Title: Star of Wonder, Star of Night
Author: Carol Anne Caiafa
Pairing: Cthulhu/Gustaf Johansen
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, no profit, suing is futile!
Word Count: 1, 064, not including song verses
Warnings: Tentacle sex, dubious consent, religious imagery, mpreg (sort of, but not quite – nothing squicky, I swear to Cthulhu!)
Summary: As the stars come right at Christmastime, unto us the spawn are given…
A/N: Inspired by a prompt grondfic gave me last year, “Cthulhu’s Christmas”, that I didn’t get a good enough plotbunny for till much later! Johansen’s R’lyehian name comes from the Seventh Sanctum Lovecraftian Name Generator. The little bit of filk at the end is a small homage to the Christmas carol parodies done by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which I absolutely adore.
“O star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect Light.”
The chill of winter had wrapped itself around the northern world, but the seas were far from icy in the southern oceans where the sunken city of R’lyeh lay. It was the season of Yuletide upon the earth, and in the heavens the stars were reconfiguring themselves, changing in forms and patterns, spelling out impending doom for the unwary.
R’lyeh had not yet risen from beneath the waves, but in the depths of the sea the dark tomb of Cthulhu slid menacingly open and the High Priest of the Great Old Ones awoke, carefully mounting a solid angle of slime-covered, alien masonry. His burning red eyes lit up the submarine blackness as His claws clutched at the stone, and His great wings unfolded slowly, rippling in the underwater currents. In the folds of those leathery wings hung many pulsing, membranous sacs, resembling the chrysalides of insects found on land. Cthulhu shuddered and His mighty frame convulsed a little, making the unborn creatures in the sacs begin to stir. Soon, very soon, the first of them would emerge and swim towards the surface, now that the stars were right. And when they reached the human world they would help their unearthly Father and His still sleeping star-spawn reclaim the entire planet for their own. And soon the unique being, precious beyond all others, upon whom Cthulhu chose to bestow His strange affections, would waken too, and be reunited with his dark master. He had once been a man, this beloved of Great Cthulhu, and almost like the Christ of mortal tales he would rise from his grave to join with the fearsome Lord of R’lyeh, who had become his One True God.
Cthulhu shook with gigantic tremors yet again, remembering how He had communed with this one valued soul as they lay entombed, the former human buried six feet deep in soil and the Great Old One submerged beneath the ocean. So far from each other, and yet so close, in their dead but dreaming state their minds spoke of their mutual desire. For the passion they had shared so long ago had made the man once known as Gustaf Johansen virtually endless – he had been slain by mortal fools, but in the same way as his godlike lover he could never truly die.
The Great One’s massive tentacles thrashed and twisted with rekindled need as He remembered His encounter with the sailor. The Norwegian’s shipmates were of no consequence, weak little things of fragile mind and spirit, fit only to be consumed. But Johansen had been different – from the first moment Cthulhu became aware of him, his soul had blazed within the demonic High Priest’s consciousness like the purest flame.
Cthulhu’s kind were a land race in the beginning, but had adapted to conquer sea and sky at will. The ruler of the sunken city considered Himself to be master of the elements, but fire had never touched Him in this way before. There was no other description for His collision with Johansen’s fierce determination, his more than human strength. It was the most exquisite burning – such unspeakable agony and rapture as Johansen steered the vessel through Cthulhu’s head, blue eyes aglow with rage and his golden hair brighter than the sun in the view of the mighty one he had tried to vanquish. Without being completely healed from the recent onslaught, Cthulhu had resumed His pursuit of the craft and at last swept Gustaf Johansen up in His grasping, flabby claws.
He did not intend to devour His prey, of course. Great Cthulhu now had other appetites to sate.
Johansen had struggled ferociously in Cthulhu’s grip at first, but his resistance lessened at the touch of tentacles upon his naked skin. Pleasure beyond his wildest dreams unfolded as the many writhing feelers upon the demon lord’s huge head engulfed and caressed him. As one slick tentacle slid inside the captive sailor, filling and claiming him in a single fluid movement, it was as though Johansen’s very soul opened and surrendered to the otherworldly might of Great Cthulhu. And for the first time in many aeons the Master of R’lyeh was, in His own matchless and unfathomable way, in love.
But the need to wholly heal had forced Cthulhu to sink again below the water, and He had lost Johansen to the realm of mortality. Aged and weakened, not by the horrors he had supposedly experienced, but by his unspeakable pining for Cthulhu’s love, Johansen had been vulnerable to the killers who had sought him out, determined to put an end to him to protect the fact of Cthulhu’s very existence from all who were not part of the Cthulhu Cult.
Now Johansen slept deathlessly in the ground, being restored to strength and beauty as time and silent rest replenished him. And Cthulhu had taken to the depths with Him the seed of the fiery-natured sailor mingled with His own dread essence, creating life. The Great Old Ones had at their disposal more than one means of procreation, after all, and it was in the folded wings of Cthulhu that the spawn-to-be had taken shape and grown in safety, becoming stronger with each passing year and decade.
The egg-sacs began to detach from Cthulhu’s wings and split apart, releasing hundreds of green and shimmering young into the ocean. Man-sized already, and soon to grow larger still, the spawn showed both the muscularity of Johansen and the wondrous tentacled monstrosity of Cthulhu. Upwards they swam, their sights on the surface, ready to wreak havoc upon the world. Cthulhu watched them fondly, knowing that before long He would have His revenge on those who fancied themselves His cultists. They had tried to kill His lover, and they would pay dearly for that heresy.
Soon the earth would shake and the seas would swirl, and R’lyeh would rise once more, in all her terrible glory. The spawn would destroy humanity, all save those deemed worthy enough to be enslaved by Great Cthulhu, and their fathers would be together for eternity, never to be parted again.
Cthulhu concentrated His thoughts on Johansen, still dreaming in his grave, calling him by the new name He had bestowed upon the brave Norwegian as the pleasure they had shared made them as one.
“Danatlith, My beloved, My most prized possession! Rise and seek Me, for I crave you once again!”
“O star of madness, star of blight,
Star of death and eldritch fright!
Fiends returning, mankind’s burning,
Old Ones wake when stars are right!”