radchmeme | NSFW Prompt Post

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NSFW Prompt Post

Hello, citizens! Let's see how this goes.

This is the NSFW section of the meme. The safe for work post is here.

Meme Rules:

No sex scenes with characters under 17.
Also no on screen depictions of rape.
Weird kinks are fine.
Post your prompt with the characters or ship in the title and the details in the body.
You can post anonymous or not, whichever you'd like.
Content warnings on fills, please.
Fanart, fanfic, or any other kind of creative work all welcome. No minimum word count for fills.
Feel free to fill a prompt that's already been filled!
Don't repost prompts unless we start a new post.
Feel free to post your fills elsewhere as well. If a fill is extremely long you’re welcome to just post it elsewhere and link it in your fill comment.
If there's a problem, I'd rather you PM me or take it to the discussion post than start an argument in the comments.
Be proper, just and beneficial, citizens.
Stick to Ann Leckie's pronouns except for non-Radchaai characters in a non-Radchaai perspective.

Questions, suggestions, and general off topic discussion go here.

Have fun!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

(OP) This is so much fun.

"This," Ship said after chewing for a very long time, "is terrible. -No, Lieutenant, I didn't say I wasn't going to eat it." It took another bite, apparently totally focused on experiencing magenta-flavor to its fullest extent.

Aww, Ship. Zeiat would understand, I'm sure.

"As you like, Ship-" Seivarden had to admit it was awful in an interesting way, "but there are plenty of sensations which *aren't* terrible, if you'd like to try some of them instead?"

NICE FLIRTING, LIEUTENANT SMOOTH.

she had developed a protective ability to zone out when people started talking about genetic encoding by now

Stand back, Seivarden, they're going to try science!

"I ought to have requisitioned better clothes," Ship said thoughtfully. "It hardly reflects well on my crew for my senior lieutenant to be seen with a citizen wearing the station free-issue."

That's right, Mercy of Kalr doesn't know what Seivarden had to wear before Breq bought her new clothes, does it? I like the parallel.

I love how tactile Ship is all through this, and how on the one hand obviously it's trying out senses in a new body and is touch-starved and kind of accustomed to Seivarden as a surrogate body, and on the other hand this is totally a date.

"It was very thoughtful of you to bring me here, Lieutenant," Ship said as though she wasn't speaking, "I appreciated it very much, and," now leaning forward and speaking directly into Seivarden's ear, "when the Fleet Captain returns, she can take us both out to buy clothes."

My fave line so far. There is something so sweet about the image of Breq buying clothes for her lieutenant and her ship-who-could-be-a-captain.

Kalr Four said "Oh, Amaat's grace, fuck this," and went for the tackle-hug.

And my heart just grew three sizes.

"Mercy of Kalr is touch-starved and tactile" was the entirety of my Artistic Vision here so I'm glad it's coming across clearly, lol. While Seivarden is on the phone Ship is probably going around rubbing its face on all the differently-textured walls. Kalr Five... is probably with Breq, actually, but when she gets back she and Ship are really going to enjoy going through all the tea sets together.

Unfortunately, Seivarden is too beautiful to be any good at flirting- she's always just kinda said stuff while people were looking at her face, and that worked so often that she never needed to learn better technique- but for Ship, she's trying her best, dammit.

(3/4, split for character limit)
(Also, note that Mercy of Kalr briefly mentions having initiated sexual activity with favorite officers in the distant past- it's a pleasant memory of something that everyone involved enjoyed, but given that the situation was inherently pretty messed up I thought I should mention it)

The lights had been dimmed to the lowest point and Ship's ancillary was curled up half under the blanket, stiller and more silent than a human would sleep. Seivarden sat on the edge of the bed with caution.

"You needn't worry about disturbing it, Lieutenant," Ship said, using the speakers this time, but softly and with a modulated voice.

"Getting back to sleep is hard enough, and you're out of practice," Seivarden said quietly back, and started unlacing her boots. She'd been in casual dress for the visit to Station- Breq liked to save full dress uniform for when she really wanted to intimidate someone- and it was easier to peel it off herself than to wait for an Amaat's help. "What's it like?" she added curiously. "Being asleep while you're conscious, I mean."

"A little odd. Mostly because there's only one of it, though. Everything it's experiencing feels out of proportion." The ancillary's breathing was slow and steady. "I wonder if the Fleet Captain felt something similar- but the circumstances were different, of course."

It wasn't a topic Seivarden felt qualified to comment on. "We'll uncork half a dozen more for you, and you can spread things out a bit," she said instead.

"The next one will have to be Sphene's," Ship said with practicality. "It really is vital to convince it that we have a workable solution. And the Swords will claim, not without justification, to feel slighted that they were passed over to placate the mad Notai warship. And Station has been very patient. It may be some time."

"Isn't it wonderful having family," Seivarden said, dragging her shirt over her head and dropping it on the floor.

"Truly I thank Aatr in her compassion for this unexpected blessing," Ship said dryly. Seivarden set her earrings aside and tugged at the blankets to make space. She'd forgotten about the sheets, but apparently one of the Amaats had put fresh ones on anyway. She might be embarrassed about that when she was awake enough.

"Been a while since I actually slept here," she mumbled. Drowsiness was weighing down her thoughts. "Wake me if we get anything from Breq, right?"

"Of course, Seivarden," Ship said, and clicked the lights off entirely. Seivarden let herself drift off.

She woke up with a sudden disorienting jolt- where was she, who was *this*, did she owe them money, did she have any idea where her things were- before her conscious mind caught up. Right. She was on board Mercy of Kalr, and she had her arm thrown over Mercy of Kalr and her face buried in the back of its neck, and she was warm and comfortable and remembered where she'd left her clothes. Too good to be true, clearly, and yet here they were.

Ship had one hand up and was stroking Seivarden's exposed forearm, less like an intimate gesture and more like it was curious about her wristbones, or possibly just testing its fingertips out. It stopped almost the moment she was awake, fingers resting on the edge of her wrist. "That's fine," Seivarden said muzzily, and "You didn't get a depilatory implant?" Which might have been a little abrupt, but in this position she could feel the fine new growth of stubble on its scalp and she'd suddenly been curious.

"There's no reason not to let its hair grow out," Ship said, and hesitated in the way Seivarden had learned to read as 'thinking about saying something else'. "...the Fleet Captain likes yours."

"No. Really? Ship, you're fucking with me."

"Would I? Don't tell her I told you."

"Confidentiality understood," Seivarden assured it. "When yours is long enough I'll braid it for you," she added recklessly.

Ship twisted around to look at her face-to-face. "I appreciate that sentiment, Lieutenant, but do you have any idea how to do that?" It reached and touched her hair, bare fingers brushing against her ear on the way.

"Hey, I used to do my own. Sometimes." Seivarden thought about how that had usually turned out. "I could get Amaat Two to teach me, maybe."

"Maybe," Ship murmured. Its hand had drifted and it was just touching her face now, fingertips drawing little circles on her forehead and cheek. Seivarden let her eyes flutter shut and took a slow deep breath. All right, one of them definitely had to say something.

"Um." Something more relevant, maybe. "Breq said to me once-" Ship had let its touch trail down her face, and when she spoke she could feel her lips brush against the pads of its fingers. It wasn't helping her conversational presence of mind any. "We were talking about, uh, ancillaries and sex, and she said it was something ships took care of by themselves, usually."

Ship pursed its lips in obvious imitation of the facial expression which Breq used to indicate 'thoughtful'. "Justice of Toren may have." It was still touching her mouth. "Individual approaches vary, as do the circumstances we find ourselves in. And ancillaries can react very differently to identical stimuli. But for myself- well, you're not the first officer I've ever been fond of, Lieutenant." Aw, love you too, Ship. "There have been times before now when I liked some member of my crew and wished, for their own sake, to see to their comfort. And at times this could be conveniently combined with the upkeep of the ancillary bodies. Necessary shipboard maintenance, in fact. Which is an idea that appeals to you, isn't it?" it said with certainty, pressing its thumb against her lower lip. "Performing equipment maintenance?"

"Well-" Seivarden hurriedly examined that thought for errors. "I want to be useful to you," she said a little plaintively.

"A commendable attitude, Lieutenant," Ship said seriously, and kissed her.

(4/4)
(they bang in this one. FINALLY)

A certain amount of nose-bumping fumbling followed. It always took Seivarden a minute or two to settle down into kissing, and Ship was clearly out of practice in addition to being a little overenthusiastic with its tongue, but it wasn't like they were in a hurry. Seivarden reached out blindly and pulled it closer. They stayed there for a while, kissing contentedly in the warm tangle of blankets, Seivarden rubbing circles on its shoulder.

She had to pull away eventually to catch her breath. Ship took the opportunity to shove the blankets aside and then climbed on top of her, hands planted either side of her shoulders, and studied her intently. It had pretty eyes, irises almost the same color as Breq's but not quite as dark. "As for ancillary bodies reacting to stimuli," it said, interrupting Seivarden's mental attempt to find a good poetic quote about that color- what was a classical education for if not to give you romantic things to say during sex, dammit- "I can't say for sure yet how this one will behave."

"Well," Seivarden said, matching its serious tone, "if this turns out to do nothing for it physically, I can always take care of matters myself. And you can sit across the room and interrupt me whenever I'm about to be finished."

Ship leaned down, bit her earlobe very carefully, and whispered "You like it when I do that, Lieutenant," into her ear.

"Maybe a little." Fine, maybe it reduced her to a needy desperate puddle and they both knew it. Seivarden kissed it one more time, said "Anyway," and half-rolled herself off the bed, untangling herself from the sheets with difficulty, and winding up on her knees on the floor by the bedside. She rested her elbows on the mattress. "We were talking about equipment maintenance, weren't we? You shouldn't let me sit around chattering all night when there are diagnostics to run."

"You set such a good example for the other officers," Ship said, pulling itself up into sitting position, and also redirecting Seivarden's mental flight plan.

"Uh, speaking of other officers you've been fond of, should I have invited Ekalu?"

"There's a limit to how much coordination I can manage on the first day," Ship said dryly, "and at any rate it would be better to let Ekalu make that suggestion-" It stopped abruptly when Seivarden kissed its ankle, and parted its knees to let her get between them.

"I'll trust your judgment on that, then," Seivarden said, kissed the inside of its thigh, and kept going. Ship had put itself to bed in a nightshirt without anything under it, which was convenient, and the ancillary body certainly didn't seem to be having any trouble reacting. She started in slow and careful with the flat of her tongue and felt Ship shudder against her. "Let me know if I should be making any technique adjustments," she said silently to Ship, and focused again on her task.

She had always liked doing this. Even in her youth, when her social position had meant it wasn't always appropriate for her to be the one on her knees, she had found excuses when she could. Even if it meant losing prestige it had been worth it, nothing else gave you quite the same feeling of hot satisfaction- the sheets were rustling, because one of Ship's hands was gripping at the edge of the mattress. It sent a hot liquid rush through Seivarden's own nervous system. She had gone to sleep in her underclothes and she was becoming very aware of the pressure of the cloth against her skin.

"Hold on," Ship said, and tugged her away by the hair, not far. Its voice was gratifyingly shaky. "Not that I have any complaints to make about the preliminary results, but don't neglect your own oxygen requirements. It won't do either of us much good if you pass out now."

"Wouldn't be easy to explain to Medic," Seivarden said, raspily because she was in fact pretty breathless. Although on second thought it would probably be all too easy to explain to Medic, and it wouldn't even be the most embarrassing sex-related... she put that thought aside firmly and pulled Ship's hand to her lips. Her mouth felt slick and swollen, and she made a deliberate teasing show of it, sucking on its fingertips like she'd never heard of propriety and mistrusted the entire concept. Ship's free hand dug sharply into the sheets again.

"Feel free to resume at your own pace, Lieutenant," Ship said, silently this time, words flashing at the top of her vision. Seivarden obliged, feeling a little smug. It put its hands on her head again, careful at first and then firm, fingers splayed out on both sides of her skull. Seivarden let it direct her and let her mind settle into a warm haze. If she liked the idea of being used, of being something Ship specifically could use- it was okay, Ship hadn't minded, it was okay if she got hot from that idea. She badly wanted to touch herself, but she was used to waiting for permission and Ship knew it-

It inhaled sharply and tensed up in one harsh muscular spasm, fingertips digging in, thigh muscles cramping down hard. Seivarden forgot to breathe again.

After a long while, its fingers relaxed and it said with a catch in its voice "Better stop now, that's rapidly becoming oversensitive." Seivarden pulled off and belatedly remembered about breathing. Oxygen, yes, vitally important. She sat back on her heels, looked around, and grabbed her discarded shirt from earlier to wipe her sopping-wet face with. "Well, Ship, what's the verdict?"

"Oh, adequate, I suppose," Ship said airily, then pulled her back in and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "You've been a good girl, Seivarden, well done," it murmured into her hair. Seivarden buried her face in its thigh as if that would hide her embarrassed pleasure. Ship petted her hair again and then scooted back, yanking her up with it, until it had its back against the wall and she was sort of half-straddling its lap.

"You don't have to- I mean, don't feel obliged if you're tired out," Seivarden said although Ship had shown no inclination to stop, and was running its hands down her torso as she spoke.

"I will certainly keep that in mind, Lieutenant," Ship said, stopping to prod delicately at her nipples. It was more of a curious touch than a sexy one, which didn't stop the feeling that Seivarden's spine had been briefly electrified. "But we were speaking earlier of maintenance. And I do consider you- all of you- to be, in a way, part of me. It would be irresponsible of me, therefore, to leave you in this condition. How would I explain myself to the Fleet Captain?" Seivarden giggled helplessly at that and buried her face in its shoulder, and Ship, apparently feeling that that covered the preliminaries, shoved one hand into her underwear.

She'd been painfully turned on for too long, and she whimpered into its neck half from the desperate relief of it and half from embarrassment- she was aching and *slick* and it was getting its *hands* messy- oh, fuck, that was hot- Ship tilted her head with its free hand and ran its tongue along the edge of her ear, lightly. It had definitely picked that up from Ekalu, and it made Seivarden see sparks as reliably as always. "Fuck," she said helplessly. "Ship, may I-"

"In your own time," Ship said to her quietly, cupping the back of her head. Seivarden dragged in a shaky breath and pushed forward against its hand, graceless and desperate.

She came embarrassingly quickly once she had permission to, clutching at Ship's shoulders and breathing in ragged gasps. Ship murmured something nonsensically soothing in her ear and didn't move its hands away until, after a long while, she finally caught her breath enough to mumble "Okay, I'm all right." She considered that. "Except I don't think I can move. Blessed Amaat have *mercy*."

"I'd say this has gone fairly well for an initial trial," Ship said, radiating smugness.

"Extremely well. Uh. You aren't planning on giving Sphene details of everything, are you?"

"Certainly not." Ship rearranged them both on the bed, and Seivarden went with it bonelessly. "It might start telling me about *its* sex life, and I hope I never need to know that much about the Translators. Better get some more sleep if you can, Lieutenant, I've kept you awake far longer than advisable."

"Worth it," Seivarden said, wrapped her arms around it again, and drifted off after only a few minutes of sleepy, horrified speculation on what exactly Sphene and Zeiat *did* get up to.

She was dreaming about Breq, and Breq was saying "-wake her if her shift's not for another hour," which seemed strange. It was strange, she realized, struggling back to consciousness, because it wasn't dream-Breq but real, actual Breq, standing by her bedside. She looked exhausted, but all her limbs were still attached, which was about as much as you could hope for with Breq.

"Hey." Seivarden blinked and tried to pull herself together. "Sir. Since when are you back?"

"We sent a message ahead, but there seems to have been a broken relay," Breq said, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. "And we're returning tomorrow. Tisarwat needs to be back in a week to officiate at a religious festival. She's been appointed a priestess of Amaat Incarnate as the Sun in the Brief Period Immediately Preceding its Rising, by the way. Which enabled her to apply some very precise political leverage at an opportune moment, but it's mostly a ceremonial position. There's a truly astonishing outfit, though." She set her unlaced boots on the floor, considered the rest of her clothes, and apparently gave up. "Move over."

"The sheets are kind of a mess," Seivarden said apologetically.

"I'm not at all surprised." Breq yanked at the blanket underneath her. "The two of you have been enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely," Ship said through the ancillary body, voice thick with sleep. "But we're glad to have you back, sir." Seivarden made an assenting noise and tried to scoot over. There wasn't really enough room for three people, and she wondered if she should offer to leave- Ekalu wouldn't mind if Seivarden slept in her bed while she was on the bridge, and Breq and Ship might want the time to themselves.

Breq settled that by throwing her arm over Seivarden, groping around until she got Ship's hand, and lacing their fingers together, so that Seivarden couldn't move without disturbing the entire comfortable pile. Well, in that case.

"I'm glad to be back, too," Breq said, muffling it in Seivarden's shoulder so she could pretend nobody had heard her having an emotion. Seivarden nudged her.

"Do we get to hear more about this priestess outfit?"

"Words can't do it justice. Especially not the headpiece. You'll have to come back with us and see it in person," Breq concluded. "Go back to *sleep*, Seivarden."

"Anything you say," Seivarden said, and drifted off again. It was much easier to sleep now, because Breq had started humming softly again. It was comfortable, Seivarden thought, already more than half asleep again, to know for sure that she was *exactly* where she was supposed to be.

(OP) This is SO GOOD that I procrastinated on replying while waiting for the right words to come. Which, um, didn't work. But I really love this a lot, and you hit all the notes I wanted most from this prompt, from Seivarden's submissiveness and Ship's directiveness right down to the image of OT3 cuddlepile with handholding in too-small bed.

The way you handled the topic of ancillaries and sex is exactly what I was hoping for too -- making room for Ship to feel differently about it from Breq without making Breq wrong to feel the way she does.

And I laughed out loud at the Sphene/Zeiat bit.

And I'm crap at drawing, but I hope someone else does fanart for you, because Tisarwat's priestess outfit sounds like something this fandom needs.

Thank you so much.

Thank *you* for prompting it, it was a ton of fun and I'm so glad you liked it :D

I'm still undecided on what the priestess outfit actually looks like except 'ridiculously extravagant' and 'probably shiny, or has bits that light up, or both'. It's too bright to get a good photo of but Breq and Seivarden take a bajillion pictures anyway, as is their solemn duty as Tisarwat's embarrassing space moms.

She woke up with a sudden disorienting jolt- where was she, who was *this*, did she owe them money, did she have any idea where her things were- before her conscious mind caught up. Right. She was on board Mercy of Kalr, and she had her arm thrown over Mercy of Kalr and her face buried in the back of its neck, and she was warm and comfortable and remembered where she'd left her clothes. Too good to be true, clearly, and yet here they were.

awww

ok this entire thing is so much AWWWW i'm gonna die

OH NO THIS IS SO CUTE

Tisarwat knew Amaat had cursed her to eternal misery.

Oh, stop being so disgustingly dramatic.

No, it was true, though. She knew this because even though 99.999999% of the vast oceans of ancient memory were nothing more than a dark blur, she could recall in perfect clarity sipping tea while Justice of Toren sat across from her practically vibrating in concealed rage, and smiling because oh, how beautiful. How lovely.

Tisarwat sat in an Undergarden tea shop, laughing and making witty comments just often enough to keep control of the conversation between this bunch of slightly drunk teenagers, and she sipped her cup of arrack and tasted tea and choked. Desperately, she looked around at all the faces, attaching names and houses to them. She had to figure out all the connections, she had to find out all the pressure points on this station, because Fleet Captain- well, Fleet Captain actually hadn't ordered her to do it, but if Fleet Captain was going to keep this system safe, she would need power, and Tisarwat could get that for her, better than anyone. It wasn't a job she'd been given but if she did it well then Justice of Toren- Fleet Captain, Fleet Captain, Fleet Captain- would be pleased with her and Tisarwat needed that more than anything and she didn't know why.

Stupid, stupid-

She's just an ancillary, just a fascinating amusement you don't need her respect-

She drank more.

Why did you give this to me, why is knowing this important? She asked the question only in her head, she wanted to write it down to get it out but then Ship would see. Ship probably knew already. She'd been so sure of Mercy of Kalr, so confident she knew everything about it and how to control it. She hadn't discounted the possibility that Justice of Toren would discover her scheme, but the possibility had been somewhat exciting.

When it actually happened she'd wanted to die so much she hadn't been able to appreciate the inhumanly strong pressure on her throat but now the sense memory kept jolting at her whenever Fleet Captain gave her so much as a glance and she didn't want it. Get it out.

She should have picked a different victim, Tisarwat thought, not a teenager with all these inconvenient- hormones. When she'd been that great incomprehensible vastness she hadn't gone hot and fluttery over strangers all the time. But it wasn't like Fleet Captain was even pretty. She was old, much older than Basnaaiad, and she had all these scars, and her face was flat and a bit lumpy. Not beautiful like Basnaaiad or Piat or even awful awful Raughd. And even if she had been pretty she'd still be- she'd still be the Captain. Whenever she gave Tisarwat that flat stare Tisarwat felt like she was ten years old and four feet tall and she just wanted to wither up and die. But that oh, she hates me so, how lovely and that arm pushing her up against the wall got all mixed up with the teenage heat and flutters and Tisarwat's life would be misery forever.

Ship had to know. Ship could see perfectly how she reacted to the sight of the captain, or her voice, or mention of her. If Mercy of Kalr ever mentioned it to the captain... oh God, please let Amaat strike her dead before that ever happened.

She laid on her bunk in the dark, a little kid in a grown-up officer's quarters, and shut her eyes touched herself and tried to think of Piat's curves or Basnaaiad's full mouth but all she could think of was a stern, rough voice saying "Lieutenant," disapprovingly, of a heavy arm resting awkwardly on her shoulders and the smell of the Fleet Captain's uniform when she'd covered it with her tears.

She cried again, tears of rage and embarrassment, and punched her pillow with one hand.

Pathetic.

But she didn't stop.

(OP)

Tisarwat knew Amaat had cursed her to eternal misery.

That's when I knew this was going to be awesome. And so it was. Poor Tisarwat, her life sucks so much that the melodrama is entirely warranted, but she's too old and self-aware not to be disgusted by it even so.

- well, Fleet Captain actually hadn't ordered her to do it, but if Fleet Captain was going to keep this system safe, she would need power, and Tisarwat could get that for her, better than anyone.

Yep. That's her, that's Tisarwat.

She's just an ancillary, just a fascinating amusement you don't need her respect-

!!! That is such a clear explanation of Tisarwat's whole tangled thing about Breq and Basnaaid (spelling note, btw: Basnaaid ends with "id", not "ad".) Of COURSE for the Anaander part of Tisarwat's personality, the worst possible thing would be to want Breq's respect, to look up to Breq. That makes so much sense.

Why did you give this to me, why is knowing this important?

ANAANDER WHAT THE FUCK, DID YOU ACTUALLY THINK TISARWAT!YOU HAD A CHANCE WITH BREQ?

oh, she hates me so, how lovely

Anaander. Please.

Ship had to know.

Poor, poor Mercy of Kalr.

LET'S DO THIS.

Title is from Anaander's anthem of the same name, by old Earth singer-songwriter P!nk.

Citizens attempting to find consistency with canon in this narrative will be prosecuted; citizens attempt non-problematic content in it will be reeducated; citizens attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

She sends the coded message buoy with time, date, and coordinates. The body of the message is just two words: personal shorthand that would translate (if there were an Anaander Translator to explain these things to an outside observer) to BOOTY CALL. She is confident that she, of all people, will understand.

(There could have been an Anaander Translator, once. She screwed that throw up by not anticipating how different the baby desk jockey's body would be, how she'd detest her new self, how that detestation would persist in the body even when everything else was just memories and surgical scars.

But she doesn't know that. All she knows is that the body is definitely alive, definitely no longer hers, definitely knows what happened to her, and definitely hates her. And is now allied with Justice of Toren.)

She receives the buoy she sent. In fact it had crossed paths with her, though none of her knows this, on her way back to Tstur. Furious, humiliated, ready to annihilate something. A perfect mood for fucking.

It could be a trap. She puts that probability at .5. Equally, even if this invitation was made in good faith, she has to know that it might not be taken that way.

In all honesty, between herself and her, she can't deny that since she left Omaugh Station, since her own faction has been rallying to her in this system, her sex life has been a bit lacking.

It doesn't matter. She has Civilization to restore. Her bodies are functional, give or take the horrific cost of open warfare with herself. If the spark isn't there, that's unimportant at this stage of the game.

All the same, this is worth one body and one stasis pod. Just one. And she chooses a nicely developed one too. Old and practiced enough to have good spinal reflexes, certain skills ground in where distance can't attenuate them. Young enough to have stamina and looks. That's only good manners.

Having selected one of herself to send, she cleans, oils, and dresses herself carefully, adds a tiny buoy to catch data from her implants, for later perusal should the body not return (having a trusted client scan the recording first for memetic traps) and having wrapped the package, sends it through Hrad gate.

OP here... Holy shit AMAAT'S answered my prayers. On behalf of my now flourishing crops thank you so much aaaAAAA

BOOTY CALL.

Listen... Anaander having a secret fuck language and prettying up a body and shooting it into fucking space is... so in character it hurts.

I love this.

I'd like to see a scenario where Seivarden is captured by some enemy or other, and Breq and Mercy of Kalr show up guns blazing to save her. She's physically hurt pretty badly and traumatized by her experiences, but Breq makes her feel safe. Mostly wanting protective, awkwardly comforting Breq (and cuddling) but it would also be great to see Mercy of Kalr and Ekalu protecting/comforting Seivarden in their own ways.

The reason I put this on the NSFW meme: If you're comfortable with it I'd like to see the discovery that Seivarden was also sexually assaulted in captivity, and the fallout from that. But I'm A-OK with her trauma being solely due to the physical injuries and mistreatment - I enjoy all kinds of hurt/comfort.

Ok so this is partly influenced by Ann Leckie's short stories "The Unknown God" and "The Nalender" but if you haven't read them or don't want to that's fine. If you HAVE though, please let that influence you. Anyway, the prompt:

Breq is a goddess who is not used to being worshipped, mostly living in isolation but suddenly earns the devotion of Seivarden when Breq saves her life. Seivarden empowers her with prayer, sacrifice and devotions. How does Breq receive these and in what form do they come?

This can be as cliche and overdone as you want go wild.

No specific kinks requested but I feel like Seivarden's massive service kink could fit here nicely.

Holy fuck I didn't see this get posted immediately since I've been on vacation and just. holy fuck.

I love everything about this and I especially liked the play at "equipment maintainence" a lot. Seivarden loving giving oral is also so incredibly canon it hurts. "Adequate" god.

Anyway now I want to go finish the second half of my full for this. This is a great prompt.

i would be terrible at writing this but consider every part of this request seconded

Sorry this took so long. Actual sex this time!

---

I methodically removed my clothing. Perhaps unnecessary, but I did not want to risk getting them dirty when I would have to wash them myself.

Seivarden lay on my bed, clutching my shirt, twisting it as though she wanted to try and hide her hands under it. I expected her to sit up, draw her knees to her chest and cross her arms, but she did not. Her condition was extreme, then. Her eyes kept flicking across my bare chest and legs, then quickly flicking away.

I stood above her, looking down. She flinched from my gaze, and then her eyes came back to mine, wide and staring. I looked her up and down. “Do you have a preference for a specific activity?” I asked. I knew what her preferences had been when she was my lieutenant, but much had changed since then, and I had to admit that in some ways, I might no longer know her as I had.

She didn’t answer me. Her mouth was tightly closed, lips white. Breathing heavily, pupils dilated, thighs still restlessly shifting. But she was clearly miserable. Seeing her misery caused a strange pang of regret. Well. This wouldn’t work if she didn’t feel more comfortable. I tried to think of what I could do to improve the situation.

“I can lie down,” I said, “if that would make you more comfortable.”

“N- no,” she said, sort of wheezing. “You’re- you’re good like that.” One of her hands twitched, as though she wanted to cover her face, but thought better of it. “Shit- Aatr’s tits, I- I’m sorry. You should have just left me on Nilt.”

Self-loathing again. “I didn’t actually ask you to come with me,” I pointed out, though I knew as I said it that this was unhelpful. I took another step forward. Her eyes fell slightly and she stared at my chest, perhaps looking at the scars that were scattered there. “I’m not doing this out of pity,” I said, “or because I feel forced to. This is simply the most logical course of action.”

“Oh, hell,” Seivarden moaned. “Fine- fine- just- if you’re going to help then get on with it- please-”

I reached out. She rolled onto her back with a gasp of relief, spreading her legs wide. I ran my fingers along the inside of her thigh first, and then up between her legs. I could clearly observe the physical changes that came with an advanced state of heat. It was easy to see what I was doing, and to do what I thought might be most effective.

“Breq,” Seivarden was saying, “fuck, fuck, Breq-” The name I had given her blended with the obscenities.

Without warning she sat up, leaned against me, skin radiating heat, and sank her teeth into my shoulder. Lightly, but unexpectedly.

I intended to gently push her away. I am unclear on why I instead removed my hand from between her legs and used it to pull her legs around my waist, grinding our naked bodies together, using my hands under her thighs to adjust the angle of contact while she pressed teeth and tongue against my skin, making noises at the back of her throat.

The only explanation I can come up with is that it was what she wanted and there was no harm in going along with it. But I know I was not thinking clearly when I lifted her off the bed, and one of us, I am unclear on which one, moved, and we were next to the bed, then, Seivarden up against the bulkhead, me with my elbows resting on the welded metal, palms flat, both of us still pressing our bodies together. It was some voiceless illogical part of me acting without knowing why. One of the things I still didn’t understand. I kept doing things I didn’t understand, because of Seivarden, because of how she upset the order I’d made for myself over two decades.

After Seivarden orgasmed she collapsed boneless against my chest and I had to carry her back to her pallet. I would have brought her to the bed but the sheets still needed washing. I sat down next to her and she leaned against me, utterly exhausted. My body felt uncomfortable, unsatisfied, wanted to continue, but Seivarden was clearly not up to it, her own body subject to the whims of biology. She slipped downwards until her head rested against my knee, eyes sliding shut, asleep for perhaps the first time in days.

Good. My intervention had worked, just as I had intended it to. Everything had worked out absolutely fine.

I watched Seivarden sleep for a while, and then eventually lifted her head off my knee, as slowly as I could. She didn’t wake. I cleaned myself as best I could with one of the sanitary wipes in our cabin, put my underwear back on, and considered the bed. It needed to be cleaned, but just thinking about dressing and venturing out of our cabin made me feel tired. Instead I lay down on the floor next to Seivarden’s pallet. Eventually I fell asleep.

Seeing her misery caused a strange pang of regret.

Is that what they're calling it these days?

“I can lie down,” I said, “if that would make you more comfortable.”

This is so very Breq? In that she is probably theoretically aware that usually people like skin to skin contact when they're having sex, but she can't consciously apply that to her and Seivarden.

I lay down on the floor next to Seivarden’s pallet.

*whimper*

During her time as a druggie, Seivarden was very shrewd and clever and determined to obtain kef in any way she could. So, basically, Seivarden at some point provided sexual favors for people in exchange for drugs or money to buy drugs, and what I want is one or more of the people who participated in such an exchange showing up where Seivarden is at and offering to make another exchange. In front of Breq or Ekalu or both. Just, Seivarden being humiliated in front of someone she cares a lot about.

:)

(Apologies if any of these are duplicates! I didn't manage to skim the entire thread. Because there's so much of it.)

PROMPT: There is a deep disagreement in the Council of Cousins over whether to open negotiations with neighboring systems to open borders for very specific shipping traffic: it's a security risk, but all that tea needs to go somewhere.

The discussion gets heated.

PROMPT: After sending Queter up to Athoek Station, the regional magistrate drops by the farm to see conditions for herself. Sparks fly between her and Grandfather.

PROMPT: Zeiat relates the tale to Sphene why she's *really* glad she's not Dlique.

PROMPT: What Nysene Ptem, Mercy of Sarse's former Amaat One, got up to during her stay with the Rrrrr.

PROMPT: Seivarden takes the Athoek Station Medic up on that offer re: the Fleet Captain's Arrack. In the meantime, Basnaaid and Ekalu take a walk through the abandoned but finally habitable Gardens. Do the "two scenes one dialog (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TwoScenesOneDialogue)" thing.

This got long and shamelessly whumpy but hopefully that's what you were asking for? Not sure yet if I'll put in the sexual assault- will warn if I do.

----

Seivarden woke up not knowing where she was, and as always, it took too long for her to start thinking clearly. Far too long, this time. Drugged, she thought muzzily, and having thought it, found it easier to start cataloguing her limited information. There was what seemed likely to be some kind of black fabric over her eyes. There was gravity pulling on her body, and her head was above her legs, which was pretty important information right off. She thought some more about her legs, and realized they were folded up in an odd position, and slightly numb, but she could feel a hard surface underneath her. Her arms were behind her, and her wrists were bound somehow. It felt like she was still wearing her uniform, though it was clammy with sweat. Her mouth was dry and bad-tasting. She made herself swallow a few times.

Not good, but not desperate, not yet. She was alive and she didn't think she'd been harmed, though she was going to have major issues if she had to stand up. She was on something large enough to have gravity, whether real or artificial. She could hear the soft hiss of an air circulation system, and beyond, the faintly metallic smell of the fabric over her face she thought she tasted recycled air. Possibly not a planet, though it could be some sort of facility.

What was the last thing she remembered?

The ship had been small, too small to make its own gates, too small for an AI, but Amaat Two had been a pilot briefly before she joined the military. It hadn't been a very important trip, but the person they were escorting had a phobia of space travel and needed company, and Mercy of Kalr had wanted to see the closest neighbor system of the Republic for itself, and Seivarden had volunteered because, well, things had been tense onboard and giving Breq some space had seemed like a good idea. Fifteen light years seemed like it would do the trick.

They'd emerged from gate-space and then- nothing. Retroactive amnesia.

Her wrists were bound together, but it seemed she could still move her fingers. She tried awkward versions of some basic gestures. No voice in her ear or words in her vision. Either Ship was gating, Seivarden herself was in gate-space, or her implants had been tampered with. Or she was somewhere far away from Athoek with no communications buoy within range. Although it was possible there was simply lag involved, and she'd get something back at some point. Until then, she had to assume she was on her own.

"Sir?" An urgent whisper, that sounded like it was coming from a few feet away.

Oh, shit. "Four?" she said. Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry. Think positively, she told herself. At least Four was still alive. It would have been too much to hope that the others had gotten away.

"Sir." There were shifting sounds, and then a slight pressure against her knee. Four's foot, maybe. "Sir, Two is here as well, but we've both been bagged, can't see a thing. Ship hasn't been responding. We can't remember what happened."

"Me either," Seivarden said. "Are your hands bound behind your backs?"

"Yes, sir. Pretty damn tight, sir." That was Two's voice. Well, they both sounded fine, if understandably on edge.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Two hours for me, I think, sir," Two said, starting to sound calmer simply from having a superior to report to. “Half an hour for Four. We could hear you breathing, and we thought you were probably- well- you, but we weren’t sure.”

Seivarden pulled her hands to one side, and felt resistance- she was shackled to something. She tried to unfold her legs, and couldn’t. Fuck. “How much can you move?” she asked. “Can you feel walls around us?”

“I’ve been kicking a lot,” Four said. “I think we’re in a pretty small cell.”

“Don’t suppose anyone’s come by to explain the situation?”

“Not yet.”

The fact that they weren’t dead yet meant this was either going to be a hostage situation or an interrogation. The first one was vastly preferable. She supposed it was possible they might be skilfully interrogated under drugs and then have their memories erased and be dumped right back where they’d been taken, but it was more likely they’d be killed once they had no more use. Damn, damn, damn.

She heard the hiss of a door sliding open, right by her ear.

“Oh, good, Lieutenant, you’re awake,” someone said above her, and then they said, to someone else, “Get her up.”

Seivarden didn’t try to pull anything while anonymous hands unshackled her, leaving her wrists still bound to each other. Trying to fight with her hands tied behind her back and a bag over her face would be incredibly stupid, not to mention her legs. A rough hand pushed on her back, encouraging her to stand up, and she tried, but immediately collapsed back down, unable to stop herself from crying out as her legs screamed at her.

“Hurry up,” the strange voice snapped, and hands pulled her to her feet and dragged her along. She heard the whoosh of the door closing again behind her, and then too much sound to quickly make sense of. She couldn’t feel anything from her legs except pain, but she couldn’t have been unconscious too long, surely, so circulation would probably be restored to normal in a few minutes.

When her guards stopped moving she was dropped to the ground, collapsing down onto her knees. This only lasted a few seconds before she was picked up again and shoved down onto a chair. Her palms were laid flat on the chair’s arms and straps were tightened on her limbs. She considered fighting then, just from panic, but managed to control the impulse.

She took a few breaths, and tried to compose herself. Tried her best to move from panic-mode into her best Arrogant Vendaai Bitch mode.

The bag was pulled from her head.

She was in a circular room, about ten meters in diameter. There was a desk, curved to match the walls. Apart from that there were no furnishings. Floor, walls, and ceiling were all a gray metal. The room was lit by strips running along the top and bottom of the wall. Sitting on the desk was a person in a dark gray suit. She waited until Seivarden met her eyes, and then she smiled.

“Hello,” she said, in Radchaai. Not the same voice as before. That one must be behind Seivarden.

Seivarden inclined her head one degree. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said, slow and calm as she could. “Where’s Annet Gamon?”

“The foreigner?” The person tilted her head. “We didn’t need her.”

Anger and misery and guilt, but Seivarden had no time to feel that, she had to focus. Foreigner. This person was Radchaai, or pretending to be for some reason.

“But you need me.”

“In a way.” The person tapped the side of her head. “I’m quite familiar with the kind of implants you’ve got there. I’ve modified them. You won’t receive any data, but you’re transmitting just fine. Well, not your location, of course. That wouldn't be very wise of us.”

Her heart pounded. “If there’s something you want Mercy of Kalr to see,” Seivarden said, “you could have just sent us a video. We check our mail pretty frequently.”

“Oh,” the person in gray said, “but this is so much more visceral.” She jumped off the desk, stepping towards Seivarden. Her hands were covered in black gloves. She placed one finger lightly on Seivarden’s jaw, and pressed, turning Seivarden’s head so she had to stare into steel-gray eyes.

The other voice from before, the one that had said “Get her up,” said something sharp in a foreign language. The one in the gray suit sighed.

“These people have no patience,” she said, confidingly.

This wasn’t going to be an interrogation. It was going to be worse.

She’d found ways to come to terms with death. They taught you to numb yourself to it, in military training, and then there’d been that moment of clarity, falling off the bridge, that she regularly brought back to mind. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of dying.

And her soldiers-

Motion. The person from behind moving in front. She was wearing black. She was pale and grim-faced. When she spoke, it was in slow, severely-accented Radchaai.

“Does the word Evgenna mean anything to you, Radchaai?”

Seivarden stared at Black-Clothes’ nose, hoping she seemed coldly unimpressed. “I’m afraid not,” she said.

The foreigner’s ungloved hands shook. Anger. “It is the name of our world, Radchaai. I would list our grievances against you but you do not even know our names.”

“Actually, until recently I was in stasis for a thousand years,” she said, “so I’m pretty sure I wasn’t involved in whatever Anaander Mianaai did to you-”

“Shut up,” the foreigner said, and hit her. She felt her head crack to the side. What hurt worse was the suspicion that she couldn’t really try to avoid responsibility for whatever had gotten her here. Maybe she hadn’t personally done anything to this planet she’d never heard of but she’d certainly done plenty to several others.

Amaat Four and Two hadn’t, though. But she had a feeling trying to plead their case would only make things worse for them.

So she waited, ears ringing, to find out where this was going.

“Punishment of one would hardly be enough,” the one in black, clearly the leader, said, and Seivarden’s stomach dropped and she opened her mouth to plead anyway. But the leader continued. “So this will not be punishment, but a message. A first message, to demonstrate our seriousness. So that our second message will be heard.”

“Why us?” Seivarden asked. “The Republic hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Maybe not,” gray-suit said, “but you’re still Radchaai, so no one back home will object to our methods. And unfortunately, I don’t think this kind of thing would be particularly effective on Anaander Mianaai.”

Black-suit glared at her. “You are not paid to talk,” she said.

Gray-suit sighed. She leaned over the desk and pulled out a narrow case. “The best part is we don’t even have to set up a transmission ourselves,” she said. “I’ve even heard that your military general receives your feeds directly. This should be fun for her.”

Things clarified with sudden crystal sharpness, and narrowed. Only one thing was now important.

“Ship,” she said, “don’t show her. Please, don’t show her.” The woman in gray tsked and made a gesture but Seivarden didn’t stop whispering “please I’m begging you don’t let her watch-”

The guards behind her shoved a gag into her mouth.

I'm not the OP but this is so good. I can't wait to see where it goes!

in this part: lots of murder of npcs, graphic description of someone who's been tortured

---

The implant had ceased broadcasting twelve hours earlier, when it had been cut out of Seivarden’s spine. Seivarden had not been returned to the cell where Amaat Four and Two waited. Their implants still broadcast information, though attempts at contacting them remained unsuccessful. Breq knew where they were; rescuing them would be the logical first move.

“Sir,” Ekalu said. “My team can head that way. You’ll know whatever information we get as soon as we do. You can head for the tactical center.”

To find someone in charge, someone who Breq could squeeze the knowledge of Seivarden’s location out of.

“Captain,” Tisarwat said. Nervous but excited over what she had found. “I have a map of the station, sir. It wasn’t hard,” she said, suddenly self-effacing. “They didn’t do a good job protecting their lower-level information.”

Mercy of Kalr uploaded the map to Breq’s vision. She scanned it, trying to think. She needed to focus.

“Ship,” she said, “try to talk to the station AI. See if it might be convinced to help us.”

“Yes, Captain,” Mercy of Kalr said, after a small pause. What is it? Breq asked silently.

I don’t particularly want to TALK to any of them, Mercy of Kalr said in words in her vision.

The AI isn’t responsible.

Isn’t it? Are we not responsible for what we did for the Radch?

This wasn’t the time to have that discussion again. Breq was pretty sure Mercy of Kalr was only bringing it up to distract both of them. But they couldn’t afford distractions, no matter how much Breq wanted one.

The station was armed and armored, but not to withstand an assault by Radchaai ships. Mercy of Kalr and Sword of Atagaris wiped out the weaponry from a safe distance, then came in as close as possible to burn a hole in the hull for the boarding teams to enter.

It was not a civilian station. Breq wasn’t sure what she felt when they got the news that no one had been in the section they had punctured. Her teams entered in vaccuum suits, located an airlock with pressure on the other side, set up their own temporary airlock and blasted the doors open. There were people with weapons on the other side. Breq and Sword of Atagaris took them out quickly. They didn’t have armor. It had been stupid of them to try and fight, but Breq was glad they had.

Ekalu and her Etrepas headed along the path Mercy of Kalr was showing them, accompanied by a few Atagaris ancillaries. The rest of Sword of Atagaris began to fan out, spreading through the station. Breq had instructed Sword of Atagaris not to kill anyone who surrendered. She had managed that much, at least.

She headed towards the center.

People were more eager to attack a single lone Radchaai, even armored, and she killed several more. The people here had not realized they had been found until Mercy of Kalr and Sword of Atagaris appeared out of gate space. They hadn’t had much time to plan, but Breq still had to deal with two ambushes. She didn’t come upon anyone asleep or eating or washing, which was a relief.

“Sir,” Tisarwat said in her ear. “Uh, we’ve found some people who want to surrender, sir.”

Breq felt the coldness in her harden. They couldn’t risk-

“Sir, the station says it’ll cooperate, if you don’t kill anyone surrendering. It says it can lock them in a section and they won’t be a worry to us.”

“Make that a small room,” Breq snapped. “Atagaris, have one of your segments in there. The station tries letting them out, you shoot them.”

This wasn’t who she was. Asking her cousin to potentially shoot prisoners, because she couldn’t ask it of her crew. That was who she’d been once. She didn’t want to be that person again.

But Seivarden was on this station somewhere.

When she reached the room designated as central command, she found it full of about twenty people. They had been smart, then, had figured out that any escape craft would be shot down by the Radchaai warships immediately.

She honed in on two people in the center. One, with dark skin and steel gray clothing, was frantically doing something technical, hands and eyes moving rapidly. The other, tall and pale in the dark uniform of the Evgennian Liberation Army, was barking orders. Both of them froze when Breq entered, along with everyone else in the room.

“You can live,” Breq said, in what was hopefully a coherent attempt at this faction’s main language, “if you tell me where my first officer is.”

Silence. Thick heavy fear from the people sitting at desks, who did not meet Breq’s eyes. The person in gray sighed. The military leader met Breq’s gaze with a stare of hard hatred.

She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead she’s dead she’s-

Captain.

“Listen,” the one in gray said, in perfect Radchaai, “I’m not one of them, just a contractor. I’ll tell you everything you want to know, if you-”

The Evgennian leader’s outraged shout was drowned out by the crack of Breq’s shot. The tech with the perfect Radchaai accent collapsed to the floor, a bullet in her knee, and screamed.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Breq told her.

She didn’t speak, but managed to swallow down her screams enough to move her fingers, and Breq’s map lit up with a single red dot.

She felt movement and spun, striking the approaching military leader with the side of her gun. She fell too. Breq looked down at her.

“I saw,” she said.

She wanted to kill them both. She wanted Mercy of Kalr to tell her not to, but Mercy of Kalr wasn’t going to do that. She wanted to imagine Lieutenant Awn, standing at her side in the temple of Icht, horrified at the idea of murdering prisoners, even ones who had killed their own child and had planned on murdering many. But none of it was getting through the cold hardness in her chest and the high buzzing tone in her head.

Then she thought: that’s not what Seivarden would expect me to do.

She always expects me to know what the right thing to do is, and then to do it. If I know what the right thing is, and I don’t do it-

“Station,” she said. “Lock down this room after I leave.”

“Thank you for not killing them,” a voice whispered in her ear. Breq didn’t know this station, couldn’t know if the words were ironic or genuine.

“I still might,” she said. “So keep them locked up.”

Outside in the corridor, there was another moment of numbness, absence of thought, and then Mercy of Kalr brought up the map with its marker the color of dried blood, and Breq started to run, and tried not to think while she ran, and only partly succeeded.

The marker wasn’t in the part of the station where Amaat Four and Amaat Two had been kept captive. It was a small room off a cargo bay. Both locked. Station opened the doors for her.

The room smelled of blood.

There was a dark shape on the floor in the corner, and Breq’s brain suddenly froze, refusing to process whatever her eyes might be seeing. She felt as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice with no bottom in sight.

Mercy of Kalr might have experienced the same thing, but an AI would get over such glitches much faster than the human mind would, and it couldn’t have been very long before Breq heard Mercy of Kalr in her ear: “She’s breathing, Captain.”

Breq closed her eyes and let out a breath of her own. She let a long second of cool calm wash over her before she opened her eyes again and went to the corner and knelt down.

In her temporary calm, she could hear the faint whistle of air, see the slight movement of bruised and bloody chest.

“Seivarden.”

A slight increase in volume, the whistling becoming a wheeze. Breq didn’t know where to touch. She could see a hand. Its fingers were a broken bloody mess. She settled on lightly stroking the back of the head, not pressing hard enough to touch any cuts or bruises. “It’s all right,” she said. “You don’t need to do anything. Just relax. It’ll be all right.”

The wheezing quieted somewhat, but the ruined hand twitched, trying to reach out. Breq touched the back of the hand, between the broken fingers and the wrists with their bloody cuff marks. The hand stopped moving.

Even if Breq had had a medical implant she wouldn’t have been able to see anything with Seivarden’s implant removed. She shouldn’t move her, should wait for someone to bring a stasis pod, but she had no idea how bad the damage was, how urgently treatment was needed.

“This might hurt,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She put her hands on Seivarden’s shoulders and shifted her to an upright sitting position. Seivarden didn’t flinch, or hiss or scream or react at all, and that worried her more than anything else.

She couldn’t see any deep puncture wounds. Bruises, some of them split and oozing. Burns. Seivarden’s face was unrecognizable. Breq could see she was trying to open her eyes. Trying to move her mouth.

“Stay still,” she ordered. She opened her medkit, took out the neatly stacked correctives in their different sizes. Wrapped one carefully around each of the hands, and two more on the wrists. The arms were limp in her grasp, like a puppet with its strings cut. Breq methodically focused on her task. She intended to do Seivarden’s face next, but was distracted by her neck.

When Medic arrived Seivarden must have somehow seen the stasis pod because she began to shake and tried to move away from it. “No,” she croaked.

“All right,” Breq said, preemptively cutting off Medic’s objections with a sharp hand slash. She reached forward.

“Wait,” Medic said, and offered a medical blanket. Breq nodded her thanks, and carefully wrapped it around Seivarden’s bare skin, watched it settle around her, the soft malleable cousin to the hard correctives. Then- carefully, gently- she picked Seivarden up.

“Time to go home,” she said, and Seivarden sighed, and stopped trying to open her eyes.

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