#train on the water... blood on the tracks... (drawings!!)

[friedbrainzz]

Hi hi I come to u again w/ another faggot dragon

PEARLESCENT OF THE SEAWINGS (y'all know the drill more about him under the cut!)

12 years old (around 27 human years or so)

Cisgender - He/him - Verian (or Almondsexual - When a person is mostly attracted to men and or masculine alignment genders, along with androgynous and non-binary people. But rarely attracted to women and female aligned genders.) Bellussexual (Someone who is not interested in a sexual relationship but is comfortable with or enjoys behavior typically coded as sexual)

Voice Claim : Charlie Smith from Red Dead Redemption ||

Pearlescent is the oldest of his mother's first clutch. Being 12 years old. Though, he wasn't always the oldest. He had a few older siblings but they were disloyal to their mother. So, being a MAJOR momma's boy, he killed them.

His favorite pastime is whale hunting with his mother, Chondru. He hunts specifically for endangered species (and fun fact, also SPECIFICALLY pink dolphins) and he and Chondru sell them at the Dark Web (an underground marketplace that frequently moves to stay hidden. They mainly buy and sell illegal items (and substances) and contraband. The authorities have corruption in the outer circles because of this as they participate in the trading)

He collects the skulls and skeletons of whales that don't make the Dark Web's cut. Finds the anatomy of such creatures fascinating.

Seaglass's older brother, came from the clutch of eggs before her's and before their father passed due to being murdered. He know who Seaglass is, but doesn't *know* her. As her egg was traded away being the smallest egg in the clutch. (Chondru did not want such a delicate and innocent soul in her ring of crime. So she gave Seaglass's egg to her two closest friends, Abyss and Kraken.) Pearlescent didn't know this. He thought Seaglass was stolen away from their family. Because of this, he sought out Abyss and Kraken's home and slaughtered them to "save" his little sister. A one year old Seaglass, coming home from school, found this sight and attacked Pearlescent before fleeing to find help for her parents. But they don't believe her and Pearlescent gets off Scott free. Seaglass continues to fend for herself because of this.

Chondru, upon hearing this information, casts Pearlescent out. Pearlescent, heartbroken and bitter, leaves reluctantly. And eventually gets caught trying to continue trade with the Dark Web only to be caught by the highest of authorities. Prince Azure and the battalion he leads. As he acts as a general for his mother, Queen Starfish. (Epic and sad yaoi ensues)

He meets Seaglass once more, six years after their original encounter. He is now a part of the Royal guard (haha kinda like Vi /ref) and eventually reconciles with her. Though, he has yet to do so with his mother because of her underground mafia

He is wary of Seaglass's partner, Hawk. This is because he is a SkyWing and the war that broke out between them and the SeaWings 10 years ago. But eventually warms up to the Skywing and they become as close as brothers.

He makes Azure promise that Starfish never finds out about Hawk. For the SkyWing himself being a criminal, and for his sisters sake.

A special thank you to @ilikemicrowaves for helping me come up with some of this character's lore and for his original design! I really enjoyed working with you on him and even though you said "I'm so sigma" SO MANY GYATT DAMN TIMES I'm still rlly thankful, danke lil bro 💪💪(Said design below)

[astraloverflow]

Depraved and Obsessed König Teaser

MDNI please :) Been working on this fic for a little while now, let me know what you guys think!! It's my first time writing and I'm a little nervous about how it'll be received, but I'd LOVE some feedback!! Basically, König's chasing poor reader through the woods, oopsies. There's gonna be so so so much build-up to this point though in the final work! WC: 762 words, planning to be about 15-20k once it's done, so get ready 😩

You could taste the blood in your mouth as you ran, lungs constricting with each heaving breath, trying to take in enough oxygen to sustain another quick stride. The corners of your vision were going black— you were fucking exhausted, but the adrenaline kept you going, it had to. Your legs burned, barely able to feel them anymore; the only sensation reaching your brain was your soles against the floor of the forest, as they destroyed leaves beneath your sprint. 

That and the pitiful burn of your heart. 

Turning to look behind your shoulder every other second frantically, you were met with nothing but the deafening silence of the night. Shivers of lightning struck through your body, and the entire situation started to feel too real. The gasping inhales and exhales of your collapsing lungs, the sound of your pulse beating harshly in your ears, the shrubbery crumbling apart in your tracks, wind blowing, cascading the broken leaves into the mix of ground, almost as if trying to obscure where you were going, it was all too much. No animal dared to make a noise, not a peep, maybe they were too afraid to draw attention to themselves, you should have been too, but that thought was far gone from your head at this point.

Considering his sheer size, you’d expect someone like him to be loud, stomping on the ground, practically shaking and breaking the earth beneath his feet, just as you desperately tried to. Your heart, being bludgeoned by your over-exertion, tried to keep up, but your throat tightened up with each desperate breath. You had no idea if he was meters behind, or waiting around the corner to grab at you when you thought you were safe. You knew he could swallow up the distance between you two with ease, you have seen it time and time again. On the field, in training— you saw it anywhere and everywhere he was able to fully display his incomprehensible prowess and brute physical strength. 

But tonight, tonight he was quiet, calculated, and cruel, which made your anxiety spike to unknown extremes. The dread that grew deep in your stomach felt like it weighed twice what you did; it tried to hold you down, tried to pull you into the ground. It almost did, in a way you almost wish it did— if the earth opened up and swallowed you whole, you would be away from him. The cold embrace of the earth, enclosing you in, threatening to turn you into an artifact for archaeologists— you would take that over this sickening feeling that you couldn’t shake. You tried to drop this anchor of a weight, but it clung to you like a cinder block, tightly tied around your waist with thick rope, before being tossed off the edge of a boat, forcibly pulling you into a fluid body of salt, sinking, struggling. Then it hits you. You feel your body hit the ocean floor and it rips the air you tried so hard to keep, straight out of your chest. Water fills your lungs, rushing in mercilessly, and it burns. It hits you.

All this time you were wondering where he was, why he wasn’t chasing immediately after you. At a point, you almost thought he gave up and left, but that was too merciful for him.

This was a game to him, he was toying with you.        

You stumble slightly, and it brings you back to reality harshly, the situation demanding your attention, heart feeling like it was just resuscitated. Not noticing the jagged ground you had just tripped over, inhaling sharply, your arms fly out in front of you to steady yourself so you wouldn’t crash into the ground. Catching yourself, you continued to work your legs, trying to cover more ground, trying to get as far as possible, though a small part of you knew it was hopeless. Initially, you had hoped to run back to the barracks, somewhere safe, somewhere away from him, somewhere with people, somewhere with witnesses. But he had rounded the corner, so quickly that it made your head spin. He cut you off completely, and in a haze, you had made a last-ditch for the woods encasing the base.

You couldn’t see it now, but he was smiling to himself, watching you stumble over your every breath as you dug your grave deeper, heading nowhere useful. As he analyzed your desperate attempt to evade him, he chuckles before speaking to no one but himself, starting a steady saunter towards you “So fucking predictable.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Could I request a word list? I’ve scoured the internet for more but can’t seem to find a string of words that fit with “exsanguination” and “cadaver dogs,” in fact, I may not even know what string I am looking for. Help me with my red thread? 🥰🙏🏼🥹

Exsanguination—the action or process of draining or losing blood

Blood sport - a sport or contest (such as hunting or cockfighting) involving bloodshed

Bloodletting - phlebotomy; bloodshed

Bloodshed - the shedding of blood

Bloodwite - a broil or riot in which blood is spilled

Cruentation - the oozing of blood from a corpse after incision or according to superstitious belief in the presence of the murderer

Hemophilioid - resembling hemophilia especially in exhibiting a tendency to uncontrollable bleeding

Hemoptoe - hemorrhage from the lungs

Hemoptysis - expectoration of blood from some part of the respiratory tract

Hemorrhage - to undergo heavy or uncontrollable bleeding

Hemosiderosis - the excessive deposition of hemosiderin in bodily tissues (as of the liver, spleen, or lungs) that typically results from bleeding, the breakdown of red blood cells, or repeated transfusions and is usually not accompanied by tissue damage

Hemostasis - stoppage or sluggishness of blood flow

Phlebotomy - the drawing of blood (as by venipuncture) for transfusion, apheresis, diagnostic testing, or experimental procedures

Venesection - phlebotomy

Venipuncture - surgical puncture of a vein especially for the withdrawal of blood or for intravenous medication

Cadaver Dogs—specially trained dogs that use their sense of smell to locate human remains and alert people to them

related terms:

Airscent dogs

Avalanche dogs

Body dogs

Cadaver detection dogs

Disaster-trained dogs

Field cadaver dogs

Human-remains detection dogs

Police dogs

Rescue dogs

Search dogs

Search-and-rescue (SAR) dogs

Trailing or tracking dogs

Victim recovery dogs

Water dogs

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Thanks so much for the request! I found this thoroughly interesting as well. With cadaver dogs, definitions varied widely, so I would recommend going through the sources for detailed explanations of the terms' differences and where they overlap. Hope this helps with your writing. Would love to read your work if it does :)

More: Word Lists

[sunsetlobster]

To Satiate a Hunger part 3

Authors: Myself and @sovietstrange45

Summary: Finding an appropriate stop on the brink of starvation, A Night lord War band ransacks Ghilana for every morsel of food and fuel they have. In the process, Ladomir an ex-terror squad member stumbles upon one thing they've been sorely needing.

Warnings: Self harm, horror themes, blood, implied violence, forced proximity, Ladomir has a blood kink, the writing structure is a raw cut from what was originally written so apologies for any weirdness there ><

Word Count: 9.7k

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By the time Sneh'd finished she looked like a mess, her neck's bandage was a murky brown, as was where the stains on her dress and her apron. The kitchen though was clean, cleanest it probably had ever been. The only thing that lingered were cobwebs on the ceiling. And so, justifiably, she was exhausted, her soft face, worn and her shoulders laid low, the violence of the day finally having caught up with her.

"Finished?" His deep voice echoed through the kitchen, his skulls clattering against his armour. His tabard of skin seeming just that little bit dirtier and bloodier in its sickly leathery nature. A tiredness of his own, sitting within his eyes. Not a physical and emotional strain, but one of boredom, and having spent his day being forced to either watch or aid in cooking, whilst his eyes kept drawing themselves to her bandaged neck over and over.

She nodded and tossed the water into the sink before grabbing the damned lamp. A kind of defeat in her body from the lonely intense labour.

With a nod, Ladomir seemed he couldn't be happier to finally leave the stuffy confines of the mess. "Good, that servitor will have hauled that bed by now. Lucky for your time to sleep and be away from duty, will be far more generous than the other important crew, little bird."

She nodded and followed not straying a step from him as he guided her down the terribly dark halls. And yet at the same time as they hit his room, she was reminded of an odd comfort, her father’s love of blacking out the window when he slept, he loved the feeling of absolute darkness and couldn’t sleep without it. She’d always never thought much of it, the dark being a passing phase before the day and a shield from the moonlight that’s often drift in. But now, with so little to cling to in the form of comforts she hid her face in her hands at the memory of resting with her parents as a small child in the sweet embrace of them and the dark.

The metal door slid open on its rusted track, grinding against itself as it opened to more lightless, merciless places none would ever willingly step toward. Ladomir, would have had half a mind to leave her here, and he could go attend to something else. Perhaps pay the slave holds a visit. Talk to the captain, catch their progress on the journey to the Eye. Beat Sarval in the sparring cages. Again, his hardly clear eyes found her bandage, and he knew if he wanted to continue having a cook, letting her out of his sight for so long was a poor train of thought. With a dismissive grunt, he stepped forward into the room first, sitting himself with the sound of growling servo joints once more.

Looking at the new addition. The old and worn cot, more favourably suited to someone of baseline size. Sitting across from his and being dwarfed terribly so by it. There wasn't much space in an Astarte's quarters as it was already, but it was enough, and Ladomir was finding himself glad he hands no extravagant displays of sadism that would complicate the space.

She laid the still glowing lamp-pack on the floor, palming for the cot to crawl in and finally remove her shoes, apron and head cover. The cot itself wasn’t terrible, the bedding still had a firmness, a thick enough blanket to cope with the coldness of the ship and a tired pillow. It’d do.

"Is your bandaging holding up?" Ladomir's voice cut through the silent void like the teeth of a chainsaw through flesh. He was like a gargoyle, still as could be, unflinching, sat where he was with no intent or indication of changing that fact.

"I think I need a new one." She softly said touching the messy brown thing that served her so well.

Wordlessly he reached into a leg pouch underneath his tabard of flayed skin. Midnight clad fingers popping a latch and pulling out an old and worn roll of bandaged. "I'll change it then. This will've been pointless if you die of an infection."

She leant back at the notion of him doing such a thing, the idea of him changing such things was already a bizarre frightening thing but in the dark and around her neck. Sneh shuddered at how easily it could go wrong.

"Well?" The demi-human's voice cut through again. "Who do you think applied it the first time? I doubt you'd like to go out of your way to meet my brother in the Apothecarian, and I doubt he would like to be bothered by such a thing."

She curled softly into a ball. "I bet it was easier when I was asleep." Sneh murmured not moving a muscle as he held out the bandage to himself.

Ladomir ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth, holding back from remarking from just how uneasy it seemed. How distracted he had been cleaning the wound, how he had wanted more but restrained himself, lest he turn their new chef into a bloodless husk. Again, his tongue brushed over his canines, and he wished he had some of his sanguine cousins features. "It was less like trying to herd a stray animal, I'll give you that."

The picture of a massive hulking creature in the dark holding the simple item, his teeth a minor glint shining from her barely illuminating lamp. It sent a shiver down her spine even if she knew for the moment he intended no harm. But unlike an animal in a trap, she sat and waited.

With a throaty sigh, he rose to his feet once more, at least attempting to approach in a... not so intentionally murderous manner. Kneeling so he could reach out a hand to try and undo the browned and messy bandages wrapping Sneh's neck, like his hand just about had back in her shop.

Her skin was warm, soft and with the nature of the area, her juggler and throat kissed the underside of her skin and could be easily mapped out under his ceramite clad fingers. The bandage peeled back slow, sticking to itself with the tried clumped mass. It was a long cut that slowly showed itself under the thin layers. One that extended from just under her ear to roughly the middle of her jaw, narrowly missing her vitals. Every brush of his hand over her hair and skin had her trying not to shiver or shift in place. Her gaze sat squarely at his chest not those piercing rings of white that he called eyes.

Softly, Ladomir found himself caught in annoyance at the layers of ceramite and fake imitation muscle stopping his true fingers from descending upon the warm skin. Such a beast couldn't even help himself from brushing his fingers along the line of such a wound. Dark eyes along its trail with an unknowable intrigue. "You are a bold woman, Sneh." He remarked, almost on a whisper, the dirtied bandages sitting in his other hand. Not even realizing he had begun to squeeze and rub over it with his gauntleted fingers.

It bled from where a fresh scab that had adhered to the bandage had been torn. Each press of his thumb left Sneh with a hitched breath over the small strain of her neck. It wasn't bruised not quite but the hiss of such sharp phantom pains passed over her all the same.

A small hiss left his lips, mutterings of Nostraman curses under his breath. Eyes lazer focused upon the drip of red. Finding the courtesy to not immediately overstep and lay his tongue over the bleed. Though just as such the bandages seemed quite unimportant to him in the moment, as he ran his fingers along the drip. Red dashing against the midnight as he brought it to his lips. Shamelessly lapping at the blood and letting out a delighted hiss in the sweet ichor spreading over his tongue. Cursing that Sneh's was like none he had ever basked in before, and that it just so happened to be the most uniquely desirable, yet most unobtainable.

"How long till it stops aching do you think?" She asked, her eyes locked on the faint glint of the warped skull on his chest. Its holes bleeding into an unknowable darkness.

Just like that, his focus upon the delight was snapped and he was baring into her with those unnatural eyes once more. The tips of his ceramite fingers still softly glimmering with crimson. His nose twitched, and he eyed the wound once more. "It's not worth wasting any medical resources on, and it'll likely scar. If you were hoping for it to end sometime soon, I would quell those thoughts."

"I see." She uttered wondering just how terribly the thin long gash would scar and how long it'd be till it was healed. And like a temptress, more beads of crimson rolled down her neck beckoning him with their every push as it tried to clump.

More of that foreign tongue fell from his lips in curses, throat bobbing with a harsh swallow that had his mouth much drier than it had any right to. Trying to wet his lips, he felt it like a gnawing at his stomach, different than the hunger for food. Like a vicious desire to imbibe himself on the finest of wines. With a hissed breath Ladomir leaned into Sneh's neck, lapping at the sanguine roll of blood trickling down her neck.

Sneh gasped and gripped at his shoulders; fear pulsed through her. Then a tongue was on her neck, a large, wet, hungry tongue that swabbed at her wound and made the poor baseline shiver and cry out. "Ladomir?" The faint itch of his stubble on her neck and the intense heat that practically forced her blood to the surface was nauseating. She had no out, he cradled her head and the bandages were, elsewhere. Part of the Baseline worried that he'd completely devour her with how swiftly he pounced onto her wound and lapped from it like a man dying of thirst.

No words came from the Night Lord, only the soft hiss of his breath parted between gently bloodied lips. His tongue a ravenous thing that lapped at the blood, with a scarily controlled urge. Savouring each drop and roll of the crimson that met his tongue with a ferocious delight. A hand cradling her head as if it were a basket of eggs, prone to break at his slightest touch were he not careful. His shining eyes squeezed shut, shudders wracking his spine as the great desire met the sweetest taste. An overwhelming buzz that tingled on the edge of his every nerve, dulling all other needs and senses, and enhancing the bliss of her taste. A taste like none other he had ever the delight to experience so generously.

"L-Ladomir!" She cried once again as he dragged his tongue so very slow across her skin, savouring the taste of her blood and sweat as it glided across such a smooth and soft surface. Sneh wanted terribly to grab onto him, to dig her nails into his shoulder but with such bulky armour it'd be no use.

Finally, did his imbibing of her ichor cease, his tongue pulling back behind teeth that felt sharper than they looked, head turning away from her neck, and so his hot breath pulse into her shoulder instead as he panted like a creature. Still cradling her head within his unfittingly delicate grasp. Ladomir said nothing, no words coming forth from lips that urge for nothing more than to pull more crimson from pale skin, to latch and drink from the source well and true. Instead, he was a silent panting beast.

She looked at those depraved eyes, the pupil the shape of a goats. They were less then human, he was less then human. A beast now knelt before her showing his true colours and how he relished in her ichor. The notion of sharing a room with him disturbed him even more. Would he come upon her in her sleep and bite? Or would he hold her down and do even less savoury things? The mere idea scared her let alone those damned animalistic eyes that reflected from her light in the darkness.

With a delicacy that felt unbefitting of his nature, he drew his gauntlet back from the back of her skull, avoiding her gaze, and her neck the whole while. Grasping the old roll of bandages from wherever he had dropped it. With the grace of only one who could see in the dark and send bolster rounds firing into targets miles off with his eyes closed, he drew the strip of white. Wrapping it, almost tenderly, around Sneh's neck. Closing off her throat from his site until it was adequately bandaged once more, and he snapped it from the roll. With the sound of growling servo joints deafening in such a silence, Ladomir rose back to his feet, and turned his back to her. Avoiding placing his gaze back on the mortal in any shape or way.

"You're just not going to say anything?" Sneh asked quiet and clearly startled as she clutched her neck and pressed her back to the comfort of the cold metal wall.

Ladomir cast his gaze over his shoulder, black eyes narrowed and glinted red in the low, dim light. Fingers clenched as he seemed content to remain in his frustrated stillness. "Va'harsal jalina sakrina'ta." The words spat from his lips, a snake’s flowery tongue in the dim void.

Confused, she sat alone and for once, slowly reached for the lamp to turn it off. At the very least, she wouldn't have to face such a demon in the light.

In the darkness, not a single noise even huffed its way against the metal walls and back at the only two occupying them. Not even the single growl of a servo joints. Just the low, faint hum of machinery and his power pack, and low breaths.

Sneh tucked herself in and hid under the covers. A thin shield for a small body that now laid a mere meter away from him and always would. The lingering stench of fear and blood permeating the room as she tried her best to fall asleep.

And there he was, Ladomir the beast, unmoving and unflinching. Ever present, ever aware, ever awake even as well. Even without his eyes burning into her, they were still there. A lord of the night, upon a ship where the sun never rose.

Dreams of horses on the grass, the scent of a loved family dog and the warmth of an embrace greeted her. Only like all her other monochromatic dreams, she was sucked out and awoke to... Darkness. This was reality, she was a demon ship's cook and there was no escaping that. Least of all the fiend who lapped so leisure at her neck.

--------

The click of a vox rung out first. "Keln!" An accented tongue cursed, the glowing red eyes peering down at the damsel in the pitch blackness, modulating echoes of the vox grill bouncing off the metal walls.

The blanket peeled down and she looked to the source of sound as she rubbed her eyes and sniffled.

"Get up, we have business to do." Again, the voiced growled, his bat helmed visage peering out just barely under the red glow of his eyes. The purr of servo joints followed him as he stood just over her cot, towering over Sneh.

She wondered if he ever took off his armour and yet such things were second place to the manner he spoke. Pulling herself out of bed, she strapped on her shoes, apron and stuffed her head cover into her pocket. She wanted to ask him once more about last night but... It was dreadfully clear, there was no room for questions.

His midnight first met the door button, before he gestured for her to follow. Stalking his way down the halls in tense, thudding stomps that echoed out in their metal, tinny thuds. All the while no words passed his bat helmed visage, a silent brewing anger. When they reached the command bridge, it was the first sense of natural lighting within the entire ship. Giant front facing windows staring out into the grand landscape of space.

That, mixed with all the lights emanating from all the work and battle stations, added with the aruspex display of their current journey, it was enough that a lamp pack wasn't necessary. Not all seemed so great, as the various ragged humans in old uniform hardly passed her a glance, they seemed born just the same as all these beasts. Deathly pale skinned and black as death eyes. Aside the human presence, a few Night Lords themselves had a small alcove to themselves, and had their gazes locked on the two. One, with a yellow-blue helmet.

Then, there was the raised throne at the centre of it all, overlooking the whole process. Sat, by a creature grander than them all. A great midnight clad monster, with no helmet to cover his gnarled visage. A brutal bust of marble, scarred by so many old and countless battles it would be a fool’s journey to try and recount them all. His nose seemed as if it had been busted time over time, and his sharp eyes seemed weapons all their own. Short cropped black hair stopping his head from becoming a snowfield of blue veins. A great cloak and robe of skin sat atop his armour, sewn together from many different beings and peoples over the years. Some patches were the colour of pale white.

On his breastplate a face had been stretched and forcefully pinned to hiss armour as a crude mockery of the emperor’s eagle. "So, this is our grand haul, Ladomir?" His voice drawled out, a grin tugging at his lips, exposing blackened teeth as he chuckled, eyes burning into Sneh. "Yes, Captain Kolvare." Ladomir returned, slapping his hand over his defiled chest piece in memories of old salutes and ranks that hardly mattered much now in their old age.

She kept her head down and simply appreciated the sweet kiss of natural light on her skin. She'd never been in space, and it was so very odd to see the night sky in full even from the corner of her eye.

"Truly, you did good work, where would we be without my headsman."

Kolvare chuckled. "I wanted to talk with you after that plunder and Ghilana, but you were so preoccupied with the new slave."

"Apologies, Captain."

"None at all, Ladomir." Again, the captain of this hell vessel chuckled, turning his gaze toward the human, as his jokingly pat the stomach of his black under suit.

"After all, I can't complain when my belly is still full. Ladomir nodded, hesitantly catching his gaze on Sneh, just out of the corner of his eye, and the soft white of her new bandage. "You said you had a task for her while we talked?"

"Yes, I want her to distribute food to the slave holds. I think seeing one of their own, and the cook herself no less, will keep their hands from acting as they normally do."

Ladomir stiffened. "Sir, that risk- she should still have an escort. Those things down there barely have any season of reason." The captain nodded, running his finger along the stitching of his cloak. "Perhaps, but who shall?"

"I'll do it."

Sarval's voice cut like a knife, his midnight clad form already halfway to them. Ladomir's ruby gaze burned the fire of the sun toward him, and he barely had the strength to wrench his gaze toward their Captain. Fury in his heart as much as worry over someone such as he suddenly caring for something so important. "Excellent, then Sar'val can look after her, while you and I talk about the eye."

Part of her was relieved and yet also terrified at the notion of going to such a place without the only company she’d had till now. And so, without choice, Sneh nodded and pulled on her cap.

Just like that, Sar'val was brushing past his brother, and gesturing for the slave to follow. "Well, we have work to do. Don't worry brother, she'll come back in one piece." Only after they had left the command deck, did Ladomir find the energy to approach his Captain, in grumbled steps. "Good, now, we can discus The Eye."

"Did you eat from our meat stock?” Sar'val questioned, far too casual about such an ideal, just as Ladomir had been. The bag clasped in his gauntlet carrying their delivery. A morbid twist of the joy of having a meal brought to such starving and disenfranchised people.

She carried the other half and shook her head; she dared not exercise her bite with him. Even if her fathered tongue hunger for every opportunity to try and pierce of slash.

"Shame, you cooked it quite well. I'm surprised Ladomir is being so accommodating to you." The crude beast remarked with a snide glare hidden beneath his stolen helmet. The halls dark as they were, and scarcely populated, seemed to grow increasingly absent somehow, increasingly devoid of any signature that life had been here. More and more a true void of absolutely nothing.

She looked up at him with a curiousness and then turned back to the dark ahead. If he spoke, he spoke she would do well not to bite.

"Tell me, how is it, being lone Ladomir's slave?" Sar'val inquired, taking them deeper into the bowls of the ship. An increasing descent that saw what little light there was, become near non-existent entirely. A journey into the stomach of a great beast, and the Night Lord saw it as something so dull he desired a conversation with a slave to pass the time.

“I do not think I have had enough time to make up mind.” She said keeping her head low and watching each step she took as to not fall.

"Not as cushy as your little bakery I imagine?" He barked out in a laugh. Hand resting so gingerly on the rusted metal of his chainsword's pommel. "Did you have family, friends down on Ghilana? I may be able to tell you who took their skins as prize if you're lucky."

She didn’t as much utter a word at the visual set in her mind and rather, a lone tear rolled down her cheek at the thought.

"We will not reach the Eye." Kolvare grumbled, gesturing toward the auspex scan of their journey. Ladomir stiffened, concern burning its way through his helm as he stared at his captain. "What?"

"We do not have enough fuel to make the trip via warp travel."

Ladomir spoke with a guarded bite, his brow taught in its furrow. "But we raided Ghilana so we'd have just enough-"

"The Bright Lancers' saw to that." The old Night Lord cut off, pulling up a reading of their ship readings for all to see. "We took a hit while in orbital bombardment, it was sealed quick, but the loss of fuel was detrimental."

"We won't even make it halfway." Ladomir cursed, his scarred and marred lips pulling into a deep scowl reminiscent of his bat helmed figure. "So, our best course is to keep on track..."

"...and try to hit a supply depot unaware along the way." Kolvare concluded.

Sar'val cared not for her woe, it was clear he didn't much care about her at all. Or anyone or anything for that matter. Not regarding humans at least.

Had she not been the new cook, it likely would not have been a pretty encounter. The sound of metal being knocked around signalled their arrival to what appeared a hub area. Seemingly unpopulated, until you saw all the eyes peering back around from corners and stalls, staring at them both. "Food." Sar'val barked, reaching his hand into the bag and without a touch of grace tossed a container onto a nearby stall counter. "Enough for this level, so don't go tearing off limbs for it." Even as they began to crawl from their holes and hideouts, like pests emerging from their nest, more had their confused glare on Sneh than not.

She similarly laid down her sack of food and pushed it outward to be in line with Sar'val's. The glint of her light cast out on them; they were like animals crawling over each other in their hungry haze. And for that she tried to hide behind Sar'val. He was despicable but at the very least behind him, she didn't need to gaze upon the fiendish slaves that snarled at the notion of food.

After making sure it wouldn't turn into a vicious massacre, Sar'val seemed satisfied, and stomped his way past the ravenous creatures, barely classed as human still. As they passed, they all spoke and muttered, an old, forked tongue like what all these midnight beasts spoke. Then, not long after, they all scattered, holding their own portions. Returning with groups or in solitary. All in all, it was a... "civilized" affair. "Now we go lower."

 Ladomir paced around the map, scanning every possible route and planet, and depot they might encounter. "Guards will be up after Ghilana, so we'll have to waste more fuel making it somewhere calmer."

"Will we have enough supplies to delay this expedition by months?" With a sigh, the old headsman nodded, digging his fingers harder into his gloved palm. "So long as the baker doesn't lose herself completely in the meantime, we'll have enough."

"Lower?" She asked looking at the mass of food still left, she'd accounted for it and yet the notion of going down lower still frightened her.

"Yes, lower. Did you think that was the only slave hold?" The grin was clear in his voice, a chuckle garbled by his vox grill as he marched forward further down the sunless beast. "Don't think because you're Ladomir's special pet that you won't have to get your hands dirty."

She lugged her bag with her and grimaced at the notion of being a 'pet'. And yet that wordage only had her more confused as they marched.

"Ladomir does not take slaves. He doesn't like sullying his time with mortals." The brute of an Astartes scoffed, finger squeezing the trigger of his chain sword as he lay his hand over the hilt. Starting the soft purring whine of teeth shifting along its edge, before they stopped and started again. "Unless out of a desire to state his damn obsession with blood."

“He’s been to slaves before. For the sole purpose of… feeding on them?” She asked recalling how slow and methodical that tongue was, how he pressed his teeth to her throat like an animal.

Sar'val nodded, a far too casual gesture, as if it were an annoyance that bugged him to no end. Not a demi-human feasting on the blood of mortals to quell his own thirst. "He can't be damn well bothered to take a pet to be his own artificer, so he just borrows one from a claw and sends them back missing a pint." Another snide remark in that foreign tongue filtered through his vox grill as he recounted such careless insults. "Sometimes he'll come down to the slave holds and go hunting, he uses the excuse of putting order and fear back into the whelps. He hasn't done that in a while. More often, after a raid, he'll bring back somebody that caught his eye, and they'll be gone by the next day. With no food to waste, Ladomir will feed, and toss them into the meat locker. If he's not too thirsty, he'll make it last for days, but it ends all the same."

Sneh swallowed softly the sting of the cut flaring at the thought of him setting upon her in the night and ripping her to shreds. “And then what of the claw?” She asked trying to stave her mind from the thought of such eyes burning into her as the life drained out of her own.

"What of it?" The hulking figure returned, staring at her bandaged neck. Figuring the old headsman must've had his fun already, and another part of him wondering how he would fair be trying not to kill their only cook. The many skulls dangled from his waist acting as a macabre wind chime as the rattle and cracked together and bounced off his ceramite in a sickening dance. The ship itself seeming to groan and howl with the deeper they descended its depths.

"You would all go hungry again, wouldn't you?" Sneh asked knowing all too well how replaceable she was, hell how she herself could function as a meal given the opportunity.

"Yes, we would. That is why when you were unconscious Ladomir swore to Kolvare he would make sure you stayed alive. At the very least, until we found someone to replace you. It seems your 'protector' doesn't trust us to keep you in check." The grim thought amused him, that damned man being forced to starve his obsession until he found her replacement. "Our Captain is acutely aware of Ladomir's unique obsession, as are all of us. So, tell me, has he been staving off the beast?"

Her tongue recoiled like a tail between her legs. "I cut my neck, not him." She murmured, her lids low and her stomach grumbling.

"Truly? I must admit that surprises me. It is, unlike him to be restrained. Perhaps he likes you." The laughter emanating from his vox boomed down the hallway in distorted transmissions that made the old metal groan. And heralded the skittering clambering, of that which did not seem entirely human, nor entirely animal either.

She quirked a brow at the sound and clutched her neck as they approached the source of the sound. The notion of Ladomir feeling anything but amusement frightened her especially with how cold he's carried himself after the night prior.

Sar'val seemed unbothered by the noise, uncaring to even take a cursory glance around the halls they stalked. "We're close now." The sound of scuttling didn't become clear until it had already scurried up onto the newest slave to greet the Bloody Screech's weeping halls. Thin, bony hands grasped violently at the woman. Nails the snarled and long like talons digging into the fabric. One grasping and tugging violently at the back of her apron, the other grabbing her shoulder, something akin to a hiss leaving its thin, cracked lips.

"Sar'val! Sar'val!" She screamed dropping the bag of food and instead her small soft hands gripped at his belt as they tried to pull her down and wrench her into the darkness.

the Like a machine, his head snapped around, red burning eyes of the valiant dead, murdered trying to defend her, now burning with fury once more for her sake. A bastardized idea of a hero. Grasping the thin skeletal creature once considered human, he crushed it under his gauntlet, rearing his arm back before shoving so violently that the sound of bone snapping like a twig just before, paled on comparison. The sonic delight of one's entire shoulder dislodging from its socket, before subsequently turning to dust against the metal hull. Undeterred vile thing still scrambled to its feat, face hollowed and gaunt, like a skull whose teeth had mostly rotted out.

Dashing madly, mindlessly toward Sneh with one arm outstretched, and another dangling in a pathetic limp state, trailing behind. Cursing and rambling unknowable things in the snake language. Just before he could pass the halfway threshold, the throaty thump of a bolter echoed off the walls, and a shell planted itself within its stomach. Tearing and rending skin to red strips, before detonating as a disturbed firework. Chunks of viscera and gore being shove outward by the sheer concussion force of the blast, splitting the hardly human thing in two. Sending bone shards ricocheting off the walls and pinging off his midnight armour.

A spray of crimson gore splattering across the two of them. The distinct scent of death, rot, and gunpowder filling the hall as Sar'val huffed impatiently.

Sneh was covered in blood and viscera; her entire body shook from the display and what now clung to her. And yet her legs refused to crumble to the floor, rather she stood her hands clung to his belt and the little chef felt as though all the water in her body had drained from her body with how cold and dry her mouth was.

--------

"Well, maybe we could pay attention to these holds." Sar'val remarked, mag locking his bolt pistol to his thigh once more. Grabbing their bags, he unflinchingly kept the march on. "Now our gracious slaves won't starve." The vox distortion announced the pairs arrival first. The growl of his armour joints second, and then Ladomir's anger followed. Already stomping down from the raised platform of Kolvare's throne. Eyes could not find what was more pressing to burn their fury into. Sar'val's smug presence, or their cook, covered in viscera.

"What happened?"

“A slave got... uppity, simple as that." Sar’val shrugged, aloof as ever in such circumstances, the stench of death but a passing thought.

"And did you take your sweet time ensuring our chef would actually last longer than a day?"

She was wordless, her eyes glazed over in shock and her fingers refused to let go of Sal'var's belt even as he moved. It was as though she'd been turned to stone with the mere touch of the mess that now painted her. Not a word of what they said processed in her mind, falling apart into string as she panted shaken haggard breaths.

"What? She's fine!" Again, Sar'val just laughed it off, tugging off his helmet with the ventilated hiss of compressed air. Revealing the brutish visage underneath. Ladomir gestured to the catatonic woman.

"You call this fine?"

"She's in one piece." Shaking his head Kolvare, leant forward, arms rested over his knees. "She's not our princess, but we need our cook to be able to cook, Sal'var." Brushing them off, Sal'var tucked his helmet underneath his arm. Stepping away to go find his claw once more.

"We did our duty, and now there won’t be a slave revolt, you're welcome."

"Whoreson." Ladomir snarled, but it was met with little to no reaction. Tension coursing through his shoulders, he reluctantly laid a hand over Sneh's shoulder. "Come with me."

It was as though he'd never touched her, she stared blank, those poor fingers white knuckled to Sar'val's belt as he tried to part ways.

"The thing won't let go?" Sar'val uttered in confusion, raising a brow as he glanced up at his Captain, back at Lamodir. With a sigh Kolvar leant back once more, rubbing his eyes with worn gauntlets. Clearly in part regretting his decision to allow Sar'val to take upon the duty himself.

"I despise you, brother." Ladomir spat, pulling off his own bat winged helm to kneel beside the blood splattered mortal. Letting go of her shoulder and gripping her wrist instead, more gently than he had likely ever grasped any human by the hand. Lowering his voice to a whisper, to try and avoid the intrusion of Sar'val's mere presence. "Little bird, let go."

Her fingers slipped like wiry claws and yet, her gaze and rigidness didn't cease. The uncomfortable warmth on her skin, the fear of opening her mouth. Everything was blank and yet far too much, a violent onslaught of replaying the moment mentally and frantically trying to run from it. Her small hands balled into fists as though she were a plant rotting and curling in on itself to finally die.

Shaking his head, Ladomir rose back to his feet, placing a hand on her back. Uncaring for the smear of blood and gore over his midnight gauntlet. By the time he turned his head to speak, and by then Sar'val was already leaving. "If you will excuse me, I will have to deal with this issue now." "Aye, we discussed all we needed for now as it was." The words followed the motion of his gauntlet waving them off. With a nod, Ladomir began to lead his comatose baker out of the command deck. "Come, little bird."

The walk back was a blur, the darkness bleeding in and out in her vision. A terrible thing to have in such a place. Hell, she didn't even make as much as a peep when he guided her, not toward his room but elsewhere. Somewhere new.

The whole way all he could smell was the blood, the visceral coppery tang of blood entering his bare nostrils. Unfiltered and unhindered by anything. Ladomir wanted to throw up. The distinct stone of his acidic glands calling for his attention in the back of his mouth, of which he harshly swallowed down. It was disgusting, a putrid old thing. Unclean and thin, untouched by mutation, but by corruption of the soul.

It was closer to sulphur and its devilish nature, than to true sanguine ichor. It did not belong on Sneh, of all creatures. Of all creatures who had such an ichor that captured his thirst within a chokehold. That put it hostage, without anyway of escape. No, she deserved better than being debased by such a rancid crimson.

As they stepped through another one of the many, many metal doors, he led her into a large room. A room divided between a few walls, with the sound of dripping water echoing off puddle and metal alike. The haze of steam filtering through their nostrils calling for attention. Where Ladomir brought her, it was but a modestly sized wooden tub, and there were lights here like the kitchen had. With a soft huff, he began drawing water for the rub. "We need to get you clean."

She didn’t seem to respond even still at the notion of a bath. Something she no doubt would’ve lightened up given the chance. But now, there was no such light, no venom from her tongue and no such soft look of fear in her eyes whenever she looked up at him.

"Can you undress yourself?" He asked, dark eyes a sharp contrast to the burning red of his helmet as he gazes into her bloodied form. A soft waft of steam rising from the water of the tub.

She was still, her eyes drifted upward toward the source of the sound but, not a glint of recognition laid in those eyes. She was a ghost in baseline flesh. A broken wind-up doll that from the outside looked completely fine but somehow refused to play or dance when wound.

A groan rumbled through his chest, like the growl of armour joints as he stepped toward the shaken baseline, unable to recognize her mental absence. A gauntlet hit the floor as he removed it from his hand. He instilled sheer, and unbridled terror into people. When they broke, they broke. Yet, he was also a master in keeping them on the edge, peeling their sanity from the edge of complete destruction, just so they could comprehend the utter despair of their fear.

Another gauntlet hit the floor, and his bare hand began to undo he clothes with a furrowed brow. When someone finally broke, that signalled the end of their mortal coil. All joy and gratification they could offer was gone, and it was time to stop playing with the toy and end it. Not out of mercy, but because of an end to the joy. Ladomir had never tried to fix the doll before.

Her lamp pack now laid to the side, turned off and gently resting beside his armour. Her clothes were just about ruined, covered in layers of fresh and old blood; her apron was filthy and covered in much, hell the only thing just about worth salvaging from her was the head cover that hid her hair. Those nails of hers dug into her palms, threatening to tear skin with their violent knead and press.

Black eyes fell over her bare form, uncaring about how she stood as such now. He'd seen such a sight many times, over many years, and he would see many more. There were no other ways to get a skirt of skin, after all. All he needed was to assess just how awful the mess was. Outside the expected sweat and grime and unclean nature a slave like her would accrue on this ship and going through what she had to get up here now. The last thing he needed to remove, was her bandaged. With a sigh, he averted his gaze and began to gently unwrap the bandage from Sneh's neck.

Her hands came to sit on top of his shoulder, a muscular reflex it seemed like those damned eyes didn't seem to care still. Not now that she stood out in the steam nor the fact that he now removed the soft white bandage that he'd so carefully wrapped. Her hands were faintly worked from the kneading of dough and work with hot, sharp tools. But they were much gentler than that of his own. Their grip and shake slowly melted away.

Dropping the externally bloodied bandage from his bare hands, Ladomir realized he could feel the warmth of her skin underneath his fingertips. How soft her skin was in comparison to the unnatural stretch and toughness of his own.

Without looking, he brushed his fingers over the wound, then back onto her shoulders, quickly dashing the mental image. Even as her hands grasping his shoulders brought him back to the night prior, and the yearning taste just upon the tip of his tongue, that he could so easily turn his head and grasp once more. Shaking his head, he pulled away, a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding the poor baker. Stiff and unnatural in his movements, unsure with helping her. "Come, Sneh, to the bath."

She crawled in without issue and closed her eyes as she hit the warm water. Curling into a ball, Sneh leant her head on her knees and seemingly fell into a kind of sleep. A gentle pain in her face.

More hissed words fell from his tongue, slithering together in their odd foreign sound. Kneeling beside her tub, there wasn't much in the pitiful ways of soap, or cleansing materials. So Ladomir simply grabbed the sponge and began to gently scrub along the contours of her back.

She hummed and the breath pulsed through her back and the soft patter of her heartbeat resonated through his fingertips as he focused on such a task. Tension slipped from her shoulders and Sneh seemed to truly sleep in a way.

Unsure of why he did it, Ladomir laid a hand over her back while he drew the scrub over it. A permanent scowl etched into his features, from doing such a menial task, yet it did not seem to truly capture his attitude toward it. Not when his fingers gently brushed over her back, his pale skin a sharp contrast to Sneh. Her warmth something, he could not truly ignore, how it felt under his palm. The way his fingers shifted and raised as they brushed over her should blades, how they softened with the loss of tension.

He had never inspected the human figure in such a calmed and methodical way. Not without his Legion's typical malicious intent. To have one so well representative of just that average mortal, he could not help but find the intrigue as he continued to scrub the sponge over her. Wiping away dirt, blood, and sweat alike.

Sneh's soft eyes glanced to him a faint recognition in them at his face as he scrubbed, and she seemed to get lost in the small comfort. Then the human began to softly hum an old song, her eyes closed.

It caught the beast by surprise, the sudden, if not so very soft, awakening. Only to hum an old song, only known by her, as she allowed him to continue his soft efforts. Their eyes meeting in an odd state of recognition, where he found himself hoping she wasn't caught in a whirlwind of fear. Moving on, Ladomir wrung out the sponge over the tiled floor, letting the grime be swallowed up by the unforgiving drains, before placing it back over her shoulders. Scrubbing along the contours of her figure, his eyes keenly averted from her neck wound, focused on the contrast of his hand and Sneh's skin, listening to her old song.

It was as though she'd dragged his face into a fantasy or a memory. So, she sat, her head in the clouds not particularly there but not completely gone. Humming a tune for her and her alone. "Mum, I'm tired. Can I sleep in your house tonight?" The words of a soft song smattered from her lips as she closed her eyes, and the water washed over her head.

Ladomir stayed his voice, allowing her song to fill the void, curious as ever about the song she sung, how here sanity waned and waxed now. How Sneh allowed his hands to continue. Gently holding her arm out, he ran the sponge along it, rinsing back and forth. So particularly delicate running along her fingers, holding her small hand as he did his due diligence.

She gripped it in turn seemingly not wanting to let go of his hand as though it gave her a sense of comfort. Her song looping as she hummed to herself and sighed as she soaked in the subtle warmth of his skin on her own.

The great beast stilled as she gripped his hand, holding him there with nothing but the notion she could hold him, but none of the ability. Yet Sneh did hold him there, and he could find no reasonable explanation as to. Or as to why the hell he was even still doing this. With a scoff, he went to pull his hand away, yanking the warmth from his palm. So, as he stood, Ladomir full intended himself to step away from it all. To damn it and go back to as he was. He was not fit, for caring for a slave, or putting in this much unnecessary effort for it. Instead, he found his armour carefully discarded, and his undersuit slipping from his bare form. The cool air upon his corpse pale skin making him hiss through gritted teeth. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt true, unburdened freedom upon his frame like this. It was... relaxing. Faint black hair trailed his broad frame.

A body wrapped taught in bulging muscle and steel wire strong sinew, with skin just fitted enough to cover it all. Marred by scars, a large, deep gash just under his flank. The rough and scarred skin of his metal ports sunk into his flesh. The black hair running along his body, like the dense canopy of a forest in winter, with blue veins of ice running deep and long underneath the slow, just waiting for someone to take one wrong step, and slip away.

He was proportionate in his own ways, an Astartes, greater than any mortal man, in every way that mattered. With a sigh, he gently stepped into the tub, displacing the water as the warm liquid lapped at his skin. Just enough space for him to fit in with the mortal, taking her hand once more as their warmth was amplified together, joined in the soft steam of the water.

She hid in him, her back to his chest and her hand in his. Sneh unfurled slightly, her head over his heart as she gripped through his fingers with her own.

Ladomir was unsure how to deal with such a touch. This was not something he cared for, nor sought, nor needed in any way. So, he found it all the stranger that he allowed it to continue, that in the grand scheme of things he rather did not mind it enough to stop it. It was an odd calm that made him forget all of everything else. Even if it was just him, and the slave he had no joy in having to take complete care of, it was nice to be the only things that existed now.

So, letting her have this hold and studying the way her warmth grasped him so gently, he began to rub the sponge over her collarbone, hesitantly leaning his face down. Taking in the scent of her hair, realizing only now this was the first time he'd truly taken in a scent from a mortal this close, that was not the distinct pang of fear sweat, and nausea, overwhelming debilitation at his very presence. It was simply now Sneh's natural smell, and it brought into his sense a sensation not totally removed from how her ichor did.

Then she looked up with glassy cold eyes, ones that pierced and peeled. Ones that revealed the hidden colours in the darkness of her eyes. Ones that demanded his own look upon her as his hand brushed lower, closer to the water line.

Within an instant he met challenge, his dark eyes locked with her glossy gaze. Some form of will that demanded he did, perhaps that was even she who demanded it silently, regardless he gazed into them without flinching. Unbothered as his hand brushed against the water line, dipping lower with his scrubs, slow and methodical. No preconceived notion about her and the female form. It was all the same to him. There was no petty nervousness, or facade of decorum that barred him. It was a simple bath, and he had no idea why it could be conceived as anything else than. His only yearning was her blood, and that did not change, even as the sponge dipped between the valley of her breasts.

Then her small head leant into his chest and near hid in the fiend's arm, not from embarrassment but it seemed from tiredness. Her gaze once more shut and the soft hum left as she about slept there in his arm, her wound on his bicep.

Ladomir had not even realized when it had happened, or that it was, but in this way, he was practically holding the human as she near slept in his warm embrace. Acutely aware of how here wound lay against his massive, muscled biceps, swearing that it held a deeper kind of warmth than the rest of her. Once more recalling images and visceral memories of hit felt underneath his tongue. Scowling at himself, he refocused on his efforts, finding an almost meditative aspect in the cleaning.

Knowing he had to be both methodical, and thorough, efficient but not meandering. And so, as the sponge dipped between the valley, it gently turned to follow the curve of her breast, rounding to the side of her ribcage, before shifting upward. Gentle in his movements as he brushed up and along the breast, understanding that it was a sensitive area. Anything beyond that, he hadn't a faint idea, but Sneh's soft hum served well as a way for him to keep his well pace.

A small whimper left the sleeping serf's throat at his coarse dedicated touch. It was one of a kind and she'd never forget it or at least the beast in her mind hoped she wouldn't. But dreams were dreams sensation, a handsome face or not.

His face twitched as she whimpered, stilling to gaze upon the baker and assure she wasn't suffering in some way unknowable to him. Unable to find anything, Ladomir carried on with a caution. Moving on toward the other breast, repeating the same process, though trying a tad more slowly, in the hopes not to disturb. Though he couldn't understand for the life of him still why he cared enough to try and make the distinction.

Once more pulling the sponge along the natural curve and slope, pressing past the nipple in those careful movements, he returned to Sneh's sternum. Brushing down further to her stomach, brushing with gentle, circular movements over the small expanse. At least small compared to the sheer expanse of his own.

She whimpered again from the soft touch and sighed as he moved lower, her scent ebbed and shifted with his movements, attaining a sweetness that it hadn't before. Sneh had a small trail of thin hair leading down her lower stomach and inner thighs.

Again, he leaned into her black as midnight hair, inhaling deep as he took in the scent, assessing the new quality it took on. Another facet he wasn't expecting, but one that brought a soft hum rumbling through his chest. She truly was like the aroma of a fine wine, something to become lost in, and take slow to admire all its hints of flavour, the way the aroma complimented it. Perhaps this was why he felt so inclined to accommodate. Ladomir wanted to learn and understand every facet of Sneh in much the same way. As it lingered on his senses, a little sweet tingle, he continued his circular brushes. Fingers brushing against that thin trail of hair on every pass, passing lower and lower now. Until he was at the lowest point of her stomach, scrubbing with proper slow intent, nearly brushing over onto the tops of her thighs.

He dreamed of a handsome stranger, a kind one. One that could run off with her and together they could have many grand adventures. Perhaps it was foolish but, to young and dream was inherently foolish. A head of raven hair, a kind smile and a hand she softly tangled her fingers into as they walked. The world was beautiful and the gently swish of wind kissed her cheeks.

It was a painfully idyllic dream, and one only she held here. Yet the pale figure bathing her was doing nothing to disturb that dream, nor pulling away from his part in it. Lost in his own way, an avenue to forget about tasks demanded of him, the stress of the warbands continued existence. Here, he had his face buried in midnight locks, and he even allowed their hands to be so gently clasp. Between the warmth, the smell, and the comfort, Ladomir almost wished he could just sleep right here and now. Of course he couldn't, so instead he drew the sponge along the top of her thighs, following the new dip and curve of Sneh's natural form. Having committed most of Sneh and her natural figure to memory, without even realizing he was doing so.

Her legs were nestled between his own and even though their height difference wasn’t as sheer as that of a Primaris, she hailed in comparison the thick-skinned walls of muscle that sat around her. It was a beautiful dream, a helmeted stranger holding her as they rode on a horse off to better things, that sweet hand wrapped around her own as he guided the stead.

Legs that he became more and more familiar with, with every passing second. Drawing the sponge along the inside of Sneh's thighs as his movements shifted. Gliding down the expanse of the limb, and in pulling back stopping before he met in between them both. And simply instead returning to scrubbing down the inside of her thigh once again. Again, Ladomir felt the urge of his thirst tingle in the back of his throat. A faint phantom smell of her blood, its taste on her tongue. The call urging him to imbibe on such s thing, and relish in at as he wanted too so deeply. But Ladomir couldn't, couldn't allow himself to lose sense or give in to base temptation, no matter how nice it was, or would've been now on his tongue. So instead, Ladomir once again huffed in Sneh's scent, taking in a deep breath as he held her as so.

More little whimpers and sighs left His little nicotine’s lips as he worked her legs and finished out the cleanse. It was a bizarre but gentle little routine that she even if she couldn’t voice it appreciated it deeply.

Still unsure if Sneh was with him, Ladomir ventured. "Little bird?" The softness of his own voice surprised him. Unwillingly to shatter the thin peace and quiet that laid over the room. Having finished out her legs and resting his large palm over her stomach once more. Feeling it's heat without the sponge in the way, perhaps finding even a small kind of enjoyment in how it felt underneath his hand to the touch.

His little bird laid fast asleep in his arms, a peace she didn't even have when she last slumbered across his room. It was a downright bizarre occurrence considering her circumstances but there it was a flower in the desert. Sneh all too comfortable laying in the arms of a fiend that very well fought the instinct to feast upon her as though she were a gourmet meal.

The urge still gnawed at his core, a ravenous beast at the back of his mind that whispered his thirst. Told him he needed to feast and lavish upon her wound. Ladomir felt he only stayed its hand, by burying himself away in her scent. The warmth and Sneh's natural scent combined sating a part of his being that had him oddly peaceful, as far as peace went for a creature like him. His void eyes staring into her raven hair, gently brushing it from her face and behind her ear, before resting on her stomach once more. Sneh still reminded him so greatly of home, even if home wasn't pleasant. The way her hair softly shone despite its deep colour. Those sharp eyes and face, she truly was his little bird. A reminder of what he wished he still held, if nothing else, from Nostromo. "Rest well, little bird, while you can."

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[carminecherry]

RAIN STAINED CRIMSON | mikey sano

this is part five of the series kill the lights

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!biker!mikey sano x fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after moving by yourself to tokyo, you black out at a party and wake up with a new friend. as she sweeps you up in her fast-paced city life, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper for her mysterious brother. but something dark is brewing in the city. as his past threatens to resurface, mikey must fight not only physical enemies but the mental battle of his feelings for you. he can't resist you , but could he ever forgive himself if something happened to you? he'll love you selfishly and protect you savagely.

⇝ PART FIVE LENGTH: 3.6k words

⇝ PART FIVE WARNINGS: violence, injury, blood, distress (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. you meet up with emma for another coffee date and get the debrief. however, on the way back to your apartment, the comfortable life that you've known will be stained in darkness. there is a world of suffering that has never touched your life until now... something is set into motion and nothing will be the same.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: this one was pretty heavy to write. happy spooky month but please take care of yourself! more chapters coming soon! keep an eye on the tags and stay safe! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

You woke to rain. The droplets tapping on your window, drawing you out of sleep. The sound is barely louder than the hum of your AC. It was peaceful. The darkness the thick clouds provided left you dozing in and out for a few more minutes. The sky was churning shades of black and gray, thick like torn wool. The gentle patter of the droplets didn’t match the scene.

You finally rise, starting your routine. Your phone is your companion this morning, as your TV screen sits, black. There was still a gnawing feeling after the news stories yesterday. Two violent attacks in one day are highly irregular, at least here in the city. You knew your mental health would suffer more if you shuttered yourself inside for a second day. Seeing Emma would be good. Surely, her sunshiny personality would wash away some of the anxiety prodding you for attention.  

You leave, locking the door behind you. The rainy weather provided some relief to the heat of the previous week. It came in gentle waves, washing over you and your umbrella. The commute to the café was uneventful. You had a dutifulness that kept you from burying your nose in your phone like you would normally do. You watched the world pass by out of the train window, thin streams of water chasing each other. With each droplet the stream acquired, it grew fatter and heavier, rushing across the pane. You entertained yourself with this as you approached your stop, placing bets on which stream would win.

Emma was waiting for you near the ticket gate. She lit up when she saw you and you already started to feel better, your shoulders relaxing. You tap your train card to exit and the moment you’re through the gate her arms are around you. You’re starting to acclimate to Emma’s physical affection. “It’s so good to see you!” she says, swaying with you. “You too! I’m glad to see you’re in one piece” Releasing you, she whines, “I thought I was gonna die yesterday!”

You begin the short walk to the café. “I thought you were gonna die two nights ago. How come it hit you so hard anyways. I thought you were some crazy party girl, shouldn’t you know your limits by now” You tease. At that, she taps her umbrella into yours, the droplets shaking off. “You see, it’s because I’m a ‘party girl’ that I willingly surpass those limits, my friend. Often.” With that, the two of you arrive at the café.

It's quaint, tucked under the train tracks. The old brick is covered in thick ivy that hangs heavy with rain water. You push open the door, greeted with cool air and the smell of freshly ground coffee. The grinder hummed pleasantly, the sound of soft music mingling with the ambient noise. Your eye is caught by the source of the music; a vintage record player. There is natural wood throughout and dark, warm accents.

It was cozy and small with only a few other people seated at the counter. One typing away at their laptop, another lost in the pages of a fat novel. You tried to peek at the cover to no avail as you approached the counter and ordered. There are two worn leather sofas near the front window, the ivy from outside giving some natural privacy. The two of you sit there, sinking into the seats. You chat, waiting for your drinks. You feel at peace

***

“I can’t believe I did that!” She said, burying her face in her hands. “It’s all good, I think Mikey and Draken took care of it.” You say, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “On my LIFE, I’m swearing off liquor!” You look at her incredulously. She flicks some of the condensation water from her glass at you. “At least until next weekend.” She compromises. “Speaking of, there’s an event at a club I promote at. I get plus three if you want on the list.” 

This grabs your attention, “Really? That sounds like a lot of fun! I’d totally be down. What’s the vibe?” “It’s a hip-hop place, they want more cute girls in there to drum up drink sales. Basically, we just go, shake ass, and get free drinks from guys that pay the event markup. The club makes a fat stack and we party for free.” She says devilishly.

You could get on board with that. It’d been ages since you’d gone clubbing. You used to be a bit of a club rat in your university years. You imagine that clubbing in the city would be more fun than at the grungy college clubs you used to frequent. A question popped into your head, “You said plus three, are you going to invite anyone else?” “Yeah, Senju already said yes. I wish I could’ve introduced you at the party. I know you guys are gonna get along great. I also invited Yuzuha. She’s gonna try to make it work with her schedule.” Emma says thoughtfully pulling out her phone. You nod, the prospect of making more female friends is exciting.

Emma turns her screen to you, displaying a pretty girl with short, fluffy, white-bleached hair. She’s pixie-like with small defined features. “This is Senju” Emma says, swiping through a few pictures on her social media page. “And this is Yuzuha.” Emma turns her phone back to you. Yuzuha is more mature in appearance, sensual. She has long, silky, coppery hair that falls over her shoulders. “They’re so pretty.” You say, awestruck, unable to look away from the pictures as she scrolled through Yuzuha’s feed. “Wait till you see them in person.” She winks.

“I’ll make a group chat later so we can coordinate and you can add them.” She says, placing her phone on the table. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “So, you and Mikey?” She says, a glint in her eye. Catching you mid-sip and off guard. You choke on your drink, some of it going down the wrong way. As you cough you manage, “What do you mean?” 

She laughs, a twinkling sound that cuts through the buttery air of the moody café. “You’re too easy to read. How charming~” The compliment adds to the redness in your face as you get your coughing fit under control. “No, I’m not.” You counter, doing your best to pull a stoic expression. She laughs in your face again. “You’re blushing ! Too cute, trying to be serious.” She gushes, your face growing hotter. 

“I mean, he gave me a ride home if that’s what you mean.” Turning to your drink for a distraction. “Boo~ you’re so boring. I’m talking about at the party. Gimme the goss.”  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You half mean it. You didn’t want to tell Emma about your dark fantasies about her brother . “Don’t be like that~'' She teased, the look in her eye told you she had something in mind. “Why? Did you hear something?” “You. Mikey. Sofa.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I mean we talked.” She hummed incredulously. “No, really. We just talked about bikes and stuff.” “Boooooring.” She huffs, thudding into the leather of the sofa as she reclines. “I thought it was gonna be something juicy. I heard you had him wrapped around your finger.” Your mind raced to replay the evening. In what way shape or form had you had that man “wrapped around your finger”. 

“You should check your source. I think they might’ve mixed us up with the couple on the sofa before us.” You pictured the pair again, their hot and heavy conversation. “He was practically inside of her before Mikey showed up.” Now this piqued Emma’s interest as she sat up from the sofa, leaning across the table to you, a conspiratorial look in her eye.

What had his name been? “Yeah, it was some guy Mikey knew, his name was like Hakk- something.” “Hakkai?!” Emma supplied excitedly. You shot her a finger gun, “That’s it! Blue hair, mouth scar.” You dragged your finger across your lips tracing the phantom scar the blue-haired man sported. “And she was GORGEOUS. Long brown hair, big,” You gesture to your chest, mimicking the woman’s endowment. “She was like on top of him. A houseplant might not have been the only thing Yuuki would be replacing if you catch my drift” The thought of cleaning velvet makes you cringe. “Once she saw Mikey she switched it up pretty quick though.” Remembering the way she had fawned under his gaze.

Emma made a face and snatched up her phone, “No. Way. Is this her?” Emma showed you a picture of the woman from the sofa, but in this picture she was in the arms of a different tattooed man. Another solid 10. “Yeah, that’s her!” You confirm. Emma makes a noise, fingers flying across her screen as she types a message to someone. 

“That’s Sera. Not to not be a girl's girl, but she’s a total wannabe and a homie-hopper. Hakkai should know better than that. I miss when he couldn’t even look at women.” You nod, soaking in the tea. Picturing a little Hakkai freezing up when a girl tried to talk to him was an endearing image. One in stark contrast to what you’d seen on Friday. “She’s been trying to get with Mikey for ages and she won’t take no for an answer. I guess fucking all of his friends is her plan B.”

You hum. You’d met your fair share of fuck boys and girls in university. After hooking up with a couple of them you decided that you preferred to stay out of the drama. “I guess that explains some things. They cleared out after he saw Mikey.” You sip thoughtfully, nearing the end of your drink. Remembering how Mikey hadn’t acknowledged the pretty brunette’s presence. It was starting to make more sense now. “That tracks” Emma replied, her phone buzzing but she makes no move to check it.

She finishes her drink, the ice settling as she returns the glass to its coaster. She runs her fingers up and down the side, tracing a pattern in the condensation. “Well, whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened with you and Mikey, let me know. He’s been acting weird all weekend” She said in a teasing tone. “Nothing. Happened.” You impress upon her. Tucking that crumb of information she tacked on at the end in your pocket. 

“Whatever you say~” She shrugs, finally checking her phone. She smiles rising from the sofa. “Mikey usually doesn’t let anyone on the back of his precious bike. So do with it what you will.” Two crumbs in your pocket. Your blush returns. You try to turn from Emma but it’s too late. She snickers.

“Let’s do this again, next Sunday. We can have ‘Sundates’.” She proposes. “I’d like that.” You smile moving to exit. “I’ve got some errands to run out here so I’ll split after we get to the station.” You nod. The two of you call back a ‘thank you’ to the barista as the bell above the door jingles.

You say your goodbyes at the station and board the train. The rain falls harder now, in heavy sheets that pelt the windows of your train car. The train lurches to a stop one station before your home station. The doors open to the platform and an announcement plays, “Due to extreme weather conditions, the service on this train line will be temporarily suspended. We apologize for any inconvenience.” The message plays on a loop and you curse how close you were to getting home. 

You weigh your options. Truthfully, it wasn’t a far walk. Maybe 15 minutes. The platform grew more crowded as people retreated from the rain. The growing crowd made you nervous and you decided a 15 minute walk is preferable to elbowing your way onto a packed muggy train when it does start running again. You ready your umbrella and venture out into the storm. Thunder clapped loud enough to shake the trees, a sprinkle of extra water added to the downpour you were battling. It was amazing how loud just the rain was.

Your visibility was poor and you were having second thoughts about this adventure. You were about halfway at this point, too late to turn back. Over the sound of the rain you heard something. A voice. You stop dead in your tracks, frantically looking for the source. Again, a voice cried out. The pain in the voice sliced through the deafening rain. Your body was moving before you could think. If you had, you probably would’ve frozen. You round a corner, carelessly splashing through the puddles in the sidewalk. You’re met with an alley, tucked between two large buildings, the space somewhat sheltered from the rain.

It was then you saw a figure crumpled on the ground and a larger one standing over them. The larger figure, a man, loomed over them. His dark hoodie drenched in rain. Your eyes scanned down his back and landed on the knife in their gloved hand. The blade reflected back a sickening red. Your body starts to shake. You want to run, to disappear. The body on the ground curled into the fetal position and cried out again. 

“Help! Someone. Please.” Their voice cracking. The gurgle in their words made your stomach twist. The hooded figure stomped them once, then again. The wounded cried out with each impact. “ Oi oi- .” The attacker punctuated each blow. “It’s no fun if you don’t fight back~” His tone was saccharin and sing-songy. It makes your skin crawl. “I swear I didn’t-” The attacker kicked them hard in the stomach. The sound of retching pushing you over your fear threshold. “ If you’re gonna FUCK around you better be ready to find OUT! ” The hooded man’s deep voice echoes off the walls.

Now was the time to act. You could slip away unnoticed, pretend none of this ever happened, or better yet, call the police and have them sort it out. But in your heart you knew that if something didn’t happen now, that person was going to die. Thunder crashed again and you took a deep breath, forcing your body to move. Your eyes land on a pile of trash, tied up for pick up. Next to the bags you see a rusted pipe. You wrap your fingers around it, wet and grimy. You test its weight in your hand, dropping your umbrella, breaking into a sprint. The hooded figure stooped, coming to kneel over the smaller who tried to crawl away. He raised the knife.

CRACK! It was a sick, wet sound as you brought the pipe down on the man’s head. His body went limp on top of the figure below. You kick the knife hard and far into a pile of trash bags before grabbing the wet material of his hoodie and heaving him off and away from the other. You step, splashing a puddle that stains the hem of your pants red. You rush over, kneeling next to the injured figure, their body shaking harder than yours. You let the pipe drop. The figure crawls to you, hugging your legs with little strength. You see now he’s just a boy. No older than 18. His lip trembles, tears pouring from his eyes. He looks so scared.

You move to cradle him, your body blocking the rain. “T-thank you.” He cries weakly. You nod, the lump in your throat prevents you from responding. You look him up and down, your vision blurring through the tears. You count 2 stab wounds to his chest and stomach. The red is spreading through the material of his T-shirt faster than you care for. You manage, “I’m going to call for an ambulance. Can you press on the wound?” You wiggle to free your phone from your pocket, fighting the water on your screen to dial the emergency number. “Which one?” He tries to chuckle before wincing. He still has a sense of humor, that’s a good sign. You hit the speakerphone button as the line starts ringing.

It quickly connects and you steady your voice, telling the operator, “Hello! Please, I need help. There’s been a stabbing, um..” You look around, realizing you don’t actually know where you are, “Are you at the location now?” the operator asks, she has a soothing voice. “Yes!” You say ardently. “Alright, I have your location on my screen now, we have emergency service vehicles on their way to you, but it’s going to be a few minutes. Are you with the victim now?” “Yes, I’m here, he’s here. He, uh, he has at least two stab wounds to the torso.” You tell her frantically. The words feel strange and clinical.

“Okay miss, we’re going to apply pressure to the wound. I want you to look for something you can use, like a towel or blanket.” You look around the dirty alley. “Nothing, there’s nothing.” You say, a sob escaping. “That’s alright, so what we’re going to do is, I want you to use your hands to apply pressure.” “I-I am. I’m doing that.” “Good, you’re doing great. EMS is almost at your location.”

The stab wound in his chest seems to open further as the red seeps between your fingers. You quickly adjust your hands to apply more pressure to the wound, wiping your tears on your sleeve. “Please tell them to hurry.” You say pathetically, more tears streaking down your face. He starts to fade, his eyes fluttering “No. Stay with me.” You say firmly. 

He’s fighting. He locks eyes with you, “I don’t want to die.” He whispers, voice cracking. “Please, please, please.” You mutter, each a prayer that EMS will arrive. “I’m scared.” He says with a strangled voice. “I’m here with you. I’m here.” You cry. “ Mom .” He begs. You hear from your phone, “We’re going to do this together. EMS is a minute away. Hang in there” You hear a groan as the hooded figure reanimates. The boy sobs out, his limp body unable to move.  “Please, please, please.” You pray. The hooded figure groans again, bringing a hand to his head.

“Miss, I need you to talk to me, what’s going on?” You hear the operator ask. “Police! We need the police. The man, he’s waking up.” You squeak, your veins feeling electric. Then you hear them. Sirens in the distance. “Police are on their way, miss. They’re almost there. You’re doing so well.” The operator encourages. 

The hooded figure pushes himself up feeling around. He sees the two of you, his masked face streaked with blood. His or the boys you couldn’t be sure, “ You bitch. ” He says venomously, his golden eyes searing into you. The sirens are so close. “Please.” You beg the universe. He looks around once more, seeming to hesitate before he takes off; staggering out of the alley. Your eyes follow after him, sure you'll see him reappear. 

The body in your arms slackens. “No!” You cry, jostling the boy. “No, please.” You move again to adjust the pressure. You see them from the other end of the alley, the flashing lights of the ambulance.

What happens after is all a blur. You lean back on the wall of the alley, watching them work. You can’t look at your hands but you feel the warm liquid growing cold and sticky. He has a pulse, you gather from the paramedics. He lost so much blood, too much blood. They load him into the back of the ambulance and they are gone. 

You don’t remember when, but the police must have arrived. You feel a blanket being wrapped around your shoulders as you're led to a police car. “Yes. No.” Those are the only words that remain in your vocabulary. “Miss, are you injured?” “No.” "We're going to have the paramedics check you, okay?" "Yes." “We're going to take you to the station the station to help us file the report, are you able to do that?” “Yes.” “Is there anyone we can call for you?” “No.”

You don’t know how long you were at the station. How many questions you answered. You hear word that the boy was in serious condition at the hospital but doctors were hopeful. They said you saved him but it hardly felt like it. There was a familiar hole in your chest. How long has it been since this old friend visited you? You let the world move around you, there was a child-like comfort in releasing control to someone else. That a parent knows best and will act in your favor.

A police woman, perhaps a decade your senior, takes you to another room. She has kind eyes and her touch is soft. She helps you change out of your clothes. She told you they would be evidence. She uses warm, wet rags to clean you. You sit there and let her gently wipe between your fingers. She is attentive and steady. She moves slowly, like you're something fragile. Right now, you are. The minutes tick away before she is dressing you in a light, baggy shirt and sweatpants that are a bit too big. You let yourself be led to a police car. The edges of the sky taking on that luminous blue that previews sunrise.

You ride in silence. It’s not long before you are home. The engine is turned off and the officer exits the car, opening the door for you. He offers you an arm and you take it. “If you need anything. Please call or message me. Any time.” He hands you a crisp, white business card. You pocket it, quietly thanking him. He walks you to your door and makes sure you get in safely. You stand in your entryway, back against your door until you hear the car pull away. You slide down the wall and sit there. The smell of the cheap, plastic shoes from the police station is unpleasant. Still, you sit.

[dontcallpanic]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by a few people at this point - I'm so sorry I lost track of it all... I know @patolemus and @gege-wondering-around tagged me and I think @seaweed-water did too, once upon a time. Thank you so, so much - I am sorry literal seasons have changed while you've been waiting!

So... here y'are - Even this tiny snippet has taken so feckin long to write it's unreal!! Why is Derek's voice so hard to nail down!? I've written about 5 different drafts at this point! Dammit Sourwolf!

Anyway, This is the start to Manifesting Murder, wildly edited and then unedited, then edited again. All mistakes belong to me and my dyslexia - Mwynhau!

Stiles' fingers shake as he methodically wipes the blood off them, one by one. There's a detached calmness that's settled over him – he's in shock – and he knows what he needs to do next but he can't get his damn fingers to stop shaking. He almost drops his phone when he digs it out of his pocket. He's never been more grateful for speed dial, he thinks before holding the phone to his ear. It sounds far too loud in the oppressive silence. One. Two. Three. “Stiles?” He lets out a breath. Everything's going to be okay. "Yeah sorry to call you on your day off but I could use your help with something. Do you think you can get here anytime soon?" There's a long silence on the end of the line. "I'll be there in ten."

_______

Derek stares down at the motionless body at the foot of the stairs, a long list of expletives running through his head. One glance is all he needs to ascertain that the man is dead. Very dead. The head is cracked at an alarming angle and there’s a steadily growing pool of blood creeping across the uneven floorboards. It's an awful lot of blood for a broken neck but there are some things in the world that can walk away that. He should know, he's one of them. But this man… this man smells distinctly fucking human. Derek lifts his eyes back to Stiles who has been fidgeting restlessly the whole time, and rises one silent eyebrow. Stiles nods jerkily, grimacing as he twists a bloody cloth through his long, clever fingers. “Yeahhh… So. I – I er… need your help,” he says somewhat redundantly, gesturing towards the body. Derek's other eyebrow joins his first. Stiles waves him off, almost flinging the damn cloth with the movement. He fumbles at the last moment, hands flying out to catch hold of it before squeezes it tight between his fists. “Heh. Yeah. I know – understatement!” he laughs flatly before glancing up, eyes wild and slightly glassy. “Can you, er… help me get rid of him?” Stiles makes a shooing gesture, inadvertently wafting the scent of fear and death directly at Derek. He raises his eyebrows further and resists the urge to sneeze. He's actually somewhat relieved. He shouldn't be, he knows that. He should be calling it in. Giving forensics the heads up and letting the detectives do the rest. He should be taking pictures for evidence. He should be fucking arresting Stiles on suspicion of murder. Fuck his fucking life. Instead of doing any of this, he looks away first, using the moment to reflect on how perpetually screwed he is. He scans the body with a trained detachedness, eyebrows drawing into a frown as he takes in the height of the sweeping wooden staircase, the blood splattered on the nosing, the way it’s smeared across the treads. “He's definitely dead then,” Derek says, automatic and unguarded sarcasm falling flat even to his own ears as he leans back on old habits during these trying times. Stiles, unfortunately, thinks he is serious. “Are your eyes broken?” he yelps incredulously, flailing towards the body and sending another cocktail of scents directly up Derek’s nose. “Do you see the angle of his head?” Stiles makes an abortive motion before he shakes his head and strides up to Derek's side and gestures emphatically at the corpse. “Yes he's fucking dead! - Do you want to check for a pulse? Or do you think I need to call for a second opinion from Beacon Hills finest?” “Do you want my help or not?” Derek growls back, turning to meet Stiles' challenge as he slips into Derek's personal space. Derek bares his teeth, standing his ground and refusing to give way as he slowly folds his arms across his chest. Relief sparks in Stiles' amber eyes and Derek watches Stiles fight back a grin, tongue darting out to tease his bottom lip and he can't look away. “So you'll do it? You'll help me?” Of course Derek's going to fucking help him – is if that was ever in question. Derek is a sucker for anything that Stiles would ask of him and he fucking knows it. His features remain blank and impassive as he holds Stiles' gaze for a beat longer than is necessary, as if considering his options before he turns away and sighs loudly though his nose. “You got a plastic sheet or something?” he asks, teeth itching as the scent of blood and Stiles twists around him. He definitely shouldn’t like it as much as he does. Stiles lets out an intense sigh of relief that sounds a lot like a groan and Derek has to close his eyes for a beat. Fuck his fucking life.

_______________________

Okay... no pressure WHATSOEVER tags to the usual suspects @hellameyers @jadezdominion @gege-wondering-around @patolemus @seaweed-water

And the new suspects @teencopandthesourwolf @violetfairydust

And @oldefashioned and @cantchangemypast in case you wanted to read.

[ally1uvsu]

The Last Train to Survival. / Squid game x Dystopian Au

⨉⠀⠀─⠀⠀Days gone by .⠀›⠀first meetings⠀‎ꪆৎ

·⠀warnings info⠀· previous — pt.1

summary; From unexpected meetings after 91 days of isolation, to getting stuck in an apartment complex for a night, Nam-gyu finally has contact with human life. But maybe things don’t work out as much as he expected they would when getting out.

info; Killing, blood, cursing, smoking, mentions of being in drugs, death threats, guns, mentions of gender dysphoria.

notes; IM SORRY THIS TOOK SOOOO LONG GUYS.. I got too caught up and I couldn’t stay up at night too late either so yeah.. I had to find time in my schedule to write.. but anyways enjoy y’all >_<

⨉⠀⠀─⠀⠀Story below this .⠀›⠀enjoy !⠀‎ꪆৎ

Nam-gyu wasn't totally sure how many days had gone by, normally, he'd keep track of how every day went by in a notebook, but maybe he could have miscounted. The silence would always be present, counting out the groans and shuffling of the undead outside.

His head was tilted back as he closed his eyes, maybe the lack of any human interaction was slowly getting to him, maybe he was finally going insane. The pen in his hands that long stopped being constantly shaky was tapping the edge of the notebook he managed to find in here.

The days seemed to be all jumbled up into a mess, was it Wednesday? Thursday? What day of the week was it? All Nam-gyu ever wrote down is that it had been 91 days. The calendar hanging on the wall flickered ever so slightly, Nam-gyu was too lazy to count the days. It seemed that everything here was so boring and lonely that he didn't quite mind anymore, his brain began to get lazy, all he ever did was think.

Maybe this wasn't so bad, no debts to worry about, he had food, water, he had a way to keep himself alive. His eyes pried open again as his gaze was met with whatever he was writing;

Day 91.

"Maybe I am indeed slowly going insane, I don't really doubt I am. It's been 91 days since it happened, I've tried every single radio station, constantly keep flickering the channels on the TV- well, that was until the battery of the remote control died. Still, no one ever came by. I guess it's safe to say I'm the only one alive here, it's been a long time since I've seen someone's face rather than the mangled up faces outside. If someone out there is alive, they're probably miles away from me.

The noises outside don't bother me anymore, what bothers me is not being able to barely do anything. I haven't checked the conditions outside today, at least not yet. I've been wondering if I should leave, this place is safe and has food and  water,  but it's stupid to believe that it will last forever. Going out there is equivalent to having a death wish, but so is staying in here forever, I'll eventually die of starvation or dehydration. . ."

He wasn't quite sure what to write anymore, so instead, he set the notebook down along with the pencil and stood up. Nam-gyu figured out around 27 days ago that these things were blind, lately he has been pondering on what to call them. Calling them zombies sounds silly, now that it actually happened. Probably should call them rotters since they are in process of decomposition.

He tucked his hair, already greasy to the point Nam-gyu was deadly uncomfortable, behind his ears. He stared out the window, the situation was surprisingly way better than before- less of those things roamed the streets, maybe they scattered off somewhere. Then, his gaze followed to the shelves, he had enough food to last himself another week or so.

He then looked at the refrigerator that had long stopped working, and yet he still kept it so he would have somewhere to put shit to drink. He had water, enough to last him a week, just like the food. And iced tea. Maybe he really would have to leave eventually.

Well, he'd just have to keep himself entertained until then. He stared off into some point outside, he could write poetry, learn how to draw, write a story.. and it all was ruined the second he heard a large banging on the back door.

Nam-gyu cursed under his breath, it was probably a rotter or some shit. But still, you could never be too careful. He reached for the piece of broomstick he found somewhere in the bathroom, walking towards the back door and holding it up defensively.

All he could hear was banging, and maybe mingled ragged breathing. No groaning, no shuffling. And then he could hear the squelch of blood, finally, when he heard feet meet the door, he could safely concluded whatever was out there was human.

Nam-gyu decided it was best to open the door, loud noises could attract more rotters to be around the store, and Nam-gyu didn't feel like having them break in.

"Shit, why don't the door fucking open?!" He heard from someone, likely a woman. Nam-gyu opened it and stepped back, causing her to nearly fall on her face, but instead she stumbled to the front and another man came right behind, closing the door. Nam-gyu frowned at the sound of the dead outside, relentlessly banging on the door to try to get in.

"What the fuck are you two doing here." Nam-gyu said as he lifted the broomstick, and the woman raised her hands in the air while the other behind her just chuckled. "You oughta relax, man. Chilll," and Nam-gyu finally managed to get a good look at him.

Purple hair, a cross necklace, Nam-gyu could somewhat recognize him. He knew him from the club he worked at, he was constantly there. And plus, the guy was a rapper. But he didn't really seem to actually remember Nam-gyu at all, and Nam-gyu was thankful for that.

"Who the hell are you?" Was what Nam-gyu managed out as he straightened up, and yet his grip on the stick never truly faltered, he knew people like him might have gone a little insane or flat out crazy. Better safe than sorry. 

"What's up my brother, welcome to the Thanos world." The man who referred to himself as Thanos said as he took a step forward, right. Thanos the rapper, he was a huge hit among a few people, and Nam-gyu would often bring him drugs. "And the doll behind me is called Mi-na." 

Nam-gyu darted his eyes between them, deciding it was safe for now. "Nam-gyu." He finally said, and hell, they didn't really have much time for acquaintances because of how the door seemed it wasn't going to hold on anymore.

"Look, we don't know you, you don't know us. But we really have to get the hell out of here 'less you wanna become one of them." Thanos said almost nonchalantly, Nam-gyu wondered how could anyone be calm in situations like this. And the other one, Mi-na apparently, looked more worried about the door.

"Whatever, give me your bag." Nam-gyu said, voice slightly wavering as he tried to ease the pit in his stomach. Mi-na looked at him, raising her brow "Why would I trust you? I mean, you could grab it and leave us." Nam-gyu swore that slight tone of sassiness tweaked something in him, but they didn't have time to argue. "Bitch, you want to die of starvation and thirst out there or something?" He snapped.

"Now, calmm down the both of you. You can give him the bag, flower. He ain't going nowhere without us." And then finally, the bag got tossed to him. Nam-gyu wasted absolutely no time in stuffing food and water and whatever else he could fit inside the bag.

He searched around for an exit, the back door was crowded with undead and the front door already had some of them piling up. They had to go either through the vents or.. through the window that led to the opposite side of the shop where the dead piled up, leading to the dumpster.

"Okay, we'll leave through the window or whatever. I'll go first and the two of you come along." Nam-gyu said as he got on top of a stool and pried the window open, it wasn't that big but well, enough to pass through. His hands were surprisingly steady despite how his heart seemed to miss a beat every damn time those things banged a little too hard on the door, it was going to hold but maybe not for too long. 

And then he heard a gun being reloaded behind him, these two bitches had a fucking gun. "Leave us behind and we'll shoot you right through this window." Mi-na threatened, which was mostly fair. Nam-gyu had the bag with the supplies and was going first, but still, it still stung. "You really should relax, Mi-na. This guy's nice, he won't leave us behind. Ain't worth wasting a bullet on."

"Get going, I don't want to have to shoot you. Really, you seem like you can be.. useful, in some ways." Nam-gyu didn't waste any more time, he was out the window. Throwing the bag first before sliding out. He could run now, and risk getting followed or worse, getting caught by these rotters.

So instead, he stayed put. Watching as Thanos slid out of the window with a bit of struggle, and then proceeding to try and help Mi-na. First, he took the gun and slid it into his pocket, and then took her hand. Nam-gyu could hear the glass of the door shatter, making him wince. Mi-na was halfway through the window when she began screaming at something grabbing her feet. Nam-gyu wasn't sure how she made it out, but Thanos' eyes widened and he pulled her forward, making her fall on top of the dumpster and himself fall back with his butt on the ground.

Nam-gyu would have expected her to begin terrified, but honestly she was just pissed once she noticed she lost one of her shoes. "Son of a bitch took my fucking shoe." She grumbled under her breath before hopping out of the top of the dumpster.

"We don't have that much time, let's go." Nam-gyu called out before Thanos could even reply, and then he was basically hopping after Nam-gyu and Mi-na was eyeing him a tad weirdly. Maybe they weren't a couple after all, Nam-gyu thought.

Nam-gyu took a peek around the corner, rotters crowding the place. They would have to make a run for it, "Where do you think you should go?" The woman asked, and Nam-gyu shook his head. "No clue."

"Relax, y'all. Just follow my lead." Neither one of them had time to actually process his words or debate anything before Thanos was running somewhere, Nam-gyu looked at Mi-na and she looked back at him, and to their luck, the dead noticed them.

"Is he high or some shit?" Nam-gyu asked her as they ran after the purple haired man, and really, he wouldn't mind if he was. Maybe he could share some of his drugs, Nam-gyu really felt like getting high right now, forget about his problems and let his brain go dormant for a while.

"Definitely is, I have no fucking clue what it is but hell, it's unnerving." She said, a tad frightened but still keeping up her usual persona as they finally rounded another corner Thanos just turned in, "Come on, amigos!" Nam-gyu frowned, did this dude thrown in random words from other languages oftenly in the middle of danger? He chose to not ponder, and also chose to just stay quiet and getting inside the building that looked like an apartment complex. He then heard the door click shut, a sigh of relief leaving his lips, finally letting out a breath that he hadn't been aware he had been holding.

The silence was a bit too loud, Nam-gyu was slightly uncomfortable. It had been a long while since he last interacted with any other human beings, it's as if it's his first time in life ever talking to one.

"How did you two even end up over there?" Nam-gyu finally asked, he'd be perfectly fine in his convenience store if these two didn't stop by. His words were nearly bitter, annoyed to say at least. Nam-gyu didn't bother to hide the fact he was pissed

"Well, you see.." Mi-na began off, they both wouldn't have been running from a huge amount of walkers if they had been extra careful.

. . .

"Thanos, just fucking leave that shit over there, it's not like you'll ever not going to see a cigarette ever again." Mi-na said impatiently, crossing her arms anxiously as she looked out the window and crossed her arms, tapping her foot on the ground to try to let out some sort of anxiety from her body.

"Nah, you never know. It'll take me just a little while, plus we can just leave through one of the doors that aren't occupied if these little shits come for us, just breathe. I told you I'd protect you, flower." Thanos said as he tried to keep his balance steady on top of a shelf, trying to grab the pack of cigarettes so close and yet so far from his reach.

"You're going to get the both of us killed, dumbass!" She whisper yelled, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, and turns out Thanos should have listened to her. He fucking fell from the shelf and dropped it too, and some of the dead they hadn't noticed inside the place began coming for them.

"Oh, shit. Get going, go!" Mi-na said as she grabbed Thanos' arm and began running out of the door, she would say that she was better off by herself but maybe she wasn't, it was good having someone to have your back, even if that someone is a fucking dumbass.

Thanos kicked the door open, the sounds of groans outside were noticeable, not only the dead inside this place noticed them but the ones on the outside did, too.

"I swear, if you get us both killed I'll make sure you die a very torturous death." Mi-na snapped before being dragged by the wrist, running somewhere that was somewhat not crowded by the undead.

They ran for some time, lungs and legs burning and hearts thumping so hard in both their chests that it was almost as if it was thumping in their ears.

Then they turned around the corner and reached the end of an alleyway, which was to the corner to a store, and they really couldn't climb over the wall. "Go for the door, try to open it!"

"You asshole, if this door doesn't open we're both fucking dead!" Mi-na shouted as she began banging on the door, trying to get it to open desperately. And when it finally seemed they would both die, it opened.

. . .

"That's so fucking stupid?? Why would you waste and risk your life over a pack of cigarettes?" Nam-gyu said, almost incredulous. But frankly? He would have done the same. Sure, it's not drugs but it somewhat relaxes the brain in its own way. But still, he was pissed because they ruined his hiding for so long.

"Listen, you both gotta calm down, jeez. We're all alive in here! All we gotta do is wait, lay low, and just leave somewhere. Maybe part ways, up to Nam-su." Thanos said as he sat down on a nearby table, staring at the ceiling.

"It’s Nam-gyu, and like hell I'll come with two strangers I barely even know, the second everything clears out, I'm gone." Nam-gyu snorted, it was stupid to go with people he barely knew. Or maybe he just grew over paranoid by being alone for so long, but he didn't know a thing about these two. For all he cared, they could both be lying.

"It's not really like we'll need you, but we'll need my bag." Mi-na shrugged, looking out the window and then at Nam-gyu. "Hell no, my supplies are here?" 

"Well the bag is mines." Mi-na shrugged absentmindedly, not really in the mood to argue. "Well, the supplies are mines either way. I'll take them, you take your bag." Nam-gyu said as he already reached to open it.

"You guys both gotta tone down, jeez. We're all friends in here" Thanos said, and yet Nam-gyu didn't quite catch that ending in english. But he just assumed it was nothing good anyways. "Either way, Thanos here will protect y'all." He said with a cheeky smile.

Yeah, as if. Nam-gyu thought, forcing himself not to scowl or anything. Instead, he chose being neutral, looking around the place to examine it, and like he guessed, it was an apartment complex. He slung the bag over his shoulders, he would just explore. "Where you going?" Thanos perked up when he saw Nam-gyu turn around. "Jesus, hop off my dick for fuck's sake, I'll just explore. It isn't like I can leave without getting mauled by these rotters." Nam-gyu said a tad annoyedly, grabbing the broomstick he was originally using as a weapon.

He stayed dead quiet, there could be dead around here for all he cared. Moving stealthily and checking door for door, most of them were locked. And to his surprise, the place was fairly empty, too. Turning around a corner, he found a single rotter standing by a slightly ajar door, turning around as it seemed to notice his footsteps, and it began limping towards him.

Nam-gyu raised the broomstick until it was leveled enough to stab it, once it was close enough, he stabbed it through the neck. Which surprisingly wasn't enough, because the thing began gurgling and reaching towards him. He grimaced in disgust at the blood splattered across his face, stumbling back and dropping the broom he was holding.

'Why the fuck? It should have died.' Nam-gyu thought, conflicted. But he didn't have much time to think when he had a rotter coming at him. He didn't have much to defend himself with, so instead he grabbed the thing by its neck and pushed it against the wall, feeling it's gross hands strong on his arms, as if trying to tear his flesh apart. That's when he shoved it to the ground, pulling the broomstick straight out of its neck and stabbing it in the head instead. Then, the movements ceased. 

Nam-gyu wiped his face, trying to get rid of the blood but his hands were equally just as bloodied. He cursed, wiping them in his clothes and ignoring how his stomach churned at the squelch of blood leaving guts, sighing as he looked around. Then he realized, the door was indeed slightly ajar.

Carefully, almost stealthily, he stepped closer and closer, keeping his grip firm on the stick as he opened the door and held what he was using for a weapon in front of himself. He tapped on the wood, nothing came out. No banging sounds, nothing. He could stay in peace for now, at least.

Shutting the door behind him just as quietly as he did when he opened it, Nam-gyu slumped his shoulders. Sliding the bag off and dropping it into the couch the apartment had. He went into the kitchen, looking for whatever he could find. He couldn't really find much, all he did find was bread, already moldy. Some cookies, which he set aside on the counter. Canned food, frozen tteok-bokki, frozen soup dumplings, and some kimchi.

He separated whatever he could find that would be useful side by side, once he was done with the food, he began going for utensils. Opening drawer per drawer until in a particular one he found a knife, pocket knife. That immediately went into his pocket instead of the counter or bag. Not finding anything particularly useful, he moved to the bedrooms.

The room was messy, he guessed a college student or someone of the sorts lived in here judging by the books scattered around and papers piling up on the trash, practically already overflowing. He paid no mind to that, instead, he began observing the objects, opening the drawers of the nightstand, checking boxes under the beds, and finally opening the closet.

He slid the door to the side, crouching down as he observed, furrowing his brows as he found a box shoved deep inside the place, behind clothes that were long enough to touch the floor. 

He opened it, lips parting as he found a gun in here. Was this person some kind of criminal or?.. but he wouldn't ponder on it. It was loaded, and there was a bit of ammo along with it, he set it down on the nightstand and looked a bit further inside.

All he did take out in the end was a pair of boots that were luckily his side, leather pants that he helped to be hung around his hips with a belt, since it wasn't really staying put. And a jacket, he kept the same shirt he'd been wearing, it was dirty but eh, all clothes would considering you had to kill to live.

He tucked everything into a pile in his arms, searching for the bathroom. He shut the lid with his feet, setting the clothing items down as he began to ease off the ones he was wearing before. He took it as an opportunity to take off his binder, it wasn't something he was quite fond of but it did make breathing harder whenever he ran too much.

It was almost freeing when it came off, he ducked his head down, sucking in as much air as he could before breathing it out. He didn't dare stare at himself in the mirror, he'd just get stuck in a loophole of thoughts over being disgusting. He waited around five more minutes before he put it on again, sliding his shirt on along and then the other clothing items. Maybe this was enough exploration for now, he wouldn't really try his luck with trying to open doors, playing a game of maybe it's open maybe it's not.

And to confirm that this was indeed a college student, Nam-gyu found a bag scattered nearby the couch. He emptied the contents in it, not only swapping what was in Mi-na's bag to this one, but he also put whatever he found inside it. The ammo especially, hidden inside one of the pockets that were well-secured.

The gun, though, stayed inside his pants, hidden by the jacket. He kept the handle just in reach of his hands, it was definitely uncomfortable walking with the upper part of it hitting his hip but he would bare with it, safety came before comfort.

He would have stayed longer, but he didn't feel like listening to the two downstairs yap his ear off. Having in hand Mi-na's bag, he had the other bag he just found resting securely on his shoulders, walking back down the steps to find that Thanos guy well.. serenading Mi-na. He scrunched his nose up but walked in the room anyways. Tossing the bag to Mi-na who caught it. "There, your bag. Now we don't have to fight over shit."

Nam-gyu said as he slid his bag off, resting it on the floor and sitting next to it. Mi-na eyed him suspiciously before opening the bag, checking to see if what was previously in there was still there.

"You got new clothes, Nam-su?" Thanos asked, eyeing him up and down. "It's Nam-gyu." Nam-gyu corrected, seriously- this guy couldn't even get his name right for fuck's sake! "I found an apartment door open, well, was lucky enough to find one." He mumbled right after, tapping his fingers onto his knee.

"Damn, then we all should go try and find some new clothes." Thanos said, leaning forward slightly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the details of the pack of cigarettes.

"I just said I was lucky enough to find one dude, I had to try to open like 10 doors." Nam-gyu frowned, closing his eyes, he needed some sort of rest. Ignoring whatever else Thanos and Mi-na said, his head resting back against the wall, not really taking long to doze off.

. . .

His eyes opened slowly after a few hours, he naturally would expect his shit to be taken from him and the both of them gone. But instead, as his blurry vision focused once again, he was met with Thanos' face. He was hitting a paper ball against the wall absentmindedly, but Mi-na wasn't here.

After a few seconds of silence, Nam-gyu finally spoke; "Where'd she go?" Well, she could have left off to explore, maybe she'd stumble upon a rotter or two but he was sure she could handle herself, she seemed kind of tough despite being so sassy. "Bathroom, went to try her luck with the doors." Thanos said after a few seconds, snd Nam-gyu was glad he answered, he took a slight bit to answer so he might as well guess that Thanos was just ignoring him.

"You want one?" Nam-gyu's head looked to wherever Thanos was, finding a cigarette between his fingers. Hell, he hadn't taken a smoke since this world became a shithole.

"Yeah, sure." Nam-gyu said, watching Thanos pull out a lighter from a small pocket in his jacket, lighting it up and then extending it towards Nam-gyu.

Nam-gyu gladly complied, picking the cigarette up from between the other's fingers and bringing it to his lips. He took a drag, closing his eyes in relief as he felt the familiar feeling of slight calmness. And then, slowly, he puffed it out. Watching the smoke falling from his lips curl into the air and into nothingness.

His eyes opened again once he heard a chuckle, furrowing his brow as he rested his hand onto his knee. "Fuck's so funny?" He asked, conflicted as to why Thanos would feel amused at all. "Nam-su, you're a really funny guy. You look like you just had a sip of water after nearly dying of dehydration." What a weird way to put it, but sure. And then again with his name being wrong.

"How many times do I have to tell you it's Nam-gyu? And well, no shit, really. I haven't touched anything like this for like two months or more." He sighed, looking out the window. The sun was likely setting, the shades of warm yellow and orange hitting against the window glass, illuminating the room ever so slightly where the curtains didn't cover.

"How long you had been holed up in that store?" Thanos asked, finally locking eyes with Nam-gyu. "91 days." The slight surprise on Thanos' face was evident, and then he looked curious. "Damn, and you had food and water for that long? Lucky bastard." Thanos snorted, mixed with a laugh that held a tone of disbelief.

"You've been on your feet since it happened?" Nam-gyu asked once Thanos was done, maybe Nam-gyu did get lucky. "Yeah, met up with Mi-na like a week or two after that. Gotta say she's pretty quick and has good reflexes, nearly knocked me out with a frying pan."

Now it was Nam-gyu's turn to laugh, tilting his head in disbelief. "Seriously? With a frying pan? And here I thought she was bad enough with a gun." He shook his head, a lingering smile on his lips. It had been a while since.. he last laughed or smile. Maybe he did crave human connection after all.

"Ay, when everything clears out, if it does by morning anyways. I hope you'll stay with us, you're kinda cool." Thanos said, and again with that last bit in English that Nam-gyu couldn't quite catch, but he took it as something good- or that he hoped was good. "Maybe, I guess you aren't as bad as I thought. Mi-na is fine, she's just really sassy." He shrugged. "Man, tell me about it." Thanos replied shortly, and then comfortable silence fell over them.

The hours passed, Mi-na came back minutes after their convo was over. Nam-gyu couldn't fall asleep at night, so he opted to staring out the window or watch over the two sleeping. The streets were silent, not much movement. There were groaning and shuffling of the dead outside, but judging by how it wasn't too loud, they either scattered or went off somewhere else in the city.

Eventually, he managed to get some shuteye. It was around six when he did, and just one hour later he was up with a groan. Blinking to get used to the sunlight peering through. He stood up, opened his bag and grabbed a bottle of water, chugging it down halfway through it. Then, secured it back and slung his bag over his shoulders. 

Darting his eyes around, he found Thanos sleeping on the floor in some corner and Mi-na sleeping sat on a chair. He nudged Thanos with his foot, filling his cheeks with air and puffing them out, out of sheer boredom and impatience. "Thanos, wake up man. We have to get going already."

Once he heard Thanos shuffle and groan, and then finally sit up, he woke up Mi-na, then sat down on a chair with his back slumped. "We need to figure out where to go first, then we can get out." Nam-gyu said as he watched the both of them take a sip of water, recomposing themselves.

"We can find a car, and then we can drive off somewhere out of the city and more excluded." Mi-na suggested, closing her bag. "Sounds good, but most cars should be locked, no?"

"We can break a window or two" Thanos suggested, but then shook the idea off, realizing they didn't really have anything to break the window with. "Well.. while we were running I saw a car with its door open, like right on the side of the building. I guess it's safe for us to go." Mi-na added, and they both immediately agreed. "We can get going, then. Get the car and drive off somewhere." It was a good idea, staying away from the suburbs. Once decided, the three of them walked around the complex, looking for a back door or something that could lead them outside.

Attempt after attempt, eventually they found the door. Nam-gyu went first, and the car was indeed there. Mi-na checked for the keys, Thanos was on watch right on the corner, and Nam-gyu was checking what contents were inside the car.

His brows furrowed as he saw two bags inside, they looked in a pretty stable condition. "Hey, Mi-n—" 

He couldn't even really express his findings and worries before he head a gun load behind them, making him freeze on spot. He stared at Mi-na who stared back at him in shock, she stared past his shoulder, looking nervous. 

"Who are the three of you and what are you doing here?"

[redux-iterum]

I was looking through the list of prefixes and suffixes, and I had a few questions about the -leap suffix. Since it's given via fish based behaviour, is it most often given to Riveclan cats because they generally have more of an opportunity to observe fish behaviour and draw connections between their clanmates? For example, what would a Salmonleap, Minnowleap or Lampreyleap generally behave like? Also, I wasn't sure whether Tadpole- would count as a fish-based prefix to some uneducated cats because if someone didn't know they were really baby frogs. Is that common knowledge throughout the clans, or just Shadowclan and Riverclan? Because, really, it's kind of crazy to imagine for someone who hasn't heard of anything like it before. "See that little wriggling fish down there? One day, it's gonna grow legs and crawl right out of the water!" On that same train of thought, would Riverclanners or Shadowclanners be more inclined to try and pull pranks on gullible cats from other clans on what fish do? (The same way Australians tell everyone that dropbears are real and you have to put toothpaste in your hair and forks behind your ears because American accents piss them off) Like, "Oh yeah, tadpoles turn into frogs and catfish sometimes crawl up onto land and turn into cats who we let join our clan. Why do you think they're called Catfish?" (even if they aren't directly called 'catfish' in feline!) And their clanmate just nods along, "Yep, it's true, I was a catfish once. All my kits hatched from eggs." I can imagine some poor sap through a series of misunderstandings being named Tadpoleleap in Windclan or Thunderclan, their name gets some chuckles out of their amphibious neighbours during a gathering, however unlikely such a mistake may be!

For the first question: I do not define -step-based names. That's something for y'all to do! It's far more fun for you to figure it out yourself than have me read a Wikipedia page translated to a fanfic to you. I will say that Tadpole- definitely counts for -leap, and as soon as they can be considered a proper frog (getting out of the water and hopping around), then it goes to -step.

The Clans are all aware of the unusual development frogs go through. It doesn't surprise any of them, though it's fascinating to kits and newcomers who have never interacted with a frog before. There have been a couple kits who try to keep track of one or a couple tadpoles and follow them as they grow up, but it's nearly impossible to do. There are a lot of little tadpoles out there.

As for pranks... the majority of jokes have to do with the ishmet, not any flesh-and-blood animals. WindClan and ThunderClan have very poor grasps on the concept of river spirits, and even ShadowClan doesn't have as much of their lore as RiverClan does. It's not rare for RiverClanners to tell stories about seeing one that looked like a glass otter, or being pulled into the river and nearly drowned because the spirits thought it would be funny. They escalate the stories a lot more with outsiders than they do each other, even though, technically, they're the only ones who care about the ishmet.

[anarchy-and-piglins]

hi yes hello i heard human!techno and nonhuman!everyone else and came running... whether it's osmp, space au, vampire au (always love rereading tasting your blood means i love you chapters if I forget something) i love this trope it's always so good.

Anyway! Human techno headcanons! I like to think that since a lot of the others living in the commune have claws, they sometimes accidentally nick techno with their claws occasionally (ie, they're really excited and grab his arm a little too tightly *cough tommy) and so he's got all these tiny little scars. And eventually someone notices and asks him about it, but techno doesn't want them to feel bad so he kinda stumbles/lies through the answer because he knows they genuinely mean no harm. Small angst but yk.

Now, say, the commune gets attacked. Some flee, others stay to fight. What's the best way to get the hybrids to stop fighting and draw the others out of hiding? Capture the soft fleshy human and use him as leverage, of course! Cue a small stab or sprain to techno in front of the commune folks to remind them how weak humans can be and how precarious the situation is. Cue the rescue team finding techno tired, hurt, and very reliant on their help to escape. Cue techno thinking of himself as a liability to the safety of the commune and, after his rescue, attempting to leave to keep them safe. (it doesn't work ofc, phil notices almost instantly that one of his fledglings friends is missing and tracks his down and reassures him of his value.)

I'm kinda surprised I haven't written any of these yet considering how much I rotate the trope in my brain but. high school. Oh well.

It's the best trope, the tastiest trope, MY MOST BELOVED TROPE!

The claw thing is so fun. Reminds me of people who have cats and are just covered in scratches all the time hehe. But it's great for a little bit of angst too. Any type of whump having to do with hurting a friend on accident is up my alley. And I can imagine that it's so easy to forget how vulnerable Techno is. Sure, some of the other hybrids have very specific weaknesses too but they seem easier to remember somehow - everybody knows Niki needs to be in water and everybody is automatically careful with Sneeg since he's so tiny. But for some reason with Techno it slips their minds (perhaps also because Techno tries very hard to seem like he doesn't have any weaknesses) that he's rather squishy and has no special powers or hybrid biology to protect himself.

I'd love to read a fic where one or multiple of the other members of the commune accidentally hurt Techno through their hybridness and get to feel really guilty. And obviously Techno would never hold it against them.

AND YES, somebody else using Techno against them is also very fun. I don't think Techno would much enjoy having it pointed out that he's the 'weak link'. He trains so much to overcompensate for all the abilities he's naturally lacking. But his family will knock some sense into him.

I'd eat up either idea really, these are wonderful!

[friedbrainzz]

Lasso tool art my beloved

[hekate1308]

Fictober #7, Follow Me If You Want To Live

Up until this moment, he had been contemplating his schedule for the day noting with satisfaction that, for the third week in a row, he would be able to keep it, and therefore stay on track for –

“Follow me if you want to live.”

Even as a Vulcan, he was aware that humans tended to overexaggerate; and yet, considering they were both attending Star fleet Academy, he could not help but consider this rather illogical, especially because it was none other than Jim kirk who had addressed him, the one student who so far had managed to score higher than him in the classes they shared.

(Of course he was not irritated about that – no, that would not have done at all, and would have been profoundly illogical; it was just something he had noted as he must all interesting facts, especially because it made it rather probable that he would meet Jim kirk several times over the course of his projected career).

“I do not see how –“

“Right, sorry. Forgot” obviously he had forgotten that he was Vulcan, or rather that he was addressing one, which struck him as so improbable that he must understand it as yet another hyperbole, but he had already noted over the course of tehri shared… courses that Jim kirk liked to use what some might have called grammatical shortcuts to make people understand what he wanted, and he clearly wished to indicate that – “There is a Harbortian from Grammar 4 lose in the corridors.”

“I beg your pardon?” Everyone knew that to be impossible. Harbortians could not survive in –

“I know how it sounds, they should have been fried by now – only being able to survive sub-zero temperatures and all that – but non – it’s here, and it already…” he trailed off, and an expression of pain crossed the face that Spick had already decided on his first day should not be as captivating “It got to Lovak. I tried to help, and then to catch it, but it moves through the air vents –“

“So Student Lovak – “

“Sucked dry, like all victims of Harbortians.”

By which he meant that ever particle of H2O had been removed from his –

“We need to do something, and now.”

He could have pointed out that undoubtedly the instructors and watchmen of the Academy would be alerted by now, since he did not think that Jim Kirk was one to panic and run to get help wherever he could – no, eh would have followed the protocols; but for some reason he didn’t.

“Alright, we know they only move in straight lines, like most chess pieces, so that it got to this floor is an accident more than anything, and it should be trapped here at least for a while, until it makes its way into an elevator –“

“I that case, may I suggest that we stop said elevators –“

“You do that, I’ll warn the others.”

And he sprinted off, leaving Spock to contemplate that Jim Kirk seemed to automatically have assumed command of the situation, which, considering the courses he was attending, some would have considered natural, but at the same time –

He did not have the leisure to follow the train of thought, so he decided to do that later and instead follow the plan because it did seem logical that they should trap the creature where they already knew it to be, to minimize the risk of further victims.

It did not take long to deactivate the elevators for the time being – and that in a manner that ensured anyone with deposable thumbs and the necessary knowledge would be able to reactivate them within seconds. In the meantime, he heard a commotion at the stairwell, so that he could only assume that Jim kirk had done what he had set out to do.

“Hey, so everyone should be leaving about now – great, you made it!”

He grinned at him and for a moment (not that it was possible) Spock could have sworn he heard his blood rushing in his ears.

“Come on then, we need to – “ Kirk stopped, then thought about off something. “Water. If we flood part of this floor, it should draw it in, right?”

It was a good plan, so he acquiesced.

An hour later, he was rather wondering how everything had indeed turned out for the best as Admiral Connelly was taking their statements, then shook his head. “What you did was very reckless, but also very brave. I will put you in for a recommendation.”

“Thank you, sir” Jim kirk beamed and again, his heart irritatingly started beating faster.

“Well” he told him, “That was fun. See you around, Spock!”

And he skipped away to, as he put it “Cram for the finals” as he was left to contemplate that, even though it was rather unlikely that they should work together again, it would certainly have been an interesting prospect.

[phoenixfangs]

COME HERE. answer my emojis four about feiga

🌹 🍷 🥀 🩸

WAGGING MY TAIL AND RUNNING AROUND IN CIRCLES WHEEEE THANK U MAX!! ❤️

🌹 what does ur oc find attractive in other people? are these traits found in their friends and/or romantic partners? are they found in themselves? | HMMMMMMMM this is an interesting one to consider. because Primarily the features she finds attractive are: whatever rizas features are JFLKDJLGKJDFJ. physically, she meets a woman, beth, who looks remarkably Like riza once she escapes drachma and gives up being an assassin, and is immediately stricken with her just based on that alone (they date and fall in love more naturally after some time, but the Beginning of their relationship is really um Not Especially Healthy because theyre both using the other as a substitute/supplement for someone/something else: feiga is using beth as a riza stand-in, and beth is Letting Her because she knows of riza Separately from all this and wants what she has so bad, to be as pretty and smart and competent and Wanted as riza is. theres all kinds of beth lore too thats too much to get into on this feiga post jfdklsjfldksajdfklas). i guess physical traits she finds attractive then are short, soft/curvy women with long blonde hair and tits the size of her head FJDKLSJGL, all traits that feiga decidedly does not have, being tall, angular/skinny with purple-black hair, and mosquito bite boobs ❤️ (im working on her reference sheet and EVENTUALLY i will have a drawing or sketch of her that is acceptable in my eyes to post. i need everyone to see her and behold her with their eyes)

personality type stuff, feiga is very attracted to women who she deems strong in an emotional sense, women with conviction who are fighters and Winners. she values honor (even if she doesnt have any/tries to delude herself into thinking she does, and has to work to actually Have any honor after she becomes a fugitive/refugee), and eventually once she is Shown it, she finds kindness and mercy to be very appealing. and these are all traits she doesnt think she has, or has enough of, but yearns for

oh also important to note that Of Course feiga is a lesbian

🍷 does ur oc drink? what kind of alcohol do they enjoy? what are their drinking habits? what kind of drunk are they? | she is fantasy russian so ud Think that she could take three fingers of whiskey like its nothing but shes actually so baby. she has not trained her tolerance very well because being drunk is Not Great when u have to track and kill a mark, so she doesnt like drink recreationally or anything. she needs her wits about her, she HATES not feeling in control, so stumbling around or slurring her words or not being able to handle a rifle are things that would make her itch. shes also just naturally a lightweight because of how skinny she is, a lot of drinks will just hit her like a fucking truck lmao. but shes not like straight edge or anything, she Has drank before and she probably will again after she flees drachma, but not super often—if only because, again, she is so baby. she will be three sheets to the wind after like A Drink, and she gets Sleepy and Hiccupy and Babble-y and will probably need to be carried cutely to bed, where she will mumble and murmur and make cutie kitten noises in her sleep. and then shell wake up with the worst migraine/hangover anyone on the planet has ever had, and throw up so hard her face is pulled three inches off her skull because she didnt have any water while she was drinking ^_^ because shes so fuckign stupid ^_^

🩸is ur oc squeamish? are they disturbed by the sight of blood? have they ever been in a situation where they had to overcome being squeamish? | i think she was probably squeamish as a little kid but she had to get over it Real fast with the way her family lived. not only having to see and also deal with her siblings getting hurt/sick/dying in varying degrees of bloody ways (because again, her parents did Nothing to try and heal their children, and when it was time to bury them that responsibility would often fall on feiga), but living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, they had to hunt for their food. im thinking this is something she would do with her father, and then when it was time to clean/process the meat, she would do that with her mother. very bloody jobs, very bloody childhood in general for her—and adulthood! since she goes Immediately from the cabin in the tundra to her assassin training, like shes roughly 14ish? when she starts her training (shes an exceptional shot). literally she is plucked up out of her childhood home and becomes an assassin, there is no point in her life where she isnt being confronted with blood and gore and death. and ofc there are jobs where sniping a mark may not be the best option, so she has had to kill with her hands, up close and personal. she is no stranger to this stuff, and it doesnt bother her at all, it hasnt in about two decades

🥀 answered !

[wiltf]

[ a series of carefully pressed and preserved letters, folded neatly inside oddly warm journal, catch your eye. there may be a scent of perfume to them, or it was merely a trick of your senses, as you pull the letters free. quickly thumbing through them, eyes noting the various dates, and the clearly stamped folds. harper communication, here? pain bursts behind your eyes, so you focus on the words, trying to understand. ]

H—

you were right.

there is something in the water.

i have the scent. not much longer now.

— A

J—

i found their enclave. they built it into the banks of the river where that awful statue stands.

in truth, it was surprising to find the quiet worship, but i have seen the way they kiss the feet of their dead god

how they spill blood from bottles of wine, and drink it like even a vampire wouldn’t.

traders are none the wiser here. but i have managed to convince a few of my worship

— A

J—

it has been some time.

i do not know what to say,

other than i am afraid.

— A

H—

i am unsure if they know of the plan, or if i truly managed to convince these wailing women that i am one of them

but they have taken me into the fold, and i now wear the priestess garb

i hear of a silly plan, one that also scares me deeply

it is not resurrection

it, perhaps, concerns me if other divine beings manage the same

i do not believe the water to be thick enough, nor the body to be found but they claim he has spoken of a child, whispered to the others. one to be taken from the decay and bones, made anew

they say it is lost in the reeds of the winding water, waiting to feast

high harper, i am afraid

H—

we should never underestimate divinity

you can taste it in the air here. and it haunts my sleep

perhaps it is all the blood

perhaps it is the child i now hold in my arms.

don’t worry — it is not mine. i have not been touched unkindly.

i do not know how to conceive the idea that they pulled the babe from the blood,

but here she is.

[ there is a small sketch attached, of what appears to be a tiefling babe, swaddled and asleep. even in the strokes on the paper, you can feel a tenderness, care put into the soft lines. compromised, already, you can tell. ]

— A

J—

i don’t have it in me to kill a child.

J— they said their god told me to raise this…

child? spawn? thing?

and the tools they have provided for this

i look at those eyes, and they are clear mirrors.

not a

[ something is furiously scribbled out here ]

i think that we should wait. if others can fight their instincts, surely this child can?

—A

J—

do not ask this of me

you did not do this when you travelled with the others

H—

i do not acknowledge those orders.

H—

if i were to leave, they would know.

[ several sheets of paper are merely scrawls, some featuring smaller drawings along the edges. others are abandoned letters. you can make out references to training, language. the conflict of ending the life of a child to possibly save many. ]

J—

the child does not have a name

they are simply lord or master to the remaining priestesses here

pass on, that we will be moving to G within the next few months

it is time for more formal training

—A

H—

we arrive within a week.

orders?

H—

orders?

J—

follow your feet.

we shall meet each other again.

H—

request for orders?

J—

i know you saw me in the markets with the child

they grow at an unusual rate, as if the planes themselves fight in their skin

the temple has not been reclaimed

other location used

i’m sorry. i miss you

N—

i am unsure if you had been informed prior to the assassination

i was told not to intervene

i did not mean for the passing of

[ it trails off, before featuring an angrier scribble, and some specific words that suggest this letter did not leave its owner. ]

J—

the child speaks. i do not hear the father’s song

J—

last night when i held you, i wish i had cried

i wish i had left with you

but i cannot deny some part of me is connected now

i have lost track of time

J—

i yearn for the sun

your warmth

i can feel myself decaying, from the inside out

but when i look into the face of this child, and see how intently they look back…

i feel it, Jah— [ scratched out name. ]

gods above, if they could even hear me now, under all this filth

i should have taken the blade to both of our hearts

N—

[ a very detailed report follows. it includes a progression of the child’s growth, well into the late teenage years. a rough timeline, and with a spark, you notice the dates align with the deaths of significant populace that were once a part of baldur’s gate, but some even marked through waterdeep and neverwinter. the drawings are detailed, as if staring back at a young mirror, if you were to believe this was once you. arrows align to notations, where the scar crosses your cheek, how your horns had grown. a chipped tooth, a broken nose. along the bottom of the report, it describes capabilities of killing, including preference. drawings of the weapons that lay beside the journal still. and then, in bold letters ]

DO NOT APPROACH

N—

i warned you. i cannot control them in the way you think i can

i saw the blood

the slaughter

i warned you.

J—

forgive me.

[ this letter is an apology for the loss following the death of the grand duke and marshal, curiously. years following the last one, by the way it was phrased. as if the author knew the death would come to pass. compared to the other scattered and abandoned ones in between the rest, you can sense an understanding that they were awaiting death, yet seemed at ease. the way they speak of the slayer that emerged was akin to merely commenting on the weather. stronger letters written across the page, of how they had returned to the temple below baldur’s gate. of how proud they were, of you, despite it all. carefully pressed against this letter is one last, hastily scratched one, accompanied by a small painting. ]

[ of yourself, and you suppose the author. their hand on your shoulder, while you sit. professionally done, as if one might commission a noble portrait for their fine house. ]

J—

should you ever find my body

know that you had my heart

should you ever find my soul

know that i do not hold any regret

her name is amity. my little amma.

she carries in her a part of me, this much i know.

i can hear you calling me sentimental, and a fool. and you would be right

you always were

i am sorry, my love, that i never fulfilled my promise. of living out the years with you in that little home. of raising all those children we swore we would.

i tried my best. i hope i did not fail.

i love you, Jaheira. until the end of time itself

— Amity, the First.

[ the last letter falls free. addressed to you, curiously, never opened compared to the others. and whilst you wish to ponder how these letters had never found their destination, you unfold the last. ]

Amma—

when you were pulled from the reeds, i had planned to kill you and the priestesses.

end this before it started. i was ready to take the leap, on my honour and word.

but you reached for me, and i remember the way those little fingers of yours curled around one of mine.

before you, i had ignored children, in truth. found them loud, disgusting, hard to please.

you were my shadow.

the bhaalists did not argue, as you killed as efficiently as your godly father had before you. you bathed in blood and ate your dinner, read and learned and they let— [ a scrawl, that almost overlaps the previous line. ]

i do not know what compelled them to listen, but it was you who asked for me to live.

i watched you grow well into a woman only a mother as deranged as what i have become could be proud of.

i wish i could have taken you to a place like candlekeep, far from the stone we had become so familiar with. raised you like those spawn that were lucky enough to escape were

i wish you could have met my love.

the whispering of your plans does not evade me, my darling, and my use is long gone. there is nothing left in my skin, aside from decay all of me, i put into you.

you may read this and laugh. you may throw this into the fire. i would not blame you.

my little amma.

you used to hold the end of my robe, as we walked the streets of baldur’s gate late at night, to find you a suitable target to practice on.

you bought me perfume from waterdeep, a passing notion that had you whipped by one of the others. i remember the way it felt, to do the same to her in turn. within an inch of her life, which you swiftly took from her, when i was done

i remember the last time i had seen the sun, and you told me to leave. but i could not abandon you, my sweet daughter, because you had cried.

somehow, i knew then, that no matter the weight you may carry, underneath it all, you exist.

amma. my sweet amma. there is always so much more i could say. yet i will spare you from anecdotes and sentiments. i know you have grown tired of them — i remember the rolling of your eyes once you grew into your horns.

burn brightly. burn gloriously.

love,

— Amity, the First

[oblong-egg]

Magic System Concepts

Magic is an interesting concept to me. I like to think of it as something somewhat living. It filters through people in different ways, manifesting itself with different elemental connections based on what part of the body it gets stuck in or feeds off of. Overuse of magic can result in the energy feeding on the body faster than it is able to replenish, and, after a while, make the body unable to recover from what the magic takes. Everyone’s rate of recovery or regenerative abilities are different. Recognizing overuse is relatively easy, but some disregard the symptoms in pursuit of power. Magic can often be addictive.

Bodily and elemental connections are:

Water : Blood

Air : Mind

Earth : Bone

Fire : Lungs

Light : Eyes

Shadow : Soul

Examples of corrosion from overuse could be: 

Blood : Anemia or high blood pressure

Mind : hallucinations, paranoia, or mindfog

Bone : degradation or overgrowth

Lungs : chronic cough, collapse, or disease

Eyes : poor vision or blindness

The only type of magic that has a chance of survival if severely overused is Shadow magic, but even that has severe consequences that could follow the user for the rest of their life. Shadow magic or Dark magic eats away at the soul of a person and this could result in one completely losing track of themselves and/or their morality. If death does find them, the remains of their soul will be sent to hell as it’s squandering God’s gift to man (or something). If theres nothing left of their soul, their severed consciousness is left to wander the Earth until it eventually fades and they cease to exist.

Magic itself is not good or evil and it doesn’t exist in a physical state. It’s more like an energy. Cosmic energy, if you will. With training, it is possible to channel this magic or energy without elemental connection. Which means not letting the magic feed off of the desired body part. An example of this is the Hunter Soulstone Technique (no relation to the Soul Stone in the MCU), which Orion Hunter coined. He might not have been the first person to actually use this technique. He’s just the one that introduced it as a possible method in case one was caught in a situation without a weapon. This technique involves a Soulstone, which is a gemstone with magical properties, usually used to hold either pure magic, or trap souls in a practically inescapable prison—unless the stone is broken. They are usually embedded in a weapon.

It requires either very high resistance to magic, or much concentration. Or both In some cases. With this resistance and/or concentration, one can draw magic directly from their environment without contaminating it with a bodily or elemental connection and allow it to circulate through them. From there, the user can essentially will the magic into a tangible shape.

Orion has used this technique to aid him in battle by providing him a quick weapon when there would usually be none available. He’s taught this technique to two of his sons, Sky and Soul. The stones he provided for them were just free-floating gems, which is unusual. However, through this circulation of magic, the user can essentially make any object they need. So an example of the different forms that one can forge to hold the gem can be:

A ring for more practical and glamorous carrying or

A weapon as stated before.

These objects function much like their non magical counterparts, but only as long as the holder maintains constant physical contact with it. If they let go, the object evaporates and the stone is left free-floating once again.

You might also be able to guess that, the more of these objects you try to summon, the more resistance/concentration you’ll need. Because Soul, the character featured above, is a dragon, his magical resistance is much greater than a human’s, he can summon two very easily. His brother, Sky, does not have such an easy time. In fact, he struggles to maintain even one for extended periods. Only one object can be summoned per stone held.

Soulstones can also be something like aura readers. They change colors based on the person holding them. This requires no magic channeling, only physical contact.

[genericnam]

After spending way too long working on these on and off, I have finally finished some OC character drawings. These characters are pretty overpowered, but in my defense, they were actual parts of a DnD campaign I was in that reached level 20, so that's why they're so strong, lol. (Also, forgive my shit photo-taking skills, the only lighting I have is the lightbulb on my ceiling)

First up is Huskoshe! Huskoshe is a cunning, dealmaking devil, and a Warlock who follows the word of a god of Life and the Sea. Huskoshe spent the first of his many centuries alive traversing the ocean alone, where he met his god and became a Warlock, obtaining powerful magic.

Soon after, he was recruited to a pirate crew known as the Sea King's Ships as the barrelman (lookout), though he was much more popular among the crew for his near perfect track record on successful missions. Huskoshe spent many centuries aboard the Sea King's Ships, becoming one of the senior members of the crew.

When a dangerous religious cult began to spread across the lands, Huskoshe, his party members; Kin and Kalotoff (not my characters, so I haven't drawn them yet), along with the rest of the Sea King's Ships, led the war that eventually was the downfall of said cult.

As he went, Huskoshe obtained further and further power, amassing a personal army of devils he obtained through soul contracts and deals. Huskoshe's army was small in numbers, but its power was vast due to one special distinction: each person who joined his army did so willingly. There was no treachery or betrayal, as everyone from his strongest generals to the weakest Imps were loyal warriors who Huskoshe knew personally, and shared the glory of victory with.

At the end of his journey, Huskoshe made a proposition to the God of Death—Asmodeus—for a spot on his court. After recovering three ancient artifacts of Asmodeus', Huskoshe was allowed to battle Mephistopheles—the Archduke of the 8th layer of Hell—to the death in combat for the title of Archduke.

Huskoshe won, and now he rules the 8th layer, turning it into a land of water and ice, populated by the only Archduke in the history of Hell to be beloved by their minions (who didn't use mind control, at least).

Of course, he wouldn't have made it nearly as far if it weren't for his first ever minions.

Rhirale the Blade is a towering Pit Fiend who uses the power of ice to cut through his foes. His two weapons, Frozen Blood (right) and The Buckler of Ice (left) were forged from his own life force. Even upon death, he doesn't go down without a fight, exploding into thousands of sharp ice crystals harder than diamonds.

Rhirale was not always this powerful however. Once, he was a runt of an imp, who was born alongside his sister, Zankas. Rhirale's left wing is deformed, being smaller than the other, and it caused him much trouble. However, the imp possessed great ambition and a warrior's pride. Rhirale trained, becoming more powerful than any other Imp on his layer, and being promoted up in his ranks.

This went on for many years, until Rhirale had become an Ice Devil, and become satisfied with his physical power, choosing to pursue the power of wealth through working under a Dragon on the material plane.

He and his sister (we'll get to her) worked under the dragon Baryon, until the Sea King's Ships arrived. For you see, Baryon was a leading power within the cult they were battling against, and the pirates had come for his head.

Huskoshe saw the power and potential of the devils hired by Baryon to block their way, and offered them a deal. Each and every devil in the room could join his side and fight for glory and wealth beyond their wildest dreams, or they could choose to flee, and be spared. Some devils fled, but many of them joined Huskoshe, becoming his first minions.

When Rhirale made the deal with Huskoshe, something happened. Fate seemed to recognize the Pride that Rhirale possessed, and as he had begun serving under the future lord of Pride, it saw fit to give him his final promotion. Rhirale the Blade was reborn as one of the highest ranks of devil one can acheive, only below becoming a Duke of Hell: A Pit Feind.

Rhirale became one of Huskoshe's two generals, uzing his power and sheer will to command respect and charge his way to victory.

I did mention Rhirale's sister, no? Well, this is Zankas Septum, the second general of Huskoshe's army, and Rhirale's sister.

Like her brother, Zankas was born a runty Imp. She too, had a wing that was too small, being her right. Zankas held as much pride as her brother, battling with speed rather than brute power.

Zankas weilds the powers of Poison, and possesses a weapon known as the Revolving Longsaber, a flaming golden blade that can polymorph into a snake-scale revolving gun.

Zankas worked her way up the ranks of the devil heirarchy as well, ending her training as a Succubus before she began work under Baryon.

When Zankas made her deal with Huskoshe, she was gifted power equal to Rhirale, becoming an Erinyes, titled Zankas Septum.

Zankas' speed is unmatched, capable of using her claws and sword at speeds faster than any mortal can react, and anyone who is able to dodge her attacks can be defeated with manipulation, as her ability to manipulate and mind control her enemies exceeds what any Succubus or Incubus would ever be capable of.

Zankas Septum and Rhirale the Blade are Huskoshe's closest allies, managing his army while he deals with fiendish politics. The three of them have plans of expanding their reach in the future, but for now they are content to be the unmatched army of the 8th layer of Hell.

[herarcadewasteland]

Tragic, Really.

A/N: Inspired by @hoseokhasmyheartxx and @orchidyoonkook because Yoon sent the post that @hoseokhasmyheartxx reblogged about a quote: "I know baby, I know." (Condescendingly). And this was born. No idea who the original poster is, the reblog rabbit hole went too far for me to keep looking.

-CW: Violence and kinda gorey, read at your own discretion.

-Hoseok x Reader, almost yandere (probably full yandere hoseok)

This took a fairly dark turn. Enjoy?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I know baby, I know.”

His voice was overly sweet. Condescending. His large hands pressed roughly into your side, the stab wound gushing as he released pressure to draw a line of your own blood over your cheek. It didn’t start like this… he had been the sweetest, most attentive and caring boyfriend in the world. But when Yoongi started spending time with you, something changed. He became quicker to anger, he pulled you closer with more force than necessary, kissed you in front of Yoongi for no reason. He had changed overnight and now you were here, laying on the floor beside Yoongi, Hoseok hovering over you with his normal joyful smile.

Your head shook from left to right, legs pushing you away from his crazed smile and harsh touch. He tsked and looked like you had shot his dog, his eyes watering before he grabbed you around the waist, pressed his thumb into your wound and pulled you back. The only difference now was he had settled over your thighs, not just leaning over you from your side.

Tears tracked down your bloody cheeks, eyes dancing from Yoongi to Hoseok, his smile still firmly in place. Your struggle resumed despite the sharp pains it caused, his thighs tightening around yours as he pressed your wound harder, reaching behind him to grab a discarded bottle of Soju that had been involved earlier in a drinking game. Your eyes caught the shine of the glass, head shaking side to side in denial even though you knew exactly what he was about to do. His disappointed tsking made you freeze, eyes trained on the hand holding the bottle of alcohol. The tilt of the bottle tensed your stomach, pain pulling a strained cry from your raw throat. The liquid hitting your wound and pooling in it caused a burning sensation to spread through your body, the dried blood around it flaking as a new source of wetness pulled it from its new place on your skin.

Screaming at the added pain, you saw Hoseok frown through hooded and blurry eyes, his smile somehow bigger as he watched you writhe. His hand tilted again, the Soju burning an imaginary hole through the existing one in your side. You thought watching Hoseok change so drastically was the worst pain you had ever felt, but as he took a few sips from the bottle and chucked against the wall before he leaned down to your ear, plush lips brushing it lightly, you realized whatever happened next would be even worse than losing your brother.

“This could have been avoided, Y/N. How could you do this to me?! You left me for him. Your attention wasn’t mine. I had to do it. You understand, right? Of course you do! You love me~!”

His whisper sent rough shivers through your body, his hand pressing against your wound again. You coughed violently, blood spilling past your lips as you struggled to breathe. A new, duller and redder shine caught your eye as you spoke roughly.

“He’s my brother! I couldn't-”, you coughed again, watching the shine become clearer in your blurred vision, “I couldn’t just abandon my family for you!”

A growl left him. Your pulse quickened against his lips as he trailed them down your neck. His hand raised above you as the shine grabbed your attention once more. The knife. There was nothing you could do, even if you were afraid. You couldn’t be scared to death, you were right on the brink of it anyways. So as his hand raised, his monologue continuing, you closed your eyes and waited for the greatest pain of your life. Being killed by the one man you had loved more than anything. The knife pierced your chest with a dull thump, your body lurching as you coughed up more blood. You could feel his eyes as he watched the blood drip down the edges of your jaw, his laughter filling the space as he pulled the knife back only to plunge it back in moments later.

“If even I can’t have you, then no one will. Not ever. Tragic, really. How you thought you could get away with it!”, his voice raised with a new arc or the knife, your body jerking upwards again.

His voice faded slowly, his laughter following stabs of the knife as he traced his other hand over your body. Seeing a light behind your eyes, you smiled. As much as you loved him, the man above you was no longer him. It never would be. For after you let the warmth of the light take you in its embrace, he had let himself go after you, following you to be with you, even in death. In some ways, the news article that would be released days later was accurate. He had gone insane. And you had struggled. But in the eyes of the public, you died as lovers. Hoseok was not your lover at that moment. He had simply been Jung Hoseok. Kind man gone insane.