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void-f3lt · 7 months

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🌟•:{Iter Astra}:•💫

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have jolted up the moment he saw a humanoid lizard with sharp ass teeth, cause that headache and ringing ears was not worth making said orange and black monitor lizard with horns, also, jolt. Actually it looked like he scared the shit out of everything in the other cells, whoops at least he knows everyone else knows now.

His cell was less wide then the others and it has a cubby like area at the top, back and only solid wall, it was about seven and a half feet up, with a gap between the tile that he could probably put his fingers in so he could climb that easier. There were many different types of aliens, some sentient some not, in neighboring cells.

One cell to his left and four to his right that he can see residents in but, there was definitely more probably twelve to sixteen and he can also hear at least one other floor under him. He was much smaller than all of them, since the stupid height average in space is six to seven feet tall for sentients that looked like the prey species. Though most of them still have claws, sharp teeth and/or talons, so like the animals back on Earth, they probably could still eat him if they hadn’t been fed for awhile.

Whatever they drugged him with made him feel a little dizzy and nauseous so he laid back down. He did not whimper. He was just… unwell. *Yea. That was it.* He wasn’t scared because he was in space jail with predators and lost his brother... He was just feeling a bit sick. The lights seemed to be strong UV lights given the fact that he can see his Blaschko lines *I really hope I don’t get skin cancer from this or something. Why do they use UV lights in the first place.*

Every now and then, he’d look at the aliens in the other cells, they were interesting to look at and he was curious. There were aliens that walked outside his cell too and they wore armor and they either had more muscle or spikes. One looked dull purple humanoid scorpion, that one was staring at him for a little too long in his opinion. He tried to commit how often they passed by to memory. It would be helpful later to know their patrol schedule.

The staring from nearly every other sentient seeming being there was unnerving. It felt like hours before most of them seemed to lose interest in him. Now a few aliens in the cells to his left and two from a cell to the right, seemed to be arguing amongst themselves. As Vecko would call it ‘a skinny big bird’ looking alien kept looking back at him, he kind of remembered seeing one back on another planet fighting some criminal, so he, a free traveling unlicensed space pirate, is trapped in a trafficking ship with a fucking space cop.

As he realized this he fell on his back banging his head violently on the metal floor, groaned and said with his hands covering his mouth and eyes closed, “Fuck my life, why does it always have to be Me.” And judging by the sudden silence he scared the shit out of the other sentients again.

The big bird like sentient looked like a humanoid Sulpher-Crested Cockatoo, but with a longer beak. Instead of white feathers they had light gold and their crest was more beige-taupe. Pistachio green eyes. Their wings didn’t look like they could fly with them but they still looked longer then Tobey was tall and he was 5’3. *Fucking hell, why does the interplanetary height average have to be in the fucking double digits?* They also had taupe brown talons that were most likely three inches on the wings and the ones on their legs were closer to four or five inches.

Also it was wearing a worn down sleeveless to accommodate their wings, black leather jacket that looked like the color of juniper bark in some places, the collar being the mast prominent from where he’s angled. *Probably faux given.. would they actually have issues with real leather? Are there cow looking aliens?* They also had a white tank-top, black sleeveless leather jacket, a black belt with venetian red and dark and possibly stained with blood, beige cargo pants, it looks more like shorts though. Apparently Alt/Punk fashion is universal, who knew.

After seemingly the end of a conversation that he completely missed Sulpher (what he’s calling the bird) stood up and started walking over to the bars and then squatted in front of Tobey, who shifted back just a little bit before realizing that Sulpher can’t reach him cause of the electrocuted bars. A slightly familiar warbling came from Sulpher. He only says slightly because he’s heard similar when stealing borrowing his ship from the sellers in that unlicensed port he crashed into.

Sulpher didn’t try to reach through the bars but they were looking directly at him. Not his eyes though cause apparently that’s a universal way to either get your ass beat or cause an entire building to be evacuated. Yes he learned that the hard way. Fun days.

Sulpher shifted after a moment, bringing their armwings together to fiddle with its talonfingers. *Were they nervous? Is that what happened to their collar?* They made noise again and Tobey noticed a pattern as well as a questioning little shift to its tone. *So it is a language!* And they were trying to ask him a question. Now he’s getting excited. The lizard from the right-most cell said something, and then he whipped his head back and made everyone flinch, again. He should really stop doing that.

Sulpher then replied with a bright tone, and turned their attention back to Tobey. They pointed at him and then drew a circle in the air. Tobey shifted to sit criss-cross (which Sulpher and a dull navy with pastel pink accents, humanoid dragonfly looked at him weirdly when he did so *probably not normal then*) so that he could see better and also to be more comfortable, he and his brother always sat like this when they got dad to go on a rambling spree.

Were they asking what planet he’s from? That seemed possible based on the context. “Earth.” The aliens all froze when he spoke. Sulpher recovered first. They put a hand to their chest. “### ##### ## Ariho.” Tobey squinted his eyes a little in frustration that he didn’t know words he hasn’t been taught yet. “Ariho,” they repeated while patting their chest. They’re telling him its name! Or species. Either way not a normal word, therefore important.

“Ariho?” He mimicked almost perfectly, (a hint of a British and it would have been perfect) and apparently that isn’t common thing and/or they just weren’t expecting him to get it right first try. Everyone listening startled *again, why??* but then Sulpher made a chirping sound. They were probably happy, maybe they were part of a species that was oriented on parent/child relationships.

That’d be pretty cool, and convenient if he played his cards right. No, no manipulating.

Then Sulpher/maybe Ariho pointed to Tobey. Do they want his name?

“Tobey,” he offered.

“Obeey?”

“Tobey.”

“Toebean?” That one made him laugh.

“Tobey.”

“Tobey?”

“Tobey,” he confirmed with a nod and thumbs up, which in hindsight probably confused them a little but either way they got names down, Now what?

Sul-Ariho? repeated the pointing and drawing a circle motions, this time adding a gesture to the cage around them. He was still a little dazed so, they were back to square one on that one. The charades repeated a few more times before they realized he wasn’t getting they tried something else, that he could not make sense of in the slightest therefore that also failed.

#writing #humans are space australians #earth is space australia #scifi #space religion eventually #Magic #cause there’s no way the shit that gets pulled and explained away with “science” normally is actually science #PLEASE point out pronoun continuity errors #And also generally spelling/grammar errors #Gay eventually #Tobey finds and dragonborn to fuck #And Ariho is married

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 months

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Falling Water Cease to Roar

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: 'It' used as a pronoun, references to past murder/abuse, captivity, referenced mind control/magic

The grandfather clock that stood along the wall by the fireplace in the study ticked, lazily but inevitably marking the passage of time while Ford stared down into the glass of amber bourbon he’d poured himself to stop his hands from shaking.

In an hour, he would hopefully be drunk enough to make dining with his father, his sister, the absolutely gorgeous woman upstairs his father intended to force him to marry, and his father’s beautiful monster something he could bear. For now, though, he was sober enough that the horror weighed too heavy. He was slumped in the overstuffed leather chair, close enough that the warmth of the fire touched him, but it could not fully penetrate his skin.

The worst thing, of course, was that the monster was in here, too.

It sat in a different chair, over by the window, staring at the sunset with a look of fixed intensity, barely blinking. It had every appearance of being an unnaturally beautiful man a decade or so older than Ford was, but of course it was at least close to two centuries old, and really… who knew how long it had lived before Guilford Wentworth had come across it?

It wore the loose shirt and pants it had been given as if they were chains, shifting uncomfortably every few seconds. Its bare feet pressed into the softness of a plush rug beneath its chair. Ford stared as it… wiggled its toes, like anyone might at the simple comfort. Like any human, any… person.

The creature had been there his entire life, just one more tool in his father’s toolbox. The biggest and most useful one. He had watched with growing dread as he aged while the thing sang affection into his father’s friends, obedience into his enemies, and… love into Ford’s own mother, over and over, every time her mind threatened to stray away from it.

Just as it would sing love into the mind of the woman upstairs, love into him, and even after that it wouldn’t be enough to please his father’s demands. No… time was running out for Ford’s own mind to remain his own.

Once the wedding was done, and the monster had done what it was commanded to do, Ford would be nothing more than what his own true father had been. He’d be a puppet, going through the motions with a stupid smile on his face, until he was no longer needed and was tossed into the toybox to rot.

How would he be made to do it? He looked over at the monster again. It looked so… calm and peaceful, resting its chin on one hand, the light from the setting sun warming its brown skin and making its eyes seem oddly ablaze. It never looked all that dangerous, but… although Ford had been young, and the twins only just born, he remembered very clearly watching the monster sing a pretty song and then his true father walk into the pond in the garden to meet it. He remembered how its jaw had opened far too wide, how it had had too many teeth when it fell on him. There had been so much blood in the water.

They hadn’t known he was watching.

Ford wondered sometimes if he’d have been sent into the pond as well, if they had seen him peeking over the windowsill in his mother’s room.

Would Guilford Wentworth allow his so-called firstborn son to make requests on the manner of his murder, once his life became inconvenient to the grander plan? Maybe. Maybe he could ask, once he’d had a child of his own-

His stomach flipped, nerves and nausea battling within him when he thought of the look of fiery defiance in the eyes of the woman upstairs. She did not want this. He did not want this. But of course, that mattered very little when Lord Guilford Wentworth, second only to the king and with a terrible magic at his command, wanted it.

Not when he had a monster to remake the world to his liking, and all Ford had was his pitiful anger and no skill, influence, or fortune he could use to effect an escape. Had his true father been this frightened, before his wedding? Had his mother loathed Guilford Wentworth like the woman upstairs so clearly did, before the monster wiped her clean of everything but softness and light? Had his true father regained his mind at the end, when the monster’s teeth tore out his throat and he had only seconds to live?

And if he had, was it a mercy to die his own man, or simply a darker murder?

His fingers tightened around the cool glass until he worried it might crack under his grip. Thinking of his true father and the days after when he had screamed himself hoarse that it had been murder while everyone around him mourned the unfortunate drowning accident… it ached, and he had to shove the memory away as far as he could. He’d been shoving that memory aside most of his life, and he was an expert by now at how to bury it. He took a breath and then sipped the bourbon, letting the liquid burn down his throat and warm his shoulders, his chest.

He took another drink, a deeper one, and this time he coughed when the liquid felt like it tried to go into his lungs and not his stomach, his chest suddenly felt like it was on fire within, burning behind his breastbone. He had to lean forward and pound his chest with a fist, coughing breathlessly and then jerking in air in graceless gasps.

The monster did not move - but its head turned, just a little, to look over at him. It should be a crime, to be a creature of such evil and have such beautiful eyes. “... are you dying?” It asked, voice low and devoid of any real curiosity.

“N-No,” Ford spat, finally feeling air enter his lungs more easily as he gulped oxygen down. It felt like spots danced at the corners of his eyes, fading as everything settled. His heart, though, still raced. When had he last heard the monster speak aloud? “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong way, is all.”

“Mmn.” The monster turned away from him. “Good. I would be blamed if you died here.”

“Why do you care if you are?” Ford’s eyes narrowed. He set the glass down on a small table next to his chair with a hard enough crack of glass on wood that he winced, hoping the pricey liquor wouldn’t leak onto the wood, make a stain, and get him in trouble.

No. He was a grown man, and he would not fear his father’s beatings, not now. He would not let that creeping terror of Guilford’s rages keep him from standing, stalking across the room to the monster, and standing before him.

He leaned over, pitching his voice so low it wouldn’t even carry to any servant who might be lingering on the other side of the door, eavesdropping for anything they might take to Guilford to get Ford in trouble again. “We both know damn well, monster, that you’ll be the one to kill me eventually, anyway. So why do you care if it happens now?”

It did not stand, but its eyes flicked upwards to meet his where he loomed over it. From this angle, he could see the tattoos, the swirling loops and and arcane symbols that moved from just under its jaw down one side of its neck, disappearing into the neckline of its shirt, reappearing in glimpses along its wrist and hand where they came out from its long sleeve. He could see, too, scars around the unmarked side of its neck. They were so faint he’d never been close enough to notice them before. The scars circled, layered over each other.

The monster held his gaze. “He will be displeased with me if his plans have to be changed. I will bear his anger again.”

“You…” Ford trailed off. The monster raised its eyebrows. Despite its posture reading as nothing more than lazy insolence, he could sense tension. When his eyes followed the line of its arm, he found its fingers were trembling, minutely, where they lay seemingly relaxed against the arm of the chair it sat on. There were scars faintly visible around its wrists, too. Its throat shifted as it swallowed, holding perfectly still.

Ford had spent his life learning how to appear like a happy first son of one of the wealthiest families in the world, while secretly fearing his father’s every hint of disapproval for the violence it would bring on. He knew what it looked like to be frightened and yet determined not to show it.

He knew he saw the same fear in it now that he knew so well. Carelessness was an armor, a magical cloak of invisibility for true feelings, but it was one that you could see easily if you’d worn it yourself.

Its eyes narrowed and its top lip shifted, revealing sharp fangs for teeth, a hint of a defensive snarl.

“Stop it,” Ford commanded, but some of his anger had gone.

“I do not serve you,” It said, its own voice holding both its human tongue and a lower, animal growl that rumbled underneath. “I will not kneel or lay down for you. Touch me and I will tear off your hand.”

Ford took a step back, and then another, almost stumbling until he bumped into another chair and didn’t so much sit as fall backwards into it. “You won’t what-”

Its bared its teeth fully, then, briefly showing him the full force of its razor-sharp fangs before it turned deliberately away, to look back at the sunset. Dismissing him the same way his father used to, without even speaking a word.

Ford stared at its impassive face, back to seeming utterly human now that it was no longer showing its surreal, hideous teeth. “... I saw you kill my father, you know.”

Those eyes moved briefly to him, then back to the window. “I kill all the fathers. A few of you have seen me. Your children may see me kill you. Every time is different. Every time is the same.”

Ford swiped his hand over his mouth and let his head drop until it hit the back of the chair, staring up at the ceiling, letting the simple mundane horror of the words flow over him like water. Dipping his head beneath the surface of such easily-spoken and awful truths. His heart pounded, thumping against the inside of his chest as though trying to batter its way out. “Have you ever not killed anyone?”

“Yes.” Ford looked back at the monster in surprise, but it only watched him now, evenly, with no expression on its face or in its voice. “I told a child to run, once, and she lived. The rest… even if I do not rip them apart myself…”

“They die because of you. We die because of you.” It nodded, face utterly blank. “Don’t you…” Ford gestured aimlessly, not even sure what the movement of his hands was meant to represent. “Feel the slightest bit bad about it? Regret? Remorse?”

“You are human. You are his blood, you are like him-”

“I am not like him!” The denial roared out of him - the shouting was so loud and seemed to come unbidden, and it took him until the end of the sentence to realize it was he himself who was shouting. He was on his feet in an instant, closed the short distance between them, and he had slapped the monster full across the face before he understood he had moved at all. “I am not!”

His palm stung, hot and buzzing, and he stared at the monster who looked at him with that snarl yet again, one side of its face flushing bright red already, eyes glimmering with the reflection of the dying day. “Are you not?”

Its voice was low, and its aim true.

Ford hitched in a breath, horror washing cold through him, sweeping away the anger that had driven him forward. He had never hit another-

No. It wasn’t a person.

But still…

If he resorted to his father’s violence so readily, turned on another what had once been turned on him, was he even a person?

Perhaps they were both monsters.

“I-... I’m sorry,” He said, his voice slightly strangled, looking away. Something very like a scream was trying to claw its way up his throat and he had to fight with everything he had to keep his voice level and even. “I apologize. That was… I should not have-... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He all but fled back to his glass, drinking the rest of it in a few quick swallows, breathing harshly as the warmth spread but could not fight the cold loathing of himself that one small slap had brought to the surface. He set it back down with a shaking hand, putting the other up against his forehead, closing his eyes tightly against the hot rush of tears that he would not allow to fall.

Once he felt more in control of himself, he took the deepest breath he could, expanding his lungs until he felt they might burst, and then slowly exhaled again.

When he found the courage - just barely - to chance another look at his father’s creature, the monster was watching him with the first genuine, open expression he’d seen it make.

It was surprised.

There was a pause while it stared at him, and he stared back. Then, it said, in the same low voice always, “Help her.”

“What?”

“Kiraya Losna. Help her, and save us.”

“Save… you?”

It hesitated, and just as it opened its mouth to speak again, the door swung open. Ford turned on his heel to try and look unsurprised, but it was only his father’s butler.

“Miss Kiraya Losna and Miss Nathalie will be escorted momentarily to the dining room,” Babbage said, cheerful as always. If he was even able to sense the tension in the room, he seemed to ignore it. Although perhaps he couldn’t see anything but whatever Ford’s father wanted him to see. “Your father is already seated, Master Ford. You will join him now, you and your friend.”

Ford’s eyes shifted to the monster and then back. “My-... Ah. Of course, Babbage, thank you.”

Babbage bowed his head, briefly, and then walked away on silent feet. He always moved like that - he’d caught Ford at childish nonsense many times in his childhood, because he was impossible to hear unless he wanted to be heard.

Although Ford could have sworn he’d once or twice heard Babbage shouting in the night, incomprehensible, silenced before Ford had ever been able to quite understand what was wrong. And each time, he was right as rain the next morning, with a smile and a welcoming pat on the shoulder.

Ford took steps that felt like walking to a gallows, the monster falling in just behind him, as if they were old friends. He could feel its presence at his back, goosebumps rising on his arms, but there was no threat, no danger. Only his own nerves pouring acid through his veins.

“Help her,” The monster whispered once more. “If you are not your father, then be a man better than him. Free me and I will harm no more of you. Go to her room and bring her down to speak to me. Free me. Please. Please.”

“I do not trust you, monster,” He murmured, barely moving his lips. “Why should I believe your words at all?”

“Better to hope for my honesty than to fear your father’s anger.”

Ford’s teeth ground together. What could he possibly say to that? His father would be furious beyond all reason if he let his prisoner loose to roam the halls of the house or run away entirely. His rage would be all-encompassing. He might decide to marry Nathalie or-... god forbid, one of the twins off instead. Damning them to the fate he now faced seemed a worse sin than any other.

But…

The monster did not seem to want to be here. If it wanted only to escape, his father’s control would be shattered, and Ford could be free.

If it was only trying to lead him to the slaughter, well… That would be terrible. But if it was looking to escape and he did nothing, then… his father’s monster would doom him to lose his mind and then his life. It wouldn’t even care about the loss. Indeed, it would make sure no one cared about the loss in the end, the way his mother had mourned his true father only for a night before she seemed to simply forget he had ever existed as anything but a faint, lovely daydream by noon the next day.

His life, all his wants and dreams and wishes for his future would dissipate like smoke, unmourned, unmissed, because of this thing that sat in a chair like a man and sang magic like a demon.

But it was the same thing that was begging him for help.

Help her.

Ford squared his shoulders, straightened his spine, and stepped into the dining room like a man preparing for a fight.

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee @angelsproject

#fantasy whump #original writing #fantasy writing #whump #captivity #it as a pronoun #light dehumanization #referenced child abuse #traumatized whumpee #mentioned murder #mentioned mind control #magic whump #original fantasy #fiction #original fiction #fantasy world #siren whump

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