#out of tenebrae

[alfgifu]

Fic analysis 9. Tenebra, or The Crow

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47563792/chapters/119874838

Word count: 246,201

Chapters: 67

First posted: 31st May 2023

Last chapter up: 22nd January 2024

Summary: 

It was highly inconvenient to find myself transformed into a crow in the Imperial Apartments, and somewhat alarming when I discovered that I could not access my magic, and therefore could not turn back.

...

The small room was empty, and dark. A single patch of silvery moonlight picked out a fluffy piece of fabric draped over the back of the long couch.

Cliopher stared for a long moment, then became aware of movement by his feet. He looked down. The large black crow had landed beside him in a splatter of ink, and was regarding him solemnly with one gold-rimmed black eye.

“She’s taken him,” he said, softly.

How and why this came about

The behemoth.

It wasn’t supposed to be. Tenebra started as a collaborative story-making exercise in a discord channel with a number of people feeding in. The premise - that the emperor becomes a crow, and that Cliopher fails to recognise him - led to a rush of ideas about what Cliopher might have done to try to rescue his lord. Most obviously, Cliopher would travel to Sky Ocean and attempt to bring the Sun-on-Earth back from the Sun or the Moon.

The livefic hopped about a bit but mostly consisted of bits of the conversation between Cliopher and the Moon Lady and then a later scene of Cliopher on Loaloa finally recognising what has happened and figuring out how to restore his Radiancy.

With the agreement of the other participants I offered to tidy it up a bit. I thought I’d probably add about three chapters at the start (to get Cliopher and his crow up to Sky Ocean) and then could just stitch together the parts we’d sketched for the second half.

That was not what happened.

First off I realised how many questions we’d left unanswered about what had happened and why. I didn’t want to dwell on it but I did want there to be a sense that there was a reason, so I started with a mishap befalling the Diamond of Gaesion. Then I plunged into the reaction of the Imperial Household to the sudden disappearance of his Radiancy and, well, it was more than three chapters. I skipped the politics almost entirely, and it was still more than three chapters.

Cliopher had to adopt his crow, extract himself from the Palace, and travel to Gorjo City to get his boat. That meant reckoning with his family and friends too. Including sections from Tenebra’s pov added more length and shenanigans, as did working through a properly mythic voyage into Sky Ocean.

All told it took nine chapters to get to the Moon Lady, two for the negotiation, three to get out of Sky Ocean, four to get Cliopher and Tenebra back to the Vangavaye-ve, and another four for Cliopher to put his clues together and break the spell.

I could have stopped there, where the livefic ended. Yes, the world was going up in flames, but Cliopher had his emperor back, that was the important thing.

Only, as that arc of the fic ended, in the immediate reaction to being restored to human form, Fitzroy kissed his rescuer.

I could have left it there, too. But it would have felt cruel. There were so many questions and challenges raised by that one instinctive kiss. I wrote it because it felt natural in the moment and then I sat around wondering what I’d done.

And then I fixed it. Which took another 13 chapters. 

Cliopher is clearly presented in the books as being (a) uninterested in sex unless someone else raises it, (b) strongly longing for a lifelong committed relationship which is deep and bonding and doesn’t involve sex, or doesn’t have to involve sex, because that feels more true and meaningful to him given his personal indifference to sex (c) someone who thinks of himself as only being attracted to women, (d) someone who constantly muses on the physical presence of his beloved lord in terms that certainly sound a great deal like physical attraction.

Fitzroy, by contrast, is famous for his exploits as a lover and unquestionably physically attracted to Cliopher, but has a whole empire’s worth of trauma around asking for the things that he wants.

It felt important to take some time to work through what it would look like for them to talk to one another about all of this and come to an understanding.

The second place I could have left off would have been the end of what became a short recovery break on Loaloa, around chapter 35. Having got that far, however, I sort of wanted to resolve all the other threads left hanging - the politics, the priest-wizards, and so on. And that was another 32 chapters.

What worked and what didn’t

Tenebra was supposed to be a short fic and I thought I’d finish it faster if I just wrote and published as I went. So that’s what I did - I had no buffer at any stage, I dropped a chapter as soon as I finished it and went on to the next one. This led to an erratic posting approach. At times I was uploading chapters every day, or even twice a day. At other times I let it lapse for weeks while I focused on something else. This helped me keep up the illusion that it wasn’t a real fic and I could therefore do what I liked, which I needed so I didn’t run screaming for the hills.

I was pleased with the slow disintegration of Tenebra’s human intellect, and also with the way that Fitzroy kept crow mannerisms when he returned to human form. It was also satisfying, if rather hard work, to bring together all the big politics of the world with the small politics of friends and family.

Navigating Cliopher and Fitzroy into an acknowledged bond and physical relationship was something I approached with a certain amount of fear and trembling. The ace representation in these books is important; the relationship dynamics in canon are interpreted in different ways by different people; I’m not ace myself. I wanted to do the characters justice and I’m pleased with how it came out.

Chapter 35 also included my first ever sex scene which felt like a big deal at the time. I was thrilled to find that depicting sex isn’t materially different from depicting any other part of a relationship - what does this look and feel like to the characters, and what does that mean to them? - but I did go back and tweak it very slightly around the time I finished the fic up, because I think the pacing was too hurried in the first version.

What I learned from writing it

Working on something over such a long time and sharing it in instalments as written gave rise to lots of opportunities to take inspiration from comments. I appreciated them greatly, and was incredibly pleased with the art that some readers made [melts].

There was some fandom drift over the time I was writing, with many of those who had been involved in the early conversations moving on from active involvement in the discord server. The big burst of fic in the summer of 2023 was almost certainly not sustainable given the small size of the fandom. By the time I was uploading the later chapters at the end of 2023/early 2024 the Lays fic conversation had largely dried up and the enthusiasms on the server had shifted focus - which happens, of course - I’m sure things have moved on again in the ten months since then.

It was hard not to read that change as a sign that I was doing something wrong, even though rationally I knew that made no sense. So I definitely learned something about the fragility of ego, the addictiveness of validation, and the way the brain benchmarks automatically to context.

More cheerfully, I did finish it, and I’m proud of it. I think it holds up well to re-reading. It turns out that far more plot can be worked out on the fly than I used to believe, and I love the way this story surprised me as I was writing it. If I’d planned it and written it all and done an editing round and had a good beta, would it have been better? Yes, probably, but it also might never have happened at all. Sometimes you just have to keep swimming.

[freakoutgirl]

Some of my favorite horror movies from the 1980s

[dimsilver]

oh the experience of explaining my Holy Week plans to my OPC pastor’s wife whose girls I’m staying with for a few days…

[inastarlesssky]

Basically my day to day struggle. I want to write and I've even got inspiration but--hey look there's a very interesting new fic and *reads chapter count* oh whoops it's 60+ chapters. My writing life in a picture.

[ebitenpura]

When you're backseat gaming and you tell your friend who keeps losing to move over

and STAY DEAD

[specternabbermaiori]

My favorite was from a Mario thing that had the line "Bowser was laughing because he had an AK-47 and Luigi didn't."

unrelated but one of the bad fanfiction lines that has been trapped in my head for LITERALLY 22 years was a beauty and the beast fanfic in which belle said “be careful, im a virgin in my vagina”. this has been on the tip of my tongue threatening to burst out of my mouth for decades

[pleasant-turtle-student]

oh healing power

[hederasgarden]

Post tenebras lux

Summary: You are gifted to Lucius as a reward for his prowess in the arena. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 5.9 K  Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Heavy angst with a HEA, dubious consent (reader and Lucius are coerced into having sex), public sex (PIV and f receiving), mentions of spousal death, and brief descriptions of blood/injuries from combat in the arena. A/N: I futzed with the timeline in this fic. Instead of coming home after conquering Numidia General Acacius is sent out on another campaign for the emperors. Also, fun fact — the Romans considered oral sex taboo. A HUGE thanks to @aliensupastar, my beloved B, @clairewritesandrambles, @ryebecca, and @faebirdie for their help with the fic. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

The warm steam of the bath clings to the air, thick and heavy, as you move past the large pools where gladiators soak and laugh. Their rough voices fill the humid air and the afternoon sun filters through the open atrium, casting a muted, golden glow across the water. None of the men bother you as you make your way to the quiet alcove at the far end of the room. If Lucius's reputation in the arena hadn’t been enough to keep them away, the man whose hand he took for daring to touch you certainly was.

You’d learned quickly that in this place violence was power, and your gladiator wielded it well. It was a far cry from your life as a fisherman‘s wife, and then as a slave in Macrinus’s household. When you were gifted to Lucius, you braced yourself for the brutal ways of his world, where strength ruled above all else, and men like him took what they wanted without hesitation. But he never did. Instead, Lucius treated you with something you hadn’t expected: respect and kindness. His touch only ever lingered long enough to offer reassurance, never to claim.

In time you both learned to play your parts to survive. By day, Lucius was the victorious gladiator, and you, his spoil of war. They were roles neither of you had chosen, but ones you took on to survive. The night became your refuge, a time where the weight of your reality could be put aside, if only for a while. Curled around one another on the thin cot the ghosts of your past weren’t silenced but shared through whispered admissions. You could speak of the people you had once been – before Rome twisted you both into something unrecognizable.

Trust came with time. And now, as you approach the alcove where he waits, you can feel some of the tension leave your body. You are safe with Lucius, a thought that would have been absurd to you just months ago. 

You shift the small wooden tray — laden with fresh bread, olives, figs, and a jug of strong wine — to your other hip. The soft scrape of your sandals against the stone floor alerts Lucius to your presence. His dark gaze lifts from the water, meeting yours with the quiet intensity that you’ve come to expect. Even in the haze of sweat and steam, his presence is impossible to ignore. 

Where others would let their gaze wander lower, drifting toward the rest of his bare form submerged beneath the water, you always look at his face. It‘s there that you find what you seek: the sharp edges of your own pain and anger mirrored in his dark eyes. It’s a reflection of the hurt you carry, of all that Rome took from you both. 

“You fought well today,” you say, settling beside the pool, the water lapping at the stone. 

The words come easily, practiced—part of the familiar routine you’ve both come to rely on. Though the bath is quiet and you seem to be alone, you know better. You’ve learned the hard way that the walls have ears. Every word, every glance, carries weight here, and even in the relative solitude of this alcove, your interactions could be reported back to Macrinus. Only when you’re hidden away in the cell you share each night can you let the pretense fall away. 

Lucius hums in response as he lets his head fall back against the cool stone. His muscled arm rests on the edge of the pool and you offer him a brief, gentle touch before withdrawing. The tension in his frame eases a fraction and his eyes flutter closed, but the sharpness of his presence doesn’t fade. He’s aware of every shift in the air, every sound around him. Even in the quiet comfort of this place, Lucius is never truly off guard. 

You pick up a ripe fig, its skin velvety and fragrant, and drag it slowly through the warmed honey. Gently, you bring it to his lips, offering it with a quiet gesture. Lucius sighs—softly, almost imperceptibly—and then his lips part, taking the fruit from your fingers. As he bites into it, you feel the heat of his tongue brush against your skin. You try to ignore the traitorous feeling that springs to life in your belly. That feeling has become a frequent companion, one you never asked for, and one that sits uneasily beside the grief you still carry for your late husband.

“You must eat too,” Lucius commands. “You will need your strength for later.”

His rough words carry no real threat, but you react like they do, tucking your chin to your chest in a subtle gesture of submission. At times, it feels like a performance—like you're both actors on a stage, with an unseen audience watching every move. You eat in silence until the tray is bare and the goblet empty. When he rises from the pool, water cascading from his sun-kissed skin, you reach for the fresh robe laid carefully over the stone bench. 

“Do you wish…” you begin, lifting your eyes to Lucius, only to falter at his expression. His eyes flicker briefly past you, and then, just as swiftly, return. He gives no warning before he pulls you forward and drags you into the water. Your cry of surprise is swallowed by the splash your bodies make as ripples spread outward. The wet robes cling to you like a heavy second skin and you sink deeper into the water.

“I’ll have you here,” Lucius announces loudly. He grasps your biceps and easily forces you to straddle him. Your face shields his from the outside world. His expression softens and even as his lips part to speak, you shake your head, stopping him before the words can leave his mouth.

You understand, without needing to hear it. The two of you are no longer alone.

He leans back, arms stretched along the edge of the bath. “Ride me,” he commands. 

You struggle out of the heavy outer robe and your knuckles unwittingly brush over his abdomen. Lucius tenses beneath you. You offer him a quiet apology before withdrawing and rising to your knees. Your hips shift forward in a facsimile of his request, meeting nothing but a swell of water as you keep a careful distance from his body. He groans and you answer him with a quiet moan of your own. You rise up and down almost mechanically, staring at the chipped stone above his head. His hot breath fans over your neck, the heat of it lingering on your skin. You shudder as a warmth that has nothing to do with the pool gathers under your skin, shame twisting your insides. 

Lucius grabs your waist urging you to move faster, and the sounds of his pleasure rise in intensity. The muscles of your thighs protest, burning with effort as you hold the distance between your bodies. The air around you shifts and the murmur of conversation in the other pools begins to fade as the gladiators are drawn in, listening to your performance. The silence grows almost suffocating, but you force yourself to push through the charade. This is just one of many indignities you’ve endured since Rome descended onto the sleepy fishing village you called home. It pales to what could await you if it were gifted to a different gladiator. 

“Fuck,” Lucius growls loudly, abruptly stilling your movement to feign his pleasure. 

After a beat you gather the courage to look over your shoulder, meeting Viggo’s stare. You tense. Calloused fingertips brush lightly over your jaw, drawing your attention back to Lucius. You stare down at him, taking in the light flush of his dusky cheeks and the steady rise and fall of his chest. His touch lingers for a moment more before his hand disappears beneath the water. 

“Use my robe to cover yourself,” he instructs roughly. 

It’s then that you realize how transparent your dress has become in the water. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you slide away, only to freeze when your thigh brushes over an unexpected hardness. Your eyes jump to his and Lucius’s throat bobs, the usual intensity of his features faltering for a brief moment.

"I will fetch more wine," you stammer after a pause, your gaze flicking nervously to Viggo still lingering at the edge of the bath, all too aware that Lucius cannot leave in this state. 

Wrapping your arms around your chest, you rise from the pool. The cool air instantly prickles your damp skin. You reach for a robe nearby and pull it around you quickly, grateful for its modesty. Viggo shoots you a brief, assessing glance, but it’s Lucius who commands his attention next.

"Come to admire what isn't yours?" Lucius taunts.

He leans back casually, as though completely unfazed by the situation. It’s effortless the way he slips into his confident, unshakable mask while you hurry away, eager to break the silence and escape the strange weight of the moment.

–

The clang and clash of metal from the arena become a distant hum, fading into the background as you clean the wounds on Lucius's body. Ravi is occupied, tending to the more seriously injured men, so it falls to you to care for your gladiator. You kneel between his thighs and the coarse sand scrapes against the soft skin of your knees. The heat of the day clings to you both, the air thick with the smell of sweat and blood. But beneath it all, there's a scent you’ve come to recognize as uniquely his — a mix of earth and salt that’s oddly comforting. 

You gently press a cloth to one of the deeper gashes, cleaning away the blood before you begin stitching the wound. Lucius hisses as you draw the needle through his parted skin, and you glance up at him in concern, but his eyes are closed, his breath steady despite the discomfort. His fingers curl into the edge of the cot, gripping it tightly. You smear the thick, fragrant paste Ravi left over the wound once you’re done. 

“You’re getting better at this,” Lucius observes.

“Flesh is not so different from cloth,” you reply.

“A far cry from mending fishing nets,” he says, and for a moment, your eyes meet and you share a small, pained smile.

“And you are a long way from a farm, gladiator,” you acknowledge, shaking your head. 

You help him stand, your hands steady as you support his weight, but you pause when you spot Viggo standing in the doorway. Lately, he seems to haunt your every step, his presence a constant shadow. On instinct you shift a little closer to Lucius, your body seeking the reassurance of his proximity just as he draws you near. The subtle movement doesn’t go unnoticed. A small, knowing smile tugs at Viggo’s lips. It’s a look that sends a trickle of unease down your spine.

“Macrinus is entertaining some important guests tomorrow evening, and you are required to attend,” he announces looking at Lucius. “They wish to see a real gladiator up close, to witness your strength and skill firsthand.”

Then, to your surprise, Viggo turns his gaze toward you. “Your presence is also required,” he adds. Although his tone is casual there's an edge to it that makes your stomach tighten.

Lucius doesn’t speak, but his fingers flex against your hip as he considers the other man’s command. You both know there’s little room for refusal when it comes to Macrinus.

“I understand-” you say at the same time Lucius’s voice cuts through the silence, low and firm.

“She is not needed. I alone will attend.” 

His gaze never leaves Viggo, and you can see the challenge in his eyes. It’s an attempt to shield you, one you appreciate but understand is futile. 

Viggo’s smile remains unchanged. “Macrinus insists.”

The matter is settled and you bow your head, waiting for the other man to leave. Once he is gone you look to Lucius, voice tinged with concern. 

“You should not challenge him.”

Lucius steps away, anger rolling off him in waves. “And you should not submit so easily.”

You touch your throat, then turn away to busy yourself with the bloody scraps of cloth and scattered supplies. There’s no point in arguing. You know the truth: that sometimes submission is the only way to survive in a world ruled by men like Macrinus. As you work the silence between you stretches on, thick and charged before Lucius steps toward you. 

He sighs, his breath warm against the back of your neck. A moment later, his hand rests on your shoulder. The calloused pads of his fingers graze the nape of your neck, sending a fleeting sense of unexpected longing through you as they briefly sweep over your skin.

“I….” His voice trails off and you close your eyes.

“I know,” you say quietly. 

So much of what transpires between you seems left unsaid. You reach back, your hand finding his briefly as the two of you share a quiet moment before he must return to the arena. 

–

The bangles on your wrist are heavy and ornate, far too extravagant for a slave. They feel less like adornments and more like shackles. Beside you, Lucius looks equally as uncomfortable in his fine clothes. They’ve trimmed his beard and his tunic—lined with gold thread—glimmers in the dim light. From across the room, Macrinus raises his goblet to the two of you. All around you his guests mingle, sharing hushed conversation and knowing smirks that deepen your discomfort. 

The servants, once familiar to you from your time as a slave working in Macrinus's kitchen, all avoid your gaze. You spent years alongside them before you were plucked from that world and thrust into Lucius's service. Their hesitation, the way they look past you, is more than simple discomfort, it’s a warning you don’t yet understand. Your fingers tremble where they rest on Lucius’s arm.

“Something is not right,” you whisper, fear rising in your throat.

Before Lucius can reply, the conversation around you falters, and the air grows still as Macrinus moves to the center of the room. Then, with a sharp clap of his hands, the noise dies completely. 

“Our entertainment is about to begin,” he announces, beckoning you forward.

As you approach, his eyes drift between you and Lucius. His smile widens, though it never quite reaches his eyes. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. You’ll both need your strength for the show,” he says. 

“I am to fight?” Lucius questions, his voice edged with suspicion.

“No, not today,” Macrinus replies. “My guests are eager for a performance of another kind.”

Your brow furrows and Lucius stares blankly at Macrinus until two servants, moving in unison, pull a table forward. It is laden with the remnants of the earlier feast — half-finished plates, empty goblets, and discarded silverware. They work to clear away the table until it is left bare. 

“It is no bed, but it’s finer than your cot,” Macrinus assures.  

Lucius jerks back as if struck, his body stiffening in shock while cold dread settles over your shoulder as you both understand Macrinus’s meaning. He watches the small exchange between the two of you with amusement.

“Or, if you prefer not to,” he offers, watching Lucius intently. His voice is smooth with mock consideration as he continues speaking. “I’m sure another gladiator would gladly take your place.”

“No,” Lucius snarls. Before he can move, you dig your nails into his forearm, trying desperately to hold him in place.

Macrinus leans in close, his next words meant only for the two of you. “I expect a good show. Not like that mummer's farce in the bath.”

Ugly surprise washes over you as the full reality of your situation sinks in. Beside you, Lucius shifts and you see the familiar spark in his eyes. It’s the look he gets before a fight when the fire that lives inside him is ready to explode and consume everything in its path. You’ve seen it a thousand times in the arena, and it always ends the same way: with blood. 

You almost wish you could let him fight, but you know better. You step closer to Lucius, your presence a quiet plea for him to stop. It takes a moment before he meets your gaze and when he does you see the pain beneath the rage, the knowledge that this moment is slipping beyond his control. 

There’s no glory in this—only survival. Yet that truth doesn’t make it any easier to watch the fire in his eyes fade as he steps back. It’s the kind of defeat that no arena or battle could ever impose on him. 

“My guests are eager for the show,” Macrinus says and gestures to the table. 

You straighten your shoulders, willing your body to follow the courage your mind struggles to summon. Lucius follows with heavy footsteps. You stop before the table, heart pounding, and take a slow, steadying breath to gather your resolve before you turn to face your gladiator. You know the role you’re meant to play, this moment is just another part of the spectacle your life has become.

Without a word, Lucius steps closer and his hands come to rest on your hips, guiding you to sit on the edge of the table. When he moves between your legs, you can’t read his expression. Unexpectedly, one of his large hands cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Focus on me,” he urges. “It is just us here, no one else matters. Do not think of them. Do not think of anything but me.”

His words are a command and a reassurance all at once, grounding you in the moment even as your pulse quickens. 

When he speaks again, his voice is louder, carrying across the room. “Lay back.”

The table is hard and cold beneath you as you follow his instruction, the chill seeping through the thin silks you wear. Lucius pulls you forward until you’re at the very edge, your legs hanging loosely off the sides. Gently, your dress is peeled away until you’re bare to him. His broad frame blocks the crowd from seeing much but you still feel vulnerable and exposed. You curl your fingers into the palms of your hands, trying to remember Lucius’s words as you close your eyes.

The murmurs of the observers increase, and you feel them shift, edging closer. Then, a woman’s gasp cuts through the tension, followed by a wave of hushed surprise that ripples through the gathered Romans. When you open your eyes you can only see the top of Lucius’s head from where he kneels between your thighs. Guilty anticipation zips through you, followed by a spark of heat that flickers low in your stomach at the sudden realization of what he intends to do. 

“Barbaric,” a man utters, his voice thick with disdain.

“Now now,” Macrinus says with a slight chuckle. “Remember, our gladiator hails from Numidia. Their customs are not ours."

The first touch from Lucius is barely there, a whisper of contact against your inner thigh, but it grows firmer the higher his fingers climb. Instinctively, you hold your breath, waiting for him to reach the most sacred part of you. At the first touch of his mouth to you, the rest of the world fades away.

Lucius builds your pleasure with slow, steady strokes while his calloused hands knead your thighs. His touch is an anchor and spark all at once. There is little resistance when he curls a finger inside. A second joins the first a moment later and without thought, you thread your fingers into his curls. A long, shuddering moan leaves him, and the vibration tightens the coil in your belly. Lucius’s touch grows rougher and more demanding. He drinks from you like he’s starved for it, as if every drop is the only thing keeping him alive while his fingers work you open.

You come with a throaty cry, your hips leaving the table. Every nerve in your body is alight. You cannot help but hold Lucius against you until the mere brush of his nose against your center makes you quake again, sending waves of warmth through your veins. As much as you want him to stop, you’re desperate for him to continue and keep you in this moment where nothing but the two of you exist. 

Lucius pulls away and reality crashes in with starting clarity while the eyes of the crowd cut through you like a thousand sharp edges. Before it all overwhelms you, he climbs onto the table. He lowers himself onto his forearms and the weight of him presses against you.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs.  

You open your mouth but the words you want to say seem to get caught, trapped somewhere between your chest and your lips. To your surprise, wetness gathers at the corner of your eyes. But even that feels like something you can't fully surrender to. You’re trapped in this strange, painful moment where nothing feels real and everything feels too real all at once. It’s all too much – his tenderness and the horror of the situation.

There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in Lucius’s expression in response, but it’s enough to reveal something beneath the surface and allow you to see the guilt he bears. The lines around his eyes seem to deepen and the tension in his expression makes him look older, wearier, and more vulnerable than you've ever seen him. The desire to soothe him is enough to break the strange spell on you.

"All is well," you assure him, gently brushing your nose against his. “I am no maiden.”

“Fuck her already,” a voice shouts and Lucius pulls back, his handsome face twisting into a snarl. You feel the tension in his muscles, coiling like a spring, ready to snap—and a knot of anxiety tightens in your chest. 

You breathe his name, soft and pleading, and he stills, the clench of his jaw betraying the war within. “It is only us,” you remind him, repeating his own words back to him. 

He stares down at you, nostrils flaring and then suddenly he bows his head. You feel the fight leave him as he chooses restraint over the violence you both know he’s capable of.

"Only us," he replies, strained. 

You hold his gaze as you feel his knuckles brush against your inner thigh to line himself up. He pushes inside slowly and you lift your hips. Your body welcomes him with only the briefest flare of pain, eased by his earlier attention. 

“Oh,” you gasp.

Your eyes close as he fills you completely. The sensation is both comforting and alien all at once. You can’t help but think of your late husband, so different from Lucius in every way. You wonder fleetingly if the man above you is thinking of his lost love too. Does that unspoken grief weigh on him as heavily as it does on you?

Before your mind can wander further, Lucius begins to move and your thoughts fizzle out. He curls his powerful body over yours and keeps up a steady pace that makes your skin buzz. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and the smell of him surrounds you, familiar and comforting. As you move together each breath and shift of your body becomes a silent conversation between only the two of you. 

“Gods,” he groans into your ear. “You take me so well.”

His unexpected praise has you rocking into him, needy for more. The table creaks each time he thrusts back into you. His lips trail along your neck and you feel that familiar climb to ecstasy begin, like a delicate crescendo inside you. Your nails dig into his skin and his rhythm stutters. 

“Sweet girl,” Lucius sighs, pulling back just far enough to meet your gaze.

The tenderness in his eyes is unexpected. Since Macrinus gifted you to Lucius nearly six months ago, you’ve shared many looks; full of pain and grief, anger and understanding, but this is something new, fragile. You stroke his cheek and he surges forward, kissing you roughly.

His lips on yours are a revelation. A storm of emotion rolls through your chest, crystallizing into the realization that you want him. You long for him in a way that goes beyond the need for protection, or a desire for connection. You grasp his face in both hands, your fingers trembling against the hard line of his jaw, and return the kiss with urgency. It’s desperate, almost frantic, as though you’re trying to pull him closer, to merge with him in a way that makes the world outside of the two of you disappear. 

He responds with a sharp thrust, angled so perfectly that it sends a flash of heat up your spine. You taste yourself on him when his tongue delves into your mouth. He hardly lets you catch a breath as he pours himself into you over and over until another orgasm washes through you. It’s more intense than the last, bleeding into his own as he comes with a quiet moan. 

He gives a few more thrusts and stills, his lips hovering over yours as you share the same air. Your thumbs stroke the soft skin under his eyes and you hold his gaze. In the depths of it, you feel a thousand words rising in your chest, aching to spill out, but you are all too aware you’re not alone. 

Before you let the world back in you tilt your chin up, lips brushing over his in a slow, tender kiss that he returns with heartbreaking gentleness. When you finally pull apart, the applause from Macrinus makes you flinch, and Lucius’s expression clouds over.

“What a performance,” Macrinus exclaims.

A titter of applause follows from the audience as though they’ve witnessed something to be praised. Lucius pulls away and you wince as he slips from inside you. A trickle of his seed follows and cold air blankets your body. You curl in on yourself, feeling vulnerable and anxious. When Lucius moves to stand, he carefully pulls your dress to cover you. Then, he helps you upright, and draws you into his side, shielding you with his body. He lifts his chin and offers the crowd a sharp, almost vicious smirk that’s more a baring of teeth than a smile. 

“I thought you might fuck like you fight,” Macrinus says. He lays a hand on Lucius’s shoulder like they are old friends and leans close. “I’m pleased to see that I was wrong.”

There’s some other meaning in his words that you don’t catch but Lucius seems to understand. Anger flickers across his face, but beneath it, you see something more unsettling, something you’ve never seen before. Fear. 

“We will do a great many things together, I think,” Macrinus continues in a pleased tone, his gaze lingering on the hand Lucius settles possessively on your hip. “A great many things.”

This time when he smiles it reaches his eyes; cold, calculating, and full of something far more sinister.

You spend the rest of the party seated on Lucius’s lap, his arm banded around your waist while the other rests on your thigh. He’s tense and angry as you expect but his focus seems distant, lost somewhere far beyond the room. He rubs the fabric of your dress between his thumb and forefinger, the motion almost absentminded. The wine you sip is overly sweet and sits like a sour stone in your belly. Neither of you speak. Occasionally, some guests, perhaps emboldened by drink or bravery, approach, but Lucius quickly sends them on their way with nothing more than a look. 

Only once the party dies down are you dismissed by Viggo. On the journey back to your cell Lucius’s grip on you remains firm, as if he's afraid you might slip away. He doesn't speak, and you notice every so often, his free hand curls into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. It’s not until the door closes behind you, locking you both inside the small, dimly lit space, that Lucius finally speaks. 

"You know my true name,” he begins pacing the length of the cell. “But there are things I have not told you."  

He speaks slowly, each word carefully measured, as though he’s weighing the cost of revealing what’s hidden. He tells you the truth of his origin, and with each sentence, you sink deeper into the thin cot you both share, the weight of his words pressing down on you. When he finally falls silent, you remain there, frozen. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, but none of them seem to form into anything coherent. 

"Does this mean-" you begin, words faltering as you try to process the magnitude of what he’s revealed to you. “Does this mean… you are the rightful emperor?”

“I am.” There’s no pride in his admission, only worry. He releases a harsh breath through his nose like he’s trying to clear something from his chest before he speaks again. “There is a plan in place, with my mother and Acacius, but he will not return from Persia for several weeks yet. We cannot wait for them.”

“What has changed?”

“Surely you must know,” he whispers, regarding you softly.  

You shake your head, a quick, instinctive denial, but a deeper part of you already understands. Or perhaps, hopes you do.  

“You," he says simply. 

It’s the way he says it, so certain and knowing, that makes your breath catch. You stare at him and your heart throbs in your chest, low and sweet like a song.

“I never thought I could want someone again,” he admits. His unexpected words summon the ghost of all you've both lost, and they rise between you like a shadow, lingering for a long painful moment. "I thought it would feel like..." His words trail off.

“A betrayal,” you finish for him, keenly aware of what he must feel. 

The vulnerable look on his face awakens something deep and real inside you that you never expected to feel again. You rise from the cot without thinking and move to stand before him.  

"It feels right," he continues, his voice softer now, but no less certain. "As easy as breathing." 

And then he kisses you, tentative at first, before he grasps your jaw, seeking more of you. The way he holds you, possessively, protectively, makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters, like you're his lifeline in a world that’s about to crumble. It fills you with such longing that you chase his lips when they part from yours.

"Macrinus knows now. And he is planning something," Lucius says, his voice tight with urgency, "and whatever it is, it will be at odds with the good of Rome. He will use you to get to me. And I cannot lose you."

“What will you do?” You ask.

"I'll send word to my mother in the morning," he replies. "You and she must leave Rome. It’s the only way."

You shake your head, unwilling to part from him.

“I will come for you when it is safe,” he promises, capturing your lips in another kiss before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. "But tonight… tonight, I need you again. Will you have me?” He questions.  

You answer him with your lips and he gathers you in his arms. The coarseness of his beard against your chin and the firm press of his lips to yours ignites a bone-deep need within. Suddenly all the danger, the uncertainty, and the inevitability of what’s to come fades into the background. It's just the two of you, the heat of his touch, the depth of his kiss, and the unspoken promise in his embrace. 

When he pulls you down on the cot, urging you on top of him, you let his momentum carry you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads desperately, framing your hips with his hands. 

He gazes up at you with such a mix of desperation and love that you couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. The shudder he gives when you take him in hand emboldens you to stroke his length. He groans and pushes his head back, exposing his thickly corded neck. You rise up and sink down on him slowly, savoring each inch. It’s near perfect how he fills you, and even though you’re still sore from earlier, the blend of pain and pleasure thrills you too much to stop. 

“Your dress,” he pants, “remove it. Please. I want to see you. All of you.”

You pull the fabric from your body and shed the bangles on your wrist while Lucius removes his tunic. You’re familiar with every inch of his body from tending to his wounds and time in the bathhouse, but you gaze down at him now with renewed appreciation, resting your hands on his firm shoulders. His eyes are filled with affection and desire as they roam your body. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praises. 

He cups your breasts and draws his thumbs across your nipples until they grow hard. The touch sends sparks of pleasure along your nerves and you twitch around him. He moans and rolls his hips. His arms encircle you, holding you close while he fucks you with strong, powerful thrusts. You bury your face in his neck and drag his skin between your teeth. He answers your action with a groan. 

“Gods, the way you feel. You’re perfect,” he praises. 

You sit up and plant your hands on his chest, moving your hips to take him deeper. You gasp his name and arch your back, rocking forward with an urgent need that eclipses everything else. For the first time in what feels like forever, you close your eyes and let yourself simply feel. There’s no need to shield yourself, no barriers to maintain.

“Look at me,” Lucius begs, grasping your waist to take control of your movements.

Your eyes flutter open and meet his, the beginning of your orgasm rising to the surface like a tide pushing its way to shore. It grows steadily until it finally crashes over you, flooding your senses and leaving you breathless in its wake. Lucius finds his own end moments after with a low, shuddering gasp. It takes several moments for your breathing to return to normal and when it does Lucius sweeps his hands up your sides comfortingly.

"Stay with me like this,” he asks. 

You acquiesce and he gently guides you to rest your cheek against his chest. His hand slides to the middle of your back, his palm warm and steady as he holds you close. Even though he remains inside you still your body relaxes, pooling in his. You close your eyes and listen to the steady drum of his heart, feeling a profound sense of stillness. 

You’ve always felt safe in Lucius’s arms, but now, you feel loved in a way you never dreamed you’d experience again. It’s a kind of peace that settles into you, filling all the broken, hollow spaces in your heart where your grief and pain have lingered for so long.

Whatever comes next, his love and strength are something you can hold onto. And for now, that is all you need. 

♡

Also part of this series:

Ab Initio

Finis

Protego te

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

[sennenpharaoh]

Yugi gives Atem a big hug. Rubbing his back and then holding up a cat charm. “I saw this while shopping and thought of you.” ~ angelus-tenebrae

There was a small gasp of awe as his eyes met the cat charm.

"Aww, Aibou. That's so cute!"

Not him "petting" the charm with his finger.

[sylviewrites]

W h e n Y o u S n u g g l e T h e m

Rafayel × Reader · Sylus × Reader. character dividers belong to @manikas-whims. Pure fluff, very little angst, no warnings.

masterlist | reblog + like to support the writer!

It wasn't enough.

You were in his unfairly giant, unfairly comfortable bed, hugging Sylus with everything you had in you. Your arm wrapped around his torso, your head tucked in his chest, and his heart beating steadily against your ear.

But it wasn't enough. A greedy monster overwhelmed you, full of want to just have him as close to you as possible.

You huffed, looking up at his serene expression with defiance. Well, doesn't he look fine and dandy? While here you are, feeling like a inferno had taken over your heart. A fire that won't be extinguished until it gets what it wants.

You exhaled a frustrated sigh and with a twist of your legs, you scooted upwards until you were almost face-to-face with your handsome beloved. You watched him for a while, taking in his long eyelashes, the way his silver hair fell over his forehead, and the way his lips stretched wide that, when aware, form into a sinful smirk.

Something purred inside you, it was warm and consuming. You threw your leg over his hip, slid one arm in the gap between his neck and pillow, and draped your other arm around his shoulder, tucking his head in-between your neck and chest.

The greedy monster was still there, but the fire has shimmered down into embers. It made your forget of your weird dreams, filled with fire and smoke, your hands coated in blood because-

No, you refused to even think about it. Your heart spiked for a second at how realistic the dream was, your arms tightening around him. You don't care if he is one of the most powerful men in the country, you don't care if he's a criminal and supposedly your enemy. You don't care if it means you'll become a tenebra, losing the honour of your noble job.

You will protect him from everyone if you could.

Mine, you thought, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of his hair shampoo. Home, familiar. Mine, all mine.

Sylus kept his eyes closed, though they cracked open when you sighed in content, snuggling to him like a cat, a real kitten-person. He almost chuckled at how accurate he was with his thoughts.

It was late morning on a Saturday, a time when Sylus went to sleep and you rose from slumber. It was an hour he hated yet looked forward to the most, because your peaceful sleeping nature had him adoring you in ways he never thought was possible. Still, it slightly surprised him when you made no move to get out of bed.

He felt yours lips on his forehead, a touch so soft and gentle that his heart skipped a beat. He melted against you, groaning in content and relishing the warmth of your skin, his head tilting further into you as your comforting scent enveloped him.

(What was life before, again? He can't remember, won't remember?)

Home? he wondered.

Home, his heart confirmed with a ancient whisper.

"I'm so exhausted," you groaned, plopping to the couch right besides him, your loud groaning muffled by the pillow you buried your face in.

Rafayel chuckled, flipping through the arts' magazine like it was a regular Thursday. "I told you, you shouldn't have done double shifts," he sighed, glancing down at your languid body.

His eyes softened at the sight of dark circles under your eyes, hand reaching out to trace a thumb over the worried skin. "Take a nap, I'll be here when you wake up."

You didn't answer for a long time, eyes closing as you relished the gentle touch on your skin. You snuffled closer to him and turned around on your stomach, coming face to face with your precious siren.

Supporting yourself on your elbows, you cradled his face gently, [colour] eyes tenderly roving over his features. A lovely blush rose on the apples of his cheeks, travelling all the way up to his ears. Meanwhile, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowing.

"Take me off guard with your affection again, and I'll spit bubbles at you," he threatened, voice deepening the longer you kept your lips far away from reach.

"That's okay. your bubbles are always a beautiful sight to behold."

You loved seeing the surprised and flustered expression on his face. You giggled softly, unable to be any louder, and leaned further into him, closing the gap between you two and connecting your lips into a adoring kiss.

You knew all was an act as you felt him smile smugly into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you, pressing his fingers teasingly on your waist. Your hands travelled down from his cheeks to his neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Welcome home," he murmured against your lips. pecking them endearingly.

"It's good to be back," you whispered, and your foreheads touched in the reminiscence of sculptured yearning lovers, losing yourselves in the quietude at each others embrace.

[fire-of-the-sun]

So excited to share my piece for the Studio Ghibli/Final Fantasy Crossover challenge over on X! I instantly knew I wanted to draw Noctis and Luna in the meadow scene from Howl's Moving Castle, now re-imagined in Tenebrae among the sylleblossoms (every attempt to paint them accurately did not work out so I went with generic blue flowers, sorry). I also changed the composition of the original scene a little to include Noctis holding out his hand as I felt it added more to the piece. As was part of the challenge, this artwork features no AI elements and was hand drawn and painted entirely in Procreate with some touch ups in Photoshop mostly using the default brushes and Devin Elle Kurtz's flower pack. Hope you enjoy!

(Please do not edit/steal/repost without permission)

[szarina]

Too dark got it: How about Zayne just blackmailing MC to stay away from his family, like him forging evidence she wanted to seduce Zayne?

blep cat

❆ ₊⋆ content warnings. blackmailing

a/n: there is always a block button.

“Dr. Zayne......”

She call his name in a whisper in a familiar tone. Watching as he walked through the doors in long strides. Surprised or more like longing was evident on her face.

Yvonne didn't told her that it was the Chief Surgeon who was meeting her today and not her current primary care physician that the surgeon had referred her.

She doesn't know what hurts more. Maybe, it's her heart that is being wrung out in her chest or the way he looks at her as she turned insignificant to him. Fondness had long disappeared in his eyes for her.

“Dr. Corwin is currently indisposed at the moment. He will be meeting you later.” Zayne informed her. The surgeon standing across her, former primary care physician and since he married you and heard that he's a real father now, she was easily assigned to a another physician that had the same qualifications as his.

This time it was usually her check-ups with him but it was replaced by his time with you, being a devoted husband and loving father to his children.

His strides were long, with purpose as he entered the conference room. The same sterile room with the AC blowing on to keep the room cool but with his sharp gaze it dropped a few degrees lower.

He pulled a chair and sat without hesitation. He was still the same white coat and the midnight blue high collared shirt underneath that coat.

“I won't waste of our allotted time. Let's get straight to the point. Don't you ever talk or approach my wife again. I don't need you poisoning her.”

Her eyes widens in disbelief and her breath got stuck in her throat at the sudden shift and accusation. She turned speechless and suddenly her hunter's uniform was tight all of a sudden. The gloves in her hands digging at her skin when she closed her fists in utter disbelief.

“P-poisoning her? It's the truth.” She stammers but her words were firm to prove her point.

“And how did my wife reacted from that truth?” Zayne's gaze were piercing and she didn't like that eyes of his looking at her like that.

Wife. The word stabs her in the chest. You had replaced her in his heart. It also reminded her of her place in his world. She was a nobody. Just someone who had a heart disease that he's still looking a cure of. That should make her special since he started that for her but it wasn't time for being delusional. It wasn't also for her, it was also for the thousands that shares the same fate as hers.

She looks at her and his gaze were still the same. Cold and calculating. Something tells her that if she breathes wrong, he's going to get rid of her.

“She deserves the truth.” Her voice came into a murmur. She won't going down without proving her point. It was her stubbornness that was putting herself in danger — as always and her love for him too.

“The Hunters Association strictly abides on its rules and that extends on how you hunters conduct yourselves in public. In your case, it can be quite damaging. The Association doesn't tolerate its hunters' misconducts.” The surgeon reminded her.

She knows that. The Hunters Association were unforgiving when it comes to acts of misconduct that will sully the integrity of the Association. She was close to being a Tenebra and Zayne was about to make her one.

“I didn't harassed her. I only talked to her.” She defended herself. Her hands clasped at her lap into fists.

“You won't like Zayne when he's angered. He won't show it but know it's going to come.” She hears your voice at the last conversation she had with you and this is what the extent of your husband's anger towards her.

“That conversation is upsetting and a conversation that is saved between mine and hers. You have no business in our lives. That is considered harm towards a citizen of Linkon.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“No.” He pauses for a moment to made sure that she was getting the gist of his point. “I'm keeping your stubbornness and prying unto people's lives under wraps before you end up causing harm.”

If he was teasing, her heart might skipped a beat and he was only rather amused at her antics. His worries disguised at teasing remarks but this is not. It was a threat. It will ruin her.

He turned into a black ice. Incapable of melting until it was to his significant other that is at home and tending to his children.

“Don't you love me anymore, Zayne?” She asks him, defeated but is still hoping.

Zayne abruptly stops when he stood up. Staring at her and she meets his gaze.

“Don't mistake my care as being love towards my patients. I didn't gave you a reason to.”

She smiles bitterly and her heart hurts. Enclosed in a fist or being pricked by his icy thorns. She thought he was still the same boy who stopped her popsicle from melting but he's not anymore or he still can but not to her.

Because when he gets home, he will he making figures of snowman in his palm for his little ones. Maybe, an ice figure of those chubby little seals. Who knows? She thought she had known Zayne but it was only the surface and it was cold.

He places the chair back to its place. “I hope you keep this conversation in mind if a thought of disturbing my family crosses your mind.”

Zayne began to walk away from her just like what you did but before he really walks away from him and the door had opened. He said,

“Dr. Corwin is now waiting for you.”

And just like that she was alone in that conference room, the temperature is back but she was left a cold feeling. A neverending bitter winter that awaits for her.

[marblesstorystudio]

❀ Chapters 0-3 Out Now! ❀ Itch ❀ Official Spotify Playlist

❀ Will you embrace your destiny or choose to avert your gaze?

Betrayed by your mothers and sent away to become a prophet, loneliness became an old friend, and an intense longing for connection stirs deep within you.

Hoping to escape the monotony of your life—training to become a Living Prophet and delivering parcels all over the Southern Territories isn’t as fun as it sounds—you seek solace in the nightflowers that grow in Caligo. 

It’s not like you have a choice, anyway, considering your dwindling medication and the irritating withdrawal symptoms (you've blown up one too many dormitories). Maybe you shouldn’t have put this off for so long, but the thought of being in your parents’ old home… well, let’s just say you aren’t ready to revisit their memory.

❀ Welcome to Caligo. Our Sovereign is pleased with your interest.

Caligo exists in the Dark Realm, home to the Sovereign and her Crimson Court. Famous for its nightflowers, Caligo is the place to go if you want medicine, poisons, glamours, or even cures.

Twin moons cast an ethereal glow upon you, illuminating the blue haze that swirls through the land. 

Unclimbable mountains overlook lush, fertile land that covers Insomnium, Umbra, Tenebrae, and the Crimson Court in nightflowers.

Though wet, chilly, and sunless, the beauty of this ancient place still prevails.

❀ choose your name; select your gender & pronoun ❀ customize your character's face & body; choose an outfit ❀ select 1 of 4 unique belief systems (prophethoods) ❀ romance 1 of 2 male love interests or focus on creating deep bonds of friendship ❀ guide your character's decisions & determine their fate

[dullahandyke]

heres my little vocab list in case anyone has use for it bcos im kinda proud of em

Kaianortus, Kaianortī (m): Xehanort [just a latinisation]

kailamus, kailamī (m): Keyblade ['kai' as in χ + 'calamus' which is a latin word for 'sword']

socor, socordis (n): Heartless ['socors' meaning 'heartless' grammatically changed to be a noun following the construction of 'cor' which means 'heart']

novumbra, novumbrae (f): neoshadow ['nova' meaning 'new' + 'umbra' meaning shadow. this is fun bcos 'umbrae' (shades) are what dead people in the underworld are called]

also god i need to get back to the vanitas fic in linguam latinam. so fun making up latin words for kingdom hearts shit

[deepspacenova]

Crimson Destruction

As a war rages on, Sylus finds himself closer to peace than he'd ever been. The start of his plans, his future, it's just one battle away. But fate might have other plans.

➻➻ ABOUT | 4000 words. sylus x fem!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | heavy angst. war and battle. blood/injury. major character death.

NOTE: This draws a lot of parallels with Sylus' myth and portrays a bit of history repeating itself. Apologies in advance for any pain and suffering this might cause, guess this one's for the masochists — so make sure to read those warnings (:

Inspired by this ask and i think i may have... over-delivered? Either way, I hope I did your prompt justice @huachengnism <3

Also, bc no ideas are original, I was half done writing this when I found this post by @relentlessconqueror, who I apparently share at least a few brain cells with when it comes to headcanons so *fist bump*

She struggled to catch her breath, her chest heaving with the exertion of the escape. Her ribs screamed with every inhale, bruised from the last blow she’d taken before breaking free, and every bone in her body ached.

It'd been hours since Mephisto miraculously landed on the bars of her cell in the depths of the Association's intricate Wanderer prison system with an all-access key card. But she — they, she corrected as she felt the reassuring pressure of the crow's talons perch on her shoulder — were alive and unhurt. 

The battle had moved to what little remained of the newest No Hunt Zone: what was once known as Linkon City Centre. The once bustling hub that had been full of people and livelihoods had been reduced to a crater on the planet’s surface, destroyed by violence, explosions, and carnage. Linkon was falling, neighborhood by neighborhood, consumed by chaos orchestrated by the Hunter’s Association. Their relentless pursuit of her — the so-called Traitorous Tenebra — had left a trail of destruction in their wake.

She'd barely survived the Alpha Team's brutal "interrogation," which had brought her to the brink of unconsciousness when they demanded information she refused to give. But it was their arrogance and the surrounding destruction of their crusade to capture the elusive leader of Onychinus that let her slip through their grasp.

Now, she had one goal: find Sylus so they could escape this nightmare.

It was easy to predict how today would go — Ever Group’s unrelenting thirst for domination and the Hunter's Association’s relentless pursuit of Onychinus and aether cores made for a volatile duo. But no one, not even Sylus, who had an uncanny knack for understanding human nature, could have foreseen how they would fuel each other’s chaos, turning the Linkon into a nightmare of their own making.

Bloodthirsty men who called themselves "researchers" with protocore-powered ammunition stormed the streets, piercing through civilians like arrows of death. She'd done all she could to defend the innocents of Linkon from afar with the Hunter weapons she’d swiped on her way out of the Association. But only so many could be saved while it seemed like countless others met their ends.

Of course, the Hunters had their own twisted methods for submission. The few teams she'd spotted were taking protocore-inlaid weapons while Wanderers followed their commands like the puppets Xander Sciences made them to be. The very creatures the Association set out to destroy, now wielded like oversized hellhounds to take down Onychinus' leader, "the harbinger of doomsday in Linkon."

She couldn't help but scoff at their zealous fanaticism. And she was the Tenebra.

Bodies and blood were strewn across the cobblestone and the asphalt, and there were far more dead from their side than she’s sure they had predicted in their arrogance. But the fate of Ever’s defeat loomed over the rubble like the mythological Hades, waiting to collect his souls. 

She watched for a few minutes as the attacks grew more spaced apart, deciding that now was the perfect time to send the signal to Sylus. She’d only had a glimpse of his black-red mist and that was hours ago. All she’d wanted to do was cup the reassuring beat of his heart in her hands, to feel his hand wrap around the back of her head, pressing her nose into the warmth of his neck. 

Now was the time. They were done here. Done with this place. 

She looked at the thunderclouds overhead, swelling with eagerness to spill their deluge of water over the landscape. She removed the dark red gem around her wrist before her hands rose to clasp it over her companion's sturdy neck. Her fingers trailed the cold metal of her crow's studded wing when she murmured, "Keep this safe for me, you big fiend. Now, Mephisto. Go."

His mechanical wings unfolded before he launched into the stormy sky. She watched the crimson glimmer as he soared with a fluid grace and precision that made him as real to her as any other crow.

Sylus would know to meet her now.  

Sylus surveyed the No Hunt Zone from the neighborhood’s tallest building, atop the skeletal remains of empty flats that had somehow stayed standing. He was up there for a better vantage point, sure, but he also had to distance himself from the eye-stinging smoke that had surrounded him below as well as the eerily familiar, nausea-inducing smell of burning flesh. 

But he wasn’t going to think about it. Couldn’t think about it. That was then, this is now. 

He'd purposefully stayed within sight of Linkon's supposed saviors and the battle, moving just enough to keep their attention fixed on him. He darted between buildings, his black-red mist filtering through the haze of smoke, a deliberate lure to give her a chance to make it above ground and send him their signal.

He felt a faint trace of her energy only an hour ago as he moved around, commanding and powerful, the only source of water in a desert of death.

Sylus' heart almost beat out of his chest in anticipation of being with her without time limits, without restraint, and he did his best to tamp down that feeling he forbade himself to feel since he was a dragon with his first love: hope. 

But he couldn’t avoid the promise of their escape. It wrapped around him and took the form of her body, making him feel a longing so fierce, he had to force his feet to stay on the stone until Mephisto arrived. 

The firing shots and pained cries were getting fewer and far between, with no shadows of Wanderers moving within sight. The battle was almost over. 

As Sylus squinted to see if any of his men lay among the dead, his ears caught a rhythmic flapping, prompting him to extend his forearm. When he felt the cold weight of the robot's body land on his arm, two things happened at once.

One, his gaze locked on his bracelet's twin, the garnet-colored gem winking at him as he took it off the crow's neck and clenched his palm around it. Two, at the same time, Mephisto's beak opened to reveal the recording device within and the only voice he ever wanted to hear rang out, "Keep this safe for me, you big fiend."

The sound of the words surrounded him like an embrace. Fiend.

He froze in delighted disbelief and couldn’t help it. He laughed. A loud, genuine laugh. It sounded gravelly and unpracticed, feeling foreign on his battle-hardened cheeks, but he couldn’t contain his relief. 

They were done here. 

Mephisto trailed Sylus like a shadow in the sky as he headed toward the N109 Zone, smirking all the way. Very much the opposite of the expression a man who’d just sacrificed everything he’d built on this planet, whose organization had been disintegrated by the Hunters Association, should be wearing. 

He glanced back every so often at Linkon behind him, a scorched blemish on the landscape. 

Impatient, Sylus tried to seek her out with his evol and swore he could feel her heading his way. He was half-tempted to haul her to him, her complaints of manhandling be damned.

The abandoned buildings in the N109 Zone stood like silent witnesses, their jagged edges silhouetted against the unnaturally bright moon. 

He glanced around and whispered her name a few times. When no one answered back he leaned against a crumbling wall, waiting for her. The moon seemed brighter in the sky.

That was when he saw the sinister glow of emerald eyes in the alley. 

A sharp crack split the air, as Sylus’ power surged forward, barely stopping a metaflux-infused bullet mid-air and disintegrating it into nothing before it pierced his chest. 

"Impressive," a guttural voice growled from the darkness. 

The lead scientist of Xander Sciences emerged and Sylus’ lips twisted into a grimace. The maniac had fused himself with a Wanderer. 

The aether core Ever had attempted to manufacture had done more than just augment him — it had warped him completely. Whatever remained of his humanity was buried under a grotesque amalgamation of man and Wanderer. Ugly green scales shimmered under the moonlight, and claws scraped the concrete as he moved.

"I was wondering when you’d crawl out of your hole," Sylus said, his voice calm and unbothered. 

The monster sneered, revealing his jagged face. "You’ve meddled with us for the last time. This planet is mine to reshape. You won’t stand in our way."

He moved with inhuman speed, closing the distance between them in a blur. He slashed with his claws, but Sylus ducked, releasing a burst of energy that sent him skidding backward. The hybrid roared, firing another shot, but Sylus twisted his hand, bending the energy around him to absorb the bullet’s momentum before redirecting it in a volatile arc that scorched the ground at the monster’s feet.

The battle was a storm of power. The hybrid lunged, his claws tearing through the air, but Sylus met him head-on, energy crackling from his fists as they clashed. Each blow lit up the darkness, casting crimson shadows on the crumbling walls around them.

"You’re nothing but a monster now," Sylus gritted out, his voice strained as he deflected another strike. "Even your own tech couldn’t handle your ambition."

He laughed, the sound a guttural snarl. "Ambition is evolution. And evolution demands sacrifice!"

Sylus wasn’t winning this fight, though. He’d already won. 

The hybrid had definitely been injured in battle, or he might’ve just been drunk on bloodlust, but either way, his attacks were haphazard and sloppy at best. Sylus was just looking for the right opening, baiting him so he could deliver her final strike against him. 

Sylus’ evol surged, spiraling around him in a black-red maelstrom of raw power. He struck the ground with his fist, sending a shockwave that threw the monster off balance. Taking the opening, Sylus launched forward, his fist colliding with its jagged jaw, cracking scales and sending it stumbling.

But he recovered, the gun in his beastly hand raised as he fired a spray of bullets, each one infused with metaflux. Sylus dodged, but one grazed his arm, searing through his jacket and burning his skin.

Gritting his teeth, he channeled his frustration into his power, summoning a massive sphere of energy. "This ends now," Sylus growled.

The sphere expanded, its glow lighting up the area around them. With a roar, Sylus hurled it at his enemy, picturing the faces of the hundreds, thousands of humans and monsters alike who had wronged him. Wronged her.

The hybrid tried to counter, his claws swiping through the air to absorb the energy, but the sheer force of Sylus’s attack overwhelmed him. The explosion rocked the area, sending debris flying and shrouding the battlefield in smoke.

When the dust settled, the brilliant Carter of Xander Sciences lay motionless, his hybrid body cracked and broken. Sylus stood over him, breathing heavily, his evol flickering around him like a lightning storm.

"Evolution demands sacrifice," Sylus echoed, his voice low. "Guess you were right about that."

She sighed as she spotted the outskirts of the N109 Zone and headed toward their spot, toward Sylus. She knew he’d be there waiting for her, knew he'd gotten her signal when she saw the silhouette of a black crow sailing through the sky. 

She couldn’t wait to be with him unreservedly, without ever having to leave his side again. She found herself getting excited, feeling a breathless sort of anticipation. Her body ached, the pain of old wounds and new wounds alike coming together throughout her body. And it took all of her willpower to stay cautious of stragglers, to not to break into a sprint. 

But her willpower was no match for hope. No match for the smile that slowly dominated every inch of her face. 

She’d never been so overjoyed, so relieved. So overcome with the need to see his vermillion-streaked eyes, taste teasing smirk, feel his silver-streaked hair. 

The journey felt endless, like she was the Greek king Sisyphus, eternally destined to never reach her only goal. But finally, finally, she could see the haphazard border of the N109 Zone.

When she was just a few dozen feet away, she spotted him, reclined against a stone wall near a felled wanderer, spotlighted by the moon like her very own star.

She paused to compose herself, holding back her stupid tears of joy, of relief. He hadn’t noticed her yet and she was okay with that, content to steal a moment of gazing at him for herself. 

But then he stirred, his eyes lifting to meet hers, and her breath hitched. A teasing smirk tugged at his lips, but it softened when he noticed the way she looked at him, the way her entire being seemed to collapse with relief.

“You’re late,” he called to her. 

She broke into a run, ignoring the protests of her body, her legs barely able to keep pace with the urgency in her chest. “Sylus!”

He stayed in place, his arms opening as she barreled into him, wrapping herself around him. The warmth of his body and traces of his evol enveloped her, buzzing against her skin like a thousand kisses.

One of his arms slipped down to wrap her leg around his waist and held it there, as if the pressure of her chest against his wasn't nearly enough. She felt the warmth of his lips and the sharpness of his teeth on the space between her neck and shoulder as he tentatively nipped her there, like he was infusing himself into her.

She pulled back with a gasp to look up at him, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. His greedy gaze faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, something vulnerable, as his eyes searched hers.

And then she kissed him.

Her lips met his in a rush of emotion—relief, joy, desperation—all spilling into that single moment. For a heartbeat, he froze, startled, before his hands moved to cup her face, pulling her closer. His evol flared, an electric hum that danced between them, matching the frantic rhythm of her heart.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest to her palm, which caressed the pulse of his neck.

“Careful, sweetie, I might start thinking you like me,” he rasped, his voice rough and playful as his hand slid to the small of her back, holding her close.

She laughed through the lump in her throat, clinging to him tightly.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, ruby gaze sparkling with mischief. His brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You look like hell.”

“I’ll live,” she reassured, leaning into his touch. “I just… needed to see you.”

He sighed as if the words were a balm, hand still cradling her face. “Good,” he said, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Because this big fiend will hunt you down if you leave my sight. Or—" he let go of her leg to circle her wrist and fasten her half of their bracelet around her wrist. "—dare to take this off again."

“Not a chance,” she whispered into his throat, wrapping her arms around him to clasp the bracelet with her other palm, as if printing its jagged shape into her wrist. “No matter how many times the world turns its back on us, I’m never leaving your side.”

The moment took up the entire lens of her focus, so she didn’t spot the other silhouette skulking from the entrance of the N109 Zone.

Sylus felt the shift a second too late.

The sharp, metallic click of a gun broke the fragile quiet, the sound slicing through the air like a knife.

She turned toward the sound and Sylus saw her eyes widen, not with fear, but with recognition.

“Jenna,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

From the shadows stepped her former leader, the woman who had once been her mentor. Jenna's presence was a weapon in itself, Sylus knew —steely, unyielding, and absolute. A metaflux-infused dagger was already raised aimed directly at Sylus.

“Did you really think I needed all the prison guards? I knew where he went, you’d follow,” Jenna’s voice sliced through the air, her voice razor-sharp as she spoke to her and aimed a disgusted glance at Sylus. "The perfect bait."

Without hesitation, she threw the blade like a dart.

"No!" she screamed as Sylus pushed her away from him, the blade slicing his cheek and eye, leaving a burning streak of pain and a hazy right field of vision in its wake.

Pain erupted like a white-hot brand as the impact shattered the aether core in his eye. Blood and fragments of glowing green dripped down his face in a torrent, obscuring his vision.

He staggered, his breath hitching as agony lanced through his skull. The disorienting mix of searing pain and the flickering in his right eye overwhelmed him, and he stumbled.

Through the haze of pain, he could feel the core’s fragments still burning into him and the world around him blurred as his mind fought to regain focus.

A frustrated sob behind him made his blood run cold.

Raising his head, his heart dropped as he saw Jenna’s gun aimed not at Sylus but at her aether core. Her heart. Jenna's other hand had forcefully raised her elbow, aiming his beloved's gun at Sylus' chest.

“You had such promise, young Hunter," Jenna continued, her tone lamenting. "But you should’ve known better than to run from your fate.”

“Jenna, please—”

Something sinister flickered across Jenna's face before vanishing into her practiced calm. “I taught you everything. And this… is how you repay me?” Her tone was as merciless and final. "Now you either kill him, or I kill you."

“Don’t touch her,” Sylus growled, his voice low and dangerous. He tried to reach out toward her, tried desperately to yank her back to him and take her away, but his evol didn't respond.

Jenna only smirked, her grip tightening as she tilted her head. “Your fate has always been sealed. But hers… Well, that depends on how obedient she feels.” She shrugged coldly. “Now shoot him."

Sylus' mind raced as his blurry gaze locked onto the watery anger of her eyes, familiar to him for longer than this planet's entire existence.

"Do it." He ignored her cry of indignant fury at his unmistakable command as he spoke cruel words wrapped in a loving tone.

"Sylus, no."

Inhaling through the pain he exhaled a shaky, almost impatient sigh. She had to do this, had to know he was okay with a world without him in it. "You bluffed once before in this position, kitten. Don't let a second chance pass you by."

"Stop!" The hand being forcefully aimed at his heart was shaking.

Suddenly a fierce resolve burned behind her eyes at his words, at the memory.

Her quaking hand suddenly steadied and her fingers adjusted their grip on the gun, and for a moment, relief overcame the pain in Sylus' body when he thought of her shooting him and ending it once and for all.

But — his cunning little kitten — she outmaneuvered them all.

She twisted her wrist, aimed the barrel at her chest, and pulled the trigger.

The deafening crack of the gunshot rang out, the impact jerking her frame as the bullet pierced right through her and struck Jenna, who staggered backward, eyes wide with shock as crimson bloomed on her Hunter's uniform.

Letting her go, Jenna clutched at her chest as she fell to the ground.

And the world slowed to a crawl.

The visceral scream that tore through his throat was a feral sound, an ancient, animalistic roar that was both agonized and shrill enough to become a death knell for every living being in Linkon. In the world.

Sylus’ legs buckled as he caught the weight of her body. His knees hit the concrete, and his arms tightened around her as he laid her trembling form on the ground.

“No, no, no,” he growled, his voice cracking as he pressed his hands against the flickering, shattered aether core in her chest, desperate to stem the flow of blood.

Her face was scrunched up tight in excruciating pain, but she was still alive. He could work with that. He would. 

“Fuck. You’re okay, kitten, you’re okay,” he crooned. He ignored the blood dripping from his eye to her chest and tried linking his hands through hers, tried to get her to resonate with him, to activate either of their evols so he could at least attempt to—

But her hands were bloody and trembling and limp.

"It's okay, Sylus. It's... alright," she soothed, wincing. "There's no choice, if it's between you and me. No choice."

A half-growl, half-sob escaped him. “Yes, and that choice is always you. Now look at me so I can fix your mistake and figure out how to— no, you're not allowed to close your eyes."

He paused during his diatribe, noticing just how much of his blood and hers had pooled beneath them, just how pale her lips were getting.

“There’s no saving this, Sylus.” Her unfocused eyes met his, hand hovering in the air weakly to pull his face down and place a kiss on his forehead.

The familiarity of the feeling overwhelmed him, like a thousand cuts of grief all at once. His groan sounded like a whimper as he pulled back to grab her hand and press it into the ravaged side of his face.

"Jenna was wrong.... about your fate." She inhaled a ragged breath. "We just made sure of it. There's no going back now."

All he could do was shake his head and imprint her hand over his eye, cold reality starting to fall like ashes around him.

When grey wisps started to sprinkle her hair and rest against her eyelashes, he realized it was actual ash. To some, it might’ve been beautiful; to him, it was devastating. Their souls were separating again, except this time, she was the one leaving him.

"If I ever had a soul—" he exhaled a shaky breath, blinked past the wetness that blurred his good eye, "—just know that it was you."

"You'll always be tied to me, Sylus. Forever." Her breaths were faster, shallower.

Her cheek twitched up and her eyelashes fluttered as suddenly, weak little notes squeezed their way out of her chest. His hand tightened around hers as the familiar melody embraced him and finally made the chest-wracking emotions drip salty trails down his cheek.

As the final note of her requiem faded, there was a long silence.

He waited for her voice again, for more words, but when he pulled back her chest was a pool of crimson and her eyes were closed.

She was gone, and he was in agony.

Suffering had long created a hole in his blackened heart. But this pain was unlike anything he’d felt before. It enveloped him, suffocated him.

And that’s when he found it. That small pebble of rage beneath the mountain of anguish. 

He set her on the ground as gently as he could before getting up and sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth, focusing on the anger so he could escape his grief. 

He felt it latch onto faint, flickering traces of his evol and the two powers laced together like two lovers, moving through his body, his fingertips.

He almost felt drunk with it.

He didn't notice it at first, he was still fixated on his beloved's lifeless face, but there was a soft glow radiating from the shattered remnants of their aether cores.

Black-red mist twitched restlessly and began to stretch outward.

“The day of judgment is today. Everyone will pay for this,” said Sylus, his voice utterly calm. “The whole world will burn.”

[whitejays-galaxy]

Star Wars cat AU pt. 2: The Villains of the Prequels

Some pose studies I did of these evil goobers:

Sidious:

Maul:

Dooku:

Vader:

Lore:

<Lightningstrike/Sidious>

Name Meaning: Bolts of "Lightning" are very unpredictable, and they always "Strike" when you least expect it. It also represents his deadliness and power that of a lightning bolt.

Plus he also got struck by lightning across the right side of his face when he was a smol psychopath kitten during training at some ancient Darkhaven temple

He's the same size as Yoda/Horizonstar in my AU

He eats other dead cats

He tore Dooku's pelt and made it into a cape he wears sometimes

His nest is made out of cat pelts and bones(mostly from the victims of Order 66)

He is capable of Force Masking(a rare Force ability that allows one to shapeshift into anything. The only other cat who had this ability in the same period was Qui-Gon-Jinn/Sagepelt)

He is an albino cat, and his only physical weakness is bad eyesight

<Bloodburn/Maul>

Name Meaning: "Blood" symbolizes his bloody past, and the loss of his brothers, and "Burn" symbolizes his world and true self burning away.

He was formerly called Russetstorm, and lived with his two brothers, Tigertalon/Savage, and Amberspark/Feral.

Since Dathomir is a society where she-cats have more power, Poisonstar/Mother Talzin was fascinated and angered at the same time when her son, Russetstorm beat all the other she-cats during sparring.

Soon, she realizes that Russetstorm is Force Sensitive, and she tries to get rid of him by sending him off to Lightningstrike in exchange for valuable metals and other resources.

Russetstorm quickly finds out that Poisonstar is trying to get rid of him, so he runs away in the middle of the night with Tigertalon and Amberspark.

They didn't go far, as the two brothers were brutally slaughtered by the guards before Russetstorm's very eyes.

Russetstorm tips to the dark side in his fury and anguish, killing all the guards; Lightningstrike, noticing Russet's raw power in the Force, abducts him anyhow and seduces him to the ways of the dark side.

Years later, Poisonstar would meet her downfall by her son's own claws, which takes place two years before the events of The Phantom Menace, and Russetstorm would be renamed Bloodburn.

<Frostshard/Tyrantturn/Dooku>

I mentioned the meaning of Dooku's name in my first Cat AU post, so I'll be telling you his Sith name here

Name Meaning: "Tyrant" because Frostshard betrayed everything he once stood for, and "Turn" represents his fall to the dark side.

Since he was never a full Darkhavener, his pelt stayed clean and his eyes were normal and not orange like a typical Darkhavener.

When he got killed by Skyfire/Anakin, he gets stuck in the Dark Forest(cat hell), soul constantly glitching/shifting from Frostshard to Tyrantturn(who has a dead grey pelt and orange eyes)

<Deadsoul/Vader>

Name Meaning: I chose "Dead" because Skyfire/Anakin died when he turned to the dark side. He lost everything, with no reason to live except to serve Lightningstrike/Sidious until he died. 

I chose "Soul" because he is a lost soul wandering in the remains of his failures and losses. His body is functioning, but his spirit has been crushed into smithereens.

After his battle with Hazeldusk/Obi-Wan, his body gets reconstructed in the Dark Forest(which Lightningstrike opens a portal in Mustafar using the dark side of the Force)

Nine Darkhaven/Sith souls(Revan/Corvidheart, Maul/Bloodburn, Plagueis/Plagueshadow, Bane/Nightshade, Tyranus/Tyrantturn, Starkiller, Malgus/Stormcutter, Tenebrae/Vortexvoid, and Hellfire/founder of Darkhaven)were used for his life support, and each soul gave him the power of its owner(but only if he studied the different aspects of the Dark Force was he then able to obtain the soul's energy. Which he does with most of the time during the OG trilogy)

See more of my Cat Au designs here :3

The Disaster lineage (Yoda, Dooku, Qui, Obi, Anakin, Ahsoka + lore)

Prequel villains (Sidious, Dooku, Maul, Vader + Lore)

Kit-Fisto

Plo-Koon and Ahsoka

Sifo Dyas and Dooku

Disaster trio(Obi, Ani, Soka) doodles

Smol comics(ft. Qui, Rael, Sifo, Dooku): pt 1

Aayla Secura and Quinlan Voss

Luke and Leia

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY CAT DESIGNS

This is a PERSONAL AU and they mean so much to me