(She/Her) Warning, this blog is 18+, will have uncomfortable and triggering themes on occasion. / This will be my fanart and fanfiction and other things i find funny dump in general.
This is a masterlist of all my written works and artwork, because my blog has so many ridiculously random posts. Any smut/NSFW fic will be labelled. You are duly warned.
Summary: This is how Nirvikar ended up being sent to M3 Terra.
"This silence offends Slaanesh! Praises to them for this glorious hymn that I sing in their name!" Nirvikar thundered as the noise marine brought his sacred weapon-instrument up. He had spent decades crafting the base, mundane weapons he'd been given while he'd been a slave to the Imperium into the glorious weapon of sonic destruction. He had shaped the bolter into a violin, and one of his knives into the bow. He placed the bottom of the violin on his clavicle, resting his chin on the mounting, making sure his fingers were in their proper place.
He shifted his grip on his bow, dodging a charging corpse-worshipper with an elegant leap and slicing the poor fool's neck open with the sharpened blade-edge of the bow. A feral grin appeared on Nirvikar's face as he raised the bow and began to play a dirge of perfect destruction, dancing and singing around the battlefield. The perfectly discordant hymns empowered his brothers and cousins fighting for She Who Thirsts, and the Chaotic Notes paralyzed those who did not follow the Prince of Pleasure. Some started to scream in time to his music, while others bled from the eyes, ears, nose or mouth, their blood dripping out of their helmets as they fell to the ecstatic hymns that he played and sung into being.
He did not stop until the last enemy fell, and finished the final notes of the hymn with a perfect flourish, bowing to his brothers and cousins. "Thank you, one and all. I do hope that my performance met your expectations~!" Playing the psychic hymns were draining, and exhaustion pulled at him, but he would not choke and fail his wonderful audience at the end of his performance.
Several of his brothers rushed over, clapping and hollering, their voices melding into a lovely din that he could barely understand.
'That was truly inspired, brother!"
"How did you reach all of those notes? I hadn't realized that violins could make such a large range of notes."
"Could you teach me how to do that chaotic arpeggio? The one that stunned a half dozen loyalists within twenty feet of you, so that they could be more easily killed in Their name?"
Nirvikar grinned as he carefully started to clean and ensure that the strings of his combat violin were still well-tuned "With a great deal of practice, brother. Violins really are quite a versatile instrument. And I would be honored to show you how I did that arpeggio, brother. I found your chaotic chords that you played with your violent guitar to be inspired! I hadn't seen anyone create shockwaves like that before."
"I must say, I would like to hear you play in a more private setting - perhaps with a wooden violin?" A cousin called out, making his way through the group. A thousand sons sorcerer by the name of Ashra.
"Hmmm, I might be interested in doing so, though after a rest. Playing those hymns took a great deal of energy and focus." Nirvikar answered with a warm smile and a playful wink Ashra's way. Bovoli, who was the leader of their warband, had picked Ashra up on a moon near the edge of the Maelstrom. Apparently the sorcerer had been meditating and learning everything that could be learned on the moon's library - which had been a thing of beauty, if the nerds were to be believed. Nirvikar hadn't seen much appeal to the dusty tomes, but he did find the stained glass windows to be strikingly beautiful. The painted art had been of boring pastural landscapes, or long-dead mortals who likely did not deserve the accolades that they had been given posthumously.
"I'll hold you to that, brother. I hope you wouldn't mind if I asked you some questions about how you were able to craft this particular hymn to She Who Thirsts? The songs of destruction you wove and sung on the battlefield were something I've never seen before." Ashra asks, a hopeful expression appearing on his face "I'd love to hear more of how you'd come up with such a complex composition."
Bovoli was barking orders, and most of the rest of the group was scrounging supplies from the dead, or were hunting down the spacecraft that the corpse-worshippers had landed on this moon on. "Sure thing, brother. Let's walk and talk, so that we can avoid being grumbled at by our resident Iron Warlord."
The thousand son chuckles and nods "Far be it from be to antagonize our glorious leader. I think I saw a patch of rare mushrooms that can be distilled into an oil that can kill or incapacitate marines. I've got the proper collection materials for it, and would appreciate an extra set of eyes, as some of the plants out in the jungles here are very aggressive."
"How charmingly vexing. I'd be delighted to help you with your fungal foraging efforts." The Emperor's Child answered "Please, lead the way."
Ashra nods, smiling warmly and starting to head into the feral forest "This way, brother." He lightly set one of his hands on Nirvikar's elbow, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper as they left the area where the rest of their warband was searching for spoils of war "I must say... You are by far the best singer of the group, Nirvikar. Your command over sonic attacks is unparalleled. How do you manage it?"
The Emperor's Child preened at the praise and made sure to lower his voice so that it did not carry too far "When I entered Slaanesh's service, one of the first gifts they bestowed upon me was the melding of my helmet vox into my vocal chords. While it does mean that I'll never be able to remove my helmet, not fully, it also means that I can boost my voice to be much louder than other astartes are able to, and I can change the way my voice sounds from like this, to a more broadcast sounding sound like this, to this high and whispery sort of voice. It all depends on my focus, will and the muse I am searching for while in pursuit for perfection."
"That's truly remarkable. My own patron has given me a number of small gifts, though they are mainly minor shape-shifting abilities. For example, I can change the color of my eyes and hair with a bit of focus and energy." Ashra explains, turning and winking at Nirvikar, as his eyes shifted from black to green to a light blue. His hair color and texture changed several times as he spoke as well.
"I freely admit that I know little of biomancy, but I imagine that many quick changes is rather taxing?" Nirvikar answers and asks, tilting his head a little in fascination.
"It would be, were my connection to the warp be weak. But I'll let you in on a little secret - I am quite strong, which allows me a greater command over the disciplines of biomancy that would kill weaker psykers, or require several at once. For example, I can also sharpen my nails into claws, and even have them secrete poisons from their tips, as long as I know the full chemical make-up of said poisons. My body will synthesize the compounds and store them without causing harm to myself."
As Ashra spoke, Nirvikar felt something sharp and hard slice into the seam of his elbow, as it was a pot he'd taken quite a bit of damage, and there'd been a weakness in his armor. He took a half step back and said "Watch it, you managed to cut me."
"Oh I know. I did that on purpose." Ashra answers, stopping and turning to look at him steadily.
The arm that the Thousand Son had pierced was burning with an exquisite flame. He could feel the fingertips of that hand start to tingle and burn with pins and needles before going numb. Nirvikar stumbled backwards as he felt the agony and numbness spread up his arm and across his chest "Why? What did you do to me?" Breathing was starting to get difficult.
"Because you are a threat I do not have an easy counter for, so this is the solution I have come up with." Ashra answered, his voice and eyes cold.
"But... But we're part of the same warband? We have been for years, and I have never deliberately antagonized you." Nirvikar growled, betrayed and confused as he tried to stagger away from the deeply amused thousand son.
"You are not apart of my warband. My true warband, that is." Ashra purrs, smirking at him, closing the distance between the two of them and forcing Nirvikar to stop moving. "Now I wasn't lying when I said there were mushrooms that I wanted to collect. But... You see.. They require a very specific kind of food in order to grow properly, so you are the unlucky sacrifice."
The fucker was able to pick him up as his body went limp and his breathing went shallow. Nirvikar tried to scream or move, but his body didn't so much as twitch. Bastard!
Ashra chuckled, patting him on the side condescendingly as he walked deeper into the woods and setting him in a deep, pre-prepared hole that was ten feet deep, ten feet wide and twelve feet long. "If it makes you feel any better, your death will serve me and my brothers well."
With an insulting amount of care, the thousand son placed him into the pre-dug grave.
"I will, however, be keeping this battle instrument of yours. While I don't serve the whore-god of the galaxy, I am certain that I will be able to figure out some sort of use for these. The bow makes an excellent short range blade, and if nothing else... I am sure I can sell your instrument to another one of the slut-goddesses' followers for everything of value that they possess." The Thousand Son sneers as he carefully starts to fill the grave in, with Nirvikar still alive and paralyzed at the bottom of the hole.
"Oh and... Do try not to die too quickly. The mushroom spores will only grow to full potency if the host they are feeding off of lives for the first few years of their growth. It's remarkable how durable we astartes are, and as it's unlikely that you actually need to breathe... and with the suspended sleep that we are able to fall into... You are going to be an excellent source of food for these mushrooms for years, possibly even decades to come." Ashra purrs as he continued to fill in the grave.
All Nirvikar can do is scream in his mind as he feels the handfuls of dirt slowly begin to cover him. His breathing was still very shallow and frustratingly slow. Tears of fury and fear slid down his helmeted face. Surely he couldn't live for that long, trapped in the way that this fucker was implying? He gathered up his flagging psychic might and tried to force Ashra to stop, trying to attack the fucker with the force of his mind.
The bastard laughed and clapped his hands "Yes! Be furious! Struggle more against the inevitable, you are already starting to empower these spores." Ashra shook his head, and he dodged the psychic attack. The fucker taunted and monologed at him for what felt like days as he threw fistful after fistful of dirt and gods only knew what else onto him, working his way up from Nirvikar's toes to his head.
He had deliberately made sure as the earth began to press against him heavily that Nirvikar could still clearly see the bastard, using his own psychic strength to keep an opening available. "And would you like to know why I chose you? Because you were gullible and trusting. Because I knew that you had overtaxed your resources. Because I know that the warband I infiltrated resents and hates you, and would not care if you went missing. They find your hymns grating and your voice insufferable. Really, I am doing them a favor by getting rid of you."
That... That wasn't true! That couldn't possibly be true! Nirvikar had done his best to get along fairly well with the other members of his warband and was... Fairly sure he had succeeded? He did occasionally clash with others, but that was..> That was just what it was like to live around a band of brothers and cousins.
"Oh... And I plan on weakening this warband further, until they can be picked off one by one. By other warbands, by the corpse worshippers. I t matters not to me, just that you and the others suffer for my plans. Hydra dominatus." Ashra, or whoever the hell he really was smirked "I am alpharius, and you. You were simply a pawn in one of my many games."
The Hydra's smug face was the last thing that Nirvikar saw, as his body was trapped by earth and paralytic poison as he desperately tried to overcome it, to avoid falling into the deepest depths of despair where Nurgle lurked, waiting to embrace him. He could not say how long he was trapped there until exhaustion and numbness of the mind overtook him, and Nirvikar fell into a deep, unhappy slumber.
Summary: Ash’val wakes up in agony and missing memories
A low, unhappy sound left Ash'val's lips as he woke up slowly. He was colder than he's ever been in his life, his head pulsed with agony, and all of his muscles ached. To make things worse, when he raised a hand to try and rub some of the sleep out of his eyes, the joints of his fingers ached and his wrist throbbed in angry protest at being moved. He persevered, despite the agony pulsing through his body, and he found that there was some sort of dried and crusted over… Something that had gathered on the inner corners of his eyes.
Ash’val allowed his hand to drop to the soft, comfortable surface he was laying on, and the pain slowly ebbed down to a more tolerable level. His breathing was shallow and labored, and he opened his eyes with a titanic effort of will, to try and discover the heavy weight pressing down on his chest. He was still shivering as though he were on Ferris without his armor on.
The only things on his chest was a thin sheet and a slightly thicker blanket on top of it. Both were the starched white of the medical bay, and as he concentrated on his surroundings, he noted that he was in one of the isolated medical rooms. The ones with negative pressure, no windows and a door that locked on both sides. It was far, far too bright for comfort, and Ash’val noted that he was hooked up to an IV bag, and it hung on a wheeled metal pole next to his bed.
The Salamander Captain squinted at the bag, trying to read the small, printed letters to ascertain what, precisely he was being given. From the taste of salt on his tongue, at the very least it might be some sort of saline solution in order to help keep him hydrated. Ash’val did not want to contemplate how long it took him to force one of his trembling, agony filled hands to move the distance it took to reach the bed controller and call light.
Once it was in his hand, Ash’val summoned the energy to press the call light button, waited for the chime, and young Belus’ voice spoke through the speaker (too loudly for his sore head and sensitive ears to hear comfortably) “What do you need, captain Ash’val?”
“Another blanket, please. And for the lights-” Ash’val rasped out. He had been forced to pause part way through his request to catch his breath, as all three of his lungs ached in protest, stealing his breath before he could continue. After a moment to breathe he finished “The lights to be dimmed, please.” He had so many more questions about why he was here, why he was feeling so poorly, and the reasoning behind him being in a negative pressure room. Just what sort of disease or curse did he catch?
“I’ll be right over with a blanket. Unfortunately the lights will need to stay on at the current level they are at.” The young apothecary informed him “I do not know how much you remember of what happened to you before you’ve woken up - sometimes you wake remembering everything, other times you’ve awoken and barely remember your own name, much less where and when we are. There should be a clipboard on the bedside table next to you that has the answers to most if not all of the questions you currently may have. Do not attempt to get out of bed without assistance as you will fall. Again.”
Well that was certainly a concerning amount of information that he’d gleaned from that. Ash’val was glad that he was still able to process that amount of information coming at him all at once, though it took him longer than it should for him to process all of that. “As you say, Apothecary. I’m not sure I would want to move right now.” Out of breath once again, he pauses to pant a couple of times in order to fully catch his breath before continuing “My everything hurts as though I was stepped on by a titan.”
Belus answers with a blunt “That is to be expected, although no. You were not stepped on by a titan. That would have been easier for us to treat. Any questions you may have that are related to the state you are currently on are explained on the clipboard. When I bring you the blanket I will also be giving you your next dose of pain relief, which will be injected as we are currently not giving you anything to eat or drink by mouth.”
Ah, that is ominous. Ash’val wants to ask after his bonded, Opal. But he also knows that he will need to read what’s on the clipboard before asking more questions, as apparently whatever is afflicting him is messing with his memories. Is that because he has somehow managed to catch a malady that overcomes his astartes immune system, or is he suffering from some sort warp inflicted curse? Or it could be both, he silently supposed. He lets the bed remote go, relaxing and stretching his fingers a little in the hopes that the pain will ebb now that he’s not using that hand anymore.
He waits until the pain has dimmed down to the pre-movement level before he takes in a deep and steadying breath and reaching for the clipboard sat on the edge of the bedside table closest to him. His hand, shoulder and arm burn with the effort of movement, and the agony rips through him with sufficient force to rob him of his breath. But the desire to know more about what is happening to him far surpasses the pain lingering in his body and trying to force him to stay still. He will not be still and allow himself to wallow in ignorance and confusion merely because his body protests any sort of movement.
A pleased grin appears on the Salamander’s face as he finally manages to grab the clipboard. He allows himself the time to catch his breath, even as his arm is stretched up and over the bed railing awkwardly and his body screams in protest at the way he has moved. Once he feels h e is as ready as he is ever going to be, Ash’val makes sure that his grip on the clipboard is tight before pulling it over the bed railing and into bed.
He lets it go, panting and wincing. He internally debates on whether or not it would be better to try and rub some of the extra soreness away with his other hand, or just… Lay in bed and wait for his body to recover a little on. It’s own. At the thought, all of his fingers ache, seemingly. In response, so he decides that he will wait. Ash’val wishes that the motion had warmed him up a little, as he is still is cold as to the point of shivering continuously. Away must the room be both so cold and so bright? Hopefully the answers will be written down. {art of him is tempted to press the call button again and ask for an update on the blanket and pin killers, but he wrestles down that impatient thought.He is well aware of just how busy the astartes run clinic is on base. How much he needs to help ensure that it is fully stocked and to ensure that there are no supply lichen issues that delay or slow down patient care.
That and because he is in a negative pressure room, Ash’val knows that the lad will need to p it on specialized personal protective equipment in order to interact with him. Whether that is for his safety or the lad’s, or for both of theirs sake, he can only guess. But he certainly won’t make an ass out of himself by being a demanding and impatient bastard. No matter how cold he is, or the amount of pain that he is in.
the clipboard reads:
You are captain ash’val of the salamanders. You are the commander of Stoneflame base, which is the base that you are staying in currently.
Your bonded - which is a term for a mortal whom you are bound soul deep - is Opal. She is currently at work or in the home that the two of you are sharing. She does want to visit you, but you are currently suffering from a communicable curse, which is why you are in a warded isolation room.
From what we have discovered, the curse that you are suffering from causes lapses in memory, light sensitivity, and a fever that periodically spikes high enough to potentially cook your brain, which is why you are in a thin medical gown and blankets. The lights must stay this bright, as dimming the lights causes the curse to progress further.
We do not know who cursed you, nor why. We did. Find the item that you came into contact with that caused the curse to transfer over to you. The curse was laid upon one of the metal bars that had been shipped to Stoneflame base for forging purposes. There is an investigation to see whether or not you specifically were the target of the curse, or if the curse was meant for any one of the astartes who forges in Stoneflame base. The remaining goods have also been checked for other curses and so far we have discovered no other tainted goods.
We have checked everyone else who came into contact with that shipment and so far no one else is showing any of the signs or symptoms of the curse. We are also conducting a thorough investigation into everyone who was involved in the transport and storage of the shipment to discern who, when, why, where and what their intentions were.
You are currently being treated for the curse and are on track to be cured of it within the next ten days. Your current work load has been assigned to people that you designated for them to do so. Those designated people are also being watched, in case one or more of them were behind it. You should make a full recovery.
If you have additional questions, there is a pen velcroed to the back of the clipboard as well as extra paper under this one in order to write d own any questions you may have. Other questions that you have written have been given answers on the back of this piece of paper.
… Well at least he knows why he feels like absolute garbage. He suspects the amount of agony he is in, is half of the reason why he has been confined to bed, the other being the fact that the curse he was apparently suffering from is communicable. He’s. Never heard of such a thing, but then again… Ash’val is no librarian and his knowledge of magic is limited at best. A tired sigh left him as he closed his eyes. Reading through that much text had made his. Head spin unpleasantly. the bright light was not helping his headache, but now that the knew that he was going to recover, it helped to shore up his resolve.
He had full confidence in those who were caring for him to guide him through this misery. Exhaustion started to pull him. Under, and Ash’val decided to let himself slip back into sleep.
Author's Note: Thanks to Egrets and C-u-c-koo for letting me borrow their characters and helping me with writing this behemoth of a fic! This was so much fun to write!
Author's note 3: @egrets-not-regrets characters: Lati Emon, Korio Runa Vespertine & Ghilius
Trigger Warning: Intense violence, stalking, death, and psychological horror. Minor Character death.
Summary: In a fog-bound town, Atlas faces a ghostly predator who kills with surgical precision—not to terrorize, but to test, manipulate, and erase, leaving survival itself a question of purpose.
Siros moved with ritual care, as if afraid that haste might offend the dead. He knelt opposite Lati, one gauntlet braced against the sand, the other hovering just above Valyn’s gorget. Everyone else is on alert- looking for something- or someone out of place as they guard against someone who dare try to attack or approach them.
“Permission,” he said quietly.
Lati nodded once. Siros disengaged the armor’s spirit-locks manually, bypassing the damaged auto-seals. The breastplate released with a low, tired hiss. Steam bled into the rain. More blood pours out of the armor. The rain hammers against their armor.
“Impact points first,” Siros murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He traced clawed fingers over the fractured ceramite, not looking for cracks but for direction. Ghilius watched closely, tilting his head as he absorbed the knowledge his older brother imparted.
Atlas is writing down what Siros is saying. Making notes. It helps him feel like he’s helping as he’s recording what’s going on. After all, the best way to find a pattern is to have evidence to review. Rather than trying to rely on memory. Kirio is watching their surroundings while Lati grieves.
“This blow,” Siros said, tapping just beneath the left pectoral plate, “collapsed inward. Not a strike meant to pierce. Meant to stagger.”
He shifted slightly. Siros points with a gesture as he explains what he sees in the next wound, the next part of damage.
“This one followed immediately after. Different angles. Upward torque.” His jaw tightened. “The killer knew exactly how to force Valyn to overcorrect.”
Atlas frowned. “He knew how to strike and what way to kill him quickly.
“Yes.” Siros glanced up.
That settled it. Lati inhaled sharply through his teeth.
Siros continued. “The killing strike came last. Spine. Not enough force to decapitate, but enough to sever motor control instantly.” He paused. “Efficient. No wasted motion.”
Ghilus swore under his breath. “So he’s done this a lot.”
“Yes,” Siros replied flatly. “And not just to Primaris, at least- probably more than just Primaris.”
He keyed into the armor’s internal cogitator next, bypassing corrupted memory layers. The display flickered, then stabilized.
Atlas leaned in. Valyn’s visor feed replayed in fractured bursts — motion blur, sudden proximity alarms, then a massive armored silhouette crossing his field of vision far too fast for its size. Even with Astartes’s enhanced capabilities- and the recording capabilities of their armor- it was almost too fast to catch. If they weren’t looking for something, it would look like a strange blur- like fog and rain.
“Emperor…” Atlas breathed.
“That speed,” Korio said quietly. “That mass.”
“Enhanced musculature,” Siros confirmed. “But not warp-boosted. No phase distortion. No psychic interference.”
He scrubbed forward. The moment of death froze on the display. Valyn’s auto-threat recognition tagged the killer for less than a second before failing. Atlas squints- the recording that showed- it was too dark, even with enhanced vision to see if he could recognize any heraldry or colors of the killer- there is just rain, and fog, and the sound of the ocean in the recording- and Valyn’s pained growl.
Designation: Astartes
Pattern match: -;sqksa–
Threat level: MAXIMUM
“What about his approach?” Atlas asked. “How did he get that close?”
Siros rewound again. “He didn’t.”
They watched carefully this time. Valyn’s auspex never registered an incoming threat.
“He waited for Valyn to turn,” Siros said softly. “Used ambient noise. Surf. Wind. Armor dampening.”
Ghilus grinned, sharp and humorless. “He hunts like a Night Lord.”
Siros didn’t react to the jab, he just glanced up at his younger brother, “That is a strong possibility, we are ambush predators, after all.”
Atlas swallowed. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” Siros pulled up bio-feedback logs.
“Valyn’s furnace spiked,” he said. “But only briefly.”
“Meaning?” Atlas asked.
“The killer knew how to interrupt it,” Siros replied. “He struck again before regeneration could fully engage.”
Lati closed his eyes, he murmurs something soft- indistinctly. His hands clench into fists. Korio is monitoring all of them and their surroundings, silent, watchful, cautious. Atlas hums a little to himself as he goes over his notes and adds a few more.
Silence fell. Finally, Siros disengaged from the armor. There is a silence at that. Uneasy, but it’s broken once more.
“One more thing,” he said.
Siros turned the helm slightly, angling it toward Atlas.
“There is residue here. Inside the joints. Not corrosion. Not sea salt.”
Atlas’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
Siros’s voice dropped. “Old ship lubricants. Pattern no longer used by loyalist fleets.”
A pause.
“Great Crusade vintage. Possibly Heresy-era.”
That was the moment the storm seemed to lean closer. They glance at each other and back at the place where Siros was pointing. Atlas adds that into the notes. It’s good to keep dedicated notes. Anything to point at the identity of the killer was valuable information.
“We know that on Ancient Terra that Astartes can come from- any era. From the end of the Unification of Terra to as late as M42…” Atlas shifts and frowns, scowling hard,”So - so knowing that… whoever is killing Primaris- and possibly first borns too- is from Great Crusade Era, or from Heresy-era is not… a… it barely limits the time range this killer is from.”
Atlas shifts a bit as he keeps from pacing as he goes through his memories as he tries to see if he recalls seeing an astartes in Great Crusade or Heresy Era armor in town. Nothing- no one comes to mind. So he asks, looking at each of them as he does so, “Have you seen anyone in town that is from The Great Crusade or Heresy Era?”
NEITHER OF THEM!!! If I was a fucking arsonist it would only be for brutalist building. And I would orgasm in every instance of a brutalist building being destroyed They are the ugliest buildings in the world. Fucking architects were like oooh a rhombus, I can fuck with that. Which was the worst decision ever. If they want to fuck a rhombus I would suggest the Judas cradle for whoever created brutalist architecture and who ever decided it was a great idea to build more of them. There are so many good examples of good architecture and you choose this utter bull shit...FUCK BRUTALIST ARCHITECTURE
I have a theory that most brutalist architecture can actually look really awesome with one simple addition. Plants. Like just cover it with plants climbing up their walls. They should evoke a geology more than building, with trees and plants taking root and growing on them.
Everyone go read the best gay book out there aka The Infinite and the Divine you will be rooting for the robot grandpas to kiss by the end of the book. Alternatively read literally any other necron book and you will see it's all old man robot yaoi.
Hello people of tumblr i return with gifts of me and my shit ass art i will terrorise your dashboards with more inconsitentoy schueduled shitposting
Anyways HAPPY PRIDE MONTH GAY BITCHES BECAUSE IN THE 41ST MILLENIUM THE COMMISAIR DOESNT CARE WHO YOU FUCK OR SUCK ONLY THAT YOU DIE FOR THE BIG E
Warnings: blackmail, coarse language, demeaning words about sex workers, dehumanization, astartes-grade tasers, electrical torture, ambiguous ending, please ask me to tag something if I’ve missed it
Summary: Local Night Lord blackmailed into behaving a bit better.
"Oh there you are. I was wondering where it was that you'd gotten off to." Sam murmured, looking up as Talric walked into the room. She was holding a manilla folder in her hands, and a pleased grin on her face that caused the Night Lord to freeze in concern.
"What do you want, Hydra Whore?" Talric growled, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at her "Shouldn't you go be serving one of your masters?"
"See, that kind of language is exactly why I've come to talk to you. The fact that I am in a happy and loving polycule doesn't give you the right to call me a whore. Not that there's anything wrong with being a sex worker. Using the title of a physical labor job that requires quite a bit of skill to be successful in as a way to belittle or demean others is very rude to both the person you are using it to try and insult as well as everyone who does that job." Sam pointed out, shaking her head a little.
"Yeah, and? If you are so weak as to need to offer up your body to be used and plundered for money, then you deserve whatever happens to y-why are you pointing that at me?!" Talric demands, narrowing his eyes and taking a couple of steps away from the wretched baseline in front of him.
She had pulled out a small, handheld device that had prongs in it. It looked like some sort of weapon, although the Night Lord could not begin to guess as tow hat it might do... And given her close contact with Alpha legionnaires, the last thing he wanted to do was to find out what twisted fuckery it did.
"You seem to have wildly incorrect opinions on many things, and are keen on sharing them, which is both irritating and wholly unnecessary." Sam answered, the smirk on her face broadening a little. "Especially since I am certain you are projecting more than a few of your own insecurities and what you feel are shortcomings on others."
"... I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I am powerful, tough and independent. I don't need anyone." Talric hissed, eyes narrowing a little. She couldn't possibly know about the shame that he carried, the weight on his soul.
The baseline laughed, a sweet and trilling sound that sent shivers down his spine. If only because someone so deeply connected to the twentieth legion laughing like that never, ever meant anything good for those around him. "Oh, but here's the thing. i know for a fact that you have a bonded. And that they want absolutely nothing to do with you, because they think that you're a rabid murderer. An oversized gutter rat is not worth their time or energy."
"How fucking DARE YOU SAY THAT!" Talric howled, fury filling him as he lunged towards the laughing and smirking little slip of a mortal. He was going to break them, he was going to skin her alive and hear them weep and beg for a mercy he would not grant her and -
White hot agony shot through him as she pressed a button on that damned hand-held device. Two prongs shot out at him and embedded themselves into one of his chest ports before he could dodge or do so much as begin lunging towards her smug and laughing form.
He could hear the crackling buzz of lightning as it crackled from the little machine she was holding, down the thin wire and discharge directly into the chest port that the prongs had embedded themselves into.
White
hot
blinding
agony!
Talric felt himself drop to the floor, writhing and twitching as he tried to fight through the pain to yank the wire out, or to pull the damn thing out of her hands to get the misery to stop. His hands shook as his body spasmed out of his control, intense enough to freeze him in place.
"Violence against me is not allowed, you rabid bat-thing." Sam growls, glaring down at him as he writhed in silent agony.
It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming in pain as he tried to glare up at her. "Stop... This!"
"See, there you go, trying to command me again. I don't think you realize that you're not the one in control here." The baseline pointed out, still keeping the button firmly pressed as more electricity coursed directly through his nervous system. "You need to stop causing problems for my bonded. I know that you've been stalking your bonded for weeks, and have been threatening their loved ones. The people they actually want in their life. I also know that you were moved here because you fucked up trying to bond with a human once before, and it ended in their very suspicious death."
"Stop! I didn't... That wasn't! -t here were... That wasn't my fault!" Talric managed out, still unable to stop his body from twitching and writhing on the floor. He was no closer to trying to yank out the prongs that were causing his utter agony. He was barely able to think or process what the baseline was saying.
"Yes, but you lunged at me with the intention to wound or maim. You do know what will happen to you if I tell anyone that you intended on torturing me to death and taunting my bondeds with my tormented screams, right?" Sam cooed, her voice sickly sweet.
"You were and are provoking me, you bitch! I'll-" Talric started, the fury eclipsing the agony just long enough for him to try to crawl towards her.
The baseline twisted a dial and his body gave out from under him as the agony intensified somehow.
His vision went white for several seconds, and when he came back to himself, his voice was hoarse. Agony continued to roll through him in white-hot waves, but he had come back to himself. "What... the fuck?"
"This is the baseline amount of agony I can put you through. If I want to, I can overwhelm even your allegedly better nervous system with electricity until you pass out, leaving you to my bonded to handle. Do you want to directly be at the mercy of a hydra shoal you've been antagonizing for weeks?" Sam asked, a knowing smirk appearing on her face.
"No! No I don't! What the fuck do you want?" Talric hissed weakly, his head swimming with the agony pulsing through him.
"I want you to stop acting like an oversized and entitled child. You aren't owed the attention and obedience of anyone, especially the human that whatever mystical force is behind binding marines to humans is. If you want your bonded to maybe start to warm up to you, rather than wanting to have absolutely nothing to do with your misbegotten, flea-bitten and bloodstained existence, you're going to have to change your attitude." Sam explains, glaring down at him "I am aware that such an attitude adjustment is difficult to fix on your own... So you're going to be going to one of those astartes therapists that exist on one of the bases, and you're going to attend as many of those sessions per week as you're told to, and genuinely work towards being someone worthy of being bonded to another person, rather than being a semi-rabid burden on everyone unfortunate enough to have to interact with you."
"Or... Or what?" Talric hissed, bristling at the idea that he needed some sort of mental apothecary tending. He was a perfectly well adjusted and normal night lord, thank you very much. The high handed bitch clearly didn't know what she was talking about.
"Or I send the footage of you trying to lunge at me with intent to kill to your handler. If you're lucky you'll be stuck in a containment cell on a base. At worst... It's not my bonded you'll be handed over to for punishment, but your fellow Night Lords. I'm sure you're well aware of just how creative your brothers can be." Sam explains, an infuriating smirk on her face. "And if I ever do go missing... Well, my bondeds already have this information, and will share the evidence pointing to you having done something permanent to me."
The cold touch of fear pressed hard on his hearts at the ugly, awful picture that she was implying. His mouth went dry for several seconds as he continued to writhe around in agony on the floor. The physical pain made it difficult for him to think, but he also knows that his brothers would do much, much worse to him if they had the excuse to do so "Un... Understood! I... Fuck, I give you my word that I will... Ugh... Work on learning how to conform to the societal standards of this place and time. Will you please stop tormenting me now?!"
"Promise me again, and then again. I want you to promise me three times, so that it is binding." Sam demands, her voice taking on a bit of a ritualistic note to it.
Wait. Fuck? Did she really think that him promising three times would have any true binding to him? He's made and broken promises and oaths before. Why would this be any different? Talric writhed on the floor and realizes that the markings on the ground around him weren't just random markings, but some sort of ritual circle. With runes carved in it. Shit, fuck, gods damn it! This may actually be binding. But he didn't want to die a slow and painfully humiliating death, either. "Fine! You miserable bitch. I promise to work on bettering myself."
"Again, you large shithead." Sam commanded, implacable, her eyes cold, though she was still smirking down at him.
"Bitch!" Talric cursed at her.
She clicked her tongue at him condescendingly and increased the agony until all he saw was white as the pain intensified.
When she lowered the intensity, several eternities later, his breathing was coming out in short, labored pants. His throat was raw and painful as if he'd been screaming for hours, and his face was wet and smelled of water and salt. "You... You bitch. You truly are a good match for the absolute bastards you are bonded to. Fine, you win. I... I promise to attend... Ugh... Therapy and work on bettering myself as a person."
"See, this could have been resolved much sooner, if only you weren't a stupid and stubborn idiot. I bind you to your word, to the promises made. So mote it be." Sam intoned, pulling out a small ritual dagger and cutting both of her thumbs with it and letting six drops of blood drop onto the ritual circle.
Talric keened as he felt something wrap around what was left of his ragged and battered soul, more painful than anything he'd felt in his life, his consciousness waning as the agony increased, until the blessed dark took him.
