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This is the catch all warning

All fics on this site have the possibility of having adult scenes and adult situations. Other than that they will NOT have specific warnings, I consider most of them spoilers and I think if you're old enough to decide to read these things you're old enough to have your boundaries pushed.

There are things I won't write. These include Non-con and Incest. You can rest assured that these will not feature except by suggestion or reference. In all fics characters are old enough to understand the things that they are consenting to and have consented to.

Each fic will be rated and with good reason! If you do not like that these fics are not explicitly labelled then click back, you will not be happy here. If the fic does feature something I think is more questionable I will give you the option to check, but these will be the exception NOT the rule.

That said if you're willing to take the risk and trust me I hope you enjoy the fic.
darkathena: (Default)
1. The crew of the KSG Heligan featuring (8 characters)
Josef Kyrian - captain, golden boy, hero, tormented manchild
Doctor - ex-marine, trained supersoldier, holds many secrets close to his chest
Gunner - the pilot
Cait - Engineer, voluptuous ginger and short tempered
Robin - cabin boy
Noi - augment child, doesn't speak, very heavily psychic
Nora - animoid XO, has a headband that allows her to attach to machines and a pet slime (think Saffron from Republica, I did)

2. Tobin in the bath, head back hands on the sides of the roll top bath, knees bent to allow him to soak his feet

3. "Benjamin Aurelian was beautiful. He had a wide clear forehead over an oval face with high cheekbones and a slightly pointed chin. He had narrow black eyes and thin arched eyebrows. Even his nose looked sculpted. Unlike most of the Third Children he had wide shoulders that tapered to a slim waist and narrow hips. His muscles trained to slimness rather than bulk like most of the N-class augments. He stood among them, each of them remarkable to look at, genetics adjusted to symmetry and arrangements found aesthetically pleasing, and burned."

4. The awakening of Number One

The fifth, the last of the first batch, opened with a sort of ominous hiss. The woman inside slowly opened her eyes and rose slowly and stiffly, her fingers wrapping themselves around McCoy’s wrist in a way that pushed up the sleeve of his jerkin, even as she blinked cryo-gel from her black lashes she looked at him in a way that suggested recognition. She looked at the bench and the others gathered there. “How many?” she asked and her voice seemed stiff with disuse.

“twenty,” Kirk answered, not sure why he just gave in to her authority.

She closed those soft brown eyes and sighed, her hair was cut in a strict fringe that was clumped together with the gel and unlike the others she wrapped the blanket around herself like a dress, with the same wobbly grace as Christine as she stepped down. “so few of us.” she said softly. She looked at those on the bench and smiled.

more details here
Number One was beautiful, in the way that horses or dangerous things were beautiful. She had long black hair that she wore strictly tied back in a pony tail that bounced and danced behind her, and a thick black fringe butted against her eyebrows. Her eyes were perhaps a little too small for a face too thin with a mouth too large, but they were set with a pair of cheekbones sharp enough that he could have used them to shave with, and a jawbone that perfectly echoed the shape of a man’s grip. Her voice was small, but it never lacked for command.

5. Mary from Revenant
She was half lovely half fire, blonde hair melded with tongues of flame that flared hotly as she raged, her feet were gone, perhaps to death or perhaps to the constant immolation that consumed her. “Rest...? A body is needed for sleep... Flesh and bones are required to recline. No, child, all I may do is watch, and remember, ceaselessly conscious as this wretched world’s history unfurls. Ghastly past, insufferable future, are they one and the same...? Am I always here?”

6. Natasha Romanoff - the black widow - pin-up with guns! think the side of an airplane

7. The vampire ballet



darkathena: (Default)
Rated: G

Riddick places his hand on Vaako's hip, pulling him back so that their hips slotted together. "A projectile weapon," Riddick growls in his ear, his breath a hot wash across the purification scar, and it's all Vaako can do not to lean into those hips, to press back against that chest, "Is not the same as a pulse gun." Vaako wants to snort, to say he knows this.

"This one," he says running his thick fingers down the length of Vaako's arm, steadying his grip, "has a kick like a," Vaako fires, "whore with a grudge." The impact slams Vaako back into Riddick who laughs, and bites down over the purification scar. Vaako notices through the twined pleasure pain that the scar causes that the head of the mannequin has exploded.

"Beautiful." Riddick's voice is a low growl, a rumble in the darkness. Vaako knows Riddick finds the strangest things beautiful. The more dangerous then the more likely he is to be entranced by it, for brief seconds before he works out how best to turn it to his advantage.

Vaako can feel Riddick's interest slowly thickening against his ass, but with Riddick it's hard to tell if it's for him or the gun.

He rubs back a little just in case it is for him, making it look like he might just be aligning himself better. "Gotta know more than just blades and pulses." Riddick grumbles in his ear. "Can't trust that shiny armour o'yours." He wraps his non dominant arm around Vaako's waist, holding him firmly in place. Vaako isn't wearing the vast majority of his armour, just his boots, and mamaat vest and pants. He has plastex greaves that sheathe a pair of ulaks that match Riddick's own. It's strange, he knows that the mamaat is laced through on a molecular level with metal, but he's sure he can feel the heat of Riddick's arm against his own cold chest through the leather.

Even Riddick wears mamaat leather now, it's his one affectation to the Necromonger way. It adds to the scent of him, burnt ozone, leather, musk and blood and Vaako's knees weaken when he smells him. Riddick prefers the half light, the darker the better. Vaako can appreciate the flash of muzzle flare in the dark-light of the Lord Marshall's quarters, the smell of cordite and sulphur smoke, and the irresistable heat of Riddick's arm fixing him in place.

"A knife's good in close quarters," Riddick says, and runs the fingers of his dominant arm to the hilt of the ulak, feeling the way Vaako shives, "a pulse gun is good when you don't want to kill, but sometimes," then he laughs to himself, "you just gotta kill every fucker in the room."

Vaako laughs too but it's not because of what Riddick says, it's the way that Riddick is holding him, how easy Vaako thinks, to shuck him off, to take the knife from his armguard, he could wound him before Riddick could move. Instead he twists a touch, just enough that the mamaat vest he's wearing rides up just enough for Riddick's finger tips, rough as sandpaper, to rest against Vaako's skin.

He could kill him easy enough, Vaako thinks, maybe, definitely wound him, but let him think he's got a pet, let him please his pet, but never let him forget that this is one that could kill him in the end.


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August 2011



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