#Imperium 3: Chapter 3
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Imperium 3: Chapter 3
Tenebrae vocat. (The darkness calls).
In this dream - this nightmare - there was only darkness. Nothing below his feet, nothing above his head. The voices that emerged had no identifiable source, echoing all around him. He knew them. He knew them, and that was what made it more painful to listen to.
“This form will have fair skin and black hair, a contrast of light and dark found in Siy’valis-um. Their eyes…their eyes will be full of stars.”
“Promise me that you will continue to live, and to bring life.”
“I said I would never leave you. I will keep my promise. Just rest for now. I will be here when you wake.”
“I was created to save you, just as you were created to save humanity. They’ll need you more than they’ll ever need me.”
He spoke, then, begging them to stop, to be quiet, leave him alone. But his words were silenced. Nothing, nothing came out of his mouth but stifled desperation.
But then, another voice. Not as familiar as the others were, but familiar. He’d heard it not too long ago, even. Accompanied by the flapping of multiple pairs of wings, a snarl that churned his stomach, the beast uttered a threat.
“HUNGRY…SO HUNGRY…NO LONGER SHALL YOU MAKE US WAIT. SLEEP, AIDONEUS. SLEEP.”
Four pairs of glowing golden eyes pierced through the darkness, and his breath became quicker, his heart racing, gods why couldn’t he fucking MOVE -
~
“STARR!!”
Starr bolted awake for the second night in a row, knocking something fluffy off of his chest in the process. It was Sprinkle Sprinkle, the youngest of Froyoyo and Vanala’s littlepon, their eyes squeezed tightly shut as they struggled to right themselves. Starr quickly muttered an apology and took Sprinkle Sprinkle in his hands, putting him back on his feet. Only then did they open their eyes, and only then did Starr become aware of the outside world. It sounded like…no. Oh no.
“Caravan being attacked by big monster!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle cried, “Mamapon and Dadapon need help!! Come quick!!”
Starr didn’t need to be told twice. His gauntlets, his mask, everything was on in seconds. Sprinkle Sprinkle tried to take the lead out of the tent just as the ground shook, just as something exploded mere feet away from where they stood. Starr scooped him up, pulled him away from the edge of the tent just as it was set ablaze, black and purple flames engulfing the fabric.
Outside, the night sky was ablaze. The Desserta Caravan’s many huts and homes were already destroyed, but many of the Nopon remained standing, some with weapons drawn while others ran away. Starr kept Sprinkle Sprinkle in his arms, feeling the littlepon tense up as they took in the sight of their home up in flames. Starr knew he wasn’t dreaming, but this was a nightmare nonetheless. What could’ve…who could’ve…
“PONGO!!”
NO NO NO NO NO -
Starr’s head erupted with pain as Pongo protested his existence, dropping Sprinkle Sprinkle to grab his temple. Sprinkle Sprinkle let out a yelp of protest, huddling up close to his legs. He crumpled in on himself, just barely able to maintain his footing. When he finally found the strength to look up again, a human was sprinting towards him, dual swords in her hands. Vanala was just behind her, a trail of water ether floating around her gloves. But behind them both, descending from the sky on three pairs of feathered wings, a monster with razor sharp incisors hidden inside a beak and four pairs of glowing golden eyes trained on Starr - wait, what?! No, there was no way, that couldn’t be -
“WE TOLD YOU TO SLEEP!!” Corvhesperikon screamed, its voice so loud and booming that it managed to shake the ground just as much as its landing did. Six legs, all equipped with long talon-like claws, already stained red with blood and snow and dirt. Something inside Starr went cold, but Starr ignored it, he had to. He picked Sprinkle Sprinkle up again as Vanala and the human approached. This close, he could identity the human as Elma, the one that Po - the one that the fucking disgrace once knew. No wonder the disgrace had surged so readily within him, presenting Starr with memories he neither wanted nor claimed as his own.
“Corvie after Vanala,” Vanala yelled to Starr, “Vanala need to leave caravan and -”
“We will come with you!!” Starr offered himself, “If it comes after you, then you cannot face it alone!!”
“Not putting anyone else in danger!” She stopped in front of him, pleading, on the brink of tears, “Should have expected this from very start! Vanala’s fault for putting caravan in harm’s way -”
“Where are the other littlepon?!”
“With Tutito, Tutito bringing littlepon far away -”
“COME BACK HERE, LITTLE GODLING!!” Corvhesperikon charged forward, cutting their conversation short. Vanala shoved Starr out of the way as it produced a raging ball of fire from its beak, shooting it straight down at the four. He fell onto his back as the explosion shattered the snowy floor, using himself as a human shield to keep Sprinkle Sprinkle out of the fray. The littlepon cried out, but once Starr righted himself, he checked them over, and thankfully they were unharmed. Their wide eyes and the tears staining their fur, however, told a painful story.
“Hold on, Sprinkle Sprinkle, we are getting you out of here!” Starr picked them up once more, cradling him in the crook of his right arm. As he stood himself up, he lifted his left arm, his gauntlet beginning to glow. Focus, he had to focus to make this work. From the glow, water began to pool around him, swirling and solidifying until a shield had formed. Small waves made the borders unstable, but at least the gauntlet was connected to it, and at least it didn’t weigh much at all. In seconds he spun and located Vanala, who’d gotten far ahead of the chaos, and he sprinted after her, keeping the shield raised to deflect any incoming attacks and shrapnel. More blasts echoed from behind him, falling snow and embers bouncing off of his shield, but he did everything he could to keep his composure, to keep moving forward.
Corvhesperikon screamed suddenly, and Starr’s curiosity got the better of him despite every part of his body telling him to ignore the distraction. A glance over his shoulder revealed that the yggralith was squirming, its long neck arching up towards the flame painted sky. From on top of its massive head, a little white speck, carrying a bloodied broadsword in his wing. How Froyoyo could’ve scaled the beast that quickly, Starr couldn’t guess. The Heropon screamed something over the wind and raining fire, but he couldn’t make it out either. All he could do was watch as Froyoyo plunged his blade into Corvhesperikon’s skull, a pinprick that shouldn’t have registered to such a massive creature, but ended up sending Corvhesperikon into the side of a nearby mountain, screeching from the newly inflicted wound. The mountain began to crumble from the impact, stones tumbling down its side and barreling straight towards the caravan. The landslide was far away enough that Starr and Vanala wouldn’t be affected, as well as the various Desserta Caravan Nopon that had followed after them. The ones who stayed behind, weapons raised and ready to defend their home against all odds, were soon covered in a thick layer of dust and snow, disappearing into the fight. The gust from the impact then reached Starr, and he was blown backwards again and sent into a white expanse. The force was so great that he fell onto his back, but from there, he was pushed farther, farther, until he flew off the top of a hill and landed awkwardly on his side. All he remembered before the white turned into black was Corvhesperikon’s mighty roar, and all he could think of was keeping Sprinkle Sprinkle tight in his embrace.
~
It was quiet when Starr opened his eyes again, head pounding and eyelids drooping. Nothing had come to him in the unconscious, no dreams or nightmares or prophecies - that was what they were, those nightmares he’d been having, right? Prophecies, foretellings of the future, the predestined awakening of a beast they’d seen the bones of? He couldn’t fathom how any of this was possible.
“There, Starr finally awake,” Vanala’s voice called him towards reality, towards focusing on his surroundings. Starr found Vanala to his right, her water ether swirling around her form and hovering over his heart. It was only the ether’s faint glow that helped him identify her; aside from that, wherever they were, it was nearly pitch black. He was propped up against a wall, some loose pebbles underneath his fingertips. They had to be in a cave of some sort, that would explain things.
“Is Sprinkle Sprinkle safe?” Starr asked first, pushing himself backwards so he wasn’t slumped over.
“Sprinkle Sprinkle safe!” The littlepon answered, entering his field of vision. “Many thanks to Starr for saving!”
“What about the rest of the caravan? And Froyoyo?”
Vanala didn’t respond right away, and that on its own was enough to make Starr’s heart drop. “Not sure about caravan. Froyoyo fight Corvie. Got thrown off at one point. Not sure where he is.”
Starr exhaled softly, not drastic enough to be a sigh, but enough to voice his distress at the situation. He realized in that moment that he was without his skull mask, but the absence didn’t create as much stress in that moment. After all, it was just Vanala and Sprinkle Sprinkle with him, and he trusted them both. He hoped he could find it soon, though, he felt rather vulnerable without it -
“Let Vanala make light. Very dark in cave,” Vanala retracted her water ether, plunging the cave into total darkness once more, but it only lasted for a moment before a ball of fire appeared over Vanala’s left wing. The flame was bright enough to show more of the surrounding area, as well as the fourth figure that Starr hadn’t even noticed was there. The humanoid from before, the one that had been carrying the dual swords, leaning against a column of stone in the center of the cave. White hair glistening in the firelight, feathered delicately above honeyed skin - no, NO. He needed the mask he needed the mask oh gods above fuck no no no NO NO -
Sprinkle Sprinkle held up something for him in that exact moment where his heart nearly jumped out of his chest - MASK. Starr took it quickly and fixed it on top of his head,taking deep breaths, making sure he could come down from this. Vanala shuffled in her spot, looking between him and Elma with a saddened but understanding expression.
“Sorry, Vanala not tell you Elma was here. Elma chased by Corvie, and Vanala brought Elma to safety in cave with Starr and Sprinkle Sprinkle…”
“No, no. Do not apologize,” Starr insisted. “We were just…surprised, is all.”
“It’s okay, Vanala, part of the blame is on me. I should’ve made my presence known,” Elma said, standing up and dusting off her knees with a few flicks of her wrist, “It’s um…listen, Pongo, I -”
“We are not Pongo,” Starr quickly corrected, pushing his back further into the cave wall behind him.
“But you - do you remember me? I found you in Primordia, I helped train you, you’re an Interceptor with BLADE,” Elma continued, unfazed by how he shrank further into himself with each memory she gave him. Inside him, the fucking disgrace stirred, upset with how desperate she was becoming.
I do remember you, Elma, but this is not me. Gods, you should forget all of those things, you should move on. I was never worthy enough to be your friend.
“You love hugs, you’re a horrible chef, and you’re terrified of spiders! Remember when Lin had to kill the little spider on the kitchen counter and you were so scared you hid behind the debriefing table for a half an hour afterwards?”
Stop it, stop it, I know that is me, but you need to stop -
“We saved the Lifehold Core together! You told me I was still your friend despite lying about my true form…please, Lin and I have been so worried about you, Pongo, we thought -”
“MY NAME IS STARR.”
The plural pronoun dropped as Starr hissed his name, his voice dripping with certainty and a strength he thought lost to time. It silenced Elma and the fucking disgrace in his mind, and only the ambience of the cave remained. His fists clenched at his sides, he heaved a sigh, trying to relax himself again. Part of him wanted to apologize for the outburst, but he wasn’t going to. He had been pushed to the limit and she had ignored that in favor of reaching out to something she couldn’t talk to. Starr wouldn’t let the fucking disgrace take control back - Starr was his doing, and Starr ran the show as his shield and his truth, a truth cemented in…
In loss.
In an inability to do anything right.
In hatred of himself for all he had failed to be.
Starr was none of those things. Not a failure, not a lost cause. He wouldn’t be.
“...Mamapon? What was big scary monster out there?”
Sprinkle Sprinkle broke the tension with a question, innocent and pure. Vanala stiffened noticeably, but kept the wing manipulating her fire ether raised high. She sat herself down, her little legs just barely noticeable beneath her round and fluffy body.
“Sprinkle Sprinkle…knows Tale of Two Gods, yes?”
“It Sprinkle Sprinkle’s favorite story,” Sprinkle Sprinkle confirmed, their expression shifting towards horror as the implications became clear. “Was that…one of two gods?”
“Yes. Corvhesperikon,” She said tentatively, “Corvie is yggralith, being that feeds on ether.”
“But Tale of Two Gods says Dadapon and Mamapon killed big monsters!! How Corvie alive?”
“Yggraliths not like most creatures,” Vanala explained, “Yggralith only eat ether. If yggralith not eat ether for very long time, yggralith can die - or rather, yggralith falls into deep sleep. Looks like death to many. Can also die from using too much of own ether, in battle or healing own wounds. It is why Tale of Two Gods says that both yggraliths died.”
“But…how is Corvie alive?”
“After deep sleep, yggralith regain lost ether and is reborn. Corvie sleep for very long time, so ether all restored. Still hungry for more, though, and won’t stop until he feeds.”
Starr folded his hands in his lap, his legs finally relaxing on the cavern floor. Vanala’s admission to Corvhesperikon’s nature as a yggralith has turned into a whisper, resigned to the hands of fate. Starr tried to send her a smile, though he imagined it wouldn’t help and was far too obscured by his mask to reach her. Inside his mind, the other half spoke, pushing the fucking disgrace away from the forefront.
I was lucky when I enlisted Solstice to imprison Pharsis. Corvhesperikon and Syrianhydra were far stronger adversaries, but at least Froyoyo was able to defeat them.
“How did Froyoyo come to defeat those yggraliths?” Starr pondered out loud, in part a response to the planet and in part a question directed to Vanala. It was this question that made her melt, the stress and tension finally boiling over into defeat. A small pinprick of anger stabbed his heart, wondering how it was so easy for her to give up when there was still time to…to fix things? To defeat Corvhesperikon and save Vanala? What possible path could they take towards resolution?
“Vanala…not been honest about that, either,” Vanala confessed, “Vanala not honest about many things that happen during fight. Vanala thought she could keep secret for longer, but -”
“Wait.” Elma held up a hand, suddenly standing to attention. “Everyone, be still.”
She was looking to her left, beyond what Vanala’s light could offer and beyond the shadowed expanse. Starr slowly tried to find whatever she was staring at, or whatever she’d heard, why hadn’t she been more specific about why she wanted everyone to stop talking, was there something here with them -
“There’s a light.” Elma pointed, and Starr squinted to make it out. Sure enough, something flickered deeper into the cave, obscured by a wall of stone. There was surely a way to reach this light, considering its fullness, but nevertheless, his doubts fluttered forward. This had to be a trick, something was wrong with this. Or maybe it was more of the caravan, the lucky ones who’d escaped. Or…or what else? What else could there be?
“Should investigate,” Vanala said, “Maybe it - Sprinkle Sprinkle, wait!!”
The littlepon had already dashed ahead, curiosity driving their impulses before logic could fully take control. Vanala was up and following after him, leaving Starr and Elma trailing behind. Starr snuck one last glance at Elma, their eyes meeting again. He suppressed a shiver as the fucking disgrace whimpered in his mind, a sad little hypocrite that he felt wanting, wanting. He wasn’t allowed to want this, not when Starr was here. This was his fault. This was his doing.
Elma opened her mouth to say something.
“Pongo is dead,” Starr growled, “We do not care how many memories you share with him. You were not worthy of him. None of his friends were.”
“You’re wrong,” She told him, “He was a wonderful man who dedicated his heart and soul to protecting others and ensuring their happiness.”
“And he failed.”
“That wasn’t his fault, none of it was -”
“He sure thought it was. And we do, too, otherwise we would not be here.”
“What…what are you?”
Starr paused. What, not who. He was a what to her.
He kept walking, refusing to entertain the answer. He was a who. He was an entity all his own. Damn him to the pits of hell if he wasn’t.
Eventually Elma followed, though she took longer, processing his silence. They continued in this silence, walking towards the light.
#xenoblade x#Imperium 3: Chapter 3#starr is like. wow#he's a fascinating character but sometimes i hate him#like yeah he's justified in how he feels#now i wonder what that light is...
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wip wednesday~
tagged by (and tagging back!) the incredibly talented @kirnet!! 😚
I am literally drowning in wips at the moment, but ngl, I also have some spare time SO. this is from the imperium!david/angel bodyguard au.
--
It happens again. A stolen kiss against the kitchen counter, against the bookshelves in the library. His hands memorise their body, the places that make them release sweet sounds, and their hands map him in turn, until they’re marked with him, obvious enough that the rest of the pack knows.
He’s in too deep, but he can’t find the space to care.
He thinks about them, their hands, their mouth. They haunt his waking moments, even finding their way into his dreams.
But they’re not his. And they won’t be.
And so he holds it back, the burning possession his wolf feels, until he can’t anymore.
--
tagging- you, reading this!! and also (no pressure!):
@evilbunnyking @chroniclesinlacuna @dominimoonbeam @sealriously-sealrious (you just wrote me wonderful fluff but I am GREEDY forgive me <3) @glassbearclock @taelonsamada @horrorscoupes @aaami @slushrottweiler @romirola @pearl-kite @frenchiefitzhere <33
#redacted asmr#redacted audios#ej writes redacted#imperium verse#yep i'm still here folks#there are two more chapters left#(and they get smutty hehehe)#i'm also writing for solstice week... morgan and seer#>:3#thank frenchie for that!!
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3
Another gentleman arrives, but what he has to say will change everything...
“Come, Prince Karlen. I do believe we might have something to discuss.” Jean Pierre gestured to the front door of the store.
It had been the response that Karlen had hoped for, but he had not really expected it. He had expected Jean Pierre to tell him that, once more, he was too late to the city and that the female he searched was unknown. A bloom of hope started to bloom within Karlen’s bosom, bringing his heart to life for the first time in those long centuries since he had first found his Sophia. He knew that she was in danger, so if he could help this man and his friends to save her, then he would call forth the entire Uffernian army if he had to.
As they stepped into the shop, Karlen was met with the scent of dust and age. It was clear that the fine items around them had age and not all of them were from the realm that they were currently in. It brought to his mind questions of exactly who and what Jean Pierre was, and who the other members of “The Triad” were. He was not afraid, but as they moved further through the dimly lit store, there were more questions that occurred to him. They could wait till after he found out what was known about Sophia.
Jean Pierre, for his part, could have mysted straight to Imperium with Karlen. Before he took him anywhere near Anna or anyone else, let alone into the realm ruled by the Horseman of Death, he wanted to make sure that the male in front of him was exactly as he had presented himself to be. Jean Pierre had already ascertained that Karlen was a demon, but he had been alive long enough to know that did not necessarily mean that he was deceptive. It only meant that they were most oft self serving before anything else.
“Please, sit,” Jean Pierre gestured to an elegantly carved table with four chairs surrounding it. “I will start more coffee and summon my husband and fellow Triad member, Armaund. I believe it is best for us both to speak with you.” Setting his cup on the table, he made his way over towards where the coffee pot was on an elegant mahogany sideboard. He was still absorbing that not only was Karlen a real being, but he was now sitting in his shop only days after his “Sophia” had left the Earthly Realm. Complicating matters, or maybe not, he was a Prince. No one could say New Orleans was a dull city.
“So, you know Sophia? You know where she is?” Karlen was trying to contain himself as Jean Pierre poured the coffee and brought over a delicate but ample bone china cup, along with a cream and sugar set that matched, on a fine silver tray. “I’m sorry to sound demanding, it is just I have been searching for so long.” The Prince apologized, his cheeks pinkening realizing his manners were abysmal in that moment as he then busied himself doctoring the strong brew that smelled of dark roast and roasted chicory root.
“Answers, you shall have, dear Prince. First, I shall summon my husband.” There was a kind smile on Jean Pierre’s face before he turned from where Karlen was trying to hide his mortification at total abandonment of his normal manners, and headed to his office at the back of the store where he could ask Armaund to myst. He was sure that he too would find this situation most intriguing. Abriella and Anna would need to be advised most expediently once the true nature of their visitor was ascertained.
By the time that Karlen had regained his composure, Jean Pierre was returning to the front of the shop with his husband. The Prince couldn’t help but notice that the two gentlemen certainly complemented one another well, and it was clear that they had been a couple for more than a few centuries. There was an ease of movement and anticipation of one another’s gestures that only comes from more than one lifetime together. After his earlier bouts of over eagerness, Karlen waited this time for his host to speak.
“Prince Karlen, this is my husband, Armaund.” Jean Pierre introduced the two men. Karlen immediately came to his feet, bowing slightly to Armaund before extending his hand.
“Tis a pleasure, Your Majesty.” Armaund was a bit flustered that the Prince had beaten him to the bow, but it seemed the prince was a tad nervous, as his husband had indicated over the phone. As he took Karlen’s hand and shook it heartily, he could tell that the Prince was a tempest of emotions, but hope and excitement were foremost amongst them. It was clear that there were no nefarious motivations.
��“Likewise, Armaund. Jean Pierre tells me that the two of you may know something of my Sophia. I have been on a three century hunt to find her. It seems someone or something is keeping her hidden. I fear greatly for her safety.” There was a pleading in his eyes as they alternated between the two immortal males before him, a desperation in his voice, an almost tremor in his entire being.
“Please sit,” Armaund unknowingly echoed the gentle command of his husband from earlier. A hesitant glance was thrown at Jean Pierre as Karlen did so. Surely this must be a trick or some kind of illusion. Could a Prince of another realm be the one that they had heard so much regarding? “Now, do tell me about your Sophia. I may know of someone who does fit this description, however I am reticent to divulge information lightly.” Armaund sat facing Karlen, taking the coffee offered him as well, if for no other reason than needing something to keep his hands busy at the moment.
“Of course, I understand. You do not know me, and I am not of your world.” Karlen inclined his head towards the other male, obviously nervous, but also maintaining his regal bearing. Jean Pierre leaned up against the sideboard, observing everything keenly. “I am the Royal Prince of the Realm of Uffern, second in line to the throne of my brother King Kellen Cythraul. In addition to being a shadow demon, I am a walker of dreams. Normally I control whose dreams I walk in, but three centuries ago I walked into the dreams of one of your world, not of my choosing. It happened more and more often, and a relationship began. I have discovered that she is able to slip time, but I do not believe that she was doing so of her free will.”
Armaund’s eyes cut to Jean Pierre and back so fast that a human would not have perceived it, however Karlen was no human and he did. It was enough to keep him talking, listing out the many adventures they had embarked on over the years in their dreams. Of the true love and bond that had formed between them, of her loss of memory every time that she was taken to a new place, and finally he got to the description of her. As he described not only her physical appearance but her personality, he once more caught something humans would have missed: minute changes in the expression of Armaund. The Grigori male before him knew this woman, his Sophia. For Karlen, for the first time in three centuries of searching, hoping, and praying to the deities of Uffern, he had hope that he would get to see the woman who had long ago captured his heart, this time outside of a dream.
When he had finished speaking, Karlen sat back in the chair he was in but did not take his eyes off of Armaund. He could feel Jean Pierre’s eyes on him. Their weight was almost palpable, but it did not make him uncomfortable. Somehow in this city, on this planet, in this realm, he had found two people who knew his Sophia. There was nothing that they could do to cause him to shrivel now.
“There is only one problem, she is no longer here. And not just here as in New Orleans, she is no longer of this Earth.” Armaund stated in a flat affect.
Karlen felt his entire world implode.
#the imperium chronicles#writeblr#my writing#my ocs#new chapter#new writing#fiction#fantasy#dark fantasy#chapter 3#novel writing#web of lives#original content#original character#original fantasy#original fiction#original story#original writing#original post#karlen#jean pierre#armaund#new orleans#antique shop#first meetings#sophia#redhead#demon#grigori#prince
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CHAPTER 3
WARNINGS - Fiction, Not Real, Swearing, Intimidation
There was silence in the inky blackness that seemed to stretch forever. Dartan was not about to break it. Even if he had wanted to, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d say now. His revelation had no doubt shocked the female in front of him. Not that realizing what she’d done had been easy for him to accept, but she seemed to be taking it harder, or digesting it slower.
"I'm sorry, WHAT?!? I know I did not hear you right. So, you just back that up a step and say that again." Amaya spat out at him in final exasperation as she finally got the cogs in her brain moving after the shock of his words sunk in. Raised eyebrows and a cocky smirk were her only answer from him. Aw fuck!
“But you’re…” Amaya started and broke off. She looked down at the ground she couldn’t even see, as if not looking at him would somehow make everything more logical. Nothing was logical, and apparently it wasn’t going to get more logical. “I want a divorce. I can’t be married to a ghost.” She shook her head, not looking up at him again.
“That’s not how this works. Also, I’m a spectre, not a ghost. If we’re going to be married,” Dartan cleared his throat. He was married to a fucking human. A MOTHER-FUCKING HUMAN. Who had he pissed off in which of his lifetimes? “I WAS an immortal warlock that got beheaded in a coup of my realm. Spectre, not ghost, never was human.” He further clarified, not happily either.
“Fine, you’re a spectre. You’re still not alive and you don’t like me. So, how do we get out of this pitch black and find someone to give us a divorce and send us both home?” She looked up at him and sighed, her arms going out as she talked. There had to be a solution to this, HAD to be. There was no way she was going to be stuck forever in the pitch black with a ghost, excuse her…SPECTRE.
“Let’s get one thing straight first, there is NO divorce for what you did. I’m not even sure how whoever gave you that spell knew how to do it, or if they fucked up what they were actually trying to do and that was the outcome. Either way, we’re bound together for eternity, dear. So, we can either make you dead or find a necromancer to fix my problem, at least that way we’ll be on equal footing.” He grinned and lightly chuckled. She was pissed, he could see it, and for some reason that made him happy.
“This isn’t funny!” Tears were pricking at Amaya’s eyes and she all but screamed at him. He was grinning at her and finding this amusing and she just wanted to go home. At no point had she wanted to be married to some immortal warlock that had been too stupid to keep his head on his shoulders but called HER stupid. “I didn’t ask for this!”
“No, it’s not funny, Amaya, and I didn’t ask for it either. But here we both are in Hell, literal HELL.” Dartan’s voice dropped and his face became serious as he stalked towards her. “I wasn’t exactly planning on spending my eternity married to a human witch who was too stupid to consider she was being given a bogus spell. I’m not the one who is responsible for getting us both here. That, my dearest, is YOU. So stop your yelling at me and either work with me, or eternity is going to suck for both of us.”
To her credit, Amaya hadn’t backed up as he came towards her, his features darkening and it clear he was done with everything. He’d expected her to cower in fear, back up, try to hide, something, anything to get away from him. Not that he knew where she’d go, she couldn’t even see in the absolute blackness that surrounded them TO know where she was going or what was around her. Still he had expected her to try and get away from him. Instead she had stood her ground, and for that she had earned a little bit of his respect. He didn’t want to fight with her, but the more the situation was revealed the more he was enraged at it.
“How can we be married if I didn’t even know what I was doing and you weren’t even there? Marriage is a contract, an agreement.” Her voice was no more contrite as she realized he was the only one with any kind of answer to how they ended up there and how to fix it, even if it was just to make it more bearable. He was also right, it was her fault in some respect. She wouldn’t admit that aloud though.
"You are thinking of marriage in human terms. Think beyond that. Marriage is a contract, but it is also what?" He looked at her in a way that indicated that he expected a response of some kind, but all he got in response was a shrug with her arms out to her sides and raised brows. "A novice witch, got it." He sighed. "It is a binding of souls." His lips pursed and his head tipped to the side.
Amaya made a noise that Dartan couldn't quite put his finger on. It wasn't a gasp, maybe a squeak or wheeze. It was clear shock and trepidation. Now the full measure of their predicament was setting in for her. Good. If they were going to get out of this, whatever brain cells actually worked in that pretty head of hers needed to be firing. She wasn’t bad to look at, but she certainly needed some lessons in street smarts and common sense.
"And, my darling bride, you invoked the binding. So, in a way you did consent as far as the universe is concerned. Maybe unwittingly, but the fact remains you summoned me and bound me to you, soul to soul. The universe does not deal in nuances, only in black and white of what is done and said. You invoked and bound, so here we both are and so it is." He watched her blinking slowly, a deep swallow, and her head very slowly nod. Yes, now she was understanding and he could see that she was petrified. Something inside him began to thaw and he actually began to feel a little sorry for her.
"But how did I get you? You said that you were never human. So was this an accident?" Amaya was shaken to her core and so confused. There was also a great deal of fear, she was out of her element and so beyond anything that she had ever been trained for. Dartan had said he was a warlock, which meant when he was alive he had possessed powers far beyond anything that she could summon or invoke even with the strongest of spells and potions. Now that he was a spectre, if he still could call upon those, he truly could make her life miserable in ways she could not even begin to fathom on top of everything else. If everything he said was true then…then she didn't know what to do.
"The language you spoke is ancient and not even from your own realm. My name was most likely the mispronunciation of a word that would have meant angel. Unfortunately for you, the person who gave you the spell had you saying my name instead, likely because whomever taught it to them either was also not from the realm it comes from or was playing a cruel joke on them. Could be either one. If it had been pronounced the other way you'd be married to an angel right now, although doing it in Hell would be a twist that would be oh so interesting to watch. Imperium has changed, but outside the Palace angels are still not all that welcome." There was heavy sarcasm in his voice as he continued to clarify the situation with a sardonic grin and sarcastic tone. His age and wisdom helping himto discern what had happened and how. Fixing it, well that was another matter entirely and far beyond his abilities.
"I'm sorry." Amaya finally said after a long pause. She no longer knew what to say or do. "I just wanted protection for those of us on the expedition. I never meant for something like this to happen. I'm sorry your…life…was ruined. I'm sorry you're stuck with me." As she spoke defeat crawled through her voice and took hold in her heart. By the time she finished speaking, she wasn't even looking at him but at the ground somewhere between them. Regardless of the fact that he was truly the only thing she COULD see, it was easier to stare at the nothingness around her than to face him. Shame filled her entire being so it bleed from her pores and stained the very either around her with its aura. A mistake. One mistake. And now two lives were upended. Maybe more.
“Sorry isn’t going to fix it, nor is it going to take care of you now that you’re here. You’ve got yourself in a tight spot, little witch. I do know a few here who might help figure out some place for you to live and something we can have you doing. You can’t go back to the life you had, now we’re bound as we are.” Dartan’s agitation was still clear, but he was trying to be a little sympathetic since it seemed to be sinking in to her that things were completely fucked up for both of them now. “The most pressing thing is to get you out of the middle of this clearing and get you some rest. We’re going to have to walk to the Palace and I’m not sure how long that’s going to take or if we’ll be able to get you food. Being dead has some advantages for me, but I’m not going wish it upon you as a punishment for this. You’re going to have to trust me, but I will get you to someplace safe where you can rest, and I’ll make sure your safe while you do. Then when it’s light, we’ll start to get this solved.” His voice was calmer, but that did not mean he was any less angry, but beating her up over it more was going to serve no purpose.
#The Imperium Chronicles#My Writing#Writeblr#New Chapter#Chapter 3#Amaya#Dartan#Spectre#Witch#fiction#fantasy#original world#original story#writing#intimidation#swearing#female writer#writers on tumblr#hell
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Heaven In Your Eyes || Masterlist
Pairing: Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC (Heaven Lavey Shelby)
Additional content/Info: CLICK HERE
Fic Summary: He meets her at church one dreary night, guided by her singing. Her name? Heaven Lavey. White ivory hair, fair porcelain skin, and petite shape, this almost ethereal creature is Arthur's strict opposite. Yet, all it took was one dive into her heavenly eyes for him to be convinced God has sent His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul. The two lovebirds, obsessed with each other, are determined to live their love no matter people's judgments and no matter the dangers of a Peaky Blinder's life. They are together through the best and through the worst.
But behind her holy appearance and sweet facade, Heaven Lavey is dangerous. With rumors of witchcraft and murder, her shady past weighs on her shoulders. And if she is a blessing for Arthur Shelby, she will soon prove to be a curse for those who dare to stand in her and her husband's way. Even Thomas Shelby himself.
She is Arthur’s Angel,
but don't get fooled by her doe eyes: for the rest of us, she is the White Devil.
And by extend, you are too.
Why? Because Heaven Lavey… It’s you.
TW: Major character death, explicit sexual content, canonical violence, graphic description of violence, blasphemy, witch trials and burning of innocent women, dependent relationship (if Arthur and Heaven are happy in their relationship, they are obsessed and possessive, which leads to bursts of violence and deifying from Arthur. By no means I am claiming their relationship is healthy, but it is what works for them)
ACT I.
♢ Ch. 1 || Heaven in Your Eyes
♢ Ch. 2 || Never Did, Never Dared
♢ Ch. 3 || Something Wicked This Way Comes 🔞
♢ Ch. 4 || Dead Bird at Witchin Hour
♢ Ch. 5 || The Hell in His Eyes
♢ Ch. 6 || The One They Should Have Burned
♢ Ch. 7 || Of Matches and Gasoline 🔞
♢ Ch. 8 || Tango on Broken Dreams
ACT II.
♢ Ch. 9 || For Whom the Bells Toll
♢ Ch. 10 || Closer to Heaven or Closer to Hell? 🔞
♢ Ch. 11 || When The Bridges Burn
♢ Ch. 12 || As They Always Did
♢ Ch. 13 || Cross My Heart and Hope to Die
♢ Ch. 14 || Pure As a Lamb 🔞
♢ Ch. 15 || Women Like Me in a Men's World
♢ Ch. 16 || Après Moi le Déluge ( c o m i n g . . .)
♢ Ch. 17 || ( Il Diàvulu Biancu)
♢ Ch. 18 ||
ACT III.
♢ Ch. 18 ||
♢ Ch. 19 ||
♢ Ch. 20 ||
♢ Ch. 21 ||
♢ Ch. 22 ||
♢ Ch. 23 ||
♢ Ch. 24 ||
♢ Ch. 25 ||
♢ The series can be longer.
Some events from the show are taken and obviously reworked. Yet, except for a few quotes and scenes, everything else is imagined by the author.
Related works - in chronological order-
♢ From Blood We Will Grow
♢ To Bark and Bite
♢ Kaiser Meeting Cyril (requested)
♢ A Bone to Pick With It (requested)
♢ Perfect Lines
♢ Savage Daughter
♢ A Slice of Us (Modern!HYE)
♢ Love Ritual (@zablife's celebration)
♢ The Woods Whisper 1, 2 (Halloween Horror)
♢Little Lamb 1, 2, 3 (Yandere!AU)
Moodboards and other content
♢ Playlist
♢ Moodboard Aesthetic
♢ Moodboard Chapter 6
♢Heaven In your Eyes Act II trailer
♢ Moodboard Chapter 12
♢ Heaven in your Eyes chapter 16 trailer
Looking for more? Check out Heaven's masterlist I and II.
Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @he6rtshaker @bemyqueenofdarkness @cljordan-imperium @cjarbo @red-riding-wood @rysko
#arthur shelby#arthur shelby x reader#Peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#Arthur shelby x oc#Thomas Shelby#Tommy shelby x reader#Tommy shelby x oc#Arthur shelby x you#arthur shelby jr#arthur shelby x y/n#Arthur shelby fanfic#peaky blinders fanfic#john shelby x reader#Arthur shelby x ofc#Heaven Shelby#Polly Gray#Michael Gray#tommy shelby#peaky blinders x reader#Paul anderson#Cillian Murphy
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I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.
Like.
Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.
What isn't there to love?
You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?
Cause I can.
And I will.
The Diverse Working Enviroment
Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.
You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.
Buckle up we got you covered.
You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?
Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.
You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?
Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.
Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.
Sustainability
Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.
Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.
The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.
Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.
In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.
Nothing goes to waste!
Unmatched Leadership
Last, but certainly not least.
The man.
The myth.
The Legend.
Huron Blackheart.
Aka Lufgt Huron.
Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.
Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.
The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.
Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.
He does not care.
He probably wears this when he wants to relax.
You think he cares?
He does not care.
He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.
They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason
(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)
no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.
Is that a bit extreme?
Yes.
You think he cares?
He does not care.
The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...
to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.
So they decided on.
Kidnapping Guilliman.
Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.
But still.
The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.
Who in the galaxy can turn and say.
Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅
Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?
You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?
Where do I sign up?
I don't need ink for a signature.
I will use my own blood.
#warhammer#warhammer 40000#warhammer 40k#wh40k#shitpost#red corsairs#chaos ultramarines#chaos space marines#games workshop#black library#huron is the chaos ultramarines representation we deserve
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and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?
pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader
summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing.
warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships
chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3
!this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest!
word count: 7,3k
author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter and am thrilled to say that this fic requires part 3! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!
There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.
The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.
She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?
YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.
She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.
From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.
Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?
Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.
Mountain lions are stealthy predators.
-
The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.
A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.
She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.
The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.
They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.
The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.
Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''
Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.
She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.
''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''
YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.
She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.
''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.
She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.
"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."
That's it.
Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.
After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''
YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.
Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.
-
The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.
He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.
Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.
Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.
Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.
Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.
''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''
The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.
Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.
His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.
''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''
''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''
Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.
He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.
There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.
-
The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.
The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.
Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.
''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''
YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.
''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''
Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?
All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.
She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.
Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.
-
The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.
To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.
As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.
''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.
YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.
''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''
Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.
YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''
''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''
''You know what I mean.''
The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.
''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''
She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.
''Get out, now.''
Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.
Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.
-
And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.
She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.
Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.
The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.
One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"
Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."
It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.
''Does it matter to you either way?''
YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.
There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.
From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.
''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''
No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.
YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.
Mountain lions are solitary hunters.
The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.
They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.
She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.
If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.
There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.
Shame.
A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.
''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''
Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.
The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''
YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?
Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.
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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕸𝖊
[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]
Part 2 of 5 - Part 1
Author's Note: Part 2! I know it came out kinda fast, but part 3 might take a bit longer since it's a bit more heavy than these first 2 chapters. It will also feature much more of our spooky man than this one has. Either way, I hope you enjoy meeting our stinky little Night Lord.
Summary: A Night Lord becomes interested in you while you stand under the eyes of your Salamander guardian, and you find yourself stuck between two titans.
Relationships: Yandere Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere Night Lord
Warnings: Hints of nsfw at points, Yandere, Size differences, Very toxic suffocating relationship(s), Some knight/princess dynamics, Demeaning language, Both these guys have hero complexes, Violence blood and bruises and possibly death to say without spoilers
Word Count: 3446
You need to eat.
When Ralkan had told you to stay you’d trusted his judgment; Staying put in your quarters. It wasn’t safe for you on your own, not with Night Lords now prowling around. At least in his eyes. You didn’t have enough information to feel either way about it, though you can't say you have no fear of astartes you don't know.
Even when you first came aboard this ship, coming face to face with astartes for the first time- even as their kind faces smiled and they gave you polite dips of their head and welcomed you aboard- you still felt the heart pounding fear of seeing towering warriors on the line between human and something else.
Floating in the vastness of space beside the Flamewrought, Night Lord ships linger around with an unnerving aura you could feel when looking out any of the large viewports. it almost was like the ships were leering, as ridiculous as such a notion sounds.
There wasn’t much you could do in hidden away in your quarters, however. You could only write so much before you could no longer avoid the growling of your stomach, and the way it aches.
You can just go to the mess hall and get something to eat, and rush back to your quarters. It's not as if you have other options in the matter; He surely hadn't expected you to just starve, or get someone to wait on your hand and foot.
You had your fill of that on Terra. You can get your own food, you aren't a child anymore. And this ship is alive and well, you aren't going to let yourself fear some invisible terror in the dark.
Having your fill of hermitry you get up from your desk chair, leaving the small quarters that have been designated as your own. It has only the basics; A bed, a desk and chair, and a few other basics for a human to live. Perhaps it isn't as grandiose as a study in your highrise on Terra, in the shadow of the gilded Imperium palace, but it is far more freeing.
Upon leaving hall was relatively empty; They hadn't felt content to put you in quarters with other baseline humans, but you were still far away from the Salamanders own barracks. You were sure Ralkan had a say in this intentional placement as your guardian.
Down adjacent halls you can sometimes see a hint of dark blue armor pass the corner of your eye as you walk, but by the time you go to look, it’s gone. You've seen glimpses of the Night Lords now that they're aboard the ship, but you've avoided a full confrontation as of yet.
Ralkan's suffocating protection has done a good job of it. However he has his duties and cannot be around you always, and you’ll take the moment to take a deep breath free of him for just a little while.
You would never say you dispised him, but his aggravating behavior has begun to make your quarters feel like a cage. You cant stay in there forever, you have to eat. You doubt he would scold you for such a thing.
When you reach the mess hall you quickly grab a heaping portion of food- anyone who notices pays no heed to the amount- and sit to quickly shovel it all down. It's less than appealing taste is like nothing else now, with how hungry you are, and you find it gone within minutes. Only crumbs are left, and finally you're full again.
You quickly get up and move to shuffle back to your quarters not moments after the last bit of food hits your belly. If you're quick and avoid too many eyes he'll never know, and you two can both continue being sweet on one another with him being none the wiser.
His heart is in the right place; It's just that his grip is far too tight.
Your feet hit the floor at a quick place, walking as fast as you can go. The halls are a bit emptier than they were earlier, but you notice your door is within sight after what feels like only a few minute trek. When you get in, you can continue to write about Commander Artellius, and your time with the Salamanders. Being in travel has made things largely uneventful, other than the edition of the new temporary allies.
You reach towards the door open it, when a voice cuts the air and nearly startles you into to the ceiling.
“Well, what is this?”
The voice is loud, with an odd accent that warps his words ever so slightly. The shadows overtaking you are massive, and they almost seem to have appeared out of nowhere.
Maybe they had been following you. You were too busy staring at your own feet to notice, worried about making it back before a fellow of Ralkan spotted you out and out.
With no other option you turn and look up, gazing over dark blue armor with dents and scratches, marked with brass edging and red accents.
Only one had spoke, but there's three here; The middle is the tallest, but the one to his right is the most scarred; And the one that spoke, judging by the way he's smiling. He's the cockiest one, clearly.
The one in the middle has skin pallid and marked, a massive, jagged scar cutting across the bridge of his nose and brow. You think his irises might be a color, brown or grey, but there’s something in them that almost seems to suck the light out of everything around him and make them almost as black as his hair. But unlike his brother, he's yet to speak a word.
Your hand hovers over the handle of your door, frozen. You've barely even looked to the third Night Lord to your right.
Stuck like prey, you jolt as you spot an armored hand begins to reach towards your face from the corner of your eye, towards your jaw, and you yelp as it clamps around your jawline. Instantly your own hands try to pull at his armored fingers, teeth gritting as he holds far too tight. The cocky one steps a bit closer and turns your face as if examining a curious trinket, before he notices something.
“She’s all bruised,” He says, his thumb shoving your cheek and pushing it.
You were? When Ralkan grabbed you last you saw him he must’ve done so too hard. You can’t feel it hurting, but you are more than used to the smattering of bruises across your skin from him. Even at his most gentle, it’s obvious he isn’t made with it in mind.
You look up at the one gripping you, watching his eyes rake over you. He laughs, a gravely chuckle that you can feel in your chest as his own rumbles. The third one simply watches, body blocking the only escape path away from the other two. He's watching, like the act of doing so is more amusing that actually joining in.
“I thought the Salamanders were supposed to be altruistic.”
The Night Lord turns your face harder, and you gasp trying to pull at his gauntlet to free yourself even a minutia. Your muscles ache, jaw yelling in pain as his gauntlet is like a vice grip around the bottom half of your face.
“Hey, careful.”
The one in the middle finally speaks up for the first time, and the one grabbing you turns to him and scowls, clicking his tongue. His nose wrinkles but he doesn't let go of you, goading his taller brother.
“What, you suddenly care? We don’t feed other people's pets.”
Reaching forward he tugs one of your hands away from your captor's gauntlet, raising it for your captor to easily see.
“Look at the clothes. I think she’s important.”
The one grabbing you scoffs and turns away, pulling you around again. His other gauntlet grabs at your other arm, and looks at your hand. His face perks considerably, and the jolt of fear it sends through you beats all others.
"Ink stains. You don't work. You're soft."
Something on his face and in his voice changes, and you try to dig your heels into the ground in some fruitless effort to stay put.
"Volya." The middle one says as your capture seems to be readying to pick you up. You can barely open your jaw to speak let alone yell, unless someone spots you, you stand no chance of getting out of where ever he's planning on taking you.
"Yeah yeah, she's important; What important person is shoved back here by all the serfs and storage? They won't notice."
You yelp digging your heels deeper, and briefly look at the one who has voiced even the tiniest bit of concern for you. He catches your gaze, and something changes in his eyes as your hands pull at the fingers that hold you.
Moments later he grabs at his battle brother’s gauntlet, the ceramite clanking against each other as armor plates collide. Your captor looks at the taller one like he's furious at just being touched.
“We’re already far out-numbered on this ship. Just leave it. Find a less important one to toy with.”
He looks at his brother for a moment, nose wrinkled and teeth barred, and you can feel the air change like a fight is brewing; But he lets you go.
“Fine.”
Taking his fellow with him the two Night Lords leave you and the tallest of the three, the one who stood up for you, alone. You rub your jaw and look up at him. He watches with an unreadable expression on his unkempt face.
“...Thank you,”
You say, and you’re surprised by the way he reacts to it. Though his surprise fades away, as he smiles. It feels like his teeth are too big for his mouth, his two sharp fangs press against the inside of his upper lip.
“It talks? A surprise.”
Whereas Ralkan is stoic and mindful, this man is the opposite; His smile is cocky and posture relaxed even in his hulking armor. His arms cross, but given the size of his chestplate, the closest he can get to fully doing so is gripping his forearms with the opposite hand.
You swallow the knot in your throat. You know that while he did chase the other two away, it's very well possible it's only because he wanted you to himself.
Though maybe it's that curiosity in you- the thing that Ralkan seems so irritated by- that has you prying for answers rather than just crying and pleading for him to let you leave.
“What is your name? You’re the first of your Legion I’ve met.”
That wasn’t the question he expected to hear, you suppose. His face perks with surprise and curiosity not unlike a child.
“Lev.”
Ralkan told you they enjoy terrorizing the weak, only picking fights that they know they can win by overwhelming odds. You'd say if you didn't cower like prey maybe he would leave you alone, but that's impossible when Lev is a terrifying example of just how little of a thing you are, in comparison to these giants.
But he doesn't seem like how Ralkan described them on first impression, however. Perhaps he’s just hiding it so you let your guard down. Though why would he risk a fight with his battle brothers if that was the case?
“We didn't know they had any of you studious types on board. Do they keep you all locked up?”
You're sure Ralkan would like to, if he had his way with it. Had he been less inclined to take your opinion seriously, you'd probably be chained somewhere in your quarters, right about now.
"I was, informed, to stay in my quarters until you all left the ship."
Lev snorts, his smirk lopsided. Before he has a chance to say anything more, you notice that he has blood coming from one nostril, down his lip. It’s dry, but you wonder if he was in a fight and broke his nose not long ago. The bruising around it and dipping underneath his eyes adds to the theory.
“You’re bleeding…”
You say, gesturing to your own nose. He brushes his gauntlet against his upper lip, and watches dried blood fall to the ground. He licks his upper lip, and more of the blood wipes away. You find yourself more distracted by the gesture than one would like.
“Ahh, one of your Salamanders saying things he shouldn’t have; He could throw a punch, but couldn’t take one.” He smiles at you again.
“I didn’t kill him, if you’re worried about him.” "Believe me, I wanted to. All these overgrown lot are a bunch of stuck up types. You think they'd learn to keep their mouths shut before I take something from it."
You get the hint that he's joking, as odd as that is; Salamanders don't often joke. But you also get the hint that the only reason he didn't kill the man, was that as he mentioned before, he's greatly outnumbered on the Flamewrought.
You hadn't been thinking about the Salamander oddly enough however, too focused on the purple and blue bruising scattered across the hump of his nose. Your eyebrows raise, back still pressed against the wall.
“But, are you ok?”
You mumble, watching his eyes look over you. It almost looks like he thinks you're messing with him, until he seems to realize you were serious, and his expression mellows a bit. He uncrosses his arms and reaches a hand for you, and unlike his battle brother, you don't shirk away from his gauntlet nearly as much.
He grabs your jaw much in the same way his battle brother had earlier, but soft enough that it doesn't hurt.
"You stink like one of them," He remarks, and you assume he's referring to the Salamanders. His fingers grip your chin and pull it upward, exposing more of your neck.
He looked as if he was going to open his mouth and speak more, but a voice cuts through the air and stops him dead.
“Do you not have somewhere to be, Night Lord?”
Ralkan's voice makes your heart nearly stop, though you can’t manage to pull your eyes away from the Night Lord even as he approaches with thundering footfall. Lev however does, and looks towards the Salamander who stands no more than a meter to his right. You can see his face sour as he’s forced to drop his hand.
“Perhaps. But I believe on our arrival you said we were welcome guests, can I not wander?”
Ralkan steps forward, just short of trying to shove his slightly larger body between the both of you. He reaches for you, a massive green gauntlet landing on your shoulder.
“Move along, Son of Curze.”
He gives Ralkan a look. One that while irritated, is pleased that he managed to get under the Salamander’s skin.
But the Night Lord still hesitates to leave, watching as you shrink under the shadow of your returned guardian. For a moment you fear he might start something, with the way he looks at you and follows the arm trailing up your shoulder to Ralkan.
But recognizing the fight isn't one that he's sure he'll be able to win, Lev turns away from your overbearing knight to look down at you with the same smirk he'd given you earlier.
"Another time, little Salamander."
Lev leaves. He walks past the Salamander with not even a look, and just barely they manage to not slam pauldrons as he turns away.
When he is safely out of earshot, Ralkan looks down at you; His expression is still stoic, but you can see the anger hidden beneath it.
“I told you to stay out of their sight,” He says, gripping your shoulder tight. You attempt lightly to pull away, his grip painful, but make little progress.
“I, I’m sorry Ralkan but I had to eat. Did you want me to just starve in there?”
His gaze softens ever so slightly, but you can still tell he’s more than a little bit angry. At you, and himself. Even if he wasn’t at all angry at you, his emotions weigh still on you like lead. He takes this whole protecting you duty that he has been given so incredibly seriously, you wonder how much worse it's going to get until someone else might have to protect you from him.
Ralkan takes a kneel, coming eye to eye with you. Both of his hands now cup the sides of your shoulders, and he looks at you like he's almost pleading at you.
“Now that he has his sights on you there’s nothing that’s going to stop him until he has you.”
Despite his unnerving look, the blood on his face from a fight that put a Salamander on an apothecary table, he didn’t seem to be the way that Ralkan had described them.
Maybe he's lying, maybe Lev is faking it.
“It wasn't like he was going to carve me up; By the Throne, Ralkan he saved me. There was more of them, but he chased them off.” Ralkan lightly shakes you.
“They enjoy toying with things like you. Don’t assume anything.”
You take in a deep breath, your face beginning to get hot with anger. You'd said earlier that this ship was more freeing than Terra, but not that's beginning to not be the case.
“He didn’t do anything, just-“ Ralkan’s brow knits in anger and he cuts you off, speaking angrier than you think you've ever heard him. Astartes voices are booming, and his hits you in the chest as he raises his voice.
“There are Salamanders already injured because of them. I asked you to stay here because I trusted you to heed my warning, if you won’t, then I can bring you to my own quarters and lock you inside.”
You look at him surprised at his anger, and your mouth clamps shut. You're angry at him for threatening such a thing, as much as your not surprised by it, but you can't fight him. Not realistically. You look away from him and try to swallow a knot in your throat at suddenly appeared.
Ralkan, realizing he’s upset you, softens his expression and sighs. His hands slide down from your shoulders to hold your hands in his massive gauntlets. The gesture doesn't go unseen, as you look down at them for a moment. The ceramite is cold and rough on your skin.
“I want you safe. It is my duty now yes, but,”
He hesitates for a moment, before removing one of his hands from your own and cupping the side of your face. You hate that the gesture melts away some of the anger you have welled inside of you.
“I would be beside myself if anything were to happen to you. I want you to be safe for your sake and my own.”
He leans closer. In your personal space, breath fanning across your skin, he closes the gap and presses his lips against yours. You don't move for a moment, before you gently exhale and lean closer to him. His nose presses against your cheek, and you can feel the small scars of his skin brush against yours. With him so close you realizes just how warm he is, astartes always run hot but it's like his blood is fire, your lips and face feel so warm. Though it could be your own flush, body heating up.
When he pulls away from you lips separating with a soft pop, you feel some of that stuffy heat dissipate, but the burn over your face remains.
“I must remove my armor first but, will you return to my quarters with me? I will tell you all about Nocturne. You can rest there as well, if you’d like.”
He’s trying to make it up to you, you can tell. He may not be directly apologizing, but he's trying to give you something he knows you want in an attempt to be sweet on you again. You hate how well it works. If only it didn't feel like he had you trapped in a cage, bars getting tighter and tighter.
With the warmth of his lips still on your own, you nod.
“Alright. Let’s go.”
Ralkan smiles and rises to his feet. He gestures for you to walk beside him and takes your hand in his gauntlet once more, and you both leave your quarters for his own.
#warhammer 40k x reader#space marine x reader#salamander x reader#reader insert#reader#mywriting#Yandere!Salamander/Fem!Reader/Yandere!NightLord
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The Inquisitor knows about yandere astartes, it won't end well
Inquisitor [REDACTED] report on yandere Astartes (????)
+++ CLASSIFICATION: [LOCK]
+++ CLEARANCE: Obsidian
+++ ENCRYPTION: [LOCK]
+++ DATE: 327.M38
+++ AUTHOR: Inquisitor [REDACTED], Ordo Malleus
+++ SUBJECT: INVESTIGATION INTO SUSPECTED GENEFLAW AFFECTING ADEPTUS ASTARTES SUBJECTS ACROSS ALL CHAPTERS AND FOUNDINGS
+++ EYES ONLY HIGHEST TRANCHESINQUISITORIAL CASE FILE [EXCISED]
Summary of Findings:
Initial reports of this suspected "Geneflaw" first reached my conclave several terran years ago. Astartes assets deployed to war zones began exhibiting highly erratic behaviors and perverse compulsions unbecoming of the Emperor's finest warriors.
Behavioral divergences included:
Unnatural emotional outbursts and loss of emotional mastery
Uncontrollable sexual urges and deviant acts
Possessive, clingy behaviors violating sacred chains of command
Irrational self-destructive and anti-imperial actions driven by object fixations
At first, these cases seemed sporadic and isolated across different Chapters. However, as more deplorable incidents piled up, a clear pattern emerged. Something grievous had gone wrong on a fundamental level.
Excerpted examples of documented cases:
[REDACTED] - BLOOD ANGELS CHAPTER
Audio log of Sanguinary Priest [REDACTED]
"Some dark curse has been visited upon our Chapter. A growing number of my battle-brothers have become… afflicted with wanton hungers. No mere physical needs, but all-consuming fixations on certain mortals within our care."
"They will stop at nothing to "claim" these individuals for themselves, body and soul. Any attempt at intervention results in unthinkable acts of disobedience and violence…"
[SAMPLE ENDS]
[REDACTED] - BLACK TEMPLARS CHAPTER
Thought downloading from captured Chaplain [REDACTED] upon interrogation
"The time for restraint is at an end. I can bear this throbbing in my soul no longer! She must know the depth of my unfettered desire, the fever pitch of my infatuation. If she does not return these longings, I shall shatter worlds until the God-Emperor take pity!"
*Interrogator's Note: [NEUTRALIZE]
[REDACTED] - EXCORIATOR CHAPTER
Recorded pict-captures from helm-cams during incursion on [REDACTED]
-Extreme Battlefield Fraternization between crusaders and human auxiliaries
-Acts of exhibitionism and self-mutilation by crusaders
-Systematic execution of any battle-brother expressing disgust at above actions
-Final pict: [REDACTED]
The list of astartes goes on. Worse, there appear to be no patterns in age, founding, homeworld or even primarch genealogy. These repulsive behaviors are emerging across every Adeptus Astartes chapter at random. The Imperium teeters on the brink of an catastrophic, gene-coded crisis.
Research into potential countermeasures and remedies continues. However, my conclusions thus far firmly advocate an extreme response to contain this threat.
RECOMMENDED ACTIONS:
1) Immediate executions for any Astartes subject exhibiting Geneflawed behaviors. No exceptions.
2) Full and systematic extinction-level viral bombings against all potentially compromised Chapters and fleets.
3) Pre-emptive destruction of all Astartes gene-seed repositories, along with any Adeptus Mechanicus factions and forge worlds implicating in its creation or study.
Only through the complete erasure of this genetic stock can the essence of the Adeptus Astartes be preserved for the inevitable darkness yet to come.
The Emperor's work must be done, no matter how abominable the means required.
I await your tribunal's final judgment on this matter.
Thought for the Day: "There is nothing to be gained through mercy, only fleeting weakness and eventual damnation."
-Inquisitor [REDACTED]
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Last month at the wiki — February 2024
Every month, we highlight significant work done in the previous month by our editing community at Encyclopedia Exandria. We're a little bit out of schedule, a week late, but we still take the time to look back at February 2024.
To start, here's a selection of ten articles created in February. You can find more of our newest articles at the 50 newest pages report.
Glove of Storing, magical glove that stores an item by shrinking it
Crafting a Mystery with Aabria Iyengar, special on game mastering Candela Obscura: Tide & Bone featuring @quiddie
Midst Season 2 Roundtable Discussion w/ Sam & Marisha, as it says on the tin with the creators of @midstpodcast
Kreviris Imperium, a government based in Kreviris on Ruidus
Wuukor, bison-like creature on Ruidus
Sia Kresh, expositor of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum
Arborea, an Outer Plane of Existence
Lake Umamu, lake in Issylra
Dragon tooth necklace, necklace that notifies wearers of other paired necklaces that a wearer was knocked unconscious or killed
Phyllis the Pain Elemental, player character of Anjali Bhimani in the DOOM Eternal one-shot
We're continuing to explore ways to cover campaign player character stats over time. In February, levels subpages for Campaign 3 were created to help set that up and start covering this topic as part of our routine coverage. Each main player character of Bells Hells has one, and you can check out the pages for Fearne Calloway and Orym as examples.
A number of early Campaign 2 Talks Machina articles have been updated with answer summaries, including 54: The Howling Mines (2x06), 55: Hush (2x07), and 56: The Gates of Zadash (2x08).
The fourth chapter of Candela Obscura premiered in February, featuring the Circle of the Crimson Mirror. As always, we have articles for our newest circle of investigators.
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Imperium 3: Chapter 8
Te amo. (I love you.)
He was Pongo.
He was Pongo, and that was okay. He was okay.
Pongo was far form perfect. He would never have admitted to perfection even before Cocytios, even before Starr was brought into existence. He was something fragmented, torn asunder by trauma and a broken past, stitched back together because he willed it to be so. Starr accepted death, and Pongo - though reluctantly - accepted life. And Mira remained by his side, existing here in this body alongside him as an eternal companion. It had once felt fitting that he give himself a new name, but now, the only name was Pongo.
He was Pongo.
He was Pongo.
…
“Wake up, Pongo.”
He wasn’t asleep. He was hiding this whole time. Sleeping and hiding were not the same.
And yet, Pongo opened his eyes. He couldn’t hide from the sunrise, golden and orange hues dancing across a once darkened sky. He couldn’t hide from the familiar face staring down at him, her smile wider than he’d ever seen it before, a single relieved laugh leaving her lips. Oh, Elma, Pongo was so happy to see you again! He wasn’t afraid, not like he was when Starr walked the earth. He let himself smile back, revel in the joy he felt.
“Hello, Elma,” Pongo breathed, his voice hoarse.
Before he could react, Elma had lifted him up, and there he was in her embrace, his first hug after waking. Pongo knew Aidoneus’s transformation had left him weak, he couldn’t feel any of his usual strength in that moment. But he hugged back, after his moment of surprise had faded, and damn did it feel good. There was solace, here, a sense of peace that he had difficulty finding in most circumstances. He missed her, he missed this. But she had to pull away, as did he. There was no world where they could stay in each other’s embrace forever. There was too much that needed to be said, too much that needed to be done.
“Friend Starr is okay?” That was Froyoyo, asking that question. He stood behind Elma, and Pongo could see him over Elma’s shoulder. If the names and roles were reversed - Froyoyo asking Starr if Pongo was okay - Starr would’ve flinched, been angry. But all Pongo felt was the exhaustion that came with accepting life once again. He grinned at the question, a sad but understanding thing. He opened his mouth to tell Froyoyo the truth, explain what and who he was, but Vanala stepped up before he could.
“Friend not Starr anymore,” Vanala said, mesmerized, “Friend is whole again. Found peace in self.”
Her lessons rang true in Pongo’s heart, even though Starr was the one to receive them. She knew Starr was fragmented, back then, and that he’d need to heal in order to understand both aspects of using water ether. Ripples, she called them. Imperfections, flaws, ruins of the past he could never leave behind. Starr had been wary of that sentiment, believing himself too broken to heal. But Pongo…now he knew the truth. He was always going to be imperfect, he was always going to have ripples that he couldn’t stop from existing. This was a life he was going to cherish, a self that he would accept despite all of its evident flaws.
As if to test his theory, to reassure Vanala, Pongo shifted away from Elma. He raised one of his hands, and in his palm, a ball of water formed, shaping itself into a heart. The ether came more naturally than it did before, and with wide eyes he realized that the ether wasn’t originating from Starr’s gauntlets. This was a creation he deemed into existence without the gauntlets’ help. This was Pongo’s doing, his whole and undivided doing. Vanala mimicked his widened eyes, though her gaze was full of pride.
“My name is Pongo,” He formally introduced himself to Vanala and Froyoyo, “I am the original inhabitant of this body, alongside Mira.” A pause, a softening expression. “I want to apologize to you both. I caused your caravan a great deal of pain when I -”
“Furry dragon was not Pon,” Froyoyo butted in forcefully, “Nothing to apologize for. Froyoyo confused, but know that friend wouldn’t hurt on purpose.”
“Right!” Vanala agreed, “Friend Pon doesn’t need to ask forgiveness. Vanala just happy that Pon is okay!”
And then, a little furry body snuggled up between Elma and Pongo, hugging Pongo tightly. He chuckled, hugging Sprinkle Sprinkle back after letting the water ether in his palm dissipate. The littlepon’s voice was muffled as they said, “Sprinkle Sprinkle didn’t even say goodbye to Starr. Can friend Pon tell Starr goodbye?”
That nearly broke Pongo’s heart. He could feel it splintering, the weakened thing beneath his skin, but he was Pongo. Pongo was stronger than he knew, and he used that strength to smile, just as he always had. Even with his reputation, his near-inability to lie, he did his best to ease Sprinkle Sprinkle’s worries. “I will. He loved you a lot, you know. You, and all of your brothers and sisters.”
“Sprinkle Sprinkle knows,” They leaned back, sniffling. “Will miss Starr very much. Will…Will Pon come back to caravan instead?”
…Perhaps Pongo wasn’t as strong as he thought. He felt it, then, that pathetic little heart of his shattering into porcelain fragments. It wasn’t as severe a breakage as when he was brought back to life; the pieces had been stitched back together thanks to Mira’s handiwork back then, and that had been the reason Starr was born. This was a fracture Pongo would have to fix, and this time, he would do it on his own.
“I have to go home,” Pongo said truthfully, “Back to the city. But I promise I will visit the caravan often. Goodness knows I will miss you and your siblings too.”
Sprinkle Sprinkle took a moment to process his response. Then, he all but launched himself back into Pongo’s arms for one last hug. Gods above, he truly missed this feeling. And it ended too soon, with Sprinkle Sprinkle pulling away and giving Pongo a sad but sympathetic grin. They were young, of course, but Pongo got the feeling that they were more in tune with his mental state than all the others around him.
Then, a rumble, almost akin to a cat’s purr, echoing through the frost-stricken air. Pongo swiveled his head and came face to face with the bowed muzzle of Telethia, the Endbringer. How patient they had been, to wait for all the others to speak their piece. In this form they could offer no words of their own, so the gentleness of their descent had to suffice. Though the memories of their time in a humanoid form were not his to claim, Pongo saw the image of Solstice smiling down at him, their blue-green eyes shining with admiration and relief. How lucky Nessa had been, to have them by her side. How lucky Aidoneus had been, to have them fight Corvhesperikon alongside it.
And how lucky Pongo was now, to be able to reach his hand up to the Telethia’s snout, to be able to whisper, “Thank you, my friend. Thank you for everything.”
The Telethia hummed, accepting Pongo’s touch and closing their eyes, His hand was so tiny in comparison to their body, yet it basked in the contact, the warmth connecting them in the frigid cold. They both pulled away simultaneously, and as the Telethia opened its eyes, it seemed to ask a silent question. Pongo knew what that question was, and he knew the answer to give. All he had to do was nod, and the Telethia backed up, turned, gave one last glance towards the group. Their wings beat heavy against the air, stirring up the snow beneath their feet, and soon they had flown off into the sunrise, light bouncing off of their etheric feathers. Pongo watched Solstice depart until there was no silhouette left to track.
Froyoyo broke the silence left in their wake. “If friend going home, should start traveling soon. Having sun in Cocytios very good for staying warm.”
“Should go back to caravan too,” Vanala told her husband, “Caravan likely worried sick about Legendary Heropon!!”
“Worried sick about both Froyoyo and Vanala,” He corrected, his fuzzy hand reaching out to clasp Vanala’s. “And likely lots of rebuilding to be done. Corvhesperikon made big impact on caravan.”
“If there’s any resources I could have BLADE send to you to speed along the reconstruction process, let me know,” Elma offered, frowning when Froyoyo quickly shook his head.
“Not need outside help. Would rather not have caravan well known outside Cocytios.”
Pongo immediately sensed the reasoning behind that request, and to reassure Elma, he nodded again. She maintained a frown, though that simple gesture softened her expression. “I’m sure there’s a way I can work around your involvement in this whole endeavor when I write the BLADE report. Either way, HQ will ask questions about how and why our research operations failed. I’ll have to come up with a rather convincing story, especially if I’m to omit you and Aidoneus from the record.”
“We should count our lucky numbers that Solstice was able to help, then,” Pongo said, “You can tell them that the Telethia from Noctilum appeared and destroyed Corvhesperikon - all by itself.”
“BLADE might believe it, on account of the Telethia’s involvement in subduing Pharsis last year,” She concurred, “Either way, you won’t have to worry. The caravan and Aidoneus’s involvement won’t be revealed outside of myself, Pongo, Lin and Tatsu.”
“Tatsu was Nopon that came with friend Elma before, no?” Froyoyo squinted as he tried to remember, “Froyoyo taught littlepon fighting moves while Elma, Nessa, Solstice and other friend went to find Starr. Little friend - that Lin?”
“Yes, I arrived with them both the first time we came to Cocytios. Tatsu still talks about you back home. You’re something of a role model to him.”
“Happy Froyoyo could make difference in littlepon’s life. Froyoyo give permission to speak of events here with Lin and Tatsu. Friend Elma trusts them, and Froyoyo sense that trust from Elma is important thing indeed.”
“Seemed very much like Lin and Tatsu were Elma’s family when everyone was at caravan,” Vanala agreed, “Would make Vanala uncomfortable if Vanala requested Elma to keep secrets from own family.”
“She will probably have questions about where I have been these past few months, too,” Pongo added softly, “I do not think I could lie to her.”
“It’s something we’ll discuss once we’re back in the city,” Elma stood herself up, dusting the snow off of the back of her armor. Now that the sun had risen further up into the sky, her hair shone with angelic brilliance. Something about it reminded Pongo of the first time he’d met her, that first sunrise looking out at Primordia after being awoken from the lifepod, and the sense of deja-vu only increased when she held out her hand for him to take. “For now, Froyoyo’s right. We should get moving if we want to return home. The journey here took about two days, but if we’re quick, we can set up camp on Primordia’s beach by nightfall.”
Pongo took Elma’s hand, and she hoisted him up, though it took him a moment to find his footing. The journey seemed reasonable enough, though considering just how vast the continents were, it almost seemed too quick. He had to tell himself that it was because of BLADE’s vast technological resources, something he’d been deprived of during his time in Cocytios. Honestly, it felt strange to think about. Soon he’s be on board a vessel, soon he’d be reassuming his work with BLADE. Soon he’d be wielding his weapons, familiar in the past but foreign to the present, and he’d be putting that technology towards the betterment of humanity. He’d be helping people, protecting people - just as Aidoneus wanted to do.
“Froyoyo wish friends safe travel back home,” Froyoyo said, “And Froyoyo thank friends for everything. Always welcome at Desserta Caravan.”
“Better visit!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle reiterated, jumping up and down to prove the importance of their demand, “Or Sprinkle Sprinkle find way to friend’s home and visit there!!”
Vanala rolled her eyes at that, though it was clear it wasn’t out of annoyance. Sprinkle Sprinkle had all but proven that their stubbornness would put them into any situation they wanted to be in. They’d find a way to fulfill that promise of visiting NLA, one way or another. Pongo chuckled, imagining how Lin would act to another furry friend in their midst. The food puns would only continue to grow, and it didn’t help that Sprinkle Sprinkle’s name was…well. It was ripe for jokes, to say the least.
And with all of that in mind, the time finally came to bid the Nopon goodbye. His second family, his second home. They may not have been Pongo’s memories to keep, but he walked hand in hand with Starr through it all, and that had to count for something. For his own sake and for Starr’s, he spoke for them both.
“Goodbye, everyone.”
Froyoyo gave one last bow, Vanala gave one last smile. And then they turned away, with Sprinkle Sprinkle in tow. Elma did the same, and Pongo joined her. Not once did he think of picking up Starr’s mask, set so perfectly in the snow mere yards away from his feet.
~
The journey across Cocytios was quiet. Elma and Pongo hardly spoke a word to each other, even when they passed by the research base that BLADE had set up for the investigation of Corvhesperikon’s skeletal remains. The base was in terrible shape, the entire structure demolished and materials scattered across the snow. No humans emerged, no signs of life made themselves known. Elma and Pongo exchanged a meaningful glance. Elma did not smile, and she quickly averted her eyes to the wreckage after their eye contact. Pongo knew in that moment that none of the operatives that had joined Elma on this venture survived. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sour pit in his stomach. They didn’t linger, pressing on quickly past the base.
When they reached the ocean, a boat was conveniently parked by the shore. It was a massive thing, clearly made to hold lots of cargo and passengers. It felt empty even when Elma and Pongo boarded, and Elma quickly assumed the controls and turned on the engine. Pongo hadn’t hesitated in stepping on board, yet a part of him wished he’d given Cocytios a proper goodbye. He’d been trekking through snow and the frigid winter air for so long that it felt like home. He reminded himself that it wasn’t his true home; no, if anything, Cocytios belonged to Starr. NLA was Pongo’s home, NLA was where Pongo belonged. He wouldn’t miss the cold if he had the warmth of his friends and family at his side.
And yet, he watched Cocytios disappear beyond the horizon as they sailed off deeper into the ocean. Why did Pongo remain so attached to the continent that had brought him so much pain? Maybe one day he’d be able to verbalize it, but for now, he let the sadness of farewell make itself known. This wouldn’t be the last he saw of Cocytios, he promised. After all, Starr had made a promise to Lumina to return, to find her the help she needed to recover. In Starr’s lieu, Pongo felt it was fitting to uphold that promise.
After what felt like a lifetime, Primordia appeared in the distance. The cold had left them behind, and in its stead was saltwater and warmth. Pongo became increasingly aware that he was still wearing Starr’s clothes, and gods, did it make him uncomfortable. He shifted in his spot, beginning to wonder if it was a good idea to enter the city in Starr’s attire. Starr would’ve hated NLA, he would’ve hated the hustle and bustle and he would’ve despised people staring at him. Pongo reached for Starr’s breastplate, lifting it easily over his head. The cape came off with it, attached near the shoulders, and Pongo instantly felt a sense of relief. He wondered if he should’ve left it back in Cocytios, a memorial to the fallen. But Starr wouldn't have wanted that, either, would he? This was too complicated to process. He resorted to carrying it back home.
The boat slowly approached the shoreline, a smooth transition thanks to Elma behind the controls. After the engine was cut, she left the helm, coming up on Pongo’s right side. She looked up at him, searching for his response, gauging his headspace. He stared ahead at the land before him. Night had long since claimed the skies, but it was young enough that his visibility hadn’t been impacted. It certainly helped that a few temporary lampposts had been constructed at the beach, the sand shifted where boxes and supply crates had once stood. And the breeze that wafted over from the land…it felt good. It was welcoming him home with open arms. Pongo melted into its embrace, emitting a soft sigh.
Elma opened up a control panel within the ship’s wall railing, and as she held down a button, a metal ramp emerged out of the ship’s side, touching down on the shore. She closed the control panel, opened the door to the ramp, waved with one hand for Pongo to go first. Step by step, he grew closer, closer, until his foot sank into wet sand. There it was again, that welcoming breeze, a kiss to reassure him that there was nothing to fear. Pongo was home.
It didn’t take them very long to set up camp for the night. Even though the city was close, indigen activity at this time of the night wasn’t something either of them wanted to deal with, especially when Pongo felt his eyelids trying to force themselves shut. By the gods, it had been some time since he’d truly slept. Starr knew how to sleep, how to navigate the nightmares and emerge from them unscathed. Did Pongo have that strength, too?
Before he could answer his own question, footsteps approached, and Elma sat down next to him. He’d been leaning against one of the cliffs, exhaustion written on his face despite his best efforts to keep it subdued. A lamppost flickered a few yards away, not close enough to illuminate them fully. They sat like this for a while under the cover of night, simply existing beside each other.
“I’ll keep watch,” Elma told him, and it occurred to Pongo that this was the first time either of them had spoken a word since leaving Cocytios, “Get some rest.”
Pongo fought it, that base instinct to deny needing any rest, to offer to stay up the whole night to help her. But nothing came. He closed his eyes, silent and wordless, his head heavy and tilting. He found purchase on her shoulder and never saw her surprise, her confusion, her sympathy all blending together. That night, he did not dream. That night, Pongo slept soundly.
In the morning, there was no snow, no precipitation to speak of. The sun bore down on them like a dream come true, and with renewed energy the two reached the West Gate in no time. Elma showed no hesitance in stepping forward, continuing to lead Pongo as she always had. But Pongo stopped, staring up at the shining metal gate, the gleam of the crystals shooting out of the impact site. Did anyone ever figure out that those crystals were condensed miranium? He supposed it was something he was attuned to, but never had the appropriate reason to share. Though the sunlight caught on it in fractured mirror reflections, he could see the pulse of the planet cascading through it, blood pumping through the system, a buried heart beneath the ground. Mira had been silent for their voyage, but this was reassurance that it was alive, just resting.
Elma looked over her shoulder, finding that Pongo had paused. “Are you okay, Pongo?”
He spoke the truth. “It feels strange, being home. There is a sense of…of day java.”
“Deja-vu,” Elma replied, “I feel it too. After all, this is the same route that I brought you on when I first found you in Starfall Basin.”
“That feels like it was so long ago,” Pongo breathed, “I could never have predicted that all of this would come to pass. To think, back then I had no idea who I even was…”
“Do you know, now?”
“Hm?”
“Do you know who you are, now?”
The question took him by surprise. But as the realization set in, Pongo found that it was easy enough to answer. There was so much he could say.
I am an Interceptor with BLADE.
I am a part of Team Elma.
I am an avatar of Mira.
I am the founder of the Free Hug Stand in the Commercial District.
I am self-sacrificial to the point of self destruction.
I am happy even when I am hurting.
I am a broken soul on the way to repairing myself.
And in the end, he simply said, “I am Pongo.”
Elma smiled. “I’m proud of you, Pongo.”
Light flooded through his body, a warmth unparalleled. Had he ever heard someone say that to him before? Was he worthy of that pride she felt? Pongo pushed those thoughts down, instead following after Elma now that he’d been reassured. Truth be told, he was not nervous about coming home after being away for such a long time. There was the panic of falling into the same routine, that he’d fall down the same holes and make the same mistakes. He was Pongo, yes, but Pongo had his flaws. Reclaiming the name and the being meant he had to reclaim those unsavory parts of himself. But he’d be better this time, he had to be. It would take time, but he would be Pongo born anew, free from those flaws of the past.
The transition between Primordia’s wilds to the confines of NLA was a familiar one, though jarring all the same. Voices echoed from all around, the Industrial District’s hustle and bustle sweeping Pongo into its mix. Elma took everything in stride, though Pongo was all too aware of the turned heads and shocked expressions of those who saw them walk past. He swallowed hard and kept his focus on the sidewalk, on Elma’s back, clinging to ignorance like a plague.
The test hangar was busier than the district outside, but luckily Elma raised a hand to Pongo before they fully entered. She told him to wait, for Lin was likely inside performing some Skell armor resistance tests as she had been for the past few weeks. Pongo laughed, saying that sounded like Lin. They agreed the fresh air would do her some good. Then Elma dove into the chaos, her bright red armor still pinpointable through the crowd. Pongo backed up so he was leaning against the hangar entrance’s wall, putting his hands in his pockets. Some people walked by and gave him strange looks, and again he was reminded of how uncomfortable it was to wear Starr’s clothes.
Perhaps the clothes were the reason Lin didn’t recognize him right away, following behind Elma for a time before they finally saw each other. And when she finally recognized him, she bolted across the hangar, tears in the corners of her eyes, jumping up into Pongo’s embrace as he spun her around and laughed and relished in the joy he felt. She asked many questions, and Pongo gave her many answers, though he saved the overarching and important ones for when they went back to their barracks. There, he answered everything he could, even through Lin’s heartbreak and tears. She hugged him so many times that it was almost as if she never let go. Tatsu appeared at one point, emerging from behind a wall with his head lowered in shame. He’d been eavesdropping, he admitted to it, but curiosity had gotten the better of him once he’d overheard news of the Desserta Caravan. Even now, he had a soft spot for Cocytios’s Legendary Heropon and his loving wife, a hero all her own. To think, two immortal Nopon had taught him how to fight! What luck indeed!
And after all was said and done, Elma told him he could change into his combat vest and jeans, hanging up perfectly in the closet in his room. The moment Pongo had changed and saw himself in the mirror, everything felt right. These were his clothes, this was his body. He was home, finally home.
When he came back outside into the main area, Lin handed him two cups of hot chocolate, ones that she’d brewed herself. Pongo raised an eyebrow - why two cups? - but everything made sense when she said that the second cup was for someone he hadn’t seen yet. Someone who was, in fact, worried about him from the very start of his disappearance. He’d even filed a missing persons report, though Elma said Chausson didn’t think much of it. After all, Pongo was one of the most revered and capable fighters in BLADE. He’d be back.
So with two styrofoam cups in hand, steam pouring from the top with hints of deep dark chocolate, Pongo left the barracks and walked down Armory Alley, towards the one he missed the most. It appeared to be a day like most others for him, a profitable but busy day indeed. Jejebba and L both were teaming up to try and sell a pair of swords to a young Curator - oh goodness, it was Mia. She looked entranced by the swords, one a vibrant red with green etheric inlays, and the other gleaming a royal white and gold. She grabbed her comm device only to sink into herself. Pongo could immediately tell she didn’t have the funds. She never did.
Deja-vu, Pongo thought as he grabbed his own comm device with one hand. A few quick taps, and the funds had been sent over. Mia’s eyes suddenly widened, and though she was still too far away for Pongo to hear her, he could see her evident excitement. He continued walking towards her until he was closer, and after swiveling back and forth, she met his gaze and her smile reached both of her ears.
And L’Cirufe, bless his heart, found him standing there seconds later. His surprise quickly bled into his relief, his adoration, his love.
Pongo smiled.
“I still owe you more than a hot chocolate, but hopefully it is still a good start.”
#xenoblade x#Imperium 3: Chapter 8#thank you so much for reading.#thank you for being here.#this feels beautiful and whole and utterly real. i can't believe i'm here now.#but know this.#this...this is not the end.#imperium may be finished but it is not over.#but for now...i will sleep.
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you’re trouble, you know that? (2/3)
>:3 lets set that slow burn to a steady simmer, shall we?
redacted asmr: imperium!asher/babe, mature themes, 3k wordcount.
READ ON AO3
They find themselves watching him again, the line of his profile, the scar that bisects his brow. He’s handsome, below the scars; there's a youthfulness to his features, even with the permanent shadows that linger beneath his eyes like bruises.
“What are you thinking about, trouble?”
--
part two: part of the pack
The thing about attraction is how it affects their awareness. Of themself, and others.
They find themselves watching him more. Watching his mouth. And sometimes, when they’re distracted by a thought, they realise they’ve been staring.
It’s not as if they weren’t already watching his mouth. It was a habit before they joined the pack that they’d come to rely on more after they’d lost their hearing aids in that initial sprint through the woods.
Their lip reading wasn’t perfect, but they’d learned to adapt over the years. Combine the words that they can hear with the shape of the speaker’s mouth, make an estimation of the rest.
It works well enough to pass here, they think. The wolves already had improved hearing; any additional loss on their side seems to have mostly gone under the radar.
There’s moments when they catch his eyes on them. He watches them the same way they watch him, sharp, observant.
But sometimes that look lingers. And so does their own.
READ THE REST ON AO3
--
(tumblr deletes all my italics, and as this chapter is long, it will take an age to fix okay)
#redacted asmr#ej writes redacted#redacted asher#redacted imperium#imperium au#imperium!asher/babe#the heat cranks up next chapter >:3#writing#okay this could use some edits but I'm pretty happy with it#<3
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One Big:
Whatcha Been Writing
In the spirit of actually cleaning up my hoarded tags, I am combining not 1 but 52 Last Lines, Heads Up Seven Ups, and other miscellaneous related tags into a mega-share.
Thanks @thepedanticbohemian @writeintrees ×2 @saltysupercomputer ×2 @winterandwords ×3 @oh-no-another-idea ×3 @writernopal @pluttskutt @late-to-the-fandom @akiwitch ×3 @ashen-crest @sunset-a-story @ashwithapen @briannaswords @flock-from-the-void @bubbles-the-banshee ×2 @kaiusvnoir @scifimagpie @chainsaw-raven @axl-ul @primroseprime2019 ×3 @acertainmoshke @magic-is-something-we-create @rubywrite @reading-by-the-pale-moonlight @sam-glade @galactic-mystics-writes ×2 @authoralexharvey @frankensteinshimbo @sergeantnarwhalwrites @surroundedbypearls @frostedlemonwriter ×2 @theunboundwriter @sparrow-orion-writes @forthesanityofstorytellers @buffythevampirelover @digital-chance ×2 @cljordan-imperium @olivescales3 for all your tags!
I am just leaving one giant OPEN TAG!! ♥️
And for my share, have an excerpt from Chapter 10 of the second book of my Secondary Series. 🙃
The guards stationed at the entrance barely have time to see us before J has a knife in each of their throats. She retrieves them before they’re even dead as Vieve forces the doors open.
I want to be angry. Or shocked.
But all I can see is Edward frantically trying to save me while I died on some expensive rug. He’s the only person who’s actively and always chosen me.
Who has ever chosen him?
The wind is even fiercer than before. But before I can even dread the trek back to our safe house, there’s a vehicle pulling up and a voice calling out, “Get in!”
“Courtney?” I dare to ask.
Her bright head of hair appears from the driver’s side as the back is opened up. “Hey, there. Let’s catch up on the road, barkeep.”
We all collapse against the thin walls of the transport, a woman in white reattaching the flap before calling out to Courtney, “All clear, let’s go.” The engine revs, and we start an angry path forward.
The sudden movement rolls my stomach and I fall onto my hands, spitting up more bile and poison. After a couple of heaves, I feel a hand softly press into my spine. It almost makes me feel safe. A gentle hand when I’m hurting, a soft towel wiping at my mouth, two voices I never get to hear again. Then I throw up again.
“Hey. You’re alright.” I glance up at Edward, his legs thrown out beside me. His face is already scarred from where the gag dug in. I want to say something, but I can’t figure out what. I’m just seeing him fall into the grass and seeing his sister get up and never come back and taking one last look at his sleeping form in his bed. “We made it out.”
The woman in white kneels in front of me with a scrap of something and starts cleaning up my mess. I stop her with a quivering hand. “I got it,” I say.
She smiles at me, even if her bright star-shaped eyes are almost empty. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do anymore. Courtney helped me. Let me help you.”
The fabric rustles and shifts, revealing the front of the vehicle and Courtney’s back. “Seriously. What were you guys doing there? I didn’t think you were going to make it out. Especially after Ani went down.”
“Supply run,” Casa tells her.
“You went to Alswik for supplies?” Courtney asks, incredulous. “Don’t you still have a contact at the base?”
Edward’s hand falls from me. “Don’t work with them anymore. And you’d be smart to do the same before it gets you killed.” He watches Ani kick the vomit-stained fabric into the corner of the vehicle. “You and the people you love.”
Without slowing down, Courtney takes a long look back at us. “Thanks for the concern.” She looks back at the road. Ani walks carefully to the front to sit as close to her as possible. “Now where am I dropping you off?”
…
I offer to help Ani hide the vehicle under a cover of leaves and brush as best as possible while the others plan routes to the safe house and the ship. It’s not safe to travel in a big pack when Alswik could possibly have people after us. Or Insignia could have people on their way. While we work, I hear Edward pull Courtney aside, his voice low but insistent. “Listen. You are more than welcome to stay the night on my ship before you keep moving. But you breathe a word of this to Kat and I’ll have you boxed up and sent to Adenrore.”
“I just came to get Ani, Rescue. I’m not here on her orders. Or anyone’s.”
“I can’t risk you traveling with us.” He glances at the woods we’ve stopped in, halting on me for a moment. I snap my gaze back to the brush I’m pulling over the wheels. “And you shouldn’t risk it either.”
J and Vieve take the woods, Edward and Casa following the stream nearby. I offer to travel with Courtney and Ani through the overpass.
There’s still something in my system, even as the daylight fades away. I’ll probably be throwing up through the night, too. But at least the last thing I saw wasn’t the terror in Edward’s eyes. Seeing him worried like that is a fate worse than death. But it’s all I can think about as we walk over dirt and grass and rocks. All I can think about is how Imre made sure Edward was always front and center in front of him, how desperate he seemed to ignore everyone else. How badly I failed at keeping him safe.
“He’s going to get you killed,” Courtney says.
The sun has just begun to set and I can see the cabin Edward calls their safehouse emerging from the thick of the trees below us. I think of all the times Edward has been the one at my side, wrong or right or everything in between. “I’d follow him anywhere,” I whisper into the wind.
Courtney just sighs. Like that’s the response she expected. Dreaded. Something else. I don’t know what kind of history they have, I don’t know who Kat is or why neither of them seem to be working for her anymore. But I do know Edward. “And that’s why.”
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Heaven in Your Eyes || To go further...
SERIES MASTERLIST
I decided to create a secondary post to gather works and content related to the series but also to keep readers informed about news/updates/pauses. This post will be reblogged at each addition/news.
Updates date: ‼️last chapter published 26/09, READ HERE ‼️
Trailer video:
♢ Pierced By Cupid (video by @brummiereader)
Featured in...:
♢ Killing Me Softly pt. 5 (Cameo by @brummiereader)
♢ Killing Me Softly pt.9
♢ Garden of Eden (Eva Shelby x Heaven Shelby by @evita-shelby)
♢ Garden of Eden pt.3
♢ Girls Night and Broken Glass (for @raincoffeeandfandoms birthday)
♢ Womenland (by @raincoffeeandfandoms about the Eva x Heaven AU)
♢ Garden and Prunin Shears (by @zablife)
♢ Stolen Angel, a John Shelby x Heaven blurb (by @zablife)
♢ Pasts and Future (by @dearshelby)
♢ Snow on The Beach (by @pacifymebby)
♢ Visiting The Bayou (by @cljordan-imperium)
♢ In The Graveyard With Lilith Rose Shelby ( cameo by @chaosinkest1996)
Moodboards:
♢ Heaven in Your Eyes illustrations (by @zablife)
♢ Heaven x Arthur illustration (by @raincoffeeandfandoms)
♢ Heaven x Arthur moodboard (by @runnning-outof-time)
♢ Heaven Shelby moodboard (by @dearshelby )
♢ In Love with An Angel (by @there-goes-thefighter )
♢ Eleanor Shelby & Heaven Shelby (by @dearshelby )
♢ Chiaroscuro, Eva Smith x Heaven Shelby (by @evita-shelby )
♢ Fairy!Heaven Moodboard (by @raincoffeeandfandoms )
♢ Wonderland (by the @evita-shelby)
♢ Partner In Crimes (by @raincoffeeandfandoms)
♢ Party and Trouble (by @peakyswritings)
♢ Shakeaspeare's Play (Kaiser and friends by @evita-shelby)
♢ Text Memes (by @rysko )
Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @emotionalcadaver @helen06dreamer @kmc1989
A/N: Also, I've finally found a FC for Heaven, isn't she cute? Nevertheless, as she is written as Reader, you are all free to imagine her how you want to. She's also yours somehow, so be free to ignore the face I've found for her. This is just the closest of how the author personally pictures her.
#arthur shelby#arthur shelby x reader#Peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#Arthur shelby x oc#Thomas Shelby#Tommy shelby x reader#Tommy shelby x oc#Arthur shelby x you#arthur shelby jr#arthur shelby x y/n#Arthur shelby fanfic#peaky blinders fanfic#john shelby x reader#Arthur shelby x ofc#Heaven Shelby#Polly Gray#Michael Gray#tommy shelby#peaky blinders x reader#Paul anderson#Cillian Murphy#Heaven shelby#arthur shelby x heaven lavey#Heaven Lavey#Peaky blinders OC#paul anderson#peaky blinders#arthur shelby fanfic#arthur shelby fanfiction
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The Venomcrawler saga continues.
I finished one of the two large plates of its armor.
And let me tell you.
It's taking so long my 3/0 brush asks for retirement and damages at this point... but like. There are possitives.
I tell that to myself every night to help me sleep. Otherwise I am wasting so much time on a mini I will paint and then shove in a drawer where I will never bother to have to see again. I will exile it and it will gather dust because I play Grey Knights and those monks don't have cool spiders with flamethrowers and tentacles.
They have bad dreadknights that look like a metal mom took its metal son to the park inside one of those chest carrier bags. And you end up with an adult man hanging like a toddler and not a warrior of the imperium.
Feel the wrath of the chapter's finest am I right?
Rant over. Back to our scheduled whatever.
Like I learned how to perform magic tricks.
Turning this
Unfined mess into the first pic while my moist palette looks like this
And I do not get how people make their wet palettes look so worked with. Colors flying everywhere and I am like
All my colors in a line and you can trace even the timeline on this.
It took me to paint this plate two sessions.
I am not even mad, I want to feel like an artist too. Messy moist palette and everything.
I want to be a real boy.
#warhammer#warhammer 40000#warhammer 40k#wh40k#miniature#mini painting#miniature painting#chaos space marines#chaos demon#dark mechanicum
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In the Main Primarch au, is Jaune a loyalist or traitor?
Confused what’s the actual canon version.
I honestly haven't settled on it, original ending had him go renegade and die, so here are the old notes copy and pasted from the document for the original ending.
"Jaune and about 80% of his legion die on Remnant along with most of Remnant population. Once the heresy was finished, the Great Scouring commenced immediately and a great forced was mustered against Remnant due to how Jaune set about the defenses. Jaune had already started the planet wide evacuation of Remnant, recalling all Remnant Citizens off world home to evacuate. By the time the evacuation was well underway, the fleets of the Ultramarines, Space wolves and White Scars attacked but were meant with the Remnant Fleet. Unfortunately the fight spilled down onto Remnant, with a planet wide assault. Jaune, his legion, and Remnant Guard held back the assault as best as they could as the evacuation continued. Jaune ordered aspirants, young marines, a handful of Dreadnoughts to escape on the Juniper. They were the Legions future now.
Only about a 1/3 of the population was able to escape, his friends, and Pyrrha along with their children escaped on the Juniper and other ships jump into deep space with their recently created Light drives, which while slower than warp travel, is much safer. They vanished to places which not even the Imperium would find them again.
Jaune would be killed by Leman Russ, but his death would then activate a weapon on Remnant that gases the whole planet with an immesnly powerful viral weapon. The remaining population, his remaining marines died and any Loyalists unable to get off world died. The entire planet consumed by the deadly fog that made it impossible for anyone to land on, from space marines to even the adeptus mechanicus, all would perish save for the ecosystem itself. Nature would retake Remnant. For 10,000 years, the Imperium would Station a chapter of Astartes to watch the "dead" world, as if waiting for something."
This idea basically opened up a sequel story with Remnant Knights returning during the great rift, taking back their Ancestral homeworld. However it wasn't a good return, the remaining Remnant Population would revere Jaune as a god over the course of generations, a twisted version of truly happened becoming their religious canon. Due to the loss of the dreadnoughts overtime, much of the Legion history was lost and what was saved just became a war like doctrine for their "god". The Sons of Jaune are treated as literally Demi-gods of war who lead the armies and fleets in a holy crusade to avenge their "god" and ancestors. They basically just became the Imperium 2.0? Or word bearers? Idk all I know is that what she was going for I guess.
I'm kinda exploring this with "The fall of Remnant" art pieces but not the whole Religious crusade for revenge type deal. Remnant Knights would come back but only to retake their homeworld and that's it, stay away from the wider galaxy as a whole.
#rwby#jaune arc#warhammer 40k#lost primarch au#jaune is a lost primarch au#warhammer 30k#snippet#regular ask#ask snippet
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