecting was her only choice to avoid being scolded. 

"Are these the only scuff marks found?"

"Yeah, which is odd considering who we are dealing with," Henry answered.

Eliana raised a curious brow. She did not expect the person they were dealing with to be a seasoned killer. 

“Who?”

Henry's eyes narrowed in elation, an action that made Eliana feel uneasy. 

“The Artist.”

A few things came to light at that moment. The reason there were so many investigators in the room was because ‘the Artist’ or as the media coined them, ‘the KDD (Kill. Dismember. Display) Killer’, was elusive. They hardly ever left evidence at a scene and when they did, there was nothing much to go on. Her team ran through each of the crime scenes with a fine tooth comb but to no avail. Then there was the scent.

It was peppermint oil. 

‘The Artist’ used it on the bodies. No one knew exactly why, but theories were that it masked the scent of decay to an extent. Each of the victims, both men and women typically between the ages of twenty-five and forty had traces of the liquid on them when they were displayed to the public; a macabre form of art. There were similarities, but some of the details made no sense to Eliana. 

“Why here though? This isn't their–”

Before she finished the sentence, her eyes widened in realization. There could only be one explanation. In the half year that ‘the Artist’ operated, they had never made a mistake. Until now. 

“They were in a hurry and got sloppy,” Eliana uttered. 

Henry shook his head. 

“Which leads me to believe that whoever is in that suitcase is a tenant in this building.”

She had the same thought. How else would the killer be able to gain access to the building? It required a key. But did that mean he was forced to kill them in the building? An air of excitement washed over her. This could be it. What sort of evidence did ‘the Artist’ leave behind for them?

Eliana stood with a grunt and strode past Henry to the next numbered tag. He followed, spouting off his theories, but she ignored him. Without the rest of the evidence, she could not paint an accurate enough picture of the crime scene. What it came down to was identifying the deceased, then she was hopeful that new leads would surface.

Bending to her knee near the final evidence tag before the body, Eliana snapped a series of pictures. The scent of peppermint oil was strong, making her nose itch. She sneezed, a cute ‘choo’ that made her eyes water and her cheeks burn in embarrassment. As she stood and approached the body, she vulgarly sniffed in the snot that began to seep from her nose, unintentionally taking in the pungent scent permeating the air. It made her stomach churn, but something was odd about it. The peppermint oil was not quite as strong near the body as it was away from it. 

Eliana narrowed her eyes in question, then backtracked, earning a look from Henry. 

“What are you doing?” 

She did not answer him, leaning down to take in another sniff. It was just as she thought, the minty scent was stronger near the third tag; the colored glass.

“Any idea what sort of glass this is?” Eliana asked. 

“No idea,” Henry answered. “Could be a multitude of things, but there's just not much of it to say at a glance.” 

She frowned. He was right. Forensics would be able to identify it. Leaning down as if she were about to press her nose to the floor, she took a 3rd sniff.

“It smells like peppermint oil.” 

Could the shards have been from the bottle the oil was in? Eliana sat up and looked around the tag. There was no sign of it, unfortunately. To her right was a blank open space, and to her left there were four machines shoved against the furthest wall; two washers and two dryers, cheap and old; one of them even had a handwritten note taped to it that claimed it was ‘out of order’.

I wonder.

“Do you have a light?” Eliana asked, directing her question to Henry.

He called over an investigator with an aluminum case, Sally was her name. She handed Eliana a slim pocket flashlight, then the latter turned it on and directed the beam under the broken dryer. At first, she did not see anything of importance, but then the light caught the glare of an amber-colored bottle and her heart began to race. 

“There's somethin’ under here.”

It took two investigators to move the dryer out, but what was collected made it worth the effort; a broken glass bottle of peppermint oil with a dropper attached to the lid. She knew not to get her hopes up, but Eliana could not contain her smile.

–

“At noon today, the New York Police Department, headed by Officer Kenneth Woodrow, arrested thirty-five-year-old Joseph Carter, the man seen here, for the gruesome murders of–”

“Look at him,” Gianna Berella interrupted. “He looks so…normal.” 

Eliana agreed. She stared at the screen of the TV in the breakroom as reporters escorted ‘The Artist’ in handcuffs to a police cruiser outside his studio apartment. He was, in all manner of the word, normal. There was absolutely nothing odd about him aside from the self-centered disposition he displayed while in custody. 

Carter was a Caucasian man with dark hair, wearing square-shaped frames over his dull eyes. He stared at the cameras as he passed, smiling and nodding his head as though he had just been awarded ‘the National Medal of Arts’. It was nauseating.

“Why do you suppose a guy like that decides to just wake up one day and kill people?” Gianna asked. 

Eliana had no idea. There were a multitude of different reasons murderers did the things they did; sometimes because of a Traumatic past, or simply because they wanted to reenact a dark fantasy of theirs. What she did know was that all of them felt their reasons were justified. 

“I guess we'll have to wait until the trial to find out. What matters is that we helped catch him.”

Gianna could not mistake the look of disappointment in her blue eyes. She rested a comforting hand on Eliana’s shoulder. 

“It was you who found that bottle. That's something to be proud of. Don't let your thoughts get you down.”

It was, but it did not make her feel any better that Henry Fucking Conners took full credit for the find. The bottle had a partial fingerprint on it, a fourteen-point similarity to Carter's on-record fingerprints from a B&E felony when he was in his twenties. When the police searched his apartment, they found his sketchbook with drawings of the victims before and after the murders, a metamorphosis into something significant, he claimed. It was a huge success for the forensics team, and while they were credited in general for their effort, Henry was the only one named. 

Eliana honestly felt snubbed again. She forced a smile. 

“I am proud.”

There was some truth to her statement. After all, she helped catch a serial killer, but she hardly felt appreciated. Henry could take the credit, for all she cared, but he could have at least told her that she did good. Approbation was all she wanted. 

It shouldn't matter though. 

But it did.

The sound of her name being called suddenly and loudly brought her out of her brooding thoughts. Eliana raised her brow as Captain Dani Perez of the New York Police Department (NYPD) waved her over. She spared Gianna one final, curious look, then stood and approached him.

“There is someone who wants to see you in my office,” he mentioned in a thick Spanish accent. 

Who? She raised a brow, but Dani did not offer her a name. He motioned for her to follow and led her through the bullpen to a narrow room at the top of the stairs. 

“Leave it like you found it,” Dani stated. A polite way to say ‘Don't touch a damn thing’. 

He waited outside, shutting the door behind him after she walked in. Eliana had been in Dani's office before. It had not changed a bit, devoid of personality aside from a picture of him and his husband the day he was awarded his position as captain; a title he took pride in. 

The only thing that stood out to her was the man standing behind the desk. An open laptop sat on the tabletop in front of him, though she could not see the screen. He smiled kindly at her and motioned to the chair in front of the desk.

“Have a seat, miss.”

Eliana was hesitant but did so. She had no idea what was going on. 

“How are you feeling?” The man asked. His blue eyes studied her as she shifted uncomfortably. 

“Concerned,” Eliana admitted. 

He hummed. 

“You're honest,” he pointed out. “That is good. I only have one question then.”

Eliana raised a brow, waiting for him to continue. 

“Why did you not confront your superior when he took the credit for your find? Henry Conners I mean.” 

She narrowed her eyes in question. What sort of question was that? Her first thought was to counter his question and ask who he was and what business it was of his, but in the end, she opted not to. Eliana sighed. 

“Because despite my feelings, it would have done no good to argue with him. It's the justice that matters.”

Her feelings hardly mattered in her line of work. That was the sad truth. She was ignorant for being hopeful that it did. 

“That is a rather selfless answer,” claimed an androgynous voice. 

The man stepped forward and turned the laptop toward Eliana. There was not a person on the screen staring back at her, but an ‘L’ written in old English text; a thick black letter resting center screen on a white background. 

“Ignore the question,” the voice ordered. “It's not important; just a bout of curiosity. My second in command, Anthony Rester, was instructed to ask on my behalf, but I have to admit, your answer, whether impaired by emotion or not, would not have changed my mind.”

Changed their mind? Eliana raised a brow. 

“If you could fill me in, I'd appreciate it. And maybe tell me who the hell you are.”

“Of course,” the voice agreed. “For now, you may call me L. I'll be hearing from you soon. Rester will fill you in now.”

The screen went black. Eliana stared at it for a moment as if she thought that L would return, but Anthony closed the lid. 

“Are you familiar with the Joint Task Force (JTF)?” 

She could not say she was. Eliana shook her head. 

“It's not a memorable name, I know,” Anthony admitted. “But L chose to trivialize it because of past incidents. We used to be called the Special Provision for Kira.”

The SPK. Eliana had heard of them before. They had an eventful year in 2009. First the disbandment in November, then the mob attack in Manhattan six days later. She saw it on the news, a large amount of money floating from the sky, taking attention from the group. She always wondered what became of them.

“The Kira case was solved in 2010, wasn't it? Were the SPK involved?” Eliana asked. 

“I'm not at liberty to say, but I can assure you that L was involved,” Anthony answered. 

She knew all she needed to know about them.

“What does the JTF want with me? I'm not a detective.” 

“You have an eye for crime scenes. L was…intrigued. He wants to offer you a chance that the department won't; a chance to give you the recognition that you crave,” Anthony answered. 

Recognition. As much as she hated to admit it, the word buried itself beneath her skin. How could she say no to that? Eliana tightened her jaw. There was still so much she was unsure about. 

“I just…I don't know if I can meet his expectations.” 

“I can't offer you any semblance of assurance for your worries, but not taking this chance will indeed mean you won't,” Anthony pressed. “You won't be alone. There are already two detectives on the case, but L wants a fresh set of eyes involved.” 

Sinking back into the chair, Eliana sighed. What should she do? On one hand, she wanted to offer her help. But on the other hand, she was not certain she would benefit the other two detectives. 

“Where is the case?” 

Anthony Rester grinned. 

“What do you know about Misty Pines, Tennessee?”

[ripgray-moved]

𝑇𝑌𝑃𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝑃𝐸𝑂𝑃𝐿𝐸 : 𝐷𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐺𝑂𝑁𝑆 𝐶𝐿𝐴𝑆𝑆𝐸𝑆

𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ homemade bread, white lies, easily excited, trying on hats, band geek, pep talks, no impulse control, sunsets, vintage fashion, long showers, selfies, following dreams, rosy cheeks, song mash-ups, pink lemonade with tequila, loves easily, animated storyteller, full of comebacks.

𝐶𝐿𝐸𝑅𝐼𝐶 ⚔ list of wishes, biting their tongue, band-aids and neosporin, shoulder to cry on, morning sun, necklaces, trial and error, homemade quilts, formal clothing, astrology fan, messages in bottles, pleated braids, speaking up for friends, feathers, motivational quotes, vivid dreams.

𝐷𝑅𝑈𝐼𝐷 ⚔ bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle, summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants.

𝐹𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝐸𝑅 ⚔ goose bumps, leather jackets, adventure, chewing nails, cares deeply but can’t show it, bronze locks, no sleep, taste of iron, netflix binges, never forgets, combat boots, stories behind scars, table for one, official soundtracks, sore calves, trusts themselves the most.

𝑀𝑂𝑁𝐾 ⚔ always trying to be better, wanderlust, meditation, sweat pants, old photographs, yoga, sleeping in hammocks, nostalgia, minimalist design, breath of fresh air, baby animals, volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t care about fashion, healthy snacks, noticing the little things.

𝑃𝐴𝐿𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑁 ⚔ school uniforms, thick jackets, sleeping with the windows open, logical advice, scrapbooking, compasses, i fight for my friends, sculpture gardens, cold morning air, big soul, likes routine, secret romantic, last to get jokes, sunflowers, practical presents, misty weather.

𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅 ⚔ herbal tea, smell of rain, blinking away tears, camping trips, collecting bones, swiss army knives, first impressions, anxious thoughts, bobby pins, burnt marshmallows, too competitive, clothes lines, messenger bags, holding grudges, gets along better with animals than people.

𝑅𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 ⚔ flirtatious sarcasm, candid photos, lost phone chargers, adrenaline rush, picking dirt out from beneath their nails, social chameleon, clashing clothes, self-deprecating jokes, claw machines, sits in chairs wrong, smudged eyeliner, has too many sunglasses, eats nothing or everything.

𝑆𝑂𝑅𝐶𝐸𝑅𝐸𝑅 ⚔ infectious laugh, family trees, shivers down their spine, lipstick and roses, mood swings, clumsy, believing in destiny, high expectations, sleeping in darkness, collection of nail polish, passionate, good grades but never studies, poetry books, blowing kisses, not knowing their own strength.

𝑊𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝐶𝐾 ⚔ knowing everyone’s secrets, backpack covered in pins, envy, being in walmart late at night, earl grey, selective memory, conspiracy theories and cryptids, keysmashing, need to know basis, can’t cook, bags under eyes, experimental art, flickering bulbs, black clothing all year long.

𝑊𝐼𝑍𝐴𝑅𝐷 ⚔ piles of textbooks, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecision, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day.

tagged by: @aintashes ty moan you're a real one, o fuck also @chaos--mode i just realised also did thank u bb tagging: @malka-lisitsa / @ripcvnningham / @cripplemagics / @wickedslip / @endlss-voiid

[hccn-overseer]

Issue 23, 9/21/2023 - The Overseer

Issue Masterpost About the Overseer

Weekly Weather Report

By Lydia

Temperatures are represented using Celsius. Sorry, Americans!

Wednesday: Temperatures will reach a high of 21 degrees and a low of 15 degrees. It will be slightly windy and mostly sunny, with wind speeds of 15 miles per hour.

Thursday: Temperatures will reach a high of 24 degrees and a low of 13 degrees. Winds will be slow with a speed of 2 miles per hour. It will be mostly cloudy with occasional shockwaves tearing through the sky, causing clouds to be torn apart and scattered.

Friday: Temperatures will reach a high of 30 degrees and a low of 20 degrees. Skies will be mostly cloudy with expectations to clear up in the afternoon.

Saturday: Temperatures will reach a high of 32 degrees and a low of 23 degrees. Skies will be mostly clear with windy conditions reaching 25 miles per hour.

Sunday: Temperatures will reach a high of 27 degrees and a low of 18 degrees. Skies will be rainy throughout the afternoon but clear up quickly. Gusts of hot air will blow through the server, accompanied by occasional wisps of flames.

Monday: Temperatures will reach a high of 29 degrees and a low of 16 degrees. Skies will be cloudy throughout the entire day with higher humidity today than throughout the rest of the week, making the air feel more like 35 degrees most of the day.

Tuesday: Temperatures will reach a high of 32 degrees and a low of 25 degrees. Dust storms will be prevalent throughout the day and skies will be sunny.

Wednesday: Temperatures will reach a high of 30 degrees and a low of 22 degrees. Skies will remain sunny throughout the entire day with low wind speeds. Clouds in the shape of spiderwebs will be scattered throughout the sky.

Now onto other news under the cut!

Astrology Corner: DeckedOutScopes

By Corundumcat

Have you been feeling without guidance? Do you look at your birthday, look up your star sign, and wonder, “Will I immediately be eaten by Tango’s Cough or Pumpkin” “Am I going to embrace my inner Ethoslab Season 1?” Don’t worry, here at The Overseer, we can help you.*

Aries:  You will max out clank and dance around all of the problems and chaos in the ✨dungeon✨.

Taurus: You are an unpaid worker who has found some great friends, and while this will look great on your resume, it’s not the same as volunteering at music festival, is it?

Gemini: You, like your namesake, are really excited to play. HOWEVER, unlike your namesake, you do not venture in as you like the waiting room.

Cancer: You got to meet Mrs. Tango in your last run… let’s just say she didn’t like you.

Leo: You are in charge of naming pet ravagers and you were asked if you could name it Tango’s Hug. You were confused, so you did. (They paid in frost embers).

Virgo: You are the actor in the dark room who gets to congratulate the successful runners.

Libra: You are trying to adopt Pumpkin.

Scorpio: You are there as the person who hugs the friends who were unsuccessful and got taken by Tango’s Cough. 

Sagittarius: You have a custom Decked Outfit and are trying to win the fashion contest. 

Capricorn: You are the mad lads who are doing the spreadsheet analysing everyone’s scores

Aquarius: You listen to “Better When I’m Dancing” whilst running the dungeon.

Pisces: You are going to end up on the news channel for starting with the hardest difficulty and doing really well.

All star signs: come by my cryptids corner if you have the chance. 

*Ignore how blatantly specific these are. Nothing bad will happen to you. You just may get a tad lost

Lost and Found

By Lydia

All of the following items have been brought to The Overseer staff’s office for safekeeping until they are claimed. If you recognize one of these items as yours, please visit us to receive your items, or contact us at lostandfound@thehermitnews.org. Lost items will be sent to Twinkly Trash if not picked up after two weeks. Thank you! *Not a real email address.

Item 1: A heavy backpack full of amethyst This backpack is dyed a bright orange with blue accents and is filled with two stacks of amethyst. Basic diamond mining tools were also found inside the pack, along with three stacks of torches.

Item 2: A necklace of animal teeth This necklace appears to be made out of the teeth of several Ravagers and is painted with intricate spiraled patterns.

Item 3: A pile of shoelaces with frayed ends These shoelaces appear to have been made a few years ago and were found in a small pouch. They come in several bright colors and are very short, as if they were made for children’s sneakers. There were no aglets on these shoelaces and the ends are very frayed.

Item 4: A box of pavement chalk This box of chalk was found in the Shopping District next to a series of chalk drawings lining the paths. These drawings resemble large chasms, out of which are bursting colorful lightning bolts. There are also several circles, inside of which are written, “Bad Luck Spot.”

Item 5: A pack of playing cards This pack of cards was found near Grian’s rocks and is designed with characters from several 1980s arcade games. They were found scattered in the area.

Item 6: A necklace with a locket This was found in the woods and gave the finder an electric shock when they attempted to open it. There is a distant ticking sound coming from it and an engraving on the back, written in galactic. Half of the engraving is scratched off. The finder suggests taking it as far as possible or finding a way to destroy it completely.

Item 7: A set of tools and weapons in an overgrown box This set includes a sword with Riptide 3, an axe with Feather Falling 2, a pickaxe with Blast Protection 3, a bow with Thorns 5, a shovel with Aqua Affinity, a fishing rod with Flame, and shears with Swift Sneak 3 and Soul Speed 2.

Item 8: A life-sized crocheted office printer plush Stuffed with cotton, it is scented like that of a fresh book. The finder believes whoever made this took “Your workplace is your home,” quite literally.

Item 9: A shipment of merchandise to be released This was found via a motorcycle delivery driver crashing into someone’s garden. The items include subtly designed Warden hoodies, frosty mugs resembling frozen shards, Collector’s Edition Decked Out 2 Cards, relic charms, and two dozen shirts that say, “I survived the burning dark and all I got was this lousy t-shirt,” with one of the dozen being colored to resemble a Ravager and the other colored like that of a Warden. The apparels are made with moderately thick fabric, making them ideal for both warm and cool weather.

Item 10: An indestructible 25-ounce goose-shaped mug This goose-shaped mug depicts the goose’s neck as the handle. It says, “FLIGHT, FRIGHT, FIGHT!” in the font of Another Danger by The Branded Quotes, written in vibrant red letters. It has Unbreaking 5 and Mending. It has been dropped eight times on the finder’s way to the office and not a single chip or dent has formed.

Fun and Games

This week's fun and games are once again brought to you by Lydia and Azure!

Word Search and Crossword by Lydia

Brain Teasers by Azure

And that's all for this week folks! Have a wonderful week y'all!