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egrets-not-regrets · 16 days

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Ramiel and Cedric: Atonement & Final Blessings

Of Fin and Feathers AU (merAstartes AU): Patrolling harpies lead Ramiel and Cedric to find their dying Primaris Black Templar brother.

Author's Note: TW death, grief, angst, and guilt.

This massive piece (just over 10,000 words) is a collaboration with @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan and @sleepyfan-blog. You guys are fantastic and it was fun to collab with both of you. Thank you for helping me write this story and get Cedric, Ramiel and Malachai's voice right. I don't have the heart to make this into separate chapters since it makes the most sense to keep it as one story.

This is another pretty emotionally heavy piece of writing, but I thought it is time that this mer-Astartes AU progress somewhat similarly to the Husbandry AU. Let's be honest, there is no way with Petras mentioned, that more Primaris Black Templars don't start showing up in this AU.

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @bispecsual , @ms--lobotomy , @whorety-k

Ramiel was feeling a little melancholy, the memories of his past actions and mistakes are clawing at his mind. The memories haunted him, and caused him to wake early and try to leave the nest, wanting some fresher air, and try to not bother any of his family.

Malachai… he couldn’t help replaying the moment the light went out of his brother’s eyes in his mind. His poor brother, another victim of the Honorable Chaplain Captain Petras’ punishments. If only they found him sooner… would they be able to save him then?

He rubbed his face as he tried to stop crying, Astartes didn’t cry. That is one of the many things that Ramiel had been told and taught from a young age. His breathing was hiccuping a little as he recovered from the most wretched nightmare he’d awoken from, and it took Ramiel some time to slow and steady his breathing.

As quiet and stealthy as he tries to be- he didn’t notice Erriox waking up and watching him sneak away. Remembering how there are a couple of Black Templar Shoals in the nearby area brought up… rather unpleasant memories for Ramiel.

Claude and Jophiel told Cedric and Ramiel that they had mentioned, in passing, the name “Petras” to Erriox- not that they had explained much with the whole Gray Knight incident that had… rather taken precedents as well as monitoring the situation with the Black Templar shoal that changed their migration pattern.

He took in a couple of deep breaths and started his morning prayers to the God Emperor. Murmuring the words quietly and reverently. Doing his best to go through the motions and speak the words verbatim from his near perfect memory recall as he did.

Ramiel was in prayers for at least two hours- Cedric sometimes joined him during the latter half if he woke up early enough for it. He thanked the God Emperor for his second chance here on Ancient Terra… for however long it lasts.

He understood that the worship of the God Emperor upset some of the First Born Battle Brothers from before the Heresy- before the Daemon Primarchs revealed their true forms and they and their ill-made sons fell to Chaos and daemon-hood. Though Erriox and Lenora have not complained about it… yet.

Ramiel always tried to be quiet during his prayers so as to not bother his adoptive sort-of parents. It was easy enough to call Lenora “Mother”; but Erriox, while he is thankful that the First Born Iron Warrior treats them much kinder than the First Borns that they had been used to, he is hesitant to call Erriox anything less formal beyond “sir” or “cousin”.

Ramiel wondered if the Black Templar shoal travel change is due to himself and Cedric- that it’s because they are in the area and some of the shoals had heard of the apprentice-aged specialist Black Templar Astartes. Whether they knew that Ramiel and Cedric are Primaris or not, will become readily apparent in how they will be treated by them.

Ramiel suspects how the First Born brothers from around M42 would react to him and Cedric in one of two ways: cautious hope, or purge the abomination. He scratches and the patch of scales near his elbows and shudders. Some of the First Born Black Templars had taken very poorly to the Primaris Roll out… His Mentor being one of them- well his previous Mentor. Ramiel rubs at the scar on his chest, the one that had a reciprocal scar on his back.

The one that killed him and Malachai, the scars- well, he had many scars gifted to him by his mentor, physical and mental, but still. Those two were the worst. He hoped that The Honorable Chaplain Captain Petras was not among the shoals that have altered their migration path.

Part of Ramiel hoped that he is still in M42, and hoped that the cruel bastard didn’t come back to Ancient Terra. If he or Cedric wanted to join one of the Black Templar shoals: all they had to do was ask one of the Iron Warriors if they could contact them and then be picked up by a passing shoal in a few weeks to months. Or he could request assistance from the Hydra pod that was Bonded to Lana… but that might also come with a cost… likely one he’d rather not pay. But to be honest, he’d rather not place himself at the nonexistent mercy and under the power of First Born Black Templars again.

Not yet at least. He knew that what little training he has as a Judicar Primaris Space Marine Chaplain wasn’t enough, and for further training he had to go to a chapter specific Chaplain and hope they decided to take him on as an Apprentice.

He just… Would rather stay with Lenora and Erriox and Cedric and his fellow brother-cousins. And the Gannet Aunties and Cousins. While it's less migratory than he was used to, there was something to be said for being more stationary for a while. Bonds could be formed and maintained, learning of a different sort could happen.

He finished his prayers and turned to see Erriox watching him, “Hello sir, did you want some help with preparing the first meal?”

Ramiel and the others had helped hunt to gather foodstuffs for a few days, to help replenish their personal food stores. While the harpies are excellent hunters, they were wary of going to their normal hunting grounds with the lurking Black Templars nearby. Most tended to be highly temperamental and volatile, especially to those they deemed… non-human.

Ramiel wondered about his chapter’s attitude towards harpies and the other non-human and sentient species who are of and born on Terra. did that not make them just as holy as humans? Or at least, that’s how he viewed it. Not that he’s had a chance to really discuss this with anyone outside of Cedric, Roland, and Arnault.

He’s heard that sometimes humans are predated on by harpies or other species, but it wa either due to lack of resources or because the humans were stupid. Which- the galaxy is rough, and consumption of what is edible in hard times makes sense.

Also- if you stick your nose where you aren’t wanted, you shouldn’t be surprised that it gets bitten off at times. Still, his questions could only be answered by those he’d rather avoid for now. He ignored the voice in his head that hissed that he’s a yellow-bellied coward for not confronting the Black Templar shoals.

“No need, I noticed you started more than thirty minutes late for your usual morning prayer. Got something on your mind?” Erriox pointed out.

“I didn’t wake you and Mama, did I?” Ramiel worriedly asked.

The Iron Warrior mer glanced at his harpy mate sleeping in their nest, “No, and Lenora’s still asleep.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, watching the ocean waters brighten in hue as the sun rose in the sky. Erriox turned to the Black Templar Scout, “Thinking about Malachai?” He asked, figuring that their brother’s second death on ancient Terra was what’s distracting his adopted son.

“… Yes.” Ramiel didn’t want to show vulnerability to the First Born, but he couldn’t stop seeing Malachai’s dead eyes staring back at him. It hurt. It hurt to see his brother in the state he was in. It hurt to know that it was his mentor, Honorable Chaplain Captain Petras, who killed him. If someone, if they had… Found him sooner… Maybe then, Malachai could’ve been saved. Ramiel looks over at Cedric, who was curled up in his nest, still asleep. His hearts squeezed painfully, he didn’t even want to think how this was affecting his apothecary brother.

“I know Lenora had told you boys that you shouldn’t blame yourselves.”

“I…” Ramiel wanted to say something, he hoped he didn’t offend his adoptive mother by his disbelieving reaction at the time. Erriox raised hand to interrupt him. Instinctively, Ramiel flinched and his mouth immediately snapped shut.

The Iron Warrior eyed him for a moment then sighed, “But we also understand that it is much easier said than done.”

“... Some of my actions had a hand in Malachai’s death,” Ramiel said, not quite looking at Erriox. “... My mentor- ah- what do you know about Black Templar rankings and practices?”

Erriox hummed, his tail swaying thoughtfully, “Not much, except that the Black Templars worship the Emperor of Mankind as a god and are aggressive to those considered heretical or corrupted by chaos.”

Ramiel nods and goes on to explain how Black Templar Neophytes become Apprentices, raised and trained by their mentor until they become a full battle brother. How important that bond between mentor and Apprentice is, how much power the older Templar has, and how good the bond can be. The Ideal mentor and student bond, how the mentor-student bond usually goes…. And what happens if the mentor is an abusive shit head. How little recourse the Apprentice has. It takes a bit, but he explained how shitty a mentor Petras was to him.

“When things go wrong in the mentor-student bond, usually the younger is to blame, unless there is overwhelming evidence that it's the mentor to blame… even then, socially… the Apprentice can become… at worst…. Excommunicated.” Ramiel said sorrowfully.

His elder cousin narrowed his eyes, “So it is easy to continue to be a shitty mentor, like this Petras, because the mentor holds that much power and seniority over the apprentices’ heads. And allowed to kill Primaris marines? What a fucking waste of resources.” He huffed. Though in his legion, they would’ve sent those they didn’t deem useful or trainable to do the shitty jobs no one else wanted or to the front lines as bullet shields, at least they contributed to the fighting effort in some way. Physical punishment was useful to a point, otherwise entirely wasteful if overdone. He asked “And how does this relate to you and Malachai?”

“Chaplains are allowed to decide and administer punishments,” Ramiel explained, “At least in the Black Templars they are. Including corporal punishments. One of… the areas in training that my mentor says that I… need to work on is administering… p-punishment to others.”

Ramiel flinched and curled in on himself unable to sustain eye contact for very long, “My m-mentor, previous Mentor Petras… was particularly harsh on administering physical correction. He had me… use an electro whip to help with administering punishment to Malachai. He didn’t allow me to stop until the numbers reached the upper hundreds.”

Erriox went quiet. Learning to be able to withstand pain was a normal part of training to become a fully fledged Astartes. Though he barely remembered what it was like training as a Neophyte and then Scout; he remembered a lot of heavy, back-breaking hard labor and shit jobs, under shittier conditions.

The way that Ramiel was reacting made it seem like this Petras was rather flagrant and excessive in his use of corporal punishment. Thank the throne that Ramiel was reasonable and relatively soft-hearted, if he was anything like his mentor, he would be extremely dangerous indeed.

“That sounds excessive. Did Malachai do something to justify the punishment?” Erriox asked.

Ramiel paused and thought about the Incident that happened, the reasons for why Malachai was punished so severely. He took in a deep breath and started, “Malachai refused to take the fall for the other group of Apprentices’ pranks and japes while he and four other Primaris Apprentices were visiting a fortress monastery at the same time that the normally-recruited aspirants were. The other group blamed the Primaris marines, and as Malachai was squad leader, he was the one to take the brunt of the punishment.”

Ramiel got lost in his head, and didn’t entirely realize it when after some gentle prompting from Erriox, the entire story of what happened came springing from his lip like a confession of his sins.

Malachai floated defiantly in front of Chaplain Petras, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at the older Marine. “As I said before, Chaplain-Captain, neither I nor my fellow Primaris Apprentices were responsible for the destruction of the training salles in the western training room of this fortress monastery. Nor were we the ones who set a bucket of honey and soap on top of the door out of the quartermaster’s office so that when the door was opened next, the contents of which were upended onto the unfortunate Brother’s head.”

Petras glowered up at Malachai, a low growl in his voice “You stand before me, defiant and with lies on your tongue. If you and your brothers were not to blame, who then were the culprits?”

Malachai shrugged a little, his stare still stony “That I cannot say. But we were not the only group of Apprentices visiting that particular Fortress monastery at that time. Have you asked them whether or not they are to blame for the destruction and that particular prank? Along with the other recent pranks that have occurred?”

Petras’ scowl got worse “So, not only do you refuse to take accountability for your actions, you would seek to lay blame on innocent Brothers? Ramiel! Get me my electro whips. I will have you weeping and pleading for the Emperor’s Mercy before I am through with you, you defiant abomination. The other group of apprentices are proper young Black Templars to be, picked from chapter worlds and trained in the ways of our chapter since they were taken as Aspirants. This mischief began after you and your fellow abominations appeared.”

Malachai knew for a fact that none of his fellow Primaris marines would dare do such things… And if they, for some reason, had completely taken leave of their senses and decided to pull such ridiculous grox-shit, they would have at least had the honor and the courage to own up to it, rather than cowering in the shadows and hoping that someone else would be punished for their misdeeds. “The pranks began when we arrived and stopped when we left, that is true. But no such pranks have occurred aboard The Sigismund before or after, sir. Which means the other group of Apprentices, or perhaps one or two of their number are possibly to blame, and they acted up specifically when they knew that there were more potential people to take the blame, sir.”

“Strip out of your armor and go down onto your back, Abomination! I will not tolerate any more of your lying slander any longer!” Petras growled.

Malachai looked briefly at the miserable looking Ramiel, before he huffed and rolled his eyes, sinking down, so that his back was exposed after removing his armor. “I am innocent, Chaplain Captain. So are my fellow apprentices. If you truly do seek the culprits, you will need to look elsewhere. But all three of us know what you really want to do. And it does not involve actual justice.”

Petras’ growl of fury reverberated through Malachai’s very soul, but no matter how long the other whipped and beat him, he would not break and admit to doing something he did not do. He would not admit that one of his fellow Primaris Brothers did something that he knew they did not do, either. Malachai did his best to stay still and not flinch as he was whipped and beaten until the pain became too much and he blacked out.

~~~~~~~~

Malachai opened his eyes and stared up into the night sky. He did not recognize these stars, nor what looked like the background haze of one of the arms of the galaxy. His wounds, raw, aching and bloody pulsed in time to his hearts beating, and his shallow, ragged breaths. There was a beautiful full, silvery moon in the sky as well, and he could hear the regular crashing and retreating whooshing sounds of waves breaking upon the sand of the… Wherever the fuck he was now.

He really hoped that he was alive - because the thought of being dead and having to deal with the agony of his wounds until they healed… Or for all of eternity, was a daunting and miserable idea that the young mer did not want to contemplate. There was a deep, daunting darkness that was eating at the edges of his vision. He felt dizzy and cold, on top of everything else. At least what he was laying against was soft, rather than the cold, hard metal of the deck of The Sigismund.

With a titanic effort of will, Malachai moved his head until he could see the surface beneath him. Fine grains of sand met his vision. He was… He had been left to die on a world? But they were within the warp, when he’d been punished harshly by that bastard. The sound of flapping wings caught his attention, and the young mer looked skyward once more, searching for the source of the sound. “Hello?” He called out as loudly as his damaged lungs and throat could manage “Is someone out there?” He had never been this alone before in his entire life… Malachai didn’t want to die alone, even on a world as pretty as this one.

He heard two pairs of feet landing in the sand near him.

“Hello, young one.” A feminine voice answered. Another, slightly younger voice swore some unknown curses at his condition, “His tail is bent strange. This is torture. Who did this to him?” She commented, outrage simmering in her voice. After a thought, she added, “He looks like cousin Ramiel.”

Ramiel? Cousin? They’re here too? A tiny spark of hope rose in Malachai’s chest. He squinted his eyes; his vision was starting to blur, but he could make out two humans or creatures who looked like humans covered in feathers. How do they know Ramiel?

There was a light tapping sound and the older voice spoke again, “Cedric, Ramiel, come to my location quickly. We may have found one of your brothers. He’s not in good shape.”

Malachai hears the faint but familiar sound of Cedric’s voice over the comm device the creature had, “What?! Please send your coordinates, we will be there soon.”

Another tap and the coordinates were sent. A second familiar voice, Ramiel, echoed, “Danke, Mama. We are coming.”

Mama? Wait, when did Cedric and Ramiel get a mother? Maybe he was mistaken? These might not be his brothers. Malachai shifted uncomfortably, praying silently to the God Emperor that they are not the Hydra imposters.

“I will send Leto to meet you part way. His injuries are extensive, so be prepared.”

“Can you ask what his name is?”

The creature looked at him expectantly, “What is your name, young one?”

He managed to cough out, “Malachai.”

“His name is Malachai.”

Two voices of confirmation. Finally, ‘Cedric’ said clearly, “Alright. See you soon. Tell Malachai to wait for us.”

“Leto, leave your set of healing potions here. Fly and find Ramiel and Cedric to meet them part way. They are patrolling the south end of the territory. Hurry.” The older feathered person urged. A rush of flapping announced Leto taking flight. There was a short pause then she spoke again, “Kallium, Erriox, get an apothecary to my location immediately. We found another Black Templar who’s badly injured. He looks young with a similar build to Ramiel.”

“Send us your location.” He could hear a deep, older voice this time.

Malachai hears another short tap as the creature sends their location to whoever it is out there. She keeps on mentioning Cedric and Ramiel. And clearly knows what Black Templars look like. Plus she mentioned getting an apothecary? Maybe it really is Cedric and Ramiel coming. Though he wasn’t sure he was able to wait that long. He feels so cold and exhausted.

“We’re on the north end, but we will be there soon. An apothecary is on his way.”

The creature winced as she assessed him from head to tail, worry growing as his eyes started to close. She sat by him, gently patting his cheek and pulling out a vial of pale blue-green liquid, “Malachai, fledgling, stay awake! You still need to wait for your brothers to get here, remember? This is a healing potion and some more in the pack. It should at least take some of the pain away, and hopefully heal some of your injuries. Will you let me give it to you?”

“Yes.” Malachai thought he had nothing to lose. It’ll be great if it works; if it doesn’t, then maybe it will send him to his grave faster. End his suffering. Hopefully.

The feathered creature gently tipped the vial into the corner of his mouth, letting the injured scout slowly swallow the liquid bit by bit. Warmth seeped into his body, waking his cells to start repairing the damage. Malachai keened and writhed as his nerves also woke up to register the pain.

Lenora swore and immediately gave him another vial, this time a powerful pain killer, “Malachai! You need to drink this one as well. This should ease your pain while your body is repairing itself.”

Malachai allowed her to pour its contents into his mouth, relaxing as he could feel the sharp spikes of pain drain away, allowing his mind to calmly think this time, “Thank you.” He sighed, then slowly blinked, “What are you? Cedric? Ramiel?”

Luckily, Lenora understood what he meant by his question. She gently stroked Malachai’s face, her heart breaking as she watched him turn towards her claw, close his eyes with a small smile. Like her other boys, it seemed like Malachai had not been treated with a kind hand either, “I am a harpy. My name is Lenora. Cedric and Ramiel are my adopted sons.”

“They got family? Where is here? They safe? S’cold…” Malachai forced the next few questions out. He was so curious about this Lenora who claimed to be his brothers’ adoptive mother.

The harpy looked at him worriedly as his speech started to slur. That was a high grade potion, and visually, it didn’t look like it had any effect. She frowned, that meant his internal injuries were extensive as well, the weaker healing potions would do more harm than good.

“Malachai,” she pulled out her last high grade healing potion and prompted him gently, glad that he was still somewhat alert, “take another potion, I suspect you suffered heavily internally.”

“Do I have to?” Malachai whined a little, remembering how painful it was the first time he ingested a similar looking potion.

Lenora smiled sadly at him, gently stroking his cheek, “Yes, my dear fledgling. You need to. Don’t you want to see Cedric and Ramiel? They are coming as quickly as they can. More help is coming. You need to survive to see them.”

“I don’t think it’s helping though.” The scout murmured, his voice fading out again.

Her reply was soft but resolute, “We have to try. Can you do that for them? Please Malachai. I want you to see your brothers.”

The harpy seemed so kind, and her touch was so gentle, and she only wanted the best for him. Malachai couldn’t help but lean into her. If Lenora was truly part of Ramiel and Cedric’s new family, he was assured that they were in good hands. If he survived, he would like to join them too.

“Alright.” Again, he let her feed him the healing potion, this time Lenora was quick to follow up with another vial of painkiller potion.

Malachai breathed in slow ragged breaths, “Thanks…you…” he could feel his body become slightly warmer.

Lenora spread her other wing to cover his chest and partially his tail, remembering his complaint about being cold. Worry etched onto her brow, she could feel the warmth of his body slowly slipping again. There weren't any high grade potions left. Even if there were, Lenora wasn’t sure if Malachai’s body would be able to handle another dose without additional supplements. She vowed to keep Malachai awake for as long as possible. It was the least she could do.

“What happened to you? Were you part of a large battle?” She asked. It was odd. His injuries didn’t match up from what could be typical injuries from battle. Like Leto said earlier, it looked like someone tortured this poor fledgling.

Malachai’s one hand gripped onto a few of her flight feathers tightly, “Nooo… we… accused wrongly. Punished. By… Petras.” He bared his teeth in anger.

That name sounded familiar. Lenora was sure she heard it from her boys at one point or another. But all this, just for punishment? This was concerning, this was even worse than what that Grey Knight did to Jophiel and Claude.

“Shitty first born. Shitty chaplain.” Malachai grumbled. He suddenly gasped, “Cedric! Ramiel! Are they alright? Are they safe?”

“Yes, dear fledgling. Your brothers. They are safe, they are well cared for.” Lenora cooed.

The scout mumbled, confused, “Fledgling? I am not a bird.”

The harpy chortled, “That’s a term to describe younglings in my language.”

Lenora looked fondly at Malachai who was pouting a little. He reminded her so much of her Ramiel.

“I’m not young. I’m… Almost four decades old!” The mer insisted.

“And I’m over five decades old, youngling.” She chuckled.

“Oh.” Malachai let out a weak sigh, he was young after all. He turned and rested his forehead against Lenora’s legs, wanting to sleep. He was so tired. In the next second, a clamor of voices sounded nearby and two large figures flew over to him, frantically calling his name.

“Malachai!”

Ramiel and Cedric were moving as fast as they could, once they heard about Lenora and Leto finding a wounded Black Templar while on patrol. Trying to push themselves to move even faster once they realized it was Malachai.

‘Please.’ Ramiel thinks, ‘Oh God Emperor- let us be able to save Malachai this time.’

Ramiel calls out to Malachai again, his hearts going to his stomach as his brother barely twitches a little when they had first called out to him. “Malachai!”

He very gently grabs one of the other’s hands Cedric is in Apothecary mode as he tries his best to patch up his brother, Ramiel helping by getting him tools and calling out to Malachai as the other cracked his blue eyes open to see them.

“Ah- you are… Here too.” Malachai slurs out.

“Keep awake,” Ramiel says, blinking tears from his eyes, “Live brother, please.”

Cedric turned to Lenora, “Danke, mutter. We can take over now. What healing potions did you give him” he asked.

“Two sets of high grade healing potion with a painkiller potion. It didn’t look like it’s done anything so I suspect he’s injured badly internally.” She replied, frowning.

“You’re right.” Cedric barely could muster a clear reply, unable to meet his mother’s gaze.

Lenora didn’t read too far into his troubling, almost knowing expression; she would ask him later. Saving Malachai took priority anyway. She stood and touched his shoulder, “I’ll give you boys space to work.” Lenora was moving out of their way when a tug on her wingtips made her look down. Her heart clenched when she saw Malachai still hanging on, “Malachai, dear, you can let go now. Cedric and Ramiel are here to help you.”

“Okay.” Malachai said, sounding a tad dejected. Lenora's gaze softened. She reached under one wing and yanked out one of her large secondary flight feathers and placed it in his hand, “It’s yours to keep. For good luck.”

“So soft…” Malachai mumbled, marveling at the feather in his hands.

“Danke.” Came his soft reply as his hand tightened around the feather. Lenora then joined Leto to the side, letting the boys work on their brother. A few minutes later, Kallium and Erriox arrived carrying a stretcher between them; along with Osteron, an Iron Warrior apothecary. He immediately flew to Cedric’s side.

“Apothecary Cedric. What’s the diagnosis?” Osteron asks.

Cedric reports the wounds that Malachai has, the words are from memory, as much as they are from assessing him again; he ends with, “... The high level healing potions aren’t working.”

“M’cold again.” Malachai announced to Cedric, blinking up at his brother. He knew that Ramiel was nearby, and as the cold grew deeper he fumbled with the hand not holding the soft feather for the Judiciar. “Wasn’t your fault, Rami.”

Ramiel flinched, moving closer, reaching out and gently holding Malachai’s weakly flailing hand in both of his “I… I don’t…” He really didn’t want to try to have this conversation in front of Osteron, who was quite likely listening closely to what they were saying.

“Not your fault… Petras’ bastardness. It’s not your fault, what he makes you do.” Malachai murmured earnestly, his bright blue eyes hazy and unfocused, though he was trying valiantly to actually look at Ramiel as he spoke. He paused for a moment, panting shallowly, out of breath before trying to find Cedric - who was desperately trying to keep him alive… Was that his mentor, lurking nearby? No… His coloration was off. But if Cedric trusted him near them, then so would Malachai. “Ced… Cedric. He’s gonna go after the others. I’m… I don’t think I’m gonna make it much further… N’ you gotta conserve the stuff you’ve got for them.”

“If… If you say so, Malachai.” Ramiel answered back, his voice wavering a little, and his eyes shining over-bright with tears that he refused to shed, at least not right now. He was focused on trying to calm and soothe Malachai while the Apothecaries attempted to save his life. He really hoped that they would be able to save him this time. “You’ve got to live, Malachai. You need to properly meet mama. I know that you’ll come to love her, as much as we do now.”

Malachai’s voice was a shade quieter when he replied, “I did meet her... Your mutter,… she’s nice.”

Cedric was listening closely to what Malachai had to say, even as he searched through his satchel of supplies. The high level healing potions weren’t working - probably because Malachai did not have enough energy to sustain the healing that he needed. His hands were rock steady, despite the tremors that were running through his body and the rapid flicking of his dorsal fin, and the way the tip of his tail whipped back and forth in high agitation. “The… The others are safe, Mal, I promise.”

“Really?” Malachai asked, a drowsy hopeful smile on his face. He was so cold, but the pain was going away again, which was really nice.

“Truly, Brother. They… Brother Apothecary Xonfried is teaching the… The rest of your squad basic first aid procedures, and will be going over that for the next few hours. He knows better than to try and interrupt the chief Apothecary while he’s teaching, at least. By the time they’re done, Petras should have calmed down.” Cedric gently lied. There was no way to succinctly explain where and when they were, especially as Malachai was clearly not processing anything very well, or he would have reacted poorly to the Iron Warrior Apothecary who’d arrived.

Malachai felt some of the tension that he’d managed to hold onto, through the pain, the cold and the slowly encroaching darkness, a smile warming his face as he let his eyes drift shut. Everything was blurry, anyways. “I’m so glad to hear that. Love you both.” His shallow breathing began to slow down, and his hearts were slowing down as well.

“No… No no no no! Not again! Please, Malachai, you need to stay awake! You need… You need to keep fighting, there’s… There’s got to be something we can do to help… Help you heal up!” Cedric growled, frantically dumping out the entire contents of his satchel, grabbing the most potent healing potion he had and lunging towards his brother who Wasn’t Going To Die Again, damn it!

A strong black and yellow striped hand grabbed at his wrist.

Cedric struggled and hissed, lunging at the wrist with teeth bared, about to bite when Osteron’s voice resounded in his ears “Stop, Cedric. Your brother is dead, and you know this as well as I do. Perhaps if he had appeared closer to one of the established bases, we might have been able to save him, but out here? He was too unstable to move, and we don’t have the resources necessary to stabilize him, much less save his life. Giving him that now would only prolong his suffering.”

A low, furious growl rumbled from Cedric’s chest, and his bright blue eyes darkened with rage as he struggled against the older Apothecary’s iron grip “How dare you! How dare you stop me from trying to save him! You just want to butcher him, take him apart piece by piece in order to see what the differences between Primaris and Firstborn marines are on a physical level!” Cedric lobbed the high grade healing potion at Ramiel, knowing the other would catch it, even as he continued to struggle and hiss at Osteron.

“You are allowing your grief to say things you know aren’t true, Cedric.” Osteron countered, voice low, almost monotone in his lack of open emotion, both in voice and face. Callous, unfeeling bastard traitor!

Ramiel caught the high level healing potion and checked Malachai over, his hearts sinking low. “Cedric…”

“What? Give him the potion! Open his mouth and tip it down his throat if he won’t open his eyes.” Cedric ordered, still thrashing and growling at Osteron, trying to escape the older Apothecary’s grip.

“His hearts have stopped beating, and he isn’t breathing anymore. He’s still warm, but… He’s gone.” Ramiel murmured, misery, guilt and sorrow warring for dominance in his hearts, tears starting to fall from his eyes.

All of the fight abruptly left Cedric and he goes limp in the older Apothecary’s grip, his shoulders starting to shake violently as tears began to stream down his face “I failed him… Again…”

Familiar rough hands clasped his upper arms, though he could barely hear Erriox’s stern quiet voice.

“Cedric… Look at me.”

Erriox nodded to Osteron to let go.

It took Cedric a moment or two to comply, wrenching his eyes away from his brother's cooling corpse to look at Erriox “Ye-yes?”

His elder cousin’s amber eyes looked back at him, steadfastness and understanding in his gaze, “I know it is hard for you to believe me, but you did not fail your brother. It is not your fault that Malachai arrived here in the shape he was in. It is not your fault that there are no resources here that could possibly stabilize and save Malachai in such a place. That, as well as where he appeared is out of your control. Do not lay that guilt on yourself.”

Cedric protested, “That last healing potion! That could’ve… It could’ve saved him!”

Erriox was patient as he refuted his argument, “Cedric. Think about it. Lenora gave Malachai two high grades already with painkillers. And still it did not seem to do anything. You know Osteron is correct. You are familiar with how healing potions work. You’ve seen how it has to draw on the body itself to heal the user’s wounds.”

“That last potion would have killed him. If not right there, then he would have died in transit.” The Iron Warrior apothecary added solemnly, “Considering pain killers were also used, that healing potion would have only caused him more suffering.”

“That’s not… I… Malachai could…” garbled words came out of his mouth as Cedric’s mind attempted to form sentences. He didn’t even register that it was him who was making the wails of grief, only the feeling of his broken heart being crushed by the heavy weight of knowing there were more of his brothers who were unjustly punished and beaten to near death out there somewhere. Malachai wasn’t the only one. If he couldn’t save Malachai, how would he be able to save the others if they found them?

Erriox wrapped his arms around his adopted son, letting the Primaris scout lean into him.

Cedric slowly leans into Erriox at first, before crumbling completely, allowing his papa to hold him as he weeps for Malachai. For his other brothers who had been badly beaten and he can’t help but wonder if any of the others have also appeared on Ancient Terra… But Unlike Malachai, they had not been found, or at least found by no one who would report their injuries, or their death… His hearts ache as he hides his face in one of Erriox’s shoulders, clinging tightly. Why was Malachai brought here, only to die again? It wasn’t fair!

Ramiel tensed uncomfortably when he heard his brother’s mournful cries, his own tears blurring his vision. If we could’ve found you earlier, Malachai… he let out a shaky breath. Roughly wiping his eyes with his hand, he readies himself to give Malachai his final rites. He still had his job to do.

Gentle hands patted his arm, making Ramiel look down at his harpy mother and cousin. He leans into her touch as Lenora wipes away more of his tears, “Mama…” he croaked, his throat feeling dry and swollen, choking the words that he wanted to voice.

“Ramiel… I’m sorry about Malachai…” his mother replied, her tone gentle and sad. Two sets of wings wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, cousin.” Leto added.

Ramiel sank on his tail and tightly hugged both of them, “It’s all my fault! I should’ve stopped him. Malachai wouldn’t have died like this!” He wept. His hearts hurt so much.

“Stopped who, Fledgling?” Lenora asks as she hugs him back.

“... My mentor, back in M42, Chaplain Captain Petras,” Ramiel says, “.... He has… A rather bad temper, and tends to go too far while punishing Primaris marines… Sometimes I was able to convince him to let me take the punishment in my brother's place if I realized he was going too far…. But..”

Lenora’s claws pushed on the back of his head, pressing his forehead against hers, “Then it would have been you who would die in Malachai’s place.” Her voice was full of sorrow. When she released him, Ramiel saw a pained expression on his mother’s face, “Malachai told me how Petras beat him. Punishing him unjustly and excessively for something him and his squad were innocent of. If you took his place, Petras would not stay his hand or be any less heavy-handed in his punishment.”

Leto growled, angry at the injustice, “That Petras is a disgusting sadist! I bet he gets his rocks off beating young mers like that!”

“Leto… not at this time.” Lenora chided.

“But it’s not wrong! How could any sort of mentor deal this kind of punishment to the point that even his tail is broken in two places! We all know that is debilitating, especially for a merperson!” The young gannet harpy snarled, her feathers raised in agitation. Ramiel flinches at that, Leto isn’t wrong, Petras could be… deliberate in how far he went.

“... He’s a Chaplain,” Ramiel mumbles miserably, burying his face into his mother’s feathers in shame, “They are supposed to be the heart and soul of the pod. The Captain and officers the brain, the rest of the brothers the body, sword, shield, and armor.”

“A poisoned heart that is allowed to destroy the body does no one any good and should be replaced- “ she grumbles.

“You may be right, but that is enough, Leto. Ramiel doesn’t need to hear any more of that.” Lenora scolds the younger harpy.

Leto’s anger deflated when she saw how despondent her cousin became. She hugged him tightly and murmured, “I’m sorry, Ramiel.”

“S’okay.” Came his muffled reply.

Kalium’s voice cut through the air, “Not to hurry things along, but what do you need to do next, Ramiel?”

The young Judiciar straightened back up and wiped his eyes, feeling ashamed that the Iron Warrior mers had seen his moment of weakness, “We need to recover Malachai’s geneseed then conduct his final rites.”

Cedric held several jars for the geneseed retrieval, “There should be enough containers to retrieve all of Malachai’s organs. Osteron has more if needed.” He says quietly.

Lenora asked, “Ramiel, would you mind if we give our blessings to Malachai before you do so? It will be quick and then we will get out of your way.”

“Please do.” Malachai wouldn’t have minded anyways.

Lenora knelt by Malachai and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Son, may Skymother keep you. I pray that you will see your brothers again in your next life, under happier circumstances.” She smiled sadly, brushing away some stray hairs from his face. She then moved over for Leto.

The gannet harpy plucked one of her secondary flight feathers and placed it in Malachai’s hand. Like Lenora, she kissed his forehead, “May Stormbringer guide you and bring your perpetrator to justice so that he will be punished for his sins. I pray that your soul be vindicated. Rest in peace, Cousin.”

Ramiel was touched by their words. He thanked the two harpies before they left. Lenora nuzzled him, “None of this is your fault, Ramiel. Please remember that.”

He couldn’t really meet his adoptive mother’s gaze, “I… I will try.”

“I know.” Lenora patted his cheek before paying her farewells to the rest of the group. She then took off with Leto to return to the gannet roost.

Cedric aided Osteron in preparing the body, his hands going through the motions, pausing for a moment before saying “I am… Unsure how Iron Warriors deal with their dead, beyond removing geneseed and any viable organs for use… But amongst the Black Templars, we cremate them and forge their ashes into blades, which are given to Brothers they were close to. To allow them to continue their Eternal Crusade, despite having fallen in battle.”

Ramiel had finished creating the funeral pyre for Malachai to be put to rest within. He held a jar of the sacred oils of anointment in his hands which were only trembling a little. He helped Cedric and the others carry Malachai’s dead body over to and placed properly within the pyre, murmuring the final prayers given to Dead Brothers as he spread the oil across his brows, chest and tail, finishing with a slightly shaky “As… As the purifying flames of the God-Emperor consume the flesh and souls of the wicked, the xenos and the heretic, His cleansing flames purify the bodies and souls of his fallen warriors. We are kindling to fuel the fires of the Eternal Crusade. The ash of Malachai’s body is to be forged into Blades of Remembrance, to arm his still living brothers, so he may continue to Crusade at our sides.”

Cedric stared into the flames, the acrid scent of burning flesh, of the taste of failure was pungent in his nose and on his tongue. Still, he diligently tended to the fire until all that was left of Malachai was ash and chunks of his larger bones. “We’re going to need a forge, and additional supplies to forge his ashes into blades of Remembrance. We will need to trade for time in the former, and for the supplies for the latter.” He mumbled. He’s not sure what the Iron Warriors will ask of them in payment for this, but from… From his interactions with not-papa, he hopes that they will also be reasonable, rather than opportunistic in their demands.

He’s heard about a Salamander base, but that is allegedly weeks away, rather than the much-closer Steelix Base. Perhaps they would be willing to trade different kinds of materials? Cedric does have the specific weapons-pattern that the Blades of Remembrance are supposed to be forged into - and they are held as sacred by the Black Templar Chapter… Would the Iron Warriors ask for the weapons-pattern? His hearts churned uneasily at the thought. It would be sacrilegious to do so… But he’s already been consorting with members of a Traitor legion for some time now…

Ramiel stares into the flames, murmuring the prayers to guide Malachai’s soul into the Light of the God Emperor, and to join The Legion of the Damned -those brothers and cousins with souls Fiery and Stubborn enough to Serve, even in Death. He wonders how he and Cedric are going to trade and pay for the time in the Forge- and the specific items required to make the Blade of Remembrance. He’s got the oils, the prayers, and between him and Cedric should be able to make Proper blades, at least two.

Osteron and Kallium had left after Malachai’s body was laid onto the funeral pyre. They decided not to wait around as they had their own duties to tend to, leaving Erriox behind to accompany his two adopted Black Templar sons.

The Iron Warrior mer was admittedly curious about the funerary rituals of that chapter, though he was quite sure that the Emperor of Mankind was very much a human and not a God in his time. He heard Cedric’s quiet mumble. It was interesting that they forge their fallen brothers’ ashes into weaponry allowing their soul to continue the fight against xenos and chaos. Erriox thought it was a rather smart idea to reuse their Astartes brothers like that, pity the sons of Perturabo hadn’t thought of it first nor had the time to bring that to fruition. He contemplated Cedric’s words then said to him, “I won’t deny that I am interested in your weapons design, but your mother would be disappointed if the sanctity of the funerary ritual for Malachai was treated callously. Steelix Base is not solely composed of Iron Warriors. There is a Salamander cousin who oversees the forges at the base. I can negotiate with him unless you prefer to go to the Salamander base instesd.”

Hearing that, both Templars relaxed a little, “What would the price for that be?” Cedric warily asked.

Erriox shrugged, “Likely assistance time and materials, but you should ask Korbak yourselves and see if his requests are reasonable or not.”

Ramiel paused in his prayers, saying, “Speaking with Korbak would be most ideal since Steelix Base is much closer to home. If that doesn’t work then we’ll contact the Salamander base.”

“I will get in touch with Korbak then.” Erriox answered, quickly sending a vox message to his cousin.

Ramiel continues to murmur prayers as Cedric tends to the fire, churning the ashes, to ensure as much of Malachai’s body becomes ash. He coughs a little and closes his eyes briefly before opening them up again.

“Brother Malachai is… was strong of hearts, keen of mind, and zealous in his care of Our Brothers und devoted to Our Cause,” Ramiel begins, hoping his voice isn’t shaking or Cracking with grief. As the … highest ranking Chaplain (in training, and not even a decade into it, at that) it was his duty to start the Tales of Glory.

He continues on, embellishing (only a little bit) the Greatest Battle he knew of, that Malachai had participated in. Speaking of his valours and triumphs. Of the lessons he’d taught and of the might of his sword arm. After he finished telling all of the Tales of Battle that he knew that Malachai had participated in his voice had gone quiet. He was painfully aware that most brothers who fall can have hours of stories- of many battles.

Ramiel was frantically casting his mind about- they still have a pyre to tend to, ashes to take care of, but he doesn’t recall any more battles or stories that show the Valor, The Honor, the Righteous Fury of his brother (that … doesn’t involve Him or… less than kind First Born Loyalist older brothers and cousins).

“... I-if there are any others who have m-more stories to tell of Malachai,” Ramiel ends, feeling painfully inadequate and like he was failing his brother. Again. “You may speak of them now.”

Erriox noticed a silence after Ramiel prompts for more stories of Malachai. Not surprising, as Malachai died so young, not even four decades old. He inwardly cringes at the thought of how long and tedious such rituals would be for Black Templar Astartes more than three hundred years old. Perhaps he should say something, out of respect, and to support the two scoutlings. Lenora would be pleased for him to do so.

“I do not know Malachai, but Lenora and I would be glad to have him to join our family had he survived.” A sudden inspiration struck and Erriox continued, “Malachai, once you are reforged, always strike true to the heart of your enemies.”

Cedric quietly listened to Ramiel’s recitation, cognizant of which stories that his brother was choosing not to share - while they showed how brave and stalwart Malachai was, it would also reveal certain… Unfortunate at times inner workings of the chapter to outsiders… And the young Apothecary had been keenly aware of how furious Cousin Leto was over what had happened to poor Malachai… Should she hear the precise details as to why and how he’d gotten so badly injured… He wasn’t sure what she would attempt, but merAstartes were very powerful, and he did not want her badly beaten or killed for trying to avenge Malachai.

He cleared his throat a little, offering up “Malachai was an excellent leader, among his Brothers. He would do his best to ensure that those who were placed under his command were treated as well as he could manage, and would ensure that they were provisioned with everything they needed for missions.” There. That was both true and probably wouldn’t raise any alarm. Cedric hoped.

If Erriox was suspicious of anything, he certainly didn’t show it. He assisted them in collecting Malachai’s ashes. “Cedric, Ramiel, do you want to take Malachai’s remains home or to the base?” he asked.

Cedric glanced over at Ramiel, mulling over Erriox's question. “I think… I think I'd rather have his remains at home. At least until we've been able to negotiate for forge time and the supplies we need to create Blades of Remembrance. Rami, how do you feel?”

Ramiel looked down at the containers full of geneseed in his arms, “I… agree. Malachai should stay with us for the time being. If that’s fine with you, cousin.” They won’t have to worry about anybody potentially stealing Malachai’s geneseed and… it would be nice for Malachai to have a place at home with them and be part of their family for however long they could keep his remains. Erriox and Lenora didn’t mind that Catius kept Atlas’ remains at their nest for a long time, before he finally brought Atlas to the geneseed storage at the base. They wouldn’t mind if he and Cedric did the same for Malachai.

“That’s fine.” Erriox replied, “Let’s get Malachai home then.”

Ramiel ended with a voice full of regret, “I know that you, Malachai, and Mama told me that it’s not our fault, but it’s hard not to blame myself. I had beat him with the electro whip because of my mentor’s orders. Because he is a Primaris, he could take more physical punishment so Honorable Chaplain Petras wouldn’t allow me to stop. I could’ve stopped. I should’ve stopped.” he broke down, painfully reminding the Iron Warrior mer of how young he actually was.

Erriox quietly listened, grimacing from hearing Ramiel refer to his sadistic mentor as “Honorable Chaplain”. It left a bad taste in his mouth. And here he thought that the Iron Warriors were well trained due to trauma. Just how brainwashed were these Primaris marines? He sighed, then answered Ramiel, “You listened to your mentor, but he still beat Malachai until he died. Even if you did stop, he would beat Malachai worse and your brother’s fate would still remain the same. Perhaps worse, he forces you to watch or finish off your brother.”

“I… suppose.” his adopted son mumbled.

“Some guilt will live with us until the moment we die. No one can truly outrun it, we could only manage it.”

“Did Mama teach you to say that?” Ramiel side-eyed the firstborn Iron Warrior. It definitely sounded like something Lenora would say.

Checking over his shoulder to see his mate still sleeping, Erriox chuckled slightly, “Something like it.” He then asked him, “What do you know of the Fourth Legion’s history?”

Ramiel recited as his mind recalled the lessons of each legion’s history, “They said the Fourth was under the traitor Perturabo. They were logistically an effective fighting force specializing in siege warfare, but the primarch held little love for his sons. The first thing he did when he met the Iron Warriors was to decimate his own legion. Everything and everybody was a piece to be used, including daemons. They do not worship under any specific chaos god.“

“Enough.” Erriox frowned, shame creeping into the back of his mind. It was no secret that Perturabo hated his sons. They were never good enough, effective enough. However, it was one thing to know the truth himself, but to hear it spoken aloud from someone else’s mouth was disconcerting at best.

Ramiel flinched, noticing Erriox’s darkened expression, “Did I say something wrong?” He asked nervously.

The Iron Warrior mer let out a sigh and gestured Ramiel to follow him, “No. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

The Black Templar mer followed his firstborn cousin to the work table and watched as Erriox took a small wooden box from the shelf above it.

“What is it?” Cedric’s sleep-muddled voice asked, “Morning.” He added when the other two turned to look at him.

“Morning, bruder. I am… speaking with Erroix, you can go back to sleep if you’d like to, Cedric,” Ramiel says.

Cedric shook his head and floated over to the work table, “I want to see what you’re looking at too.”

It was a somewhat plain box with symbols carved along the edges of the lid, closed shut with a simple latch and pin. Ramiel was curious to see what’s in the box- noticing the way Erriox grabs it, solemn and holding it like it contains something painful, or at least holds tokens of painful memories.

Inside were several talons, large and small, each twined with a few feathers and beads carved from seaglass and shells in aesthetically pleasing bundles. There were also small bunches of feathers tied together in a similar fashion. Three large grey scales likely from another Iron Warrior mer and a small shard of bright blue ceramite armor laid among the talons and feathers.

Cedric quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes, “Is that from Atlas’ armor?” He asked.

Erriox confirmed his identification, “Yes, there were several more pieces we had to remove from Atlas’ armor so Catius decided to keep one here.”

Ramiel quickly understood what the box was. He could smell the similarities between the talon bundles and his harpy mother, “These are the remains of those who have died…” he said softly. He noticed there were a fair number of the talon and feather bundles, which worried his hearts with the thought of how fragile and short his Mama’s life was compared to theirs. Ramiel didn’t dare voice that thought though, he didn’t want to further worry Cedric and Erriox.

The three grey scales caught Ramiel’s eyes. Glancing over to Cedric, he noticed his eyes were pinned on the dried blood on the scales.

“Are they from your brother?” He asked Erriox carefully, nervous about offending him with his question.

The Iron Warrior mer took one of the scales out, looking at it with a nostalgic expression, “These scales belonged to my brother and mentor, Rannok. You both know about the decimation of the Fourth.” He looked at the two Scoutlings who nodded, “As a legion, we had to follow as our genefather decreed, not following his orders was out of the question. We were ordered to beat the chosen brothers to death using our bare claws. My brother, Rannok, was unlucky enough to draw the short straw in our group. I took part in killing him. He did not die a quick death.” Erriox became solemn as he put the scale back, “This was all I could recover from him.”

Erriox looked at his boys, an almost pained expression on his face. It was the first time they’ve seen their scout sergeant/ paternal figure lose his stoic demeanor like this, “You are not alone in feeling this way. The longer you live, the more regret and guilt you will endure, it’s a matter of how well you can move on from it with the lessons you’ve learned.” He let out a bitter huff, “Rannok was a good mentor and a close brother of mine and I helped tear him apart. Even now, there are times I wonder what would happen if I protested, or took his place.”

Both Scoutlings were stunned into silence. They were taught that the traitorous Fourth were callous and unfeeling of their own. Always thinking on how someone could be of use and disposed of if not useful. Not once had they thought that the Iron Warriors would have a sense of brotherhood among them. Not once had they thought about how similar or even worse punishments the other legion went through. They saw that Rannok’s death still affected their Firstborn cousin; this was the first time Erriox openly said anything to them about it. Hearing that story, Ramiel, while still feeling guilty over Malachai, understood what his elder cousin was trying to say and was glad that he was not alone.

A gentle voice interrupted their thoughts, “Then I don’t think I would have met you in this universe at this time as you are, perhaps.” Lenora sidled in under Erriox’s arm, leaning relaxed against his torso with one wing wrapped around his back.

“Guten morgen, Mama/Mutter.” The Scoutlings greeted her.

“Morning, love.” Erriox purred as he shared a loving kiss with his mate.

“Morning, love.” Lenora replied warmly and nuzzled him. She then turned to Cedric and Ramiel with a kind smile, “Morning, boys. I see Erriox has shown you the box with the remains of our loved ones.”

“Yes, Mama.” Ramiel answered.

“This box is a way to show that our loved ones, who passed on, still have a place in our hearts and in our home.” Lenora explained, “If you have a part of Malachai you wish to keep here, you can. Like all of your brothers, both of you have access to this box whenever you wish since you are part of our family.”

Cedric and Ramiel felt touched by their adoptive mother’s words. It’s such a beautiful and sincere gesture and it reminded them of the relics that their chapter carried with them. Cedric looked at Ramiel, who nodded. He swam over to his nest and returned holding a small bag containing some of Malachai’s remaining bone shards. Putting the bag into the box, Cedric said, “Malachai, you’re home now. You’re safe here with Rami and I, the rest of our Brothers, and Mama and Papa. Once you’re reforged, we’ll take you to see brother Roland and Arnault and their bonded. You would like them. They are very kind.” Though his hearts remained heavy, knowing a piece of Malachai can remain at home with them, lightened the sorrowful burden.

“Mama, may I give a blessing for them?” Ramiel asked, not wanting to overstep cultural boundaries and disrespect his mother. She smiled at him, “Of course you can.”

Ramiel smiled back, “Danke.” He poured a little holy oil onto his finger and swiped the lip of the box and then its lid, then spoke reverently, “God-Emperor grant us your blessing. Protect these kind souls who have taken in our brother Malachai. May you always keep them in your golden light.”

“Thank you for your blessing, Ramiel. That was lovely of you to say that.” Lenora said as soon as he was done.

Both her and Erriox were slightly taken aback when the two Black Templar Scoutlings suddenly hugged them together.

“Danke. Thank you, Mama, Papa, for allowing Malachai to stay here with us and join your family.” Cedric said in his quiet whisper-purr.

Ramiel lifted up Lenora so he could nuzzle both his adoptive parents more easily, “Thank you for all the help you’ve given us to take care of Malachai. Danke, thank you for everything.”

Lenora and Erriox shared a quick, but fond smile with one another before replying to their adopted sons, “You will always have our support.”

“You are part of our family, we’re here to help you when you need us."

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #adeptus astartes #of fin and feathers au #black templars #iron warriors #oc: cedric #oc: ramiel #oc: malachai #oc: erriox #oc: lenora

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ghosts-and-glory · 8 months

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Imma be honest, Narinder deserved purgatory more than his siblings. I'm glad you gave him the fate he deserves, and I'm excited to see what horrifying abomination had taken his place in the cult. (I desperately hope it's Nothing There from Lobotomy Corporation, but that's wishful thinking lol.)

I’m sorry bestie but I’m not the Nari anti you think I am, I just like putting my faves through the horrors™️

In writing tragedy I want moments of catharsis. Narinder is a character destroyed by his own actions and punished beyond human comprehension. I don’t have a desire to write his infinite torture, more to play with the questions the post game leaves me with. I honestly can’t help but read the stories Narinder and his siblings as one of tragedy, where they are ripped apart by their flaws and reduced to play things in the cult.

Honestly what we know about the crown bearers there’s an argument to be made that Narinder has committed the least atrocities. His ass is the only one who hasn’t done a war crime in facilitating a genocide against the lambs. We are never given in cannon what he did to get banished or how the betrayal went so I can only theorize on the severity of his past actions. The conclusion I have come to based on mostly his, ??? (Mystic seller or whatever you call it, to me it’s Kevin) and Shamura’s dialogue is that he did something to attempt to reverse the natural order of things, mostly like relating to death.

I’m gonna ramble cause I’ve been chewing at the bit waiting to be asked about my au. There’s also some art under the cut. Hehe hoho I’ll be so normal with my interests.

Going into my au, that I really really need to name, The Lamb executes Narinder after he’s defeated. Partly for revenge, for their dead family and for damning them to serve the crown, but at the same time they feel empathy for him, as a servant of death they know that to die is to rest. What The Lamb did not forsee was that killing Narinder would damn him to purgatory just as it did his siblings.

I have a early concepts of, who I’ve affectionately dubbed Not-Narinder, with Purged Narinder.

I don’t wanna divulge too many details on my plans for the au, but Narinder does eventually end up in the cult. After two thousand years in service of the crown, another thousand years in chains, and then a hundred years in purgatory stripped of his senses. To some level the cult grounds are its own prison but does he not deserve a chance to carve out his own life? I will however tease a half written script and doodle of The Lamb and Narinder’s conversation after he’s freed of purgatory.

Unfortunately for me my thoughts and plans for the au go back thousands of years before the plot of the game and then another few thousand years after. It’s like the Star Wars timeline, as in its a big mess.

#cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb narinder #cult of the lamb au #my art #my post #I think he’s fucked up in a endearing kinda way #Tw blood #Tw gore #no devotion au #ask

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 9 hours

Text

Tailoring

Author's note: More of Petras in Divergence Husbandry AU

Summary: Petras makes a gift for his beloved whore, and they enjoy it together.

Warning: CW: Smut, lemon, NSFT, Amor Kink, Language Kink, Master/Servant Kink, Uh... Let me know if I need to add anything.

Past =-= Next

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

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

Tagged: @felinisnoctis

Petras heads back to where his beloved darling human is, he’s learning the common language of the baselines that live in and around Gannet Point. Which is the language that his beloved speaks with her friends, family and co-workers.

It had been mildly distressing and frustrating to find out that his beloved is dear friends with Arnault’s and Roland’s humans. Much to his chagrin, he has to interact with the pair of excommunicated Black Templars more often than he’d like due to the fact that their humans like each other.

And were trying to be helpful and have the three of them interact. He had heard from his beloved Witch-whore that there are … several younger Black Templars, and from the description that she has of them.

They are Primaris Marines. He had requested that he not meet them, in part because of what Arnault and Roland have said and requested of him in regards to the Primaris Space Marines. Another part of him isn’t sure how well he’d hold to the agreement if he had to interact with those abominations.

If he had to do so on a semi-regular or a regular basis… his urge, his understandable desire to purge the Abominations from life. Alas, trying to find others who are like minded as him is very difficult, and something he needs to thread the needle carefully, for if he talks about it to the wrong Space Marine, they might try to kill him or worse.

Petras is a fair hand at sewing and mending cloth and clothes. He hadn’t realized his skill with such things could, well more accurately, would ever be used in the way that he’s using them at the moment.

However, the idea of his beloved bonded whore in the garb of a black templar serf’s uniform has been paying for black and white, with red and gold trim (as he’s an Honorable Chaplain, his serf’s uniform would reflect his rank) cloth and ribbon.

After ensuring the texture of the cloth he’d picked didn’t bother himself or his bonded he went to work on making the garment- finding something similar enough to the uniform of a Black Templar Serf, a Concubina, serf at that, their uniform wasn’t for Serf’s who did much cleaning. But could be worn in public, but was obvious to a Black Templar just what kind of work they did.

Petras very carefully does the measuring twice- before cutting once, making sure that there was slack and give, ensuring that he has her exact measurements, then he starts the next part of the process as he starts sewing.

For the stitching that needed to be hand sewn he had done so as carefully and patiently as he could, imagining just what his beloved whore would look like in the outfit. He’s glad that his human has a sewing machine- and he’s read the instructions on how to use it, carefully using the surprisingly noisy, yet quiet machine to make the outfit.

The outfit comes together surprisingly quickly. He neatly folds the outfit and wraps it up. Petras is excited to see how she’d react to his gift. It’s one that he hopes that she’ll like, and he’ll enjoy unwrapping her, or keeping her partially in it as he stuffs her full of his cock, over and over again.

His beloved whore opens the gift and murmurs- noticing that the colors and markings of the outfit remind her of his armor. She grins up at him and they pepper each other with passionate kisses and touches. She draws away- the teasing minx as she flounces off and returns relatively quickly in the outfit and grins up at him.

“How may I serve you, My Lord?” she chirps up at him in Gothic, in the exact way he’d taught her to and he lets out a lusty purr as he stalks towards her.

“Attend to me, my Whore,” He purrs out to her in Gothic and she nods up at him, her eyes fluttering faux-coyly at him.

“Yes, My Lord,” You say breathily, as you strut over towards him, watching the way his blue eyes smolder and watch your every movement.

When Petras had told you that he was going to make you an outfit for sexy times- who had thought the outfit would be far more scandalous and skimpy, but it was surprisingly comfortable, and you could, potentially wear it out in public, and only you and he would know what the outfit actually meant.

“Clean the armor on my left hand,” Petras purrs out in English as he sits down comfortably on the floor and looks at you with half lidded eyes.

“Yes, Sir,” You chirp up at him and get out a cleaning solution that is body safe, as well as some of your favorite unscented lube.

Angela had taught you that Space Marines had far more acute senses of smells- and the scents of things could bother them a lot faster than it could for normal humans. You grab a clean tea towel and start to clean the armored hand, making sure to take care to clean and murmur how impressed you were with his armor- how it was scarred, yet well maintained. It showed his prowess in battle- how strong he is to have survived all of those Glorious Battles, how clever he is.

Once the all of the fingers, the palm and top of the hand the wrists, and up to his elbow joint were fully cleaned he rumbles out another order, “Ride my armor- show your devotion to me.”

“Yes my lord.” You say breathily as you move and straddle his arm and he helps lift and move you.

You shiver a little- his armor is slightly cold and hard, made out of some space metal- or something. Also the casual, easy way he picked you up and carried you around got your engine going as you carefully lube up his fingers and start to grind against his armor. He helps you by teasing your clit, very, very gently, but with enough pressure on your clit that it has you moan and keen throwing your head back.

“Oh- fuck!” You moan, “Petras- fuck. That feels good.”

He purrs at you again, as you continue to grind against his armor and he teases you with his fingers in your clit, slowly opening your hot, wet cunt with one finger. You whine at the burn and stretch of one of his armored fingers.

Fuck- his fingers are usually so big when he’s out of armor- that it’s almost too much to just have one of his fingers playing inside your pussy. He stills and watches you, “Are you alright?”

“Fuck yes love,” You say pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Color?” Petras insists, with an endearing frown on his face.

“Green,” You reply, “Just continue, more slowly inside me, alright?”

“I will try my best to,” Petras says. “... Ready to restart?”

“Yes please!” You whine up at him and start to grind against his armor and he starts to purr and murmur in the Space Marine language- a mixture of praise and loving insults. You don’t really understand most of what he says, but he has such a deep, rolling voice- it thunders and is smooth and deep.

He gets you to orgasm almost embarrassingly quickly and he chuckles, pleased as he gently pulls out of your pussy and lightly sets you down, “My lovely Serf- you need to clean my armor of your juices- with your mouth.”

“Yes my lord,” You say as you suck and lick your juices off of him- there is something about the way you almost worship his armor that has Petras praising you some more. His other hand had taken off his armor and was slowly and carefully teasing fingers playing with your clit and pussy again.

“Good girl,” Petras croons, “continue to service me like this. My pretty whore- doing exactly as you are told.”

Once the armor is finished being cleaned again he scoops you up and buries his face in your thighs and you squeal a little as you tug in his short silver-white hair as he eats you out. Fuck- he’s got such a talented tongue as he eats you out. His tongue teasing and tasting your clit and diving in and out of your pussy.

He lightly has one of his hands squeezing your neck- not enough to restrict your breathing, but enough that you are constantly aware of his hand wrapped around your neck as he teases your breasts with his other hand. Squishing and teasing your breast and lightly twisting and pinching your nipples as he wrings out yet another orgasm from you.

Petras looks so good, dripping your juices down his face as he presses a scorching hot kiss against your mouth. You moan at the flavor of his salvia and your cum and he removes his cod piece, you are still wearing the gift- just not wearing underwear.

“Shall I put my cock in your warm, yet pussy?” Petras purrs out the question.

“Yes! My Lord please- give me your cock~” You plead eager to feel his cock stretch you and fill you deliciously.

“Good Girl,” Petras purrs as he slowly and teasingly guides his cock inside of you and slowly thrust in and out of you.

There is a slight sting of pain and cold- as he’s almost entirely in his armor while he fucks you- but it’s also hot to see him in his armor and pussy drunk as he fucks you at the same time. Fuck- this feels soo good.

After Petras had cum inside of her twice, he purrs and tells her how good she was for him as he carefully takes her to the bathroom. You are so tired and are glad that you have the next three days off as Petras carefully washes your body in warm water and cleans you up.

Helping your jelly limbs return to functioning. He waits outside of the bathroom as you pee and you stumble out of the bathroom and smell food. Petras perks up and presses a gentle kiss to your nose, lips, both cheeks, forehead and chin and gently sweeps you up off your feet and gently set you down on the couch, wrapped up in your favorite blanket as the pair of watch your favorite show and he hand feeds you salty and sweet snacks.

You fully recovered from that session and yawn, tired and he nuzzles you and gently carries you to your room. He helps you brush your teeth and presses more gentle kisses and praises into your ears and cheeks as he tucks you in and cuddles you.

You wake up pleasantly sore the next morning- and Petras having made you some breakfast in bed as he helps you with stretches and some over the counter pain medications to help with some of the less pleasant soreness.

“That was a great session,” You say to Petras with a smile.

“I’m glad.” Petras says, “Thank you for talking about and deciding to do this latest session.”

You giggle at him, “You seemed to have gotten really into it.”

“Ja- you were amazing,” Petras purrs, “All lovely and pliant und wunderbar.”

“Where did you get that outfit?” You ask him curiously.

Bashfully Petras looks away before looking at you and saying, “I made it myself- I bought the cloth and it’s while I did those measurements of your body.”

“Oh!” You say surprised, “You have a talent for tailoring, Petras.”

“Danke,” Petras says, you can tell he feels a little shy about it.

“... Perhaps if we have other ideas for outfits, you could make them, if you wanted to?” You ask him gently.

“... I could do that, ja.” Petras says, “Do you have a request, My Darling?”

“Not at the moment,” You reply, “But I’ll think about it.”

He nods and cuddles you as he continues to hand feed you breakfast. He could be so affectionate after sex and for a few days afterwards. It was really sweet how he took care of you after one of your more intense sessions.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #warhammer #adeptus astartes #oc: Petras #reader insert #Divergence AU #Divergence Husbandry AU #tw: Smut #armor kink #language kink?

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kit-williams · 4 months

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Sentience Lore: Warp Fuckery

So I don't know if I ever clarified this.

I mentioned it throughout that when the space marines first came around that:

Bond's were uncommon

People were HIGHLY fearful/wairy of Space Marines

The Mental Fog/warp fuckery was very few and far between (usually only to those with a bond)

Now that the setting is in the modern era:

Bonds are common (well as common as the limited population of marines allows)

To be fearful/wairy of a Space Marine is uncommon unless there is Astartes related Trauma (aka human killers/feral space marines)

MOST humans have some level of warp fuckery/mental fog

What does warp fuckery do?

makes you less likely to ask questions

makes you more accepting of the quirks of your bonded astartes

helps you ignore certain things

But Kit, I hear you ask, what do you mean less likely to ask questions.

Basically if you start to really think hard about what the Astartes are... or how human they look... or what they would need to be made for... or you notice that their weapons look rather wicked...

Just you notice things that make you question what you've let into your house/life... makes you question what monster you've allowed to get close to you and your family... you know something that might eventually make you panic and try to push the bond away. Just as the warp is pacifying the Astartes just enough to keep them from killing their bonded... the warp is pacifying humanity enough to keep them in this cycle.

Kit... are you ever going to explain what is behind this all?

Nope. The point of the AU is to focus on the wholesome domesticity (and sometimes lewd) of having a bonded Astartes. The having an unseen manipulator just helps in forcing things to return to equilibrium.

Because having your khornite erect a skull shrine in your house would make ANYONE ask SEVERAL questions... like where did he get 8 pristine human skulls from. Its better for everyone that you don't ask and you don't worry at all.

Hope this helps! Happy Trails for the Sentience AU people!

Shoutout to the Lore nerds:

@egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@ms--lobotomy

Please feel free to message me either in an ask or DM if you need more information on ANY part of the lore.

#space marine husbandry sentience #warhammer 40k #lore drop #tales from the barn

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atopvisenyashill · 2 months

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apologies if you're not american, but i was watching a youtube video about the kennedy family and their various misfortunes and it just made me think about a twentieth century AU of jaehaerys and alysanne's family. if you didn't know, joseph p. kennedy was jfk's dad and ever since his first son was born, he was pushing for one of his kids to become the first catholic president of the united states. he had nine kids with his wife and pushed all of them to successful in one way or another.

most horrifyingly, joseph had his eldest daughter, rosemary, lobotomized because she was born with an intellectual disability and while she was at a convent, she had snuck out a couple of times and the nuns feared she engaged in pre-marital sexual activity. the lobotomy took away rosemary's ability to speak or walk and joseph had her carted away to an institution and never visited her. rosemary's siblings wouldn't know about the lobotomy until 20 years later. that entire story just made me think of gael, daella, and saera all at once.

Okay first off, i am an american, i wouldn't say i know a LOT about politics but there are a few eras I've read a few books on and gone on wiki spirals over because they're interesting to me personally, and second of all, I THINK ABOUT ROSEMARY KENNEDY AT LEAST TWELVE TIMES A DAY.

I have like, a whole rant that revolves around her that I will spare everyone but omg. Her story is like, breathtakingly horrific, and she isn't the only person to be subjected to this sort of behavior as a form of social control; a lot of women were lobotomized by their fathers and husbands for "unruly" behavior that usually amounted to them either having some sort of mental illness (like bipolar disorder or depression) or were just like, regular horny 20 year olds. The Kennedys in general are insane and I will admit to finding them a bit fascinating because the entire concept of Camelot was essentially just some rich american family attempting to remake the concept of Divine Nobility in the usa? Insane behavior especially when you look at contemporary royals who are often miserable as fuck on an emotional level (which monarchy is it where they're so strict about marrying they're practically gonna die out soon icr but it's like...these people are INSANE why would you want to emulate them, emulate some rich people who don't regularly get guillotined at least damn). But anon, if you're interested in this, one of the podcasts i listen to, behind the bastards, has a two parter on the guy who invented lobotomies and just did a two parter about the kennedys (with a focus on rfk jr, but he went into the kennedys in general). the lobotomy one is real good it made me want to throw up a bit lol.

ANYWAYS. I definitely agree that the Kennedys are a really good modern example of the Jaehaerys & Alysanne era Targaryens. Like, a patriarch attempting to make himself and his family into legendary heroic myths while they're still alive, willing to feed as many children as necessary into the meat grinder if it means getting a leg up, the public having this beautiful idyllic image of them but its all this fake, hand crafted image to hide this incredibly sinister reality. can't have your girls exhibiting sexual agency, but can't let them exist without Serving The Family as baby making machines either, so you punish them for having sex when you don't want to, and when their bodies fail because they're too damn young to have kids, you punish their mothers for grieving. you force your wife to have more kids that you won't take care of, you punish your wife for not wanting to be parted from them, you punish your wife for not wanting them married young, you ensure your sons will never lift a finger to help their sisters, and you play god with your own family and then rage at them when they don't act like puppets on a string for your benefit.

#my fascination with them started with jackie o bc my grandma was in love with her. grandma experienced a lot of loss in her life #and when jackie o refused to let the media use her kids in photo ops after jfk was killed my grandma fell in love instantly.#she had so much respect for the fact that she was like 'no my children deserve to have a childhood' as someone who didn't get one #it's crazy the way people talk about them bc when you peel back just one layer of glossy finish you find some DERANGED FREAKS #also if anyone is like 'you listen to robert evans huh' i have so many opinions about his politics i could write a thesis on it #asks #anons

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doodle17 · 1 year

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"While I was searching the woods for possible specimens, I heard a distant sound of an infant crying. When I went to investigate the loud shrieking, my theory was proven correct! A small boy, who I assume must be at least 6 months old, was washed up by the river. I didn't see any traces of possible guardians or family, so I can only assume that they have perished in the river, and only this child had survived somehow. It seems my suspicions must have been correct when I found a blanket and a small toy not to far from the baby. I would have left the infant, but there was something that's keeping me from proceeding with my searching. I have decided to take the infant back to the lab with me to conduct research."

*claps hands together loudly* SO here's the au thingy I was talking 'boooouuuuuttt

BASICALLY it's about how Loboto found little baby Raz in the woods and decides to take him in! He eventually grows a soft spot for the little guy, and basically becomes his dad, and is raised with the help of Shegor and the many inmates of the Asylum!

I've never drawn Cal before, so this was quite an experiment with facial expressions and body language, also TONS of stylization. I hope I did at least an okay job.

Anyways this au might have a chokehold on me for a good while because holy shit was it fun to create

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #Doodles doodles #Doodle17 #razputin aquato #Psychonauts au #caligosto loboto #You guys should totally ask some questions about it *coughs up blood*#Lobotomy family au

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magicmvx · 7 months

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Lobotomy family AU Raz from @doodle17 (i tried do some coloring)

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #razputin aquato #psychonauts au

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zaebeecee · 2 months

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To Sever a Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 19/?

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

•••

CW: more explicit references to the last chapter (but just references)

Sorry updates are coming slower, y’all, real life work that pays money and stuff has been picking up lately and I need to buy hot pockets

Also featured in this chapter: more examples of soul marks sucking for people. I’m glad y’all seem to like my take on Arackniss tho.

•••

In 1932, Anthony disappeared.

That was, Arackniss supposed, not exactly the right way to put it. ‘He ran away from home’ might have been more accurate, but he was an adult at the time, and the phrase was so… juvenile. But, while none of the family knew where Anthony had gone, Arackniss himself had one leg up on the others: he was the one who saw Anthony off, gave him some money for the trip, and hoped (for his brother’s sake) that he never ended up in New York City again.

In 1933, Anthony returned, and their father threw him in a sanitarium for being queer. That was, after all, what people did in their day. Hell, it was the reason Anthony had run off in the first place, trying to save himself from their father’s old-world homophobic, Sicilian rage. And after Anthony got out, everyone talked about how much he had changed. How different he was. How much colder he had gotten.

Arackniss, however, knew different. Whatever turned Anthony icy and cruel didn’t just happen in the institution. It started wherever it was he had gone, when he tried to leave the family behind forever. Something he saw out there broke him, and Arackniss never learned what it was; they didn’t get the chance to talk before he was institutionalized, and when he tried asking Anthony about it after his release, his little brother didn’t remember.

It was the lobotomy, probably.

Arackniss figured that was the start of his protectiveness over Anthony, an aspect of brotherhood that had never existed between them before. Something had wounded his brother, something Anthony might never remember and Arackniss—Bernardino, in those days—would likely never understand, and he thought that since he couldn’t protect Anthony from the pain, he could at least shelter him better from new wounds. It wasn’t easy, since they still didn’t like each other, but Arackniss was able to do most of it behind Anthony’s back, particularly once their father kicked it and Arackniss inherited the family business. Besides, it made Maria happy, and both of them would have done anything for their sister, in their own ways.

Wherever she is now.

It’s funny. She could be worse than either of us on her bad days, but I’ve never found her here.

Anthony died before either of them, a gruesome and painful death that could as easily have been an accident as suicide, though the cops called it the latter. Arackniss had heard the name Angel Dust several times after arriving in Hell before he ever realized that was referring to his brother, and their reunion had been brief and awkward. Even though they never spoke, he knew how often Anthony came to that one restaurant he managed. And, even though Anthony pissed him off… they were family. They were brothers.

Arackniss wasn’t going to let anybody use his little brother as a pawn in their political game, no matter how firmly he had promised to stay out of things where the Vees were concerned.

VoxTek tower was huge and gaudy, in Arackniss’s opinion; it was too tall, it was too sleek, and it was too ostentatious to be anything but a status symbol three overlords were holding over the citizens of Pentagram City. There had been a time that it hadn’t existed, and after that, a time the tower had seemed so out of place. But the Vees were powerful, moreso than any coalition of overlords should have been, and soon the aesthetic of Pentagram City’s center had fallen in line with Vox’s penchant for sharp lines and curves and unholy marriage of Brutalist and Googie architecture.

Arackniss had wielded power in life, sure—after he’d taken over the family, he’d run it from the forties all the way into the sixties before he got shot nine fucking times—but he’d never been a bragging asshole about it. People who wore their wealth like a badge of honor were just asking to get shot.

The security system was thorough, but with the paths Arackniss planned to take, they were nothing he hadn’t seen before. The loading dock was open, sinners and Hellborn busy moving something off the back of a truck and into the bay, and with Arackniss’s size and coloring nobody even glanced his way as he skirted around a couple of security guards and into the shadows of the back warehouse. He jumped from the floor up into the rafters, running along the metal until he reached the wall, where he hopped down to land on an air duct. He made short work of the screws on the vent, then dipped in, pulling the vent into place behind him.

Usually, air vents weren’t actually something you could navigate buildings in like they did in movies, but sinners tended to plan things as though their own size was normal, and most sinners were an average of four feet taller than Arackniss was himself. Plus… well, he was a fucking spider, he could crawl almost better than he could run.

After that came the most tedious part of any infiltration. He knew the rough layout of the building, but keeping everything in mind while scaling up ventilation shafts was a bitch, and he had to find air vents near enough the floor directories for him to make out what the fuck floor he was even on.

Of course, the Vees kept their personal shit near the top of the building, probably in part because of people like him. The further up he got, the fewer people he heard in the hallways, until the building seemed as cold and deserted as it looked. It was eerie in a way very much unlike the environment he liked to foster; while both were detached and impersonal, this place was worse, because it was so… fake.

The sounds of voices drew his attention, and Arackniss slowed so he made no noise as he finished his approach. He stopped out of line of sight of the vent, not wanting to risk anyone glancing up his way, and stilled himself to listen.

“—what with his little fanclub fucking converging on our lobby and still no official statement from your boytoy, the parasocialites are going to start being a real pain in the arse quite quickly.”

Velvette.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Vox. “He’s happy enough now that he’s got the little whore functionally incapacitated. He’s never been smart enough to consider long-term consequences.” Arackniss heard them shifting around, but he couldn’t tell what they were doing.

“…you think he’s gonna end up dead, don’t you?”

“…I’ve considered the possibility.” Vox’s voice was neutral in a way that Arackniss could only call ‘politic’, concealing everything under a layer of pragmatism. “When Alastor kills Angel, Val will lose his shit, and he doesn’t stand a chance against the Radio Demon.”

“So why are you doing this?” There was a pause, and when Velvette didn’t get an answer, she continued, “You have to see how fucking insane this is. There’s no way you don’t. It’s unnecessary. If the mark is such a big deal, cut him from his contract. VoxTek made him and we can make someone else just as easily.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Vox hesitated, and it sounded like he reconsidered whatever he was going to say. “It’s a little late to change tack now.”

“You boys and your fucking dick measuring contests.”

Arackniss smirked a little, but only a little. Vox seemed so positive that Alastor was going to destroy his little brother, but after that evening…

When he found Valentino’s office, it was empty. Carefully, he let himself out, refastening the vent covering and soundlessly dropping to the ground. It smelled terrible, probably residue of the smoke from those cigarettes Valentino was never seen without, but otherwise it seemed like the office of any other sleazelord. Arackniss knew where he would keep copies of soul contracts (if he had any), but from what he had gathered, the porn overlord was a fucking moron.

The desk, then.

It wasn’t even locked, but the interior of the drawers were so disorganized it was almost a built-in security measure all its own. He found a disturbing number of pictures of his brother, as well as several other performers over a spectrum of different gender presentations, loose receipts that probably meant his books were a disaster, pens that probably didn’t work, toys that he did not touch, and a wide variety of odds and ends, most of which didn’t belong in an office desk.

The top middle drawer, usually reserved for writing implements, was full of loose papers… and a false bottom. Arackniss shifted the papers back and slipped his fingers under the latch, carefully lifting it and retrieving two objects: a photograph, and a contract.

The photograph was much different from all of the others he had found. This one was old, gritty and washed out the way photography had been in the late 70s, and the only two people in it were a far less garishly dressed Valentino and Vox back when his head was a far bulkier shape. Neither of them looked particularly well-off, and the photograph was a selfie that Valentino had clearly taken with his longer arms. It must have been before they were overlords, Arackniss thought, because he didn’t actually hear Vox’s name as anything but a sinner pushing television in Hell until the early 80s.

They both looked happy.

Arackniss slipped the photograph back in place and unfolded the contract, fairly certain he knew what it would be, and he was… half right. It was actually two contracts folded up together, both copies of different transactions.

One, his mission target, was signed by Anthony and authorized to Valentino.

The other was signed by Valentino and authorized to the name ‘Vincent’.

Arackniss frowned, staring at it—did someone actually own Valentino’s soul? And was Vincent…?—but this wasn’t his problem right now, and he fucking hoped it never would be. He folded the second contract back up and slipped it into place, just as the door clicked.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, immediately ducking underneath the desk and slipping the drawer closed from below. The door swung open with a violent bang, and Arackniss heard a storm of manic muttering that sounded like it might have been Spanish as black velvet boots stomped over to the desk.

Valentino rounded the desk and stood in front of it, cursing quietly as he opened his desk drawers and began rooting through them in a way that sounded aimless. Arackniss held his breath, listening for any words he could recognize, but Spanish wasn’t as close to Italian as people who spoke neither one believed, and so he was only able to parse enough to determine that Valentino wasn’t feeling angry. Not exactly, anyway. Bitter? Or… maybe petty would be a better word.

“Perfecto,” Valentino muttered as he found whatever he was looking for. “Let’s see the Radio Demon ignore this.”

He sounded triumphant in his pettiness. That was not good. Arackniss didn’t know what kind of man Alastor was, but he didn’t have to in order to recognize that Alastor had a very short leash that had been frayed over what was likely a lifetime of building insanity and neuroses and was currently even more volatile than his past reputation would suggest. The moment Valentino left the office again, Arackniss slipped the contract into his jacket and jumped back up to the vent, opening it and slipping back in.

He just hoped that, if Valentino was intending to antagonize Alastor somehow, he could get to the hotel first.

•••

“Look, you really don’t need to do this, we’ll be fine.”

“It’s okay, really. Please, just stay here for now, until all of this blows over.”

Blitzø sighed, rubbing his forehead, before he looked back at Millie, Moxxie, and Loona. “What do you think?” he asked them, trying very hard to ignore the pleading look Charlie was giving to all of them.

“I actually think it might be a good idea, sir,” Moxxie said. “If the Vees are actually determined to get rid of us, we shouldn’t make it easy for them to find us.”

“It’ll only be for a bit, right?” Millie added. “Me an’ Moxxie’ll take you up on it at least, Princess.”

Loona shifted. “…I don’t want to go back through Pentagram City right now,” she muttered.

Blitzø held up his hand. “Okay. Okay, fine.” He turned back to Charlie. “Guess we’ll be hanging out for a while. Don’t worry, we’ll do our best not to break anything.”

Charlie shook her head. “I’m not worried about that. Besides, uh, you might have noticed… we aren’t exactly bursting at the seams with guests!” Her voice was bright, but Blitzø knew an emotional coverup when he heard one.

“Well, we’re irredeemable, but we’ll do our best to look like a crowd.”

Charlie took them up to the floor where, apparently, everyone had their rooms. She showed Millie and Moxxie to one (“You’ll be right across the hall from Husk, but I’m not positive he ever spends much time in there, so don’t worry about bothering him.”), Loona to a second (“Niffty is right next to you if you need anything, and just ignore— yeah, that noise right there, it’s apparently nothing to worry about!”), and finally, Blitzø to a third. It was nice enough for a fairly standard room, and Blitzø couldn’t help thinking that even unmodified it was almost as big as his and Loona’s apartment. He took a couple of steps in, looking around as he did so.

He could feel Charlie watching him with eager apprehension. “Well?” she asked finally.

Blitzø turned his head, raising an eyebrow at her. “Well?” he repeated back at her.

“What do you think?”

Tilting his head, Blitzø turned to face her, his hand on his cocked hip. “Why do you care so much what we think?”

Charlie looked like she was at a loss for a moment. “…because… I… why wouldn’t I?”

“Because we’re not your target demographic,” Blitzø said, frowning. “Because you’re letting us crash for free. Because we don’t write for some fucking travel magazine or something. Take your pick.”

“Oh.” Charlie shifted uncomfortably. “…well… to tell you the truth, you’re the first people from any other Ring who’s seen the hotel,” she said. “I know news circulated about it, and I know it was…”

She seemed to be struggling with phrasing, so Blitzø supplied, “A laughingstock?”

“…yeah,” Charlie said on a sigh. “And you— I mean, you know, you own a business, and you’re…”

“…the lowest form of Hell society?” Blitzø asked with a sarcastic smile.

Charlie frowned at him. “I didn’t say that, stop finishing my sentences in the rudest way possible.”

Blitzø shrugged at her. “No, you’re right. An imp owning a business of any kind is… weird, I guess. But I figured, fuck it, if my old man could run a circus, I could run a tiny assassination agency.”

She nodded. “Did people tell you it was… a dumb idea?”

“Among other things.” Blitzø tilted his head at her, just a little. “I’m not sure what, exactly, it is you wanna hear out of me.”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, sounding exasperated with the universe as a whole. “That it… that it’s a nice hotel, I guess. That it’s not a waste of time. That it’s not… stupid.”

Blitzø smirked. “But it is,” he said. Charlie blinked, clearly surprised that he would say that to her face, so he took advantage of her silence to continue. “Of course it’s stupid. You looked at a long-standing murder ritual that the angels clearly fucking love, and decided that the answer was to build a voluntary rehab center for the worst parts of humanity to do the work on their souls that they couldn’t be bothered to do while alive on the off chance that maybe, somehow, that would get them into Heaven.”

Charlie’s shoulders sagged slightly. “It sounds awful when you put it that way.”

“But that’s what it is,” Blitzø countered. “And you knew it was stupid when you first started. I know you did, you’re not an idiot. But you did it anyway. Why?”

“Because…” Charlie threw her hands out. “I don’t know, because it was important to me?”

“Right.” Blitzø smiled at her, just a little, and Charlie lowered her hands to look at him again. “Everybody does stupid shit because the reasons are important to them. You just happened to have the drive to do something huge and stupid for a cause that you don’t even have any proof works. And y’know, good for you, most people would look at this plan of yours, laugh at it, and give it up. But you didn’t, and because you didn’t, you stopped an extermination, which has never happened before.”

Charlie’s expression had been softening as he spoke, and at that, she smiled. “…yeah. Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”

He snorted under his breath, smirking. “So, there you go. So what if it’s stupid. So what if the rest of Hell thinks you’re… I dunno, naive or childish or out of touch for doing it. Why should you give a fuck what they think? Even if redemption isn’t a thing, at least part of your hotel works. You wanted to bring people together, and you did. You wanted to protect people from the extermination, and you did. What the fuck have your naysayers done except bitch about other people’s ideas? Mammon’s never had a single idea that wasn’t utter fucking trash, and he’s had success with almost every single one of them.”

Charlie actually giggled, folding her arms. “I didn’t know you were a motivational speaker.”

“What? Oh, fuck that,” Blitzø said with a laugh. “I’m the absolute picture of demotivation. But you’re pretty okay, comparatively, and I’d rather watch them fume at your success than contribute to your failure because the first one is funnier.”

He didn’t like the way her lip quirked into an amused smirk. “Uh-huh. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you were being nice to me.”

“Stop that,” Blitzø said, pointing at her. “Or I will start being rude to you again.”

She shrugged, clasping her hands behind her back. “I live in a building with the Radio Demon, I’m not worried about you.”

He narrowed his eyes, dropping his hand to hang at his side. “…if I wasn’t pretty sure your girlfriend is faster than me, I’d call you a bitch.” Her laugh was startled and maybe a little scandalized, but it was a laugh. He sighed. “Well, at least you’re getting into the ‘I don’t give a fuck’ groove easily enough.”

“Oi! Blitzø!” a voice called from somewhere else in the hotel. That Cherri Bomb chick, if he wasn’t mistaken. “Get your ass down here!”

Blitzø groaned, letting his head fall backwards “I should ask Millie if this is what being married feels like,” he muttered before waving his hand at Charlie a little as he passed her. “It’s probably the nicest hotel I’ve seen in Hell, and I grew up in Greed. Do with that what you will.”

Charlie didn’t follow immediately, and Blitzø didn’t wait for her, heading back down the hallway and vaulting over the balcony railing down to the ground floor. “You bellowed?” he asked as he approached Cherri Bomb, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah, bitch, I got something for you,” she answered with a sharp grin. It was only then that he realized she wasn’t alone; there was a very small sinner with her, a guy who seemed to be some kinda gray spider-like… something. He was crouching on the arm of the couch, which barely put him at Blitzø’s eye level, and he was giving him a look that was obviously daring him to be sarcastic.

Blitzø immediately had six comments he could make. Five of them were funny and one of them wouldn’t end with him getting shot, so he went with that one, because it was the middle of the night and his reflexes weren’t quite up to ‘avoiding death at the hands of an unknown sinner’ at the moment. “Your contact?” he asked Cherri Bomb.

“Arackniss,” she said. “And this is Blitzø.”

“Here,” the sinner said in lieu of any greeting, offering a folded contract out to Blitzø. “Don’t fuckin’ lose it, just get him outta this and do it fast.”

His accent sounds a lot like— “Ohhh,” Blitzø said as he took the contract, his eyes wide with understanding. “Yeah, I got you.”

Arackniss didn’t ask what his revelation was, and it really looked like he didn’t care. “Is Alastor here?”

Blitzø and Cherri Bomb exchanged looks. “…uh, maybe?” Blitzø asked.

“Don’t look at me,” Cherri Bomb said immediately, holding her hands up. “Bitch made me walk back on my own, I don’t have a clue where he went.”

“Keep an eye on him, as much as you can,” Arackniss said. “That Valentino bastard’s apparently planning something. He ain’t smart, but you don’t gotta be smart to be effective.”

Cherri Bomb sighed. “I’ll tell Niffty—”

“Tell me what?”

The explosive sinner jumped a little. “Shit, Niffty, where did you come from?!”

“Japan,” Niffty said with a wide grin, staring up at Cherri Bomb. “You’ll tell me what?”

“Arackniss here says someone needs to keep an eye on Alastor,” Cherri Bomb said.

Niffty tilted her head, then looked up at where Arackniss was still crouched on the arm of the couch. Her eye went incredibly wide, and Blitzø could have sworn it started glittering. “Ohhhh, you’re a bad boy…!”

Arackniss frowned at her, leaning back just a little. “…the fuck…?”

“Noooo,” Cherri Bomb said, reaching down to take Niffty by the shoulders and start ushering her out of the room. “No bad boys for you tonight. You go keep an eye on Radiohead and make sure he stays put, okay?”

“Okay~” Niffty said in a somewhat dreamy voice, still looking back at Arackniss as she was pushed several feet. She then giggled, scampering off to go find Alastor.

“Right,” Blitzø said. “Before this gets weirder, I’m gonna get going with this. He… might still be awake,” he said to himself, before shrugging. “Welp, he’s about to be.”

He was halfway to the door when he heard a voice. “Blitzø. Hold on.” He stopped and turned just as Vaggie approached him. “I’m coming with you.”

Blitzø frowned at her. “What— why? I can handle this, I’ve been there like a thousand times at this point.”

“You’re still a target for the Vees,” Vaggie said, crossing her arms as she stared down at him. “And, besides, I want to make sure you get there with the contract and get back with the info.”

Blitzø smirked. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“I’d say not as far as I can throw you, but you’re small.” As Blitzø’s expression turned into a frown, it was Vaggie’s turn to smirk. “You don’t get a choice, pendejo. Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Oh, no you are not.” Blitzø glared at her before huffing. “Fine. But I’m doing the talking when we get there.”

“Fine with me. So, you said you’re going to talk to Prince Stolas?”

“Yep,” Blitzø said, turning towards the doors. “This is gonna be awkward. So just remember that you decided to tag along,” he added, heading outside before she could respond.

•••

Normally, Alastor was excruciatingly patient. He almost never slept, he enjoyed watching plans unfold slowly over a long period of time, many of his pastimes were things that couldn’t be done quickly… even in life, Alastor had never really been one to be impatient.

That, he had decided, was one of the effects of having Angel Dust so present in his life now: he had only been back in the hotel for a few hours, and he was already getting agitated at the lack of news from Arackniss. He had fixed his desk and picked up its scattered contents—he certainly was throwing things quite a bit recently! How uncharacteristic of him!—in a matter of half an hour, which had left him with nothing else to do but wait. Normally, he would read, or listen to music, or even go out and eviscerate some unfortunate who decided to aggravate him in one way or another, but all he was doing was just… sitting.

Upon deep reflection of the past few days, Alastor supposed he felt responsible for what had happened. It wasn’t that he believed the Vees were holding Angel hostage now because he had neglected to break the bond; no, he was certain Vox had something else up his precisely starched and pressed little sleeve, and so too was he certain that Angel would be in a similar predicament to his current situation regardless of Alastor’s own actions. But perhaps, had he not left Rosie’s so rashly…

Alastor sighed and rubbed his forehead, his smile straining at the corners. There was little point in dwelling, and he knew that, but he couldn’t help the alien feeling that was broiling up in his gut and gnawing at him with a hot ferocity so unlike the hunger that perpetually clawed at his insides.

Am I feeling guilty?

But that was ludicrous. Alastor had felt regret in his time, certainly, but guilt? No. Guilt implied shame. Guilt implied his actions had been such grievous mistakes that he felt it necessary to assume fault for someone else’s misfortune. Alastor didn’t feel guilt, so why would this be different?

“Do you love him?”

The memory of the question made him twitch. In truth—and this was something he hadn’t wanted to divulge to anyone, let alone Arackniss—he wasn’t at all certain what he felt about Angel Dust. Over the past month, he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on anything except the fact that they needed to bond, and the fact that he had been granted the opportunity to satisfy a number of intellectual curiosities that, it turned out, hadn’t been wholly unpleasant.

Don’t talk yourself in circles. You liked it.

The thought of touching anyone else still stirred even less than disinterest in him, but Angel’s presence was oddly soothing, in many ways. It was surprising, because Angel himself was so fucking grating when he wanted to be, and while he hadn’t had any interest in repeating their intercourse as yet, he found it pleasant when Angel touched his hand or leaned on his arm.

So what did he feel, when it came to Angel Dust? He liked him, certainly, which had come as quite the surprise. Upon their first meeting, Alastor had written Angel off; a porn star (boring) who worked for VoxTek (irritating) and kept propositioning him (absolutely not) was definitely not his sort of person, he thought, and he had resolved to be cordial and little else. He couldn’t even put his finger on when it was that he started liking the little spider, mostly because he couldn’t remember a time he had ever actually found his attitude that off-putting. Familiar, perhaps, but… well, he couldn’t begin to imagine why.

He found Angel Dust to be more than just likeable, of course. For example, he was infinitely aggravating: while he did understand a firm ‘no’ when he heard one, anything less than that seemed to be more of a challenge than an instruction or a warning to be heeded. He was also supremely confounding, and Alastor still couldn’t understand why Angel did half of the things that he did. He didn’t think Angel understood why he did them.

Alastor wasn’t a stranger to impulse, of course, and he had been known to act rashly at times. Angel, however, seemed predisposed to simply follow whatever whim made its way into his fluffy little head, which made him unpredictable and entirely illogical. He had never met anyone who answered the question ‘why are you doing that’ with ‘I dunno’ with such frequency, and never seemed bothered that he rarely knew why he did the things he did. Even Niffty tended to give a reason, even if that reason was out of left field.

But all of that just made Alastor wonder why he had even bothered. Normally, someone frustrating and confounding would be someone he would strive to avoid whenever possible, but Angel… Alastor laughed under his breath, putting his face in one hand. His first thought had been the mark again, but that didn’t explain why he had been speaking to Angel with increased frequency for several weeks before the damn kitchen incident. The mark, completely dormant at the time, had no hand in that, and Alastor wouldn’t allow fate to be the reason for his change of perspective.

No. That had been his own doing… and, in all likelihood, Angel Dust’s. What the spider had done, Alastor couldn’t begin to guess, but he did know that it wasn’t intentional. If it was, it never would have worked.

A soft tap against the glass of his only window startled him, and Alastor got to his feet, crossing to it and unlocking it. He wasn’t sure if he expected Arackniss or not, but when he opened it, there was no one there, simply a cassette lying on his windowsill. Raising an eyebrow, Alastor delicately lifted it between two claws, turning it back and forth curiously; it was unlabeled, but it didn’t appear to be… cursed, or anything of the sort. Just an audio cassette.

Shutting his window again, Alastor went to his desk and conjured up a cassette player, which landed on the wood with a hollow plastic clatter. Magnetic tape wasn’t the worst evolution in audio technology, he supposed, and it was absolutely easier to record on than wax cylinders, so it certainly had its place in the oeuvre of music as a whole.

Alastor slipped the cassette into the player and snapped it shut. It was already rewound, so he hit play, thumbing the volume control as it started up.

“Alright, baby, now come show me how much you missed me.”

Instantly, Alastor’s lip curled in distaste. Valentino? Why the fuck did he have a cassette recording of Valentino? He had half a mind to stop it immediately, but the next voice stilled him.

“Anythin’ for you, Daddy.”

“Angel,” Alastor muttered, his eyes now locked on the player in his hand. He could hear sounds that he wasn’t able to parse, shifting fabric and soft thumps, but it was followed by a sound he was growing to know alarmingly well: the wet, soft noise that two pairs of lips made when they met and then separated.

“You’ve been a very bad boy, Angel,” Valentino purred.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I wanna be a good boy. I’ll do anythin’ to make it up to you.”

“Anything?”

“Anythin’ at all.”

Alastor clenched his fist around the player as he heard sounds that he knew from the films of Angel’s he had seen, wet smacking and open-mouthed exhaling and the occasional choked gag, all underscored by Valentino’s satisfied, low groaning. Alastor hesitated, then pressed fast forward. When he hit play again, he heard the repetitive smack of skin colliding with skin, the occasional shift of furniture against a tile floor, and Angel’s voice, panting and crying out in that horrifically fake performance voice that sounded nothing, nothing, like Angel did when he was actually enjoying himself.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, Val, come on, Daddy, do it, harder, please Val, god, please, fuck m—!”

The cassette player cut off with a high screech as Alastor crushed it in his fist, and the tape along with it. The plastic and metal mechanisms fell to the floor, where they began smoldering, then burst into flickering green flame.

Perhaps he was overdue for a little bout of rash behavior.

•••

“Make me a drink.”

“You’re pleasant today.”

“Fuck you,” Cherri said, turning away on the bar stool and looking out over the lobby. She could practically hear Husk roll his eyes behind her, but the clatter of bottles and ice followed as he obliged her demand anyway. Cherri bit down on the side of her tongue, resisting the urge to turn around.

“How long d’you think it’ll take?” Husk asked.

Cherri couldn’t tell if he was actually interested. “Blitzø?” she asked. “Who fuckin’ knows. I don’t know anything about the Goetia or how long they take to do anything.”

“Can’t believe we’re dragging Hellborn nobility into this.”

“Hmn.” Husk set a glass down at her elbow, and Cherri turned just enough to see that he had his hand over it, preventing her from taking it. She narrowed her eye and turned further, glaring at him. “What?”

“Everyone is already on edge,” Husk said. “You don’t have to make things worse.”

“Oh, fuck off, Husk,” Cherri snapped, turning around fully and slamming one fist on the bar top. He didn’t even flinch. “You were the one who called me six fucking times in a half hour to get dirt on Angie months after basically telling me you never wanted to see me again.”

Husk’s expression shifted, just a little. “That wasn’t what I said.”

“It was clearly what you meant.”

He narrowed his own eyes at her. “Don’t tell me what my own goddamn words meant, Cherri. You’re not a mind reader. And you were the one who decided to leave the hotel.”

“You expected me to stay after that?” Cherri asked, incredulous. “After we— after it was— you were the one who said to act like it didn’t happen!”

Husk actually rolled his eyes. “Not this shit again,” he muttered.

Cherri tapped the countertop. “You brought it up, buddy,” she said. “You said that you wanted to just ignore it. You said you didn’t want it. You said you had absolutely zero interest in me and you never would.”

“Do you have to be so fucking unreasonable about everything?” Husk asked. “You were the one who was furious when it happened. And then you were furious when it didn’t lead to anything. Is there anything in this goddamn miserable existence that doesn’t make you mad?”

“You didn’t!” Cherri said, gesturing at him. “At least, not until you became such an asshole about… it! I can handle rejection and I don’t give a shit about soul marks or what the fuck ever, but there’s a big difference between you not being interested and you acting like I’m beneath you!”

Husk blinked. “…what?”

“I get it, I’m not good enough for you,” Cherri snapped. “You made that very clear. But you don’t get to dictate how I react.”

“…the fuck are you talking about?” Husk asked, his eyes narrowing again. “You didn’t want to be, what was the phrase, stuck with a drunken, washed-up, failed children’s entertainer?”

“You called me a bitch!”

“You are a bitch!”

“You’re a bitch!”

“Um…”

Cherri realized that she was on her feet, and both she and Husk were leaning forward on the bar top as they shouted at each other (or as close to shouting as Husk ever got). They both snapped their heads to the side and saw Niffty looking up at them, blinking her single wide and curious eye.

Cherri threw herself back onto her stool with a huff while Husk turned away. “What is it, Niff?” he asked, his voice infuriatingly controlled again.

“It, um. Cherri told me to look after Alastor.”

Cherri frowned at her. “Yeah. So why are you here?”

Niffty gestured helplessly. “Well… I can’t,” she said. “Alastor’s gone.”

•••

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firenati0n · 9 months

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year in review: favorite lines! :) <3

hello hello! I was tagged by the lovely @anincompletelist in this adorable tag game where we share our top favorite segments from our published fics and/or wips! :)

I only have one published fic LOL so here are some of my favorite pieces from that and three out of four wips right now (four is buck wild to me considering i had zero like ten days ajflakjfds).

i saved some of my real faves for y'all to read in worm fic (i didn't want to spoil my favorite paragraph at the end LOL). I have linked the fic as well as the tags with wip snips :)

from our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go)

Deep breath in. “By the way. Digging the cardigan, Henry. Very…” He rifled through his extensive vocab for literally any appropriate adjective. Refined? Boring. Professional? Practical, but also boring. “Very…?” Henry raised an eyebrow, long fingers wrapped around a cup of tea. Earl Grey, Henry had said a while ago, but Alex couldn't be sure. He had been terribly distracted by said fingers, wondering where else those fingers could— What Alex’s distracted, useless worms in his left temporal lobe decided to supply him with as a response was: “Slutty-English-Literature-professor core.” Alex was going to jump off the train. He was going to change his name. He was going to get a lobotomy, as a treat. “Excuse me?!” Henry sputtered into his tea, turning red alarmingly quickly. His sexy-librarian cardigan was collateral damage, tea splattered down the front.

from the full spectrum of human emotion (WIP, The Proposal (2009 movie) AU, eta 2024):

And selfishly, he’s pretty fucking scared for his career trajectory if it doesn’t work out. He can’t start over, he can’t. His resume can’t take it, and neither can his ego. He can already hear Oscar clicking his tongue and shaking his head, practically taste the disappointment in Ellen’s pitied gaze and outstretched hand. He absolutely cannot give them the silver bullet that goes clean through his erratic heart and wrenches him back home. He loves Austin, breathes it, and yet…and yet. He just can’t return, not when he’s so close. He still has so much to prove, so much to hold up to the sky and say I’m here, I can take it, I did it, I’m good enough. It almost swallows him whole—his overwhelming love for his family, his nostalgia for the Texas sun. But it’s just not enough to—

from queerano de bergerac (WIP, Cyrano / The Half of It (2020 movie) AU, eta 2024):

“Amber, everyone thinks you’re pretty, it is an objective fact. Irrefutable, even.” “Aw, Henry! That’s so nice of you to say, thank you.” She flashes him a genuine smile. She’s sweet, Henry is loath to admit. “You’re welcome. But. This letter…we need to workshop it a bit. Make it more personal? More about who Alex is as a person, and not who we see him as. What’s below the surface? What are his hidden depths that you are willing to explore? How do you show you’re in love, not just tell?” Amber raises an eyebrow. “Okay. How do I do that?” She sniffs. “I thought I was being so obvious when I asked if he had lunch plans.” “...You asked him if he had lunch plans during our…one lunch period at school?” “Okay, fine! I’m not the best with fancy words like you, Mr. Future English Literature Major.”

from untitled continuation of worm fic (WIP, eta 2024):

If Alex could land Henry's phone number (a bit forcefully, if he remembered Henry's tone correctly) using sheer fucking charisma, he could nail a date with the guy. Easy peasy. Except. Except for the fact that Alex's brain seemed to rapidly degrade in every conceivable way when faced with Henry's fairytale hair and anime-worthy blue eyes. Henry's presence was lethal for every ounce of Alex's grey matter. With every blink of his doe eyes, Henry obliterated another one of Alex's (already fucking limited!) brain worms. They would writhe in agony, unable to shake the vicelike grip of Henry's charisma, doomed to a slow and sensual death. Alex was so fucked, and not in the fun, safe, and lubed way.

no pressure tagging @ninzied @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @priincebutt @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @onward--upward @nocoastposts @user-anakin @wordsofhoneydew @littlemisskittentoes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @matherines @lizzie-bennetdarcy @celeritas2997 @sherryvalli @gayrootvegetable @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @14carrotghoul @orchidscript @rmd-writes @dustratcentral @eusuntgratie @magicandarchery @leaves-of-laurelin @songliili @cricketnationrise @msmarvelouswinchester @leojfitz @dragonflylady77 @cha-melodius and open tag for anyone else wishing to share! have fun :)

xoxo roops

#tag game #fave #roop writes #rwrb #rwrb fic #fic: tfsohe #fic: worm fic #fic: queerano

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angelsdean · 1 year

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AU where john fails at being the Righteous Man and instead of going to dean they jump straight to adam, resurrecting him and planting some convenient info on demon deals to bring back loved ones so he'll go make a deal to bring back his mom. cue adam getting a bad deal, going to hell after a year, breaking the first seal to jump-start the apocalypse, and michael himself going to hell to rescue him.

the winchesters of course catch wind of all this happening from other demons letting slip abt adam's deal, adam in hell. they've been trying to rescue him themselves. then suddenly he's back and the demons are terrified of what they saw blaze through hell to rescue him. dean and sam hightail it to minnesota where they find adam very alive and talking about angels. talking about how one has been speaking to him (he can hear michael's true voice) trying to convince it to let him possess him for a Very Important Purpose.

dean is like oh hell no! fuck that. also there's no such thing as angels this is clearly some other being trying to trick you.

heaven is Not happy about dean meddling. dean is meddling SO hard. he's like, we need to protect adam. he's family! he's our brother too! he never asked to be dragged into this life. he deserves better than this shit.

so, heaven sends down an angel to deal with the Dean Problem. that angel is cas, of course. first cas tries the wrathful soldier of heaven approach, telling dean to back off or else. very horny-kitchen-moment. dean's not intimidated by it (he is horny tho). when that doesn't work, cas just starts trailing him, popping up at random times, eventually just sticking to dean like glue. dean's annoyed as hell at first, keeps jumping every time cas pops in. the personal space issues are incessant. cas has definitely popped in while dean was in the shower or jerking off. but then, it starts to feel...kinda nice. he likes having someone else around, other than sam.

and the more time cas spends with dean, the more curious cas becomes of humans and all their little humanisms. he asks questions. he watches movies with dean. he listens as dean rambles about the things he loves. and cas starts to become very fond of this human. and starts to question (re-question) heaven. it's been a while since he's been on earth, it's been awhile since his last lobotomy. he doesn't remember he's loved humanity for a long time. but he's re-experiencing that love. falling in love with humanity all over again, questioning heaven's ways, doubting.

meanwhile, midam is going through their own little parallel romance + rebellion arc. michael and adam having deep conversations as michael continues to speak to adam with his true voice. michael visiting adam's dreams and adam showing him all the things he loves. telling michael about his mom, about growing up in minnesota, their first house with the yellow kitchen, his dreams of being a doctor, how he doesn't even really like baseball but he still holds a certain fondness for the sport because going to those games were happy memories despite john being a total deadbeat dad. michael realizing humanity is worth saving, worth protecting. realizing this apocalypse isn't worth the amount of loss it will cause. realizing maybe his father was wrong. doubt. for the first time he feels...

and then eventual cas + michael team up to stop the apocalypse and reform heaven

#having thinky thoughts #rotating scenarios around in my mind #fic concepts #AUs that live in my mind #midam #destiel #vic.txt

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egrets-not-regrets · 3 months

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Claude: A Difference of Identity

(From @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan’s Living Waters AU) MerClaude has a crisis of identity and couldn’t sleep. HarpyLenora wakes up and has a heart-to-heart with her adopted son.

Author’s Note: Whereas Jophiel needed his looks to change, Claude just wants his to stay the same.

I found that difference interesting and I wanted to write Lenora’s interaction with Claude too. Thanks @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan for letting me use your boy. He is a lovely. Thanks for helping me write his character correctly.

OCs: Claude (@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan), Lenora

Tagged: @shadowfirecat, @kit-williams, @bleedingichorhearts, @barn-anon, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @bispecsual, @ms--lobotomy

Lenora was fast asleep when Claude returned home to the family nest, having gotten Erriox’s message that he was called out last-minute to assist on a night hunt. Claude volunteered to accompany his adoptive mother that night. Not that Lenora really needed to be watched, but it was for their own piece of mind that one of them be at the home nest when Lenora is there, in case an Astartes intruder shows up. There was no way a single osprey harpy would be able to fight them off. It was… nice to go back home anyway.

The Raven Guard mer removed his armor and tried to settle down and go to sleep next to Lenora, being mindful with his movements so as to not accidentally wake the sleeping harpy.

He still hadn’t quite gotten used to this whole being adopted business. Not that he was complaining. Being around his newfound family helped quiet or at least muffled the voices in his head most days. Especially around his extended gannet family, with them being so gregarious and involving him in their social activities; the Primaris Raven Guard found it easier to distance himself from the voices in his head.

Can’t quiet us all. A voice said sardonically.

Others join in on the mocking laughter. We are part of you after all.

“Go away.” Claude hissed irritably, being careful to not be too loud.

Still, he doesn’t stick around the gannets for too long, the anxiety of being found out to be one of the traitorous Alpha Legion still ate away at his psyche. After the whole debacle with Zariel and his brothers nearly getting kicked out of the gannet colony and losing their bond to Lana, Claude became withdrawn and always made doubly sure his Raven Guard features were on him before interacting with anyone. He didn’t want to be kicked out. He didn’t want to lose all his new family who had been nothing but extremely kind to him.

They will know.

They will find out. It’s only a matter of time.

What will poor poor hybrid boy do then?

The voices chimed in.

Claude shifted uncomfortably and closed his eyes, trying to ignore them.

Even his Primaris brothers didn’t know about his… condition, except Cedric. Cedric knew, but not everything. Watching how they reacted to the elder Alpha Legionaries had him absolutely wilting. He understood why the others had reacted to the older Alpha legionaries like that. Especially with how strange and different they are from the rest of the chapters. How they seemed more to sow chaos and hatred and had their own agenda that was counter to whatever one else was doing.

Don’t ignore us!!!

Several voices rang out.

Claude startled himself upright, breathing hard and feeling sweaty. He quickly looked over to his adoptive mother, breathing a small sigh of relief when he saw that she hadn’t moved and hearing little change to her heartbeat.

It didn’t help that the older Alpha Legionaries seemed to have a penchant for harassing him despite Lana’s warnings and her stepping in to stop them several times. Throne love her, but her bonded Astartes only listened for that day and it started all over again at his next visit. It’s not like he hadn’t made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with them. Claude usually liked visiting his gannet family, but ever since Zariel and his brothers joined them, it made his visits so much harder to deal with. Granted, it helped to hang out with Mara, but he wanted to be free to interact with his younger gannet cousins too.

They’re onto you! How long can hide us? Hide you… you… you… away?

The cackling started.

Claude whimpered.

Maybe he might have to talk to Lana and Mara about it together. But Lana was hardly ever left alone. There always seemed to be at least one of the Alpha Legionaries accompanying her at all times. And he didn’t want to turn this into a huge deal like what Zariel and his brothers had.

They’ll find you out.

You can rejoin your Hydra brothers. Become one of them.

They are your true brothers.

Claude snarled at that, his tail whipping in agitation, his teeth sharpening, “They’re not my true brothers! They’re not my family! They’re traitorous assholes with their own selfish agenda!”

In his distress, he didn’t notice his rough shark skin had melted into smooth slippery skin and his eyes had turned teal.

You are no harpy.

You don’t belong with them either.

They’ll find your traitorous secrets. Once they do, they will leave you behind.

“Shut up! Shut up and let me sleep!”

She’s awake!

Claude turned around in a panic, seeing Lenora’s bright yellow eyes staring at him.

“Claude?”

“Don’t look at me!”

Now you’ve done it.

You even yelled at your mother. What a terrible child you are.

They giggled.

Claude flailed a bit, not knowing where to place his hands to cover… he wasn’t sure what he was going to cover with his hands. The big mer then deflated and sank on his tail miserably, covering his eyes. The more distressed he became, the more his form seemed to ripple and shift, his tail splitting into tentacles before partially reforming back into a tail.

“Claude, are you alright? Why do you not want me to look at you, fledgling?”

Lenora had been awake since Claude had started to talk to whoever was there? Himself? She wasn’t exactly sure. She knew he kept checking to see if she was awake and luckily, she had kept calm and still enough that the mer didn’t notice. But it broke her heart when her fledgling started whimpering. Then gave her concern when he yelled something about his brothers being traitorous assholes.

She saw a sheen of silver and teal wash over his shark or octopus-like body and circles of silver slowly appearing and disappearing. It was rather beautiful to watch if it didn’t also put poor Claude in such awful distress. Her son’s form reminded her of Zariel and his brothers, Lana’s bonded Alpha Legion mers. They were certainly a handful and had caused a whole lot of trouble at the beginning.

Though it wasn’t quite as noticeable under the glow of the bioluminescent algae, Lenora could maybe make out hints of black and the odd navy blue patches among the teal and silver rings that dotted his form. Claude’s teeth were sharper and his claws became more jagged. She had heard her boys talk about how Primaris are hybrid with loyalist and traitor gene-seed alike, but none of them seemed to know what blend they have. Which made sense considering how Jophiel had Iron Warrior features, but hadn’t truly known until Erriox told him.

Claude always seemed a little more subdued, like he suspected or knew something the others didn't. Cedric would always fuss after him for those chats, neither explained why it worried Cedric so much that Claude was so bothered by it.

She sees you.

Your mother sees.

You sure you’ll still be her dear “fledgling” anymore?

Claude felt nauseous, his hearts dropping into his stomach, “I… I should leave.” He muttered as he started to move towards the underwater entrance.

“Stay right there. I didn’t tell you to leave.” Claude froze at Lenora’s commanding tone, slowly curling onto the ground, his glowing teal-coloured eyes looking everywhere else but at his adoptive mother.

The others are going to hunt you down and kill you for lying to them.

Do you want to force Cedric to choose between you and them?

You know he’ll choose them over you.

“That’s not true!” Claude whined. His hands covered his earfins and his eyes were squeezed shut. Sparks of green lightning started to curl around his hands and shoulders.

Oh? This is fun!

Use your powers that will make this much more entertaining for us.

You really need to learn to control your abilities better.

Lenora sighed, she really didn’t want to use that tone on him, as Claude seemed to be one of her softer-dispositioned boys, but she knew he would bolt if she didn’t command him not to. Seeing the green sparks forming however made her hackles rise and the harpy started to edge away further from the mer despite her instinct of wanting to go and comfort him.

“Claude…? Fledgling…? Can you hear me?” She warily called out to him.

Cedric had warned Lenora that Claude has… magic but one that he can’t control, especially when he’s particularly upset, not as easily as Jophiel does. Also that if sparks start to curl around his body, to get out of the area, because he sometimes can’t control where or what his magic lashes out at, or whom.

“Darling? Claude? Can you hear me? I need you to say something…” she crooned.

“I hear you…”

Lenora frowned, her heart cracking at her son’s reply sounding so uncharacteristically small.

“If you’re listening, can you get yourself steady? You’re starting to shoot lightning out of your body.” She asked.

Claude took several deep breaths as he feels the bubbling-popping sensations rise within. After a minute or two, he started to calm down. At the same time, the shadows near him grew darker and started to curl around his body. He- he could shadow teleport. But Mother- had… she had ordered him to stay put. He should follow Orders.

Bad things happen if you do follow orders.

Aw… you are no fun!

Bad things happen if you don’t follow orders.

The sparks of lightning fade and flicker out fully. His eyes darted around, looking towards her and away as he closed his eyes briefly before focusing. The teal and silver tentacles slowly started to ripple, shift and meld fully back into a tail. Slowly his colors shifted back to Raven Guard black and gray. He looked back to normal except for his eyes, they still have a shimmer of teal that he’s trying, and failing to shift back to fully raven dark. His teeth crunch and clack as he tried to get his face back to raven lean, rather than rounder faced. His claws, he looks at and focuses as he slowly ensures that the details are back to what they should be. Then he loses concentration on the transformation, when Lenora moved again and the teal comes back into his form and his tail splits into octopus tentacles again and his shoulders slump in misery.

“Claude, can I come close to you? Is it safe to touch you?” The harpy asked.

The now octopus-like mer nodded, “It’s safe.” He responded morosely.

Lenora moved and positioned herself in front of her unhappy fledgling and cups his face in her claws. “Oh Claude, I’m so sorry this is causing you so much grief,” she whispered, “Is this what makes you so quiet and afraid all the time?”

His glowing teal eyes shift to look at the ground, “I’m an abomination.” He mumbled, “I’m just made up of traitor legion geneseed.”

Claude shook his head and gritted his teeth at their chanting. A few taps on his cheek drew his attention back to the harpy, the chanting briefly stopped.

“Claude, I need you to focus. It looks like something is keeping your attention. Do you hear something or someone?” Lenora asked gently.

Mother’s telling you to focus! So focus!

Tell her the truth. Mother would probably think you are crazy.

No one would believe you!

The voices laughed.

“I… um… I… uh…” Claude’s breathing shortened considerably. His eyes started to water as he tried desperately to hold back his emotions to at least form something to say that would make sense.

Lenora looked on worriedly as she saw his hands becoming claws again and the tentacles started moving in an agitated manner. She clasped her clawed hands against his earfins and then pulled Claude downwards to her chest. The harpy wrapped her wings around the mer and pressed a kiss to her son’s forehead, murmuring, “It’s okay. Take it easy, I have you... I have you. You’re safe here.”

Claude whimpered and buried his face into Lenora’s feathers, inhaling her scent, bringing his arms up to wrap around his adoptive mother tightly. She gently ran her claws through his dark hair.

“You’re safe here. I’m not going anywhere.” she cooed and pressed her lips to his forehead again, feeling her feathers getting wet from his tears, “Could you tell me what you’ve been hearing? If you don’t feel comfortable, it’s okay. We won’t talk about it no more.”

Tell Mother. Tell Mother. Tell Mother. Would she believe you?

Funnily enough, the voices seemed softer and blessedly muffled.

As tempting as it was to stay silent on the matter, Claude needed Lenora to hear him out. He was so tired of trying to hide everything he was all the time. So scared of being found out and kicked out of the nest and possibly losing his family. He didn’t want to continue to hide from his loved ones any more. There’s still a possibility that rejection might happen, but at least this would be on his own terms and in private. And he knew his adoptive mother would be gentle with him, even if she decided to reject him as her son. Shoring himself in preparation of being ejected out of his family, he told her.

“I hear voices in my head…and have been hearing them ever since I received the geneseed from the Mechanicum as an aspirant.” Claude mumbled into Lenora’s chest feathers, feeling physically and emotionally drained.

The osprey harpy nuzzled against his hair, “and this is a characteristic of the traitor geneseed that you boys talked about?”

She smiled sadly when she felt him nod against her shoulder. “And if I am correct, your looks being similar to Zarius and his brothers are also part of it too?” She gently probed, being careful not to spook her fledgling to keep him talking.

“Yes. And the claws. The teeth. And the lightning.” Claude replied unhappily. He focused on his breathing and the soothing pressure of Lenora’s hand stroking his head, slowly calming down and relaxing before reluctantly pulling away from his adoptive mother.

“I lied to you and Erriox. I’m not who I try to be. I’m sorry. Any judgment you have for me, I will accept. Even if I have to leave.” The big mer bent his head, contrite, and looked down onto the ground. A few taps on his forehead made him look back up at his harpy mother.

“My dear fledgling. Why would I want you to leave?”

“Because I have Alpha legion gene-seed in me,” Claude says, like it’s obvious, still completely miserable, “they are among the worst of the traitor legions. Face stealers, liars, social manipulators that weave hatred, fear, and misery into the fabric of the Imperium, and the Chaos Legions.”

The voices have gone silent. For now. But they will be back, and louder than ever. They always were. Perhaps they were the voices of other Alpha legionaries? He had not thought to ask others of the Primaris who were cursed like him. Afraid of their answers.

“And have you stole anyone’s face? Tried to manipulate them? Have you tried to sow fear and hatred among those around you?” Lenora asked.

“No!” Claude said suddenly, honest and fervent, “not- not on purpose, for manipulation, fear or hatred. I- I just lie about being this. You see what I am. You’re not blind.” He frowned at his last outburst, he didn’t mean to be so rude.

He tried to be honest about other things, and kept secrets others wished him to, unless it’s something that was hurting them. He’s been teased by some of his brother-cousins that he’s a terrible liar. Which was something that … he was conflicted on whether he likes that or not.

Lenora chuckled, unoffended by his comment, “Yes, the Alpha Legion and other traitor…”

“Night Lord.” Claude mumbled, might as well get it out now since there’s no point keeping that a secret.

Oh? Finally telling her everything?

Boring! Lies are more fun.

She seems like she still cares. But for how long will that last?

“… and Night Lord geneseed is part of you, but you still make your own decisions to not terrorize and hurt those around you. You are still Claude the Primaris Mer-Astartes, are you not?” She questioned, hoping that her son would be able to think his way through to gain some semblance of peace within himself.

“Come. Join me in my nest.” Grabbing his hand, Lenora led him to the nest Erriox and she shared.

“Erriox won’t mind?” Her son asked.

She smiled, “No. It’s fine, Jophie joins us like this occasionally.”

Claude took his place beside Lenora and relaxed, letting his tails, no, tentacles curl into the space beside himself, this form being a lot more flexible and squishy than his Raven Guard shark form. The harpy sat beside him, idly stroking his head, watching the glowing silver rings on his body as they appeared and disappeared.

“I’m curious. You mentioned something about hearing voices. What kinds of things do they say?” She looked at her fledgling inquisitively.

“Sometimes useful advice,” Claude says, “Mostly mean things. Intrusive thoughts, or Really Bad Ideas. Occasionally warn me of things to come.”

Aww… you’re so mean!

Hey- he said something nice first… usually he just says ‘shut up!’

Not all of our ideas are bad. You’re just no fun!

“I suppose that’s sort of helpful, but I certainly hope that you ignore the mean things they say about you… and their bad ideas.” The harpy frowned slightly.

“I’m usually able to ignore the bad advice and ideas,” Claude says honestly, “When I was younger and didn’t know better they got me into trouble a lot, so I learned which ideas to ignore, versus which ones I could follow without too many consequences.”

Lenora huffed, “They don’t sound easy to live with, but unfortunately they are a part of you. You seem to be doing a good job at managing that as much as you can.”

Manage us? Manage us, hardly!

We are stuck with you. And you are stuck with us.

“Thanks. I try.” Claude mumbled, giving her a small smile at the praise.

“Your gene-seed is only a part of you. What you decide to do is what makes you Claude.” Lenora smiled back.

Her voice dropped low and quiet, “I don’t think Erriox nor I ever told you boys, or if you don’t already know this: do you know harpies eat humans? I’ve been known to eat human flesh on the rare occasion, though I don’t actively hunt humans as my main source of sustenance. Even the gannet harpies have been known to assist the sirens in miring ships and killing humans when times are scarce. It’s not a pleasant look, but it is in our harpy nature.”

“Mer-astartes have also consumed human flesh,or other sentient beings’ flesh too,” Claude says, “We try not to, it’s a last resort sort of thing. For most pods… some are more… violent.”

Lenora hummed in acknowledgment, “We don’t have such social rules governing our nature like that, though our human prey nowadays tend to be poachers and those foolish enough to intrude in our territory without our permission.”

She let out a sigh, “What I’m trying to say is that some things in our nature are a part of us that can’t always be avoided, so we can only do our best to manage as well as we can, or use that nature to help us do good in this world. You might not like your abilities but learn to embrace and use them to aid you. I’m sure the changing ability from the Alpha Legion comes in handy every now and then.”

You should listen to her.

Smart Harpy lady- no wonder you stay with her.

Erriox is going to kill you.

She tweaked Claude’s nose playfully, laughing when he wrinkled his nose like Erriox does, “Don’t think I don’t see the extra gannet sneaking off to go hunting with your cousins to avoid the auntie gannets when you suddenly have something to do when we visit the Rock.”

She got you there! Pretending to be your cousins!

Sneaky mer! Avoiding your gannet aunties!

Such a rude child!

The voices laugh. Claude decided not to respond, he could live with that comment.

“Claude…do you understand what I’m trying to say?” Lenora asked as she laid down next to him, preparing to go to sleep again.

Claude nuzzled his adoptive mother, feeling more at peace with himself, “I understand.”

She nuzzled her son back affectionately and wrapped her wing over him, “I’ve adopted you as my fledgling so you’ll always be my fledgling. I would never kick you out for something like this. And I promise you that Mara feels the same way. So don’t be afraid to speak with her about your condition. Alright?”

You should also talk to the Alpha Legion First Born too!

Link up with the telepathic network. It will go so well for you.

Mara won’t be so understanding.

The voices weren’t quite as loud as before.

“Alright.” Claude said as he ignored the voices in his head and curled into Lenora, his face nestled into her feathers, finally able to fully relax.

“Good boy. Now go to sleep.” She kissed his forehead once more.”

“Thanks mom.” Came his sleepy reply.

Lenora’s heart melted. Smiling, she whispered, “You’re welcome, my fledgling.”

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #oc: claude #oc: lenora #mermay 40k #living waters au

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