#space lord au

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 283

Now Jason would like it known that there was no mpreg situation going on. He isn’t even sure where people got that idea in the first place. Sure, he had taken a few Cores from the goons-in-white who had dared to set up in his turf. 

And sure maybe the excess energy from the pit (no wonder he’d been so irritable) was what said baby halfas (Okay, so they’re half human? Alright) had used to reform. And maybe the oldest is visibly less than a year old. 

But there Was No Mpreg Situation! He is this close to shooting someone! It was annoying (and slightly amusing) when it was just his goons, but now the Bats have seemingly got it in their heads! Dear Gotham it’s a good thing he’s not planning on like, ever revealing who he is because he would never be able to live this rumor down. 

[Winged Ghosts Au too, that seems to be getting lost in reblogs when it's just in the tags lol]

[starheirxero]

Local god, once again, gets too silly and tortures his servant 😔 (heartbreaking)

My contribution for the DTIYS being hosted by @ask-dimension71542 which is run by @tbean555 and @duskrize !!! :3

No text version + shitpost text under the cut!

I love this man so much he makes me ill 💜

[queenendless]

Chase (Darth Vader x Fem!Adult!Reader)

A/n: Tales of the Empire gave me ideas. Particularly on a snowy chilly planet ... it's a very open setting as to what is going on in this so bare with me. First time writing SW stuff on here.

So AU with unburnt Vader who's also kinda OOC in this, some fluff and steamy romance with some Anakin at the end, but it's a short ass piece cause of short notice for today.

PLEASE DONT REPOST, EDIT, COPY, PLAGARIZE, TRANSLATE AND OR STEAL MY FANFIC WORK. RATHER IF YOU DO ENJOY IT THEN LIKE REBLOG AND FOLLOW ME PLS N THNX.

And May The 4th be with you.

Your cloak blew from the chilly winds.

Your hood covered head raised up to meet at the top of the snowy hill.

Climbing up with the darkening gray storm clouds piling up, heighting the anxious tension filling you up inside, the helmeted figure coming into view struck through your core.

He had pursued after your wandering lost self.

You wanted to see how far he would go, as selfish as that was.

Your fear of the cold blooded, brutal Sith Lord becomes mingled with how you are lustful of his imposing presence.

Your cape fluttered in the blowing cold winds as you hurried away, straight to the ice cave entrance.

He knew you thrive off the chase.

And you knew he was relentless in playing along.

“You cannot run forever, Y/n."

His deep modulated voice bounced off the towering crystal ice walls, using the light shining from the high cracked ceiling to guide you.

“I've come this far.” Your tepid sweet voice echoing back at him had him growling a bit.

“You cannot hide from me.”

You didn't need to be Force sensitive to feel that he was honing in on you quickly.

Your flushed nervous face met your eyes as your bumpy reflection followed your side, his heavy footsteps sounding that much closer. “Doing good so far, all things considered.”

You should have figured uttering those words into existence would jinx your ongoing streak. The moment you stepped back from the dead end and spun around on your heel, you bumped into that armored chest.

You screamed a bit as his leather black gloves grabbed your forearms and pinned you to the wall gently but firmly.

His red lenses hid his eyes boring into your very soul, his giant frame enveloping you, pressing you carefully against the alien texture. His heavy breathing made your breathing go silent like a scared mouse, caught by the big bad beast.

“The game is over.” For some reason, he sounded so smug about it.

“You're unbelievable.” You pouted up at that obsidian face.

“You're foolish.” He scoffed.

“Says the man wearing the robot suit.”

The fact that he released his grip on you and leaned back a bit to actually take off that intimidating helmet still took your breath away.

“It helps with the image.” To hear that warm enriching amused voice again already had you giggling as your hands cupped his sculpted cheeks to pull his face down to peck those tempting lips.

His helmet clanked along the ground as his arms slithered around your waist to lift you off the ground, grinning slyly to you hugging his waist in response.

“It's working, my Lord.” You shakily spoke, weaving through that shoulder length darkened hair to tug him closer, pecking many a time quite desperately.

“This little ploy of yours has gotten us completely off track.” His husky tone was sheer evidence that he did not give a damn. Not one bit.

“Forgive me, Lord Vader, for my teasing.”

You squeaked as those giant leather hands of his cupped and squeezed your ass.

“I shall have to punish you, my dear. Quite thoroughly~” Those blue eyes were riddled with devious intention, marking your neck with ferocious bites along your delectable skin.

Your fevered gasps and lecherous cries traveled the caves as you became a mess under his wet steamy mouth. “A – Ani~!”

The former Jedi turned Sith Lord smirked, devouring your mouth with that needy tongue of his.

“Hush, my love. We're just getting started.”

[imagionary]

Some doodles I did on our plane rides recently,,, keeping my mind off of sad stuff and my horrid illnesses x~x

[katyspersonal]

me: I do not really understand the hardcore insistence of some Mohg fans/simps that he could not or must not have done any sexual-incestous crime! Not only it is a reasonable version, but also extremely interesting and intriguing to explore how not all victims of oppressive system are good people! Soulsborne is super fitting for fucked up themes and characters, any Mohg is valid and fun including the darkest you can get, right? Extremely messed-up interpretations of Mohg don't THREATEN other fans in any way shape or form!

fandom clowns: *passively-aggressively shun Mohg fans from the circles, attack Fromsoft for """homophobia""" (wtf), confuse acknowledging the event with enjoying the event, will label Mohg fans as insensitive or danger to real SO/incest victims, fear Mohg as an awful scary taboo to bring up in memes compilations or fanart that could obliterate all fun despite him being part of the canon, demand blacklisting anything about him in their clown Discord servers thus making lore chats weird, shame or block people with flattering interpretations for MeDiA iLiTeRaCy uwu, treat hating Mohg as a moral act rather than personal stance and generally cause a lot of hostility in the fandom, ALL because whereas seeing Mohg's SO as canon they then got mad at this canon instead of either swallowing it or move onto another videogame free of this theme*

me:

me: Nevermind, this fandom is chronically incapable of handling the dark themes and think the fandom owes them sanitised experience.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Netted

Author’s Note:this is mer-nadesir’s debut! I hope you enjoy the fic :D

Next

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @the-pure-angel 

Warnings: injuries, blood mention, poor fishing practices

Summary: You find an astartes caught up in a hooked fishing net, and help him get free.

You hear a low, warning hiss from the tangled mass of netting and hooks that washed up on your favorite beach. Something large and upset struggled within the taut metal cording and was bleeding red blood, the hissing intensifying as the wickedly sharp hooks bit into midnight blue flesh. Was it smart for you to approach this frantic, injured creature as it struggled? Probably not, but there was something very human sounding in the pained sounds that left the being.

“Woah… Hey… Just stay still and I'll get you out of this.” You call out to the being, hoping that your soothing tone of voice would help convey your intentions, if whatever this is didn't understand English.

A large eye the color of a moonless and starless night glares at you suspiciously from a gap in the netting as dagger-sharp teeth gnawed at of the entangling knots as his large head whipped sharply from one side to the other, desperately trying to get himself free “Why help? Strangers.” the astartes growled out.

“Because you need help and are in pain. Will you let me come closer to help you out of the net? Or is there someone I can contact who you do trust to get you out of this?” You asked, keeping your voice even and calm, making sure not to make any sudden movements, so as to not further distress the trapped astartes.

The large mer struggled in the net as a low and pained growl rumbled in his chest. “... My shiver is far from here. I am… Was scouting when this happened.” He stares hard at you, midnight black eyes trying to pierce through your soul. “... If you deliberately hurt me, I will come for you. There is nowhere in this world, or in any other, that I won't be able to track you down and bring you to swift and bloody vengeance.”

This was far from the first time you’d been threatened by an injured and likely anxious astartes, and it was unlikely to be the last, considering the fact that you worked in emergency medicine. “I will do my best not to hurt you on purpose without warning. If I am moving something that is likely to cause you pain, like removing the hooks imbedded into your skin and muscle, I will warn you beforehand. Deal?” You knew better than to say so that he could brace for pain - nor did you have any pain reliever on hand that would work fast enough that wouldn’t be flushed from the Astartes’ system before it could hope to have any effect on him. You’d intended on going for a moonlit stroll down your favorite beach and hadn’t anticipated meeting an astartes in physical and medical distress.

The large, midnight blue astartes stared at you for several long moments before accepting with a rough “Reasonable. I agree.”

You nod, making careful and deliberate movements toward him, telegraphing what you were doing, so as to reduce the likelihood of accidentally startling the mer. Once you reach his side you look up at him, knife in hand, waiting for his agreement for you to start cutting through the netting.

“... Begin.” He huffed after several seconds, though there was a tiny smile lifting the corners of his lips. He seemed to be grateful that you were being so careful of his potential boundaries.

You nod and carefully begin to cut away at the netting binding him in place. Every so often you give him a moment or two of warning before carefully unhooking and pulling out the metal hooks imbedded into his flesh.Once you have his arms free, you offer the knife to him hilt first, silently offering to let him continue to free himself. 

To your surprise the midnight blue astartes shakes his head and says “Continue. Your hands smaller. Better able to get hooks and knots… Doing well.”

You smile a little at his praise and continue to work on freeing the trapped astartes. All told it took you a couple of hours to ensure that every bit of rope and hook was out. You’re grateful for your medical training, which allows you to switch off the part of your brain that is absolutely delighted at the thought of being able to touch an astartes this much. Many of them large, well-muscled and handsome, and this midnight blue and dark red astartes is strikingly handsome, even bloodied and clearly exhausted. “Do you feel any lingering pain anywhere?” You ask as you resist the temptation to run your hands along his chest and tail - for purely professional reasons - some of the hooks were small. 

“Some, but I am healing… Thank you, for helping me.” The Night lord rumbled, cupping you chin with one of his large hands, pitch black eyes shining with mischief. He tilts your chin up and kisses you, his lips chapped but warm.

[edwardnebula]

Have another today, the Rose household :)

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Full Speed Ahead

Prologue =-= Next

Author's note: More of Karlsor per poll request! This is his Husbandry Debut.

Summary: Karlsor arrives on Ancient Terra and decides to cause Problems on Purpose.

Warnings: Swearing, let me know if I need to add anything more. Okay?

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

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Karlsor was stalking after some Loyalists that he's spotted on this random ass planet that he's landed on. He doesn't remember being flown to this planet. The last thing he remembered was getting in a drop pod, ready to fight Ultramarines on McCragge, per the orders of his nearly fucking insane Primarch.

He noticed the large fuckers, one in Raven Guard colors, one in a strange heraldry and colors he doesn't recognize, but equally, unfairly massive as fuck. A third Scout-ling of the line of Dorn- from his silver hair, fair skin and blue eyes, with a medkit- and the fussy-clucking of an Apothecary.

They were being led by another Larger than normal Scout-ling, this one covered in mud from head to toe, and he doesn't see any obvious indicators of which legion the big shit belongs to. They head to, yet another giant fucking Scout- this one in the colors and heraldry of those uppity Blood Angels, he rears back silently- spotting the Wings, but as he shifts his weight, the Blood Angel with wings is too small to be Primarch Sanguinius.

He narrows his eyes as he tries to recall if any of the Blood Angels have ever had wings, or if he's heard of such rumors. Then again, such rumors and knowledge is kept from the 'insane murderous butchers' of his Legion. Still a whole bunch of Loyalist Scoutlings, unaware of him, his grin is sharp and vicious, and his eyes gleam with a dark joy.

Oh- he's going to enjoy hearing them scream as he gets answers of where they fuck they are and how he got here from where he'd been. Then- one of the little shits- the one in Raven Guard colors suddenly turns and looks in his direction- having spotted him. Karlsor gives him an unhinged, sharp grin and waved at the little Raven.

Who looks gratifyingly spooked as he hisses at the others. The other little birdy with wings, will be fun to pluck the feathers out of. Sons of Sanguinius have such a pretty-shiny reputation, after their Primarch showed up, before they'd had a reputation and style of fucking shit up worse than his Legion had before.

The bastards had been lucky to get the shiny-pretty Holy Great Angel, while he and his legion were stuck with the mad-bastard who barely understood who friend or foe was and hated all of them. He closes his eyes briefly before opening them. Now is not the time to brood about the past as he stalks closer to the strange too-large Scouts- and the bundle of them, after patching up the Blood Angel were trying to skitter out of the forest and evade him. Cute.

Not for nothing is he a Raptor Lord of the Night Lords as he chases after the scout-lings. Allowing them to run, to see where they would go. The Apothecary in no armor- which is fucking stupid has a conflicted expression on his face, before he murmurs something, turning his face so that Karlsor can't read his lips.

Which is a rude thing, clever, but rude of him. One of the others rumbles something in return and they seem to send a vox to… someone. It's cute how they think that they can call for help, they are stuck in this forest with him little Scouts- he ensures to croon that out, pitching his voice so that they can hear him.

Oh- that spooks the bundle of them. The Little Angel's wings flaring in alarm, trying to block the view of the rest of the Scouts. Like that would do much, more fuck all then stop Karlsor. Which has him chortling and taunting the Scout-lings.

As he approaches, he stops for a moment, as a truly Horrendous scent suddenly hits him like a punch to the gut and his eyes almost water. He's smelled death, and dead things rotten- but that overripe scent is by far one of the worst things he's ever smelled in his life as he tries not to gag or throw up as he hears a strange voice warble out.

"Now, Night Lord," A voice croons at him, his head snapping in the direction of the… Thing- it looks like a Death Guard. Sort of.

"What the fuck are you?" Karlsor asks bluntly.

"My, you are a rude one," Hura says, "I am a Death Guard Apothecary."

"The Fuck you are!" Karlsor says bluntly, "I know hygiene isn't Death Guard Astartes best trait, but fuck you are a nasty, gaint fucker ain't ya?"

Hura's smile behind his helmet has him frowning. "Do you know about Chaos, little cousin?"

"… The way you say Chaos, sounds like it should mean something," Karlsor says eyes narrowing at the strange, stinking Thing.

He's got both eyes on this new threat- the little Scoutlings are scampering out of his sight. Clever bastards- avoiding two Larger Threats. He's still going to hunt after them later. He has to deal with… whatever the fuck this is.

"It does mean sommething," Hura replies, still patient, just less amused. "When are you from? What was happening before you got here?"

"I was in a drop pod headed to fight on McCragge," Karlsor replies.

"Ah, you are from during the failed Rebellion of Horus." Hura muses.

"The fuck? So it doesn't end well. Fucking perfect," Karlsor groans, "Wait… what do you mean failed?"

Hura chuckles and explains when and where they are. As well as about how there is an… Alliance between the Chaos, Renegade, and Loyalist factions.

"So I'm not allowed to go after those Scouts then?" Karlsor asks unhappily, "And just why should I listen to you? Or to this so called grox-shit alliance?"

"Because you will be hunted down, punished and likely tortorously killed for breaking the alliance," Hura replies, his voice still sounding so amused and patient.

There was a darker turn to his words, and his giant fucking frame seems a bit more… ominous.

"… You make a good point. Death Guard," Karlsor replies reluctantly eyeing the … other 'Astartes' with careful caution.

[nevesmose]

A world not yet calling itself Terra. The Western Front, 916.M2.

An experiment for me in a lot of ways - writing a different style, using canon NL characters, fitting them into a historical AU, using a twist ending. Done in part as a test run for an original vampire-related project that I'm considering setting in a similar time period. Enjoy! 🦇

[persephoneflouwers]

Harry sits messily on the floor like a delicate flower lay crushed and scattered on the ground, trampled by careless feet. Yet even in his brokenness, there is beauty to be found. Like petals, Harry’s lips and pale skin blend together in a mosaic of soft pinks and red, his glassy eyes blinking slowly as he starts to realize just now Louis is standing in front of him.

DE AMORE EX TEMPORE - part ❤️/🎨

READ NOW on AO3

[delimeful]

you can’t go back (9)

Intermission Part 2: Remus

warnings: involuntary drug use, murder (intentional and unintentional), blood & injury, remus POV shenaniganry (specifically mentions of cannibalism, sex, spiders, & gore), tension, and misunderstandings (lmk if i missed any!)

-

It was possible that Remus should have waited until the drugs had worn off a little more before indulging in a blitz through a ship full of aliens.

Unlike what one might expect, the realization wasn’t actually for his own sake. In fact, the drug had left him numb around the edges in a way that was vastly preferable to the bone-deep ache that had slowly seeped into his entire skeleton over the course of his imprisonment.

He was more than fine with delaying that particular feeling, even if it meant dealing with staggering steps and clumsy movements.

The doorways he’d slammed into the edges of probably weren’t as happy with the situation. The aliens that he’d swung at with far less precision than normal were probably even unhappier.

Since they were the ones who had abducted him, he found he didn’t really care about their feelings on the matter.

They should have watched Alien, done a little bit of cultural research on humans. Maybe then they would have had a better idea of what kind of response snooping around on a planet’s surface and picking up passengers would earn them.

Sadly, Remus didn’t have acid blood, but he did have a bile-producing liver and the ability to projectile vomit on command. If these aliens had been even half as badass as Sigourney Weaver, he might have even gotten the chance to try it.

Instead, he’d gotten splattered with alien blood that didn’t so much as sting, and also with his own blood when a lucky swipe had shredded the right straps of his muzzle and the flesh of his cheek alike, and also also with the growing realization that extraterrestrials were far less durable than Star Trek would have led him to believe.

He should have waited for the drug to wear off. His face would be stinging right now, his arm would be even worse, and his fighting style would still have been best described as ‘berserker’, but at least he would have had a better idea of just how much force he was inflicting. Maybe then he wouldn’t still be feeling the sickly pop of organs and bone alike giving way under his knuckles.

Every alien he’d encountered on the ship was down. He wasn’t sure how many were still breathing, and he didn’t particularly want to check.

Well. He knew there was at least one alien onboard that hadn’t gotten their brains bashed out.

Not by him, anyways. With how squishy aliens apparently were, it seemed possible that the guy had slipped and bashed themself right into brain death the moment Remus had walked out the door.

He wouldn’t know until he checked, so he started his way back to his former prison cell, stepping around the limp or twitching bodies as best he could without directly looking at them.

(His imagination filled in the blanks, as always.)

The new guy had caught Remus’s attention from the moment they stepped into his line of sight, because they had familiar crunchy beetle-shell plating in angular, armor-like patterns over their skin.

Just like Tall, Dark, and Spidery. The only alien who hadn’t seemed onboard with the abduction plan, and the one who had been subdued and dragged away right in front of him.

(He’d caught a glimpse of the other cells, during his first escape attempt. They’d been empty.)

There were clear differences between the two, most notably that Spidery was about a foot taller, not even counting the stabby spider-legs on their back, and their plating had been even and symmetrical. Remus remembered how it had gone from charcoal gray to inkwell black, like the plates were full of hundreds of tiny squids, all flushing their ink sacs all at once.

(He’d been pretty thoroughly drugged by that point. Not that thinking about cephalopods was unusual for him.)

Newbie’s plates had been far more translucent, a pearly-gold color, and the ones climbing up the left side of their face were jagged, irregular patches, like a giraffe’s spots. But they had the same glossy glazed-icing shine as Spidery’s plates, a texture that had been promptly wedged between marbles and porcelain in the edible-if-you’re-not-a-coward section of Remus’s brain.

They had the same big, dark eyes, the direction of their gaze only visible by the miniscule movements of the muscles framing it. He’d wondered if they’d known Spidery, and then he’d watched them stare up at the scratches in the ceiling  and he’d been certain that they did.

He hadn’t been planning to move much, hoping that inactivity would keep them from upping the dosage of whatever space-elephant-tranquilizers they’d put him on, and yet he found himself slowly skulking closer to the cell’s front as the muted conversation continued.

Last time, Remus had distracted Spidery at the wrong moment, but Patches had had their back to him. If it turned out that Remus was actually the fly-bait for another spiderguy mugging, he figured he could lunge silently at the barrier and distract the others.

Instead, Patches had revealed their own set of extra limbs, ones that were far less sharp than Spidery’s but turned out to be just as good at stabbing.

At that point, he’d been practically wired with adrenaline, his brain already convinced that Patches was about to be murdered or dragged-off-and-vanished right in front of him. He hadn’t thought twice before lunging through the newly-opened cell door and promptly performing the most lethal headbutt of his life.

In hindsight, maybe inflicting massive blunt force trauma without hesitation wasn’t the way to make friends with new acquaintances that were extremely vulnerable to blunt force trauma.

Sure, Patches had technically started the violent murder streak with their own expert knife-wielding, but Remus had (only somewhat intentionally) continued that streak all the way through the ship. He’d have scared off plenty of humans with his behavior, let alone aliens.

When Remus poked his head back through the doorway to the undersized prison hall, though, he found that Patches hadn’t run for the hills after all.

In fact, they hardly seem to have moved in his absence, despite the open doorway and all the alien screeching and wailing that must have carried down the hall.

(Going by how sore his throat was, he’d probably been screaming too. Maybe they’d thought he was being murdered right back? Or maybe that catchy tagline had been right all along: in space, no one could hear you scream!)

Patches was half-slumped against the wall, their extra arms laying limp against the ground at either side of them, palms up and fingers uncurled. Remus couldn’t see any blood, but his heart still jumped strangely at the sight of the alien so lax and still. The only sign that they were still alive was the barest twitch around their eyes as their gaze flicked over to take in Remus’s arrival.

Their plates slowly deepened to a dark grey, a pale imitation of the sharp flush of pitch-black that had overtaken them while they’d been gutting the boss alien earlier. Remus was guessing it was some kind of reflexive threat display, since he remembered that Spidery had done the same at the mere sight of him.

Patches’ half-hearted attempt was almost funny, except it felt less like they weren’t that scared, and more like they were too resigned to really try, which was much less funny.

“You don’t look too hot,” Remus told them, ignoring the still-dripping gouges on his own face. The broken muzzle was still dangling from one ear, and it swayed slightly as he tilted his head. “In the possibly-dying way, not in a you’re-unattractive way. At least if you do kick the bucket, you’ll still look sexy doing it!”

The alien didn’t respond, which Remus decided to take as an invitation to keep chattering, stepping into the hall and squatting so that they were closer to eye level.

From this close, he could see that the irregular plates along Patches’ left side were still that same shiny gold color, even as the rest of their plates went even darker at Remus’s proximity. He absently wondered if it was some kind of scarring or something they’d been born with.

Did spiderguys even have live birth? Were they hatched? Could they produce webbing? Were there huge insects on their planet?

“Do you bite the heads off your baby daddies after doing the nasty?” Remus asked, still scanning them for visible bumps or bruises. “Or are you the guy getting devoured? Is it like a matriarchy run by huge cannibalistic spider ladies?”

Patches didn’t say anything in response, gaze still locked on him, but a pair of transparent eyelids distinctly swept across their dark eyes, once, twice.

Honestly, those eyes kind of looked like really big boba balls. Would that be a societally appropriate thought to share if they were cannibalistic? Actually, if the cannibalism took place during sex like some Earth spiders, it would probably come across as flirty.

“Your eyes look like boba balls,” Remus told them, because obviously he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to flirt with an alien, recent traumatizing experience or not! “Wait, if it’s just the ladies that eat people, does that mean that spiderdude-on-spiderdude action is the only nonlethal boinking on the planet? Gay guys don’t get to participate in the cannibal dystopia? Tsk, tsk. Hannibal would be so disappointed in—!”

He cut off mid-admonishment as Patches lunged for him with an alarming number of limbs, his whole body twitching sharply as he just barely wrestled down the impulse to lash out. He could still hear the crunch of the last ribcage he’d immolated, and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

Instead of hands on his throat, or possibly even a knife to the torso, he looked down to find Patches had simply grabbed onto his ratty, bloodstained pajama shirt in six different places, stretching the fabric slightly with the force of their grip. Their chin had dipped down slightly, as though bracing for a blow.

The lunge had been violent and startling, but the actual ‘attack’ had been harmless, as though they hadn’t even expected to get that far. As though they’d known the motion was a bad idea and done it anyway, like a spider held in the palm of a hand biting down even though it meant triggering the reflex of the massive, crushing fingers around it.

Except Patches was a lot smarter than a spider, smart enough to know what their movement would provoke, especially when Remus had spent the last half hour displaying exactly what a twitchy, half-drugged human would do when attacked. And they’d done it anyway.

Remus had originally thought that Patches and Spidery were different. That he’d been freed because they saw humans as more than bloodthirsty animals, unlike the aliens who had literally strapped a muzzle on him.

Now, it was looking more like they’d just found out that their goth friend had been disappeared-probably-murdered, proceeded to stab someone to death in an act of furious all-consuming vengeance, and finally set a dangerous feral creature loose in a theatrical murder-suicide attempt.

“That hurts my feelings,” Remus informed them. “I’m a very emotionally complex murderbeast who didn’t ask for any of this, and also it’s hypocritical of you to treat me like a monster when you potentially live in a society that runs on sex-cannibalism.”

Patches lifted their head up to stare at Remus directly and hissed, the single large plate on the right side of their face shifting back so they could properly display a pair of wicked-looking curved fangs. They were translucent enough to show the venom within, shining like liquid gold, and positioned awfully close to his neck.

It was one of the most blatant goading attempts he’d ever seen, and Remus grew up with Roman.

(Remus had spent his childhood doing just about every inadvisable thing he could think of. He had plenty of experience keeping his hands still and gentle while spiders bit him.)

“Do you envenomate your prey?” he asked, leaning back slightly to rest his weight on his hands in a purposefully relaxed manner. “It seems like you’d need a lot of venom for me since I’m so big, but I also don’t know your organ arrangement, your torso could totally be full of venom sacs instead of lungs or something. Hey, if you did melt my insides into a smoothie, would you use a straw or shotgun me like a frat boy with a beer?”

His new friend’s hiss slowly spluttered out, their grip loosening as Remus continued to not tear their head off or punch through their chest or perform any of the reflexive murder they were trying to prompt.

“If you’re not going to drink me like a soup, we will become BFFs,” Remus warned them. “A blood pact will be involved, and also at least three jars of mayo, and also also, semi-regular ritual sacrifices to appease the ancient Earth deity, Hatsune Miku.”

Patches, who had dropped the snarl and withdrawn far enough back to look at Remus properly, jerked back with wide eyes. He had half a second to wonder if the guy could actually understand him after all before there was a stinging impact against his spine, sending a painful paralyzing pulse through him.

His muscles seized for a moment— he wasn’t sure if the weird space-tasers actually used electrical currents, but it sure felt like the time he’d reached up and touched an exposed wire on a shitty theme-park carousel— and he caught a glimpse of Patches diving past him as he listed sloppily to the side.

Nobody new had entered the space, and there was only one body behind him, so there was only one alien it could have been. The tall one that followed the boss alien around everywhere like a bodyguard.

Huh. Guess his headbutt hadn’t one-shotted them, after all.

As annoying as the weapon’s blast was, it wasn’t exactly debilitating until he’d been hit by it like seven times in a row while also trying not to breathe in more drugged air, which was coincidentally how his last escape attempt had gone.

He had more important things to worry about now. Remus forced himself to move through the pain, pushing back up to his knees, and immediately twisted around, ready to come to his new buddy’s aid whether they liked it or not.

His new buddy had knocked the weapon from Bodyguard’s grip and was now shaking them like a ragdoll, tense as a live wire, as though they hadn’t been resignedly waiting to die five minutes ago.

Bodyguard made some truly wretched-sounding noises— probably due in part to losing whatever had splintered to bits under the force of Remus’s skull— and seemed altogether unconcerned about the new knife that Patches was now holding against the underside of their jaw.

(So they did have more knives. Fun!)

Humans that sounded that level of gurgly tended to be in the process of dying, so it made sense that Bodyguard cared about the threat to their life about as much as Patches had while threatening Remus. Being inured to death wasn’t the same as being inured to pain, though, and their nonchalance didn’t hold up against being stabbed through an arm, especially not when Patches twisted the blade like that.

Remus settled back onto his haunches. Going by the interrotorture, Patches probably didn’t need his help with this one. If he’d had access to someone who’d caused Roman’s death, he definitely wouldn’t want someone else elbowing in on his bloody and excruciating vengeance. He’d also be doing much worse, but Patches seemed too focused for this to solely be about revenge.

He could see the moment they got what they needed, their entire frame going stiff with tension at whatever information Bodyguard had just ground out. They headed towards the door, and Remus pushed himself up to his feet to follow.

At the movement, Patches whipped around and scrambled back a few paces at the same time, like a snake rearing back but not quite striking.

At some point, one of their hands must have sneakily scooped the abandoned space-taser weapon off the ground. It was pointed directly at him.

Maybe they’d only just found out that he was the reason Spidery was gone.

“If you’re going to crazy-murder me for not saving them, you should at least do it with a cool knife. I don’t even know if you can murder me with that thing, unless it's got a setting strong enough to induce heart failure.” Except if they didn’t want to murder him, it would eventually work to incapacitate him. Which meant he’d probably be going right back in that cell.

Remus’s hands balled up at his sides, part of him already bracing for the sting. “Come on, I know it’s not as effortless as pulling a trigger but a little stabbing action won’t kill you. I’ll even make my death throes super dramatic and overblown, as an added bonus.”

Remus had spent the last however many days so drugged he couldn’t feel his toes, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the way the others had looked at him, the excitement some of them had shown after he’d dragged his nails down an alien’s arm and gouged far deeper than he’d meant to.

He’d mauled one of their own, and they’d liked it. They wanted violence from him, and they didn’t care who he’d be hurting, because it benefited them somehow.

Even back on Earth, they’d thought he was too impulsive, too strange, too violent. He’d tried not to be, and then when that hadn’t changed anything, he’d embraced it, voiced all his gross, gory thoughts until everyone already knew what to expect. Why bother changing himself when it was never quite enough to avoid disappointing them either way?

Out here, they thought he was feral, bloodthirsty, a weapon to be pointed in whatever direction they preferred. How long would it take to convince himself he enjoyed it? How long would it take for him to forget how to be anything else?

Space wasn’t even horrifying in the fun ways. Remus wanted to go home.

Patches was still watching him, not lowering the weapon but not drawing a knife, either. Their extra arms were stretched out on either side of them, hands slowly flexing open and closed as though grasping the air. It kind of looked like the motions a cat made when kneading.

“Hanging out with you was a lot more fun when you were still thinking about liquefying all my flesh into palatable mush,” Remus told them.

Their hands tightened on the gun, and Remus’s whole body scrunched up in anticipation, his eyes slamming closed and his chin ducking against his chest without conscious thought.

“Knowing if you will try to kill me would take less effort if you’d stop thinking strongly about cannibalism,” a dry voice said in slanted but entirely understandable English.

Remus’s head jolted up, and he found that Patches had tucked both the weapon and most of their arms out of sight, and was now watching him with a calmness that was only slightly undercut by their stone-gray plating.

“Did I imagine that or did you just talk to me with human words,” he asked blankly.

“Talk,” Patches echoed, fangs flashing as they shaped the syllables. “That’s the word. Stop talking about cannibalism.”

They’d understood what he’d been saying the whole time.

… Holy shit, that was so funny.

“No can do, boss,” Remus replied, grinning unabashedly. “I’m a romantic at heart. Which, coincidentally, is one of my most edible organs.”

“I do not liquefy organs,” Patches told him haughtily. “And drinking your organs, coincidentally, would give me death throes.”

Remus couldn’t stop smiling, even as he mimed a blow to the chest. “Ouch! You really know how to make a guy swoon.”

Patches ignored his wink, rotating their wrists in what looked kind of like a nervous tic as they formulated their next sentence. “If you’re thinking about crazy-murder me with bite,” they gestured to their own mouth, mimicking Remus’s exposed teeth in a hilarious-looking grimace, “do not.”

The flat delivery was too much for Remus, and a slightly-unhinged cackle slipped out, presumably not helping de-escalate the situation at all.

“Wait, wait, no. I promise I will not crazy-murder you,” he told them, voice pitching high with barely-suppressed hilarity. “You are much cooler and funnier alive.”

Despite the unconvincing delivery, the alien took his promise in stride. “I will not crazy-murder you. I will not envenomate, stab, liquefy, melt, bite,” they made a little encirculating gesture with cupped hands, as though to say ‘and so on, you get the idea,’ “murder, cannibalize you.”

“Boo,” Remus protested, though the mirth was fading. “What do you want from me, then?”

“Lungs,” Patches started, ominously enough. They gestured to their chest and their sides, and inhaled loudly through their mouth. “Do you? To alive?”

“I need my lungs to live, yeah,” Remus told them, nonplussed. “For breathing, and stuff.”

He took a deep breath, his own torso swelling significantly more than theirs had. Patches made a short clicking noise, getting tenser in what seemed like excitement. Was that the spiderguy version of a nod?

“I want to know your breathing– Earth breathing?” they tried, hands returning to that air-kneading gesture as they searched for the right words. “Will it crazy-murder me?”

“Earth breathing? Breathing on Earth? Like… the atmosphere?” Remus puzzled aloud. “Wait, like you want to know if you can breathe on Earth?”

“Breathe on Earth,” Patches echoed immediately. “Alive on Earth?”

Okay, so however they were picking up the language, it wasn’t exactly fluency. They probably hadn’t actually understood everything Remus had said right away. In fact, it was possible they’d spent that entire silent stare down earlier trying to piece together a coherent sentence.

“I mean, you guys have reverse spacesuits for that, right?” Remus replied, miming the blocky helmets he’d seen out in the fields, shortly before receiving what he assumed was the space version of a shovel to the skull. “That’s how they came down and got me in the first place.”

Patches repeated the charade. “Yeah reverse spacesuits for breathing, right? No reverse spacesuits.” They mimed taking the helmet off, and then inhaled again. “I am alive, right? No? Will the atmosphere breathing kill me?”

Remus understood the question. Unfortunately, he didn’t know the answer.

“I don’t know. The air on Earth is oxygen, carbon dioxide, uh, nitrogen I think…,” Remus trailed off, realizing that however they were translating, something as specific as humanity’s periodic table wasn’t going to be easy to convey. “Why? Do you want to go to Earth?”

Patches hesitated for a long moment. “They came down to Earth.”

Remus frowned. “Yeah, I was there for that part.”

“Not…,” they clenched their hands. “Not you. Me, not me. Spiderguy. Chelcerae.”

The last word was too sibilant to be an attempt at imitating one of Remus’s words. “Spiderguy, but not you. Another spiderguy. Your spiderguy? Spidery?”

Remus held his arms up, trying to imitate the shape of Spidery’s long, sharp limbs, and struck down at an invisible opponent a few times. “From before, right? They saw me in the cell, freaked out, got attacked?”

“Yeah, right, yeah,” Patches replied with more of those confirmation clicks. “The spiderguy, Virgil. They came down to Earth with Virgil. He would talk about you in the cell.”

The pieces snapped into place. “So they left Virgil on Earth. Without a spacesuit. To kill him.”

“Will it kill him?” Patches asked, stuck with present tense even though this had already happened. Did he die?

“I don’t know what you breathe!” Remus groaned, finally on the same page and now just as frustrated with the non-answer. “I don’t know, he could be dead. He could not be dead.”

Schrodinger’s Alien.

Patches had clasped their hands together firmly, but Remus could see the way their cape was rippling slightly from the agitated motions of the limbs tucked underneath. “Virgil is dead,” they said, as though trying to convince themself. “Breathing or no breathing, Earth will crazy-murder him.”

“I mean, yeah, probably, but there’s a chance that he’s still alive,” Remus pointed out. “It’s worth checking, right?”

Patches’ right face plate twitched back and forth slightly in agitation. “Earth will crazy-murder me.”

Remus rolled his eyes, a gesture that Patches watched with mild concern. “You were ready to get crazy-murdered by me like ten minutes ago, remember? Besides, I’ll be there. I’m an Earth native, I know all the ways people get crazy-murdered there, and I’ll make sure none of that happens to you.”

All of their fidgeting went still. “...Why?”

“Because I think you’re funnier alive, remember?” Their expectant silence continued, and Remus sighed petulantly. “Because I want to go home. And also because he was the only one who tried to get them to put me back. Unless he just wanted them to kill me, I guess. I didn’t exactly catch what they were saying.”

Patches made a weird kshh sound, and when they spoke, they sounded amused. “No, Virgil is not like that. He is… ‘I’ll make sure none of that happens to you,’ to me and you and little ones and hurt ones. Saving them. He doesn’t need liquefying venom. His insides are a lot mush.”

“A total softie, huh?” Remus snorted. “He’d probably get along with my brother. His brains are mush, too.”

“... You want to go back to him?”

Remus pulled a face on principle, but ultimately nodded. “It’s my solemn duty as his twin. His hubris would grow too strong without me there to mock him, and I can’t exactly vibe check him from off-planet.”

Patches made that whispery noise again, longer this time, and Remus realized it was a laugh.

“To crazy-murder planet, then.”

[babyblankyerror]

[chettyspagetti]

Older Spacekid gets super drunk at an office and really want to be lovey dovey with Older Neil. But he can’t handle it. They talk about it the next day, Spacekid feeling horrible about it but Neil reassures him there’s nothing wrong with it. God they make me sick.

@off-the-heezys

[elecktrum]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Final Space (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Avocato/Gary Goodspeed, Avocato & Gary Goodspeed, John Goodspeed/Sheryl Goodspeed Characters: Gary Goodspeed, Avocato (Final Space), Sheryl Goodspeed, John Goodspeed, Lord Commander (Final Space), Tribore Menendez, Derek, Dr. Bluestein, General Viro, General Cataloupe, Melanie Dewinter, KVN (Final Space), Hue, Kevin Van Newton, Nikos Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends, KVN sucks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Slow Romance, Slow Dancing, Slow To Update, Canon-Typical Violence, Alien Cultural Differences, Family Feuds, garycato - Freeform, No beta we die like redshirts Summary:

Avocato and Gary Goodspeed were not in love. In fact, they had never met each other. But when a rumor that they were secretly courting spread through the sector and their two warring families ceased all combat at once, they felt obligated to fall in love fast.

[starheirxero]

forgot to send you your gift (for what? BloodMoon never told me.)

here ya go. -eclipse

WHATARAYAHHAJAHAHA!!!!??????!!€!1>11]]1[1^_1_1_1_€ THIS IS SO COOL WHAT THE FUCK

FUN FACT I LOVEEEE ME A GOOD "DRAWING ON A LINED PAPER THAT USES THE LINES FOR THE ACTUAL DRAWING" AND THIS ITCHES THAT SCRATCH SO GOOOOODDDD!!!!!!!!> DIES ALL OVER THE FLOOR

[idril-la-wiccan]

I'm 100% sure the Ship has already broken its protocol several times for Louie's sake (yes, I am including the Golden PikPik Carrots incident in this). Why ? I don't know. I guess it's just like that.

Also have my idea on what the Ship looks like inside -provided it does have a living space.