#I think somebody had abandoned him for being too large or excitable

[mabelsguidetolife]

I feel bad for very very big dog breeds because when they get old and lose muscular and skeletal strength they can get to the point where it hurts them to move around because they can no longer support their own mass, even at a healthy weight…..

[furiousgoldfish]

Hey :) Anon from this post: https://furiousgoldfish.tumblr.com/post/713489488821862400/hey-hope-youre-having-a-good-day-today-or-at here. I wanna start this off by saying thank you for the response you gave, it really helped me a lot. I'm trying to come to terms with what I've gone through, and I've discovered that I may be some sort of dissociative system, which would likely explain the large gaps in my memory and lack of knowledge about my childhood.

Going through the list of potential reasons for my parents' treatment of me shifting, I definitely think it's a combination of the first (me getting closer to being an adult, I'm 20 now) and the third (getting opportunities to get away from home, I've got a partner who loves me (and is helping me with a plan to get out of here) and I've been pushing for more freedom to go out places, and I do keep bringing up the idea of me getting a job and/or my own place, which always provokes an...interesting reaction, certainly, which I do want to talk about here).

I feel like the physical abuse would've stopped around the time I turned 13, or maybe a couple of years before that, considering that that was when I start getting clearer, non-fragmented memories, and then a lot of the verbal and emotional stuff (at least, the obvious stuff that I could easily pick up on) stopped at the start of 2020, when I started talking more about how I was excited to start learning to drive (I was 16, soon to be turning 17, and I'd always been told I couldn't start learning to drive until I was 17)

With your description of the narcissistic split between kids, with one being the golden child and the other being the scapegoat, that very much feels like what's happening with me. I've always felt like I was an outsider in my own family -- a memory recently surfaced from when I was 9 years old where I remember contemplating if I was secretly some sort of monster or alien pretending to be a human rather than actually being a human within the family, and I remember writing a song when I was 13 where one of the lines of the chorus was "someone's daughter on somebody else's family tree", and those are just two of the instances I can recall.

I'm not sure if I'm discriminated against for a disability -- my brother's autistic, something that was always brought up by my parents, and while I am in the middle of getting screened for autism myself I don't know why they'd discriminate against me for autism but not him? -- but I do know that my brother's always been very talented when it comes to music and coding, and while I do have a few talents myself (I do art, I write, I used to be in an acting club for a few years) I only feel like my parents care about me when I'm doing something they can be proud of? Meanwhile my brother seems to be cared about all the time, even when he's angry, even when he's stolen from me, even when he does things like delete all my save data on video games. I suppose that would tie in with what you said about how the golden child can always get away with bullying the scapegoat, but it still sucks.

Regarding the...interesting...response I would get from my parents (well, really only my mother, I've never talked to my father about this) about getting a job and moving out -- whenever I have, my mother will always bring up how I ended up quitting my last job due to stress (I was 15 at the time, and working in a busy cafe, as well as trying to deal with everything at home, is it any surprise?) and how my sister tried moving out and had to move back home, and it honestly just feels like she's trying to scare(?) me into abandoning the idea under the belief that I'm not capable of doing it? Even when I've brought up the idea of trying to get some sort of online work so I wouldn't have to go out, she still seems to think I'd get too easily stressed out and/or overwhelmed by it. Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but I can't shake the idea that if I did manage to find something, she'd just try to sabotage me to "prove her point".

That, coupled with the fact that she's so controlling of where I can go as well -- she used to have a tracker on my phone that I had to fight to get taken off, I was never allowed to walk to/from school (when I was even still going there, I was pulled out when I was 9 because of my brother, which is another story) on my own as a kid like all the other kids did despite practically living next door to it, I never got to have sleepovers with friends (because "what if something happens with [brother] and we need to come and get you?" (which, um, do I look like his fucking caretaker? Leave me out of his shit please) and later on my tendency to get homesick was weaponized against me (which, gee, wonder if that'd've been an issue if I could've gotten to have sleepovers with my friends as a kid)), and a few months back I had to fight to even be allowed out of the house to go for short walks around the neighborhood on my own? As an at-the-time 19 year old, so, a legal adult? When our neighborhood is pretty safe and quiet? And the reasoning she always gives is "what if something happens to you?" which...well, considering that a few of the suspected alters appear to me as inmates in a prison, I think speaks volumes about how I feel about all of this treatment.

I suppose I want to close this out with a question of sorts here, relating to your post about abusive parents separating kids from human rights -- number 10 on that list is "They threaten you with court, institutions and government", and it reminded me of how as a kid, if ever I was crying too loud or screaming or yelling, I was always told to keep it down in case the neighbors called CPS (well, my country's equivalent anyways), it was always framed that if CPS were called for then they'd come and take me away, that I wouldn't get to keep any of the things that my parents got for me, that I'd be sent to live with strangers, it was always made out as this extremely bad, extremely scary thing that had to be Avoided At All Costs because We're Not Abusive But If You Don't Shut Up The Neighbors Will Think We Are, and...I suppose I'm just trying to figure out if that falls into that category? I've just been very confused about it ever since I recalled it, and I can't figure out how I'm supposed to even interpret it, let alone feel about it.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, hope you have a good day :)

(🌟) (signing off so I can better identify the ask later)

Hey thanks for coming back and giving me feedback about the reply!

I'll respond to your question first: Yes, it does fall into that category, and I've been told the exact same things. My things will be taken away, I'll be sent off to live in a place of poverty with strangers where I will not be allowed to own anything and I won't have my own room, they would describe it as the worst possible thing that could happen to me and instruct me how to act so I would not get taken away. And of course when you're a child, you believe that and act like they tell you to, there's no way to know they're doing this to keep you in abuse.

it's really interesting how they all use almost identical tactics and it's only when we form a community and talk about these kinds of abuse and when they happen, that it makes sense and it becomes clear what they're trying to accomplish. I've been so scared of 'homes' for children all my childhood, only to find out later, that children raised there had way, and I mean WAY more things than I did, way more legal protection and their every need paid for. I could not have imagined that. (I don't know if it works like that in every country though, apparently in my country it does.)

It makes sense for the physical abuse to stop at the age 13, you're about to remember things very well at that age, and about to learn how to fight back. They do not want a child who resists them.

The separation of the scapegoat and the golden child is usually stronger than any talent you might have. No matter what you did, you'd always be the scapegoat. And yes they love to show off and get attention even if it is from the scapegoat's accomplishments, but it's unlikely they'll ever acknowledge it to you, or start valuing you for that. Narcissistic abusers need a scapegoat and to them, this need comes first, before any needs of a child. I'm so sorry you felt like an outsider, your song feels very powerful and cuts to the point. It really is like you're somebody else's child, intruding into that house.

From what you're describing your mother is very set on discouraging you from getting a job, or even outright sabotaging you, attacking your confidence and making it clear that she doesn't think you can do it. She's also insisting you should exist only as a convenience and resource for the rest of them. She's doing those things because she's scared of you succeeding and getting free, then you could talk about the abuse freely, and they could do nothing to you. I'm so glad you have a partner and a possibility of escape, I hope you make it, and manage to distance yourself completely from parents who treated you so unfairly and cruelly.

I'm sorry about the dissociative symptoms, it's definitely worth looking further into that, lost memories, being unable to put events together, these are dissociative symptoms. Here's a link where you can read more about the symptoms and see if anything clicks. (it's just for dissociative disorders in general, not DID, if you think you have DID or OSDD, look for more resources please!)

[from-seas-to-skies]

The Teacher / Bakugou x Reader ♕︎

warnings: NSFW, teacher/student relationship, oral sex, spitting, sir kink, slut shaming, somewhat brat taming, age difference, unprotected sex

words: 5,772

(a/n): Bakugou is 30 in this; reader is younger (college age)

-

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

One, two, three, four… How long was it going to take until class ended again?

Looking up from your notebook, you stare up at the clock, the large, monotonous face seemingly glaring straight back at you. You don’t know how it happens, but time always moves so slow when it comes to your calculus class. Frankly, you’d rather ditch the class altogether, but if you wanted to graduate from college, you had to pass. Curse stupid curriculums and all that shit.

However, despite absolutely dreading having to stare at numbers for a solid hour and a half, there is a plus side to taking this dreaded class. In fact, it’s the very reason why you signed up for it in the first place. You’ve heard so many wonderful things about it, all from girls and guys alike, and you knew you had to see it up close and personal – rather, you had to see him.

Professor Bakugou.

Age thirty, drives a Land Rover, and, most importantly, single.

He’s about as dreamy as they come; a complete and utter Dreamboat Annie, absolutely huge in both height and stature, intelligent, and handsome. He’s only been a professor for a few years, but it’s been made apparent to the school that he’s worth it. Not only are his teaching methods and lectures incredible, but he’s turned out some of the highest grades your college has even seen. That itself is impress, and, combined with the hype of how hot he is, it’s no wonder people rush to take his classes.

So, when it came time for class schedules to come out, you were excited, needless to say. Despite having a general disliking to math in the first place, you figured this one guy could be what it takes to turn that idea around. Oh, but that was before you first laid your eyes on him.

Shit, you had heard that he was attractive – godly, even – but this? You weren’t expecting this. His biceps alone could crack a watermelon, and his sharp jawline could easily cut diamonds. It sounds cliché, that’s true, but you have no other way of putting it. Words did not do this man any justice.

At first, his constant yelling and crude demeanor were a total turn off. Professor Bakugou was essentially the teacher version of Gordon Ramsay, and you weren’t entirely sure if you liked that or not. However, as time continued, you actually grew accustomed to it. In fact, if he didn’t yell at least once during the class, you’d immediately figured he was having a bad day.

That’s when the thoughts began. Call it infatuation, a mindless crush, whatever, but you wanted Professor Bakugou. Your eyes soon began to watch his large hands flex while he wrote on the board rather than the content itself. You’d watch his forearms flex while he turned the page in his textbook, prominent veins inviting you for a better look. How you longed to touch him, to grab his sturdy shoulders or pull his wild hair. He always looked so good, clothes tailored to fit his muscular frame perfectly.

You’d fantasize about the most random of scenarios, each of them usually ending up with him bending you over his desk at the front of the room. You liked colder days the best, especially since Professor Bakugou had the habit of wearing form-fitting sweaters that outlined his massive pecs or the swell of his arms. You wanted to make him feel better, to sit underneath the desk and suck him off while he taught the rest of the class. Those narrow hips had to be strong, and you’d be damned if you never got to experience their power at least once.

It’s almost as if Professor Bakugou had cast a spell over all of his students. Nearly all of them gushed about how great he was; and, if you were in the proper company, they exchanged fantasies or proclamations about how fucking gorgeous he was. You’d usually grow bitter at these types of conversations. It was a crush, for fuck’s sake. There was no need to get all pouty like some problematic schoolgirl.

Still, the thoughts wouldn’t go away, not when he taught, not when he yelled. His booming voice became a part of your wicked fantasies, wondering how it’d sound to hear him grunting your name or commanding you to spread his legs for him. Again and again, you told yourself that it was fine, that people develop crushes on their teachers all the time. It was only in the dead of night that you’d have your hand stuffed down your pants and mouth moaning his name into a pillow was when you regretted it. It was a phase, nothing more.

And yet, over two months into the semester, and these thoughts still won’t go away. The constant ticking of the clock brings you back down to Earth, your eyes focusing on the problems before you. Swallowing thickly, you loosen your hand, now just noticing how hard you’ve begun to clench your pencil. Your insides feel oddly warm, that pleasant, heavy feeling sitting behind your belly button. Dammit, you mentally curse, this is not the time to be getting distracted.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

If only class could end sooner.

“Right,” Professor Bakugou suddenly says from his desk, “this Friday, I’m holding a study session for the upcoming exam on Monday. There’s only going to be a limited number of seats available, so if you wanna join, here’s your chance.” With his words, he holds a blank sheet of notebook paper up, a rather bored expression on his face.

He must be tired, you think, unconsciously biting your bottom lip. But why?

Around you, students shuffle to the front of the class, waiting for a chance to scribble their names onto the paper. Some seem a bit more excited than others, obviously arching their backs or flipping their hair over their shoulders. With a scoff, you look back down to your work. Did they really think they could catch his attention like that? Yeah, so he doesn’t show off a ring on his finger, but it’s pretty likely that he has people throwing themselves at him all the time. Besides, Professor Bakugou is a strict guy; there’s no way he’d engage in a relationship with a student.

You really shouldn’t be getting your hopes up. It’s pointless to pine after your teacher like that, especially with the risks that come along with getting involved with each other. Still, you can’t help but feel bitter. Professor Bakugou is a god that walks amongst men, so how could you not want somebody like him?

“Alright, that’s all for today. Class dismissed,” Professor Bakugou calls out. Dammit, you spaced out again. Maybe you should get that checked out?

With a sigh, you stuff your belongings into your backpack and draw to a stand. You wish it would be spring already; trudging through snow and ice is never fun, and the fact that your dorm is basically on the other side of campus makes it even more rough. Pulling your coat on and slinging your backpack over your shoulders, you make way towards the classroom door, completely unaware of a set of eyes watching your every move.

-

“Man, this is impossible,” your best friend, Ashido Mina, groans. “I’m going to bomb this exam for sure!” Sprawled out on her stomach, she squirms on the floor, her face scrunching with her displeasure.

You, on the other hand, sit cross-legged across from her. Notebooks and math textbooks surround the two of you, your laptop and calculator at the ready. Bags of chips and pretzels sit to the side, along with abandoned coffee cups and empty water bottles. Professor Bakugou’s exams were notorious for being hard, but at the same time, if you payed attention in class and studied, you’d succeed. The thing is, though, that neither you nor Mina are the best when it comes to math.

“I thought you went to his study session?” you ask, glancing up from your own notebook.

Flashing you a pout, Mina nervously runs a hand through her fluffy hair. “Well, yeah, but you know how it goes! A secluded area with Professor Bakugou! It’s like a dream come true! It was hard to focus when he’s leaning over your shoulder like that…”

Rolling your eyes, you puff in amusement. “Really? Mina, you know what will happen if you fail this test.”

“Yeah, yeah, but come on! You can’t blame me! You would’ve done the exact same thing!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh yes you would’ve!” Mina exclaims, pointing an accusing finger your way. “Don’t pretend like you don’t ogle Professor Bakugou during class! He’s one hell of a hunk, isn’t he? I never knew college professors could be so hot!” she gushes, a giggle following her words. “And that study session – oh my god, I nearly thought I was going to heart attack when he helped me solve this one problem. He’s so warm and he smells great!”

You cock an eyebrow at her. “You were smelling our teacher?”

At that, Mina blows a raspberry and waves a dismissive hand. “I’m not Kaminari, sweetheart. I have class. Besides, Professor Bakugou smells like caramel. Can you believe it? I wonder if he uses cologne or feminine soap.”

Caramel, eh? Now that’s something you can get behind.

“You want him to fuck you, right?”

Wait, what?

Narrowing your gaze at her, your brows knit closely together. “What kind of question is that?”

Mina rolls her eyes. “What, like you don’t think about it? Practically everyone on this campus has thought about it at some point or another? I mean, hello! He’s totally Daddy material. I’ve heard that he goes to the gym sometimes here on campus – turns out he’s huge.”

Huge. Of course this is what Mina chooses to focus on. You wish you had a spray bottle to squirt at her horny ass.

“And I don’t mean muscle wise,” Mina continues, a mischievous expression coming to her face. “I bet he tastes like candy.”

“Mina.”

“Why yes, Mr. Bakugou sir! I’ll gladly suck your fat cock for an A!”

“Mina.”

“His ass is really nice, too. I wouldn’t mind pegging him-“

“MINA.”

“What?”

You smack your forehead and groan as your hand trails down your face. “Are you going to study or not? I don’t know about you, but I’d rather graduate than work at McDonald’s for the rest of my life.”

Mina purses her lips at you in an excessive pout. “You’re such a fun sponge, holy shit. I think you need a good dicking down by Professor Bakugou. Maybe then you’d stop staring after him all the time during class.”

Your face heats up at her words, but there’s no way you’re owning up to that. Okay, so yeah, maybe getting fucked by him would be a dream come true, but you’re more realistic than that. “And you’re not concerned at all that he’s our teacher? You know, like he could lose his job and you could be expelled? That doesn’t bother you? At all?”

Mina shrugs. “Meh.”

“Woooow…. You really are shameless.”

“Hey, you win some, you lose some. If I could get that man to put a ring on my finger, then I’d be okay with it.”

“Yeah, because you definitely want to bring your math professor home. Uh huh, great one. Tell me how that goes.”

With a grunt, Mina rolls over and sits up. “Whatever, man. I’m hungry, so I’m going to go down to the dining hall. Wanna come with?”

Glancing at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand, you see that it’s only 5:15. True, you could get a bite to eat, but you’d rather stay back and finish a few more problems. “I think I’ll join up with you later,” you tell Mina.

She nods her head and offers you a small smile. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.” Gathering up her things, she unceremoniously shoves them into her backpack and salutes you with a goodbye. After she pulls the door shut behind her, you turn back to the task at hand.

It shouldn’t be this hard to solve these last couple of problems, but your brain is really starting to feel the struggle. A dull ache is already forming between your eyeballs, and you truly wonder if you’re going to make it through this or not. Maybe you should take a break, or at least give your eyes a rest. Still, that little stubborn streak in you tells you to carry on. You only have a few more problems left, and you’re so close to finally finishing!

As you set to work, the digits on your alarm clock change as time drags on. Okay, so maybe you’re demanding too much of yourself. Your brain is absolutely fried, and your headache is spreading. Glancing back up at the clock, luminous green lines glare a 5:31. Jeez, it’s only been sixteen minutes since you last checked, yet it seems as though hours have passed. You really want to finish this study session, but the last problem is throwing you in for a loop.

You’ve already scoured your notes and the textbook for how to go about the problem, but your mind is drawing up with a blank. It has to be because you’re tired, right? It’s not that hard… Or is it?

“Dammit,” you mutter, sitting back and pressing your palms flat against the floor. Again, you look at the clock. Frankly, you don’t want to spend all night pouring over this, and you don’t want to skip dinner, either. You know for a fact that Mina will beat your ass for skipping out on food. “Screw it.”

Scrambling off the floor, you throw a thick coat on and slide on your sneakers. Professor Bakugou sometimes has the habit of frequenting his office during the weekends (or so you’ve heard), and you desperately need to know how to solve this problem. Chances are something similar will be on the exam, and you want to get as good of a grade as possible. Plus, if he is there…

You swallow thickly. Now is not the time to let Mina’s previous words get to you.

And so, with your notebook tucked underneath an arm, you take off.

It’s a damned shame that his office is practically on the other side of campus, but you figure it wouldn’t be too bad to get your body moving after spending so much time hunched over. Now that you think about, you could just email him, but you’re not sure how quick he’d respond. This is a dire moment. Okay, maybe not, but still. Maybe you want to see Professor Bakugou. Maybe.

You’re thankful when you finally enter the building, free of the flurries of snow and the seeping chill. Stomping your feet free from snow, you look around, creeped out yet fascinated by the silent, empty halls. You doubt very many people are here besides lingering staff and the janitors. One could only hope that Professor Bakugou is frequenting his office.

As you draw closer and closer to his office, your footsteps bounce off the walls, reminding you of how alone you are. There’s a fifty/fifty chance that he’s even going to be in his office, yet your heart pounds frantically in your chest. If he isn’t there, you’ll just simply turn around and stalk back to your dorm and hope for the best. If he is there, well, you’re not entirely sure what you should say.

He’s your teacher, dammit. It shouldn’t be this hard going up to him and asking him for help. It’s literally his job to help students out; nothing more, nothing less. Still, Mina’s words ring throughout your mind. It’s just a crush, you remind yourself. Stop getting so worked up about it.

There it is, just straight up ahead – Professor Bakugou’s office.

Like the other offices lining the hall, it’s made from a heavy wood, a frosted window place in the top half with Professor Bakugou’s name printed on it. A simple door like this shouldn’t intimidate you so much, but yet it does. All you have to do is knock on it, wait for a possible response, and then go from there. However, now that you’re in front of it, you somewhat hope he’s not there. Your palms are growing clammy and your throat feels fuzzy.

“Here goes nothing,” you tell yourself, reaching up and rapping on the door.

For a moment, nothing happens. Perhaps Lady Luck has decided to spare some mercy on you, after all. Releasing a pent-up breath you didn’t know you were even holding, you prepare to step back and walk away, but then a muffled come in sounds through the door.

Oh, shit.

You wince as your cowardice floods you with a renewed force. There’s no way you can just leave now, not if you want Professor Bakugou potentially chasing you down. Taking in a deep breath, you turn the brass knob and poke your head inside. “Uh, Professor Bakugou?”

Oh, shit.

There he is, sitting behind an oak desk, hunched down over a stack of papers. He holds up a single finger, a signal for you to give him a moment. Immediately, your eyes skim over his exposed forearms, skim over the tight black turtleneck that fits him like a glove. Rolled sleeves, watch on wrist, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose, he’s just dripping with classy sexiness.

The steady tick tock, tick tock fills the otherwise silent room. It grates on your already wired nerves, mocks you for just standing there, waiting. You can’t help but glance at its face – 5:49. It’s already dark out, winter’s everlasting darkness sapping the Earth’s light. Stepping fully inside the room, you gently shut the door behind you, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

After another moment or so, he finally clicks his pen closed, tosses it onto the desk, and leans back in his chair. “Oi – what do you want?”

Removing your notebook from underneath your arm, you hold it out for him to take. “I was… I was wondering if you could explain how to work out this problem?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Professor Bakugou sits upright and glances at what you’ve written. “We discussed this during the study session on Friday.” His eyes dart up to yours. “I’m surprised you weren’t there.”

Is he singling you out right now? It feels like he’s singling you out right now. But wait, doesn’t that also mean that he noticed you not being there? He’s just saying that to say it, right? …Right?

“There was a lot on my mind,” you say softly.

Professor Bakugou sighs. “Alright, come here.” Maybe it’s the gruffness of his voice, but the simple command nearly has you whimpering on the spot. Jesus, you need to get your act together!

“Of course, sir,” you reply, the title subconsciously rolling off your tongue. Skirting around the desk, you come to his side, unaware of him shifting in his seat.

“It’s really not that hard if you put your damned brain to use,” he grunts, picking his pen back up. You notice how the tendons in his hand flex with the subtle movement; actually, now that you’re up close in personal, you can clearly see the veins racing up his forearms, the sheen of blond hairs.

Warmth seems to radiate off of him, just like how Mina said. You wonder if he gets hot easily, or if that’s just the way he is. Either way, you shimmy the slightest bit closer to him, eager to ward off the chill that still clings to you from the outside. He goes into great detail about how to go through each step surrounding the problem; you lean over his shoulder as he goes through the steps, the heat emanating from his skin drawing you in more and more. With each breath, the scent of caramel floods your senses. You’re almost half tempted to press your nose to his nape and get a better smell, but that’d just be creepy. Plus, even if you did that, Professor Bakugou could probably pick you up and literally throw you out of his office.

Still, despite knowing the risk, your mind takes off, just like it usually does whenever you’re in his presence. It would just be so easy to squeeze his thick arms, to run your fingers through his thick blonde hair. Maybe you could push the collar of his turtleneck down, expose his neck and bite the pulse. It’s almost ridiculous just how big he is, how easily he could overpower you. A familiar warmth floods your system, encasing your insides and clutching onto your heart. This is bad – very, very bad.

“Oi, what the hell are you staring at?” Professor Bakugou barks.

Snapping yourself back to attention, you notice him staring at you, his glasses now off his handsome face. If possible, he’s even more attractive up close; thick lashes, full lips, a slight gleam in his eyes that demand power and control. He almost looks entirely different like this, face lax instead of fixed with a scowl. Good lord, you really are whipped for him.

“Oh, um, sorry,” you ramble, eyes going wide. “It’s just that your hair looks really… fluffy…?”

“…Hah?”

You quickly avert your eyes. “Nevermind…”

“You know,” Professor Bakugou starts, voice low, “you stare at me a lot during class, too. You’re not very subtle.”

You wince at his words. “I… I’m not sure what you’re talking about-“

Rolling his eyes, he scoffs and tosses down his pen. “You’re not majoring in theatre, are you? Because you suck at acting.” He flashes you a cocky smirk when you look back to him. “Just admit it – you like what you see, don’t ya? Can’t say I blame you.”

Okay, wow, cocky much. Yeah, sure, he’s an absolute babe, but wouldn’t you think he’d be a bit more… modest?

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Didn’t know my math professor thought so highly of himself.”

“Tch. Looks like you got a damn mouth on you, after all. Well, if you’re done undressing me with your eyes, do you want to learn how to do this problem or not? I don’t like repeating myself, but I’ll let it slide just this once since I like you.”

Wait, wait, hold up. Did he just say he likes you?

“You’re a good student,” Professor Bakugou continues. “Even if you do focus on me more than my lecture.”

Is this how the conversation was supposed to play out? Because damn you’re nearly shaking, and you still have your coat on. He knows too much, dammit. He’s known this entire time and he’s playing you.

“And yet you could’ve easily told me to stop,” you shoot right back, sick of being prosecuted like this. Sure, it might be a bad idea to pick a fight with a teacher, but this is outside of classroom hours; and, frankly, he can kiss your ass. Crude demeanor or not, you’re not about to let this man push you around.

“Who said I wanted you to stop?”

No. There’s no way he just said that. This big-headed narcissist is relishing in this, isn’t he? Bastard.

“Hate to break it to you, Professor, but almost everyone stares at you like that,” you tell him. You realize you just admitted it to the accusation, but there’s no point in defending it anymore.

“Like I give a shit about the others? Really? You’re gonna talk about them?” He scoffs his amusement and leans back in his chair, thick arms crossing over his chest. “Did you come here to ask me questions about the exam or did you just want to be with me all by yourself?”

You hesitate. Is that really the reason you came here tonight? The whole way here you debated this yourself, Mina’s words circling around your head. No, you’re smarter than this. It’s a bad idea to get involved with a teacher – it’s wrong.

“I’m not going to lie or deny the truth,” Professor Bakugou continues, his voice dropping to an uncharacteristically low pitch. “I’m also not stupid. You’re just as scared as me, aren’t you? Of the repercussions.”

Your mouth falls agape. What is he going on about…?

Slowly, Professor Bakugou sits back up, his face getting dangerously close to yours. Hot breath fans over the bottom half of your face. His eyes are heavily lidded, his lashes kissing his cheeks. “I’m not going to force anything on you,” he murmurs. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Oh my god.

Unable to resist the close proximity anymore, you shoot forward, your hands landing on the arms of the chair; Professor Bakugou’s lips are softer than you anticipated, but in no way is he gentle. Right away he’s clutching the back of your neck, dragging you forward so you’re settled on his lap. The arms of the chair pinch into your thighs at the tight fit, but you could care less. You’re on Professor Bakugou’s lap, you have his tongue in your mouth, his hands landing on your ass and kneading the flesh.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this forever,” he growls, his hands slipping under your shirt and gliding over your lower back. You arch into his touch, a breathless moan slipping past your lips.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you pant.

“I know.”

Fuck, it’s all so good, his tongue licking the inside of your mouth and hands unbuttoning your jeans. A startled noise erupts from your throat as a large hand slides into the front of your pants, cupping your crotch. You buck into his touch, all sense dissipating from your thoughts as you fervently grind into his heated palm. There’s a clutter of paper and office supplies as they hit the floor. Before you know it, you’re rising from the chair, your ass landing on the wooden desk instead.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” Professor Bakugou grits. Your ass is barely on the desk by the time he’s done dragging you forward, your jeans aggressively getting yanked off, your underwear following suit. Your thighs instinctively snap shut at the cold air making contact with your bared skin, but strong hands pry them apart, fingertips kneading into the flesh. “I wanna make you cum with my tongue.”

“Wai- Ah! Fuck!” you cry out, your fingers clutching onto the edge of the desk as his head ducks down, his mouth latching onto your sex. Until now, you weren’t even aware that you were dripping with arousal. Sinful noises spill from between your legs as Professor Bakugou fucks you with his mouth, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive parts.

“God, you’re such a slut.”

Smack.

You cry out as he brings a hand down on the innermost part of your thigh; your nerves quake, your blood pumps wildly through your veins. Again, he slaps your thigh, a growl tearing itself from his chest as he looks up, his eyes catching yours.

“Say it.”

Smack.

“I – I’m a slut,” you babble, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Smack.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m a slut!” you exclaim, voice cracking.

“I expect you to refer to me properly,” he says darkly, his pupils dilating to the point where you could barely see his irises. “Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

A single smirk is thrown your way before his mouth is back on you, his tongue lapping up your arousal. His moves are quick, sensual. It’s clear he’s experienced, and you don’t blame him. Just look at him for Christ’s sake. The man is basically sex on legs, all nicely wrapped up in a turtleneck sweater and a simple pair of slacks. The pleasure only heightens as his fingers come into play, prodding at your hole; the tips just barely push past the muscle, leaving you moaning even louder and clutching harder on the desk. Your fingernails scratch the surface, the lacquer coming off.

“Tasty little brat, aren’t ya?” he drawls. Your entire body jolts as he spits on your sex. “I could get used to doing this.”

“Please, sir,” you plead, desperation filling your voice. You want his mouth back on you. You want to cum. “Please, it feels so good…”

Professor Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Shit, you’re even obedient. How nice.” He redoubles his efforts, then, wet noises filling the room along with your heavy breathing.

“Shit, shit, oh my god,” you babble, your body tensing. Still, his tongue digs in just right and there goes your sanity, flying out the window as you cum.

A deep chuckle fills your ears as Professor Bakugou sucks it down; drawing away, he flashes you his tongue, your arousal coating his tongue before he makes a show of swallowing the last bit of it. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he draws to a stand. The tent in his slacks is obvious, the front of it darker than the rest. Your insides squeeze around nothing, the idea of making him get like that making you feel hotter than before.

You’re hypnotized as he pulls his hands away. His movements are slow and methodical, the clink of his belt echoing throughout the room. Swallowing thickly, you bite your lip as he leisurely undoes his belt and slacks. Blood rushes through your ears, your mind a complete mess. You feel dizzy with want, with the need to sink your teeth into the swell of his pectoral, to claw the plains of his back.

All the air is sucked from your lungs when he finally pulls his cock out, the head flushed a deep red. Your eyes trail over the prominent veins, the fat bead of precum pushing its way out the tip. Fuck, he’s huge, both in length and girth. Whoever told Mina that he was big wasn’t lying. Your legs subconsciously spread even wider, a silent plead for him to fill you up and fuck you raw.

“Tell me you want this,” he husks. He does the honor of unzipping your coat and slipping it off your shoulders before easing you onto your back. The cold from the wood permeates through your shirt, brings a new wave of goosebumps to your flesh.

“Only if you tell me the same thing,” you croak. “Do you fuck all of your students who walk in through that door?”

“No,” Professor Bakugou blatantly says, and you can tell he’s being earnest. “It’s wrong of me to think so, but I’ve been wanting to do something with you since I saw you. It sounds like some sappy bullshit, but it’s the truth. I was too much of a pussy to ask you out for a coffee.”

Something about hearing him confess his feelings to you sets your heart alight. A slight smile tugs at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Tch. And you’re a fucking brat.”

Hunching over you, a large hand plants itself by your head while the other guides his cock to your awaiting hole. A shaky breath passes through your mouth as he pushes himself in; the stretch burns, his thick cock filling you up in a way that you didn’t even know was possible.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathes. “Look at you, sucking in my cock like that. What a good little slut. I bet you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I bet you touched yourself while thinking about this very moment, about me fucking you on my desk like this.” A surprised squeak bursts from your throat as he grabs your legs and throws him over his shoulders, effectively bending you in half. “Gotta fuck you nice and deep, right? Because that’s how a slut like you likes it.”

Like this, with your knees almost touching your ears, the tip of his cock hits your soft spot. A pathetic whimper comes from you as he grinds his cock into you, his eyes carefully watching your erotic expressions, figuring out what you like best.

Before long, he’s fucking into with vigor, his hips moving restlessly. His cock pounds into you mercilessly, the slap of skin against skin mixing with your cries. His mouth is at your throat, teeth skimming your jugular before he latches onto your thundering pulse. You helplessly claw at his shoulders, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his shirt. You’re so fucking full, your velvety walls clamping around his cock selfishly. A blend of curses and yes, fuck, you fucking slut fill your ears; he’s panting hard, a slight chuckle breaking through every once in a while.

“Fucking let everyone know who’s fucking you this good,” he grits. “Jesus, look at the mess you’re making…”

“Professor Bakugou!” you whine. “Your cock feels so good… Fuck, fuck, oh my god, yes-“

“Katsuki. My name is Katsuki.”

Katuski.

The name rolls around your brain like a loose bolt. It settles on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be let out.

It’s when you cum that you shout his name, your walls tightening around him harshly while your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders. A load groan rumbles from the depths of his chest as he follows suit shortly after, his hips moving erratically as his cum splashes against your insides.

The both of you are sweating, panting messes by the time he finally pulls out. You whimper as you clench around nothing, the emptiness a bit too much to bear. Surprisingly, Professor Bakugou – no, Katsuki – is gentle as he cleans you up, his free hand rubbing your side. Swallowing your pride, you clear your throat.

His eyes flick up, land on yours. “What.”

“Do you…” You worry your bottom lip. “Do you want to get coffee sometime?”

Katsuki snorts. “Wow, got a real fucking charmer here, don’t I? How about you come to my place instead and I make you a proper dinner. You didn’t eat yet, did you?”

As if on cue, your stomach growls. Well, you did deny Mina’s offer for dinner, after all. You smile nervously and give him a shrug.

Chest swelling (with pride, you assume), Katsuki flashes you a cocky smile. “I’m a damn good cook, brat. I’ll cook a meal that will have you weak in the knees.”

“Maybe… Maybe you could finally show me how to do that problem?” you offer.

He rolls his eyes. “Will you finally pay attention this time or will I have to pound it into your brain?”

[sagabrielle]

Old Things from the Past (Captain Rex x Reader) Part Three

Part tres of my boy falling in love and being sad and literally not getting a break ever.

Part One Part Two

Warnings: None, I think.

Words: 2.6K (A bit short. Sorry)

Tatooine was, unfortunately, the best thing Rex could come up with. There were enough criminals there it would be easy to blend in, and the Troopers there were dull so they likely wouldn’t take notice of a clone. It was also home to a large mass of abandoned ships, and therefore it would be relatively easy to pick one and be off and far away as possible in no time. Given that everything went according to plan, which as of late, Rex was finding things weren’t doing so. In fact, all recent events had been strictly unplanned, and that only served to make the Captain uneasy. He always had a plan. Rex had to have a plan, or things would go south rapidly.

On the upside of everything, though, (Y/N) seemed genuinely excited to simply be on the journey with him. He wasn’t sure how she managed to find a thrill in running from the Empire, but he was glad she did because it was the only thing keeping him sane. Somebody had to enjoy all the chaos. She was happy to redress herself into clothes that culturally fit in with the inhabitants of Tatooine, and he watched as she scanned about the bustling streets, drinking in the new surroundings. Rex thought the planet was rather abysmal, but so far, she had only seen Nal Hutta and Vandor, two planets he wouldn’t call homey, or anything else nice.

“The shipyard is a bit more west, we should stick to back streets,” he said, nudging her towards an alley situated behind a few vendors. They would have to sneak past them without looking too suspicious, but Rex supposed that everyone looked suspicious in the city. He fixed his hat downwards, and made sure that (Y/N) was equally covered, and fixed course towards the alley. The vendor that blocked the way was selling jewelry. Most of it looked refined and the metal of it glimmered pleasantly in the bright light of the suns. Blue, green, and red gems littered the necklaces and bracelets, and it was surprising that something so nice looking was being sold on the street. Maybe it was stolen.

“I used to have a necklace that looked just like that,” (Y/N) said and Rex took pause to see what she was talking about. It was gold and the gems that lined it were a striking deep green color that reminded Rex of the forests of Kashyyyk. When worn it would be tight around the neck, most likely with the intent to extend the look of the neck. It was a common style forced onto slaves. “It was one of the few things they let me pick out. One of the days Mydin decided he liked me, I guess.”

“What happened to it?” Rex couldn’t think of anything else to say or ask other than that. The woman shrugged.

“Must have sold it for extra credits. Who knows, maybe that’s the same one,” she said through a light laugh. Rex didn’t laugh at that because he wasn’t entirely sure if she was making a joke or being cynical. It made him mad nonetheless. She had been deprived of any freedom and the one thing that had been hers was taken away in the end and sold. Everything that Rex knew and had been told about Mydin made his skin crawl, and he was becoming more settled with the fact that he was dead, and Rex had been the one to pull the trigger.

Rex was about to say more but the echo of a blaster came from down the street and he figured one of the Troopers was exercising their power over the civilians. He grabbed (Y/N)’s arm and was quick to tug her past the vendor and down the street before the Trooper got a good look at them. Luckily, the shipyard really wasn’t that far and the pair came to it rather quickly.

“That’s a lot of ships,” (Y/N) said in a hushed voice that was mostly to herself but Rex heard anyway.

“That’s better for us,” he said, and wasted no time and rummaging around the shipyard. There were truly numerous ships, and he wondered why the Empire even allowed it. It was spare parts galore, and anyone could simply walk up, hotwire a ship, and start blasting the nearest base with intact canons. It was practically begging for trouble. But then again, Rex was that person hotwiring a ship, with the very specific intent to cause trouble for the Empire. It was like they knew he was coming, and while it was mildly humorous it did serve to put him on edge. Why was it so easy?

There was an NU-Class Transport ship in almost perfect condition, and as he slid the panel from over the exterior control board open, he was in practical awe over the fact that this ship was in a junk heap, to begin with. It was near flawless. He figured that since it was Republic-grade that it must have been tossed to the side in favor of Imperial ships, which were admittedly much better in many aspects, but he struggled to understand why it was left out in the open. He scanned around the ship for obvious tracking devices, dents, missing parts, anything. When he came up with nothing he figured it was the go-ahead and opened the hanger door. It was a ship much more suited for two people, had laser canons, and had seemingly a functioning hyperdrive. The interior was a bit of a mess as if someone had gone on a rampage and threw things, but that was easily fixable and Rex was certainly not about to complain.

“Maker, there are actual beds,” (Y/N) said, letting herself fall onto one of the flat mattresses, the bunk creaking slightly under her weight. It was a strange transport craft. There were usually only seats where there were now three cots as if people had once lived here. Rex rummaged around for a moment and came to the conclusion that there were no rations left, and while that wasn’t particularly weird, it was strange considering all other circumstances as well.

“If I am being honest,” Rex said, eyes raking over the cockpit for any signs of damage, “It kind of seems like someone lives here.”

“Unfortunately for you,” It wasn't the sweet sound of (Y/N)’s voice, and Rex was quick to snap back around. It was a trooper, plain white plastoid, and the helmet that mimicked that of the Clones’. (Y/N) had been yanked up and pinned between the arm and the chest of the soldier, a blaster pressed to her temple. There was a grimace on her face, as if more tired than frightened. Rex was positive that he looked more scared than her. “That is true.”

The voice, despite it being filtered through the helmet, was the voice of a clone. It was unmistakable to Rex’s ears, and he could tell simply by the correct posture of the trooper that it was a clone and not merely an enlisted nobody. He wanted to be excited, relieved that he had found another one of his brothers, but currently, that brother had a blaster held to the head of his new companion, and that was simply unacceptable. If she was killed then the guilt would follow him forever, so whatever the move was that proceeded had to be calculated and careful.

Raising his hands where they would be visibly empty, Rex made it clear that he didn’t want to be a threat. It was slight relief that the woman seemed so unenthused with her current situation because if she had been scared it would have made this marginally more difficult.

“Brother,” he began, his voice even and steady, “What are you doing out here?” Rex tried to deviate from the situation at hand. Distract.

“I am not your brother,” the other clone spat, the helmet lowering, “And that is none of your concern.” It was as if venom was laced through every word he spoke.

“It is my concern. Your chip is my concern. You aren’t meant to be fighting for them, you aren’t meant to hold your weapon against civilians,” Rex said, and while he tried to remain calm, the rage that bubbled up in his chest made his voice waver. He wasn’t mad at his brother, of course, but simply the mere thought that thousands of his brothers were suffering the same fate. The other clone shook his head harshly and tightened a grip on (Y/N). Rex could feel himself tense up.

“You are in direct violation of Order 66,” he muttered the familiar words.

“That is what they told you. I know you don’t believe that.”

“You’re a deserter, Rex!”

He was jarred for a moment. Rex knew many clones, he had interacted with so many of his brothers, and he knew as Captain of the 501st, his name was known. But to hear his name, not his number, or his rank, caught him off guard.

“What’s your name, trooper?” Rex leveled his voice out once again as if his calmness had been renewed. He knew this clone. There was a long pause and he didn’t have to see his brother’s face to know he was struggling. He remembered that itch, that raw aching just past the very bone of his skull, how hard it had been to fight it.

“CC—argh!”

“Let me help you,” Rex said, “We can fix this. Just tell me your name, let her go, and we will leave.” It had to have been an enticing offer because it was as if the blaster had grown too heavy and his hand fell limply downward.

“3636.”

Wolffe. If Rex was being entirely honest, he was the brother he had been least expecting. Wolffe was a Commander or had been—his stationing on Tatooine was strange. Rex was relieved either way and watched as his brother’s head titled downward toward the ground. He was undoubtedly exhausted, abused by the Empire. It was becoming obvious to everyone that clones were being phased out, replaced with enlisted men and women. Clones were looked down upon, even more so than they already had been, and that faired horribly for his surviving brothers still under the influence of the chip.

Quickly, as to not be noticed, Rex made a grab for his blaster, switched it to stun, and watched with relief as his brother tumbled limply to the cool floor of the ship. (Y/N) shimmed from under his collapsing grasp and rushed to stand closer to Rex, which the Captain tried hard to not overthink about. There was a stunned silence that fell through the ship, a mix of tenseness and relief, and the feeling of pounding heartbeats against the insides of ribcages.

There were still so many questions to be asked. Why did Wolffe live on the ship? Did the rest of the Wolf pack make it? Why was a Clone Commander stationed on this karking planet? Every question just led to more anger in the pit of Rex’s stomach, unadulterated rage focused at the Empire. They had enslaved his brothers, and people like (Y/N), they reduced people down to nothing to make them pliable in their schemes of chaos and control.

“How are you going to fix him?” (Y/N) asked. Rex would be lying if he said her voice didn’t aid in calming him. He could feel his brows furrow, nose scrunched, lips pulled into a hard line. The response to her question hung in his mouth for a moment, not able to form a proper response, or words that were not bitter.

“Bracca,” was all he said. He hated that dump. “I need to tie him down.” He was being short, and he felt bad about it, but there was no time to waste. Wolffe would wake back up soon, and the Captain doubted his brother would be able to fight the chip off for a second time. Finding the proper tools to tie a large clone down was difficult, both with a lot of rope, and basically tying him to the wall of the ship, he figured it was well enough. At least, hopefully.

Rex moved to the cockpit, and racked his brain for any knowledge he had about NU-Class ships, before starting her up. She shook to life and eventually her panel lit up for the first time, in what was safe to assume, months. It was a bit dusty, the sand having managed itself into the interior of the ship where it gave everything a light brown tint. It was a near miracle that womp rats hadn’t made a home in the ventilation system.

A soft hand came to rest on his forearm, and Rex was relieved he had taken the upper half of his armor off, otherwise, he might not have noticed. Averting his gaze from the wide window, he looked to (Y/N) who wore such a soft expression, her eyes almost apologetic for some reason.

“Are you alright?” She asked, her voice low, as to not wake the stunned Commander. Rex had very rarely been asked that question in his life, and the few times he had, he had never known how to respond correctly. He could be honest and divulge an unsuspecting person deep into his conscious and tell them in detail all about how he really felt, or he could give a simple ‘Fine’ and have been done with it. The latter was always his go-to. But, that same feeling that had him feeling so perplexed on Vandor returned and he had no idea why he trusted this woman so much. It had been a fortnight now, and the two were friends in the lightest sense of the word. He enjoyed her company, and it seemed the feeling was returned in that way, but he realized that he trusted her with so much. He trusted her in his ship, accompanying him to new planets, telling her his plans. Rex wanted to slam his head against the panel.

“I am—” he said, having to turn his stare away from her. “I could be better.” Which was the most honest answer he could muster for the time being. She frowned at this, her mouth downturned. Rex would still feel her staring at him with almost too much intensity as if she was trying to read his mind.

“What would make you feel better?”

Rex hated that he was expected not to melt at that. No one had ever asked him that, not ever. His mouth gaped for a moment, having no clue how to answer such a simple question. In truth, he had no idea what would serve as a form of solace at this point. Everything and everyone was gone, and he was left with a random ship and his brother strapped to the damn wall behind him. It was almost comical how downhill everything had gone in mere hours after Order 66. Rex had no idea what would make him feel better.

Not to mention that he had no idea what he had done to deserve the kindness of the woman who sat beside him. She was so normal, despite everything. She was calm and caring for some reason, and Rex really couldn’t begin to comprehend how. There had just been a blaster shoved to the side of her skull and she hadn’t so much as made a noise, she had never complained about the small space of the last ship, and seemed content with going wherever Rex set course for.

“Getting my brother back,” he said, nodding toward Wolffe. (Y/N) nodded and the ghost of a smile pulled at her lips.

“Then let’s go,” she said, and Rex set course for Bracca again.

Tags: @darwindrawz @pinkiemme @sexy-rex @starwarsmeninhelmets (Sorry if I missed anyone!)

[josefavomjaaga]

Marie Louise on the road (11)

We’re quickly approaching the end of Marie Louise’s diary, I fear. This is probably the pre-to-last installment.

Thursday, May 10th

I did not wake up on the 10th until noon, and the Emperor pleasantly surprised us by saying that he wanted to take us out at 2 o'clock to see the ocean. [He gave us an appointment at the Haag fort at three o'clock]. The Queen of Westphalia kept me waiting for more than an hour, which caused me to be at least as impatient as she was. I was so angry thinking of the anger the Emperor would have against me if I did not arrive, that I was in a bad mood all day.

This reminds me of an unusually harsh letter Duroc wrote a couple of weeks earlier to somebody about how a particular task needed to be accomplished faster, because if it didn’t »this will put His Majesty in a bad mood, and he will take it out on me again.« - It seems Marie Louise had already joined all the other people trembling before the imperial master and his whims. (Lannes, you’re missed!)

I am usually a good person, perhaps too weak, [...]

Perhaps.

[...] but when I get angry (as I very rarely do), I am perhaps much meaner than other women. [...]

We arrived at four o'clock at the Fort of Haag, behind which are the dunes. These are sand hills of various shapes. In spite of that, we could see the little points of the masts which told us that the sea was not far away. As I was very impatient at not being able to see it at once, whilst we waited, we had some cream given to us, which is excellent in this country, and which is kept in green bottles of a singular composition.

So, what do you do to distract the kids if they don’t stop asking »Are we there yet?« Give them a treat. Apparently in Marie Louise’s case, it worked.

The Emperor wanted to show us the ocean at once, but the dunes were impassable at that place, and we were obliged to mortify our impatience by taking another two-hour drive to find a place where we could climb. At last we found it and I was very surprised to find my leg buried halfway in the sand. Each step cost us so much effort, but it was nothing for such intrepid travellers as we were, so we were well rewarded by the beautiful view we discovered when we reached the top of the hills.

We saw the ocean, which appeared as a huge surface of water bounded only by the horizon. The sun was setting, colouring the sea like a rainbow. In the distance we saw a few fishing boats returning from their journey, protected by a sloop. They are obliged to send one with them, for the English permit themselves to abuse the poor when they take their fish and do not pay them. The sea was very calm, except on the shore where it broke with quite some force against the rocks.

I’ve quoted this paragraphie in its entirety because I think Marie Louise’s excitement at seeing the sea really comes across here. You can really tell how enchanted she is. And you have to admit that, for once, Napoleon has been very considerate towards the ladies in taking them on such a delightful pleasure tri...

The Emperor had maps brought to him and conferred with the engineers.

Oh. Okay then.

The Queen of Westphalia and I amused ourselves by collecting the shells that covered the shores of the sea. There were some charming ones, but it is said that those of the Mediterranean and the Indies are infinitely more beautiful. The shells, together with the unhealthy air, caused me, thanks to the King's malice, three attacks of fever.

I’m not sure what she’s referring to here. »Le Roi«, the King, could only mean Jérôme. But I’m unsure what he has to do with it, unless Marie Louise means that it had been him who had prevented Catherine from showing up on time, thus causing her to be in a bad mood and all out of breath all day.

But Jérôme is not the only one to play tricks on unsuspecting empresses:

In the midst of our amusement, I saw that the Viceroy and the Duke of Istria [Eugène and Bessières] looked at us in a very peculiar manner, and laughed at us a lot. I did not have time to ask them why when the sea came in with such force, faster than we could flee, and drenched us to our knees. Fortunately it returned as quickly as it had come. They explained to us that this was the ordinary effect of the tide, but the gentlemen might well have been gallant enough to warn us in advance.

Can anybody else picture those two overgrown schoolboys standing on the dune, looking down on the beach, grinning from ear to ear and waiting for the first large wave to come in (»Three - two - one - YES!«), before dutifully hurrying to the ladies' rescue once those were properly drenched? (»Gotta wait until the damsel is truely in distress before showing up as her knight in shining armour, that's how it works.«)

We abandoned our search and went to ask the Emperor for permission to change. The answer was »stay, ladies, this bath will do you good«, and he made us wait until eight o'clock. [...]

And here we go again. The master has spoken.

[thefemdomenchantress]

The Enchantress: the Century Woman

The hero has a specific maneuver for whenever he encounters a sudden possible threat. He does not react offensively, not willing to bear the tragedy of slaying somebody who meant no harm. He simply raises his shield in a manner that anybody would recognize as a threatening way. This defensive maneuver protected him if the possible threat was, indeed, a threat, but allowed non-combatants a chance to explain themselves.

This maneuver was not perfect as it was still possible to interpret the raising of the shield as a promise of battle, but nine times out of ten it prevented an unnecessary fight against a non-combatant.

This time, however, the noncombatant...attacked.

The hero has spent ten minutes fighting the being: a humanoid woman twice as tall as any man. A creature the hero has never seen before in his travels...

Her visage is unnerving. Eyes larger than normal. Her hair silver, but with bright orange ends, and a some evidence of blue strands. Large shoulders beneath her gown of royal blue, and large tentacles for arms that she uses to bludgeon the hero around the abandoned house. Instead of buttons or lace the front of her gown seems a sideways jaw full of sharp fangs. The rare moments the hero got to see her legs beneath her full length gown he saw two long, muscular thighs and calves.

But her voice... her voice is that of a regular woman in her fifties or so. Her cries of battle hold no malice, only fury.

The hero would parry and escape her blows, but he finds himself unable to harm her. His instincts tell him she is fighting out of fear and indignity. He is an intruder, after all.

Hero: Please! Let’s stop fighting! I’m sorry for intruding, I was only here on a job!

The blows stop. The creature woman looks at him. The hero lowers his sword, but does not leave himself unprotected. His shield remains up.

Hero: Recently... the will of the owner of this estate, a duke who died one year ago, has been read. His family was shocked that this summer villa was left not to his descendants but to an unknown woman. I was hired by the family to investigate...

The large eyes of the creature grow at the mention of the duke.

Hero: . . . Is the woman you?

The creature nods. The hero lowers his sword slightly.

Hero: . . . You’re a shape shifter?

She nods again. She sits down on a tall desk, letting documents drop to the floor. It creaks slightly against her weight. She mutters...

Shape Shifter: My lord... left me this house...

Hero: He also left you four hundred silk bills. Enough to live on for quite some time...

The shape shifter looks up at the hero.

Shape Shifter: Money, too? I’m...

She sobs into her tentacles. She seems so human despite her appearance. The hero places his sword against the wall and reaches for a pouch full of money. He approaches the shape shifter but she is too distracted to take the money

Hero: . . .My lady. . . Just to clear things up, may I ask. . . What is your relationship to the late duke and his family?

She calms down, although her story is told between sobs.

Shape Shifter: I have no... no relationships to his family... They have no knowledge of me... I... I was... His alone...

She stands up and ceases her crying. She looks down at the hero.

Hero: This form... is it your original form?

Shape Shifter: No. I am a century changeling. An immortal race who live our eternal lives in one hundred year cycles. At the beginning of each of our one hundred years we take new shapes... But I can not change perfectly. With each form we take there are parts we cannot discard until the end of the century, where we shed our old forms and begin anew...

Hero: Then what is this form?

The changeling smirks.

Shape Shifter: Would you believe me if I told you that fifty years ago I took the form of a regular woman? I was homeless and the duke found out about my race. He took me in, allowed me to stay in this estate, as long as he lived. All he wanted out of me... was my body...

Hero: You... were his mistress...

Shape Shifter: You’re too flattering. He treated me as more of a concubine... Not that I minded...

The hero cannot believe the story. But the way the tall changeling towers over him... Her strange large shoulders were off putting at first, but now that she stands over him they make her look regal...

Her gown is modest, but he notices her rather large bosom...

But everything else! The large eyes... The tentacles... The teeth dress...

Shape Shifter: You have questions... At first he was a plain man... But soon he began to realize the potential of my powers in our sex lives...

Hero: Oh Gods...

Shape Shifter: You know how bizarre men can get. Vanilla sex began to bore him after our first ten years together... He had wants, and needs. I was a good concubine. With just a little encouragement and prying I made him admit some of his fetishes. They were tame at first... He wanted me taller... Shapely, muscular thighs... But as he grew bolder his fetishes morphed. Encouraged by my shape shifting, he wanted stranger things. Tentacles. Technicolor hair...

Hero: That’s almost reasonable compared to the... the um...

Shape Shifter: The dress? Yes, for some reason he wanted my gowns to “swallow him” into sex. Strange and perverse, but I complied.

The changeling’s dress mouth “opens up,” revealing her shapely nude body beneath. The sight causes the hero’s imagination to stir. He shifts awkwardly, hoping the shape shifter does not notice.

Shape Shifter: At first my shoulders were just a natural consequence to support the tentacles, but he soon wanted me to keep them... I never understood that. I suppose it was in fashion for queens and princesses to wear padding beneath their shoulders a few decades ago. He must have been watching those royal dames... The dirty old pervert...

She pronounces “pervert” with a strange fondness...

Shape Shifter: With each strange fetish my body was permanently changed. Large eyes, small fangs, a long dextrous tongue... Now I have become... THIS as a result. I did this all for him, but I was fine. I was fine because he loved it. He lavished my body with praise, and drew such satisfaction from it, and I felt loved. And now he’s gone, and I’m stuck like this.

She wraps her body with her tentacles, as though ashamed... And although she is crying and the hero desperately wishes otherwise, her monstrous form has begun to captivate him...

Her shapely hips, her bright eyes, the handsome curvatures of her mature and aged face...

And as for the parts of her that are not human...

her tentacles are thick and powerful...

her height so domineering...

her bizarre dress that opens and closes like a mouth, so dangerous and yet there was something exciting and arousing at how it can turn from modest but form fitting to lewd and revealing... and could gobble him up...

the shape of her large, muscular shoulders were the hardest to latch onto, but the hero has found himself aroused even by them, longing to touch them...

Shape Shifter: I can’t leave this house! I can’t change into something normal now. I’m trapped. Even with the money he’s left me. For a year I came close to cursing his name. How could I not? I never knew he cared enough about me to mention me in his will... I...  There’s no one out there who could appreciate this body but him... No one can love this bundle of strange, ghastly fetishes... My only hope being that it is almost time for my form to renew...

The hero’s body seems to disagree. Behind his shield he hides a barely controlled erection. He takes a step back, praying she will not notice... Notice that he is weakening...

Hero: I’m sure it’ll all work out...

Not good. The changeling looks down at the hero. She noticed the nervousness in his voice. Her tentacles unravel around her body, her gown opens slightly. She approaches him...

Shape Shifter: Young man...

Her tentacle easily whips his shield away... He tries to hide but she holds him still... She gets a good look at his blushing face... and very visible lump in his pants...

Shape Shifter: It can’t be...

The hero can see her nude body within the toothy split of her dress... The duke must have at one point had normal desires, as her breasts are large, though they droop and there are visible veins like any regular human at a certain age. But they are still beautiful...

Her waist is large and round...

Her legs are muscular as tree trunks.

The hero is utterly captivated. The changeling’s “grotesque” and “inhuman” face that he once feared looks down at him. There is a light smirk, a brightness in her large eyes...

Shape Shifter: Young man... please take off your clothes...

The hero’s panic and attempt to flee is short lived as the tentacles bind around his limbs tight. He can’t resist as she pulls him closer... Her dress’s mouth opens wide and he sees her bare body.

Shape Shifter: I can’t believe you, boy... You’re just as depraved as my young lord, and at such a young age...

She pulls his face to hers and kisses him. Her long and dexterous tongue invades him and it is wonderful. He squeals in protest, but also in passion.

Her tentacles pull his pants down, his shirt off... His belt falls to the ground with a clunk of tools and coin pouches. His light armor and trousers as well. His bare body is pulled toward the grotesque and horribly arousing body.

He passes through the dress’s jaw. The teeth, although sharp, are pointed inward. His restrained body comfortably slips right in, but could never get out. He ceases struggling, partly to avoid being hurt by the fearsome gown mouth, but also because his entire front half is pressed against the shape shifter’s gorgeous feminine body and he can think no more...

Her breasts smother him, his cock pointed to the side, pressed against her crotch, his balls bullied and teased by the tips of her tentacles... She allows his hands to cling to her muscly shoulders. He can feel the smooth skin, the hills of strong muscles...

Finally, she lets his cock slip into her vagina.

But it feels different... the inside of her vagina is... tighter. Tighter than normal... And ribbed... And her hips begin to vibrate inhumanly fast... She whispers into his ears...

Shape Shifter: Oops... I did not mention, did I? As he grew older his cock needed more... support...

The hero is not paying any attention as he is too busy screaming in ecstasy...

But she slows down before he cums...

Shape Shifter: How resilient are you, boy?

She looks down at his face half buried in her cleavage. His eyes, moist from passion, meets hers. Large, wide, and bright. He becomes lost in them.

Shape Shifter: It doesn’t matter... I’ll make you last.

She brings her prisoner up to the bedrooms.

*** *** ***

It is mostly riding. Her heavy weight atop his small human body, her form expertly molded to squeeze pleasure out of an old man... The hero’s young and perfectly virile body stood no chance.

She pries out his fetishes, his secrets, and takes advantage. Her strange, seemingly disgusting body, is a perfect match for his repressed imagination... Binding tentacles, a hungry gown, and mighty muscles... The hero is defeated against all of these.

Her vagina feels like a sex toy, designed for pleasure. But make no mistake, it is fully sensitive and she feels everything. In fact, she cums more than he does. She does not let him become too excited, letting him orgasm at the end of one hour long cycles of play.

They have sex long into the night, all the way to morning...

*** *** ***

The hero is exhausted, his eyes open with difficulty. She strokes his hair lovingly with her tentacle...

Shape Shifter: I didn’t believe there was a man in the world who would get hard for me like this... let alone one so passionate...

She chuckles.

Shape Shifter: I almost don’t want to let you leave.

She stands up. The hero watches as she retrieves the bag of money she inherited. She smiles at him.

Shape Shifter: Boy... tell the family of my lord they may have this house. I will need it no longer. I’ll be taking the money, however.

Her body begins to glow as bright as fire.

Shape Shifter: Thank you. For letting this form experience lust one last time.

There is a prolonged flash, and then it dies down. Her body is the size of a normal human now. She is silvery, with no face aside from two glowing eyes. Featureless and sexless and beautiful. Holding her pouch of in her hand she gives a curt nod and walks toward the exit.

The century changeling leaves to begin its next century.

The End

***

[This is how I picture sex with an alien would be like]

[lochrannn]

AU_gust: Chefs n’ Gangs

Read on AO3

CW: Canon-typical violence, implied sexual content

Prompt no 31: Any two of the above

Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts

Characters: Diego Hargreeves, Lila Pitts

-

Diego was enjoying himself at Les Parapluies.

He hadn’t really done a lot of cooking in years, but when he was a kid and managed to sneak into the kitchen while Mom was preparing their meals, he'd loved it when she had tied an apron around his neck and had given him jobs to do. At first it had been the fact that he got to spend time with Mom, who was kind, and didn’t mind that he didn’t feel like speaking a lot of the time, and would ruffle his hair when she had a free moment, hands always unnaturally cool, but Diego never minded.

But after a while he had really enjoyed the work in the kitchen. In hindsight he thought it was because it gave him something else to do with knives that wasn’t brutal or destructive, but it was methodical and organized and he could set out a clear plan and follow it. At a time when he never got the validation from his father that he so desperately craved, the simple act of following a recipe and creating a meal, or baking a cake, gave him at least a certain sense of gratification.

Proof that he was good at something.

So even though he’d initially been a little reluctant to take the job, he also felt a tiny bit melancholy because this would end soon.

He was just bringing a consomé to simmer when Larry stepped up to him and whispered in his ear, “The boss wants to see you!”

Diego slightly ruefully turned off his burner, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be coming back to finish the job, and abandoned his station to follow Larry out of the kitchen and into the back of a car that was parked in the alley.

Restaurants were still places where a lot of cash would pass through and for that reason they made a perfect front for money laundering, and if, as was the case with Les Parapluies, it was very popular, it also made very good business for an enterprising criminal.

That was why Diego was here, to meet the head of this particular crime syndicate

It had taken him almost a week to convince Larry, the part time restaurant manager, part time mid level gangster, that he could be of use to the organization and seeded the idea in Larry to take him to his boss for an audience.

The head honcho was an elusive character with exceptionally good security, so Diego had figured the only way to get to him would be with an invitation.

He already knew where they were headed, but was privately entertained all the same that despite the boss’s better than average security, he was perfectly cliché in his choice of headquarters: an abandoned warehouse by the harbour.

A few of the mobsters were hanging around outside when they arrived and before they let him enter, a small woman with choppy black hair and wearing a very crisp black suit that made her stand out completely amongst the burly men, who were dressed mostly in button-downs or sweatshirts, stepped up to him and started patting him down.

He stared at her while she began by squeezing his arms far more thoroughly than anyone could possibly deem necessary. What did she think he was hiding? She’d have felt a gun or a knife if she’d simply brushed along his sleeve.

Then she dragged her hands across his chest and torso with an impassive expression, eyes hidden behind a pair of black shades.

Diego was more or less resigned to his fate when she bent down and squeezed his legs just as thoroughly as she had his arms, but he startled and just about managed to suppress a yelp when she checked his waistband at his back… by reaching up through his legs from the front.

“That’s enough, Gill, I think he’s clean!” one of the mobsters said and so the woman who had overenthusiastically searched him, stood up again, straightened her clothes, gave him a curt nod, and was instructed to hang back when the rest of them all made their way into the warehouse.

Diego was led through the building, which was filled with what must have been contraband and at one end he could see what looked like a lab set up, and out of habit he clocked the more than half dozen other gangsters who were milling about inside, all of them clearly quite heavily armed. But, according to the plan, they weren’t his to take care of, so he focused instead on what lay ahead.

He was walked into the small back office by the four mobsters who had brought him in on arrival and they fanned out in the room while Diego waited across from a large metal desk for the skinny, middle aged man, who was adding numbers in a large, leather-bound ledger, to take notice of him. He knew instantly that this was their target from the picture he’d been given.

When the man looked up at him, his eyes widened and he pushed back his rolling office chair to jump to his feet and shout, “Diego fucking Hargreeves?! What the fuck! Did the Commission send you??” and he drew his gun.

Diego was too taken aback by being recognized so quickly to formulate a plan, when the other gang members also pulled their guns and in the sudden panicked atmosphere somebody started shooting, setting everybody else off as well.

He was just about able to dart back, throwing his hands up over his head reflexively and then he remembered what he was capable of, concentrated on sensing the path of the bullets closest to him, and deflected them away from him, so he could get out of this shootout unscathed.

When there was no more sound other than the ringing in his ears, Diego opened his eyes, heart racing, and took stock of the situation in the room.

In the chaos that had ensued, it seemed that their target had been caught in the crossfire. Blood was seeping out of the bullet hole in his forehead and Diego turned away quickly when he spotted it, because the last thing he needed to see was whatever was left of the back of his head.

“You ok?” came a voice from the door and Diego turned around to look at Lila, who was picking her way across the floor towards him, trying to avoid stepping on any of the dead gang members strewn across the rough concrete. She was still wearing her sunglasses, but he could see from her rumpled suit jacket that she must have run towards the office when the shooting had started.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine!” Diego said, taking one last steadying breath to try and get the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins to dissipate. Lila, who had got to him now, reached out to lay a hand on the side of his shoulder. That also helped to relax him.

“What a shitshow!” Diego sighed and Lila squeezed his arm before letting go and pulling a small device out of her pants pocket.

“Yeah, this isn’t ideal,” she said as she hopped over to where the mob boss was sitting, dead, behind his desk and affixed the temporal tracking device to the back of his neck.

Diego turned away again after watching her for only a moment, when he remembered what he was in danger of catching a glimpse of.

“But he’s not our problem anymore, now!” Lila said with a shrug as she made her way back to him, “Herb’ll send someone to deal with this. At least it means we don’t have to spend another night in that shitty little motel room. Say what you will about the Handler, at least she knew how to splash out on a nice hotel. Herb is so stingy!”

Lila had grabbed his hand and Diego let himself be pulled along to the warehouse exit as Lila was chatting away. He only barely took notice of the unconscious men who she had clearly taken out, stealthily, while he had been led to the boss.

This was why he agreed to occasionally go on missions for Herb. Yeah sure, it gave him the same sense of purpose that being a vigilante had given him, but mostly he just enjoyed going on these adventures with Lila.

It wasn’t that their life together had become boring. On the contrary, Diego loved the domesticity of living with Lila, sharing the responsibility of making their everyday lives work, but neither of them had had a particularly normal upbringing, and sometimes they just craved a bit of unusual excitement. And if they could experience that together, even better.

“So, are you going to keep that silly jacket, or...?” Lila asked as they were weaving their way through the structures on the waterfront.

“Why, d’you not like it? I think I look pretty snazzy! And it did make you get all handsy!” Diego countered with a grin and he pulled his hand out of Lila’s to put his arm around her instead and pull her against himself as they walked along, remembering the way she’d definitely made him feel uncomfortable in the most delicious kind of way.

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, I was just doing a thorough job to protect my cover!” Lila shot back but didn’t pull away and then squealed when Diego very suddenly shoved her up against the brick wall they were just passing, pinning her against it with his body, and holding onto her wrists behind her back.

“Yeah, but you almost blew mine!” he growled, looking down at her wide grin and shining eyes.

Lila arched off the wall and slid her body up along his to get to his ear so she could whisper, “I’m definitely going to blow something, alright!” in a low voice.

“Fuck!” Diego breathed and he was almost ashamed to admit that it probably sounded very close to a moan, and he turned his head to catch her lips with his own.

They didn’t even start soft and gentle, instead teeth and tongues were immediately involved and Diego let go of Lila’s wrist so she could wrap her arms around him and he could support her against the wall, while their kisses became increadingly heated.

When he ducked his head and started biting and sucking on the spot on her neck just below her jaw, Lila gasped, then laughed breathlessly, and then breathed, with a surprising amount of sarcasm considering her frazzled state, “Oh yeeees, Chef!”

Diego grunted and his hands on her waist tightened and Lila laughed out loud and said, “Oh my god, you’re into that!”

“Shut up!” Diego growled again and made sure she would, by sealing her lips with his.

But somehow Lila managed to continue giggling, while also loosening the buttons on his chef’s jacket and getting her hands underneath his undershirt and on his bare skin.

Distracted by her fingers he let her pull her mouth from his and make her way back to his ear to continue her taunting with amusement in her voice.

“Oh please, Chef, won’t you want to make things all hot and steamy? Leave searing kisses on my skin? Cook up some coq au vin for me?”

That finally severed the last bit of his patience and Diego pushed off from the wall and away from Lila and grumbled, “Fuck you! You’re the fucking worst!”

But the way she was looking back at him, pants suit all askew, the skin on her neck and the top of her chest where Diego had already half unbuttoned her shirt, flushed, and her chest heaving with deep breaths, a shit eating grin on her face, he almost went straight back in, fully prepared to ignore her nonsense.

But then he remembered where they were and that it would probably be unwise to fuck her up against a brick wall only a couple of hundred yards away from a crime scene that was definitely going to be discovered soon.

So, reluctantly, Diego started to right his own jacket and regretfully watched Lila do the same with her clothes after he explained, “We really should get out of here, the cops are gonna show up any minute!”

-

But of course the fact that they weren’t all over each other anymore, didn’t stop Lila from teasing him mercilessly about his response to her calling him Chef all the way back to their motel and Diego, with no small measure of embarrassment, had to admit to himself if not to her, that it really was kind of doing it for him.

So by the time they got back to their room, he was definitely experiencing multiple levels of frustration and he knew that Lila could sense his irritation and was deliberately riling him even more.

And for the love of him he couldn’t honestly say he wanted her to stop.

Or at least not of her own accord. Diego knew they’d both enjoy it far more if he made her.

So as they stepped into the room, Lila whirled around, startling when Diego slammed the door shut behind him and didn’t leave her any time to react as he crouched down, lifted her up with one arm wrapped around the back of her thighs, and tossed her onto the bed with a satisfying thud from the mattress and a surprised squeak from Lila.

Diego held himself back, waiting for Lila to meet his eyes and he watched with satisfaction as her grin slowly faded and he could recognize the light in her eyes change from amused to borderline hungry. He presumed she found a similar expression on his face.

Lila swallowed hard and said, voice already a little tense, “So what are you going to do now, Chef?”

Diego got on the bed, walking up to Lila on his knees and gently stroked his hands up her calves.

“I’m gonna give you a new appreciation for shitty little motel rooms!” he said in an almost dangerous voice, grabbed her by the back of the knees and yanked, making her fall back against the mattress. Then he wrapped her legs around his hips, and wasted no time in covering her body with his, savouring the sound of her sighing into his mouth when he started taunting her right back with his tongue and hips simultaneously.

[theexpanse]

DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! That alert is for the people of Earth, considering that the last shot we saw on season 4 of The Expanse was of Belter villain Marco Inaros (Keon Alexander) sending cloaked asteroids hurling toward our fair planet.

The impending arrival of those asteroids in season 5 of the show — which premieres Dec. 16 on Amazon Prime Video — is especially bad timing given that one of our favorite Earthlings, burly Rocinante mechanic Amos Burton (Wes Chatham), just happens to be on his way to Earth himself. And judging by this exclusive first-look season 5 photo we have of a blood-splattered Amos (above), things are not looking too hunky-dory for the bearded wonder in his hometown of Baltimore.

What awaits Amos down on the surface? What will happen when Naomi (Dominique Tipper) finds out her long-lost son Filip (Jasai Chase Owens) is an active part of daddy Marcos' team? And why should we be keeping our eyes on Mars for clues as to what's to come? We chatted with Expanse showrunner Naren Shankar to get the scoop on season 5.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: So is season 5 just going to be book 5, Nemesis Games, or are we going to see some season 6 in there, or some new bridge material like you did last season? What are we looking at?

NAREN SHANKAR: You know how it's worked over the years. It's like certain story lines get pulled forward, other stuff gets pushed back sometimes. Character elements get combined into other stuff. There's definitely some elements of book 6 in this season, I would say, but it's largely drawn from book 5.

Let's start big picture, and then we'll drill down on a few things. If I just walked in and said, "What's the big crux of season 5? What's the big story you're telling here?" What would you say to that?

I'll give you the theme, because that's probably the easiest way to look at it. The theme really is about the sins of the past. To one extent or another, that's every single story line, whether it is Naomi personally confronting the fact that she had a son with this very charismatic, and now quite violent, revolutionary-type leader. Whether it's Amos connecting to his past, or going back to Earth for reasons that we're not quite sure of. Whether it's Holden's past with unleashing the protomolecule. Whether it is the past geopolitical history of the Belt, and its relationship with the inner planets, which we see through Avasarala.

That's really what the season is about. It is connecting all of the things that we have done in our lives to the moment of the present that we are in. It's like everything comes to a head all at the same time.

We ended season 4 with Marco letting these asteroids off towards Earth. What do you want to say about that impending arrival?

Well, it's coming. It's coated in stealth, so it's very hard to see, and there's a whole bunch of them. From the end of season 4, the last image that we left with was Marco looking at the plotted trajectory of all of these asteroids. The last image that you see is a whole lot of them that are lined up to hit Earth in its orbit. So, they're coming.

Let's segue from that to Naomi. What's Naomi's mission here? We see a little bit in the trailer with Marco, and her son. What is she going to look to do here in season 5?

Well, I think at the end of season 4, the message she sent to Fred Johnson was, "I need to get in contact with my son. I'm calling in that favor that we set up way back in season 1. I'm calling in that favor. I really need to find my son, because I'm afraid that his father is going to get him killed."

It's that she understands, or she's seeing that Marco is on the rise, and she knows the kind of person that he is. After years of feeling like, "I can't reconnect. I abandoned him. I left my kid," she's determined to reach out to him, and try to save him from somebody that she thinks is really a terrible person.

What is awaiting her when she gets in contact with her son and sees who he has become?

Well, I think maybe the way to answer that is, the reunion that she is hoping for is probably not the one that she's going to get.

I mean, we saw what happened with that airlock at the end of last season.

He doesn't bake her a cake.

What's Holden's take going to be on Naomi and the spot she's in, and this mission that she's on?

The two of them are together. The question marks of, "An Earther and a Belter, can we be together?" They have chosen each other. They've chosen to be on the Roci. They've gone through a tremendous amount. That's true for the whole family. That's true for Amos. It's true for Alex, the group. It's like the most warmest and connected beginning for them that we've ever seen. I think that that's an interesting outgrowth of the fact that we really took our time building up that family unit from season 1 on.

After the events of season 4, after everything they went through on Ilus, it's like they are a bonded group that… It's just their chosen family. It has that feel to it. There's a connectedness and warmth to the relationships of all of our four main people on the Roci, and that's reflected in Holden and Naomi.

It's part of the fun of getting into deep runs of shows if you do them properly, is that you really do develop the relationships. If you think about where these guys started in season 1 to where they start in season 5, it's a pretty interesting change. And it feels believable, because you're taking the time to actually set it up. We're starting Holden and Naomi from, I think, a very warm and supportive place at the beginning of season 5.

I want to ask you what's happening on Mars, and if there's anything there that might be something that might connect later to, say, book number 7 and what we may be seeing down the line a bit on The Expanse? Obviously, there's some long-term stuff happening in Mars that you may be planting some seeds for.

Yes! Absolutely. See, this is spoken like a book reader. There absolutely is, and we actually teed it up at the end of last season, as Bobbi got involved in the black-market arms trade. There are little pieces of it that are popping through the surface even then.

Part of what was going on at the very end of season 4 was they were selling stealth composites to Belters. Those are the stealth composites that Marco uses to coat the asteroids. And, if you look really carefully at the end of season 4, it's Filip who's one of the Belters that is blowing up things on Mars.

Bobbi doesn't know who that is, but that's Filip who helps blow up that salvage yard at the end of season 4. But, absolutely the tip of that conspiracy that we started at the end of last season plays an incredibly important role in season 5.

As you talk about the Belters, I gather that we are going to be seeing more Belter factions. What it was like to think of all these different subgroups that we're going to see, and the different motivations and things they might have? I imagine that was pretty fun to put together.

It really was. Again, I think one of the things that we've really tried hard to do to really dimensionalize the conflict. It's like, you're seeing every side of it. We've driven down into Earth. We've driven down into Mars. We've driven down into Belt. We've driven down into the independent faction of Holden and the Roci gang.

In terms of the Belt specifically, at the end of season 4, Drummer walked away from the OPA. She walked away from politics and Fred Johnson, and didn't take Ashford up on his offer of being his XO. She struck out on her own, trying to create a life for herself in this very tumultuous world. Well, politics, and war, and strife, they have a way of finding you. It's hard to avoid them. What we're going to find from her in season five, her story line speaks to that very directly.

One of my favorite stories in all the books is Amos going to Baltimore. I'm really excited to see that. What can you say about his time back on Earth?

I think you're going to love it. It's one of the things that I have been looking forward to doing for years. We talked a lot about it because The Churn is a fantastic novella. What we've done over the course of the series is, we have found a way to express these novellas into our narrative in a way that they're not really done in the novels proper.

You're going to get that. I think people who have read that novella, especially, but I think fans in general, even people who've never seen the show, they're just going to love this. It really is one of my favorite story lines we did this season.

What can you just say about what he's facing there, or why he's going there?

Well, without giving too much away, there have been times when Amos has had a chance to go back to Earth, even at the beginning of season 4, when the Roci was in orbit around Earth. Amos didn't go back down there.

Reaching back into season 3, when that reporter Monica Stuart was interviewing him. She was talking about, "Isn't it funny that you got the name of a mob boss?" He said, "Oh, it's a common name in Baltimore." And, "Oh, yeah, how'd you get out there? You ended up in the lottery really fast." There's a lot of mystery attached to Amos' backstory around Baltimore. Without telling specifically why he heads back, you're going to get a lot of answers to it. Things are going to feel really, really satisfying because it illuminates a side of him that nobody else on the Roci gets to see. Nobody else really knows, but the audience is going to get to go with Amos to experience it.

Speaking of Amos on Earth, what can you say about the possibility of seeing Clarissa Mao again in season 5?

I don't want to spoil anything. [Laughs] She's down there, I suppose.

I think I know where she is too.

We did see at the beginning of season 4 that she's in prison. The story lines in particular this season have such depth to them, and it feels like you're just getting really into these characters' skin in a way that we haven't done to this extent before. So we're really excited for people to see it.

[rangerlink]

it’s interesting to think about how, even though Link is the Hero of Hyrule, there are a lot of Links that aren’t actually from Hyrule at all

Zelda Classic is hard to tell and it’s not really gone into because NES, but it seems like Link just lives in the woods? Anyway the part of Hyrule he’s in has been totally abandoned, probably for a while

Then in Ocarina of Time he’s a Hylian, but he grew up with the Kokiri and thought he was one of them, and had to be told about Hyrule’s creation myth by the Deku Tree because he presumably didn’t know it, and why would he?

It’s kind of the same situation in Twilight Princess, where Link’s a Hylian who was basically adopted by a village that’s outside of Hyrule. Like Ordon’s situation is kind of ambiguous, but the characters don’t seem to think of it as properly Hyrule (see: Rusl saying that Link has never been to Hyrule, Shad correcting someone who assumed Link was from Hyrule). It definitely has a totally different culture from Hyrule though. It kind of seems like it was low-key annexed by Hyrule when the Lost/Faron Woods became more navigable, and that’s why it’s a province like Faron/Eldin/Lanayru? Idk

And then in Wind Waker, Hyrule just straight-up doesn’t exist anymore, and some of the islands have traditions based in Hyrule’s existence but by-and-large they have their own culture.

(Skyward Sword is interesting because that Link isn’t technically from Hyrule, but Skyloft worships the same goddesses Hyrule does and it’s presumably where Hylian culture grew from, so)

And like I have no idea where I’m going with this, but it’s interesting to think about because what does it mean to be the Chosen Hero of a country you’re not even from?? What does it mean to be the Hero Chosen by the Gods when you may or may not believe in or even have heard of those gods??

I guess when you’re Link you just kind of go along with what people are telling you, because maybe somebody you care about is being endangered by whatever you’re supposed to fight or maybe you’re just a kid so you feel like you don’t have much choice....

(behind the cut is basically a case study of Wind Waker with these thoughts in mind, but also kind of just me going off about how good the end of Wind Waker is, if that interests you)

But then thinking about Wind Waker, Link isn’t even initially chosen be the gods (I think)? And he has to prove his worth to them, and initially he’s mostly doing this so he can save his sister, and then he does save his sister but like, King Daphnes is his friend so of course he’s going to help him out, and Tetra has become his friend too (and he also kinda Likes her) and Ganondorf is still after her, and Ganondorf’s plans are still kinda ambiguous at this point but according to King Daphnes, he’s endangering the Great Sea as well, so Link ends up on the Traditional Link Journey anyway?

And it’s interesting that in this game there are so many references to Ocarina of Time, but they’re juxtaposed against a Link who doesn’t and couldn’t understand any of them. Like the stained glass windows of the Seven Sages, for the player they’re a really exciting nod to characters they probably know and love, but to Link they’re just some people.

But the thing about Wind Waker is that the big decision in the end is made by King Daphnes, the only adult on the hero’s team and the only one who remembers Hyrule. And he decides that the right thing to do is to let Hyrule go. To allow Link and Tetra and everyone else in the Great Sea to make their own future.

Like, Link simply doesn’t have the knowledge and understanding of Hyrule’s history he’d need to make that choice. He’s like 13 years old and kind of dumb in the way that 13 year olds are, and he didn’t grow up in this, and it hasn’t really been explained to him except in broad strokes, basically in order to get him to agree to be The Hero. Like, he takes on the role of the Hero of Hyrule, but he has no idea what that means or how much worse it could have gone for him, you know? And it’s so important that King Daphnes recognizes that, and I think recognizes how unfair the role of The Princess Zelda is to Tetra as well. He recognizes that they’re not from Hyrule and they shouldn’t be the ones who have to deal with its problems.

Like you can see why it’s so fun to think about Zelda games with the idea of Link Not Being From Hyrule in mind!!! Like, I’d love to think more about Twilight Princess through this lens, since it was a bit of dialogue from that game that inspired this line of thought in the first place. (and then if you brought Ocarina of Time into it you could talk about Agency and how much of it Link actually has, but that’s another story for another time)

[freefallingup13]

Kicked (Jaren’s Puppy)

This one has some more descriptions of where Toni and Jaren live, and the coven they live with. There’s some pretty vulgar stuff going on, you’ve been warned. Jaren is not a nice man.

Taglist: @emreads

Summary: Jaren, the leader of a wild, warmongering vampire coven, likes to keep a few werewolves as attack dogs. Some of the  werewolves the coven keeps - like his favorite “Puppy” Toni - are his personal pets.

CW: This is a pet whump/slavery fic, if I continue to post more of this story there will be dubcon. This piece in particular has non-con touching (non-sexual), implied non-con, implied murder, blood mention, alcohol mention, fire mention, human trafficking (as livestock) mention, dehumanization, head injury, Whumpee is a girl, and the Whumper is called “Master”. (Also for anybody squicked by this specific trope, a second lady whumpee is held in a man’s lap as he taunts her and eventually injures her as he throws her away.)

The party was loud, as they always were. Toni focused on trying to keep her eyes closed, trying to ignore the whooping and hollering. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming.

On the bright side, she could focus on the smells more than the screams.

Beyond the stairs she laid herself on was a large dirt clearing in the middle of camp. All around were tents, ramshackle huts of leather and stone, cages made from tied-together dungeon doors. The other wolves were restless, pacing back and forth. Some of them were half-shifted, stuck in between human and wolf form; most of them preferred to be in their wolf form. It was easier to take the abuse that way. 

The huts belonged to the troops. Most of them were empty, thanks to the celebration. The half-open huts near the clearing seemed to be the only ones that were occupied. (She tried to forget that the outer huts would have people within.) The vampires screamed into the night like wild animals as blood and alcohol dribbled down from their chins. Well - “dribbled” was a polite way of saying how messy they were.

In the clearing was a large bonfire, towering to the sky. The ground below it was always charred to black, even on a normal day. Some of the younger vampires were being dared to jump over it, to run through the flames. Some of them took up the dare, coming out with sooty marks and charred clothes. They would throw their fists in the air with a cry of victory before being swept away in the cheering crowd.

They were all so immature. They were out of control.

But that was the way Master liked it.

Morale was high, there was a feast to be had. The coven whose territory they had taken over this week had hidden a town, hidden a quiet trade of prey. Of course Master had opened it up to his troops once the health of the humans had been verified.

She scrunched her eyes tightly. That was as far as she would think about it. Humans were only livestock here. Nothing else. There was no need to think any further - there was no need to listen.

A frustrated shout to her side made her whimper, cowering onto the stone steps. At the end of the clearing, on top of a hill covered with stolen stone steps, was her Master’s throne. A mishmash of leather, stone, antler and bone, it was an intimidating, chaotic sight. He sat on it now, on layers of animal hides, with another girl in his lap.

“Come on,” Jaren cooed as he wrenched her hands away from him. “Don’t you think it’s nice? Everyone’s happy.”

“No!” the girl shrieked, struggling to get away from him. He only had one arm around her waist, but as a human against a vampire, she had no chance of getting away. “You’re killing them, you’re killing us-!”

“Oh, I’m not doing a thing,” Jaren laughed, grabbing her face roughly. He turned her gaze to the crowd by the fire, the writhing and screams that were a mix of torture and excitement. “You think they didn’t do that to you? You think that family didn’t have their fun, with every single one of you that disappeared?”

The girl hissed, shutting her eyes to avoid the sight, squirming to cover her ears. Jaren wouldn’t let her - he knew her wrists were starting to bruise in his hand, the way she yanked at them so hard. “The Calates protected us!” she yelled. “They kept us safe! The sacrifices were for all our good!”

Jaren couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh, crossing one ankle to his knee and pulling the girl closer. “That’s so fucking cute,” he chuckled as he grabbed her hair, pulling her face close to his. “You meant nothing to them. You were just food. Compliant food, at that. Your village made it so easy for them…”

The girl tried to hide it, but it was overwhelming. The frustrated shriek that broke through her clenched teeth as she tried to hit him only made him grin.

Toni winced, curling up to the side of her Master’s throne. She tried to keep her eye on the fire, fire was nice. Fire flickered, always changed. It would eat everything weak that it was given, then sputter out when there was nothing left to consume. She watched now as pieces of the Calate estate were thrown in. They’d looted paintings, furniture, architecture. The sight of wardrobes full of clothes being emptied onto the fire made her look away.

She didn’t want any reminders that people had been living. They were gone now. They were all dead. They didn’t matter.

A sigh escaped her as she tried to rub at her eyes. It was too much. She’d been good, staying chained up next to Master the entire night so far. This, though, she couldn’t take any more of it. The screaming, the burning, the blood. Worst of all was knowing what people were doing to their prey in the huts on the outside of camp, trying to get their privacy as they-

She shook her head roughly. Don’t think of the dead. They would all be dead, they didn’t matter.

Toni just wanted to go to bed.

Suppressing a whine, she got to her knees, peeking over the armrest of his throne. “M… Master?”

“Huh?” He’d been in the middle of taunting, his hands steadfast on the girl’s hands. Those hands were surely broken by now, with how purpled they were from bruising. “What is it, Pup?”

“Can- Can I-”

She didn’t get to finish.

In one, desperate lash, the girl kicked out while Jaren was distracted, trying to twist away. She was on his lap, it wasn’t her fault that she was lined up so perfectly. Her slippered foot hit Toni in the head with all the girl’s strength in her fight for freedom, all her fear.

The explosion of pain made Toni cry out, though she wasn’t sure if she could hear it or not. All she knew was there was some thud, her head shook, everything was falling. She was falling, rolling down the steps until the chain around her neck tugged taut. Her yelping was cut off with a choke as she was forced to a stop, and she gasped for air. 

Somewhere she heard shouting as she tried to claw at the chain around her neck. A distant scream, closer than the others. She saw a blurry shape through her tears, vaguely human, blood and deep wounds covering the front as it was thrown down the steps to the fire.

Cold hands cupped her face, made her look up. There was something warm and sticky on one of them. It felt comforting to feel something warm. She tried to open her eyes, but she shut them again with a long whine. Everything was too bright, too much.

“Fucking christ, get the vet!” Master. That was Master. He sounded like he was shouting, but everything sounded so quiet and foggy. 

The chain was unwrapped from her neck, and she took as many deep breaths as she could. Somebody was holding her close, keeping her head still with one hand - she could tell the familiar smell of her Master anywhere. She tried to bury her face into his shirt, tried to beg for comfort. Speaking was impossible, with the thud echoing in her head.

There was a commotion of voices around her, though it was only her and her Master there. No- a third hand, turning her face away from her Master. This hand was gentle, opened her eyes with their fingers, patted her cheek when she whined. She was the one who was in Master’s lap now, getting checked by a doctor-

No, no. A veterinarian. Vampires didn’t need doctors. Pets and humans did. 

“She’s a little out of it, it’s possible she’s gotten a concussion,” the voice was saying, much clearer to her Master than to her. “She’s going to need rest, plenty of water. Give her more meat and fish with her meals, it’ll take a little over a week for her to get better - she’ll be pretty confused for a while.”

“That dumb human bitch,” Jaren seethed under his breath, holding Toni tighter to him. “Not a single mark on my Puppy, and one fucking human comes around trying to kill her like an animal.”

“Well, she’ll get bruises from the chain, too, from the looks of it,” the “vet” said, pointing at her neck. Pale blond hair fell over carefully cleaned clothes as she leaned closer to the pair. “I can already see the marks. She fell pretty hard?”

“The little bitch kicked her as hard as she could,” Jaren snarled, starting to stand up. “Rest and more food, you said?”

“Yes. She might have trouble with lights and sounds, as well. And like I said, she’ll be rather-”

“She’ll be confused for days, I know,” Jaren groaned, propping Toni up so her head rested against his chest. “I’ll be taking extra good care of my Puppy, then.”

“Nothing too rough. Preferably, nothing at all.”

“Are you joking?” Jaren scoffed, turning to look at the girl in front of him. “She’s perfect as she is, you think I want her to go mad and ruin it all? I don’t want her head hurt. Of course I won’t do anything.”

Bored red eyes stared back at him as the girl brushed her hair behind her ears, then crossed her arms. “Agreed, Sire,” she said simply. “Go on, I’ll make sure the party doesn’t wear anyone out too much.”

“You play second-in-command too often, Cora,” Jaren growled as he turned to his home, an abandoned castle, repurposed for the wild coven he ran. “Let them have their fun. Why don’t you do the same?”

“Because your drunk troops get my doctors drunk, too. And they attack the dogs,” Cora said, her chin tilting up. “If I didn’t stay sober, there’d be no one to treat them.”

Rolling his eyes, Jaren began walking to the castle doors. “Whatever you say, you boring girl,” he called over his shoulder. “Lighten up a little.”

“You brought me to the darkness yourself, Sire,” Cora called back as she headed back down to the steps. “So you’re stuck with me there as it is.”

[yootaesowlwrites]

Banner: Credit to gif and picture owners, banner made by me.

Requested by: Nobody, but I’m tagging @taeandpuppies​

Gerne: Vampire AU, Strangers-to-lovers.

Warnings: Blood mentioned, Gore mentioned, Killing scenes, Temporary death.

W/C: 4 861

A/N: Trying out a new writing style, hopefully I didn’t do too bad.

“When will you change me?” Tae asks as he moves to grab the tv remote controller, shutting it off, you were seated between his legs on the bed you shared with him, his arms wrapped around you, you look up at him, seeing a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Are you ever going to change me?” He was well aware of the consequences, the price he would have to pay to be an immortal, but if he could spend the rest of eternity with her, then the price would be worth paying.

“I love you, you know that right?” You ask, looking into his eyes.

“I know.” He says, you quickly pick up his tone and use your speed to move away from between his legs and sit on the bed facing him. “But soon, I’ll be old, and you will still be young and vibrant.” Nodding your head as you listen intently to him. “It would be cruel to both of us to stay together.” Five years had already passed with them together, and every couple of months he would her you to change him, and each time you would say that you’d consider it, but eventually, you would have to have a conversation with him about his wish.

The night was filled different types of sounds, crickets in the distance long with frogs were almost clear to hear, but the sound of laughter, arguments were closer, but the sound that was the clearest to hear that reached a vampire’s ears was the sound of blood coursing through the human body, the sound of their hearts beating loudly giving them life, eyes watched as people walk by thinking they could live forever, not once thinking that standing in the shadows, watching as they walked by, could be a monster ready to strike, ready to feed and fill that burning hunger.

You lick your lips as your eyes scan through the large crowd of people passing you, you were hungry and in search for a meal, it had been a little over two months since your last meal and you shouldn’t have waited as long as you did before going out to eat, to feed, but you couldn’t afford to get caught by anyone, especially the hunters, they showed no mercy when it came to killing vampires, the monsters of the night.

Pushing yourself away from the wall you were leaning again, you begin following a lonesome human, the sickening scent of alcohol coming from him and immediately knew he would an easy target, just enough to fill you, to satisfy you, for the time being, you could feel your predatory instincts taking over as you inched closer to the human, ready to attack, your fangs had started growing and veins had begun sprouting from underneath your eyes, seconds away from having your first meal in months when a sweet intoxicating scent reached you, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, fangs retracting and veins disappearing as you begin following the intoxicating smell, following it all the way until reaching a park.

Snowflakes slowly begin falling causing everyone to stop and look up to the sky, you, however, continued to follow the scent until you found a man standing near a park bench, staring up at the sky with admiration, a smile on his lips as his dark eyes practically glow with joy, a human looking so peaceful, yet his scent was so intoxicating, he looks away from the sky when he felt eyes on him and sees you standing only a few feet away from him, he lifts his hand and waves at you, his dark warm eyes meeting yours.

“Hi.” Tae gently greets you, you blink rapidly before carefully lifting your hand and waving back at him.

“Hello.” You carefully say before lowering your hand, his hand falls back down to his side.

“Can you believe it?” Tae says, excitement in his tone. “It started snowing.” He looks up at the sky, your eyes falling to his neck, seeing the pulsing heartbeat, the vein pumping blood through his system, he looks back at you, only to see an empty spot where you once stood, you had fled, leaving him alone and confused.

The next night you were out again, but this time not to hunt, this time in search for the person with the intoxicating scent, you stood in the park where you had abandoned him, snow covered the ground the night, everything was frozen in place, just as you were, frozen in time, never able to grow old, live life as it should be lived, watching your loved ones dying, immortality could be a curse and sometimes it was a blessing.

“Hi,” Tae says from next to you, you had smelt him approaching and mentally prepared, the sweet intoxicating scent was too strong, you could barely smell anything else other than him, lowering your gaze from the tree you were staring at to look at him.

“Hello.” You softly say, his hands were buried in the pockets of his jacket, and he was staring at you.

“Are you going to disappear again?” He asks, his eyes not leaving you, afraid that you would disappear again, a faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I apologise for leaving you so abruptly.” You say, you had feared that you would hurt him and decided to flee was the best option, leaving the town entirely and going into a nearby forest, animals weren’t something you’d normally eat, but staying in town and trying to find a meal would have been impossible with his smell lingering in her mind. “I was late for something and forgot to give a goodbye when I left.” He nods his head, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You didn’t have to explain yourself to me, but thank you.” He says. “But, I can’t help but wonder something.” You slightly tilt your head to the side. “How did you manage to disappear so fast?” You blink, realising you had made a mistake.

“Wh… what do you mean?” You almost stutter out. “I ran, I must have been fast if you didn’t see me.” The lie falling so early from your lips, but for the first time in decades, you felt guilty for lying.

“Are you sure?” Tae asks. “Because you were gone in a blink of an eye.” You nod your head.

“Yes, I’m a good runner.” You say, how could you have slipper up, how could you have caused a human to start asking questions. “Are you enjoying the snow?” You ask, hoping to change the subject, to take his mind off from your slip up, you could compel him to forget, but you wanted to know him, know the man with the sweet smell on him, and compelling somebody you wanted to know was never a good start to any friendship.

“I am, it was a surprise when it started,” Tae says. “I wasn’t expecting it to snow so early in the winter.” His gaze moving away from you to look up at the sky, the stars and moon lighting up the dark night sky. “Do you like snow?” He turns his gaze back to you, you push your hands into the pockets of the jacket you wore.

“The snow could be calming.” You say, yet, it could also show the monstrous side of you, the white blanket covered in red was your first memory as a vampire, newly turned, out of control bloodthirsty. “Most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” He asks, you nod your head. “What do you mean?”

“Not everything is as it seems, for example, it could be calm here.” You say as you heard tyres screeching a few blocks away. “But a few blocks away, it could be hell for someone else.” The crash reaches your ears, almost causing you to flinch from the loud noise, his lips part, and he slowly nods his head.

“Right, I never thought about it like that.” He says. “Oh, I haven’t even introduced myself to you yet.” He turns his body to face you. “I’m Taehyung, Kim Taehyung, but you can call me Tae, or V, or any nickname you want to use or think of.” Your smile slightly widens.

“What do you prefer to be called?” You ask.

“V, but you can call me Tae if you want.” He says, he takes his hand out from his pocket and extends his arm out to you, holding his hand out for you to shake, your eyes fall to his hand before slowly taking your hand out from your pocket, holding your breath before carefully taking hold of his hand. “Oh.” He gasps. “You must be cold, your hand feels like it’s about to freeze off.”

“Oh.” You say, quickly releasing his hand and pushing it back into your pocket. “Uh, I’m (Y/n), and I have an explanation for that.”

“All right, I’m waiting to hear it, although you don’t have to,” Tae says. “It is winter, so I understand.” You nod your head, looking down at the ground for a moment before looking back at him.

“Yeah, you’re right, it is winter, and uh, I get cold, well, my skin gets cold easily.” You begin to say. “I don’t feel the cold, but others do, I’ve been asked if I’m cold, but as I’m standing here, I don’t feel cold.” He nods his head. “It rarely bothers me.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting, your skin always being cold, yet you don’t feel it.” He says. “I wish I could ask about it some more, but I should get home, but will you be here tomorrow night?” You nod your head.

“I’ll be here tomorrow night.” You say.

“Great!” He says. “Maybe then we can spend some more time together.” You nod your head, agreeing with him, that was something you would like to do, even with knowing the consequences, the danger of it.

“I’ll be here tomorrow night, sitting on the park bench.” You say, he nods his head.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” He says before dashing away in a hurry, You softly smile as you watch him.

“I look forward to it.” You whisper.

As you were making your way back to the apartment you were living in, the wide smile you wore was quickly replaced with a frown when you heard a loud slam and then a whimper, the whimper sounding all too familiar to you.

Speeding in the opposite direction, you quickly found Tae pinned up against a metal door by two thugs, your eyes change and veins sprout from underneath your eyes, the colour of your eyes becoming a dark red, almost black as your fingers grew before you launched yourself at his attackers, grabbing one and disappearing around the corner, sinking your teeth not the attacker's neck, ripping the veins and muscles as you do, his screams dying down almost as quickly as it started, his death was swiftly, yet violent, his head separated from his body before his body landed on the ground with a thud next to his head.

You speed towards the other attacker, wrapping your hands around his neck, squeezing down on it with all your strength, the last sight in front of him before his airway was crushed, was the sight of a demon, a merciless monster.

You hadn’t meant for it to be so violent, but the thought of somebody touching… hurting, Tae, was too much, and something snapped inside you.

Releases the attacker's neck, your senses slowly returned to you, the mistake hitting you like a boulder, you could hear him behind you, his heart rate, pounding, pumping his blood through his veins, his breathing was loud and the smell of fear hits you like a train, closing your eyes as you take in a deep breath before slowly turning around, perhaps you should have run, disappeared it would have been the smarter choice.

“(Y/n)?” Tae whispers, blood staining your lips and hands as well as your clothes, standing still, not daring to move towards him, he was already frightened, for two long months you had managed to hide this side of you, only for you to slip up when you wanted to protect him, he was sitting against the metal door altering being dropping by his attackers. “You… you saved me.” He quickly moved to his feet, dusting himself off before taking a step towards you.

“Stop.” You quickly say, he stops in his tracks. “I… I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Wait!” Tae says, but in a blink of an eye, you were once again gone, out of his sight. “(Y/n)!” He begins looking around, hoping to spot you. “Please, I want to thank you!”

For an entire week, you watched him from afar as he waited for you in the park, only to leave when he realised you weren’t going to show up, to avoid him was hard, you were still attracted to his scent, no matter where you were, you couldn’t get him out of your mind, but it was safer to be away from him, better for him, or that’s what you kept telling yourself, so far you have successfully avoided him for an entire week, but he seemed determined to see you.

You weren’t expecting to see him at the mall as you were buying some clothes, you put the jacket back when his scent suddenly invaded your nostrils, you turn around, ready to run only to almost run into him.

“Where have you been?” It sas the first thing he asked when he knew it was you.

“What the…” You say, surprised that he was that close to you, it was rare that you would get surprised, but you weren’t expecting him to be right in front of you when you turned, you had thought he had just entered the mall. “How did you do that?”

“Well, I figured you could smell me, so I tried to hide my scent,” Tae says. “It must have worked.” He takes a step closer to you. “Now, where have you been? I was waiting for you in the park.”

“I was… occupied with something.” You say.

“You’re lying.” He says. “You’ve been avoiding me, why?”

“I have not been avoiding you.” You answer.

“Okay, please stop lying to me, if it’s because you’re a…” He begins before leaning closer to her. “A vampire.” He whispers. “Then I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.” You say before beginning to move past him.

“Wait, wait.” He says as he took hold of your wrist, you stop in your step. “I want to get to know you more, more about you… more about…” You turn around, moving closer to him.

“Are you sure?” You ask. “Because it isn’t a fairytale.”

The strong scent of coffee almost blocked his sweet scent from you, keyword, almost, you were sitting inside a small café with a cup of hot chocolate resting on the small round table in front of you, sitting across from you was Tae with his own cup of tea in front of him, you lean back against your seat, waiting for him to ask you what he wanted to know, it would have been better if they were somewhere a bit more private, luckily you knew the owner of the café, he himself was a vampire and would make sure to erase anyone’s memory if they heard your conversation with Tae.

“So, what do you want to know?” You ask, he takes a sip from his tea before placing the cup on the table.

“How long?” He asks. “How long have you been…?” You lean forward.

“For 3 decades.” You softly answer, his eyes widen, how long had you been alive? When were you turned? How were you turned?

“30 years?” He asks.

“More or less.” You say.

“Whoa…” He breathes out as he leans back against his chair, letting the information sink in. “How… did it happen?” You pick up your cup of hot chocolate, which quickly gained is attention. “Wait, you can drink and eat normal human food?”

“Human food can ease the hunger for a bit, but not for long.” You say. “We drink hot beverages to keep our skin warm, so we can feel warm if someone accidentally touches us.”

“But the second night we met… your hands were freezing.” He states, you take a sip from your drink before putting the cup down.

“I wasn’t planning on shaking your hand that night.” You quietly say. “I was hoping to see you again, yes, but I wasn’t planning on staying long, I was still hungry.”

“Still hungry?” He asks. “What do you mean still hungry?” You lean back in your seat.

“The night when we met, I was out hunting, but I decided against hunting in town and left.” You say. “I was unsatisfied with my meal, and was hoping to find another one later that night.”

“Was I ever a target?” He asks as he placed his hands on the table, near his cup of tea.

“No.” You say while taking in a deep, unneeded breath. “You just happened to interrupt my hunt, well… you scent interrupted me.”

“My scent?” He asks. “I knew you could smell me, but… how did my smell interrupt you?”

“You have this… hm.” You begin before stopping to think. “Your scent, it’s so strong and sweet, almost intoxicating to me, and it interrupted my hunt, so I decided to follow it, and that’s when I found you.”

“Oh.” He breathes out. “Are you saying I smell good?” A box smile on his lips.

“You could say that.” You say. “To answer your first question, it happened accidentally, during the winter, somewhere along the 24 hours leading to my immortality, I had consumed…” You look around the café, noticing the place was almost empty. “Vampire blood, I still don’t know when, but I was walking home from a friend’s house when I was attacked and left to die in the snow, but with the blood in my system, I was turned and woke up as a vampire hours after my attack, my wounds healed but my throat feeling like it was on fire.” You swallow as you think back to that moment. “I realised I had to choose between life and death, there was still so much to see in the world, but the price to keep on living… I chose death.”

“What happened?” He quietly asks, knowing something had to have happened if you were sitting across from him today.

“Some unlucky soul was at the wrong place at the wrong time with a nosebleed.” You say. “I still remember how the white snow was stained with their blood.”

“Is there the part where you’re going to kill me?” Tae asks, his arms were firmly wrapped around your neck and you firmly, yet gently, held onto his legs as you carried him up the mountain, no this wasn’t some twilight scene where you were taking him up the mountains to look at your glowing skin, which you didn’t have, no you had special jewellery that kept you from burning to ashes in the sun.

“Why do you think I’m going to kill you?” You ask with a sight giggle in your tone, it’s been a month since he found out and he’s been asking about vampirism non-stop, and asking about your past. “I told you I want to show you something.” You carefully step over some rocks and branches.

“But at night?” Tae asks. “And maybe you want to show me how you’re going to kill me.” You reach the top of the mountain, a cleared out space that had the perfect view of the sky above, you carefully bend down and releases his legs. “Wow!” His feet gently hit the ground, and he releases the hold around your neck.

“I’m not here to kill you.” You say as you turn around to face him. “I’m here to show my favourite spot.” He looks around, thick trees surrounded the area, he looks to the ground and noticed they were standing on a flat hard surface. “Look up.” He lifts his gaze to the dark sky, his eyes seeing the full moon and stars decorating the sky.

“Whoa…” He breathes out as he sees the view, now he knew why this was your favourite spot. “How often do you come here?” He sits down on the large rock covering the ground, his gaze never leaving the sky, you sit down next to him, your eyes on him instead of the sky.

“Every full moon, it’s beautiful when the moonlight lights up the world and to hear nature when the world is quiet.” You say, he lowers his gaze from the sky to look at you. “I wish you could hear what I’m hearing, but I’ll tell you instead.”

“Can’t you turn me instead?”

You speed towards him and gently push him up against the wall, looking into his eyes, it’s been a little over a year now and you had slowly developed feelings for him, and you were certain he had developed feelings for you.

“You want me to turn you?” You ask as you inch your face closer to his neck, you could hear his heart rate slightly picking up.

“That’s what I’ve been asking for months,” Tae says, you lick your lips before pressing them against his neck, hearing him take in a deep breath, he was well aware that this wasn’t how it was done. “(Y/n).” He whines, you pull away from his neck.

“I’ll think about it some more.” You say before leaning in, closing the distance completely as you plant your lips against his, he didn’t pull back or fight it, instead, he kissed back, moving his lips with yours, you pull away from the kiss, leaning your forehead against his to look into his eyes. “I’ll consider it.” She takes a step back from him. “If you move in with me.” A smile forms on his lips as he pushes himself away from the wall.

“Next thing you’ll ask me to marry you.” He says.

“Marriage is old-fashioned, and I might come from the time when marriage was a must, but I’m not living in that life anymore.” You say. “Marriage isn’t a must for me.” He nods his head. “I hope you weren’t hoping for a wedding.”

“After meeting you, it hasn’t been an option for me in a long time,” Tae says. “But before I met you I did dream of marrying someone.”

“Perhaps I’m holding you back from life then.” You say, his expression quickly changed.

“No, no, you’re not.” He quickly says. “I’ve never experienced the things I have until I met you, you’ve been showing me a different world, a different way of living.” He moves closer to you. “Don’t you dare think that you’re holding me back, I choose to be here with you.” He takes hold of your hand, feeling the cold skin underneath his warm touch, something he had got used to. “Don’t you dare think of leaving me all alone, I don’t think I can imagine my life without you anymore.” He pulls you closer to him, wrapping an arm around you as he releases your hand. “I want you, I’m here with you because I want to be with you.”

“Even knowing I could slip up one day?” You ask.

“You won’t.” He says. “I know you won’t because I trust you.” His other hand moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “When can I move in so you can consider changing me?” You chuckle as you went to move out his grasp, only for him to pull you back into a passionate kiss.

Five years have passed since all those events happened, there was more, but those were the ones that stood out to you when you thought back, which brought you to today, he was staring at you, waiting for an answer, and serious one this time.

“You always ask when I’ll turn you.” You begin. “Perhaps I should ask if you’re sure that it is what you want?” You reach for his hands, gently taking hold of them. “The price is high, you might say you love me now, but there could be something you love more than me when you’re turned.”

“You’ll be there to help me,” Tae says. “I want this, I want to be with you for an eternity, for forever.” He looks down at your hands holding his, gently squeezing your hands before looking up at you. “I know what I’m asking for, I know it’s not something you chose, but I’m choosing this, I’m choosing to be with you for the rest of my life, for the rest of time.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You softly say, pain in your eyes as you stared at him. “You know I have to kill you if you want to transform.”

“It will be swift, painless.” He says, hoping to reassure you, which didn’t.

“Painless for you perhaps.” You say as you release his hands. “Forever is a very long time, Kim Taehyung, are you prepared to live forever?” You stood from the bed, moving away from the piece of furniture.

“I’m prepared to spend it with you.” He says as he stood from the bed, walking up behind you, he wraps his arms around you and lays his head on your shoulder. “I’m prepared to face whatever forever throws at us, as long as it is with you.” You slightly turn your head to look at him.

“I don’t want you hurt, never mind kill you.” You say. “But if it is what you want…” You move away from his grasp and turn to face him. “I’ll do it, I’ll change you.”

“You will?” He asks, you quickly picked up on the excitement in his tone. “When?” You lift one hand and held it out to him. “Now?”

“Only if you want to do it now.” You say, he nods his head and moves closer to you, you brought your other hand to your palm and pressed it into the skin, easily breaking it and causing blood to seep from your veins, he took hold of your wrist and lifts your hand to his lips, he looks at you before pressing his lips against your palm, drinking your blood, the blood that would soon transform him into a vampire, the wound quickly healed and when it did he released your wrist, you move closer to him, already feeling a pinch in her heart. “Remember, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tae says, you placed your hand near his neck and pulls him closer.

“I’m so sorry for hurting you.” You whisper before pulling him in for a passionate, feeling his warm lips against yours for one final time, the kiss lasted only seconds before you snapped his neck, along with the snap came a sob from you as you broke the kiss, the person you love laid motionless against you, you move him to the bed and carefully lays him down, only leaving the room to retrieve a blood bag for him when he wakes up.

You were staring out the window, watching the dark clouds passing over the city, a loud gasp caused you to turn and speed towards the bed, falling to your knees next to it to check up on him, he abruptly sits up and grabbed his throat, already feeling the burning feeling it, he looks around the room frantically, unused to the clear vision, his eyes fall on you.

“Hey, hey.” You softly say, keeping your voice down, knowing that he has to get used to the enhanced hearing. “How are you feeling?”

“… Good.” He whispers, you could see him rubbing his throat. “But, my throat…”

“I know, I know.” You say and reach for the blood bag you brought earlier. “This will make it feel better.” He looks at the bag and releases his throat to take it, he could smell the blood coming from it and rips it open and drinks from it, squeezing the bag until he couldn’t get more from it, he moves it away from his lips and looks at you, his eyes blown wide open. “More?”

“No.” He says. “No, I don’t need more.” He stood from the with inhuman speed, you quickly stood from the ground to face him. “I just… I want to try something.” He moves closer to you, carefully placing his hand on your cheek, his thumb gently sliding over her skin as he felt something change in him, he was no longer human, he could feel it.

You did it, you actually changed him, and now nothing could stop him from being with you, he pulls you into a heated kiss, ready to show you how much he loves you, ready to have sex with you without you having to worry you’ll love control.

[bonesaldente]

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 5: Revenge

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

words: ~3700

____

“Lord Maul, there’s been a security breach in the prison.”

You exchange looks with Maul.

“Is it Satine?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maul has a smug expression on his face, one that typically wouldn’t be appropriate in this situation.

“Stop her, but do not hurry too much. Just don’t let her leave the planet.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t question his orders, instead rushing out of the throne room while comming the other units.

“You are using her as bait for Kenobi,” you remark, seeing through his plan.

A timid voice behind you speaks up. “How do we know they won’t send Republic forces?”

Surprised you turn around to look at your sister, who until now has not been very outspoken during strategic discussions.

You wave off her worries. “We are a neutral system, they would know better than to come here. Kenobi on the other hand…”

“Noble as always, the Jedi will come to rescue his damsel in distress,” Maul finishes your sentence.

Loa nods in understanding.

“You will have your revenge, brother.” Savage muses.

“Are you going to kill him immediately?” It would be out of character of him to not at least think of a different way of hurting Kenobi.

“I am going to take from him what he kept from me… I will kill Satine, then kill him after, so that he dies knowing his duchess died… all because of him.”

And you’ll finally have one person less to worry about, one less reappearing figure of your nightmares.

Your comlink vibrates and you open the transmission, the blue silhouette of Mandalorian armor appearing.

“The duchess has been arrested, but her accomplices are still at large.”

“Did she make the transmission?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Bring her back to her cell and keep looking for her accomplices.”

You sever the connection and give Maul an expectant look.

“Now we wait.”

*

You did wait. One and a half days, to be more precise.

“An unregistered ship is closing in on the landing pad,” the voice crackles through the comlink. “How should we proceed?”

“Let’s see how this would play out without our interference, shall we?” Maul looks positively entertained.

“Standard procedure,” you order and cut the transmission.

“Don’t get too carried away,” you tease him. “He might actually make it off this planet if we keep letting him pass.”

Of course you know he won’t, but the thought is too amusing to not voice.

“Oh, I will make sure he will not ever set foot off this planet again, that I can assure you, my lady.”

There are perks to having the throne room to yourself, you think. One of them is the ability to be as lighthearted and flirty as you want to. The other … has been explored once or twice as a form of stress relief after a nerve-frying meeting already, though you doubt there is time for that right now.

“I’m sure you will.”

Absentmindedly, you tug at your braid. It’s a little lower than usual, just barely enough for you to notice the difference, but it’s that way for good reason: Maul did it for you this morning, after having watched you do it countless times with such skill and routine that he couldn’t help his curious nature. The final product was the result of the fourth try, after the first three failed for various reasons; not pulling hard enough, letting go of strands, getting distracted by your exposed neck. The last one, however, was surprisingly good, good enough for you to leave it in for the rest of the day while at the same time being a reminder of the pleasant memory.

“Let’s check on our friend Kenobi,” he suggests, the excitement glinting in his eyes.

You shake your head in amusement, tapping away on your wristcom to recall the security holo footage from the prison, zapping through various levels and angles until you find Satine’s cell - now empty.

“It appears the Jedi is faster than anticipated,” you remark, raising your arm to show him the abandoned place.

“So it does,” he muses, not worried in the least.

The emergency line crackles to life.

“It’s the duchess. She’s getting away!”

“Which way is she headed?”

“The landing pad!”

You look at Maul who nods calmly.

“Stop them from taking off,” you command. “We will be there.”

 The spaceship most likely wouldn’t have been able to take off on its own, let alone after several missiles were fired at its engines. Now it is spinning in the air, seconds from blowing up.

Better get out now, Kenobi.

You still have to squint, though the pain is bearable as long as you allow your eyes to get used to the changed light conditions gradually. The fire set to the ship however makes it all the more challenging for you to look at, and when the Jedi and his friend finally jump out and the ship goes up in a ball of flames, you have to shield your eyes so as to not go temporarily blind again, as it happens when the lighting changes suddenly.

Your hood is blown back with the intensity of the explosion and small pieces of metal rain down on your group. You’re lucky you have your mask that at least keeps you from breathing in the smoke and dust.

Slowly, you all approach the crash site where a blond man in Mandalorian armor - red Mandalorian armor, that of your warriors - weakly crawls over the ground, moving a piece of metal away from… away from the former duchess.

It seems his affection for the woman runs deeper than expected.

It is only now that he appears to notice you or more precisely, Maul.

“No, it can’t be.”

He ignites his lightsaber, though his stance is that of a man who has already pushed past his limits and Maul holds his neck in his outstretched hand in no time.

“We meet again, Kenobi. Welcome to my world.”

You can hear how positively euphoric the zabrak is to finally have his revenge in such close proximity and you yourself can’t help the elated feeling that washes over you. This is it.

“Take them back to the palace.”

The Jedi is unable to walk anymore and it truly would be a pitiful display had you not lived the past ten years in fear of him and the rest of those knights somehow tracking you down and … bringing you to justice for the numerous crimes on your record. But no longer do you need to fear him, or any Jedi at that.

 *

“Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you… and your duchess.”

Nothing but Maul’s words of victory and Satine’s desperate gasps as he holds her up in the air by the neck can be heard, with the exception of Kenobi drawing in a sharp breath upon seeing the woman in such a predicament.

“You should have chosen the dark side, Master Jedi. Your emotions betray you. Your fear, and yes, your anger. Let your anger deepen your hatred.”

The last time you saw Kenobi - in person, seeing as he is one of the more prominent faces of the army of the Republic - he was a mere padawan, young and inexperienced but marked by deep sorrow. Today, he is almost unrecognizable, but it is this moment that you can see the same kind of raw emotion on the face of the man that is usually so collected. Today, he is a padawan all over again, watching helplessly as somebody he cares for dies at the hands of the Sith.

“Don’t listen to him, Obi-”

“Quiet.”

Kenobi takes a deep breath, and you just have to admire that pure self-control in a situation so dire.

“You can kill me, but you will never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the dark side. Only the weak embrace it.”

“It is more powerful than you know.” There is something more than intimidation that resounds in Maul’s voice; he sounds almost regretful for a second, more sincere than you expected him to be in the presence of the man he hates with such a passion.

“And those who oppose it are more powerful than you’ll ever be. I know where you’re from. I’ve been to your village. I know the decision to join the dark side wasn’t yours. The nightsisters made it for you.”

He’s been to the village? What else don’t you know?

“Silence!” Maul’s until now calm demeanor crumbles and out comes the fury that has been lingering in his hearts for over a decade.

“You think you know me? It was I who languished for years, thinking of nothing but this moment. And now the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you. But I will make you share my pain, Kenobi.”

You know the moment has come, the moment where he will break him.

Kenobi is pushed to his knees as Maul ignites the darksaber; It is borderline poetical how the former ruler of Mandalore will lose her life through the weapon she banned alongside its culture.

It happens in mere seconds: Satine’s body is pulled forward with the force, Maul turns and the darksaber goes straight through her middle. Fast, clean; almost merciful.

The Jedi scrambles to catch her falling body, brushing her hair out of her face so tenderly that despite your detestation of the man, you almost feel sorry for him. He, just like Maul, was a victim of his circumstances. And now, he is suffering just like Maul did.

The gloomy mood is overwritten by Maul’s silent ecstasy that he is feeling so intensely, he is - subconsciously or not - projecting it onto you.

“Remember, my dear Obi Wan… I’ve loved you always. I always will.”

Her words are spoken hoarsely, quietly with her dying breath and you feel like an intruder to watch this tragic scene unfold, but you can’t take your eyes off the two. Kenobi’s chest shakes with sorrow when her body goes limp in his arms. “Do we kill him now, brother?”

You love Savage like a brother, but there are times that his approach to things is a little primitive.

“No,” It seems his crimson brother has thought of a new way to destroy Kenobi - even further.

“Imprison him below. Let him drown in his misery. Take him to his cell to rot.”

Your head whips around to face Maul, your surprise clear in your eyes.

This is not what you had agreed on. He was supposed to kill him now and end this once and for all.

“The prison is not suited to hold a Jedi,” you argue.

“We will find an appropriate cell for our guest, I’m sure.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from talking back to him. This is his revenge, not yours. And if keeping Kenobi alive for now is what will make him feel better after having lived abandoned and alone on Lotho Minor for years, then so be it. But you have one condition.

“I’m coming along to make sure the appropriate measures are taken.” It’s not a question, it’s a plain statement that is not to be argued with.

If he is to be kept on Mandalore then you need to make sure he will not ever leave the prison complex, for the sake of your own sanity - you’ve lived long enough worried about this man bursting through the door after he saw your face on Naboo, you don’t need to have this fear for the rest of your life.

You try to tell him as much with one look, unwilling to let down your mental walls around the Jedi.

Maul understands.

“Very well.”

He looks so regal, sitting in that throne with his crown of horns atop his head and the sword of the ruler in his right hand. You try to etch the picture into your memory, your eyes traveling from the clean lines on his face over his toned shoulders to the cybernetics that you are still in the process of getting used to, though the sound of metal on the stone floor has quickly become one you associate with Maul.

Spinning on your heel, you wave for the guards to follow you.

“Let’s take him away.”

 It’s almost disappointing how little Kenobi does to fight back, but at the same time it makes you extremely anxious. It shouldn’t go so smoothly, it never goes this smoothly. Did he bring reinforcement after all? The next thing you’ll know is the Jedi are invading Mandalore and destroying everything you have.

No, you wish he had fought against the guards dragging him over the ground instead of just hanging there with his head dropped in utter defeat, as well as how he is currently kneeling on the transport pad without even glancing at his surroundings.

“Speed it up if you can,” you order the armored man in charge of the controls, voice cold and commanding as always through the modulator.

You have just made it onto the platform of the prison when you hear the first shot.

“Take cover!” you yell at the same time that someone else cries out: “It’s the rebels!”

Somebody’s jetpack explodes behind you, sending you flying over the edge of the platform. You just barely manage to hold onto the ledge with one hand, watching as one of the guards, the one you had told to hurry, falls hundreds of feet until you can’t even him anymore.

Grunting from the exertion, you pull yourself back up, immediately rolling under a swing from -

“You!” You hiss, shooting at the blasted woman that is the cause for your still impaired vision. The shots just bounce off of her beskar armor, though one singes the red hair enough to distract her momentarily, giving you a chance to draw your vibroblades, your actual vibroblades, not the laughable replacement you had on your first encounter.

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” You snarl, lounging at Bo-Katan, the constant throbbing behind your temples only fueling your strength by reminding you of what she’d done.

This time, you get the upper hand quickly, pushing her closer and closer to the abysm lurking beyond the ledge of the platform. Other rebels are approaching from behind you but you don’t care; you almost have their leader at your mercy - the moment she has to evade by using her jetpack, you’ll get the second you need to have a clear shot at her unprotected head. You know this, and so does she.

“You are a traitor!”

“Pre Vizsla was meant to be Mandalore’s ruler, not this outsider!” She counters, venom dripping from her voice.

“You’ll pay for your betrayal, I will see to that,” you snap in return, inching closer to the edge.

“Oh, will you? Speaking of seeing,” her obnoxious tone makes you grit your teeth, “how are your ey-”

You slash at her without warning, but she lets herself fall backwards. Your eyes track her movement, blaster pointed and ready but right before you can pull the trigger, she does something unexpected.

“Aah, you bi-”, the blinding light shining from her gauntlet makes you stagger backwards while you desperately try to cover your eyes. You don’t get to finish the curse as someone jams something, a needle, into your neck.

“Why you blasted son of … ssson of… what did… “

You fall, the world going black when your back meets the floor with a dull thud.

*

“I still don’t quite understand why you took her with you. If anything, it’s going to infuriate Maul even more.”

“I am well aware of that, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, running a tired hand through his hair. He has hardly gotten any sleep in the past 48 hours and it’s starting to catch up to him. “But she could have valuable information that, unlike Maul, she may be more inclined to share with us.”

“Sir,” Cody steps into his field of vision, holding a datapad in his hand. “Our scans have brought some first results concerning her identity.”

“Excellent, put them up.”

The holotable lights up when the datapad is connected to it, and a second later he is faced with a headshot of the masked woman who goes by the name Spectress.

“The first time that name popped up was around eight years ago, there is no mention of her before that. There are several outstanding arrest warrants for assassinations and kidnappings, some of which concerned galactic senators.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

The commander gives him a respectful nod and takes a step back to stand next to Captain Rex who has been silent until now.

“So basically… We know nothing about her?” Anakin’s incredulous look only adds to Obi-Wan’s weariness and he is about to retort something when Rex suddenly speaks up.

“Uh, Sir? I think I have seen that person before.”

Anakin looks at his captain with furrowed eyebrows.

“She has been on several ‘Wanted’ posters, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No, Sir, I mean something else.” The clone clears his throat. “I’ve seen her… on Kamino.”

Immediately, his interest is piqued. “Kamino? What could she possibly have wanted on Kamino?”

“I don’t know, Sir. She was with Jango Fett. They seemed to know each other.”

“Jango Fett… so that was before the war broke out.” Obi-Wan thinks loudly. “Anakin, are you thinking what I’m thinking?

“She could know something about the creation of the army and Syfo Dias.”

“Exactly.” He strokes his beard in thought. “Also, if she truly is as close to Maul as we think, she might have information on the unknown Sith Lord.”

“The only question is how we’re going to make her talk,” Anakin throws in. “I doubt someone like this is going to be very cooperative.”

The blast doors slide open and an officer hurries into the room.

“General Kenobi, we have found something else that you may want to see.”

The man opens a projection of what appears to have once been information stored on a bounty puck.

“We ran some face scans and this picture was a 90 percent match. The information adds up.”

The woman in the picture is young, her face serious yet clearly youthful. But what strikes him most is the fact he instantly recognizes her. How could he not? It was her he ran into right after the most drastic turning point in his life, the death of his master. Back then her face was streaked with tears and painted in the same shock he felt when he saw her. He didn’t realize then that she was crying for the dead, supposedly dead Sith lord.

Obi-Wan tears his gaze away from the photo, instead skimming the brief information. The woman appeared to be from Kessel, but the bounty on her head was too considerable for a low-level criminal in the Outer Rim. Then something else catches his eye.

“Tattoos on abdomen, ankle and back… Did you-”

“Yes, the information matches the prisoner.” That leaves little room for doubt.

“This is supposed to be Spectress? The mercenary?”

Anakin’s disbelief is understandable. The name Spectress is well-known enough to have reached the ears of the Republic Commando on multiple occasions, and the face staring back at him from the projection is hardly one that would fit the reputation.

“You must remember, Anakin, this was over a decade ago. You were just a child when this was taken and look where you are today: Much can change in that time.”

“Of course, Master.” His tone has changed, it is more distant now. His padawan, former padawan, dislikes any mention of his young age, but Obi-Wan is too worn out to address this issue at the moment.

“Has she woken up yet?” He instead asks the officer.

“No, Sir, though the sedative should wear off soon. We are unfamiliar with the exact effects of the particular mixture seeing as it does not correspond to Republic standards, but-”

He waves the clone off.

“Notify me when she awakes.”

The man salutes and leaves the room, giving him a chance to look over the other data their scans have provided.

“Bruising on arms and legs, remnants of stab wounds in several places, light sensitivity, tattooed insignia on back… What is the meaning of this?”

“It appears there is some kind of an emblem she is marked with. It is not an entirely uncommon practice in more exclusive guilds, especially in the outer rim…” Cody frowns while he studies his own datapad.

“Do we have an image of this insignia?”

“That’s what’s strange, sir. A scar runs right through the middle, so our algorithms have trouble searching the database. Look,” Cody holds out his datapad for Obi-Wan to take.

The image is indeed striking, but not because of the scar.

“I am familiar with this emblem,” Obi-Wan mumbles, staring at the two overlapping gearwheels and the distinct lines running through them. “I’ve seen it during my time undercover as Rako Hardeen, though I never knew Spectress had anything to do with them.”

“Who are they?” Anakin inquires, tired of being left in the dark.

“It is a guild of contract killers, they call themselves the Concinnity.” Obi-Wan swallows, remembering the stories he heard from other bounty hunters. “They start training when they are still children and they are… ruthless.”

“Well, that would at least explain what somebody like Maul sees in her… and vice-versa, I guess.”

“Do you think she’s still a member, sir? I doubt she would have worked with Jango Fett while in that kind of guild.”

Rex brings up a valid point.

“I suppose we will have to wait until we can ask her ourselves,” Obi-Wan sighs. “But the more I find out about this person, the less i feel like she is going to cooperate with us, to be completely honest.”

“She’ll talk, one way or another.”

Anakin’s willingness to use the force to break mental barriers has been worrying the Jedi master for a longer time now, though he hasn’t brought it up with him yet. It seems like more and more things are starting to be left unsaid between them.

His comlink beeps.

“General Kenobi, the prisoner is conscious. You can start the interrogation whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, I will be right there.”

“Also, sir, she is not… happy.”

He exhales deeply.

“I expected no less.”

____

notes: Could it be... a POV change? Impossible! I've been wanting to write from Obi-Wan's point of view for a while, I feel like it gives another dimension to the conflict between our favorites.

I know I originally said I was going to post this to tumblr yesterday but I Straight Up forgot. My bad. 

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

[zwiezraczek]

She's the first one that I see

Note: Hello hello! 💕 So this is what I wrote for @interwebslandfill’s donation commission for the BlackLivesMatter movement (the list is up right here!) ~ Thank you again for your donation and I hope you’ll enjoy it! 

~~~

You breathed in and then out. Dying was tougher than you thought it would be.

You looked back looking for someone. No one. You smiled, because you knew that your death was for greater good and that you could save much more lives than by being by yourself, parkouring in the parking lots and running away from security guards. You had a gift, they said you when they recruited you as a solo artist. You liked to think about you as an artist, a flying dancer grabbing things while in the air and falling down on Earth graciously like a swan to live a peaceful – yet hectic life on your own.

You were running, wind in your hair, and you knew you had to trip and fall and that was the easiest part. The whole situation happening right after was a lot more touchy because you had to land in order to be unnoticed by the camera on your left while you had to leave the place, and that was the plan. You had to be seen one last time falling somewhere, probably in a dumpster, and that was supposedly how you died. In a dumpster. A brilliant idea, but not very practical and from what you had heard about other's deaths yours was a really original – and laughable – one. But honestly, you didn't mind about it, as long as you were able to help them in these tiring times.

You were focused, looking right in front of you as you jumped after the fake tripping situation before falling on the matters that were put right next to it. The camera had caught you, you were sure about it but now, you had to change your clothes and wear this black hoodie on top of your regular bright t-shirt to slide from the camera's attention. As you opened the plastic bag, swishing it, you looked up one last time. This was the city where you grew up, you got these scars – the ones on your knees – on this very ground and you were about to leave it and give your soul to a great cause, and you hoped all of this was worth it. You had to make it happen.

You put the hoodie on, looked right and left before you slid against the large dumpster in order to come out to the light where a car was parked waiting for you. A new beginning. The man opened the car window and had sunglasses on and a smile drawn on his face.

“Hello Eight, I'm glad you made it.”

~~~

He drove you to their place, for about seven hours as you looked at the landscapes changing around you. When you entered the car he politely asked you how you felt about this, and more importantly if your ideas haven't changed since the last time he had spoken to you about this great mission. You looked at him and smiled, and he seemed to understand what that meant. He understood you without a word before he began to drive, while some music played in the background.

“What it is like to... Be dead,” you finally asked as he stopped at a traffic light, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel after the first few hours you had spent in the car with him, half-asleep.

“It's like being alive, but with the perks of being dead,” he replied and put his foot down as the light turned green. “The whole fun begins once you're legally dead, which you are not yet. We have to make things up so your people will find out about it quickly and you'll be able to play with us in this playground.”

“Nice,” you mumbled, your fist on your cheek as you held your head against the window. “I truly can't wait to be part of the Ghosts.”

“You already are.”

Whoever decided that this abandoned place in the middle of nowhere was a great lair for an illegal group of superheroes fighting for justice was either a genius or the devil themselves. But apparently it was only One's idea. You opened your eye as you arrived at the place, with the car jumping up and down because of the shitty road he was driving on. The middle of the night and you were there, with your new ones, the new “yours”. Which you couldn't meet right away because of the ungodly hour One drove you in there, and honestly you were also exhausted by all the preparations that you had made for this day to finally come.

One showed you your new home, a trailer in the desert. In the cold night giving you chills, this trailer looked like heaven with hell's warmth. You didn't even ask questions when he left you so you could make yourself comfortable, he mumbled something about tomorrow but you didn't bother to listen to him at that very moment. You just needed a shower and some sleep. Luckily, somebody had thought about you and left some clean clothes on the sofa that was your bed now, along with some products for you to wash yourself. Immediately after your shower, you put the clothes on and threw yourself on the bed, sleeping like a solid rock for hours and hours not thinking about the major change you made in your life.

You finally met them, after the great night you had spent sleeping in your new home. A new home and a new family. When you entered the room, they were already there looking at you opening the door. You breathed in and waved at them, with a shy smile not knowing how to react. You used to work solo, but now you had to adjust to this new way of life.

“Here's our Eight,” One said and got up from his chair. “New parkourist, parkour expert and she's good at it.” The blond man standing next to the brown-haired woman looked at you and crossed his arms with a smirk.

“I'm Five,” the woman you were looking at said. “Nice to meet you.” And then, they all proceeded to present themselves as numbers, as One told you.

“So you're my new teammate,” Four asked and looked right into your eyes. His arms were still crossed over his chest as he was sitting on the table next to Five.

“Clever,” you replied with a smile. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah, me too. One told me you were playing Robin Hood out there, sicker than what I was doing with parkour,” he admitted.

“We have our different paths, I'm not judging, parkour-fam rule.”

“General rule here,” Five added with a warm smile. “We're all coming from different backgrounds, so we know who we were but that doesn't affect who we are.”

“I'm going to cry, so much inspirational shit told there,” One interrupted them and put his hand on Three's shoulder. “Now we have our new birdie we need to turn it into a ghost.”

“On it,” Three replied. “With Two we're almost there sending anonymous messages about someone falling into the dumpster.”

“Great.”

This was probably the beginning of something new, your hometown was far behind you now. You were becoming a Ghost.

~~~

This wasn't going as good as planned. Not at all.

You trained with Four for the past seven months, parkouring in the desert together almost hand in hand with the soft breeze at night and under the hot-burning sun. You shared laughs, you heard how melodious his was and how his eyes were shining under the day and night's stars. He didn't soothe you, he enhanced your Robin Hood tendencies with his straight-forwardness and his unpredictable ideas. And you liked being pushed forward like this, out of your comfort zone – often ending up between Five's arms who was applying some pain-killing cream on your ankle as you were complaining about Four and his ideas.

But now, you knew you had no time to complain as you were running next to him on the roof, being chased by armed men behind you, shooting bullets all around. You had to split, you going more on the left and him on the right. You felt the wind in your hair, it wasn't as easy as it was when you played the Robin Hood in your hometown, it was gambling and you offered your life to play. What had crossed your mind when One came to your house in order to recruit you? It wasn't the moment to think about it. You jumped on the right, avoiding a bullet from hitting you, but at the same time you felt your feet slip on the roof. You already felt death. You cursed your ankle – the one Five had to repair a few times during the past seven months – and hoped that the sweet call of death wouldn't be as sour as predicted. At least, you knew that the guys would focus on you, on catching you alive in order to help them gather information about the Ghosts which would give time to Four to escape. And you knew how to resist if you would be caught, but you hoped for death. But a hand caught you after you heard a gunshot – Seven's probably. Your feet were pedaling in the air as you struggled to look who saved, or cursed, your life. You rose your head, and a well-known hooded face was looking at you, concerned and drawing you up to him. Four. I was him.

“Let me go down,” you shouted to him and almost let your hand slip out of his. But he grabbed yours harder.

“Darling just hold on,” he said looking into your eyes. “I'm not letting you go, Eight.”

Another gunshot behind him. You heard people falling on the roof, and hoped that they weren't on your side, that it wasn't Two. But you heard her thick French accent behind Four hurrying him up, and pulling him closer to her, drawing you up at the same time. And, as you reached the roof again and felt the ground beneath your feet you couldn't get his “darling” out of your head.

Five took care of you right after the mission, even in the car, but in your trailer mostly. She told you to be way more careful with your ankle next time because you seemed to overuse it lately. You nodded being a bit off and smiled. She then revealed you, with a little spark in her eye, that someone was waiting outside your trailer to see you. And you knew this look too well to not expect something to happen, Five always had this mischievous spark in her eye when she was about to do something she was excited about for a reason or another, and seeing this spark was rare and followed by some unexpected event. You told her to let the person enter the place as you began to fidget your hands.

It was Four, again. And again, his words began to resonate in your mind, his “darling” and the fear you saw in his eyes earlier when you were about to fall, to die. But he grabbed your hand, to net let you fall down. Maybe to not lose you, who knew. He entered the trailer, looking a bit clumsily at you with a little shy smile before sitting next to you and grabbing your hand, but this time gently stroking it with his thumb.

“How you're feeling,” he asked delicately as if he didn't want to disturb your peace of mind – at least, he thought your mind was peaceful at that very moment.

“Fine, fine,” you repeated blushing from the contact of his hand against yours and this gentle touch. You suddenly felt that it was pretty hot in here, out of nowhere and looked down, your other hand running through your hair a bit anxiously. You were also biting your lower lip.

“Look at me love, please.” You looked up, hardly believing what you had just heard. Your heart began to race, you thought that it would explode in your chest right now. You never thought that this gentleness, and the pet names would make you feel so weak and you blamed your near-death experience for that.

“L-love...?”

“I have loved you since we began to practice together,” he revealed and you felt the butterflies in your stomach merge with your beating heart, ready to make you explode from the inside. “I mean... It may sound a little bit creepy, and the situation isn't really helping but when I saw you slipping from that roof I thought that my heart would just stop and I had to run to catch you. I knew that I had to save you at that very moment...”

“Four,” you whispered, taken aback a bit.

“I know, this sounds crazy and insane and creepy but I needed to tell you this. I just needed to tell you that you became really important to me, and even if you don't love me the way I do I'll be there for you if you need me, Eight.”

“I think that... I have some feelings for you Four,” you replied shyly and you saw his eyes glistening with joy. “I think it's worth the shot, I owe you my life and even if I didn't it would be worth it, I swear.” You then pressed your lips against his hot cheek and he looked at you again, squeezing your hand.

“I'm Billy.”

You smiled before telling him your name. And from the smile on his face you knew that this would be his sweetest secret, and the most cherished name – as his was to you.

[potatocrab]

whiskey & rain

After an Enclave ambush, Rosie and Butch seek shelter from a Wasteland rainstorm. She’s got a sprained ankle, complicating matters, since Butch’s medical knowledge is severely lacking. Her emotions are already running wild as it is. At least there’s a bottle of whiskey to share, and keep them warm, right? Oh, did I mention there’s only one bed?

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

6271 words | [read on Ao3]

Fuck the Wasteland

Rosie had come to the conclusion about halfway through the firefight with the Enclave patrol that ambushed her and Butch on their way back to Megaton from Girdershade. Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to follow the main road, but it was smarter than wandering through the rough terrain and risk running into radscorpions or a deathclaw. The unit was comprised of four Enclave soldiers toting laser weapons—two had been vaporized by her plasma rifle when gloomy clouds appeared in the never-ending sky above their heads and it began to rain.

And it wasn’t like the trickle that soothed her to sleep as it pitter-pattered against the metal walls of her home—no, this rainstorm was the most torrential downpour she’d experienced since leaving Vault 101. Rosie would’ve been terrified, if she wasn’t so distracted by the men in darkened power armor trying to kill her. The rain and flashes of lightning didn’t make her already poor aim any better.

“Damnit,” she cursed, more to herself, glancing over to find Butch focused on reloading his weapon from a crouched position. He hadn’t heard her, and if he had, or could read her mind, he’d probably laugh and tease her for the profanity—so unladylike.

The harder the rain fell—heavy splotches catching on her glasses and distorting her vision further—the more difficult pinning down the last two enemies became. She maneuvered along the rocky ledge she and Butch were using for cover, only to slip on a slick patch of mud. Rosie shrieked, dropping her weapon to the side so she could catch herself before falling face-first against the sharp gravel. Either way, the landing still hurt, her hands and wrists aching with as she pushed herself up. What was worse, she realized, as she tried to stand, was that her ankle was badly twisted—maybe even fractured.

“Ha! Take that, ya’ son-of-a—”

Her companion’s taunting was interrupted by the rapid firing of a laser pistol, the red beams instantly smoldering as they met nearby boulders and pavement. Butch ducked his head down, and only then seemed to notice Rosie’s current state, though his face and expression were hard to see through her fogged-up glasses.

He shuffled closer, and she grimaced as she turned to lean against the ledge. “You shot?”

“No,” she answered. At least she didn’t think so. Bullet wounds were one thing, but energy blasts—even against armor—weren’t the easiest to treat. Especially by somebody with untrained hands. Rosie made a mental note to teach Butch about tending to injuries—she certainly had the medical journals to spare.

She made a feeble attempt to wipe away the rain from her face but it was no use. Instead, she tilted her chin over the rocky hill, gesturing to the sound of the gunfire. “How many are left?”

“One,” Butch answered, grumbling as he inspected his pistol. “I’m outta ammo.”

She resisted the urge to reprimand him for being so carless, always a little too trigger-happy when it came to fighting Wasteland threats. Then again, Butch was never one for discipline. Rosie reluctantly nudged the plasma rifle towards him, and hoped she wasn’t opening a can of expired cram (weren’t all cans of cram expired, she mused to herself).

“Here,” she said, blindly searching for her bag that had been lost in the scuffle so that she could pass him a few microfusion cells. When she turned her head back, Rosie found him too close for comfort, placing her messenger bag in her lap. It had seen better days, the canvas fabric streaked with mud and dirt. “T—Thanks.”

Butch’s face was a little easier to make out in that close proximity, and she paused, struck by the way he looked with the rain in his eyes, caught on his long lashes and shining on his tanned skin. Even his usually coifed hair was now comically flat, drooping down across his forehead and begging for her to reach out and brush away.

“Well?” he prompted, interrupting her thoughts. He picked up the rifle, inspecting it carefully and testing the weight of it in his arms, a smirk pulling at his lips. There was a reason she’d never let him handle it before—it had already gone to his head. “Ain’t got all day, Stitches. Wanna get zapped, or drown?”

Any nice feeling she might’ve been having about him popped like a balloon. Rosie groaned, pursing her lips as she rummaged through the outside pocket of her bag for the ammo casing.

“Don’t be wasteful, these are hard to find.” she expressed, placing it in his open palm. Expensive too, she thought. She gave him a skeptical look, suddenly having doubts. Maybe it would be better if she tried to take the last soldier down, even with her impaired vision and wobbly legs. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“How hard can it be?” he asked, snapping the microfusion cell into place with a resounding slap. His confidence was not reassuring. He leaned in closer and Rosie winced as the back of her head hit the sharp edge of the cliffside as she instantly backed away. Why was he always doing that? Butch snickered, though it was hard to hear him properly with the howling wind and the echoing sounds of laser beams hitting the rock formations they were hiding behind. “Now, sit pretty while the Butch-man saves the day.”

Rosie would’ve rolled her eyes if he hadn’t just called her pretty. Her hands clenched around the bag in her lap, a lot more thankful for the rain as it soothed her suddenly very warm face. She watched, tilting her head to look over the rim of her glasses to see Butch’s blurry form maneuver along the rocky barrier with the rifle in his hands. He waited, timing the Enclave soldier’s shots until there was a moment of silence, jolting up to return fire. Rosie counted the shots, smiling despite herself when Butch taunted the enemy before shooting off one final round. He’d used less than half the clip—not too bad—for his first time.

“Oh yeah!” he exclaimed, lowering the rifle slightly to pump one fist in the air. “Look at that!”

Despite the aching in her leg, she twisted her body and gradually pulled herself up to stand and lean against the cliffside. Not a few yards away sat a large pile of green goo, still smoldering even as it was slowly mixed into the dirt by the rain. She looked back to Butch, who was far too excited about the vaporized remains. No more energy weapons for him, she quickly decided. Not unless he got proper training—it would go nicely with the stack of medical textbooks she planned to give him, whether he liked it or not.

“Lootin’ time?” he asked, nudging her in the shoulder. Rosie wavered, hissing sharply when the weight shifted painfully along her ankle and foot. Butch’s expression changed, eyebrows furrowing as he looked at her, noticing the way she was hunched over the rockface and favoring her right leg. All the humor seemed to drop from his face, propping the plasma rifle against the rocks before inching closer. “Said you weren’t shot.”

“I wasn’t,” she said, adjusting herself so she could bend her left knee backwards, alleviating the pressure. “My ankle is sprained,” she paused but decided there was no use in holding back her medical observations. “It might be broken.”

Rosie might have laughed at Butch’s deep frown if it wasn’t being directed at her. It was hard to tell if it was one of sympathy, or annoyance. If he had any kind of snide or clever remark to say, he didn’t get the chance, the sky loudly crackling with a roll of thunder as the rain came down even harder. He grabbed the plasma rifle again, slinging it over his back before offering her his arm. She hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand.

“Well?” he wiggled his fingers. “I’m offerin’ to help, so don’t say I never did anything nice for ya’”

Rosie softly smiled, recalling plenty of kind gestures he’d performed since they’d reunited, patched up their differences, and became unlikely friends. After situating her messenger bag across her body, she grabbed his hand, and he moved it to wrap his arm around her middle to keep her propped up against him.

She rested her arm around his shoulder, gesturing to the road. “We just passed an abandoned stop-and-shop. It’s a few clicks west.”

Butch nodded, and slowly the two started their departure from the ambush site, Rosie dragging her foot between them. Halfway to the pre-war gas station, the storm clouds darkened with the evening sky, the rain and windchill causing her to involuntarily shudder. Without a word, Butch pulled away from her, gripping her wrist tight enough so she wouldn’t topple over without his support.

“Wha—”

“I dunno about you,” Butch explained, passing her the plasma rifle and situating it across her back. In return, he took the bag of supplies. “But I don’t feel like freezin’ to death. Slowpoke.”

She was about to say something, anything in rebuttal to the teasing insult when he crouched down in front of her, glancing over his shoulder at her expectantly. “Wha—”

Again, he interrupted her. “What’s it look like? Lemme carry you, it’ll be faster.”

Her instinct was to say no, especially to a piggy-back-ride. She wasn’t a child. But the alternatives; slung over his shoulder or worse—bridal style in his arms—made her shiver. Or maybe that was just the rain again. Reluctantly, she nodded, holding tightly to his shoulders as she climbed onto his back. She shut her eyes tightly, biting down on her bottom lip as to not make a ludicrous sound at the feel of his hands looping around her thighs and knees, securing her around his waist as he stood.

Rosie reflexively tightened her elbows around his neck, daring to peek open her eyes as he moved, briskly walking down the paved road. “Don’t drop me.”

“Don’t choke me,” he retorted, voice strained. “You aren’t heavy, Stitches. Even when soaking wet.”

She remained silent the rest of the trip to the abandoned storefront, a tiny little shop with boarded up windows that sat adjacent to a long-forgotten highway gas-pump. Relics of another time, before the Great War, when people used cars to travel long distances instead of walking them. Would’ve come in handy when getting stuck in the rain, she was sure. Butch lowered her to the ground outside the shop’s entrance, and she leaned against the wall as he pried off the wooden planks that barred the door. Surprisingly, beyond that, it wasn’t locked.

“Plasma me,” Butch gestured for the rifle and Rosie blinked before registering his intentions, slinging off the weapon from her shoulders and passing it back to him. Better him to sweep the building for critters than she. Regardless, she hopped along after him through the entranceway—if she had to spend another moment in the rain, she’d probably cry. Just as she closed the door behind them, and secured the chain lock, Butch called out from somewhere further back in the store. “Nothin’ here!”

Nothing but dust and the remnants of a pre-war convenience store, she observed, glancing at the 200-year-old shelves. Rosie used them for balance as she made her way back to where Butch was standing, the rifle placed on the counter as he observed the set-up of the minimal furniture in the back-area space. There were two chairs, a small table with a stack of magazines, a metal crate and one, twin-sized bed, pushed up against the back wall.

Great.  

Rosie didn’t have time to voice her sentiments when the entire shack rumbled with a terrible shake of thunder. The sheer intensity of the sound made her flinch, lunging forward to grasp the filthy shop counter so she wouldn’t fall. Butch didn’t react in the same way—didn’t do anything but turn back to face her with an expression that was stuck between amused and pity.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he said, pushing the bag of supplies off his shoulder and onto the space between them.

Rosie watched his movements carefully, the way he unclasped his Pip-Boy from his wrist before setting it down. She trembled, limping around the counter so she was closer to the chair—she really needed to sit down. Lightning flashed through the cracks in the boarded-up windows and after a few seconds, another boom of thunder resonated through the sky. “You aren’t?”

“Nah,” Butch answered with a shrug, removing his leather jacket and inspecting it with a frown. He shook out the loose rainwater before slinging it over where the plasma rifle was. “Ain’t half as bad as the stuff we’ve seen together, out there,” he pointed in the general direction of outside, still focused on his wet clothing. “Lotsa more stuff to be scared of. Like right now, like I said, I don’t feel like freezin’ to death.”

As if on cue, his words caused her teeth to chatter and an intense shiver to run up her spine. She was certain it was the cold that time, even as he continued to pluck at his clothing, pulling at the zipper of his vault suit. Her cheeks went warm again, and she widened her eyes, unable to decide if she wished her glasses were still foggy from the rain or not. On a list of things she thought she’d see that day, things she wanted to see, Butch DeLoria undressing was not one of them. Or was it?

Damnit—she bit her tongue hard before the curse fell out of her mouth. “What are you—”

He shot her a bewildered glare, zipper down to his waist and open wide at the shoulders exposing the damp, white t-shirt beneath. “Changing clothes, what’d ya’ think? Jesus, Stitches, do you want me to get sick?”

Rosie recoiled, the flush on her cheeks growing hotter at the sight of his shirt, taut against his body, the fabric just translucent enough that she could see the outline of his chest beneath. The moment she realized she was staring, her embarrassment flared and she whipped around, shooting her eyes to the ceiling. What was wrong with her? When did she become a doe-eyed pervert? He was rubbing off on her, in all the wrong ways.  

His chuckling could be heard over the sound of more shuffling fabric. “Not the best time to be a prude, chatterbox.”

She immediately pursed her lips to quiet the sound of her teeth, but it hardly helped. Butch scooted the bag her way until it bumped into her arm. Hesitantly she glanced over her shoulder to find him changed into a new, dry shirt, hunched over as he replaced his socks. He wasn’t wearing pants—but it wasn’t like there was a new pair in the bag anyways. Rosie averted her eyes, even if she’d seen him wandering the Megaton homestead in his boxer shorts before. These were completely different circumstances.

The canvas bag was open, the contents thankfully dry due to the waterproof fabric. She dug through the supplies until she found her rolled up set of sleep clothes and a dry pair of socks. When she realized Butch was watching her, she waved her finger in a circle formation. “Turn around. Close your eyes.”

Rosie kept her eyes on him as he sighed but followed suit, crossing his arms as he turned away. She was going to count to ten before even stating to undress, but the cold and reality of her injury started to settle in. Her fingers shook as she removed her Pip-Boy, placing it near Butch’s on the countertop. They continued to tremble as she pulled at the zipper of her vault-suit, pausing to remove the armored bits that Moira had provided all those months ago. She slinked her arms out, quickly stripping the soaked undershirt and bra from her body and replacing it with the dry t-shirt instead. When it came time to shimmy the vault suit down her legs, however, it proved too difficult and she toppled over into the nearby chair with a sharp yelp.

Butch turned around in an instant, and she didn’t have time to be embarrassed by the state of her undress. Not when her ankle was throbbing—with the way her head was spinning, she couldn’t tell if it was broken or not. He approached, and she shut her eyes to save herself from looking at him, knowing full-well the kind of view he had at the moment.

“Gonna let me help ya’, Rosie?”

She never knew what to think when he switched from her childhood nickname to her birthname. It was confusing, but it usually meant he was attempting to be serious, or at least honest. She peeked open one eye and found him staring not at her chest or her lowered vault-suit but at her face—at her eyes. Her chest tightened with an uncertain, but familiar warm feeling.

“O—okay,” she finally answered, swallowing down the nervous bubble in her throat. She pointed at the bag on the counter. “You’ll need the medical supplies.”

Butch grabbed the entire bag before scooting the second chair so it was in front of hers. First, he passed her the folded-up Nuka-Cola blanket that Sierra Petrovita had given her in exchange for Nuka-Cola Quantum. “So you can cover yourself up,” he explained, glancing away. She caught the faintest hint of what she might consider a blush. “Ya’ know, from prying eyes.”

Rosie bit down on her bottom lip so she wouldn’t smile, opening up the blanket and draping it across her lap to cover her exposed underwear and tucked it across her chest for warmth. “Thank you.”

He nodded and looked down at her shoes. “I’m gonna take these off for ya’”

“Okay,” she replied, watching him intently as he unlaced her boots just enough until he could slide her feet out, taking greater care with her left foot. Next came her wet socks, though he didn’t offer her a new pair right away, and it took him tugging on the bottom of her vault-suit to understand why. “I can do it.”

“Sure,” he responded sarcastically. “Is that why ya’ fell over into that chair?”

Rosie didn’t have a response, though she hardly ever had one for his quips. The brainfreeze didn’t help matters. She got the suit down to her knees when he silently convinced her to let him take the fabric from her hands, carefully removing it the rest of the way. Even so, she whimpered at the pain in her ankle, wincing at the throbbing ache.

“Sorry!” Butch’s hands froze mid-air, one grey sock dangling from his fingers as he stared up at her with wide eyes. She gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into the blanket, if only to prevent herself from reaching out to brush the dark hair from his face.

“I’m—” she stopped, inhaling sharply when he moved to grab her right foot, sticking it into the sock for her. “I could’ve done that.”

“You don’t have to do everything, ya’ know,” Butch replied, brows furrowed. She grit her teeth, softly gasping as he adjusted her left foot so it was propped up on his knees. “Let somebody else take care of ya’ every once in a while.”

Rosie silently nodded in response, too focused on the rapid beating of her heart to say anything. He leaned over to dig through the bag, fishing out the metal tin that protected her precious medical supplies, along with the copy of D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine. She leaned over to grab the book before he got distracted by flipping through the pages.

“Betcha been waitin’ to train me on all this medical mumbo-jumbo,” Butch muttered as he opened the medical kit, sifting through the contents with a few fingers. Rosie plucked the thick ribbon she’d been using as a bookmark from the pages and sighed—he didn’t know the half of it.

“I’d rather not be injured,” she said, gathering up her dark hair and squeezing out the remnants of rainwater before tying it up so it wasn’t sticking to her face or the back of her neck. She took off her glasses for a moment, wiping them on the blanket so they were free of any smudges—well, as smudge-free as she could make them. “My ankle isn’t broken.”

“How’d ya’ know that?” Butch asked, glancing up at her as he lifted a stimpak from the case, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“Don’t waste that,” she said first, prompting him to put it back with a quizzical expression. She’d teach him about pain management and the reason why not every injury needed a stim later. “It isn’t broken because if it were, I’d be in a lot more pain.”

“Oh.”

She nodded, pointing to the box in his lap next to her injured foot. “The gauze wrap. You’ll have to wrap it tight. Up and over and around the arch of my foot for support.”

Butch gave a curt nod, setting the medical case aside as he gathered the roll of gauze in his hands. At least they were clean from the rain, otherwise they’d have to waste a bottle of purified water tending to injuries. He gave a tentative press to one side of her ankle, holding the weaved fabric in place as he circled it around her foot, just as she’d instructed. His gentle touch was surprising, just as much as his quick learning—even if it wasn’t a complicated procedure.

“Probably would look worse too, huh?” he broke the silence, glancing up for a second before focusing back on his work. “If it was broken, I mean. Like when Wally punched me in the nose, remember that?”

“More,” she responded, and she saw the subtle flinch in his movements, causing her to whole body to heat. She didn’t mean it like—boys and their gutter minds. “Tighter, I mean.”

Her body felt numb, but it wasn’t from the cold. “I—yes. I remember. You sneezed blood all over my lab coat. My dad gave you both a scolding.”

He laughed but swallowed it back almost immediately. “Sorry, Rosie.”

They’d already been down that road, apologizing for whatever had happened in the vault, but it didn’t hurt to hear it again once in a while. She smiled, testing the tension of the bandages once he had finished wrapping them around her ankle.

“I’m sorry too,” she said, continuing before he could interrupt. “I broke your nose the second time.”

Butch laughed again, but this time the amusement lingered on his face at the memory. “Yeah, yeah. I deserved that, though.”

Silence settled between them, and Rosie wasn’t sure what to say or do. Butch offered her the other sock to her pair and she slowly rolled it onto her foot, lowering it to the ground once finished. His eyes flicked down and her eyes followed just as he reached out to gently grasp her wrists.

“Your hands,” he spoke quietly, frowning as he observed the scrapes on her palms. “From the rocks?”

Rosie blinked. “They were sharp.”

Butch rolled his eyes at her simple response, placing her hands down between them as he grabbed the small bottle of alcohol from the medical kit, and a cotton swab. “I think I’ve seen you do this enough to be an expert.”

As he sanitized the scratches, she couldn’t help but study his face, mesmerized by his unnaturally calm and collected bedside manner. Well, chairside manner. He wrapped one hand in a lighter gauze to create a bandage, taping it closed—her other palm only had superficial marks, and they didn’t need to waste medical supplies on patching it up.  

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, catching him off guard.

Butch shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”

She was at a loss for words again, staring at his face with what was probably a dumbstruck expression. He started packing up the medical tin but pointed to the contents. “Sure ya’ don’t want a stimpak, or a med-x?”

Rosie nodded, remaining silent as he shoved it back into her canvas bag. He handed her the folded-up pair of pajama pants she’d tried to change into and stood up, stepping back to where he’d been standing before with his back turned. She thought about asking ‘what if I need help’ but decided that was too daring, even for her. Instead she quickly slipped her feet into the pajamas, sliding them up her legs beneath the blanket before pushing herself up from the chair. With her ankle tightly wrapped in a makeshift brace, it was much easier to stand and pull up the pants the rest of the way, securing them at her waist with a knot.

“Need me to carry you to bed?” Butch asked, with only the slightest hint of debauchery.

“N—no,” Rosie responded, even if the sudden intrusive thought that penetrated her mind was thrilling. She limped, thankful it wasn’t a long distance between where she’d been sitting and the mattress, which had seen better days. Butch followed, and she flinched at his sudden closeness, sliding away from him as he reached down to snatch the blanket away. “Hey!”

“I’m just—” he shot her an annoyed look as he walked back towards the knocked over shelves and shook out the blanket, freeing it from as much dust as possible. “See?”

Oh. She sat down on the edge of the bed and did the same to the ancient pillow, watching the plume of dirt rise through the air and then to the ground. As unpleasant at it was, she’d slept in worse conditions, and could count on taking a warm, sanitizing shower when she was back home in Megaton. The thought of warm, running water suddenly reminded her of how cold she was and how not even the Nuka-Cola blanket was helping.

Butch reappeared with the bigger, moderately less-dusty blanket and a suspiciously wicked grin. “Lookie what I found!”

He sat down, causing the springs of the mattress to bounce and shift her body closer to his. He draped the blanket across their laps before showing off his prize. In his free hand was a sealed bottle of amber liquid—whiskey. Of course. Out of anything else one could scavenge for in a pre-war convenience store, Butch DeLoria would find the booze.

Rosie sighed, disinterested. Her toes were cold. So were her fingers—and her nose. “Anything else?”

Butch faltered, the flicker of disappointment brief as he passed her a small box—Fancy Lad Snack Cakes. She didn’t have the biggest sweet tooth, but they sure beat some of the other pre-war food they came across sometimes. Plus, snack cakes were one of the few things she actually missed about the vault that she could find on the surface. Stuffed with so many preservatives that after 200 years, they only tasted a little stale.

“No Cola?” she questioned, watching as he peeled the wax off the top of the bottle. She opened the packaging in her lap and plucked free a pale blue miniature cake.

“We gave it all to that crazy lady, remember?” he said, tossing the debris to the floor with the rest of the Wasteland trash. He unscrewed the bottle and flashed her curious look. “Doesn’t alcohol keep you warm?”

“You’re the expert,” Rosie replied, not meaning to sound sarcastic as she chewed on the sweets. Judging by his smirk, he took it as a joke. “Medically speaking, yes. Mild intoxication tends to warm one’s body.”

“Well then,” he chuckled, lifting the bottle. “Maybe we should get mildly intoxicated. Ya’ know, for the warmth.”

Rosie narrowed her eyes at him, knowing exactly what he was doing, trying to talk her into some kind of game. Even if he was technically right. He tilted back his head to take a generous swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with his wrist when he was done. A momentary—and perhaps very stupid—burst of bravery washed through her.

“Give me that,” she demanded, sounding more like a stubborn schoolchild than the young-adult she was, out to prove herself against her childhood bully turned friend. Friend. She hated that word, and what it meant for them. But she didn’t want to get lost in her melancholy thoughts or feelings—no—she wanted to prove herself. Butch seemed reluctant to let the bottle of whiskey go, swapping her for the snack cakes, watching as she lifted it to her lips before taking a hesitant sip, larger than she intended. Despite the fact it tasted foul, she gulped it down, widening her eyes at the fire that immediately bloomed in her throat, chest and stomach. “Oh—oh God.”

“Ha!” Butch laughed, munching on a tiny cake before reaching to take the alcohol back from her. “You should see your face.”

It felt on fire too. Flushed and warm and—thank God she was finally warm. At least the medical theories were right about that. She pushed a few fingers against her cheeks, knocking her glasses askew. “Is there something on it?”

“No,” he said softly, still staring at her in a way that made her skin prickle with goosebumps. “Ya’ never wear your hair up like that.”

Rosie shook her head, lifting her hands to run her fingers through the ponytail. She thought about pulling out the ribbon when he spoke again. “It looks nice.”

On top of the alcohol, his compliment made her entire body flush with a delightful kind of heat she wasn’t ready to lose. She glanced at his head, smiling at the natural curls as his hair dried. It was endearing to see, knowing how rare a sight it was—maybe she’d have to steal away all his pomade, even if it caused a fight.

He chuckled, noticing her reaction, taking another, smaller sip of the whiskey. Rosie protested, creasing her eyebrows. “Oh no, don’t—there’s germs!”

“I already drank from it,” he snickered at her realization. “You’ve already got my cooties.”

“Ugh,” she responded, pushing her face further into her hand. “Not DeLoria cooties.”

“Well ex-cuuu-see me,” he mocked offense, passing the bottle back with a sideways smile.  

She giggled, though her mind was clear enough to register the foreign sound and the fact that she had been talking and speaking in such an uncharacteristic manner. Rosie glanced at the label and took a larger gulp, trying not to sputter at the taste she couldn’t get used to—never again. She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“Very mature.”

Rosie pointed an accusatory finger at his stupid, handsome face. Why did she like his face? “I’m more mature than you!”

He leaned in with not much of an argument. “Nuh uh!”

“I’m smarter,” she retorted, pushing at his shoulder as he snatched the bottle from her hands. Instead of shoving her away like he used to do when they were younger, he tugged her closer, hand wrapped around her wrist—a much different tactic when it came to teasing. Rosie wasn’t sure what to do, but the words fell from her mouth unprompted. “Cuter too, right?”

There it was, the something stupid she was afraid of saying. All it took was a little bit of liquid courage and suddenly she was brave enough to say something mildly flirtatious. They were so close now, maybe—maybe he’d kiss her—or maybe she’d kiss him. The longer she stared into his baby-blues, the more she felt like she was drowning, or maybe she already had, outside in the rain.

“Rosie,” he spoke her name in a breath and what she wouldn’t give to have him repeat it over and over again until it was the only sound she could hear. His hands encircled hers and she briefly wondered where the bottle had gone. “Your hands are cold.”

“Hmm.”

She titled herself closer, closing her eyes, smiling in a delirious way when her forehead landed against his shoulder. Not quite where she wanted to be, but it was a start. Butch’s voice was distant, but she wasn’t sure why.

“Let’s get ya’ warmed up.”

She didn’t remember falling asleep. When Rosie opened her eyes, the room was dark except for the light coming from Butch’s Pip-Boy. He was sitting in the nearby chair, still awake. She couldn’t tell what time it was, but she couldn’t have slept long.

A sudden bombardment of memories, as clear as day, flashed through her mind, and the most embarrassment she’d ever felt washed over her. In a tipsy—drunken—haze, she’d made a pass at Butch. Tried to kiss Butch. Jesus Christ, she’d never live it down. She’d never leave that bed again, just roll over and smother herself into the dusty pillow. Maybe there was the chance he wouldn’t remember, but she doubted that. Either way, there was no easy way out. Curiosity got the better of her, and she hesitantly poked her head out of the blankets that had been tucked around her body.

“Butch?” she whispered, catching his attention. He glanced up from whatever game he’d been playing, the noises fading away. “Why are you awake?”

“Why are you?” he mimicked her hushed tone, gesturing to the spread-out bedroll on the floor. Though, to her, it looked more like a dark blob without her glasses. “It isn’t dry yet.”

“Oh,” she responded. Rosie chewed on her bottom lip, unable to see his face. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Are you?” he asked back, but it wasn’t condescending.

“A little,” she answered, hiding the truth, snuggling back under the layers of blankets. It was still raining, the howl of wind rattling the store’s walls—it was any wonder she was still freezing. “Don’t you want a banket?”

“Are you offering to share?”

“Yes—wait,” she widened her eyes when she realized the implication. She was only offering him one of the blankets, not— “I’m not—”

“You aren’t?” Butch’s tone made it clear he was teasing her, as he stood to place his Pip-Boy back down on the countertop. “I ain’t gonna lie, been gettin’ a lotta mixed signals from ya’ tonight.”

Oh, he definitely remembered.

“Stop teasing me!” she frowned, even if he couldn’t see. Or maybe he could, now that he was looming over the bed. “Or you don’t get the blanket!”

“What if I steal it anyways?” Rosie didn’t have a response, pouting even more. Butch snickered as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come on Rosie, scootch over.”

Hey now—she wasn’t that easy. Even if she’d contradicted that earlier in the night. She glared up at him, focusing on what she could see of his face. Where were her glasses anyways?

“You aren’t sleeping here unless you agree to my conditions,” she started, watching his shoulders slump as he sighed. “No sneaky, wandering hands,” she wet her teeth, a brief flash of what that might feel like causing a lapse in her thoughts and words. “No drooling on my hair, no snoring in my ear, no joking or innuendo, and no teasing.”

“That’s a lotta rules,” he replied, but gradually began peeling back the covers. Rosie slapped his hand away and he dramatically sighed again. “Fine. Gosh, whatever. I agree. Now scoot. I’m freezin’ out here.”

The moment he started to crawl into the bed, the reality of the situation sunk in and she immediately rolled over, curling up on her side as close to the wall as she could get.

Butch hummed, pretending to be put out. “What, can’t face me?”

“I said no teasing!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Butch quietly laughed, adjusting himself beside her.

Despite the fact he said he’d been cold, his body radiated warmth. And even though she’d given him a thorough list of requirements, he quickly hooked an arm around her waist, causing her to seize up. “What are you—?”

“Breakin’ the rules, like I always do,” he responded, tugging her closer. She tried to protest, but he hushed her. “Just be warm. You can yell at me in the mornin’”

His voice whispered around her ear, causing a shiver to run from her head to her toes. Rosie tried—she really did—but the quick beat of her heart and nervous fluttering of her stomach made it hard to relax, even with the heat surrounding her. She fidgeted, shifting her legs and moving her injured foot away, her right foot back until it pushed against his shin.

“Rosie,” he mumbled, sleepily. She went still at the use of her name, never dreaming she’d ever hear it spoken quite like that. He lifted his leg up and over hers, pressing his calf down on her restless foot. “Cut it out.”

Butch’s breathing evened out shortly after that action, and Rosie decided it was time to follow him into slumber. She closed her eyes, settling back into his embrace. His arm reflexively tightened around her, and he mumbled something incoherent in his sleep. She smiled, thinking to herself that she might actually awake well-rested.

Sharing a bed with Butch DeLoria wasn’t something she thought she’d ever do—heck, any of the things that had transpired that evening hadn’t been expected—but now that it had happened, it was something she could certainly get used to. Rosie had to wonder if there would be a next time.  

[sinsbymanka]

Thank you so much @zuendwinkel​ for donating! I am SO GLAD to add this lovely Hawke x Fenris to the collection, writing them was a joy! I’m also SO EXCITED to share the artwork you created that goes along with it! Thank you so much for blessing us with something so soft, beautiful, and detailed!! 

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Flock of Trouble Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris Rating: T Content Warnings: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age II, Fluff and Angst, Reunions

Read on AO3

Broody,

Listen. We got into a bit of a situation in the Western Approach. Fell tits over ass right into the Fade. I wish I was shitting you. Do you remember those giant spiders outside Kirkwall? They’ve got nothing on fade demon spiders. I have had enough of the whole thing for the rest of my life. Hawke took off with the Wardens to tell Weisshaupt that their whole fighting force is at risk of being controlled like finger puppets by an ancient magister. I got the worse job of telling you where the fuck he was going (Remember, don’t murder the messenger. Who else would get you that wine you like from Tevinter?)

He said not to follow him. Doesn’t want your Broody arse that close to Tevinter, I expect. I’m fully aware you’ll be going anyway. Take the note attached to my solicitor and get some coin to tide you over. Don’t get captured by slavers. Try to lie low.

When you see Hawke - ask him what happened in the Fade. Somebody needs to kick some sense into his ass. You’re the best person for it.

Sincerely, Varric Tethras

P.S. I’m adding the money Hawke lost to me to your gambling debts. Wicked Grace soon?

Weisshaupt appeared as foreboding and desolate as Fenris had expected. 

Sun-bleached stone soared into a clear, burning sky. Walls meant for defense rather than appeal ringed a fortress that looked as if it could withstand an archdemon itself. If Fenris remembered correctly, it had survived at least two. Perhaps three. 

Of course, if Garrett Hawke were there currently, it may soon fall into the blighted land surrounding it. That did seem to be the man’s luck.  And if Garrett Hawke wasn’t there, Fenris would hunt him down, if only to give the man the tongue lashing he richly deserved. 

In truth, Fenris felt uneasy. The Tevinter border at his back reminded him of the last time he’d been so far north. He’d been running then, as fast as he could go, a desperate chase that led to Kirkwall, an empty box, an abandoned mansion and…

And Garrett Hawke. 

Fenris remembered clearly everything that happened after he met Garrett. He had spent hours examining the path he took with a cynic’s wary gaze, looking for the moment it had all changed, the second he stopped running and made a choice. 

A choice that led him here, to the edge of the world, chasing instead of being chased. 

“What business do you have here?” A rough voice barked. It belonged to a woman, old for a Warden, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword on her hip with a warrior’s preparedness. But her stance was casual. Eyes alert and pleasant. There was no whiff of danger here, not for him at any rate. It did not quite reassure him, but there was no reason to reach for the blade on his back. Yet.

“I am here for the Champion of Kirkwall.” He informed the guard politely, wrapping the reins around his fist while he smoothly dismounted. 

The woman rocked back on her heels, a started, humorless laugh slipping from her lips. “The Champion of Kirkwall?” 

Fenris’s heart sunk, but he kept his face impassive. He could not help the way his gauntlets tightened on the leather bridle. “He is not here.” 

“Oh no! The blighted fool is still here. Are you here to take him back to wherever he came from? Cause I’d be grateful, Serah. May even slip some coin in your pocket.” 

Something broke inside him, a fever finally easing. Fenris had been traveling for longer than he wished to recount, and had not allowed himself to consider the end of the journey or who he wished to find there. 

“Where may I find him?” 

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but whatever response she meant to give was cut off by an unholy clatter and what sounded like a small explosion. Her expression darkened and she jerked her thumb to a thin trail of smoke rising above the walls. 

“Wherever there’s trouble, typically.” She sighed. 

Fenris knew Garrett far too well to disagree with that statement. 

The smoke smelled of herbs Fenris recognized, elfroot chief among them, and it was billowing from within a stable of all things. Soldiers, Fenris assumed they were Grey Wardens, stood with various expressions of shock, dismay, and annoyance. 

The nobles in Kirkwall wore the same looks the day Garrett knocked over six of the merchant’s stalls in Hightown. He’d been chasing a dog, who was chasing a street urchin, who was trying to catch a nug with a kitten in it’s mouth. 

Maker only knew how Garrett had gotten roped into the whole thing. 

Fenris simply remembered the chaos unspooling below him from his perch on the steps and that bubble of emotion that rose up in his chest while he chuckled ruefully and Isabela cheered. He hadn’t known what to call that feeling, not then, not watching Garrett retrieve the kitten and present it to the street urchin while the rich nobility stared in bewilderment. 

But when he saw Garrett in the stable doors, waving his arms like a windmill to disperse the smoke, Fenris felt it again. This time he knew its name.  

Joy. 

Knots loosened in his chest. Only to be replaced by a sharp spike of annoyance more than a match for the cloud of irritation hovering around Garrett. 

Except, of course, Garrett was impervious to the mood. He cast his dark eyes around the courtyard, flitting right over Fenris in his search for something. Then, a half second later, sliding back to where he stood. 

“Fen!” Garrett shouted, a joyful grin splitting his face. “You’re here!” 

Garrett bounded away from the smoking door, arms swinging. He wasn’t in armor, wasn’t armed, and a part of that struck a chord that made Fenris both wary and wistful. When was the last time Garrett had abandoned his armor around strangers? 

Garrett stumbled to a stop in front of him, arms out, waiting while his eyes dragged themselves over every inch of Fenris’s lyrium lined face. 

“You’re really here.” Garrett whispered. 

Almost as if he thought he’d never see him again. 

“Yes.” Fenris snapped instead, jerking his chin at the ancient fortress. “I have, once again, followed you to the edge of civilization.” 

At least Garrett had the good grace to look contrite. “I mean. They do have that wine here you like.” 

“It is more easily obtainable this close to Tevinter.” 

Garrett winced. “I told Varric to tell you-” 

“It was too much trouble to write to me with your own hand?” 

That made his lover recoil. Garrett did not grab for him, although he lifted his arm, fingers outstretched in silent plea. “Fen that… that wasn’t it at all. There was an army of demons. Giant spider. Marching across the blighted desert. Griffon eggs…” 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris repeated, incredulous. 

Garrett’s whole face brightened. “Griffon eggs! I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks, Fen, you won’t believe-” 

Fenris swallowed his anger and shook his head. In one movement, he turned on his heel and stomped away from the human with his beaming smile, warm eyes, and new wrinkles from sorrow on his forehead. 

It was always safest to walk away when he did not know whether to slap Garrett or kiss him, after all. 

Garrett found Fenris on the battlements while the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He stood, awkward and yet endearing, cradling a large white object gently in his arms. On second look, it was indeed the largest egg Fenris had ever seen. 

“I should have written.” Garrett murmured. “I… wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

Fenris did not pull his eyes from the pink and orange sky. “That is hardly unusual.” 

Garrett chuckled to himself, shifting his weight from side to side. “Fair. But… it was bad, Fen.” 

He knew it must have been. Varric would not have mentioned it otherwise. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”

“Yes.” Garrett sighed, placing the egg tenderly on top of a crate. He rested one large hand over it before casting a baleful look at Fenris. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m just… I’m just fucking thrilled to see you. Even if you’re fuming.” 

“I am not fuming.” Fenris stated on instinct. 

Garrett grinned. “Ah. Is this brooding then?” 

Fenris’s lips twitched. “I do not brood.” 

“Not even a little bit.” Garrett stepped closer, holding his arms out with a shy, uncertain tip of his lips. “I missed you.” 

Fenris pushed himself away from the warm stone. For a breathless second, the two men looked at each other. Garrett’s eyes shimmered with emotion, an expression torn between longing and hope. 

Fenris stepped into the man’s embrace and allowed himself to be tugged towards his broad chest. His sword rough fingers yanked on Hawke’s hair immediately, scowling into the grinning face. 

“You are a fool, and I am a worse one for loving you.” 

Garrett laughed, ducking down to press an eager kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris closed his eyes, drifting on the sparking heat between them, the way the world settled back into place. Garrett smelled of home, of warm hay, leather, salt and sun. 

They broke the kiss, but clung to each other as Garrett pressed his forehead to Fenris’s. 

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris finally asked.

Garrett smiled. “My newest adventure, Fenris. Much better than the last one, I assure you.” 

Fenris simply sighed and melted into his lover’s embrace under the burning sun. As with most of Garrett’s adventures, it would be nothing but trouble.

Fenris found he did not mind much at all.

[maiolica-admirer]

✈️?

Things mentioned in this drabble are direct references to @strickjagger​ and stuff from last April which is a horrifying amount of time ago.

✈ - An eye-opening memory

Yesterday had been surprisingly exciting in ways that didn’t involve anybody suffering bodily harm which was rather refreshing given the events of previous months, after all who could say no to kicking a door in and giving your former superior a heart attack without a single sword being drawn? She certainly would not and it felt like a just reward earned after everything particularly with the shriek, oh now that is something she will be treasuring for a very long time like a party trick waiting for it’s prime moment to be brought out. With part one of her self-declared mission now completed, the next step was dragging his sorry ass back to Arcadia where he can do something more useful than moping around for weeks on end poking around Facebook for his lost lady love akin to a widow and dumped teenager rolled into one wretched mess of depression. The display was utterly revolting and truly she was doing both him and the world at large a grand favour here by intervening.

At first there were a few delays before anything could get moving partly because she decided before anything was settled on he had to go get himself scrubbed up and free of his stubbly wares while she would abuse the opportunity to enjoy the quaint scenery with a spot of tea in peace. A standard had been set after all having made sure to freshen up a bit with proper food, a shower, clean clothes and enough make up to hide the wretched state that was her condition underneath so quite frankly he should have the basic decency to do the same before setting foot outside. Of course there was a bit of enjoyment at bossing him around like this and with being unlikely to get an opportunity she would never get again, well why not? The next hold up was the particulars of transportation which needed to both balance getting there the fastest while remaining lighter on the wallet thanks to limited funds. These are narrowed down to a road trip causing dramatic groan at the idea of having to spend hours in his company while in close confines for an extended period just to make very clear her dislike at the idea. After that all that was left to do was getting hold of a suitable car that could be conveniently ditched afterwards without giving any wrong ideas to any who found it. She only got more annoyed when her suggestion of hotwiring something was shot down and ceremoniously flipped him off out of petty spite.

With supplies belatedly gathered, coffee to go, something to drive that was a disgusting aqua coloured thing and through flagrant complaining about her (Formerly) broken fetlock they came to a deal that he would take the day shifts and her the nights. There was some gleeful snarking about his habit of vehicles and cliffs which earned a look over the steering wheel and she merely grinned right back while toasting with the disposable cup. So it went on like that with loose banter fired between about innocent topics, a slightly annotated version of recent events now there was no risk of being heard, some reminiscing of older times interspersed with more than a few choice words for bad driving by other parties. The white lines are not optional you idiotic fleshbags stay in your damn lane!

On day two by midday it featured a rather bored Nomura which a very dangerous prospect because basic decency and social decorum tends to go out the window if she has no way to vent her frustrations and had lost interest in talking for the time. The silence becomes a rather ominous thing for the driver who has acquired a crease in his brow because if she is not resting, certain from how she keeps grumbling something, it means she must be plotting something and it is quickly confirmed when there is the unmistakable feeling of the closest pocket being rummaged in.

“Do you mind?” He utters taking his eye off the road a second to glare.

“Not at all,” is the innocent answer while she sits comfortably back in her seat with her prize swiftly being broken into with a few taps because pin codes mean nothing. Getting an annoyed scoff back, he knows trying to take it back will only make it more tempting to hoard thus he is left only to secretly hope she will only stick to the photos and video collection and not find anything potentially compromising or worse, blackmail material.

For a time at least his passenger in question seems content enough to only poke around at what could fall under the first category from how the expressions vary from smirks to mildly grossed out (Not hard to guess what the cause was there) to an aww and even the sound of pure mocking laughter which was something to be grateful for even if there is little doubt she is sending a few to herself to enjoy later. Sadly, all good things come to an end and always far too soon, the loud humming suggests investigations have begun for anything else that could catch her wavering interest while a finger flickers this way and that. Suspicions are quickly confirmed with the following remark.

“When was the last time you bothered to clear out your damn voicemail?”

“Not recently enough apparently, if you insist on looking please don’t delete anything.”

“A tempting idea but sure, there is a disgusting amount of your precious lady love in here anyway.”

“… Shut up, Nomura.”

She flashes a vicious grin his way without any shame whatsoever then proceeds to hold the phone close to that side of her face after pitching the volume a touch lower for that ironic privacy vibe while checking what tempting things that have been left ready to be found. The dates are as erratic as the time sent with the more mundane often during the day from who she presumes are his former school colleagues, one from her even which comes as a surprise given it is bragging about getting a gift through customs (A sword if she recalls correctly) and a few coded ones she had little interest in deciphering. Then there was a few with the good Doctor that skirted just close enough to flirty they were stopped pretty quickly with a near shriek and another finger shown his direction for the chuckle her undue suffering caused. It was strange how the newer ones still marked with her name simply mentioning coffee? Hm, something to prod about given they’d been left for listening to over and over while being depressive.

Then there was one sitting there right at the top that hadn’t been listened to once that just screamed click me.  

“Awww did you and our favourite German asshole have a little spat?”

“A falling out you could say yes, he tried to throw me to the wolves but as you can tell none of them managed to bite.”

“Shame, probably most excitement you had in ages after we were down a troll tantrum thrower. Alright let’s see what our mystery message is because you’re too chicken shit to find out yourself.”

The final message opens with the sounds of heavy breathing of somebody had been running hard but had to keep going, the bangs and clatters of metal being hit or something large being thrown around. Sometimes the faint echoes of what sounded like screaming muffled by a doorway interrupted by a familiar voice sounding utterly defeated yet comforted by the knowing a last testament will be heard.

“You were right, Stricklander. Does knowing that make you happy? Ah well, it turns out we were as disposable to him as we were to one another it seems no matter our plans or great feats we have overcome for a moment of glory none of it meant a thing in the end. Some of us tried to buy as much time as we could what little it was but I can’t say for sure how many managed to make it out… I won’t but I’ve chosen my grave and I think you’d like it-” There is a pause with the sound of movement, of someone yelling in their own tongue before being cut off mid-sentence by a Reaper carved of stone.

“You were truly one of the best of us, mein freund. If you never believed a single thing I’ve said in our long years together please accept that I… I don’t have very much time left. Ah listen to me of all changelings being sentimental on my very own deathbed! Alas I cannot quite pull the same tricks as you being her favourite while we were the abandoned children of the night. If we truly have souls may we meet in the next life and know you still owe me a good bottle of r----”

The message cuts out into static before petering out into nothingness. Silence overcomes the car.