#I would also think this was hot if she were the Red Army officer and I was fucking her real good as a Rhine capitalist

[velvetvexations]

I once had a partner who confessed to having repeated fantasies of “a big strong bolshevik red army soldier just really fucks me good” and really wanted me to like buy a uniform and everything and do Soviet sex rp. and I was like so confused bc A) she is a lesbian B) I am a woman C) she isn’t a tankie (or even a communist iirc) nor into history in any way that would make this make sense D) she, before this, had been pretty much exclusively a top

Anyways we broke up in 2018 because she decided her soul belonged in Maine and I wasn’t moving to the literal other side of the country on a whim.

Sorry seeing the talk about tankies reminded me of this SUPER tangentially. I don’t know. It’s 8 am confess-to-velvet hour

somewhere in Maine that girl is living the Surfin U.S.S.R dream

[shepherds-of-haven]

Hi Lena hope you've been well! Just wanted to say I've been loving the alpha and Patreon goodies (can't wait to jump Red's bones 🥰)! I had a question that I'm not sure has been answered before: For the inner circle members with their own squad of recruits to train, what is their leadership style like? (ie. if someone were to be a fly on the wall during trainings, what would they see? (the Chase scene with our squad had me SCREAMING 😳))

Hi anon, thanks for your great question! I hope you've been well too, and thank you so much for your lovely words! I'm so glad you're enjoying the alpha build and Patreon goodies, that's so motivating to hear! 🥹💖

Blade: Blade basically hand-picked his squad to create clones of himself, so he essentially has a death-squad of elite assassins who have a similar personality to him, whether due to nature or his training LOL. He's naturally pretty strict and has those rigid Ket standards of what's acceptable behavior and what's not, but because they were already so terrified of him and so intimidated and honored to have been picked by Day 1, his squad was so eager to gain his approval that they've never really had any true issues, lol. You hardly ever see him interacting with them, but he could turn his head and speak a quiet word and one of them would materialize out of thin air like a royal guard shadowing his king, lmao! The other recruits are scared of them 😭

Trouble: he's in turns quite strict with his squad and also quite friendly and jocular with them! He's just as prone to be found drinking with them as he is scaring them witless by bawling orders at them like an army commando and forcing them to sprint through mud obstacles while he's pelting them with rubber bullets. He has a surprisingly soldierly demeanor when it comes to training and field discipline, which I find hypocritical, given what a pain he is about authority and taking orders from other people and his general rebellious spirit... 😒 strangely, this hot-and-cold demeanor does not prevent his squad from being obsessed with him, lol

Tallys: Tallys has the kind of presence where she never acts any differently, no matter what situation she's in, which really makes people pay attention to her! It's kind of like those people who say something in such calm, even tones that you find yourself really leaning forward to hear them and find yourself intent and hanging on every word they say? She hardly ever raises her voice or shouts at her squad, but she doesn't really have to... her coolness makes them crave her approval so much that it's kind of a "yes mommy 🥺" energy with them lol, she only needs to communicate what she wants with a glance and they're running to do it!

Shery: she doesn't really have her own squad, she has a team of staffers who work under her! They mostly get along great, though sometimes some of them can accidentally take advantage of Shery when they're being thoughtless--it's not really malicious or on purpose, it's just that they don't really hesitate to ask her for a longer break or a day off, and sometimes that workload ends up falling on her! But overall things between them all run fairly smoothly, especially because she has other people (including Caine) who keep an eye out for that!

Riel: Riel also doesn't have his own 'squad,' per se, but a team of staffers... he basically just treats them like they're the hired help lol, he knows their names and whatnot, but he's basically the extremely busy CEO and they're just like the administrative assistants scampering after him as he strides into the office and starts rapping out orders lol!

Beyond the necessities of work, he hardly acknowledges or exchanges a word with them, but they learn so much just from watching him maneuver and think and politick lol, so they're very grateful to just be in his proximity!

Chase: Chase is extremely slack with his recruits... He teaches them the skills they need to know, and they're quite good at what they do, but the team discipline on that squad is like a 0, lol. He's done a lot of his own "teaching" and leading in Thieves Guild, taking younger or more inexperienced thieves under his wing to show them the ropes, so he's sort of not into doing the whole thing all over again, lol. To be completely honest, he basically lets his squad do whatever they want and only interacts with them during mandatory training and missions. Like a really chill TA or substitute teacher who shows up because they have to but lets you watch a movie or go hang out in the hall or something, go nuts kids, he's not really the boss of you!! As a result, his squad adores him, but they're also really chaotic partiers lol. Once in a blue moon they'll try to wrangle him like "CAPTAIN!! You promised you would be here to train us at dawn, why are you two hours late?!" "sorry guys, I got lost on the road of life~~"

Red: I feel like his entire squad is hopelessly in love with him, lol. He basically teaches them like they're his interns or teacher assistants and he's a professor; he's fairly mild-mannered and hands-off, but they do learn a lot from him and respect him immensely (to the point of practically hanging on his every word). Having his own squad is extremely low-priority for him (he prefers deploying on his own missions and focusing on his research, plus he still teaches some classes at the Circle now and then), so he often lumps them in with his classes or is on hand to advise them as they run their own missions, but he's more of an advisor or "teacher who sponsors your extracurricular club" rather than being "club president," if that makes any sense?? Like you typically go to him for help, which he's always willing to provide, rather than he's the one really pushing for more time together!

Ayla: at first she hated the idea of having her own squad of dweeby little recruits, but now that she's used to it, she relishes having someone to boss around! She trains them like a drill sergeant, barking orders and subjecting them to Mr. Miyagi-style domestic chores with a sadistic kind of relish, but they're still extremely proficient at what they do. They're also terrified of her. She does abuse her power slightly sometimes by like making them pull the weeds outside her window, but it's typically as punishment for some legitimate misdeed... typically.

Briony: her squad didn't initially take her very seriously because she came off as a bit nervous and burbly and not really an authoritative figure, and her amnesia puts her at a real disadvantage, so initially they would be like, "oh the high lord of Lancastre is in town today, I wonder if there will be trouble" Briony: "who is that :D"

So for a little while, her squad were sort of bewildered by her, and it started to become a dynamic where they were on the surface nice but somewhat condescending, like, "hey guys, could you go do so-and-so?" "...sure captain 😏 we'll get right on that!" They'd eventually do it, but they'd take their damn time, which is something Ayla, Trouble, or Blade would never tolerate, but Briony would pretend not to notice!

But then they saw her pulverize a tree with her fist for the first time (._.), and now they're very meek and obedient! Nowadays they get along well, and she treats them warmly like they're all friends, and they're pretty tight-knit, though Briony still has some trouble outright ordering them to do things rather than requesting it nicely like they're equals/comrades-in-arms... she's not fully comfortable with having command over anyone yet!

Lavinet: Lavinet, as a late-comer, actually got to pick her own squad rather than being assigned one, so she was able to avoid the inevitable resentment and defiance of a random team who probably would have doubted her skills due to her being a noble and thought she was some kind of nepo baby who bought her way in! The people she ended up picking tended to be people who appreciated and understood who she was and wanted to work with her. As a result, she's quite polite and amiable with them and doesn't have to get strict, though she secretly longs for the ability to just let loose one day and start barking orders like one of the others... That wouldn't be seemly, though! Even as an instructor and a captain, she still has to maintain her courtly composure and just delivers her orders in a calm tone (which sounds more icy and deadly when she's displeased).

Halek: squad? what squad? He already had the Black Shield Hunters, the elders, and Naolin dogging him around everywhere, now he has to babysit some snotty recruits? he can't even teach them anything, he basically just joined! 😩 he spends a lot of time dodging them and hiding places to nap, but either they or someone like Blade or Tallys go and drag him back by the ear. Eventually he had to be like, "...you really want me to train you?" "yes!" "the way I was trained to hunt demons?" "YES!" "...okay... if that's really want you want..."

*cue the most grueling, back-breaking military regiment you've ever seen* The White Order doesn't play around with how it trains its younglings, so he just applies the same techniques to his squad! If he has to be awake and suffering, so do you :') He doesn't yell at them or anything, you just look into the slight malice in his courteous smile as he asks you to get on your knees and crawl into a mysterious hole and you suddenly feel a deep, existential terror...

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 15: Orchestra Discordia

pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav (female reader)

word count: 5.7k

warnings: 18+. mention of past assault. symptoms of ptsd and behaviors described. anxiety. Suicidal thoughts. mental health warning overall with this one. PiV. Cunnilingus. Vaginal fingering.

Link to Ao3

Killing Time Masterlist

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Astarion’s secrets are spilling out of his hands, frantically trying to keep you in his grasp as you squirm away. You need to think, but you hardly can between Astarion’s hold on you and Lae’zel’s wild bursts of transparent thought. Your senses are being spread thin: you can feel the weight of Astarion’s aura as if it’s trying to absorb you whole. Lae’zel’s thoughts fill your head, but they seem to strangely coincide with your thoughts of Geldon Moth’s words about your husband's misdeeds: how he killed your past lovers, bringing you unwarranted heartbreak. 

“Darling, my love, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Astarion pleads with you, refusing to let you go. 

“She isn’t angry about the spawn anymore, Lord Astarion.” Angel’s words catch Astarion off guard just enough to where you slip from his grasp, darting across the camp. You can see the indecision in Astarion’s body language, as he can’t seem to decide if he wants to lunge at you or Angel; he ultimately stays put. 

“Shit,” Lae’zel curses as Astarion is yelling at Angel to shut his mouth; Lae’zel’s mind is frantic, and you try to stay out, but she’s so transparent her thoughts nearly fall out of her head: she thinks about the letters, the ones she found in Astarion’s office during your captivity – the ones she’s hoping neither of you know about, specifically concerning her finding them.

“Ah, you’re also wrong, you beautiful space elf!” Angel directs to Lae’zel, giving her a wink. “She's not mad about those letters either.”

“What letters?” You ask, looking between the three: Lae’zel has a look of shock on her face, her pointed ears almost flattening under your intense gaze. Her eyes dart over to Astarion, who looks back at her with such malice you fear he may react violently. But he whips his head back at you, his eyes and aura blazing red hot. Angel’s gone, and you don’t realize he’s standing behind you until the others are looking over your shoulder. You know just how much Angel is enjoying this debacle considering he directly provoked it. You want to confront him, but that would need to happen later. 

“Astarion?” You ask, but he’s silent for some time. It begins to feel like a staring contest, two vampires locked in a quarreled gaze. You can hear the quick thumping of his heart: he’s nervous.

“Vampires are far too patient” Angel murmurs to himself behind you after some time.

“It was a long time ago, Tav,” Astarion says slowly, his voice a low growl.

You feel Angel’s hand gently brush your hair away from your shoulder. You don’t react, your eyes glued on your husband.

“Tell him what’s on your mind,” Angel whispers to you.

“The lovers. Our past lovers, Astarion. And whatever the hells else I don’t know about.” You pause. “I didn’t even know how fragile our world is – our whole empire. You didn’t think to tell me that? Maybe that is important for me to know?”

Astarion’s expression does not shift, but you do see the turn in his aura: shame. You half expect Astarion to demand privacy, but it truthfully didn’t matter anymore; Angel would know regardless, and Lae’zel is trusted. 

“And now, an army of spawn? Hidden letters?” You say, almost laughing a bit, at the sheer concept of hidden letters and an army of spawn. “And Moth. He told me you killed them.”

You can’t help but think of how Moth promised to never take the drow from you. You see the rarity of a vampire in your mind: alive, fucking you gently, more tender than Moth ever did, all for you to have gruesomely killed him. Death had been a mercy for him, but you wonder if you could have eased his pain more. “There were many I cried for, one in particular that Moth mentioned.”

You don’t even know who you’re speaking of, because all you can think about is the drow when you think of ‘past lovers’. But Astarion’s reaction tells you that he knows too well who you mean.

“You don’t even remember his name, Tav…”Astarion begins. You feel layers to this: not only are you realizing your husband has lied to you, but Geldon Moth was telling the truth, and this only works to upset you further. What other truths did Moth tell you about yourself?

You don’t care about the lovers Astarion murdered: not now, anyway. And you hardly care about whatever the letters say: it's likely written in text you can’t even read anymore. And the spawn – no. This is about the fact of the secrets, the lies, the ways he kept your mind away from anything but him: that control. It isn’t like you don’t know your husband is controlling, but far more so than you understood. You just didn’t think Astarion could ever be the cause of your pain. But after a nearly inconceivable amount of time being married to Astarion Ancunín (being his adoration, his greatest desire, his obsession) you know there isn't anything he wouldn't do to ensure that you are his for eternity.

“But I remember the pain,” You say with ill confidence, interrupting him. You begin to smell Angel’s signature scent of fresh grass and ocean. It’s so faint that you almost don’t notice it. “At least I think I do.”

“Oh,” Angel whispers behind you, sounding melancholy. You know he’s absorbing your every thought, and you realize he may be trying to soothe you with his scent – or manipulate you. The issue is you can’t tell which is which anymore, from Angel or Astarion. Angel had helped you, certainly, but you had saved yourself from the flames of the Moth estate. And Astarion…

Your heart has long dropped to your gut. There is almost a whirring in your chest, some stir of – you don’t even know what. It feels hollow, and you can’t help but put your palm over where your dead heart is. You don’t remember what it feels like for it to beat, but you know it’s there. Why does it feel so empty right now?

“I-I don't feel good,” You say, your eyes darting to the sky. The sun is up, now, and you step away from the shade of camp, basking in warm rays. You see a vision: a flicker of the sword, edged between stone and soot, nearly just below your feet. 

You feel Astarion’s presence behind you. He’s close, but he doesn’t touch you. The gentle thrum of his heart can be heard by you, and you try to shake it off. “You know I did all of those things for us.”

After just a beat, “Look at me, my love.” His voice is stern, and you don’t want to listen – you want to defy. You are fucking tired of listening to others, and you’re angry Astarion would hurt you so: not entirely surprised, but angry. You think of how he’s withheld spoken words of love from you for so long, using everything he could to keep you submitted to him, just as he did with the letters, the lovers; your mind swims with the possibilities of Astarion’s further unknown misdeeds.

“Tav.” He becomes desperate, his voice rugged and rough; it makes you feel even lower. You turn, facing your breathtaking husband. He looks so gorgeous in the sunlight, and his aura is practically jumping at you. His curls are messy, sprawling about in a way that makes him look rogue. His scarlet eyes lock with yours, and you see it in his very soul: you know how deeply he desires you, how much this pains him.

Your inner turmoil coils around your heart as Astarion evenly pleads with you. “We should finish what we need to do here, and then we can go home. I’ll tell you everything, anything you want to know.”

The influence of Angel’s sight leads your gaze over Astarion’s shoulder where Angel stands in the foreground. He appears to be quite sad, twirling the ends of his hair in his thick fingers as the two of you make eye contact. You quickly focus back on Astarion, silently cursing a pouting Angel. 

You don’t know how long it is before you answer, but you know Astarion is right. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Astarion asks, his tone hopeful, his hand outstretched towards you. You take it, and he gives you a small smile in response: but you can’t reciprocate.

You blink, shaking your head. “I’ve never hidden anything from you, Astarion. Ever. My mind has been yours since the moment you made me. But you’ve…”

Your memories come flooding back to you, and they are so vivid, it almost feels like you’re having a vision: but they are just memories, here to torment you despite whatever it is you were doing just before. You think about all the times Astarion called you his spawn, putting you below him with his words, refusing to tell his godsdamned wife he loves her. 

“No more talking. Call your spawn, husband, and let’s finish this.”

Astarion’s mask falters for just a moment before he relents. 

****

“I want it,” You whine, Angel keeping his hands on your shoulders as Astarion’s spawn retrieves the sword from the stone: you seem to be the only one so affected by the sword, your fingers twitching at just the thought of wielding it…

“It’s all up in your head 'cause you keep thinking about it. Just stop!” Angel replies; far easier said than done, but what the hells does Angel know, anyway?

The entrance to the Underdark is just under your feet; this feels surreal to you as you carefully enter on a bridge of rubble. It’s a strange place, the Underdark: everywhere you look, there is glowing light amidst darkness, but it doesn’t cover up the scent of decay and rot. You seem to be in an ancient temple. You’re unable to place whichever god it was built for as your knowledge of the culture of the under-races is quite limited. 

“Your knowledge on most things is, like, not much. You know that?” Angel murmurs to you, his thick fingers pressing against your skin. You desperately want him to let go, because you want nothing more than to rip the sword from the fumbling spawn’s grasp, freeing it yourself, before reaping. “Ugh. I’d rather you think about your usual stuff, like drinking blood, Astarion’s cock, oh, mine too of course.”

“Enough,” Lae’zel says, looking at to Angel. “Why is it that you want this corrupted treasure?”

You can hear the smile on Angel’s face. “Power.”

Lae’zel’s eyes flicker over to yours, meeting them: you know she’s worried about Angel’s involvement in your life, and what this means for the future. Astarion only watches, keeping his distance as he stares holes into Angel. You would have trouble ignoring the slightly frightening nature of Astarion’s aura if it hadn’t been for the all-consuming sword: his aura, black and red and pink, muddled and quite large, is doing what it can to make its way to you even from across the room. It unsettles you not to know what he’s thinking or how he’s explicitly feeling; seeing only a visual makes you even more unsure of your footing.

The moment the sword is freed from its stony prison by two faceless spawns, Angel hands you over to Astarion, who very tentatively puts his hands on your shoulder, just as Angel had. But his grip is greater than firm, and you think he may not realize how hard he’s grabbing you. 

Angel glances over at you before waving his hands over the sword, and whatever he does next greatly relaxes you, the tension in your body easing up. You half-expect Astarion to relax as well, but his grip doesn’t ease. Instead, one hand moves to the back of your neck.

“Wonderful! I’ll be able to summon them to my domain, now,” Angel smiles triumphantly. You see his eyes dart over to Astarion, the tension greatly rising between the two. Lae’zel also seems to notice, appearing even more uneasy than she had before.

“‘Summon them?’” You say, repeating his phrase, signaling you don’t know what the hells he’s talking about.

“‘To my domain,’ yes, beautiful. You always have an open invitation, Tav~”

“What purpose does the son of Lastai have for souls?” Lae’zel inquires suspiciously. 

“Ascension,” Astarion says, his voice deadpan. One of his hands trails down your arm, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Trying to craft your fortune, Angel?”

Angel, ignoring Astarion’s words, gives Astarion his most dashing smile before turning to you. You see a flash of discomfort overcome him, but it ends so quickly you hardly know if it was ever there. “I won’t be sacrificing them or anything. They’ll be happy with me, so don’t worry about it. But I know that you won’t, beautiful. You have way too much goin’ on up there as it is.”

Angel means to say more, you can tell, but he promptly disappears, blowing you a kiss before vanishing, leaving you in the ruins of the temple. Astarion plants a kiss on the crown of your head, pressing his nose to your scalp before releasing you. You travel back in silence, trudging through the ruins and wilderness once more, finding your way back to your portal point. You ignore the spawn, the ones Astarion commands to stay in the Underdark until nightfall: Angel only extended some veil of protection over them while he was still here, and his powers left with him. Fucking Angel. 

****

You and Astarion return to your bedroom after seeing Lae’zel off upon arriving at your palace; you and Astarion help each other get your armor off, not bothering to call for the maids. Even through this, the two of you work in the quiet, only the crackling of the fire filling the room. Even your new bathing ritual is hushed more so than usual. Astarion washes you first, taking his time with your hair: unable to work it out during camp, it’s still tangled from your fleshly activities of fucking and fighting. Astarion gently brushes out every knot to perfection. You nearly lose yourself to his touch as he massages your scalp, his fingertips pressing little in circles, making your entire body shiver.

His touch is peace, for now, and you can’t help but want to enjoy it, grasping onto semblances of comfort and trust. You want it, so badly.

Once it’s his turn, you feel compelled to help him: to touch his curls, his soft skin, to be close to his beating heart. But Astarion makes quick work of his wash as you dry off, slipping on a deep purple robe. It’s better this way: his touch is electrifying in a way you can’t seem to handle. It makes you feel like something inside of you is wrong. It’s wrong and bad.

“I’m going to sit in the library for a bit. Alone,” You say, looking back at him before opening the door to your bedroom. Astarion’s aura makes your gut twist, causing you to grip the doorknob so tightly you fear you may bend the material. You force yourself to take a deep breath. pain. fear. love. 

“I really would prefer you to stay here,” Astarion’s voice is low. “After everything you’ve been through, we’ve been through, you really shouldn’t leave my side.”

You attempt to lighten the mood. “Tell me what threat could be waiting for me in the library, Astarion.”

“Papercuts,” Astarion moves closer to you, pulling you into an embrace. His colors change, the red hues turning pink, the black dissipating: as if you are the sickness and the cure. His hand moves to cup your breast, giving you a seductive smile. “A very serious threat.”

Astarion’s hands begin to roam your body, goosebumps covering your exposed skin. You feel your cunt involuntarily contract as your core begins to build with pressure. The scent of your arousal is already in the air, the needy thing that you are – even your fangs ache for him. His eyes are lidded, and you feel him press his torso to you. His cock is already hard, gently grinding into you. 

His expression softens as his palm slips between your robes, moving to cup your naked sex. His hand is warm between your legs. “I think there’s something else you need, my love.”

You can’t help but whimper as your body reacts to his practiced touch. Astarion unties your robe before you can react, exposing your body to him; he sweeps his eyes over you slowly, leaving you feeling a bit embarrassed at his inspection. 

“I think you need me,” Astarion whispers as he slips a finger between your folds, feeling the buildup of your slick desire. His finger teases the seam of your cunt, making you tremble when the pad of his thumb grazes your puffy clitoris, already swollen from anticipation. “You need me to take your pain away. You need me inside of you.”

Grabbing you by the waist, Astarion’s lips crash into yours as he leads you to your bed, your robe left on the floor. You can’t help but accept his advances when his tongue tastes so sweet. His palms fervently grip the curve of your hips, caressing your body as if you were something new to explore. Two thousand years and the passion of the bedroom never died – this is what those bards should write about, you think.

“Mm,” Astarion lets a moan escape his lips before deepening the kiss. Once you’re on your back, Astarion’s lips are gentle on you, peppering over your face and neck, trailing saliva along the shell of your ear, as if he can’t get enough of your taste. 

“I’ll make it right, my love,” Astarion whispers, his voice smooth and deep in your ear, causing pulsations at your core. You let yourself enjoy it, moaning as Astarion tugs at your pebbled nipple. He gently pulls at your other breast before sliding his hand down your belly, bringing his hand back between your legs. His touch makes you feel tingly down to your toes. The warmth of his hand feels like home; maybe he’s right, you think. Maybe all you need is him.

“My wife,” Astarion whispers. “My savior…”

Astarion moves between your legs, and you can see how excited he is: his cock is as hard as ever, looking almost painful as clear liquid pools at his tip. His eyes are heavy but alert, his lips parted as his other hand moves to your knee. He parts your legs, spreading you open to reveal your pink, wet core to him. 

“Fuck,” Astarion curses, his hand moving to part your folds: using his finger and thumb, he exposes you fully, even pulling back the little hood of your clitoris. “You’re exquisite. So beautiful, pink…pretty, my sweet girl.” Astarion’s eyes are glued to your core, speaking to her rather than you. 

“Star…” You say, shifting away from him just a little. You’re more than aware he can see all your scars, especially the ones you rather he didn’t.

“You don't need to shy around me, my love,” He says gently, but his face is stern. He gives you an intense look before dipping his head and placing the sweetest, most sincere kiss on your entrance. He flutters his lashes at you as he brings his lips to your swollen nub, circling your sensitive, pretty pearl with his tongue and lips. 

You can’t help but deeply sigh, falling in love with Astarion’s tongue all over again as he deeply kisses your swollen folds. Placing his nose on the top of your mound, Astarion inhales the scent of your arousal. 

Running the bridge of his nose along your sensitive lips, you can’t help the squeak that slips out of you, girlish and needy. His lips feel incredible on your wet core; it has been so long since he’s made love to you with his mouth, and Moth was rarely concerned for your pleasure.

This line of thought becomes a trap for you, thinking about Geldon Moth and his large, rather frightening claws gripping your body, tearing into your flesh. With this, your mind starts to drift from you entirely. You think about how you wished for Astarion to save you, how he had vowed to protect you for eternity. You just can’t help it: his secrets, his lies, the pain, his finger sliding between your tight walls, only for your cunt to pull him deeper: you feel ashamed taking him so effortlessly. His nimble fingers are gentle, only pushing inside of you to the second knuckle, despite your body’s slick protests for more. Why are you always so pliant when the memories of the past dance in your skull? They are a macabre reenactment of your torture. Not to mention all these feelings. The more complicated ones, the ones that make you feel bad – was it not below you to waste your time with them? 

For a moment, disgust washes over you so harshly it makes you want to tear yourself apart. Your mind jumps to your moments with Moth and the drow, when you took at the same time with ease: they were practiced, and Moth relentlessly mocked you for your lewd, reactive body. 

One thing is certain: your mind is all over the place, and you must search for something to bring you back together. Closing your eyes, you remind yourself of the one truly tangible thing Astarion has that Moth and the drow didn’t: life. His life sustains you: his life is what allowed you to walk in the sun, to make your spawn – even your resilience to Moth’s torture was because of Astarion’s bloodline. His blessing. Had it not been so, you would still be there, slowly rotting, a pleasure slave for eternity.

“Astarion,” you whisper, your voice coming out husky, surprising even you: you didn’t realize how badly you want him. 

“Yes?” Astarion is already drunk on your kisses. His lids are heavy. In his hazy state, you put your hands on his chest, urging him to roll over, placing yourself on top. Astarion hesitates for a moment, the look in his eyes presenting a brief challenge.

“I want to bite you,” You say, your voice as tantalizing as can be as your hand traces down to his thigh, moving between his legs. “Right here.”

You do want to be close to him – to be intimate with him; you think maybe it will help you forgive and get over some of those bad feelings. You just want everything to go back to the way it was, at this point.

And with your words of seduction, Astarion gives up his power play, relenting to you as he eagerly positions himself for comfort. Idly, he pops his finger into his mouth, sucking at your juices, drooling at the taste of you. You move between his legs, your eyes glued to the length of his fully hard cock: long, thick, you can see the blue of his veins bulging from smooth, pink skin. His tip, so swollen and pinker than the rest, throbs for you. His entire groin twitches at your inspection, more clear liquid flowing from his tip. He is rather cute like this, you think.

Astarion spreads his legs, pulling a knee up to give you easier access to his smooth, pale thigh. His skin is so perfect, entirely unmarked save for the scars on his back. This makes you all too aware of your marred nakedness.

“See what you do to me, Tav?” Astarion asks, the desperation thick in his voice; his heart is racing, His eyebrows knit together, and he’s showing his fangs to you in a mix of carnal desire and aggression, begging you to take charge of his pleasure. He’s wrapped a hand around his shaft, gently stroking his sensitive foreskin, shifting his hips as he grinds into himself. His other hand moves to caress your face; you close your eyes, allowing yourself to fall into the warmth of his palm. Before you know it, you’ve buried your face in his thigh; you tease him with the tip of your nose, dragging it along his smooth skin before finding the perfect spot to slide your fangs in.

Astarion gasps as you pierce his flesh, losing yourself in his delicious essence. His blood is so sweet, thick like honey on the tongue, and it’s as if this is what you’ve been missing. You drink from him for some time, slowly letting his rich essence hit your tongue, savoring every sip. You lazily stroke his cock, your hand gliding over his shaft with ease. 

“My love – please,” He is a whimpering mess beneath you, his body trembling at your every touch. His thigh is so tender, and he twitches at every lick, every kiss like you are lightning. The tip of his cock weeps precome, the clear, sticky liquid becoming your lubricant as you work out all those little noises of him.

You finally release yourself when you feel Astarion go slack beneath you. You know you’ve taken too much blood from him, but he would regenerate quickly; when you pull away to inspect your master, you can see the pink rising back to his cheeks, his powerful ascendant body making quick work of his blood loss. The puncture wounds close up, unlike the ones that litter your body or your face, never to heal. Damaged property. 

The two of you look deeply into each other's eyes; Astarion’s looking at you reverently, his pupils blown wide, sweat dripping from his brow. “You really want me, Astarion?”

You know the answer to your question is a resounding yes by the way his cock still twitches in your palm. But you hardly feel like Astarion’s beautiful consort, anymore: more like a pathetic, wounded animal; you feel lower just thinking this way. 

“Of course. Yes. Tav, darling, you are the only thing –” Astarion proclaims, words failing him as he can see the discontent in your features. He struggles to answer as all his blood seems to reside in his painfully hard cock; his brain is hazy, but his eyes are desperate. “I told you so long ago that you complete me. You are my everything. And that has always been true. I love you more than the sun.  I love you more than life itself.”

His words provoke something within you. You feel a surging run through your body as you straddle him, feeling your heart drop down to your core. Astarion sits up, his arms wrapping around your back as he settles you on his lap. His cock rests just between your spread folds, making you only hungrier for him. You want him inside you: take my pain away, Astarion.

For one thing, his blood is just never enough and you always want more. And his body: it drives you mad. His perfect skin, so smooth and hairless despite his masculine build – a stunning elf. One that you love so much, you just want to eat him whole. Maybe if you consume his heart, it will make up for his lies, his control, his manipulations, and his refusal to verbally share his love for so long, gods has he been selfish with you.

You take his jaw in your hand, and with the other, you harshly pull back his hair, now forcing him to your attention: he had freely given it to you, but now, you won’t let him rescind it. It is your time to be selfish with him.

“Tell me you’re mine,” You say, your voice coming out quiet and cold. 

Astarion doesn’t hesitate. His cock is so hard it aches, and he’s irritated at your relentless teasing, you can tell. You’re grinding your slick folds down his shaft as he speaks. “I’m yours – ah..”

“Tell me you love me.” You hardly realize you’re crying until you taste the salt of your tears. Astarion kisses them, his warm hands feverishly groping your naked body. You don’t want to do this to him, but you can’t help it when you bring your hand down to his neck, freeing his curls from your grasp. You squeeze. Astarion isn’t afraid by any means, but you can tell your motions surprise him. 

But you know he loves it. “I love you, Tav.”

You push Astarion onto his back. Bending over, your tears are dripping down your cheek onto Astarion’s face. You realize he’s crying, too, and your tears are mixing on his chin. You’re looking right into his scarlet eyes, and he truly has nowhere to run: he must accept your pain fully, and join in it with you.

But why? Why must I take him with me? Am I truly any better, if I punish him? “Tell me again,” you say as you’ve made up your mind. 

“I love you!” Astarion almost sounds breathless. His face is twisted with desperation; you realize you may be hurting him as you gently kiss his lips, but your twisted affections are interrupted by a sob as you begin to fall apart. 

“Again! Tell me!” You can’t hold it in, anymore, and Astarion is scrambling. The two of you are still entirely naked, but your passions now reside within rather than in the flesh.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…”Astarion murmurs these words over and over as your lips trail over his face, and his ears but your sobs interrupt your work. You’ve collapsed in his arms, your chest violently heaving as you struggle to catch a breath. You cry like this for some time, expecting to feel some sort of relief, but your pain only builds. Has it been there this whole time, left to fester? 

“Why?” You keep asking, and you know Astarion knows what you mean.

Why would you hurt me like this?

How could you let me be taken?

How could you not protect me?

You suddenly feel quite angry, your emotional attack turning into a tantrum. “You promised! You swore to protect me!”

“Tav!” 

You start hitting Astarion’s chest, your frustrations surging from your arms, your fists meeting his sternum with every sob. Your violence reminds you of Moth, of his dying gurgles, of how you couldn’t stop hitting him, either. The thought just upsets you further. Astarion permits your behavior for only a few moments before he takes your wrists in his hand; the two of you are locked in a struggle. He forces you below him, but not without difficulty: you are strong and truly fighting against him now. You can tell this surprises him because you have the upper hand for just a moment when a surge of radiant light comes from within you, burning him to the touch. His hold on you wavers for just a moment before his hands are back on you, throwing his thigh over you to cage you beneath him.

“I hate you! I hate you!” You manage to yell through your sobs, hoping this hurts him the most. “I hate you!”

Astarion holds your wrists above your head, his hand firm on your neck, his lips crashing violently into yours as he brings you into a kiss. He’s rough with you, his teeth cutting into the pad of your bottom lip, drawing blood. You feel your crimson pool down your chin as Astarion laps at it hungrily, kissing and licking and sucking at your skin, leaving more bites and nips in their wake. When he releases you, Astarion’s eyes are wild, filled with tears that streak his face, bloody fangs bared as he looks down at you. 

“Don’t. Don't you ever say that again! You don’t mean that.” Astarion’s words are harsh, but his tone flounders. His tears continue to fall, mixing with the blood on his jaw, making pretty tears of pink down his throat. Astarion’s hands become forceful with your body once more, signaling he means to take you, even if it’s against your will: but his display of dominance falters, his heart becoming too big for his chest, as if he just came to realize how he was acting. Releasing your neck, he studies your face before wearily resting his forehead on your chest, pushing the crown of his head beneath your chin. “You can’t mean that.”

You can only cry in response, begging him to let you go; but his aura and the look that was in his eyes for a moment, you aren’t sure if he will. But Astarion wearily relents, reigning himself in, pushing himself off the bed as he frustratingly targets his inner turmoil at himself, balling his hands into fists. You smell freshly drawn blood, watching as it drips from his palms, straight onto the floor. 

Seeing his blood pooled, even if it was only a few drops, makes you stir inside. You know you must leave: you have to leave, lest you attack him. Right now, you would love nothing more than to utterly lay ravage onto him, biting and nipping and sucking and feeding; fucking. A full-on desecration of your beautiful husband, earning your sweet revenge, your dominance, your power. You can feel your mouth salivate, your stomach twisting with that dark hunger as your upset grows. You wipe your cheeks, nearly slapping your tears away as you feel your sight leading you over to the door: even Angel is urging you to run from this. Your desire for power can’t be accounted for by anything but something disturbed within you: your sick mind, that inner beast that seems to feel bigger each day. You’re cursing at yourself as you jump out of bed, hastily throwing on a robe before storming out the door. You feel only heartache and loathing as you retreat to one of the libraries in your estate. You’ve torn it apart before you even realize it, clawing the wood, shredding spines, creating a wake of chaos. You don’t stop until you realize you’ve knocked over one of the decanters of wine, where your attention is quickly directed. 

Sitting on the floor amidst the ruined library, you drink straight from the bottle, not bothering to prepare yourself a glass; you are far past that, gulping down your rage, pain, all your confliction. You find an intact daybed in a deep nook of the library; curling up with the wine bottle, you hold yourself, allowing the sun’s rays to hit your skin as you drift off into a dreamless slumber. 

[bookishdream]

can you do a one shot where kaz keeps saying he doesnt like nor does he care for the reader; she overhears him, and goes out into ketterdam but ends up getting seriously injured; also if it too much to ask, can i also add that he does end up giving her a hug but he hesitates at first —this corresponds with the fluff (angst and fluff at the end please ?)

thank you for a request! i hope you're okay with my slight change, enjoy xx

TW: blood, death, disgusting men.

kaz brekker x fem!reader

You were standing, leaning harder against the door of Kaz’s office. You wanted to talk to him about your next job, since you had to buy some bullets and a new knife for Nina and yourself. But what you overheard made your heart shatter into little pieces.

“I don’t care what happens to y/n, she’s another member of the Dregs. I can easily replace her if something happened to her,” bastard’s words were like daggers, cutting your skin and making their way into your heart. You were so stupid falling for him. “Now, Wylan, go and build a bomb or should I replace you as well?”

You heard Wylan’s huff and his steps. When he got out of Kaz’s room and noticed you, his eyes got wide. You sent him a crooked smile and made your way into Brekker’s room.

“I need a list of what you want for the job.” You said, voice steady even though you wanted to fall apart.

“On my desk.”

He wasn’t looking at you, busy with counting his money, you rolled your eyes and took a piece of paper from a wooden desk. You made your way out, not saying another word. Your heart clenched, you wanted to punch yourself for feeling even the slightest emotion for him. You should’ve known better than that, you should’ve known he wouldn’t feel nor show you any kind of emotion except hatred or disgust.

You got out of the club onto Ketterdam’s streets. You loved the city, even though it was dark and dangerous, you felt this was your home. You came here from northern Ravka, before your parents made you to join the First Army. You ran away from them and from the responsibility to protect your country, but you hadn’t felt bad about that, those two years ago and certainly you didn’t feel bad then.

You walked to the best shop with knives you’d known. You bought your first dagger there and you were sure about the quality of blades that were sold in the shop. The old Fabrikator was working there and when he learnt you were from Ravka, he started treating you as his daughter, selling you everything you need with lower prices.

“Hi, Milosh how are you feeling today?” you asked, entering the small shop, the older man smiled seeing you.

“Hello darling, I’m doing great,” he replied, eyeing you and noticing your dark circles underneath your eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

You only nodded, didn’t answer his question further. You gave him the list and when he was looking for the items, you looked out of the window. You noticed three Black Tips but you didn’t pay them more attention. You looked away and focused on Milosh. He had fair hair, probably after his father who were Fjerdan. Few months ago, when he’d found you wandering around Ketterdam, he’d asked for you to come with him to this shop. He’d given you hot cocoa and had told you some stories and myths from both Ravka and Fjerda. He’d told you about his father who once had come with a wolf and the wolf had stayed, about his mother who had been the warmest woman alive, especially when she’d made him a warm bread slice with butter and then read him stories. He was your spirit connection to your mother country, so you knew every legend, every myth and even the story about the Fold.

You heard a door bell ring and you looked behind you only to see those three guys from Geels’ gang. Your spine straightened, your palm subtly went to your belt in order to take out the knife if needed. You looked at them, but they were already looking at you with smirks on their face. You cursed under your breath, knowing it’d be troubles and you didn’t know how it’d come out.

“Who we have here boys? Brekker’s girl.” One of them said, making his way towards you, eyeing you up and down.

“I’m wondering if he got some, she’s even pretty.” The other one came behind you, grabbing you roughly by your arm. You tried to free yourself, but his second hand quickly found its way to yours, cutting your only way to defend yourself.

“I have what you needed, darling,” Milosh came out from the small room, closing the door behind him, when he noticed your position he closed his mouth, forming a thin line. “I think you should leave her.” He said to the guy who was holding you. You clenched your teeth, praying for Milosh to back out. You knew Black Tips, they weren’t the smartest, but they were first to kill and you wanted your friend safe.

“Milosh, get away from here.” You ordered, trying to shake off the hands holding you, the Black Tip only hardened his hold and pressing you to his body.

“And leave you? They should leave, not me.”

“Listen, grandpa, the girl’s right. You leave and we’re going to have some quality time with her,” disgust twisted your face, you wanted to kick him, but you knew they would outnumber you.

Milosh only looked at him and from behind him, the knives started to levitating, he used his powers to push them forward, targeting an opponent’s chest. One of the knives hit him in his neck, killing him. The guy behind you let you go and you quickly turned around, placing your dagger in his crotch. He screamed making you cringe.

“This is why you shouldn’t touch a girl without her permission.”

You looked at the third Black Tip, but he took out a gun, targeting Milosh. You threw a dagger at the same time he pulled the trigger. Knife stuck at his neck, making the pistol fall out of his hands. You looked at Milosh to check on him, but you saw a pool of blood and the man laying on his side.

“No,” you whispered, stumbling against your own legs. You fall on your knees, seeing the shot wound was on his chest, that still was slowly rising. “Milosh, please, stay with me.”

“Y/n, my dear, Saints are going to keep me safe,” he said, making your eyes water. “But you have to let me go.”

You shook your head, placing your hand on his chest, trying to stop the blood from leaking. You felt the hot tears streaming down your face. He was like your father, he couldn’t leave you. “Please.”

But his eyelids closed, making your heart break into pieces. You hugged Milosh, messing your shirt with his blood, but you didn’t care. After what felt like hours, you stood up and went for items you had come here. You felt guilty, you should’ve gone to a different store, you put Milosh in danger.

You walked out of his shop, closing the door gently. The Stadwacht would be there the next day, perhaps someone would four dead bodies, laying on the floor. Your hold on the bag with bullets and a dagger, grew tighter. You tried to calm yourself, but tears still were threatening to pour out of your red eyes. You didn’t want to show how miserable you were, you tried to wipe them off, but you didn’t notice the blood on your sleeve. Now, with blood both on your shirt and face, you looked like a psycho.

You entered the Club with the back door and you go to Kaz’s room, hoping he’d be there. You knocked and instantly after, you let yourself in. He was sitting in his chair, but when you came in, he looked up, his eyes widened at the blood which was everywhere.

“What happened to you?” he asked, getting up and making a step towards you. But like he thought better of it, he stopped, placing one of his hands on his desk. “Are you injured?”

You wanted to say something, but when you opened your mouth, only a sob came out. Kaz seeing how you barely could stand on your legs, took your arm and gently led you to the chair next to his desk.

“Y/n, I need to know if you’re wounded.” He said, looking at you, his eyes soft.

“It’s not my blood,” you whispered, making him let out the breath. He felt better knowing you were not bleeding. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Kaz’s head snapped, he tried to understand who you were talking about, but you only looked dead into his eyes. “I killed him, Kaz.”

You were never a person who cried after killing someone from another gang, he knew it had been hard for you since the beginning, but he had never seen you crying. He felt his heart clenched at that sight. “What happened?”

You started playing with your fingers, trying to avoid this conversation, but you knew he had to know. “Do you know who Milosh is?”

Kaz frowned, trying to put a face into the name, he nodded his head when he recalled the old man working in the store, where you bought your weapons. “He was like a father to me,” you wiped off the tears from your cheeks. “Even though I still have one, he acted more like my dad than my real one,” you laughed, but the sound was dry and humourless. You told him everything that happened. About the Black Tips, how Milosh wanted to keep you safe but he failed. How that one Black Tip was still lying unconscious on the shop’s floor. Kaz’s jaw clenched, he wanted to kill this man. You looked up at him and slowly got up. He made a step back, letting you.

You walked to the door, eyes dry and you placed your hand on the door knob.

“Wait.”

You turned around, facing Kaz who was slowly walking towards you. One minute he was beside the chair and the second one his arms were around your back, gently hugging you. You were shocked, but after a second, you hugged him back, tightening your arms around his waist. You heard him taking a breath, and you wanted to let go, but he only held you closer.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I’m great.”

[sisterspooky1013]

Red-Handed Chapter 6

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

This is a joint work work with @xfmaweezy and we are accepting prompts

They were back in the Deep South, in the small town of Hinesville, Georgia. They were only there due to the case’s proximity to Fort Stewart, but not even Mulder was seeing a connection between the “Ghost of Liberty County” and the U.S. Army. And it was hot - that sweltering, steamy, oppressive heat of Lowcountry summers that permeates every pore, every brain cell until you’re rendered useless and incapable.

They’d checked in to the Travelodge the afternoon before, both commenting on the gated pool across the parking lot. “Scully, look,” he’d said with a thumb hitched toward the three-quarter full basin. “It’s so damn hot the water just evaporates. I wonder how often they have to refill it.”

“I don’t know, Mulder, but at least it looks clean. And refreshing. Did you bring your trunks?”

A secret grin flitted across his face, “I did. You? Did you bring your, uh, bikini?”

Scully was surprised by the blush she felt creep across her cheeks, thankfully disguised by her heat-reddened face. “No. But I did bring a suit,” she admitted.

This thing between them was only a little new, but it was incredibly private, and while anyone who may have overheard their conversation would think nothing of it, she felt exposed. Vulnerable, but also excited.

After checking in, they met with the local law enforcement and made a plan to go on base the next morning before heading out in search of dinner. The sheriff had suggested a few restaurants but they settled on a place just outside of town. During their meal they held hands under the table and talked about finishing the case quickly. Savannah was nearby and neither had visited the historical city. Maybe if they played their cards right they could be walking down River Street that same time the next evening.

As luck would have it, they would not be indulging the Hostess City of the South. Nothing about the case had gone right and they left the sheriff’s office frustrated, hungry and on each other’s nerves. The news that more agents would arrive the next day to assist did nothing to elevate Mulder’s mood, and burning his hands on the car’s steering wheel didn’t help things either. They sweated their way through a drive-thru burger joint and returned to the motel, backing into a spot in front of their rooms.

At 8:00 pm the sun was only just beginning to set. Scully glanced around the parking lot of the motel, her eyes landing on the still water of the pool.

“Mulder?” she asked quietly, pulling his attention. “I know things didn’t work out the way we were hoping, but the day isn’t over. I’m going to go inside, eat my dinner, and take a shower. I want you to do the same, and then put on your trunks and meet me at the pool at 10 o’clock.”

“Doesn’t the pool close at 10 o’clock, Scully?” Mulder smirked.

“Yes. Yes it does. I’ll see you there,” she said as she snatched up her dinner salad and pulled on the scalding door handle of the rented Ford Taurus. Mulder watched her through the rear view mirror as she entered her room and pushed the door closed behind her.

Right at 10:00, Scully tiptoed on bare feet across the cooling asphalt of the parking lot. She wore a simple black one piece suit that was high cut at the legs and dipped low in the front, and she carried two towels. She quietly entered the pool gate and smiled when she saw Mulder peacefully floating on his back, his water-slick skin reflecting the moon’s light. “Hey!” she whispered sharply, and giggled when he startled at the greeting.

“Hey, back,” he replied. “Come on in, the water’s… something.”

Confused, she tossed the towels on a chair and entered the water slowly from the steps.

“Jesus! This is like bath water!” she exclaimed with some measure of disappointment.

Mulder chuffed a laugh and then slammed his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Earlier, the songs of the summer cicadas at dusk hid even the ambient nearby highway noise. Now, in the dark, they were silent, and every sound felt amplified.

Mulder backed his way up to the wall nearest the parking lot. With the lowered water level he could squat in the shallow end and his head would still be above the surface, while also mostly below the edge of the pool. If it wasn’t so dark he might look ridiculous.

“Come here, Scully,” he cooed. His voice was as sultry as the air and Scully shivered in the heat.

She waded across the pool until she stood before him and he wasted no time grabbing her hips, pulling her down through the water to straddle him before attacking her mouth with his own.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, and when her center brushed against his shorts he was already hard. He grabbed two handfuls of her ass and rolled her against his cock a second time, causing her to suck the air from his mouth.

“Mulder,” she hissed. “We can’t do this.”

“Oh yes we can, Scully. You said not in the rooms on a case. And we. Are not. In. A room,” he punctuated each statement with a kiss.

He slid a hand between them and tugged the top of her suit down to expose a breast, and when he latched on to a stiff rosy nipple he felt her begin to acquiesce. But then he pressed his length into her cloth covered seam and she suddenly pulled back, his mouth releasing from her body with a soft pop.

“No. It’s not that,” she explained. “It’s… it’s… well, sex in a pool is much more romantic in theory than in practice. In practice the action of repetitive penetration washes away necessary, natural lubrication.”

Even in the dark she could see she was losing this battle. Between his impish expression, one half of her chest exposed, the fabric of her suit pulled aside for access and his finger gently stroking her clit, she knew she was done for.

“We can just eliminate the repetitive part, can’t we?” he persuaded as he leaned forward and retrieved with his mouth the errant areola he’d been deprived of a moment ago.

Scully could only whimper as she considered the prospects, her body betraying any semblance of rational thought she might muster.

“I just need to be inside you,” he whispered around a mouthful of nipple, and slid his middle finger into her, pressing the heel of his hand against her clit. Emphasizing his point, he began curling his finger in a come here motion, stroking that spongy magic spot that made her toes curl.

“Okay. Okay,” she panted. “In. But not out.” She didn’t even know what she was saying anymore, wasn’t even aware that she was untying his shorts and freeing his cock. She only knew that he had removed his hand, that she was lifted and suspended, her one bare tit glowing gloriously in the moonlight, and then she was filled again, settled into his lap, her forehead resting against his.

“God, Scully,” he groaned throatily.

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, bobbing her head, which bobbed his in turn. His hands had her pulled down so tightly against him that he was deeper than he’d ever been.

She began to roll her hips, arching and then curling her lower back, moving but keeping him solidly inside of her. The motion pressed her clit into his pelvic bone and the speed and intensity of her impending orgasm had her arms flailing and splashing desperately as her hands attempted to gain purchase on something, on anything. She threw herself forward, hands landing on the ledge above Mulder’s head. Her grinding stuttered and faltered and she couldn’t contain the moan that bellowed up from deep within her when she flew apart. And when she came back to earth she found that Mulder had caught her, holding her securely to him with an arm across her lower back and a palm across her mouth to silence her cries of pleasure.

“HO-LY-SHIIIT!” The smug but proud smile on his face should have pissed her off, but she couldn’t help the lopsided but exhausted grin of her own. “That was-” he was cut off by another voice nearby in the parking lot.

“Oh look, they have a pool! Wanna go for a swim?” said the woman who was now only a few yards away from the fence. A male voice from across the parking lot answered excitedly, “Sure! Let me get changed!”

Mulder quickly sank farther down to conceal himself, but the motion lifted Scully up higher so that her head and shoulders breached the sitting ledge. He was obscured by the walls of the pool and the darkened depths of the water, his rock-solid cock still nestled inside her, his hands holding her steady against his lap. She scrambled to straighten her suit before the interloper discovered her, but her spaghetti arms hindered her agility.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in there,” the stranger sputtered. Nodding to Scully’s struggle to cover herself she added, “That happens to me sometimes too when I dive in.”

Scully’s hands went self-consciously to her dry, decidedly un-dived hair, and that’s when she realized she recognized the woman.

“Agent Stonecypher?” Her voice inflected on the -pher as Mulder’s grip on her hips tightened and he grew impossibly harder, seemingly aroused rather than horrified by their unexpected audience.

“Agent Scully?! Wow! Are you working the Fort Stewart case?” Stonecypher replied with a surprised grin and a hand on her hip. “Wait until I tell Agent Kinsley! We were about to go for a swim too. Is Agent Mulder coming?”

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, he’ll be coming any second now,” Scully breathed out.

“Okay then! We’ll see you in a few!”

As Agent Stonecypher turned to walk back across the parking lot, Mulder hugged Scully tight to him, encouraging her to move again, and buried his face in her neck.

Her arms engulfed him, one splayed hand pressing into his hair as she whispered down into his ear, “God, that was close.” She ground her hips against him roughly and he groaned. “But I think you liked it, you pervert.”

He exploded into her with muffled grunts and huffs before finally relaxing his bruising grip. She kissed his temples, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, dragging her lips across his, lazy and content and sex drunk.

“I told you the day wasn’t over,” she smiled playfully, and he chuckled

In the distance they heard, “Mike! You’ll never guess who’s here!” sending both of them into a fit of uncontained laughter.

Tagging @today-in-fic

[levixreader]

Dad!Levi x Mum!Reader- Daughter of Mine

Warnings: Just fluff

Charlotte: French name meaning freedom Summary: Charlotte was exactly like her father, stubborn to the core. Even though Levi would never allow her to join the military, she gives him a run for his money. Read as your teenage daughter turns your husbands day completely upside down when he agrees to have her join him for work for a week. Who knew someone other than you could break the Corporals composure so easily.

Requested by Anonymous

Master List | Requests | Next Chapter

“No”, Levi said firmly, taking another sip from his tea. “But DaAaAad!”, Charlotte whined. Levi ignored her closing his eyes while taking another sip from his cup. “Levi, you could at least take a minute to think about it”, you chimed in from the kitchen. He opened his eyes, glaring at you from the breakfast table. “No”, he repeated, his tone more severe. “I am an adult now!”, Charlotte argued sitting next to him. He turned his glare to your sixteen-year-old daughter. “Dad please!”, she pleaded her voice becoming more desperate. Levi remained in a frown.

Levi had promised Charlotte that he would give her whatever she wanted for her birthday. Of course, the only thing she wanted was for him to let her join the army. And sure enough, he had denied and blocked her every step of the way. She had tried to sneakily signup, several times might you add. Tried to even go to Erwin, Levi’s superior. And gone as far as convinced even you. But to no avail. He would never allow her to join.

“You’re not joining”, he said pissed off, “That’s final”, his impassive expression returning. Silence. Charlotte’s eyes welled up. You sighed, stopping loitering in the kitchen knowing perfectly well that you would need to intercede between them yet again. They had been having this fight for a month and half since her birthday to be exact. It always ended the same way, him denying her and her crying.

They normally had a great relationship, an unspeakable bond of trust of father and daughter. They understood each other in a way that you, even as her mother, could never completely comprehend. Which is why watching them have a go almost every other day was really painful to watch.

“Why?”, she asked, tears ready to fall. This was the first time she asked him for his reasoning. He turned to look at her icy grey eyes, the pain in her eyes palpable enough to soften his expression. He sighed loudly, giving in to her request. “I would never want to feel responsible if something were to happen to you”, he said sincerely. Hearing him broke your heart.

Levi could be many things, but even through his thick layered skin, he was ultimately human. Still only a man; flesh and blood. Still felt grief from every single one of his comrade’s deaths. And even if he rarely showed it, he had an almost unmovable sense of morality. Not even humanity’s greatest soldier could take in his shoulder the death of his only child. Even as a child if she had been out of his sight for what he thought of as too long, he would feel panicked. Not even when you were in the Corps had he felt this unnerved. You might be his soul but Charlotte was his heart and joy.

“But dad, even mum used to be on the force!”, she tried again, her voice shakier than last time. “She isn’t any more”, he pointed out. Both of them turn to look at you for some kind of support. You sighed again approaching them from across your standing position opposite them. “How about this”, you began sitting diagonally from both your husband and daughter, they both leaned in eager to hear your opinion, “take Charlotte for a week in the HQ”, you suggested. Charlotte’s eyes sparkled obviously appreciating your suggestion. Levi, on the other hand, had his eyes narrowed poignantly glaring at you. Oh boy, you knew that look. It was the look he used when he would make you pay for whatever you had done.

“Common dad”, Charlotte pleaded calling back his attention. He stared down at her, “No”, he answered. “But you said you would give me anything I wanted”, she insisted placing her hands on his knees. He stood his silent ground. “What if I don’t leave you side?”, she offered. He still didn’t say anything. “I’ll even clean your office”, she added, her eyes fuller than ever. He closed his eyes, sighing in defeat. “One week”, he finally replied. She immediately stood up screaming “YAY”, and then proceeded to twirl around the room. “I’m not done yet brat”, he said his eyes narrowing at her celebration in disapproval. “You’ll wake up every day at 5:00”, he began listing his conditions, “You do exactly as I say”, he continued, “And most importantly”, he emphasised, “You cannot leave my sight”. Charlotte who had been listening intently to his every word nodded furiously, “I promise!”, she said happily and proceeded to run up the stairs presumably to pick exactly what she was going to wear.

“Tch”, Levi said watching her disappear up the stairs. “You’re not off the hook either”, he said with half-lidded eyes. You rolled your eyes. “You’re just as bad as that brat”, he said meeting your gaze. “No, for that you have the full credit”, you commented smiling softly. His eyes narrowed, “After tonight, we might even have another one”, he casually said. “What?”, you replied blushing. “You heard me”, he said reaching to grab your face with his hand. “If I have to take the brat to work, you’re also suffering the consequences”, he said almost growling. “Yes, Sir”, you said seductively making him smirk, “It’s Corporal to you, brat”.

* * *

It hadn’t even been half a day and Levi was already regretting agreeing to bring Charlotte with him. His eyes narrowed watching his daughter in the courtyard with the 104th cadets. He didn’t have a problem with his daughter meeting the cadets but, what he did have a problem with was the newbie 104th cadets flirting with her. “Stupid shitty glasses”, he thought narrowing his eyes further as Jean, a horse-faced teenager, made Charlotte giggle. Hanji had, as per usual, bust into his office with news of some sort of experiment or another. But had promptly stopped when she laid eyes on Charlotte. “Is this little Charlotte I see!”, she had screamed in delight. Hanji was a regular at his house and knew Charlotte quite well. She had begged Levi to let her give Charlotte a tour of the facilities. At the time, he had been half thankful, since he still had half a mountain of paperwork to get through and Charlotte wasn’t making it any easier with her whining and asking when he would be done so that the both of them could go exploring. He trusted Hanji, but looking at things now, that had been a big mistake.

His eyes opened like plates. “Fuck. No.”, he thought having enough of the little show outside. He got up immediately from his desk chair. Eren had touched her. Moronic, hot-headed, titan-shifting Eren, had dared touch her.

Levi wasn’t an unreasonable man. He was praised for keeping his impulses in control. In fact, if anything, he was more the type to step back and assess before acting. But, all of that was thrown out the window when it came to his daughter. No one touched his daughter. Especially with dirty, filthy crummy hands like Eren’s. He stopped his way to the entrance of the courtyard. “Cadets!”, he screamed pissed off. The little group at the centre immediately turned to look at their superior. Levi’s eyes met Charlotte’s, she wasn’t happy and shot him half a glare. When the rest of the group realise it was the Corporal calling them, they all ran to stand in attention. “Heichou”, they said more or less in unison standing straight. Charlotte, on the other hand, leisurely made her way towards the line of cadets and Levi. Levi’s eyes fixated on her, narrowing in anger at her insubordination.

Of course, this did not escape the boys that had been flirting with her attention. Eren looked conflicted between Charlotte and Levi. Jean was biting his lip trying to think of what to say. Reiner’s brow was sweating unsure of what to do and so on and so forth.

“Captain!”, it was Eren who spoke first. Levi tore his eyes off Charlotte to look at him, his steel eyes warning him off wanting to cut his head off. “Charlotte is new”, he said less confidently mirroring Reiner’s sweating. Levi’s right eyebrow cocked up. “We’ll make sure she knows how to greet her superiors properly”, he said closing his eyes and lowering his head as a form of apology. “He”, Levi said in dark amusement. At least one of them had the balls to try to shield that stupid brat of his. Eren opened one eye and sneaked a peek at the Corporal. Levi looked even more annoyed. “Yes Corporal!”, this time it was Jean three persons down. It was his turn to be glared at. “Please forgive her!”, he pleaded also lowering his head. Levi felt red hot anger curing through his veins.

“So, you lot think you know how to handle my daughter better than me?”, Levi said with molten furry. Eren and Jean instantly raised their head in shock. All of the six in the group were shocked. Daughter. Charlotte was the Corporal's daughter.

“Dad!”, came a whine from Charlotte. Levi’s lips became a straight line, “My office”, he managed to say with a still controlled tone. “But-”, she tried, “Now!”, he emphasised louder. She pouted crossing her arms in front of her chest, “Dad stop”, she tried once again. His glare intensified, his eyes turning to look at the still processing cadets in front of him. “Since you all seem so eager to speak on her behalf”, Levi said calling back the attention of the boys, “you can all take her punishment too”, he glared at the line, “100 laps and stable duty for 2 weeks”, he called out waving a hand to dismiss them. Groaning they all made their way back to the courtyard to start laps.

“Charlotte”, he said turning to see his daughter once again. Oh, she was in for it. He never called her that. “We’re leaving”, he called grabbing her forearm and dragging her out of the buildings.

* * *

“Hey!”, you called out hearing your husband and daughter come in through the front door. “How was today?”, you asked moving to the living room to greet them. They both looked angry. “Oh God”, you thought approaching them. “Fine”, Levi said walking past you to reach sit on the couch. “Right”, you thought turning to look at him. “Why the long face?”, you questioned earning you a glare. “Ask her”, he responded pointing at Charlotte, who was still pouting. “Me?!”, she dramatically argued. His eyes narrowed. “What is going on?”, you asked a little lost. “I’ll tell you!”, Charlotte volunteered, “Dad went crazy”, she informed making you frown. Crazy?

“The military is not a flirting patch”, he answered rudely making Charlotte’s cheek colour. Your eyebrow shot up at her reaction. “I wasn’t flirting!”, she defended whilst flustered. You turned to look at your husband who was by then already staring at you with a “see” face. “Levi”, you said walking so that you stood in front of his knees. “What did you do?”, you asked crouching so that you could meet his gaze. “Nothing”, he said turning away. “L-evi”, you said softly. “If those brats have the balls to touch my daughter then they can have the balls to demonstrate their endurance and cleaning skills”, he said, not a single bit sorry. You sighed, turning your head slightly to look at your daughter. “Charlotte, give us a minute”, you said smiling softly at her. She frowned softly but complied and ran upstairs.

Sighing again you hung your head. “Levi”, you said your tone a little stern. He did not answer opting to look elsewhere as you looked up to his face. “You can’t do stuff like that”, you said placing both your hands on each of his knees. His eyes still didn’t meet yours. “Charlotte is not a child”, you said gripping his knees. To this he turns to look down at you his eyes dipped in disapproval, “She will always be my child”, he said catching you by surprise. That was so uncharacteristically of him. “You should have seen how they were looking at her”, he said in disgust, “They got what they deserved, tch”, he said returning his eyes elsewhere. You stifled a chuckle.

You had only seen him like this once and it had been back when you were dating and someone dared ask you out. Levi had had a field day with them.

“Levi”, you called out even softer than before. He looked at you, his eyes now softer with a hint of sadness and anger. “You can’t treat Charlotte like that”, you said drawing circles on his knees. He sighed, his shoulder’s relaxing a bit. “I know”, he said in defeat. One of your hands moved upwards to hold his cheek. His face shifting to put its weight on your palm. “It’s just-”, he started thinking of the best way to describe the feeling, “hard”, he settled on. “I know��, you said empathising with him. He sighed again, moving his face so that his lips were the ones on your palm now. He kissed it before getting up. “Are you going to talk to her?”, you asked watching him disappear further into the house. “Something like that”, he said underneath his breath making you chuckle.

* * *

*knock, knock*

Two knocked protruded from her room’s door. Charlotte looked up from her bed, fresh tears still falling down her cheeks. She didn’t answer, not really in the mood to see you or Levi, especially Levi. “Stupid dad”, she thought burring her face on the pillow.

The door creaked open, allowing Levi to walk inside the room. “Brat”, he called out from the foot of the bed. Charlotte didn’t even shift. He sighed sitting down on the corner by her feet, “Brat”, he tried again. Charlotte simply buried herself deeper in the pillow. She didn’t want her father to watch her cry. “Charlotte”, he said softly placing a hand on her leg. “Hmm”, he heard her muttered from her pillow. “Common, let’s have a talk”, he said tapping her leg. She sighed emerging from the pillow and turning to look at him. His heart twisted when he caught her still watery eyes. “What is it?”, she said quietly. “I’m your dad”, he informed making her eyebrows knit. “Yeah?”, she said quizzically. Levi sighed once more, completely defeated, “even when you’re old like me, you will always be my brat”, he said looking down at her bedsheets. This made Charlotte giggle. “I know”, she said this time placing her hand on his leg. “You’ll always be my dad”, she echoed making the corner of Levi’s mouth tug upwards. “Always”, he answered looking at her with a smile. To his surprise, Charlotte threw herself at him hugging him. Levi eagerly hugged her back.

“This doesn’t mean you can get out of 5 a.m. training tomorrow”, he said making her push him so that he was at arm’s length. “Training?”, she repeated confused. “What? You thought I would back away from a promise?”, he asked rhetorically feigning offence. Charlotte beamed, “Really? You mean it?!”, she asked bouncing. “Yeah, yeah”, he said ruffling her hair, “Be ready at 4:30 sharp”, he said getting up from her bed, “If you’re late, I’ll make you run laps”, he said closing the door of her bedroom.

[crow-summoner]

Darklina Week Day 2: Role Reversal

Sun Summoner!Darkling and Shadow Summoner!Alina

Alina, a cartographer for the Ravken Army, undertakes a dangerous mission to stay by her only friend’s side. They must cross the Forge, a hellscape of intense heat and unrelenting light that has torn their country in two. Nothing can survive the Forge for long. Nothing but the monsters that call it home. Alina thinks she and Mal will make it as long as they’re together, but when their mission falls to pieces, Alina discovers something shocking about herself. She can banish light. Her powers draw the attention of the Golden General, a military leader who scares and intrigues Alina in equal measure. One thing’s for sure. Alina can’t go back to life of a mouse, and the General’s her best option to fight for something more. Can Alina save her world, or will she die trying?

Or, an AU where light powers aren’t necessarily good, and shadow powers get to be heroic. Content warning for some volcra expy related gore and some canon-consistent sprinkles of Malina at the beginning. There’s plenty of Darkles after that, now with extra sparkles.

Story under the jump

The Forge

Alina sits at the inn window, adding the last buttery yellow lines to her painting. For being such a blight against their nation, the Forge made a lovely landscape. She dons her fabrikator sunglasses, and turning her back to the unrelenting sunlight, she lifts her tented mirror up to compare her painting to the real thing. Her superior officers would kill her if they knew what she was using their equipment for, but the Forge is too bright to look at directly. Her superiors may not appreciate art, but if she’s going to risk her life for more supplies, she wants to leave a memorial for herself.

“It looks too much like a vacation spot,” Mal says, dragging up a chair so he can sit next to her. He’s already wearing his glasses and darkened veil, which will supposedly keep the Forge from boiling their eyes out and trap moisture near their faces. Alina would be happier if more than army issued fashion stood between her and certain death.

“You make a pretty bride, you know that?” Alina says instead of responding to the criticism. There were enough horrors in the Forge. She wanted make something pleasant. She places her canvas between the shelf and the wall, hoping that someone working at the inn will find it.

Mal huffs. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw the bags under my eyes. Don’t know how people sleep around here.”

Alina supposes people can get used to anything, even perpetual daylight. She secures her mirror and knives to her belt and dons her veil and gloves. She shimmies down the narrow walkway as if showing off the latest fashion. “What do you think?”

Mal makes a show of considering it, rubbing his chin under the veil. “I think the sveta will be too smitten to eat you.”

Alina tilts her head in mock coyness. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” She leaves it unspoken that she wishes someone else was smitten with her.

“Come on,” Mal says, taking her by the arm. “I want to be on time for once.”

By the time they reach the skiff, Alina and Mal are five minutes late. Thankfully, Alexei, her fellow cartographer, covered for her.

“You owe me,” he says, shoving her maps into her hands.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” Alina promises.

“You already owe me twelve cakes!”

“Then I’ll name my first born after you.”

Alexei snorts. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to have kids. We’re all going to be beef jerky in a few hours.”

“Squeak. Squeak, Alexei.” It’s the code their cartographers have for when Alexei’s boundless optimism is bringing them down.

Normally, Alexei would grumble but acquiesce. Today, he just stares at the skiff. “Do you really think the sveta are real?”

Alina shrugs. “What else could eat our men out there?” Admittedly, invisible creatures made of light sounded farfetched, but she’s seen the battle scars. Other soldiers had claw mark scars across their chest and spots where something inhuman had taken a bite out of them. The light could blister, burn and tan flesh, but it couldn’t do that.

“I dunno. Maybe him,” Alexei said, eyeing the golden carriage in the distance. “The Geldling.”

Alina quickly hushes him. General Kirigan tolerates others calling him the Golden General, but he does not take kindly to the Geldling. Sure, the epitaph was based on an old Kerch word for gold, but gelding is also what one did to a prized horse to keep it docile. It was as good as saying their leader is a ballless pet, and everyone knows it.  

Sure enough, one of the heartrenders lifts his veil and glares at them. He might have been handsome once, but his sour expression makes the lines on his face hard.

“Captain Herring may be rough, but he’s not a cannibal.” Alina hopes this is enough to cover over their mistake. The heartrender doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t fight them either. That suited Alina well enough.

“Watch what you say,” she whispers to Alexei. “We have to depend on these people to survive. Don’t make them mad.”

Alexei nods. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, the rest of their time at the dock goes smoothly. Soon, all the soldiers and Girsha gather inside the metal skiff, ready to take off. A tidemaker hoses them all down, making Alina feel like a drenched rat, but the water is important in such a hot place.

Alina makes sure to stand by Mal, gripping his arm for support as the skiff slides along the sand. There’s enough space to move around, but something about the lack of windows makes the room feel unbearably tight. It’s like one big coffin.

Squeak, squeak, Alina tells herself. No one’s going to die today.

The skiff rattles as they pass over marker zero. They’re officially in the Forge. The panels in the side of the skiff slide up. Rows of dark nets allow squallers to force air out without letting the light in. They’ll have to use the tinted mirrors along the sides of the skiff to direct it.

Alina fans herself, wishing the nets could ease the heat. She was drenched just minutes ago, but her uniform’s now bone dry. Sure, the tidemakers periodically release a mist from their fancy containers and push it around the cabin, but that’s like giving a starving man a single bite.

“I bet I can sweat more than you,” Mal jokes, and she’s sure it’s to help distract her. Even the dumbest man in their unit wouldn’t brag about that.

“No way. Sweat more than that heartrender over there, and you have a deal,” she whispers back. It was a hard challenge. The heartrender already smelled like he’d bathed in nothing but used socks for years.

Mal leans back in shock. “Yikes. Are you trying to kill me? I can’t beat that.”

Alexei sniffs beside them, rubbing under his veil. “My lids are scraping my eyeballs.”

Alina reaches over and slaps his hand the way she used to do with the younger kids at the orphanage. “Then stop picking at them.”

Alexei mumbles. He’s a good cartographer, but he also comes from money, and that didn’t always make for a good soldier. Alina wonders if she should have erased his name instead of Ruby’s. This mission called for two cartographers, and Ruby could withstand discomfort better than he could, but Alina wasn’t thinking rationally. Mal was going to go into the Forge by himself, and Alina needed to remove someone so she could forge her own name on the mission papers. Mal wouldn’t give Alexei a second glance, but Ruby had red hair and a slim figure. Alina couldn’t risk Mal having “glad we’re still alive” sex with her after the mission. It was petty, childish even, but Alina couldn’t help herself. If they all survive the skiff, she’ll woman up and tell Mal how she feels. Lord knows hanging in this middle ground wasn’t doing either of them any favors.  

The skiff shakes, and Alexei grabs the walls. “Saints! It’s the sveta.”

The squaller at the helm shushes him. “Just a bump. Don’t call attention to us.”

Alexei’s shoulders slump, but he retakes his position behind the squaller without another word.

Alina can’t help but lean around her squaller to peak in her mirror. She’d heard about calcified roots surviving the Forge long after the crops perished. The real thing must be prettier than the paintings. Instead of a root, Alina finds the fragments of a skull and the front of a skiff.

She steps back, her stomach sinking into her boots. It’s one thing to know the odds, but it’s another to stare the evidence in the face. Better men than them have failed to cross.

The crew stand in silence as the skiff passes the first marker. Alina gives her squaller the proper directions and distances, and soon they pass the second marker. The third. The fourth. Alina allows herself to hope. Just eleven more and they’re home free.

She scratches her arm, and flakes of dry skin come off. No wonder the skiff regulars look like leather. She’d rather go AWOL than do this again. Then again, she didn’t have be here this time either. She has no one to blame but herself.

The skiff rumbles and tilts. It’s just another bump, she assures herself, but something raps against the ceiling. The heartrenders tense up, and the squallers shift their positions.

Oh, no.

She checks on Mal just to be sure, but he’s clutching his gun tight, his head tilted up. It’s the same stance he took when he found that rabbit in a barren forest or when he was about to catch her during hide and seek. He’s sighted something, only this time, that something is stronger than them.

The squaller at the helm brings the skiff to a stop and signals for the shooters and heartrenders to take position. All the non-combat staff – cartographers included – must gather at the center. Alina takes out her knife and her tented mirror, praying she won’t have to use them.

“Protect yourselves if you must,” the squaller whispers, “but don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Alina’s never felt more useless in her life.

The skiff continues to shake, harder this time. Something whines above them. Something answers it’s call from somewhere in front of them. Another whine sounds from behind the skiff. From all sides. How many of them are out there? At least a dozen given the sheer number of cries. No one dares make a sound. The sveta are fierce, but they’re just as blind as a human in the Forge. Maybe if they don’t hear anything, they’ll get bored and hunt elsewhere.

The ceiling dents in with a clank, knocking the skiff to the right. One of the soldiers jumps at the sound, aiming where it came from. The squaller at the helm blows him away, but not in time. The shot blows a hole in the ceiling, letting the light in. The beam hits a tidemaker’s shoulders, carving a smoking black line through her kefta. She screams, tearing off the cloth to expose a blistering gash. A healer pulls her to the side as one her friends tries to stifle her screams with a damp cloth, but it’s too late. The sveta cries draw closer.

Something claws a large hole through the ceiling, the soldiers scrambling to avoid the new beams. Some squallers attempt to blow up a tarp to cover the open areas, but it stops in thin air. No. Not thin air. The tarp drapes over something Alina can’t see with her naked eye. Under the plastic, she can make out its large, pointed wings and snout.

“Blast it,” the squaller at the helm shouts, and the soldiers open fire on the creature. It whines, batting away the tarp, and then it’s gone.

For a moment, no one makes a move. The cabin is utterly silent. Then something flashes across Alina’s mirror, and the next thing she knows, the soldier beside her explodes in a splash of red. On the other side of the skiff, a healer’s hand disappears. He draws back, clutching his now bloody stump as one of the creatures screeches in triumph.

Alina backs up, though there’s nowhere left to go. Oh, saints. She should have never come here. She begs every saint she can think of to forgive whatever sin brought her to this horrible moment. Shooting her fellow man in combat. Wishing harm to the girls Mal so much as looked at. Disregarding Ana Kuya’s rules at every turn. Whatever it was, she repented. Just please don’t let her die at some monster’s hand.

The durasts burst dust in the air. It makes their own people cough, but it helps make the sveta more visible.

BAM!

Another chunk of ceiling caves in, forcing the crew to huddle along the perimeter to escape the light. Not all of them were quick enough. Several soldiers blister and peel, crying as the sveta tear off chunks of flesh from their bodies.

Alina can only stare. It’s too late for prayers. Too late to run. She should have talked Mal into fleeing while she had the chance, and now ... Alina holds out her mirror, a new hope setting in. They might not make it out, but she can at least die by Mal’s side. He has to know how she feels.

Alina slowly shifts through the chaos, dodging shots and beams of light. She finds him by the helm, taking deep breaths as he aims and shoots. Something heavy hits the floor, gurgling. Of course. Leave it to Mal to find the creatures without a mirror.

She shines her mirror in the direction the creature fell, hoping to avoid tripping its body, but to her surprise, she can just make out the sheen of its skin. The colors change as she tilts the mirror, first blue, then pink and maybe green. All the colors of the rainbow. It reminds her of looking through a prism. Not invisible then. The sveta are just reflective.

Alina giggles. Ana Kuya would be so proud of her, committing to her education even as she’s about to die. She keeps giggling over and over, knowing that if she stops, she’ll have to cry. There are just so many bodies around her. They used to be people, and now they’re meat.

Someone grabs her wrist, and a shot of energy courses through her, quieting the hysteria. Mal drags her beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but he’s busy readying his next shot. “I lo – ” She doesn’t get any further. Another soldier’s bullet ricochets off the wall and hits Mal in the shoulder. He doubles over, his gun clattering to the floor.

Alina drops her mirror, pressing a palm against the wound. The blood seeps from between her fingers no matter how hard she tries to stop the flow.

Mal slides to the floor, Alina crouching beside him. The light streams against them, burning her chest and his back. The pain means nothing compared to the loss.

“No. Not like this,” she says, covering Mal’s body with her own.

The pain in her back only lasts a second. It occurs to her that this is not a good thing. It means her nerves have been eaten away, but she’s glad to do it if it means Mal can live.

Something rumbles in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s going to burst, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight it.

All around her, the creatures cry and flap their wings erratically. She doesn’t have time think about it as the world goes dark, sinking her into a deep oblivion.

 *****************************

 Alina wakes, draped over someone’s shoulder, face buried in the red cloth of his kefta. She only lifts her head for one moment, but the light’s unbearable.

The light?

“Mal,” Alina shouts. She wiggles to free herself from the Grisha’s grip. The sveta will come back at any moment. She has to find Mal. Protect him. Where is he?

But they’re not on the skiff anymore. They’re back at the dock, the skiff a shredded husk. People rush every which way, some tending to the wounded and some salvaging the cargo from the hold. Mal could be anywhere among them. Then Alina catches sight of the ground. Oh, saints! So many people lay unmoving on the dock, and Grisha and First Army soldiers keep dragging out more. All these people she trained with. Ate with. Sung bawdy songs with when they’d all had too much kvas. Dead. They can’t all be gone. Right? Right?

Alina kicks at the Grisha. She needs to see for herself who made it out. Mal better be among them. Of course, he would be. He was the best tracker Ravka’s ever seen. He’d always find his way back home. Home to her.

The Grisha swears at her, trying to stop her feet with one arm. “Be still.” She recognizes him. The heartrender that had sneered at Alexei’s comment earlier. Alina drives a fist in the heartrender’s back. If Grisha like him had done more they wouldn’t be in the situation. He did it on purpose, didn’t he? He let their soldiers die because someone spoke against his leader. His pride meant more than the supplies they’d get from West Ravka. More than human life.

“Fine.” With a huff, the Grisha drops her flat on her butt, sand puffing in her face. She’s coughing too much to fight him off when the heartrender takes her by her bicep and drags her towards the camp. Another heartrender takes her other arm, his grip gentler than his coworker’s.

“Was that necessary, Ivan?” The second heartrender asked.

Ivan only grunts “Fedyor” as a warning in response. Fedyor shakes his head with what Alina would call fondness if she thought anyone could be fond of something as sour as Ivan.

“Where’s Mal?” Alina asks Fedyor, but he only lifts a brow. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize the name of a common solider. There were so many of them, and Grisha only concerned themselves with their own. “The boy I was with on the skiff.”

“Ah. Him,” Fedyor says. “The First Army tends to their own wounded. He’s in their care.”

Alina knows what that means. He’s laying outside the infirmary tent, waiting for his turn to have an undertrained medic pour alcohol in his wounds then pack them with mustard plaster. If he’s lucky, they’ll still have enough bandages for him to get his own. Having to use the scraps from old uniforms inevitably led to infection, and without supplies from the west, the camp outpost could not provide the steady diet of alcohol needed to survive that misery. Mal is popular, though. She’s sure someone will be willing to sacrifice their stash for his comfort.

Then it occurs to her that she’s not doing the same thing. She’d been horribly burned by the light, and yet her back doesn’t ache. Someone must have removed her jacket while Alina was unconscious, but her undershirt is scorched where the light hit it. Her chest is unusually red, but it’s not blistering or charred. The worst she can say is that she feels like she’s been awake for days.

“Why would someone heal me?” She’s heard it a thousand times before. Healers were too rare to waste on common soldiers. They were for Grisha and those wealthy enough to be a priority. She is neither, and yet when she looks up at Fedyor, he’s gazing down at her with some feeling she dares not define. It was the same look the Grisha gave the golden carriage when it barreled into the encampment. The same look the peasants near Keramzin gave the bones of Saint Felix on his day of worship. If she didn’t know better, she’d call it reverence.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity when he finally says, “We survived.” Alina doesn’t know what she has to do with that. It was luck. Pure and simple. But then Fedyor closes his eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”

A chill runs through Alina despite the heat. She looks at the tents, the people running around them, anywhere and everywhere but at Fedyor and that look, full of expectations she can never fill. They’ve long since passed the First Army section, but they’re now leaving the main Grisha area, heading up the northmost path. There’s nothing there except for the single yellow tent towering over the rest of the encampment.

Alina pulls back, but it does nothing to stop the heartrenders. “What does the General want with me?”

“Just answer his questions, so we call all get on with our day,” Ivan says.

“I don’t know anything! Let go of me!” She turns to look back at the First Army camp, too far away for anyone to see her let alone help. Not that they could do anything if they wanted to. No one says no to the General.

Fedyor grips the back of her neck, and her whole body turns to puddy. The heartrenders lean into her, holding her upright because her knees can no longer bear her weight. She’s too relaxed to move at all.

Ivan sniffs. “You weren’t supposed to do that for anyone but me.”

Fedyor grins. “Sorry, luv. Desperate times and all that.”

They march her straight into the lion’s den.

She doesn’t know what she expected to see. A jeweled throne and a menagerie of exotic animals like the ones she’d seen in the illustrated book of fairy tales back at the orphanage? Enemy soldiers kept in cages and chained otkazat’sya serving the Grisha like the Fjerdan pamphlet a traveler tried to give them before Ana Kuya kicked them off the duke’s property? But this place resembled the main tent for the First Army. Soldiers clustered together around a round table. A large map hung from a board, thread and pegs marking paths, places and interesting parties. And yet the General’s tent was larger than theirs, made of bulletproof core cloth while they had to make do with spun cotten. They must not need to ration oil either given the number of lamps lit, and the gathered Grisha shone like banners in their blue, red and purple keftas. No olive drab for them.

Most of the room turned to face them when the heartrenders dragged Alina in. Some now look at her with open curiosity and others with incredulous expressions. Soft mummers pass through the crowd until someone raises their hand, and the whole lot fall silent. Saints, Alina never heard a tent so quiet before. Even during lights out, at least one person snored.

Without needing to be told, the Grisha step back, parting down the center to make a path. A lone man strides forward, his telltale yellow kefta billowing around him. Notes of silver, white and gold weave through it, enough thread to stitch three tents of this size together, but he’s not wearing the jewelry she’d expect from his high rank, and his clothes are core cloth like any other Grisha. She’s never seen a high officer without any silk on, no matter how impractical it might be. After all, most never saw battle. Not like this one had.

The Golden General is younger than she’d expected given what others said about him. She’d seen a shriveled man with boney hands covered in warts in her mind’s eye, but this man barely had a decade on her, and his warm blonde hair and fair, flawless complexion were pleasing on the eyes. Too pleasing. Even the most beautiful boy back home had some freckle or ruddiness to his skin, but the General’s looks almost painted on. It’s eerie, and yet she can’t look away. He’s like the very embodiment of the light, except there’s a coldness in his gaze and calm comportment.

He may be light, but he’s not warmth.

That right, she tells herself. Ana Kuya warned her about such things before. One of the orphans she’d grown up with saw a gold coin glittering in some bushes under a hill. He’d climbed down for it, only to be rolled by some travelers. They took the buttons from his coat and the boots from his feet. He came home with nothing but his pants and a gash on his forehead. Ana Kuya warned them all then: not all that’s gold glitters. Sometimes, it burns instead. Gold tempts the desperate, but Alina is not blind. The General only looked like a man. He can boil someone’s insides. Make their flesh rot from their bone as if they were already dead.  Burn them with a glance. And here he is, looking straight at her.

The General stops a few feet away and clasps his hands behind his back. He looks her over, and she doesn’t know whether to be scared or grateful that she can’t read what conclusions he’s drawn. He nods at the heartrenders, and Fedyor rubs the back of Alina’s neck. Her limbs come back to life, panic rising from her core. She wants to run, but there’s no point.

The General stares at her, impassive, and then finally: “Is it true?”

For a moment, Alina believes the absurd. He’s read her thoughts and knows what she said about him being a monster. Then it occurs to her that he’s talking about the skiff. She closes her eyes. What does he want her to say? She was unconscious for most of what went down, and she can barely remember what she was present for. Flashes of her coworker’s blood and blistering arms intrude behind her closed lids, forcing them open again. Maybe it’s best she can’t remember.

She must have taken too long to answer because the General speaks again. “Is it true that you can banish the light?”

All Alina can do is blink. This has to be a joke, but the General’s expression is serious, and everyone around them is leaning in with anticipation. She knows better than to laugh in their faces and question their intelligence, so she makes do by stuttering, “No one can do that.” It takes a moment, but she remembers to add a quick “sir.” She’s not used to being around anyone important.

She braces herself for him to yell at her the way the generals in their army do, but he merely nods. “Then what did happen?”

Alina struggles for an answer. She tries to tell him that she doesn’t know how the sveta got in, or how their ship made it, but no matter what she says, she keeps returning to those burning soldiers. The General frowns, and she knows she needs to come up with something – anything – to appease him.

The General raises a hand to silence her, and when he speaks, his tone is smooth and calm. “It must have been scary out there. It’s one thing to read about the attacks, but it’s another to live it.”

Alina hadn’t expecting any sympathy, so she just nods.

“You must be exhausted.” When Alina nods again, the General continues. “It’s hard to make sense of anything when you hurt so much. I could help with that if you’ll let me.” He gestures beside him, inviting her closer.

He may have asked for permission, but Alina isn’t sure she really has a choice. Still, he’s been nothing but polite so far. She has nothing to lose by playing along.

Alina slowly closes the gap between them, and the closer she gets, the closer she wants to get. It’s like he’s a magnet, and she’s loose filigree coming together for the first time. She feels the warmth now, not in his continence, but all around him. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t tingle. It numbs the heaviness of her limbs and banishes the panic that’s haunted her since the skiff penetrated the Forge. Before she knows it, Alina’s pressed up against the General. She’s vaguely aware that it’s not appropriate to stand so close to a superior, and it’s definitely not safe to be within biting distance of a monster, but it feels right. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

The General doesn’t seem to mind either, staring deep into her eyes like he’s trapped, too. Her reflection stares back at her in his eyes. They’re just so bright and shiny. She has a hard time placing the color. It reminds her of one of the duke’s vases. The blown glass was iridescent and shimmered with every color around it. She and Mal had argued for years over what color it really was. He said purple. She said green. They finally settled things with a good arm wrestle. Green won, of course. Alina decides that the General’s eyes are green, too.

“May I?” He asks, and though she can’t see where he’s pointing, she answers his unspoken request, sliding her hand in his. His palms are rough from life on the road, but they’re warm, and his grip os gentler than Fedyor’s had been. She could hold his hand and stare into his eyes forever.

“What happened?” The General asks in a voice softer than silks.

The words spill out of Alina on their own. She tells him about forging her name on the staff list. The attack. Shielding Mal. The sveta descending on them, and then – “All I could look at was him, but I could feel the light getting sucked away. Everything went black, and then I woke up on the docks.”

The General says nothing, but his eyes briefly narrow. It’s not a threat as far as Alina can tell. Whatever she said seemed to confirm something for him. The General pushes up her sleeve with his free hand, never breaking her gaze. She doesn’t fight it. She’s curious, too. Something happened back on that skiff. It’s there lurking there in the back of her brain, begging to be revealed. She knows once it’s free, it can never be caged again. The thought simultaneously thrills her and makes her shiver.

The General trails one finger up her arm. Something inside her responds to act, rejoices in it. His finger stops and curls around her forearm. She notes that the nail on his thumb is longer than the others. Sharp. He drives that nail into her flesh, and it’s like a thousand arms stream out of her at once.

Darkness surrounds them, putting out the lights. No, the lamps are still on. She can feel their flames licking at the shadows just as easily as she can feel the General’s grip on her arm. All around them, the Grisha shout. She can’t see them so much as she feels where they are in the dark. It the strangest sensation, and yet it feels like home. Everything is darkness.

Everything but him.

The General glows, smiling down at her. A true lamp would illuminate the world around them, but there he stands, the sole bright spot in the blackness. Standing together, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. Then the General lets go of her arm and the darkness withers, fading into the ground or retreating under Alina’s skin to fight another day.

Alina clutches her chest, suddenly empty inside. Her head swivels every which way, desperate to find that surety again, but it’s gone. The aches have returned, magnified tenfold. She can barely keep herself upright, and soon, she’s on her knees, her head swimming.

“A shadow summoner,” some squaller says, and it’s as if a dam broke in Alina’s mind. She stares at her rough, ruddy hands. They’re not the hands of a hero, and yet it’s true. It’s all true. She can banish the light. She saved the skiff from the Forge.

She’s … Grisha.

Alina frowns, remembering what Mal said when that Grisha girl made eyes at him from the General’s carriage. He doesn’t tumble witches. Alina was glad to hear it then. It meant less competition for her, and she and Mal had exchanged plenty of digs at the Grisha over the years. Surely, he wouldn’t think she’s like the rest of them just because she has powers. She didn’t grow up coddled and self-important like the rest of them. That had to count for something. He knew her. The real her. He wouldn’t be scared of her because of her shadows.

No matter how hard Alina tries, she can’t bring herself to believe it.

The General holds out his hand. Alina stares up at him, sure she should bat it away. She’s not one of his Grisha. She’s a mapmaker and an orphan and Mal’s best friend. But that may not be true anymore, and she’d be a fool to burn any bridges.

She takes his hand, letting the General lift her to her feet. He pulls her close again, so close she can feel his breath against her face. She should let go, but she clings to his hand like it’s the last safe ledge in a rockslide. He gives her a knowing smirk, and she wants to wipe it off his stupid face. She’s had a rough day. She would have clung to literally anybody, but then the General leans in, and she feels that warmth again. His lips brush her ear as he whispers, “You and I are going to change the world.”

Notes:

Whoo! This is my first Grishaverse fanfic. It may be a little late, but it’s here. One shot for now, but I might be interested in continuing this in the future. Hope you enjoyed!

[multiplefandomsblog]

your roommate hcs are so cute, can i request for naib, demi, tracy, andrew, kurt, patricia, and victor?

:0 holy crap yes! I’m so glad you enjoyed the roommate hcs!! Me and the other mods hope you enjoy these! Thank you for requesting :))

(i added melly because why not? lmao hope you don’t mind.)

Part 1!

Naib Subedar

This man deadass didn’t know you were living with him

Even when people told him about it, he wasn’t rlly paying attention and didn’t rlly care

Your stuff in his room? He thought it was his or someone just broke into his room and left it there

When he saw you on the toilet however, he just freaked out.

“Why the hell are you shitting in my room!?” “Your room? I’ve been living here for 2 months!”

Once he found out you lived with him, he made sure you knew what was his and what was yours

also, since he’s very protective of his things-- you being one of them-- he would totally get jealous if he caught you tallking to someone that wasn’t him.

he would probably give you the silent treatment and act like a pissy baby

He hates it when you touch his stuff

especially his photos, the photos were special to him because they were of him and his army friends.

You’d sometimes catch him looking at the photos with a longing in his eyes, it was highkey sad.

having you live with him meant lots and lots of training

he made sure you were always prepared for matches and that you don’t get downed early

when you got downed early however, He would scold you but he would still rescue you anyways because he’s soft

“You’re such an idiot, you’d better do better next time! Or else I’ll kick your ass.” 

one time he got cocky while kiting because you were watching him

he forgot to turn on his elbow pads and face palmed into the wall.

“...You saw nothing.” He turned around, a bit woozy from hitting his head on a wall. He flipped the hunter off before stumbling wooshing away

When you first get to know naib, he’d probably come off as intimidating and menacing

but once you get to know him--the real him--, you start to understand that even though he may be tough on you, its because he wants you to be the best

he has good intentions

During matches he’d let you handle yourself and made sure you didn’t rely on him too much

One time you needed to shower but you ran out of your shampoo so you used his.

When he questioned you, you simply responded “What? You don’t need it anyways, you’re bald!”

He didn’t rescue you the next round.

should’ve seen that coming

though he forgives you when you braid his luscious long existent hair for him

Kurt Frank

The amount of times you almost stepped on this man is astronomical.

he would constantly be in his tiny form because he would lose a lot of his things

his tiny form helped him find his things easily

Though when you first moved in with him, you had no idea what his ability was

so when you first saw a tiny version of your roommate you thought he was just a weird doll

until you heard him say a tiny, “Hey can you move your ginORMOUS foot? You’re stepping on my book.”

You fucking screeched and took off your shoe to try and kill him

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

After he explained to you about his ability you calmed down a bit and spared this tiny man but only this time!

Frank loves books, he probably filled your shared rooms with stacks on stacks of books

You’d often see him tiny, waving at you while you’re decoding

Once you overhead Kurt arguing with First Officer over who was the rightful owner of some sort of treasure map

They fought for days,

kurt would constantly complain about it to you

turns out it was just a game on the back of a Cereal box.

sorry this is short like kurt

Tracy Reznik

Would be a little awkward at first, but the awkwardness slowly fades away when you both make bad jokes

she gives me childhood best friend vibes

Has her doll sitting in the corner of your shared room room, it’s lifeless eyes scare the living shit out of you in the dark you try not to make eye contact, afraid it’ll curse you or smth

if she was mad at you she would move the bot in a way that looked like it was flipping you off you off in your direction before you went to bed.

Always making little robot things that are super fun to play with

Loves sharing her things. Has no problem with it

you wanna wear her clothes? sure

you want to wear her underwear? evEN BETTER-

Pulling all nighters, trying to get her machines to work like how she wanted it to work.

Would live off of kraft Mac n cheese and junk food in the modern day

Pretty hyper, chugs pink monster energy drinks while pulling all nighters, also, in the modern day

would probably be a bruh girl

Her room is a mess, covered with blueprints and scrap metal

her room is practically a safety hazard

Sometimes she dresses her doll up a bit, putting wigs or her old clothes on it (which scares you half to death)

Once she made her doll dress up like her

and you almost went up to it to ask what it wanted for dinner.

Has a photo of her and her dad

You never wanted to bring it up, worried it might make her upset :(

Sometimes she’d feel really guilty about being downed in the first 30 seconds

please comfort her, she feels super bad

She always relies on you to rescue her

She gets really happy and thankful when you body block for her but she still gets a bit concerned when you do it randomly

“i wasn’t even kiting-” “Protecc the mecc.”

Demi Bourbon

Always out at the bar

Smells like alcohol constantly

tipsy 24/7

she’s never 100% sober

You have to hold her hair out of her face when she comes back to your shared room to hurl

Likes bringing back hard vodka or weird flavoured alcohols back for you guys to get wasted try together

Room is bit cluttered, but she doesn’t have much in her room since she’s always out in bars or matches

Usually latches onto you like a parasite when she’s drunk.

it gets a bit awkward when her face is a bit close to yours,

“Are we about to kiss right now-? BLeurghgrhgherrgh.”“...*audible sigh*”

You’d go to her expecting her to heal you like a normal person but no

instead she shoves dovlin down your throat

She likes to do your makeup, and always adds a matching beauty mark

unless you don’t wear makeup, then she’d ask you to do hers 

always loves how she looks afterwards

more than sometimes demi would get into bar fights, 

so you know she’s about to throw hands when she starts takes off her earrings-

10/10 would fight for you <3

She’s gives me cool wine aunt vibes

Probably a lesbian too (check out our Demi smut fic ;))

Or bi, idk

Just straightn’t

She’s really good at hyping you up, especially when you’re taking shots

“CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG-”

Andrew Kreiss

Would be very shy at first, opens up a little when you get to know him

Totally a night owl, can’t sleep at night from all the guilt and “what if’”s

if you see this baby awake at night, hug him, he really needs it

You’ve never seen the other side of his face

How does he see with hair in his eyes?

He’s albino, which is super dope

Sometime you fear he’s thinking about burying you

You always see him thwacking Luca with his shovel

Barely talks

Room is moderate

He doesn’t want you to find out too much about him

He may seem bland, but he loves sweet food

You’d bake him cookies and other sweets

He’d act as if he’s not embarrassed and brush it off

“Are you blushing?”“No, I-I’m sunburnt.” “On your face?” “....I stare into the hot red sun sometimes because it eases me.”

to keep his lie going, every time he catches you staring at him he would fry his eye balls by staring into the sun until you left

partially the reason why he can’t see well

When he’s not looking, you stare at him while he’s eating the stuff you made because he looks so happy :’)

One time you found him down in the dumps so you made him a cup of coffee, and when you handed it to him you said-

“Depresso espresso?”

*sniff* ”..are you oka-” “IM NOT CRYING, YOU ARE”

he actually cried

it was such a nice gesture(?), that he started ugly crying

You’d ask him if he wanted hugs during matches when you see him get stressed

He’d be flushed and kinda confused

hug... him? why tho lmao

he’d definitely agree tho, to be fair, with some hesitation 

if y’all ever cuddled in bed, i feel like he’d be a little spoon

poor boy needs the comfort, he wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be little spoon tho

he just wants to be close to you

Victor Grantz

You love playing with his dog, Wick

Super nice and polite, but a little guarded

The type to be too afraid to call people out when they do something wrong but would totally trash them in his head

You write him little letters everyday and leave them on his bed to make him happy :))

He’d a be a little spoon

Wick would always join you guys while cuddling

Kisses would be soft and gentle

Usually sends you the first letter in matches

Loves to cuddle

He bb 🥰

You always get him a birthday present AND a Christmas present

You also get a gift for Wick

He loves giving you surprise hugs

Likes to read with you while cuddling

Literally a cinnamon roll

Once he was eating a cinnamon roll

And you whispered

“C a n n i b a l i s m .”

He was very confused

and kind of scared- were you going to eat him?

Patricia Dorval

Room always smells like herbs

She could literally smoke weed and you’d think it’s some magical healing herb

it magically makes you feel better

Always there to stun the hunter when you’re ballooned

The mature one

Her room is organized, with boxes labeling what herbs and magic stuff that are in them

You were cooking dinner for the day and you accidentally used one of her fancy herbs in your soup

She didn’t realize until she tried the soup

She wasn’t mad just disappointed

She lectured you on how you shouldn’t touch her stuff or use it for cooking

Gotta admit tho, the soup was pretty good

she acts like the mom everyone wishes they had

totally the type to be like, “dude we should think this through.” before doing something risky

and then five seconds later, “cowABUNGA MY DUDES”

one time she caught kreacher leaving the mens washroom without washing his hands

seeing as she was the mother of this manor, she had to protect her children from diseases

so she yeeted her monkey skull at kreachers head, cleanly knocking him out

and everybody cheered.

Melly Plinius

When you heard melly was going to be your roomie, you couldn’t have been more excited.

you finally had a victim for the many insect pick up lines!

So you decided to make some good first impressions by waiting for her in your room.

so when she arrived to your room and greeted you, you happily greeted her back, and slipped in the pick up line.

“Hello, my name is Melly. I believe I will be your ro-?”“Yeah nice to meet you too, say, what do bees make?”

She kinda thought you were a bit rude so much for first impressions

“...Erm, honey?” she replied hesitantly

“YES DEAR?” 

... okay maybe you weren’t thaaaat bad.

after that she kind of developed a teensy crush on you 

so it was hard living with you because of her crush, since she was constantly flustered 

you loved her reactions, she constantly got red.

it was funny watching her try to keep her cool and fail.

[subbing-for-clones]

The New Apprentice Part 12

Maul x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

WARNINGS: mentions to sex, FLUFF, the fluffiest chapter by far. Enjoy it cause I’m gonna hurt your feelings in the next one NGL

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       True to both parts of his word, Maul demanded that your suggestions be carried out; with little resistance from the government that Almec put together it didn’t take long for your plan to come to fruition. While the gears were turning Maul continued your training, an expansive space in the court yard was repurposed for sparring. To your delight, several members of the Death Watch accepted your invitation after promising to keep it purely physical, no ‘force magic’ as they put it. Their addition meant that Maul could continue to work with the syndicates and members of Mandalorian government to further his desires for power and you didn’t have to wait for him to be free to train. Of course, he made time for you every morning; discussing Sith philosophies and history while every evening you meditated together.

    It didn’t take long for the tabloids to gather information about the Manda’lor’s generous gesture to restore farm lands to their original clan and to seed them; not with tax money but straight from the purse of the woman who had seized them to begin with. He practically gushed to himself in the privacy of his office at the praise from the people. He wasn’t even finished with your original plan and already he was coming up with more to gain the citizen’s loyalty. Maul was nothing if he wasn’t thorough in his scheming and when he discovered that the Mandalorians as a people had a long and strenuous relationship with the Jedi, to put it lightly, he resolved himself to arm every man and woman once again. By the end of his precise forty step plan, he would have not just an army but an entire planet up in arms should the Jedi come for him, his brother or his love. The last article he read ended with a question, a call to the Mand’alor to be present for the relighting of the oldest forge on the planet. Knowing good publicity when he saw it; he made the call to Almec to schedule it for as soon as possible and he made his way to go find you.

    He smiled at the sight when he walked out onto the courtyard. You and Savage were back-to-back with your sabers twirling wildly and your stances shuffling. Several Death Watch surrounded you on foot while more flew around you with their jet packs, firing blaster bolts that, he hoped, were set to stun. He took a moment to watch you, admiring how far you’ve come with your saber skills while recalling how truly terrible you had been just a few months ago. Just a few months ago. That’s all it took to steal his heart and change his life. What a fickle thing time was. He spent a decade alone and distending into madness, accomplishing nothing, but in a matter of months. Months, his brother had rescued him, he had fallen in love and he was now a ruler on his way to being genuinely liked by his people. He shook his head at the realization as you and his brother redirected the bolts away skillfully, being sure not to strike one of your guard. Some of them were laughing wildly in excitement and he saw that you had lived up to your own word. You’d make them like you, it seemed like you were making good progress on that. It is quite cathartic to be able to shoot at the people or person who makes you uneasy, even if it isn’t lethal. Perhaps next time he would join you in this particular kind of training, you did make it look enjoyable as a smile was apparent on both Savage’s and your face.

    One of the guards noticed Maul standing in their peripheral and called for a cease fire. Bodies clad in red and black Beskar fell into a rigid formation and a salute, he very quickly put them at ease stating he just needed to have a word with you and Savage. One of the women who you must have grown closer to elbowed you playfully before following her comrades back into the palace. Savage approached with you at his side, both grinning and sweaty from your training.

“I still think you should ask her out,” you teased Savage before turning your attention to Maul, eliciting only a huff from the golden Zabrak. “What is it you’d like to discuss my love?” you asked while he took your hand in his.

“Well firstly I’d like to applaud the both of you for performing so well in this unorthodox style of practice. It seems to be paying off quite well.” Both you and Savage exchanged a wide grin at his praises. “Secondly, my presence has been requested for the lighting of an ancient forge and I think it would be more than appropriate to have both my brother and my darling at my side.”

    Savage was especially gleeful at the invitation; he had started to grow an affection on one of the Death Watch members and had taken it upon himself to learn as much about the culture as he possibly could. You were also quite excited at the opportunity to leave the palace grounds. Since that stunt you pulled during Maul’s coup, he had been more open about your relationship with the people within his proximity. He still wasn’t much for PDA but everyone knew you shared a room and a bed. He had also referred to you with your pet names in front of others rather than simply ‘apprentice.’ In fact, the more you thought about it, he hadn’t referred to you as his apprentice for a short time now; you still called him either Master or Lord Maul when you weren’t alone or with Savage. He seemed to understand that you demanded respect for him as much, if not more so, than he did for himself.

    It was the following day that you had awoken alone in your bed but something caught your eye. He had sent up a silver tray with fresh hot tea for you with little biscuits and fruits. He had draped a long dress bag over the end of the obscenely large bed with a note filled with sweet nothings. For a Sith Lord and a murderer he really was quite the romantic. You gasped when you unzipped the bag to find a beautifully simple long black silken gown accompanied by cascading tear drop shaped ruby earrings and lovely crimson shoes with only a slight heel on them. You loved wearing his colors and he loved seeing them on you. After you had arranged your hair and painted a simple make up look on your face you found both Savage and Maul waiting you in the throne room, ready to depart.

    They had presented themselves as the Lords they were as well. Savage adorned new robes in his dark navy color with charcoal grey accents while Maul stole your breath straight from your chest. He was still dripped in black but his robes were crafted of a similarly silken material to your dress. His trademark deep V allowed for the delightful view of his strong chest and tattoos that painted his skin. A delicate gold chain looped from his temporal horn to attach to a gold ring he wore in the top of his ear with another draped around his neck, following the lines of his exposed skin. You loved that earring and had told him every chance you could. He truly did look like a king and Savage, his right hand beside him. You greeted one another with bright smiles as you took the arm Maul had extended for you. Heat flushed your cheeks when he told you how you looked absolutely ravishing and whispered his more sinful desires to you through the force of what he would do to you the moment they returned.

    Accompanied by three Beskar clad guards, you made your way to the ship that had been prepared for you. One of the guards you recognized as the particularly petite young woman that Savage had started to develop an interest in. Kiara, you liked her and had started to develop a friendly rapport with the young woman. When you noticed her continuously glancing at him you jabbed your free elbow into his ribs lightly and waggled your eyebrows at him. He simply bit back a chuckle but you didn’t miss how his cheeks tinged a deeper gold.

    The ceremony was simple and utterly beautiful on the other side of the planet. Several clan heads had attended, wearing their beskar proudly as the appointed armorer for this particular forge, clad in gold coloring lit the forge with a torch after reciting the Resol’nare. She had given Maul a respectful nod when the sixth action, referring to the leader had been spoken to which he returned with a slight bow of his own head. You felt a surge of pride when the forge had been lit, knowing you played even a small part in giving these people a piece of themselves back to them. A few reporters had recorded the entirety of the ceremony and after it was completed, they turned to Maul asking for an interview which he politely declined.

“Today is an important occasion for every Mandalorian and I do not wish to draw away from it but I would be happy to partake in an interview in the near future so I may express my plans and course of action to see them through to every citizen,” and with that, warm handshakes were exchanged until your small guard had directed you back to the ship. He played politician as well as he played the syndicates. Dual tunes of light and dark and you thought for a moment how grey your lover truly was. You recalled the first time your minds truly, purposefully melded, that first night you were conscious on Zanbar, the first time you lay with one another. He was that last burst of sunlight during the dusk, just before it set.

    When you had returned to the palace you could see several Mandalorians etching something into the stone above the main entrance to the Sundari Palace, upon closer examination you could read ‘Through Passion I gain Strength. Through Strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory. Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader all help us survive.’ Your eyes welled up with how beautifully the Sith code and the Mandalorian’s Resol’nare flowed so beautifully together; etched in stone for all to see and gain strength from. You could feel the pride of every Mandalorian who gazed upon the lettering through the force. Maul’s silent promise not to damn or forget about the ideals of his new people or his own.

      Plans to throw a gala, inviting the heads and spouses of every major clan on the planet were drawn up immediately following the forge lighting. The intention to hear the needs and wants from the people directly. Once again, he didn’t draw from the well of the peoples’ taxes to throw an extravagant party, but used a small percentage of the wealth that was starting to accumulate from heading the various syndicates. A small detail that you admired and praised him for extensively.

    The gala went better than anyone could’ve foreseen for a number of reasons. Firstly, to your own amusement, you recognized Kiara out on the dance floor with Savage. She wore a deep navy gown to match his attire and her silver toned Karta Beskar proudly, his large hand holding her small waist tightly. You wondered if either of their smiles would ever fade and you hoped they wouldn’t. Maul happily allowed him a ‘night off’ so to speak and kept you at his side during his conversations with the leaders of the various clans.

    It was impossible to lie to a skilled force user so the second reason that the night had gone so well was the fact that the gifting of the farm lands, the relighting of the forge and even the small detail of the etching of the stone above the palace’s entrance had paid off in regards to the favor Maul was quickly gaining. He took their concerns to heart and responded eloquently, offering slight alterations to the more unreasonable requests and all but promising to see to the much more manageable ones and the invited reporters caught every moment of it.

    Finally, when the formalities had ended Maul was free to take your hand and glide you across the dance floor. Despite his one cybernetic leg he moved as gracefully as ever and smiling endearingly at you. His eyes locked softly on your own. It was during this time you had noticed that his eyes weren’t so bloodshot. The creases in his brow that seemed so permanent had started to fade and his muscles, usually so ridged and stressed, moved with more fluidity and ease. Again, your heart swelled, this is what he deserved. Happiness. Love, adoration, respect from all who came within proximity of him. Long after the guests had left and Savage accompanied Kiara down to walk through the gardens; Maul led you to the terrace to dance slowly under the moonlight to a silent song only the two of you could hear.

    The following day while you and Maul sipped caf in your bedroom during the early morning hours, the scent of sex and sweat still hinting in the air, you read through the articles written about the gala. As to be expected, Maul received high praise simply for inviting advocates of the people to speak with him personally along with slander towards Satine for never doing anything even remotely like what Maul had done. To your surprise as well, you had been mentioned a few times regarding your proximity to the Mand’alor and your kindness and competence had been quoted by a few of the leaders.

    The last article you read had a picture you hadn’t realized was even taken. It showed you and your lover hand in hand, mid twirl out of the balcony in the dim light of the moon and the stars. The headline asking a faceless reader if a royal marriage was imminent. Maul chuckled as he read over the same headline and just as he opened his mouth to speak a loud knock sounded from the door.

    Pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance he called out, granting entry. Savage entered with a goofy grin asking if you were ready to spar much to your delight. You were eager to hear how the rest of his evening had gone with Kiara. You quickly dressed from your silken night gown into your typical training garb and kissed your lover goodbye before skipping after the larger Zabrak.

    Maul sighed and smiled to himself, drinking the last of his caf and sending Almec a list of things he wanted to accomplish over the next two weeks for the people of Mandalore. He stood to get dressed but hesitated for a moment before leaving the confines of his luxurious bedroom, hand holding a small box in his pocket tightly.

    When it had happened, he almost couldn’t believe it. Some saber-staffs are able to operate on only a single kyber crystal but his master believed he needed the power of two for his to function at maximum strength. He had sent Gar Saxon to Lotho Minor on a secret mission that even Savage hadn’t been aware of. The commander had managed to find the broken half of his saber-staff with the crystal still intact. It had taken Maul almost two weeks but he had managed to cleanse his corruption from the small crystal, restoring it to its soft blue glow.

    What you hadn’t seen during the lighting of the forge was Maul had requisitioned the armorer to cast a ring from the metal of his broken half and set the stone inside it. She had slipped him the finished product during the gala.

    He took the small box out of his pocket and admired her work again. He knew you favored a simple elegance over extravagant gaudy ones. His purified Kyber crystal shined brightly in the silver band and his heart swelled with hope. Since the night you had accidently shared memories, he wanted to give you his life, his very soul. This was closest thing to being able to do that as possible and he had to plan the perfect moment to do it. What he didn’t realize was that it would be much longer before he could even try.

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Two

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, smut in future chapters

A/N: Hello peeps! I hope you are enjoying this series. Please comment and reblog if you like it. It’s always good to hear that your work it appreciated. And massive thanks to @thelastsock for being my beta, who is immensely talented and the sweetest person ever! ❤️

<Chapter One

Title: Chapter Two

As the golden rays of the sun peered from the horizon, the living quarters came to life. Olivia was the first to jump into the shower, with Sloan and Sierra joining in by occupying the other booth, sometime after.

They had the food truck retrieval on their agenda today. But before that, the ladies, and everyone else in their unit had to carry out their scheduled morning workout. 

Olivia walked to the gym downstairs feeling fresh after the much needed shower. Everyone had retreated to their quarters last night, matted with sand and sweat, only cleaning themselves with a wet towel owing to water scarcity in the camp. As she reached the open doorway to the gym, she instantly spotted Schmidt lifting weights with the other men. A boombox sat on a table on one corner, blasting rock music from its speakers.

“The level of testosterone in this place is maddening,” Sloan groaned from beside her.

Olivia whinced as the song played a displeasing high note of an electric guitar. The gruff laughter of the men, along with the loud music was not the first thing she wanted to wake up to. “How about we go to the roof instead?” Olivia suggested, shrugging her shoulders. 

Half an hour into their workout, Sloan groaned under the heat. She pulled her blond hair up in a bun and sat on the ledge of the rooftop. Olivia got a couple more of her crunches done, the back of her t-shirt sticking to her body with her sweat. Sierra was staying put in a plank, Olivia always admired how this woman, even after bearing two kids, had an excellent core strength.

“Look at these guys,” Sloan commented, looking down from the roof. “They so bulky and unkempt.”

Olivia sat up, crossing her legs and grabbing her bottle of water. “You checking out the SF guys?”

“Yeah. Yesterday one of them, BJ was he? Was staring at my ass as I walked past him.”

Sierra stood up from her plank position and walked up to where Sloan sat. She ran a hand through her brown bob and looked down at the men. “I don’t know, they look rough and tough. Like, come on, they aren’t exactly Abercrombie & Fitch, but some of them are easy on the eyes.”

“Syverson, you mean?” Sloan nudged her friend. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you let out that low whistle when he spoke.”

“You know I am weak for the southern twang. And has a buzz cut ever looked that sexy on anyone?”

Olivia rolled her eyes watching Sierra fan herself while Sloan shook her head in disbelief. Pushing herself off of the floor, Olivia stretched her arms above her head. “Tell that to your British husband.” She poked the tip of her empty bottle in Sierra’s belly.

“Come on, Sarge. Tell me you didn’t find the Captain sexy.” Sierra wiggled her eyebrows at Olivia, giving her shoulders a shake too.

“Maybe she’s missing Captain Coop,” It was now Sloan’s turn to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. She jumped down from the ledge and grabbed her own bottle. “Tell us, Sarge. Is he good in bed?”

“I think he’s so vanilla. Syverson seems like hot chocolate. Yum.” Sierra content with her comment, laughed along with Sloan. With her arm perched on Sloan’s shoulder, Sierra waited for an answer from their Sergeant.

“Guys, we have important work to do today.” Olivia let out her braid, letting her sweaty hair dry. “Come on,” she tilted her head towards the broken door of the roof.

Both women rolled their eyes at her, not stretching the topic further. Although when they were walking away, Sierra added a cheeky “I bet Syverson is an ass-man,” making Olivia shake her head.

But now that she was alone, she allowed herself a moment to think. She wouldn’t lie to herself, she found Sy to be very appealing to the eyes. The command he had over his men was also palpable. He hadn’t addressed them in front of her, but even in a laid-back manner, they seemed to be respectful of him.

With a warmth creeping on her already flushed skin, Olivia's thoughts turned to how he had checked her out. He was trying to be discreet, but she had noticed how his gaze had washed over hers when she had stood in front of him in the office. But, she was no innocent maiden either. Like for instance, when he had been looking down towards the map, pointing out the routes and places to hit for the food truck, she had noticed a few details about him. They were subtle attributes like the bridge of his nose, how his lashes looked thicker than hers, how his scruffy beard concealed most of his face, making her fingers tickle with the urge to touch it.

Olivia let out a slow breath, turning to look beyond the compound. It was not the time, or the place to be thinking about the physical features of her captain. They were in the middle of a war and she was here for a particular mission. Besides, she wasn't sure they were on good terms right now.

Shouldn’t have lashed out at him about being checked out when I was doing the same to him.

Her eyes fell towards the Humvees getting prepped with ammo and men getting ready to head out. She was bunching up her damp hair, to tie it up in an army regulated 'bun' to avoid violation of the dress code, when she caught sight of the Captain.

Sy stood in a black t-shirt and cargo shorts, holding a cup in his hand. A green spray-painted German Shepherd stood near his feet, wagging it’s tail and tongue lolling out of it’s mouth. The more Olivia looked at Sy the more she leaned towards agreeing that Sierra was right. Buzz cut hair never looked so good on anyone she had ever met.

Olivia’s mouth fell open when Sy looked up towards the roof, directly at her. Her hands fell down to her sides as they both stared back at each other. She watched as a smirk appeared on his bearded face while he brought his cup up to his mouth. Even from this distance she could notice how after taking a sip he licked his lips, darting only the tip of his tongue out.

“Yo, Red!” The sudden call from Schmidt standing just below the one-story building, wearing his gear and black sunglasses covering his eyes, broke the semi-trance Olivia had going on with Syverson. “We need to roll out.”

She nodded at her comrade, throwing a last look at a smiling Sy, before heading down towards their room. This was unacceptable. Get your head in the game, Liv. She scolded herself, a frown forming on her face as she ran down the stairs.

It was almost sundown when the troops finally came back to Warhorse. Olivia let the chopper hover over the camp while the last of the Humvee travelling behind the tarp-covered truck, entered the compound. They had noticed a few cars driving up to the mountain while the on-ground crew had spoken to the truck driver. Olivia was aware that they weren’t supposed to fire until they were getting attacked, but her fingers had hovered over the trigger to their machine guns attached to the chopper as a precaution. 

Luckily for them, the cars had driven off without any sort of trouble. The rest of their route back had been mostly uneventful with one of their men singing “Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain” making everyone laugh over the comms. Olivia, unlike her own no-nonsense superiors, usually let her unit members have fun from time to time. She believed to earn respect, it wasn't necessary to make them bend the knee to her.

As soon as the skids hit the dirt, her eyes seemed to lock onto Syverson. He stood near their main wing in the same clothes, patting on the backs of his men as they walked back to their building.

“That seemed easy,” Schmidt cracked his neck, shrugging his shoulders to loosen his muscles. She could also feel the stiffness in her neck from sitting in the chopper, tensed and worried about the ground force. “This will feel like a vacation, huh Red? Work only once a week.” He laughed, joining the other men as they jumped out of their vehicles.

She smiled at him, stopping to watch the SF men helping her guys to unload the contents of the food truck. She spotted a body walking towards her from the corner of her eyes. She chose to look on ahead, counting the number of crates being offloaded, without glancing to her side.

“You did good, Red.” Sy’s gruff voice sounded from beside her. The use of her nickname sent weird sparks down her spine. “You scared off everyone with your chopper blades.”

Olivia couldn’t help but let herself smile. She would like to believe she did scare off the insurgents. “Would that suffice for everyone?” She jutted her chin, indicating the cartons of food being placed on the ground.

Sy let out a heavy sigh. “Will have to. Can’t let the locals suffer because of us.”

“What if they don’t care about us helping them?”

“We still do it. That’s our job.” She looked to Sy after he spoke. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pursed together as he observed his boys taking the cartons to storage. Her eyes lingered on his, the evening sun making them look like two limpid pools of blue. She was aware she was staring but in a deeply cliched moment, she couldn’t avert her eyes.

“Like what you see, Sergeant?” The smugness in his voice was unmistakable. She quickly looked away and down towards her shoes, vaguely noticing the sand stuck to the eyelets and the scuff marks on the toe caps. 

Even though her ears warmed up from being caught red-handed, she was quick in gathering her wits around the awkward moment. She looked up again without much consideration towards him and turned to walk away. But before she was out of his ear shot, she couldn't resist adding, “I’ve seen better.”

Sy’s laugh, loud and filled with spirits, made her bite her lip as she smiled and sauntered back to their designated wing. Two things she was glad about right now. One, about Schmidt being right, this definitely felt more like a vacation. And two, Syverson and her weren’t exactly butting heads.

Olivia refused to accept it, but it really warmed her heart and she looked forward to the coming days.

Chapter Three>

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[maggiec70]

Prince Bagration Makes a Cameo Appearance

Another excerpt from the longest-running histfic draft. This is for Tairin. I hope I did her prince justice, small though it may be.

Jean’s staff found a two-story house large enough for them all in a northern Viennese suburb. General Compans ordered the portly, red-faced owner and his large family to leave, slipping him a fistful of gold coins before he could protest. Mariana couldn’t tell how many coins constituted a fistful, but they produced an incredulous expression on the man’s face and then a deep bow that revealed his blindingly bald, pink pate. There must be a secret source of gold coins that only Compans and Thomières knew about, perhaps hidden away in a sturdy oak box labeled Bribes. She had seen these coins appear whenever Jean wanted to sleep somewhere other than a barn or outside on the ground for several days. She also knew only a very few marshals and generals bothered to compensate the people whose lives they disrupted or even thought to do so.

“Don’t wreck the place,” Compans ordered them after the Viennese family had bustled out the door, their personal belongings tied up in large, unwieldy bundles.

“Why would we?” she asked Joseph as two adjutants added more wood to a fire in the large stone hearth. She wondered how much food she might find in the kitchen cupboards and the spacious pantry leading from the kitchen. Indeed, the life expectancy of the well-fed hens she’d seen in the dooryard was measured in minutes.

“It was a pro forma reminder,” Joseph replied. “We’ve never been a horde of Vandals or Huns, and the marshal knows it.” He grinned at her and stretched so much that he almost slid out of his chair. “I can’t say the same about Prince Murat’s cavalry or anyone in Marshal Augereau’s VII Corps. Now there’s a collection of seasoned plunderers—as bad as one of the plagues of Egypt, but not, I think, as dedicated to looting as Marshal Masséna.”

Later that evening, with a cold November wind safely outside and warmth and food inside, she sipped her second cup of rich coffee laced with cream from the black and white cow standing up to her knees in hay in the barn. “After ages in Purgatory, I’ve been given my reward.”

“Savor your taste of Paradise, Gabriel, while you can. We’re leaving in a couple of days,” Jacques said, unhooking his cloak and shaking sleet from it.

“Why? The Austrians surrendered at Ulm almost four weeks ago, and we’re north of Vienna with no Austrians anywhere that I can see. There isn’t anyone to fight.”

Jacques poured coffee from a porcelain pot and backed up to the fire. “Don’t you read the dispatches, Gabriel?”

“Not often—they’re boring.”

“Well, you should. We hadn’t seen the Austrian army because it left Vienna right before we arrived. Now they’ve gone further north, with General Kutuzov’s Russians.”

“Who’s Kutuzov?” she asked, trying not to yawn in his face. She really should pay more attention to the dispatches and reports. If Jean ever asked her about the campaign's minutia, she had better know enough to answer. She’d seen what happened when an officer couldn’t tell Jean what he wanted to know and didn’t want to subject herself to the humiliation of a profanity-laced public rebuke.

“Some clever Russian general, older than God. He’s heading for Moravia, though, not Mother Russia.”

Mariana remembered Jacques’s words three days later. Ejected from the warm stone house before dawn, she bundled up in her heavy cloak and gloves and rode out of Vienna with the rest of V Corps. Now, close to midnight, she didn’t think Moravia was anywhere close or warmer than Russia. It was full dark when they rode into a tiny hamlet so small they would have missed it if the scouts and leading edges of Oudinot’s grenadiers hadn’t literally stumbled over it. Snow topped with a thin layer of rime covered the cottage roofs, garden walls, the rough pathway serving as a street, and stubble in the surrounding fields. The inhabitants had shuttered every window, but thin cracks of pale yellow light escaped from some of them.

“They’re more afraid of the Russians than they are of us,” Jean said in response to her question. Each word came out on a small puff of white, as her own had done. Soon it might be too cold to talk. “If you looked in those barns, you’d find nothing but old straw. There’s nothing of value in the cottages, either. If the villagers had enough warning, they would have hidden everything, and if not, the Russians have it all now.”

Mariana had never seen a hamlet this small before or so eerily deserted. The barrenness she saw in the faint snow light and that Jean had described made her shiver. This time the cold struck deep in her bones.

“We’ll be sleeping outside, gentlemen, on the other side of Hollabrünn and eating whatever we have with us. It will be a short night anyway—the enemy’s less than six miles ahead.” Jean spurred his horse forward over the little village track, and the rest followed, riding close enough to brush each other’s stirrups. Mariana wrapped the reins around one wrist and massaged her hands and fingers inside her gloves, afraid to take them off. The idea of trying to sleep on the frozen, iron-hard ground was dreadful. If the Russians were so close, and if Jean meant to attack them in the morning, she might as well sit up all night. If she didn’t freeze before dawn, then a brisk encounter with the enemy, even hand to hand, would warm her up nicely. “Aunt Lucrezia, you would be appalled,” she whispered through stiff lips cracked and bleeding from the cold.

Despite her plan to sit up all night, Mariana had just fallen asleep, curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up nearly beneath her chin, when Joseph shook her into befuddled wakefulness. “Get up, Gabriel,” he said, peeling her cloak away. We’re leaving now.”

She staggered to her feet, grabbed her cloak back from Joseph, and buttoned it up tight. “No breakfast?”

“No time for any. There’s a small Russian rear-guard ahead. We have to eliminate it before it reaches Kutuzov.”

Mariana didn’t mind not eating as much as she minded not having something hot to drink. However, the worst prospect was having to do the necessary at the edge of the forest to her left. She still thought it was manifestly unfair that lately, she nearly froze whenever she pissed, while her comrades did not. An inequality, however, that she was powerless to alter one whit.

Having concluded her business in the forest, she hurried to untie Odysseus from the picket line, tighten his girth, and climb into the saddle. She trotted off to join the aides, who waited in a nearly silent group, close together, their horses impatiently stamping the hard ground. Without a word, they swung around and fell in behind Jean and General Compans. She wanted to know how far away the Russian rear-guard was and how many Russians comprised a rear-guard, but she couldn’t make her lips move.

General Thomières saved her the trouble. “Excellency, how many troops does Bagration have ahead of us?”

While she wondered who Bagration was, Jean slowed his horse to respond to his senior aide. “Fewer than I have, even though I’m short two divisions and even shorter of supplies. Neither the weather nor the ground is good for much but a short skirmish.”

The air was so silent and frigid that Mariana heard the intonation beneath his words that often meant more than the words themselves. He sounded confident rather than cocky or foolhardy. A short skirmish, he’d said, and that was fine with her.

The encounter between Bagration’s rear-guard and V Corps’ grenadiers, reinforced at the last possible moment by a squadron of Murat’s heavy cavalry, was not a skirmish. Mariana thought it was more like a brawl in some wayside tavern, loud, fast, and disorganized. It ended before she’d had a chance to do anything and because Bagration told Prince Murat that he had just learned about a truce. The prince believed him, dismounted, told Jean to order his troops to cease fire, and went inside a slightly shell-shocked villa that had been some Moravian aristocrat’s summer home.

“A truce? What the fuck is he talking about? I had the damn Russians on their arses, and he rides in and orders me to stop!” Jean was livid, his expression as hard as granite. Mariana worried what he might do when he jumped from his horse, leaving the reins to trail in the snow, and stomped after Murat. Acting on instinct, aides, chief of staff, and a few senior adjutants closed around him like a protective wall and entered the villa together.

Intended for soft summer breezes, the villa struggled to combat the mid-November cold. Fires burned in hearths at either end of the reception chamber’s black and white tiled floor. Clear glass bottles filled with colorless liquid stood among scores of crystal glasses on heavily carved tables in the center of the room. Someone had shoved chairs and settees against the walls. Officers in uniforms Mariana had never seen before crowded around the tables, opening bottles, pouring liquid into glasses, and handing them around. She watched Prince Murat take a sip, then drain it and hold it out for someone to fill. She watched Jean barrel forward, his expression still thunderous, until a tall officer with the face of a young eagle and enough medals on his chest to blind half a dozen men stepped forward and intercepted him. Together they moved away from Murat and his entourage and stood by one of the double windows, heads bent close together, talking. Another officer approached them, two glasses on a silver tray, and quickly left when they took the glasses and continued their conversation. When Major Guéhéneuc tried to insinuate himself into the conversation, Jean turned on him like an enraged wasp. The major scuttled away, staring at the floor, his face scarlet. Mariana rocked back on her boot heels, a smirk spreading across her face.

As voices rose around her, followed by the rank odor of damp wool and unwashed males, Mariana felt the beginnings of a headache. To take her mind off it, she asked Thomières, “What are they talking about? And who is that Russian?”

He laughed, a soft sound but not derisive. She was glad since she rarely spoke to him at length. “I haven’t the slightest idea what they’re talking about, but that’s Prince Pyotr Ivanovich Bagration the marshal’s talking to.” He laughed again, this time even softer as if he worried someone might overhear. “Talking now, fighting later. Fine looking general, though, don’t you think?”

“Indeed he is,” Mariana said. With his chiseled features and thick, dark hair, the tall, slender Russian looked a little like Jean. Big rooster and bantam rooster, she thought, and almost hooted with laughter. When she could trust herself to speak, she asked, “What’s in the bottles?”

“Vodka. Have you never tasted it?”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Then allow me, lieutenant,” Thomières said and escorted her to the nearest table. Rummaging among the glasses, he found two relatively clean ones and filled them from one of the bottles. “Salut,” he said, threw back his head, and drank it down.

She sniffed at the clear liquid. It had no odor. Since Thomières was still standing, how dangerous could it be? She drank hers in a single gulp, and the alcohol burned all the way to her stomach, where it exploded. Tears flooded her eyes, she sneezed and then coughed. One cough led to several until Thomières pounded her on the back and filled her glass.

“Quick—drink this.”

She did and stopped coughing. This time the vodka felt smooth as silk, and she grinned at the senior aide. “You should have warned me.”

“And miss your reaction?” He filled her glass for the third time, but before she could drink it, four Russian officers joined them at the table, clutching their glasses filled to the brim and sloshing onto their dingy white gloves. Their faces were clean-shaven except for amazingly full side-whiskers, their cheeks brick red in the candlelight. Raising their glasses, they shouted in unison, “Za vashe zdorovye!” When they had downed every last drop, they tossed their glasses toward the fireplace. The sound of shattering crystal brought to a halt every conversation in the spacious room, and then other Russians began throwing their empty glasses to the floor.

“Why not?” Thomières said and threw his glass toward the hearth.

“Indeed!” Mariana replied and threw hers, too.

Whatever Jean and Bagration may have been discussing, or whatever Prince Murat may have believed about the alleged truce, or whatever the French and Russian officers thought about the prospect of imminent hostilities between them, everything disappeared beneath the sharp-edged sound of crystal shattering and the roars of toasts in French and Russian. Mariana linked arms with Thomières to keep from reeling and tried to get her tongue around the consonant-laden Russian words. Somehow, they sounded more satisfactory than light, polite French phrases and better suited to the vodka, of which she had become quite fond in no time at all.

Jean summoned aides and staff officers with a sharp whistle that penetrated the merriment and stalked out of the villa and into the icy, starlit night. The sudden cold jolted Mariana from her torpor, and the sharp air stung her eyes and nose. Her comrades showed similar symptoms of waking from a muddled sleep, and she wondered what might have happened had they stayed and emptied all those bottles.

[ssa-sugar-tits]

But I Love Her

Request: private message // @sleep-deprived-athlete

could you do an emily prentiss x reader where the reader is dereks niece and he’s super protective even though the readers like former military or something. maybe he’s not sold on the idea of prentiss dating his niece?

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Content warnings: angst, kissing, swearing, arguing, yelling

TW: mentions of gunfire in the military

a/n: fanfiction is for everyone which is why we're saying reader's adopted to avoid giving specific appearances or ethnicities :)

"So then I was thinking of getting the-- Y/N? Are you listening to me?" Penelope snaps her polished fingers in front of your face, taking your focus back to her story. You blink your eyes quickly, shifting back to the real world.

"Yeah you were getting the..." you trail off and sigh. She's right, you hadn't been listening. Daydreaming in anticipation instead. "Sorry Pen, I'm just excited to see the team."

"Right, you're excited to see the team." Her red lips smirk at you, taunting you. Penelope's the only one who knows your secret. Surprising, right? But she keeps it.

"I am!" you exclaim and you're telling the truth. Sort of. You haven't seen your uncle, Derek Morgan, since your discharge from the army and you've missed him. You've been extremely close since you were a child. But you've also missed your girlfriend who he doesn't exactly know about. Emily Prentiss. From the day you met, her raven curls and bright smile enchanted you.

"Y/N, this is SSA Emily Prentiss." Your uncle introduced you.

"Just Emily, please." Her laugh rang like honey through your ears, her hair bounced on her shoulders. The handshake lingered, you swore it did.

She'd joined the team a few months after your last visit and oh, how you liked the new addition.

The spike in your heart rate could get you high when you see the team enter the room. Hotch starts to walk towards his office but he spots you and stays with the team to greet you. There she is. Emily. She's wearing a black top, the color of her pulled back hair. Her lips are painted a rosy pink, matching her flushed cheeks.

"Y/N, I didn't know you were coming to visit," Derek pulls you into a firm hug, squeezing you tightly.

"Well it was a surprise, smartass." You laugh. JJ yanks you into another hug and gives you a friendly kiss on the cheek.

"JJ! You look great. How's Henry?"

"Thank you! He's great, he loves the gifts you sent him."

"I'm glad to hear that," you smile, still longing to go to Emily.

"Aaron, David," you smile and give them each a hug too, asking about Joy and Jack also. You know Spencer doesn't exactly do hugs so you exchange a kind wave and he tells you eagerly about a new book he's reading. Then you arrive to Emily. If you had your way, you'd lunge at her open lips and dance around her tongue with yours. You'd make sure she knew just how much you've missed her. But all you do is give her a quick hug and tell her it's great to see her. The look you share, it sparkles. It aches. Just like it did the first time you she left you.

"I'll be back soon Y/N, I promise." Emily coaxed.

"That's not what I'm afraid of and you know it Em!" you cried. "This job is dangerous, what if-- what if you don't come back?"

"I always come back darling."

"Oh!" Penelope rips you away from your thoughts once again. "Y/N brought lemon squares, I left them in the fridge." Her heels clack against the floor as she scurries over to retrieve them.

"You brought dessert? Sounds like a great way to welcome us back," Derek beams. "There are plates in the break room, Prentiss, show her where." A grin almost stretches across your face when you glance at her.

"Yeah no problem." She responds and you walk in silence, your breaths speaking for you. Yours is light, sweet. Telling her how you've missed her. Hers is ragged, exhausted. Saying she's needed to see you. In the empty room, you turn to her and Emily wastes no time. The lips you've desperately dreamed of every night, engulf yours and mash against you. Hands are in your hair, screaming for you to come closer to her. Your hot breath wets her smeared lips as you pull back for air.

"I want to tell him." You say, wide-eyed. "I'm a grown woman and so are you, my uncle doesn't control our decisions. You're everything to me Emily. I don't want to hide anymore. He'd be happy for us, I'm sure."

The look on her face, the eyes you've spent so long getting to know so intimately tell you she doesn't want to. She isn't ready.

"I don't know Y/N. I work with him, I can't..." She trails off. Her sad brown eyes meet yours. "Morgan is my friend and you know how protective he is."

"Of course I know that Emily! I can handle myself. You aren't the only one who's been shot at in the field." That last sentence makes her wince. Her voice quivers.

"I just don't know how he'd feel about this. About us." Us. The word gives you butterflies. Us.

It wasn't long until you asked Emily on a date. She took you to a carnival, she was so excited. The gleam in her eyes and shine of her laughter pulled you deeper and deeper into your facination with her. Cotton candy scents and pink treats. Flowing hair in the wind on the Ferris Wheel. Powdered sugar on those soft lips. Adorable huffs when she lost a carnival game. The taste of chocolate syrup and strawberries on her when she kissed you for the first time. Each time is like the first time. Every kiss, every touch.

"Okay, we won't tell him." You assure quietly. Your voice falls almost to a whisper. "But you know we'll have to eventually, don't you?"

She doesn't answer, instead flickering her eyes with shame. You tilt her chin to lift her head and gaze into her.

"It's okay love. Not until you're ready." You plant another light kiss on her lips and you grip her hair as she runs you against the wall.

"Emily," you moan. The way your tongue fits perfectly with hers entrances you. So focused on each other that you don't hear what the others are saying.

"How long does it take to grab some plates?" Derek mutters, half-jokingly. It's confirmed in JJ's mind, what she's suspected about you and Emily, when Penelope stammers to your rescue.

"Maybe there aren't any up there, I can go check on them!"

Derek's eyebrows furrow. If there's anyone he knows like the back of his hand, it's Penelope Garcia.

"Babygirl, do you know something I don't?" He questions, suspiciously.

Uh oh.

"I love you! Why would I lie to you?" She exclaims, earning mental facepalms from the rest of the team. Profiling 101. Don't answer a question with an avoiding question. If everyone didn't know before, they definitely do now. Derek doesn't continue the conversation, marching up to where you and Emily are. Penelope debates following but instead buries her head in her hands before hastily sending you a text.

Your phone buzzes but you ignore it, too concentrated on re-learning every crevice of your girlfriend's mouth. Every--

"What the hell is going on?!"

Shit. You rip apart and turn to see your uncle standing there. Shit.

"Morgan, we can explain," Emily starts. You've never seen her vulnerable around any of her team members. She's unbelievably frightened, you're the one thing she can't lose.

"Explain what Prentiss? That you betrayed my trust? That you're putting my niece in danger? I've worked with you for years and called you a friend, how could you take advantage of her like this?"

Emily opens her mouth to speak again and you cut her off.

"Take advantage? Emily hasn't done anything remotely similar to taking advantage of me. I'm sorry that we lied to you, but I'm an adult! My decisions are just that-- mine. Not yours." Maybe you should have stopped. His face is angry, hurt even. He's only acting for your own good but it's not his choice to make. He leaves the room and you frantically look at Emily, who stares agape trying to figure out what to do. Tears well up in your eyes and you chase after him but he's nowhere to be found.

"W-Where's my uncle?"

"He left, sweetie. I'm so sorry, I should have stopped him," Penelope says sympathetically.

"It isn't your fault Penny, I..." you sigh and take Emily's hand, making a beeline for the glass doors. He's getting into his car and you yell.

"Uncle Derek! Please don't go. At least listen to what I have to say." You watch as he looks down to how you grasp each other, afraid of letting the other go. He closes the car door and stares up at you, allowing you to continue.

"I know you have your doubts. About your job, about Emily and how it can put me in danger. But I love her and I want all of her. Not just the good, not just her beautiful laugh illuminated by the carousel lights a-and the sweet sugar covered kisses," your words are breathy and you run your hands through your hair. You aren't only talking to him. "I want the cold nights, telling her to stay safe on a case. I want the relief of knowing she's alive. I want the fights, the fears, the risk. Because there's no doubt in my mind that it's worth it as long as I get to be with Emily. I'll go to the moon and back for her, I'll do anything to have her with me. I know why you aren't sold on this, on... on us. But I promise, I know what I'm doing. She's the one I'm meant to be with."

At the end of your speech, Emily's tears are welling up with wet drops of love.

"I love you too." She whispers, and it feels surreal to you.

The first 'I love you' wasn't in a grand romantic gesture or in each other's arms. It was outside the Quantico building in Virginia. It was today. During the first test of your love and your strength. Your first real comittment to one another.

You turn back to your uncle, searching for any twinge of approval. You don't need it, that's what you tell yourself, but you can't live with yourself if you destroy Emily and Derek's friendship.

"You take good care of my niece, Prentiss." He finally says, extending a hand as a sign of friendship, a sign that this momentary battle is willing to come to an end for the sake of your happiness.

"I will, Morgan." She promises.

And Emily meant that promise, with every last ounce of her being.

[gkingoffez]

2020 RvB Valentines Exchange uwu

@rvbgiftexchange

My partner was MentalMaterial but I think they’ve changed their name to @linklebard ?

Anyway, here’s ur Tuckington mutual pining bed sharing as requested. Enjoy!

Words: 1833

Pairing: Tuckington

~~~

Tucker was fucked. He had to be- fucked in the head or the heart or the mostly healed stab wound in his side from that fucker Felix. Something had to be wrong, despite the fortified walls of Armonia around him, the Chorus truce, the energy sword in his bag and especially the ex-Freelancer standing beside him in the confined corridor who he hadn’t expected to be there.

“I’m sorry, sirs!” squeaked the young woman in front of them, a civilian wearing a military lanyard, pulling at her frazzled hair with one hand and frantically scrolling on her data-pad with the other. “There must have been a glitch in the program- you should have been assigned your own private rooms. I’m so sorry, our equipment is so outdated and it does stuff like this sometimes-”

“Please stop apologising, it’s not your fault,” Wash insisted gently. “We understand that this was just a mistake, but we’re tired and just want to go to bed?”

“Are you sure there’s no more spare rooms on this floor? A secret penthouse with a jacuzzi maybe? I’ll take it if there is.” asked Tucker.

The woman shook her head, frowning and tapping away. “I’m sor- I mean, no, not here, in fact there’s nothing else on this floor. “This hotel was only converted into officer accommodation a few days ago, and Locus was confirmed to have stayed here while in the city,” she explained.

“There are empty rooms further along that way, but we haven’t had time to do the same level of security sweeps on them.”

The woman gestured at the plain black door behind her, completely identical to the myriad of other ones lining the narrow corridor.

“This room does have a queen bed, sirs. The easiest solution might be that you can share it for the night and one of you can move tomorrow? I know it’s not ideal, but it’s better than a possible security risk.”

“What?” spluttered Tucker. “Why aren’t there enough rooms? And What happened to all of us getting private-?”

“Thank you, that’ll do us fine for tonight,” interjected Wash loudly, glaring at him. “We don’t want to cause too much fuss this late in the evening, and definitely don’t want to stay somewhere that’s not secure. Don’t you agree, Captain Tucker.”

Tucker gaped, words escaping him under Wash’s gaze.

He was fucked. Because once the adrenaline had worn off discovering a manufactured civil war, transmitting that info globally, being betrayed and stabbed by Felix, confronting Hargrove and whatever else happened in the less than a week since he’d snuck off the New Republic base, Tucker suddenly had time and space for… thoughts.

Thoughts like how much he’d truly missed the man standing beside him.

Wash, who’d been a hardass in the canyon like he was being fucking paid for it, who’d kept them all fed and alive and together, and then he’d gone and done the heroic sacrifice play, like an idiot, and suddenly he was gone. It felt like all Tucker had thought about for the last several months was whether Wash was okay, whether he was in pain or alone or dead. At points he’d almost wished they’d swapped places, that he was taking the (in hindsight, non-existent) punishment from the Federal Army, and Wash was the one training the Lieutenants.

Then out of the blue, Wash was back. Wash was fine. Everyone was fine, and like a circle, the whirlwind of betrayal, civil war, stabbing yada-yada unfolded. Tucker had only just caught his breath again and was looking forward to actually relaxing for once, only to end up in this corridor, standing awkwardly in front of a room they’d both been assigned to.

Wash was staring pointedly at him with those stupid clear blue eyes that made Tucker’s heart jump, and it was clear something must have been wrong, because that wasn’t right. It was physical and mental exhaustion, not love. He wasn’t some hormonal teenager, he was a grown man who wanted to go to fucking bed and not have to deal with his fucking feelings.

“Yeah, whatever, let’s just go then,” Tucker said offhandedly, adjusting his sack over his shoulder and stomping into the room without another word.

It was small but glamourous compared to normal military quarters- the hiss of the sliding door muffled against thick looking carpet, one door presumably leading to a bathroom, a single kitchen cabinet with a sink and a lowboy with a television mounted to the wall above it.

The bed took up the bulk of the space in the far end of the room. Behind it hung thick mustard coloured curtains, although Tucker knew even without having to move them that they’d been covered barred with a bullet proof covering as part of the security sweep. What was the point of being a heroes of Chorus, after all, if a well-placed sniper could take them out through a hotel window?

“Home sweet home, I guess,” Tucker shrugged, ignoring his jumping heart as he unceremoniously dumped his stuff on the ground near the kitchen space.

“Thank you for stopping to help us. We’ll be fine.” Wash was saying as he backed into the room. “Good night.”

“Good night sirs!” the woman said, “And again, I’m so-!”

The door hissed shut, Wash’s hand on the button.

“What the fuck, dude,” cried Tucker, rounding on him. “You didn’t have to immediately say yes. I could have pawned Caboose onto someone else and taken his room or something.”

“Oh don’t bother Caboose, he’s probably already asleep and you’ll never wake him. It’s late. All we need is a bed and everything will be else sorted in the morning. One night in the same bed won’t kill us.”

Wash crossed the room and carefully deposited his own knapsack on the lowboy.

“Besides, I wanted us to stay together a little bit longer. To be safe, you know,” he added quietly, glancing Tucker’s way.

Now, of course, Tucker’s eyes had also joined the ‘fucked party’. Was it a trick of the LED lights, or was that a blush on Wash’s cheeks? There was no way to double check, as Wash quickly turned his back on him.

Tucker crossed his arms haughtily, huffing and shaking his head to reset it.“Whatever. I’ll take the right side.”

“Fine by me,” replied Wash, unzipping his bag and rustling around in it, still turned away. “I’m going to change in the bathroom. Oh, and Tucker?”

“Yes?”

“I swear to god if you sleep naked, I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow.”

“Not if I suffocate you first, asshole.”

Maybe ten minutes of bathroom time, brushing teeth and other general night activities later (Tucker was fully clothed in loose borrowed sweats), they were both lying in bed back to back in the queen bed.

“Well,” said Wash. “Good night.”

“Yeah, night.”

As soon as the light turned off, Tucker’s brain switched on like a fucking Christmas tree.

He was not in love with Wash. Love was for girls and people who hadn’t spent literal years on the shittiest military posting ever, then got knocked up, then spent years in the desert, then got dragged on a mission to kill the Freelancer Director, then crashed landed on a planet- well, anyone would get the point. Sure, he acted like a stud and a lady’s man, but truthfully, it had been a long, long time since he’d really loved anyone like that.

Wash had been a fucking Freelancer. Caboose and the Reds talked about him like he was the most capable, badass guy around (barring the time he’d apparently gone evil and shot Donut, of course). Not to mention, he was kinda hot. Sandy hair with streaks of grey, blue eyes, even the criss-cross of scars across his pale skin did things for Tucker. Like he was this put-together, experienced and handsome man next to Tucker’s immaturity and recklessness.

The sheets were feeling too tight and stuffy for his brain, and the slow pattern of Wash’s breathing next to him was not helping. He flipped over onto his back, pulling and rearranging them, staring up at the shadowed ceiling.

“Hey Wash, you asleep yet?” he asked quietly

There was a beat.

“If I was, how would you expect me to answer that?” came the annoyed reply

“I dunno. Snoring?”

Wash snorted. “Just go to sleep, Tucker.”

They were in the same bed. They were in the same bed. Wash was inches away, the kind of distance where Tucker could touch him and then easily brush it off as an accident of movement. Wash’s hand was right there, he’d only need to reach- but no. He couldn’t do that, it wasn’t right.

When Caboose first suggested putting the ex-Freelancer in Church’s empty armour, it hadn’t really mattered to Tucker that much. He was just a guy who’d been an asshole but switched sides in time to help them take out the Meta, may as help him not go back to jail after all. Months in the crash had changed that, and all that time of training and bickering and surviving together had made them friends. He’d bitched and bitched and then watchedWash sacrifice himself as a rockfall separated them had been devastating, throwing into perspective just how goddamn much he cared about all of them despite the fact that they were a bunch of Red and Blue idiots.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder or however the shit went. And Tucker had spent months wishing Wash was ok, wishing he was there, wishing a lot of things.

Maybe he had fallen in love with the man in that time. Maybe it wasn’t as fucked up as he was making it out to be, he’d always been pretty dramatic, after all. Dudes fell in love with dudes all the time, especially when they’d been through a lot together.

Oh for fuck’s sake, none of this matters! There’s no way in hell that he likes me too. Just go to sleep, idiot.

Tomorrow, Tucker could wake up and blame it all on stress, exhaustion and the computer system that had fucked up room assignments. For that moment, however, he felt himself drift off, eyelids heavy and breath evening out.

They had work to do tomorrow rebuilding Chorus and tracking down mercenaries, and the more sleep he got, the better.

The last thing he registered that night was the vibration and rustling sound of Wash twisting in place. However, he must have dreamed about the gentle, tender touch he felt on his face as he was just on the precipice of sleep.

That couldn’t be right.

~~~

A snapshot of the future- tangled limbs in a queen bed, dark on pale and scattered scars. A data-pad hanging limply in a man’s hand, the other gazing at him with an adoring expression. The first glances at the rapture in his lover’s face, and snorts.

“You’re fucked,” he says, jokingly.

“No, you fucked me,” replies Tucker. They laugh.

~~~

Ya’ll let me tell you about the absolute stress rollercoaster I’ve had these past few months. So first up, I completely forgot I’d signed up for this exchange, and was surprised when I got the message. Then I proceeded to have a family death, my birthday and the stress of having to search for a new place to live and start packing up my stuff, all while working my shitty full time job and being exhausted from it.

So to my exchange partner, I’m sorry for not reaching out at all, but my anxiety levels are pretty high these days. This was written pretty quickly, at the last minute and after not writing for probably a year, but I hope you enjoy.

I might have another editing run through it before posting elsewhere but it’s done somewhat on time so I’m happy (Valentine’s was actually yesterday for me and I have to leave for work in like five minutes.)

Anyway, happy love and bed sharing and mutual pining guys. Love ya.

[elisaphoenix13]

Malibu Vacation

Waves crashing, salty sea air that sent a light breeze over him, his kids laughing and talking...and one of them gurgling nearby. It was a change in scenery they all desperately needed, as well as the warmer weather. Every once in a while a furry tail would brush against his leg since Athena laid next to him as he dozed on the cabana bed. Of course Tony had one on their private beach. They weren't much for sticking their toes in the sand but they did so every once in a while. More likely than not to indulge their children.

"Juice?"

Stephen opens his eyes and looks to the side to find Valerie standing next to his bed in her one piece light blue bathing suit and her feet covered in sand. She smiles and lightly pats Athena's head who yawns and wags her tail a little faster as Stephen sits up. Before the sorcerer could wonder why Valerie was disturbing him instead of Tony (besides the obvious), he looked over and found him busy with Lucy.

Diaper change.

Better Tony than him.

"What kind of juice darling?" Stephen asks as he gets up and walks over to the ice chest.

"Apple."

The sorcerer digs through the ice chest as quickly as possible to fish out the box of apple juice and then closes it. The less time his hands were in ice, the better. Fortunately they didn't flare up in pain from the cold exposure and he was even able to stick the straw in the box for Valerie before giving it to her. She thanks him softly as she sits on the steps and Stephen stands next to her to look out at the other kids. Thomas and William were helping Diana build a sandcastle, and Harley and Peter were in the middle of a splash war with Cassie. She asked if she could join them when they went to Malibu and of course he and Tony said yes. Cassie even made the joke that it would give her parents time to get some of their...horniness out of their systems.

Tony laughed and told her that was impossible.

"Think it's about time to head back to the house?" Tony asks as he stands next to Stephen and wraps his free arm around his waist.

"Probably best. Peter and Thomas will be complaining that they're hungry soon." Stephen nods and closes his eyes when his husband kisses his temple. "I think I'll order pizza. It's a little too hot to cook and I'm feeling lazy."

Tony laughs. "As you wish, Duchess." He gently takes Lucy's hand when it reaches for his sunglasses. "No Lulu. I still have to order more. I have no idea what you do with them once you get a hold of them."

"Maybe she eats them." Stephen laughs and looks back at the other kids. "Time to call it a day!" He calls out.

"Up." Valerie says and holds her arms up to Stephen and he picks her up.

The rest of the kids grab their things and follow Tony and Stephen back to the mansion. The moment they get inside, Stephen carries Valerie up the stairs while Tony puts Lucy in her swing. The kids were told to shower to try and get as much sand off as possible, and Stephen got Valerie in the bath. It didn't take too long, but they still had to take turns, and by the time they were all going back downstairs, the pizza had arrived.

"Ugh. I think I still have some sand on my--"

"Harley!" William interrupts with a blush.

"You could have helped you know." Harley waggles his eyebrows and William pushes his face away.

"You're going to ruin everyone's appetites. No one wants to hear about that." Peter makes a face of disgust before shoving a slice of pizza into his mouth.

"At least leave that talk for when there aren't small ears around and your parents can't hear you." Stephen says and puts their drinks on the table.

"Don't worry honey, we'll be getting our own later." Tony winks and Cassie makes a face.

"You know I was trying to get away from that." She groans. "You know I have to cover my eyes every time I open a door?"

Tony cackles. "The laundry room too?"

"Especially the laundry room! I'm going to start banning certain activities in certain rooms!"

"What? You mean you haven't yet?" Stephen asks with a snort.

"I love my dads. Unfortunately the only time they don't act like adults is when they have 'fun'." Cassie then shrugs. "I don't really mind all that much to be honest. They deserve to destress however they can with all they do."

"So do we." Tony says.

They all nod in agreement and finish their dinner, and Harley and Thomas do the dishes while Peter and William clean up the table. Cassie takes Diana to the living room after grabbing some things from the newly minted craft room which used to be Tony's rarely used office, and Stephen walks over to the piano once Valerie's hands are wiped clean. He hardly had time to play with how busy he always was, but he tried to use the piano back in New York to help improve movement in his fingers. It was sometimes a little painful to play, but he missed it so much that he powered through any pain he may have.

Today was not one of those days. His pain was always there but it was minimal when he sat on the bench and opened the fallboard. Stephen was able to play with no problem and he enjoyed the music that filled the air. He did look over in surprise when Valerie crawled up on the bench next to him and watched intently as he played. She even gave in to her curiosity and reached out to play a few notes herself and Stephen chuckles.

"Do you want to play too?" He asks and she nods.

Stephen showed her as much as he could in a way that a two year old would understand and eventually they stopped playing and Valerie looked behind them at the indoor pond. It was a lot like the indoor waterfall Tony had in the previous floorplan years ago but he made some adjustments so they could have a koi pond at the bottom of the waterfall. Valerie loved feeding the fish whenever they came to Malibu, and of course Tony thought of the children's safety so there was a feature that Friday activated in case a baby got too close without supervision. He also built an automatic feeder for when they weren't there and someone only had to come every once in a while to refill it.

"Go find Daddy and see where he put the food." Stephen smiles as Valerie climbs down from the bench and runs off to find Tony.

While he waits, Stephen closes the fallboard and gets up to stand next to the pond where Athena joins him. She sits next to him and watches the fish with him and rumbles happily when he pets her head.

"Are you done nannying the cubs?" He jokes and she wuffs in response. "Did you clean Lucy's ears?" Another wuff. "That's not sanitary you know."

"Mama!" Valerie runs back over to him with a bag of fish food. "Fish eat?"

"Yes. Just like I showed you."

He sits on the edge of the pond and she hands him the bag of food so she can take out a handful while he holds it. Valerie turns to face the pond and tosses the handful of food into it and she giggles when the koi swim around frantically to eat it. Stephen decided she was ready to try something new and carefully poured some more food into her hand.

"Don't throw this. Here." He gently leads her hand toward the water and smiles when she whines nervously. "It's okay. They won't hurt you."

Once the fish realize that Valerie is holding the food, they all gather around her hand and eat straight out of it.

"Tickles!" She giggles again.

When the fish finish and start swimming away, Stephen closes the bag and hands it to Valerie after having her dry her hands. "Go take that back to Daddy so we can feed them tomorrow."

"Kay. 'Thena! Come!" She walks away and Athena follows dutifully much to Stephen's amusement.

"Don't worry Duchess. She'll be back to warm your feet tonight like always." Tony chuckles as he takes the bag of fish food from Valerie when she holds it up.

"I'm not worried." Stephen rolls his eyes and gets up to join Tony at the couch when he sits after putting the bag away and watches Cassie and Diana with their crafts.

More like hobbies. Diana was painting on a small canvas and Cassie was embroidering. Stephen didn't know why Diana wasn't painting in the craft room but he figured since they had put some plastic on the floor as a precaution, he wasn't going to say anything.

"You're improving." Tony compliments and throws an arm around Stephen's shoulders. "I remember when you stumbled. Now it's like your hands don't tremble."

Stephen smiles. "I think part of that has to do with the fact that I'm having a good day."

"I've heard you play on a not so good day. You're still playing great."

"It's true." Peter says as he sits on Tony's other side eating an apple.

"Are you eating again?!" Cassie asks.

"It's just an apple. Pre-dessert." Peter grins.

"He eats like a hobbit." Thomas laughs.

"So do you." William says and Thomas sticks his tongue out.

"This family alone eats like a small army." Stephen huffs.

"This family is a small army Mom." Harley points out.

He had a point.

"Maybe you boys should take a page out of the girls book and try crafting something." Tony says.

"Hey, I have my Legos." Peter says. "Speaking of, I have a new model to build." He tosses his apple core in the trash on his way to the stairs.

Harley and the twins shrug and walk into the craft room to find something to do and Stephen looks over at Lucy when she starts babbling and playing with her plastic keys. They were her favorite toy since she liked swinging things around that made noise. She even liked her little activity chair with the toys built in. If she wasn't "helping" Tony in the lab, she was in the chair. Now she was in the swing. It was a way to help her wind down and get ready for bed later.

"Telling a story there Lulu?" Tony asks and the baby looks up at him as she drools on the keys she put in her mouth.

"Bah!" She responds loudly and tosses her keys with surprising force.

They land with a splat in Diana's paint, sending splotches of it everywhere and making Tony laugh. Both Cassie and Diana were covered in reds, yellows, and greens and they sat in surprise until Diana finally sighed heavily and used her magic to clean up the mess.

"I think we found our pitcher." Tony laughs.

"Here Daddy." Diana holds out the plastic keys and he takes them as he gets up. "It's a good thing I can rewind time."

"Yeah, well, you know you have to be careful with that--" he replies but Diana sighs dramatically.

"I know. Mommy and Uncle Wong tell me all the time!"

"We do." Stephen confirms as Tony walks over and retrieves Lucy from her swing.

"We still need one more kid to make a baseball team." Cassie says as she works on her embroidery. "Unless the Barton's come over."

Tony smirks. "Just give Mom a little longer. He's already jealous that Lucy likes me more. His baby fever will kick in soon enough."

"Yeah, probably." Cassie shrugs and Stephen gapes.

"Don't agree with him! You're grounded!"

"From what exactly?"

Stephen stares at her for a few seconds and finally gets up.

"I'm getting my sling ring. I'm sending you back home to your parents."

Cassie's eyes widened. "Oh my god! Please, no! Last time I went home unannounced, I saw more of Papa than I wanted to!"

"Now you know how I feel!" Peter yells from upstairs and Tony bursts into laughter.

"I completely forgot about that."

[prancing-uboot]

Satsuma Dads Timeline

You know how Golden Kamuy is an awesome manga full of amazing (and super-hot) characters and a great main storyline? So what do I do with it? Naturally I obsess over those two old gremlins: Koito Heiji and Hanazawa Koujirou the fathers of Second Lieutenant Koito and Ogata.

It's probably the most niche pairing ever, and I thought it was just me fixating on that one panel where Tsurumi mentioned they were close friends from Satsuma. But the more I read about the history of Satsuma and the times they lived in, the more I’m becoming convinced that there’s so much of their story written between the lines and that their relationship and tumultuous past is what actually caused and keeps together most of the GK plot. But nobody else seems to see it!

So what do I do with that? I spent my nights in front of my crazywall of historical research, trying to recreate an entire universe of events 50-years before the gold plot starts, just to be able to present to you:

The Satsuma Dads Timeline 

or

Why you Should Care for Heiji and Koujirou

~1850

Koujirou and Heiji* were born around 1850** in Kagoshima.

Heiji might have been older then Koujirou, but not more then 5 years. They were both sons of high ranking samurai (noble bloodline), serving the Shimazu clan.

* Most likely they went by other names in their youth and then changed them a bazillion times to make stuff confusing, but let's skip that.

** That would make them around the same age as Tougou Heihachiro and Nogi Maresuke ** - the chief players in the Russo-Japanese war for the navy and army. Both share a lot of biographical motives with Koujirou and Heiji and Noda might have modeled them a bit after them so I'll include the parallels where possible. I'm not sure Nogi even exists in the GK universe or was he replaced by Koujirou completely. Tougou was recently confirmed to exist. He was also a Kagoshima-boy, and grew up in the same circles so it's impossible that he and Heiji didn't know each other from childhood. 

1856-65

Koujirou and Heiji train in the same gochu in Kajiya-cho*. Gochu was a Satsuma-specific education system, relying on small neighborhood study groups in which the older samurai spent a part of their time teaching the younger everything they knew. Starting from penmanship and Confucian doctrines and ending with swordsmanship, and the unstoppable Jigen-ryu.

Teenage Heiji develops a Koito-crush*. on Saigo Takamori (20 years his senior) and follows him around like a lost puppy. Koujirou makes fun of him, but in reality he feels a bit jealous.

* Kajya-cho was a Kagoshima district known now as "Home town of Revitalization" as most of the influential Satsuma leaders of the Meiji Revolution came from there. That also meant that they directly taught the younger generations as part of the gochu. For example Tougou also came from that area. I'm not that sure Heiji and Koujirou were actually from Kajiya-cho, but it being 3km downhill from the Nanshu Cemetary would fit in nicely to the place where Tsurumi and Otonoshin first met so it's likely.

** Gochu was a completely male oriented environment, so homoerotic relations bloomed and were even encouraged (think ancient Greece), hence the term "Satsuma habit" was later used as the synonym of homosexuality in Japan. But for them then it was just a natural thing they sometimes did, and not really an orientation. Koito Otonoshin crushing on Tsurumi might be a bit old fashioned but it's just a Satsuma thing, so of course his dad is cool with that.

1866-67

Both go to Kyoto to serve Hisamitsu Shimazu and there they experience the tension of the Bakumatsu period first hand. They soak up the patriotic moods of the Sonno-Joi fraction, they hear of the the assassinations by the Shinsengumi, they feel a revolution brewing. Being a hot-headed youth in those times made keeping out of trouble very difficult.

1868-69

The Boshin War breaks out. Satsuma, Choshu and Tosa fight to abolish the Tokugawa shogunate. Heiji and Koujirou join up and dispite their young age are given officer commissions*. Coming from a long line of Satsuma’s military commanders it is what they were raised up to do. This war however is nothing like the stories they grew up on. Instead of swords it relies more on modern weapons guns and artillery. What was supposed to be a short battle with the Shogun's forces, turns into a lengthy nationwide campaign of crashing shogunate loyalists long after the Shogun himself resigned. Koujiro and Heiji fight side by side and survive all the way to see the end of it in Hakodate. 

* Only the oficers wore the super cool Satsuma black koguma wigs and I definitely do need fanart of that.

1870

Heiji and Koujiro come out of the war victorious. Most of the positions in the new government are taken by Satsuma and Choshu men, so practically any career path is open to them. Koujiro stays with the Imperial Guard while Heiji joins the Imperial Naval Academy in Tsukiji, Tokyo. They compete for the most ridiculous facial hair* and spend their off nights “drinking green liqueurs under red lanterns”

Ogata's grandfather fought** on the other side for the Mito clan (the last shogun was from the Mito-Tokugawa branch). After the defeat his family falls into poverty. They sell their daughter to an okiya because they cannot support her ***.

* The Haitourei edict from 1871 allowed samurai to cut of their chonmage and encouraged them to experiment with western haircuts.

** I’m guessing he was active in the Boshin by the fact that he had an old gun lying around.

*** This "Ogata's mom comes from a fallen samurai family" theory has been going around but I'm not super sure about the time frame here. Usually maiko get promoted to geisha when they're 20-21. That means to already be a geisha when she gave birth to Hyakunosuke she must have been at least 12 when she was sold. That's quite late for a geisha to start her education. Or I might be wrong about Hyakunosuke's birth date, but I'd really like it to be 1879, so I'm in a pickle here.

1873

Heiji finally finds the guts to propose to Yuki, his Kagoshima sweetheart. They marry and a son is born to them - Heinojou *.

Koujirou's family chooses a wife for him **. She's from a good family, likely Choshu to have some useful connections. Heiji comes to their wedding in his fancy navy uniform to congratulate them and say goodbye. He'll be going to study abroad in the France ***. Koujirou feels like it's his funeral wake.

* Heinojou's birthdate is the first solid date we have for them from the canon, so I'm basing the whole “born in the 1850s” on the fact that the expected age of a man to marry was their early 20s.

** Arranged marriage was the most commonplace in Japan then. The families picked the brides because they were most likely to spend more time with her then the husband, taking care of the house and such. 

*** In 1871 Tougou went to study abroad with 14 other cadets to Greenwich Naval Collage and that would fit so nicely. The problem is that they went 1871-1878 and Heinojou was born in 1873 *shakes fist*. There were also individual exchange programs though and since in canon Heiji is mentioned to have some french friends I figured he was sent to France.

~1876

Koujirou is stationed in Tokyo, while his wife stays in Kagoshima, taking care of the family home. He begins an affair* with Tome**, a geisha from Asaskusa. With Heiji gone she's the only person he can open his heart to.

After abolisment of the clan system and privileges of the samurai, the dissatisfied Satsuma samurai quit the Imperial Guard en-masse and go back to Kagoshima to gather around Saigo Takamori and brew a rebelion. Koujiro - by then a major - is faced with a choice: to go back with his childhood friends, or to stay loyal to the government. He chooses his career.  

* I'm guessing he must have been married already when the thing started, because marrying a geisha wasn't that unheard of and wouldn't really cause a scandal or hinder his career. All three of the Meiji prime ministers Hirobumi Ito, Taro Katsura and Yamagata Aritomo ended up marrying geisha. So Tome being a geisha was not a problem - Koujiro already having a wife was.

** Tome is a random name that Ogata used in his Sugimoto self insert fic. I love the headcanon that it's his mom's name. Because of course he makes everything personal.

1877

In January the Seinan War breaks out. Koujirou fights against his clansmen and his former war comrades *. By September most of them are dead. He is there at Shiroyama where Saigo makes his last stand. Heiji is never going to forgive him that.

When he comes back to Tokyo, Tome doesn't ask, she understands and prepares him angler nabe while he sulks.

* Koujirou's situation is by no means an unusual one. Many of the Satsuma samurai landed lucrative jobs under the new administration and didn't share the dissatisfaction of their disenfranchised clansmen. Even Saigo's own younger brother Judo stayed as a lieutenant-general in the Imperial Guard.

1878

In May, Okubou Toshimichi, the lord of home affairs, who took personal command of surpressing  Saigo's rebelion is assasinated, branded in Satsuma as traitor.

Koujiro is not welcome in Kagoshima anymore*. His wife moves to Tokyo to avoid harassment. Keeping his affair with Tome is becoming more difficult. Especially when he learns that Tome is pregnant **

In December Heiji comes back to pick up the pieces.

* Both Okubo and Saigo Judo moved their families to Tokyo because of this situation, so I'm guessing that was a thing. They received some backlash from their compatriots but eventually things normalized (for Judo at least, because Okubo was, you know, slashed up dead in an alley). By 1898 Saigo was acknowledged by the government as a tragic hero and bygones were bygones. Yet Heiji still talks with the Satsuma dialect, while Koujiro doesn’t even have a trace of it left.I wonder if he still used it when talking to Heiji.

** Geisha were not supposed to have sex with their patrons. The fact that she chose to give birth to Koujirou's son tells that she dared to hope that he'll at least acknowledge him.

1879

In January Hyakunosuke is born*

* Ogata's birthdate is a shot in the dark. He could be anywhere between 1878 and 1883. I just really like the idea that he was born right into the middle of such a chaos.

EDIT: GoldenKamuyHunting pointed out that Ogata had to be born after 1881, since Noda placed him as Older than Usami. This ruins the timeline a bit, and I’ll have to think of the way to reorder it to fit. For now, treat the 1879 as canon-defying :(

~1881

After pressure from his parents and from Heiji, Koujirou comes clean and learns to make his official family work. Koujirou's legitimate son, Yuusaku is born*. 

From now on he effectively ghosts Tome. Her mental health** begins to waver. Tome quits being a geisha and moves back to her parents in Ibaraki ***. 

* Also a shot in the dark. This would make him 23 when he died and 2 years younger than Ogata.

** Before the 20th century the white makeup geisha wore was made out of lead, making them more likely to develop lead poisoning, the first symptom of which is the decline of intelectual ability. Fun fact: lead gets passed down in breastmilk in quantities super-harmful for the baby, so if we go with the theory "Tome went crazy because of lead poisoning" than that would explain so much about Ogata...

*** This is likely due to her health, not due to giving birth. She could have just sent Hyakunosuke to her parents and kept working. God knows how they made ends meet after that. Before they were be so poor that they had to sell their daughter. Now they were much older, she was sick and unable to work, and her child was another mouth to feed. Not to mention the cost geisha education was worse then US collage loans so she most likely had a large debt she barely started to repay. Was Koujiro at least decent enough to pay child-support? Oh god *realises* it was Heiji who was paying them, wasn’t it? *heart breaks*

1886

Heiji and Yuki's second son, Otonoshin is born, 13 years after the first. What's up with that, Heiji?

1887

Koujirou goes to Germany* to study military tactics.

Hyakunosuke (8) feeds his mother rat poison. Koujirou doesn't come to the funeral.

As a result Hyakunosuke is brought up by his grandparents alone. He likes his grandma. They might instill in him the same kind of dislike for the new government as in the case of Kadokura. They definitely install a dislike for his deadbeat dad.

* Japan sent most of the promising officers abroad to soak up the knowledge how to run a modern nation. The army was mostly modeled after Germany (the Japanese were impressed by their recent victory against France) so it's the safest bet that Koujirou went to study there sometime in his life. In 1887-88 Nogi and Soroku Kawakami were sent to Germany. So it still depends if Nogi exists in GK universe and Koujirou just tagged along with them, or are they completely interchangeable.

1888

A new division is formed in Hokkaido. Tasked with guarding the north and developing the land.

1889

Heinojou (16) passes the Naval Academy entry exams with highest marks, determined to follow the footsteps of his father.

1894-95

The first Sino-Japanese war breaks out.

Heiji and Heinojou take part in the Battle of Yalu River. Heinojou is stationed on the flagship Matsushima under admiral Ito Sukeyuki. Matsushima gets badly damaged. 57 men die (including three officers) and 54 more are wounded.

Heiji silently watches his son burning from his ship. Comes back a wreck of a man. Gets awarded a title of Baron under the kazoku system *.

No clue what Koujirou could have been doing then. It’s likely that he was part of the army that conquered Port Arthur (back than still called Lushunkou) the first time around in only 3 days **.

* I need to double-check that with the raws since I'm not sure Tsurumi calling him "lord" is meant to imply he had a noble title, or if it's just a honorific. Many of admirals had titles so it would be highly likely someone with a lineage and a service record like Heiji also got one.

** this experiance would make him a pefect choice for later leading the operation in 1904 so this would make a lot of sense, but it would also be a pretty heavy take, since that would mean he was present during the Port Arthur masacre. And as a senior officer too, so it’s hard to find any excuses for him if that was the case. Did witnessing the atrocities there influence his later opposition to the Japanese expansion into Manchuria? Was his instruction for Yuusaku not to kill anyone motivated by trying to protect his son from sharing his guilt?

1895

Tsurumi comes back from the war and joins the 7th (actually more like he’s demoted out of the 2nd). By then Koujirou is the head of the division *

* I’m guessing Tsurumi had to have enough time to work on him, to be able to learn all about the Koito family troubles and come up with the plan how to use them. Did he get into Koujirou’s confidence? Or was he just reading his private letters?

1900

Heiji stays in Kagoshima and spoils/neglects his second son. Tsurumi "accidentally" meets Otonoshin and they visit Saigo's and Heinojou's graves.

Later that year the whole Koito family moves to Hakodate and Heiji takes control of the Ominato torpedo division *.

* The Ikazuki was a new class of light destroyers specifically made not to repeat the tragedy of too large and too slow Matsushima. No wonder Heiji was willing to move across the country for that.There were 6 of them made in total. Cool factoid: One of those destroyers sunk after a crash with a civilian steamship off the coast of Hokkaido in 1909.

1902

Ogata (24) joins the army and specifically volunteers for the 7th division planning god-knows-what. By conscription he would have landed in the 2nd (Kantou region). 

Koujirou doesn't acknowledge him. Tsurumi does.

The Great Hakodate kidnapping takes place. Koujiro sends his best intelligence officer from Tsukisappu to help his friend and keep things discreet. Afterwards Heiji learns to appreciate the son he has left.

Later that year Otonoshin passes the exam to join the Army acedemy.

Fresh out of the academy Yuusaku (21) joins the 7th division. His father, plagued with guilt and bad life choices instructs him not to kill people and not to sleep around.

Yuusaku meets Hyakunosuke. Hyakunosuke tries to get him to kill people and sleep around.

1904-05

The Russo-Japanese war.

In February the war starts with Japan launching night torpedo attacks on the Russian fleet stationed inside Port Arthur. Heiji leads the third destroyer squadron aboard the Sazanami*. They continue the attacks over the next months trying to impose a blockade. After the Battle of the Yellow Sea, the victorious Japanese Combined Fleet effectively traps the remaining Russian warships inside Port Arthur. The Russians can't get out, the Japanese can't get in. Heiji can only wait and watch as the Japanese Army struggles to capture Port Arthur by land.

Koujirou leaves the 7th division behind when he is promoted to a member of staff of General Nogi’s 3rd Army. They land in Incheon in April and reach Port Arthur in August to start the siege. It is a drawn out blood bath. After wasting tons of lives in pointless assaults, the Japanese realize quite late that the key to victory lies in capturing the 203 Hill overlooking the harbor. Koujirou is made chief of staff for this operation.

In October they get the news that the Russian Baltic Fleet has left Tallinn and is on its way to reinforce the besieged Pacific Fleet. The race starts. If Koujirou fails to capture the hill before the Baltic Fleet arrives, the Japanese Fleet will be annihilated, and Heiji along with it.

In November the 7th division arrives in Port Arthur. They don’t get special treatment from their former commander and they’re sent head first to the 203 Hill. They capture it on 5th December, only after the artillery stopped caring weather they hit their own or not**. From their new position they destroy the whole Pacific fleet.

The death toll is 80 000 soldiers. More than half of the 7th is gone. Among the fallen are second lieutenants Hanazawa Yuusaku and Nogi Yasusuke - general Nogi's only remaining son (the first one died earlier in the same war).***

Hyakunosuke thinks that the losses wouldn't have to be this high if they just had more snipers like him. But nobody listened.

*  All of the Ikazuki-class destroyers were quite active during the war. I placed Heiji on the Sazanami just because there’s the most info about what she did and when.

** The winning strategy was implemented by Kodama Gentarou. He was sent to Port Arthur with the authority to replace Nogi. He had enough guts to sacrifice soldiers falling to friendly fire in one coordinated assault instead of bleeding them out by continuous suicidal frontal assaults. He didn't officially replace Nogi though, and he let him take the credit for the victory, because they were friends. It's a really cool story.

*** Interesingly enough Yasusuke, was also shot in the back of his head. His father when he saw his body asked only “Was it after he had completed his task, or was it before?”

1905

The 7th move on to Mukden. Koujirou and Nogi along with them. 

In May the Baltic Fleet arrives. Without Port Arthur, they try to get to Vladivostok to resupply. Tougou's fleet intercepts them in the Tsushima strait and despite their smaller number, crushes them decisively. Heiji's destroyer Sazanami, captures the destroyer Buyini with the wounded admiral Zinovy Rozhestvensky **. 

In September the Treaty of Portsmouth is signed. The Trans-Manchurian Railway gets handed off to the Japanese. Later Koujirou strongly opposes the plan to develop it ***.

** Heiji's torpedo division was also responsible to delivering the finishing blow to the flagship Knyaz Suarov. Later this was written on Knyaz Suarov's last moments "While she had a gun above water she fired, and not a man survived her of all that crew, to whose stubborn gallantry no words can do justice. If there is immortality in naval memory it is hers and theirs". Gives me the chills.

*** Did he see that it would lead to more war? Mantetsu was the reason behind the Manchurian Incident in 1931 and later for the breakout of the second Sino-Japanese war, where a really ugly face of Japanese imperialism saw the light of day. So, was Koujirou a good guy all along? This I hope will be explained in the manga.

1906

In January Nogi returns to give a victory report to the Emperor *.

Koujirou "commits seppuku" by his son's hand. "Writes" a sappy goodbye letter to Heiji (probably also by Ogata's hand).

Heiji gets seduced by his son's dashing young commander and does some stupid-treasonous things for him, convinced that Central Command was to blame for pushing Koujirou to suicide.

In November Mantetsu is established.

* Nogi breaks down while making the report and asks to be allowed to commit seppuku for allowing such high casualties. The Emperor forbids him. Nogi waits 7 years until the Emperor dies and commits seppuku on the day of his funeral.

Disclaimers

I would say half of this consists of what already is in GK canon (even if it’s written between the lines) or history. The other half are my free guesses for what I personally think would make a better story ;)

I tried and tried to do thorough research, but in the end I’m just a humble fangirl, and not a historian, so if there’s something I got wrong, missed or misinterpreted please correct me - learning history is a never-ending story.

Sorry for linking directly to the scanlations. Support the manga by buying the volumes if you can.

This list will most likely be growing since I will eventually figure out what Koujirou did during the Sino-Japanese war, and I’m only starting digging in to the details of the Boshin War, so I’m sure I’ll expand upon that.

If anyone ever wants to use this information for a fic, please do. Copy it all if you want to. I don’t mind the slightest. I’ll love you to pieces for writing anything for them at all!

[stormkrigeren]

Whumptober Day 4!

Link to the Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34210837/chapters/85303615

Title: Hostage - Clark

Prompt: No. 4 ‘Trust Fall’ - “Do you trust me?”, taken hostage, pushed

Trigger Warnings: threats

Word Count: 1763

Dinner-dates with Lois were always nice - good food, stimulating conversation, and excellent company were all a man could ask for, and she certainly made it interesting. Tonight they had picked out a local Italian restaurant in the university district and talked about… well, everything. How his mom was doing, what books the other was currently reading, the subway construction, Clark’s latest article, Lois’ most recent investigation - drug smugglers bringing in goods from Gotham, of all things - and whether lasagna was better with red sauce or alfredo. The discussion moved towards housing prices after Black Zero over a shared dessert of cannolis, and developed into a playful debate over whether the high taxi fare was worth it considering that it was twice as fast as the subway when they finally walked out of the restaurant.

Lois’ apartment wasn’t too far away and the weather was good, so they opted to walk hand-in-hand, simply enjoying each other’s company while they explained whatever articles they were currently working on. Clark was just beginning a short series assigned to him by Perry on recent changes made to libraries in the district and what sort of effects the changes might have on schools and poorer neighborhoods - a bit fluffy, not necessarily investigative but enough to get his wheels turning as he fit all the pieces together. Some of the Metropolis city council members were recommending closing the libraries a bit earlier in the afternoon, which Clark - bookish nerd that he was - was strongly against, and he proceeded to rattle off a list of statistics and arguments that pointed out the issue with shortening library hours while Lois bounced the ideas right back at him with a bit of journalistic review. She herself was currently in the thick of a story revolving around a smuggling ring that was gradually importing narcotics and other illegal items into Metropolis - from what she could tell, the drugs were coming from all over but a majority were ferried over from Gotham. Lois explained in a low voice as they walked that a tentative lead had pointed her towards Mal Sharpe, the owner of a few small businesses in the downtown of both cities, who seemed to have his hands in many pies… including drug trafficking. There was a low-priority warrant out for Mal’s arrest, but that warrant would soon be at the top of everyone’s list if Lois had anything to say about it.

Clark grinned at that, knowing full well that with his girlfriend on the case, it was sure to be resolved within the week. Gently steering the topic towards where they should go for dinner next week, he looped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek just as Lois turned to do the same. But instead of her arms slipping beneath his open coat to pull him close, Clark instead felt a sharp tug on his shirt collar, abruptly ending the kiss as it was followed by a kick to the back of his knees.

He hardly felt the blow, but it still caught him by surprise and Clark inwardly cursed when he realized that he had been so focused on Lois, he hadn’t noticed the two men sneaking up behind them - and when one of them pulled out a gun to press it against his head, Clark reconsidered fighting back and silently complied when he was once again shoved to his knees.

Lois’ eyes widened at the sight of the two criminals shoving her boyfriend to the ground, then narrowed dangerously when she spotted the gun in one’s hand and the knife in the other’s.

“What do you want?” she asked slowly, gaze flitting between the knife now pointed at her - a sure threat of what would happen if she screamed for help - and Clark calmly putting his hands on his head in surrender as they waited to be told to hand over their wallets. They both knew that a gun against Clark’s head wouldn’t do him a bit of harm, but their captors didn’t know that and if this was just your common-or-garden hold-up, they would simply comply and Superman or the police could get back whatever was stolen as soon as they were let go. But therein lay the issue: Lois was getting the feeling that this wasn’t just a robbery. It, unfortunately, looked an awful lot like a goddamned hostage situation, and her suspicions were only confirmed when the man holding the knife spoke up.

“Boss heard that you were sticking your nose where it isn’t wanted, writing a story about some stuff he brought over from Gotham,” he answered, “So Boss has decided to send you a very clear message: drop the story, or your boyfriend here is gonna go to bed tonight in a body bag.”

Clark winced as the gun was shoved against his skull, emphasizing his captors’ point, but Lois, instead of looking downright terrified, happened to look downright pissed.

“Alright, you’re Mal’s boys, aren’t you? I imagine that he’ll be pretty pissed when he hears that your hostage plan fell through.”

One look at her face, and Clark’s already-a-bit-dismayed spirits dropped - she was going to try something, and he wasn’t sure if it would end well. He knew for a fact that the gun currently pressed against his temple wouldn’t do him much harm, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to keep up the act of being scared while actually, genuinely scared and making sure said gun wasn’t pointed at Lois.

Clark was… well, Clark was a farmboy. He had grown up in the middle of Kansas where just about everyone’s pa owned a rifle of some sort, so it wasn’t as if he had never seen a gun before, it was just that he wasn’t used to having one pointed at him. Duck season had made him plenty familiar with what guns could do, and even though he knew it couldn’t hurt him, that did not mean that he was completely comfortable with it and to be perfectly honest, it made him just a little bit sick to his stomach.

“It ain’t gonna fall through,” one of Clark’s captors glowered suspiciously, breaking his train of thought, and Lois almost snorted in derision at the claim, hands on her hips as she snarled.

“Look, dumbass, anyone who's read the Daily Planet knows the sort of people I go after, and they also know that said people almost always end up behind bars. I’m not your cocky, everyday journalist who happened to dig up some dirt on your operation - nah, I’m ‘Mad Dog’ Lane, Pulitzer Prize investigator, queen of the front page - and if you think pointing a gun at my boyfriend’s head will get me to drop a story once I’ve got it in my teeth, than you’d better fucking think again!”

Clark felt both men stiffen behind him, clearly rethinking having messed with someone as well-known as Lois, but their fear of Boss Mal’s wrath was just the littlest bit stronger than that of a tall red-headed journalist cussing them out.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Lane,” the man with the knife said decidedly, working up the courage to take a threatening step towards her, “But if you don’t want to do this here, we could easily take both of you along and get this whole thing cleared up in front of the Bo-”

Clark should have expected her to know at least some basic self-defense moves, considering her history of going into dangerous warzones and offices only to walk right back out with the info she wanted and a few bruises on her otherwise flawless figure, but seeing her in action was admittedly a little surprising. Lois Joanne Lane was an army brat through and through, so it was honestly no trouble to knock the knife out his grip with a simple wrist chop and the same ferocious elegance she used to mix her coffee. A moment later, she had kicked the weapon out of the man’s reach, sending it skittering across the asphalt, and promptly disabled her would-be attacker with a sharp knee to the crotch.

While his friend was groaning on the ground, the man holding Clark hostage fumbled with his gun, suddenly caught off-guard and having to decide between threatening his captive and pointing the weapon at Lois before Clark made the decision for him. Remembering the few moves Darcie had managed to drill into his head during one of her failed attempts to teach him the proper way to hit someone, he shoved his elbow back to make contact with the man’s nose, careful to limit the amount of force he used so that the bone was only broken and not the entire face. It worked better than he had expected, and before he knew it, both of the attackers were lying on the ground, one squirming uncomfortably and the other trying to stem the flow of blood suddenly rushing from his nose.

Clark hardly noticed their screaming as he jumped to his feet, absently rubbing the spot where the gun had been pressed against his head as he caught Lois’ arm to ask, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” she all but laughed, her good mood not disturbed one bit by the whole situation, “Damn, this will make for an excellent follow-up piece to the article on Mal and his gang’s activities. What about you, babe - are you feeling okay?”

“Me? Yeah… I’m fine too,” he answered slowly, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. Having a gun to his head had shaken him up more than a little, despite the fact that they both knew it couldn’t do him any harm.

It’d been frightening, knowing that both him and Lois were in danger and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, yet her ecstatic mood - over a hostage situation, he had to remind himself - was more than a little infectious, and he was already feeling a little bit better by the time she had managed to get ahold of the police to report the incident. By the time they had given their statements to the two officers that arrived to the scene and finally reached Lois’ apartment, his anxiety was finally beginning to lose its clenching hold around his lungs and a hot cup of tea diminished it further - it was only when his hands finally stopped shaking that the hilarity of the whole situation finally dawned on him. Clark couldn’t wait to see Darcie’s face when she heard.