#the kneeling knight is especially teeth grinding

[grimae]

in 2024 i wanna say i'm sorry for having become the person who writes "this is AI generated" under every AI generated aesthetic pic people reblog onto my dashboard

[littlemourningstarr]

Pretty Please

Astarion has his very existence torn apart by his darling drow- and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Astarion x Transmasc tav

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Transmasc tav, anal sex, strap-ons, multiple orgasms, hands free orgasms, Dom/sub undertones

Astarion arched, skin sliding perfectly against Sekh’s as the drow pinned him down, kissed his mouth eagerly. He could hear his heartbeat, hammering as if it was inside Astarion’s own head- wild, wanting.

He was laid out on their bed, blissfully naked, the drow rolling his hips into Astarion’s own with such a need. He could feel the straps on his lover’s thighs, holding the false cock that was grinding into his own.

He got his arms around Sekh’s neck, dug his blunt nails into his lover’s back. Sekh growled, the sound sending warm shivers down Astarion. His cock ached, pinned between them, a fresh pulse of precum wetting his own belly.

He’d been thinking about this all day. He’d wanted to climb into Sekh’s lap while the man was at work down in his workshop- had wanted to pin him to a wall when he’d left him at the Society of Brilliance’s Lodge that evening, just after dusk, when it was safe for Astarion to roam the streets.

But he’d resisted, forced himself to wait like a good boy. His patience, however, was waning drastically.

He hooked a leg up on Sekh’s hip, bucked his hips- and the drow chuckled into the kiss, before he bit at Astarion’s lip, pinched it between his teeth. “Desperate?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Astarion could only imagine how soaked he was, how easy his fingers, his cock could slide into his body.

It made his cock leak. Again.

Astarion chose not to answer, and Sekh moved from his mouth, placed a kiss to his throat, then his collarbone. Astarion tipped his head back as the drow eased down his body slowly, following the concave of his ribs to his navel- before his tongue was swiping up a smudge of salty precum, dangerously close to his cock. Astarion shifted his hips, and Sekh gently pushed his thighs apart, kneeling up between them.

The elf took him in, skin cast in purples form one of the many plants from the Underdark he had around the house. Now that his little underground greenhouse was thriving, he had begun to move some up around the house- especially those that cast light, to replace some of the candles they burned so frequently.

“You’re staring,” Sekh teased, cocking his head slightly to the side. His hair tumbled along his shoulders, ginger silk that Astarion wanted wrapped around his fingers so badly.

“Am I?” he asked, knowing full well he was. Sekh gave him a rather sweet smile, and the vampire felt his belly going tight. Anytime Sekh gave him that little smile, he felt like a swooning child, looking at his first idea of a knight in shining armor, imaging his first prince-

Sekh was so far from both of those, and so much better.

Sekh rubbed his inner thighs, the touch soothing, urging Astarion to spread them just a bit more. He did, let his eyes fall shut, even as one of Sekh’s hands disappeared from his skin. The other moved up to his pelvis, before grasping his cock, giving him a slow stroke.

Astarion sighed, smiling slightly, the contact blissful. As Sekh teased his cockhead, rolled his thumb over it, he felt his other hand, two very slick fingers pushing at his hole, easing inside. The smile grew, Astarion arching slightly at the welcome invasion, his body clutching at Sekh, wanting him.

He heard the bed shift slightly, as those fingers curled- and then he felt Sekh’s hot breath, on his cock- and then the sweet, wet inferno of his mouth. The vampire gasped, eyes flying open. He pushed himself up slightly on one elbow, saw Sekh had bent over, seemed to not care that the angle had to be uncomfortable, as he sucked gently at his cock, his fingers still working inside him.

Astarion reached out, stroked at Sekh’s hair, and the drow dared to turn those mismatched eyes up to him, even as he took him further over his tongue, as he curled his fingers inside him, hit the spots that had Astarion’s mouth falling open, a wanton sound escaping him. “That’s it love,” he managed, unsure if he wanted to grind down against Sekh’s fingers, or push further into his mouth.

Sekh pulled off slowly, pressed a kiss to Astarion’s shaft, looked obscene with his kiss swollen lips. Astarion bit at his own lip, his cock throbbing, more precum beading down his cock. Sekh only smiled then, whispered, “You get so wet for me.”

Words Astarion was used to saying to Sekh.

Sekh sat back up then, free hand pushing Astarion back, until he laid back out again, flat on his back. A third finger pushed into him, and Astarion clutched at the bed, his body aching, a subtle burn that was quickly chased away as Sekh thrust slowly. A part of him had wanted to demand the drow just fuck him, that he was ready, waiting, dying-

But Sekh always enjoyed easing him open, so that by the time he was easing his would-be cock into Astarion, the vampire was a mewling, begging mess. And- well- Astarion really couldn’t complain…

Sekh thrust his fingers harder, the ache now entirely gone from Astarion’s body. The elf dug a heel into their bed, trying to meet each thrust. His eagerness was palatable, and with a smile Sekh pulled his fingers free. Astarion cracked his eyes open, watched Sekh rub oil along the toy strapped to him, hand firm as he pumped his cock.

He glanced at Astarion, bit his lip as if he could feel it, and Astarion whined, was unable to bite back the sound. Sekh smirked-

Smug bastard.

Astarion wouldn’t have him any other way.

The drow grasped Astarion’s hips, lifted them, rubbed his false cock against Astarion’s wet hole. The vampire squirmed, and Sekh only chuckled again. “Did you want something, my love?”

Astarion bared his teeth, fangs glinting in the light- but he knew Sekh was anything but afraid of him, and his nature. The man took endless thrills in everything that made Astarion monstrous- and those fangs were possibly the least intimidating thing about him, now.

“Ask nicely,” Sekh said, and Astarion inhaled slowly. When he didn’t respond, Sekh pushed, the toy stretching Astarion’s entrance for a moment, before he eased back. “Astarion.”

“Please,” Astarion asked, just able to catch Sekh’s eyes. “Pretty please.”

Sekh smiled, and with the softest good boy, eased his cock inside him. Astarion gasped, body stretching eagerly to take the ribbed length. His unneeded breath caught, ending in a choked sound as his ass nestled to Sekh’s pelvis. The drow rubbed his thighs purred out his name, before easing his hips back slowly.

The cock was thick, emulating a Dragonborn with ribs that made Astarion’s mind go blank. He’d chosen it. It felt like lifetimes ago, in a little shop with Sekh’s wide eyes staring at everything. He’d seemed innocent, for a brief moment.

What a fucking lie.

But the drow had insisted it was Astarion’s choice- after all, he was going to be reaping the benefits.

I’ll enjoy watching you speared on any cock for me.

The memory of the words still made Astarion squirm. He arched slightly, Sekh’s thrusts still slow, but igniting every nerve inside him. His belly was a mess where his flushed cock lay. He felt warm, having fed before he’d returned to gather his lover from the Lodge, take him home so he could be taken.

Sekh pushed at Astarion’s legs, lifted them so his ankles rested on his shoulders. Astarion tossed his head back, mouth falling open, as Sekh pushed deeper into him. “Fuck,” the drow growled, almost feral. Astarion’s body clenched tightly, wanted to keep him deep, take him into his guts, his lungs, his heart, his every vein-

Astaron reached for his cock, but Sekh shoved his hand away.

“No touching.” Astarion shuddered, the drow’s voice cutting deep into him. “Make it last, Astarion.”

The vampire closed his eyes, tried to breathe- but it was getting harder. Each thrust had his belly going up in knots, squeezing until it nearly ached. That sweet spot deep inside him was throbbing, radiating a fire out to his limbs. Each slow, deep thrust against it made his cock throb, leak another wave of precum.

Sekh let his legs fall from his shoulders, held them open wide as he thrust harder, faster. The moment he did Astarion cried out, arching, a broken mantra of yes over and over again tumbling from his lips. The bliss was all encompassing, rolling up his body, higher and higher with each thrust-

His thighs trembled, toes curling against the sheets, hands scrambling for purchase. “Sekh- Sekh,” he whined, “gods below let me touch.”

The drow hummed, actually thinking on it, before he reached for one of Astarion’s hands, guided it to his weeping cock. Astarion grasped himself, smiling in euphoria as he stroked quickly, his hand nearly matching Sekh’s thrusts. The drow’s hands went back to his thighs, fingers digging in so deeply they threatened to bruise.

Gods Astarion hoped they did. There was nothing like digging his own fingers into the bruises his drow could leave, as he desperately fucked his own hand- the perfect way to enjoy the memories of his lover fucking him until he fell apart.

Astarion was panting, arching so far his back hurt- and then that wave of bliss finally crested, drowned him in the sort of heaven that shouldn’t have been attainable. His body clenched tightly around Sekh, holding him deep as Astarion came up along his belly, splattered along his ribs, smiling so fiercely his cheeks would hurt.

It was heaven, divine-

His hand fell away, and Sekh slowed his thrusts, let Astarion ride out his orgasm, until his body was warm, liquid like. He felt as if he was melting into their bed, dissolving into their sheets.

When Skeh pulled out slowly, Astarion bit back a whimper- but the sound escaped, when his lover grasped his waist, forced him to roll over. Astarion couldn’t even say his name before Sekh was pulling his hips up, getting Astarion on his knees, his ass bared.

“Did you think we were done, Starshine?” he asked, lining his false cock with Astarion’s hole and sliding in with ease again. Astarion cried out, eyes wide, as Sekh pulled at the plush skin of his ass, watched the way Astarion took him so eagerly. “Were you satisfied just coming once?”

Astarion bit at his pillow, pressed his tongue to it and groaned out a wordless answer- which he never doubted Sekh knew meant no. Once was never enough. Astarion wanted the drow to pull him apart, fiber by fiber, until he was laid bare as nothing but a throbbing, writhing web of desire.

Astarion’s body ached, but in such a heavenly way. Sekh’s thrusts were rough now, harder than before, as if he himself could be chasing an orgasm inside Astarion’s body. Astarion tried to spread his shaking legs wider, his spit soaking into the pillow as he bit it harder, stifling his cries.

“Let me hear you,” Sekh said, as one hand roamed up his spine, fingers caressing scars that seemed to warm at his touch. Never had Astarion thought he’d find a time, a life, where he wanted the ugly part of him touched.

Now he craved it.

He lifted his head slightly, lips wet with spit, unable to form words. He wasn’t even hard, but his cock was aching anyway, his body begging for a second orgasm.

Sekh leaned over him, used his lithe frame to make Astarion feel as if he was boxed in, trapped. Anyone else might have made him panic- but his heart raced with joy, need, sheer unadulterated desire, having his drow pinning him, ruling him.

Astarion cried out, so fucking close. Sekh’s hands moved to his waist, began pulling him back for each thrust, telling him he was beautiful, he was so good, he was everything-

Astarion cried out his name, when he came for a second time. His body tried to milk Sekh’s would be cock, Astarion’s own twitching, a single drop of cum falling to the bed. He pressed his forehead to the pillow, gasping as Sekh didn’t ease his thrusts for even a moment.

He drove into Astarion as if he wanted him to see oblivion.

Astarion squirmed, pushing back and nearly sobbing. His eyes stung, his body ached, sore down to his core- but his orgasm was barely receding when he could feel it build again, from the way Sekh took him.And he wanted it, he wanted it, he wanted it-

“Break,” Sekh breathed, as he leaned over Astarion, got a hand on the back of his neck, squeezed. Astarion shook, his legs barely holland gim up, mouth falling open in a true sob. He squeezed his eyes shut, felt tears pricking at the corners, his mind going numb-

But never leaving, simply melting away into a plane of thoughtlessness, where he could just feel. Where he was safe, because Sekh would only bring him to the brink, the edge, of any cliff where, if Astarion were to fall, to tumble- he would catch him.

Everything was a fire, his nerves alight. Astarion was chanting Sekh’s name brokenly, begging and pleading  for more, more, more-

He wanted to come again, desperately.

Sekh squeezed the back of his neck again, spoke through bared teeth. “Come again, darling.”

Astarion did, unable to disobey. His body shuddered, his stomach so tight it hurt, body clenching around Sekh again, over and over and over, his cock twitching, pulsing, even when his body had nothing to give.

With a broken sob, Astarion collapsed to the bed, his knees and legs giving out completely. He sprawled there, face buried in his pillow, shaking as he tried to catch his breath. Yet he noticed when Sekh pulled out of him- hated the sudden absence in his body.

The drow stretched out next to him, guided Astarion to roll over, until he was gathering him up, holding him to his chest. Astarion pressed his face to dusky, freckled skin- tried to breathe in Sekh’s scent, his sweat, everything that he recognized and loved. He choked on it, and Sekh rubbed a hand down along his back.

“Slow breaths,” he whispered, and Astarion listened, slowed his inhales, held his breath for a moment, before letting it rush out. He was dizzy, the room spinning behind his closed eyelids, speckled still with white hot stars.

He lifted his head, barely slit his eyes open, could just see Sekh through his silver lashes. The drow’s cheeks were flushed a fetching color, his eyes hungry but restrained. He smiled at Astarion, the same smile he’d given him earlier, the same fucking affection that tore right at Astarion’s dead heart.

Sekh kissed his forehead, the corner of his eye- licked up a single tear, before kissing Astarion’s burning cheek. Sekh hushed him, but Astarion ignored him, turning and seeking out his mouth desperately. He nearly clawed at the drow, clutching at him desperately as he kissed brokenly, whined and begged for Sekh’s mouth, as the drow tried to pull back.

Sekh sank a hand into Astarion’s fluffy, free curls, kissed him deeply, let the vampire nip at his lip, suck at his tongue, as he squirmed around, unable to lay still. When Astarion showed no sign of leaving Sekh’s mouth for even a heartbeat, the hand in his hair moved down, guided one of his legs up, over Sekh’s hip.

Astarion broke the kiss only to toss his head back, cry out yes, as Sekh eased into him again. His body clutched at the drow eagerly, but Sekh was slow now, gentle. And Astarion could beg and plead for the man to broke him, to hurt him so that come dawn his entire body would ache-

But Sekh seemed to know the limits Astarion couldn’t even fathom. And yes, he’d be sore come morning, he’d have that glorious ache that said he was well fucked- but not beyond his true breaking point.

Astarion reached between them, grasped at his own cock. He still wasn’t hard, but it didn’t matter. He ground against his own hand, teased his glans, his slit, shaking as Sekh continued to thrust in slow, deep movements. The drow continued to kiss him, and Astarion could believe it was that alone, that gave him his countless orgasm of the night.

He barely registered that it even happened- it all felt so fucking perfect, so blissful, that he couldn’t even tell the moment everything crested. It was just a constant, mind numbing, soul throbbing pleasure.

But Sekh stilled inside him, and his body felt satiated when he did. Sekh continued to kiss him, slower now, easing Astarion back from whatever realm he had ascended to.

It was perfect. To be torn apart, to cry with sheer bliss- and then to have someone hold him, ease him back into himself, shower him with the sort of affection that had been outlawed for so long, in his life. Sekh said his name, whispered little praises, kissed his mouth and cheeks, the corners of his eyes- any bit of him he could get. Astarion knew he’d hold him until Astarion stopped trembling, until he could breathe again.

And if Astarion asked, he’d tear him apart again, bit by fucking bit. And he might ask- once his body wasn’t buzzing with such a loud thunderous static. But the idea of getting his fingers into his lover, knowing that Sekh would be burning with desire, brought close to orgasm from just seeing Astarion break down, over and over again-

Well, it was a good thing the night was oh so young.

[theislesunfamily]

Three & Four (Some Phoenixes Just Take Their Sweet Time)

The following story is a continuation of “Three & Four (Tell Me That You’ll Kill Me More)”, which can be read by clicking HERE. 

It is a small valley, untouched by apocalyptic ashes.

But rivers of blood run red through cobbled streets and dusty dirt roads.

Ithanar isn’t sure what to make of it all. Still.

Minutes into hours.

He can barely make the count of how long he’s been here, how long he’s been clashing with the Shattersun twins now.

Hours into days.

There are bags under his eyes, and every little cut, scrape, and bruise has boldly swirled into a bolero of pain, something fresh but not new and most certainly not clean. His legs and arms ache, and his mind is a dull thing of calculated thought and only some reason. It is hard to find the latter when your life is on the line, when you are the one being hunted.

He was the-

No, he never was the hunter here. This is not his land, his territory. He is an intruder.

They were hunting first, and with such ease, such accuracy. Across the valley, there are only a few towns but all of them lay dead and dying. The old elf only knows this because their battle has taken them across the plains and through the trees of orange and purple, from raging river to babbling brook.

He is so tired.

He always is. He told them such.

A trickle of something hot runs down Ithanar’s cheek, and so he reaches up with a hand to brush it away. It is blood, a newly formed cut from something quick, something sharp, and his mind brings him back to the here. The now. It is only in good time so he can remember that he is fending off a rather vicious assault from Shanara.

She again pushes the offense.

But Ithanar pushes back with his own defense.

He refocuses, brows knotting and teeth grinding against one another.

There are no sounds other than the clang-clang-clang of their blades.

They do not speak.

No more words can be exchanged in this affair.

Then something new.

A roar, almost not of this world, springs to life.

The focus is lost.

Another cut, a near-miss that might have severed Ithanar from shoulder to hip.

Then the crunching of a mace against his torso, sending the old elf flying across the dirt.

He’s scattered.

He’s hurt.

Here comes Shan’ran, intent on making this already drawn out affair curt.

This is the third day.

The twins are truly like predators without any thought.

And Ithanar is the prey, working off fight or flight. Right now, the latter rules his mind and he’s found some form of refuge behind a building.

Where everything was a dull ache before, it now all hurts.

It is nothing new.

But it is fresh. Pure. A pain he can work through, if only he can get a-

Shit.

But the Shattersuns do not give up, and they especially do not give him mercy.

Just like he trained them all of those years ago.

This is once again Ithanar’s fault, as so many other things have-

No time to think on that.

Not yet.

He holds off yet another concentrated attack and staggers away, but his thoughts are the same.

Shan’ran comes in from the right, and Shanara from the left.

They concentrate their attacks to each side, and the old elf barely holds them off. Runes on his armor flicker to life on the left, and his bladework covers the right.

Ithanar does what he can only do in a situation like this.

He loses himself to the fight.

No more flight.

There is only the battle.

On what now feels like a bad leg and with barely enough strength to hold his blade, he does his best to hold these twins off.

His students.

His fuck ups.

Ones he loves all too much.

He remembers when they were young, when they were all young.

All of that is gone now.

And in this moment, so is he.

This is the fourth day.

A moment to breathe.

But it’s getting harder and harder.

Ithanar finds refuge yet again in a grassy field somewhere outside of yet another town.

That one is quiet too, and only full of ghosts that no longer gather.

It is only the three of them now.

A teacher and his students.

The old elf closes his eyes, kneeling down in the grass, and only able to gather himself by clutching at his blade. His hands feel slack, and then his fingers tighten as he sighs, as he reflects, as he gathers everything he can.

Then he stands, but staggers. Footing is nearly lost.

Thanidiel’s coarse laugh, as she smokes on a cigar.

A smartass remark from Avie. As only she could.

Bricini glaring. But she’s still one of his friends anyway. Somehow.

It always works out.

That smile from Ciha.  He knows. That one.

Elleynah enveloping him in a hug.

Lirelle chastising him for yet another injury.

Ithanar thinks. He reflects.

His friends.

Old and new.

Mekia patting him on the shoulder.

The Knight-Commander nodding in approval.

Aurelian- no, fuck him.

He then regains his footing and stares into the dirt.

That upset look from- well, there’s too many to count.

But he knows they always care.

And he cares too.

(Do you T H O U G H?)

(Or dO th E Y?)

The grass moves.

A flicker, a fluttering pitter-patter.

Ithanar looks up.

“Hello, teacher.”

“You look tired.”

“Fuck off.”

Qeren.

And Tanrae in bed.

And Ithanar with them, their forms all curled around each other.

As they always did.

Talking, chattering, smiles all around.

The world was theirs.

It should have been.

(But i t w a S N ‘T)

This is the sixth day.

Ithanar rests in the wreckage.

He’s quiet, barely a cough.

There is just pain.

So much of it.

It is overbearing, overpowering, an assault upon each and every sense.

He can’t move.

He can only look.

The hunters have caught their quarry.

And they just stare.

It is a unblinking, unnatural thing.

He taught them well. Too well.

“Teacher.”

“Call me… my real fucking name.”

“Ithanar.”

“Yes?”

The old elf’s stubbornness shines through.

“You are only making this more difficult.”

It is perhaps the thing that makes him so remarkable.

“Certainly not on you.”

“No, but on you.”

Shanara slowly paces up to the old elf, the edge of her blade flicking to his throat.

But it doesn’t draw blade.

Behind her, Shan’ran watches.

Ithanar swears, as he blinks away the black, that he sees tears.

“Tell your masters…”

Words barely form on the tips of scarred lips.

“Tell them…”

There is a sound.

A blade cutting through flesh.

Through blood.

Through bone.

Then there is only the quiet.

Eyes go wide.

Then they do not move.

Ithanar rests.

And that shit-eating grin is there too.

As it always is.

This is the seventh day.

“Care to explain, Daentha?

“I’ve the time, yes, Ilrielen. Have you come to chastise me here? Now? In a time of war?”

“No. I’m just… curious why you’ve pitted my brother against his former students.”

“Isn’t it what you would have done?”

“Perhaps. But I’m also not someone who goes so fucking low.”

“No, but you rarely ever go high.”

“Funny. Why did you send him on this mission?”

“Why? Because your brother is uniquely equipped-”

“Any capable spellbreaker can take out another. We see they lose limbs all of the time.”

“Funny, because that’s exactly what I thought of your brother. Why he was the most capable.”

“Hrm?”

“Your brother has lost everything that once defined him. But do you know what he did?”

“Exiled me, and then moped in a mansion for nearly half a decade?”

“Yes. But… he got back up. He rose again.”

“... True.”

“Your brother is the most stubborn motherfucker I’ve ever met. He does not give up.”

“You’re not fucking wrong.”

“I know I’m not.”

“It’s why he’s perfect for this job. It’s because of that he will always see the error of his ways. In time, or perhaps not.”

“Right.”

“So do you understand now?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Shanara and Shan’ran look upon their work of devastation.

And there is such despair, and a mighty one at that.

But not for them.

Their task is accomplished.

Their masters appeased.

They watch their teacher’s corpse, how it does not move, how it does not breathe.

The sister looks to the brother.

“It is done.”

The brother looks to the sister.

“Then we move on.”

But then something… springs to life in the brother, a feeling, a need to-

“Hold for a moment.”

Shan’ran paces over to Ithanar, and just stares.

W h a t a r e YOU dOiNG? HE IS D E A D!

Then he kneels down over his corpse. Out goes a hand.

Fingers tremble.

And then-

W

There is a hand around his throat.

H

And a low growl.

A

A dangerous thing.

T

Old bastards always soldier on.

“Tell your masters…”

?

“That you missed.”

It is a small valley, untouched by apocalyptic ashes.

Until right now.

Some phoenixes just take their sweet time.

This is the new day. 

[koujaaku]

DEAF KYLO YOU SAY?! PLEASE GO ON

A swift and unidentifiable illness as achild had given Kylo degenerative hearing loss. No amount of money (which hadbeen hard to come by) or doctor’s skill could halt the effects, and so by thetime he turned his back on his uncle and destroyed the training temple, he wascompletely deaf. It was no matter. It blocked out the padawans’ dying screams.

It was no obstacle with Snoke. He and Kylocommunicated telepathically, the connection between them flowing easily throughthe Force, and no one else mattered. Snoke was the only one he received ordersfrom. No high-ranking official out-ranked him – especially not a certain newly-appointedgeneral by the name of Hux.

Said general meets Snoke’s hologramface-to-face shortly after receiving his promotion, and it’s then he meets theSupreme Leader’s new apprentice. Kylo Ren. The other generals had already begunwhispering about Ren’s fearsome “magical powers,” but Hux refused to beintimidated. Ren may have achieved special favor with Snoke because of saidpowers, but he had gained his rank through hard work without this so-called “Force.”Ren wouldn’t receive submission from him.

That being said, it didn’t pay to pick afight for petty reasons, and Hux would begrudgingly confess his skills benefitedhis mind, not his physical prowess. So when he stalks in (called in by Snokefor a report) and finds Ren already there, he intends to formally introducehimself.

“Hello,” he says when he stops by Ren’sside. Ren is hooded and masked and only slightly taller than him. It’simpossible to guess his age, but by his slim well-built figure, Hux wouldhazard a guess that the man is within his age bracket, give or take a few years. “I am General Hux. Youmust be Kylo Ren.”

Ren is looking up at Snoke’s gianthologram. A few seconds pass and Hux feels a spike of annoyance at beingignored. Despite the mask, surely Ren had heard him. Ren eventually lowers hishead to turn and regard Hux for a long moment before he stalks out, bumping Hux’sshoulder as he goes.

Hux nearly snarls at such behavior, butSnoke’s chuckle has him at attention immediately. “Pay no attention to myapprentice,” his booming voice echoes. “I’d like to hear that report you’ve gotfor me, general.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Ren’s conduct doesn’t change. Hux doesn’tdeliberately seek him out, but when he calls out to relay a message or questionif the Supreme Leader has any further instructions (Ren meets with him moreoften than he), Ren ignores him, wholly indifferent. Hux grinds his teeth atthe ignorance, but with no official command over Ren, he cannot act on hisglowering thoughts that follow in Ren’s wake.

The pattern continues for several yearsuntil Hux is given the unfortunate task of escorting Ren planetside. Huxbriefly wonders if this is punishment from Snoke for all his poisonous thoughtsof Ren. He had tried to be careful and curb them whenever giving his reports,but perhaps Snoke’s mind-probing powers have a farther reach than he had estimated.Or, Ren is a tattletale.

As he and Ren trudge through a forestedarea, Hux can’t help but wrinkle his nose. Feeling solid, earthy ground andbreathing fresh air is a nice change, but his talents are wasted here. Surelythere were a number of qualified troopers who could accompany Ren instead? Huxhad heard rumors of a tight-knit syndicate that Ren was leader of, callingthemselves the “Knights of Ren.” Hux had scoffed at the name, and he scoffsnow. Where are they? Shouldn’t this be theirjob?

His thoughts nearly cause him to miss ashadow moving at the edge of his vision. Hux tenses, instinctively reaching forhis blaster. “Ren!” he shouts to the man ahead of him as the shadow takes tothe offensive. “On your three!”

Ren doesn’t react and keeps stompingforward. With a jolt of fear, Hux realizes the shadow – a huge, hulking predatorycreature – is taking advantage of Ren’s ignorance. By the time Ren finallyturns, the creature has knocked him bodily to the ground.

Hux curses sharply, aiming his blaster andfiring quick successive shots. The creature howls, but doesn’t relent. Hux istaking aim again when he hears the ignition of Ren’s saber – he’s never seen itin action before and the visual aspect of it, he’ll reluctantly admit, isimpressive – and the creature is sliced in half.

Neither man moves until Ren sheathes thesaber and sinks back to the ground, lying on his back. Hux shoves the blaster back in its holsterand strides towards Ren, a reprimand and concerned inquiry both fighting to bevoiced first. As he kneels by Ren, what comes out is a mixture of both.

“Why in all hells didn’t you heed mywarning?” His hands skitter over Ren’s robes, assessing the creature’s damage.There are tears in the cloth and some smatterings of blood, but nothing thatwould prove too hindering or fatal. Satisfied Ren won’t die on his watch, hesettles for a glare at Ren’s mask.

Said mask hisses with static, damaged inthe scuffle. “I didn’t hear you.” It’s the first time Ren’s ever responded tohim. All other times Ren’s bothered to grace him with words are short phrasesmuttered in passing before he sweeps away, not bothering to stick around tohear Hux’s reply.

Hux frowns as Ren reaches up sluggishly,trying to remove the mask. “What do you mean?” he demands. “I was only a fewmeters away, you must’ve heard me.” He watches Ren struggle for a few moremoments before lending his aid, guiding Ren’s fingers to hidden catches in themask. It hisses again before the front plate pops forward and up. With a grunt,Ren shoves it off.

Hux had pondered what Ren might look likeunder the mask several times, each vision more grotesque than the last. Toremain constantly in guise, Hux assumed he was horribly deformed, ashamed ofhis appearance or requiring it as a breathing apparatus. The infamous DarthVader, he has heard, had needed such a mask.

Hux feels his heart traitorously leap intohis throat. Ren appears to be breathing just fine and his face is free fromscars or disfigurement. His appearance has an unorthodox handsomeness to it,his features sharp and long and the light sheen of sweat on his skin isn’thelping any. Hux banishes the impulsive thoughts as Ren frowns up at the skyhidden by the canopy of trees.

“I said,” he bites out, “I didn’t hear you.”

Hux shakes his head, still uncomprehending.“How could you not-” But something about Ren’s speech makes Hux bite histongue. The young man’s speech is… off. It was a change, not entirelyunpleasant, to hear Ren’s deep voicefree of the mask’s distortion, but without it, he picks up on something else.Ren’s words are less clear, his enunciation worse… almost as if he-

“-can’t hear,” Ren finishes his thoughtaloud, finally making eye contact. His eyes are big and brown and quite expressive. “Like I said.”

Hux almost physically balks but settles formerely pursing his lips in dissatisfaction. Butyou can hear my thoughts?

Yes.

Hux would be annoyed if he wasn’t alreadyblanching as he remembers his initial thoughts upon seeing Ren unmasked. Thechuckle he hears from Ren only further unsettles him.

Imust’ve missed that the first time, but I definitely heard your thoughts aboutme just now.

Hux full-on scowls at the man lying beforehim, cursing his own flushed cheeks. Oh,kriff off, Ren. He knows they should get moving, lest another creaturemakes its move, but this new revelation has him in no hurry. Ren hadn’t beenintentionally ignoring him (not completely, at least). Come to think of it, hehad called out to Ren’s back more often than his front. Without a visual cue, Ren would have had no idea he was being talked to.

“I can read lips,” Ren says aloud, closinghis eyes briefly before catching Hux’s gaze again. “And pick up on emotions.But not as quickly as thoughts. I…” He hesitates, brow creasing. “I felt yourfear. That’s what alerted me to the creature.”

Hux wanted to deny that he had been scared,but Ren had already called him out and trying to disagree would only make himlook childish. “How long?” he asks instead.

Ren works his jaw as he thinks. Huxresolutely does not watch the way Renwets his lips, too. “About a year before I left to join Snoke. So… four years. Itwas a slow process.”

Hux makes a soft hum of acknowledgement. So you lead me to believe I was beingignored for three years?

Ren almost smirks. You needed some humbling. Your pompousness rolls off you in waves.

Hux bristles. I am the youngest general inthe First Order, I deserve some respect!

Ren chuckles again at that. Excuse me, Your Excellency.

A thrill rushes up Hux’s spine at thetitle, but he settles for clearing his throat. Your attitude needs work. In the meantime, we should get moving. Herises to his feet and extends a hand to haul Ren to his. Ren takes it, black leathergloves on black leather. After deeming his mask still wearable, albeit in needof some repair, Ren dons it again and the two of them set back on their course.There’s silence between them for a long while, until:

Stillcan’t stop thinking about my lips, general?

Siftthrough my mind once more, Ren, and I’ll let the next creature have their fillof you.

[originaldetectivesheep]

The Thirty and One Nights' Momentary Diversion - The Extinctioners

Tonight's tale takes us to the immense, trackless forests of the James Bay, a singularly beautiful if hopelessly remote part of northern Quebec.  About the only problem with this area, other than the bitter winters, is that large parts of it are occasionally on fire; this being the case, it certainly doesn't need extra fire from an extinctionist cult, but that's about what happens -- or might.

The Extinctioners

The first thing Ranger Justin Rosatti realized, on regaining consciousness, was that the watch tower wasn't on fire.  The next thing he realized was that this was more of an accident than anything else, because the uniformed, respirator-masked cadre that had taken over the tower seemed to be pretty intent on setting the whole forest on fire around them, and that would include the tower sooner rather than later – and that he couldn't do anything about it, being bound up almost head to toe in a cocoon of duct tape.  Whatever had motivated them to start setting upper Quebec on fire from a remote watchtower hours away from any of the First Nations towns on this side of Baie-James, let alone the road itself, they certainly were taking it seriously.

"No!  No! Phased!" one of them was yelling, her extra braid and peaked cap maybe indicating that she was in charge, pointing out from the edge of the tower to direct what seemed to be more of them down below, out of Justin's view from where he was taped up on the floor.  "Remember the wind patterns – light it so the wind will strike, and move the fire around!  If it all converges, there'll be escapes – it must all be one, one wave of fire to the north and the south and the east! Let it be one!  Let nothing escape!"

"Hail Inceniendra!  Let all be one!  Let nothing escape!"  The other two maniacs in the tower watch room snapped to attention, screaming back what was obviously a slogan of some kind.  That was crazy, and the hairs on the back of Justin's neck were trying to stand up despite the duct tape, but in a way it wasn't so bad – if they were snapped to attention to salute like that, then for the moment they weren't working on setting up what looked like an army pipe mortar, which must be to throw incendiary bombs deeper into the forest all around them.  Justin gritted his teeth and tried to work his jaw to get it free of the duct tape – to try to start biting through the gag.  There was obviously no one he could call for help to, no way to appeal for mercy to these insane terrorists, but damnit, he had to try.

"Return!  The bombs!  The bombs, now, to move ahead of the fire planes!  Go!  What are you stopping for!  Why are the flames so weak in the east?" The leader had stomped across the floor past him, her boots pounding even over the noise of the crackling flames, the low roar that had to be flamethrowers – but not over a low rolling echo out of the forest: a noise like a cannon firing, or like one of the gates up at the La Grande power station had been let down hard.  The leader started at the noise and grabbed hard at the wooden rail around the low tower wall.

"Incendiary section Elmisaurinae!  Report in – report in now!  Hagryphus! Epichirostenotes! Nomingia!  Where are you!  Report in!  Why are the fires stopping – spread!  Spread!" If there was supposed to be an answer, from whatever more of the masked terrorists were down below spreading the fires, it wasn't supposed to be another crashing boom – a noise that sent the trenchcoated leader and her lackeys stumbling backwards, almost tripping over Justin on the floor.  The mortar was forgotten – they were looking around, nervously, jerky under the inhuman masks that must be hiding fear now instead of fanaticism.  Like they were all waiting for someone else to break and run down the stairs – like they were watching out for the police or the army or someone else, coming back in on them to take their vengeance.  The boom echoed out of the forest again, closer – and Justin could hear more clearly over the growl and crackle of the flames that this was no thunder, no distant waterfall out of a dam gate.  This was a rifle firing: not the choom of any of ten thousand Cree on Goose Break with their Mossberg, nor the sharp snap of a meat hunter after deer or caribou but somewhere in between, the menacing roar of an express rifle, heavier and throwing more lead than anything that had been fired in the north since the days of twenty-pelt Mackinaws.  Justin pulled his jaw down, the tape sliding on the slick fear-sweat, and then bit back in on the raw sticky cords.

One of the flunkies broke first, their black trenchcoat too big on them, their respirator flopping to expose a ridge of sweat-soaked blonde hair.  "Inceniendra Thanifex!  The police – they're here, the Mounties – it's Canada, it shouldn't've been Canada, they always get –"

"You fool!" the leader fairly screamed.  "You fool!  It's not the Mounties – the Mounties don't kill!  We must only –"

"Yeah, we ain't your redcoats – but as far as not killing, maybe you oughta ask Bob Dziekanski about that.  Might as well – you gonna be where he's at in a second or two."  The terrorists spun at the new voice, an American accent with turns in it that might have been California, might have been Texas – but spun was all they did, as the drab-fatigued black woman that the voice belonged to pulled the trigger on her impossible rifle and the closest of the fanatics collapsed in a fountain of gore and an explosion that sounded and felt like the entire tower had exploded around them.  Justin rolled onto his back, trying to roll somewhat clear as these Elmisaurinae or whoever staggered, blind and deaf, stunned and unable to fight back as the woman worked her bolt, the cavernous muzzle of the gun still covering them.  Somewhere out in the forest, the express rifle roared again – it wasn't just her, it wasn't just the one.

The realization or the heavy clank of the brass off the wooden floor sparked the Inceniendra or the Thanifex or whatnot to life.  "Lifelover! You fool!  You may kill us, but your end will come for you as well! You're a tool of the power company – we'll be a legitimate resistance, and the government will grind you up to spare the blushes of Rathnelly radicals who abhor the tar sands as long as they don't have to drink from it to drive their SUVs!  You can kill us here – you can put out the fires – but you won't stop the wave of extinction!"

"I think you got the wrong idea about you are," the woman in drab-green said, her rifle sinking to stay on target, "and who exactly the government is.  This isn't Canada here – this isn't even Eeyou Itschee.  Right now, you are setting fires in the Cree Nation of Chisasibi – and the government here is real sensitive about letting their Class I lands get burned up by some wannabe extinctionists outta Gatineau.  Government, bitch?  This is the government – this is the law.  This is the judgment outta the north – and this here's your sentence."  The rifle exploded again, and the impact of the five-hundred-grain elephant bullet threw the other flunkey against the wall, his head and limbs slumping as a fearful sign of just how horrible the internal damage that turned his back into a bloody smear must have been.  The woman cranked her bolt again, but the Inceniendra was faster, seizing Justin up from the floor and hauling him up in front of her like a human shield.

"Go ahead – kill!" her distorted voice shrieked in his ear, the mask modulating the venom as she hauled out a saw-bladed paratrooper knife and held it to his throat.  "You're the law – you're a white knight – your futile human society won't let you kill the weak and innocent!  That's your flaw – you can't – it's up to us to force life to the ultimate, to renew the battle of extinction and survival that will reduce all life to one, the single species worthy of this planet!  Do it!  Do it!  Those who die deserve it – the strongest survive!  When the fire is at their heels, the weak die – the strong survive, and then they inherit the earth!  You're weak – you might kill, or you might not, but you're weak!  Humanity is over! You won't escape the wheels of extinction!"

"You know, you got a point there," the woman said, half-lowering her muzzle.  "Everything is dying, right about now, and there's not a lot one or two people taking the bus instead of driving to work is gonna do about it.  But back when I was in school, I met a couplea you Human Extinction Project motherfuckers or wherever you jumped offa before you decided it wasn't just humans but everything that had to die, and you know, there is one thing that is the same all the way, all the way down that day to this."  She paused, like she was waiting for a reply, her barrel ranging down past Justin's vitals to the floor.

"And? What?"  The Inceniendra wasn't getting it.

"That if y'all was so hot to go extinct," the woman said, her hand twitching on the foregrip, instantly grabbing Justin's attention as much as his captor's, "y'all oughta just start with yourself. And especially now – it'd save Heather a bullet."  The floor exploded, and as Justin rolled over amid the stink of powder, the strange sticky feel all over his scalp that had to be a baptism of blood and brains, he saw another smoking rifle muzzle drifting low across the floor – and behind it, a frizzy-haired white woman smeared dark with the blown ash of a burning forest.  Behind him, the Inceniendra lay still on the floor, most of her head missing above the line of the lower jaw.  The woman in the stairwell lifted her gun up, satisfied that the last of them was dead, and then the black one was almost kneeling on Justin, peeling at him with a heavy skinning knife.

"I was wondering what was taking you," the new one said – Heather, wasn't it? – as she walked up into the watch tower observation deck, as the first one slashed away the gag, then cut through the tape around Justin's arms and between his legs.  "I didn't figure that they wouldn't kill the ranger out of hand, but I guess you had to chip them off him one by one.  What do we do now?" She stopped and leaned forward as Justin sat up, rubbing feeling into his limbs – and then her rifle slammed again, another extinctionist that they must have missed coming up to the tower.

"If he's here and alive, we got to get him out, don't we?"  The first one stood up as Justin peeled the last bits of tape away from his clothes.  "I think we got this, and we got to get out, but we got to get him back to the ground – if the wind changes before the Scoopers get the woods handled, this place will go up like matchsticks.  I don't like none of our chances on the ground if that happens, but you can't run away anywhere if you're posted up in the air."  She turned to him looking down.  "You – who are you?  Can you move on your own?"

"Rosetti – Ranger Justin Rosetti, ma'am – and I think, maybe, but I've been taped up the last while, and if it's not a problem I might need some help."

She shook her head.  "Shondra.  She's Heather.  No last names.  If you think you can move, then let's move – it was a long hike to get up here, and the farther you can get down from here without one'a us doing a fireman's carry, the better."  Heather's rifle boomed again, finding another target, as Justin scrabbled gingerly to his feet.

Justin made it all the way down the six flights of wooden steps out of the tower and onto the bare bedrock of the hill on pure pride, falling to his knees, gasping, as Shondra and Heather rotated around him, scanning the straggling and burning forests around them with fingers barely clear of their trigger guards.  He was faintly aware of a throbbing rumble in the air, and out the corner of his eye, he saw one of the MRNW Scoopers, an orange streak in the sky, tearing across the treetops from west to east, the flames below it disintegrating into a plume of hissing steam as it unloaded its bellyful of the bay.  It wasn't just the one – a second, and then a third, like someone had been watching and waiting, ready with the bushfire planes for just something like this.

Shondra straightened up, her rifle sinking low at the end of long, well-muscled arms.  "I love the smell of polyphosphate on a steam plume," she said.  "It smells like… we won't get burned up hiking back to the truck.  Come on, Heather, we got to beat it –  if the planes are out, that means the firefighters won't be far behind."  She nodded off at the forest, and Heather nodded in reply; as the two women started to walk off, rifle stocks up under their armpits at a patrol carry, Justin managed to get himself to his feet.

"Wait – but – what about –"

Heather turned around, tugging down on the edge of the kerchief that tied down her hair. "If anyone asks, we weren't here.  Anyone. You got a quart of Ungava or something under the sink for emergencies, right?  Go slug as much of that as you can put down, then splash the rest around the tower ��� pretend like you were hallucinating."

"Anyone asks about the bullet holes," Shondra said, turning back to face him, "say the old people came down outta the skies on a flying canoe and shot up the ones that were messing their land.  The nationals will oh, oh, anything that sounds like native beliefs – and anybody around here, them bullets are big enough to sell it.  But a word about us – a word about any of this – and as remote as this place is, we'll be back."  She turned away, not waiting for a reply, and then Heather turned away, and then they walked down the slope and into the burned-out bracken where the fire had bloomed and failed and died, and then further on into the unburned green, the trackless sea of trees that was everywhere north and south and west of here and east all the way to the finger-trace of the James Bay Road.

Justin took another deep breath, and shook out his hands again, trying to get the blood back all the way down to his fingertips.  Not a word, not a whisper, gin and delirium: that was easy enough, it was hard enough not doing that posted out here in midwinter.  And the fires that these "extinctionists" had set, their wave of death that they wanted to set in motion?  That was nothing too: not another fire like always always ended up burning down someone's block till it met a river and a lake and the bay, and not another wave of extinction like was already drowning everywhere.  He looked around at the forest: the trees would fall down after they finished burning, and then new firebloom cones would sprout in the ash, but every lichen that any of those maniacs stepped on would take decades to grow back again. Extinction pressure – yeah right.  If they really wanted everything to die, then like that Shondra said, they were welcome to start with themselves first.  Justin shook his head, then grabbed for the rail to haul himself up the stairs to the observation deck again – and the pint bottle of local gin in the lower cabinet that was waiting for him there.