#will I die from all this mucus

[surrounded-by-fuckups]

It’s cold and flu season bitches and only dumb bitches like me think they’ll be safe and end up sick in the most petty way. Sore throat and runny nose, something I haven��t dealt with in years and no longer know how to deal with it

[firemourn]

watching c1 for the first time is absolute torture when you know what happens to vax because he constantly talks about ‘we could all die tomorrow do what makes you happy now’ like oh my goddd he doesnt even know He Doesnt Even Know

[count-on-mi]

Little break (Nayeon)

At the forest not far from the "POP" MV shooting location...

"Ah... oh... um... um... I... I'm about to die... oppa is too... Hard, so...deep...cumming again...ahhhhhh..." A woman's obscene sounds kept coming from the woods. It was obvious that this woman was enjoying a climax. The fat body of a middle-aged man in his forties or fifties is pressing down on a snow-white body from behind and thrusting desperately into it. A burst of "pah, pah, pah, pah" made people imagine. Take a closer look at the woman who screamed lewdly. It's Twice's Nayeon and the middle-aged man is the MV director of her solo song ‘POP’.

"Little slut, you feel so good just by inserting it casually. You are going to heaven soon." The director said with a lewd smile and began to thrust slowly and steadily. Each time, he deliberately thrust into Nayeon's pussy, making her feel more and more excited. It was so numb that half of her soul flew away.

"It feels so good... ah... ah... it feels so good... ah... oppa is good at fucking... ah... it feels so good to fuck Nayeon... ah... ah... Nayeon is almost fucked to death by... oppa ..." Nayeon let out a sweet moan while being fucked, screaming, she was so happy that she couldn't help herself.

"Fuck! I've noticed a long time ago that you Twice are all sluts. You look like you need someone to fuck you! Let me fuck you to death today, you stinky bitch." After hearing Nayeon's lewd screams, the director suddenly buckled down hard. Holding Nayeon's waist, he thrust hard and fast, moving like an electric motor, and the long and thick penis pressed hard against her womb, making Nayeon roll her eyes in pleasure and utter nonsense. She was talking gibberish, her lower body was dripping with water, and she was about to be fucked to death as she said.

"Ah, ah ah~~~~ I can't do it anymore... It feels so good... I'm going to go... Haaaaa I am cumming ah~~~~ "

“Fuck you to death! I'll fuck you to death!" The director grinned and didn’t reduce the pace of fucking Nayeon's pussy. He kept the same force and thrust harder, repeatedly thrusting his cock in and out from Nayeon’s pussy and out bringing higher frequency slapping sounds from his crotch and Nayeon's reddish buttocks.

"Ah... ah... it's reaching... it's reaching the womb... oh... um... it's going to go through... I’m going to break ... ugh..." The director's sexual desire and energy were unexpectedly strong.

His cock kept pushing in and out of Nayeon's pussy, constantly bringing out the transparent juice from Nayeon's pink pussy.

Waves of electric shock-like pleasure swept over her, making Nayeon curl up with her toes, her lower limbs twitching, and her pussy clamping on its own, like a greedy little mouth sucking the cock that was rushing inside her body. Nayeon's body kept producing nectar, and her legs were wet. She was worse than the most despicable prostitute. Every time the director thrust, there would be a lustful damp sound. In addition, Nayeon's pair of beautiful breasts were constantly played with by the director. The director is indeed a veteran of sex, when he plays with Nayeon's breasts with both hands, the force and focus are different, sometimes light and sometimes heavy. Sometimes the sensitive right nipple is rubbed by rough thumbs, and sometimes the left nipple is gently pinched and pulled. , the pleasure makes Nayeon couldn't help but raise her head and enjoy his erotic play with her body.

Under the director's crazy thrusting, Nayeon made soft and ecstatic sounds from time to time and pitifully moaned, her white and delicate body trembled and twisted. The man fucked her fiercely, "Puff, Puff", squeezing the pink lips into the vagina every time he inserted it, and then turning the lips out when pulling out. The juice around the vagina had been dried into a thick white mucus.

"You know how to moan, and you know how to suck, fuck! It feels so good! Little bitch! Moan louder... you really know how to shake your waist... shake it hard... oh... oh... it feels so good... fuck you... You need someone to fuck you huh...it's so tight...fuck you to death...fuck you to death..." The director suddenly accelerated his thrusting speed, pressed his whole body on Nayeon’s body, stuck out his tongue, and kept licking her face like a pervert.

"Ah~~~~~~~~~~I can't do it, Oppa~~~~~I can't do it. I can't do it~~~~~~~~I'm cumming. I'm cumming out." Nayeon's delicate body trembled, trying to grab something with both hands as if trying to move forward to escape the impact of the cock.

Seeing Nayeon's avoidance, the director immediately wrapped his hands tightly around Nayeon's slender waist, his face flushed red during the climax. He continued to bombard her already muddy vagina like heavy artillery.

"Ahh...ahhhhhh...I am going...crazy...ahhhhh...uhhhhh...let Nayeon go...Ahh." Nayeon's moans sounded like crying. The sound of flesh hitting together alternately with the sound of flesh hitting the ground.

"Ah ah... ah... oppa, I... feel so comfortable... so comfortable... ah ah... harder... fuck me... fuck me..." Nayeon's alluring body was pressed down to the tree by the director. She was pressed under his body, and her face showed a thrilling and charming look. The director was sweating profusely, shaking out a huge amount of hot sweat in the pumping. His breathing gradually became faster, and the movements of his lower body gradually accelerated, and he no longer deliberately controlled the intensity of the impact.

"O... Oppa, I... I really can't do it anymore... oh... oppa... oppa, please spare me... oh... oh... I have to wear it! I have to wear it... ah... oh... Oh... I'm going to die... Wu... Um... oppa... I'm going to die... I'm going to die... Ah... Ah... Uh-huh... I'm cumming... I'm cumming again... Oh... nearly cumming... uh uh..." The director continued to fuck her wet and soft pussy, which was so sore that Nayeon couldn’t bear it anymore and began to breathe unevenly. When Nayeon was about to climax, the director pulled out his cock and stopped inserting it. He only rubbed it slowly in a circular motion at Nayeon's clit.

Nayeon suddenly felt that her pussy had lost the sense of satisfaction, and she hurriedly shouted: "Eh... Huh? No... no... um... what..." Nayeon realized that the words she was about to say would be extremely lewd, so she only said a few words to protest.

"Huh? Little Nayeon, You don't want what? So you don't want me to continue to fuck you? Then forget it ..." The director tried to pull his cock out of Nayeon's pussy, but Nayeon almost reached orgasm, she couldn't bear it anymore. She couldn't care how lustful her words would be: "Ah...oppa...don't pull out...don't pull out...hurry up...fuck me...I can't stand it anymore..."

"Hahaha, little slut, I really don’t know how JYP has taught you such a slutty female idol! What do you want, where do you want it to be inserted? You need to be clear! Otherwise, I wouldn’t know.”

At this time, Nayeon could no longer care about shame, and she shouted loudly: “O...oppa, I want your... your big cock...insert...into Na… Nayeon’s little cunt... ah...". After hearing Nayeon's begging for mercy, the director thrust his cock in again, causing Nayeon to start moaning again: "Ah...ah...ah...um...ah...ah...oh... So...so full...um...".

A few minutes later, the director held Nayeon's body and sprinted for a while. The glans had swelled to the limit. With a squeak, he quickly pulled out of Nayeon's tender pussy, pulled her body over to face him, and groan in a hoarse voice: "Open up your mouth" Nayeon opened her small cherry mouth blankly, but the director immediately filled it.

"Ugh! Ugh!" Every time the director's cock pulsed in Nayeon's soft mouth, a stream of semen would spurt out. The thick and long cock penetrated straight into the throat, and the semen spurted out was poured directly into Nayeon's esophagus. But even like this, Nayeon's narrow mouth couldn't swallow all the cum, and it kept leaking from the corners of her mouth.

"Humph!" Nayeon groaned as she collapsed on the ground, and two streams of milky white semen slowly flowed down from her small nose, smelling like snot.

"Ahem, cough, cough." Nayeon's body twisted uneasily, but her little head was held down by the director obsessively. The cock was still pulsing, and the glans were still spitting out the essence of life.

"Huh~~" The director let out a sigh of relief, lowered his head and pulled out the penis that was gradually softening, only to find that Nayeon had lost consciousness. Semen kept spitting out from the corner of her mouth, and two lines of milky white were gushing out from both nostrils. It felt like the whole head was filled, and the mouth above and below were spitting out liquid at the same time.

After a short rest, Nayeon first swallowed the semen in her mouth, then stretched out her fingers to dip the slippery semen flowing out of her cheeks and nose into her delicate lips and stretched out her pink little tongue. Licking it clean, she kept reaching out to collect the puddles of semen toward her lips. When she flicked her pink tongue, the semen disappeared from Nayeon's mouth, leaving only a thin layer. The layer covered Nayeon’s chin and cheeks.

"Oppa, it's so delicious, but just too few." Nayeon licked the semen from the corner of her mouth with her tongue and said with a smile. Seeing this scene, the director suddenly felt that his soft cock became hard again, so he pounced forward again and pressed on Nayeon's body again. As Director pressed on her again, Nayeon was quickly penetrated by his cock again, and she let out an "uh" sound. The two began to fuck again, and the sound of sex indicated that they would not be silent for a while.

[ididdedurmom]

More evil head cannons

I have silly ideas about the gang after the event of the story, everyone lives, except Bob

PONY:

Has a thousand yard stare when he zones out

Has the loudest, most disgusting, mucus filled cough ever

Actually really good at drawing

Has drawn every member of the gang at least twice

Loves physical touch, he leans on his friends when their sitting next to him.

Actually screams during horror movies, like loud genuine screams

Loves play fighting with Darry, like full on wrestling

Steve taught him how to drive

He either walks like a ghost or stomps, there is no in between

He can play one song on the guitar, and that’s it

His legs are super strong, so his kicks hurt really bad

He would be better at track, but his smoking habits hold him back

He feels jealous of Soda and Darry because they had more time with their parents

He and Darry have matching reading glasses

SODA:

He says “I’m just a girl” anytime he gets in trouble

He has used his pretty privilege to get out of being arrested multiple times

Despite how handsome he knows he is, he still feels super insecure about his looks

He steals from the DX station constantly

He and Steve spend hours gossiping about their customers once both of their shifts are over

A dog bit him when he was a kid, now he’s deathly afraid of them

He loves physical affection, hugging him is the best way to cheer him up

Absolute candy addict

Candy is the #1 item he steals from the DX

He broke his dominant hand once, and now his handwriting is permanently ruined

He reads insanely slow and monotone when he reads out loud

He either sleeps like a rock, or wakes up from the slightest sound, there is no in between

He lives in his flannel, that thing hasn’t been washed in literal years

He suffers from middle child syndrome, he knows his brothers love him, but they don’t pay enough attention to him

DARRY:

He hates his jobs, he knows he has to go but he can’t stand them

All of his coworkers are old and they treat him like a child (which he’s kind of okay with in a way)

He loves watching cartoons but he feels like he’d be wasting his time

He sneezes like a dad

He wakes up at 4 am and works out immediately

Loves compliments and words of affection

Doing favors is his love language

He has the whitest legs ever, he’s all tan on the top and snow white on the bottom

His tan ends where his pants start

Small bits of his hair are grey, he doesn’t know

He has a fear of abandonment

He is insanely flexible for a man of his size, like he can touch the floor standing up with ease

He hit a dog with his car once and cried for 2 hours straight

He loves cuddling on the couch with his brothers, it helps him relax

He despises Curly Shepard, he’s civil with Tim, but he HATES Curly

When he comes home from his ski trips with his old friends, he actually looks his age

A woman once assumed he was Pony’s father, and it made him die inside a little

He can’t stand Mother and Fathers Day

He was mad at Steve when he found out he taught Pony how to drive

TWO-BIT:

He and Dally bond by harassing women

He has a box full of things he’s stolen

His slight alcoholism stems from his father

He let’s his sister paint his nails, and he shows them off proudly

He gets his nails painted before rumbles

He watches soap operas with his mother every night

He can play the trumpet

He has never purchased a pack of cigarettes, only stolen

He listens to metal

When he passes Johnny’s house, he has to actively stop himself from walking in and beating Johnny’s parents half to death, especially his father

Its not that he doesn’t want a job, I mean he doesn’t, it’s that he thinks he’d only mess up whenever they had him do

He constantly forgets to brush his teeth

Pop and beer are the only things he drinks, he doesn’t touch water

He religiously wears Mickey Mouse merch, you will never catch him in a plain shirt

Baby Pony and him got along really well, he was kinda like Pony’s goofy cousin

Two-Bit and Darry have been friends since they were little kids

Two has no plans for his future, and it weighs on him

He broke both of his elbows once

His teachers have kinda given up on him, they just treat him like a bother instead of a student

STEVE:

He messes up Pony’s hair every chance he gets

He uses the most hair grease out of everyone

He has had the same comb for 3 years

He constantly smells like oil

The underside of his nails are always black, no matter how much he washes his hands

He and Soda have matching scars from a shared failed attempt to climb a barb wired fence

He is terrified of the police

He and Soda make your mom jokes at each other, despite neither of them having mothers

His voice is scarily deep when he wakes up

He and Two-Bit have an inside joke no one in the gang understands

He, Soda, and Two-Bit all have matching stick and poke tattoos

He hates his father, and by extension the fathers of Johnny and Two-Bit

He and Dally don’t hang out much, but when they do they are absolute menaces

Dally and him steal cars and hub caps together

He is genuinely upset by the size of his nose

JOHNNY:

He’s dyslexic

His handwriting is atrocious

His best subject is math

He and the gang all picked out stickers to put on his crutches

He loves sleeping around his friends

His hands are rough

He can’t stand the smell of beer, unless it’s one of the gang

He and Curly hate each other for literally no reason

Pony has slowly been teaching him to read better

No matter how much grease he puts in his hair, it won’t stay back

He hates going out in public because people always look at him funny

He hates looking at his burn scars

He, Dally, and Ponyboy watch sunsets together

He either sleeps at the Cutis’s house, Two-Bit’s house, Steve’s (very rarely), or Dallas’s place.

He’s not allowed to sleep in the lot anymore

He has tons of freckles, you just can’t see them against his skin

He loves sleeping outside when he wants to

He never wants children, he’s to scared he’ll become his father

His pain tolerance is so high that sometimes he won’t even notice when he gets injured

He likes how defensive Dallas is of him, makes him feel confident

He smokes marijuana with Dally sometimes, he’s super anxious when they do though because he doesn’t want to get arrested

DALLY:

He will not talk about his feelings

The cops forced him to go to therapy, it didn’t fix anything

He is amazing at lying

The police know him by name

He hasn’t told the gang much about the past other than where he came from and that he doesn’t talk to his folks

Darry nicknamed him “Rat”

He actually feels bad when Darry yells at him

He gets sun burns very quickly

He has his own personal stench

He doesn’t want Johnny to end up like him

He cried for 3 hours straight when he found out Johnny was still alive, it is his most embarrassing moment

He chugs drinks insanely fast

He can’t read very well

He needs glasses but he thinks he’d look like a wimp if he had any

Even though he knows he could have an asthma attack from coughing to hard, he still doesn’t carry his inhaler

He was happy when he thought he was going to die

Then he woke up and had an epiphany about life, it didn’t do to much, but now he knows death isn’t the only option

He proudly shows off the burn marks on his arm

He loves pushing Johnny around in his wheelchair

He listens to outlaw music and Frank Sinatra

He loves horror movies

He toned down his bad behavior once he got out of the hospital, he’s still a dick though

That’s it or whatever. I hope you like them, I’m sorry if some of them don’t make sense. I’m just so silly. I apologize for my horrible grammar lol. Feel free to tell me some of your head cannons!! :D

[holidayinhell]

CWs: discussion of future torment/ alludes to noncon

“How are you going to— h-how are you going to kill me?”

 “Why?”

Whumpee shrugged weakly.

“Dunno. Lots of ways, Whumpee.” He traced Whumpee's hollow cheek lightly with his index finger. “I can’t pick only one. Gotta see all the different ways I can make ya squirm.”

The younger man wasn’t phased by the answer. He was used to the psychopath’s brutal honesty.

“What’s your favorite way to kill someone?”

It was the terror that he relished, not the act of killing itself. Getting them on the table was the height of the excitement for Whumper. The torture was enjoyable to a point, but by the time the endorphins kicked in the whole thing became work as usual. Not that Whumpee needed to know that.

“However I kill you will be my favorite, I guess.” His eyes grew wide, flashing wickedly in the fluorescent light. 

“So, what’s your favorite way to die?”

Whumpee tried to fight the shiver that wracked his spine.

“Curled up in my bed at 95.”

“Funny.” Whumper remarked dryly. 

Whumpee was painfully aware that the deadline was only three days away. He knew his family could never afford the ransom, even if they sold everything they owned. 

There was no world in which Whumpee lived past the week.

“I just… I was wondering what happens when...”

“Time’s up?”

The gaunt man nodded.

“Ain’t long now,” the killer shifted his weight to stand. “You’ll see for yourself.”

“Wait!” Whumpee shot out his arm, impulsively clutching the bottom of Whumper’s elbow. “Don’t go.”

Whumper turned back to his captive, crumpled on the floor. It was late and he was exhausted from the day, but he couldn’t resist the desperation in Whumpee’s pleading eyes.

“Just tell me what’s gonna happen.” Whumpee begged. “I need to know.”

"It doesn't matter" Whumper dismissed.

"Come on." Whumpee wasn't budging an inch. "You're right, it doesn't matter. So tell me."

“All you need to know is this: when the ransom is up, you're mine, and I can do whatever I like to you.”

Whumper gently traced the curve of Whumpee’s bottom lip with his thumb.

“Maybe you’ll like some of it too.”

“I don’t think so.” He responded blankly.

“Mmm.” Whumper retracted his hand from the man’s face. “Good thing you won’t have any choice in the matter.”

Powerless to fight the deluge of tears leaking from his exhausted eyes, an aching sadness took hold of Whumpee. Tears rolled over his cheeks, but he didn’t sob. He was beyond hollow at this point, completely numb.

A piece of his heart broke for his former self when Whumpee had the cold realization that he would probably never see the sky again. He cursed his weakness, his inability to defend himself. His entire life he had been too shy, too soft. What a waste he'd been.

In a tone barely above a whisper, Whumpee pitifully murmured: “I don’t wanna die.”

Whumper scooped up the trembling man from the floor, his strong arms wrapping around Whumpee in a confusing display of dominance and affection.

It was a feigned act of compassion, but the warmth of human contact felt good anyways. This time, Whumpee allowed the touch to comfort him.

Whumper offered no reassurances to the shell of a man quaking in his arms, he didn’t say it’s okay I would never hurt you, you’re my favorite—he didn’t say it because it wasn’t true. He wasn’t holding Whumpee tightly in his arms to comfort him. He held him close to feel Whumpee shake with fear.

Three days left. Only seventy-two hours.

“I like you, but the same rules apply to you as everyone else here.”

Whumpee pulled out of the hug, shuffling backwards.

“You said I was your favorite.” He wiped his leaking face with the back of his hand, sniffling. “Was that even true?”

“Yeah.” Whumper chuckled lightly. “You’re sweet.”

"Then why would you—" The tears surged again, cutting him off. "—how could you...?"

“I won’t touch your pretty face. Does that make you feel better?”

“I don’t know.” He snorted loudly to halt the mucus dripping from his nose. Whumpee struggled to maintain a façade of emotionlessness, but his body betrayed him at every turn. He took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, centering his mind. 

“Just walk me through it. Just once. I need to know what happens.”

“Fine.”

Whumper crouched, locking his cold eyes with Whumpee's.

“It starts off the same for everyone. First I’m gonna have you go to the bathroom. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll even let you use the one upstairs, the nice one. Sometimes people refuse to go and end up pissing on the exam table-- don’t do that. If you piss or anything when you’re strapped down, I’ll rub your fuckin’ face in it, so just go.”

“Okay.”

“Then you’ll strip down. Don’t put up a fight on that either. You won’t win.”

Whumpee nodded.

“I’ll take you to the room at the end of the hall. You know the one. Maybe I’ll have to tie you up, but if you’re a good boy that day I won’t need the ropes.”

An evil smile spread across Whumper's face. “The table is gonna feel cold on your skin. I'll have you lay back and once you lay down... Use your imagination. Anything could happen. I haven’t exactly planned it all out.”

“Yes you fucking have.” Whumpee bit back.

Whumper was taken aback. He was right of course, but he’d never heard the man swear before.

“Sure. I’ve thought about it.” Whumper chuckled. “I don’t think sharin’ every minute detail is gonna help.”

“Just tell me,” Whumpee urged. 

Whumper looked down and sighed, his impatience mounting.

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“Yes.” He answered truthfully. “Among other things.”

It felt like a train crashed into Whumpee’s gut. It was happening. It was really happening.

“Will it--will it hurt?”

“A little. But I’ll try to make you feel good.”

“No I mean. After.”

“Oh." He patted the man's shoulder. "Yeah. It’s gonna hurt, Whumpee.”

As much as he didn’t look forward to sacrificing his special, trembling boy to some faceless nobody on the dark web, the money was too good to pass up. The truth was, Whumpee was worth far more dead than alive. Even if his family had managed to pull together enough funds for the payout, it was miniscule compared to what his buyer was willing to pay for the video.

“That’s enough for now. It’s late.” The killer made his way to the exit, the heels of his boots clicking against the tiles.

“Am I allowed to make a final request?” Whumpee called to his captor's receding form.

"I don't do that," the man said coldly, glancing over his shoulder.

“Please. It’s not a lot.”

"What?" Whumper snapped, impatience evident in his tone.

“C-can I please write a letter to my friend?”

The killer rubbed his exhausted eyes, sighing as he eyed the reinforced steel door.

“Please.”

“Fine, Whumpee. Whatever. You can write to your friend. I’ll get you some paper. Write a fuckin’ novel for all I care.”

“Thank y--.” 

Whumper yanked the heavy door closed behind him, silencing Whumpee’s appreciation with a decisive shove, the thick thud echoing in the corridor. He had no intention of actually delivering Whumpee’s letter to anyone; but at that point he’d do anything to shut up Whumpee’s insistent questioning. 

Still, a flicker of curiosity burned within him as he wondered what Whumpee might write.

((sequel is in progress, here's more Whump))

[the-lives-i-am-not-living]

Good night

Wolverine x reader

Summary: you’re sick. What's especially bad this time is that your throat is filled with mucus (lovely), which makes sleeping a nightmare. Feeling especially bad one night, there's only one person you want to go to.

Warnings: none - this is just pure fluff!

Note: hi y'all, this is my first time ever posting something here, so I hope you like it! Inspiration hit me today! (and the gasping actually happened to me recently ._.) Hope you enjoy!

You jolt up in the middle of the night, gasping for air. But the air doesn’t come. For a few seconds, you try and see if the tightness in your throat subsides on its own, but the only thing you’re able to do is heave. 

Panic sets in - you’re convinced you’re going to die if you don’t get help. You get out of bed and head into the hallway. One, two, three, four… When you get to the fifth door, you softly open it. Unable to speak, you pray that Logan is still a light sleeper.

You peer into the darkness of his room, suddenly unsure whether to approach him, but then you’re blinded when his bedside light turns on. Logan looks at you with narrowed eyes, adjusting to the brightness. His expression immediately grows concerned when he processes what’s happening. 

Still gasping, you drop to your knees at his bedside, trying to get your breathing under control. Besides the obvious fear of dying, you mostly feel bad for waking him up.

Logan hurriedly slides out of bed and joins you on the floor. “Look at me, hun,” he says, and places a hand on your lower back. You move to sit sideways, facing Logan. When your panicked eyes meet his, you’re struck with the intensity of them. He has never looked at you like that before. The initial feeling of being scrutinized ebbs away and turns into something warmer.  

“Keep breathing. You’ve got this. It doesn’t feel like you can breathe, but you’re doing it,” he says. His voice is surprisingly clear for someone who just woke up.

You give him a few small nods. The gasping doesn’t subside for another whole minute. All the while, the two of you are locked onto each other.

Then, finally, your heart starts beating less erratically, and your breathing becomes less labored.

You close your eyes and let out a shaky breath of relief. You lean your head against the bed. “I’m so sorry,” you say with a tiny voice. 

You hear a strangled sound from Logan. “Why the hell are you sorry?”  

When you open your eyes, his incredulous expression is front and center. “I thought I was choking. I didn’t want to scare you, but -" You pause to catch your breath. "But the only thing I could think of was to go to you.”

His features turn soft at those last few words. “I’m glad you came to me.”

“Thank you for helping," you croak. "Oh my god, I sound even more like a chain smoking little kid now.” Logan chuckles and gives you a pat on the knee. “Very welcome. And yes, you do.”

“I hate being sick.”

With an old man groan, he rises to his feet. “Stay put. I’ll get you a glass of water. And I’ll see if I can find some medicine for your throat.”

“Thank you,” you breathe.

When he gets back with a glass of water, you haven’t moved an inch. 

“Sorry, couldn’t find any medicine,” he says while handing you your water. “But let’s get you looked at first thing in the morning.”

“I’m a bit scared to go back to sleep,” you admit. Logan watches you take a few sips of water. “Do you want to talk until you fall asleep?”

You look up at him, slightly surprised. When he doesn’t meet your eyes immediately, you can’t help but smile. “That would be nice.”

“Alright, let’s get you back to your room. I have some stories that are guaranteed to bore you out of your mind.” “I can’t wait!” you say in an excited whisper. “Having your voice lull me to sleep sounds like heaven.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back.

“Oh, does it?” Logan’s voice drips with self-satisfaction. You don’t dare look at him. 

Instead, you cough. But this sadly sets off a coughing fit, and by the end of it tears are streaming down your face.

“Goddammit,” you wheeze.

From the corner of your eye, you see Logan holding out his hand. “Good sir, I have respiratory issues,” you say as you swat at him. “I can still walk!” 

“Okay, excuse me,” he says, holding up his hands in mock offense. “Good to see your near-death experience didn’t mess with your sense of humor.”

Once you’re settled back in your bed with extra pillows and blankets to help you sleep in a more upright position, Logan takes a chair and sits across from you. It takes you a while to shake the giddiness of having Logan in your room, telling you a bedtime story. Hearing him use a different kind of voice. But as expected, around ten minutes into his story, sleep takes you.

You don’t see Logan’s expression as he watches you drift off. 

After a while, he quietly gets up from the chair and leans over towards you. As softly as he can, he strokes your hair.

“Good night.”

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Kinktober Special Part 10 (+18)

SOMEONE REQUESTED THIS AND I HAD TO. (OK so would this ever happen in canon? no. do I care? also no. this is fun and pretend on the internet idk)

The Crew’s Whore (Part 10) (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Red Hair Shanks x Straw Hat F!Reader

WC: 3700 what the fuck lmao

TWs: unprotected sex, p in v sex, face riding, oral sex, teasing, fingering, alcohol consumption, hot passionate lovemaking idk. 

— — 

You don’t know how you ended up here, scared out of your wits.

Okay… maybe you do know exactly why you were here, but it didn’t make you any less terrified. Your captain once again got you into a life-threatening predicament, but this time it was one you had to face alone. 

You take a deep breath and smooth the fabric of your red velvet wrapped gown over your stomach. You shake your long hair down your back and square your shoulders. 

Your heels click across the strong wood as you go to cross the gang plank to the adjacent ship. 

— — 

(3 hours earlier)

“No seriously, I heard if you rub the mucus from the transponder snails all over your skin you look 10 years younger.” Robin said as she leaned up against the railing of the Thousand Sunny on her elbows. 

“I don’t really think I want to look 11…” Nami said back as she picked at the dirt under her fingernails. 

“Is Luffy back yet? I can’t stand the suspense anymore! I just know he’s going to blow us all to smithereens!” Usopp butts his head in-between the two girls as they watched the Red Force docked across from the Sunny, no sign of their captain yet. 

“Don’t you think if Shanks’ crew was going to vaporize us they’d have done it immediately?” Sanji grunts with a cigarette dangling from his spit soaked bottom lip. No one thought he was listening as he sat on a barrel with you leaned up against it between his legs. He had a seashell comb in his right hand that he used to braid your hair. 

“You make a good point… but I don’t think we should settle in just yet. He’s arguably the most powerful man in the world. We should be lucky we aren’t gore at the bottom of the ocean being eaten by mantis shrimp.” Your eyes flutter open at the conversation, you had been so relaxed by Sanji’s delicate brushing of your tresses. 

“DO YOU REALLY THINK WE’RE GONNA BE EATEN IN THE OCEAN Y/N?” Chopper scrambles across the deck, tears in his eyes, and lands in your lap as you sat on the deck of the Sunny. 

You pat his hat. 

“Maybe!” You chuckle. 

Chopper starts to sob. 

“Alright who made Chopper cry?” Zoro comes out of the kitchen with a hefty bottle of sake in one hand. 

“I was just being honest, love.” You say to the already slightly drunk swordsman. 

“You’ve gotta stop doing that shit you know he’s-“ The green haired man begins to scold you. 

“HEEEEY!!! HEY GUYS!!!”

Everyone’s head whips towards the source of the yelling. 

Luffy bounds towards the Sunny and opts to stretch his arms and catapult himself onto the deck instead of using the gang plank. 

Chopper hops immediately up out of your lap and runs to clutch Luffy’s legs. 

“Luffy how are we gonna die? Is he gonna cut us up into a million pieces or-“ The poor reindeer snivels through violent sobs.

“Huh? Who? Shanks?” Luffy looked confused before he broke into a smile. “Ha ha! No, Shanks is my friend! We were just catching up! You guys are weird haha.” 

There was a collective sigh released across the deck. 

“Yeah he’s totally cool. He’s setting out in the morning. I offered to have Sanji cook us all a big feast, but he said he’s rather have y/n for the night instead. More food for us!” Luffy giggled. 

“WHAT?” You stood up from the deck. “You offered my services to the most deadly man in the seas without asking first?” You storm up to your captain. 

“Yeah? He’s nice, y/n! Heh heh you’ll like him a lot! I promise!” 

— — 

So here you were. You slinked across the deck of the Red Force towards the captain’s quarters, trying to stay unnoticed. You thought you were being inconspicuous until the door to what you assumed was the galley swung open and bathed your cloaked figured in bright light. Two men, drunk in arms, stopped in their tracks when they saw you. 

“Oye! It’s the Straw Hat girl! She’s ‘ere for the captain!” The much larger of the two men said as he gestured towards you with a beer bottle. 

The smaller man with long, dreadlocked hair ushered him along. 

“Yeah yeah leave ‘em be.” He said as he held up his drunk crew mate to their quarters. “Hey, tell my boy I say hi, alright?” The pirate said over his shoulder as he let you pass the two of them to continue towards the captain’s room. 

“Aye… Aye I can do that.” You say shakily. 

“Good, now have fun tonight! Don’t hurt ya’ self!” The long haired pirate who bared a striking resemblance to a friend of yours called as he disappeared out of sight. 

You regained your composure and straightened your dress before you continued to the belly of the ship. You walked down two sets of stairs before reaching a hallway with a singular door. You were given no chance to back out because the door opened as soon as your foot hit the bottom stair. 

“Y/n, welcome.” Red Haired Shanks stood clutching a doorknob and waving you towards him with a smile. You froze. You hadn’t knocked. He knew you were coming long before you got here. Such power. But his smile seemed so.. normal?

“Everything okay, y/n?” He calls at you. You snapped out of your daze.

“Yes! Sorry!” You hurriedly enter his private quarters and he shuts the door behind you. It was luxurious for a pirate, but nothing over the top. He had a full bar with a loveseat on one end and king sized bed with red velvet sheets on the other. You had to chuckle at the dated decor, you were forgetting he was well over 10 years your senior. 

Shanks moves past you after locking the door and heads to the bar. He grips a bottle of wine and tips it towards you in question. 

“Can I pour you a drink?” Shanks asks. 

“I-um, yes. Yes thank you.” You eventually get out. 

Shanks carefully pours each of you a large glass of red wine. He hands you a glass and beckons for you to join him on the loveseat. He was so large in stature that you were in the corner with your legs crossed so you didn’t encroach on his space. 

“My friend and your captain says you are the hottest little thing on the Grand Line… you have something to say about that?” He says playfully from across the couch. 

“I-I’d say you’d have to try it yourself, captain.” You try to make yourself sound confident but there was no use. This man could pulverize you and everyone you love in five seconds if he wanted to… and yet here he was lighting candles and pouring you wine. 

“Drink.” Shanks motions for you to drink your wine as he lifts his own heavy pour to his lips. You oblige and take a few large gulps of wine before settling your glass in your lap again. 

“Why are you afraid of me?” Shanks breaks the silence. 

“I-I’m n-“ Your eyes threatened to bug out of your skull.

“And don’t lie because I’ll know.” Shanks smirks at you from across the loveseat. “Tell me what’s bothering you. I have no interest in laying with someone who isn’t all here. I would just like to know what’s frightening you, little one?” Shanks takes another sip of his wine. 

“Y-you’re just very powerful. I’ve never felt like this before with anyone… I-I can’t explain it…” You look down into your wine glass and take a gulp. You couldn’t meet Shanks’ gaze. 

“I won’t hurt you…” Shanks gets up from his seat and you tense up. “But maybe we should get to know each other better first so you actually believe me…” Shanks returns to his position across from you, this time dragging over a small table and a deck of cards. “Let’s play, every hand you win you get to ask a question and the other has to answer truthfully. And drink, of course.” 

You relax a bit and cock your head. You place your empty wine glass down on the table. 

“You better get the bottle then.” You smirk. 

Shanks smiles and pours the two of you full glasses. He then deals you your first round of cards. To your misfortune you lose the first hand. 

“Alright then… you still think I’m going to kill you, don’t you?” Shanks almost chuckles as the words leave his mouth. 

“Yes.” You respond immediately. You take a drink. 

Shanks sighs and deals another hand. You thought for a moment if you should offer to deal the cards, seeing as it might go faster… but Shanks struck you as a man who liked to be in control so you kept your mouth shut. 

“Listen, sweet pea, you’re worth a lot more alive than you are dead from what I’ve heard about you… So you have nothing to worry about.” Shanks says as he lays out his hand. “Oh dear it seems I’ve won again. Less morose questions, perhaps?”

You toss your losing cards back to the center of the table. 

“Have you ever had a fishman?” Shanks asks. 

You choke a bit on the wine you had just sipped. A smile spreads across the pirates face, his eyes glistening with childlike mischief even through his scarred flesh. He really was quite handsome…

“Sorry… too forward?” He asks. 

“Not at all.” You chuckle after catching your breath. People always asked you about that once they learned of your line of work. . “Yes I have.” 

“What’s it like? I’ve always been curious but never had the opportunity…” Shanks asks with genuine interest. 

“I think you’re supposed to win another hand if you want to ask another question.” You lay your winning hand on the table and smirk. “My turn. Who’s your one that got away? Everyone like you has a lost love.” 

“Oh I wouldn’t call it lost… they’re very much still in the picture. Someone I’ve known since I was young. I still have hope, in the end, but we’ll see. He’s just-“ Shanks explains as he deals more cards. 

“He?” You interject. 

“Is that another question?” Shanks playfully raises an eyebrow

“No.” You recall your inquisition. 

“Good, seeing as I’ve won again.” Shanks collects the cards again. “Now, is the two cocks thing true?”

“Of course it is. But only for the shark fishmen. It’s intimidating at first, but when you’ve been doing my job for this long you learn how to handle it.” You smile into your wine glass cheekily before taking a sip. 

“I have no doubt you excel at your job. It’s simply pleasure enough to get to spend the evening with a beautiful woman with such-“   Shanks’ eyes flick down to where your wrapped velvet gown was opening in the front, exposing your cleavage. He looks back up to meet your gaze. “Breathtaking features.” 

You can’t help but giggle. His hungry eyes on you somehow made you feel more at ease… all men truly are the same. It’s incredible that they call it a man’s world when the strongest of them all can be tamed by the promise of pussy. 

“Looks like I’ve won this one, Red Hair.” You splay your cards on the worn wooden table. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to you recently?” You ask. 

“I don’t get embarrassed!” Shanks answers far too quickly and defensively for your liking. You cock your head with skepticism. “Fine. Last week one of my crew mates came up to me in celebration asking for a double high five.” Shanks sighs. 

You didn’t understand why it was embarrassing at first, but when you looked at his torso and were reminded he only had one arm you short laughed so hard that you had to bring your hands up to your face. 

“Oh gods I’m sorry I shouldn’t laugh.” You try to regain your composure. 

“No no I promise it’s quite alright!” Shanks grins and plays another losing hand. “It’s funny now that my bruised ego is healed.” 

“So my turn again. When you’re with men do you top or bottom?” The wine must have really been affecting you to even consider asking an emperor such a question. 

Shanks smiles again. 

“Let me ask you this…” Shanks peruses his hand of cards, slipping them deftly between his calloused fingers. “If I take you to a candy shop and I say, ‘now you can only have the peppermint sweets’ how terrible would that be? You’d have to pass up on the chocolate sweets, the strawberry sweets, and sweets you’ve never even imagined. Who wants to live like that?” Shanks lays his winning hand down on the table with a smug grin. “Would you like to come sit on my lap, y/n?” 

You nod silently before you finish your drink and set the massive wine glass down on the table. You rise to your feet. Shanks uses his one hand to pat his left high, spreading his legs so you could slot between them. 

“Plenty of room on this side now.” Shanks winks as you sit down on his lap. He raises his right hand towards your face slowly but suddenly stop as if he’s realized something. “Can I touch you?” He asks as he looks in your eye. The sheer power emanating from his body no longer frightened you, but drew you in and made you feel your heartbeat below your waist. 

“Yes, you can touch me.” You affirm, looking Shanks in the eye. You give him a soft smile. 

“Wow… Luffy wasn’t kidding. You really are gorgeous…” Shanks compliments you as he touches your face gently to brush your hair out of your eyes. He was getting a better look at you. “Really just so fucking pretty…” He kisses your cheek before you feel his hand working at the tie of your dress. “Help me a bit, sweet pea? Wanna see all of you.” 

You blush hard and fumble with your dress enough to spread it open, exposing your nude form. 

“Absolutely beautiful…” Shanks coos as he slides his hand down your chest and cups one of your breasts in his strong grip. He kneads it for a bit and you relax into his touch. He pinches your nipple and you jolt forward, almost losing your balance on Shanks’ lap. 

“Hold onto me, baby, it’s okay.” Shanks brings your arm up to wrap around his neck before continuing fondling your body. His hand finally reached to cup your mound, pressing his fingers flat against your wet lips. You hid your head in the crook of his neck and whimpered. 

“I can feel you throbbing, honey, why didn’t you just say something?” He nudges you with his chin to prompt you to come out of hiding in his neck. “Huh? It’s okay. You should have told me it was this bad…” Shanks starts swiping his fingers through your folds, taking a moment to circle your clit a few times with each upwards stroke along your pussy. 

“I-I just…” Lust had clouded your brain and you could no longer form a coherent thought. A few moments ago you were holding your own against the emperor in a game of cards but now you were completely helpless in his grasp. Shanks slips two digits inside your soaked hole, you gasp out loudly and your arms around his neck tighten. 

“Oh!” You yelp as he tentatively pushes his fingers in and out of you, stretching you and working you up. 

“It’s okay… I'm gonna help you with this okay?” Shanks pushes his two fingers into you again and keeps them inside. He pulls upwards on his fingers once and you instinctively squeal and try to close your legs. “Theeeere it is. Keep those legs open, doll, I’m gonna make you cum now.” He immediately begins hammering his fingers into your favorite spot. 

“AH!” You cry out and your shoulders lurch forward, you slam your eyes shut, the sensation overwhelming you. You moan out as he physically pulls a wet, screaming orgasm out of you with his hand. 

“Good girl! That’s better, huh?” Shanks coos at you as he pulls his fingers out of you and rubs gently at your pussy with his whole palm as if to say ‘good job, champ.’ Shanks quickly lifts you into the air and lets your dress fall to the floor. He sets you to sit on the bed and starts removing his clothing. 

You decided this was something you could help with and start undoing his belt and pants. Shanks slips off his boots and sheds his torso of his jacket and shirt. You move to lay down on the bed, figuring he could shed the rest of his clothes himself. 

“Ah ah ah, don’t get comfortable sweet pea.” Shanks scolds you playfully and you finally get a full view of his body. His olive skin was scarred but beautifully tanned, and his cock was so impressive that you noticed it far before you noticed his missing arm. “You’re going to ride my face.” 

“Oh I am, am I?" You hop up onto your knees on the bed, making room for Shanks to lay down.

“You are because if I don’t get to taste this wet little cunny in the next few minutes I might die.” Shanks lays on his back and grips your waist to help pull you towards his face. “Now sit.” He yanks you down onto his waiting mouth and holds you in place with his arm wrapped around you. 

“Fuck! Shanks!” You cry out as his lips latch around your clit. “Oh my god!” You lean forward instinctively and grip the headboard. You find your body involuntarily rocking against Shanks’ tongue and lips, somehow desperately chasing another high. 

Shanks laps now at your hole, trying to taste more of you straight from the source. 

“So fuckin’ sweet… No wonder they won’t let you go…” Shanks slurps messily against your cunt and moans deeply. “My gods, taste so fuckin’ good…”

 You toss your head back and moan, feeling yourself approaching orgasm again so quickly after your last one. 

“Yes- fuck- just like that, please!” You grind your hips harder onto Shanks’ face. 

“Let go, cum on me baby girl, come on, you can do it…” Shanks mutters into your sex as eagerly devours you, wanting you to finish just as much as you did yourself. 

With a final harsh suck to your clit, you release onto Shanks’ waiting face. He pulls off your sensitive bud but continues lapping at your folds, trying to taste every last drop of the essence leaving your body. Once satisfied from tasting you, Shanks pulls you down his body to sit on his lap. 

He pushes the two of you put he bed so his back is against the headboard and you’re seated comfortably on his lap, wet cunt soaking his member pressed against his abdomen. He was thick and uncut, just the way you like them. 

You move your hips to hover over his pelvis as you allow him to line his leaking cock up with your entrance. Delirious from your orgasms, you eagerly impale yourself on his cock fully and let out a choked cry. Shanks chuckles and pushes your hair out of your face to hold your chin in his hand. 

“Oh baby that was so good! You took it all so good.” He smiles at you. 

You nod and start to grind your hips onto him, your eyes falling closed at the delicious friction. Shanks leans up and starts leaving bites and sucks on your neck, he grips your hips tightly in his hand to guide your grinding on top of him. He plants his feet and is able to thrust inside of you. 

“What a fucking goddess you are, y/n… fuck you feel so fuckin’ good…” 

You were feeling bashful at his praise… like he wasn’t buried balls deep inside of you right now. It was clear from his languid pace and his attention to your needs that he didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to make love to you. 

You continue to ride Shanks and he nibbled and sucked at your breasts while continuously spilling words of praise and admiration about your pussy and how well it takes his cock. 

“So good, sweat pea, come on and make yourself cum on me, just use me baby it’s okay…” Shanks mumbled into your spit soaked nipple. You whimper and move your hips faster, feeling your walls start to spasm. “Yes there it is, come on…” 

“SHANKS!” You cry out the captain’s name as you fall apart completely on his thick cock. You felt completely boneless as the aftershocks of your mammoth orgasm wore off. 

“Gonna fill you, love, just take it…” Shanks grunts as he obviously approaches his climax. 

“Y-yes-“ You could barely squeak out, so beyond overstimulated. 

With an animalistic growl, Shanks empties himself inside of you entirely. You whine and wiggle on his lap as you feel the floods of cum seep from your hole along the sides of his cock. 

Shanks pulls your body into his by your shoulder and you collapse into his broad chest. He pulls out of you and lays you both of your side. After a few moments of gentle touches and pillow talk, you rise to collect your things. 

“You’re not staying?” The pirate captain asked. 

“You’re leaving port in the morning.” You replied. 

“I know. I’m asking if you’ll stay with me. Here.” Shanks asks. 

You smile as you throw on your velvet dress. You approach Shanks’ nude body on the bed. You cup his jaw. 

“I am loyal to my captain.” You say with a smile. 

“After all that, you’re still loyal to your captain?” Shanks refutes, sitting up in bed now. 

“Of course. What good is a crew if they aren’t loyal to their captain?” You say playfully as you approach the door of the bedroom. 

“Gods that only makes me want you more.” Shanks smirks. 

“Best of luck to you, Red Haired Shanks.” You wink and you retreat back to your home ship. 

[beeslibrarycorner]

HELLO,,, I DESPERATELY NEED SOME FLUFFY PREWAR COOP BEIN SICK WITH SOME FLU 😭😭😭 his love is just insisting he stays home so she can take care of him 💝She feels his forehead and hes got a temperature, its obvious hes feeling like garbage but he insists on working. She calls his doctor, comes to look at him and he's told to stay at home, lay in front of the TV with some good food. cuddling ensues and she dotes on him cus HE DESERVES IT 💞 messy bedhead cooper with jammies and blankets FLUFF 🥺

Janey was at her mother’s house when Cooper had started to feel under the weather. It’s was Monday night and you were noticing that cooper was not acting like himself. His face was flushed and he was very lethargic.

“Coop? Are you feeling ok honey?” You asked as you watched him drink some water from your seat on the couch. As he walked closer you got a better look at him, his eyes were glassy and you could hear how stuffy his nose was.

Next day cooper was insistent that he was fine even though he looked like he had a fever (you were right) and that he sounded like his nose was full of mucus (you were also right)

You called the doctor and when the doctor came and checked him out, the doctor expressed all the things that you feared. Cooper had come down with the flu and was instructed to get acouple of days of rest.

You beamed and thanked the doctor, as you walked him out the doctor told you all the things to do to help cooper get better.

When you got back inside you put your hands on your hips as you watched the man that was curled up in the small love seat. “It’s freezing in here honey can you turn the heat up?” He asked and you frowned.

“Honey it’s like 80 degrees out, let’s get you into something more comfortable” you said leading cooper to the bedroom. You helped him into some pajamas and set him up on the couch in front of the tv.

While he was preoccupied with the tv after he took the first round of meds you started making soup for him. You checked on him and he had fallen asleep mouth slightly open and snoring softly.

When the soup just needed to cook you checked on cooper again, this time he was awake and he was reaching for you. “Can you sit with me for a second sweetheart, I miss your warmth” he pleads like he’s going to die if you don’t sit with him.

As you sit down cooper inches closer so that he could lay his head on your lap. “How are you feeling honey?” You asking him and he groaned in reply, you pouted and started playing with his hair.

Some movie was playing in the background, but all you could focus on was coop and how tired he looked. You stayed there until you needed to turn the stove off and put the soup in bowls.

When you placed the bowls down on the table cooper was already there. You ate together and after he thanked you for making him the soup.

After you got the kitchen cleaned up you like to cooper who was still at the table, looking out of it and in need of a good nights sleep.“Let’s get you to bed cowboy” you said and he chuckles smirking up at you.

You both brushed your teeth together and tucked him into bed, shushing him when you pulled away telling him you needed a shower. You went to take a shower, got into some pjs; and slid into your side of the bed.

Cooper immediately moved to your side holding you close and nuzzling his head into your shoulder. You rubbed his back and cradled his head to your chest. “Thank you for taking care of me sweetie, I’m so grateful to have someone like you in my life.”

The two of you fell asleep together, little does the both of you know that your getting the flu next after cooper gets better.

[cowboydisaster]

could you write a fic about simon and a reader who is going through withdrawals? Sorry if that's not real specific, you can take it in what ever direction you please. Thank you

Hope

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem! reader word count: 2k summary: Simon helps you get through withdrawals, offering you hope in the darkest point of your life. a/n: heed the warnings please!!!! I cried a good bit while writing this. You're never alone my friends, and there is always hope. Always. (p.s. there is a mention of wanting children in this fic, so keep that in mind. p.p.s why does tumblr destroy my image quality, it makes me sad.) warnings: opioid addiction, withdrawals, addiction, emetophobia, illness masterlist

"Si-Simon, I can't do this. I'm n-not strong enough." You whimper, clammy hands gripping onto his shirt with every pathetic ounce of strength that you can muster. Your voice is hoarse, throat thick with mucus and body covered in a stale cold sweat that soaks through your oversized t-shirt. Simon has never seen you so weak, so frail in his arms.

He's seen you take down men twice your size, clear rooms with more than ten enemies. You've faced countless opponents, broken through endless physical and mental barriers,  but in the end, the one thing you couldn't defeat was the pills. 

If you'd known you were trading your life away when you were handed the bottle, you never would have taken it in the first place. 

"For the pain." The doctor had said, "Just until this gunshot wound clears up."

Only it didn't. Before you even realized it, your body was already addicted. You craved the numbness that the damned capsules gave you, the release from the endless pain that singed your nerves day and night. You couldn't give them up. You tried– but the sickness that came when you stopped– you were sure it would kill you. 

Simon didn't know what to do. You lied, you kept him at a distance, never fully explaining to him what was going on. He didn't realize how bad it was. He tried not to pry, or to push you, but Simon put his foot down when he found you on the bathroom floor unconscious, a bottle of pills on the counter, half empty. His words reverberated in your ears, a harsh warning that he wouldn't watch you kill yourself. 

"You have to get clean, Y/N." He'd said from a place of love, but you couldn't help but crumble under his judgment, "I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. You 'ave to sober up."

So here you are, a heap in Simon's lap, the both of you intertwined on the bathroom floor as you fight the overwhelming illness that accompanies withdrawals. Everything you've survived: loss, wounds, torture– it pales in comparison to the misery you're experiencing now. You refused to go to a detox center, not wanting to lose your position in the Task Force. You promised Simon that you'd let him drive you to the hospital if things got bad, but you want to do this at home. 

Bile rises from your stomach, lingering in the back of your throat as you gag. Immediately, Simon pulls your hair back into his fist, and helps to position you over the toilet. 

You dry heave, gagging on air as both of your cold hands grip the toilet bowl. Your wedding band glints in the dim bathroom light, bringing another layer of anguish to your already broken soul. 

He shouldn't have to deal with this. 

"Easy, love. Get it all out. I've got you." Simon coos as your stomach aches and flips, desperate to rid itself of any contents. Only you haven't been able to eat, so nothing comes up but painful bursts of air. You gasp and heave, collapsing back against Simon and erupting into loud sobs. Your bones ache as you fall onto his chest, and his hands hover over your form, unsure on how to hold you without shattering you even further. 

"I can't– I can't! Simon, please! Please. I'm going to die. M' gonna die–" You panic, "I'm not strong enough. You know that I'm not." You plead, begging for the substance that he has already flushed down the drain, your mind refuses to believe that it's actually gone. 

Simon's previously unbreakable heart manages to crack, and he wishes more than anything to carry the burden of your suffering. You're his wife, and it's his job to take the weight off your shoulders, but he can't do this for you. He can, however, be with you every step of the way. You showed him a new way of living, a way to do more than just survive. You've shown him love when he was undeserving of it. It's unbearable for him to see you, such a beam of light, in so much pain. 

"Look at me, baby. Look at me." Simon holds your face until your eyes meet his. Those chestnut colored irises hold your attention– the same ones you looked into as you read your vows, as you suffered pain, and loss, felt love and lust. They've watched after you through everything. 

"You can do this, yeah? You're the strongest person I know. Stronger than any other soldier in the Task Force, stronger than me. If anyone can beat this, it's you." Simon reassures. 

Your face crumples when you realize he's firm in his decision. You shake your head, clammy palms coming to rest against your face. 

"Please, Simon." You beg once again. Your body is trembling like a leaf held against the wind, cold wraps around your bones suffocatingly, squeezing every ounce of comfort from your being and leaving you high and dry. Pure, unadulterated suffering. 

"Come 'ere." Simon whispers, standing up from the tile floor and scooping you into his arms. He hooks his arms under your head and knees before carrying you into the bedroom. 

The soft bed dips under your shared weight as Simon lays down with you, his body wrapping around your own like a perfect puzzle piece. He pulls your back to his chest, letting you use his tattooed arm as a pillow. Your sobs quiet down to muffled whimpers as you shake lightly, wishing you could go back in time, solve this before it became a problem. 

Father time has never been merciful though, has he? 

"Blanket or no?" Simon asks. You nod your head quickly. 

"Yes, it's so cold. I'm so cold." Your teeth chatter lightly as you reiterate. Simon pulls the thick comforter over your forms, tucking it in around the edges as he adjusts behind you. 

An hour ago you were burning up, stripping off your clothes and sobbing at the heat clawing its way through your body like some sort of fiery plague. He'd put you in a cool bath, checking your temperature probably more often than what was necessary. 

You shake and writhe, whimpers and groans of agony slipping past your lips every once in a while. It's killing Simon to see you like this. Every ounce of light has drained from your eyes, the life has seeped from your pores, replaced with the lingering disease of addiction. He misses your laughter, your smile. It could light up a room. You've gotten the boys through many dark days. You were the sunshine of the Task Force. Failed missions, loss, heartache, no matter how bad things got, your optimism never ceased. Not until recently, anyhow. 

"We'll get there again." Simon tells himself like a mantra in his head,"She'll get better." 

He's personally seeing that you do. He won't allow you the pills to take hold of you, he'll fight. He's seen more soldiers die from pills than bullets. He won't let you meet that fate, he won't. 

He can't lose you. 

The room is covered with a calm silence, only the sound of your quick breathing to let him know you're still alive. Simon is quiet as well, and you drown in the silence, hoping for any kind of distraction to pull you away from your unending misery. You can feel yourself giving up, wanting nothing more than to slip into old habits. You slip your eyes shut, opening them only once a voice rumbles in your ear. 

"I was thinking… when you're better we'll get a bigger house." Simon quietly blurts out from behind you. 

A wrinkle forms in between your brows, and you crane your neck to look at him. You're sure he's trying to distract you, coming up with random conversation to keep your mind off of the present. When you look back, his gaze is far away, fixed on something on the far wall. A small smile graces his uncovered lips– he's been keeping the mask off at home recently, you've noticed. There is a light in his eyes, a light that you used to think would never grace the eyes of Simon Riley. 

"What? Why would we need a bigger house?" You ask with a small chuckle. He's succeeding in his distraction, you realize. 

His eyes flicker down to yours, hand gripping onto your waist as you turn towards him in curiosity. Your eyelids are heavy, another wave of exhaustion coming over you. 

"For the little ones." Simon responds.

He says it on a breath. He says it so plainly, so effortlessly, that tears immediately well in your eyes. He's never responded to your questions about children– usually shutting down or ignoring the topic wholly. Your lip wobbles, and he runs his thumb over the cracked skin. 

"Ch-children?" You ask, a new sense of hope filling your being. A new reason to fight– to get clean. Children. A family. 

"A girl, with your eyes…" Simon chuckles, "Probably with your attitude too." 

You laugh at that, tears slipping down your cheeks in landing on his hand that cups your face. 

"Maybe a boy. Hopefully he gets your features n' not my ugly mug." Simon huffs. 

"What changed…?" You ask, wincing as a wave of nausea pulses through your body. Simon's eyes go wide for a second, and his grip tightens on you, ready in an instant to carry you back into the bathroom if you need. The pain passes and you shake your head, signaling that you're okay. Immediately, he relaxes. It's quiet for a moment as Simon traces his thumb over your paper thin skin.

"A dog, a new house, babies, anything you want. I'll give you anything you want, just get better for me, baby." Simon pleads, a hint of vulnerability tracing his words. It's one of only a few times he's begged you. 

"I don't want a future without you in it. I want my wife. I want our kids terrorizing the place, I want to get old and retire the Force with you. Hell, I'd turn in my letter of resignation today if you asked, just please, fight for me, love."

The tears are falling freely now, you don't try to stop them. Guilt fills your being at the realization of everything you've put your husband through for the past few months. Through it all, he's never left your side. He's still here. Kissing closed your wounds, and promising to plant flowers in their place. 

A soft kiss is pressed to your forehead before amber eyes peek down at you through blonde eyelashes. You chew on your lip, a bad habit. 

Your resolve is set, and even though your body shrieks for the opposite, you'll get through this. You have to. 

You have Sunday mornings to look forward to, lazily pouring Simon a cup of tea in his favorite mug. You have a house to buy, with two bedrooms instead of one. Dragging Simon through the shops and picking out all the different onesies he'll let you bring home. You have walks through the park to go on. You have to pick up takeout on Simon's late nights at work. You have to sit on his desk while you share an entree and talk to him until he forgets about the paperwork he's supposed to be doing. So many little actions to go through, little memories to make. You can't give it up. You won't. 

There is so much to fight for, so much to hope for, all given to you by the man before you. Tears sting your eyes again as you finally speak up. 

"I promise you, Simon. I'll fight. For us, I will."

[animentality]

Ahhhhh insane with the idea that the Dark Urge was forced to kill their parents, the people they loved most in the world, at a very young age, and this was only the first stage in what would be a constantly evolving notion of love and relationship with themselves.

First was grief. Regret. Feeling ashamed and monstrous and wicked. Crying at night because they had loved their parents and now they were gone, and it was their fault. Directly. That's a lot for a kid to handle.

But with Scleritas whispering in their ear, and the threat of Bhaal hanging over their head, the grief becomes fear. Terror, that it might happen again. They stay away from people they knew before, kids or adults who knew them in Baldur's Gate. Maybe they can't resist the urge but they can at least ensure they don't hurt anyone they love. Maybe they can control themselves. Maybe they can keep their wretched body still. Maybe they will not be the instrument of pure death and chaos and evil incarnate.

But then the only companionship they have is Scleritas Fel, and he's a wicked little creature, constantly bringing the worst out of them. And as time passes and they live their life in isolation, that terror starts to fade, as do memories of love and friendship and kindness. And the urge is impossible to totally ignore. So where before they felt intense guilt or fear, now there's no feeling at all. And since they're so distant from other living beings, people start looking like meat puppets to them. Empty dolls of blood and viscera and mucus. No longer the feeling of home, but carcasses in the making.

And you know, I don't think leading the Temple of Bhaal would help. I can see the Dark Urge completely forgetting about their old life, and the warm feelings of intimacy and affection. How long can you go through life feeling afraid or numb? Maybe the only joy they could find was in embracing their urge. In dedicating their life to Daddy, to the point where they had a crippling fear of disappointing him. If they couldn't be happy, then they could at least be perfect. They could at least have purpose. They were once afraid of how monstrous they could be. Now, they aren't.

But then.

they meet Gortash.

and it's like... well.

Durgetash is, at its core, love spun on its edge and ripped open with fangs.

It is two vicious creatures, being soft with one another, but not soft like the fur of a puppy or the heads of dandelions, but soft like carrion, like the lining of a coffin, like the whisper of the morgue.

But it is still love.

And how would the Dark Urge react? Well, unloved beast that they are, I would imagine it would sneak up on them. Neither they, nor Gortash, seem as though they have even an ounce of love or compassion in their bodies. So they can be at ease with one another, surely? Nothing about Gortash is soft or gentle the way they vaguely remember love being. So they think they're safe.

And that was a mistake. Because they haven't felt safe since they were a child. So he became their first step backwards. After years of constantly moving forward (because if they stop moving, they fear that they might die).

And it gets worse, because the more they admire him, the more they enjoy their time together, the stronger their alliance becomes... the more dangerous it feels.

Hence the prayer of forgiveness.

The Dark Urge would have to reassure father that they were still strong and obedient. They would tell him that it wasn't love, because they are not capable of it, not anymore. Gortash is just... an ally. Just an asset. A pawn, like everyone else. A meat sack.

But they're lying.

Gortash was the first crack in their armor. They had no one for so long. They needed him. Wanted him. Could only be with him at all because he had the same goals as them, and they could use them as an excuse, a shield, against the idea that they were in love or attached.

And then we get to the amnesia... the reset... the rebirth. And...

The Dark Urge starts again. They unlearned all of their pain, their agony, their sadomasochism. They find friends. And lovers. And they find comrades in arms. They find a hero within themselves, one that could not live alongside the evil built into their very blood.

And they embrace love, even though it means death.

Even if it means being obliterated, they welcome the end of all things, over returning to the loneliness of before.

And it's lovely. It's a fascinating idea to me, the dark urge and their relationship with love.

I am obsessed with the idea of a character who is not saved by love, but destroyed by it.

Someone who cannot embrace love and become stronger like all the other protagonists of the world. Someone who does the exact opposite. They want to love, but have learned it will only hurt those who could love a wretched creature like themselves. And it will only break them in the end.

But when given the chance to start all over... this time, they are not alone. This time, they have the strength to do what is necessary. The bonds that hold them together just as they pull them apart.

Friends, I'm sorry for the rambling.

But I love the potential of the Dark Urge as a character.

[faetima]

Hi!! Can I please request a hanahaki fic with blade? I'm not sure if you've written for him though!

Also, please take some breaks! You've written a lot of fics lately, you might get overworked 🤍

𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. .

. .hanahaki just had to put you through fucking hell, didn't it?

// tws ; lil bit of cursing, blood ; gn reader ; modern au, hanahaki au

a/n: OH MY GOD ANON YOURE LITERALLY THE SWEETEST ILYSM OMOGMOGO

i will be writing a part two to this.. soon enough :3

you couldn't do anything about this stupid disease anyways, so what was the point of even trying?

you heaved up clusters and clusters and clusters of ugly bright red petals, their sickly sweet scent making its way up to your nose. you felt so fucking nauseous and dizzy. the fragrant miasma of flowers overwhelmed you. you wanted to vomit or cry or die or anything but cough up these dumb stupid flowers.

the flowers flopped onto your floor--your newly polished floor-- ungracefully, covered in slick mucus and freshly coated in splatters of blood. they smeared the previously pristine tiling with blood, the iron stench of it mixing with the flowers and filling up the entire room. you just wanted the disease to kill you already. if it was going to either way, why make you suffer?

after what felt like hours and hours and hours and hours of coughing and heaving and choking, the flowers finally stopped fucking coming. you took shaky shallow breathes, trying to ground yourself.

your palms stung, and you looked down to realize you had been digging your nails into the palms of your hand almost strong enough to draw blood.

your gaze trailed up to the stupid fucking flowers.

upon closer inspection, you realized they were spider lilies. red ones.

his favorite flowers.

too bad you hated them.

--

his eyes were the same exact color of the flowers you had just coughed up.

blade sat two seats in front of you and one to the right, and whenever you saw him you couldn't help but wonder why you had fallen for him.

he was always so indifferent and cold. sure there might've been something warmer under his icy exterior, but you weren't the type of person to go dig through someone's cold attitude just to find out what they were actually like.

but some days you wished you knew what was under that cold front of his.

--

you were getting worse.

you'd barley come out of your room to stretch your legs or go to the bathroom or even eat.

the spider lilies were killing you from the inside out. of course you had to have hanahaki for someone who probably hated you, if he even knew you existed, that is.

and, on top of that, out of all flowers, the ones you coughed up had to be toxic.

if just hacking up the flowers was bad, the nausea they caused because of being toxic was worse. you couldn't even go five minutes without feeling abdominal pain and nausea.

ugh.

--

blade swallowed hard.

why did he feel like this? why did his heart beat so fast when this random ass person passed by?

he gritted his teeth.

"kafka," he grumbled, barley glancing in her direction.

kafka glanced up from her book, setting it down elegantly and tucking a strand of mauve hair behind her ear, adjusting the tinted glasses sitting atop her head in the process.

"yes, bladie?" she grinned a little, and blade could only groan in irritation.

"who's that?" he muttered, gesturing towards the person he had been thinking about earlier.

"why?" kafka mused. "you've never been interested in learning others' names before now. what's changed?"

"nothing," he muttered gruffly, crossing his arms across his chest. his ears felt hot and his heart was beating faster and he was getting butterflies and he didn't know why.

kafka grinned, eyes glinting with amusement.

"ooh, i think someone has a crush."

"no."

"okay, let's go talk to them then bladie."

"no!"

"why not? is it cause you like them?"

"..fine. let's go talk to them."

--

your head fell forward a little. another sleepless night of coughing up flowers didn't bring you any good.

suddenly, your eyes snapped open.

was that.. blade? walking towards you? with kafka?

no, it probably wasn't. you were probably just sleep deprived and hallucinating or something.

but then you smelt the strong and unmistakable scent of anise, too real to be your imagination.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

The Light of Truth

Author's note: More of the Primaris Boys in Husbandry. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Pallius, Cedric & Olivar. Thank you to @c-u-c-koo-4-40k for letting me borrow Khopesh. Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Ghosk.

Warning: Character death. Characters fighting. Bloodshed. Uh. Let me know if I need to add anything.

Summary: Cedric gets a message. A brother is nearly rescued, another is nearly lost. Petras reveals his true colors to more than just Primaris Marines.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy , @thevoidscreams, @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

Cedric's wrist mounted vox gets a communication ping.

[I am uncertain how much time I have left before I return to the embrace of the Omnissiah.] Castiel sends in his message through agonizing, and coughs blood from his lungs raggedly. There are some spots of blood, mucus and the mechanical fluids used to keep him alive that spatter on his vox. Ugh, despite how much the Mechanicum has enhanced him, he’s still so wretchedly fleshed.

After a few wet ragged coughs Castiel painfully continues, his voice more staticy [but I don't want to die without letting someone know the truth. Embedded in this message is a holo recording of a meeting between Chaplain Mephestil Petras of the Black Templars and a Chaos Marine… as well as his reactions to my queries on the subject. He murdered me. I hope this gets to you. The God Emperor Protects and provides for us all.]

Castiel had also sent the holo recording of Petras going too far in his punishment. When Petras finds and attacks him on Ancient Terra he's able to record some of it, as well as his agonizing cries as he tries to escape, but dies to Petras again. Castiel had managed to have his eyes- which were cybernetic to record Petras’s words and actions- and the recording cuts off after he finishes dying.

He had the message on a delayed sending, hoping that Petras wouldn't notice the vox message. Tied to send when twelve minutes after he flatlined, and he sent coordinates of where he lay dead, or so he hoped. Castiel had wanted to send it to one of his fellow Black Templars primaris Marines.

His last thoughts are Prayers to the Omnissiah that his message will get through to one of them. That Castiel’s death won’t be a waste, that at least someone will have this proof. 

Castiel knew in his hearts that it likely wouldn’t do anything much. Petras has killed Primaris Marines before with only a slap on the wrist. But at least it is something and the First borns will be interested in consorting with Chaos. Even though his life is worthless to them.

~

Cedric reads the written message, his mouth going dry, as a slow-burning fury ignites his hearts once again. He mutes the video, before playing it, as he is currently sitting down in the clinic’s staff cafeteria, and he has little doubt that the sounds of pain and misery will immediately attract the attention of everyone who could hear it.

Two. That’s two, in less than twenty-four hours. While Mattias wasn’t dead, he had been placed in a medically induced coma, to reduce the amount of movement that the young Astartes was capable of doing, as the injury to his spinal column could be operated on and treated, but was very delicate and any movements could potentially permanently render his legs unusable without spinal prosthetics or other augments that would be incredibly difficult to acquire on Ancient and Holy Terra. 

He knows that Anrir and the other Night Lords are incredibly dangerous. Its just for some reason they have decided to drag him protectively under their bat wings, rather than tear him to shreds with their talons. For now at least.

Claude and Khopesh are away from where Ghosk and the others are setting the stage for the ‘fight’ between ‘raven guard’ Anrir (or whatever name he’ll be using) and the Claw will ‘attack’ him.

Claude and Khopesh watch through binoculars as the staged fight happens- and Captain Kasz Kalleran takes the bait and falls for the trap, hook, line and sinker. His Captain did enjoy it when he could be painted as the hero of the stories he tells, regardless of the truth of the matter.

The Claw gets ‘chased off’ by the flock of Ravens who surround the wounded ‘bird’ and help patch him up. Claude closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. Anrir is far older than he is, and knows what he’s doing. Had chosen to do this- had planned for contingencies and decided on this course of action.

Claude is distracted by a vox text message he gets from Cedric and reads it with a concerned frown on his face.  [You wanted to talk? I’m on lunch break right now. Get Ramiel. This is urgent.]

He sent a message to Claude via vox. [You wanted to talk? I’m on lunch break right now. Get Ramiel. This is urgent.]

[On my way.] Claude responds. [Where do you want to meet?]

Claude frowns, concern churning in his gut as he sends a message to Ramiel about Cedric’s request. Ramiel responds immediately to his message and sends one to Cedric as well.

“I have to go- Cedric needs my help with something,” Claude informs Khopesh.

“Have fun with that,” Khopesh says, “I’ll check on the others, see how they are doing after the ‘fight’ with the Raven Guards.”

Claude nods, “sounds good.”

[The park nearest to The Clinic. We should be able to talk freely there.] Cedric texted both Ramiel and Claude. 

While he waited for them to respond, he walked over to where Olivar was currently sitting, scowling into the bowl of food in front of him. “You know it’s not going to leap out at you and try to murder you. What’s on your mind?”

“You told me that He is on Ancient Terra, too, right? Why the fuck were we sent here, back into his reach? Unless He is from before He started…” Olivar swallowed hard, a low, wordless growl leaving him. “Should we be keeping what The Bastard has done to us a secret? Your mentor did not tolerate his grox-shite, at least when it came to you, no matter what The Shithead said you did, or didn’t do. Surely there’s got to be at least one Firstborn marine you can talk to about all of this shit.”

“... There are a couple I’ve told some of what’s happened to. In M42. They kind of bullied me into telling them, but given what they’re like, I really should have realized that they were going to do so, sooner or later. Do you remember what I told you about Bruders Roland and Arnault?” Cedric asked, rocking back on his heels a little. 

“... Yeah… One’s a battle brother,” Olivar says, “The other’s an Emperor’s Champion… something about Bonding? Bonded?”

“... Trust me, the Bonding and Bonded conversation is for when you are better healed and we aren’t doing emergency scrambling. But I think… If you, Ramiel  and Pallius agree… I think I might ask both of them to help me lodge a formal complaint against Petras, to get some kind of official record as to the grox-shite and cruelty he is capable of being known publicly.”

“That sounds vaguely ominous Ced,” Olivar says, his scowl shifting a little. He scoffs a little, “didn’t we try that before and were told ‘stop being whiny little bitch and take the ‘character building’ lumps and suck it up?’ Why would that change since we’re here?”

“Bonds are wonderful things, I promise! From what I’ve seen, they are good. Also, that was by other firstborn brothers in M42. I told them that Petras killed a dozen primaris marines in M42 and that both of them immediately swore to kill him. I entirely believe that they meant that, too.”

“I mean… you are lovable Ced,” Olivar says slightly teasingly, “And Apothecaries are hard to come by. Of course they want to protect you.”

Cedric huffed a little and shook his head “I don’t think it’s just because I’m an Apothecary. They were furious at the thought of younger brothers being killed for existing. Not that I’m advocating for Chaplain Petras to die, just to… To be brought before a tribunal and made to answer for his crimes.” 

By the god-emperor, does the wounded fury and sorrow howling in his hearts want Petras dead. Not just dead, but killed slowly, painfully. To have the fucker be made to beg and plead for mercy, for an ounce of compassion and be shown exactly as much as he gave Cedric’s Brothers. 

None. 

But that path led towards falling to Khorne, or perhaps Slaanesh, depending on the way he went about it. So formal sanctioning it was. For his own safety, and the safety of others.

“I wonder how Justice and punishment are delivered on Ancient Terra? I think that’s something we should find out, before we do anything or say anything.” Olivar scratches his cheek, “hm… let me think on it. Unless the Bastard does something… Bad here.”

“He’s killed a Primaris Tech marine. I just received Castiel’s dying vox-messages and video-footage of his murder.” Cedric answered, shaking his head a little. “Mattias - another Primaris Marine, is currently under anesthesia and in surgery because of the complications from Petras beating the fuck out of him yesterday.”

“Fucking bastard, you have convinced me, I’ll talk to who ever it is about his discipline and punishment methods.” Olivar hisses, “I remember Cassie- quiet, dutiful and always helped with weapons and armor maintenance. He was so happy to be chosen as a Tech Marine. He loved to talk about a certain kind of cog wheel.”

Cedric nodded, saying “I’m going to check in with Pallius first, then Ramiel. To see how they both feel about going forwards with what we know of petras’ crimes. I will be taking point on this. As the Apothecary of the group… And the one who survived longest in M42 before being sent to Ancient Terra, this is my duty and my burden.” With that he nodded, standing up and heading over to where Pallius was sitting and eating lunch.

~

“Pallius, I’ve run this by Olivar, and I have his vote. I won’t reveal it to you as I don’t want to influence your decision either way. But I… I am asking if you want me to come forward to certain firstborn marines - Brothers Roland and Arnault of the Black Templars, and Captain Ash’val for certain about what Chaplain Petras has done to us. He’s killed at least one Primaris Marine on Ancient Terra. He’s badly wounded Mattias, who is currently in surgery.” Cedric explained, his voice low and quick he gave the other a brief summary of what Castiel had sent to him.

“... If our words and scars can help keep others safe,” Pallius says quietly, “then… then I shall speak of the shameful things.”

“It’s not your shame, what he had done to you, Pallius. It is his. Please, you must remember this.” Cedric urged his brother, his hearts caught in the back of his throat. 

Pallius ducks his head a little at the others words as his eyes become wet and he rubs the grit from his eyes. “I… I’ll try to.”

“Thank you, Pallius. You have Dorn’s own courage.” Cedric murmured, gently pressing his forehead to Pallius’, as an affectionate gesture.

“Keep safe Ced,” Pallius says, closing his eyes and leaning into  Cedric a little, returning the gesture as much as he can. “... You have Dorn’s own courage as well Brother.”

Cedric nodded, walking out of the cafeteria as he read up on what had been sent to his wrist-mounted vox, mind whirling. 

[I got the message from Claude. I’ll be at the park in seven minutes. Do I need to get Catius or Oleandros? Or have them run a Distraction?] Ramiel sends Cedric a text vox message, adding another statement. [Eta five minutes, told Chaplain Bo’shan I was taking my lunch break. He seemed happy about that.]

[I will be there in five minutes.] Claude says a thought occurs to him and he asks [Do you want me to get Jophi?]

[... I  don’t want to involve all of the others just as of yet. Any more of this, and I request that we please speak in person. Neither of you are in trouble.] Cedric vox-texted back, making sure to send the last sentence, so as to not worry them too much. He hoped.

[Wilco.] Ramiel replies. He is worried- just what is going on? He wonders what Cedric has found out or wants to discuss. 

He had to go by Reclusiarch Feldarim’s office to get to where he was going- the other watched him go with a casual glance. But as he didn’t seem too upset, the other let him pass without harassing him. Which gives him a sense of relief, as Chaplain Bo’shan had lightly pressed him for details, and he’d said that he was meeting up with Cedric and Claude for lunch.

He’s able to excuse himself and grabs something to eat. And then ensures to grab enough for Claude and Cedric. Both of them are terrible at remembering to eat. He also grabs some of the homemade ice cream as a sweet treat, just in case the conversation needs such a thing.

Claude replies [Understood- I also have some… interesting information on Justice and Punishment that The Night Lords talked about for Ancient Terra and the Alliance.]

[Good, I have questions about that, which will help in deciding in which way things will go. Whether we go the official route, or take care of trash on our own.] Cedric texted back.

~

He must have one hell of a scowl on his face, because the baseline humans who he passes by all scramble to get the hell out of his way. While normally this would make him feel guilty, especially as the baselines who live on the base are either bonded to one of the marines who lives on base… Or they have nowhere else to live and they work jobs on base in order to pay in kind for housing and food. 

Zariel had heard the whispers and more loud complaints and worried about Fierce Angry Scowling Astarte in black and white scrubs. So he had sent a message to Ash’val, Feldarim, and after a moment’s hesitation, to Hura. Just in case.

“Cedric,” Zariel calls out carefully, “... You know I am here for you, if you need or want to talk about something that’s bothering you. If you want to talk.”

“... I acknowledge this. However, I need to speak with a couple of others. We will decide a few things and then figure out who to reach out to. You are, I will say, on the short list for the… Issue that needs handling.” Cedric responded, falling back on formal wording in order to hopefully get the teal Ultramarine to back off a little. He didn’t have the time to try and shake off a Teal tail. 

“Very well,” Zariel says with a nod, watching the younger Astarte move. “I am honored to have such trust.”

He decides that it would be best not to press him too much. After all- he didn’t want to rile the other and send him into hiding again. The fact that young Claude had managed to teach a Black Templar how to be stealthy and good at it had been… more than a little distressing… As impressed as he’d been after his hearts had stopped feeling like they were going to burst from stress.

Cedric nods brusquely before marching the rest of the way out of the base, still scowling and not in the least bit attempting to hide his expression in the least. 

Zariel also rolls a thought or two in his head. Whatever it was that Cedric had told Roland and Arnault had made the two older Black Templars exceedingly angry.  So he was going to wait before sending a message to the older ones about this… Newest thing.

~

Cedric spotted Ramiel and Claude in one of their favorite spots in the nearby park. The brief stretch of his legs, and outside did help him calm down slightly, though his nerves - and his fury - were still jangling just beneath the surface of his skin. He waved over at the two of them, attempting to smile “Hey… Claude, Ramiel.”

Claude had helped Ramiel set up the basket of food, a blend of baseline human and Astarte food and drinks. They had set it up on one of the wooden benches that was rated for Astartes to sit on safely with the table neatly set out, with a picnic cover neatly tucked around to keep things a bit cleaner.

“Hey Cedric,” Ramiel says, “I thought since it was about lunch time, and you had a Conversation to speak with us, a picnic would help the Look of things. Regardless of what is spoken about.”

“Nice to see you Ced,” Claude says with a grin.

Claude heads to the area specified by Cedric and helps Ramiel set up the picnic that the other had decided to grab. It was a good cover- and they’d get to eat something while they talk about the Urgent matter.

At least on the outset it would look like the three of them were enjoying lunch and a picnic, which would have curious eyes not think anything Suspicious is going on. Not that he thinks that Cedric is doing anything particularly troubling. But it helps throw off any potential watchers, just in case.

 Claude wonders if the Claw is encouraging his paranoia and suspicious tendencies before shaking his head a little and greeting Cedric. He sees the thunderous scowl on the other’s face and suspects that whatever he’s going to say is not going to be great.

He’s proven right as he listens, upset at what Cedric has learned. He goes over the details of what he remembers of the conversation with Khopesh about Justice and Punishments. Ramiel and Cedric agree to speak with Khopesh in public and he sends another message and Khopesh arrives swiftly.

“... A picnic does sound good.” Cedric relented, plopping down next to his Brother, leaning into his familiar warmth. He looked at the spread of food and drinks, deliberately focusing on what he could smell and see before him, in a desperate attempt to calm down, at least a little. 

Ramiel hums one of the prayer hymns that he knows helps Cedric calm down, Claude slowly reaching out and holding one of the Apothecary Apprentic’s hands and lightly squeezing it. Claude joins in on the song, humming the chorus and harmonizing with them, the words whispered in High Gothic.

He hummed along to the hymn, allowing the calming focus to come over him. Anger had it’s place on the battlefield, but too much of it was dangerous. Not only to oneself, but to everyone around the one lost to fury. He squeezed Claude’s hand back gently, managing a rueful smile “I have bad news, worse news, questions, and a proposal, contingent upon the answer to those questions. What do you want to hear first?”

“What’s the worst news?” Claude and Ramiel ask at the same time, bracing themselves.

Claude looks around them glancing at his brothers as he takes some of the bread and spreads jame and nut butter on bread- as well as sprinkling some Astarte nutri-paste and cutting it into thirds for the three of them to eat. 

Claude cast his senses, Warp-related and not to ensure that they weren’t being listened to. Glad that no one was, either through technology or warpy senses he lets go of his crackling humming power and focuses on Cedric’s words. He takes a bite of food to keep the spots of darkness out of his vision.

“Tech-Marine Castiel of the Black Templars was killed earlier today, at the hands of Chaplain Captain Petras. When Tech Marine Castiel became aware that he was going to die, as there was no one to intercede on his behalf, he sent me all of the information he had on the chaplain in question, sending it on a delay to hopefully not arouse suspicion from his murderer.” Cedric revealed, doing his best to keep his voice a low, emotionless monotone. He failed spectacularly, as his voice cracked. He paused, taking a sip from one of the glasses of lemonade before continuing “Brother Mattias of the Black Templars is currently in surgery due to the complications from the beating he received, allegedly from Chaplain Petras, according to the Hydra who brought him into the clinic late last night.”  

“God Emperor curse him,” Ramiel swears softly, before flinching as he realizes the words that had come out of his mouth. “He’s… Perhaps not escalating, but he’s continuing to do what he did back in M42.”

“... He knows he died for Challenging the High Marshal,” Claude says with a frown, his eyes flashing teal as he thinks “... For killing and purging Primaris… and he’s…doing it here when Astartes number far fewer. He’s … not likely to change his ways.”

“Ramiel, I have asked Pallius and Olivar, but I will with-hold their votes until you tell me what you want to do. Should we come forward to certain firstborn marines, and tell them about what Petras has done, both in M42, and on Ancient Terra, or would you rather we handle this ourselves?” Cedric asked, his voice shaking a little, but stubborn ferocity beat in his chest. He would deal with this fucker, one way or the other.

Ramiel reaches over- carefully telegraphing his movements as he gives his brother a side hug. Claude is on Cedric’s other side and does the same thing. The three of them gently hugged each other for a moment. Ramiel gathers his thoughts, which is hard because they keep scattering in a thousand-thousand different directions as he thinks over the other’s words. 

“I think,” Ramiel says, his voice cracking a little, he coughs and then takes a sip of the lemonade laced with hydration rations, “I think, we should go to the First borns, see what they do… if it’s … unsatisfactory …. We can… handle him after the fact.”

Cedric side-hugs Ramiel back, trembling a little with the force of the emotions running rampant within him. He focuses on Claude “You mentioned that the Night Lords spoke of how Astartes dealt Justice in this time period? Please explain to the best of your abilities. Your answers will help me decide whether or not I will come forward with the information to whoever I’m supposed to in an official capacity… Or if I just ask Arnault and Roland if he would please help me murder a bastard. They are both already aware of Petras’ crimes in M42 and swore to kill him.” Their vehement and immediate declarations of Murder had been… Cedric swallowed a little. They had been more gratifying than the young Apothecary had wanted to admit.

“So Khopesh and the Claw of Night Lords knows about why certain… First Born Brothers in M42 don’t like us… And they find that reasoning stupid, foolish and wasteful. Claude nods, “That- actually is one method of Justice that the rest of the chapter’s can’t mess with. Justice for crimes done, unless it’s inter-chapter stuff, or there is a request to intercede on the behalf of the victims, is done in-chapter. Unless their crimes are bad enough that an Example needs to be made.”

Claude gathers his thoughts and pulls out the data slate and reads the notes he’d taken, the conversation that he had with Khopesh. He hands the data slate over so they can read about Hunting- and how the worst of the Astarte criminals, like serial killers, are handed over to the Night Lords, which is one of the worst punishments that can happen to a person. How the Hunt is declared- what happens during it, and after.

“There is a precedent,” Claude says, licking his lips a little, “where if an Astarte is killing other Astarte- that their Chapter, at first are the ones to handle them, but if for whatever reason they can’t or won’t… They tend to be handed over to the Night Lords. I… uh… asked some Questions- and Khopesh seemed… excited about the idea of a Hunt. I think… no, I know he reported the conversation we had about Justice and Punishment to the Claw Leader- Anrir, who’s an Apothecary- who’s older than Hura.”

“... Petras wasn’t the only one killing Primaris Marines in M42. Nor was he the only Firstborn Black Templar to be doing so.” Cedric murmured, his voice low and quiet. “As much as I want… As much as I want to raise bolter and blade against the fucker myself, alongside whoever else wants to kill him. I don’t… I don’t think that simply killing Petras will ensure long-term protection of our fellow Primaris Marines. I will ask Arnault and Roland their opinions on this… But…”

“There are other punishments,” Claude says, “They talked about.. Flaying… among other things. Some. Very graphic descriptions that I won’t go into detail about right now, as well as having the people who were hurt by the person, to either participate in the person’s punishment actively, or have a hand in deciding how they are punished. There is, unfortunately, a need to gather evidence and proof of crimes more than verbal witness evidence.”

“Would the recorded audio-visual recordings of a now-murdered marine be enough evidence?” Cedric asked bluntly. 

“... Will you allow me to ask Khopesh that?” Claude says, “I think so- but I’d need his opinion, he’s been here longer, and knows more about Justice and the legal framework that the Astartes have developed here.”

Cedric nodded “Go for it. You’re the one with contact with him.”

Claude sends Khopesh a vox text [Please don't run to Anrir or the others about this quite yet. But hypothetically, if Ced- er someone had Audio/visual proof about Cas- er I mean, someone else, HYPOTHETICALLY being murdered by Pet- er a third someone else, that is currently,  hypothetically on Ancient Terra right now, and has a history of murdering primaris marines, what would happen? And this person that hypothetically nearly murdered Mat- I mean someone else as well.]

Khopesh hears a pinging noise and looks down at his vox, he can’t stop the grin that grows on his face and thinks to himself, ‘Bingo!’

“You seem pleased, something good?” Ghosk notes, lightly pressing the younger member of the Claw for more information if the other wanted to share.

“... Not yet- but soon. Hopefully.” Khopesh says. He’s not going to tell Anrir or the other members of the Claw yet. Per Claude’s request, for now. But finally. He’s glad that Claude is finally trusting them, or at least him more. 

“Alright,” Ghosk replies with a nod. “Keep in mind we can only back you up if we know what’s going on.”

“Yes Ghosk,” Khopesh says with a nod. He does send a message back to Claude. [A Primaris Killer- or an Astarte killer, like the one you texted me about would be setting himself up for execution. Especially if he has a heinous list of crimes and it’s clear that he’s not stopping.]

Claude responds swiftly to the message [Thank you for the information.]

Khopesh sends another message to Claude that [you all can argue for the Primaris killer being an ongoing and unremorseful threat. So they can Hopefully get the maximum punishment of execution by Night Lords. Or depending on the Chapter preferred executioners.]

[Thank you for that- so far as we know, he’s only gone after Black Templars.] Claude responds. [Knowing him… he might escalate to other Primaris if he comes across them. He’s got a nasty temper.]

[But even without that. The chapter the murderer is a part of would be Heavily pressured to either remove their own bad actor, or turn him over so he can be removed.]  Khopesh sends the message to Claude, and he is getting excited.

Khopesh is excited that Claude trusts them more, And that he'll soon be able to talk to Anrir and the others about getting a proper Hunt going. Ghosk waved at the younger Night Lord as he watched the younger one leave, wondering what was going on.

But patience...Patience! Like Anrir always says. He feels like he's vibrating- and is glad that he moved out of where the rest of the Claw are- because they would see the expression on his face and demand to see his communicator to know what’s going on.

A thought suddenly strikes Khopesh and the excitement dims a little and he sends another message- a very Anrir thought as he remembers watching the older Night Lord work and talk to others and sends another message, [I won't tell Anrir without your permission....But I also don't want you and your brothers to be in active danger. I have enough on my rotted conscience, so if things get bad. Please don't make me live with staying quiet. For however terrifying he might be. Anrir wants to help you, Claude. We all do. But we can't Do that unless you Tell us what we need to know. Information Is Warfare isn't it?]

Khopesh hopes he isn’t pushing Claude too much, but this is need to know information, and the fact that the youngest member of his Claw was talking about things in more specific detail was Important. Especially with that fucking bastard of a Raven Captain- that they are helping him handle as well.

[Could you send me a copy of the evidence that you and your brother-cousins have?] Khopesh sends, [The evidence that can be submitted to the Alliance, it will help clinch the Hunt to being declared.]

Khopesh has an excited blood thirsty expression on his face- and he is moving around pacing back and forth. He’s so tempted to try and find out where Claude is to rush over and talk, and see if he can get more answers out of him and the other Primaris Marines.

His excitement cools down and he shakes his head as he rereads one of the messages, [wait- no, if the message gets intercepted, they’d need a backup of it to show the Alliance.]

[Cedric and Ramiel say they want to talk with you in person.] Claude sends, [we are at the park nearby the Loyalist base on Cherry lane and main street. Could you come by and speak with us? Things… might be escalating.]

[I’ll be there as soon as I can] Khopesh responds and tries not to run to where Claude and the others are. He’s. really excited. The Primaris Marines are trusting them with this! And they- hopefully will help get the Primaris Marines to have Justice prevail and have a Hunt. It has been so long since they have been able to Hunt.

Khopesh tries to calm down and sees the way that Claude, Cedric, and Ramiel are sitting around a table, there is a quaint looking picnic- clever, make a serious meeting look like something more innocent, clever, clever boys. After the explanation they give, the video is shown and he watches it in full.

"You have footage of one of your battle brothers murders? Fantastic!” Khopesh says.

Cedric stills for a moment. The sheer visceral excitement radiating off of the Night Lord is off-putting to say the least. He briefly glances at Claude. What the fuck? He thinks particularly loudly at his witch-adjacent Brother-cousin. “... I find the joy you show in the death of another marine to be… Unsettling.”

Ramiel’s jaw clenches and blue eyes spark with rage and his hands clenched into fists and Claude jumps in before either of his cousins could smack the crap out of Khopesh, “ the translation "I'm excited we'll soon get to avenge your fallen and deliver Justice!" Not I’m happy your brother is dead.”

Claude very much understands what the former sounds like, and it had been shocking to hear such things, but he had learned how to understand Night Lords and the way they speak. He especially knows Khopesh better, having interacted with him a lot more than his brother-cousins, to keep them from getting too mad at the First Born Night Lord.

Khopesh calms down a little, realizing how callous that sounded, especially since this person is a threat- likely to them personally, as well as to others and apologies, “Sorry- that came out wrong. It really sucks that your brother is dead. I’m excited to be able to help you with this mess. That video- it’s Key Evidence in getting your tormentor put down, or whatever punishment you think is best.”

Cedric pauses for a moment before sending a copy of Castiel's dying video to the Night Lord. “Here is what he sent me. He timed it so hopefully his murderer wouldn't realize he was being recorded. Given the fact that Petras beat another Primaris marine to the point Mattias is currently in surgery now… The Chaplain must be nearby.”

Khopesh is a mixture of emotions, and his trembling a little as he tucks his hands behind his back as his hands clenched into fists. He’s a mixture of Excitement and Rage. How dare that bastard, Petras, go after the Primaris. 

Claude asks him, “What do you think of it?”

"I'm thinking I'd start with flaying Just the fingers! Then I'd yank the phalanges out one by one, on the right hand.” Khopesh starts, “For the left I'd Act like I was going to do the same, then snap the arm and force him to Bite Off his own fingers so the hands would Match-"

Part of Cedric was mildly Disgusted by Khopesh starting to explain what he would do to The bastard. The rest of him wanted to let the deranged Night Lord continue.

"About this Video as Evidence! Khopesh! How is the quality of the evidence!?" Ramiel interrupts.

"Oh right! Sorry...like I said it's fantastic as evidence. It clearly shows the perpetrator, goes decently in depth about his crimes, includes the bastards own fucking vileness on display and though it may sound tactless. Your deceased brother's testimony is something the Alliance will not be able to ignore. It may seem... disingenuous, but the pain and outrage you feel should be Used. It will show the tribunal that these crimes Must be Answered for, Your brother's lives not spent in Vain!" Khopesh says his eyes blazing with emotion and passion. "You never should have had to seek out this justice. Your elder brothers should have taken you beneath their wings, Like Anrir did for us!"

Cedric shifted a little, feeling the need to defend the firstborn Templar brothers who actually gave a damn about him and his Brothers. “A couple of our older Brothers have taken us in. Arnault and Roland have done their best to care for and protect us. As soon as they became peripherally aware of a threat to us that we hadn't told them about they would try and press for explanations. When… I told them earlier this week about Petras when Mattias was first brought in for treatment. They intended to kill the Chaplain, and said as much.” 

Khopesh paces around the table, prowling as he continues his rant, this explains why Claude and the others could be so stars- damned jumpy. Why Claude was so slow to trust- slow to allow himself Anrir and the other’s protections. 

Afraid of what being put under the protection of an older brother means accepting they have some power over you- and seeing and hearing that his cousins were murdered by shit head- and Claude and others getting beaten… yeah no. He’d be reluctant to give up any freedoms, even if it would help in some ways.

"But that's not the path this...Petras bastard chose. He Chose and by the looks of it continues to Choose to harm his own Battle Brothers, and worst! Those He should be responsible for." Khopesh says. "He is the worst type of Predatory, Vile, Rotten Bastard! And he Deserves to answer for his crimes. Your brothers, your fallen, deserve to have him Answer for his crimes."

"Let Us help you present this evidence Claude. Let the Claw help you and your brothers..." Khopesh doesn't use Your Claw as he feels it might push too hard and cause Claude to retreat. 

Instead Khopesh uses The Claw, still implying that Claude is a part of it, but leaving it up to interpretation. Avoiding Our Claw or My Claw as those could distinctly put Claude outside it, which is not true, and he doesn’t want to have Claude feel alienated, fuck the poor kid has had that done to him back in M42, him and his brothers.

Cedric, Ramiel, and Claude get an urgent text vox message from Jophiel it reads  [I’ve got a wounded Black Templar Primaris Marine. Near the stone outcropping two hours in the forest west of Gannet point. I’m stalling Petras- the fucker is Insane. Please help. Or send help. He’s threatening to kill me and Sariel. He knows about the Alliance rules, he just doesn’t fucking care.]

Cedric stood up, and swore under his breath, looking at Khopesh. “While you’re not the firstborn Brother who I’d choose to ask for help, you’re already here and I don’t know how long we have before the situation gets worse. We just received a call for help from Jophiel, a Primaris marine. He’s trying to keep another Primaris Marine alive and is facing Petras without help. We need Petras restrained now. If you mean your words, come and help us.” With that, Cedric took off at his top speed towards where Jophiel had pinged his location, texting back [I am coming! Delay him as long as you can!]

[I will do my best.] Jophiel responds.

He then messaged Arnault and Roland at the same time [Petras is attacking someone at this location. If you are able and willing, please help me keep him from murdering more Primaris marines.]

He gets an immediate response from both Arnault and Roland. Roland answered first. [On my way.]

Arnault answered [Will be there soon. Stay safe and be smart.]

His hearts drop to his stomach when he sees Jophiel on the ground, wings broken, and Petras standing over him. A Crusade of Black Templars and a dead Primaris Black Templar.

"You bastard!" Claude hears Cedric hiss as he chases after his charging Black Templar Brother cousins.

The closer they get to Petras and his Crusade, Cedric suddenly drops to Jophie's side- realizing the other is alive. "Why did you drug him? Break his wings?"

"He went mad," Petras says, "And he killed the Primaris Black Templar."

"LIAR!" Claude hears Cedric bellow. "Jophie is many things a brother killer, he is not."

"His blade is bloodied, and killed the Black Templar," Petras counteracts, telling the truth.

Khopesh has approached Jophiel and is messing with the younger Space Marine's helmet and lets out a dark chuckle and says, "You fool- Jophiel was recording the conversation he had with you."

"... what?" Petras says, sounding caught off guard.

Khopesh gives him a cruel smile and flips the helmet and projects the truth of the matter- Jophiel confronting Petras- who reveals his true cruelty.

How Jophiel tried to escape Petras at first- and only fought him after he'd broken his wings and made it so that escape wasn't likely. How Petras was the one to kill the Primaris Marine- using Jophiel's own weapon.

The looks of shock and horror and disappointment and disgust on the faces of Petras's Crusade have them circling around Petras- rather than trying to defend him.

Petras scowls, realizing that the jig is up and he taunts, "So- you know I have killed two of your disgusting Abominations."

"We are not abominations," Ramiel says tremulously, shaking, terrified, but wanting to stand against the bastard that murdered him in M42. "You are- you m-murdered me and a dozen of our brothers in M42- and have killed at least two of us here!"

Cedric moves closer to Ramiel, standing so that he is half in front of his terrified Brother, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he glowers at Petras. 

"Ah, so you have only found two of my victims," Petras taunts. "The souls of my other victims will never know peace because the location of their bodies will die with me."

"Who says that we will kill you here and now?" Khopesh says slyly, "After all- death is what you will get, but oh- how you should suffer before you die!"

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Chordata - Appendicularia

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Appendicularia (commonly called “Larvaceans”) are a class of tunicates that retain their solitary, free-swimming, tadpole-like larval forms throughout their entire life, with their notochord running through their tail.

Appendicularians are transparent planktonic animals, ranging from 2 mm to up to 10 cm (3.9 in) in length. They are known for the large houses of mucus and cellulose (image 3 and gif below) they build around their bodies. These structures assist in filter-feeding, often comprising several layers of filters and reaching up to ten times the larvacean’s body length. The house consists of external filters which stop food particles too big for the larvacean to eat, and internal filters which direct edible particles to the larvacean’s mouth. In some species, the house surrounds the animal like a bubble, in others it is merely attached to some part of their body, varying in shape. As the animal grows or if the filters become clogged, it will discard its house and build a new one. Some genera can deflate and reinflate their houses in an attempt to clean the filters.

Larvaceans reproduce sexually, with all but one species being hermaphroditic. They reproduce externally, releasing sperm and eggs into the water. Larvae resemble the tadpole-like larvae of ascidians, and go through a short metamorphosis involving their tail twisting into place. Their life cycle is short: the metamorphosis takes place less than one day after fertilization and they reproduce after 5-7 days. They will die shortly after, as their body wall ruptures during egg release, killing the animal.

Due to their soft and delicate bodies, there is no definite fossil record for appendicularians. The Cambrian animal Oesia disjuncta has been suggested as an early form of appendicularian.

(source)

Propaganda under the cut:

Some genera build houses and discard them every few hours. These sinking houses play a key role in the ocean’s carbon cycle, and are a significant component of marine snow: feeding entire ecosystems on the ocean floor. They are responsible for up to one third of carbon transfer to the deep sea.

Some species seem to be able to filter and discard microplastics. However, these microplastics are then trapped within their houses and fecal pellets to later sink to the sea floor: transporting microplastics deeper into the sea.

These are much closer related to us than they are to jellies and I think that’s beautiful

[rkart221]

Lyf's metamorphosis

This is an unstructured rant!! TW for lots of gore and unpleasant imagery

I think Lyf goes through a metamorphosis. While he survives the Bifrost and escapes the Yggdrasil system, he's hardly unscathed. Seeing the effects of the great old ones and directly staring into the eyes of Yog-Sothoth changes him in a way I think about often. I think he very much could've died, though due to the nature of his survival and the fact he is now rapidly travelling through the cosmos, with the knowledge of the great old ones, they keep him alive. He's insistently their unknowing vessel, subconsciously spreading their powers further and further into the galaxy. Anyway onto his metamorphosis. It starts off small. Mild headaches and aches of the body as his cells and skin struggle to compute with the sudden environment shift that happened on Midgard. Pains that only grow. I like to think being around him gives people headaches too. A sort of unexplainable crawl of the skin, an itch that doesn't go away. Taking inspiration from the Dunwich horror I like to imagine animals start to resent him, dogs growing aggressive in fear, rats and other urban animals fleeing weeks before he arrives. People start to associate him with the dread inducing call of a Whippoorwill.

After he leaves people tend to feel ill, falling sick, feeling like their insides are melting. Depending on how long they were around him it ranges from a mild headache to multiple organs shutting off as the aroma of his presence melts the body from the inside out. No matter what Lyf does he cannot stop what he causes, instead opting to keep travelling, only continuing the great old one's plan. Now on to his body. The headaches are constant, though sometimes they're weaker than other days, allowing him to think. Other days they're so bad he fears his brain will explode. Cracks start to form, his skin rotting and starting to fall off. Bald patches in his hair grow as the skin grows weaker. There's an unbearable itch beneath his skin that he's never able to get rid of no matter how hard he scratches. His bones ache, body sweats with thickening pale mucus, obviously he's sick, throwing up rather a lot. His sick is black and has the residue of oil, staining whatever surface it touches. Perhaps by occasion, eyes glance back, hidden in the inky black mucus.

Additionally taking inspiration from Wilbur Whatley, he gets the whole tendrils in the stomach thing. I like to think he binds them to still appear somewhat normal.

Whenever he gets cut or hurt by any nature it's healed. Despite his body rapidly trying to die he cannot, the old ones will not let him. The rotting is a reflection of his body unable to keep up with his mind. If he were to get a deep cut black tendrils would morph out of his skin, wrapping it air tight. Over the next few days it'll remain, slowly melting away his skin, bones, veins as it rebuilds whatever is hurt back from square one. If someone were to somehow get it away from his skin then they'd be met with a strong acid and a significant lack of skin underneath.

Anyway I wanna slowly explain all my Lyf lore because theres alot!! I think I'll just do unstructured rant posts like this, doubt anyone will care much but if anything it's useful to have all my information together :)!!!

[crow2222]

(WIP ART)

Im sick but have had a hanahaki disease idea in my head with Darry for a while (with Paul, because of course it is)

Darry falls in love with Paul in the last year of school, and Paul initially does do. Paul very quickly realises he doesn't want to be all secretive about their relationship, thinking to himself that sneaking around is not worth all the trouble.

He doesn't break it off at first, he likes having this hold over Darry in their relationship from the fact that he's in a higher class and if anything were to go wrong and they were found out, he'd have the upper hand. Darry, unwilling to see/believe in this side of Paul still loves him, and starts developing an annoying cough.

The cough gets really bad and Darry starts to notice petals instead of mucus coming out at certain times, but then his parents die and contact is cut off with Paul. He's too busy taking care of his brothers and gang to even think about him and what they could've been. The cough is gone but Darry notices his breathing wasn't what it used to be.

Then the rumble happens, and the cough come backs full force. He can't stop thinking about Paul, the way he looked at him as they circled each other in the rain and how his blows reminded him of their damaging relationship on him. That's what the art at the start is of!

I haven't thought about this enough even though I have nothing else to do but lay in bed all day. I was thinking it gets so bad to the point he doesn't leave his bed and he hides any petals or flowers under his bed incase his brothers come in.

Darry doesn't know what hanahaki disease is, and in his universe there's no cure for it either. sucks to suck!

In late stages I think it's that they vomit flowers and I think that's definitely something I want to put Darry through so maybe one day I'll actually write a short story about this .. I'd love to hear thoughts from anyone about this 😭

[holidayinhell]

Whumpay: Operating Table

Will post one excerpt per theme bc I simply do not have The Time!!

Characters: sadistic Whumper and coward Whumpee. TWs: nonsexual nudity, extreme fear, restraints, male whump, implied organ harvesting

Whumpee found himself at a loss as the metal door creaked open.

The cold tiled room held only one powerful light, its brilliance bounced across a gleaming metallic surface positioned in the center of the room. As a whole it was empty, containing only one chair, a cooler box, and two rolling cabinets on either side of the operating table.

“No... no way.” 

The captor's gloved, heavy hands rested on both of Whumpee’s shoulders. 

“Are you surprised?” Whumper said almost directly into Whumpee's ear. He cocked an eyebrow. “You know how this works.”

The words rang in Whumpee’s ears. Of course he knew. Whumpee was all too familiar with the chop shop he’d been detained in for the past few weeks. He had suffered countless sleepless nights filled with the shrieks and pleas of the misfortunate souls who’d been sacrificed to the Operating Room.

But Whumpee had lasted longer than any of the other captives ever had. They had an expiration date of maybe two weeks maximum, whereas he’d been held here for over four months. And while he didn’t understand the exact reason he was treated so well, he never questioned it, and was always pleasant to the man who had decided to keep him around so long. Whumpee got along well with Whumper.

“Are you- what is this?” Whumpee asked incredulously.

“Ah. You’re kidding around, huh?” He turned to face the larger man behind him. He feigned a weak smile.

“No.”

His smile dropped and his palms became sticky with sweat. He knew what happened in this room. Well, he didn’t know exactly, but he knew the people Whumper ushered in never came out. 

But then again, Whumper also had a playful side—playful in a kind of horrible, sadistic way— this could be his version of a joke. Yes, surely this was just a cruel joke.

“…what is this?

“This is exactly what it looks like.”

“You’re messing with me.”

“You still think so?” Whumper half smiled.

“Ha-ha.” Whumpee said weakly.  His heart was pounding in his ears. “For a second there you had me.”

“Haven’t had you yet. Soon, though.”

The captive froze. He could feel the hungry gaze of Whumper's eyes locked on him, studying his every tremor of fear with cold fascination. Whumpee's head fell, confidence shattered.

“Not this.”  He half-whispered to the tiles on the ground. “Not like this. Please.”

He stole a glance back at Whumper to see if making a run for it was a viable option. It wasn’t. 

Sensing the his urge to flee, Whumper side-stepped to block the entryway.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

Whumpee’s knees gave out and he crumbled forward. There was no escaping this.

“I can’t, I can’t. I can’t do it.. Please. Please!” he wailed. “I’ll do anything! Anything anything…” Saliva strings fell from his gaping, moaning mouth, tears and mucus ran down his face.

“Well apparently not.”

“But-but, I’ve been good, I-I thought I was doing good, I don’t, I don’t— I don’t wanna die!”

“You have been good.” Whumper reassured him with a sigh. He stooped down to wipe the muck from Whumpee’s face off with the scratchy arm of his sleeve. “So keep it up, mkay?”

Sobs wrenched in Whumpee's throat, urging him to scream, but he swallowed hard, doing his best to suppress the sound, fearing it might enrage Whumper before he had the chance to reason with him. He knew crying wouldn’t help, and begging would only take him as far as Whumper allowed before caving his head in.

Whumpee couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You’re gonna, you’re gonna kill me aren’t you...” He let out a terrified shriek. “You’re going to kill me!”

“Oh, hell. Shut up. It’s not personal. Just part of the job, gotta keep bread on the table and all.”

“I can get you money!” The captive scrambled nervously, “I, I have a friend--a really rich, wealthy friend in the city— he’ll pay you however much you need. I know he will, I just need to get--”

“That’s good to know.” The larger man interrupted. Whumper roughly nudged the terrified man through the doorway, shoving him to the cold tile floor. “Come on, Whumpee.”

“Wait! Wait wait wait, wait a minute just wait--” He hyperventilated as he was urged forward. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode. He fell to his knees.

Whumper sighed, hooking the frantic man under the shoulder and launching him deeper into the room. He pulled the large iron door closed, secured the heavy latch, and pulled his black latex gloves up.

“D-do-don’t do this to m-m-me.”

Whumper sighed again. Begging grated his nerves more than anything. He’d listened to each of them recite the identical lines countless times, offering up drugs, money, sex— anything in exchange for their freedom. For some reason he’d hoped it would be different with Whumpee. He was such an obedient captive, and Whumper treated him like goddamned royalty. He thought he would approach the table and offer himself up willingly.

But no, Whumpee was performing an identical version of the same pleas for mercy as the rest of them. It was boring, and frankly, a little depressing.

“Stop it.” Whumper warned. “Get up.” 

The shivering man stood.

 “Take off your clothes.”

“Wh-wha? Why??”

“Aghhhh! Just take off your fuckin’ clothes!” Whumper sighed.

The boy shifted awkwardly on his feet, holding out hope that this sick routine was only a prelude to one of Whumper’s sick jokes. Surely this was the punchline. He’d already accomplished his goal of scaring the shit out of Whumpee. Surely it was over. Surely he’d end things here.

“Now.”

Whumpee’s fingers fumbled to find the hem of his filthy, formerly blue t-shirt, his arms weakly lifted the thin fabric over his head to reveal his ashen torso. It was the only barrier he had between his body and Whumper’s scalpel. The shirt fell to the floor.

Whumper took in the sight of Whumpee’s nearly perfect complexion. His skin was creamy white from the lack of sun exposure, pale folks were rare to stumble across in the desert wasteland. He was a slim man, athletic and lean, he bore no telltale signs of abuse. Whumper provided him with two mostly edible meals a day, clean clothes and the occasional hot shower.

“Go on. Take off all of it.”

The small man's cheeks burned with shame. Whumper’s hungry eyes shone with intrigue.

Whumpee laced his fingers around the elastic band of his pants clinging to his narrow hips. In one quick motion he dropped his pants and boxers down his legs, his hands swiftly rushed to cup his exposed genitals.

“How modest.” Whumper chuckled. Let him hide, Whumper thought. He’d have nothing to hide behind once he splayed his lean body across the table.

“Aight, now come here and open up.” Whumper produced a ball gag from his pocket.

Whumpee’s body quaked from a pang of terror so violent it threw his body off balance. A warm sensation trickled down the inside of his thigh.

Whumpee looked down at the pool of warmth he was standing in, and--fuck, oh fuck-- he’d pissed himself.

“For fuck’s sake, Whumpee. The hell is wrong with you today?!”

Wide-eyed and cowering, Whumpee collapsed to the floor and scrambled backwards. “I’msorryimsorryimso so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry--!” He stammered frantically. “I didn’t mean--”

Whumper threw Whumpee’s discarded pants over the puddle of urine. Surprisingly, he tossed Whumpee’s shirt back to him. 

“Hush. Clean yourself off.”

He cleared his throat and a few heavy tear drops plopped on the fabric in his lap. “I am sorry. I-I didn’t mean to do that.” He almost managed to say it without his voice quavering. He wiped the inside of his legs down using the filthy shirt and threw it aside. A powerful wave of numbness began supplanting his overwhelming terror.

“It’s okay, I’ve seen a lot worse.” A crooked smile returned to Whumper’s face. “Get over here. Right fuckin’ now.”

Whumpee swallowed his pride. His fear. His will to live. And he faced his fate head on.

“Good. Climb on the table.” 

Whumpee got on the table.

Whumper secured his prey by locking his wrists and ankles to the operating table with a short length of chain. This was it. There was no going back now. Whumper looked down at Whumpee with ravenous eyes. He had him where he wanted him, after all of these months, finally.

He pulled on his surgical mask, rolled up his sleeves, and adjusted the light above his victim. A gloved index finger traced down the length of Whumpee’s bare body, imitating the blade's path. He truly had magnificent skin.

Before Whumper managed to make his first cut, his cellphone rang.

“You couldn’t have called at a worse time, you sonuvabitch. Call later. He’s on the table right now.” Whumper barked into the phone.

-Pause. Whumpee faintly heard the person on the line chuckle.-

“No shit? Who?”

-A longer pause.-

“I dunno. It sounds like one hell of a deal. Don't worry, this one's not goin' anywhere. Run it past the boss and get back to me. ”

-Pause-

"Heh, I should really kick your ass for this one," Whumper said wryly. "I've been nursing the best pair of virgin kidneys and liver you've ever fuckin' seen."

-Pause-

"Mhm. Roger that. Bye." Whumper tucked his phone in his pocket and pulled his surgical mask down.

“Whumpee. Your wealthy friend in the city--” 

Whumper rested the scalpel on Whumpee’s stomach.

“--is his name Caretaker?”

((more Whump oneshots))