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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 29 days ago

Text

Requesting Aid 2

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @i-am-a-dragon34 @ms--lobotomy @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @felinisnoctis @bispecsual @whorety-k @bleedingichorhearts @thevoidscreams

Tagged: @jaghatai-khock

Author's note: Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Anrir. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric & Ash'val. Thank you to @c-u-c-koo-4-40k for collaboration on writing this behemoth of an arc... and it's only still at the start and letting me borrow Khopesh. Lol.

Kerubiel had given so much, pushed himself in Every aspect of his training. Aspirant to Neophyte to Scout, watching his lessers die off one by one. Asserting (comforting) himself that He was Better. That He would survive (Praying himself near sleepless that he would survive).

That their passing was a Mercy to them because they wouldn't survive what he could- Because he would be the Best. He exceeded expectations, and when he didn't he took his beatings, scraped himself up, and kept fighting! Showed just as much promise in Every Mission and Every Training. Pushing himself to the limit of his enhanced body, Every! Single! Day! (Because anything less would mean he'd not be worth keeping.)

And Yet!

...

“Why wasn't I enough…?” Kerubiel asks, muffling his sobbing into Olly's shoulder.

“...” Olly doesn't know how to respond. “I don't know.” He eventually says, but he knows he could say something better, and is aggravated with himself that he can't think of it.

“You were always enough.”

Both Primaris whip their heads back to see the old Dragon Approaching once again. Soon, Ash'val stands before them.

“You…you heard?” Kerubiel asks, feeling an embarrassed blush come over him.

The Salamander nods. “Salamanders may not Prefer Gothic but most of us can speak it.” He explains. “Also my Gothic may be pre-heresy but the language really hasn't changed that much in your time it seems.”

Olly responds with a slight embarrassed “Ah…alright then.”

“But back to the point. You two were Always enough.” Ash'val insists.

The Scouts look away, clearly not believing him, so the old Dragon decides to try a different angle.

“Have you heard the tale of when our Gene father Vulcan, long may he Live, rejoined our Legion?”

“...” “I know Vulcan was described to us as one of the Holy Primarchs of the Imperium.” Olly replies while Keru stays silent. “But wait…are you saying, you've actually Met a Primarch!? In person!?” The Ultramarine gasps.

Ash'val nods. “In the obsidian flesh, here, sit with me and I will tell you.”

Both Primaris do as the old dragon says and he begins the tale. “We Salamanders had been devastated by a long conflict. Our numbers were depleted, our casualties counted in the thousands. What ships we could spare were sent with civilians and what supplies came back never seemed to be enough. We were at our end, but then…he came.” Ash'val's recollection takes on a legendary sort of awe. “He, and the forces he handpicked and armed, cut down our Xenos foe. The enemy we faced for months was burnt to ash in what felt like hours. And at the end, when the battlefield was finally quiet, we of the old Guard faced what we were certain was our replacement.”

“You feared that you would be…discarded?” Olly asks. Kerubiel remains silent, he…he had never heard such insecurities from a First Born.

Ash'val nodded. “What more could be expected? We held our own, but clearly our betters outmatched us in every way. So…we bowed. To honor our father, and the brothers who would take our place at his side…but do you know what he did?”

The Primaris shook their heads.

“He demanded we get up, that we stand proud because we had…given so much and saved so many…that We should not bow. Then He…he bowed to Us.”

Olly almost felt a gasp escape him. A Primarch! Bowing low to mere Space Marines!? If his own Gene Father was to bow to him he'd…he'd…

Well he doesn't know what he'd do but the very idea makes him feel like he's about to pass out.

“And then he Took us in his arms and said we would ALL be his sons! LIKE THIS!” Ash'val says joyfully, and surprises the two Primaris by swooping them into a tight hug!

“Woah!” “Hey now!”

Salamander strength is really no joke considering Ash'val successfully lifts Both of them in armor, even if only for a moment. He continues once he places them both down.

“And ever since then, we Salamanders have Always accepted our new recruits with open arms. Terran, First Born, Transfers from other Legions, and the Primaris.” Ash'val explains. “Which is what I wish happened for you, and your brothers…”

Kerubiel bites his lip, “It…wasn't your fault.” He eventually says.

“Perhaps,” Ash'val responds. “But clearly, more care will need to be taken with integrating Primaris that arrive here. They should feel welcomed, and that whatever abuse they faced in their pasts will not be tolerated by the Alliance, least of all in a territory under My protection. ”

Kerubiel and Olly both feel…stunned. But Ash'val simply claps them both on the shoulders. “The dragon rises on a New Day! Now, let's continue as we were! 50 laps! I'll give you a ten second head start. You both better keep up with this old drake or you'll both be in for barracks cleaning duty!”

“Yes sir!” “Sir yes sir!” Kerubiel pulls out his hydration ration and chugs it properly before getting a move on with Olly.

Ash'val watches the boys fondly, but his expression does shift as he glances back down at his vox.

‘Dark Angel Apothecary retained at Clinic. Possible involvement with attempted kidnapping of the Primaris known as Kerubiel. Administering truth drugs as soon as Anesthesia reaches appropriate level.’

Ash’val is glad that he’s able to watch over a pair of the Primaris Marines- especially one of the ones that had been almost-kidnapped. Would be thieves were going to be punished. If the younger cousins do not want to be taken, then they won’t be.

Ash'val grimaces, and seems he will need to remind the other Astarte leaders of this world what happens when you intrude upon a Dragon's nest.

“10 seconds up! You'll be left in the dust if you don't pick up the pace, old man!” Kerubiel shouts, now much more like himself.

Ash'val's grimace melts instantly into a challenging grin. “OH-HO-HO! I'll make you eat those words scout!” He replies, doing as promised and picking up a run after his charges.

Kerubiel had a fierce, but a small smile on his face as he continued to run- making sure to pace himself. He and Olly were running, keeping ahead of Ash’val- for now at least. Primaris Marines are faster than most First Borns.

The more he learns about the boy’s story the more he understands why they are reluctant to reach out to their older brothers- and superior officers. The reluctance to put themselves into the hands of those who, in their time and era have proven themselves unworthy of their trust and obedience.

Still the more Ash’val learns of M42, one thought keeps going through his head is this ‘What the fuck? Why? What is wrong with M42?’

…

“And then the boys came back to reality, and we called the others to tell them.” Lullaby explains to Nanael and Atlas as they show the new arrivals the full image that Claude and Jophiel's vision had produced.

“...” Neither of the new Primaris speak for a moment, but eventually Nanael produces one…

“I see…” That doesn't have any curses or promises of violence he Desperately wants to include. Nanael's expression is serious, and even slightly disgusted. His wings are reminiscent of Jophiel's when he'd first seen Lullaby's … interesting looking warp presence.

“But…What does it mean?!” Lullaby asks plaintively, “Why are they Doing this, Why do they Want to do this?! He's done nothing to them!” They feel another painful spike in their emotions and their psychery, and force it back down so it doesn't cause trouble. They still feel tears pricking at their eyes, and they wipe them away quickly. Not the time for weakness.

“It will be Alright.” Atlas assures Lullaby. “We've already received double confirmation that Kerubiel is safe with Ash'val and Olly.”

“And Khopesh will be back before you know it. Though he may have to check in with Anrir first.” Claude supplies, giving Lullaby a gentle side hug.

Lullaby nods. “I know. I just don't understand why…anything with this.” They say tiredly pinching the bridge of their nose. “And I Hate that.”

Nanael's expression takes on a different intense look. He and Cedric will have bastards to Hunt down soon enough. After all- harm given, is harm to be repaid. If those Dark Angels were planning on doing that to Kerubiel. Or whichever other Primaris they got a hold of, well, self defense, even a more active version of it so that those bastards don’t hurt him, or others is understandable.

And if a portion of the Dark Angels was planning on brutally killing one of his brothers for curiosity. Well then, he’ll make them drown in their own blood. They were going to kill someone he Cherishes. Or may even go after another Primaris, should it prove too difficult to get Keru.

Threats must be dealt with, and well, there was something in the codex about that, Ruthlessness is mercy upon one’s self. Yeah. Nanael knows he’s not fully of the Lamenter variant of the Son of Sanguinius, what else he is, he doesn’t know, Nor particularly care to find out.

“Jophie, Claude, if we point out the figures do you think you can recall more about their appearances?” Atlas posits.

Jophiel and Claude look to each other and to Atlas, “Perhaps? I’d like to try to see if I can get more clarity if you do have pictures.”

“It can’t hurt to try.” Claude says.

“I'll grab the paper and colored pencils!” Lullaby announces. “If we can do a Perp Sketch it could help Kerubiel and Khopesh avoid them. Especially if any of the Dark Angels had scars or other recognizable features.” They say, voicing their understanding of what Atlas was getting at. “And it will help others find them so they can be stopped…”

“They can be stopped…right?” Lullaby asks hesitantly. “Like they intended to kidnap Kerubiel, and even if This crime technically didn't happen I mean…there's got to be Something we can do right?” Lullaby asks.

Atlas puts a comforting hand on the baselines shoulder. “We will make sure our friends do not come to harm. You have my word.”

Lullaby smiles. They know there's only so far a promise can go, but the words soothe them regardless.

Squeak Squeak! A chirping bat call ringtone sounds on Lullabys phone and they scramble it out in a flurry. “Khopesh?! Can you hear me sweetness?”

“I am well, dear one! I am just letting you know I have Arrived back at Stone Flame but I must report to Anrir first.” Khopesh explains.

Lullaby’s entire frame immediately uncoils most of its tension. “Thank Goodness. Also…”

“Yes my Love?”

“I'm really happy to hear your voice.”

“Awww!”

“But! Once you're back in my arms you're also going to Tell Me Exactly how you got involved with this Dark Angel debacle.” Lullaby says without leaving room for argument.

Nanael raises an eyebrow. “You mean he didn't brag to you about biting off a Dark Angel's arm when they tried to take Kerubiel?”

“HE DID WHAT?!”

“NANAEL DON'T TELL THEM THAT! HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!?”

“Cedric heard it through Zariel I believe.” Nanael smirked. “It was for a good reason, but still I Think you should have informed your partner appropriately, brother cousin.”

“YOU DID WHAT!?”

“You are getting it the next time we train, little brother cousin!” Khopesh responds through the phone to the still smirking Nanael.

“You are coming straight back Here after you see Anrir.” Lullaby says strictly. “And you are going to help us construct the sketches of the Dark Angels so you and Kerubiel can avoid coming within 10 Miles of them until they're dealt with!”

“Yes Lullaby.” Khopesh sighs. “However, I Did have a good reason.”

“Yes, and I won't say it wasn't deserved.” Lullaby responds. “But next time just Punch the offending bastard's jaw off! DO NOT! Leave behind teeth marks, and crap tons of mouth DNA for them to find you with!”

“That!...That is fair.” Khopesh allows. “Even better, next time I will make it look like an accident. No witnesses.” He growls slyly.

Lullaby let's out an amused huff. “Again, not saying they wouldn't deserve it…especially if they’re involved with these bastards.” Lullaby responds, shooting a dirty look at the vision image.

Ziztz! The light above Lullaby's head flickers for a moment before they pull themselves back again. Atlas doesn't know about…that side of them, yet.

And if anymore Marines learn about their abilities they're fairly certain Anrir will turn Grey. His hair, they mean, his skin is already pretty much that color.

“I'm sorry our art day has been impacted in this way.” Jophiel apologizes to Lullaby and Claude as the group seats itself and prepares to make the perpetrator sketches.

Claude smiles. “I would rather this happen, then we go forward not knowing.”

Lullaby nods, and continues to pass the colored pencils, and paper so Jophiel and Claude can draw the images of their potential enemies. Nanael and Atlas continue to examine the vision image to determine how many unique figures are present, and thus how many Dark Angels they'll need to identify.

And thus how many graves will need to be dug.

…

“How is our Patient fairing?” Anrir asks his fellow Apothecaries.

“Vitals are stable, we'll be ready to on-board the Sodium Thiopental in about two minutes.” Hura replies.

“Dosage is ready when you are Apothecary Hura.” Cedric replies, having just drawn up the syringe.

“Excellent.” Hura replies before shifting his attention to his vox. “Apothecary Zariel, how are our Other guests fairing?”

‘Sour and surly, but being complacent otherwise… for now.’ Zariel responds. ‘Best to hurry this along if possible though. No telling when they'll decide to burst in and steal back their apothecary.”

“Understood, Cedric,” Hura announces. “Get the Sodium Thiopental on board.”

“Injecting now.” Cedric replies, double checking his syringe for air bubbles before pressing the mind altering drug into the Dark Angel's IV.

“Mrph-mm…” The Dark Angel twitches and begins to stir, but when his eyes open they are unfocused and glassy. Perfect.

Anrir leans over the table, “Can you hear me?” The Nightlord asks in flawless Gothic.

“Yes,” The Apothecary answers, with little to no emotion in his voice.

Anrir nods. “Good, first of all, Who are you?”

“I am Apothecary Brother Sargent Noctis Aramais, of the Dark Angels,” He replied flatly.

“What is your current mission?” Hura asks.

“To capture alive and as intact as possible a Primaris Space Marine,” Noctis Aramias replies.

“Why have you been sent to capture a Primaris Space Marine alive?” Cedric asks, one of his hands clenching into a fist before unclenching his hands.

“The orders have come from our Chapter Master, Sammath Togroth.”

The tension in the room shifts, and Cedric finds himself stunned for a moment. A Chapter Master had ordered this? That…that would complicate things.

If Anrir finds that information strange he does not show it. He simply continues the line of questioning. “Why does your Chapter Master want a Primaris?”

“The Chapter Master wants to see how strong and what the differences are between a Firstborn Space Marine and a Primaris Space Marine.”

“And how would this be determined?” Hura presses.

“First examine, open the body cavity and study the biological mechanics…”

“But that isn't all, is it?” Anrir prompts. “What about anesthesia?”

“No…no anesthesia. Only…hypno drugs, Chapter Master Togroth, wants…the Primaris awake. To measure stress response…Cut and take till there's...nothing left. Record findings till the Primaris expires…Collect and store usable organs as normal.” The Apothecary drones on.

Cedric feels his hearts pick up and a hot searing knife of rage cuts through him. He has to firmly hold himself back from latching his hands around the Fucking Bastards NECK and wringing it till his eyes pop out and it Snaps in his hands.

What Cedric doesn't realize is that Anrir is not far behind him, after all if this is what they planned to do to a random Primaris, who's to say what they'd do to Khopesh who had actually offended them. But the old Nightlord is much better at keeping his emotions unseen.

“What happened when you attempted to take the Primaris known as Kerubiel?” Anrir prompts.

“Scout disobeyed, was antsy but…almost had him…just had to…apply the hypno drug but then-” A small amount of panicked lucidity comes back to the Dark Angel, but not enough to wake him fully. “Wretched monster with a grinning scarred mouth…lept from the trees, Teeth sinking into my Arm. Snapped it off. Get him off! GET HIM OFF KILL HIM BROTHERS! RIP HIS ARMS OFF AND WATCH HIM BLEED OU-”

Shink! Anrir jabs another dose of knock out juice right into the near thrashing Dark Angels neck, not gently at all. But the Apothecary does go limp a moment later.

“I've heard Enough.” The elder Night lord surmises. “The amnesitics will ensure he does not recall Any of this. As for the Other issues at hand…”

“A band of rogues is one thing, but if his words are true, then we are dealing with a Far Worse conspiracy.” Hura adds.

“No Primaris is safe…” Cedric mumbles, his tone belying the sheer overwhelmed Panic he feels. “Even if I can keep those who are already Here informed…Any new arrivals could be- They could be taken. I can't…”

“Cedric?” Hura asks, seeing the emotional outburst coming.

“THRONE DAMMIT ALL!” Cedric snarls slamming and tossing the tray of used surgical items into a wall. (Thankfully avoiding the other medical equipment.)

“CEDRIC!?”

“I SWORE! I-SWORE! That I wouldn't-!” Cedric feels an angry sob threaten to break through. “That I wouldn't, Let them be hurt again!”

Both elders look on, they know a meltdown like this will need to run it's course.

“And NOW I learn…that a fucking CHAPTER MASTER, wants to cut open one of my brother's like a fucking science experiment!?” Cedric continues to rant. “WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?”

“Is this a bad time?”

Cedric whips his head around to the door opposite to the one that lead back to the waiting area with the other Fucking Dark Angels, only to see a familiar dark eyed face staring back…

Carrying a bunch of grocery bags.

“Khopesh, good to see you have returned.” Anrir greets his son, the relief just barely detectable in his tone.

“But do Not step any closer, this Is meant to be a sterile zone.” Hura adds quickly.

Khopesh snorts but does as he's told. “That's rich coming from you Death Guard. Anrir would you like me to drop these off at your quarters instead?” Khopesh lifts the bags filled with cleaning supplies, and Anrir nods.

“In a moment. First of all…” And with surprising smoothness and speed the old Nightlord wrenches the still Very drugged Apothecary up into a sitting position so Khopesh can see his face. “Do you recognize this one?”

“Ah…yep,” Khopesh affirms, smiling in that unsettling way. “His bones made the most Satisfying crunch when I tore into them. But wait… if He's here, does that mean…?”

Cedric nods. “The other Dark Angels are through the opposite door.” He says stiffly. “You Cannot under any circumstances let them see you! Do you understand!?”

“Cedric,” Hura calms the Black Templar from going into another spiral. “I suggest you leave the way you came, and avoid the more…public areas of the base until you receive word that our Guests have departed.”

Khopesh nods. “No worries! The only other place I need to go is the art rooms. Lullaby has asked me to come see the vision images, so that I may, ’go no closer than 10 miles to the Dark Angels until they are dealt with.’” Khopesh shakes his head a little, but he still smiles. “How am I meant to hunt them if I cannot get Close to them?”

Cedric chews his lip in response. Anrir and Hura don't respond either, and this makes Khopesh curious.

“Hey, I'm not hunt stealing if that's what you're worried about. Kerubiel did say if these were the brainwashing type of first borns, that he'd Like me to take care of them and make it …why are you all looking so dour?”

“Because a retinue of grabby Dark Angels are only the tip of the spear that is our problem, my son.” Anrir responds, approaching Khopesh. “The one wielding that spear is someone of higher importance, someone who will not be so easily snuffed out given his position.”

Khopesh leans in, listening intently.

“If the words of this…patient are accurate, it is the very Chapter Master of the Dark Angels, Sammath Togroth, that has given the order. An order which then spurred the events that caused You to become involved.” Anrir announces solemnly. “I'm afraid I will have to deny you your right to hunt in this case my son. We cannot move forward until we better understand how to approach our enemy.”

Khopesh's frame deflates, but surprisingly he doesn't whine or argue. “You truly believe that is all we can do? All I can do?”

Anrir smiles wryly. “I Know you are capable of much more. But I will not risk losing you to some bastard who thinks himself a man of science, when he is truly a mere sadist. And a wasteful one at that.”

Those in the room turn their attention back to the sleeping Dark Angel, each of their minds mulling over their options. That is until a ping comes over Hura's vox.

The Death Guard reads, and an interesting smile begins to pull at the corners of his mouth.

“What is it?” Cedric asks.

“It is Ash'val, he is on his way to drop off the Primaris with their fellows, and wants to know what We have found.” Hura hums, and casts a look at Anrir.

Anrir's wicked smile cracks across his face, and Khopesh copies his mentor. “You've got an idea, haven't you father?”

A chuckle from the old Nightlord almost makes Cedric's stomach twist in knots and ice run up his spine. “Send the recordings we have obtained to Ash'val. Spare no detail. And make sure he sees the vision image. We want to share Everything we have found.”

Cedric feels the realization dawn. “...You're planning on siccing Ash'val on Sammath? Will that work?”

Anrir hums. “Those who think they are above justice will always try to prove their delusion my boy. What Ash'val can do that we cannot, is ensure our prey Knows there will be consequences if his paws wander too close to the Dragon's den.”

“In other words,” Khopesh supplies, “High level prey needs a high level hunter. Use a Chapter Master to Beat a Chapter Master.”

Anrir nods astutely. “Quite right. This evidence can also push him to open an investigation, which will also give Sammath pause. I'm sure he'd prefer his reputation remain untarnished, lest he bring the anger of the alliance to his doorstep.”

“So…he will be warned? Is that it?” Cedric asks incredulously.

“For the time being.” Anrir replies dryly. “After all, we're not able to play with our prey Directly given the circumstances. We'll have to play politics first.” Anrir sighs. “Loathsome business, but if we play our cards right, we can indeed entrap our prey.”

Hura puts a comforting hand on Cedric's shoulder. “Protecting your brothers and ousting Sammath will have to be a long game, my apprentice. But take comfort that it is not one you will be playing alone.”

Cedric mulls over his next words, unsure what to say next. “I know…you are right. But I still don't like it.”

“That's bureaucracy for ya!” Khopesh chortles. “The most tedious of necessary evils, as my Lullaby says anyway! Speaking of which!” He says turning on his heel. “I've got bags to drop off and my Lullaby and other Little Brother-Cousins to see. I'll catch up with you all later~! And Cedric,”

The Black Templar perks up, and listens.

“When you eventually get to rip those Bastards’ spines out, save a few for me, kay?” The Nightlord asks cheekily.

Cedric, despite his worry, finds himself smiling at the Nightlord's humor. “You have my word, Brother Cousin.”

Khopesh giggle-cackles at that. “Perfect!! Kay Byyyyyyyy!” And with that the Nightlord departs the way he came.

Cedric will link up with the other Primaris Marines, and see what they have managed to glean from the vision. As well as inform them that they have to wait on finding grave sites for the Dark Angels who had tried to steal Kerubiel, and those who had issued the order.

The others won't be pleased about the evil necessity of bureaucracy… Well maybe Atlas Or Olly would appreciate it somewhat. But Nanael is going to be a tough one to talk down, same with Thressl. The Space wolf and the Dark Angel have rather bonded with each other hard.

However, they will be rather pleased that Captain Ash’val will be sent to *remind* the Dark Angel Chapter Master about the Alliance between not just Chaos and Loyalist. But also between Loyalist chapters and why trying to pull some twisted shit to sate curiosity is a bad thing and that reprisals and consequences will occur should such a thing happen.

Captain Ash’val receives another message. He reads it and nods. He was just finishing The last lap with Oleandros and Kerubiel.

“Alright, come with me.” Ash'val says assertively, “training is over For now.”

The two Primaris were indeed challenged by the old Drake in their run, and they pant when they come to a stop. Where they have strength, Ash'val has experience and stamina built from years on the battlefields of the Imperium.

“Alright- But where are we going?” Kerubiel asks.

“To the Second Floor Art Rooms, I am going to make sure you are escorted to your fellow Primaris safely.” Ash'val clarifies, knowing it is best to be as honest with Kerubiel as possible. “We also Cannot go the direct way as certain…Guests are currently in the clinic.”

“Guests?” Kerubiel questions the emphasis put on the word. “Wait…you don't mean?”

Ash'val nods seriously.

Kerubiel's face drains of color. “Oh…no. No no NO!”

“Keru…” Olly puts a hand on Keru's shoulder.

“I will Not allow them to harm you.” Ash'val swears. “If they tried I would Crush them underfoot. However, that conflict could cause collateral damage, so I would prefer to avoid that.”

Olly nods in understanding. “Right, of course.”

“Why are they even Here!?” Keru hisses, they shouldn't have any idea where he resides.

Ash'val, despite himself, cracks a smile. “Well because their Apothecary was afflicted with a certain…malady, that he was unable to repair himself.” Then his expression shifts to one more serious than before. “Although, now that you've mentioned it, perhaps they hoped to do some reconnaissance by bringing the Apothecary Here for treatment.”

“UuuuuuAurrgh! Dammit!” Kerbiel snarls.

“Keru…please,” Olly pleads.

Kerubiel whips his gaze to meet Olly’s and…he softens. He forces himself to breathe. “I'm…I am alright. And I believe you, Captain.” He says, pulling himself back into order, and even stands at attention. “What is our next plan of action?”

Ash'val nods. “We will take the back way to the second floor, and meet with the other Primaris. Apparently two of your fellows received a vision, which had something to do with your run in with the Dark Angels currently stinking up our Clinic.” He explains. “You will be delivered to your fellow Primaris, and we will examine the image your brothers have drawn of the vision. Then we will plan our next move from there.” Ash'val concludes, picking up his pace again and leading the way. “Let's move out!”

“Sir yes Sir!” Both Primaris say in unison as they follow the Salamander.

…

The Art Room door opens with a creak and Lullaby whips their head up immediately. The other Primaris take notice, and stand as if to intercept a threat.

“At ease Scouts, it is only me,” A familiar Salamander enters the room. “And I have brought your brothers.” Ash'val gestures as the two other Primaris follow his path.

“Keru! Olly!” Lullaby books it over and immediately starts checking them for injuries, though most of their questions are aimed at Kerubiel given what they've seen. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Did any other Dark Angels see you?”

“Ack! I'm fine…why is it always hugs and touching with you?” Kerubiel grumbles but doesn't push Lullaby away.

“Ash'val led us safely, we were not spotted.” Olly replies, smiling as he's fussed over.

“And what's this about a Vision?” The Dark Angel Primaris asks.

Lullaby bites their lip and glances back to the table. “You better go see for yourself.”

Nanael nods affirming that statement. “Indeed, this is something you Need to see.”

Olly and Kerubiel do as instructed. Leaving Lullaby and Ash'val for a moment. “Thank You, Captain” They say, sincerely. “For getting them here safely.”

Ash'val hums. “No thanks necessary, it is my duty. And my duty here is nowhere near its end.” He replies. “I also want to see this vision image.”

Lullaby nods. “Of course, but if I may ask…have you heard from or seen Khopesh? I know he's back on base…I'm probably just worrying too much.”

“I know that Khopesh is going to arrive back here soon. Anrir informed me that he's finished his delivery of requested items.” Ash'val says kindly to the concerned human, then turns attention to the Primaris and joins them.

And indeed the sight before him on the page makes his mouth twist in disgust, but he tamps it down. “How many hostiles are we potentially dealing with?” He asks.

“We have counted at Least seven to possibly ten unique individuals in the vision, not including Kerubiel of course.” Atlas responds.

“And we have done our best to draw individual sketches of each.” Jophiel adds.

“No vision is perfectly clear, so these are our recollections as best we could manage.” Claude says

Ash'val nods. “I will need copies of these. And the originals will be archived for evidence.” He declares. “And None of you should approach any wandering or unfamiliar Dark Angels until this is resolved.”

“Why?”

Ash'val's attention turns to Kerubiel, who has been painfully silent ever since he laid eyes on the vision image.

The Dark Angel Primaris's eyes are full of fire. “It was me they wanted, why do All of us need to take precaution?”

Honesty. He must be Honest for these Scouts’ safety. “Because we have reason to believe this goes deeper than a rogue group engaging in kidnapping and torture.” Ash'val responds, and then pulls up the audio logs from Anrir.

The room goes silent as the ‘interview’ plays. Lullaby is the only one who doesn't understand because it's primarily in Gothic but again they parse certain words.

Cut…Examine…Take…Expires…KILL, BLEED! RIP!

And they can see the horror and disgust and Rage the others feel as the message goes on.

They'd even say they can almost Feel it. Nanael's expression actually makes it feel like cold blood it racing up their spine, it's just that chilling.

“None of us are safe.” Claude murmurs.

“Are you saying…they're going to try to do This,” Lullaby asks, gesturing to the image. “To someone else?”

Atlas nods grimly. “If they can capture a Primaris, be it any of us or a new arrival, I have no doubt this is what they have planned.”

*ZzztZtztz* The light flickers overhead again, as Lullaby's breathing and heart rate pick up. “They can't…” They say, trying desperately to hold in their spiraling emotions.

“Lullaby…” Claude says worryingly, but the baseline doesn't hear him, not really.

They're going to take them away. They're going to steal your loved ones in the night and rip them inside out…

They're going to hurt your family.

The psychers in the room sense the shift. But before they can think of a way to diffuse the tension (And keep Lullaby from blowing their secret in front of Atlas.) Lullaby speaks again with an honestly frightening finality behind their words.

“I Won't Let Them…”

“They Are a Nasty bunch aren't they?” The sound of a door opening and another familiar voice cuts through the tense air which seems to knock the baseline from their trance.

“Khopesh? Khopesh!” They cry, running to their tall dark scarred love. They practically jump into his arms and kiss him, finally relieved. “You weren't seen or followed, right? They didn't hurt you?” The baseline asks, gently running their hands over his face.

Khopesh responds by…purring. He Loves the feeling of his Lullaby's warm hands. “Rrrrrrrr, I am whole and well. But I Do find myself Drastically low on kisses.”

“...I just kissed you bat-winged Dork!” Lullaby retorts with an incredulous laugh.

“Mmm no, Ghosk is the one with Bat Wings. Oh No! My Lullaby has forgotten me! I will have to just keep holding and Kissing you till you remember!” Khopesh cackles, as he starts peppering Lullaby's face.

“Ack! Be serious!” Lullaby can't help but giggle due to their ticklishness.

Meanwhile the others in the room watch with varying degrees of Aw to Ew.

“They truly are an odd pair aren't they?” Atlas hums.

“They're a bit…overexcitable.” Nanael shrugs.

“Khopesh is over-excitable, period. It makes sense he'd find someone like that.” Jophiel responds.

Olly nods. “They do have a tendency to amp each other up. Not a negative per se just…observing.”

Ash'val doesn't reply, simply smiles at the Scouts' reactions as they are rather funny.

Lullaby does pull themselves together to firmly but kindly say. “But for real, there's something Awful that…didn't happen but Could still happen??” Lullaby sighs, clearly frustrated and anxious.

Khopesh looks to the rest of the room, before bringing himself over to look at the vision image and- “Curze shit Damn that is VILE, Brilliant but VILE.” He growls. “And So fucking Wasteful to use it on anything less than the Worst of bastards. Definitely should have made those fucking Scout snatchers swallow their own fingers! Or used that severed hand to dig out their intestines or-”

“Khopesh,” Claude chimes in politely, but insistently.

“Ahem! Ah right…” He hums awkwardly at getting too into retribution planning…again.

No one in the room necessarily disagrees with his statements, but they do need to focus on Defense for the time being.

“As I said. Unfamiliar or wandering Dark Angels are to be Avoided at all costs, and travel is Never to be undertaken without a Battle Buddy, even for short distances. That includes you little one.” Ash'val says to Lullaby, “They're looking for a Primaris and the Nightlord who slighted them. And there is no feasible way to separate your scent from his.” He explains.

A more angry rumble starts in Khopesh's chest. He wraps a protective arm around his mate's shoulders. “If they even Try to lay a hand on you, I'll make them Wish for the mercy of the grave. Might take some inspiration from their own playbook…”

“...I know you would. But for now we should focus on not letting ourselves be ambushed.” Lullaby replies solemnly, and squeezes Khopesh's hand to calm him.

“Indeed. I also need to discuss something with Anrir and Hura. Cedric should be coming around soon.” Ash'val states.

“Do you know where Thressl is?” Olly asks. “He's been… Quiet. Recently.”

“Thressl is on Patrol.” Ash'val Replies. “He should be back in three days.”

“Thank You sir.” Olly replies with a polite nod.

Ash'val nods back and heads to the Apothecarium where the five problems are. You wouldn't know it by his stoic face or his measured stride but he is furious, absolutely seething but he's also not a fool. The words of a drugged Dark Angel and the vision are...not enough for a Conviction. They need something more.

But these items are enough to convince him to take extra care around those Dark Angels and the Chapter Master especially. Added security and sending out a warning to be wary, as well as starting an investigation on the down low.

For now he promises to commit himself to helping the Primaris feel more of a belonging.

But first, he'll have to schedule a certain…visit. He manages to get to the room where Anrir, Cedric, Hura and Zariel are.

“When the Dark Angel awakens, I will accompany you in seeing him and his squad off the premises.” Ash'val addresses the Apothecaries leaving no room for argument.

“We were going to request your help in this matter,” Hura says with a smile, his tone is professional, but the edge of satisfaction sets Zariel’s teeth on edge.

“The Dark Angel should be waking up soon,” Zariel informs Ash'val.

There is some noise and arguments, the Interrogator Chaplain is snarling at one of the other Astartes who is manning the front desk. The Chaplain is trying to loom over the Iron Hand and use his rank and specialty to bully the battle brother.

“In the system it says that he's still waking up from anesthesia.” The Iron Hand says in cold apathetic tones. “Please go back to your seat or security will *remove* you from the premises Interrogator Chaplain.”

“And I am telling you, that it's taking to long!” The Interrogator Chaplain growls out.

“Surgery time can take longer, depending on if there are complications.” The Iron Hand retorts. “Please go back to your seat or leave.”

“I will not-.” The Interrogator Chaplain hisses out. Cutting himself off as he looks towards the area where his Apothecary had been whisked off to.

The argued over Apothecary is being helped by a large Salamander, with Captain markings. The Interrogator Chaplain frowns a little bit.

“What are you doing with one of my pride?” The Chaplain asks.

“The Apothecaries who were tending to him requested that I help guide him back to his squad. Once he was mobile enough to move he insisted on being returned to you.” Captain Ash’val says levelly as he eyed one of the others involved in something unwise.

He keeps his thoughts, and Rage hidden deep within His hearts. The rest of the pride of Dark Angels approach and look over their Apothecary. Ash'val helps guide them out of the base.

“Just a random question, Salamander,” one of the battle brother Dark Angels ask, “have you seen any younger brothers of the 1st recently?”

“Perhaps, why do you ask?” Ash'val asks levelly.

“Because they need to be sent to our Base, especially if they seem… overly large, training And socialization with their brothers is important.” The Chaplain says smoothly, “and we have… concerns that a Night Lord might be trying to corrupt One.”

“That is concerning,” Ash'val says. “If … such a thing is happening. I will speak with the younger cousins.” The Dragon lies through his sharpened teeth, which he then turns into a smile.

“In fact I think I would like to speak with Sammath, Chapter Master to Chapter Master.” Ash'val states. “So we may be certain all relevant issues are being…appropriately handled. I will of course send him a message myself, but I know his schedule is likely to be Very busy. If you could mention it in your next report to him. I would be exceptionally Grateful.”

The Chaplain seems to mull over Ash'val's words before replying. “Of course Chapter Master. We will deliver your message.”

Ash'val smiles, were he a real dragon the smoke twisting up from his maw would give him away. “Thank You. I so Appreciate, your cooperation.”

“Was there anything else that you needed?” The Chaplain asks.

“For the meeting with your Chapter Master Sammath, to be Within the month if possible.” Ash'val says pleasantly.

“We will send the message along.” The Interrogator Chaplain says with annod as they head off.

Ash'val watches them leave and wonders if they will actually go back to their base or wait for their wounds to heal and then try to steal Kerubiel or one of the others.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #adeptus astartes #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #oc: hura #oc: Anrir #oc: cedric #oc: Ash'val #oc: Zariel #oc: Khopesh #oc: Oleandros #oc: Jophiel #oc: Kerubiel

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depraveddame · 5 months ago

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Ineffable Kinktober, Day 3: Authority ⚓️✨

Very loosely inspired by The Terror 💫

CW: Captain/steward relationship, D/s, boot worship, oral sex, come swallowing, mention of/referenced consensual flogging, wax play and human furniture

The polished glide of leather under his tongue is a more generous provision than Crowley ever might have allowed himself to hope for, and his captain’s tender, murmuring praise is another impossible gift entirely.

“Such a meticulous and fastidious mouth you have, Crowley,” Captain Aziraphale Fell whispers so affectionately that Crowley has to close his eyes, needing to scrawl that exact adoring tone into the walls of his heart along with the rest of the entries inspired by the man he serves with all of its beating strength.

There had been nothing particularly moving in regards to being a steward until Crowley came into the service of Captain Fell, who had greeted him with a smile and a handshake, the haughty countenance commonly adhered to great men nowhere to be found on his person. He’s since come to know that Captain Fell is indeed a great man, one that makes Crowley feel like he’s a precious thing, more treasured than any rare cargo or that insidious temptress known as glory, the one that seduces droves of men into her false promise.

Crowley has always had a talent for serving, and it had never been acknowledged as much more than a job he’s meant to do, but that changed as the steward of Captain Fell, who expressed such unfettered delight in him that Crowley could scarcely withhold himself from begging to drop to his knees in his presence.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to resort to pleading, and now he’s exactly where he longs to be; on his knees, the planks of the ship cutting into them sweetly as he cleans his captain’s boots, which he keeps spotless anyway, but that he aches to burnish with his tongue nonetheless.

It’s a merciful largesse, as are the many excess acts of service Captain Fell grants Crowley along with his typical duties— to function as his footstool at the end of a tiring day, to splay across his lap, his naked back a writing desk or a stand for whatever book Fell buries himself in, offering a bare wrist to test the viscosity of the scalding wax used to seal letters, the pinkened skin they leave behind kissed and soothed by a comforting tongue that journeys upward to leave behind its own signature on territory easily concealed by a high collar.

Crowley shivers as a draft catches him, wearing naught but a long linen shirt, exposed feet and legs bearing most of the chill as he gazes up into eyes more fair than a clear autumn morning, the cold not registering beyond the haze of warmth surrounding him as he dutifully favors the obsidian leather encasing the feet he worships.

“You’re cold, dear boy,” Captain Fell extends a hand down to thread his fingers through Crowley’s hair, massaging his scalp and delicately scratching, causing Crowley to swallow his possibly impertinent protest of ‘no sir, not at all; I’m on fire, as I always am at your feet’, “and I cannot in good conscience abide such a thing.”

The hand in his hair retreats only to offer itself to him, palm up, a gentlemanly invitation Crowley takes with a trembling hand, getting to his feet and standing before Fell, who leans forward, pressing his cheek to Crowley’s stomach and slipping his fingers beneath the thin garment ending at his thighs, palming at his hips and lower back with gently insistent desire.

“S-sir,” Crowley breathes when Captain Fell nuzzles against his erection; he’s been hard since he’d begun his endeavor, his body responding to the position of being on its knees and his tongue servicing as it’s meant to do, “let me— please, allow me to—”

He’s trying to beg for the privilege to take Fell in his mouth, to implore him not to bother with Crowley’s pleasure, it’s not important and it’s beneath his dignity to even consider such a thing despite how divine it would feel, but he’s cut off by a warm palm taking him in hand, by a practiced thumb spreading the welling evidence of his desire over the length of his cock before fully stroking him from root to head, and Crowley shoves a fist in his mouth to stifle his nearly pained moan.

“I know you’d not deny your captain, hm?” Fell whispers as his hand easily slips and slides over Crowley’s cock, working him exactly as he likes, with just the right amount of pressure and a twist towards the head that has him whimpering helplessly into his hand, “you’ll permit me to savor my steward just as I like, I daresay.”

Crowley nods, hesitantly rocking his hips in pursuit of the friction of the hand pumping him that Fell briefly withdraws in order to lavish with his tongue, wetting it in a gesture that has Crowley fearing he may faint before it returns to its previous, gloriously expert rhythm.

“It ought to be a sin, assigning someone so beguiling and beautifully obedient to a selfish man such as me,” Fell looks up at Crowley before licking the head of his cock languidly, luxuriously lapping at the slit and making it impossible to breathe; Crowley reaches out to brace himself against a wool clad shoulder, gripping the fabric and trying to mumble out an automatic apology for doing so until his captain nods, murmuring, “yes, my darling, that’s it; lean on me,” he returns to sucking Crowley with a passion that’s dizzying, as if he’s relishing in a delicacy he’s not had in years, and it still feels wrong, being the one to receive such ardent attentions instead of giving them, but Fell is right— who is Crowley to deny his captain?

“Sir, I-I’m—” Crowley does as he’s told and sinks his weight into Fell, whose legs are spread and bracketing Crowley’s bare ones, protectively framing his shaking form; the hand not playing with his cock kneads all over Crowley’s lower body, and when its fingers trace over the healing, sensitive welts adorning his upper thighs that he’d pleaded his captain to bestow on him— the ones that when given made him come all over the cabin floor untouched— that’s when he loses the weakening control over himself.

“Please,” Crowley scrambles to grab Fell’s other shoulder, his fingernails digging into the navy wool so harshly it hurts, his jaw smarting with the effort to keep quiet, his voice quivering, “m-may I, sir, p-please, may I come—”

Fell nods before pulling back just enough to murmur, “come, my sweet siren,” his one hand not diverting from its course over his cock, wet and slick and lovely, his other still teasing along the tender wheals of what was a skillfully administered, devastatingly loving flogging, “grant me the pleasure of having you, just like this,” he takes Crowley back inside his mouth, the suction and glide of his tongue shattering the last of Crowley’s resolve, who returns a fist to his mouth, hoping it muffles his cry enough as he comes. He spills into his captain’s mouth and throat, collapsing against him in a boneless heap, pulled into his arms like a tide pulling the sea back into its heart once it wanders too far, just as his captain always draws Crowley into his strong, steady embrace.

@quefish77

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable kinktober 2024 #ineffable kinktober #the terror #nautical nonsense #sailor au #captain/steward #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #kinky good omens #and lo a third nautical/maritime au was born

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fkitwebhaal · 9 months ago

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FIC: Rigor Mortis

Ship: Durge/Astarion

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: gore, nightmares

Rating: M

AO3

Summary:

Four months after they defeat the Netherbrain, a spell forces Astarion to confront one of his worst fears. Except this time, he's not alone. That's not a good thing.

Notes: Another Rune installment! Enjoy! Inspired by Agrazza’s Blood and Music Discord Server!

Tumblr version under the Cut

He found himself lying in a dark empty tunnel with nothing but stone surrounding him.

Astarion could not remember how he got there, when he opened his eyes to see nothing more than rock and dirt both around him and under his feet. The tunnel was completely dark save for the slight glow of light from some lichen on the ceiling. It was just enough to allow his darkvision to function, though shadows still clung to the sides of the crevice like magical darkness would. The rock itself appeared to be a mix of gray stone he couldn’t identify, slate and a bit of obsidian, all minerals he’d grown used to seeing in the Underdark. The ceiling itself was dirt, barely high enough that he could fully stand up.

“What in the hells,” he said, stepping forward and trying to steady himself. He felt off, his mind foggy, like it often was back when he lived under Cazador and a mix of hunger and pain took up whatever energy he could spare. The hunger was at the forefront now, gnawing at his stomach with a fierceness he hadn’t felt in decades. It made it hard to think past anything that wasn’t his thirst, but he made an effort of it regardless.

What had he been doing last? Something with Rune probably, a job of some sort? They’d been taking more of those recently. He walked forward and pressed his hands against the stone that made up the wall behind him. It wasn’t too packed and when he pressed against it, some of it crumpled into his hands and fell through his fingers. Like it had when-

Oh no. Not this again. He was not going to do this again. He was free goddamn it. That meant he was done with beatings, done with using his body to keep feed and done with being buried fucking alive.

Buried alive probably wasn’t the right term exactly. It wasn’t like people got buried in tunnels, at least not intentionally. Cave-ins happened, sure, but it was much different than a coffin. Here, he could at least stand and pace a little. And given his undead nature, oxygen wasn’t a concern. But the low height of the roof, the smell of fresh grave dirt and the short distance that made up the width of the pocket of earth reminded him far too much of the coffin for his nerves.

Astarion tore his mind from the memory of wood splinters under his fingernails and streaks of blood above his head where he’d tried to claw himself free. This had to be a cave in. Not some intentional torture on Cazador’s part, just his own shitty bad luck. It had to be a cave-in. Which meant-

Gods he couldn’t remember what it meant. He couldn’t tell if it was the fear or the hunger that made it impossible to think clearly. Perhaps it was both.

He scoured through the tunnel, looking to see if there were any places that could provide an escape. He held his hand to cracks in the stone, trying to feel for air, but he came back empty. If there was a way out of here, it had been lost in whatever collapse had befallen it. Astarion briefly considered trying to dig through the dirt roof, but as soon as the soil began falling onto the floor, he thought better of it. He had more space than a coffin, at least. Best not chance limiting that area.

After three more pass through a to make sure he didn’t miss anything, Astarion sat down. Buried alive. Again. It wasn’t a coffin, but that wasn’t much of a mercy. It only meant there was more space here to claw at the walls until his fingernails bleed, that he could now hear his voice echo as his screams became the only way he remembered how to communicate.

A part of him was aware he was panicking. In his defense, this was something worth panicking about. He let the feeling take him, deciding it better than the hunger, and lost track of time for a little while.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he noticed the corpse, but it had to be at least several hours.

It was hard to see, there in the dark, but he saw it all the same. Crumpled down the tunnel where the roof was lower, was a dead body. The lack of movement or sound of breathing made its status rather clear. It was facing away from him, wearing a robe, and given how it was positioned on the floor, rigor mortis must have sunk in.

How he hadn’t seen it before was frankly astonishing. Had he been so caught up in his panic that he missed a whole dead body as he searched for an exit? He frankly doubted it; he hadn’t been here nearly long enough to lose all his senses. But he was positive he hadn’t missed any exits. His hunger had impacted his senses, sure, but he should have noticed a corpse with the smell of blood. Well, assuming the corpse had bled at all when it expired.

Astarion squinted to try to better make out the corpse at the end of the tunnel. Even with his dark vision, he couldn’t see much of them, but they didn’t smell of decay yet. Dead bodies tended to start smelling after 24 hours for those without enhanced senses, but Astarion had found he could pick up the scent of decomposition within the first few hours. He couldn’t smell blood at first either, there was none split alright, but when he closed his eyes, he could taste the very hint of it on his tongue. Salvia pooled in his mouth in response.

Gods was he hungry. It was frankly absurd how hungry he was. Even if he hurt himself in the cave in, he hadn’t craved blood like this since Cazador’s more brutal starvation punishments. It didn’t make any sense why he was so desperate.

He dug his fingers into the dirt under him, puffs of dust coming from the movement. Blood from a dead body was consumable within the first few hours of death, but it had a nasty aftertaste.If he was truly trapped here for a considerable amount of time, it would be best to drink immediately while he still could. Back during that terrible year, Cazador had locked him away without even a rat to satisfy him. A full body, even if stale, would be something of a mercy, even should starvation soon take him. If it didn’t provide him some extra time to figure his way out of this hellhole, it would at least save him from his hunger if only for a day or two.

The bastard was dead already, anyway. Might as well.

He made his way to his feet and walked over to the body. Now that he was closer, he could make out some of the features of the corpse. It looked to be over five feet though it was hard to tell for sure given how it curled in on itself, and it wore a tattered robe, the kind Astarion usually saw on spellcasters. In the darkness, he couldn’t make out the color, but it was a darker tone, with flourishes of a lighter color to embellish the edge of the hood, the cuffs and the bottom of the garment. Astarion thought he could see some embroidery on the sleeves but it was hard to make out. Anyway, what use was paying attention to the craftsmanship? The most the robe could offer him was use as a blanket, if it wasn’t soiled with bodily fluids.

Another step forward and he could make out more of the body. A rounded pale ear was visible poking out from behind the hood; human then. There was a curl of light colored hair loose in front of said ear and for some reason, Astarion wanted to tuck it behind the shell, like that was where it belonged.

It wasn’t in great shape-the lobe was torn where a piercing was likely yanked out- but it didn’t seem off color, which could mean the corpse was poisoned.There was some dried blood from the remnant of that would, and whatever little thought Astarion still had in his mind vanished at the smell.

The figure was on the lean side, he thought, as he bent down in front of the corpse. It was hard to tell with the robe in the way. He shuffled to get closer to the body and paused as he heard the sound of something metallic rolling over the stone. It was hard to see, even with his dark vision. Feeling like an idiot, he tapped his hand on the ground until his palm rested on a metallic hook and what felt like a crystal of some sort.

The earring. Right, the corpse looked like it lost one. Astarion considered throwing it against the wall, pretty baubles wouldn’t help him here, until he considered the earring hook. Maybe he could use it as a tool, though he had no idea how it could be useful. But he couldn’t afford to waste any potential supplies.

He’d gotten lax in his freedom. 200 years of Hell had taught him to waste nothing and after a year on his own, he’d almost forgotten that hard earned lesson. Stupid.

He tucked the earring into his pocket and once again turned his focus to the corpse. Removing the hood and feasting from the neck would serve best, but for some reason, Astarion was reluctant to see their face. It wasn’t out of guilt, he needed to eat and the corpse wasn’t using it’s mostly fresh blood, but something in him screamed he needed to keep the hood on at all costs. So instead, he reached for their right wrist, and pulled it towards him. The pale skin was still a little warm to the touch; an echo of the life that once inhabited it. He barely waited for the sleeve to fall before he bit in.

There was nothing like the taste of the blood of thinking creatures. Astarion had thought it was perhaps overblown as a way to cope back under Cazador, but once he’d gotten his first taste, he knew there was no comparison to animals. While this blood was a little stale, and he had to work extra to consume it without the aid of a functional circulatory system, it was just as divine. All thinking creatures had a different taste, even among the same races, but somehow they were all delicious. Astarion closed his eyes and luxuriated in the taste as the hunger that gnawed at him shut up.

The corpse tasted like a rich brandy, full of sweet notes that were just shy of being too much. He wasn’t sure what fruits it tasted like, all food tasted like ash to him, but it smelled slightly of apples, perhaps? That wasn’t the only smell. He could smell a hint of flowers to it: as a practiced perfumer Astarion could make out an undercurrent of begonias which was overpowered by daffodils and hydrangeas. It was an odd combination of floral scents, but he found it intoxicating regardless as he gulped down mouthful after mouthful. He could even taste the slightest tinge of mint.

It was so good. As his mind cleared of hunger, the corpse below him almost drained, he could place another aspect to the flavor. A tingling of sorts on the back of his tongue, like harmless static. It was familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it had something to do with casters? He’d tasted it before when he bit-

Astarion’s train of thought grounded to a stop as he drank the last sip of blood the corpse would offer him. He had tasted this exact flavor profile before. How could he forget, even under the haze of hunger?

Rune had been his first after all.

No. He couldn’t have. He’d mistaken the taste, lost in the memory of happier times. There was no way, even in his worst hunger that he wouldn’t-

Astarion pulled his teeth out of the now savaged wrist and his gaze fell to the sleeve of the robe. It had fallen when he fed and now that he was up close, he could make out some of the embroidery on the cuff. It was a pattern he knew well: he made it himself.

It was a sun. Stylized to have the rays stretch out in waves, but obviously a sun. He couldn’t see the color in the darkness, but Astarion knew it was stitched out of metallic golden thread, from a dwarf outpost near an entrance to the Underdark. It wasn’t real gold, such delights were for the extremely wealthy, but it mimicked the shine just as well. The artist had used intersecting lines of thread to add depth, and Astarion ran his thumb across the beads that adorned the rays. Those beads were from a different vendor, a drow trader who he’d stolen them from when their back wasn’t turned. They were a beautiful yellow that gleamed under bright light, not that he’d known it at the time. It wasn’t until Rune cast lightning bolt, the day after he finally gave them back their robes, that he saw the bobbles glean in the blue light.

( They’d asked him, once, why he’d made a sun on the cuff. He hadn’t been able to provide them a suitable answer. But he knew the rough outline of why, even if he couldn’t figure out how to put it into words. He missed the sun dearly, and despite Rune’s aspirations to return it to him, remained skeptical that he would ever enjoy its warmth again. But turning away from the Ascension meant he could still bask in the warmth of other more important things, like Rune’s gleeful embrace when they saw what he’d done with their worn robes) .

His entire body froze, like he was the one undergoing rigor mortis. It couldn’t be. Someone must have stolen the robes, taken them as their own. Anything other than the most likely conclusion. He dropped the wrist of the corpse. With a trembling hand, Astarion reached into the pocket he’d placed the earring from earlier and looked down at his palm.

“Oh, those are new,” Astarion teased, leaning forward to poke the new gemstones that hung from Rune’s ears. They were at a larger town outside of one of the largest entrances to the Underdark, stocking up on supplies before seeking out the spawn. The sorcerer tried to hide their smile, but the mirth in their eyes was frankly obvious.

“Got them from the market.” They tilted their head so the earrings swung, the torchlight glancing off the gems. “Do you like them?”

“Not as much as the wearer, but yes, they’re beautiful.” Astarion leaned in to get a better look at them. Rune delighted in shiny accessories, so much that Astarion teased them with the nickname “magpie” once or twice. The earrings consisted of silver hoops with two red stones hanging from the bottom. The gems appeared to be rubies, or at least, very good fakes. He couldn’t see any air bubbles, at least. “I am surprised to see you choosing red, though.”

Rune rarely wore red, disliking the way it reminded them of their father’s symbol and blood soaked halls. Of the three sets of earrings they had in their possession, two were silver and one had charms spun from bright blue glass. The last set Astarion had acquired (stolen) for them from a dreadful woman back in the gate while she was still wearing them, much to Rune’s delight.

Rune reached up and pinched the gemstone in their right ear. “It reminded me of something I’m fond of.” Before Astarion could inquire about what, they leaned forward and pressed a kiss between Astarion’s eyes. “I know they’re not your original color, but I still rather like them.”

It was nice to have his eyes compared to precious jewels rather than blood, Astarion thought.

Back in the dark tunnel, in Astarion’s palm, was a ruby gemstone, attached to a silver hoop. It was a perfect match to the earrings Rune wore that day with one exception; these were crusted in blood.

It was like time sped up again. Astarion lunged forward and pulled back the hood of the robe of the figure in front of him. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was someone else.

The world had dished out enough cruelty to him within 200 years, surely it could not do this to him as well.

The world did not care for his plight or maybe he was just made to suffer. Because when he pulled the hood free, Rune’s dead eyed gaze met his own.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He felt for a pulse, even though the blood in his belly and the clouding over Rune’s eyes told him he wouldn’t find one. When he didn’t find one, he pushed down further, as if he’d missed it the first time. As if he hadn’t drunk their corpse dry. “Rune, wake up.”

Oh Gods. What if they’d been alive when he bit them? He’d been so sure the body in front of him was dead when he approached it, but he’d also been so out of it that he hadn’t recognized Rune at all. What if they’d just been badly hurt? If that was the case, then maybe they’d only died just now. If that was the case, then revivify-

(If that was true, then he’d killed them. If he’d been wrong, he’d killed them himself, without even recognizing them in his hunger. Like a mad dog that tore into anything in sight).

(How cruel a situation, that he hoped he’d been the one to land the killing blow, if it meant he might be able to bring them back).

“Rune!” He shook them again. No response. Astarion almost ripped open Rune’s pockets as he tried to find anything that might help him. How much time had to pass before a revivify scroll would no longer work? Surely that timeframe was long gone, but he could try anyway. It was worth trying. He found a few spools of thread (likely a surprise for Astarion) some mint candies, and a few rags. No spell scrolls. As he reached for their next pocket, his hands shook.

“Don’t you do this to me, you absolute bastard,” he snarled as the contents of Rune’s second pocket fell to the floor. A compass, a map, their favorite lipstick but nothing else. Not even their journal, which they always had on them. Not only no scroll, but no remaining words that he could read. There was nothing here he could recognize that could help him.

With enough time in this pit, Rune’s body would cease to be something he could recognize either.

(He’d seen a corpse decompose before. Once or twice Cazador had locked him in a room with one for a few days. Just Astarion, the corpse and the maggots and houseflies feasting on what remained. With his vampire senses, the smell of putrefaction was even worse than it would be if he was a human. Would he be forced to remain here and see Rune’s skin discolor, their body begin to bloat with the gasses building up inside? Would he be forced to see places he once pressed kisses to turn black with rot? What about when their hair fell out, and they began to-stop it, stop it, STOP IT).

He yelled again. He doubted anyone could hear him, but it was worth a try, at the very least. “Let me out. I need help. Godsdamnit, please!” He hated saying the word please. He’d screamed his throat raw with the word in that tiny coffin and swore to never say it again. It was a promise one couldn’t keep, not with Cazador pulling his strings, but he’d meant it at the time.

No one answered.

“Rune,” he said, shaking them again, but there was no force to it. Their eyes stared back blankly at him, and while he was sure he was imaging the blame there, it didn’t help the nausea in his gut. What would they think of him, treating their corpse not with grief or horror but delight at a means of sustenance? It was monstrous. He was monstrous. He resented the sensation of feeling full, the blood he’d taken thoughtlessly, the clarity it would torture him with as they rotted away in this hovel. At least if he was starving, his mind would be somewhere other than this nightmare before him. Tears began to pool from his eyes, and he held them back, taking gasping breaths. What right did he have to them, after this?

He pulled his hands away from Rune, wanting to touch, but feeling like he hadn’t the right. It was always going to end this way, he thought, bending forward so his forehead touched the ground. An animalistic howl came from his mouth, almost unrecognizable. He gasped, thrusting his hands out to dig into the dirt for purchase-

-and there was moss under his palms.

Astarion stared down at the ground in astonishment. He was still on his knees. Gone was the dirt, the darkness of the room, the corpse in his arms. Instead, there was a musty smell in his nose, the kind of overpowering aroma that came from the underdark, and a hand gripping his shoulder tightly. A hand-

“Astarion?”

Astarion’s head snapped up. Rune was kneeling in front of him, their hand on his shoulder, mouth turned down with concern. Not dead, not a lifeless husk he would be forced to watch decompose in a claustrophobic tunnel, but alive. Their earrings were still dangling from both of their ear lobes. They shook his shoulder again, and Astarion couldn’t help but stare as they moved.

Alive.

“You got hit by a nasty spell,” Rune said, their frown deepening as Astarion continued to not say a word. “I think it was phantasmal killer. I tried to counterspell it, but-” They gestured behind them with their hand not grabbing Astarion’s shoulder, and a few meters behind them, Astarion could see the wizard on the ground, surrounded by shards of his skeleton minions. “I managed to get him, but it took more time than I wanted.” They moved their free hand back to their robes and shoved it into their pockets. After a moment, they brought out a rag and moved it closely to Astarion’s face. When he didn’t flinch away, they rubbed at the wetness under his nose. When the rag retreated, Astarion could see blood soaked into the fabric.

Right, nosebleed. A side effect from these types of spells. Given how much was on the fabric, he’d lost a significant amount. Memories started to return to him, memories that were lost to him in the spell of that stone room. They were on a job for some deep gnomes, who’d promised them a hefty amount of gold if they took out a human necromancer who’d been stealing their dead for experiments. The last thing Astarion could remember was aiming his bow at said necromancer when a blast of purple light overtook his vision.

“Astarion, can you say something? You’re scaring me.” Rune leaned forward just a fraction, brow wrinkled. Astarion still couldn’t find his own voice. Maybe he left it in that hallucination of a tunnel, where his world had collapsed just like the stone rocks around him.

“Okay, plan B,” Rune said, their frown deepening into a determined grimace. Astarion watched as they rolled up the sleeve of their robe and shirt and thrust their wrist out towards him, right in front of his mouth.

Astarion recoiled so hard he backed up into the stone wall of the cave. His fingers dug into the dirt, and even though he didn’t need to breath, he found himself gasping for air. Rune dropped their hand, startled and before they moved closer, Astarion’s words returned to him.

“No! I-“ he sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Phantasmal killer. It wasn’t real. He was in the Underdark. Rune was alive. “What in the Gods’ name are you thinking?”

Despite Astarion’s sharp tone, Rune relaxed significantly. They didn’t extend their wrist again, thank the Gods for that. “I thought you might need some blood. You lost a lot with the spell.”

“And waste a perfectly good dead wizard right there!” Even though Astarion felt unsteady, he managed to make his way to his feet. He wanted to embrace Rune, crush them close to his chest and listen to their heartbeat, but he resisted. Even with the necromancer down, there still could be danger about. His relief would have to wait until later. Astarion could almost feel Rune’s eyes on him as he made his way over to the dead wizard, who thankfully looked nothing like Rune. “You didn’t poison her or anything, did you?”

“That’s your thing,” Ruen replied, and Astarion could hear shuffling from behind them as they got to their feet. “Chain lightning, actually.”

Breaking out chain lightning for a wizard and half a dozen skeletons? He had scared them. Astarion brushed some of the dirt off his armor and leaned down to grab the arm of their attacker. He was pleased to notice his hand barely shook as he lifted their wrist up towards his mouth.

“As soon as I’m done here, we’re going home,” he grumbled. He bit down and for once, he didn’t close his eyes to properly enjoy the taste of the blood. Instead, his gaze was too focused on the wizard’s face, the soft jawline, small button nose and blonde hair. This wasn’t Rune. It was a nightmare.

He kept his eyes open anyway, less the corpse in front of him become Rune when he wasn’t looking.

******

He managed to keep it together until they were back home.

Rune asked him once about what he saw during the spell, but Astarion avoided the topic, wanting to stay away from the false image as much as possible. Rune didn’t push, but he doubted they missed how he held their hand during points on the walk back. He also didn’t doubt they missed how he had them take the longer path home that didn’t involve some more claustrophobic tunnels, but they didn’t mention it. When the pair finally made it back to the small hamlet they called home, he found himself thankful that Rune lacked darkvision. It was a nuisance to gadge how lit a place should be to support human eyes. But it also meant the house was surrounded by bioluminescent mushrooms, arcane lanterns and magical torches.

It was the opposite of the dank and dark space Astarion thought he was trapped in an hour previous.

When they got inside, Astarion finally pulled Rune into an embrace. They fell into his arms with no protest despite the dirt and blood on his armor. As he pressed his face into their collarbone, he felt their right arm wrap around his side, while their left began to comb through his hair. It would likely ruin his perfect locks, but he didn’t mind, feeling their pulse thrum steady and sure.

Having a mortal lover meant he wouldn’t go hungry, but it also meant that one day, he would go without them entirely. He knew how long humans lived, and while he tried not to think about it, it was hard not to after a day like this. Rune thought they were in their early to middle thirties, give or take. How many years did that leave Astarion with, when he had forever?

“Nasty piece of spellwork, huh?” Rune said, their fingers still tangled in his hair. Astarion could see the opening for him to speak about what he saw if he wanted to. He didn’t take it. Instead, Astarion took a deep breath that he didn’t need that felt steadying regardless.

“Nasty indeed,” he said, pulling himself reluctantly away from them. He needed to change, badly. “You should make yourself something to eat.” With that, he pressed a quick kiss to their lips before he went to change.

When he returned to the sitting room, Rune was already seated at the small table only Rune ate meals at, shoveling some sort of gruel into their mouth like they hadn’t eaten in years. While they were still on the lean side from years of malnutrition and lack of sleep, they’d finally managed to put on some weight. Astarion slumped down in the chair across from them, and placed his hands on the table, one finger following the grain of the wood.

“I have a question for you.” He didn’t mean to ask the question, truly, but the psychic damage must have rattled his senses enough to ask before he thought it through. Rune looked up at him, placing their now empty bowl on the table.

“I might have an answer,” they said, putting their spoon also in the empty bowl. Astarion considered backing out, maybe asking something inane instead, but the spell must have rattled his ability to lie too, because he couldn’t think of a possible alternative question.

Well, he had asked Rune how they would like to be murdered within weeks of meeting them and they’d still slept with him. Surely they wouldn’t run screaming from a question like this.

(A part of him had to know. Would they hate him, in that misery of a situation?)

“It’s a bit odd.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“And morbid.”

Rune chuckled. “That’s never stopped you before either. Or me, for that matter.” They watched him for a few moments, before a small frown pulled at the corner of their lips. “Astarion, what is it?”

It all came out in a rush. “If you died, would you be angry with me if I drank your blood?”

Rune stared at him for a moment, their eyebrows raising in a way that pulled at their forehead scar. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about?” Astarion nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of nausea roiling in his gut. It was truly unfair that he still could get nauseous in his undeath. it wasn’t like he still digested things like the living. There was a moment of silence before Rune spoke next. “Well, I guess I need more information first. I assume there’s no immediate way to revive me in this scenario?”

Astarion wasn’t sure how he felt about that being their first question. He would have hoped the answer would be rather obvious. Did they really think so little of him? “Of course. It’s offensive you’d think otherwise.”

Rune winced at whatever emotion they read on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I know you would. I just wanted to make sure I understood the hypothetical. And I haven’t been dead long, right?”

Astarion bristled. Sometimes Rune’s tendency to get stuck on the details could be rather annoying. Didn’t he just say he would revive them if he had the option? He couldn’t think of another reason the amount of time would be important. “No, but I already said I have no immediate way to revive you-“

Rune waved their left hand in front of him, gesturing for him to stop. He did, but his objections lingered on the tip of his tongue, should their interjection not prove satisfactory.

“Oh it’s not about revival.” Rune said. Astarion stared at them, rather lost, and they took his silence as permission to continue. “You told me blood goes bad after a while. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.” They paused again, their expression taking on that far off look again. “Actually, that was probably a stupid clarification to ask for; why would you bother if it would just make you sick?” They again, brow crinkling in thought. Astarion had often kissed that same brow when Rune made that expression, delighted by how the skin would untense under his lips. “Though I guess-”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?” Astarion managed to say. His pitch was higher than he liked. “How your blood would effect me!?”

Rune quirked an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile. “Well, it’s not like I’m using it and you need it. And if you drain me dry, it’s not going to make me more dead, so you might as well, even if revival is possible. Actually, it might not be a bad idea.” They tapped their fingernails on the table, something they did often when they were thinking. “The extra speed and strength would probably be helpful actually-“

He didn’t even notice the tears running down his face till Rune startled at the sight.

“Oh Gods, what did I say? Did I misunderstand the question? You wouldn’t have to, if that’s what you’re worried about. Like, it would be your decision, I’m just saying if you decided to do it, I’d be okay with it.” Astarion couldn’t find words, shaking his head and Rune got up and ran over to his side of the table, their robes catching on the wooden edge. There was the sound of fabric tearing but Rune didn’t even seem to notice. Astarion would have to fix that later, maybe add some new embroidery solely because he could. Rune’s hands fluttered in front of Astarion’s face, unsure if touch would be welcome. They were talking faster every second.

“Was it the revival thing? I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t bring me back, I know you would, I’d just be a little put out if drinking was your first priority.” They stopped, closed their mouth, and seemed to think a moment before speaking again. Their voice had a more regular pace when they began, but it began to speed up as they spoke, words blending into each other without space to breathe. “Though I suppose it might be a waste of blood if you didn’t, so I can be convinced as long as we agreed on it beforehand. Ideally the situation wouldn’t arise in the first place, but a lot of things don’t happen ideally, and given our collective luck, maybe I should plan for things to go for whatever the opposite of ideally is. Is there a word for that? No that it matters but-”

Astarion snatched one of Rune’s fluttering hands from in front of his face, and grasped it in his own, before covering it with his other hand. Rune shut their mouth, the torrent of words ceasing with it, and Astarion bent his head so his forehead touched where he held their hand with his own.

“I wouldn’t want to drink from you if you died,” he said. He felt Rune untense a fraction, and they placed their free hand on his shoulder, their thumb rubbing into his collarbone.

“You don’t have to,” they whispered, even only it was just the two of them. “I’m just saying if you did, it wouldn’t upset me. I don’t know what you saw in that nightmare, Astarion, but whatever it was, I wouldn’t hate you for it.”

Astarion sighed. He could leave this conversation here, he knew that, along with both the memory of the spell and the fear that underlined it. But if he’d learned anything over these last few months, including their time free of the tadpoles, it was that fears festered the more one kept them hidden away. Sometimes, you had to expose them to the light to confront them properly.

He didn’t have the sun, but the human in front of him had proven themselves capable enough of providing that illumination when he needed it most.

“I was in a cave-” He began, as Rune kneeled in front of him, their hand still both encased and covering his own.

Their touch was warm.

#astarion #iz writes #dark urge #durge #astarion ancunin #durgestarion #bg3 fic

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multipleoccupancy · 3 months ago

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Killian paused as Samantha talked of what the agents might do to Violet if they caught her, he didn't want that to happen to her of course but he did waver in his expression for a moment. "What if they catch and torture us?" He had every reason to fear upsetting Delta Green, he vowed he would never speak of the ward to anyone but he felt that one day he was going to have to tell Samantha. It wouldn't be that day though, there was enough going on. "I want her to be safe, but we have to consider the cost too," he tried gently, "I know what that makes me sound like but... Don't put it passed them not to turn on us for not reporting her too."

He sighed as he went to step off of the ship, waiting so he could offer Samantha a hand if she needed help to get down, though he doubted she would. "I'm just worried about what this all means. I'm glad to see her again, but part of me now wishes she had never come back here." The turmoil he now had in trying to figure out what to do now he had more experience in Delta Green and now that he was once again another step closer to achieving his dream career which would have been so out of his reach. "I've got people at home I have to think about too," the real worry crossed his face, there were so many factors hanging on to what was happening. As might have been typical of him though, he tried to dismiss them just as the curtain peeled back enough to reveal a truth.

"But we have a job to do right now, we should focus on that and deal with the monster we know about and then decide what to do about Violet after all this is in the bag and she's safely away from here." He sniffed away what could have been the threat of tears and started looking for other set pieces that looked vaguely nautical, clearly there had been at least one production based at sea, there had to be a net somewhere and he would take any excuse for a change of topic.

-----

Sloane just watched Violet as she explained what had happened to the 'barn monster' and he could only picture a barn with arms and legs with teeth where the door should be, trying to eat her before she cut off a limb and Killian threw dynamite into it's mouth. It was a bizarre image to take in even as she explained there were tentacles rather than arms and legs. "We don't have any dynamite here," Sloane said a little absently while he still pictured the scene. She really was a reckless danger magnet. He had to keep her well back from whatever was going to unfold that night now.

"You're right about the student," Sloane was sure to praise, he wanted her to know that it wasn't the student's fault but there was also the reality of a situation. "But we might not have any other choice and helping him may come in the form of another type of mercy." Killing him, but Violet would not be around for that, Sloane would make sure of it! "We'll try everything we can before that though, I promise."

He smiled as she encouraged him about the trap and that as a team they would be done in no time. Smiling a little more to himself as she asked about his nickname. "Well it is in some obscure way to do with the sea, and I believe I have already completed a long journey in getting to this point in my life," he had been a humble lumberjack not all that long ago until he had seen the strangest lifeform in the woods. "But I also wanted it to tie in with what Obsidian and Orion had. Obsidian being rock or Earth, Orion the stars or air and then Odyssey, water." He chuckled, "I thought it was fitting, covered the elements well." Without fire which he did not realise the irony in for now.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Samantha felt like she had backed herself into a corner by telling Killian that they could tell Delta Green eventually. The truth was that she didn't want to tell them -ever. Not only did she worry that they would only see Violet as a target to eliminate, but any confession about her would come with a very uncomfortable question: why didn't they report her earlier?

"What if she comes back, and Delta Green sends agents after her? What if they kidnap her? Or torture her?" Samantha fidgeted nervously with the content of the treasure chest. Nothing but cardboard gold coins and some visibly fake jewellery. No rope, no net. "You'd lose her trust for good, then. You might also just lose her. They could kill her, you know. Plenty of agents don't care about killing children for the greater good." She knew that he cared about Violet still. Was he torn between his loyalty to Delta Green, and his affection for Violet?

It was clear to Samantha that Killian was trying to do the right thing, but what was the right thing? "I can't say for sure," she admitted, "but we know her. She put herself in danger for us. She fought the Dark Young with us. If you want to keep her safe, let's keep this between us for now." ***

"I've seen bigger than a Dark Young," Violet shared quite casually as she picked up the small pulleys, inspecting them under the light, "I don't remember the name, I just call it a barn-monster. Because it was the size of a barn. It tried to eat me!" She didn't seem too fussed about that. "I cut its tentacle, and the Killian from this timeline threw a stick of dynamite in it's mouth!" Now that was an impressive story, right?

"Every monster has a weakness. If we can find this one's weakness, we could stop it without killing it. This student... He never asked for any of it. He's a victim, not a villain. I hope we can help him."

Violet put the smaller pulleys in her pocket, with her knife and her ribbon. She was still holding the crossbow, obviously! Now she could have a ranged weapon of her own. "Yes, let's go build the trap," she replied enthusiastically, "I hope Obsidian and Orion found a net." She smiled. "We'll build it together. I'm sure it'll be done in no time."

"Can I ask why your code name is Odyssey?" she asked as she stepped out of the prop room, "Is it after the story by Homer? I read it when I was a kid, one summer."

#hvbris #killian #violet #asoue au

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precambrianhottopic · 1 year ago

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Fires of the North

CHAPTER 2: THE CANNON

First ✦ Previous ✦ Next

There were no crows in Fell until the day Harkannon Hull arrived. He came from Thrax, the fourth-greatest and first-most cutthroat city in the world, and arrived in Fell like a creeping thunderstorm. His ship, a gigantic icebreaker named the Gossamer, hauled along the Stoll at a steady pace before grinding to an ominous halt a dozen miles upriver and holding there, for a day and a night, her whale-oil beacons burning like twin suns through the early autumn twilight. The policemen patrolling the high walls stood and watched her, off in the distance, pouring thick smog into the sky, and the people of Fell halted the comings and going and preparations for the winter ahead for just a moment to mourn the death of the old order of things; for, with the coming of the Gossamer, the cold and lonely city was about to be thrust into the fires of painful revolution. Great and dark murders roosted on lamp-posts and fences, their deep croaking voices audible on every street corner. The crew of the icebreaker came in through the gates and sat silent and shivering in taverns, huddled over pints of strong beer as the locals exchanged fraught glances. Harkannon Hull, who had now thoroughly foreshadowed his arrival, stood on the bow of a fine gondola and made his way into the city up the Corione, looming almost seven feet tall and clad entirely in black, a single lantern illuminating his stony features, indifferent to the whispers on the riverbank, like an inevitability- a force of nature.

Harkannon Hull was not known to Hyperborea, but he was already feared. In Thrax, his employees and competitors called him ‘the Cannon’, because the Hull Manufacturing co. was liable to rip through anything that stood in its way with all the mercy and grace of a high-caliber lead round. He’d come from almost nothing- orphaned by parents who would’ve still had nothing to give him if they’d lived, grown up penniless in a dismal backwater of an orphanage, arrived in the big city with only his clothes and a dream- and carved tooth and nail for himself a sizeable niche in Thrax’s ferocious industrial quarter. His factory employed dozens, churned out mid-quality kerosene lamps by the thousands, and earned him enough money to make a terrifyingly grand entrance to the city of Fell.

The boat whispered along the canal, a gondolier at the stern deftly cutting through the low-hanging fog. Its bow lists forward slightly as Hull leans in and tilts his black velvet top hat further over his brow. He is a frighteningly tall, lanky man in his forties, with long, angular features and sunken eyes that shimmered beneath his heavy brow ridge like chunks of obsidian. All along the shore, mothers pull their children indoors and windows are quickly shuttered and then opened just slightly, prying eyes emerging from every crevice to watch this haunting newcomer stand perfectly, chillingly still as his gondolier hitched the vessel to a mooring post and hopped ashore. Harkannon followed, a frigid gust catching his greatcoat as he stepped onto the street and thrashing the dark, heavy fabric about his narrow frame like the wings of a ghastly angel. He stood there for a moment, dark and haunting and utterly alone. Then the gale passed, and with a strange gait not unlike that of a heron with its eyes fixed on a fish Hull at last lurched into movement, steel-toed boots clicking along the cobblestone streets in time with the crows screeching overhead. Street-lamp flames flickered and the sky itself seemed to darken- the shadow from Thrax had arrived.

Already the most-feared man in Fell, Harkannon Hull proceeded onward to the warm lights and rich scents of the November Rain, a tight and jolly tavern nestled on the corner of avenues Brestle and Skaal. Taverns like this one are the very lifeblood of Fell, and indeed all of Hyperborea- many a reckless traveler finds his life saved by the familiar glow of a public house in the middle of a snowstorm. The Rain had found itself overrun in recent days with travelers seeking the oil field- the owners had quite unwittingly found themselves having the role of ‘local guide’ thrust upon them, and their establishment was now swarming with fools from the South drunkenly asking where the mayor’s office was, if there were ‘any beautiful women in this town’, or if they could go out and see the oil tonight, on what they insisted was extremely urgent business. Harkannon was a cut above this rabble; he entered with a sharp, clear purpose beyond inebriation. The doors swung open to welcome him and the entire bar went deadly silent, Hull’s long and pointed shadow sending a chill through the air. He stood in the doorway for a moment, cold air rushing in behind him, drinking in the moment, before shrinking away from the spotlight and letting laughter and light and music return to his rosy-cheeked compatriots.

The barkeep, however, kept his eyes on him. This was Agmund Skjorn, who had kept the November Rain since his grandfather’s day, a portly and weathered man who’d seen just enough winters to know the kind of trouble strangers like Harkannon Hull brought into his tavern. As Hull stalked towards the bar, Agmund kept his wary hands busy polishing a flask, and offered the newcomer a friendly smile.

“What can I do you for, friend?” He gave the standard greeting with monotone pleasure.

Harkannon reached into his coat, produced two silver coins, and set them down on the bar with a clink. “Absinthe.” He gave a furtive glance around the room before proceeding, hushed, “I believe several of my associates came in earlier. Would you be so kind as to let them know Mr. Hull has arrived?” Whatever civility may have been contained in his diction was snuffed out completely by a tone of voice so severe he may as well have been delivering the barkeep’s own death warrant. His voice struck a haunting balance between velvet and gravel.

“I’ll see right to it, sir.” Agmund nods, and disappears off somewhere behind the bar, leaving Harkannon with a small iron tankard of liquor and a ragged cloth napkin. His sharp dark eyes follow the barkeep until he slips out of sight into the tavern’s meager upstairs, at which point they turn patiently to his drink. No matter how colorful and disorderly it claimed to be, the attention of the November Rain is now firmly fixed on this newcomer, who seemed to each drunken patron to carry dark and terrible changes at his heels. A few shivering travelers from the East recognize his face and silently order another round of drinks in resignation- they will be gone, all of them, by daybreak.

By week’s end, Hull and Company had an office- anyone serious about winning the rights to this oil field had an office, clamored the sixty-one remaining businessmen- a serviceable two-room property above a tiny shipping company where Hull himself had a corner office and the Company confined themselves to eight or nine smaller desks out in the larger main room. Gloomy figures were seen coming in and out at all hours of the day, while neighbors and passers-by watched them and went on to taverns and dinners to murmur about grand conspiracies and the end of Fell as we know it. Perhaps the only one of these visitors that the Fell-folk took a liking to, the only one who wasn’t heralded as a sign of the end times- was a young, lithe man with sandy hair and tired eyes- Jack Marshall.

Agmund returns in due course with the promised associates, a grim-looking flock that hovered around Harkannon’s shoulders and whispered half-prophecies in his ears, while their master nodded along stoically all the while. The men were furnished with three rounds of drinks- although Hull himself spent the entire period nursing his single shot of absinthe- before they gathered themselves together to leave, by which point the rumors spreading around the tavern had painted this birdlike stranger and his mysterious accomplices as near-mythological figures. Silently, the brims of their hats tipped over their eyes, the company departed the November Rain and disappeared into the cold September night. They would find room, board, and supper at the North Star Hotel, and it was here, in dark locked rooms, that the plan Harkannon Hull had for the city of Fell was drawn into the light.

Jack Marshall came from an only marginally more favorable background than Harkannon. His mother was dead and his father owned a failing horse farm; together, the pair were about as rich as the horses they raised. It was through luck alone that an associate of the Hull Manufacturing co. came to the Marshall farm to buy a new mount- it was through Jack’s wiles and determination that he found himself as the personal assistant to Harkannon Hull himself three months later. A bright and righteous young man, deeply pious and doggedly loyal, to the people of Fell Jack Marshall might as well have been the only human member of Harkannon Hull’s little operation. He spent most of his time between Harkannon’s side, a squalid inn where he was staying- even if his job was stable, Harkannon paid him abysmally poorly- and the post office, once a week, to send back small increments of money to his father.

And so, the rat-race continued exactly as expected for the next several weeks, the comings and goings from the Hull offices never ceasing, the number of remaining opportunists steadily falling, and the death march onward to Winter as dreadful as ever. It was almost November by the time Jack Marshall went out Northward on horseback with a group of surveyors to see the land before it became too deeply shrouded in snow and ice, and the window was lost until the Spring.

The morning they set out was bitterly cold and startlingly clear; the blinding glare of the sun against the snow against the ashen facades of the city made the whole world into a dream that had become all at once terrifyingly harsh and lucid. It was twelve in the afternoon, and Fell was utterly silent. Marshall, since his rather unfortunate arrival in Hyperborea in nothing but a knit sweater and a pair of overalls, had practically added a new coat to his ensemble every week, and was now bundled up in no less than six layers of wool, down, fur and tweed. Inches-thick snowfall crunches beneath his steel-toed boots as he strode towards the stables at the city walls. Unlike Hull and the rest of his Company, Jack hadn’t sailed up on the Gossamer, claiming that boats made him ill- rather, he’d left well ahead of anyone else and brought three fine horses with him. These horses- Kismet, Gloriana, and Reveller,- now waited impatiently for him, braying and kicking at the frozen ground, flared nostrils spewing dragon-smoke out into the air. Jack smiled, just barely, and picked up his pace. From up on high windows and lavish apartments, Harkannon Hull, his Company, and the forty-eight optimists who remained watched Jack- no, not Jack- the silent attention of Fell was turned entirely to the stranger, clad in bright Southern colors, leaning with effortless intrigue against the stable doors. Jack Marshall, whose eyes had just caught sight of the figure, stopped in his tracks. It struck something akin to fear into his heart, although he wasn’t quite sure why; swallowing it down, he took a wary step forward.

He calls out- “Hello? Hello there!” A friendly greeting. “Can I help you?” A thinly veiled slight.

The interloper smiles imperceptibly and leans forward. “I don’t believe we’ve met, my good sir!” Even at a yell, his voice is delightfully elegant.

“Lazare Doromos. It’s an honor.”

#plush.txt #my writing #thraeposting #fantasy #fires of the north #chapter twoooo here it isssss :))#hope you guys like this one i do have another chapter ready and waiting that ill either post tonight or tmrw #anyway read this!!! im really proud of it!!!!

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 years ago

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Lately, Al-Haitham cannot tell the sky from the sea.

Sumeru is a land of jungles and dessert alike - but there is no ocean except for on the coastal line. A place Haitham has never been and never plans on going.

The quickest way to travel to Mondstat is to travel across the sea. You could go by land - but it would take you five days and five nights before you made it half way. With a ship, you can make it there in three days. If the Anemo Archon is merciful, the wind will guide you in two.

Sumeru does indeed have a sky. It's a vast one, clear of stain. You can see every single star in it from the highest point of the city. Specks of bright light glittering against obsidian, it's quite something.

Al-Haitham is familiar with the sky. He's bore witness to it more times than he can count, propped against the edge of his desk - deep into research and searching for some indomitable truth. Haitham learns to quell the curiosity that lurks in his stomach. It's easiest to describe it like a hunger pain. Dull yet gnawing.

Despite his demeanor, Al-Haitham is not dispassionate. He speaks clearly and concisely, and values reason over emotion. Progress over virtue. Al-Haitham had never been a very virtuous man and his research had never existed for that sake.

High on the list of things of traits he values within himself is his ability to be reasonable. To be pragmatic in the face of uncertainty.

Haitham can't find it in himself to be pragmatic in the face of this uncertainty. And the indomitable truth for now is that his heart is laying in the palms of your hands.

You hail from Mondstat, but your mother and father were from Sumeru. You visited on and off, and then settled in Sumeru after some years of traveling. An adventurer, you call yourself. The type that feeble academics hardly associate with.

You crossed paths because of a friend. At first, he didn't feel particularly bothered by your presence. He figured you were type to think with your heart not your head.

But eventually your presence stuck. Tangled in his fingers like a web. You always inquired about his research when you dropped in unattended. Opened his eyes to the vast world, stars littered in your gaze as you spoke of the unknown lands far from home.

Al-Haitham has never been especially compelled by life stories, but in the evenings - he would listen to yours and feel his eyelids get heavy with sleep.

Lately, there's not enough noise to drown all the silence out and he finds he can't rest without it.

There's many things that Haitham can longer seem to do without you. Without you around, the deep dark of the Sumeru sky fills with him a sense of longing for the ocean. When the wind catches and he smells salt, he wonders when you'll invade his quarters again. What you'll wear this time - a flower or a necktie or something else ornate.

Love is unreasonable. Knowing it is different it from feeling it.

Al-Haitham knows he's being unreasonable by wishing to possesses you. He knows that his yearning and subsequent frustration are all unreasonable without a sliver of doubt.

He knows deeply that in this moment, there's real danger in watching the curve of your neck as you lean your head back. Tracing the silhouette of your shoulders as you stretch on the bed in his room.

"Haitham," You hum, voice coarse like salt-water and sweet like morning breeze "Your bed smells like you."

"I sleep in it," He replies, deadpan. Instead of angering you laugh, soft like how bubbles pop. A smile cracks his face before he can hold i back.

"You should show me. How you sleep in your bed, I mean."

"Are you asking to bed me in such a crude fashion? Even for you-"

"You're so stiff. I don't mean it like that, Haitham. I want to hold you for a bit."

"Isn't it the other way around?"

"I know you're a scholar but stop worrying about semantics and hurry here already."

If anyone else would impose upon his life and his research so openly, he's certain he'd condemn them. Instead, Haitham shuts his book closed and collapses in his bed above you. He rests his palm on his cheek as he turns to lay on his side and feels satisfaction when you learn forward to meet his lips.

Al-Haitham cannot tell the difference between the sky and the sea. He can't remember where he stops and you begin.

#al-haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #shakes u.... hello al-haitham

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saturnandhope · 3 years ago

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All for You (Bonten)

SUMMARY: Mikey decides to watch as his Executives fuck you.

Content Warnings: pwp lol, dark content, gangbang, slight noncon, mildly dubious consent i guess, cuckolding, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, blowjobs, orgasm denial, voyeurism, noncon filming, spitroasting, breeding kink, explicit language, female reader

a/n: goodbye bonten, it was nice while you lasted :) anyway support and ship byler for clear skin, i haven’t recovered from stranger things yet.

“Excuse me—you want me to do what?" You stutter at your boyfriend, Manjiro Sano, Bonten's leader and titular head.

"You heard me." Mikey says, settling into his plush chair resembling a throne facing the bed. He is the epitome of elegant perfection, dressed entirely in black. "Let my executives fuck you."

"W-wouldn't that bother you?" You softly mumble as you whip your head to look at the seven expensive-looking men lounging around you and your boyfriend’s shared bedroom.

He only waves his hand as if dismissing something trivial. "I want to watch."

Your jaw drops at the thought. Your head is spinning so fast that you suddenly can’t tell what’s left or right. In spite of this, molten fire flows through your veins as your heart thumps in your chest. Your boyfriend? Wants to watch you get fucked? By his executives?

"Undress." Mikey commands

"Huh—" The immediate embarrassment and guilt at the notion of undressing in front of his executives makes your skin feel icy.

"Mikey." You utter his name so softly and quietly.

"I'm not repeating myself." He tells you. It's a one-time warning. Even when it comes to his own lover, Manjiro Sano is not known for mercy.

Tears well up along your waterline, and you take a deep breath before reaching towards your chest to unbutton your blouse.

Your fingers quiver as you slide your dress over your shoulders and onto the ground. You know better than to cover yourself with your hands; after all, who cares who looks at you as long as you're Mikey's?

Who cares about the men whose gaze is drawn down the length of your body which is draped in a tight bra and thong?

Your breath trembles as you unclasp your bra and bend down to remove the stringy underwear.

“Now entertain me.” Mikey calls as he points to the king-sized bed you two share, urging you to saunter towards it.

“Wait, please. Mikey…” Comes your small whisper. The pit in your stomach still begs you to ask him to stop whatever he plans to do, but his cold obsidian eyes pierce yours— a silent command to continue.

There is something utterly appealing about being hungrily stared at by seven men in the room who are ready to outright devour you; it sends waves of heat through your body and between your thighs, knowing what is soon to come.

Seven horrifyingly familiar men prowl around, slowly slinking towards the king-sized bed where you sat. They are eagerly waiting for the moment they’re able to pounce and take what they want from you. The pink-haired madman smiles widely, scars wrinkling at the corners of his mouth.

Impatient and eager, the slow, heavy footsteps of Mikey's most trusted men echoes in your ears as your stomach twists in anticipation of what they can give you. But the men didn't move on you yet, they are waiting for permission as their leader sits on his throne, watching, teasing you from afar without even lifting a finger.

"M-Mikey," you call again. Your eyes shift to him, full of questions and doubt. "Please, it's you I want—not them."

Bonten’s number two, Sanzu Haruchiyo clicks his tongue and shakes his head in displeasure, “Y/N, you heard the boss.”

The Bonten leader remains silent, however, and instead just leans back on his throne comfortably, crossing his pale arms over his chest. They're taking too long, these men.

The curl of displeasure on Mikey's lips sends a trickle of fear down your spine. This can't go on.

"I’m sorry—please," you suddenly say, and you cannot bring yourself but to be embarrassed when it comes out cracked and thin. Your voice immediately silenced the room as they all turned their attention to you. You keep your head down, eyes squeezing shut and arms trembling. "Please just fuck me already."

Those must have been the magic words, because all Mikey did was give a slight nod of the head before his executives came lunging around you.

"Can she take us though?" The lanky purple-haired executive from the corner wonders.

"She can and she will," Mikey says confidently. "Kakucho, since you're her childhood friend, you get first taste." The leader's command brokers no room for an upheaval. The remaining guys glower in envy when Kakucho got up from his position. In all honesty, Mikey is aware that Kakucho has been eyeing you. He's well aware that Kakucho has been pining for a taste of you.

As he splays you across the bed, Kakucho's eyes are widening and his heart is pounding like thunder inside his chest. With that, he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Mikey stares cooly as he watches Kakucho pry your legs open.

His heterochromatic eyes remain on yours as he leans in and very slowly drags his tongue up. He only does that a few times before sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth, sucking softly—teasingly—and swirling the flat of his tongue against it. Your thighs clamp around his head like a vice, a shocked cry escapes your lips. The first lick turns your muscles to jelly, and your hips immediately rock against his mouth.

"Fuck!" You let out a loud yelp as you grab the bedsheets on either side of your body. He continues by pushing the tip of his tongue between your lower lips and sliding it up to your clit, flicking against it. Part of him wants to tease you, to tell you that he's just started, but instead he keeps licking your clit, hungrily lapping at it.

So, as you come undone, your legs quiver on either side of Kakucho’s head as you grip the sheets, loudly moaning. Still, he doesn’t bother pulling away. He sucks on your clit even harder, his tongue roughly grinding against it as he did. His dick twitches in anticipation as you let out more wanton moans. He wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to bend your body—wants to see the woman of his dreams beg for his dick.

“Oh, God!" You shriek, squirming.

A quiet laugh escapes him, the noise vibrating around you as he continues, refusing to let go, though he soon finds himself wincing at your tight grip on his hair while you arch your back.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time," he confesses. His face is glistening with your slick. "I can't believe Mikey would let us."

"And you might never have again if you don't shut the fuck up," Kokonoi snaps. "Move."

Without warning, two fingers push into you, working their way to the last knuckle. The man with long silver hair starts roughly fucking you on his fingers, his arm quickly moving back and forth while the pads press and stroke at your sweet spot.

You start moaning right away at the sudden stimulation. Your back arches again, and your legs tremble beneath you while you attempt to stifle your moans. But Kokonoi doesn’t let up, he increases his pace instead, and the way your pussy tightens around his fingers tells him you are growing close to your peak again.

Just as you are ready to tip over it—just as you are right on the precipice—Koko pulls his fingers out, leaving you on the edge and clenching around nothing. And then his palm comes down on your ass, smacking both cheeks at the same time with a loud crack echoing off the walls.

You whine, your brows furrowing. "Oh please"

Leaning down enough so his lips are right beside your ear, his voice drops, "Only good girls get to cum. And you haven’t gained the boss's commendation yet, princess.”

He immediately sticks his fingers down your throat, tasting yourself and gagging you.

You can hear the sound of belt buckles coming undone as the next men start to pull their pants down, panting in anticipation. The first dick that came out was the ruddy one in front of your face, owned by the tall, smiling, gorgeous man with gelled locks, Ran Haitani. Kokonoi's fingers had been removed from your throat not long after they'd been forced in there. And after being hoisted up on all fours now, with Ran's cock in front of your face, you know your job.

You open your mouth wide, tongue lolling out, as Ran slides the underside of his shaft along your tongue, rubbing it against the wet muscle before pushing it into the confines of your mouth. He goes slow at first—which is surprising, if not annoying, because you need him to fuck your face right now and get this over with—but it doesn’t last long as he grabs a fistful of your hair and holds your head still while he starts fucking your throat.

Since you’re on your hands and knees, the angle of your throat was a straight path, making it much easier for him to slide right into it, and you had learned long ago to let your jaw go slack and to open your throat up so you wouldn't gag when in this position.

“Fuck, so damn good, ” Ran whispers to himself.

A second cock pushes inside your cunt, and that push isn’t a simple push, it’s a shove, and there’s no time to adjust before you are being slammed into over and over and over. You can’t hold back the keen that starts to leave you, but it is immediately cut off by Ran, who is fucking your face, his rhythm alternating with that of Rindou, his younger brother, who is fucking you from behind.

You can feel the cock in your mouth nearly pulsing as it keeps going in and out, in and out, and you know he is close; plus, he’s gripping your hair tighter, pulling your face into each thrust he makes into your mouth, even as Rindou behind you is pulling your hips back into each thrust he makes.

Ran soon comes, and when he does, he pulls your face completely against his groin to where your nose is buried against his bush and your chin is pressed against his balls as his spend spurts down your throat. You swallow around him, taking it all in, hearing him groan above you from the feeling of your throat constricting as well as from his climax; when he pulls out, you gasp for air before coughing, attempting to regain yourself.

A rough snap of hips against your ass makes you yelp. The cock fucking your cunt is pulled out as the man with the purple mullet moves around and is suddenly in front of your face. A quick glance upward told you it was Rindou Haitani before he shoved his dick in your mouth just like his older brother had.

"You look amazing," Rindou tells you. "So damn beautiful.

You can taste yourself on him; the slick from your core is strong and tangy and mixed with the salt on his own skin; it is intoxicating, to say the least, and you can’t help but swirl your tongue around his shaft to get as much of that taste as you can while he’s thrusting into your mouth.

Another cock is suddenly shoved into your pussy, this one a little thicker than the last, and you groan around the one in your mouth. Rindou curses beneath his breath as he hilts himself in your mouth just as the pink-haired man does in your cunt, grinding his hips against your ass teasingly and making you wiggle yourself against him, silently asking for more.

When they’re both beginning to fuck you again, your throat is already sore, but you can’t care less as you eagerly suck Rindou hard, your cheeks caving while you try to please him, hoping you'd get some sort of pleasure in return. Thankfully, Sanzu reaches around and beneath you, rubbing calloused fingers against your clit— the moan you let out just as your back arches is the end for Rindou as he spills inside your mouth, his spend salty on your tongue.

You haven't gotten the chance to swallow it down yet, however, before he slips his cock free and gently takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Let me see," Rindou quietly orders, and when your eyes meet his—a pretty lavender they are—you open your mouth and stick out your tongue, showing his cum on the pink muscle; you close your mouth again and swallow it, before showing him your tongue once more that his sperm is no longer there. "Good girl," he purrs, brushing his thumb along your lower lip before he stands and starts pulling his pants up as he leaves the bed, but not before eyeing the grinning pink-haired man behind you, pocketing something.

You watch after the younger Haitani for a second before strong hips snap against your ass again and you yell, your head dropping, and there is a coiling of heat in your belly. You spread your legs a bit more for Sanzu, encouraging him to keep going, begging him to take you harder, faster, deeper, to give you more, more, more as that coiling grew tighter and tighter and tighter.

While Sanzu knew how he got to the point of you lying on your stomach, ass slightly sticking up in the air as he straddles your thighs and fucks you from behind, what he wasn’t sure of was how his phone ended up in his hands with the video camera turned on to the point where he’s recording himself fucking his boss’s girlfriend.

"Fuck, princess, you are so goddamn hot," Sanzu breathes, his words slurred. "Mikey is a lucky man." He focuses the camera on how his cock moves in and out of you while his free hand grasps one of your ass cheeks, pulling to spread you open and show exactly where his dick disappeared before releasing and clapping his hand down on your rear, coaxing a quiet yelp from you. "I’m going to watch this so much. You have—ohhfuck—you have n-no idea."

His thrusts are speeding up, garnering louder noises from you while his eyes focus on the way your ass ripples with each thrust; the sight alone is too good not to focus on, and he moves his phone around to get a shot of it. But just as you're ready to explode, ready to tip over that edge, his hands are pulled away along with his dick—

"No cameras." It’s Mikey who speaks up as he yanks Sanzu away from you before snatching the device and throwing it across the room, breaking it to smithereens.

You crane your head backward, bending your neck even when it’s painful just to see Mikey’s reaction. Irritated. Annoyed. That’s what he looks like right now.

A rush of fear runs down Sanzu’s spine as he gathers himself up, uttering words of apology to his king. You know better than to try to reach between your legs to satisfy yourself. Instead, you push through it, gritting your teeth as Sanzu, who'd just edged you, is now in front of your face.

"I’m sorry pretty thing. I should’ve known Boss would get mad." Sanzu apologizes, whether he means it or not, you do not know. "Now you’ve got a job to do, don't you?"

A soft whine escapes your throat just as you open your mouth, expecting him to push in, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands motionless, waiting for you to work his cock instead of him fucking your face; and while this is certainly a blessing, you still disliked him for what he did.

Your tongue comes out of your mouth again, this time to drag up his length before you slip the head of his cock into your mouth. However just as you did, Takeomi Akashi, Bonten's Advisor slips into you from behind, shoving deep in your cunt and making you keen around the pink-haired man's dick in your mouth.

You close your eyes at the admission, pouring all your attention on the cock in your mouth. You cannot do more than bobbing your head slightly and lapping at it. Every time Takeomi thrusts in, it moves your head to take Sanzu's cock further in. You're rocked between the two executives like that, used like a toy.

It doesn’t take long for either of the two men to finish; Takeomi—having done the same as Sanzu by rubbing your clit and bringing you so close to the edge, only to pull out and away just before you tip over into your orgasm.

Thankfully, none of them came inside you—Takeomi comes on your back while Sanzu comes on your face, his cum stringing along your cheeks, nose, and mouth.

"Mochi, your turn. I want you to show me," Mikey orders.

Mochi moves, but he does not understand immediately. You do. You bring yourself up to lean back against Mochi's wide chest and whisper, "Show him how you fuck me."

Mochi breathes in deeply. "Fuck," he exclaims. He sits on the ball of his heels, leaning back. He's a massive man, and you're folded in half as he lifts you up by your knees to sit on his cock.

Everyone can see his huge member inside your hole from this position. Kokonoi and Kakucho appear in your peripheral view, hand massaging in their pants as they look at where you and Mochi are connected, while the Haitanis are shamelessly stroking themselves beside you.

And then you hear somebody clapping. It’s Sanzu. “Excellent!” he cheers, “Give us a show.”

You throw your head back onto Mochi's broad shoulders, tongue lolling out as his cock drives in deeper than before. Slick drips down his cock to the sheets below, staining the places Mikey and you slept. With your legs spread out for anyone to see, you feel exposed, but it's also extremely arousing due to the way they look at you being treated like a sex doll.

You look for your lover, expecting him to look as cold as ever. When you find him with his cock in hand, pumping at the same rate as Mochi, the coil in your gut snaps.

Slick leaks from your clinching hole as you scream. Electric euphoria washes over you, and all you can say is "Mikey" over and over. Never once did you take your eyes off of him.

Mikey follows suit, seeing your lust-blown face, chest heaving with your orgasm. His seed spills down his cock, and all he can think of is your angelic voice singing his name.

Mochi pulls out and comes with a deep rumble of his chest staining the sheets. His cock was covered in your cum, the white streaks decorating his shaft. "There you go," he pants, once finished, he slowly and carefully lowers you to the bed and disappears from your sight.

All of the men leave you alone on the bed, you ache between your legs, the horrible feeling of being unsatisfied by the man you want is still present. Your head droops and you pant, trying to catch your breath.

Your boyfriend gets up cock still hard, quickly pacing towards you. Leaning down, his lips kiss yours roughly. "That's my girl, you did so well. "

"I need you," you whisper as he towers over your form. You'll let Mikey ravage you in front of these men. Let him feast on your body as he should have.

You’ve had fun, sure, but none of them is Mikey.

Mikey’s rough hand slides onto your back. His fingers touch the area where one of his men had cum on you, and you feel him wipe the spend from your skin before that same hand is brought up to your lips, two fingers held out as he waits, silently and expectantly.

You didn’t need to look at him to know what he wants. You open your mouth, dragging the flat of your tongue along his fingers to clean them off; and he does the same for the cum on your face too, ensuring he got every string of it before finally speaking.

"Good girl." he praises, and you feel your stomach flutter as heat pools between your thighs again; you rub them together to try to gain some friction. Mikey lowers himself to his knees then. "C'mon, love, on your back. I want them to see everything.

You are quick to obey, scrambling to lie on your back. You watch as he undoes his pants, pushing them down enough to pull his cock out. Mikey gives himself a few strokes—already fully hard and probably having been that way for a while now—before hooking his arms beneath your knees and pulling your hips up a little, then pushing himself into you in one quick, deep thrust.

A sigh escapes your mouth when he’s finally, finally inside you.

With your legs hooked over the insides of his elbows and his hands on your waist, he starts fucking you—his thrusts are somewhat slow but also deep as he hits that bundle of nerves inside you that immediately makes you keen; your hands go down and grab onto his wrists, holding them as a means to ground yourself.

He fucks you harder than anyone else that night. He fucks you hard and deep yet slowly, as if he's savoring the moment. He fucks in just where it feels great every time. Even though your voice is worn out, you continue to moan and gasp with delight. Your legs meet behind Mikey's back, and you hook them up to pull him in even deeper, you can feel him in your stomach.

Mikey starts speeding up his thrusts, his cock still rubbing against that same spot over and over and over again to the point where a familiar heat is coiling deep in your belly tighter and tighter.

"Oh god, Mikey," you breathe, your legs already trembling around him. "Harder, baby. Please fuck me harder."

Mikey's fingers dig into your waist as he grunts, taking you harder, his hips snapping against you roughly. "My men knew better than to come inside you, love," he growls, and you mewl from a combination of his possessive words and how he slams into you. "That's my place. That's only for me. You wanna get bred? You get bred by me and only me. Remember that you are mine. "

"Yes, I'm yours," you pant, your words breathy and combined with a light moan. He hikes one of your legs up to his shoulder as he curves his arm around your thigh, his thumb finding your clit between your legs, and you let out a sharp yelp at the sudden sensation. It brings you close to the edge almost immediately. "Oh, fuck, Mikey, I'm so fucking close."

"Are you going to come for me, my love? Gonna come all over my cock? Go ahead and show these boys how pretty you mewl for me. "

"Fuck yes. I'm gonna—"

His hips snap harder against you a few more times, and that’s all it takes to send you over the edge—nails digging into his wrists, and your body trembling, keening.

"Fuck, you sound so goddamn good," he breathes, his thumb still rubbing circles on your clit while your hips and legs jerk from sensitivity. His thrusts are beginning to falter, and you can tell he is getting close, but with the digit still touching your sensitive bud, he is about to send you straight into another climax.

"Oh, god," you gasp.

"How bad do you want me to fill you up, princess?" The hand that isn’t between your legs goes to one of your breasts, squeezing and groping and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"So fucking bad. Please, Mikey. Please come in me. "

Your mouth falls open, from the combined pleasure of Mikey's cock sliding in and out of you. You squeal loudly as your cunt squirts, throbbing, almost forcing him out. Through your half-lidded eyes, Sanzu, the Haitanis, and even Kakucho are all looking right back at your coupling with your boyfriend. You can't help but whimper when you see them lick their lips, even though you should be used to it by now.

"Fuck," the man above you groans, hips snapping faster and faster.

Mikey isn’t far behind. He slides the hand from your breasts to your throat where he wraps his fingers around the column. Your eyes open to look at him, but you don’t try to push him away; instead you just submit, allowing him to do as he pleases.

He pounds into you a few more times before burying himself balls-deep. You hear a guttural noise from him as his hips stutter, and he's coming, coming so thickly inside you. You can feel the warm liquid painting you filthily. When he's coming down from his high, he's still thrusting in and out, as if ensuring he's pushing his sperm a little deeper.

"Good girl." He pants above you, blissed-out eyes hazy as sweat drips down his neck. Your body aches as the afterglow of your orgasm petters away. Your body is used and spent, but for Mikey, you'd do it all over again.

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i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry · 3 years ago

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Loves me, Loves me not

Warning: death, destruction, the works, minor allusions to cannibalism that you probably wouldn't have noticed, no read more bc I'm on mobile

The destruction of Teyvat had been a slow process, decaying it from the edges.

It had started with Snezhnaya. As resilient and powerful as the nation was, its unforgiving lands gave them little to fall back on as the fish rotted even in ice and the animals gave naught but disease. With only their perseverance to fall back upon, they took the energy of the fallen and fled to kinder lands.

Natlan burned. Fontaine drowned. Sumeru dried and withered.

Storms beyond the Raiden's power tore Inazuma apart. Where they'd once survived on the little left, the little left by the fallen, the storms disintegrated all. And as the fog returned, steadily consuming all in its wake, the remaining fled on boats and ships, praying there might be some hope left in the world.

Liyue welcomed the refugees. Though they too suffered and starved, they survived the end days better than most; a tribute to the Land of Geo's devotion, they thought. They welcomed the man power to continue their fight, believing their plight to be the monsters that ravaged the lands. But when the earthquakes came, they left nothing in their wake. They too were forced to flee.

To the final stronghold of life: the City of Freedom.

The lands still provided enough to live, and its people dared not refuse the in need, lest they squander what little grace remained in their home. And for a moment, it almost seemed like life could go on.

Until the deaths stopped.

Until the last land withered into stone and the survivors realized it was not by luck or skill they survived.

But that they could not fall into the sweet arms of death, that a hand kept them afloat in the agonizing waves of starvation and thirst. That their desperate methods yielded nothing but rejection.

For seven days, the people did nothing but beg at the feet of their God's statue. Their throats cracked, their bones creaked, their hearts ached, but they clung onto the only hope left; that the Divine Gaze would finally return. That the One Above would notice their plight.

On the morn of the eighth, flowers bloomed. Colors filled their dirty, grey world.

And florists cried.

Buttercups lined buildings and streets.

ingratitude, childish behavior, unfaithfulness

Yellow carnations peaked out from below the groveling citizens.

disdain, rejection

Orange lilies encircled the Archons.

hatred, pride, contempt

Blackened roses bloomed across the final statue, encasing their Beloved in thorns of midnight.

hatred, revenge, an ending

A gentle breeze carried a soothing voice across the lands.

"Loves me."

A black petal flew through the wind.

"Loves me not."

Another joined it.

"Accepts me."

A third.

"Accepts me not."

A fourth.

"To be forgiven."

And a fifth.

"To be punished."

A sixth.

"Mercy."

"Retribution."

"Continue."

"End the cycle."

"Free them."

"Destroy them."

"Let it go."

A thirteenth petal flew through the sky.

"Return in kind."

An obsidian stem dropped in front of the Archons, the so-called gods.

A figure dropped gracefully from atop the statue, a perfect replica in appearance and chill. They took three steps forward, crushing the stem underfoot.

"Then just as you forsake me, I forsake you."

Cracks, filled by gold, line their skin in horrifyingly familiar patterns.

"The people of Teyvat shall never know my blessings again."

The flowers fell to ash and the breeze picked up, taking the dust and you with it.

#sagau #self aware genshin #villain au #genshin cult au #this has been in my head for so long

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godspeedmajortom · 2 years ago

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Miscellaneous Malevolent musings now that I've caught up with the podcast releases...

Loved the "Dunwich Horror" vibes in season 3

Seasons 2 and 3 worked better for me than Season 1, I think because the shape of the arc and the overall goal was clearer

Could do without the amazement at "ruins older than this country," though. America is such a recent creation, and there were people here well before it. Ancient structures should not be inconceivable. Not that I want to go in the HPL direction of native peoples being corrupted by eldritch gods, more that it's ignorant to assume there was nothing here before the colonists. There are better ways to marvel at the impossibility of a place, like the scale of the structure or an unnatural texture or shine or echo or non-local stone (like obsidian in New England lol).

Not sure if this has been confirmed or refuted anywhere, but I headcanon that Arthur wrote the “Some Would Call It Madness” song

Arthur, John is not your conscience. He has no authority to tell you whether you're a good man. He's still learning what "good" means. He's a friend who can provide a second opinion at best. I know you're lonely and you want reassurance, but he does not have the human frame of reference to give you a valid answer. Sorry, dude.

On that note, Arthur seems to have two categories for beings: person and monster. Monsters are evil and should be punished, people deserve respect and can grow from their mistakes. I don’t think he has a clear philosophy yet for what distinguishes them, beyond his gut feelings or rationalizations for his actions (see: cultists are irredeemable and deserve what's coming to them, certainly not people who maybe made a bad choice, got in over their heads, and could use a second chance). Like, John is right that he and Yellow are fundamentally the same, however much Arthur wants John to be in the Good and person-like category. The main difference is that Arthur trauma bonded with one and came to like him, then expected the other to replace him immediately under different circumstances and was disappointed when he didn't. I'm not sure where Arthur puts himself on the person-monster scale. I mean, he considers himself a person, and he typically thinks he's in the right. But he toes the line with cruelty sometimes in a way that does concern him, and he still has so much guilt and shame about Faroe. He's complicated, that's the point of the story. I can see him going full "he who fights monsters," or embracing mercy and forgiveness as human virtues.

Arthur giving the cana water in the prison pits takes on a new light after hearing the whole "I am the captain of my ship" poem and hearing what happened to Faust

Petulant child John is still the best. He is especially childlike in Ep29. The movies! The handkerchief! He has so much ambition and so little agency.

On the other side of the John coin, I'm very curious about how John actually killed Emily and Parker, especially given his limited power on Earth. I imagine it's something that can occur in the ritual of opening his book. The details will surely be revealed at the least opportune moment.

Speaking of coins: Kayne, you sick fuck, I love you, what are you, what the hell game are you playing. He clearly has more direct influence on Earth than the King in Yellow, and he has some kind of influence in the Dreamlands/with the King to return John to Arthur. Presumably, he needs both John and Yellow, maybe also Arthur, for whatever he’s planning. Or maybe he just wants to be entertained by Arthur inevitably blowing up at John for lying to him and betraying his trust again. Fun times for everyone!

#malevolent #malevolent spoilers

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the-unending-journey · 2 years ago

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Who is the more romantic one?

I'm not sure what ship you want, so I guess I'll do all of them lol

With Leofard, it's probably more Kiyo that's on the romantic side. Leo tends to be more sauve and flirty, though I guess that can be romantic too

With Oboro it's both of them. The two were kinda awkward about it at first, but they eventually got used to things

With Sidurgu it's Kiyo 100%. It's not that Sid can't be, it's just these sorts of things aren't something he's used to and he struggles with it and just kinda expresses his love in his own ways

With Haurchefant it kinda becomes a contest between the two, which Haurchefant usually ends up winning most of the time lol

With Aymeric it's both like with Oboro, but it tends to be more Aymeric, because Kiyo gets pretty flustered with the man's romantic gestures

With Ardbert it's mostly Kiyo again. Ardbert is another sort that's kinda awkward with this type of thing because it's not something he thought he'd be involved with. He has his moments though and he can be really sweet

With Erich (and Claudien as well) it's once again another where Kiyo is the more romantic one, but she gets what she dishes out in return... though very awkwardly at first

With Hyth it's both him and Panacea being romantic towards each other equally. Sometimes they even make a game out of it to outdo one another

#ask game #oh boy this is gonna be a lot of tags...#6.4 spoilers #nancy finish the msq #ship: amarantos #ship: like sunlight #ship: moonflower #ship: once upon a dream #ship: the warmth in our hearts #ship: souls intertwined #ship: merciful obsidian #ship: free as birds #thanks!

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emperor-kumquat · 3 years ago

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Between the Space Adventure storyline to the Reformed Predator storyline, Predaking has been with the Autobots twice. With the Discovery storyline though, he and the Predacons wonder the wastelands. Do you write in order of location, by boss (Overlord, Sunder and now the DJD) or do you write this in kind of chronological order and there just so happens to be a coincidence?

I'm writing a bit chronologically to help myself establish the events of the world. On a timeline, the SA storyline with Overlord ends first (a few months postwar). I determined how Overlord is defeated, who returns to Cybertron, and when. The next story RP with Sunder goes past the Overlord crisis, introduces a few more characters and what the Decepticons are up to. The Discovery Storyline doesn't focus much on the civilized world so it's a bit detached and I have more freedom with the timeline. After this, more storylines will really establish Mercy events that always happen. What is important is to be consistent. For example, these events were established in SA and followed in RP: Day 1: Optimus sacrifices himself Day 1: New life is created, a lot of animals Day 3: Nemesis is partially repaired Day 3: Ripclaw emerges Day 4: Ripclaw found by now across all paths Week 1: Third Campaign returns (Autobots) Week and a half: Stray Decepticon ship arrives Week 2: Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, Bluestreak Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Tracks arrive Week 2: Nemesis flight-capable Week 3-4: Moving the Space Bridge to Cybertron Week 5: Trip to Earth Week 5: Krok arrives Week 5: Rest of the Vehicons and Velocitronians and Junkions are brought back (Slipstream included) Week 6: Krok’s trial Week 7: Fourth Campaign returns (Autobots + prisoners) Week 7: Trip to Antilla Week 7: Obsidian’s and Strika’s trial Week 7: Trip to Arduria Week 8: Trip to Omnitron and Tsiehshi Week 8: Transporting Antillan Decepticons home Week 9: Seventh Campaign arrives (Autobots) Week 9: Trip to Thrull Week 9: Trip to Elba Week 9-10: Elba Week 10: Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Campaigns return (Autobots, Decepticons, and Star Seekers) Week 10: Elections, Trepan escapes and Sunder is revealed on camera Week 12: Overlord is defeated on Chaar/or/Overlord returns to Cybertron with Trepan

This is why it took some time before Slipstream appeared in RP. So now, the timeline will extend so that future stories can reference even people Sunder killed in RP (Shellshock, Vehicons, other Decepticons).

Because you gotta keep track of where your characters are so you can use them properly! And events must happen across all stories if Predaking can't stop them. The world moves on with or without him

#tf mercy #transformers

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femurthief-fen · 3 years ago

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REVIEW FOR GOLDEN SON, CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR RED RISING SERIES

**IF YOU’RE READING THIS AND GOING “why did they call ‘Sevro’ Servo??” I am dyslexic and fantasy/sci-fi names always get turned around in my head lmaooo

I have never in my life cried from joy, laughter, and complete despair through 100 pages straight

Rating: 5/5

Honestly this book deserves more than 5 stars in my opinion because holy fuck I have not been this invested in a book since Gideon The Ninth.

Pierce Brown crafts an incredible world filled with diverse and deeply intriguing characters who make you feel for their agony and understand the things they need to do. I already loved Red Rising but Golden Son did something different to me. It was a masterpiece.

The Plot: 5/5

We follow Darrow as he continues his journey through the world of the golds now under the wing of Augustus and fighting desperately for respect among the people who surround him.

“Hic sunt leones. Here be lions.”

Darrow experiences pain, loss, trauma, friendship, mercy, understanding, and love throughout Golden Son with a beautiful story of a man figuring out that what he thought was true is not to be believed, and this theme continues into the second book. Despite his blatant apprehension Darrow finds himself truly loving his gold friends and any other color who brings him joy.

Theodora is a brown who takes care of Darrow and dotes on him constantly and teases him. They have an adorable relationship that proves that Darrow is not only growing fond of the golds, but realizing that all the colors are just people, mislead, dark, dishonest sometimes, but people all the same. This book felt more philosophical to me than Red Rising, it dove more into the idea of "why" we are what we are. Why we do this to each other. The complexity of human morality and loyalty. Are our enemies evil or just mislead?

It is a deeply complex plot with so many interesting stories that show that humanity is far from perfect and things need to change, but people are still people with real pain and real fears.

“We’re all just wounded souls stumbling about in the dark, desperately trying to stitch ourselves together, hoping to fill the holes they ripped in us.”

“There is no morality to him. No goodness. No evil intent when he killed Eo. He believes he is beyond morality. His aspirations are so grand that he has become inhuman in his desperate desire to preserve humanity.”

I love how important friendship and love is in this male and war dominated plot alongside with powerful and ruthless female characters who still have huge personalities. By far the best relationship in the entire book (and series) being that between Darrow and Servo.

Servo is by far my favorite character in the series because oh my god he is incredible. Everything he says makes me laugh or cry or just be genuinely happy hes speaking. I love this goblin child. Every scene between him and Darrow sharing a moment of true sympathy for everything the other is going through felt honest and loving, something we don't see often between male characters.

Characters: 5. out. of. fucking. 5.

I think i could literally scream for hours about how well rounded and complex these characters are. They feel like real people. Messy, broken, and holding onto each other for dear life.

Darrow feels a lot more guilt for the things he does to the golds than he did in the last book. He wonders if he is becoming the very monster he's trying to defeat. Darrow has a subtle shift throughout this entire book from pride and vengeance to almost a repentance and understanding. He keeps people at a distance but he aims to inspire any color to be as eccentric and strong willed as possible.

This is shown most through Ragnar, an obsidian that takes to Darrow after they find him aboard a ship. Darrow does not order him or berate him like the other golds do, he asks Ragnar what he wants out of life. Ragnar becomes increasingly loyal to him as he realizes Darrow is not like the people who tormented him. But still Darrow is aware of his wrongdoings and that the innocent boy in the mines died with Eo. He is no longer a force of pure rage as he was in the first book, but now a calculated, thoughtful, destructive, and powerful leader.

“But that man is gone. I mourn his passing every day. Forgetting more and more of who I was, what dreams I held, what things I loved. The sadness now is numb. And I carry on despite the shadow it casts over me.”

Servo plays an even more prominent role in this book which makes me so fucking happy. He also takes on a complex character arc as he begins to understand what war really means for him and everyone around him. Servo's loyalty to Darrow as his closest friend and his genuine love and acceptance of both sides of Darrow make a beautiful found family/friendship.

“I’m Gold, bitch. What’d you expect? Warm milk and cookies just because I’m pocket-sized?”

Mustang also comes back to remind us she is a genius and a badass and to keep Darrow in line. We begin to realize how torn Mustang is between what she believes and her love for her family. She proves time and time again that she would do anything for her family but not at the cost of destroying the friendships she's built unless absolutely necessary.

Victra is chaotic, sassy, brilliant, and severely underused in this book, I love her.

Lorn, Darrow's tutor is a complicated and wise man who tries to keep Darrow from falling into the same path he did. He has large role in golden son because I think Darrow sees him as the father figure that he lost. And its clear Lorn sees the same familial relationship and love for Darrow.

“A fool pulls the leaves. A brute chops the trunk. A sage digs the roots.”

Augustus,the very man who killed Darrow's wife, is Darrow's Archgoverner and leader. He gives Darrow orders and keeps him at a distance but this develops into one of the most interesting parts of the story. Darrow begins to realize what Augustus is, a man trying to keep order and keep people alive in the only way he was taught how. Darrow doesn't condone what Augustus does of course but he begins to understand the perspective the golds have on life that has been ingrained on them since birth.

“Brutality.” Augustus lets the word hang in the air. “It is neither evil nor good. It is simply an adjective of a thing, an action in this case. What you must parse is the nature of the action.”

Ragnar is the final character I'll talk about because many of the other arcs are developed through major spoilers. Ragnar joins our little crew about halfway through the book. He's a powerful obsidian who takes to Darrow because he sees him almost as a kind and merciful god in the beginning, but a friendship blossoms from their and Darrow places a lot of trust in the tortured yet loving man.

The Gold spits. “You send a dog to do your fighting?” “I am a man!” Ragnar roars louder than the screaming engines of a passing ship.”

Anyways if you haven't tried the red rising series I highly suggest it. Seriously. Its incredible

#book reccs #bookshelf #booklr #red rising #pierce brown #fantasy #fantasy books #scifinovel

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books-of-the-great-leviathan · 3 years ago

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Chapter 3- Alois

***

"Marriage," he repeated, slowly. "To end a war."

His father stared down at him, unmoved by Alois's shock. A gust of wind scoured down the sea walk, and Alois shuddered. He steadied himself on the parapet. His father's expression tightened, lines drawn deep at the corners of his eyes.

"A marriage of politics," the king said. "The girl is the youngest child of Queen Sofia Valere. Princess of Lapide. Beloved by her nation. As your queen she will tie Lapide to us forever."

"But..."

"Do you not want this war to end, Alois?"

"Of...of course, I-"

"And won't you be king someday?"

Alois's gaze snapped up. Heat flooded his face. He leaned against the parapet and stared down, hundreds of feet to the waves crashing at the foot of the cliffs. The king gripped his wrist and jerked him back, so close Alois felt the faint heat of his anger.

"Look at me when I speak to you," his father said. "Do you hear me?"

"I- yes, I-"

"Do you have an objection?"

"I've...I've never met the princess..."

"I did not know your mother when I married her. She was little more than a stranger to me. The first time I heard her voice was when she swore her oaths to me under Bellana's eyes. I did not care to know her, not then. I was king. My father was dead. My country needed me. It needs you now, Alois, and I will not hear your objections. I will accept nothing but your agreement."

He released Alois's arm. Alois stumbled, the small of his back hitting stone. Seabirds danced overhead, scraps of shadow against the sun. Alois closed his eyes, counting his heartbeats, then opened them to his father once more.

"When?" he said.

"You're luckier than I was. You'll meet Princess Cereza in Valeris, in one week's time. Your ships are already being made ready. I will send men with you. Soldiers. Gifts. The agreement has been made. Now all you must do is honor it."

Alois nodded. His gaze shifted to his boot toes. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes. Myself and the Witchhunter have agreed you'll be taking the Belmont cup."

His eyes jerked up. A blade of ice seemed to lance through his guts, turning his blood cold despite the beating sun. "What? Give the Cup to Lapide? No-"

"They must understand this is no game, no trick," his father said. "The Cup is a gift that will strengthen us all in the giving."

"But..." He licked his lips. All his arguments clattered around his mind like startled glimmits. His father was right. He was more than right. If this was to be peace, and Alois hoped beyond hope it was, he had to be prepared for sacrifice.

The Cup, however precious, had not been enough to save his mother. It wouldn't bring her back. Nothing would. But maybe it could be enough to save Estara.

His head ached. His father watched him, folding his hands behind his back. His strong features were impassive, but Alois saw the look in his eyes relent. He swept his gaze out to sea, to the edge of the horizon.

"I know this isn't what you would have chosen," his father said. "It isn't my first choice, either."

Alois lifted his eyebrows. "...It isn't?"

"No. Bellana's mercy, Alois, you think I want Lapide's own princess by your side?" He gave a soft laugh. "She'll be building her pagan shrines in the Tower and dressing us all in blue come Arva's fall. No. No, this wasn't my first choice. But choices must be made, when a man wears the obsidian crown like we two."

The air seemed at once thin. Daval had never spoken like this to him. Not for a long, long time, not since his childhood. "I...I suppose not."

"Hm. I know you do." He paused once more. He hadn't looked down at Alois, his eyes yet fixed on the horizon. "I know these years have been...difficult."

A pang twisted into Alois's heart. He was ten years old when his mother died, when he woke with a start to find the nurses spreading the death-veil over the queen's body. He hadn't left her side for days, not since her illness had worsened. He told her stories when she was awake, and whispered them when she was asleep, like his naive faith could keep her alive when medicines and physicians, alchemy and witch-doctors and philosophers from the far reaches of the Inner Sea, had failed. That last night he'd failed too, and fallen asleep by the sickroom fire.

When he woke, nets around her bed had turned the sight of her hazy. The room reeked of death, of chalky medicine, of the thick oversweet smell of night-drop. Even through the veils, he could tell she wasn't moving anymore. He'd flung himself toward her with a cry, but an arm had caught him, holding him back even as he kicked, and screamed, and sobbed. The Royal Witchhunter, Severin Azare, clutching him like he was a tiny child.

Even the memory brought a wave of shame. At least, he told himself it was shame. A strong man, a true son of Estara, never let himself be made a mockery by his emotions. All the same, tears stung his eyes. Don't look. Azare had whispered that, and his voice was raw, the only time Alois had heard it unsteady. Don't look.

The king had not come. Not until the queen's body was veiled and washed, until the smell of death was obscured by perfumes. He'd had no words of comfort for his son then, when it most counted.

"Difficult," Alois muttered. "What would you know about that? Mother was barely cold in her tomb before you went hunting for a younger wife-"

"Alois."

"Even the Witchhunter has more heart than you," Alois spat. His heart hammered, his face hot. The sun was too bright. He should stop. He knew he should stop. But his traitor mouth kept moving, the words spilling from him like water. "I wish-"

The blow cracked across his face, shattering his burst of mad courage. Alois cried out, his father's slap still ringing in his ears. His vision pulsed; the side of his face blazed, no pain, just shock and silence.

He blinked, then looked up to where the king stood over him. No more sorrow in his eyes. The fury there astounded him, cowed him, drowned his words inside him. There was the warlord, the man who'd burn Lapidaean soldiers alive on their own ships, with their own spellfire. The king who was called the Bloodmonger, who decorated his warships with the heads of executed Lapidaean commanders, who left survivors floundering for the sharks in gore-streaked waters. The fellfox was the Estaran sigil, wrought in black and silver on a field of red, an animal ferocious when defending its den and kits against those who might do them harm. They had nothing on Daval Belmont.

Alois's vision blurred. For a moment he thought tears would come and he'd get to see disgust as well as rage on his father's face, but the blur didn't go away, and no tears fell. Alois blinked again. Spots swam in his eyes, gray and misty. Panic rose, swallowing his shock. The spots faded moments later, but the panic lingered.

The king saw it, registered it. For a heartbeat, confusion wavered. Alois imagined his prayers to Bellana: why would you shame me with this cripple son? Is he cursed? Am I cursed? Please, Sky-Queen, tell me.

The disgust came sudden, vicious as a whip crack.

"Make yourself ready," he said. "And get out of my sight."

"Father," Alois said. "Please. I...I can fix..." He gestured to his face, his eyes. "Please. Just give me time."

"I said get out."

He didn't need to ask again. Alois bowed and turned and got out, urging himself not to run.

***

Lapide and Estara. Maybe they existed to fight, like heroes and monsters of myth, unable to keep their teeth from each other for more than a short sweet time. Their two island nations had once been one, sundered by civil war, a conflict between heirs that ended bloody. It left the islands snapping at each other throughout the nine centuries since, animals on either end of a too-short chain.

Estara never forgot the battleground that had birthed their divided nations. The King's Hall of Pavaloir Tower was a shrine to it. Great slabs of volcanic rock were raised to its walls, set in frames of steel so they formed a vast relief running down both sides of the hall. The floor was rust-colored marble and cast a bloody gleam over the mass of figures carved into the slabs. They were centuries old, depicting the war between brothers that had first split Lapide and Estara.

The Sundered Empire. Falling stars blazed, marking pathways over battle-churned seas. Soldiers in archaic armor fought, and fell, and died. Alchemists weaved spellfire to swallow armadas. Alois moved down the main panel, following the battle as it raged thicker and bloodier. It ended with a single triumphal relief of Ardain, beloved of Bellana and the first of the Belmont kings. He sat astride his armored elk, sword lifted to strike off his traitorous brother's head.

The brother knelt below like a sacrifice, head bowed as if waiting for the blade to fall. It was said the sword was carved from a scale fallen from the Great Leviathan itself, though none alive could attest. The sword had been tossed in the sea, or broken, or made into table forks for all Alois knew. He stared up at the warrior-king. Ardain was fully twice his height and rendered in glorious, gory detail. His face, with its close beard and its nose like an axe blade, was all too familiar to him. He only hoped his father wouldn't end the way Ardain had: betrayed by his own friends and cast into the hungry jaws of a sea-ork.

Somehow he suspected not.

He let out a shuddering breath, then turned and hurried away, through double doors and down a broad flight of steps leading him once more into the full heat of the sun. The black walls of the Tower rose around him, the sun framed by battlements overhead so it stared down, the searing white pupil of a vast blue eye. Alois kept his gaze averted, kept his step swift, glad of the heat and the echo of his bootsteps on the flagstones; no thoughts could get through it. If only such things could be shooed away for good, like foxes from a pen of brushfowl. But thoughts were quick, like foxes; they always got in, and then there was ever a bloody mess in the dust.

Shouts and the ring of metal off metal echoed up to him as he turned down covered walkways, then emerged into the practice yards. They were attached to the stables and barracks, all built from the same dark stone as the rest of the fortress, and it shimmered in the drenching sunlight. The yards were full of flashing metal, billowing dust, guards at practice bouts and captains calling drills as squads wheeled through dust-clouds. Swordstrike rang through his skull like a blow. Alois' struck cheek throbbed. He hurried on before anyone in the yards could catch a look at him, headed for the long, low building now in the shadow of the Tower.

Within, the musky darkness was full of the whicker and rumble of elk. Horns clattered like dry branches, the smells of hay and animals mingling with leather and polish, slowing his pulse, steadying his head. Alois quickly saddled his elk and fastened his hood and scarf around his face. The last thing he needed was some sentry seeing him and reporting his movements to the king. He'd already acted enough of a coward today.

"Alois!"

He looked round as Marin rushed toward him, trailed by a harried-looking maid. His little brother's face glowed, his blue eyes wide. Alois grinned and caught him round the middle, hoisting him into a whirl. Marin laughed and threw his arms round Alois's waist as he came back down.

"Father says you've got to go," Marin said.

"It's only for a few days." He ruffled Marin's hair. "You won't even realize I'm gone."

"Yes I will. I wish I could go with you. I want to see a sailfish."

"Just be glad you don't have to cross Bellana's Arm." Alois made exaggerated retching noises. Marin giggled. "I'll spend the whole time trying not to be sick. No fun at all. You won't be missing anything."

Marin clambered onto the gate and began stroking Alois's elk. The animal snorted into his palm, extending its long black tongue to lick the salt off Marin's fingers.

"When you're king," Marin said, "will you let me go see the sailfish?"

"Anytime you like."

"Father wouldn't. He says I have to be strong. A soldier." Marin paused. "I don't want to be a soldier."

"I know."

"He says I have to be a true son of Estara."

Alois took a long breath. "And what would you rather be?"

"A fisherman."

Alois nearly laughed. "A fisherman? And have to gut fish all day?"

Marin looked down, then back toward his nurse, standing with head bowed. "I heard him," Marin said. "Father. Talking about Mother."

Cold rippled through Alois, despite the close heat of the stables. "What did Father say?"

"Him and the Witchhunter were talking. He said Mother wasn't strong. Said he'd chosen wrong. Like the last time." He blinked, hard. "He didn't choose wrong, did he? He's not going to take my mother away, is he?"

Alois couldn't look his little brother in the eyes. He busied himself with his elk's saddle, easing the girth strap tighter.

"You should get back to your studies," he said at last. "Can't be a proper fisherman without knowing your sums, now, can you?"

"Promise me you'll come back," Marin said. He tugged at Alois's cloak. "Please."

Alois let his breath out, gaze fixed on the saddle. His eyes burned.

I don't know. I don't know what's going to happen.

He knelt to Marin's level.

"Of course I'll come back," he said, and pulled Marin into a tight hug. His throat ached, but he held back his tears, squeezing his eyes shut as he buried his face in his little brother's hair. "I have to be king, don't I?"

Heat poured across him as he left the fortress, winding down the narrow switchback foot-path that faced the sea. Stones scattered from under his elk's hooves as the animal loped down the cliffs. Below, waves crashed, the chill sea wind his only relief from the heat. The waves were as vibrant as the afternoon sky; high overhead Alois caught the trace of one moon, the edge of a crescent standing ghostly against the cloudless blue.

Stara's northern coastlines were all crags and seabirds, raptors wheeling off the high spires of dark rock thrusting sharp and lonely from the scree. Alois wound away from Pavaloir, away from the thrum and chug of warship engines, away from the clamor and dust of the city's outskirts. Within the hour, his only companions were bird calls and the bellows breathing of his mount. He slowed his pace, and silence rushed in. The sea still boomed below, the wind a thin and winding thing sliding between rock spires.

Nothing moved in the burnt red landscape, nothing but Alois's shadow, like some lonely spirit lost to the wilderness. Here was a land of snakes and rock folk and seers crouching in holes, of monstrous cradle stories and ghosts loosed to the wind.

A chill traced Alois's spine. Not all these spires were natural, not all carved over centuries by Estara's winds. Towers stood on the high crags, crumbling things built from the same red stone as the rest of the land, windows empty, ramparts decayed. They were thousands of years old, built by the first settlers of Stara, the mightiest of the three sister isles. Statues, too, features worn and softened by time: winged figures, women with three faces and great many-eyed beasts. Only broken stumps remained of hands, of fangs, the statues listing to the side or collapsed entirely as they were devoured by the dust and sand.

He urged his elk on, heading inland, deeper into the maze of cliffs and rock formations. The horizon was touched with violet by the time he reached the shrine, its entrance a fold of rock in the base of a mountainside, hiding the hidden passage leading deeper into the earth.

Water rushed as he guided his elk through the low stacked-stone walls, into the cool, shadowed cavern beyond.

This was no grand holy place, nothing like the King's Hall in the fortress, nothing like the cathedrals of Pavaloir with Saints looming from the walls and the eyes of Bellana watching, always. Here was a place wept into being by water, shaped over centuries by countless wanderers. The walls were painted with arcane patterns in blue, pigment worn and flaking with time. Alois traced them with one fingertip. He recognized the form of the Great Leviathan, sowing monsters in its wake. The Leviathan, from whose blood all life sprang, and with it all power.

The spring gushed from the shrine itself, a pile of rocks scattered with small offerings: coins, charms on chains, twists of hair bound with ribbon or sinew, tiny figurines carved of ork-bone, candles melted to puddles of wax. Above all stood a statue, Alois's height, carved not from red stone but from quartz-veined rock black as night: a three-faced woman, wings curled around her body so she seemed cloaked in feathers. Each face was eerie, high cheekbones and almond eyes, elongated and alien.

Alois tugged off his scarf and hood, then knelt and plunged his hands into the spring. The water was frigid, clear, so pure it was like drinking starlight. He gulped palmful after palmful before he made himself stop.

He wiped his hands off on his trousers. "I didn't bring much this time," he told the three-faced woman. "Just this."

He drew his boot knife and set its point into one fingertip. He smeared an arc of his blood across one of the shrine's stones, where it glistened.

"I hope it's enough," he went on.

Stories chased one another through his head, whispered to him by his mother when the maids had left and the two of them could be alone. Alois had listened with wonder, his mother's voice soft and husky in the semidark, the scent of snowbloom round her like a veil.

Pagan tales, Alois knew now, not the word of mighty Sky-Queen Bellana, but more like the beliefs still practiced by the heretics of Lapide, with their three witch-goddesses and their barbaric rituals. Alois had come here with his mother when he was still a child, and had never stopped coming.

He'd not forgotten her stories, either. He didn't know if he believed them, but this was the last place he had where his mother felt, in some way, alive. That was holy enough for him.

He raised his eyes to the three-faced woman. She stared down, veins of quartz glimmering in what little sunlight reached these depths. If Daval had known his queen's true religion, he'd have had her cast out years before she'd had a chance to die. Maybe Alois was damned by coming here, by lingering, by leaving pieces of himself in this pagan place, but he didn't care. Bellana had never granted him anything, just this curse, and his father's shame. Just war, and loss, and death.

The princess Cereza worshipped gods like this. Alois tried to imagine her face, but couldn't; he kept seeing Marin, kept seeing Azare, kept seeing himself and how he must have looked to his father. Was Cereza doing the same, somewhere across the sea? Had she shamed herself to her mother, the queen, or had she accepted her duty?

"Will this end the war?" he asked. "Is this right?"

No answers came. Outside, night had come, and the dark crept in. He heard the scuff of his elk's hooves as the animal shifted, the jangle of its harness, his own hammering, uncertain heart. His blood had dried to a smear of rust.

He sighed, and, using the flint and steel set in a niche by the spring, coaxed one of the candles to light. The glow was a weird one, throwing strange shadows through the shrine, but comforting, too. This much he could control.

Please let this be right. Please let there be peace.

Please, please, please.

But he had nothing more to give. He raised his eyes once more to the three-faced woman's and knew that was not enough of an excuse for gods.

#original fiction #fantasy fiction #tales of the great leviathan #togl #chapter 3 #serialfiction #serial novel

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echoghost1 · 4 years ago

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EchoGhost's Phic Phight 2021 Master Post

And in case you missed any, or just like seeing the whole gang together, here is every single fic I wrote for my first ever Phic Phight!

1) Perseverance

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: While Maddie is helping Danny with his homework a notification from his phone becomes a major distraction.

Prompt: PR134 - Danny is sitting quietly next to someone. Maybe he's doing homework with his friends, maybe Jazz is driving him somewhere, maybe he's working on a group project with someone, maybe he's doing something else entirely. He suddenly starts *freaking* the heck out - Perseverance has just landed on Mars, and he just found out about it. How is his reaction perceived by whoever he's with?

2) The Reason You Wail

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: An odd feeling he can't quite explain is haunting Danny. He wants it to stop but he knows it won't, he just knows now.

Prompt: PR054 - As Danny gets older, he doesn't just predict the appearance of ghosts. He starts predicting when someone's going to die.

3) Forget Your Life Story

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Danny woke up with no memory. He didn’t even know his own name. The doctor told him it would come back and his parents were there to help him. He trusts them, even if he doesn't recognize them. Even if some things didn’t quite line up.

Prompt: PR002 - Danny woke up from being in a month long coma with no memory of how he got there or anything about his past. Thankfully, the doctors said that his memory would return eventually, and he had his loved ones nearby to tell him who he was and his life story. However, as his memory slowly returns, there's huge, distinct differences between what he's been told and the things he's remembering.

4) Recreational Botany

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: It wasn't her fault. She was merely curious, had only wanted to help. She didn't mean for this to happen. She just hoped it would wear off soon. (TW: Drug use - Weed)

Prompt: PR228 - Ghost weed.

5) Fool’s Errand (Ghost Prince AU)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: It had been hours since Danny flew off to fight Pariah Dark and Vlad took it upon himself to see what was taking the boy so long.

Prompt: PR065 - After their fight, Pariah Dark decides Danny has all the qualities he wants in an heir and forcibly adopts him. (Danny can either lose the fight to put him back in the Sarcophagus, or Pariah can get out again later.)

6) You Walked Right Into This

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Sometimes walking is more than just walking. (TW: Child Abuse)

Prompt: PR142 - Jack and Maddie seriously injure Danny Fenton, resulting in him being at their mercy and revealing he’s not exactly human. Now the parents have to decide wether to help him... or finish what they started. TW for serious injury and probably gore and angst.

7) What You Fear The Most (Scary Ghost Form AU)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: What if his ghost form was less human-looking? What if he looked every bit the monster his parents had always told him ghosts were?

Prompt: PR035 - Monstrous: AU where Danny's ghost form is monstrous and grotesque. On one hand, he doesn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him; on the other, it might be even harder to convince people that he's a good guy

8) Parallels

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: It's amazing the things you learn on a field trip.

Prompt: PR047 - Wacky reveals (ex: Danny drying up too quickly bc intangibility, Danny's drink stays cool way too long, people's electronic devices are always more charged when they've been near Danny, etc)

9) Cast Into Obsidian (Blind AU)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: The accident sent Danny to the hospital due to the damage to his eyes.

Prompt 01: PR092 - Write a more traditional ghost story. How would things change if ghost powers weren’t super powers, but closer to old horror movie tropes?

Prompt 02: PR259 - The Accident didn’t turn Danny into a half ghost, but instead allowed him to see, hear, and physically interact with the very real ghosts that are now pouring through the portal (Alternative: Danny’s always been clairvoyant, but after the accident he finally sees all of the ghosts he’d grown up talking to)

10) Where The Lines Overlap (Parallels part 2)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Maddie wants to know what her son has been keeping from her and today he finally decides to tell her. (TW: Outsider POV of PTSD flashbacks)

Prompt: PR091 - When he told his parents the truth, Danny had only ever bothered thinking about the stress of potential dissection. With that out of the way, and his secret fully accepted, he realised that there were a lot of unexpected things to adjust to... Write about something funny or awkward as the Fentons learn to live with a half ghost son!

11) Quoth the Librarian, “But I’m Alone?”

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Eleanor loved her job at the school library. She always made sure to come in early to make sure everything was just right before the students came. Today something beat her there.

Prompt: PR234 - Suddenly, there was a knock at the door...

12) The Baldr to My Odin (Ghost Prince AU part 2)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Pariah has recently acquired a son and wants to get to know him better.

Prompt: PR121 - Pariah Dark wakes up from his slumber and tries to live a peaceful existence in his castle practicing his swordsmanship and rebuilding his castle with all modern luxuries. But ghost from the ghost zone keep trying to challenge him to become king.

13) Tagged

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Dr. Flora Santos and her partner Dr. Carlos Rodriguez have lucked out as they have finally caught their most elusive subject.

Prompt: PR090 - Something physical happens to Danny’s body that makes it impossible to keep his secret identity, well, secret.

14) The Paleontologist and The Princess (Dino boy AU)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Danny had one true passion; Paleontology. So can anyone really blame him for getting excited when he thinks he comes face to face with a dinosaur? Even if it isn't a dinosaur after all.

Prompt: PR139 - "Actually, Dad? I wanted to be a paleontologist."

15) Lost In Transmission

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: There's a Ghost Expo happening at Casper High and Danny thinks it'll be fun to see all the incorrect ways people try to find ghosts. He learns the hard way that just because is old, doesn't mean it doesn't work.

Prompt: PRO58 - Casper high is holding a supernatural expo. Supposed paranormal experts are gathered in their gym to show off their expertise. Thinking it'll be a flop, since most employ methods that aren't modern, Danny and his friends go for fun. Only, it turns out that traditional ghost hunting techniques are more efficient than they seem.

16) Dark Familiarity (Role Swap AU)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Danny has been hunting ghosts for a while now. He has been ever since they ruined his life and a mysterious package arrived with everything he needed to exact his revenge. (TW: Character Death)

Prompt: PR095 - Danny and Valerie role swap (but not personality swap!!). How does Valerie fair as a ghost? How does Danny do as a ghost hunter (and what motivates him to do it in the first place?) [Shipping them is fine, but gen fics are preferred!]

17) I’ve Felt It Too

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Ember's having a bad day and Danny tries to help.

Prompt: PR079 - Phantom looked at Ember. Her eyes filled with tears. She gnashed her teeth and screamed. "You don't know what it's like."

And Phantom, with a heavy sigh whispered. "Yeah, I do..."

18) Repair All Of The Damage (Undead Danny AU)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: After the tragic loss of her son, Maddie vows to bring him back. No matter what. (TW: Death of a child)

Prompt: PR088 - tw; death of a child?

The Fentons had their daughter sure but they always wanted a son. due to an accident or complication with their son, Danny, died. They decide to put their ghostly knowledge to use and try to summon the spirit of their son back to them. They are ghost scientists. they know how to contain them after all. How much time that has passed between the death and the 'summoning' is up to you!

19) Out Of This World (And Into The Next)

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: What if when Danny first fought the Lunch Lady ghost she actually noticed how young he was. What if she didn't know he was more than just another ghost? What if when she commented on how underweight he was, she decided to help him?

Prompt 01: PR113 - Danny has an existential crisis because he’s dead

Prompt 02: PR242 - somehow, he's gotten younger

20) Spirit Versus Spunk

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Mr. Lancer isn't sure how he's supposed to be reacting to what he's seeing, but seeing as he's the adult here, he better make up his mind.

Prompt: PR019 - Danny and Wes Weston fight over a harmless ghost. This happens during a ghost attack.

21) The Group Project From Hell

AO3 or Tumblr

Summary: Danny and Tucker get stuck working with someone that they really don’t want to

Prompt: Everyone hates group projects, and that’s even if you like your group members. Tucker, Danny, and Elliot/Gregor all get teamed up for a group project, and Tucker and Danny need to refrain from killing him.

And as an added bonus I did make a Spotify playlist for this too! There's a song for each fic that I felt best fit the vibe of each story.

#phic phight #Phic collection master post #I've got a range of genres here #Or at least 3 that I kept bouncing between #they are as follows #angst #horror/dread #humor #also *slaps top of post* I fit so many different AU's in here #I did both Jack and Maddie are trying their very best AND these two should have never had children type fics #I'd love to know which one is your favorite!#Also me running in at the last second to add in the final phic

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brandywine-tomatoes · 4 years ago

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Dreadful Black

The Bad Batch angst

Prompt from the Discord! (@icedcoffee101, @twitchstoleyourbagel, @dragon-pups, @in-the-crosshairs, @angstkings)

Masterlist

TW: being shot, blood, falling, breaking of bones (I swear it's not as bad as it sounds)

Word count: 1,565

Prompt/Inspo: Challenge is you have 30 minutes to kill one batcher [it took me hours to outline it and actually wrote it the next day, sorry y'all ): ]

“You said the engines would hold until we got there!” Hunter yelled from his seat behind Echo. The ship lurched side to side, barely keeping it together. If the ship broke up in hyperspace... they didn’t want to think about it.

“I didn’t calculate one of them blowing up!” Tech yelled back, scrambling over the controls.

“One of them always blows up!”

“Would you like to try getting us to a safe planet while coming out of hyperspace?”

“Just get us out of here, Tech!” Echo shouted over the bickering. He had his own jobs of trying to keep the wings stabilized while keeping the ship balanced. All in all, not easy to do on your own.

Tech pushed up the hyperspace lever and the ship lurched forward, almost throwing everyone out of their seats. The tunnel disappeared and they were plunging to an orange and grey planet surface.

“We’re going too fast, Tech!” Echo shouted over the breaking ship.

“Then slow us down, Echo!”

“Then help me!”

Tech’s hands immediately flew to the yoke and gently pulled it back in time with Echo as they flew through the atmosphere, a trail of black smoke in the ship's wake.

“A fucking ocean! We’re gonna land in a fucking ocean!” Echo panicked.

“Calm down, there’s land over there!” Tech pointed left towards the land in the corner of Echo’s eyesight.

“I knew that!”

They swerved violently towards the orange land. It went on for miles, nothing but a rocky orange landscape. No vegetation, no life they could see. They narrowly crashed into the cliff where the land met the black ocean, but thankfully Tech pulled down the wings and lifted the ship just enough to get them over the side of the cliff.

The crew fell forward in their seats on impact, the ship dragged across the sand, every large rock making even more of a hack job of the hull. Hunter covered his ears at the sound of sand against metal and the rest braced themselves.

Everything went quiet. The ship was on solid ground, and they were surprisingly alive.

Tech took out his datapad. “Ephilia 78. Uninhabited. The troposphere is atrocious and there’s about 8 times more carbon dioxide than Kamino,” he looked up to everyone. “I’m surprised we haven’t died already. We need respirators.”

Hunter grabbed the respirators from storage and handed them out. Omega’s face was almost consumed by hers, making Echo have to stifle a laugh.

“Apparently there’s a pretty vicious rainy season-”

“Not like we haven’t dealt with a bit of rain,” Wrecker smiled.

“The ocean out there literally moves from basin to basin; this isn’t Kamino.”

Wrecker stayed silent, a look of concern on his face.

“Don’t worry, we’re 17-24 rotations away from it starting, we’ll be relatively safe.”

“Is it imperial occupied?” Hunter cut in.

“I don’t think the Empire even knows it exists, the information I found is written in Huttese.”

“Great, we’ll lay low here for a few rotations and get back to Pantora,” Hunter instructed, everyone nodding in agreement.

“Why is it so cold here? Aren’t deserts supposed to be hot?” Omega piped up, pulling the parka closer.

“The ocean lowers the temperature about 13 degrees,” Tech answered, his head and shoulders completely immersed in the engine. “The carbon traps what little heat there is. We’re lucky we didn’t crash someplace worse.”

“Oh, so the ocean is as cold as Kamino?” She pressed on.

“Somewhat. Though since the orbit of this planet isn’t similar...”

Tech and Omega went on and on about the conditions of the planet for some time, almost boring Echo to death.

Thankfully, Tech and Hunter delegated jobs after Tech assessed the engine. Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega went on a perimeter check and Echo was sent to do an internal diagnostic to see what was damaged in their recon mission for Rex.

He couldn’t help but think he’d been to Ephilia 78, the black waves of the vast ocean and the orange sandstone cliffs a stark contrast gave him major déjà vu. He searched his blurry memories of before Skako as he gathered an internal diagnostic from the Havoc.

He didn’t think he was stationed on any planets this far out from the core worlds. Maybe his brothers showed him photos? Maybe a General sent a holo from the planet? Maybe he really was stationed on the planet, but then again, the information about it was in Huttese. The Republic wouldn’t want to risk a terf quarrel in the middle of a galactic war. Maybe... oh. He’d seen the planet before. He’d fed the Separatists information on it for possible base locations. His shoulders sagged and the concentrated face was replaced with a grim look. His spirits dampened significantly.

He looked through the hyperdrive systems. They wouldn’t need urgent attention. The life support systems. They’d need those professionally fixed, but Tech could patch it up enough to get to Pantora. The cloaking device-

The cloaking device. It was fried, shot to hell. Their ship was completely exposed for tracking. Shit.

He ran to the doorway and slide down the ramp.

“Tech, we have a prob-”

A bright red bolt came from above, hitting the respirator at the perfect angle to knock it off his face. Only one person could make that shot.

“Echo, what-” Tech froze at the sight of an Imperial dropship landing close to them, the cargo doors open and a familiar sniper stepped out.

Echo gasped for breath, his throat freezing and cracking like an ice burg from the toxins he was desperately trying to inhale in exchange for oxygen. He clawed at his throat like ripping it out would solve the problem, black slithered through veins in his face, the whites of his eyes swimming with blood.

Crosshair advanced faster and Echo stumbled to the side, trying to stay standing while heaving in gulps of carbon and whatever lethal toxins were waiting for victims to breathe in.

“You know,” Cross’s cold and raspy voice was much closer. “There’s just enough oxygen in the air to keep you alive for 5 minutes, but the trick is not poisoning yourself while trying to breathe.”

Echo kept backing away, tripping over every pebble he could when he felt the first of a thick liquid hitting his cheeks. His shaking hands whipped it away to see pure obsidian sap smeared on the back of them.

“The maitotoxin is quite graceful. Your blood thickens and discolours, releasing from the tear ducks in the first 2 minutes. Your organs start failing in the next 7,” Crosshair shouldered his rifle as he spoke.

Echo tried whipping away the blood more rapidly as it flowed like sap from a tree. It was as if the fates wanted to watch him dance in his own blood bath.

As Cross neared closer and closer, Echo glimpsed the sea and the dangerous cliff edge he was backing into in the menacing green visor. He started hacking the obsidian sap up from his lungs, the blood blocking his airway made him panic even more.

He felt, for a few seconds, a free fall. His foot backed off the edge, the rocks under his boots fell to the black waves. Cross caught his arm before he fell to Echo’s surprise, but Cross’s grip on his forearm was his only salvation.

“Do you remember?” Cross asked coldly, any semblance of a person gone.

“What- what?” Echo painfully asked.

“When you were on Skako Minor.” Cross’s grip on Echo’s armour loosened.

Echo didn’t have any kind of leverage on the ground, he had to be pulled back by some ounce of Cross’s mercy.

“Some-” he tasted the blood running from his eyes into the corners of his mouth, frightening him and almost plummeting into the black, quite literally. He could feel the cold seeping in from the light spray of the ocean on his back. He’d known the cold like it was an old friend, and he would know it even more closely.

“Some of it.”

The green visor tilted to the hand holding Echo’s life.

“You’re a liability to the empire,” he smoothly said, like he spoke those words too many times, like he was programmed to. Like Echo was programmed to give up the Republic.

After a second of hesitation, CT-9904 released Echo’s arm.

His face was a light blue from lack of oxygen, his cheeks were smeared with pure obsidian blood, creating a mess of black tear tracks.

He fell, he dropped, he didn’t make a sound. He was unconscious before he hit the water, a peaceful death if you will. It shattered his spine and limbs immediately, the frigid water swirling over him, sucking Echo to the depths of the sea to be eaten by small fishes and a rather large squid-like fish.

The others had found a hiding spot behind an orange sandstone ridge and watched as the life was sucked out of Echo, then let go by their brother. Omega’s head was pushed below the ridge so she couldn’t watch, the others so desperately tried to hold back sobs, trying to keep quiet.

Cross searched the Batch’s ship quickly and speedily left back on the one he came in. Only when the Imperial shadow of a dropship darted through the thick, grey clouds did the Batch let their sobs go for Echo.

A/N: OMFG, that took forever!!! My outline for this is 613 words, I knew exactly how I wanted this to turn out, and I very much like it! I think Imperial Darkness will always be my favourite, or the one I'm writing with Ahsoka, Rex, and Maul, but this one turned out pretty cool!

ANYWAYS, I hope y'all liked it! I hated the process, but I love the final product! Go drink some water right now and go get a snack, you deserve it so much bestie 💓💓

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