#The Savage Scavengers

[bccfggffbgv]

What's everyone's thoughts on Sadistic Sam?

Everyone apart of The Gray Horde all had mixed feelings about him where they agreed that he was indeed effective at interrogations and ambushes...They also agreed that he was undeniably brutal and merciless to enemies and allies alike...

The Survivor's Rebellion all collectively hate him.

The Savage Scavengers and Neo Hive see him as too dangerous to leave alive since they both can tell that whatever plan he has will bring devastation to all...

The Grave Walkers see Samuel as something "unnatural", not alive nor undead...It honestly unnerves Victor Hex on how even he can't tell what Samuel is...

Code Stringer finds him to be a very unnatural organic where he's just as cold and merciless as his greatest machines but he's somehow immune to the side effects of The Solver Samuel purposefully infected his own prosthetic arm with.

In short: Everyone within the merged universe tends to find him unpleasant but he couldn't care less about that.

[superman86to99]

Adventures of Superman #512 (May 1994)

FINALLY: The climax of the Super-Superman saga, which was getting about as bloated as Superman himself in this issue's cover. After coming back from the dead, Superman went from having no powers to having too much power: it started with him occasionally misjudging his strength or commenting that things are easier to lift than usual, and eventually led to every single issue having a moment where he accidentally destroys a bridge by winking too hard or something. In Action #698, Superman actually started growing taller and more muscular, leading to the monstrosity you see above.

Last issue, Superman was taken to a space station owned by Project Cadmus where they tried to "safely" siphon his extra energy into space, but that ended with the entire space station blowing up and crashing into Metropolis' bay. Turns out Superman returned to Metropolis just in time to hear Lois Lane's apartment blow up (more on that in the plotlines section below), but he can't comfort her because he's so ridiculously strong that he'd turn her into human jelly if he tried to hug her.

Just when Superman is about to say goodbye to Lois forever, his super-supersenses pick up a convenient disturbance nearby: some rowdy Underworld mutants have attacked the Cadmus transport that happens to be holding Rudy "Parasite" Jones, the power-sucking supervillain. The Underworlders sympathize with Rudy's predicament and free him, and he thanks them for their generosity by turning all of them into skeletons.

Parasite recently got a taste of Superman's enhanced powers in Man of Steel #33 and is itching for another fix, so he tracks Superman down -- and Superman lets himself be tracked. Even though Cadmus already tried to use Rudy's powers to cure Superman's condition, Superman is all out of ideas, so he decides to give him another shot. Last time, their fight had to end because Parasite started parasite-ing some Cadmus workers, so this time, Superman takes them somewhere a little more private: the moon.

After flying them both to the moon, Superman unloads his full heat vision on Parasite, and actually thinks he killed him for a moment... but then Rudy regrows himself as a Doomsday-sized monster with a freaky leech-like mouth. It seems that Rudy truly can't fail.

The good news is that Superman is his normal size again and can actually control his powers. The bad news is that Parasite is much more powerful than Superman now and has no intention to stop knocking him around and absorbing his powers. Uber-Parasite punches Superman through the moon's floor and they end up in... some sort of hidden armory? Turns out they've stumbled upon the moon lair owned by Scavenger, the villain from the latest issue of Superboy, who was probably in the toilet while all of this happened (he doesn't appear in this issue).

Superman is able to use one of the weapons in Scavenger's stash to keep Parasite at bay untii they bump into a teleporter that brings them back to Metropolis -- more specifically, to its sewers. But they're not there for long, because Rudy is still much stronger than Superman and uppercuts him into the sky. The issue ends with an unconscious Superman laying in the rubble as the people of Metropolis wonder if they're gonna have to start wearing black armbands again... TO BE CONTINUED!

Character-Watch:

Debuting the Parasite's bulkier body and leech-faced look, which is the second creepiest incarnation of the character (the creepiest is "Lois Lane," but let's not talk about that here). Everyone's pal Don Sparrow says: "This version of the character would go on to become the most consistent look for the character, though I prefer the original look." Same here, especially because I feel like once he started looking like a monster, they started writing him as such and forgot that he's supposed to be a blue-collar guy named Rudy who was once S.T.A.R. Labs' janitor. He never says stuff like "I feel like I should'a brung roses" anymore, sadly.

Plotline-Watch:

Oh, yeah, the Lois stuff. Last issue, Lex Luthor Jr. got Lois fired from the Daily Planet by hacking into her computer and publishing wacky stories about how he's a "space-alien clone" and somehow Elvis Presley at the same time -- all because Lois uncovered the equally wacky truth about him (you know, that he's Lex Luthor Sr. in a clone body and murdered his personal trainer but then aliens brought her back to life). In this issue, Lois is planning to get her job back by showing Perry her evidence on Luthor, but then her apartment blows up just as she's about to walk in. There goes the evidence!

I know what you're wondering, but don't worry: Lois' cat Elroy is fine, he bolted out of the apartment the moment she opened the door. In fact, he's the one who finds the monstrous Super-Superman hiding in that alley. Elroy's dislike of Clark has been well documented by this blog in this past, but he actually seems to feel sorry for the guy in these panels. That, or he's overwhelmed with joy because he just likes watching Clark suffer.

Incidentally, the scenes between Lois and Clark in the alley are very nice, and further evidence that the often-ignored post-"Reign" period was still capable of producing classic moments. I particularly like that Kesel and Kitson are allowing Lois to be vulnerable for a moment; her entire life just blew up, she can't be a badass 100% of the time.

Another standout scene is the tense moment when the increasingly sick and paranoid Lex "Jr." loads a single bullet into an antique gun (once owned by George S. Patton) and points it at his top lackey, Dr. Happersen, accusing him of being Lois' source. Happersen panics and blurts out that the rat must be Dr. Packard (Luthor's mole inside Cadmus, so this would make him a double rat), while repeating that he's always been loyal. Lex's quick shift from anger to "Hmm. Packard. Yes." is just classic Luthor.

The Underworlders who attack that Cadmus transport do it with the hi-tech weapons Luthor gave them recently, and they even call themselves "Lex-Men" in gratitude (though those giant guns make them look more like "Lex-Force").

The fire chief who tells Lois that her apartment blew up due to a "gas leak" and totally not because of a bomb planted by Luthor is of the opinion that they should just "tear it all down, build a real city of tomorrow." That's intentional foreshadowing for a storyline that's about to start and unintentional foreshadowing for one that will come much, much later. (Spoiler talk: maybe they should have rebuilt Metropolis as a "city of tomorrow" after "Fall of Metropolis," instead of magically restoring it to how it was at this point. They could have debuted the new look in the post-Zero Hour issues, fitting in nicely with the "soft reboot" theme and giving "Fall of Metropolis" more weight in the continuity.)

Patreon-Watch:

As always, a Super-Superman-sized shout out to our patrons Aaron, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Kit, Sam, and Bol, who last month got to read a Patreon-only post about Man of Steel Annual #3 (an Elseworlds story and therefore out of the scope of this blog). More Elseworlds posts coming soon! Join them here: https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99

And now, click through for more commentary from the great Don Sparrow!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We open with a cover that’s about as mid-nineties as it gets, with a grinning parasite riding a metal-head looking Superman in outer space.  The overlaid purple Kirby-dots are a nice touch.

Inside the cover, we are swiftly greeted with Elroy exiting the danger, which we learn a full page splash later is Lois Lane’s apartment detonating from within.   The minimalism of the explosive light is a good choice, though the bulk of Lois’ winter coat makes her look a bit matronly. The effect of Superman’s heat vision crackling behind the space shrapnel is another good bit of colouring.

Ditto on the next page, where Lois and the fire chief are warmly lit from the flames of her apartment. 

A little later we briefly meet an Underworlder running a strong risk of a copyright infringement suit from Marvel, as apart from the colouring, he looks for all the world like one of Spider-Man’s goblin-based villains.  Actually now that I look at it, the other Underworlder attacking the Cadmus vehicle reminds me of The Lizard, another Spider-Man baddie.  Any other villainous Easter eggs I’m missing? [Max: I see a store-brand Savage Dragon down there, too...]

As Lois and the hulking Superman say their teary goodbyes, there’s a great detail showing the moistness on Lois’ eye.

The effect of Superman’s full force heat vision is well done, later introducing us for the first time to the lamprey-eel faced Parasite.  The fight that follows is perhaps a bit repetitive, particularly since it lasts a full five pages.  But the exposure to the Parasite does the trick, and we’re back to a normal sized Superman.  I know I keep harping on the inconsistency of the size of the overloaded Superman, but it would have been so easy to make his cape a little smaller in the scenes when he was gigantic (to say nothing of the belt and buckle I mentioned last time) so that when he goes back to his normal size, the cape would be the appropriate scale.  I get the tight uniform scaling, for the most part, but the cape is a bit of a head-scratcher.

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

While I share the Cadmus agent’s sentiments about country music, “Achy Breaky” as a reference is a full two years after Billy Ray Cyrus’ heyday.

The Lex Luthor is deteriorating storyline is to me the most interesting part of the issue.  It’s hard to tell if he’s behaving more erratically because his clone body is dying (affecting his original brain?) or if it’s he’s getting desperate in his illness.  This seems sloppily unhinged for someone as methodical and controlled as Lex.

In art school a quick rule of thumb that we learned is that every line you add to a face ages that character by a year.  But this logic, Gretchen Kelley must be about a thousand based on her appearance on page 11.  I know the Jim Lee, hatchy style was hot at the time, but she’s looking like Dana Carvey’s Church Lady in places here. [Max: I think it's interesting that Lex never even considers that Dr. Kelley could be Lois' source. She's been with him the longest, but she also calls him out on his BS and apparently tried to defend Lois before this scene started. Is Lex underestimating her, or are his own deeply buried feelings for her clouding his judgment? Isn't that special?]

Lex as a Patton enthusiast?  Interesting idea, and perhaps a callback to Lex’s lair of the silver age, where real life conquerors like Genghis Khan, Nero and Julius Caesar lined his hall of heroes.  I wouldn’t quite put Patton in their ranks, though. [Max: Maybe he should have threatened poor Sydney with Gengis Khan's spear or something like that.]

I rarely refer to the letter columns, but the letters in this issue (addressing that weird Challengers of the Unknown fill-in issue, Adventures #508) features a letter from Jeph Loeb, author of the Challengers of the Unknown maxi-series that #508 referred to.  Loeb will of course become a super-team member himself in about sixty-two issues from now, the lone good writer in a truly terrible era of Superman comics.  In any event, Loeb was touched that his (unfairly largely forgotten) Challengers series lived on in that issue.

[sharoscylla]

Sketches of Krangpocalypse!Ripley that I did to get in the mood for Where The Heart Is: The Long Goodbye!

Yes it IS a very sad end for her BUT they did have a solid 11 years of adventures and family time before she went! She got to goof around and be loved and learn how to incorporate literal actual lightning in her swordplay and be, for a decade, The Most Powerful And Deadly Human Being Alive as well as the Main Parent Aged Adult to four turtles and two humans. Ripley had the time of her life. :)

I will try to get the first part of main storyline Where The Heart Is posted this week! I made a cool cover image for it hehe

[anxious-ace]

Savage scavengers pt 1:

(Reminder: this is the campaign that Phantom Productions runs)

Left to right: Clepta Mongoose (rouge/artificer), Ava Sagittarius (ranger/archer), Frankie Canticum-Nec Divinos (bard), Alex Pugnator (fighter/gunslinger), Maizey Steelflaw (artificer), Sky Pugnator (cleric), May Magicae (sorcerer), Jailyn Druidea (druid), Jackie Mongoose (wizard), and Vatis Musicorum (bard)

[getodrools]

໒꒰ྀ ྀིᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ PERVY! CHEF DE CUISINE! SUKUNA…

ᯓ★ warnings. mdni | f! reader | pwp, cunnilingus, fingering, size difference, overstimulation, forced orgasm ( ‘cause he's annoyed ), slight knife play, squirting, have you've ever been swalloweeed up?? ᡣ 𐭩 ( wc. 1.0k + )

TO BE REMINDED, HE’S uptight and doesn't have an ounce of empathy to care for others' plates besides his — and he will always, without fail, let you know how awful yours tastes because you forgot an ounce of ingredients… Reminding you constantly how pitiful you are at serving an actual dish and how much of an embarrassment you make him out to be as your culinary instructor...

Yet… Sukuna, the head chef of exquisite taste, seemed to have been feasting with this particular plate... It was the first time you've ever seen him actually try what you've served— No! Even take a damn double look! With this, his eyes held an eccentric sunken gaze and were threaded with scarlet so densely that they appeared pink as he ogled at the perfect view of a plate he'd happily comply with.

“Tastes… marvelous,” He’s never cared to take a whiff from anything you've served, let alone delve his whole face in! With this, his sticky tongue was lapping at every corner, searching for more to savor. “So… so appetizing.” This was his favorite.

His first and only favorite you've served.

Your pretty ass was perked up on a silver platter; legs spread wide with a small knobble as the eagle view of your cunt made you timid. But the liking he applied and scavenged for forced them wider… Well, the sinister thought whispering at the shell of your ear helped too, letting this chance of the chef to finally take pleasure in a meal you could serve swelled at a sort of sick pride…

Now it feels like you're a real damn chef!

To seek for the savors he drooled for, Sukuna spread you open with two strong arms as the third scissors between that sappy slit oozing for temptation; thick digits thump in and out with haste, drawing circles up and between folds to apply sweet pressure.

Dancing along the puffiness with dexterous ease, you swear the whole kitchen could hear the sloppy slosh your pussy gushes with at each curving juncture of another finger popping in… But, the focus on the fourth, lithe hand working along your body, he held a tight grip around a blade…

The very blade he'd draw clean lines to bring beauty in food — as if each plate were a love-inspired work of artistry, now using that tool as if you were one yourself, a very dish he was cutting open… Sliding the cold steel between the valley of your breast, it tickles with the chills bumping across ridden flesh. It nipped and pinched, either the chilly steel was too frigid or the blade was turning and swiping down too fast.

Settling at the pit of your tummy, you went to stroke that threatening hand covered in burns and callouses in search of a safe haven, but quick in motions, it stabs right beside you – swift with ease; the loud crunching of the cutting board splitting makes you flinch.

“Food doesn't move.” Oh. Right.

No matter how much he smothered his lips against sensitive ones, he was still that crude, egotistical chef with a snappy attitude… “Food stays put and looks pretty on a plate waiting,” Sukuna’s hold wrapped around the plush of your thighs tightend. Squeezing so hard, swelling of flesh bent inward and snapped through his grip like ropes around ham.

“… Waiting to be savaged.”

A loftier squeak dribbled out of you, not from the vice strangling your lower half still—simply too dazed on the slime running a thick trail down and between your knobbly legs to worry about those blossoming bruises... Only wrecked thoughts mush around the wry tongue and thick digits spearing through you into close stupors.

Your boss mushes down hard; kissing at the length of you in lewd pleasure, spitting and slurping you up ‘till soft, pert petals glisten. Slickening more – totally more from those quick laps, few rolls, and rapid flicks, all motions swirling from his wet muscles left your mouth hanging in pure ecstasy.

Sucking in wanton moans, your lips swell, but lose frivolity to the ones between limp limbs… The suction bullying an overstimulation out of your clit was throbbing a new pulse to pop up. Even the barreling of his middle fingers adds too; pushing through you and only hooking up once all knuckles bend into your pelvis. Clingy walls curve in as he pushes in every inch— as much more as you could take!

Purposely scraping the pads of his two and three at perk and sensitive bits ‘till you were reamed out. Until those pantings of shakey breaths turned into an onslaught of cries while he was forcing a geyser to shine down the point of his chin. Sukuna pulls back – even with the filthy help from tight walls squeezing him out as you convulsed. The twisting pressure of your high splatters out and down his kitchen's floors… He hums.

Fucked out body twitching, the chef swipes clear sap off the corner of his lip, “Two in one. A meal and a beverage. Sweet, but messy.” Strong arms finally release you, letting you fall breathless… Now handling his own hips as the others waved around once he looked down at his apron, “Annoyingly messy.” He pats at your bottom, catching how you even shined his hanging silverware.

You hiccup, “Thank you, chef. Sorry, chef.” That was at least something for once…

Hearing a brute scoff growl above you, he couldn't leave and just let you feel that good… Sheathing the blade out right beside you, “And clean this up! No good chef leaves a mess.” Sukuna’s deep rumble always left you to quaver anyways, “Yes… chef...”

<– BACK: PINNED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ NEXT: MORE SUKUNA –>

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Along the Road of Nameless Graves

Presiding over a series of forested foothills and mountainous valleys that divide two rival kingdoms, the mist-shrouded barony of Siirvyn has seen more than its share of war over the past generations. Betrayal, invasion, and massacre are all too common motifs in the barony's long history, leaving all sorts of scars on both the landscape and the people who dwell within it.

Adventure Hooks:

Rumours of a treasure draw the party to Siirvyn, apparently concealed in a vault beneath the ruined castle of a long dead baroness Taviaa. Surely it won't be too hard to locate a single ruin in a land frequently beset by war, right?

The party arn't the only one combing across the barony looking for something. A hardluck knight seeks her brother after he vanished on a foolish quest, and might be willing to help the party out of jam if they aid her in search.

Folk of the barony tell of Grimcackle, a great black winged beast that moorlands that's sometimes heard laughing over the desolate battlefields but is only ever seen by the lost and the desperate. To heed the old stories it plunders the old battlefields of it's choicest riches, hoarding the wealth of the dead over centuries of war.

Subquest 1:

The party's hunt for riches gets complicated after arriving in the region to find that there has been no less than eight baroness Taviaas over the past century(backwater fiefdoms do like tradition after all) with five castles between them. Most have been destroyed by disaster, neglect, or siege, leaving the party to trek across the land checking checking out each option (though a clever party might narrow their search by hitting the local archives and cross referencing historical accounts).

Potential ruins include:

The delapidated lair of the local owlbear

Huanted by the ghost of one of the baronesses Taviaa,

The Hideout of a gang of smugglers with far reaching ties

Thoroughly cursed by a battlefield savaging spriggan who deals in cursed weapons.

To make matters even more complicated, one of the castles has been restored by the current baron Arkolo who would likely not take kindly to a band of renegade sellswords pilfering riches from under his nose, forcing the party to avoid it entirely or risk getting thrown in the dungeon if caught.

Subquest 2:

Ser Riley of Breakbridge never expected to inherit the family title, her father favoured her elder brother Rhys far more, and when the old man died in the last war there was no question who his holdings would pass to. Then, a couple of years ago Rhys got it into his head that he needed to reclaim the family's ancestral sword which was lost in the same bloody battle that did their father in, crossing the mountains to scour old battlefields and not being seen since. After righting the mess Rhys caused by his chivalric absence, Riley has come to Siirvyn herself to drag him, or possibly his body back from his foolhardy quest. The party may run into her requesting aid from the Baron, seeking advice from the local shrine to Tyr, or drinking off another unsuccessful trek through the wilderness at the local tavern. She'd welcome their aid in her search, and would gladly pay them back by lending her blade to theirs in their search (or using her influence to spring them from the baron's dungeons, should they have been caught).

Rhys' trail snakes all across the barony (including leaving a journal in one of the ruins the party wanted to search), but terminates in the great barren battlefield that was his father's last stand. While searching these moorlands the party & Ser Riley will run into a band of armed scavengers apparently conducting their own body-hunt for one of their fallen comrades. They served on the opposite side of the war from Riley's family, and if that wasn't bad blood enough, they apparently came to blows with Rhys a little under a year ago and aim to settle the score with his sister.

Regardless of how the standoff plays out (talking the scavengers down and exchanging favours or beating the information out of them) the Next step is to find Grimcackle's nest. By now (especially if you're playing with my affliction system and the party is tired out from all their wandering across the countryside) the party will have realized that the only way to see the great raven is to be nearing the edge of death, whether through actively dying, being poisoned, or just being exhausted to the bone. This is because the great raven is infact a psychopomp, tasked with sorting out the dead from the region's innumerable wars. Once the party find the particular tor the dread raven uses as roost, they'll find him quite chatty in the way of most birds, happy to trade gossip or play show and tell with his many finds. Rhys did indeed come to challenge Grimcackle for the sword, an act of daring rudness that forced the psychopomp to drag the knight's soul to the purgatory it rightfully belonged.

Resigned by the love she bears her brother, Riley insists she must venture into the shadow to save him, leaving the party with the choice of convincing her to abandon her quest, leave her to her fruitless pursuit of honour, or risk it all alongside her for the sake of an idiot who thought he could convince an aspect of death to respect his pedigree.

Subquest 3:

After their harrowing adventure the party return to town to find that Baron Akolo has been assassinated and all of Siivyrn has been thrown into chaos and suspicion. Fingers point and depending who the blame lands on it might spell civil war or invasion for the backwoods barony once again.

Background: Both neighbouring powers wish to control who moves through the region's winding passes, and expend great effort in both war and peace to ensure the barony is favourable to them. While occupying armies and vassalage have been all too common in the past, the region's ostensibly independent ruler Baron Arkolo is a puppet in all but name for the winning side of the most recent war. Little more than a bandit leader during the conflict savaging battlefields and attacking supply lines on both sides, Arkolo saw the way the wind was blowing before anyone else and made himself indispensable to his current patrons before their inevitable victory.

Little more than a strongman at first, the newly elevated baron managed to ingratiate himself to his subjects by leveraging his outlaw status to cast himself as a hero fighting against the great powers rather than ruling on their behalf. All the while the canny old bandit was of course playing both sides, toadying to the victorious kingdom while helping to run the smuggling operation for their rivals.

Clues & Consequences:

The baron had a stormy relationship with his son and prospective heir Kalo, who came up raiding alongside his father. After the war however, the young man felt he'd had enough of violence renounced his possesisons and joined the secluded temple of Tyr as a means of making peace with his bloody past. Arkolo never approved of his son's taking the cloth, refused to name another heir and would frequently make pilgramage to the temple just to argue with him. Despite their years of contention however the had seemed to reconcile in recent months, becoming closer than ever. Kalo is not taking his father's murder well, and has decided to dust off his old bandit skills alongside his newfound connection to a wargod as a means of finding the killer. Like an angered bull, he's liable to charge at whoever draws his attention, a weakness the real culprit might use to direct him onto the party's trail.

Gareth Gosdown, the baron's advisor and castilian is an agent of their patron kingdom, sent to keep the former outlaw in line and the kingdom's garrisons well supplied. In the wake of Arkolo's death, he's less interested in finding the killer than he is reinforcing his masters' hold over the barony in case of a new invasion. Known for butting heads with the Baron's more slapdash ruling style he's the one the common folk are most likely to point to.

Taviaa (ninth of that name) was born to the Baron after he'd claimed the region and married one of the local nobles. Though still young, she has a cutthroat attitude and a mind for politics, which made it all the more frustrating when her father refused to give up on her pious half brother as heir and name her instead. She knows she's the obvious culprit, the case made all the more convincing by the fact that she's recently been paling around with emissaries from the other kingdom.

Art 1

Art 2

[amazingabellini]

Every Single Thing 621 is Called on Rubicon

Dog Augmented Human C4-621 You 621 Intruder Illegal Enemy AC Merc Corp AC Registration number Rb23 Raven Callsign: Raven Mercenary Corporate Merc Corporate Dog Interloper Military Force Hostile AC Shameless Coral scavenger Independent Mercenary Hunter Sharp A local An Independent A merc who only kills for credits A real merc G13 G13 Raven Kiddo Freelancer Maggot Fake Redgun Tagalong Sewing club member Not a total amateur Not a pro Corporate Vulture Mere pawn Scavenger Hound of Walter Competition Good for nothing Good for something Wretched vulture Unidentified AC Damn Hyena Rotten Money-grubber Corporate scum Enemy backup One of the infamous Walter's hounds Wallclimber War buddies Comrade Buddy Intruder Doser Shameless Corporate Dog Greedy Mercenary Greedy hound Daring A symbol of resolve Only Other Person That Can Keep Up With Me You Again Old Augmentation Recalcitrant Mutt Vermin Pest The Pest of Rubicon Code 15 Raven the Wallclimber Code 31C Solo Independent Mercenary Pitiful Dog Gen 4 Fine hound Another dead dog Older type of Augmented Human Tourist No ordinary tourist Smart Cookie No slouch A cut above the rest Not afraid of anything Belongs in a museum Freak My favorite little Tourist A certain someone New friend The Freelancer from the dam raid Target Walter's Hound Solo AC Independent Merc Trespasser to Rubicon Walking Advertisement Mascot AC of Unknown Affiliation Suspected Corporate Hire Single AC Code 5, Unknown AC Independent Mercenary Assembly That AC Hostile AC Priority Subject for Termination One helluva merc Hired Operative Intruding AC Grunt Famous Mercenary Fine Soldier One Loose End Corpse Quick on the uptake Not like those savages Cur Scoundrel Oathbreaker Just an AC Patchwork AC Better than the other ACs Like a bird in flight Killer Menace to Rubicon Target for Termination Unknown Intruder Intrusion Attempt Menace Volunteer The Objective Just a Gen 4 Strong Worthy of your name False Alarm Impostor Impressive Pilot Wormkiller Threat to Planetary Closure 20 Iguazus A Real Redgun Not so Special Too Dangerous to Keep Around Not Afraid to Die The Only G13 Who's Managed To Live This Long Strong A Threat Dangerous Another Threat to Rubicon Veteran The Mercenary Who Took Your Name Rat Fool The Big One Corporate pawn Rather Extraordinary Gen 4 Augmentation High Level Threat Strong Candidate One of Allmind's The One Rusty was talking about Head in the Clouds Old-Gen Alive Handler's Hound Old Colleague Subject Beast of burden Guest of Honor The Key Smartass Freelancer Wonderful People Demon Miserable Relic Trigger for the Change to come Dog without a shred of intelligence Not worthy of humanity Stray Dog Obstacle Faithful Hound Biggest Threat Legacy Augmentation The Greatest Obstacle The Liberator of Rubicon The only one The Spark of War The Fires that Haunt Rubicon The Monster who Burned the Stars One With Allmind Aberrations to The Plan Trigger for Coral Release Irregular The Old-Gen Who Could Do It All

The Freelancer Who Had It All

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Never put a human in a zoo

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)    

The sudden extinction of the Dre people was as sudden as it was unexpected to the galactic community. They were one of the oldest and most technologically advanced races in the universe. Heavily isolationist by nature, coupled with their inherent self-sense of superiority they viewed much of the other space faring species as little more than savages by comparison as none of them presented a credible challenge their rule. Yet within a month they had lost nearly 99% of their population across multiple worlds.

The worst hit was their homeworld of Belnuck situated at the heart of their empire which became an empty husk of a world seemingly overnight. Ancient and powerful cities of technological wonder now were little more than ghost towns to be picked clean by scavengers.

There were no signs of civil strife or unrest, no exterior threat from military forces, not even a record of natural disaster on their homeworld. Nothing was found that could give a clue as to what could have erased such a prominent power as the Dre, and so it was written off as a deadly unsolved mystery and the galactic community went on.

At least, that was what the public report stated.

It wasn’t until a group of Kreen scavengers came upon a set of personal journals that the shroud of uncertainty was lifted. Only to be then shortly locked away and sealed under the highest security restrictions to ensure the truth never saw the light of day.

These are those journal entries: ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757931 Head curator Migu

The benefactors are requesting we add new exhibits to the zoo again.

I thought they would have been content with the Draxic specimens we captured last month but it seems the general public no longer find giant lizards fascinating to observe. One of them suggested we allow the Draxic to mingle with other exhibits for inter species interactions for potential science research; but I could tell right away that what they really wanted from this was to have guests pay to see those lizard savages rip apart our other attractions like a Frong in a Skitch field.

I wish they could at least try to hide their greediness behind some semblance of rationality. At least then it would be easier to stomach.

I’ve scheduled a discussion with our head capture specialists to go out and find new attractions for the people later today. I don’t have much hope they can find anything as fascinating to revive interest but one never knows. End Log Entry. ---------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757935 Head curator Migu

Capture team theta appears to have acquired something of value.

The specimens were caught will transitioning into real space at the edge of a system and were removed from their vessel shortly after.

Their technology was primitive in nature, but from the recordings the capture team sent back their esthetic design choices appear to be unique for such a low species. Accessing their data banks was a trivial matter and provided a wealth of history to them.

They appear to call themselves “Humons”, and have only recently begun intergalactic travel.

From the data we have gathered these humons are a highly warlike society repeating cycles of great conflict to great resurgence throughout their history. During war time they have fought with everything from sharpened wood stakes to low grade thermo nuclear devices.

While lacking the physical exciting traits like armored skin or shape shifting qualities, I believe their nature as a self-destructive race will make them a comedic addition to the zoo.

Theta team is on their way back now with them and I’ve already given instructions to create the new paddock for them in the east wing. With any luck the benefactors will find them as amusing as I do and calm down. End Log Entry. ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757940 Head curator Migu It could not have gone any better. The public loves the new attractions and the benefactors love the increase in profits. Theta team captured roughly a dozen of these humons and when coupled with their historical data we were able to depict several invigorating habitats. We injected them with the standard nano machines to provide feedback on each of them for both the caretakers and the guests. I do have some concerns about handing the medical needs of these humons as none of our handlers know how to treat them, but I have tasked them with dissecting the gathered data for any relevant medical information. They seem very energetic and many of them have not stopped trying to escape their exhibit since they woke up. A few of them have already begun crafting crude weapons to defend themselves while forming mini factions. The largest group has created a primitive wooden fortress by sharpening sticks and creating walls with them. The smaller group has kept their distance from the larger groups while the remaining few have decided to remain in isolation from both groups. Guests love it when they start banging on the windows and try to talk with them. The children in particular I overheard already picking out their favorites and rooting for them to survive should they begin fighting. We’ve not had this kind of engagement since we brought in Bengols with their psionic abilities. ------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758021 Head curator Migu

It’s been several cycles since my last entry and we’ve had a few snags. Our lack of medical knowledge regarding our latest exhibits has proven costly. Despite our best efforts to decrypt the remaining data from their ships it appears medical information was damaged beyond recovery during the capture process. This has left us unable to properly care for them during medical emergencies; which have happened far sooner than expected.

After several days of captivity several of the humons began showing signs of rapidly deteriorating mental stability. They’ve displayed signs of paranoia, societal breakdown, and an increase in aggression levels to the point they murdered other humons in the enclosure.

We’ve never had this problem before with our other exhibits, at least within such a short timeframe, and now the benefactors are calling for my head. They are upset that their most prized money generators are murdering each other risking their profit margin.

I’ve suggested applying mild sedatives to calm them but was denied. They insist that curbing their more primitive tendencies would cause customers to lose interest in them.

The suggestion of capturing more of these humons was strongly advocated for but it was my turn to deny that request. Deploying a capture team was an expensive endeavor and if the humons continued killing each other the costs would overturn any increase in profits.

I’m putting together alternatives now for my next meeting with them. Hopefully something will come along and save our hides. ---------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758043 Head curator Migu

The problem for the time being has resolved itself via an unexpected avenue.

One of the capture humons was seen treating the few remaining humans; providing basic medical treatment and care.

Ordinarily we would have written off such behavior but because of our current medical situation we decided to bend regulations and reach out to the subject directly.

A translator unit was acquired and we were able to speak directly with the humon. It took several minutes to calibrate, thankfully much of their speech was unrecognizable. They would not stop trying to speak with us while it was being adjusted and went on and on about wanting to be set free and demanding answers. Honestly you think these humons would be grateful that we are lowering ourselves to speak with them.

When they finally calmed down we explained the situation to them. In exchange for their cooperation they would be given special privileges to treats and comforts for the duration of their stay. They wanted to be let out and freed from the exhibit but I quickly shut that down as a non-starter.

It eventually dawned on them that this was going to be their new existence for the remainder of their life and could live in comfort or watch as their friends died one by one; and they accepted the offer. -------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758117 Head curator Migu

While unusual the negotiating tactic with the humon has resolved the issue for us and the benefactors are happy once more.

With the medical humons help they were able to stabilize the injured humons while also negotiate a form of agreement between the humon factions in the exhibit. They could still maim and injure each other while guests were present but would not kill and then would be treated afterwards before the next day’s opening.

Interestingly enough the medical humon has proved very useful. They’ve been able to communicate with the rest of the humons and get them to fall in line. What’s more they’ve been minimalistic in requests with the biggest being to be taught some of the basics of our medical equipment so he can use it himself.

Ordinarily we don’t allow this but it would have freed up some of the medical wing so we allowed it with extensive supervision.

I must admit I am rather proud of myself for resolving the situation, and with such little expenditure. Things now are running smoothly once more and the profits are seeing ever increasing margins. Maybe now the benefactors will get off my back. Though honestly I think it’ll only last one or two months before the humons are worn out and they want something new.

---------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-758135 Head curator Migu

Oh gods it burns!

Everyone at the zoo is screaming and clawing their own skin!

Gods damnit make it stop! MaKE IT Stop!!!!!!!!!!!

-----------------------

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue.

I am not sure what planet or system we’re in, but hone in on this signal and you will find us. I will be repeating this message every hour on the hour for as long as this place has power.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been in this god forsaken hellhole. The automated day/night cycles have made my attempts at record keeping near impossible.

Maybe a month? Two? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

We were kidnapped from our ship after exiting a jump and woke up to find ourselves in some sort of alien zoo. The aliens refused to speak to us at first, instead watching us from windows and laughing at us while we struggled to find out what was going on.

They’re all dead now. The aliens that is.

I never knew what they called themselves and I don’t really care.

They treated my friends like animals, so I took their precious tech and turned it on them. Made the nano machines they injected us with register the alien DNA as a deadly virus in need of immediate eradication.

First one I got was the one who was so smug about our capture and display. They changed their tune after I spat in their eye and their face started melting as the nano tech spread. Two others came in after the screaming started and they got infected as well before fleeing the room.

I stood up and went to my comrades “habitat’ and let them out as every alien around us began screaming and melting away. That was at least three days ago now and I haven’t seen one of them yet. Their whole planet now is like one massive ghost town.

We’ve enough provisions to last us and the other freed captives for some time, but please do hurry. I want off this fraking shit hole as soon as possible. --------------- Message repeats:

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue. ------

[sm-baby]

okay but after taking a look at some comics (yours official and fan-comics for the AU too) im kinda wondering

what are some of your favourite thoughts about the au but that are not that grand for the lore, just some silly little things?

(especially about jax ykno....... he makes me feral)

Kinger sees all the girls as his daughters in one way or another uwu, especially Ragatha...

Caine left the company before Pomni, Zooble, and Jax were created... he likely saw concept art of them while savaging and went (o.O)

Caine created Bubble himself while trying to scavenge the code

I just like how gentle Zooble is with Pomni

teehee If I come up with more I'll reblog with it, but this is what I got so far uwu

[pokeberry5]

i'm not really sure what the main thrust of this post is, but this yj98 arc has been haunting me literally since I read it months ago, so I've put together a brief(ish) overview of the salient points and the questions it's left me with

aka

that time young justice was sent to a literal intergalactic war front

aka

young justice has even more complex ptsd than you probably thought!!

yj98 #35

the premise is that there's a global war against imperiex, spearheaded by president (blech) luthor. as minors, they can't be drafted into it

(i hunted around and apparently Our Worlds at War, with Imperiex as the big bad, is the broader context, which i didn't feel like reading for this)

instead, they're going to be attached to a "sort of super medical unit" called the "paradocs"

the way they're persuaded to accept their role (instead of?? fighting on the front lines?? jeez kon) is to conceive of themselves as saving active-combat superheroes for their children they're leaving at home (creating an implicit distinction between those children and themselves, which i find sad)

yj is specifically a "search and rescue team"

with a civilian cissie king-jones as their qualified emergency medical technician (so her public persona is an olympic champion, actress, and volunteer veteran of an intergalactic war???)

is cissie the only one performing medical services then? do any of the others pick anything up from her, if these missions last long enough? (do tim and cissie bond as the only non-powered people they know going into a space war?)

yj98 #36

they've run "a couple" successful missions behind enemy lines: what does this mean for the duration of this role?

(i'm not sure if reading Our Worlds at War would help determine how long this all lasted, but if someone who has read it has answers, i'd love to know)

also, were they in space the whole time or going back in between? (i also really really want to know what batman thinks of his protégé being part of a space war. related, did cassie tell her mom??)

---

Superboy Vol 4 #91: War Letters gives some context to this

(kon putting on a brave face!!)

but also:

even as paramedics they were participating in active combat, fighting off scavengers

the lack of specifics, the mention of the fact that he's met "a lot of interesting cats in the field," and of "things" he's seen—there's a sense that he's seen a lot but not enough yet for it to no longer be shocking. or, that what they're seeing is so savage that it never ceases to be shocking.

this also implies that they've met and rescued a slew of people from across the universe. does yj have intergalactic connections? do random alien soldiers remember this small group of earth children that saved them?

this panel also shows kon (and likely the rest of them) amidst recovering jl members. what does the broader jl think of this group of kids in an acknowledged war zone, seeing them beaten down like this? (it's unclear whether kon actually went and rescued kyle rayner here or is just helping him around the medical area, but there must be some sort of lasting impression from this)

they get diverged from their rescue mission and end up on apokolips

bart experiences death when one of his "scouts" is killed—this has a lasting impression on him (addressed later) and kon blames himself, since it was his decision to chase after steel that landed them here. do the two of them ever talk about this? (they don't in yj at least)

---

yj98 #36 contd.

kon's accusation shows that this arc happened right after the drama between batman and the jla during tower of babel (the secret contingency plan drama)

and after batman's betrayal of tim's identity to spoiler (rip tim being betrayed on multiple fronts)

(tim putting on a strong front :'))

i find it interesting that tim considers his state "a world of grays" in contrast to kon's "black and white" attitude. balancing a multitude of considerations is a "world of grays?" anyway, tim staring death in the face and admitting he's scared :')

and then tim gets to watch lil lobo die (he does technically come back but!) and says explicitly that another part of innocence he didn't know he had died with lobo. this can't be his first time witnessing a death given gotham's everything, so is it because this is the first time he's watched a comrade die (and so brutally too)?

yj98 #37

and then! we get extended(?) mental torture on apokolips, enough to drive to tim to attempted homicide (both in the dream world and out of it)

(he was made to watch kon and cassie get murdered brutally in front of him jsyk)

and once he's out:

(does this ever haunt tim? that he almost broke batman's one rule? also parallels with dick beating the joker to death later on tim's behalf)

yj98 #38

the fallout:

we see that after experiencing his scout's death on apokolips, bart's been left with a fear of death strong enough to get him to leave yj (i don't actually know how this gets resolved?? it must happen in his solo bc he just sort of reappears a few mini arcs later...)

("i quit for a bunch of reasons ... but not a single one of them had to do with being afraid i'd get killed," cissie you're sooooo well-adjusted. she doesn't think bart's valid rip)

this is the moment where tim quits yj because he can't deal with their lack of trust (oof) and because“i don’t need the grief of young justice,” referring to everything else going on in tim's life (batman betraying his identity to spoiler)

(he'll lose them later on anyway—does it haunt him that he came back?)

(it's sweet that kon has someone he feels he can talk to and ask advice from)

i'm not sure if tim ever gets that apology

tldr: i kind of want one or more of yj to end up as a paramedic

[transmutationisms]

do you think you could explain the last line of tender is the flesh? got stuck on the last scene and i don’t think i’ve quite understood it

"she had the human look of a domesticated animal" is playing off two epistemological dichotomies the characters have to contruct and rely on in order to maintain their sanity as cannibals: first, human vs inhuman, and second, domestic vs savage.

human vs non-human: the transition to cannibalism required establishing an unbridgeable gap between humans and non-human animals, a logic extended to absurdity by the designation of the 'head' as non-human. humanness thus functions not as a biological descriptor but as a political class, which bazterrica is using to intensify and comment on real processes of dehumanisation (think of how the head with light skin are considered more desirable than those with dark skin, or the treatment of pregnancy and reproductive labour).

domestic vs savage: we see this come up throughout the novel. the scavengers are 'savage' despite engaging in the same act of cannibalism as everyone else, because they're poor. the head are bred and controlled to be docile and obedient, but we know that the characters consider pregnant head specifically to be wild, aggressive, and dangerous. marisa keeps a 'domestic head' in her home for ease of consumption, an echo of a housepet because she doesn't see the man as a person but as livestock. marcos finds the puppies at the zoo, names them, and treats them more like pets (a defunct linguistic category) than like animals (non-human and dangerous).

marcos's relationship with jasmine is told from his perspective, which means the central act of rape is euphemised because he is presenting it to himself as a romantic partnership. thus, he perceives himself as humanising jasmine in a way that is forbidden to do with the head, but as readers we can clearly see that by repeatedly raping her he is participating in more of the same violence that the cannibalistic system, and his job at the slaughterhouse, requires. by moving her inside the house with him, marcos perceives himself as crossing both the human-animal barrier and the domestic-savage one; he thinks he is elevating jasmine to the level of his wife cecilia, a person and a civilised one at that.

however, after jasmine gives birth to his child, marcos no longer sees her body as valuable to him in the same way, and the illusion shatters. cecilia is there to reclaim her place as marcos's wife, making jasmine superfluous and causing her body to once again appear to marcos as animal and savage. he is now disgusted by having brought her inside: the "human look of a domesticated animal" is a violation of her assigned role as head. she is supposed to be meat, instrumental and non-sentient; even humanising her to the extent of a pet (like the puppies) is now intolerable to marcos. slaughtering her is his resolution to the paradox, because it reaffirms her body as meat (now a carcass) rather than human. having her around was an implicit challenge to the dichotomies marcos relies on in order to psychologically survive the cannibalistic world he lives in.

thus, all of his moral posturing throughout the novel is confirmed to have been hollow; at the end of the day, he's unable to face the reality of the killing he participates in. maintaining the categories of "human" and "domesticated" is how the characters continue to live with themselves post-transition. challenging those ideas would require radical political and social restructuring, because it would threaten the entire sense of order that the human meat industry has imposed upon marcos's world.

[bccfggffbgv]

Who is the most dangerous enemy faction within Multiversal Fusion?

That's a very tough question to answer since they're all dangerous in their own ways and all have caused a good amount of destruction in their wake, even the less well-known factions have messed up entire cities and kingdoms.

The Crystallized Horde is definitely a good contender out there in terms of how much they've taken over within the merged universe with both the crystals and Black Hearts soldiers.

[rats-and-robots]

Hi. This is gore for gore's sake. Dead dove. Do not eat. I am not kidding. Please trust me. Read the tags.

With that said;

Tervantias the Archmachinator, for all his pride, knows he isn't perfect. For all he boasts, there is always more to learn. New instruments begging to be tuned to his songs, his ever-changing collection of pitches and tunes. And yet his claws always ache to primal urges when something refuses to fall into place.

Bones crack and crunch.

Blood bubbles out of the poor thing's nose as the beast above it buries into its gut, coating its snout with gore.

Claws press at yet-unbroken flesh to give leverage as it pulls at muscle. It twists its head and yanks. Once. Twice. A third time and the meat comes free.

The body of the prey lay motionless, save for the motions of its predator. A sharp snort through reptilian nostrils and the beast lifts its snout to throw the meat back into its gullet.

The arena is filled with chatter and meaningless laughter about the show that has just finished. A few souls glance anxiously his way as he leans forward, towards the display. His head still, but his ever twitching, ever moving body continues its motions.

So that creation needed... Just a touch of tweaking. A metal hand taps rapidly on a flesh one, like the dancing legs of a spider. Interesting.

His mind is already spinning, never stopping, but it churns just a touch faster. A third hand raises to his face, metal claws slipping in and around the wet musculature. The sting is but a strum of a string to the symphony of sensation that plays in his whole self. A background song of pain and ache and burn and pleasure to every movement he makes.

Someone speaks to him. He mutters some words to appease them and urge them to leave him alone, his pitch eyes never leaving the beast and his imperfect creature's corpse.

He steps back, his gaze finally ripping away. The same gaze turns into a flurry of movement, twitching this way and that as he considers, contemplates... Not really looking where he is going but moving with a grace unusual even to those around him. His own... 'kin', would he even deign to call them that. He pushes a finger through his cheek-flesh-muscle and groans softly as the fresh puncture sharpens his thoughts.

He has an idea for how to improve his design. He'll need certain parts, though. And they are no cheap thing to get. His servants will scavenge what they can, but...

He slides back into his sanctum, his home, his orchestra hall. A sigh pushes out from his chest, the red muscles of his torso glistening as it relaxes ever so faintly. Frantic movements become more organized. His claw retreats from the wound in his face, a mere bead of blood expressing itself from the muscle. The sounds around him, the ever so faint hiss of mechanics, the groans of pain, the mad laughter, the... Everything. It's too much to put to words. It's not perfect. Perfection is such a boring state, anyways.

Claws slide through his hair, smearing the faintest of red through the silver, and three other arms make silent but strict orders to those around him. He has work to do and he will lose himself in it for a few hours more. First, however, is the poor soul who happens to be closest to his claws. He does like to think himself immune to the frustration of failure; a savage, beastly emotion so beneath one as he. Unfortunately, 'likes to think' does not make something a fact.

He moves without seeing, lips pressed into a thin line. A sharp jab silences the flesh-thing, a single tool cutting through armor, skin, flesh, fat, muscle, tendon, and cord. The screaming becomes hollow gasping. Viscera of veins bulging like blue and red spiderwebs, yet not quite bursting as he peels back layers. Cuts that look jagged, yet expertly avoid any major vessels to curb excessive bloodshed.

Yes, the scene is gory... But too much blood spilled would make this far too messy. What's the point in art if you can't see it? In music muffled under cloth so thick to drown it out? It's a song he has played many times before, one that may not carry the same joy as the first listen, but still instills him with some level of calm. So many layers of excess in these beasts, yet it was Aeldari who birthed Sai'lanthresh?

Epidermis peeled from dermis peeled from fat peeled from muscle. Tendons quietly clipped to free spasming and contracting musculature from bone. The creature wheezes and thrashes, but his cuts remain precise. This is no experiment, no delicate procedure. This is but a collection and dissection. No need to restrain or subdue the thing, much less waste any of his toxins to still them.

It twists and falls off his table. He merely blinks and turns to place the extracted muscles into a secondary pan. His claws click quietly and he glides around the table to pluck their spasming form off the ground, setting them back on the table. Some organ has burst so fluid and mucus leave a slime trail from the ground to the table. The stench is but a rise in the chorus and he clicks his tongue. Blood has begun to spill more readily, ripped from its veins by the thing's thrashing. All the more reason to finish quickly and--

The door beyond his curtain is opened, then closed. His lips peel back from his teeth in a grimace, but he chooses to feign ignorance of the visitor. He moves to instead begin extracting bone, the creature letting out a whistle-like noise as it arches... Then falls still. Shock, likely. Normally, he would reawaken them with a jolt or an injection, but his attention is more on the light footsteps drawing near to him as he recognizes them.

Ah...

This could be interesting.

"Aezyrraesh." He clicks his teeth with the name.

"Frustrated, Tervantias? At least this time your new experiment made it to the finale, ah?" The Dracon's words carry amusement and taunt, but it bothers him none. His eyes stay on his little project, only a slow blink to even acknowledge the man had even said anything.

"What do you want?"

"..." That isn't the response Marazhai had wanted, this he knows. The pause and the faintest sound of grinding teeth only confirm that, "I need a favor. A control worm--"

It's such a pathetic request that the haemonculus laughs. His head tilts up and finally twists towards the Dracon, "Is it truly so hard for one pathetic worm to find another?"

Marazhai seethes, lips curled back in a snarl, but catches himself, "I need one of custom make." His eyes flick over the haemonculus as the conductor straightens his back, "One for the mon-keigh who continues to predict our movements."

Tervantias tilts his head, contemplating this. Beneath him, without assistance, the creature under his claws expels its life and its previous meal. Boredly, he looks down at it, then carelessly hooks a finger under it and flips it off of the table, back to the place it had previously occupied on the ground. The smears left behind reek of bile and pus. He waves to an assistant to clean it and the body up, "Why should I waste my talents making something for some mon-keigh creature?"

Marazhai's jaw clenches, "The Reaving Tempest is falling out of favor and respect--" Tervantias turns towards him slowly, head tilting, mechanics twitching, muscle glistening, "--w-with the other Kabals because of its meddling, and if that happens then--" the haemonculus draws closer to him, one hand spinning a syringe of some kind, another cutting a fresh laceration into his own skin, the final two sliding behind his back, "--then... You do as well..." Marazhai doesn't realize he's been shrinking away, slowly stepping back until his heel hit the metal of the other table.

Marazhai has always been such an entertaining plaything. Had another been chosen as Dracon, he might not be so bold to approach the second of his patron's command. But that faint glimmer in the back of his eyes as the haemonculus towers over him. He was not one to own, but to be owned. He just has yet to realize it.

"Reason for you, yes... But I can find another patron. This bothers me little. So I will ask again." He leans over the shorter drukhari, his half-lips sliding into a smirk, "Why should I make this... For you?" The bloodied hand that left a deep cut in his pale skin comes forward and presses up under his jaw, the blooded finger swiping across the pale skin of his cheek and leaving a broken smear of red.

Marazhai squirms like the very wriggling grub he desires to commission from the Archmachinator. But his tongue swipes across his sharp teeth, "I could bring you more parts for your beasts," the hand tightens and Tervantias's expression doesn't budge, "gift you the others of the mon-keigh's crew," white hair falls in a cascade onto Marazhai's shoulder as Tervantias tilts his head one way, "...what else would you have from me for such a simple little request??" Marazhai hisses up at him, hands bracing on the table behind him.

"I will have both of these things... And I will have a revisit to your anatomy, Dracon. You ask me to lower myself to such a task and so you, yourself, shall also be lowered."

With a twist of his wrist and a swift strike, the haemonculus stabs the syringe into Marazhai's throat. He revels, for a second, in the shocked gag before his thumb presses the plunger down. He leans in, watching the green liquid color veins and open them up, spreading faster as Marazhai's heart quickens. He slides the tool out and sets it aside, watching the puncture hold the fluid well.

"Let us begin. Don't act as though you will not take pleasure in this." He loosens his grip, but his other hands abandon their post behind his back to come forward and begin to carelessly remove his armor, "You requested these depths before." He motions with the hand previously holding the syringe to a servant of his.

Marazhai hisses and curses him, his hands clawing at the haemonculus's arm, but... Tervantias knows he isn't really giving it his all. His blade is easily in reach, after all. Another table is brought forth, this one angled upwards. The Dracon's back hits the metal and hands swiftly secure him down.

The Archmachinator hums, pleased, and moves away to collect his tools, taking his sweet time as Marazhai fights the inevitable flow of the toxin. It's somewhat impressive that he hasn't screamed yet--

...Ahhh...

There it is. A smile twists the exposed muscles of his face into a grimace as the toxin finds Marazhai's heart and the man's scream rips through and echoes in the air of his Opera. His eyes slip shut for a moment, contemplating his options as his newest specimen thrashed and cursed him. He could check on his previous addition to the young man. See how well the new tissue was settled in.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at his subject--no longer Marazhai to him, but another project, another song to compose. He is on his back, it will be no small task to cut through his body to get to his spine. All the more fun. His claws wrap around three tools; A saw of some make, two clamps, and a gun-like machine.

His claws are his scalpels. He sets upon the man with practiced ease. Without fanfare, a Y-incision is cut. Skin peeled back. The gun-thing is put to use firing pins through the skin and into the table, holding him open like the wings of a beetle on a collector's wall.

Just as with the pitiful creature before, Tervantias ignores his subject's thrashing. This one is restrained, though, and it makes for easier cutting of muscle. Not for extraction, of course. No, this one will have to be put back together.

Sheets of muscle are pinned as well, the rippling striations and folded groups reminiscent of bird wings. A glance upwards as Marazhai stills. His eyes are distant, his jaw clenched tight. Drool trickling down in a steady stream from one corner of his mouth. Tears bead up in the corners of his eyes. He must be desperate not to let them fall. It isn't the cutting doing this to him. No, he has been wounded so before, gutted thoroughly before. He would not shed tears, even in pain, for something so simple as a wound.

No, it is the toxin. Causing certain glands to release more than they should. We, as humans, would call similarities to these releases as adrenaline, dopamine, endorphins. Tears simply follow suit and his drool is but a by-product. Marazhai is feeling everything... Tenfold. No, twenty. A hundred, if not ever more.

A whimper spills from the proud Dracon and Tervantias laughs, "So soon? A proud beast turned to mewling. And I've not yet touched your guts."

"Wh-what did you... What did you do to me...?" The tone was meant to be that of anger, or even fury... But desperation comes instead. He does not admit his sick delight in the haemonculus's claws.

The Archmachinator does not respond. Instead, the saw comes to its duty. It slices away the bone of the man's ribcage, eventually allowing their release on the subject's cavity. Marazhai gags on his screams. They bleed, in spades, they bleed. It spurts in wet fountains, painting the tool and the metal and gore of Marazhai's flayed hide.

"You make a fine distraction, Marazhai." His voice, calm and even, still cuts through the buzz of the saw. He stops only when he can remove the sternum as if a simple lid on a specimen jar. He sets it aside. His claws gently move through the man's organs, testing the connective tissue that holds them in place, his flesh hand soiled by the blood of his ribcage.

"A pathetic Dracon, but a deliriously fine specimen." He expertly carves one organ from the others, without disrupting its function. He twists it delicately to set aside, then moves to another. Again. And again.

And he speaks as he does it, "Truly, I have considered bartering with your sister for you. Every new request she has..." He slips metal fingers around Marazhai's heart, feeling its rapid pulse, unable to beat any faster. He leans over, "Your name dances on my tongue."

He pulls on the organ, watching the thick veins and arteries pull like a wet rope out of his body, blood drooling from any little nick in the membranes. He tilts his head, eyes flicking up to Marazhai's face. His turquoise eyes have paled with pain. Nearly a silver-blue. His pupils are mere pinpricks as he just stares back at Tervantias.

"You are no leading figure. You are but a toy." He presses the organ to his lips, teeth taunting the ever-moving muscle. His tongue slides over it. He could easily bite. Simply resurrect Marazhai after he bleeds out... But the expression on his face... He cannot help but revel in it. Blank. Obedient. Malleable. He chuckles, the sound reverberating in the opera house, before setting the heart aside.

He considers Marazhai's form for a moment. Almost mechanical, how his organs' connections--veins, nerves, tissue, and arteries, all--bend like cords back into his body. He can see the shimmer of his modification in the pool of blood that is the man's chest cavity, all but emptied of viscera. He turns to a small device, a pump of sorts, and begins to drain that pool, letting him have a closer look.

For all his fun, he does have a goal. His claws gently run along his spine. Tilts his head one way... Then another. The augment has bonded quite nicely. Though there is a bit of misalignment here... He clicks his metal claws and picks up a pair of forceps, cutting open the thin membrane protecting the shimmering white nervous augment and holding it open with the forceps. Delicately, he pulls four inches of tiny wires like worms out from the soil of Marazhai's tissues. They squirm in his grasp like them, too, searching to grasp onto something, anything. He moves them slightly upwards, and they shoot back in, spreading out and settling again.

Marazhai's right arm will function just slightly better. Not that the man would notice, nor appreciate it. Not that Tervantias does it for his benefit. He does it to see it put in its proper place. He releases the forceps and continues his slow examination of the spine through the chest. One nerve-set at a time.

His long hair falls into the cavity one strand at a time, a trickle of white stained with blood.

Marazhai groans above him. A claw flicks and stabs into the man's thigh, drawing that groan into a raspy moan. A thin tongue slips out and licks fresh moisture onto exposed fangs, but he says nothing. He continues his observations, but slowly drags that claw, carving the shape of the muscle beneath into the flesh. Marazhai's voice pitches slightly higher, cracking.

"I knew you would find yourself enjoying this." Metal clicks and chemicals hiss. He injects more of that concoction into the man's shoulder, causing him to spasm. His wrists strain at metal and his flesh tears at the pins--though they hold. His knees draw upwards, stopped only by two of the haemonculus's hands to keep them out of the way. He acknowledges it no further, but leans back a bit. One by one, he pulls the organs back to their places. Slides a fluid along them to repair connective tissues he had expertly severed. Pain slowly ebbs away from the man and he whines his protest.

"Be silent. This is for my enjoyment." He looms his face close to Marazhai's, "Not yours." A taunting smile, and he returns to his task. Diaphragm folded back into place. Bone seamlessly mended back to bone. Muscle tissue reattached. Marazhai began to snap insults at him, just now feeling the height of the second wave of the injections, but they have no sting. Flesh returns to its place, and no scar is left behind. He trails a finger down the man's chest, then flicks it away, snapping for a servant to release the man's binds.

He hears rather than sees Marazhai's body crumple off of the table as he turns his back.

"You will have your control worm, Dracon Aezyrraesh." He waves a hand, "Put your armor back on and crawl back to your Kabal. I will send you word when it is done."

"You fucking bastard, you can't--"

"I took my payment, Aezyrraesh. Be grateful I did not take more. I would happily risk your sister's wrath for more."

Silence. Well, as silent as the Anatomical Opera would allow in its gullet. He tilts his head as he plucks an egg from a jar, pulling various syringes and tools from different shelves to begin modifying the embryo within.

Silence is interrupted. The attempts that Marazhai makes to move under the influence of his toxins are amusing to listen to. He silently adds finding an extension to the toxin's effects to his eternal list of projects.

He doesn't even glance over his shoulder as he hears Marazhai finally move to attempt putting his armor back on. He knows the man desires attention, even a look of disgust or annoyance, and he will deny him even that. He will bask in the man's suffering for it. He does tilt his head a bit as he hears a heave and a splatter. A groan. He chuckles despite himself.

Marazhai hisses a final insult before stumbling towards the curtains, towards the exit. What a shame. He had somewhat hoped for some begging. He can only laugh to himself at the thought of Marazhai goring himself later to try and chase what he had given him. To satiate himself. His eyes finally turn, easily finding a hole in the curtain to watch Marazhai's back as he shoves himself through the door out.

His backplates are crooked.

Tervantias clicks his fingers in a snap, "Someone clean up that mess."

[tribbetherium]

The Middle Temperocene: 150 million years + 1000 years post-establishment

What Measure Is A Moouk: An Army Of Almost-People

Evolution was not a straight line. It was a tree, that sprouted at a root, and branched off many times, some branches lower down the stem splitting off earlier than others, some continuing to grow and split further, others staying where they were.

None were more or less-evolved than any other. Some merely changed more, others stayed the same. On this world of unimaginable diversity, some creatures have changed little from the first pioneers released upon the world, small, scurrying rodents akin to the first forebearers. Others had changed beyond recognition, shaped by the forces of the world around, pushed by the quest to survive, not to become bigger, better, stronger or smarter, but merely to better pass on their genes, whatever worked.

And the diversity of the planet was but a mere side effect of that.

It comes as not any surprise thus, when thinking minds arose for the third time in the planet, minds capable of perception, of thought, of belief, there was no clear division between being and beast. There was a spectrum, a very blurred line, between a thinking person and a very smart animal. A hazy boundary that had much potential for darkness.

----------

Ashfall overlooked the gathered masses of his pack, still fresh from a crippling defeat. His forces numbered at but less than a hundred, perhaps less given the casualties. And the Thems numbered more than twice that.

Thems, united. Combined, with all their complementing strengths synchronized to devastating effect. Would they come to the valley? The valley of the Us? Would the Us be trampled should the Them come to siege in turn?

Ashfall glanced at his pack, many wounded, and still recovering.

He looked at his mate Wildwind, her shoulder wound still swollen, and at his son Darklight, whose wounded eye might never see again.

He felt a hint of regret.

He didn't see them the way he had seen Wind-Storm and Whitesmoke. But now, he didn't want them to be another Wind-Storm and Whitesmoke.

To the Thems, he was a monster.

To the Us, he was a leader. A protector.

"Not enough. Us, few." noted Goldeye, one of his higher-ranking fighters.

"Them, many. Too many!" Ashfall growled. The urgency to destroy them now, now as they were deadlier, posed more danger to his pack than ever, was never more evident. Yet how? If he attacked again now, it would be a massacre.

He had shown Them no mercy, and now the tide had turned, he did not expect any from Them.

"Us need more!" he barked in frustration. "Not enough!"

"Us need...Them." Goldeye suggested.

Ashfall's ears perked up at the suggestion. "Other Them? Make fight? For Us?"

"Them fight one another," Goldeye added.

"No. They together! Them is one now! As one!"

"Some pack, other pack, enemy?"

"Too smart now. Them...learn."

Ashfall knew that trying to sow discord in the foe was not an option.

Their ideals were strong, and as word of the coastfolk's victory spread, more and more packs began to band together.

Lies and deception were never the Outlanders' specialty. They fought with brute force.

What they needed was more brute force. More jaws, more teeth.

And it was a wild idea, perhaps even an insane one, but Ashfall and Goldeye knew where he might find what he sought.

---------

"They are Thems?" asked Wildwind, as Ashfall spread his word to the rest of the pack, the following morning.

"They are moouk."

Moouk was a term they reserved for a particular kind of Thems. The other Thems that looked even less like the Us. Dwelling in the forests in great numbers, preying upon the wild horn-herders that lived there.

Hideous, malformed things, snouts too long, heads too small. Vile creatures, savages, who ate their dung and and scavenged their dead and mated with their own kin.

Smarter than other beasts in their own right, yet still servants of instinct. Devoid of morals, like a wild child.

And perhaps, with a show of dominance, servants of the Us. Taught like child.

"Make moouk fight for Us? How?" asked Darklight.

"Simple things. Stupid things," Ashfall mused.

"Wild things," Dungstain cautiously chimed in.

"Exactly!" Goldeye exclaimed. "Better than other Thems."

"Smart enough...to follow. Not smart enough...to question."

Ashfall gave Dungstain a bitter aside glare.

"How? How plan them? How call them to us?" Wildwind asked.

"Fight them. Fight their strongest. Until they obey."

-------------

The saddled baskerville occupied a very precarious place in the houndfolk's culture. For it was a not-quite-person. An almost-person. A beast that was too being to be considered beast. A being too beast to consider being.

Some could call truces with them, by learning their simple words. Yet they told no stories, pondered not the world with tales, or expressed deeper feelings.

They used tools, but did not invent or improvise, at least not to such a degree.

They solved problems, but did not imagine or speculate.

They cared for their kin, but of instinctive duty.

Like grown pups who could not learn any more.

To some tribes of the dark-ears, they could be spoken to to some extent. Yet they could not be fully accepted or trusted. They still were wild creatures, slaves to basal urges, unpredictable. They knew not right or wrong, good from evil. And it was a fact the dark-ears respected.

That their wild kin would always be wild, and left to live their lives in their own devices.

Yet Ashfall had other plans.

-------

The red-sun shone alone in the dim crimson sky, casting its bloody hue over the needles of the conifer trees of the southern woods. There, their pointed shapes and darkened trunks cast irregular shadows upon the forest floor, where unusual residents trod about in the cover of the sanguine dusk.

The leader of a moouk-pack had just returned from an unsuccessful hunt, concerned only with reaching his den,resting and recovering his strength from the exertion for the next hunt. He gave a momentary pause, and glanced up at the sky--not to ponder its mysteries, or to dream of tales of forces and beings unseen, but merely judge the position of the red-sun to help him find his way.

He was simple-minded and practical. Imagined thoughts would not feed him today.

He had no name, for the moouk knew not what names were. They identified themselves with simple calls of "friend" to their packmates to signify they were not a threat.

His mate greeted him at the entrance of the den.

"Food," she called.

"No food," came the reply, and she ducked back down to continue digging out the den.

That was the extent of the moouk's conversations. Brief exchanges of concrete information. Alarm calls to warn of danger, sharp barks of mothers to call their young, courtship calls to impress a potential mate. No songs speaking words, or stories of gods and spirits, or puzzles or riddles or jokes. Just a simple straightforward fact with no other meaning.

The den the pair resided in had once belonged to another moouk with pups. They had driven her out by force, and her pups as well, out alone to who knows where to brave the dangerous outside world and whose fates were unknown.

Were they cruel, or evil, for doing so? They knew not even the meaning ot the word. It was something they did, without regret. It was just what they must do, always done, to survive, and they never thought otherwise.

They were but agents of nature's neutral indifference.

They were no more cruel or wicked than flyer-beasts snatching sea-creatures from the waves, hauling them to their nests to strip them of flesh while they squirmed and struggled for breath in the dry air.

They were no more malicious than the scaly-creepers that slithered into the burrows of small digger-beasts and pumped their squealing quarry full of venom.

And to the moouk, to drive off a a rival to wander homeless and hungry, was but a natural thing to do.

Had they gotten the chance, they would even have preyed upon her pups. For the sake of reducing rivals to their own pups in the future.

They had just enough brain to anticipate those effects and what good it would do them-- but not enough to understand why that would be wrong.

They were creatures of habit, who hunted when they hungered, who courted when the time came to mate, who reared their young and gave them care, only to drive them away without further concern when the next pups came.

Agents of a cycle, that was never broken, until now.

There was movement in the distance.

A terrible howl broke the air, sending the moouk pair into alert. There were intruders in their territory!

They stood their ground, snarling, ready to attack mercilessly whatever it was that threatened them. Perhaps a rival of their own kind, or the fold-paws that too were their enemies.

But this time, it was something far beyond their simple comprehension.

Other fellow hunt-beasts, more numerous than ever before. Creatures like them, yet strange, yet wrong, with flat short faces and big bulbous heads, who made noises more complex than what the moouk could understand.

They came from all directions, rounding them up. From further away, others like them, other moouk, were rounded up, whose presence in their territory would have been unwelcome, had the big-headed invaders not been harrying them too.

They resisted, snarling, as strips of ropy hide were thrown over them, tying them in place.

What did they want?

What did they need?

The moouk did not understand. All that crossed his moderate brain was the thought of escape and retaliation.

The thought of survival.

He resisted, crying out, as he was bound by the invaders. He howled for assistance, but none came.

In the distance, his mate had fled. She paused, looked back and cried out. In a simple, primal, momentary way, she cried in grief.

But the instinct of self-preservation overrode her loyalty, and she fled, deep into the forest, where the attackers did not follow.

In days to come, she would concern herself less of his disappearance, and again more with finding food. In time she would court another again. And she would forget.

The beasts of the wild did not dwell on the past.

-------

Atop a small raised hill, Ashfall surveyed his pack, as they commenced their latest conquest.

Dungstain, surprisingly had joined the fray eagerly, despite his growing contempt for Ashfall. He was here but for the chance to gleefuly wreak brutality upon the hapless moouk.

"Do not kill them." Ashfall warned. "Need...alive."

Dungstain paused in momentary disappointment. At least he got to partake of the twisted joy of war, somewhat.

Around them, Outlanders ran rings around the fleeing moouk, forcing them to gather, some bringing torches, to frighten the moouk with flame.

Like the dark-ears, the Outlanders had eventually learned to make use of the inedible gut and sinew of the horn-herders they had rustled from the highbrows. Drying them in the hot sunlight, tearing them into long, thin strips, to make collars and ropes.

Yet not for their use. These were not for protection, but for control.

Some Outlanders left the woods, towing tethered moouk with them, two for each captive. Some, which struggled defiantly, others, which complied meekly, their wild spirit broken, too exhausted to resist any longer.

And aside from crafting the ropes, there was one other thing some of the Outlanders could do like the dark-ears did.

"Follow." Goldeye said, as a large male moouk was brought before him. Not in his own words...but in the simple, rudimentary tongue of the moouk, of but few vocabulary of barely a hundred "words".

Simple, infantile words like "follow, stay, leave, friend, fight, run, food."

"Leave!" the moouk cried in retaliation.

In response, Goldeye pounced on the captive, restrained by rope by two other Outlanders. He sank his teeth into the moouk's shoulder, who cried out in pain.

"Follow!" He demanded again, through bloodstained lips.

"Leave," was again the reply.

Thus came another painful bite.

And another, and another, each time the moouk resisted. Each time he defied.

Until, even in his primitive brain, he made the connection.

"FOLLOW!" roared Goldeye.

There was a pause.

"...f-follow..." the moouk whimpered at last, knowing it was the only way for the pain to stop.

Goldeye pinned the captive's head to the floor with his forepaw, in a display of dominance, and sprayed him, as one would spray a tree to mark ownership, branding him with their scent.

He belonged to them now.

-------

The moouk were plentiful, for they lived wild, and bred often. When they came in heat, they would mate without a second thought. Every two seasons they came to heat and bore a litter in the spring and in the fall, bigger than those of the houndfolk, four to six apiece.

A failsafe. Because many did not survive.

But if made to survive, beyond the wills of nature, there could be many of them.

Born into a world where they will never know freedom.

Goldeye and Ashfall watched, as some of the Outlanders came forth from the woods, carrying moouk-pups by the scruffs of their necks. It had been their breeding season.

"Young ones. Easy to teach." Goldeye remarked.

"Teach fight. For war." Ashfall responded.

Taught to know that to obey would be in their best interest.

Taught since puphood to feel helpless against their masters.

Their owners.

Ashfall did not want any more of his pack, of his Us, to fall against the Them. No more Wind-Storms, or Whitesmokes, to befell them.

But these nameless beasts were not Us.

They were Thems, the lowest kind of Thems, and they were many.

They could die, and he would not care.

They could fall in place of his people, and there would be many more.

The Outlanders, though vicious, valued their own, their fellow people.

These were not their own.

These were not people.

They were moouk.

--------

[anxious-ace]

Have the flags for the Phantom SMP:

Left to right: Silverscar, Batoise, Cálma, Koslov, Vineville, Russland, Montrac/the end, Polencia/the nether

[cosmic-kaden]

.: Cold :.

Ship: Ben Solo x Kaden Reese

Words: 735

cw: These two be infuriating and hopelessly in love lol Me @ me and Ben: I hate you both askjfhds /j

Summary: Kaden's cold. :3c

Banner: @/cafekitsune

"I-It's unbelievably cold out here," Kaden muttered through chattering teeth, the wind cutting through them with a ferocity that felt almost personal. The cold was not just nipping; it was gnawing at their skin, relentless and savage. Kaden found themselves in a precarious situation, having "acquired" a few essentials from an unsuspecting scavenger. Unfortunately, said scavenger was now relentless in pursuit, undeterred by the merciless cold that dominated the landscape.

Driven by a mix of desperation and the biting cold, Kaden made the decision to abandon subtlety and dashed towards the safety of their temporary refuge, a hideout shared with Ben. Both of them were fugitives, evading the relentless hunt of the First Order.

The hideout, thankfully, was not far, but the journey was made arduous by the howling wind. Upon reaching safety, Kaden burst through the door, slamming it shut and securing it behind them. They leaned against the door, panting, trying to catch their breath in the thin, frosty air.

"What took you so long?" The question came from Ben, his voice cutting through the silence of the hideout. Kaden, following the sound, found him lounging casually at a table, an aura of calm about him despite their situation.

"Ran into a snag, then had to leg it," Kaden replied, flexing their fingers in an attempt to restore some sensation to them.

Ben seemed to dismiss the explanation with a glance, his attention quickly shifting to Kaden's visibly cold hands. "Cold?" he asked, stating the obvious.

"Freezing," Kaden exhaled, continuing to flex their fingers, the cold having leached deep into their bones.

The howling of the wind outside seemed to underscore the moment as Ben inspected Kaden from head to toe, finally standing. Under his gaze, Kaden felt an inexplicable smallness, a vulnerability that was rare for them to show.

"W-What?" Kaden asked, a trace of nervousness in their voice.

"You were ill-prepared for the cold," Ben observed, a matter-of-fact tone to his voice.

Kaden could only sigh, their gaze drifting back to the door as if it were the source of their miscalculation. "I didn’t expect to be out there that long—I…" Their protest trailed off as they turned back to find Ben closer than anticipated, his hands gently capturing theirs. The sudden touch was startling, yet not unwelcome.

A silence enveloped them, filled only by the sound of wind against the hideout, as they locked eyes. Every touch seemed to intensify the unnamed tension between them, a warmth blossoming in Kaden's chest that was oddly comforting.

"What are you doing?" Kaden managed, their voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

Ben, momentarily lost in the moment, began to gently massage Kaden's hands between his own, the action speaking louder than words. Despite the silent question, Kaden found themselves captivated by his focused expression.

"The risk of frostbite is real. We can’t have that," Ben explained calmly, his thumb tracing patterns over Kaden's palm, the warmth from his hands a stark contrast to the biting cold they had endured.

Ben’s gaze remained on their intertwined hands, not once looking up until Kaden's reaction drew his eyes. The faint blush on Kaden's cheeks was enough to quicken his pulse, their proximity sending an undeniable thrill through him.

"I think… my hands are warm now," Kaden stumbled over the words.

Once again, a hush fell between them, laden with an unspoken tension. Their eyes locked, lingering in a gaze that stretched a moment too long, revealing more than intended. Ben's hands remained on Kaden's, a hesitant caress that spoke volumes, unwilling to break the connection just yet.

"Ben." Kaden's voice was softer now, a hint of amusement in their tone.

"Hm?" Ben responded, the sound almost a caress.

"You're holding my hands hostage." Kaden chuckled, lightening the moment, prompting Ben to glance down and quickly release their hands.

"Apologies....Feel better?"

more than you know.. "Yes, thank you."

Later, as Kaden lay in their makeshift bed, they replayed the moment, hands clasped together as if to hold onto the warmth Ben had given them. Their gaze wandered to Ben, now seemingly asleep, the quiet rhythm of his breathing a contrast to the storm of emotions within Kaden. Turning away, Kaden sought to calm their racing heart, unaware that Ben, eyes barely open, had witnessed the entire silent confession. With a soft sigh, he pondered this delicate song and dance, wondering when the facade would finally fall, which one would crack first?

Tag list: @dragonsmooch || @mahitoslittlebird || @heatobrienswife || @ama-ships || @kylars-princess || @roboraindrop

Was inspired after being outside and its heckin COLD T_T

If you aren't a self-shipper please dni <3 I have anxiety of being s e e n lol