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nc-vb · 1 month

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𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧?

originally a commission, repurposed for readervision! writing about the ladies is fun and i should really do it more often, mhm.

notes -> pls i always forget she's 6'1", that's so frickin hot, my gawd

pairing -> quanxi x afab!time-traveler!reader*

warnings -> nsfw (18+, mdni), praise/nicknames used (*good girl), thigh riding, oral sex (reader receiving), orgasm denial, scissoring/tribbing; partial inebriation (alcohol consumption); light editing.

wc -> 4.5k

The modes of transportation in this place are… dated.

So used to seeing the various Tesla models zipping about, or the suddenly extremely common Honda Civic models, you found yourself staring a little harder at the ones that lined the street. All too obviously, the dilapidated street signs around you indicated your new location being somewhere in China. Still, there’d been an aged familiarity about the place, about all of it, from the specific way the splits in the sidewalk crackle from one end to the other, to how the trees willow overtop of them like old, gnarled hands. The glow from the street lights are all equally dull, and do little to highlight the filth the asphalt roads hold. The houses, in their decaying, years left untouched glory, are still cookie cutter enough to say that it once might’ve been a place that people both lived and thrived in— if anything, they might just exist there now. The bare minimum for any species.

But then you look in the distance, past the caved-in roofs, past the loose, swaying electrical lines and through the smog, find the fluorescent lights of the city resting just outside the horizon of this dystopian suburbia, and find that you feel at home, your own having been bright just like that.

You suppose that being at arms with a stranger in the middle of what you can only deem some kind of cacotopia must not be real. A dream or a hallucination— a nightmare, perhaps. The fact that you’ve never been to this place, this time or era, and yet, it’d been familiar. This partial hell scape with its scarred roads and patchwork housing, stuck in its darkened stasis of a temporary ceasefire? Wondering what kind of dream beasts this realm holds was unavoidable from the start, but at the very least, it still includes those in human form.

Your foe is formidable-- or, your predator, you should say. Armed thrice and practically naked in consideration for their lack of armour, wearing a thin shirt that exposes her midriff and tight black trousers, and with their one eye obscured by an eyepatch, they’re still as swift as a shadow when they charge forward, one blade extended, the other held in reverse against their forearm— usually a predictability. But they’re enough of a threat to you that you don’t bother to analyze much else any further.

If not for obeying modern physics, the stone at your feet would’ve split from the impact of your own harsh landing— without a weapon or defense of your own, you scamper out of the way of the woman’s sword, gasping at the close call. If anything, being in this strange place for so long, and being targeted by strange looking creatures and even stranger humans, has made you adept at avoiding harm.

You’re not entirely sure you can avoid it any further. You watch the attacker sheathe their defending sword and reach up toward their one exposed eye to— to… extract an arrow from within her skull, so easily as if it’d been normal to “store” it there.

“Don’t lose focus now,” they call — she calls, you finally learn, from your own language; she’d recognized it when you’d cursed at her earlier. A couple of obvious tonal sounds and inflections double down on you being somewhere in China. “I’ll be disappointed if you suddenly let me kill you, stranger.”

Slim, yet muscular. Long blonde hair. A gaze most distant, yet she still smiles, even in the middle of battle. Human? With that ability of hers, it’s unlikely; you’ve learned to differentiate that much, as short a time as you’ve spent here.

Amidst their game of cat and mouse, you can’t help but wonder if the area had been evacuated prior to Quanxi’s arrival, as if she’d been prepared to give chase, or even worse, as if she’d been prepared to fight. You don’t doubt the possibility of the woman having some kind of pull or authority in this time; as perhaps unprepared and bare as she appears, her skillset had quickly been proven. Being locked in at a coward’s stalemate for as long as you’d been, Can’t this end already?

“Please,” you pant, a hand poised in a pleading gesture. “Please stop.” The woman’s one visible eyebrow raises, her expression remaining placid. A moment later, she’s sheathing her blades.

“That’s fine with me,” she says, straightening up. “I’m pretty fond of this outfit and I’ve already scuffed the knees; it would be a shame if I tore anything else. You seem like… the civilized type, when you’re not running away. And if that’s the case, we should introduce ourselves.”

You give yours first, eager to catch your breath. The woman smiles.

“I am Quanxi. Now, tell me. The name of the Devil you’ve contracted with.”

Your expression hardens. “Devil?” you repeat.

Quanxi does not doubt further the woman’s seemingly earnest confusion. She already looks like she’s not from the area, and certainly not necessarily a native from China, either. In fact, it’d been more like she’s stepped out of one of those futuristic, science fiction movies. Your entire existence did not belong here.

Your tired vision sweeps along the street before rising to stare at Quanxi. “Where is this place?”

Testing, “Do you mean this street? This… neighbourhood? Or this world?” You don’t answer, unable. The silence, accompanied with the difficult read on the foreigner’s partial expression, is an answer enough. “It’s called Earth.”

“I know this is Earth.”

Quanxi’s lip quirks. “Then this place that you’re currently standing in, is in China. And this street, well… I’m not sure the name matters anymore. No one’s lived here in years.”

She watches you, a silence spread taut like a fishing line through the middle of your conversation as you ponder, before cutting it.

“Listen. I’m glad you decided to stop running away,” your lip curls slightly at the curtness in her words, but you don't interrupt, “but since we’ve established that you’re not from the area, and since I don’t see a… spaceship… parked anywhere… you’re probably not an alien. But, you’ve also probably got nowhere to go, hm?”

“… that’s, unfortunately, correct,” you murmur, sighing. What a headache…

“And it doesn’t seem like you’re looking to cause any trouble. Right?”

“I’m kind of in some trouble of my own, if you haven’t noticed,” you point out.

“Fair enough. Then, I’ll do you a favour. If you’d be reasonable enough to not do something as stupid as try to murder me in my sleep, I’ll invite you into my home.”

Try? I could barely run away from you.

“I’ll have to attend to some business in the morning outside the country, but, if you’re a good girl tonight, you’re welcome to stay there while I’m gone.” Your lips part to speak at the woman’s condescension, but by the absurdity of your situation, you find yourself unable to spit the words dancing behind your teeth back at her. Good girl?

“Do you need a physical invitation?” Quanxi says; you hadn’t realized she’d already begun to walk, and soundlessly trails after her. “Good.” Again? “I’ve parked several blocks north of here; it’s about a five minute walk if you’re fast about it.”

“Okay.” True to her estimation, once they’d picked up their pace, they found a sleek black automobile awaiting them only four blocks away. Compared to the older modeled cars you’ve passed, this one is at least twenty years ahead of their design.

Quanxi enters on her side before you can even open the passenger side door, and by the time you sit and shut the door behind you, the car has already belted to life, a soft rumbling heard from within its metal shell. A gear shifts, and they move.

The drive out of the dark neighbourhood where you first appeared, and into the glowing city you’d seen from afar is about three times as long as the walk had been. The luminance of the artificial light happens to be intense enough to make you squint so hard that your eyes become slits.

“Depending on how long you’re here for, you might end up getting used to it,” Quanxi says. You turn your head toward her. “Ah, well, I shouldn’t assume you don’t have these in your own home; apologies. Just, don’t stare at these ones directly. They’re definitely not up to code.”

You nod, glancing forward again.

“You aren’t very… chatty, are you,” Quanxi speculates, lowering one of her hands from the wheel to rest in her own lap.

“It’s… hard to think of something to talk about in my situation,” you say, wringing your wrists a little. “Small talk and idle conversations… is even harder.”

“You could always ask more questions.”

“I… can’t think of any.”

“Or ask if I know of a way to return you to your home.”

“And do you?”

“No. I can do a lot, but time travel?” Quanxi scoffs lightly. “Science fiction, for now. Maybe there’s a Devil out there that can do that. But, you could still have bothered to begin that conversation to see if I did.”

You pause. “Is this all a condition of me staying with you? Talking, asking questions…”

“Not at all. Simply makes for better company.”

You scoff, too, and fold your arms over your chest. “Aren’t you worried I’ll destroy your home while you’re gone? Or rob you?”

Quanxi chuckles. “Not at all. You might be lonely when I do, however. By how you greeted me earlier tonight, I should at least make sure my housekeeper doesn’t spook you away into, I don’t know, jumping out the window.”

“If I didn’t value my life, I wouldn’t have run away from you like I did. Why would I jump out the window…” The question hangs in the air, apparently a rhetorical quip.

The rest of the drive is completed in one-sided silence, Quanxi filling it with her own voice when she explains, unwarranted, the existence of Devils and what she’d meant when she’d asked you about a “contract”. It does make sense (and perhaps your interest in the subject did prove that you did have some curiosities), but you still had found yourself verily unwilling to engage in conversation, leaving your thoughts to race wildly beneath your skull.

In contrast to the surrounding buildings, Quanxi’s is not nearly as vibrant. The only lights come from the large fixed windows pressed tight between the dark brickwork; signs of life that neighbourhood from before had sorely been missing. Even the streets, despite the time, are flooded with chattering humans.

“We’re here, get out,” Quanxi says, putting the car into park and exiting it, herself. You join her on the sidewalk, where she’d just given a man a set of keys. In the corner of her vision, you watch him replace where Quanxi once sat, and drive off with her car, while the two of you enter the building.

“I’m on the penthouse level,” she tells you after pressing a button on the wall of the elevator. “It’s nothing fancy. Comfortable enough when I come home from an assignment, and for my—” Quanxi goes silent. You notice, but don’t press. The elevator chimes, announcing their arrival to the topmost level, and the doors open. “This way.”

There’s a keypad on the door, for which Quanxi types a particularly long code into before it beeps at them to enter. Whereas you take off your own boots and set them aside, Quanxi toes hers off and kicks them to the side, knocking yours over.

“A drink?” Quanxi offers.

“… water is fine.”

The penthouse is minimalist and simple, as its owner mentioned it would be. A simple living area full of couches and irregularly shaped chairs; a simple bedroom, raised up, across the room in a loft space. The bathroom and kitchen end up being the fanciest of the space, full of shining metal appliances and smooth surfaces, as white as the moon, itself.

There are but a few adornments and decorations, and you find that across the apartment, there are only a handful of photographs framed and sitting atop a long cabinet, two of which had been turned down— you recall Quanxi doing so as she’d entered ahead of you. Not one to pry — you know just as well as anyone what dredging up old memories does to a person — and with Quanxi busying herself in her kitchen, you cross over to them and quickly tip them up. Both have the woman pressed between four other girls, all with varyingly unexplainable appearances — why are her brains exposed? — but they all easily express their fondness for Quanxi.

“It’s like you’ve never been invited into someone’s home before,” Quanxi suddenly calls from around the corner. You flinch, and without making eye contact, set the frames back down with care. “It should go without me having to say the words “don’t touch anything unnecessary”.”

“Sorry,” you say.

Quanxi sighs, and extends her arm to hand the stranger a glass of clear liquid. “It’s fine. Just don’t touch them again. And try not to get curious enough that you want to ask about… them.”

You accept the glass, nodding, and take a generous gulp from it, immediately reeling.

“This isn’t water,” you say, swallowing thickly, her throat catching from the burn.

“It’s baijiu. Figured you could probably use some to relax while you’re here.” You instantly cough.

“Relax?”

“It’s not like you’ll be able to figure anything out tonight, not this late. And, not if you’re still wired into fight or flight mode. Drink this. If you’re hungry, there’s food in the fridge you can help yourself to. The bathroom is around the corner. Go and shower. I’ll grab you a change of clothing.”

Not that it’d been so severely important to, but you silently admit to her observations. Being sent stuck here and almost immediately thrust into one-sided combat against this strange woman, to being invited to her home for reprieve, has kept you tiptoeing on a jagged edge, teetering more to one side than the other. It’s discomforting. Unfamiliar.

You down the clear liquid in the glass before stalking into Quanxi’s bathroom, quick to strip yourself of your clothing before stepping into the shower. Beginning to scrub away the day’s grime from your body with a sudsy cloth, you realize you’ve yet to feel this calm thus far— must be the baijiu, you assume.

With the glass of the shower all fogged up from the steam, you don’t notice Quanxi standing in the doorway when you finally exit it. Unfocused, the nude woman jumps, the towel in her hand almost slipping out of her grasp.

“I’m beginning to think,” you start, huffing out a flustered breath, “that you’re the lonely one between us.”

“Perhaps I am.” The ice in her own glass clinks against it when she takes a sip, watching you start to pat yourself dry. “I won’t argue with you. I never thought I would feel like this, even after losing them. They were only Fiends, after all. Not entirely human.”

“... does one have to be “entirely human” for someone to love them?”

“… I forgot who I was saying this to,” Quanxi muses, mostly to herself. “You’re young, after all. Insightfulness comes easier to each new generation of life.”

“Something like that,” you halfheartedly confirm, dragging the towel down each of your legs. You sigh— avoiding certain conversations may not be as easy as you’d once thought with this woman, the involvement of alcohol perhaps making it even more of a difficult probability. “Where I’m from… in my time… in my version of Earth, we don’t have different species of humans. But to be loved by anyone, by anything, even by someone non-human, is a joy, and an honour. Don’t justify them being Fiends so you don’t have to grieve over them. And… just be glad you can remember everything about them.”

She smiles back, but it’s distant; spurious. You know full well what the look is for, and decide it’s unfair to call the woman the only lonely one between them, after all.

Quanxi pushes herself off the door’s frame, stumbling very slightly out of her awkward stance.

“I was only in here for ten minutes. How did you manage to get drunk so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk,” Quanxi swears. “This is my first glass… and I’m a bit of a heavyweight. I just figure I should share some of my vulnerability with you since you’re naked in my home right now. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

You look up at her, having wrapped your head in the towel, and around the washroom.

“Your clothes. Right. I forgot to bring them in. They’re out here.”

“Could you go and grab them?”

“You’re coming back out here anyway, right? Just come and change out here.”

Your eyes narrow. The woman’s already seen her as nude as the day she’d been born, and from her own words, she now lives alone, the existence of those four girls in the photos seemingly otherwise erased from the apartment save for those photos. Being on the penthouse level on one of the tallest buildings around, it’d be unlikely for any of the neighbouring buildings to see—

“You’re overthinking it,” Quanxi calls out. “Is that something you do when you drink alcohol?”

Your attempt at sliding past her in the doorway fails, the taller of the two having lifted her arm to stop you.

“Is it?”

You sigh. Quanxi’s lip lifts into a small smile, and she drops her arm to let you pass and enter the kitchen.

“Is this where you assert yourself on me, and I lower myself into showing you my “gratitude”?” You slip on the folded burgundy tee from the counter, mentally cursing at the woman for supplying you with such a useless piece of fabric, the offending material barely reaching your navel; you shiver. “I’ve read enough fiction in my lifetime to recognize this cliché.”

“Then you must’ve read a crazy amount of sapphic erotica throughout your journey across the stars.” You shake your head and reach for the pants, ignoring Quanxi’s presence at your side. “No,” she answers, “though, I’m glad my intentions go without me having to say anything. A harmless, wordless invitation to share in a little bit of skinship with me. I won’t force you into it, but…”

In still being bare from the hips down, Quanxi dares to smooth a hand across your waist that curls an arm around your middle, and you freeze, your cool skin quick to grow warm under her touch.

“Quanxi—””It’s not lowering yourself to enjoy yourself,” she muses, right next to your ear. You blame your immodesty for the chill that sweeps down your spine. “Let me take your mind out of the stars for the night.”

It’s the alcohol. You’re drunk, too. That’s the only reason. Trying to rationalize your acceptance of the situation with false realities only embarrasses you further— you aren’t drunk. You can’t even call yourself slightly inebriated, not yet.

Then perhaps it’s your subconscious telling you to cave to Quanxi’s suggestion. To give into the strange offer of reprieve this Earth finds itself willing to give to you.

Her hands travel, soft and featherlight, across your now scalding flesh, and beneath the waistband of the sweats she’d intended on giving you. Loosening them from around your hips, she pushes them down until they slip around your ankles, and with a hand poised at the toned sculpt of her abdomen, she presses you into leaning against the counter behind you.

“Just stand there and stay pretty for me.”

Quanxi doesn’t waste another moment; not particularly keen to stop her, you lean into the hand that cups your jaw, allows her to fit her lips between yours, tries to remember the last time you’d ever kissed or had ever been kissed, and fails. With no other thoughts to keep you tethered to creating distractions for yourself, you keen forward and shift your weight onto a single foot. A small laugh huffs against your lips.

“You are enjoying yourself, aren’t you,” she murmurs. You’re about to argue the opposite, that you’d only been acting agreeable for their best interest, and open your mouth; ever the opportunist, Quanxi is quick to curl her tongue to sweep along the inside of your lips before you get the chance to utter a single word. You flinch, but your own hand stays holding Quanxi’s hips against your own.

Her thighs are thick, discovering them to be more muscular than you’d first presumed when one of them press between your own and shift upward. You gasp, a soft sound, when the coarse material of Quanxi’s denim begins sliding back and forth along your bare clit; you tremble, and grips her sides just a little firmer.

“Ah, see? You don’t have to use your words to show it.”

A hand slips around to hold your neck, Quanxi pulling her mouth hard against yours, and you moan, your breaths shared with each tilt of their head and each swirl of their tongues around the other dense, purposeful. Was it the alcohol making your mind fuzzier? Making your judgment clouded? You hadn’t yearned for something this hard in much too long a time, though it did go without saying— yes, I’m enjoying myself.

You shiver at the sudden soft pecks and harsher licks at the curve of your neck, and Quanxi grinds your crotch against her bouncing thigh a little more insistently when you’d begun to shudder.

“You’re close, right? So soon?” Reluctantly, you find yourself nodding. Quanxi hums. “Not here.” She lowers her knee almost too abruptly, and releases. Your head snaps her way, frowning.

“This isn’t how I want you to come,” she explains, decidedly tugging down her own pants and kicking them away. “Too simple.”

“Why did you stop?”

“It’s only for a moment,” Quanxi assures you. She takes one of your hands and begins pulling you toward the staircase to the loft, quick to guide you along to sitting at the edge of her plush bedding. “Don’t look so frustrated, hm?”

You scoff, but it’s choked, heart still racing from your formerly impending, now lost, orgasm.

“More condescending words of yours,” you mutter, “just like earlier.”

“Condescending words from earlier…” Quanxi pauses. “Do you mean when I called you a “good girl”?”

“Yes. It was patronizing.”

“And… if I were to call you a good girl now?” Quanxi releases her hold around your wrist and, before you can pull them back (whether you were going to or not), fits her fingers through both of yours and kneels between your legs, spreading them further apart with her shoulders. Your entire body flinches, and your arms both jerk upwards with nowhere to go. “Is that still me being condescending? Or…” Quanxi tilts her head forward once more, and licks a stripe upward against your quiver. “… maybe it’s patronizing now?”

“Y-You’ve… well surpassed the definition of both of those words,” you groan.

“Maybe.” Quanxi’s tongue curls, catching on the hood of your clit. You gasp. “But look at you, my little time-traveling friend, behaving so well for me. I think this deserves a little bit of praise; a small reward.”

“Stop talking about it and give it to me, then.”

Quanxi doesn’t speak again, having suddenly busied herself with the wet kisses she supplied to your cunt. Your eyes fly upward to meet hers, tongue flicking so frustratingly calculated between your folds. You stir, arms twitching impatiently in her hold with nowhere to go— until she releases them again. Unable to help herself, you lurch forward, one hand pressing the woman between your thighs deeper into you, the other clawing at the sheets beneath you. When Quanxi goes to mumble something, not bothering to remove her tongue from against you, you send a hazy glare her way.

“Don’t talk, j-just—!” Quanxi’s grip shifts, instead to wind her arms around your thighs when your squirming becomes too uncontrolled. You cry out, a sharp noise that ends up startling you back into biting down on your own lip, as Quanxi suckles on your swollen bud. It’s impossible to stop her, to want to stop her; your hold on her head lessens, though it’s only when your legs begin to tremble in their attempt to fold shut, and when your voice catches in her throat that Quanxi finally pulls away, lips and chin glistening under the moonlight and hair slightly disheveled, and you groan again, a noise that grows progressively louder and more frustrated as the blonde rises back onto her feet.

“I never specified if you’d be the only one getting rewarded,” Quanxi points out, chuckling. “Keep your legs open.”

You manage a frown, but still hold your thighs apart for Quanxi to straddle you. Your hips buck, feeling the sudden pressure, the sudden heat and slick press against her; Quanxi doesn’t waste another moment, having been denying even herself the pleasure she’d now twice ripped away from you— punishment for the frustratingly short answers you’d provided throughout the evening.

Hands falling next to your head to grip the blanket, she rocks forward, lower back instinctively arching upon the friction finally reaching her— Quanxi moans, and you, impatient and shuddering once more, reach behind Quanxi to grab at her ass to pull her tighter into you.

“So eager,” Quanxi groans. Jerkily, she forces your shirt up over your breasts, nipples pert from your arousal, and dips her head down to wrap her lips around one, tongue swirling.

“Quanxi, I—” she pops away, gasping, hips still gyrating and pelvis grinding into yours with such a desperate fervour; she suddenly swivels herself and takes hold of your leg from under her knee, bringing it upwards. “Quanxi—”

“Go on, then,” Quanxi pants. Both mouths dripping, she takes her tongue and drags it up your calf. “Come for me, my little time-traveler.”

You choke on your breath, and your hands seize for Quanxi to hold her in position while you suddenly flip her around, grinding down on her, instead. Teeth gritted, Quanxi pulls and tugs at the sheets, moaning with the sweet relief of her own orgasm, and you tremble, crying out soft and low from the washing over of — finally, finally — your own pleasure.

Spent, you huff at the one-eyed woman when you lower herself down fully onto her pelvis. “Don’t… call me that ever again.”

Quanxi’s laugh is one of disbelief, and has you reddening above her.

“I was supposed to have an early night… I can always sleep on the plane.”

#quanxi x reader #afab reader #quanxi x y/n #csm x reader #quanxi smut #csm smut #csm quanxi #wlw #quanxi wlw

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nevesmose · 22 days

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Nostraman Nature Sucks: An Attempted Lore Post

Ave dominus nox Night Lords fans. I thought I'd take some time to go through the various NL stories I have to hand and see what I could find out about the animals that lived on Nostramo. Might come in useful for something, who knows?

Sharks and Whales

As a child, on several coastal journeys with his father, he had witnessed the eyeless barrasal sharks that would group together to hunt the great whales of the open ocean. (Night Lords Trilogy)

His voice filters into something savage and predatory, as hungry as the eyeless white sharks of Nostramo’s blackest depths. (The Long Night)

Not a big surprise since they talk about them fairly often and have the Space Sharks as a successor chapter but Nostramo does have sharks. Pretty gnarly-sounding sharks if I'm honest.

I didn't know what "barrasal" meant, so I looked it up and only found one thread on r/40klore that had the same quote in it as above. Hmm.

Assuming it's not a typo or a more straightforward reference to something I'm just not getting, I'd venture a guess that barrasal, understood here to mean of or relating to "barras" like with "abyssal" could be connected to the French Revolutionary leader Paul Barras who is mostly remembered for supporting Napoleon's rise to power before being overthrown by him.

So maybe the older barrasal sharks will make use of younger ones as temporary hunting partners only to be inevitably betrayed and consumed by them. Sounds about right I think.

As for the whales, where do I even begin? I would imagine they're "whales" in name only like in Dishonored:

This does imply the possible existence of a whaling industry at some stage in Nostramo's history, though.

Crows

Jago reached into his pockets, offering a handful of breadcrumbs. Come, he said to the crows. Food for tonight. Flesh, flesh, flesh, they called back. He laughed as several of the black birds landed on his shoulders and outstretched arm. (Prince Of Crows)

‘Yes. I’ve seen them in books. Is a crow a type of bird?’ ‘Black of feather and dark of eye. It feeds on the bodies of the dead, and sings in a raw, croaking caw.’ (TLN)

Breaking news - legion that keeps referring to crows in shocking has crows on its homeworld scandal. "This is outrageous," said local Nostraman cutpurse and skin disease enthusiast Verxaglryn Quickstabber, "here we are trying to make a good name for Nostramo as a respectable hellhole, a place you'd be proud to exile your worst enemy to, and yet we're surrounded by some of the most intelligent and curious birds in existence. I was shanking someone in a back alley the other night and suddenly I saw a crow learning how to use rudimentary tools! Not on my watch, I said to the rapidly cooling body, and I threw my shiv at it. But it just flew away." At this point Mr Quickstabber was obliged to end the interview due to having been eviscerated by the Night Haunter.

I know their communication with Sevatar is happening in a dream but I really like the idea of the crows adapting to Nostramo by developing some kind of psychic hive mind that's also able to be understood by human psykers.

Crag Cougars

A beast of my home world. When next you see one of the Atramentar, look to their shoulder guards. The roaring lions on their pauldrons are what we called crag cougars on Nostramo. It was considered a mark of wealth for gang bosses to be able to leave the cities and hunt such creatures. (NLT)

Every single one of them is Scar from the Lion King, isn't it? An interesting hint about Nostramo's geography though, of which more later.

Rats

Groundcars whisked by, headlights brighter than deep-hive rats’ eyes, the occupants snug and safe behind armoured glass. (Konrad Curze: The Night Haunter)

No surprises here either. Where there's people there's rats after all.

Something with tusks?

The older Astartes grinned, wolf-like and keen, as the Atramentar either side of the Exalted’s throne growled through their tusked helms. (NLT)

This isn't that conclusive because a lot of Chaos Terminators have tusks no matter what legion they are, but Nostramo being Nostramo they probably belonged to a species of giant carnivorous mammoth that ate babies and sprayed acid from its trunk.

Cows? On My Sunless World?

‘They are still of standard human stock, and not to be mourned. What does it matter if the cattle fear the herdsman?’ hissed Krukesh the Pale. (KC:TNH)

This one's a real reach on my part as it's very likely just a turn of phrase, but I noticed it because wouldn't it be slightly more typical to use a sheep metaphor here? Plus it supports the existence of Nostraman cowboys/ranchers/vaqueros which is fun.

No bats?

His helmet bore a new, spread batwing crest in blatant imitation of Sevatar’s own. (A Safe and Shadowed Place)

A sole space was neat: a circle around an iron lectern fashioned in the form of a bat’s outflung wings, which carried a heavy book bound in human skin. (KC:TNH)

Although they appear a lot in the VIII legion's iconography and artwork, oddly enough I wasn't actually able to find a direct reference to Nostramo itself having bats. Let's cover my ass by saying this aspect might therefore have been brought in by the legion's Terran component instead.

Some Nostraman geography

The Hill Folk lived away from the cities, eking out an existence in the mountains. (NLT)

What's worse than living in a Nostraman city? Living on a Nostraman hill, apparently. This seems to just be an idea of ADB's that doesn't come up again but I've always found it quite interesting. Were the Hill Folk as scummy as the City Folk, just with more of a down-home Dukes of Hazzard vibe? Seems likely.

This also supports the idea of Nostramo not being completely urbanised like some Hive Worlds are. In my view its continents might have had a geographical layout a bit like Italy or Scotland where the cities are mainly on the flatter coasts with a more sparsely populated hilly/mountainous interior.

What else? (This part is just me making stuff up so feel free to ignore it. I'm not ADB, I'm not even ADB's hat.)

If the rest of Nostramo's marine life is anything like the sharks and whales then it's fucking terrifying. I would imagine, because it's funny, that a lot of Nostraman food features disgusting industrially-processed fish in some way or another. Like the food in Dishonored but even worse.

Is something wrong, dearest offworld husband? You haven't touched your stale bread, whalemeat and jellied eels.

Since all life on Nostramo seems to be comically carnivorous and aggressive, it would make sense in a 40K kind of way for there to be giant predatory penguins living at one or both of its poles. A bit like the monstrous blind albino penguins HP Lovecraft wrote about.

Last known infrared pict-capture of an early Nostraman settler attempting communication with a juvenile specimen of the native penguin species. There were no survivors.

#ended up mentioning Dishonored a lot #fine by me I love Dishonored #shall we gather for whisky and cigars tonight?#warhammer lore #wh40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #night lords #nostramo #neves loreposts

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hungerofhadarr · 3 months

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Tagged by my friend @aphoticfairy for Wip Wednesday ( come . Play Pretend with me . It is still Wednesday . )

Since I am nervous to tag anyone for this, please feel free to take this post as your invitation to join in if you wish ! ( also tag me so I can see , pease … )

Fic wip for a fic I like to call “ Wyll and Giilvas are going to get married also Ulder is scheming and Giilvas and Ulder are going to enact psychic warfare on each other “ it’ s a great working title !

——

The Ravengard estate. A rather proud, pompous building. Overlooking the sprawling gardens and the intricate stone archways. The hedge maze was a wonderful touch, maybe, when Ulder was younger and he would race through the hedges. Now, it was an all-consuming nightmare to keep trimmed. And it proves his internal compass has… lost its skills, so to say, he’s gotten lost many more times than he will admit.

The halls come alive at known intervals, for political parties. Or political meetings. Or for political holidays. Ulder has to pause and think hard about the last time a celebration occurred in these wall and it didn’t have some form of political weight. The resounding answer being never.

But. Nevermind that. It was still a few months off before anything should be happening. The next larger, world devorning event was the Feast of the Moon, and the many little events that it managed to spawn that Ulder was left trying to herd like righteous tressyms. Which is to say, poorly, with many colourful words, and he ends up tripping over his own feet.

He had just managed to survive the screaming, meowing, forever pissed off hoard of metaphorical tressyms for Highharvestide, and was rather content to spend a few days in bed. Dead to the world. Or in his study. Dead to the world. Or in the gardens. Once again. Dead to the world.

So he was rather concerned when he awoke to a frantic set of knocks on his study door. Reading spectacles clattered on oak floor, book that was laid politely on his lap joining them, Ulder jolted to attention when one of the maids creaked the door ajar. Blue eyes peering inward like a child, checking to see if her parents are sleeping.

“Sire? We have word of visitors. I think they’ll wish to see you, when you’re available, of course.”

She doesn’t push the door open any further, but she does not close it either. Just offers a bow of the head, and her quick footsteps mark her rapid descent down the hall.

Ulder manages to blink a few times, vision taking pity and unblurring after the third try. If he can see, then he can hear. And if he can hear, he can retroactively acknowledge what the maid-girl just said. And if he can acknowledge what was just said…

By the Gods. Give him mercy.

Highharvestide had just concluded. No one was supposed to be coming around. Unless… no. No, the ball was perfect. There would be no way any self-respecting noble would send a pageboy to deliver a message of displeasure. Not so soon, anyhow.

But maids and watchguards do not go into a state of panic over a pageboy, so who could it…?

Putting the window to use, finally pushing the lovingly embroidered curtains to the side- ah, good afternoon to you as well, shower of dust- and he tries to focus his eyes to the horizon.

There is… something! There is something coming up the front path.

He needs his glasses. Damnable things.

By the time he manages to save them from their temporary spot on the cold floor, hips be damned he can manage that bend, the something is further up the path.

Ulder gives the lenses the old one-two swipe with the cloth of his shirt to get rid of anything unneeded smudges, and finally places them back on the bridge of his nose.

Oh. By the Gods.

It’s Wyll. His boy, Wyll Ravengard. Coming up the path with singed armour and a travel pack slinging over his shoulder. He’s grinning, the lingering autumn warmth slowing his pace as he approaches. He looks well. Very much so, since the last chance Ulder had to see him. Would have brought a tear to his eye. If there wasn’t a concern pushing at the base of his skull- joyous! A migraine is already coming on.

Wyll wasn’t the concern. Wyll wasn’t the reason Ulder was feeling the need to call upon the Triad.

The hulking other, a step behind his son? That was the reason.

The Golden Rose. Giilvas Quickfoot. His boy’s betrothed. Ulder’s nightmare.

Ulder wanted to scrunch his face. In fact, he does allow his nose to wrinkle and his lips to go tight. But if he can see them, they can see him. And, since the Fates have made the decision that Ulder is their current focus of tortures, Wyll’s betrothed is scarily perceptive.

So, if he was to snarl from his study, far above them, Giilvas would see it. And made sure Ulder knew.

Instead, with an air of calm and I don’t care that you’re coming up my walk and will be inside my estate, Ulder yanks the dusty old curtains back in place. Then, he allows himself to scowl at the old embroidery that dances across the fabric. He swears he can see those mismatched eyes of the Rose staring back at him in the tapestry. And he swears they’re laughing at him.

With a dizzying clarity that he, Duke Ulder Ravengard, is about to pick a fight with his curtains, he pulls away. There’s a warm rush of embarrassment across his neck. He’s acting like a child. Get it together, he scolds himself.

It is a blessing that his boy and his… boy-in-law? Were coming for a visit. They’ll probably spend the night out at the tavern, and they’ll spend only an hour or two here.

Ulder smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, and affirms his thoughts. He would not demand Wyll stay the night here. And besides, this was just a visit. It wasn’t like the two of them were coming to the estate with world-changing news. The two of them were travellers- one of which had Ulder’s respect, but that was besides the point- they’d probably be seen leaving Baldur’s Gate by the dawn of the ‘morrow.

Now, time to take his place in the foyer, and wait for his welcomed guests to step inside.

——

“Father, we plan to be wedded!”

Ulder Ravengard was going to smash something. Over his head? Over the head of the smug man clinging to his son? Both of them?

Yes. Both of them, he decides. But, since the Fates chose that their newest decree would make it so no butler bearing two heavy bottles of wine came through the foyer at that instant, Ulder chose the high road.

He smiles, he knows it isn’t quite reaching his eyes but what can he do, and he nods like a village fool at the excitement in Wyll’s voice. There was something soft in his chest, seeing his son so… happy. He truly desires this, he wants the wedding. And he wants his father to know. It was sweet and Ulder wondered why he was so bitter a moment ago.

“Of course, this means I am here to ask for your permission, Mr. Ravengard.”

Suddenly, and without warning, Ulder Ravengard was bitter again. Wonder who caused that.

Giilvas kept a large hand almost permanently interlocked with Wyll’s, and Ulder has half a mind to tell him that Wyll isn’t going to run away on him. But the other half?

Oh.

Oh. It was planning. Spinning a web, even. Laying a dastardly trap. And the Rose would walk right into it.

“Of course. It would be wrong of me to deny you both from each other. But… May I make a request?” Ulder notes how Giilvas nods rather enthusiastically. And how Wyll nods, but slower. Brow furrowing just enough to faintly recrease his forehead. By the Helm, was he already onto him? Ulder didn’t think he was that predictable.

Well, he cannot back down now. He was the Duke, dammit. Dukes do not tuck tail and run.

“I would like to aid in the wedding. You’ll,” and Ulder locks his eyes with Wyll, making sure the fact that the you in this case is singular well known, “ have full access to our coffers for planning. We can even host the ceremony here. The garden can be kept alive by magic, you see-“

“You make it sound like we’ll be wed in the winter.” Giilvas cuts in, and Wyll eyes his father knowingly. Too knowingly. Ulder, suddenly, finds the wall behind Wyll far easier to lock eyes with.

“I was getting to that. You see, to make sure this wedding is perfect, you’ll both have to stay here. Allows us all to plan and have everything ready. It will be perfect, between Uktar thirtieth and Nightal first.”

Wyll sucks in a gasp.

“But that’s the Feast of the Moon-“

Giilvas’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, things slotting into place with Wyll’s words.

“You plan to wed us on the night for the Ball of the Moon.”

Clever boy.

“I think it would be grand. Wouldn’t it?” It also gives him the time to try and scare away the rapscallion that is trying to take his boy from him.

But, in a twist that Ulder feels more shock at the fact he did not see this coming, rather than the twist itself, Giilvas smiles at him. Not really a smile, top lip pulled too far back and it seems to refuse to reach his eyes, but he made the face all the same. It is the thought that counts.

“It’s a deal, gracious Duke Ravengard.”

Oh, the boy wishes to play the game with him? So be it.

Wyll eyes the both of them as they seal the deal with a shake. He is aware, the third party always is, but that only means Ulder will have to choose subtly. Espionage can win a war. It wasn’t like Giilvas knew how to navigate a noble home or the ecosystem of one. He has home advantage- literally.

He holds his potentially probably not son-in-law’s gaze for a few moments that last a century, seeing if he’ll shy away from the eye contact. When those mismatched eyes start to look like they’re laughing at him, Ulder releases the hand and turns to call for someone else.

“I’ll make sure a bed is prepared for you, my good man. And Wyll? Your room is the same as when you left. Make yourself comfortable once more, my son.”

He makes a mental note to tell the maid to make up Giilvas’ room on the opposite wing of the estate. Good luck avoiding squeaky floors in the night, foolboy.

For now, he guides the boys to deposit their belongings and encourages them to shed the heavier layers of armour. Might as well let them have as much comfort as they can now.

Hell stained metal and fabric collect alongside their travel bags, and Ulder holds his tongue. He will ask his son about it all later. The battles. The terrors. The cruelty. Now was not the time for any of it. Especially not when his son was still buzzing with the energy of announcing the plan for marriage.

“Father, are the gardens in good shape right now?”

Ulder knew was Wyll was asking for, and he reminded himself of the eye bags under Giilvas’ eyes. They both must be exhausted. And it would be cruel and unusual to try and being the warfare when one party was in poor condition. Ulder was nothing, if not a merciful man.

“Oh, go ahead Wyll. Everything will be taken care of in here.”

That damn warmth spread in his chest, seeing Wyll relock his hand with Giilvas’ own. He gives a tug, pulling the larger man along, and Ulder cannot help but sigh wistfully when Wyll mentions the maze to Giilvas. They’re going to get lost in there. Ulder knows it to be true.

But, with them both gone and busy, Ulder can plan with no risk of ever-watchful eyes catching him.

How does one drive away a man like Giilvas Quickfoot. It was time to delve into the worlds of speculation and trial and error.

He won’t be empty handed.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #giilvas #wyll #wyll ravengard #ulder ravengard #willow trees #wyll/tav #wip wednesday #wip whenever #bg3 fic

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confusedblakex · 2 years

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Yours and Mine (Prologue)

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo X Reader (Gender Neutral)

Summary: As the second born heir of Karessi, you didn't expect to be married off to the Barbarian Prince

AU: Royal/Fantasy AU - All characters are royalty and have some form of magic ability

Wordcount: ~1490

Warnings: Mentions of war, arranged marriage

Series taglist: @deepressed @bakugoiidaswaifu - if you wish to be added to or removed from the taglist please just ask

Notes: Inspired by this post; New series? Yes

Last edited: 12nd July 2023

Series Masterlist - Prologue - Part 1 - On hold until further notice

The Great Karessi was a land of many wonders. Wonders one would not believe unless they were to see it with their own eyes.

The Barbarian Prince, Katsuki Bakugo, found himself walking amongst these wonders. The pearlescent sands of the beach where he had first landed, the fields of lupine flowers with petals made of crystal, and the earth that was soft like a feather pillow.

But the most impressive were the mountains. Mountains that stretched up to the clouds, surrounded by forests of impossibly tall trees. Waterfalls fell from nowhere, cascading down the mountains as though it was falling from the heavens. Nestled within the mountains was a palace that shone like gold. It touched the highest point of the sky, and yet it was almost entirely hidden by the peaks that surrounded it.

The prince would have scoffed if he wasn’t so taken aback by the land’s beauty. The soldiers that trailed behind him seemed to be as well. Katsuki continued forwards regardless, shaking his head to rid it of the effects Karessi had on him. This was supposed to be war.

He led his warriors into the dense forests, the soft grass under their boots curling up the moment they touched it. Little sunlight could reach them as they trekked deeper through the trees, and fireflies flitted around them in a dance of warning.

A warcry from the forest’s darkness called, and that is how it began.

┄⫸┄⫷┄

The air was calm and the last of the sun shone through your open windows, calling you outside. You quickly gave in to its request, putting down your book and wrapping yourself in a light robe before you stepped out onto your balcony.

You looked out, over the buildings and bustling city towards the lowering evening sun. Not quite a sunset yet though. You felt the warmth on your face, and you closed your eyes to take it all in.

A knock sounded from your door, breaking you away from your temporary state of bliss.

“Come in,” you called, and you were greeted by your sister, wearing her battle armour.

“I thought you were supposed to be studying?” she questioned from the doorway with a smile on her face.

“I was, I’m simply taking a break,” you replied, reluctantly leaving the balcony and returning into your room.

“Regardless, the Queen wishes to speak with you,” she told you, and you nodded in response. You quickly changed into clothes that were more formal and strode down the halls of the palace with purpose. This was something important, your sister wouldn’t have called your mother the Queen if it wasn’t.

You opened the double doors to the library and silently closed them behind you. You turned to see your mother sitting in a plush chair at the far end of the room with an old leather-bound book in her hands. Bookshelves lined every wall up to the high ceiling, and you admired the library’s beauty as you walked up to your mother.

She looked up from her book upon hearing your quiet footsteps, and a smile appeared on her face when she saw you.

“(y/n), how are you?” she asked as she closed the book and placed it on a small table next to the chair. She stood up and brought you into a gentle embrace.

“I’m well, thank you mother,” you replied, smiling back at her.

She pulled a second chair closer to hers and then motioned for you to sit down on it. You did so carefully as you watched the atmosphere change around her. She became serious, and focused - this was the Queen of Karessi.

“Now, there is a highly important matter we must discuss,” she stated as she sat down across from you, “As you are more than aware, the people of Karessi have been at odds with the Barbarians for centuries now,”

You frowned at this information. Of course you knew, but why would your mother tell you in particular?

“And due to… recent events, we cannot allow this to evolve into war” the Queen continued. You knew exactly what she was talking about.

Only a few days ago, a fight against the Barbarians on Karessi soil had ended. The fighting had lasted a week and ended as suddenly as it had begun. Only a few of either side had been injured, and even fewer had died. But it was enough to bring to light the real threat of war from the Barbarians.

“I understand. What is it you wish for me to do?” you asked. As the Karessi peoples’ greatest warrior, you suspected that your mother was expecting a war.

“King Masaru wrote to me with a proposal…” your mother explained with the slightest hesitation in her voice, and it worried you.

“You are to be wed to the Barbarian Prince,” she said, with an air of certainty.

Your mind froze, and silence rang through your head. You - the second born of the Karessi Queen, the greatest warrior of the Karessi people, the most stubborn of all the royals and the only royal that did not wish to marry.

“What?” You asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Your mother’s expression softened ever so slightly.

“My dear, we need peace between Karessi and the Barbarians - they need to see that we do not hold hatred in our hearts.” She explained, but you didn’t at all understand.

“I hold hatred in my heart, mother,” you stated, standing up, “I would much rather die a dishonourable death than become the political possession of some entitled Barbarian,”

Your mother sighed and stood up, bringing you into an embrace.

“I understand this is difficult, however it must be done. We cannot afford a war,” she told you softly. You fought back the anger with all the strength you had.

“Fine. What do you have arranged?” you reluctantly asked.

The Queen released you from the hug and returned to her seat.

“You should begin packing your belongings. I will sail to the Barbarian lands with you the week after next, and you will stay with the Bakugos until your wedding.”

“Thank you for understanding, (y/n),” she said as she let a small smile creep onto her face.

“May your wish be forged in obsidian,” you spoke the old expression of loyalty and left the room calmly, sighing once the door had closed behind you.

Your hands balled into fists, and you felt the need to yell at someone. You began to walk down the halls and back to your room, but someone grabbed your arm before you could move even two steps.

You spun around ready to kill, but froze upon seeing your sister.

“Were you listening in?” you asked, your anger still clouding your thoughts.

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it,” she whispered, ignoring your question, “I know you, (y/n). You might have fooled mother with your compliance, but you won’t fool me,”

You knew she was right, in the back of your mind you wanted the war far more than you wanted to be married off.

“What if I just declare war?” you asked quietly, trying to calm down.

Your sister only shook her head, “That's not the way you should go about this.”

“Why not?” You asked a little more aggressively than you would have liked.

“The Barbarians are strong, even equal to our own warriors. A war between us would last decades, with resources dwindling and lives being lost unnecessarily. Putting our people through that would just be cruelty,” she explained, “Something must be done, and this is the only peaceful way.”

While you were a warrior, she was a far better politician and battle strategist. And you hated how she was always right.

“I won’t go through with this, I will not just give myself up to a loveless political marriage!” you stated, your voice rising just above a whisper.

“There must be something you can do?” you asked as you sighed.

“I’m not yet Queen, I do not have that power” your sister whispered and you felt anger build up within you again.

“The Barbarian Prince was who invaded us and started this all to begin with…” you mumbled.

“I never said I wanted this. I am only going along with this because it is what’s best for our people” she explained.

You let out another sigh to calm yourself down and let it sink in. Perhaps you just had to quiet down and accept it. You began walking to your room once more, but your sister called your name before you could get too far.

“(y/n),” she called, and you turned to look back at her, “if you still do not want this marriage when the wedding arrives, tell me. I will bring my warriors with me and we will take down the Barbarians from the inside,”

You looked at her for a moment, silence surrounding the two of you.

“That sounds like a much better plan.”

#x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #barbarian bakugou #bnha fantasy au #royal au #barbarian bakugou x reader

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noodlecupcakeswritings · 1 year

Text

A Royal Affair - Chapter 2 (Kylo RenXOC)

The First Order is looking to expand its allies and Corellia is known for its great Starships and the royal family. Princess Cora Ardmore is less than thrilled about her future marriage to General Hux, and even less thrilled to have Kylo Ren as her temporary bodyguard.

AN: I just want to warn people that this is definitely a darker fic from me. Plus I do not hate General Hux at all regardless of how I’m portraying him in this fic, I love him but have some dark headcanons about him. I also want to thank @neeharlow and @kittyofalltrades for helping bringing this fic to life with our roleplay thread :D I also want to thank my incredible fiance @mk-vi for allowing me to use his OC Varidun.

Warnings: Violence, Character deaths, Hux is still an asshole, Kylo is also an asshole, Slight horror elements

Chapter 2

Cora Ardmore

It had been a full rotation since The First Order had invaded my home and it already felt like I was suffocating. Stormtroopers seemed to be everywhere, Officers were coming and going as they pleased and worst of all was their precious General and Commander. Although I hadn’t quite determined which of the two were worse at the moment. Kylo Ren, the Jedi killer, was silent, more of a looming, foreboding presence. He was intimidating to everyone and anyone that came into contact with him, including those supposedly on his side. The only person who didn’t seem bothered by Kylo Ren’s brooding was General Hux. My fiancée.

Showing him around the palace had been gruelling and infuriating. The way he eyed me up like some prize to be won was repulsive. And whilst I had encountered that look many times before from princes and politicians, there was something about the way Hux did it that made my skin crawl. Perhaps it was his determination and arrogance. I had attempted to protest the marriage not only with him but my parents, but it seemed there was no wiggle room. Whilst I was worried about my own fate, I was also worried about what this would mean regarding Corellia’s alliance with Kuat.

My former fiancée, Prince Jax Grespa, was someone whom I had gotten along with. Whilst the marriage would have also been purely political, it still had somewhat been my choice. I’d had plenty of time to get to know Jax previously and we were at least friendly and had trust for each other. I just had to hope he wouldn’t see it as a betrayal, that he would see the truth of this new arrangement. Well, more hostage situation. And it was made worse by being a hostage in my own home.

Hux was already acting like he owned the place and the staff. And my handmaidens and personal guard were already as sick of him as I was. My chief handmaiden, Flora, had already been very vocal about her distaste for the man. But she always had been very vocal regardless of the situation. Hux’s quarters were down the hall beside Kylo Ren’s. I would have preferred to put more distance between my bedroom and theirs, so it didn’t feel like they were breathing down my neck constantly. But Hux had made it clear that he didn’t trust me quite yet. Nor should he. I was determined to fight him every step of the way.

Retreating to my quarters, which were the only safe place in the palace, I took a few moments for myself. Other planets must have heard about the invasion by now, and they had to be arranging forces to help us. At least, I hoped they were. After only having ten minutes to myself, there was a hurried knock at the door. “My lady?” Came Varidun’s voice. He sounded tense, understandably so when The First Order was scrutinizing everyone within the palace. Yet I was worried about what news awaited me on the other side of the door. I ushered my personal guard inside, making sure nobody was around to eavesdrop.

“What is it?” I asked. I couldn’t help but notice the bulk of his armour under his greatcoat and that just gave me more questions. Varidun held out a bag for me to take. “I have come with orders from your mother. You are to change into these and then accompany me through the lower levels to a waiting speeder,” Varidun explained. I felt a small glimmer of hope at what he was implying. Taking the bag from him, I looked inside to find handmaiden robes and a hooded cloak. Without further question, I went behind a screen to change into the clothes provided. I trusted Varidun with my life and I had since I was a little girl.

“Are we going to Kuat?” I asked in a hushed whisper. “It’s one of the locations I have been authorized to take you. Your mother did not wish to know, should anything happen.” Nerves bubbled inside my stomach, neither of us would be safe until we were off the planet. Once dressed, I stepped out from behind the screen. “I suppose I can’t even say goodbye to my parents?” I asked solemnly, already knowing the answer. Varidun shook his head, my heart sinking at the realization not only would I not be able to say goodbye to my parents, but I also would likely never be able to return home.

Varidun opened the door to my room and once he deemed the coast was clear, he ushered me over. “Stay close to me and keep your head low,” he instructed. Nodding gently, I did as I was told and followed him out of my quarters. Keeping my eyes on the floor, I remained silent, although my heart pounded with every step. We passed a group of stormtroopers, but thankfully, they didn’t seem to notice us. Only once we turned a corner did I release the breath I had been holding. My stomach was a mixture of nerves and excitement and I had to reign in my hope just in case the worst happened. Once we were clear of the planet, then I could celebrate.

Varidun led me down a staircase that took us to the lower levels. We eventually stopped at a bookcase, Varidun looking around to check the coast was clear. Once he deemed it was safe, he lifted a book to reveal a small pin code panel. Punching in a string of numbers, the bookcase opened with a hiss to reveal an old service elevator. I had known the palace was filled with various secret tunnels and doors in case my family needed to escape for a number of reasons, but I had never come across them myself. Stepping inside, Varidun pressed a button for the level three sub-basement.

The lift eventually stops, the doors sliding open to reveal a service tunnel. The walls are coloured a faded silver durasteel, although a pipe had burst somewhere causing a small ankle-deep flood. Stepping out of the lift, my shoes and the bottom of my skirt were immediately soaked. Varidun opened a small box that was mounted on the wall and produced two small clip-on flashlights. Once his was attached, he handed me the other one. “Here, it won’t light up much, but they will stop us from tripping over,” Varidun spoke. “Thank you.”

The torch looked old; I wondered if it would even work, let alone have a beam big enough for use. Turning it on, the light was dim, but it was better than nothing. Varidun led me down the tunnel, the water splashing noisily with each step we took. “I had no idea all this was down here,” I mused. “It’s been here longer than the palace itself. From my understanding, Corellia, much like Coruscant, is built upon several sub-layers of infrastructure that keep the city running,” Varidun explained. He took another left turn before a right turn. Not once did he hesitate, seeming to know exactly which path to take, as if he had frequently been down here.

“Is it just you and my mother who know? Or has a decoy been put in my place for the time being?” I asked. It wasn’t uncommon for the royal family to have decoys should there be any attempts on our lives. I remembered being fascinated by my decoy as a child, and even now I wondered how they found women that looked so similar to me. “Yes, a decoy has been put in place,” Varidun finally answered. “I see.” I wondered how long it would take before Hux noticed a decoy had taken my place. We couldn’t have much more time before someone noticed I was gone, as was my personal guard.

“It’s not much further, once we reach the main pumping station, our path back to the surface begins,” Varidun broke the silence. We took a few more twists and turns before Varidun came to a dead stop before me quick enough that I almost bumped into him. I could hear the familiar hum of a saber before I saw the red crossguard illuminating the tunnels. Dread pooled in my stomach and tears pricked at my eyes at the sight of Kylo Ren. He must have been down here the entire time, lurking in the shadows and waiting to ambush us.

“Princess, your fiancée was getting worried about you,” Kylo said, the sarcasm unmistakable even through the voice modulator of his helmet. Varidun remained between us, drawing his vibro-sword, “the princess isn’t allowed to go for walks on her own land anymore?” I cowered behind Varidun, completely useless in this situation. All my previous hopes were gone, replaced with the dread that I was going to die. “Not to the speeder waiting for the two of you at the end of the tunnel, no. Now, either we can escort her back together or I can do it myself,” Kylo offered.

“I don’t think her royal highness wishes to return with you,” Varidun replied. Varidun readied himself, his free hand on his blaster. He didn’t move, however, he wouldn’t until Kylo did. I, on the other hand, prepared myself to run. Kylo sighed, the sound coming out as static before advancing on us. Varidun stepped forward, ready to meet him in the middle. He drew his blaster, firing a few rounds at Kylo as the gap between them continued to close.

I turned and ran, losing myself in the twists and turns of the tunnels. Only once I had run out of breath did I stop, straining my ears to listen for movement. Another blaster shot rang out before hitting the water with a splash, meaning Kylo had likely deflected it with his saber or the force. Every sound echoed off the walls, and Varidun suddenly cried out in pain. My heart sank at the sound, and I froze, unsure what to do next. The more time that passed with only silence, the more I thought that Varidun was dead.

Another pained cry echoed through the tunnels, confirming that he was still alive. For how much longer, however, I had no idea. It wasn’t until Varidun howled with pain again that I realized just what Kylo was doing. Kylo was a force user, he could have killed Varidun easily, but he had chosen not to. Now torturing him in the hopes of luring me out. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I covered my ears, trying to drown out Varidun’s screams. But no matter how hard I pressed down, I could still hear him, the sound engrained in my mind now.

“Princess, you can end his pain by surrendering. Come out and I’ll spare what’s left of him,” Kylo called. I couldn’t be sure if Kylo was telling the truth, but a part of me wanted to believe I could save Varidun even if I sacrificed my freedom. I knew Varidun wouldn’t be happy if I did so, but it felt wrong to let him die at Kylo’s hand. Whilst it was a part of Varidun’s job to give his life to protect my family and I that didn’t mean I didn’t care about his safety and well-being. But I knew Varidun, and I knew if I surrendered, he wouldn’t be happy at all. He’d want me to run.

“Or you can keep hiding and listen to me kill him. Then I’ll have no choice but to hunt you down and drag you back to the palace,” Kylo threatened. The last thing I wanted was the Jedi killer hunting me, I could only imagine the things he’d do to me before taking me back to the palace. I needed to move, try, and find another exit before Kylo could reach me. Glancing down at the light in my hand, I knew I had no choice but to turn it off so it wouldn’t give away my position.

With shaking hands, I killed the light, plunging myself into complete darkness. Taking a few deep breaths for courage, I took a small step forward, water splashing around my ankles. My heart leapt in my throat at the sound, now afraid that it had given away my position. Glancing around, I looked for any signs of the red blade and listened for its familiar hum or any footsteps. Nothing but silence. Placing my hand on the wall, I used it as a guide as I gently shuffled forward, desperately trying to not make a sound.

Taking the next turn, I prayed internally for some kind of light up ahead, but I was just greeted with more darkness. My heart was pounding hard against my chest, and I was afraid of every step I took, but I had to keep going. I couldn’t just sit around and wait for Kylo to find me. I took a few more turns and there was still no end in sight. My fear was starting to win out, I was lost. I was stuck in this maze of tunnels with a man who might kill me, and I was never going to find my way out.

Hearing a noise from behind me, I whipped around, trying to search the darkness for the source. There were a few seconds of silence before the angry red of Kylo’s saber cut through the darkness. It only illuminated his helmet, which was now advancing on me like some kind of bodiless apparition. I couldn’t help but let out a small yelp before turning and running blindly into the darkness. I barely made it a few steps before Kylo reached out with the force and froze me in place.

No matter how hard I willed my limbs to move, they remained still. Now the sob that had been building in my throat spilled free, crying like a frightened child. Kylo reached me, now standing before me and looking down at his captured prey. “P-please, don’t hurt me,” I pleaded. “I have no interest in hurting you, only returning you to your fiancée. However, I cannot say for certain that he will be so merciful.” Kylo wrapped his hand around my upper arm and practically dragged me back through the tunnels and to the palace.

Even as he pulled me into the throne room, I couldn’t stop my tears, crying for my lost freedom, the loss of my friend and now in fear of the consequences of my actions. Hux was waiting in the throne room, as were my parents. Stormtroopers stood behind my parents, making sure they didn’t make any sudden movements. My decoy lay at Hux’s feet, still and silent. There wasn’t even the soft rise and fall of her breaths. He’d killed her, choked her to death, judging by the red and purple marks across her neck.

Kylo released me, knowing I had nowhere to run. My mother looked panicked by my return, likely having already put the pieces together regarding Varidun’s demise. Hux turned his attention to me, smiling as if glad to see me safely returned. Although his smile was bordering on a smirk. “Ah, Cora, we were just wondering where you were. You had us all worried,” he said with false concern, “good thing Ren found you.” Hux pulled me closer, grasping my chin hard. His smile faded, replaced with a look of contempt.

“You really thought I’d be stupid enough to not foresee an escape attempt? You thought you could get away from me?” He hissed, “you are mine-“ “Not yet, she’s not,” my mother snapped, cutting Hux off, “you may think you have control over my planet and my people because you outgun us but until the wedding and coronation you are nothing, you are entitled to nothing, least of all my daughter.” Hux released his hold on me, slowly turning to face my mother. She had stepped forward, ignoring the threatening stormtrooper behind her.

“And I suppose it was you who was behind her escape attempt?” Hux asked. My mother scoffed, ready to lie, but Hux cut her off. “I saw the panic in your eyes when Ren brought her in here, you were the one who told her guard to take her through the tunnels,” he continued. “I didn’t even know the tunnels existed.” Hux smirked, seeing through her lie, “if not you then it must have been your husband.” He glanced over at the stormtroopers behind my father and nodded. The troopers forced my father down to his knees, their blasters trained on the back of his head.

“No! Please don’t,” I pleaded. Kylo placed his hand on my shoulder, pulling me back and keeping me still. No matter how much I struggled, he wouldn’t release me. Hux pulled out his own blaster and fired at my mother, hitting her with a fatal shot to the chest. I cried out in anguish as my mother fell to the floor, lifeless. My father watched on helplessly with tears in his eyes, he knew there was nothing he could do or say with Hux turning his wrath on either of us. “And that is what happens to traitors. Have I made my point clear, Cora?” Hux asked.

I was too distraught to speak, unable to take my eyes off my mother. As if enough hadn’t been taken from me today, now these monsters had to take my mother. Annoyed with my silence, Hux stepped closer, now forcing my gaze on him. “Have I made my point clear, Cora?” He repeated, determined to get a response from me. “You’re a monster,” I managed through my tears. “You have no idea.” Hux gave a soft nod to Ren, who released me, and I ran to my mother, cradling her.

My father was also released, coming to console me and mourn his wife. Gently, he pried my arms from my mother so he could properly embrace me, stroking my hair and hushing me in the way only a parent could to their child. This was all my fault, if I had been faster through the tunnels, if I had tried harder to escape, then Kylo never would have found me, and my mother would have been spared. Not only my mother, but perhaps Varidun too. Both of them were gone to protect me. How many more would I lose under the watch of The First Order?

Taglist: @jana-banana-fana, @kittyofalltrades, @sweetfictionalworld

#kylo ren #kylo ren fic #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo renxoc #kylo ren au #kylo ren angst #kylo ren smut #kylo ren feels #kylo ren fluff #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars feels #star wars fluff #star wars smut #star wars angst #star wars au

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drainthehero · 2 years

Text

Legacy of El

Superman landed in front of the securely fortified building which housed a high-tech secret government agency. It did not look like much from the outside, but the Man of Steel knew that the building and its agents were bristling with advanced technology, some of which originated from other planets.

The building was surrounded by a ring of defence personnel, each training their senses and devices toward the fairly innocuous looking doorway.

“Superman, thank goodness you heard the call.” This came from General Toomey who greeted the muscled kryptonian as he floated toward the temporary command structure.

“What’s the situation?” he responded, looking to the building with concern.

“We have little information so far. What we do know is that three men entered the building about an hour ago and within 15 minutes they had seized control and taken all inside hostage.” The worry in the General’s voice was clear as he continued. “Some of the highest brass in defence is inside that building.”

An image of the three men flashed up on a screen for Superman to inspect as Toomey continued his summary. “They carried no weaponry that we could detect, so we are unsure how they have overpowered the agents inside. It is clear they have advanced technology as they have taken control of the building’s AI. We’ve managed to block it from communicating with any of our other assets though, so the virus should not spread.”

Superman’s long red cape fluttered softly as he studied the faces of the men on the screen. The men were handsome, with bulging muscles showing through the tight silver outfits they wore. “I’ve never seen them before, General,” admitted the Man of Steel.

“Neither have we. Nothing comes through on our facial recognition.” Toomey paused. “We presume they are not from Earth.” The last statement came with a heavily concerned undertone.

Superman took in a big breath, causing his muscled chest to swell the bright blue spandex which adorned his physique. “I presume you would like me to ask them – politely – to relinquish control of the building back to you?”

Toomey gave a short chuckle and nodded. “You know what that building is used for Superman. No need for manners in my opinion. You are authorised to use any means necessary to recover the asset.” The General paused for effect before repeating himself. “Any means necessary.”

The Man of Steel looked briefly at the General before locking his crystal blue eyes on the building. With an almost imperceptible nod he flashed up and away from the command structure before increasing his velocity and striking toward the second story of the building.

Five seconds out from the building he switched his approach from a direct line to an erratic pattern. His change was rewarded as tracer lines shot out from the building, followed by cracking and thudding sounds as heavy shells and energy weapons also surged around him.

Well versed in the buildings’ defences, Superman ensured his erratic approach could not be triangulated and in a few more seconds he braced himself and flew at speed directly through a wall section of the second floor. He knew the building was heavily reinforced but was still shocked at the strength of the impact as he crashed through the wall.

Once inside he landed and shook his head to clear the slightly dazed sensation from punching through that much reinforced armour.

Even before he could take in his surroundings he heard machine gun fire and felt his impervious body being hit by countless rounds as the internal defences took over. Clearly the building was under the complete control of the assailants and it seemed he would have to fight for every step.

Searing red beams of light sprang forth from his eyes and the guns melted under the assault of his heat vision. When the final installation was destroyed he was rewarded with a relative calm.

Hovering just above the floor he moved forward toward the building’s control room, where he hoped the assailants would be positioned. The amount of lead in the building rendered his Xray vision useless so he was instead forced to rely on instinct.

Before he had moved even 20 feet a voice issued from the speakers mounted on the walls. “You are this… Superman? You are their… champion?” Confusion was clearly evident in the voice and Superman felt hope that the assailants may realise the futility of their crime, faced by his impressive might. “Approach… champion.” The Man of Steel noted a subtle shift in the tone of the voice. “The defences have been shut down so we may… negotiate.”

While Superman did not immediately trust the unknown men, he had confidence in his ability to intimidate villains. He hovered cautiously forward as doors opened for him, guiding him toward the control room. The final door was a heavily barricaded setup and it was still rolling open as he flew gracefully through the opening and into the large well lit room.

Inside he saw only the three men. They looked to be mid 20’s and were all good looking with strong features, two having brown hair and one blond. They wore tight fitting silver body suits with gold briefs and white capes, similar in style to his own blue, red and yellow costume.

The men took in the sight of the powerful kryptonian as he floated above the floor in a demonstration of power. The shiny red boots leading to the bright blue spandex covering his muscular calves and thighs which were topped by the tightly packed and bulging red briefs with the yellow belt. All this overshadowed by the ripped stomach and broad chest and shoulders of the mighty superhero.

Superman folded his arms over his mighty chest and flexed his biceps, allowing them to take in his powerful physique as he continued to hover. He felt a strange cloudiness enter his mind but absently shook it off. He decided to wait for them to speak, curious to know their tone.

A silence hung in the air as the three men looked in confusion between Superman and each other. Finally, one of them broke the silence.

“I am Tyron. We did not expect to find one such as you here. Tell me, El, how did you come to be on this planet?” It was more statement than question and showed little sign of any fear of his power.

Superman felt his breathing and heartrate increasing, although he could not tell why. He spent a few seconds calming his body before responding.

“I was sent here when I was young,” even as he responded, the Man of Steel was unsure as to why he was so quick to answer this man, “to escape my dying planet. H… How do you know my name?”

A frown crossed his face as Tyron paused in thought and the conversation was picked up by another man. “I am Henndl. You are an El, not worthy of a name.” The statement was simple, as if spoken to a child.

At the voice of Henndl, Superman again felt the cloudiness drift across his mind. Shaking his head once more he decided it was time to take control of the situation. Raising himself higher he hovered above them and placed his hands on his hips in the classic pose for which he was most known. “I’m not sure who you are, or where you are from, but Earth is under my protection and I will not permit you to create chaos. You need to leave this building now or I will be forced to remove you.”

Henndl and Tyron looked shocked as he spoke, then turned their widened eyes to the third man – tall, muscular and blond, awaiting his word.

“You seem to know nothing of your heritage and your place, El. I am not sure how you came to be here, but I will not ignore the good fortunes which placed you in my path.” The man had a commanding tone and Superman felt the clouds once more drifting into his mind, this time leaving him even more foggy and disoriented.

The Man of Steel shook is head yet again to clear it, but this time the clouds would not part. A look of confusion settled over his handsome features as he tried to clear and sort his thoughts. But just as he felt he may be getting clear that voice once more sent chaos into his mind.

“I am Jard.” Superman felt dizzy as the name was stated and breathed out heavily. “Tell me, El. Who are you?”

As he listened to the voice, Superman felt his mind as if washed away on a river. His body was temporarily a mindless husk and he floated back down to land gracefully on the floor, standing slightly slumped. Without realising it, his hand moved to rest on his thigh just beside his bright red briefs, which had started to tent from an unwanted erection.

“I am Kal-El, last of House El and last survivor following the destruction of the planet Krypton.” The words came out of his mouth in a monotonous tone. “I was sent here by my parents in the dying days of my planet.”

Jard chuckled, a cold harsh barking sound as he listened.

“Let me be the one to correct the lies that you have been told. I will free you of your burdens and gift you with the truth.”

Superman felt an impending sense of dread. He felt like he should just fly away from these strange three men and regroup. But he also felt somehow glued in his place, compelled to listen to this man and hear what he had to say. “Th… the.. truth?”

Jard merely nodded. “You are not of House El. There is no House El,” he scoffed, almost spitting as he said the words. “El is a…” he seemed to search for a suitable term, “brand. Given to all those of your genetic line.” Jard paused as he allowed those words to sink in, watching as the fear and doubt played across the handsome hero’s face. “My ancestors crafted your kind from the original inhabitants of Krypton, when we manipulated your DNA to be the perfect race of servants.”

A look of shock and disbelief had dragged itself across the face of the Man of Steel as Jard spoke the words. Finally, it was replaced by anger as a sense of rage cleared his mind of the fog and he stood tall once more. “I do not know what sorcery you wield, but your mind control games will not work on me!” The Man of Steel focussed his mind and lifted himself off the floor, drawing drew in a large breath by expanding his muscled chest as he prepared to knock all three men off their feet and break their concentration.

Jard simply raised a hand in the direction of Superman and patiently continued speaking.

“Your DNA – the DNA of all your kind – has been engineered to ensure that you crave nothing more than to serve me and my kind. To go to any length to make me happy.”

The Man of Steel froze mid breath as the gesture and words from Jard again broke through his concentration. Jard then moved his hand down to point at the ground directly before him.

Superman felt his will crumble and his body respond to the words and the presence of the blond stud. He frowned in confusion but could not resist an inexplicable need to comply with the unspoken command. “Urrghhhhh…” he groaned, even has he floated back down to land before Jard, immobilised by nothing more than a gesture from the man.

Superman also realised that his cock was rock hard within its red spandex prison and had created a tent sitting over his big thigh. His hand moved from its position over his thigh to rest just over but not touching his aching cock. An unspoken command somehow preventing him from touching himself.

Jard gave a serene smile and continued speaking. “Even now as you stand before me, your body cannot resist the need to respond to my presence. You cannot help but feel the excitement of needing to serve me. To please me.”

“Ughh… hnnnnghh…” uttered Superman as he felt his mind and body being overwhelmed by forces which he could neither understand nor control. “No… you… this… can’t…” As he fought to say the words in defiance of Jard he felt his body respond in greater waves.

A smile graced the handsome face as he simply said, “Come, El. Serve me.”

“Uuughhhhh… argghhhhh,” exclaimed Superman, as he felt his body shudder from a powerful need to make this man happy. The Man of Steel drifted closer to Jard and stood before him, head hanging down and shoulders slumped weakly in compliance.

Jard looked at the now raging erection which was barely contained by the red briefs and smiled again. “You must be well into young adulthood? This sensation must be phenomenally powerful for you. Your kind are exposed to our presence from your first days. For you to experience my effect after puberty must be akin to a drug like no other.”

Superman merely continued to moan and groan as his body reeled under the effect that was the presence of Jard. He was unable to form thoughts or words but felt as though his cock would explode from the need for relief.

“Right now your body is experiencing the full weight of centuries of genetic conditioning. As you spend time in my presence and listen to my words, that genetic conditioning is reprogramming all the falsehoods you have learned during your life here.”

Jard reached out and placed his hand on a beefy pectoral muscle causing Superman to breathe heavily as the touch made his blood boil and his super senses heightened further. Jard held the contact as he continued speaking. “Your kind were crafted to be physically beautiful and powerful, and you are no exception. I can see that this planet’s sun gives you extraordinary abilities, but you are already learning that those abilities will do nothing to protect you from your need to serve me.”

When he finished speaking, Jard used his free hand to lift the handsome hero’s face and placed his hand on the cheek. At the touch, Superman looked into the eyes of Jard and whimpered with an uncontrollable urge to serve and please this man. “Agghhhh… Ohhhhh,” was all he could manage.

By this point, Superman was overwhelmed by the maelstrom of hormones raging across his body as his very DNA took control. He could feel his body pulsing with sensations and his cock was rock hard and had started to leak pre cum through his proud costume.

Jard drank in the sight of the hunky superhero and his smile widened at the sight of the pre cum stain. “Fortune has most definitely smiled upon me today, El. Never would I have hoped to find one such as you on a desolate and bleak planet like this.”

The Man of Steel looked down and felt his cheeks burn red hot with his shame. His raging hard cock was freely leaking at this point, making a large stain in his red briefs, with some even dripping onto the floor beneath.

“Do you feel it, El? Do you feel the need to meet my every sexual desire?” Jard moved his hand down from Superman’s chest to hover just near his erect cock and was rewarded by a simpering moan in response.

“Aeeeeghhhhh,” groaned the Man of Steel as the hand waited patiently just near his cock, the proximity causing it to grow harder and hotter. “Urgghgh… n… n…” he tried in desperation to deny the assertion but could not even form the word of denial. Finally his head slackened under the tender touch of Jard, beads of sweat standing out on his brow.

“Honestly, I had not expected any resistance from the natives of this planet, but with you at my side I shall rule here as Supreme Leader!” This was met by a look of shocked horror from the Man of Steel as he fought to deny the statement by Jard.

“Now, El, I will use you to a message to these… humans.” At a nod, the two aliens quickly set up transmission equipment trained on Jard and Superman, which was immediately activated.

“People of Earth,” began Jard as he addressed the camera. “I am Jard and claim this planet under my domain. The hero you call Superman has pledged his allegiance to me and will ensure my will is enforced.” The Man of Steel fought to deny the truth in the words but his body would and voice would not respond.

“To demonstrate his allegiance,” continued Jard, “your former champion will now debase himself for our enjoyment.” A look of horror settled over the handsome features of Superman as he realised the inescapable truth of the statement.

“El,” commanded Jard. “Lower your briefs and stroke your hard cock for me. Shoot your load like the sex slave you were born to be.”

Superman groaned helplessly but try as he might, he was unable to prevent his hands from looping around the bright yellow belt wrapped around his tight muscular waist. The outline of his still hard cock was fully visible and the mighty hero felt his cheeks blush with shame as he slowly pulled his signature red briefs down. Within seconds, his cock sprang free, rock hard and dripping with precum.

“Please… no…” he begged. “The shame and humiliation is too much.” Jard watched in silence, giving no ground.

The strong hand of the Man of Steel wrapped itself around his cock and he started to move up and down its length.

“Take your time Superman. Make sure your fans get to enjoy the spectacle.” The iconic superhero groaned as he nodded and started to masturbate his cock in long, sensual strokes.

“That’s good, El. Show off and flex while you play with yourself.” Superman could see that Jard and his companions were clearly enjoying the show, as they were stroking their own hard bulges through their tight fitting costumes. “Doesn’t it feel good to jerk your cock and humiliate yourself for me in front of these humans, El?”

Initially recoiling at the question, Superman then noticed the enjoyment of the three men and felt his cheeks burn red hot as his body did indeed respond to their appreciation of his performance. His cock got even harder and he felt shocks of excitement run over his muscled form, causing him to moan and groan.

“Ohhhh, yes,” moaned Superman, “it does feel good,” as he lost himself to the blissful sensation of stroking on command. For the next few minutes the mighty kryptonian debased himself before the watchful gaze of humanity. His hand jerked his hard member methodically, gradually increasing the moans emanating from the hero as well as the precum leaking from his throbbing cock.

“Ughhhhh,” he moaned, feeling the sensation of climax building in his groin. Superman increased his pace as he worked his way toward release. His hand moved faster on his shaft, soon becoming a blur of superhuman speed.

Jard watched the hero’s body closely, watching with senses honed from years of managing Els. “Stop,” he called without warning. Superman was wrenched from his blissful state as he jumped from surprised while his hand ceased its movement around his shaft.

Shock and frustration settled over his handsome features as he cried out from the orgasm which was denied him. “Ughhhhh! Argghhhh!” he called, focussing his gaze on his treacherous hand which refused to finish him off.

“See,” Jard addressed the camera and smiled with warmth as he motioned toward the musclebound hero, hand wrapped motionlessly around his cock as he shook from the intensity of his denied orgasm. The powerful arm jerking forward from the shoulder as he attempted for force his hand to resume its journey up his shaft. “This homeless creature has now found its Master and he will serve me in anyway I desire.”

Jard let the statement hang briefly, allowing the audience to realise the weight of his words.

Superman felt a brief reprieve in the focus of his enemy. In an act of final desperation, the Man of Steel jumped directly up, flying straight through the ceiling above and shooting out of the building to freedom, his hard cock still throbbing with the imminent orgasm which had almost shamed him.

Without thought for a destination, he stopped after a brief while and hovered high above the earth, allowing his breathing and heart rate to slow once more as he repositioned his still hard and throbbing cock awkwardly back into his now bulging red briefs. As he grasped and squeezed his shaft, he once more felt himself almost lose control but managed to fight the urge to finish the task and blow his super seed up here in the privacy of high altitude.

Finally his head felt clear and his body normal. As he started to contemplate his near defeat and next actions his super hearing picked up on the distant voice of Jard.

“I know you can hear me, El. Focus on my voice and pay attention to my words.”

A soft moan escaped the lips of the Man of Steel as he hung in space, forced to listen to the words of the hated foe.

“You can not escape me. Now, finish the task. Go to Metropolis, land in front of the Daily Planet and finish yourself off in front of all those who wish to observe.” Superman wavered as he hovered, trying to fight the inbuilt compulsion to obey. “Go!” came the final command from Jard. This overrode any resistance and the Man of Steel immediately set off, landing moments later in front of the Daily Planet.

A crowd immediately formed after the mighty hero landed, where he proceeded to take out his still hard cock and resume stroking it. A desperate look of helplessness filled the eyes and face of Superman as he pleaded with the crowd to turn away. “Please!” he implored them, even has his powerful hand wrapped around his hard shaft and stroked from base to head. “Look away. No… I can’t… Please,” he finished in barely a whisper.

A few members of the crowd turned away out of respect for the hero, but hundreds more flocked to the scene as news of the spectacle spread.

Tears filled the eyes of Superman as he scanned the crowd for a sign of hope, or even help. His strong muscular bicep curling and flexing as he pumped his hand up and down his hard shaft. With hundreds of cameras trained on his performance he felt his body give away the telltale signs of approaching climax.

“Uggghhh,” he moaned. The stroking of his shaft increased in pace as his big head got worked closer and closer to the point of no return. The Man of Steel continued to moan as he jerked his cock harder and faster, his majestic red cape fluttering behind him from the motion of his arm moving up and down his cock.

Finally his breathing started to shallow and he knew he had only moments left. With a mind of its own, his hand tightened the grip and continued to rapidly stroke his cock. His hips started to thrust as Superman felt his body start to convulse. The Man of Steel issued a guttural groaning sound as four shots of cum erupted from his cock.

The jizz shot up around one hundred feet before falling back to land on the ground around the shamed hero.

As the orgasm wracked his body, his beautiful muscles flexed and stood out in clear definition for the assembled crowed. Lost in the blood-rush of ecstasy he slowly stroked his shaft and milked the head of its last dribbles of cum, swaying on the spot as he was temporarily dizzy from the powerful feeling.

Finally, Superman returned to his senses and realised his situation. He stood before a huge crowd of people, softening cock in his hand as splashes of his own cum circled him. He felt his cheeks burn with heat of a sun. He tensed himself to leap into the sky and escape this new hell.

“No El,” came the firm command through his super sensitive hearing. “You will stand there and allow the crowd to absorb the reality of your fall at my hands. Do not move or hide your shame.” Superman could only hang his head in shame, forced to stand there with his soft cock in hand, the final vestiges of his super orgasm drooling its way from his cock. “Stay there until I call for you,” came the final, ominous command.

#superman #superman defeated #superhero #superhero defeated

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republicsecurity · 2 months

Text

VIP Duty

T1CPS, clad in the familiar red Armour suit that marked him as a tactical paramedic, sat on the train with the quiet efficiency of a machine. His eyes, hidden behind the reflective visor of his helmet, were fixed on the digital comic displayed in his HUD. As the train rumbled along the tracks, he followed the story's twists and turns, his mind momentarily escaping the regimented reality of his existence.

His sea bag, a stark contrast to the vibrant comic, lay neatly beside him. Inside were the sparse remnants of his personal life – a flight suit for missions, a parade uniform for formal occasions, dress boots polished to a shine, and the essential underwear. It was a collection so minimal that it spoke volumes about the spartan nature of his existence.

T1CPS's life, like the digital comic he was engrossed in, was a narrative shaped by directives and protocols. His acceptance into VIP duty was not a matter of choice but one of designation, a role assigned to him by the ever-watchful Paramedic Corps. As he flipped through the pages of the comic, his gloved fingers moved with a precision honed by years of training, a stark reminder of his dual nature – part human, part machine.

The train's rhythmic movements were a constant beneath him, the world outside the window a blur of passing landscapes. But within his helmet, the digital comic came to life, vibrant colors and dynamic characters leaping off the screen. It was a brief escape, a momentary reprieve from the reality of his situation.

His fellow passengers, oblivious to the tactical paramedic in their midst, carried on with their conversations and activities. T1CPS was just another passenger, just another faceless paramedic, yet beneath the armour, his thoughts were his own.

But even as he lost himself in the digital pages, he knew the escape was temporary. The training facility awaited him, with its strict routines and stringent protocols. VIP duty was an honor, they said, but T1CPS knew it came at a price.

As the train sped on, T1CPS continued to read, his helmeted head tilted slightly as he immersed himself in the story. Outside, the world passed by in a blur, but within his HUD, the comic unfolded in vivid detail. In that moment, he was more than just a tactical paramedic – he was a reader, a consumer of stories, a brief respite from the unyielding demands of his profession.

The on-duty paramedic behind the desk glanced up as I approached, his eyes hidden behind the reflective visor of his helmet. His voice came out crisp and businesslike through the speaker system. "Name and assignment?" he asked.

"T1CPS," I replied, my voice filtered through the helmet's modulator. "VIP service training."

He nodded, fingers flying across the console's holographic keyboard. "Room -104. Sleeping capsule and locker for your belongings. Activate a sports training program of your choice until 17:00. Wash and chow hall for dinner. Parade uniform, sharp and polished, at 7:00 sharp tomorrow morning." His instructions were swift, efficient, the words echoing with the regimentation that defined our lives.

"Understood," I acknowledged, my HUD displaying the information in the corner of my vision.

He continued, his tone slightly more casual. "And make sure that parade uniform of yours is wrinkle-free, and those dress boots? They should gleam like your chrome dome."

I managed a nod, even though he couldn't see it through my helmet. "I'll make sure everything's up to standard, sir."

"Good. Get settled in, T1CPS. Training starts early tomorrow."

With that, I turned and headed toward room -104, the number glowing faintly in the sterile white corridor. The training facility buzzed with activity, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low hum of machinery. As I stepped into the room, the door hissed shut behind me, sealing me into my temporary space.

Inside, the room was minimalistic – a sleeping capsule against one wall and a locker opposite it. I stowed my sea bag in the locker, the clang of metal against metal echoing in the small space. With practiced ease, I activated a sports training program in my armor, the HUD flickering to life with various options. I chose a mixed martial arts routine, the prospect of physical exertion strangely comforting.

As I started the training program, the room around me faded away, replaced by the virtual environment of the simulation. The sterile walls of the facility vanished, replaced by a bustling cityscape. My armored form moved with precision, the training program pushing me to my limits.

Hours passed, the digital sun setting in the virtual sky. When the program finally ended, I found myself drenched in sweat, the armor's cooling systems working overtime to regulate my body temperature. It was time to wash and eat.

The chow hall was a communal space, paramedics from various training programs sitting at long tables, their conversations muted beneath the constant hum of machinery. I navigated the food line, my tray filled with the day's rations. The taste was bland and unremarkable, but it provided the necessary sustenance.

I returned to my room after dinner, my mind buzzing with thoughts of the training to come. Carefully, I laid out my parade uniform, ensuring every crease was smooth and every button polished to a shine. My dress boots gleamed under the harsh light, a reflection of the discipline instilled in every paramedic.

With my preparations complete, I settled into the sleeping capsule. The hum of machinery surrounded me as the capsule closed, cocooning me in its embrace. Tomorrow, I would present myself at 7:00, sharp and ready.

Tomorrow, the true journey would begin.

Welcome to the Training

In a room illuminated by the cold glow of holographic screens, the instructor stood before the fresh batch of trainees, his demeanor sharp and commanding.

"Welcome to the VIP Service training," he announced, his voice cutting through the air. "You're not just paramedics here; you're elite escorts for the most high-profile individuals in our society. Your attire and conduct should reflect the utmost professionalism and precision."

He gestured to the rows of neatly arranged business suits, each tailored to perfection. "These suits are your armor, your disguise. They'll help you blend in with the upper echelons of society. But remember, no matter how sharp your suit is, your skills need to match. That's where our training comes in."

The holographic screens flickered to life, displaying intricate scenarios — crowded galas, bustling political events, serene diplomatic meetings. "Neuro VR training will immerse you in these situations. You'll learn to anticipate the needs of your VIP, to navigate complex social interactions, and to ensure their safety above all else."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "But it's not just about knowing how to act. Appearance matters. A clean, polished look is non-negotiable. You'll receive grooming tips — haircuts, skincare routines, and proper etiquette lessons. As paramedics in the VIP Service, you represent the pinnacle of our profession," the instructor declared. "Embrace the training, embody the discipline, and you'll not only protect your VIPs but elevate the entire paramedic corps."

Ear Pieces

These Earpieces are your lifeline during VIP escort duties. They will ensure that you are always focused, always alert, and most importantly, always secure."

One by one, he handed out the Earpieces, the sleek, black devices disappearing into the palms of gloved hands. The trainees looked at them with a mix of curiosity and wariness. KIP77's eyes scanned the room, ensuring everyone had their device.

"Insert them now. Snug fit is essential. You should hardly feel them once they're in, and that's the way it should be. Maximum comfort, maximum efficiency," KIP77 instructed, his words clipped, precise.

The room fell into a brief silence as the trainees followed his orders. They slipped the Earpieces into their ears, a perfect fit as they nestled into the contours. The subtle hum of technology resonated in their ears as they activated the devices.

A tap on their wrist-mounted Smartwatches, and suddenly, the world transformed. The ambient noise of the room faded, replaced by a gentle, soothing white noise. It was as if they had entered a cocoon of silence, shielded from the distractions of the outside world.

"Now," KIP77 continued, his voice clear in their ears despite the white noise. "These Earpieces will filter out all conversations except those that are relevant to your mission. You'll be able to communicate with each other, with me, and with the designated contacts. It's all about focus. The VIP's safety is your top priority."

The trainees nodded, their expressions determined, albeit slightly disoriented by the sudden change in perception. KIP77's eyes bore into each of them, ensuring they understood the gravity of the situation.

As the trainees started to speak, their voices were confined to their partners' ears alone, isolated from the rest. It was a symphony of controlled communication, a testament to the efficiency of the Earpieces.

"As you go out into the field, remember this," KIP77's voice echoed in their ears through the Earpieces. "The VIP and mission control have access to these devices, just as you do. They can adjust what you hear — whether it's all conversations in your vicinity or only those specifically intended for you. It's a security measure, not just for you but also for the privacy of the VIPs and other sensitive events you might be involved in."

The trainees exchanged glances, absorbing the gravity of the situation. The Earpieces, once a mere piece of technology, now felt like a bridge to a controlled reality. Their world was not just what they saw and experienced but what the Earpieces allowed them to hear, a filtered and curated version designed to keep them focused and secure.

KIP77's stern gaze fell upon them. "This control isn't just for the safety of the mission. It's a tool, a responsibility, and sometimes a burden. Your awareness is a weapon, just as vital as any other equipment you carry. Stay alert. Stay focused. And never forget that even in silence, there might be critical information being shared."

"Consider this Earpiece an extension of the HUD system you're familiar with," KIP77 continued, his voice a steady reassurance through the white noise in their ears. "Just as the helmets filter out distractions, the Earpieces ensure your auditory environment is precisely tailored for the task at hand. In high-stress situations, eliminating unnecessary noise can make a crucial difference."

It was a reminder that in their roles as paramedics, every sense, every piece of information, had been meticulously curated to serve a purpose: to save lives and ensure the success of their missions, all while maintaining the utmost confidentiality.

Your new chastity device

The instructor held the chastity cage up for all to see.

The instructor's gloved hands cradled the Latowski Mark 6c, a masterpiece of duraplast engineering. Its sleek, red and black design gleamed under the harsh training room lights, the embodiment of both elegance and undeniable security. The room was silent, every trainee's gaze fixed on the device in the instructor's hands. It was a formidable and unmistakably secure device, a symbol of control and discipline. This was the Latowski Mark 6c, and the 'c' in its name carried a special significance. The instructor's voice was smooth and authoritative as he explained.

"Ladies”, the instructor chuckled at the cheap joke, “what you see here is the Latowski Mark 6c. The 'c' stands for a civilian adapter, a seemingly minor addition, but one that carries significant implications. It's designed for one purpose: easy and discreet use in civilian restrooms. You may not have considered this before, but the nature of our work sometimes requires us to navigate public facilities. This adapter ensures that you can do so with the utmost convenience and adherence to our protocols."

He moved the chastity cage closer to the trainees, the red and black material glinting in the light. "This device is an extension of the standard cages you're already wearing. It embodies the principles of discipline, control, and commitment that are at the core of the Paramedic Corps. When you're equipped with this, you not only represent the ideals of our organization, but you embody them."

He gestured for a closer inspection, his movements precise. "The design is elegant, yet unmistakably secure. Duraplast construction ensures durability and comfort. Its contours are ergonomic, designed to fit your bodies seamlessly, reminding you of the boundaries you operate within."

The instructor's words hung heavy in the air. The trainees exchanged glances, recognizing the significance of this new addition to their uniform. In a world where every aspect of their lives was regulated, even the design of a chastity cage held a particular purpose. The 'c' wasn't just an adapter; it was a symbol of the meticulous attention to detail that governed their existence.

Business Suits to blend in

He paced the room, his eyes sharp, assessing each trainee as if he could discern their potential with a glance.

"You're not just here because you're good tactical paramedics," he said, his voice low but carrying an undeniable authority. "You're here because you represent the epitome of our profession. VIP service isn't just about competence; it's about perception. And perception starts with appearance."

He gestured to the tailored suits that lay before them, the rich fabric catching the light in a way that promised both comfort and sophistication. "These suits are more than just pieces of clothing. They're extensions of your professionalism”

The paramedics stood in a line, eyeing the civilian business suits before them. It was a stark departure from their usual red flightsuits, a transformation that signified a shift in their roles. For the first time since their induction, they were allowed to wear "civilian" clothes, although the term felt like an irony since these were given to them by the Corps.

Wearing civilian clothes was a novel experience for the paramedics trained for VIP Escort Duty. After years of the regimented red flightsuits, the soft caress of fine fabric against their skin felt alien, yet strangely liberating. The crispness of a tailored shirt, the smoothness of a silk tie — these were sensations they hadn’t experienced since before their conscription.

The instructor, a stern figure with years of experience etched into every line on his face, explained the importance of blending seamlessly into civilian environments during their VIP escort duties. As he spoke, the paramedics meticulously dressed in the prescribed attire: crisp shirts, perfectly knotted ties, and tailored business suits that hung flawlessly on their frames

Instructor KIP77 moved among them, adjusting collars and tying ties with the precision of someone who had done it a thousand times before. The ties were a deep shade of blue, chosen to match the paramedic insignia subtly embroidered on their shirt pockets. Each tie was fastened with a sharp clip, glinting in the light.

Underneath the suits, they wore the familiar heat-regulating and protective body gloves, a constant reminder of their paramedic identity even when disguised as civilians.

The sterile ambiance of the training room enveloped them, the overhead fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on their freshly shaved heads. Trainees J4Y3 and L1N6 stared at each other, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared understanding. The recent change in their appearance, the absence of hair, and the discreet earpieces they both wore created a peculiar allure, an intriguing blend of sophistication and austerity.

The instructor's voice resonated through the room, firm and unwavering, as he emphasized the importance of their uniforms. "Your parade uniforms are not just garments; they're symbols of pride, discipline, and unity. When you wear them, you're not just representing yourselves but the entire paramedic corps. Respect for your uniform is non-negotiable."

He paced back and forth, eyes keenly observing each trainee. "These uniforms are your second skin. They should fit like armor, both physically and metaphorically. They will be your standard attire during this course, alongside the suits you're wearing now. We expect nothing short of perfection. Cleanliness, crispness, and attention to detail will be your watchwords."

A stern glance swept across the room, making sure every trainee felt the weight of his words. "You will inspect your uniforms daily. No loose threads, no stains, no wrinkles should mar their appearance. Parade or business, you will wear your uniforms with pride, and in turn, they will reflect the pride you take in your profession."

Training

In the sleekness of their new business suits, the paramedic trainees stepped into a world of simulations, each scenario carefully crafted to test their abilities, judgment, and adaptability. The sterile environment of the simulation room contrasted sharply with the tailored elegance of their attire.

T1CPS, adjusting his tie with a hint of nervous excitement, glanced at 2LE55, who seemed composed despite the tension in the air. "Ready for this?" Trainee 1 asked, his voice echoing slightly in the empty chamber.

2LE55 nodded, his earpiece activated to filter out all but the necessary information. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The room flickered to life, transforming into a bustling city street. Their surroundings shifted seamlessly, immersing them in a hyper-realistic scenario. Their sharp eyes scanned the crowd, picking out potential threats and assessing the situation in an instant.

A VIP figure emerged, flanked by security personnel. The trainees seamlessly blended into the background, their business suits helping them fade into the urban tapestry. The earpieces hummed with updates — snippets of conversation, vital data, and mission objectives.

As the simulation progressed, challenges arose. Unexpected obstacles tested their problem-solving skills. T1CPS adeptly deflected an overly curious journalist, his tie clip catching the light as he smoothly changed the subject. 2LE55 navigated through a maze of security protocols, ensuring the VIP's safety while maintaining an unassuming demeanor.

The simulation room buzzed with tension as they tackled each scenario, their suits never hindering their movements. In fact, the tailored attire seemed to enhance their confidence, reinforcing the idea that they were not just paramedics but elite professionals capable of handling any situation.

When the simulation concluded, they stepped out of the virtual world, their suits slightly rumpled from the intensity of the experience. T1CPS let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "We did it," he said, a mix of relief and pride in his voice.

Your Position in the grand scheme of things

The instructor paced the room, his gaze fixed on the row of trainees before him. "Gentlemen, the positions you've just learned are fundamental to our duties in VIP service. Now, let's move on to the new positions you'll be mastering."

He paused, allowing the significance of his words to sink in before continuing.

"First, we have the 'Honor' position. This position is a blend of respect and readiness. It signifies your acknowledgment of the VIP's presence. When assuming the 'Honor' position, your right knee touches the ground, your left foot is forward, bent at the knee. Your wrists are clasped at the small of your back. Your chest is open, shoulders back, and your gaze is lowered. This position conveys both submission and strength."

"Next, the 'Full Present' position. In this stance, you're fully exposed and vulnerable, displaying complete surrender to the VIP. Your legs are apart, shoulders squared, arms raised, fingers laced behind your neck. Your eyes remain downcast. 'Full Present' is a gesture of trust and obedience."

"The 'Kneeling Attention' position signifies immediate readiness. You're on your knees, calves flat on the floor, thighs vertical. Your body remains upright, arms behind you, hands clasped. This position is all about alertness and preparedness. Your focus should be sharp, and your senses heightened."

"Lastly, the 'Assume Spot' position. This is your default state of readiness. When you're not in any specific posture, 'Assume Spot' is your go-to. It's a balanced posture, sitting comfortably but with vigilance. Eyes scan your surroundings, ears attuned to any instruction. In 'Assume Spot,' you're both relaxed and on high alert."

As the instructor briskly walked around the room, the trainees stood at attention, their bodies rigid, hands clasped behind their backs. It was a position they knew well, drilled into them during Basic Military Training. The instructor's voice cut through the air, crisp and commanding.

"At ease," he barked, and immediately, the trainees shifted into a relaxed stance, feet slightly apart, hands still clasped behind them. Their eyes followed the instructor's movements, absorbing every detail of the positions he demonstrated.

"Kneeling attention," the instructor called out, and the trainees gracefully dropped to their knees, calves flat on the floor, thighs vertical. Their bodies remained upright, arms held behind them, hands clasped.

"Full present," the instructor commanded, and the trainees adjusted their positions, sinking onto their knee caps, thighs spread shoulder-width apart. Arms were placed behind them, wrists clasped, and heads slightly bowed. It was a posture of respect, vulnerability, and readiness.

"Display," the instructor said, and the trainees stood tall, legs apart, shoulders squared. Their arms were raised, fingers laced behind their necks, exposing their chests in a gesture of submission. Eyes remained downcast, a sign of deference.

"Honor," the instructor intoned, and the trainees shifted onto their right knee, the left foot forward and bent at the knee. Their wrists were clasped at the small of their backs, presenting themselves with a mixture of strength and submission. It was a position that spoke of control willingly surrendered.

"Assume spot," the instructor concluded, and the trainees immediately moved to designated spots in the room, sitting comfortably but alert. Their eyes scanned the surroundings, ready for any indication from the VIP. In that moment, they were both at rest and on high alert, a dichotomy of relaxation and readiness that defined their existence.

In the hushed atmosphere of the training room, the trainees practiced these positions diligently, each movement precise and controlled. The room was filled with the sounds of their breathing, the rustle of clothing, and the soft echoes of commands

Your new Look

"Gentlemen," he began, his tone laced with a sense of finality, "it's time we address a fundamental shift in our approach. In the realm of VIP duty, your appearance holds immense value. You can't hide behind a visor anymore. You're going to be seen, assessed, and judged by the people you're protecting. It's not just about being strong and skilled. It's about exuding confidence, trust, and yes, attractiveness."

A ripple of discomfort spread through the room. We, the paramedics, had grown accustomed to the anonymity our visors provided. It was a shield against the prying eyes of the public, a mask behind which we could focus solely on our duties. Now, that sanctuary was being stripped away.

The instructor continued, "To help you navigate this new aspect of your role, each of you will receive individual counseling and instructions from a beauty specialist. They, too, are paramedics, trained to enhance your features and bring out your masculinity. You'll learn to present yourselves in a way that exudes strength and confidence, traits that will inspire trust in those you're tasked to protect."

With the specialist

I stood in the sterile, brightly lit room, feeling the weight of the beauty specialist's scrutiny upon me. He, G60PJ, was a meticulous man, his eyes scanning my face as if searching for imperfections to be corrected.

"You understand, T1CPS, that your appearance is a crucial part of your role now," G60PJ said, his tone a mix of professionalism and condescension. "We're aiming for a look that combines rugged masculinity with refined elegance. You're not just a paramedic anymore; you're a representative of the Corps, someone who embodies strength and confidence."

I nodded, not because I agreed but because it was expected. As he spoke, his fingers danced across a holographic display, generating images of potential hairstyles, each one drastically different from the familiar chrome dome I had grown used to. He settled on an ultra-short buzzcut, explaining that it would emphasize my facial features while still projecting an aura of discipline and strength

The chrome dome, my distinctive paramedic trait, was about to be replaced by something different, something the specialist deemed more suitable.

His tone was laced with condescension as he commented, "Consider yourself fortunate, T1CPS. There are those among your colleagues who require more... drastic measures to meet our standards. Surgical interventions, facial reconstructions. You, at least, have the basics in place."

I nodded, not sure if it was meant to be a reassurance or a veiled threat. The implication hung in the air — comply, or face the possibility of being reshaped in ways I couldn't even fathom.

"Your skin regimen will be adjusted too," he continued, his voice carrying an undertone of authority. "A daily cleansing routine with specialized products to enhance your complexion. And we'll introduce a subtle makeup routine to highlight your eyes and bring out the intensity of your gaze. Remember, this isn't just about looking good. It's about inspiring confidence in those who rely on you."

I stood still as he applied a variety of lotions and powders, his movements deft and precise. The makeup felt foreign against my skin, a layer of artificiality that clashed with my paramedic identity. Yet, it was being imposed upon me, another layer of expectation to add to the ever-growing list.

"All of these adjustments will be part of your standing orders," G60PJ said, his fingers flying across the holographic interface. "Consider it a daily ritual, just like putting on your armor suit. You'll wear your new appearance with pride, projecting an image that speaks of capability, trustworthiness, and dependability."

"Of course, T1CPS," the beauty specialist continued, his tone barely concealing his disdain. "We will have special classes for you, teaching you how to apply makeup properly. You need to master the art of enhancing your features, making sure your appearance is always impeccable.”

I hesitated for a moment before obeying. As I looked into the mirror, I barely recognized the person staring back at me. The buzzcut, the subtle makeup enhancing my features, and the perfectly groomed appearance gave me an air of confidence and allure I hadn't felt before. Despite my reservations, there was an odd sense of satisfaction in seeing how well I fit into the Corps' definition of 'ideal.'

The beauty specialist, G60PJ, seemed pleased with his work. "You see, T1CPS? A little effort can go a long way. With the right grooming and makeup, you'll project the image of strength and capability that the Corps expects.

Despite my initial resistance, I couldn't help but acknowledge that the meticulous grooming and makeup had transformed my appearance.

A strange sense of pride welled up within me. Maybe it was the satisfaction of meeting the Corps' expectations, or perhaps it was the recognition of the effort I had put into adapting to this new version of myself.

G60PJ leaned in, his voice conspiratorial, "You know, T1CPS, it's not just about how you look. It's about how you feel. And I can see that you like what you see in that mirror. You've got that spark, that confidence. Trust me, your mates are going to appreciate the transformation too. So why don’t you cash in some reward points, open the chastity cages tonight and spend some time together?”.

I quietly left the room consindering his advice.

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 3 months

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I think what you *meant* to say was RAC -- *Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau.*"

LOGIC - No, the alphanumeric begins with HDB.

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - Can't you see the *sire* is tired of these... fabrications. *RAC* is clearly what it says on the case files. These are official documents. There is no arguing with *official* documents.

Good. How long does it take to read one of these *Raphaël-stamped* cases? (Persist.)

Actually, I'm ready to admit I'm not Raphaël and go on with my life.

LOGIC - Fine. It takes about half an hour for you to piece one together, Mr... Raphaël. Which one do you want?

THE NEXT WORLD MURAL

THE UNSOLVABLE CASE

THE SQUARE BULLET HOLE MURDERS

THE COUCH IN AN UNEXPECTED LOCATION

MURDER AT THE HOOKAH PARLOUR

I can revisit this. (Put the case files away.)

Reading the ledger takes time, and we're already in the middle of something.

DAMAGED LEDGER - Not much has changed in the meanwhile -- a bunch of sodden papers still sags from the clipboard.

8. [Put the ledger away.]

I *would* end this here and go back to our conversation with Klaasje, but in an attempt to balance out our stats more, I put on the ceramic boots, and...

VISUAL CALCULUS - You look down at the white ceramic sabatons hugging your arches and calves, surprised at how well they fit.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Medium: Success] - Your movements cause tiny little clicks, like dice rolling somewhere far away, as the plates reorient to your motions.

I will be responsible with this. This is just to protect me from harm, not to show off.

Decked out in future-armour. Like a cop ought to be.

[Discard thought]

VISUAL CALCULUS - The hardened vitreous enamel, at once sleek and light, adds a glow to your cheeks and a spring to your step. Just imagine what a full suit of this stuff could do for you!

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - You really do feel more confident. Invulnerability does that. Even partial invulnerability.

Yeah, I *want* the full suit!

This gear could line my pockets with cash. I could probably sell it to some other cops.

This is the long sought after *enemy technology*. I can't just enjoy it -- I must *study* it.

VISUAL CALCULUS - It may be a while before you have all the pieces. In the meantime, you should analyse the armour, figure out its vulnerabilities.

Vulnerabilities?

VISUAL CALCULUS - Remember, this is a highly specialized kinetic re-distributor meant to stop bullets. Wear it, observe its properties. See if there's a *weakness* in the design.

Thought gained: Fairweather T-500

HALF LIGHT [Easy: Success] - For the day you have to *fight* someone covered in the same material.

FAIRWEATHER T-500

Temporary research bonus: -1 Savoir Faire: Hard move Research time: 3h 30m

It really hurts to punch this armour. A sword wouldn't leave even a scratch. A bullet would bounce right off. Still, there must be some flaw in it that would allow you to stand your ground against this dangerous enemy technology. You just have to figure out what it is -- possibly by beating yourself while wearing it? Shooting yourself? Let's see...

I then end up deciding not to wear the boots after all, whoops.

#disco elysium

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overobsessedfanboy23 · 3 months

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About that episode 95 summary...

I think the fact that half of the Dudi Ducasse system have disappeared plus this episode, based on its description alone, have really debunked my "maybe the hats weren't lying and the Velgearians dying genuinely is far in the future" theory from episode 90. Now I think those hat aliens are either incompetent or were flat out lying (and are potentially villains of the arc). Because 8.88 millions deaths this soon does not sound very spread out over a long period of time. Maybe? Since Velgear is a cluster of many planets and not just one planet but it still feels very unlikely now.

At the moment, I'm still not sure how permanent these deaths are going to be. I can see a world where Go Rush permanently kills an antagonist (Kuaidul) along with, let's be real here, a bunch of faceless nobodies that don't duel. It would mean no more Valvelgear and Yudias would be absolutely traumatised by that and yes that would suck but it's the kind of permanent or at least long lasting consequence I could see them inflicting. If someone like Yudias or Zwijo die though, then yes, all these deaths (yes, all of them) are definitely temporary due to how much plot armour those two have.

#yugioh go rush spoilers #go rush spoilers #rambles

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witchycatwife · 6 months

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Armour in the time of the lens-gonne

While war magic can be extremely deadly, destructive sigils have one fundamental limitation: they must be cast onto a surface to be effective.

The two basic principles of defeating magic are reflection and absorption. A perfect mirror reflects all magic, and an uneven mirror avoids ricocheting an incoming spell to an unexpected direction. A sufficiently dark surface can absorb spells, significantly weakening them or stopping them altogether. Thus arise the two basic defences: brightplate and black velvet.

Brightplate refers to polished, shining armour capable of effectively protecting against spells, as opposed to dirty, unpolished, or textile-covered blackplate which is only good against mundane enemies. It is typically worn by soldiers who need protection against both magic and weapons; the type and coverage determined by the resources available.

The first and most important purchase of any soldier is a helmet, and in the presence of magic things are no different. Vision too far ahead of yourself is a serious danger on the battlefield, though, so soldiers almost invariably have some means of partially blocking their sight until the point when someone swinging a halberd at your face is a bigger threat than someone trying to screw with your mind from afar.

For the poorest soldiers this typically takes the form of a wide-brimmed kettle hat, and either keeping your head down or improvising a temporary veil out of whatever materials you have available, to be torn off (and often discarded) at the commencement of melee.

Soldiers who can afford better usually equip their helmets with visors that can be easily positioned for either approach (blocking sight further ahead) or melee (optimised for visibility) as conditions change.

The simplest way of protecting the rest of the body is the shield wall. An improvised, unsophisticated testudo-like formation of people covering themselves with shiny shields like their life depends on it can be adequately effective, with spears, pikes, crossbows and lensgonnes providing the teeth of this (likely static) formation. Skirts of glittery chain reach from the mid-thigh to the ground, disrupting incoming magic at the lowest weight and cost possible.

These days, with plate armour being increasingly available to even the common soldiers of Pelagian royal armies, the shield wall is considered to be on its way out eventually, and full-body brightplate is the armour of choice.

For the less wealthy, almain rivet protecting the vitals combined with nominal "limb mirror" armour (whose material and thickness is chosen more for reflectivity and ease of maintenance than physical protection) is an easy way to gain a decent protection against hostile attacks both physical and magical with vastly greater mobility and reduced interdependence compared to the shield wall. Mirrorchain skirts are still common, sometimes combined with paper-thin mirror on one's boots to allow the skirt chains to be shorter and reduce the risk of stumbling over them.

Those who can afford the best, though, will invariably clad themselves in proper plate from head to toe, well-protected against most anything one might encounter on the battlefield.

Until the plate stops being bright, that is.

There are legitimate cases of seemingly invulnerable knights being taken down by throwing a bucketful of mud on them before concentrating short-range lensgonne fire on the suddenly vulnerable armour, and even in the absence of deliberate soiling blood, dust and dirt will eventually render that plate not so bright. There are few sights more terrifying than walking around a battlefield enveloped in thick smoke that renders long-distance fire ineffective, only to come face to face with a flintlock holepuncher almost too big to carry and primed to fire, with the realisation that you would really like a quick rinse more than anything else in the world right now.

Those who don't fight directly and for whom protective plate is not worth it, sometimes use mirror armour whose only purpose is to be shiny, but most commonly clad themselves in the blackest fabric they can, often applying an additional "soot of armour" if feeling particularly nervous.

This is particularly important for war-sorcerers who need all the mobility they can get, and are prime targets for raygonnes, the high ground positioning that lets them affect wide swathes of the battlefield from a safe distance also rendering them extremely exposed to anyone with a weapon capable of making that distance unsafe again.

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feliciadraws · 4 months

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Sweet Silence

Some Waka/Mei night-time drabble because the brainworms have been working on overtime lately

Tagging @bamboorocket - YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE YOU DID THIS

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Quiet...just...the bliss, the serenity, of quiet...

With the veil of night having fallen upon the land, the surrounding room illuminated with little else except the delicate, milky glow of the moonlight streaming in through the just-open screen door and the warm, mellow glow of the lamp, the night air sang with a serene, near-silent melody of crickets and the gentle whispers of subtle breezes...

As Waka laid with his eyes glanicng heavenward, the only other sounds colouring the gentle silence being slow, intermingling breaths and the slow, steady beat of his heart, he was expecting the shallow peace to be shattered by the screaming that still yet rang in his head, the cruel blade of his torment severing whatever fragile little moments of temporary tranquility his mind would allow in its wandering as its footsteps took him into the dark forest of deep thought, but that was...before.

Waka's gaze left the ceiling as he turned his eyes to the gentle weight draped across his torso, to the raven-haired girl curled in beautiful, tranquil repose against his scarred chest, he looked upon his love with ardent eyes, his darling Mei...and smiled.

He smiled with a calmness, a genuine, silent joy, that he never thought he would know...

Mei lifted her gaze from his chest, her inky dark eyes, glinting like polished black laquear beneath her bangs, her sleepy little face coloured with a darling smile that set his heart aglow as he brushed back a lock of her black hair with a touch feather-soft in its gentleness.

Though but for a moment, a fragment of fallen time that he dare not let linger for fear of those screams returning to echo in his head, he pondered her...he wondered just how come, after all he had done, left with hands stained a horrid crimson with innocent blood shed by way of his own wretched foolishness, those same hands holding and caressing the fragile blossom of beauty...he wondered just how he had been deemed worthy of such a treasure, a treasure he knew he surely did not deserve, and yet he could not be more thankful to have her.

The screams, the piercing wails of the thousands of souls who moaned and wept to him as their bodies were broken by the claws of the Ark's foul demons, those same souls crying with desperate anguish as they sank below Laochi Lake's frozen armour, entombed among ice and metal, still yet crying out in his head, night after night after night...he was waiting for them, and yet, there lingered silence...

Aside from the flourish of the outside world and the gentle lull of heartbeats, silence...

A beautiful, beautiful silence...

"Mei...ma cherie..." Waka whispered, his voice a loving feather in Mei's ears as she looked so sweetly towards him, yet again curling herself into his slow heartbeat, her other ear drinking in the wisps of his breaths and the faint chirp of the crickets singing among the night, "do you hear that...?"

"Mmmmm, no, I can't...hear anything..." she replied with a soft mumble, her voice at once tender and somewhat puzzled as to his asking...no sound had rung through the air except the quiet songs of twilight, the night music of nature and the steady rhythm resting in the ear laid against his skin. Just...what sound? What could he have heard...or perhaps not heard...?

"No...I can't either..." he added as a heavy sigh loosened itself from his lungs, taking his anguish with it. He closed his eyes in tender, tranquil restfullness as a small smile crossed his face, his arms coiling around Mei's small, delicate body as he held her close and steadfast, drinking in her warmth...

"It's beautiful, non? The silence..."

For once...for once in two hundred years...he could hear only quiet, sweet, sweet quiet. No wailing, no weeping, no torment...just...quiet.

The screaming...the screaming had finally been silenced.

#okami #Okami waka #Waka #mei (okami oc)#okami oc #my ocs #Waka/mei #oc/canon #my writing #my drabbles

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honourablejester · 2 years

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Homebrew Cleric Subclass: Darkness Domain

As mentioned when discussing Torog, I like the idea of a sacred darkness. Twilight domain gave me a lot of what I wanted, but darkness can go a little bit further, I think.

I will say, however, that I’ve no idea how balanced this particular idea is.

DIVINE DOMAIN: DARKNESS

Before there was light, there was darkness, the primal void that cradled creation. There is darkness yet: the velvet shroud of night, the passages deep beneath the earth, the grey shadows that live even surrounded by light. Deities of the darkness domain, such as Shar, Nut, Nyx, Hecate, Erebos, Torog or Thautam, may be deities of primal darkness, the personifications of night, or perhaps deities of those places still untouched by light, the deities of the depths. They may be deities of the dark beyond the world, or the dark beyond the grave. They may be deities of mystery, of hidden things, of magic. Or perhaps they are deities of inner as well as outer darkness, deities of vengeance, secrets, death, and annihilation. Regardless, they are all, and their worshippers, linked by the velvet embrace of that oldest of domains: the darkness.

DOMAIN SPELLS

Once you gain a domain spell, you always have it prepared, and it doesn't count against the number of spells you can prepare each day.

If you have a domain spell that doesn't appear on the cleric spell list, the spell is nonetheless a cleric spell for you.

At each indicated cleric level, you add the listed spells to your spells prepared.

Darkness Domain Spells

Cleric Level Spells

1st Armour of Agathys, Sleep

3rd Darkness, Pass Without Trace

5th Gaseous Form, Hunger of Hadar

7th Greater Invisibility, Shadow of Moil

9th Enervation, Hallow

SHROUD OF NIGHT

Sacred darkness shrouds your presence and expands your awareness. Beginning at 1st level, you gain a +5 bonus to Dexterity (Stealth) and Wisdom (Perception) checks while in dim light or darkness.

EYELESS BLESSING

The darkness has taught you that you need not eyes to perceive the world around you. At 1st level, you have blindsight to a range of 10ft. Within that range, you can effectively see anything that isn't behind total cover, even if you're blinded or in darkness. Moreover, you can see an invisible creature within that range, unless the creature successfully hides from you. This range increases as you gain levels in this class, to 20ft at 6th level, 30ft at 12th level, and 60ft at 17th level.

In addition, as an action, you can magically share this blindsight for 1 minute with a number of willing creatures within 30ft of you, up to a number of creatures equal to your Wisdom modifier. Once you have used this action, you cannot do so again until you have finished a long rest, unless you expend a spell slot of any level to use it again.

CHANNEL DIVINITY: CLOAK OF DARKNESS

Starting at 2nd level, you can use your channel divinity to weave living shadow into a defense for yourself or another willing creature. As a bonus action on your turn, you present your holy symbol and gather darkness to you, weaving it into a protective cloak for yourself or another willing creature within 10ft of you. This cloak lasts for 1 minute, and grants a +2 bonus to AC for the duration.

DARK SHADOWS

Beginning at 6th level, you can call more actively upon the living darkness to attack your foes. When you slay a humanoid, you can capture its shadow as it dies and transform it into a Shadow, the statistics for which are in the Monster Manual. When the shadow appears, it gains temporary hit points equal to half your cleric level, as well as a bonus to its attack rolls equal to your Wisdom modifier. The shadow is an ally to you and your companions. In combat, it shares your initiative count, but it takes its turn immediately after yours. It obeys your verbal commands (no action required by you). If you don't issue any, it takes the Dodge action and uses its move to avoid danger.

The shadow remains in your service until the end of your next long rest, at which point it dissolves back into darkness.

Once you bind a shadow with this feature, you can't use the feature again until you finish a long rest

BLESSED STRIKES

Starting at 8th level, when a creature takes damage from one of your cantrips or weapon attacks, you can also deal 1d8 cold or necrotic damage (your choice) to that creature. Once you deal this damage, you can't use this feature again until the start of your next turn.

FALL OF NIGHT

At 17th level, you are an avatar of dusk and darkness, and can cast a pall of night across a battlefield. You can use your action to draw down an aura of magical darkness centred upon yourself. This aura spreads darkness in a radius of 60ft and dim light for a further 30ft beyond that, and lasts for 1 minute or until you dismiss it using another action. A creature with darkvision cannot see through this darkness, and non-magical light, as well as light created by spells of 6th level or lower, can't illuminate the area. While this darkness lasts, you and any of your allies that share your Eyeless Blessing deal extra psychic damage equal to your Wisdom modifier the first time you deal damage to a creature on your turn.

#d&d #homebrew #homebrew subclass #cleric subclass #clerics #divine domains #darkness domain

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russeliarat · 2 years

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Been slaving away all day to create the idea behind this. I’ll go more in depth in another post coz I need to make other characters for it to be explained properly, but basically, Link has to disguise himself as a Yiga clansman to infiltrate the hideout and find out about Yiga techniques and stuff coz the new master (Kogha fight has already happened so he’s been replaced) has ordered attacks on Gerudo Town and Riju isn’t having it. Yes, Link dyed his hair brunette for this. Yes, it is only temporary and is washed out after the mission.

The leftmost set is named the ‘Yiga Trainee’ set because in order for this scenario to work, we need a baseline training Yiga rank, of which Link disguises himself as. Yiga Trainees rarely ever ambush Link and need to be talked to when disguised as NPCs to get offended enough to fight him. They’ve got quite low health, but the catch is that they’re always supervised by either a footsoldier or bladesman. The set is comprised of three elements; the Yiga Boots, the Yiga Armour, and can alternate between the Yiga Earrings and the Yiga Hood. The values were hard to work with seeing as the uniforms are made up of reds and greys, and occasionally yellows, but I got to a point were I liked the idea that trainees wore a mostly grey outfit and gained more red as they rose in rank.

The second set is named the ‘Yiga Hakama’ set, and is considered the clan’s informal wear for when off-duty. Other clansmen can choose to wear kimono, yukata, or a haori and hakama. The colours and styling of their outfit is the only freedom they have in their clothing, and are also free to wear whichever hairstyle they like, as long as it isn’t taboo (such as wearing a Sheikah top-knot). Oftentimes, Yiga visibly wear bandages under their clothes for many different reasons, including for fashion or for support of an injured friend. The set that Link wears is gifted to him by another trainee he befriends since Hylians have never wore such clothing. It is the only set of clothing Link cannot choose to put on or take off outside of the Yiga Hideout, and is removed from his inventory as soon as the mission is over.

If I were to give each item in the sets a description it would probably go something like this;

‘Yiga Trainee’ set:

Yiga Earrings ~ ‘Golden earrings worn by training Yiga clansmen. There is no clasp for these earrings, meaning the piercing techniques often leave ears bruised or stretched. They are more for intimidation than any functional use.’

Yiga Armour ~ ‘Armour made for the lowest rank of Yiga. Its flexible material is interwoven with lightweight metals that makes running far easier and supresses noise.’

Yiga Boots ~ ‘Boots favoured by low ranking Yiga. The metal within the boots double as greaves, making less agile clansmen favour them for their more defensive capabilities.’

Yiga Hood ~ ‘A hood made to conceal the faces of Yiga clansmen. Along with a painted wooden mask, it allows the wearer’s entire head to be hidden. It would be wise not to wear this in public.’

‘Yiga Hakama’ set:

Yiga Haori ~ ‘Patterned haori worn by Yiga when off-duty. The colour and style of this garment is the only liberty the Yiga are allowed to take with their clothing. This haori was borrowed from Val.’

Yiga Hakama ~ ‘A traditional pinstriped men’s hakama worn by the Yiga. It’s lightweight fabric allows for easy movement, even in such heavy shoes.’

#legend of zelda #loz #zelda #botw #breath of the wild #botw yiga

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oblivions-dawn · 1 year

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Talon, Teeth, and Poison :3

✑ Share a snippet that tugs at your heartstrings- can be sad or happy!

But to her mother, Serana was always more of a protégé than a daughter. Her chest clenched as the memory darkened. Her mother, the only person she had left to trust, suddenly became a stranger. After Molag Bal’s ritual, after her friend—her mother would take no excuses anymore, and always shooed Serana away . . . until it was time to seal her underground for a thousand years. Her teeth clenched as she stared back at a blank, unremorseful expression, with eyes that seemed to deem her unworthy. “Serana . . .” She dropped the crest. Hands slithered and gripped onto her shoulders again. Valerica’s face morphed, cracked and flaked as they burned to death under the sun’s merciless rays. A hand, half disintegrated, reached between the bars and out to her . . . . “This is for the best,” her father whispered cruelly. “Hey!” Serana jumped. Ice-blue eyes glared at her like daggers, embedded in a freckled face with faint yet deep scars and rosy cheeks. It wasn’t her mother or her dying friend—it was Vigdis, the vampire hunter, who stared at her and clutched her shoulders as if to shake her from her nightmare. “I’m—I’m sorry,” Serana professed, her voice weak. “I don’t know what . . .” “I know,” Vigdis said. Her neutral tone, unnaturally, contained a tinge of empathy. “I know.” As Serana collected herself through quiet and uneven breaths, Vigdis let her go. She bent down and picked up the crest that Serana had dropped, then handed it to her. “We have to keep moving,” she admonished coldly. “You’re wasting our time.” The words were a slap to the face for Serana, but it brought her back into the harsh reality she stood in. Vigdis was cold and unkind, unsympathetic to a vampire like her. In those icy eyes, she was still a monster, and whatever empathy she might’ve had for that split second had been blown out like a candle. Their alliance was temporary, Serana reminded herself. Their goal was all that had ever mattered to Vigdis; and she would not tolerate stalls in their progress. [THIS IS THE BAD KIND OF TUGGING AT HEARTSTRINGS BUT TUGGED HEARTSTRINGS THEY STILL ARE LKJDGLSJGL]

✑ Share a snippet that was difficult for you to nail down/required a lot of revisions.

“It took two—TWO—bottles of poison! And seconds of the soup!!” she cried as she pulled off the helmet that disguised her features. “At least you’re dead now, you clawless, useless . . .” The Argonian descended into mutters as she kicked at the corpse. Vigdis hadn’t dropped her guard, and Serana merely looked on in bewilderment. Eventually, the Argonian turned her attention away from the bodies to Vigdis and Serana. A smile spread across her scaly deep pink and vermillion face as her indigo fingers fiddled with the straps of the armour. “Surprised to see me, old friend?” Serana’s dark brows shot up. A snarl rumbled through Vigdis’ throat, as if she hated being called a friend. “Why are you here?” Vigdis demanded. It dawned on Serana that they knew each other. She stayed silent, both curious and wary. The Argonian shrugged. “Killing my contracts.” Her silver slits looked pointedly at the hunter. “Tracking down my other contract.” The horse shifted its weight. The Argonian gave it a look, then continued. “I’m supposed to kill you now.” “You can try,” Vigdis offered seriously. “I’m sure you’d love that,” the Argonian giggled. “But, I won’t.” She finally stripped off the legion armour and revealed a midnight black and crimson red leather bodysuit, complete with belts, various metal fixings, and a hood. “Consider this . . . A debt repaid to Shatha.” Vigdis said nothing as Shatha pulled up her hood. She then threw up two fingers with a grin—and vanished. The hunter gave a deep, irritated sigh. “That was your friend?” Serana asked once the horse started to move again. “She’s not my friend,” Vigdis snapped. “She was someone I knew.” The vampire frowned. “She seemed to think you were friends.” “I don’t have friends.” The hunter clicked her tongue and the horse settled into a gentle trot. “Now shut up and watch the road.” [I remember struggling with this scene--particularly with the portrayal of Shatha, who's my Listener. I wanted to showcase that she was different from most people you come across, and although I'm not sure how well I did, I'm pretty happy with the end results all the same.]

✑ Share a snippet that’s all about relationships (good or bad).

Across the spring, Vigdis stared at her. For a moment, she was completely unreadable to Serana—until her red brows furrowed and her mouth slanted into a deeper frown. “What?” Serana asked, defensive. Vigdis folded her arms, her head tilted as she scowled. “Aren’t you too royal for this kind of shit?” “For—what—a bath?” she sputtered incredulously. “No one’s beyond a bath.” She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not the princess you think I am.” “Really.” The doubt was so thick that Serana almost didn’t catch what she said. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” Vigdis, for once, was quiet. Her scowl was not as harsh as her frown eased back into a natural pout. After a long moment, she tore her gaze away and rinsed off any loose pieces of moss on her shoulders and face. She dunked her head under the water, then resurfaced. After she wiped most of the drops from her ice-blue eyes, she twisted her body around, sunk her hands into the earthy bank, and lifted herself out of the spring. Serana’s persimmon gaze trailed down the hunter’s freckled back and noticed even more scars. When Vigdis paused to swipe off more of the drops, the vampire frowned when she saw her wrists—scars upon scars, new and old. From the way they crisscrossed and dragged across, Serana guessed that she carelessly guarded attacks with her wrist, as if it were a shield. Her eyes flickered to Vigdis’ back again, and slowly traced the soft curves of her waist, the sharp dips of her hips . . . She looked away, her cheeks aflame. She casually swam around the spring, tried to focus on something else; alas, nothing she thought of effectively distracted her mind from Vigdis. Serana groaned to herself. She really needed to learn to not stare. [One of the softer and funnier moments between them that's just worth sharing <3333]

#Senu Responds #Senu's Writing #stormbeyondreality #Skyrim OC #Vigdis #Shatha #Serana #Serana Volkihar #THANK YOU MALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL THESE WERE FUNNNNNN

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