#i want star wars OBLITERATED

[hazelcallahan]

yall will put willow on indefinite hiatus but release 50000 more star wars shows foh

[sicktrix]

Oh this shot fucks me up so much actually.

Warm, bright light pools in from the window and illuminates the room as Jod looms menacingly over the kids. He holds a blue lightsaber in his hands and uses it to threaten the innocent and vulnerable. Both previously symbols of hope and kindness and trust being twisted into something cruel. FUCK

[writersglock]

Commander Fox writing an email to Palpatine: 'Dear Emperor palpatine, as I have stated before and will persist in reiterating, I have already apologised for attaching a sign to your back that said 'EAT ME!' while releasing the Zillo beast into the royal palace.

It was purely my own fault, and I take full responsibility...

I honestly didn't think you could read.'

Yours insincerely, Commander Fox.

Palpatine after reading said email: Get Rampart on the phone, I have an idea.

[psychomusic]

i had a vague idea last night on chiss space-traveling system. it's really just an idea and maybe it breaks the existing lore so. if there's any chiss expert here PLEASE tell me if it's something that could exist because i wanna know if i can put it to use in my story

i know they use force sensitives with that third sight power, but like. idk. i understand that they are trained and sometimes they fail but like that's SO complex. you're traveling faster than light - you can have jedi like reflexes and shit but that's still hard af.

so i was imagining (because lately I've been trying to better understand chiss lore, which i LOVEEE) wouldn't it be easier if there were like some stations in between planets, especially important colonies, to allow the force sensitives to have to navigate between smaller points, and not completely in the dark?

idk if any of you know sky: children of the light's trial of fire, so here's the link (skip the intro part). now imagine that instead of the checkpoints with rocks and candles you have little artifical moons/planets/asteroids (depending on how important that station is), and force sensitives are supposed to reach that and then re orientate etc.

BUT to make it cooler and most importantly, easier to sense for the force sensitives, imagine that those artificial ecosystem are made to be inhabited by different creatures that can't stay on their planet of origin (like. maybe because the environment changed and they are endangered, or they're too dangerous so they like. put them there). so they're full of life. they'd be like lit candles in the dark, literally.

THIS CAME TO ME BECAUSE TWO WEEKS AGO I SAW SUCH A COOL VIDEO (a 12 hour analysis of the phantom menace that's like. so fucking well-researched??? considering its length it's impressive really, so here's the link) that spoke (at 1:19:22) about that Boss Nass's phrase about going through Naboo's planet core. But to synthetize: basically in the lore, Naboo is supposed to lack a molten core, and at the center of the planet, plasma is being emitted, and it creates infinite tunnels that can connect even theed and otho gunga. but besides other worldbuilding problems that this rather absurd idea would create - that i won't recap here - in the video, there are some ideas on how to make it make sense (like. "going through the planet core" is simply a figure of speech and not what actually happened), BUT between those, there is one in particular that struck me: at 1:30:40, he proposed Naboo could be a constructed planet - like a planet-aquarium.

then, the video explains why it can't be the case for naboo but. GUYS!! if there's a species that could pull off something like that it's the chiss, with their sense of order, their need for knowledge, and organization abilities.

the maintenance of these stations with particular ecosystems could then be left at the nearest colony of csilla (kinda like the romans delegated the maintenance of their streets to each town it crossed and benefitted off of it), and be used as a "lighthouse" for new sky-walkers to train their third sight. researchers would benefit from keeping these animals alive + they could be kept in various different scenarios depending on how the specific station is made. if it's big enough, those creatures wouldn't be even captive, in a certain sense. especially since these stations need to be big enough (and full of life) to be perceived by the force sensitives, they'd just become replicas of the planet, where researchers, even in the creation of such stations, can really have a boost on their understanding of those ecosystems, through the feedbacks and experiments on the stations.

i have made a few sketches to visualize the idea

(ugly quality and poor rendition ops. in my defense it was late)

i know i wrote A LOT and prob not many will read this BUT if you've come this far, what do you think?

[torgawl]

i was playing luocha's quest "guide for a knight stranger" when i spotted a genshin character. this is like finding beyoncé in a supermarket. what is chang the ninth doing here? i think it's pretty cool that he's a detective romance novel character in this universe instead of a writer, it's like the world is inverted. and he's the killer's uncle, nonetheless. too bad we don't know (as far as i'm aware of) if genshin's chang the ninth has nephews, but with at least 8 siblings it's very likely.

[hueningkoi]

TWINKIE QUICK DOODLE!!!!

[starcurtain]

Another Phaidei Fic I Want to Read

It's the political arranged marriage AU but make it (ooooo) complicated~

Crown Prince Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos was born under a dark star, with a prophecy of abject despair uttered at the moment of his birth: Mydeimos will be the last king of Kremnos. The city-state will fall, her people will be lost, and the glory of Strife entirely will fade into nameless oblivion. Year after year, the prophets repeat the same warnings: Mydeimos is cursed, and he will bring the downfall of their kingdom and all its inhabitants.

But no one in Kremnos knew just how cursed their prince was until the day the regent's war council convinced their king to do the unthinkable: If Mydeimos was sacrificed, perhaps their prophecy of destruction could be averted and Kremnos saved...

Only Mydei couldn't even die like he was supposed to. No matter how many times he was mortally wounded, the boy just kept standing up--not even Thanatos would take him. That glorious death in battle that all Kremnoan warriors were expected to achieve--even this most central aspect of Mydei's own culture rejected him.

This life of betrayal and total loneliness, with the promise of eventually destroying everything he knew and cared for, seemed inescapable--until one day, when Mydeimos had already passed the age of majority (and would have long since been allowed to challenge his father for the crown if it weren't for the despair prophesied to be his reign), a new vision was shared among all of their people's seers: There was a way to avert their kingdom's impending destruction and save their people. "Only the son of Aedes Elysiae can deliver Castrum Kremnos from the dark tide and restore the true king to her throne."

Aedes Elysiae is a tiny city-state with nowhere near enough military might to defend against a full onslaught from the Kremnoans. But the risk that the Elysian prince could be harmed--and all of Kremnos' future lost in the process--is too high to engage in a traditional war of conquest. Although it runs contrary to the Kremnoans' very natures, if it means securing their kingdom's future and hiding the truth of their foreseen fate forever, they will engage in any manner of subterfuge and political maneuvering necessary.

Namely, by using the threat of war to force Aedes Elysiae to surrender their crown prince to a permanent and binding political alliance. If the Elysians want to avoid obliteration by the military might of the Kremnoans, they will tie the destiny of their crown prince to the Strifewalkers' through blood and oath--a marriage to Kremnos' own Prince Mydeimos. In this way, perhaps the curse can finally be outweighed by the glory of a savior.

Enter Phainon: the pride and joy of Aedes Elysiae, the golden sun to his people, loved by everyone who knows him. Although his heart has always been soft and romantic, rebelling fiercely at the idea of marrying someone he's never met and doesn't love, there is nothing Phainon won't do to protect his people and his kingdom--even if it means sacrificing himself.

So Phainon agrees to leave his family and homeland behind, and makes the miserable journey to Castrum Kremnos to meet his destiny... as well as his new husband.

Too bad Mydei wants absolutely nothing to do with him.

Disgusted by his father's willingness to forsake Kremnos' sacred principles of pride and integrity by using underhanded tactics and falsehoods to force Aedes Elysiae's prince into compliance, Mydei refuses to even acknowledge his marriage to Phainon, let alone look in his fellow prince's direction.

Which wouldn't be a problem, honestly, if it weren't for the fact that poor Phainon is smitten within days.

When the Kremnoans were strong-arming Aedes Elysiae's king into giving up his beloved son, why had no one thought to just tell Phainon that Prince Mydeimos was so... so... upright and honest and brave and powerful and gorgeous and straightforward and humorous and quick-witted and honorable and also gorgeous? (Phainon thinks perhaps this last point should be repeated a few more times for good measure.) Truly, Phainon might have gone willingly if anyone had just thought to show him a portrait of his husband-to-be in advance!

While Phainon struggles to catch his own husband's attention and soften Mydei's seemingly unbreakable stone heart, Mydei struggles with his father's demands to keep his curse hidden, to not reveal the omen of destruction lurking behind this sham of a marriage. Though having to lie shreds every last tatter of pride Mydei has, if this prince of Aedes Elysiae discovers the truth, that he's been brought here solely to counteract Mydei's prophesied inability to reign, Kremnos' enemies will know it within the hour. A single weakness will be all the world needs to turn on the Kremnoans, to bring Mydei's terrible destiny to pass.

And... And if Phainon learns the truth about Mydeimos, about his curse, about how he is an abomination that not even death will accept, about the misery he is destined to bring, about the failures that are sure to come, about how he is hated by his country, his people, his own family--then Mydei will lose the first person who has ever smiled freely at him, ever wanted to walk beside him, ever spoke kind words in his direction...

There is no way Phainon would ever look at him the same again.

There is no way Phainon would stay.

And that would be cruelest fate of all.

(What Mydei and Castrum Kremnos don't know is that Phainon has a secret of his own: He's not royalty by blood in the slightest. He was a penniless orphan who just got lucky enough to be taken in by the castle and end up, through twists in his own destiny, to be raised by the childless rulers of Elysiae from nothing but the kindness of their hearts.

There is no son of Aedes Elysiae to save Castrum Kremnos from its fate--and the dark tide comes for all.

But visions bestowed by the gods must not be doubted. Perhaps the combined efforts of two lonely people--the one who forsook his own land for love and the one who could only be loved by someone from another land--will see the sun of Aedes Elysiae delivered to Kremnos once more...

And put a true and honest king upon her throne at last.)

[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

love languages ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

sw boys x reader (ft. luke skywalker, han solo, anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, poe dameron, din djarin) backtrack: “rewrite the stars”, zac efron + zendaya inspiration: this is part three of my little series (pjo version here and hp version here)

luke skywalker

giving: words of affirmation / acts of service

the problem with luke is that he changes, see. in a new hope he’s bright eyed and bushy tailed. by return of the jedi the poor dude has seen some stuff. in a new hope though, his giving love language is totally words of affirmation. he called leia beautiful, and while it’s kind of weird to think about because they’re, uh, brother and sister, it was still sweet. another love language for luke--in both a new hope and return of the jedi--is definitely acts of service. in episodes four and five, it’d be in a naive, following you around like a lost puppy kind of way. he’d jump at the opportunity to do anything for you, you’re literally his goddess, say the word “water” and he’ll be sprinting to get a glass of it for you. in return of the jedi though, he likes to do things for his partner in a more mature, protective way. he’d place more importance on making sure you’re safe, and he deems himself your protector until his dying breath. a runner up for return of the jedi luke would be quality time. he and his friends have been through war, and he knows how dangerous jedi life is. so he treasures every quiet moment he can have with his loved ones.

receiving: physical touch

LOOK HOW FLUSTERED MY BOY WAS WHEN LEIA KISSED HIM (never mind that it was mildly concerning given they’re siblings!). luke absolutely melts for physical touch, moreso in episodes four and five but in six as well. his face will get bright red, he’ll start stuttering, my man does not hide it well. his friends, especially han, will tease the f-- out of him. he’ll deny it vehemently, but he’d get on his knees for you if you so much as touch his shoulder. he likes every sort of physical touch, it doesn’t have to be kisses. he’ll be bursting with joy even when you’re just linking pinkies during meetings; he’ll be constantly bouncing in his seat and will absolutely not be able to pay attention. also he definitely clings onto you while you’re sleeping like you’re a stuffed animal.

han solo

giving: gift giving

legitimately, I think sometimes when han smuggles physical materials, he’ll pick the best thing and steal it from the cargo and just give it to his partner. han’s not rich, but he wants his partner to have the best things in life, especially since he doesn’t think he can offer much else (except for his dashing good looks, of course). does it sometimes get him in trouble when his bosses notice that the biggest diamond is missing from the cargo? yeah. does he care? nope.

receiving: quality time

han’s constantly on the move with his job. he doesn’t have time to relax, since he’s often looking over his shoulder for bounty hunters. when he has free time, he’d love to play a relaxed game on the falcon with his partner. his favorite is the one with the holograms that c3po and r2d2 play versus chewbacca. he usually doesn’t go all out because he’s usually playing against chewbacca, and they’re good buddies but han doesn’t really want to find out what would happen if he won against the wookiee. but against his partner? oh he’s going all out. he’s not a gentleman. he’ll absolutely obliterate you and laugh about it. it’s kind of charming though.

anakin skywalker

giving: words of affirmation

okay, mister “are you an angel?”. mister “you are so beautiful”. mister “I’m haunted by the kiss you never should have given me”, even though that line was kind of awkward coming from nineteen year old anakin. I don’t know how he can be so terribly unarticulate, but at the same time the most romantic smooth talker in the whole star wars universe. I just know he’ll be showering his partner with all sorts of lovely, poetic compliments. he’s a charmer, he’ll swipe you right off your feet with his words.

receiving: physical touch

like father, like son, I guess. without a doubt, anakin’s also a physical touch guy (partly because I want him to be, but also because I genuinely think so). the poor dude’s had a rough childhood, so he’s starved of love. and most importantly, he’s touch starved. show him some love, please. hugs, kisses, cuddles, holding hands, anything of the sort. he’ll constantly whine if he can’t be physically affectionate with you, even though you both know it’s because you’re trying to keep your relationship a secret. he’s also a big cuddler and would 100% be a hidden little spoon, although he’ll be kind of embarrassed about it. when you put a hand on his cheek, he’ll immediately lean into your touch. also, I just have this thought that he’d love it when you ruffle or play with his hair. please do it. he’ll even bend down so you can reach his hair if there’s a big height difference between you two. but also, I feel like I can’t gloss over the fact that anakin is in serious need of some words of affirmation. he never gets it, even though he’s done so much for the jedi order. please tell him you love him and he’s awesome. he’ll melt.

obi-wan kenobi

giving: acts of service

I mean, do I really have to explain? obi-wan would be the perfect boyfriend. he’s an absolute gentleman. he’d be the best at princess treatment, always making sure you never have to lift a finger. however, some people are not into being babied or taken care of to that extent, and obi-wan knows that. he’d completely respect his partner’s independence and competence to do things for themselves, but he’d love to just take care of his partner as well. mostly, he wants to make sure his partner is protected and safe at all times, similar to return of the jedi luke.

receiving: quality time

obi-wan’s literally dedicated his life to the jedi order. not much is known about his childhood, but it’s safe to assume he started training really young (much younger than nine, at least, since anakin was deemed to be too old at that age, which is ridiculous) and for a really long period of time. he’s been so busy with training anakin and trying to keep up with him that he doesn’t have a lot of time to rest. so when he does have downtime, he’d want to spend it with his partner trying to form a deeper emotional bond. because really, obi-wan would definitely prioritize an emotional connection with his partner, and you can’t really make that happen when you’re fighting for your lives every day. I think he’d want to either change the jedi’s practices or leave the order because he’d want to spend time with his partner and be like an actual family (ahem ahem “had you asked, I would have left the order for you”). although I also think he’s touch starved and would get easily flustered by physical touches.

poe dameron

giving: words of affirmation

poe’s a charismatic guy, kind of a charmer. he’s brash and abrasive when he’s mad, but he’s generally quite the relaxed (as relaxed as you can be when you’re fighting for your life every day, I guess), cheeky guy. you know he has a few good pickup lines in his back pocket. he pulls them out any time he wants to charm someone. half of the time it’s because he’s doing it as a joke, but other times he genuinely tries to be slick with it (heads up, he’s not). something also tells me he’d like giving gifts to his partner too, to spoil them rotten (even though I can’t imagine he has that much money, sorry poe).

receiving: physical touch

why was I kind of at a loss for this one? I guess poe is just pretty touch starved too, it’s not like he has a partner in the movies and he’s under a lot of stress every day with the resistance. I feel like he’d lowkey get migraines or muscle pain pretty often, and he’d literally melt if you gave him a massage. he just likes being close to his partner, although he’d probably let slip a dirty joke every now and then. he’ll definitely tease you if you get flustered about it, but a little slap from you and he’ll shut up.

din djarin

giving: acts of service

acts of service is basically the thing that defines din’s life, lol. he’s catching bounties for people, he’s helping npcs with their side quests (what? who said that?), and just look at how much he cared for grogu and how dedicated he was to the cutie. he literally gave up the dream life with omera for grogu. for his partner, he’d go to the ends of the galaxy. he would risk his life. he’d sacrifice his life. it takes him a while to warm up to people--he’s a slow burn romance trope, don’t even mess with me on that--but once he’s found his soulmate, he’ll give his heart, mind, body, and soul to you. he’s at your service, completely.

receiving: quality time

din’s life is constantly changing. people come and go as he floats through space, taking jobs and completing them. he really appreciates those quiet nights on his ship with his partner. it’s just the two of you floating through space, and he can almost forget his busy life and just focus on you. I think he wishes he could have a slower, peaceful life. look how happy he was with omera on that one planet that I forget the name of. he was literally so tempted to stay, and I think he definitely would have if it weren’t for grogu. similar to obi-wan, though, he’s touch starved, so he’d appreciate a little physical touch every now and then as well. nothing huge, especially in the beginning, but just simple hugs and holding hands in private.

for this post I added in han because I can’t believe I forgot him in my last sw post. this is also unedited because I'm tired and I spent like two hours writing this

divider by @saradika-graphics

taglist: @loveinalocket, @raysmayhem-72, @toooster, @soft-likethesunset, @sheisntyou

[shiny-jr]

shiny rates

Why are you here? Have nothing better to do beside read a stranger's thoughts and opinions on different books and media? A bit strange, but who am I to judge? Well, you do you. I'm the odd one for just sharing these. Will these be continued? Maybe, maybe not.

Some of these do contain spoilers, so tread with caution.

books 📚

❂ A Court of Wings and Ruin - read 2024

“Leave this world... a better place than how you found it.”

❂ A Court of Frost and Starlight - read 2024

"To the stars who listen, Feyre. To the dreams that are answered, Rhys."

❂ A Court of Silver Flames - read 2024

"Keep reaching out your hand."

❂ Caraval - read 2024

n/a

❂ Chronicles of the Avatar: The Rise of Kyoshi - read 2024

“The Avatar can be reborn. But you can’t, Kyoshi. I don’t want to give you up to the next generation. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

❂ Chronicles of the Avatar: The Shadow of Kyoshi - read 2024

“No fire is ever the same fire. No Avatar is ever the same person. You and the flame change with every moment, every generation. You are one flame, and you are many.”

❂ Dune - read 2024

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.”

❂ Fourth Wing - read 2024

“You can hate me all you want when you wake up. You can scream, hit, throw your fucking daggers at me for all I care, but you have to live. You can’t make me fall for you and then die. None of this is worth it without you.”

❂ Go The Distance - read 2024

Probably not even a worthy quote in that book.

❂ Red Queen - read 2024

“Anyone can betray anyone.”

❂ Shatter Me - read 2024

"Hope is a pocket of possibility. I'm holding it in my hand."

❂ Shatter Me: Unravel Me - read 2024

“Books are easily destroyed. But words will live as long as people can remember them.”

❂ Shatter Me: Ignite Me - read 2024

nothing from this book it worth quoting. I wish to forget all the words I ever read in this waste of $15.

❂ Star Wars: The Mandalorian - read 2024

“I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold.”

❂ The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes - read 2024

“Snow lands on top.”

❂ The Hunger Games - read 2024

“May the odds be ever in your favor.”

❂ The Hunger Games: Catching Fire - read 2024

"I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me."

❂ The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - read 2024

“What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.”

❂ The Selection - read 2024

“But no matter what, I want you to be loved. You deserve to be loved. And I hope you get to marry for love and not a number.”

❂ The Selection: The Elite - read 2024

"Love is beautiful fear."

❂ The Selection: The One - read 2024

"Break my heart. Break it a thousand times if you like. It was only ever yours to break anyway."

❂ Twisted Wonderland Vol. 2 - read 2024

n/a

❂ Twisted Wonderland Vol. 3 - read 2024

n/a

❂ Witch Hat Atelier Vol. 10 - read 2024

n/a

❂ Witch Hat Atelier Vol. 11 - read 2024

n/a

movies 🎥

❂ Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone - watched 2025

"It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live."

❂ Sonic 3 - watched 2024

"Project Shadow is far beyond anything we've encountered. Shadow's story began a lot like yours, Sonic. But where you found family and friends, Shadow only found pain and loss."

[ivystoryweaver]

No One Like You - Poe Dameron

Poe + Horseback riding

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Okay so, this ficlet is a "deleted scene" from my unwritten "Poe crash lands to Earth" story I'm pretending will be posted in Poevember. For that reason, you will discover the slightest slivers of angst surrounding that concept, but I promise it's fluff.

Word count: 1.3k (technically not a ficlet, oh well!) || for @virtie333

Darkness faltered as the last stars danced against its covering canopy. Robins chirped dawn's arrival, their song scattering night's hold over the earth.

Booted footfalls fell on damp soil, carrying you out to the stables, where two magnificent animals waited for your attention eagerly.

Poe Dameron watched as you nuzzled your forehead against the fairer one, stroking gently and whispering, "Good morning, sweet girl."

The darker, redder horse beside her let out a slightly annoyed squeal, which made you chuckle before granting her equal attention, speaking so softly, Poe could barely hear you.

Polishing off the rest of his caf - or coffee, as Earthlings called it - Poe set his ceramic mug down, hoping to be of some use.

Weeks had passed since he'd come to be here with you - since his X-wing spun out of control, through a black hole to a galaxy far, far away. It took the two of you almost a week to successfully hide his nearly obliterated ship on your farm and make up a cover story, should anyone come knocking.

It also took quite a lot of convincing for Poe to believe that there was no one on Earth who could help repair his ship - not without drawing the kind of attention that would get him locked up or put under a microscope.

So, he decided to trust you.

You gave him a bed in your spare room, two warm meals a day, and in return, he helped out on your small farm. He wasn't sure how he could ever get home, but this place wasn't so bad, for now.

"Are there horses where you're from?" You asked Poe a bit later, brushing the coat of your sweet Annabelle.

"There were animals called orbaks one one of the moons of a planet called Endor. And I think there are your kind of horses on its forest moon. Never seen those myself, though," Poe explained, gesturing toward your animal.

A warm smile brightened your face. "So did you ever ride an orbak?"

"No," he cockily grinned. "I was too busy flying my X-wing. My best friend rode one in battle though. It was - what do you say? ‘Badass.’”

Giggling at the colloquialism, you finished brushing Annabelle's mane and reached for the fly spray. "I cannot believe you've been in actual battles. In space. You must think Earth is so boring."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Earth has wars, right? Battles, soldiers? It's the same thing."

"True, but no laser guns and laser swords and powerful wizards and talking furry...what did you call Chewbacca?"

"A Wookiee," Poe chuckled.

After spraying Annabelle, you fed her a quick treat and saddled her. "You be nice to Poe, sweet girl," you instructed her affectionately. "He's new to this."

"Are you sure you don't want to ride her?" Poe politely asked you. "I can try the other one."

You glared at him half-jokingly. "I promise you do not want to ride Arzola. She's not for newbies."

Dark eyebrows shot up at the challenge. "You know, I can fly anything."

"Fly, sure. Ride?" Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you winked at him. "Leave the riding to me."

Poe Dameron had never backed down from a challenge in his life, and two in a row had just been laid before him.

Arzola. And you.

"Her loss," he playfully shrugged, carefully approaching the moodier chestnut. "You don't know what you're missing, sweetheart."

"Are you flirting with my horse?" You swatted his arm with a pretend huff.

Trapping your hand against his bicep with incredible reflexes, his eyes locked with yours before momentarily flickering down to your lips. "Not with her."

Arzola nudged her way between the two of you protectively, breaking your temporary trance.

Clearing your throat, you nodded toward her saddle. "Come on, I'll show you how to do this."

Soon enough, you and Poe guided Arzola and Annabelle, respectively, out for an early morning ride.

As expected, Poe was a natural and quickly took command of Annabelle, showing no signs of nervousness and forming an instant bond with her. He seemed so good at it, you almost felt a mildly jealous pang at how she warmed to him. He'd tried out Annabelle a couple times, on quick walks around the paddock, but this was the first real ride.

Sunlight spilled over the horizon, illuminating the path before you, inviting you to rush headlong to where light kissed the earth.

You clicked twice, urging Arzola ahead into a full run, which Annabelle immediately followed.

Poe, of course, accepted the challenge and gave Annabelle a gentle squeeze with his legs. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Annabelle neighed out an affirmation, galloping ahead of the competition. Arzola possessed fiery spirit in spades, but Annabelle's legs were longer, and she preferred to think of herself as the favorite.

"That's my girl," Poe bellowed out a joyful laugh as crisp autumn air whipped through his curls, tossing them carelessly around his forehead. He chanced a look at you, flashing you a devastating grin, dark eyes bright and reddened by the sun's kiss, almost a twin color to Arzola's coat.

This was closest you'd come to seeing him in action, aside from a few projects he'd attempted with a hammer around the farm, and you had to admit, it was a good look on him.

Despite the joy surging through you at the chance to take both your girls out for a run, and with Poe, no less, you still possessed a competitive streak of your own.

With a powerful command you'd probably come to regret, you granted Arzola the permission she was impatiently waiting for, to run top speed and catch the stranger riding her adoptive sister.

Despite the vigor and exertion involved with riding a horse at a full gallop, the look on Poe's face as he stared out over the horizon could be considered nothing short of pure peace.

The two of you slowed and finally brought your animals to a stop. After walking them for a few minutes, you offered them a drink from a hose and trough near a ramshackle tool shed at the far end of your property.

You and Poe sat down on the creaky old steps leading up to the door, taking a moment to have a drink yourselves while the sun finally climbed all the way to full daylight.

"Thanks for this," he softly uttered, turning to gaze at your profile.

Although you felt him staring, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes.

"You're welcome." Finishing off your water bottle, you glanced over at your horses. "Annabelle likes you. Really likes you. She usually can't be bothered to race Arzola."

"Why is that?"

"She's just gentle. She must've had a good reason to challenge her," You explained with a knowing wink.

Poe beamed proudly, following your gaze over to the magnificent creatures. "They're amazing animals. I know it doesn't make sense, but Arzola reminds me of BB-8 a little bit."

"Of a robot?" You scoffed. "For real?"

"A droid," Poe corrected. "Believe me, they can have spirit."

"He must be wonderful," you sympathized, knowing he was separated from the little guy.

Poe ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, eyes dipping as he contemplated a life so far away from everything he'd ever known.

Swallowing, he bravely scooted a little closer to you, meeting your eyes with the openness and sincerity you'd come to expect from him.

"He would be really happy to know that I met someone like you. Someone who helped me. Protected me."

Your lip trembled slightly under his intensity. You'd never met a man like him in your life. There couldn't possibly be anyone like him, at least not on this planet.

Laying your hand gently over his, you spoke from your heart. "I know you didn't plan on any of this, but I'm happy I met you, Poe."

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[cosmique-oddity]

Cosmos and Soundwave Story Line

Made with the precious help of my mutuals @gravedwe11er and @polarpasteque

Because we thought maybe the Mecha Universe lacked a bit of a space Nerd :)

Based of @keferon ‘s AU

————————————————————————————

It felt like a rainy day, when the skies cry and you decide to stay at home, watching the weather from a point where it doesnt affect you. Intensitive at even one single drop, usually, you take a blanket and watch at these amount of water, crashing on everything. Set the world all grey.

Well space was just far bigger. Far lonelier and, as a matter of fact....just more far. He watched the little blue planet, with his white volutes the day and all the littles spotlights at night, mimicking the stars all around. Even the Black void of space was captiving, far deeper than all kind of Earth's deepest oceans. We could say....it felt like the little planet was slowly swallowed by darkness.

Cosmos understood why a lot of astronaut came back to Earth and didnt care a lot about Earth matters. How could you pay any attention at some human conflict when the space was so much bigger than human's hybris ?

He shared that opinion. When he made his first trip to the outer space, Cosmos couldnt stop himself but admire the little details, even the more basic ones ever to space life. He was almost distracted from his original mission but, happily, the man was good at multitasking.

Floating like that, in the Hermes I Station, he knew he wouldnt want to return in Earth. Ever.

And while he was gazing at the immensity of the greater dark, he didnt realized how he was trapping himself, definitely, on what he was now calling 'his great loneliness'.

Not that it was any different than on Earth, he always was that silent man, that clever and kind and courageous man. Everyone of his colleague knew to call him if they needed something.

"Call Cosmos, the one with stars and space shuttles on his desk, he is very strong, he can carry that".

He didnt even know when he became 'Cosmos'. He was useful. Everyone knew to call him for help, but the thing was...nobody really knew him for himself. He was Cosmos for everyone because that was the only distinct thing the other could tell about him. He was obsessed with the stars. Pretty average among training astronauts ? Maybe, but Cosmos physically yearned for space and stars. Everything was about that. Escaping Earth. Setting himself on a tiny space box and sort of leave this physical realm. Be among his Kind, the cosmos.

Now, among the stars, he was feeling it. The loneliness. Wasnt that different from before, but maybe more hopeless. He talked with people, yep, everyday. His Job was very important, using all the high tech tool he has at his disposal to find the Kaijus, the fastest possible, and warn the Kaiju's Extermination Organisation. He saved lifes. And on the same side, was trying to intercept any extra terrestrial communication, from Kaijus, to find something, anything that could slow their obliteration.

Cosmos was aware of their war and how they were losing it. But everything was so far in space...the program that choosed to isolate him on that tiny flying box at the edges of their gravity force and Earth's magnetical shield also prevented him from War's horrors. He didnt saw any horrible things he knew were happening. He know it, saw it on internet.

He sighed. Mostly, his work was to watch the AI of his computer do the job alone, and assist any bug he saw.

Lets say they werent a lot of them, and oftenly he was just watching any serie his internet connexion allowed him to watch. Or searching for any weird frequencies on space.

Did he said he nammed the AI Doc ? And was talking to the thing, on top of that ! Doc wasnt a bad person. His answers were just a little bit expected and repetitive...

This day was one of those empty day. No scary alien was threatening humanity. Well, in the film he was watching, Alien, he couldnt say so. Did he mention he was a space nerd ? Even the movies he watched reflected that.

And because IRL Aliens were invading his homeland didnt mean he didnt enjoyed watching similar scenario in movie. He was far from everything. It wasnt affecting him at all, this war.

The latest human he spoke to was a Mech Pilot, codnammed Jazz he was charged to monitor through space. He a was solar person, loving music... Sympathetic, you couldnt possibly hate Jazz even if you knew him only three minutes. He was Talkative enquiring for the astronaut's mental health, alone out there. Cosmos has felt compassion for him. Someone threw him too, in the middle of the biggest knowhere existying. Except everyone knew Jazz and considered, and liked him, so it was certainly difficult for the pilot to leave. It wasnt for Cosmos.

Cosmos knew he was the last living person he saw. Because Jazz vanished. Probably died. And this human was the living being he grieved the most in his whole life. He cried alone in the space station when someone ordered him to stop searching for the silenced voice of Jazz.

They didnt send another man, and that, he was glad. He prefered having emotions toward an undying AI than realizing how many people died around him.

Cosmos was sat at his desk. Question of protocol, he wouldnt imagine not being here and missing a Kaiju and being responsible of Earth's destruction. Slowly dying from oxygene loss or being swallowed by some extraterrestrial giant jaw.....or being held hostage and having eggs layed on him.....

Maybe he should stop watching that movie.

Suddendly, an audio signal howled inside the etricate desk room of the station, Cosmos paused his movie and stood up, enthusiastic. That was the radio signal ! Jazz being finally alive ? An old broadcast lost in space ??

Radio news were the most interesting informations he could have !

All happily, he floated until having the complex system of communication in his hands. He could proudly affirming he knew everything about this machinery. That was his most loyal friend and good news annoncer. And he have been to silent since Jazz disappearance.

Except this time, the intercepted message wasnt translating in words, it wasnt an audio media. His device was displaying error messages. The thing was extremely weird looking. There was some space radio wave, in a frequence he never heard of before now.

Some weird alien wave ? He was displaying itself on repeat, as if it was enscribed into the FSK modulator (that one device used to send signals via frequency through very far locations). He took the headphone and tried to module the initial suit of waves into something audible. Changing the setting everytime he heard a risible ‘pfffuit’ or a deafening ‘SHRIEEEEEERK’. Maybe he would lose his hearing before translating the enigmatic sound wave. And people would be forced to send someone after him. Someone else, less used to loneliness would be where he had been. Wondering the same things. Sleeping in the same berth. Being disposable was always an unpleasant thought.

He slowed immensely the data of the enigmatic wave, and finally began to hear something approximatively human. English it was.

“.....Noise…..”.

An erailled, full of static voice could be heard, close to Cosmos's ear, and all it was saying was a statement about what he was hearing from the beginning of his manipulation. What the hell was this message ? It was coming from so far ? Was it alien ?? Did he finally succeed on the mission of finding another life form or even more interesting, secret Kaiju's comm line ??? Were the extraterrestrial sentient after all ???

He slowed even more and passed on another frequency. The message kept its static and emotionless deincarnated voice but the pronounciation was perfect and audible.

“Noise : excede the safe amount” “Sentient local specie : Endangered” “{QQZERRTEAAASS} : might and will hear”.

What was that ? The first alien broadcasted message in history and it was telling him to shut the fuck up ?

The unbearable piercing scriieech sound before ‘might and will hear’ was not rocket science to understand. That was probably speaking about the Kaijus. Kaiju and danger formed a loving couple from the past decade.

He took some time to mentally register the information before imobilizing. Eyes wide. Another signal was displaying. And its been on display for longer than he noticed. That was Kaiju's detection signal. His heart stopped for a while. Since how long had he been focused on the translation of the alien message ?

Floating as fast as he could. Wich must have been fun to watch if he wasnt alone, Cosmos crossed the distance between the modulator and the board computer for the second time of the day. Faster.

He read, panicking highly, all the pings across the screen and finally allowed his heart to slow down.

He was wrong. He was not that useful. Doc took care of the attack, he…..it warned the Extermination Organisation, and triangulated the position for the intel responsibles back on Earth.

The only thing it needed from Cosmos was writing a report and archive all the attack's metrics.

He sighed. Doc wouldve done very well without him, if he could automatize this part of the script, he would be officialy useless.

He nervously scratched his curly ginger hairs. He hadnt noticed how long they got (not that long but longer than the classic military haircut he adopted at the beginning of his formation). Useless ?

No. Cosmos had now the most important mission of humanity. He had to answer back to the alien form that wasnt (probably) a Kaiju. He worked on Doc's automatization for a while, remembering suddenly he had to eat at some point. Biting proudly in his sandwich, he told the AI.

“I cannot assist you anymore, old friend, i have my own mission to accomplish now, im going to talk to the Alien. And if i can convince him to help, then maybe i can save Earth !”.

A small little voice inside of him asked if he wasnt completely insane and delusionnal and wasnt inventing himself a mission to prove he wasnt worthless. He shut the voice. He was Cosmos ! He would talk to the alien. Peoples would remember him, they would remember because they would survive !

………………….

He spend weeks into trying to imitate the complex alien sound wave. This was so fast, so evoluated, and yet, the data was speaking a perfect english ? How was it possible ?

He frowned.

“Try again buddy, your Alien is going to be bored of you”.

He was calling the very small message he recieved ‘His Alien’ and wrote several copy of what it was saying on papiers and pinged these on the walls. Like a serial killer.

His own message, “Are you another sentient life form ? My name is Cosmos”

Wasnt definitely as professionnal as he would make himself believe, but he was trying to convert it to the same kind of radio wave as he recieved.

He has to remember how he translated the message in the first time.

And invert the protocol.

But his FSK modulator was simply not strong enough. He had to power down a few things. Useless things absolutely. And only for a few seconds. Nothing too dangerous about that. He definitely wasnt a small human in the middle of uncooperative environment.

The man inspired deeply and started his protocol, disabling the lights of the station, and preserving the oxygene system at all cost, along with the pressurisation system and basically all life preserving systems.

It worked. He had his message. He could send him via the FSK modulator.

He pressed the button and smiled deeply. He just send a message to an Alien !

“Hey doc ! Guess who established contact with the Alien ! Oh oh im going to ask him sooo many questions !”.

No answer. Cosmos remembered having to disable settings about conversation in order to efficiently make Doc replace his work.

He felt incredibly lonely.

“Im sorry i had to silence you Doc….”.

The signal of external message ! Again ! And that quickly ??? How.

Hyperventilating, Cosmos giggled to himself and turned to the modulator. The translating part was much easier now that he did it one time.

“Designation : Soundwave”. “Query to Cosmos : why answering ?” “Procedure of making further noise : susceptible to increase the attention of {QQZERRTEAAASS}”.

Oh, so his Alien was really a Soundwave. That was his name…. Funny.

The Kaijus again ? And this weird speaking manner again ? He thought for a couple of second about an adequate answer…But there werent any established protocol in case of contact with intelligent aliens. The Kaijus couldnt speak with them. They tried, so this meaned Cosmos was doing that freely. Nobody knew, nobody done that before. He was free to speak to the Alien as unprofesionnal as he wanted. He could tell his governement later.

“The Quiizertas ? Already noticed us. And attacked, more or less sound wont change anything about that”.

The answer was quicker again

“Prononciation of opposant : incorrect”. “Reading : /’kwin:n'te'zau:n/”. “Status planet ?”

The voice asked. And using the phonetical alphabet with that ?? Where did an Alien learned that ??

Cosmos bit his lips and answered, with an intensified apprehension.

“Planet uuuh. Under attack. Of the Quintessons” He translated with his own vocabulary, excited at the idea of inventing a new word. “Resisting with our technology but its barely enough. We need help”.

“Earth : very small” “efficiency of resistance : surprisingly high”. “Soundwave : cannot provide help at the moment. But i need to understand what is making your fight against quintessons fair”.

Cosmos blinked in front of his modulator.

“What ? Fair ??? We are being destroyed here and he call that a fair fight ?”. He paused. He had more conversation with this Soundwave than with any human being since Jazz. He might getting attached to the outer life form if he kept answering his question with fairness.

“Cosmos, stop. He could look like a pudding, or even not being material”.

Right. The name was Soundwave, the alien could be only made of sound waves.

He could also be a Xenomorph and lay eggs on him at the first occasion. The young astronaut didnt want to die with his stomach perforated !!! It looked very painful in the movies….

“Hoping its a E.T. kind of alien….”

“Are you hostile to my planet or kind ?”.

He shyly asked. Kai- Quintessons were enough trouble for his ‘small’ planet. Oh god it was his new favorite word ! He invented it. Well….technically he just translated with his own alphabet the phonetical alphabet Soundwave gave him. Hm.

His answer was quick.

“Your Specie : dont seems hostile towards our kind”. “Conflict : not wanted”.

Well that was positive at least.

“Is it some kind of space alliance ?”

The answer arrived later than the others times, and for a couple of stressful minutes, Cosmos feared that all of that was just a dream. Wich was possible, considering how he ate the whole pack of his last cookies last night. Maybe he was sick. At this moment, the answer arrived at his ears.

“Alliance : would benefit both of our planets. What is your status among your specie ?”.

Cosmos took some times to take off the headphone and start a gravity-free dance of victory.

“i….made….an alliance….with a fricking alien….!”

Or maybe the Alien would suck all of his internal organes out of his body and lay eggs on his brain. Maybe.

But, but maybe he would save all of them from the Kaiju, and they would befriend their specie ! Yeah. More probable. And Cosmos would be the first human to have made contact with them ! So they would like him. Soundwave might be as excited as himself was to discover another specie ! He would listen everything, because data about alien was a common source of enjoyment. He wouldnt even have to say something interesting !

Cosmos reached Doc's screen and yelled at him with a joyful tone.

“Doc ! Guess who just made the first pacific contact with another life form ! From another planet ! Perhaps even galaxy !”.

All full of wonders and lively, Cosmos answered Soundwave again.

What was the question ? Ah yes, “statut among specie”.

“I am erm…..Space Explorer. And Responsible of all communications to report and locate the Kai….Quintessons”.

He tried to make his post sound cool and not ‘im just a guy assisting an AI far more developped than me and honestly i feel useless”.

“Soundwave's statut : Communication and Information Officer among Cybertronian's forces”.

That sounded very military. The good or bad side of this information was debatable. On one hand it was surely better than just have Soundwave as an ally. But an Alien army ? It was more dangereous than just innocently talking to Soundwave… For a random reason, he had the impression the word ‘among’ has been twisted a little in comparaison of the otherwise perfect pronounciation of Soundwave's voice.

“Great i suppose. This mean we are kind of similar in statut….?” “By the way…..”

He cut himself at the middle of his answer, thinking about it before answering. What was the most pressing question about the extraterrestrial being at the other side of his spatial Phone ?

Wait. He had it.

“How do you speak exactly the same language as me ?”

That was a question. For the first time since the recieving of that first call, Cosmos wondered if someone was just playing with him since the beginning, making him look like a fool for his own distraction. Wont be the first time. Was Soundwave an Alien ? What stupide name was even Soundwave ? The answer stopped his spiraling.

“Soundwave : recieved radio wave from your planet : cracked the language code. Very interested on a large panel of codes and language, find the understanding of foreign dialects : very stimulating”.

Oh funny one, Soundwave considered his language like a code to break. The Alien was very interesting, and wait a sec

“Your heard the radio waves ? But you must be very far from Earth, the waves must have distorded every sound and mixing with others space sounds”.

“Soundwave : is a great listener”.

What did he meant by that ? But another voice line could be heard now.

“But data from radio waves : insufficient”. “Interfacing with local technology : optimal for the comprehension of your successful resistance”.

Interfacing ?

“You want to come here ? To Earth”.

“Yes”.

That last message was very short but awakened an insatiable curiosity in the Astronaut's heart.

“Oh my god my Alien is going to visit us” he whispered with joy.

One last question, because he felt brave.

“May i continue asking you questions while you uh…..travel to my planet ?”.

“Soundwave : is a great listener. And is feeling curiosity towards your specie”.

The voice repeated his phrasing “May I ask you questions ?”.

And Cosmos's loneliness slowly faded away.

——————————————————————————————

Annnd here is my little Cosmonaute <3 had to make a design for him

Welcome to the ginger club, blorbo.

Soundwave’s is coming soon he will look like his TF One self, with some modifications, in order to effectively hide himself from Earthling that are more Earthling than Cosmos hehe….because tf1 Soundwave is some sort of space ship. It’s not very useful when you want to hide from our paranoid society

(You guys will like it !!)

Ps : Hi Keferon ! I know you don’t necessarily seek for the ramifications of your AU if it doesn’t connect with you but I hope you will like this little story/introduction to my sweet platonic space chilling ship)

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Hey, Sunshine 💙

A/N: Wishing the happiest birthday to my beloved @sunshinesdaydream!

Pairing: Hardcase x Reader (GN; Reader has a nickname)

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 1.1k

Warnings and tags: fluff; kissing; Star Wars swearing

Summary: Hardcase has a birthday surprise for you.

Suggested listening:

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Three hours, twenty-two minutes, and thirty-seven seconds. 

That's how long you had left until you'd officially be on shore leave. A whole week off. No handing out uniforms; no listening to sheepish explanations about how exactly a trooper ended up with an undersuit three sizes too small (HOW?!); no defending your distribution numbers in pointless meetings with your supervisor. Just five days, all to yourself. You could do anything you wanted. 

Well. Almost anything.

You finished taking stock of the Resolute’s uniform inventory and sent a quick comm to the supply officer to let her know the ship was running low on socks—again—while you tried not to think about a certain heavy gunner with the sweetest eyes and the prettiest ink in the GAR. The truth, which you would never admit even under pain of torture, was that you'd happily skip shore leave if it meant you'd get to spend more time with him.

But you couldn't, so you didn't.

Instead, you'd be spending the week on Coruscant, NOT with Hardc—your friends, which was FINE. It was absolutely FINE, and you were excited to finally have some free time, and maybe it sucked just a tiny bit that you'd be spending your birthday alone in a hotel room in the mid-levels, but it was FINE. There was plenty to do on Coruscant, after all. You were sure you'd be able to find something—

“Hey, Sunshine.”

You shrieked and jumped in surprise as the voice sounded close behind you.

“Hardcase, you scared the kark out of me!” you gasped, smacking him in the chest with a compression suit and doing your best to ignore the way the world suddenly seemed a little bit brighter. “What are you doing here? Don't tell me you lit your dress uniform on fire again.”

“That was two times!” he exclaimed, affronted. “It's not like I did it on purpose.”

“Then why are you here instead of getting ready to paint the Entertainment District red?”

He eyed the compression suit warily. “If I tell you, are you going to hit me with that thing again?”

“Depends on what you say,” you replied with a cheeky smile.

Apparently unwilling to take any chances, he took the suit from you and folded it neatly, then set it aside. When he turned back to you, he looked almost… nervous? That was new; you'd never seen him display anything less than well-deserved confidence. He licked his lips, and with an effort so heroic that you mentally awarded yourself a medal, you kept your gaze steadily on his eyes instead of staring at his mouth.

“I, uh, have something for you,” he said. He fumbled in one of his many pouches—why do they have so many pouches?—and produced a small box wrapped in colorful flimsi. “It's nothing much, just, er—happy birthday, Sunshine.”

He shoved the box toward you and looked away quickly. Surprised, you accepted the gift and examined it curiously as Hardcase watched out of the corner of his eye. On closer inspection, you saw that the flimsi was covered in hand-drawn geometric patterns in your favorite colors, and your heart gave a strange little thump at the thoughtfulness and effort he'd put in.

“How’d you know my birthday was coming up?” you asked.

“I have my ways,” he said in a dignified tone that was utterly subverted by the eager expression on his face.

“So mysterious!” you laughed.

He grinned. “A mystery, wrapped in an enigma—”

“Shrouded in flimsi,” you finished.

“Exactly. Now open it!”

“But the mystery!” you teased.

“Mysteries are meant to be solved. Open it!”

He was practically vibrating, his earlier jitters obliterated by anticipation. Unable to resist tormenting him (just a little, as a treat), you took your time to unwrap the box, painstakingly avoiding tearing the flimsi. Once you had it completely unwrapped, you held up the flimsi and admired the artwork.

“Hardcase, this really is gorgeous. I didn't know you could draw like this.”

“Kriff the flimsi, open the box! I know you're doing this on purpose.”

With one final, mischievous smile, you complied. Your breath caught when you saw what was inside: a simple cord necklace, and on it, a crystal pendant that flashed purple and green in the light, intricately wrapped in silver wire.

“It's beautiful,” you whispered. “Did you make this?”

He nodded. “I found the crystal on Saleucami. Reminded me of you.”

“Saleucami was months ago,” you replied, confused.

“I know.” 

Your eyes flitted from his face to the necklace and back again. On impulse, and before you could lose your nerve, you asked, “Can you help me put it on?”

He didn't reply, but he stepped closer to you and picked up the necklace. He fumbled with the clasp a bit and paused to tug off his gloves with his teeth. Once he got the clasp open, he lifted the necklace and fastened it gently around your neck, his calloused fingers ghosting lightly over your skin.

Maker, he smells so good, it's not kriffing fair, you mused, trying to refrain from huffing him like glue.

“Thanks.” Your voice sounded suspiciously hoarse, even to your own ears.

His thumb stroked softly down the side of your neck.

“Hey, Sunshine?” he whispered.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded. “Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Your breath stuttered to a halt. “... Yeah.”

His eyes dropped to your lips, and he slowly closed the distance between the two of you. As his hand slid around to cup the back of your head, your heart hammered so hard you were sure he must be able to feel it. He glanced back up at your eyes, as though looking for confirmation that you wanted this, and whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him. His lips touched yours softly, his kiss achingly tender at first. Then you brushed the tip of your tongue against his lips, and he drew in a sharp breath, pulling you tightly against himself.

How many times had you imagined kissing Hardcase? Dozens? Hundreds? It didn't matter, because none of them even came close to the reality. He kissed you like you were the only being in the galaxy, like you were his entire world. When at last you drew away, breathless and dizzy, he whispered your name—your real name—like a plea, quiet and reverent.

His thumb traced around the shell of your ear. He nuzzled your cheek, then pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth one more time.

“Been wantin’ to do that forever,” he murmured against your skin.

“What took you so long?” you asked in a hushed tone.

“Didn't want to kark it up,” he replied. 

“Oh,” you whispered. “Well. You didn't.”

He held you close to him, his breath soft and warm across your face as his fingertips drew tiny circles in the downy hairs just where the back of your neck met your head. After a moment, he spoke quietly.

“Did you have plans for shore leave? Because if not, I have a few ideas.”

---

Looking for more Hardcase fluff? Check out my ficlet, “A Question of Seman-dicks.”

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade @meredithroseg @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal @reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n

[jmdbjk]

Thinking too hard.

I was having a delusional episode while talking to my bestie:

Here's my wild concept for the BTS comeback MV: a Star Wars-like spoof where they are the rebel underdogs fighting the evil empire.

The song would need to have an overall "together we will overcome and save the world" theme. Or it could be a "fuck you evil bitches time to die". Either/or.

They are in those X-wing fighters and those huge land walker thingys.

Jimin can have smeraldo flower decals on his X-wing and JK can have tattoo graffiti looking decals on his. Of course both of their light sabers would be purple. Duh, right? It gets hot in those fighter space craft, they'd be shirtless of course.

Tae can be riding one of those two-legged horse/kangaroo looking things, wind blowing in his hair. Hey, I just googled what they are called... Tauntauns... tan tans? The universe is universing here. Stick with me, I might be on to something.

Yoongi can be operating one of those land stompers. Googled what those are called (can you tell I'm not a hardcore Star Wars fan? But I did see most of the theatrical movies, except maybe one... anyway) All Terrain Armored Transport or AT-AT Walker because at one point in Yoongi's life, he worked as a motorbike delivery person. Universe, stop it! While delivering more troops and weapons to the front lines, Yoongi can crush people who look like k-media and fake media... or MHJ. For sure kpoppies. Crush 'em all, Yoongi.

I don't want to say it but its a no-brainer: Namjoon is a wise and philosophical ancient being who can slice an enemy in half using only his words. May the force be with you. Slash.

That leaves Hobi. He's the commander of course. Perfectly fitting uniform (designed by LV of course) manning the war room.

Jin, since he's the oldest and the most hardcore gamer, would volunteer to be the one to fly into the heart of the evil empire's ship/vessel/planet/egg/brain/bowels/whatever and blow it to bits before he zooms out safely, escaping obliteration. I guess that would also lend itself to having a slight astronaut touch to it wouldn't it? Kinda also ties in with military stuff.

Cue the close up of Jin winking to the camera and blowing a WWH kiss.

At the end of the MV the evil in the world is destroyed and everyone cheers. The whales in the ocean rejoice.

A bit violent but in a sci-fi fantasy way. Hybe can spend a lot of money on special effects and make it very sparkly and over the top cinematic.

At least you can’t say I don’t have a sense of humor along with this wild imagination.

Time to exit the emo angst school boi era and enter the mature hunk oppa hero era guys. Universe! Get on it!

[ominous-horse-noises]

my last couple of fhjy posts have been popping off (by my blog's standards) so now i present to you: serious + unserious finale pt 2 predictions

Squeem makes a final heroic sacrifice for the bad kids. it is very emotional. Gorgug almost gets rage starred over it.

Gertie cameo in the post-fight epilogue + Kristen letting her down easy (I think Kristen's going to realise she's kind of been taking their flirtationship less seriously than Gertie and end it) -> also a possibility Kristen is going to see online/get a call from Tracker that Nara and Tracker have broken up but decides against trying to rebound back

The Rat Grinders (including Lucy) are resurrected by Ankarna and Fabian immediately gets an alert from his bank that he's gained 5 new nemesises: he is miffed that Mary Ann isnt one of them

The FBI agent shows up mid-battle trying to arrest Fig and all the bad kids yell at him to fuck off simultaneously. Adaine pushes him into lava.

Buddy pulls a Kristen and creates his version of Yes! out of Baccarath

Newly revived Yolanda boots Bobby Dawn out of her office and it's extremely satisfying

I dont think Brennan is going to reuse the deus ex machina of fhfy so Ayda and Aguefort are definitely only showing up post-fight, but Fig tells Ayda on the spot that she's dropping out to go travelling with her OR Fig very excitedly introduces Ayda to an uncorrupted Ankarna ("My girlfriend's back in town!!!")

K2 uncorrupts Cassandra in a move that makes Brennan leave the dome again. Zac once again has to narrate it.

Either Aelwyn or Ragh/Lydia show up during the battle as back up allies. Personally I hope it's Lydia because I'd love to see her confront Porter on the correct use of rage

Turns out TRGs they're fighting are simulacrums bc of their disproportionately small hp- ngl I'd hate this outcome, bc TRGs having shit coordination and hp feels like a justified consequence for them cheating the system, but it would make sense since Porter needs followers to become a god of rage and war, and he has to know these kids don't stand a chance considering TBKs obliterated the Last Stand

Adaine smug callback to resurrected Oisin's oracle taunt/killing his grandma but she fumbles the execution and hits him with an Adaine's Furious Fist instead. Bonus if Riz threatens to eat him

Mary Ann is revealed to have never been rage starred she's just here bc she was told by Porter that it was mandatory to attend

Bucky asks Kristen to meet Cassandra and very clearly begins to want to convert

Hallariel drops that she's actually pregnant during a tirade about Fabian crashing the house

Aguefort tells TRGs that they're being held back a year

'hey girlieeee' callback during climatic moment

Ecaf cameo

[star-lights-up]

question cause i’m bored: what are your favorite cherik fics? 🤔

also i’m telepathically sending you good health rn

Thank you for the telepathic good health 🙏🏻 much appreciated!!

OKAY. NOW FOR FICS OMG.

I think my first cherik multichapter fic was "the bird's opening" by druswriting, absolutely fell in love with it. It's the hunger games au one, pretty popular.

OH WAIT NO- My first multichapter was actually "we'll be alright (some day soon)" by an orphan_account. I think that's the second part, there's two in the series, but that's the one I have bookmarked. Emotionally traumatizing but amazing.

"I want that twink obliterated" is HILARIOUS. Think: Deadpool on his wolverine hunting montage, shows up on the plane in dofp, and proceeds to hit on Charles and Erik.

One of my ALL TIME FAVORITE fics is "The Plus-One" by populuxe. Probably one of my favorite characterizations of moira, first off, and it's just hilarious and tense and takes place during the holidays, which makes it extra awkward/awesome.

"we might just be hollywood material, baby" by ikeracity, is another favorite series of mine. Think cherik basically just being in the same situation as their actors -- except they're actually gay for each other, lmao.

"When You're Looking Like That" by DavidRoseBrewer is a really cute high school au (with powers) fic that basically is just Charles's bi awakening. Spin the bottle not sold separately.

Another ALL TIME FAVORITE of mine is "The Desk Set" by justavagrant. Seriously. I've read it like five million times. It has everyone working at Stark industries, too, which is like one of my favorite things in cherik fics. Tony Stark makes everything more iconic.

Ah. The very first cherik fic i ever read, back before I had an AO3 account (took a WHILE to track it back down lmao) is "Never a Place" by kianspo. Set on genosha, post dark pheonix.

The series "Mandalorian Erik, Jedi Charles" by sadbigchungus made me FEEL THINGS AGH. The ANGST. The CUTENESS. THE STAR WARS!!! (will just warn that the last fic in the series is unfinished, but if you just read the first two (the story of how they met + a cute oneshot) there's still a satisfying conclusion.)

Some funny ones I like:

"Hot Neighbor" by Kalimyre

"What Happens In Vegas" by Crystalshard

"Sean Cassidy: The Love Expert" by spritzbi

"erikhotfacelehnsherr" by ikeracity

"You Belong With Me" by CharryWotter

OH AND THEN THERE'S MY FAVORITE HOGWARTS AU!! "The Better Men" by TurtleTotem. Amazing. Spectacular. All the feels. I binge read it in one night.

"You Can Only Know My Name" by hayleyreads is spectacular. Charles and Erik are both professors at a college -- and none of their students know that they're married to each other. Told from Alex's pov, mainly.

"Serendipity" by humanveil is a great modern au textfic. I'm always trying to hunt down textfics..... they're unfortunately scarce in the cherik fandom....

"just remember that you are standing on a planet that's evolving" by populuxe has some of the best worldbuilding(? i think that's the right term here) I've ever read in a fic. It really feels like an actual book.

"Sleepover" by an orphan_account is really funny. Just a warning, there are no line spaces, which can be kind of difficult to read, BUT it's pretty short. Also, dragneto mentioned.

The series "This Story Sounds Fishy" by Alaceron. Mermaid Charles. Need I say more?

I had a really good search i put together once but i didn't bookmark any of the fics I found, so those are lost to the void.... I left out some of the more popular ones I've already screamed about, too, so this isn't quite a complete list, but, ah, looking back on it now, it's probably too much already-

[rotworld]

5: Violent Embrace

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

gifted with remarkable psychic power, you've found yourself allied with an unusual group of misfits. chaos space marines are fractious at best. keeping the peace is an arduous and deadly task, especially since your newest recruit comes from the world eaters, but you'll do anything for your warband.

->warhammer 40k. original chaos space marine/reader. explicit; contains graphic depictions of violence, dismemberment, extremely rough sex, consensual but not safe or sane, body horror.

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.

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Siarotha handles you like glass. 

Your hand is caught between his much larger ones, completely eclipsed by the span of his graceful fingers, but his grip is not tight. You could pull away if you wanted. The caress of his thumb against your joints and tendons, his testing squeezes of your palm—all painfully, tenderly gentle.

His hands have more blood on them than you can possibly imagine. He has buried armies. He has decimated war fleets while they were still in orbit. He has murdered planets with spells of cosmic destruction that invert the delicate ordering of reality. His hands have wielded staves that channel the raw, reactive dreamstuff of the Warp and blades of dark matter. They have hurled supernovas. Conjured event horizons. They have ripped souls from still-living bodies. Siarotha of the Stars, they called him once, in awe and in fear. 

Those same hands hold you carefully, delicately. They splay your fingers and caress each one with the reverence of an artist appreciating a masterpiece. In these rare, private moments, he sheds his heavy armor and conjures softer garments. Loose, white robes, colorful sashes, jeweled bangles; the attire of an ancient priesthood obliterated from human history. He wears his dark hair long and loose down his back, the thick locks framing his face decorated with small golden clasps.

“What do you think?” you ask him, a hopeful edge to your voice. You fidget restlessly atop the examination table, your legs growing stiff.

“I think you’re in good health. As good as we can hope for, anyway,” Siarotha says. His tone is uneasy, the words slow and reluctant. “If there were any ill effects, they’re not apparent yet. Tell me if you notice any discomfort or further changes.” He hasn’t let go of your hand yet, tracing small circles with his thumb. 

“You don’t like it?” You know it’s an absurd thing to say. Like you’re wearing a new shirt or trying something different with your hair, not…

You glance at the thing in the corner. The rumpled, blood-encrusted mass. The half-shredded, empty-eyed, gaping-mouthed stack of skin, raw at its torn edges and glistening moist inside like a pile of peeled fruit rind. Siarotha taps your chin and guides your gaze back to his face. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, sounding strained like he can’t decide whether to scold or soothe you. “This isn’t a matter of aesthetic preferences. Surely you can agree that this mutation is…alarming.” 

“Zonaras calls it a gift.” 

Siarotha sighs heavily. “Of course he does.” His grip shifts from your hand to your wrist, sliding your arm and shoulder, coming to rest on your cheek. He bends slightly from his towering height to look you in the eye. “I do not mean to imply disappointment or disgust. Change is a blessing. You and I are the only ones who truly understand that. But change of this nature can also be volatile. I cannot…” He clears his throat, lowering his hand and pulling away from you suddenly. “We cannot afford to lose you. You are vital to the continued existence of this pathetic excuse for a warband. You will keep me informed of any pain, discomfort or further mutation.” 

You let him try and force distance, physical and emotional. He claims superiority and wisdom, but Siarotha is just like the others. Vulnerability is a sickness, he thinks, an insidious and creeping thing. He’s been burned too many times to believe he can care for you unscathed. “I’ll keep it in mind,” you tell him, hopping off the table. Your empty stomach clenches and stings, making a sad animal sound. You can still taste the stale, salty flavor of the ration bar you ate earlier. “I hope they get back soon. We don’t have a lot of food left.” 

Siarotha rests a hand on your shoulder. You feel a pleasant tingling sensation, a rush of coolness in your belly that takes the hunger pains away. Still starving, but at least it doesn’t hurt so much. He hovers, of course, like you knew he would, following you down the long, echoing corridors of an abandoned manufactorum. The breeze is cool and pleasant, sunlight pouring through endless honeycomb rows of windows. From five stories up, you can see the pockmarked landscape of a world scarred by apocalyptic war. The sidewalks are shattered and the streets half-sunken, gray, ugly buildings peeking from the gaping maws of giant sinkholes. 

It probably wasn’t green before. Too much rockcrete and steel, too many fences and walkways and sprawling industrial complexes, too many people stuffed in too small a space. But they’re gone now, vanished in a calamity that happened before you ever found this empty place. New life fills the spaces they left behind. The trees are thin and sickly, the grass sharp like little daggers. Snaking roots and grasping vines slowly worm their way up the sides of towers and observation platforms. 

It’s beautiful, you think. Maybe the most beautiful Imperial planet you’ve ever seen.

“They should be returning shortly. I told them to keep it brief,” Siarotha says.

“You mean you threatened them?” 

“If they responded well to requests and gentle suggestions, I would do that instead.”

“Do you think they’re alright? Kyloteknis mentioned something about probable resistance.” 

Siarotha chuckles. “Eavesdropping now?” 

“I’m a part of this warband, too.” You frown, glancing up at him. “I wish you wouldn’t try to leave me out so much. I could help more than I do.”

Siarotha flicks a hand in front of his body and his armor materializes in a flash of firefly glimmers, slowly engulfing him as he walks. His graceful footsteps suddenly become loud, heavy crunches of metal scraping metal and his face is hidden behind an expressionless helm. His already staggering size becomes truly monstrous when he vanishes into those broad, bulky panels of blue adorned with gold trim. “Some things are not your concern,” he says, his voice deeper, muffled and laced with static through the vox of his helmet. 

“Like Erghol?” 

He turns, the glowing lenses of his helmet glaring down at you. “Yes. Like Erghol. I didn’t realize you’d heard that conversation.” 

“We can’t just abandon him. It isn’t right.” 

Siarotha sighs heavily. He opens the door to the stairwell without touching it, a simple flick of his wrist making the groaning metal slide out of the way. He doesn’t fit through the doorway but he doesn’t have to. You hear his voice in your head on the way down and feel his presence shadowing your every move. “Since you were listening so closely, you might recall that my suggestion was to put him out of his misery. I understand this seems cruel to you, but he is a son of Angron. The Nails gnaw at his mind. Battlelust clouds his judgment, making him impulsive and unreliable.”

“Grigori told me the Nails can be subdued.”

There’s a pause. A tranquil feeling washes over you, an echo of Siarotha’s emotions leaking through the bond between you. The Enumerations, you realize, that peculiar meditation he practices. This is the self-soothing one, a way to banish stubborn thoughts and emotions. He is, in essence, breathing deeply and counting to ten before he speaks to you again. “Grigori does not know what he’s talking about,” he says simply.

“He sounded like he did.”

“The Nails cannot be subdued. They can only be temporarily sated.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” you insist. “Why am I here, Siarotha? Why are you? Or Zonaras, or Grigori? What do we all have in common?” You can sense his frustration, a thorny feeling in the back of your mind. “We were abandoned. All of us. Cast out and left behind. Erghol is one of us now. We can’t turn our back on him.” 

When you reach the ground floor, Siarotha is already standing there. He conjures his staff, a gnarled contortion of gold, silver and colors that make your eyes sting. “You are infuriatingly stubborn,” he says. “Erghol is dangerous. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. It’s not just his devotion to the Blood God. There is a hunger in him.” 

You shrug. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t understand—” 

“I do,” you insist. The air around you bristles and heats like the grit of sand in desert wind. It’s a show of power, an intentional slip before he smothers his anger. Months ago, you would’ve been intimidated. You feel a lingering coarseness that tells you he wishes you still were. “I know his hunger and I’m not afraid of it. I can help him. I’ll prove it.” 

You can feel Siarotha in the shallows of your mind but you don’t let him in any deeper. He could push and you could push back. You could fight; you would lose. Large, metal-covered fingers hook beneath your chin and all it takes is that moment, that lapse in concentration, that shiver of desire down your spine. A thought slips through your careful control and he seizes it, tugging gently, following the spool of memory and intention to see where it leads. 

You know when he finds what you were trying to hide because his emotions come all at once in a sudden shockwave. Suffocating surprise. Confusion, light and airy. Hot anger and sickening disgust. A curl of lurid, voyeuristic interest before he separates his mind from yours. “This is foolish,” he hisses. “Unbelievably foolish. You could be killed. Your mutation is new and untested. There’s no guarantee your body will recover from such extensive damage.” 

He’s not saying no, you notice. “You’ve healed me before,” you insist.

“I was once Pavoni. Healing is a simple matter, but even my power has limits. Rather than attend to you afterwards, it would be better if I was present. My main concern is exsanguination, given Erghol’s proclivities…” He stops, shaking his head. “I cannot believe I’m even considering this.” You try to wipe the smile off your face when he looks at you. Another staticy sigh comes through the vox. Siarotha wraps his massive gauntlet-covered hand around your forearm and tugs you stumbling into his breastplate. His voice lowers to a gravelly rumble. “I saw something curious while I was sifting through your thoughts. It was an image. Something you picture frequently. A bit distant, but I could have sworn it was you…writhing under me.” 

Your face fills with heat. Siarotha doesn’t touch you but his presence ripples softly at the edge of your mind like the caress of velvet, a teasing touch that makes a shiver run down your spine. 

“You and I are going to have a talk later. For now…” He lets you go and brushes past you. His hand lingers for just a moment, sliding away from your shoulder one finger at a time. “Let’s make sure Erghol didn’t kill anyone.” 

Once, it was a hangar of some kind. Tall and cavernous with rusted, cobwebbed machinery, you and Siarotha have made something far more impressive. At the far end, charred, bent and broken scrap metal has been woven into an enormous arch that follows the curve of the ceiling. Gruesome trinkets of human bone sit in its misshapen alcoves. Eight-pointed stars of Chaos, soaked and splattered with blood, are welded to the structure from every angle. A subtle hum fills the air around it. When you press your hand against the metal, it pulses like a heart.

“Are they ready?” you ask.

“Soon,” Siarotha says. You can feel his gaze burning into your back. “You’re absolutely certain about this?” 

“Yes.” 

“Very well.” His hand engulfs your shoulder. “You were right earlier. You are a part of this warband. There’s no need for you to prove yourself.”

“Clearly there is,” you mutter. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m fragile compared to the rest of you.”

“You are important. Irreplaceable.” 

“Kyloteknis would disagree.”

“Kyloteknis is a fool,” he says sharply. His voice echoes throughout the hangar, fading into the ceiling beams. Siarotha clenches his staff tightly. He doesn’t say anything else for a while. It’s the closest you’ll ever get to hearing something vulnerable from him. You savor the moment while it lasts. “They’re ready,” he says. 

It takes both of you to operate the gate. You are the conduit, the empty space the Immaterium rushes to fill. You are the guide, the Stygian ferryman who steers the cosmic dark. Your vision fills with light and your ears fill with the howl of screaming souls, sparks singing the air where your hand meets the gate. Siarotha is the only thing keeping you grounded, the only reason you don’t erupt across the hangar like red, runny shrapnel. He raises his staff and colors swirl, the room seeming to tilt and distort. A ring of symbols that only your subconscious can read spins faster and faster. The whispers of things unborn and hungry tempt you with the promise of power but there is nothing you want more than to be where you are right now, shepherd of the lost and lighthouse of the damned. The light grows brighter and the screams grow louder and you falling, you are floating away, you are everywhere and everywhen and in everything, ever, always—

The gate opens. 

War engines roar. Artillery blasts scour the battlefield. The sky is black with smoke and red with fire and white in searing flashes of death and destruction. Howling, furious winds carry a burning stench, the reek of rust and corpse piles. The thunderous rhythm of space marines in a full sprint feels like a small earthquake. “Close it!” someone screams. “They’re coming, fucking close it!” A whistle. A missile spiraling. A great steel bird shot out of the sky. 

“I have you,” Siarotha whispers in your mind. With a gasp, you remember suddenly who you are and what you’re doing. You pull your hand back and clench it into a fist.

The gate closes.

Your warband is not the sentimental sort. Near-death does not make them wistful or talkative. They’re creatures of habit and the mission isn’t over until their spoils are counted and their hearts stop pounding with combat stimulants. The most you get is a curt, “Objective completed,” from Kyloteknis as he rumbles past with an awful scraping sound, scorch marks dappling the yellow and black stripes on his armor. He drags an enormous slab of metal behind him, Imperial seals and symbols stamped across the surface and sides. A relic of some sort, some priceless equipment they’ve been salivating over for weeks now. Zonaras and Grigori follow. The former offers a prayer of gratitude to the Changer of Ways and to you, guided by incomprehensible hands. The latter simply nods and continues on his way.

Dagger and Claw approach from either side like always, flanking you. You don’t know their real names because they won’t tell you, but one favors a curved disemboweling knife and one has long, electrified claws tipping his gauntlets. They’re Night Lords. They’ve tried to sneak off with half of your supplies twice now; played it off as a joke the first time, a “readiness drill” the second. “Your dog tried to bite me,” Dagger says. “He’s rabid, I think.” 

“Since when is he my dog?” you ask. 

“Since he got here,” Claw sneers behind you. “Practically slobbers all over you.” 

“We’re going to take care of that,” Siarotha says. The escher spiral at the top of his staff crackles dangerously. There’s a pause and you’re certain they’re talking to each other, communicating on a vox channel so you can’t hear whatever’s said. Dagger gives a slight, sudden nod like he’s laughing under his helm. 

“If you’re sure,” he drawls. Claw follows him when he leaves, their footsteps fading. 

That leaves just the three of you. Erghol is covered—absolutely saturated, head to toe—in blood. It slicks his red armor, drying in darker patches. It stains the silver trim. It gums up the joints and speckles the open maw crest of the World Eaters on his pauldron and it drips, pattering like rain, on the floor. He’s breathing heavily, panting like a beast. His armor is ragged and patchwork, panels missing, plates cracked, one thick, muscled arm completely bare. He tears his helmet off one-handed. He shouldn’t be able to but the locking mechanisms that keep Astartes armor cohesive and connected have long since worn away. You see furious, bloodshot eyes. Blown pupils. Gritted teeth. Crisscrossing scar tissue, burns and shrapnel puckers and clawing close-quarters desperation. Dark hair grows in stiff, short tufts from an old military buzzcut, but there are small, circular patches of exposed scalp where thick metal cords snake in and out of the skin.

Those are the Butcher’s Nails, the legacy of his legion. They soothe him when he kills. They torment him when he hesitates. 

“Erghol,” you say, calm and quiet. You take a step forward, testing. He doesn’t react. His chest heaves with quick, labored breathing. “How was the battle?” 

He looks at you. His eyes rake up and down with voracious scrutiny. There’s blood on his hands. Stuck under his nails, clotting on his palms. His fingers twitch. 

“Was it good?” you ask. Another cautious step. “Are you satisfied? Did you spill enough blood? Dagger said you attacked him, but he didn’t look hurt.” Your next step is bolder, your heart pounding in anticipation. You keep your posture wide. Strong. Hostile. “Did he get away? Or did he beat you instead? Did you lose a fight, Erghol? That must’ve been humiliating—”

Erghol lunges. There is nothing graceful about the motion, only predatory swiftness that knocks the air from your lungs. The wall shudders, splintering with the force of his body crushing you against it, and you’re in agony. Something is broken or dislocated, wrenched from the socket it’s supposed to be in. You’re still trying to catch your breath when he starts clawing at you, tearing at your clothes with one bare hand and one armored gauntlet. 

Over his shoulder, you see Siarotha standing very still. His staff creaks, metal bending beneath his crushing grip, but he doesn’t intervene. He nudged into your mind and felt your frantic reassurances, your insistence that everything was fine, so he waits. Erghol’s hands scrabble frantically across his own body next, ripping away chunks of armor that dent the metal ground where they fall. He doesn’t remove everything, only what’s in the way; a black loincloth worn over his armor, decorated with dangling chains and bloody hooks. Sections of chest plate, the pieces in the front he can reach most easily. The pelvic section goes last and your breath hitches seeing his skin is bare underneath it. There should be a skin-tight suit underneath, black and striated like muscle, but you can see the frayed edge where it’s been picked and torn away right above the abdomen. 

His cock juts between his legs, obscenely thick and throbbing. He wraps his fist around the base and squeezes, a glob of precum beading at his tip.

He’s done this before, you realize. Returned from a mission and stripped hastily, taking himself in hand and stroking himself to completion. You don’t have to wonder what he thinks about when he does it. The way he looks at you, the slow saunter of his half-lidded gaze down your body, tells you everything you need to know. 

Erghol lifts you without warning. It’s easy for him. Two hands grab you around the middle, lifting without even a grunt of exertion, and then you’re being lowered again. His wide, flared tip slips past your entrance once, twice, and then it prods. Pushes. Forces its way in with a snap of his hips and makes you choke. 

“You,” he growls. A good sign, you think through a haze of pain. He’s verbal again. “You are infuriating.” He lifts you and then forces you down again, forcing his cock deeper. Your hands scrape uselessly over his pauldron and his bare shoulder, the metal ports embedded in his skin, trying to find something to hold onto. “The way you look at me. The way words form on your lips. You have been teasing me. Haunting me.” He slams his other hand against the wall beside your head and it dents, crumpling under his palm. He presses against you and all you can feel is the bulge and ripple of every muscle in his body straining.

“I shouldn’t have worried so much.” Siarotha’s voice is a sensual murmur in your head, a though passed directly between you. You find his blank-faced helm staring at you. The air around him sizzles like a heat haze. “Look at you, being used like a toy. You’re enjoying this. You want him to destroy you.” 

Erghol’s pace is erratic. He’ll bring you down on his cock hard and fast, and then he’ll stop while he’s sheathed inside you, holding you tight and grinding his hips until you whine. He follows no pattern but his own whims, fucking you on just his tip before suddenly impaling you on his whole length. There’s no softness or comfort, nothing to protect your head from slamming back into the wall every time he thrusts up into your tight heat, nowhere to put your legs so they dangle uselessly. You try and fail again to find something to steady yourself, somewhere to put your hands. 

Your nails graze Erghol’s face. It’s just a scratch. It doesn’t even bleed. But you feel him go rigid with tension—with excitement. He pins you to the wall with nothing but his body, the crushing weight of his broad, scarred chest, and seizes the hand that scratched him. His grip is beyond bruising. It’s tearing your skin. It’s making your bones grind together. He leans in close so you can smell the blood on his breath and then he crushes your lips together. The kiss hurts, like everything else. He bites your tongue so hard it bleeds. 

One of his hands presses down on your shoulder, keeping it trapped against the wall. The other starts to pull. His cock drools precum as he grinds against your thigh, searching blindly for your sore entrance. He pulls harder. You feel yourself, flesh and muscle and tendon, stretching in ways you’re not meant to stretch. Harder, and you’re screaming into his mouth. Harder, and there is blood pouring down your back and side, a red puddle trickling into existence below you. There’s a painful-sounding pop and a tearing-grinding-squelching sound almost as awful as the burst of excruciating heat in your shoulder. Erghol thrusts his hips at just the right angle and it catches on the sore, abused muscles of your entrance. You feel him smile against your mouth, hear a pleased groan, and then your world goes spotted and blurry at the edges. 

He buries himself inside you to the hilt. In the same moment, in the same breath, he rips your arm from your body and leaves a gaping, oozing wound behind.

Consciousness flickers. You only catch glimpses of sight and sensation between slow, delirious blinks. Erghol, kissing you. Licking the blood from your mouth. Fucking you, harder and faster than humanly possible. Grunting and cursing, hips straining, thigh muscles taut, as he empties inside you. It’s more cum than your body can handle, foaming up around his engorged length with his last forceful thrusts and sliding slowly down your thighs. His breathing gets slower, and deeper, and finally calmer. 

And then you start to shake. 

It’s an itch. A terrible, bone-deep itch, like you’d have to tear yourself open to reach it. Erghol lets you go gracelessly and you collapse in a heap on the filthy, blood and cum-covered floor, and you can’t stop trembling. “Siarotha!” he shouts, his voice strained. Frightened. You’re held like glass for the second time today. Erghol touches your face but when he pulls his hand away, your skin goes with him. It sloughs away, dangling stringy gristle like melted wax. “Do something!” he cries helplessly.

“It’s alright,” Siarotha says. “They’re just molting.” 

You’re better at this now. Faster than the first time, now that you know what to expect. You twist and writhe like an insect in a chrysalis. You rub against Erghol, all the hard edges and spikes of his armor catching your old flesh. Hearing the calm in Siarotha’s voice soothes him. He watches, entranced. Hesitant, he touches your shoulder and your skin peels like old, rotten wallpaper. He pulls harder and it squelches, a splatter of blood and shimmery Warp juices wetting the floor. Through the hazy mass of your old body, you see his pupils widen again, your gruesome transformation easing the pressure of the Nails on his mind. 

When you emerge, exhausted and glistening, working out the stiffness in your new arm, Siarotha approaches. “How do you feel?” he asks. 

Erghol shakes a sticky clump of old skin and muscle from his hand. “Better,” he says. He looks at the floor, avoiding your gaze. He’s embarrassed, you think. Crying out when he thought he’d killed you has him feeling bashful. “Much better. It won’t last forever, but it’s nice to be clear-headed for a while. This is…fine?” He gestures vaguely to the mess in front of him. You and your molted skin. 

“It’s stable,” Siarotha says, but he’s watching you carefully. “I’m going to keep an eye on it. Get cleaned up, both of you. We need to debrief. You’d better have come back with food.”

Erghol mutters a colorful insult and gets to his feet, grimacing at his scattered armor and the shreds of your clothing. Siarotha conjures you a simple robe to wear, although you sense him running through the Enumerations again when you wipe the cum from your legs with it. 

“Dagger has it,” Erghol says just as you’re leaving. He looks you in the eye this time, unflinching, unblinking, like a dog seeking approval. “The food, I mean. I made sure. He tried to dump it while we were coming back. Said it didn’t matter. Told him I would break every bone in his body if he left it behind.”

“Thank you, Erghol,” you say. He swallows, the muscles in his neck bobbing. His cock twitches and he quickly looks away. 

Siarotha steers you out of the hangar before you can desecrate it again. “I was wrong. Erghol wasn’t the dangerous one. It’s you,” he says. 

“Am I invited to the debriefing now?” you ask. 

He laughs. His hand smooths down your back and then slips lower. “Of course,” he purrs, squeezing your ass. “But first, I think we’re overdue for a private conversation.”