#dancing or rock-climbing or fucking or whatever

[faejilly]

one thing i hate in fics is when they say that alec is less flexible than magnus, matt being less flexible than harry? absolutely.

but ALEC LIGHTWOOD accomplished warrior, master archer, and much more, being less flexible than magnus just doesn’t make sense to me,

like i’m my mind all shadowhunters are crazy insane flexible bc it just doesn’t make sense that they’re not, so that whole notion is bullshit to me and once i would love to see alec being more flexible than magnus

12/10... I would say no notes but actually I have SO MANY NOTES so the meme dies with me. (This is not a new thing. 😅)

There are a lot of different types of 'flexible' but I will agree that like... Magnus' physicality is absolutely partly about knowing he can handle any situation thrown at him, is part self-defense and psychological armor and health, strengthens his magic and his mind and his mood, but it's also for FUN and dancing and teasing and playing!

And all of that, even the self-defense & fighting when necessary, is entirely different than the physicality of a trained soldier who fights every single damned day of his life and has since he was (at least) ten, and probably younger.

(Shadowhunters were all child-soldiers! They're deeply fucked up and violent and competent! EMPHASIS ON VIOLENTLY COMPETENT.)

And I wrote a whole tangent on child-soldiers and Alec as a mentor but that is NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT WHOOPS, I'll try and come back to that somewhere else at some point.

The whole point of Shadowhunters, however, is that they can successfully fight demons AND (however reprehensible this bit is) they have the skill & power to subjugate the entire Down World, including the Warlocks who have vast and flexible magical powers that can pretty much do anything they want them to.

Now, part of this is numbers, because even if they are in a constantly losing battle against the demons, they do still have children which as far as we know none of the Downworlders can manage.

But part of this must be that they can, in fact, handle/fight against magic, demonic skills, and people who have hundreds to thousands of years of experience keeping themselves alive in a world that is hostile to them. They can hold their own against vampires and werewolves and warlocks and even seelie knights who ALSO TRAIN TO FIGHT FOR DECADES OR CENTURIES, because the fae do in fact prefer to stay in their own realm rather than fight for an equal seat at the table with the nephilim.

Like. WTF think about that. The Seelie Queen is capricious and powerful and power-hungry and terrifying and she lets her people be second-class citizens in our realm because it's not worth trying to fight the nephilim.

Now part of that is clearly she doesn't want to have to be the one dealing with demons and she does in fact have her own realm to live in, but still.

STILL.

Nephilim must be absolutely horrifying.

The most famous 'greeting' from angels when they meet humanity is "Be Not Afraid" but nephilim want and encourage that fear.

They are infected with angelic grace in a way that overrides their humanity, in a way that even overrides demonic power, because children of nephilim are always nephilim even when they don't know it, even when one of their parents is demonic or Downworlder. (Even Jonathan Morgenstern is still a nephilim, as well as everything else he is because of Lilith's blood & Valentine's abuse.) They have runes to enhance and control and shape their angelic grace, but even without a single rune activated they are not mundane.

Even a bb!nephilim with minimal training like Clary can survive being thrown off a building and breaking every part of her body. She survives! (When apparently unprepared and without active runes!) Long enough to be healed with magic/iratzes/handwaved-something-or-other off screen and for it to be entirely irrelevant five minutes later. Alec gets stabbed in the heart with adamas (which has been shown to be very hard to heal from in other contexts!) and is fine the next episode! We all kind of complained about the lack of healing/comfort/explanation in the show, but THINK ABOUT IT.

They can heal from almost anything to the point that they're child soldiers who don't even have to learn what mundanes would consider basic first aid because they don't need it.

Magnus puts on a good show but he is terrified of the Circle returning. Now there are a lot of very good reasons for this, including politics and prejudice and systemic power structures but it is also because nephilim even on an individual level are terrifying.

They have to be, or their historic ability to oppress the rest of the world falls apart. They can neutralize and hold their own against vast cosmic powers (the more powerful demons) and ancient vicious capricious warriors who have no love for them (fae) and/or wild magic powered by incredibly emotional beings who are terrified for their lives and souls and giving it their all because they have absolutely nothing the fuck left to lose (warlocks), and the nephilim consistently, reliably, win.

Not without cost, of course, but still. They win. They are not trained to survive or outlast or get away to hide and fight back another day, which is clearly the goal of most Down Worlders. They are trained to end a threat quickly and economically and sacrifice themselves if necessary to do it. (Survival is preferable, so you're around to fight the next thing too, but it is understood that it is not always possible.)

Realistically, this means that if a nephililm is actually trying to fight they will be able to do things with their body that are impossible, and they will be able to work through damage that would be fatal to everyone else without even flinching, and if you're close enough to see how a nephilim can really move you're probably already dead you just don't know it yet.

[steddie-island]

Champagne kisses

@softsteddieseptember week 3: Anniversary Rating: G | WC: 1,406 | Tags: Getting together, first kiss, Eddie Munson lives Find full list of tags on ao3 | Divider credit

Eddie woke to the sound of pebbles hitting his window. He looked around for his watch to check the time, then carefully climbed out of bed.

He'd expected to see Dustin, or Mike, or even Max, one of the shitheads. He hadn't expected Steve on the other side, with a palmful of gravel— a piece of which narrowly missed hitting Eddie as he opened the window.

"Steve, what the fuck?" Eddie's nose wrinkled and he looked at the other boy with one eye cracked open. "You have a key, you couldn't just let yourself in?"

"I was hoping you'd come out, actually." Steve bounced his hand, letting the rocks drop back to the ground around his feet. "I've got a surprise for you."

"A surprise, huh? And it couldn't wait until tomorrow?" Eddie heaved a put-upon sigh, his head tipping back and his gaze catching the swirls of paint on his ceiling. "All right. Let me grab my shoes."

Steve grinned and watched as Eddie disappeared back into the darkness of his bedroom.

Eddie climbed out the window and dropped carefully to his feet. It pulled his scars, made his joints complain, made Steve curse and step forward to help him. He held his hands out with both thumbs up to show he was okay before tugging his leather jacket on. "This better be good, Harrington."

Steve just grinned and jogged to his car to grab a black totebag. "It will be. I hope you brought your keys, Munson."

Eddie was dying to know what was in the bag, what couldn't have waited, but found that he was willing to be a little patient if Steve kept smiling the way he was. He followed after Steve to unlock the van, and a few moments later they were bumping their way down the road in Eddie's new used van.

The quarry stretched out before them. Eddie smoked a cigarette while he watched the place where the stars and the ground met. Even if he hadn't been threatened with loss of life and limb if he'd tried to watch what Steve was doing with the black bag behind him, the horizon was where his eyes would've strayed to anyway.

There were a million possibilities in that horizon. He could point the van and just drive until he ran out of gas, start over as whoever and whatever he wanted to be. It made him feel small, insignificant, but not in a way that made him feel bad. It was comforting, knowing that there were stil places he could go where people wouldn't think of dead teenagers as soon as they heard his name. He just had to get up and do it.

And he would. Someday. Eventually.

Still, as beautiful and comforting as the horizon was, the sound of paper, of a tape dispenser, the crinkling of plastic, it was definitely harder than usual to keep his eyes locked there and not behind him.

"C'mon, Harrington. How much longer is this gonna take?"

"I'm almost finished— Eddie I told you, do not turn around!" Steve said. "I tried to do this before I woke you up but your van was locked. Now just— be patient."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he tossed the cigarette butt to the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his sneaker.

There was the flicking of a lighter that washed the van in Eddie's peripheral vision a soft orange color. "Okay, look."

Eddie turned around with a smartass remark ready, but it died on his tongue.

There were streamers taped to the walls of the van, and there were plastic champagne flutes sitting next to a cake that had something nearly illeligable written on it. And there was Steve, smiling almost shyly as he picked the cake up, showing the candles he'd lit around one edge of the cake. Candlelight flickered over his face, danced in his eyes, and Eddie felt his breath catch in his chest.

"Happy… what?" he asked, when he managed to talk again.

"Anniversary," Steve said, flushing. "Sorry, it said happy birthday and I had to wipe that off, but then I had a hard time trying to write over it. But— you should blow the candles out before your cake gets coated in wax."

Eddie leaned in and blew the candles out, turning the van dark again. "Hold on." He dug in the crate he'd learned to keep full of shit that would come in handy in an emergency and came away with an "A-ha!" before turning the little lantern on. It filled the van with gentle orange light again. It didn't dance the way the candlelight had, but Eddie was still struck once more by how beautiful Steve was.

It didn't last for long, because it occurred to him that he wasn't sure what exactly they were celebrating.

"So… what… anniversary is this?" he asked.

Steve huffed out a laugh and passed over a plastic fork. "You don't remember?"

"Shit, no. I'm not good with— any of those things." Eddie ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm sorry, man, it's— I'll try to remember next time."

"Eddie, it's okay. It's… it's your anniversary." Steve picked wax drips off of the cake, avoiding Eddie's eyes. "You woke up a year ago today."

Eddie was quiet for a long moment. He could only watch Steve, until he noticed more pink flood into Steve's cheeks as the other boy looked up at him again. "I did?" he asked finally. "You… you remember?"

"They thought you might never wake up," Steve said, shaking his head. "Jesus, man. I spent so long at your bedside. We— we all did, just… begging you to wake up. Then… you did." He flicked a piece of wax onto the store bag he'd pulled the cake out of. "Of course I remember." He shrugged one shoulder, and Eddie all but heard the, "how could I not?" that he didn't say out loud.

Of course Steve had remembered. Steve, who had spent so many hours, so many days sitting beside Eddie's bed. Eddie didn't remember any of it, but he did remember the first face he saw when he woke up. He remembered Steve, slumped down in the uncomfortable hospital chair, his legs hanging over the arm of it. He'd been dozing lightly, at at the smallest movement from Eddie he'd been up and beside Eddie's bed, grabbing his hand and ringing for the nurses.

Steve's relief had been palpable. He'd looked the way Eddie had felt. He still looked that way sometimes, when Eddie caught him not watching whatever movie they had on. It was like Steve could hardly believe that Eddie was there, like he might've been lost if Eddie hadn't survived.

Eddie watched the way the lamplight played on Steve's face, casting part of it in shadow. Somehow he hadn't just survived, but he'd found this beautiful boy who liked spending time with him, who listened to him talk about D&D and music. Steve remembered, too— or tried to. After all of the thumps to the head, some of the details slipped away sometimes. But Eddie could see how hard he tried.

Steve made Eddie want to try, too. Made Eddie want to learn about sports even after all the shit he'd said about them in high school, just so he could chime in when Steve and Wayne were watching the game together. He liked the way Steve smiled when he noticed Eddie listening to him, too. He wanted Steve to always smile like that.

He wanted to be the one to make Steve smile like that.

Not for the first time, Eddie found himself wanting to kiss Steve Harrington.

Only this time, for the first time, he actually did.

Their first kiss tasted like chocolate cake and champagne and Eddie never wanted it to end. Even so, it didn't last long.

When Steve pulled back he looked surprised, but he was smiling. "What was that for?"

"Something else for us to remember when this rolls around again next year," Eddie said.

Steve's smile softened, and Eddie felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. "I like the sound of that," he said. "Maybe we should keep practicing, to have something even better to remember next year."

Eddie laughed, but when Steve leaned in again, he was happy to meet in the middle.

[stevieschrodinger]

part One Two

“Steve, I really need to you reconsider this. I mean your life choices, your education, your past relationships, religious beliefs, sexuality, upbringing, political views. Everything that makes you, you, as a person. The very atoms that make up your body, the millennia of evolution. You need to question everything. Because all those choices have brought you here, to this moment...which is fundamentally a fucking mistake.”

“That was strangely beautiful Robs.”

“Unlike the creature feature up on stage there, who is just...strange.”

“He does look like he let a toddler do his makeup.”

“Surely...I mean it kind of looks like it’s done in sharpie, you don’t think it is though, do you?”

Steve sips his drink, “at this point…” Steve just trails off, because really, at this point, anything is possible.

“Are we sure they are all even playing the same song?”

“I think they’re...trying to?” Steve hedges, “but I’m not like, one hundred percent I mean...they are enthusiastic, you’ve got to give them that.”

“Oh, yeah, they have like that, teenage energy vibe you know. I can vaguely remember being really, you know, invested in stuff.”

“You can remember having fucks to give.”

Robin clicks her fingers at him, “yes. Yeah that. I remember having the energy to care.”

“Yeah.” Robin finishes her drink and shoves her empty glass at him. Steve sighs and goes to the bar. Again. He gets himself a coke. Again.

Steve brings Robin her drink, and they sit in silence watching the show. It is loud. And it is enthusiastic. Steve figures it’s some sort of...heavy ish rock? That they’re trying to reproduce up there. Sometimes the front man even introduces songs when he remembers that’s part of his job. Apparently some of them the band wrote themselves. It’s unfortunate.

“God they’re so shit. Harrington I better be your maid of honor when you marry that...that...whatever that thing is up there.”

Steve doesn’t care though. He doesn’t know enough about music to know if Eddie is any good on guitar, but he, specifically, doesn’t sound bad exactly...but he is quick. It’s pretty dead in here, and they aren’t seated that far away from the stage, so Steve can see just how quickly those nimble fingers dance across the strings.

He’s a sweaty mess. His make up definitely isn’t sharpie, because half of it has sweated down his face. His hair is half sticking up everywhere, and half plastered to him with sweat. Whats left of his hacked up tee shirt is sticking too him with sweat.

“Did he just trip over that guitar cable, again?” Robin slurrs at him.

“Yeah.”

“So not only is he fucking useless, but he also cannot be taught.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs hopelessly.

He’s just so...earnest. So keen. Eddie clearly fucking loves being up there. It’s like...it’s like watching a kids talent show. Objectively shit but so fucking cute.

The audience gets informed that the band will be playing one final song, there’s a smattering of applause and a few woops from the minimal patrons. Steve’s pretty sure they’re cheering because the show is finally about to end, not because they’ve enjoyed any part of it.

“What you going to do?”

Steve climbs off his chair, downing the dregs of his coke, “I am going to fuck that man in a public bathroom.”

Robin huffs, “you’re so fucking vile.”

Part Four

What happens next on AO3

[hongthoven]

do not disturb ✘ seonghwa x reader (smut)

one-shot ✦ 3.1k w pairing ✦ seonghwa x fem!reader au ✦ Ateez OT9 (reader as 9th member) tags ✦ smut; established relationship; jealous!hwa; voyeurism ; reader is close with Mingi; bit of angst if you squint summary ✦ while on tour with your band, it's finally time to relax for a couple days in Paradise. At least that was the plan until your boyfriend gets jealous of your sudden proximity with another band member. 18+ only | mdni

notes ✦ this was a request sent to me weeks ago ♡︎

networks ✦ @newworldnet

pls reblog & comment if you like it 𖹭

© hongthoven

You didn’t know how long you had been here. All you knew is that the sun was slowly going down and your entire body felt sore, starting with your back as it hit the wall at a strong, steady pace. 

“Hwa— slow down, they might— hear us” Your words were barely mumbled through heavy pants as you looked up to meet your boyfriend’s gaze, his entire face showing signs of exhaustion mixed with his typical manic stare. There was something in his eyes telling you not to push him too far, although you might have done that already, all prior decisions leading to the moment he had lifted you up from the floor and unexpectedly slammed you against the nearest wall with his lips already feasting on your neck.

“So what? Let them hear you” His voice was cold as stone, like a command, and with the blink of an eye, you knew exactly who “them” truly meant to him. Mingi. Whose room just happened to be next to yours. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the fuming look on your boyfriend’s face the minute your feet had left the ground only to climb onto Mingi’s back and perch your bikini cladded butt on his shoulders. Actually, anyone could tell Seonghwa genuinely hated the idea of you two paired together, even as a team over a silly beach game Yeosang had suggested, calling it “team building” with a chuckle when it had done nothing but push Seonghwa over the edge of whatever sanity he had left. 

“Now that’s just stupid, someone could get hurt…” Seonghwa stated as soon as he was paired with Wooyoung over rock paper scissors, purposely ignoring the little celebration dance you and Mingi had quickly come up with, as the opposite team.  “Isn’t the whole point of this vacation to actually rest, by the way?” 

“Relax, party pooper! Some of us would like to have fun… now giddy up, beautiful!” Although Mingi meant no arm, his words reached Seonghwa like a bullet right to the head as he struggled to compose himself, his eyes glued to his friend’s hands— painfully gripped to your thighs. If his heart wasn’t beating like crazy already, seeing Mingi’s face comfortably tucked between your legs was his last straw. Everything suddenly turned into a blur as he reluctantly lifted Wooyoung off the ground to help him up. The least he could do now was to make sure this game wouldn’t last long enough for him to spiral into more sinister thoughts— like the devastating eventuality of Mingi feeling your flesh through the thin fabric of your bathing suit. Or you getting worked up over the mere friction of his hair against your slit. Every nasty, fucked-up thoughts he could have were now piling up into his head until he couldn’t think straight any longer. 

“Let’s get this over with” You knew he meant every word literally and judging by the look on his face, Seonghwa wouldn’t hesitate to go hard on his bandmate, even if that meant for you to fall head first into the water in the process. Nothing else mattered but for this nightmare to end and for his visions to stop. Anything seemed like an excuse for him to dive deeper into paranoia— the way your hands were framing Mingi’s face, sometimes to the extent where you had to pull at his hair a little not to fall back, sending him to a darker place and a scenario that definitely involved your fists tearing his brown strands apart while you came from the constant flick of his tongue against your clit. Lucky for him, Seonghwa had been paired with the noisiest member, Wooyoung’s excited yelps coming to the rescue everytime he drifted back into the absolute nonsense of his vivid reveries. 

“Watch out!” Wooyoung’s high-pitched voice was the last thing he heard before everything turned to a sapphire blur as the youngest dragged him along through his fall until they both disappeared under water. Everything seemed so much more peaceful down here, from the muffled sound of voices to the infinite quietness of the Abyss— and for a second, Seonghwa felt suddenly thankful for the short yet unexpected lull of his defeat. 

“Baby, are you alright?” Your voice sounded familiar yet faded from his blocked up ears. Eyes red with salted water, Seonghwa struggled for a while, adjusting to the brightness of the sun as he finally found your gaze, pleased to find his favorite face painted with worry— yet your body still attached to Mingi whose hands were now tightly locked above your knees, keeping you still as you towered over everyone from 6 ft above. 

“C’mon man, don’t be such a sore loser!” Mingi called out as Seonghwa decided to escape without a word, his feet anchored into the sand as he walked back to grab his clothes on his way back towards the hotel. But as all the members were quick to joke about Seonghwa’s tendency to turn into a grumpy mess anytime he failed a game, you couldn’t help but notice the slight difference in your boyfriend’s attitude this time. He wasn’t angry over the game. He was entirely consumed by jealousy. 

Running in the sand wasn’t your best decision, but still an unexpected work-out, especially when Seonghwa’s legs would take a single step when yours needed three to four more, but eventually, you managed to catch up with him, your hand instantly wrapping around his arm.

“Hwa? Is everything okay, baby?” If facing his broad, muscled back wasn’t enough to dismantle you, the look of absolute rage on your boyfriend’s face as he turned around definitely sealed the deal. With his long black hair pushed back, his caramel skin merely sunkissed and a few droplets plummeting over his cheeks like a comforting memory from the Sea, Seonghwa looked absolutely ethereal, making it hard for you to focus on any of the words coming out of his plump lips. 

“Let’s not do this here” He almost commanded, his mind still playing tricks with him as his eyes lingered over your body and how tightly hugged you seemed in that bikini now that it was soaked, your nipples perking against the fabric as goosebumps traveled up to the back of your neck under Seonghwa’s touch. With his palm pressed to the small of your back, his pace more determined than ever, Seonghwa led you back to the Hotel, his lips completely sealed through the entire walk to your room. 

There wasn’t much of a fight, let alone a talk happening as you reached the corridor, waiting for Seonghwa to unlock the door with the plastic card you’d been given when checking into the fancy hotel for a couple— much deserved— days of vacation in the middle of touring Europe. While Greece wasn’t on the few stops planned for the Summer tour, you were the one suggesting the destination, your body craving some sunlight and delicious food while bonding with your members. Sometimes it wasn’t easy being the only girl among eight, only male members, but somewhere along the way, these guys had quickly become your chosen family. Brothers, for most of them, with an obvious soft spot for Seonghwa who had been promoted to the boyfriend status within months of putting the group together. Mingi was close behind, his contagious smile and perpetuous cheerful mood always coming handy in times of stress or hardcore promotion— though it sometimes dragged you into a difficult position within your relationship.

And now here you were— taped to the wall with Seonghwa’s hands keeping your legs tightly wrapped around his hips as he rocketed himself into you. By now, your bikini top had risen above your breast from your boyfriend constantly pulling at the fabric without much patience, eager to attach his lips to your sensitive skin, the flick of his tongue over your erected buds almost sending you over the edge as you clenched endlessly around him. 

Seonghwa was — for the most — a gentle yet passionate lover. Always taking his time to get you hot and bothered, nose deep into your cunt while edging you just the right amount before he decided to have you in his own way. But somehow, his jealous side turned him into a whole different person. Whenever his boyfriend ego was triggered, he suddenly became a man on a mission, eager to claim your body and to make sure you knew who you belonged to. 

The room was filled with an obscene mix of your moans and the perfectly cadenced sound of your skin slapping against his, air heavy and warm, almost suffocating as your neck found a collar in the shape of Seonghwa’s lean fingers wrapping tightly into your flesh, forcing your eyes to meet his dilated pupils. 

“You’re gonna cum for me, love” 

Not a question— very much more of a statement. There wasn’t a second of hesitation in his tone as the words slipped off his lips like a command. You were gonna cum for him. 

Still, the fact he made sure to use one of his favorite pet names was enough of a hint for you to find comfort in his usual warmth. 

And with a single nod, you allowed Seonghwa to ruin you some more.

With long strands of black hair plastered all over his face, tangled into a thin coat of sweat like a chaotic mix of spiderwebs and some glue, Seonghwa looked absolutely dismantled— so far from the perfectly neat aura he typically brought into a room and though you could barely think straight as he hammered his hips between your abused thighs, you couldn’t deny the sparkle of pride in your eyes as you realized no one else would ever get to witness this version of him. 

Pins and needles were slowly invading your legs, creeping up your thighs from being held up against a wall for too long but all thoughts were long gone when a particular sharp thrust sent you off, forcing your eyes to roll at the back of your head as the taste of blood finally hit your tongue, teeth sunk into your bottom lip until the skin broke from the permanent pressure.

You felt it coming, the familiar warmth knotting at the pit of your stomach, flames licking at your cheeks as they turned a brighter shade of pink from gasping for air. Eyebrows knitted together, Seonghwa’s gaze found your face— you knew he could feel it too, the way you were clenching so much harder around his throbbing cock, how your velvety walls swallowed him with such ease as he suddenly got sloppier with his thrusts— and when he leant just enough for his lips to ghost over yours, his breathing tickling your tongue as your mouth awaited desperately for the kiss you had been craving for too long, a sudden whine traveled up from your throat, dying in the air still hanging between your faces as his mouth failed to connect with yours. 

Desperation found its nest in a soft grunt as you tilted your head back, hitting the wall behind you while Seonghwa smirked in victory. He had you precisely where he intended you to be. Putty in his hands. Desperate. A single tear prickling in the corner of your eyes from the lack of compassion he was providing while still driving you to the finish line. 

A knock on the door suddenly dragged you out of your thoughts, your eyes instantly landing on the corridor, irrationally worried someone may have complained about the noises coming from your room— and while it would be the perfect time for a break, Seonghwa unexpectedly decided to ignore the intrusion, his fingers pressing into the flesh of your ass as he hammered himself into you harder than ever. If you weren’t too dizzy to think straight, you could see the adrenaline in his eyes, the thrill of getting caught and the twisted urge to let whoever was behind the door know he was balls deep into your cunt and unavailable to greet them.

The knocking eventually stopped after a few attempts, leaving you nervous, breathless and worried about the consequences while hoping it was just one of the other members and not some concerned employee of the hotel or even worse, your manager.

“Lost in your own thoughts, love?” 

You had been downgraded to just “love” , no longer his , but he still loved you. 

“Worried someone might hear us? Mingi, maybe?” 

Though you knew what this was all about, having Seonghwa express himself and boldly mention his band member as the issue was a new perspective. Not only was there anger in his eyes, but you could now perfectly see the hurt in his black pupils and the way he frowned. That was the look of a man too scared to admit he felt threatened, a man who feared to lose you, as insane as it sounded to you— you were hook, line and sinker in love with Seonghwa and never in a million years would you dare look at someone else. How could you, when he was exactly and precisely what you needed?

“Speak of the devil” Seonghwa added, forcing you to frown a little as his hand reached for his phone on the table right next to you. You had missed the buzzing sound of a call, deeply anchored into your own thoughts, but when your eyes caught a glimpse of Mingi’s name on the screen, you couldn’t miss the way your heart almost stilled in your chest. 

Moreover, you went absolutely livid when Seonghwa decided to answer while still perfectly sleeved into your cunt. 

“ ‘sup man? “ he simply asked, his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear while pushing himself into you at a slower pace but so much deeper, stealing an unfortunate squeal out of you. Head foggy with nerves, arousal and fear, you could hear the muffled sound of Mingi’s voice on the other side of the line as Seonghwa found some sadistic pleasure in keeping the conversation casual. Like he wasn’t wrecking your insides. 

Looking into your eyes with a devilish smile, you could see the darkness draping over your boyfriend’s face as he moved you to the table, sitting you comfortably on the edge while pressing a palm on your stomach so you would lay back on your elbows just enough to enjoy the show he was about to put on. 

His phone laid next to you now, Mingi on speaker, making you nervous and exposed while Seonghwa pushed your legs apart, kneeling in front of you while keeping the conversation going with his friend— something about a song they were working on together the night before and struggling with some lyrics, not that you cared much about it when Seonghwa’s tongue eventually pressed flat against your slit, collecting your arousal with a single, strong flick as you shivered uncontrollably against the table.

Everything felt so wrong, so perverted, like he had invited Mingi to join a private party of two, offering a chance for him to stand in the corner of the room, cock in hand, while Seonghwa made sure to show exactly how you liked to be owned. 

Arching your back to push yourself further into his tongue, you could already see some stars dancing on the ceiling, almost dragging the air out of your lungs as Seonghwa wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking at it like a starved man, making a show out of it. 

“Anyway— are you guys coming down for dinner?” Mingi voice interrupted, forcing your hands to cover your face, teeth pressed around your thumb as you tried your best to compose yourself, to stay quiet as you squirmed and shook into Seonghwa skilled hands. 

“Maybe later— had a late snack” Seonghwa muffled, his tongue flicking around your sensitive bud as you soaked his chin, praying that the awful sound of your own depravity couldn’t be heard over the phone. 

“Yeah you sound like you have a mouthful” Mingi joked, laughing at the realization as he eventually ended the call. And while you should have been mortified, the way Seonghwa looked up to smirk triumphantly almost sent you over the edge.  

Seeing you squirm and clench around nothing, Seonghwa traveled up to find your lips, pressing a palm against your mouth while the other guided his hardened member to your aching hole, pushing himself in one hard thrust without warning. Screaming into his hand, head tilted back and almost over the edge of the table, you could feel the way it rocked against your back, ready to collapse as Seonghwa fucked himself into you at the roughest pace, printing the varnished wood into the back of your thighs. 

“Fuck— Hwa— I’m… close” you were a blurbing mess at this point, almost drooling into his hand as he traveled his gaze back and forth, smirking at the way you swallowed him perfectly and up to your perfect, fucked out face. 

“You are, uh? I can feel it…” his teeth sunk into your flesh, biting into your collarbone as he bottomed out one more time— and then nothing. 

Gasping for air, your whole body still trembling from skimming over the edge, you looked up to see Seonghwa unfolding himself off your embrace, pulling out and tucking himself back into his underwear. 

“Wh—what are you doing?” you dared to ask, sitting up although your entire body felt like it was about to collapse. Sore and halfway between climax and deprivation. 

“I’ll go work on that song with Mingi” he smiled, leaning for a quick peck on your lips as you stared at him, completely puzzled. Offended, even. 

“Are you fucking kidding me now?” you were fuming at this point, ready to put on a fight according to his next answer. 

“I said you’d come for me, my love, I didn’t say when” 

You watched as Seonghwa gathered his clothes, fixing himself up in the mirror and pulling his messy wet hair into a tight bun with only a few strands framing his face. You had never felt such an insane mix of humiliation and thrill all at the same time. 

“You better be ready for me when I come back, I am nowhere near done with you” walking towards you, Seonghwa pressed one firm hand behind your neck, his lips finding yours— at last. There was something different about his kiss, more demanding, quite not as desperate as you wished it to be, but meaningful enough for you to know he wasn’t upset anymore. 

“Maybe I’ll let Mingi watch, this time” he smirked against your lips, his tongue tracing the outline of your mouth at a devilish slow pace while a chuckle died in his throat— and while you hated to admit it, you could feel a fire sparkle into your guts at the eventuality. 

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Wary Sailor Pt. 1 | Matthew Joy x fem!reader

summary: While aboard the whaling ship Essex, Matthew Joy is startled awake. Leaving the safety of his hammock, he encounters a woman lost at sea. What will his decision to save her cost him in the end?

warnings: Brief nudity and mentions of potential sexual assault/violence. This part is mainly Matthew being a good guy. We have a slow burn for this series, guys.

word count: 1646k

It's Been a Long, Long Time - Kitty Kallen, Harry James 🎶

Sea, Swallow Me- Cocteau Twins, Harold Budd 🎵

Based on Cillian's character from In the Heart of the Sea (2015).

Sorry I've been so inconsistent and thank you for still readying and engaging. I really appreciate it 🖤

It is dark, the world is dark, and the sea is at war with itself. Matthew’s hammock swings hard right suddenly, lurching him awake. He tries to focus his eyes in the darkness of the hold, the familiarity of it still comforting after weeks onboard. He’d practically grown up on a whaling boat like the Essex. Living and sleeping on a boat had become second nature, which is why Matthew wondered what could have woken him up so suddenly. The boat always rocked, his hammock often swung from side to side, but this time he woke up. 

Looking around as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Matthew watched his men sleep around him, their snores similar to those of a whale call. Matthew listened out for calls of distress or whatever else could have woken him up. Besides the scrambling of a rat or two, the Essex was quiet and still. Still feeling uneasy, Matthew climbed down from his hammock and pulled on his boots and heavy jacket. He could see his breath in front of him as he climbed the slanted steps to the top-deck. The cold Atlantic water surrounded him on all sides, only the walls of the ship separated him from them, and yet he felt secure. 

Matthew’s blue eyes glowed beneath the full-moon like colored diamonds, sparkling in the slants of moonlight. His shaggy brown hair shifted around his head in the strong gusts of wind. Matthew surveyed the deck, pulling his jacket closer and turning back. Everything looked as it should, waves lashed against the boat and the spray of salt water refreshed his face, everything was normal. As Matthew turned to return to his hammock, he heard a faint but distinct whispering behind him. Spinning around, Matthew expected to see someone standing there. When he turned, however, he was alone on the deck. 

“Hello?” He called out into the dark. 

“Hello.” A woman’s voice spoke quietly.

Matthew spun around, looking for the source of the woman’s voice. 

“Is someone out there?” Matthew asked, his eyes darting around in the darkness of the deck.   

“Yes,” the woman’s voice spoke again after a moment of eerie silence. Matthew froze, his eyes trained on the edge of the railing. He took a step closer, his brow furrowed in apprehension and bewilderment. 

“Who are you?” His voice pierced the noise of the waves and echoed over the rail. He put out his hands to feel for the rough edge and caught it as the boat rocked beneath him. There was no response. 

“Where are you?” He asked instead. His dark brown hair whipped around his face and his thin cotton blouse danced beneath his jacket. 

“Down here,” the woman’s voice finally reached him, “over the edge.” 

“What the fuck?” Matthew groveled and forced himself to look. Alone in the sea below, a woman was treading water breathlessly. Beautiful dark hair stuck to her face and ballooned around her shoulders in the water. Her skin was deathly pale and she looked sickly and weak. Matthew heard himself gasp softly and grabbed a band of rope without another thought. 

“Christ, hold on! I’m throwing down some rope!” He yelled down to her and lowered a length of it, tying the rest to a hook on the deck’s railing. “Tie it around yourself!” His cockney accent tinted the words he said but the girl nodded and managed to loop the cord around her waist. Matthew swiftly pulled the girl up to the railing where he could hook his arms around her. As he pulled her over the railing, they stumbled backwards onto the deck, both landing on their backs with sharp gasps.

Matthew sat up quickly and untied the rope from the girl’s waist. She was shivering beneath him and cold to the touch. 

“How the hell did you end up in the water?” Matthew asked her as he tossed the rope to the side and removed his heavy jacket. She started to sit up and allowed the man to wrap his jacket around her and prop her back up against the side of the railing. His heavy hands passed over her chest, wrapping the dry fabric around her. Her skin glowed white in the inky darkness around them. 

“I fell overboard and it was dark, no one could see me,” she whispered as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Which ship?” Matthew asked and looked out at the dark horizon as if he could spot a passing ship. The girl stared wordlessly up at him,

“You’re in shock,” Matthew consoled her and nodded. He was fully awake now and disturbed by the way his night had gone so far. Something felt wrong about this whole situation. 

“Thank you for helping me,” she met his eyes for the first time that evening and held his attention. Her voice was calm, strangely so, Matthew noticed. He nodded slowly. 

“Don’t thank me yet, miss. Do you know what kind of ship you’re on?” He lowered his voice and glanced around. 

“No,” she furrowed her brow and sniffed. 

“You’re on a whaling ship. The men aboard haven’t even seen a woman in about a year… this is a dangerous place for you to be, miss.” Matthew ran his hand over his mouth and tried to think quickly. “If someone were to see you… it may not be possible to keep you safe until we can find the boat you were on before you fell. We can speak to the Captain,” Matthew started to stand. 

“Wait, please.” The girl grabbed his forearm weakly. He lowered himself back to her level. 

“What is it?” Matthew asked her softly, feeling as though he were melting beneath her eyes. The girl reached out her other hand and gripped the neck of his blouse, her fingers intertwining with the tie on his lapel. 

“What is your name?” She asked softly and licked her chapped lips. Matthew raised his eyebrow and paused briefly to study her. Her chest rose and fell softly beneath his jacket, her breasts could be seen through the wet fabric of her dress. He tried to ignore the way her dress was hitched up at her knees, sticking to her legs and dripping water onto the deck between them. 

“Matthew Joy,” he answered her slowly and placed his hands on the sides of her shoulders. “Are you alright, love?” He furrowed his brow as she nodded. Her skin was freezing, so he rubbed his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her up. 

“How long were you in the water?” He asked. 

“All my life,” she gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. 

“What?” Matthew narrowed his eyes and felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re still in shock, I better go get the captain. Stay right here, love. I’ll be back.” 

As Matthew started to stand the girl grabbed him again, this time by the hem of his shirt. The fabric was clutched in her pale fist. She looked up at him through her long eyelashes. He was standing above her as spoke. 

“Wait…” 

Matthew listened as she swallowed and started again. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my name is?” Her lips looked purple in the light of the moon and her wet hair was stuck around her in waves of glossy blackness. She looked like a goddess, a wave, a dream. 

“What’s your name?” He asked her slowly and she smiled, showing a line of straight white teeth. 

“Y/N.” 

Matthew nodded distractedly and cleared his throat. 

“Y/N, stay here while I get help, right?” He stepped away from her and she dropped the hem of his shirt. She watched Matthew as he turned and hurried to wake Owen and the Captain. He may be the best whaler on the ship but he deferred to Owen on anything administrative. The Captain was a uniform he had to respect. 

“Matthew Joy!” The girl called out before he made it to the stairs below deck. He turned, his hair blowing into his blue eyes. The girl was curled up in the further shadow of the railing. He waited for her to speak. 

“Do you believe in Sirens?” She asked strangely and he felt himself take a deep breath, confused. He noticed the sky in the distance begin to lighten as the sun was close to rising. The light made everything look greenish, almost aquamarine. 

“What…” he trailed off. His hair flew into his face again, blocking his sight. When the wind passed, he drew in a breath to respond. The girl was gone. Matthew scrambled back to the place where the girl had just been. He looked over the side and in the ocean below but there was no sign of her. A chill spread through his body as he straightened up. 

A bell sounded from the crow’s nest down the ship. The call for whale’s went up and noise erupted from below deck. 

“Pods! Pods of whales!” A sailor screamed. Matthew stood dumbly, staring over the edge of the boat, not looking for the whales but watching for the girl. 

“Y/N…” he whispered distractedly. 

He couldn’t have been dreaming. His jacket was gone and a puddle of cold water stood in her place. A hard clap on the back startled him and he released a nervous chuckle when he saw that it was just Owen. 

“Did you see ‘em?” Owen asked with a wide grin. 

“No, no,” Matthew shook his head and rested his elbows on the surface of the railing. As the sun rose, the blue in his eyes magnified against the ruddy orange in the sky. His thumbs pushed against his full lips and he exhaled slowly, trying to capture an image of her in his mind. What kind of creature was she?

...

End of Pt. 1

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | iv.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

"Put the phone down. On speaker," Ghostface orders.

The device almost slides right out of your clammy palm when you place it by your sock-covered foot. 

"Now…"

His voice dips, its intimate echo rippling across your skin.

Tension clogs your throat as you await his next command, a mess of shivering limbs on your bed.  

Whatever he asks you to do, you know you’ll hate it, and yourself. 

But there’s no other option when your friends’ lives hang in the balance. 

No choice besides yielding to the killer’s whims, however sick and twisted. 

"I want you to touch yourself, princess."

Puzzled by his request, you blink and parrot his words back to him,"Touch myself?"

He unleashes a dark laugh, a chill dancing on your spine at the sound. 

"Let me explain it in terms even my airheaded little princess can understand," he rasps, blatantly condescending. I want you to shove your fingers in that tight pussy while I watch you do it…and make yourself come." Your eyes widen in shock. "If you don’t come…" Your open thighs tremble as an air of malevolence saturates the air. "Goodbye Mindy and Anika."

The heavy, searing weight of his threat sits in your gut like hot coals. 

Your lip wobbles, a tear escaping the confine of your lids. 

"I’ll do it," you mutter, your quivering hand already inching to your exposed center. 

"Hey, no need to rush," he chuckles. "Take your time, princess. After all…I want to enjoy the show."

He sighs and a zipping sound followed by a muffled rustle reaches you. Relief flows from his inflection as he instructs, "Why don’t you start with rubbing your hand up and down your pussy?"

Sticky wetness coats your fingers as you glide them over your folds. 

Heat flares in your cheeks as Ghostface’s gruff moans rise from the phone. 

Though you can’t know for sure, you suspect from how breathless and hoarse he sounds, he may be touching himself too. 

You grow more embarrassed at the thought. 

"Unbutton your shirt and grab your tit." He lets out a throaty purr as you undo the buttons of your blouse. You palm your breast and rub your thumb over your pebbled peak. A hiss floats from your lips at the sensation, your core clenching. 

"Fuck…you’ve got the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. You know that, princess?" He pauses, seeming to choke on his own breath before chiming, "Bet they’d look even better covered with my cum."

A shuddering breath escapes your mouth. 

"Put one finger inside. Tell me how it feels."

As you keep fondling your breast, you sink one digit inside your wet heat. You gasp as you graze a sensitive, spongy spot that makes your breath falter. 

"Wet. Tight…" Reflexively, as you rock inside your walls, they squeeze around your fingers. Ragged moans climb up your throat. 

Pleasure builds in your belly as it tenses. 

"Put a second one," he urges, his words punctuated by a gravelly whine and the faint, sloppy friction of skin against skin on the other side of the phone. 

Your face ignites. While you’re not the brightest bulb, it’s not hard figuring out what he’s doing while talking to you. 

A wave of sickness threatens to overwhelm you but you quell it.

You add a second digit to the first. Your lids quake, a sharp pain rippling through your core at the burning stretch.

You hardly ever touch yourself there, much less with more than one finger.

"It hurts," you sob. "Please…"

Your whimpers only appear to arouse him more, a moan following your admission. 

"Oh…Fuck." You hear him swallow and exhale rapidly. "Keep going. Don’t you dare stop. Play with your clit at the same time."

Letting go of your chest, your other hand creeps between your thighs. Cheeks aflame, you start rubbing your swollen, sensitive nub in circles.

Your breath stutters. Your hips wiggle as your stomach tightens. 

"Rub it harder." You chew on your bottom lip as the lustful pants leaving your throat swell in volume. Disapproval vibrates in Ghostface’s distorted, gravelly voice. "Don’t keep it in. I want to hear you loud and clear, princess."

Reluctantly, you free your lip, allowing every moan and whimper to spill out unchecked. 

Your fingers pump in and out at a faster pace and the wet squelching of your cunt mingles with the shameful sounds rising from your mouth. 

You massage your clit, growing slicker as your vision gets hazy. 

"Remember what I said. What happens if you don’t come, pretty girl."

This incentivizes you to try even harder. 

You play with your pussy with more fervor than before, teasing that tender spot inside you that has your vision sway. 

You can tell how close you are to your pinnacle, the coils in your belly tight and warm tingles swirling at the apex of your thighs. 

The patterns your fingers trace over your sensitive parts turn hectic and desperate. 

"Tell me you can’t wait for my fat cock to ruin your tight little pussy," Ghostface rumbles through the staccato of his uneven, raspy moans. 

Tears adorning your lashes, you repeat his words between strained lungfuls. "I c-can’t wait for your f…fat cock to ruin my little p-pussy, Mr. Ghostface."

His elated laugh cascades across your flesh. 

"Come for me, princess."

The air dwindles in your lungs as your eyes roll back. The dam shatters at once, your legs quaking as waves of pleasure scatter through your lower body. Your body jolts and falls limply on the sheets, your back arching as your climax hits you. 

"Ah, shit," he says. 

The killer’s long, throaty sigh lands in your ears, the sound of him relieving himself strangely making your bundle of nerves pulse. 

"Good girl," he lauds, mirth and lust radiating from his deep timbre.

His choppy breaths mingle with yours through the phone.

As you lie on your side on the bed, the haze clears and a vast well of shame blooms inside you. 

After a few minutes of silence, he laughs again. 

Satisfaction drips from his tone.

"I’m proud of you for playing my little game," he says. "And now, we have our first souvenir together, in 4K."

Your brows knit as you shakily pick up the phone.

"What do you m-mean?"

He doesn’t reply, instead humming softly, "Goodnight, princess."

The call ends as he hangs up. 

Quivering lips bound shut by stupor, you quickly grab your bear and hold him against your chest. You bury yourself under the covers as quiet tears roll down your face. 

You don’t get much sleep if any that night, tossing and turning when you’re not drenching the sheets with the salty streams pouring from your eyes. 

Despite him never entering the room, terror paralyzes you. 

He might as well have, his sinister presence coiled around you and the power he held over you tattooed into your very bones. 

You bolt awake in the morning, the wild drumming of your heart blaring in your ears.

The first thing you do is rush to collect  your phone. But frustration roars inside you when you realize it died during your fitful sleep. 

Heart in your throat, you scramble in search of your charger. Once you find it in a forgotten corner of your bed, a relieved exhale ripples through your lips. 

Impatient, you groan as you wait for the lightning bolt icon to shift to one percent. The painful sluggishness of it escalates your blood pressure even more. 

You bounce on your bed as your phone takes what seems like eternity and beyond to turn itself on. 

When it finally does, you don't even have to look through your contacts to find Mindy, your best friend appearing in your most recent calls.

You punch the number and chew your nails anxiously. 

Ghastly thoughts lurk about your mind with each lingering, torturous second. 

What if he lied? 

What if he toyed with you for no reason? 

Of course, your roommate picks this opportune moment to knock on the door.

"Hey! Did you lock me out? Open the fucking door!"

Startled, your head snaps up.

"Not now, Vanessa," you yell, herding your focus back to your phone. "Pick up, pick up, pick up…"

You hear your roommate mutter 'bitch' on the other side of the door and kick it one last time before walking away. 

All your calls go to voicemail after a few rings. You lose hope, already picturing the worse. In your sleep-deprived, frazzled brain, the image of your friends’ lifeless forms lying sprawled on the floor is conjured. 

Your gaze fills with tears as you plummet at the end of your bed. 

While the sun’s basking your room in light, your world has never been this dark. 

It’s the pathetic state you remain in as you amble across the hallways later, no cheer in your step as you drag your feet to class. 

Each of your thoughts is asieged by your friends’ fate. Who knows if they even made it through the night, despite your best efforts to comply with Ghostface’s sick demands.

Your dispirited trek comes to a sudden halt as you catch sight of them, strolling to your first class with their arms linked. 

You all but tackle Mindy into a hug after racing down the hallway. 

"Mindy!" you shriek, overwhelmed with emotion at having her in your arms, safe, whole and - most importantly - alive. 

She laughs, both she and Anika casting you a puzzled stare. 

"Wow, is something wrong? Not that I mind random hugs but…"

You punch her in the rib and rear back with a scowl. 

"You didn't answer your phone, dingus! I was worried sick."

Mindy winces in response to your outburst. 

"Ouch. Sorry, mom," she jests, but when she notes the way your eyes fill with tears again, concern invades her features. Her tone softens as she elaborates, "Anika and I were…busy last night, so our phones were on silent."

They share a secret smile, hands twining. Your cheeks warm as understanding dawns over you. 

You approach them and give them a tight hug.

"I…I’m just happy to see you both, that’s all," you mumble between quivering sobs. You take a minute to soak in the fact that they’re okay, that you can feel their beating hearts against your own. 

Your friends are okay. Ghostface kept his promise. 

Despite how humiliated and violated last night made you feel, at least there is one perk…your friends lived through it. 

Anika rubs soothing circles on your back.

"Well, we’re happy to see you too. Always." She tilts her head and studies you. "Wanna grab lunch later? Talk about what’s really going on with you?"

Gulping a pacifying breath, you fall back. You look at both their faces, scrunched in worry. You’re thankful for them…but you can’t talk about last night to anyone. 

In fact, you’d rather toss the whole ordeal into a well of oblivion. You feel dirty enough as it is. Tainted. 

Still, spending time with them is just what you need. 

"I’d love that," you chime, swallowing your tears long enough for them to disappear from view. 

But as soon as they’ve vacated the hallway, the ephemeral mask of cheerfulness you donned before crumbles. 

You shrink into a mess of tears in a dusky corner of the faculty, hiding behind a set of stairs no one ever uses. 

"I have tissues if you want. I have t-three tissues."

"Ethan?" Your mouth parts as Ethan’s staggering presence crowds your vision. He’s crouched in front of you, that same lopsided, bashful smile he had at the party decorating his lips. Sun beams hit his dark curls, highlighting the russet and chestnut hues of his thick mane. 

You slowly blink, noticing his outstretched hand and the tissues in it. 

You accept them gracefully and dab your eyes with one. 

"Hey." He sits next to you under the stairs and leans against the wall. "Wanna talk about it?"

You sniffle and shake your head in response. 

Ethan nods in acknoledgement. You appreciate that he doesn’t push, settling for sitting with you as you cry in your hand.

"Okay," he says when your weeping alleviates. "Then, maybe we can go to a café and study? Since you’ve missed our first session anyway."

Embarrassment surges inside you. Right. You and Ethan agreed to meet at the library two days ago. 

You were caught amidst your guilt spiral regarding Connor’s death at the time. 

You squeeze his arm and bunch your lips apologetically. 

"I’m so sorry, Ethan. It totally slipped my mind."

He waves a dismissive hand in the air. 

"It’s okay. You were dealing with a lot. I get it."

Deflating, you release his bicep and sigh. 

"Still, that’s not okay. You were so nice to offer."

"Don’t worry about it. Besides, I’ve got time now," he informs.

Hugging your knees, you flash him a hollow smile. 

"Thank you. You're a really good friend." You grimace. "I'm sorry Chad and Mindy gave you such a hard time the other day."

He gives a nonchalant shrug. 

"It's okay. Could be anyone, right?" He pauses, scrutinizing your face. "Even me."

This draws the first genuine laugh of the week from you.

Ethan being Ghostface? The mere idea is ludicrous. 

There is an ocean of differences between the monster who coerced you into doing dirty things last night and the sweet boy who handed you tissues today. 

They could never be the same person. That’s silly. 

"I’d find that very hard to believe," you say between watery chuckles. 

The only reply you get from Ethan is a wide, tight-lipped smile as he slants his head sideways, his gaze lighting up as it runs over you. 

~

[dianneking]

Breaking the Silence (Larissa/Reader)

Summary: You cannot bear the silence that surrounds your rendezvous with Larissa, you need to know where you stand with each other. But there might not be any coming back once the silence is shattered…

Tags: Angst with a happy ending (finally back on my turf), emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of sexual situations (nothing graphic), swearing, miscommunication, pining, gender neutral Reader, present tense.

Words: 1688 - AO3 link here or in title below.

Breaking the Silence

You look at her sinuous shape, languidly draped on her couch; at her half-lidded eyes; at the way her legs are slightly parted, in a wordless invite. Normally, you’d take that offering, you’d rush to be there where she wants you. But today that is not enough for you.

Today you want answers. 

“What are we even doing, Larissa?”

The change is sudden. In a fraction of a second, you can see her walls climbing back up, the sensual, alluring smile falling off her face, leaving the polished mask of Principal Weems behind. Not Larissa. She only was there when she was fucking you.

“What do you mean?”

Suddenly all of your bravado seems to leave your body, and you start shaking. You’ve never talked about it. The two of you never acknowledged this thing going on between you.

The first time it had happened almost by accident. You two had been arguing over something you couldn’t even remember anymore. Something to do with funding, or your lesson plans maybe. One moment you were on opposite sides of her table, staring daggers at each other – each too stubborn to concede their point –, the next her hand had grabbed you by the collar and her mouth had crashed against yours, hard, demanding, relentless.

The rushed lovemaking that had followed had been much of the same. Quick, rigorous, tough. Just like her. Once it had ended, the both of you had tidied up your clothes in silence, and in silence you had left her office, the thrum of gratification beating deep in your heart. At that time, you didn’t need words to be satisfied, you were content just with the spark of passion between you two.

Neither of you gave a name to the hungry kisses you two shared after that, to the way she pressed you against the wall when you were supposed to go over the budgeting, hands instead fumbling to get to your skin through the layers of clothing. Neither of you even acknowledged that it happened.

You didn’t talk about it the first time you kneeled between her thighs, her hand tangled in your hair guiding you without words. Not a word about the time she returned the favor.

But as time went by you started feeling antsy. You stole glances at her, noticing how beautiful she was when she allowed herself to give up control for a handful of moments. How her head was thrown back, exposing her long, pale neck, how her forehead corrugated more and more until with little more than a sigh she let go, her face went slack with contentment and relaxation and when she opened her eyes there was a small spark of euphoria dancing in the blue depths.

You fell irrevocably in love with her.

For a while that was enough, too. You were in love with her, and you had the privilege of having these moments with her. Surely, surely that could be enough for you, right? You didn’t have to rock the boat, you didn’t have to break the silence.

Except time passed and then you had to, love choking you up worse than any hand ever could.

You had to, because you felt like you were going insane keeping those three little words unsaid when they were all you could think of when you were with her.

You had bitten your lips one time too many, and there was no way you could keep going if all it was to her was simply a way to blow off some steam.

“It’s been six months of…whatever this is, and we have never talked about it.”

You can see she’s angry. You broke the routine the two of you had. The silent routine of seduction. You stopped the game and she’s not in control anymore. She hates that, you know it all too well. Even when she gives up control when you are together, it has always been on her terms and her terms alone. She doesn’t like to be blindsided like that. She glowers at you, a silent command to give this up before it all blows up in your face. You ignore the warnings, jaw jutting out in a show of a defiance you don’t feel.

“You never seemed to mind that.”

“Things have changed.”

“How so? Why the sudden need to stir the pot? Have you had enough of this? Bored already? Tired of our little game?” You know she’s just lashing out defensively but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

“I want more.”

Silence welcomes your muttered sentence. A silence that feels cold, unwelcoming.

“I beg your pardon?” she emphasizes every word, spitting them out like venom.

“I cannot do this anymore…I want more.” You try to explain, frustrated at how difficult it is to put your feelings into words now that you finally picked up the courage to speak. If that even counts as speaking - you yourself can hardly hear your own broken voice over the thundering rhythm your heart is beating in your chest.

She presses her lips together, and you can see the fury in the way her nostrils flare, in the way her eye that were already unforgiving, now harden into flint, eyebrows knitted downwards in a frown. Her hand shakes slightly as she slowly unfurls it from her side, extending the whole arm to point in the direction of the door.

“Get out.”

You stay where you are, as if rooted in place, and you stare at the way outrage spills over her face. She’s still so beautiful even when she’s mad at you. You think you can see a deep flicker of hurt within her eyes, too. Hurt at losing her plaything? Her fuck buddy? Whatever you had been for her? You don’t know.

She curls her fingers around the empty wine glass and you only have a split second to realize what she’s about to do before it comes hurtling towards you. You duck, more out of instinct than out of any rational thought.

The glass crashes against the wall behind you, and over that sound comes Larissa’s snarl, more cutting than the shards behind you: “You want more? Go! There’s the whole world for you! Get the fuck out and get whatever else I couldn’t give you.”

Hearing her swear shakes you more than her throwing her glass at you has.

Well.

You have gotten your answer. It’s her hand, once again pointing towards the door. Not much space left for interpretation anymore. No more wondering about how she might feel. That’s what you wanted, right?

Then why does if suddenly feel so hard to breathe? Why does it feel like one enormous glass shard has lodged itself in the middle of your chest? You heart got broken. Just like the silence did. Just like the glass. You curse yourself for not being able to settle for what you had, for stupidly craving more, for bringing this up on yourself.

But since breaking the silence is what brought you here, you might as well spit it all out before you go.

What do you have left to lose after all?

The only sound in the room is the slight panting of Larissa’s rage, and your whisper resonates louder that you thought it would, carrying your deepest secret out in the open.

“It’s you.” You take a deep breath, and feel it rattle in your chest as you try to put what you feel into words “It was you that I wanted. All of you, not just the physical part. I wanted to be able to hold you, and kiss you tenderly and hold your hand and take you on dates. I wanted…I wanted to be able to tell you that I love you.” You fight against the tears welling up in your eyes. There’s going to be time to cry later. There’s going to be time to recriminate and overanalyze where everything went wrong. You just need to cut your losses before Larissa throws something worse than a glass at you.

Not that it would hurt more than your broken heart.

“So yes, I’ll go. But I won’t be able to find what I want in the world outside. Because it was yours to give.”

You don’t look at her after that. You don’t want her to see the first tears finally overcoming the barrier of your eyelashes and come barreling down your cheeks. You have been pitiful enough. Needy enough. You turn towards the door, finally. The few steps that separate you from the wooden panel feel like miles upon miles but you force your body to take those steps, rigidly, almost mechanically.

The brass handle is cold under your touch.

“Wait.”

You cannot interpret what the intonation of Larissa’s voice means. It’s not the angry snarl of before that’s for sure, but apart from that? Could be anything and everything at the same time.

You stop, but you don’t turn, choosing to stare at the patterns formed by the knots in the wood in front of your nose. They are all wobbly because of the tears that keep silently pouring out of your eyes. You listen to the clacking sound of her heels on the wooden floor with the scared resignation of people on a death sentence.

You don’t know what you expected –  but her arms coming to wrap around you from behind is definitely not it.

You jump, as if electrocuted, your brain and your heart scrambling to make sense out of this, while your body is torn between tensing up in fear and allow itself to relax in her embrace.

And what an embrace it is.

In all these months, Larissa has never hugged you, and you only now realize how much you’ve been missing out. Her bigger, soft body presses against your back, and you are completely cocooned in the warmth emanating from her arms. Her forehead comes to rest in the crook of your neck, in a show of weakness that she had never allowed herself to show before.

“I want you, too. All of you.”

Liked it? You can find all of my other works tagged in my fanfiction masterlist! or on my AO3 profile, DragonMist.

[impala-dreamer]

What Actually Happened...

A Supernatural Story

~Dean and Y/N finally confess their feelings and spend a long, perfect night together.~

Dean x Reader, Sam

2,043 Words

Warnings: FLUFF, Real Life, Crack

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Dean shut the door of the Impala and crashed into the driver’s seat with a deafening roar of a yawn. He sank down a bit, stretching his long legs out as far as the space would allow, and rested his head against the back of the seat.

He yawned again and shut his eyes, letting his head fall to the right.

Sam raised both brows and noted a crusty line of dried drool in the corner of his brother’s mouth.

“Long night?” he asked, rather loudly just in case Dean had a hangover.

Startled, Dean jolted to full consciousness, pulling himself upright with a hand on the wheel.

He cleared his throat. “Sure was.”

Sam laughed under his breath. “Mhm.”

“Long… awesome night.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. “Awesome night,” he said again, emphasising everything he needed to to get his point across.

“Sure seems like it,” Sam commented, pointing to Dean’s mouth and then his own. “You got a little something there-”

Quickly, Dean wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and growled. “Yeah- shut up.”

The backdoor squeaked open and Y/N climbed inside behind Sam, tossing her bag onto the floor.

“Mornin’,” she croaked, keeping her head down, eyes looking anywhere but at Dean.

Sam noticed instantly. “Morning.” Again, he lifted his voice just enough to be irritating, but neither seemed to notice. The air also didn’t have that tell tale hint of stale booze, so he let that theory go. “How are you?”

She settled into place and rubbed at her eyes. “Uh- good. Good. All- is good.”

“Long night?” he asked, looking between her and Dean.

Y/N swallowed hard and her cheeks burned. She bit her lip and finally looked up, her eyes meeting Dean’s in the rearview.

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “It was.”

“You are so…” Dean’s words fell away as he got lost in her eyes, his plump lips swerving into an unstoppable smile. He curled his hand behind her ear and Y/N dipped her chin shyly, her heart racing so fast she was sure he could feel it in his fingertips.

“What?” How she had become so bold after three years of dancing around the sexual tension between them, she had no clue. Maybe it was the full moon reflecting so perfectly on the hood of the Impala, perhaps the cool breeze flowing through the open windows calmed her nerves, or the half a bottle of tequila shared between them. Whatever it was that pushed away the butterflies had certainly left her wanting and courageous. “Tell me what I am, Dean.”

His name rolled off of her tongue like honey and Dean drank it all in. “You are...beautiful,” he whispered, tilting his head just a bit and licking his lips slowly.

“And?”

He laughed softly and ran his hand through her hair. “And… amazing and sexy and funny-”

“And I can kick your ass at cards.”

“Yeah, you can.”

His kiss was gentle and sincere; a soft press of lips and a slow exhale from each. Their eyes closed as they savored the moment, hot breath fanning over cheeks, the tender pressure of her push back, the brush of wind all around them.

As first kisses went, it was perfect.

The second kiss was peppered with passion. It was an electric shock that pulsed through each of them as Y/N parted her lips to let his tongue inside. The jolt was intense and she reached for him, curling her fingers around both of his ears and tugging him downwards.

Dean lost his balance but made up for it by pushing her up against the car door. She moaned into his mouth and spread her legs around his left leg, just wide enough to let his meaty thigh slide between.

He lifted his foot from the ground as he licked into her mouth and the noise she made went straight to his cock.

“Fuck.”

“You feel so good,” she whispered, scratching her nails against his scalp. “I want you so bad, Dean.” She rocked her hips on his leg and shivered. “Do you want me?”

He licked his lips and gave her a stunning smile. “Baby, you have no idea.”

The ride back to the motel was short but it was far from easy. Having mutually decided that a bed would be preferable to the side of the road for their first attempt in the boudoir, they rode back to the room seeped in arousal.

Dean struggled behind the wheel; his erection rubbing painfully against the stiff denim of his jeans, even more so when Y/N ran her hand down his leg and her tongue around his ear.

“You keep that up, we may not make it back,” he warned.

Y/N grinned and took a quick bite of his jaw. “Wanna bet?”

They made it back in one piece, if not a little flushed and damp downstairs.

Y/N fumbled with the key as Dean scooted up behind her, his hands on her tits, his cock nudging her ass.

The scanner denied them entry for the third time and Y/N swayed backwards, grinding against him.

“You gotta quit it, or we’ll be fucking on the ice machine over there.” She nodded to the left and Dean laughed gently.

“Wouldn’t be so bad. I’d keep you warm.” His teeth grazed her pulse and she nearly dropped the key.

“Yeah...no.” The green light appeared and the door unlocked. “Yes!”

Dean let her take two steps inside before grabbing her by the waist and spinning her to him. He drove his tongue deep past her lips and Y/N melted in his big arms, her knees giving out and her breath disappearing.

“Fuck, I want that tongue inside of me.” She bit her lip and blinked up at him, all sense of the shy girl gone for good.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” Dimples popped as he smiled and Y/N grabbed his collar in her fist.

“You don’t need to tease me anymore, Dean,” she explained, dropping her hands to his belt. “You already got me.”

“Goddamn…”

Walking backwards while unbuckling someone else’s belt while his tongue is in your mouth is never easy, but somehow Y/N managed. Dean’s kisses were distracting but incredible and she almost died when she realized that his fingers had snuck into her jeans and his hand was on her bare ass.

“Uh- can you…” She pulled away and cleared her throat. Respectfully, Dean removed his hand. “Can you just give me two minutes? I wanna- freshen up.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow and traced his finger over a splatter of dried wolf blood on her cheek. “I’ll give you one and a half.”

She laughed and rubbed a firm hand down his chest. “Perfect.”

Bathroom door locked, she moved like lightning. Pulling off her filthy clothes, grabbing a washcloth, pinning up her hair.

She brushed her teeth as quickly as she could, still able to smell Funyuns on her breath.

“Oh God, that’s gross.” She looked at herself in the mirror and shrugged. He ate from the same bag, so he probably didn’t notice, she told her reflection. “Still…”

Another brushing was in order and then a swig of the motel supplied mouthwash.

“Awesome.” She knocked on the door. “You OK out there?”

Dean looked up from the floor, mid-pushup. “Uh- all good. You OK?”

“I’m awesome. Be right there!”

“Cool.” He struggled to hold himself up, but lost, knees and elbows whacking into the floor. “Gah!”

“Dean?”

“All good!”

He stood up and looked in the mirror, flexing a bit and deciding that it was good enough. “You’re a stud, baby,” he said aloud, winking to his reflection.

Breath fresh, Y/N set to doing her hair but then realized there was way more hair on her that needed her attention.

She looked down with a grimace at the Christmas Tree Farm growing out of her legs and decided that she definitely had to take the time to shave. There was just no way she was letting Dean touch her when she looked like a cactus.

Also, she hadn’t tended to her lady garden in forever...

Dean paced the room, occasionally throwing in a jumping jack and then deciding that his time to get jacked was ten years ago and he was too old for that nonsense anyway. Besides, what could he do in two minutes?

He looked at his watch. OK, ten minutes.

Was she coming back out?

Y/N tossed the pink disposable razor into the sink and toweled off the rest of the shaving cream. “Well, now I smell like Sam, but at least I’m smooth.”

Back to the mess on top of her head. She picked out dried leaves and a clump of bloody fur. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

Dean’s eyes flew to the bathroom door as he heard the shower turn on. “Seriously?”

Remote in hand, he sat on the foot of the bed and turned on the tube, flipping through channels until he heard the familiar sound of pornography.

He glanced at the door again and shimmied out of his jeans. “Might as well keep things going here…”

Y/N scrubbed her hair as fast as she could, trying not to look down at the swirling blood and dirt around the drain. “Coulda been a librarian but no… just had to go off and have adventures…”

She nearly screamed with fright as Dean’s voice permeated the door.

“Hey, Y/N/N! The chick in this porno looks just like you!”

She laughed. “That’s disgusting!”

Dean pouted at the t.v. and shrugged. “She kinda does…” Bored, he turned off the movie and bounced to his feet. “Ya almost done?”

A puff of steam snuck out from beneath the bathroom door.

“Uh- yeah! Sorry! Be right there!”

“OK-”

Clean, shaved and shampooed, Y/N emerged from the shower and set to drying her hair. She really was trying to hurry, but this was Dean Winchester. Love of her life. She needed to be clean the first time he really saw her naked. That last time in Peekskill didn’t count. That was for medical reasons. This was it.

Dean turned down the blanket, smoothed out the sheets, plumped up the pillows. He dimmed the lights and pulled off his t-shirt. Plopping down onto the bed, Dean turned onto his side and cocked a knee, held his head up on one hand and posed for Y/N… should she… ever get out of the bathroom…

Makeup. I need makeup. Oh my god, my eyes are so bloodshot!

A swipe of eyeliner and a dab of mascara later, Y/N batted her lashes in the mirror, gave her cheeks a pinch, and proclaimed herself properly prepared.

She was ready.

She was gorgeous.

She was horny as fuck.

Dean was-

Dean… was…

Dean was sound asleep on the bed, his face smashed into the crook of his arm, his body twisted and oddly posed.

Y/N felt a hint of disappointment, but then smiled as Dean let out a tiny snore.

“Poor guy…”

Not wanting to wake him, she carefully shut the bathroom door and climbed into bed, pulling the blanket up with her.

Dean stirred as she tucked the fabric around his waist.

“Mmm… hey.” He blinked into the darkness and groaned. “Shit, I fell asleep. I’m so sorry-”

Y/N stilled his worry with a tiny peck on his lips. “Don’t worry about it. I took forever in there.” Lifting his arm, she spun around and tucked herself against his chest.

He smiled and dug his nose into her immaculate hair. “You smell nice.”

“Yeah. You don’t,” she teased. “Go back to sleep.”

“What about-”

“Hey.” She kissed his bicep and snuggled in. “We got tomorrow and forever, Dean. It’s all good.”

He was asleep before she finished.

In more ways than one.

“Kinda perfect though,” she added, cheeks burning as Dean stared at her through the mirror.

“Yeah,” he agreed, remembering the content feel of falling asleep with her in his arms and the joyful rush of seeing her face first thing in the morning. “It really was.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[freakshowtwopointoh]

You didn't think, you just punched. The guy had walked up to you and Jordan while you were on a not-date lunch and started spewing slurs. You knew it wasn't good for your rankings or reputation to start a fight, especially when you guys were hanging out. Jordan wanted to climb the rankings, and you didn't blame them. But you weren't thinking when you threw that punch.

Fuck homophobes. After he was splayed on the ground, he shouted something about Homelander giving you both what was coming for you, and you scoffed.

"Is that a threat, asshole?" You start moving towards him but Jordan grabs you and pulls you away, immensely strong in their masculine form. You roll your eyes but go with them. "Fucking piece of shit bigoted asshole. Hope you always have a rock in your shoe." You mutter, almost running to keep up with their long strides.

"What the hell was that?" They spat. They were fuming.

"Um, you're welcome? He deserved it."

"He wasn't worth it! I had it under control. I don't need you to defend my honor." They shifted once the door to their dorm was closed.

"Fine. I won't make that mistake again." You keep your voice cold.

"I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea." They said. "We're just friends."

"Yeah. Friends. And these hickies just spontaneously appeared on me."

"Friends can have benefits." They gave you a full once over, smirking. "This is fun, right?"

"Yeah, fun." You rolled your eyes. "Friends don't look at each other like this. Friends don't get jealous when their friend dances with someone else at the club." You say pointedly. They can't look at you after that.

"Whatever. Just go, and don't get in any more fights." You flip them off and go home to sleep off all the confusing fucking feelings.

You would ignore them for the next week and a half. You'd say you were just busy, but in reality, you were fucking pissed. And hurt. You'd thought this was going somewhere, and it clearly wasn't.

You had to stop ignoring them when they came over to you in the gym to correct your fucking form. You'd laugh if it wasn't such a Jordan thing to do. Force you to stop giving them the cold shoulder by correcting you. You were fighting an automatic sparring bot, and they came over and began critiquing you.

"Your back foot needs to be planted." They remark, shifting your foot slightly with theirs.

"You have to actually care about your repost." They say as your punch glances off of the bot.

"Put force into it! The robot doesn't feel anything." They're basically playing personal trainer at this point, getting up in your space.

Finally, you stop, panting.

"Thanks." You mumble.

"Any time." They hand you a towel.

They smirked at you, a strand from their bob in their face. They looked amazing, and all you wanted to do was get them naked and on top of you.

Fuck! You can't do this again. You shook your head, standing up. You can't get your hopes up. You shake your head and speed walk out, almost running away from them.

You knew you were the only who felt this way, and you knew if you spent one more moment with their pretty face, you wouldn't be able to hold back anymore. Fuck the rules, and fuck Jordan Li for making your heart all twisted.

As you make your way back to your dorm, you hear footsteps. You assumed it was Jordan and ignored it. They could catch up if they wanted. Then you heard an unfamiliar voice.

"Hey! Dyke!" You turn your head instinctively, and see the guy who'd yelled at you and Jordan the other week, with a friend. Oh fuck. There were some plants around you might be able to use, but it was so dark. "You're going to pay."

You try to connect to the branches above, but your nerves were so high and you were tired from training, so nothing was working. Fuck. All of a sudden an energy blast hit both men from behind and they fell forward onto their faces. You stumble and fall from the shockwave. Jordan runs up to you, helping you up and the two of you sprint until you're back at their dorm. You were a bit scratched up from running and falling, but thankfully you both were okay.

"Thank you. I cou-" You stopped when they saw their face. Were they seriously pissed at you already? "I didn't do shit this time. They jumped me, so you can't be mad at me for losing my shit."

"I'm not mad at you." They said shortly.

"Could've fooled me." You say curtly, trying not to look at them for too long.

They sighed, and grabbed some alcohol to clean your scratches. You tried not to be too distracted by them on their knees in front of you.

"Sorry bout knocking you over. Did they get you?" Their voice was genuine.

"No. Just scared the crap out of me." The silence filled the room. It'd been terrifying, if you were honest. "Look, I just have to say this. No matter what we are or what people might think about us or what my feelings might be, I didn't just throw that punch for you." They look at you, furrowing their brow. "I'm queer, too, Jordan. I'm not just queer when I hook up with you. And, shocker, I don't love being hate-crimed based on who I eat lunch with." You fix them with a serious look. "I just wanted to make sure that was crystal clear." You go back to fiddling with your nails. Jordan stood up.

"But you still threw it for me a little bit?" Their eyes glinted. You throw a pillow at them, trying not to smile.

"I don't like my friend who I also like to kiss getting hate-crimed either." The blush was creeping onto your cheeks.

"Well now I feel doubly like an ass." They paused, looking uncomfortable. "I know last time I said a lot of stupid shit... The last week without you was hell. And boring! At the same time." They laughed awkwardly. "Anyways, what I'm trying to say is maybe more than friends would be fun. Wanna go out sometime?" They look at you impishly, and you curse at how quickly you forgave them.

"Yes! Uh I mean yeah, that'd be fun." And then they kissed you and time stopped. You let your hands rest on their soft hips, pulling them close to you.

"I could do this for the rest of time." They murmur. And you just might let them.

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 3, The Cat Returns

After the incident with Mouse in the Alps, König is put into frontline insertions instead of wilderness patrol following his noticeable change in demeanor. Life without Mouse goes on, or does it?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Again, I am just beside myself with the amount of love and support this silly story of mine is receiving. I will probably update this author's note when it is not 01:00 my time after a date. This chapter is a little longer to make up for the fact that the next chapters may take longer, as we are getting to the end of my stockpiled hoard of writings. Expect shorter, drabble bursts between bigger chapters!

Small note: if you see a rapid switch between the use of Mouse and Maus, it is meant to show that König's sense of ownership and possession of Mouse. In his thoughts, she is distinctly separate from her role as a military contractor, he thinks of her as his. I am sure I messed it up a couple of times, but if you see both it is not a typo!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 3, The Cat Returns | 5k words | König POV | NEXT

It’s sometime in February, and the fighting has moved into a little town somewhere in Italy. They’re gathering intel on SpecGru, trying to figure out something or other. 

König is not an intelligence officer. He is not subtle enough for that. Everyone knows this. 

He’s a battering ram as a human, thick and tall and good at making closed doors open if they don’t fly off their fucking hinges when he hits them. He’s not stupid by any means, but he’s not stealthy the way the position would require. 

He hasn’t seen her in three weeks. He hasn’t been on patrol at all, he’s been on frontline insertion. A place where his Maus is not. 

He misses her voice in his ear. He misses the little things she leaves behind, the leaves she folds into animals, the rocks she arranges into shapes like smiles. His favorite was the piece of flint she knapped into sharp edges all around, into the vague shape of a heart- he reasons that was probably not on purpose but he’s distraught the second he gets it back to base and realizes the fragile thing broke to dust in his pocket. When he cuts himself on the flint shards and doesn’t patch them up, he thinks of it as penance. 

He tries not to think too harshly about that. That she gave him her heart and he literally pulverized it. He's resolved that he won’t mention it in the comms. He doesn’t want to hurt her feelings if she did intend to give him a heart-shaped stone. It was the latest thing she’d gifted him and he was starting to think that its destruction was some sort of terrible omen. 

It’s that moment he realizes just how badly he’s had it. Having it. Wanting it. Needing her. Their silly little game is all he lives for these days. It’s pathetic but he can’t stop himself. 

Slicing and dicing and scouting and barging and battering and shooting and whatever else-ing enemies are little consolation for the gap she’s left in his life. He begs and barters and borrows around base for the books she recommended to him. He’s hoarding terrible jokes to tell her when he sees her (hears her?) again. Whenever he gets halfway decent food the first thing he thinks is “I wish I could teach Maus how to make Austrian food.” He thinks about dancing around in the kitchen with her before sharing a hot meal. He sees a particularly sturdy tree and wonders how long it would take her to climb it. When he gets cuts and bruises he thinks about her small, agile, soft hands patching him up instead of the sterile medics. He thinks about laying his head down on her plush thighs as she sighs and reads a book. He thinks about going hiking with her back in Austria, holding her hand the whole way up, then down, the mountain. He thinks about camping with her, kissing the top of her head as they sit by the fire. He fucking aches to make her mewl around his length in a lover's embrace. 

She’s all he thinks about during the day. How to make her happy. How to be closest to her. How to see her again. She’s all he thinks about at night, too. How she might want to be touched. How she’d taste. How to satisfy her so thoroughly she’d never try to find someone else. He cannot stop himself from thinking about her in these ways, and the realization that he simply does not want to either is just as disorienting.

He had been making good progress, inching his way closer and closer to her. Every time he would abandon his post while on patrol and wander around until he found her, she would allow him to get a little closer. He’s no fool, she is a sniper. If she didn’t want him any closer, she would just take him out from far away. But she doesn’t. At first, he thought he was hallucinating the slowly closing distances. It took a full 50 feet of gained ground over a month and four meetings for him to even consider that she was allowing him to get closer. As ridiculous as it is, he refuses to get any closer than first contact, except for… that morning.

He doesn’t like to think of himself as superstitious, he prefers to think of himself as logical. Perhaps too many head injuries, too many kills, and too much war has ruined his complete objectiveness. When he got the transmission about the agent running away with files in his direction, he got a feeling. An instinct? A calling? It was the auspicious nervousness of a near-death encounter, an intrinsic sort of rush that any soldier learns to obey if they want to survive in a war. But this one was different.

His stomach flipped more violently than he’s ever known it and he felt thick lightning throughout his entire body. His vision nearly blanked as he looked down at his peace offering, he knew at once the feeling was not for him. 

He didn’t hesitate to take off running for her position when he got the transmission about a rogue soldier strapped with explosives. 

“Keep moving and I shoot,”  Maus had said. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the obsession he tried so valiantly to deny himself. Maybe it was the scratchiness of the radio feeding him pretty lies, but König couldn’t help but hear a sort of begging desperation in her voice. His heart lurches fast and heavy in his chest as he sprints, fearful energy enveloping his anxious mind. Something is very wrong here, he thinks but how the hell is he supposed to tell her that? Would she trust him? Would he even get there in time? 

“It’s right under you, Liebling,” he rasped out through frantic breaths, so high on genuine concern for her that he could not help the blandishment that he offered her. If only she knew, maybe she’d just let him help her. 

Somehow, miraculously, she listens (Good girl, Maus,) and turns her attention to the adversary gaining ground between the trees. The man is quick, but König is quicker, taking off through the snow like he did as a child. Running with reckless abandon, long legs carrying him faster and further than anyone else when he and his cousins would play capture the flag at his Oma’s house in Gauso. This prize, however, is much more important to him. 

He feels an almost sick sense of vindication when her gun jams, but whatever positive emotion he felt for it is drowned out with a tidal wave of concern and fear when he sees her struggling with her rifle and the man beneath the trees taking aim at her. 

Slicing that man clean between his ribs like a lion strikes a lamb was the second most satisfying experience of his life, greatly eclipsed by the settling of her weight against his chest when she trusted him enough to jump into his arms. 

She looks so fearful beneath his stare and he shrinks away in an attempt to placate her nervousness, equally as fearful that he must have somehow damaged her by simply holding her. He has half the mind to berate himself about touching her, still bloody from the enemy and still a monster beneath it all.

He had never intended to actually give her the birchwood effigy. He originally started carving it on a restless night camping alone after a particularly suggestive series of flirtations over the radio. 

(“Why did the bike fall over, Maus?” 

“Tell me, König.” 

“Because it was two tired.”

 “HA! That’s terrible! You’re so tall, can you even fit on a bike?” 

“Eh, sometimes, but the peddles are not so good.”

 “What does that mean?” 

“They are too small.” 

“...oh. Big feet?”

“Ja.”

“You know what they say about big feet…”

“I do not.”

“Have trouble getting into pants in the morning, too?”

“Was?”

“You big, everywhere? I mean, with hips like those…”

“...” Fuck, bad time to get a boner.

“Oh come on, big guy, don’t get shy on me now~”)

The chunk of wood was too damp for kindling so he started gouging at its sides idly while waiting for his water to sterilize from boiling. He was just whittling with no real purpose until the absent image of a mouse started to appear in the pale material. From that moment of fireside recognition onwards, he’d been chasing a little prayer in her shape. He wouldn’t have considered it ‘done’ when he gave it to her but-

Her warmth was still in his fingers, her beautiful eyes trained on him, her fantastic form somehow devoid of his blood or his filth in his rescue attempt, well. He had been praying, hadn’t he? It’s only right to pay tithing to the thing you worship. He gave her the figure, and he did so with the only real regret being that he couldn’t give her more and that he almost sullied her perfection with his violence.

And to top it all off, when he wrenched himself away from her, heart heavy and entirely certain that she would never, could never, follow- she called him back and reciprocated. Like a siren’s call, he obeyed without prejudice, without regret, without even realizing he was turning backward to meet her. When he caught it in his hands he felt the weight of the world settle onto his shoulders in the shape of a little whetstone in the palm of his hand.

She gave him her lucky charm. She gave him a tool after recognizing his fondness for knives. 

He simply does not have the words for the stringent emotion that thought invokes in him, the fire it ignites. When she apologizes for its quality or lack thereof (It is her charm, the thing that keeps her safe, and she gives it to me? And has to apologize for it? Just her charm? Silly little girl…) he bites back confusion and instead reassures her. The emotion in her eyes when he responds “All the more reason to treasure it,” is his favorite thing he’s ever seen. And yet, he knows he cannot take her with him. If he didn’t leave at that moment, he knows he would have starved to death on the spot waiting for her to follow him. When he turns away it is because his brain cannot comprehend a world in which she walks away with him.

He remembers walking off, dazed and in a trance with the whetstone in his hands, trudging off into some unknown heaven he had never anticipated escaping to. He walks all the way back to base and gets harsh stares and reprimands for returning a whole 5 hours earlier than he should have. He hears confused whispers and concerned words from the medics who give him the all-clear, and he has been placed on Frontline Insertion two patrols following this event as an attempt to cleanse his mind and body from whatever ‘walking sickness,’ Aksel called it, he picked up in the woods. (And in fairness, he would rather die than admit his treachery, not out of any misplaced moral but instead out of precaution for her safety.)

His days are miserably long without Maus and he kicks himself every night and day for unwittingly getting himself separated from her. Every time he gets back to base he cleans the whetstone and prays to see her again.

The KorTac base here is relatively large, he gets his own room in the barracks and he’s never been more thankful for it when on a snowy night, he dreams. 

In the dream, it’s snowing and he wakes up in a car somewhere in the wilderness. The trees are bare but there are so many of them he just tastes cold and sees gray. Then the sudden urge to run overcomes him, and so he does. He sprints, to where? He doesn’t know. Familiarity laps at the corners of his mind, and his feet move on their own, like an animal stalking its way back home. He doesn’t need to be told where to go, he just does. 

Then! He’s tracking the smallest prints in fresh powder snow, keeping up with the tracks as best he can as they get drowned out by new falling chunks of ice. 

He’s burning. He’s burning. He’s burning. He doesn’t slow down. 

Then, he follows the tracks beside a little creek cutting into limestone outcroppings until he sees some smoke in the distance, the tracks go into the creek and come out the other side towards the smoke. 

Then he wades through the creek, it barely comes to his ankles and on the other side of the stream, the tracks are combat boots, not animal tracks. But they’re still small. 

Then he starts running alongside the tracks as they disappear, the smoke gets further and further away until-

He finds a bright red, blood-toned shed. In the shed are recently discarded supplies mixed in with hay and various domestic and agricultural equipment. Something is nesting nearby, and his mouth waters at the prospect of a fresh meal. He rests his own packs there and goes to the house the shed is next to. 

He nearly has to break down the door of the house, and the single room it leads to is impossibly small on the inside from how it looked outside. He looks around for any signs of humans, hostages, or hostiles, he’s got the thrum of battle in his ears. It’s one room, with a ladder leading to a loft space. There are a few cabinets, a sink, a counter, and a wood stove that pipes out to a small chimney. There are two windows, filtering in grey-cloud-toned twilight. That’s it. 

Except- it’s not. The wood stove is burning. Someone’s home. 

The ladder to the loft takes him no time at all to climb and on it, there’s a mattress without a bed frame with blankets piled high. Clothes are leading to the pile and a lit gas lamp is. It’s colder up here than down there. 

There’s a lump on the mattress. It rises and falls, as though it breathes. 

It gets up. 

It turns. 

It’s Mouse. 

The blanket falls from her frame and he sees her in the light of a gas lamp at the foot of the blanket nest. Her neck cranes to look at him and she doesn’t seem surprised to see him. The lamp illuminates her form like a display light in a museum lights up a statue. Her soft skin pebbles into goose flesh and he smells smoke like the house is on fire. She’s naked from the column of her neck down to the exposed divet of her hip. She turns over to face him, breasts on full display, slightly falling into each other as her inviting lips part. 

“I was worried you’d never come,” she says. 

He’s on her in an instant, like a barbarian he doesn’t even bother to take off his shoes, he just kneels at the bed and lifts his hood enough to kiss her. At first, it’s only chaste lips in a fleeting embrace. Like everything, he waits until she signals for something more. When she timidly bites on his bottom lip, asking for more, he more than obliges. He complies with a fervency he chokes backward on in a futile attempt to control himself, terribly mindful that he may hurt her, or worse, scare her. The inside of her mouth is raw from chewing on it idly, she tastes like blood and rainwater and poppyseed. He wagers a guess that she’s twice as addicting as opium, though, when her fingers tangle into his hair underneath his hood and pull him closer, closer, impossibly closer…

Their breaths are hot as they mingle, he swears the line between her and him is fading by the moment and he gets an adrenaline rush to rival that of bloodlust. Her skin is soft and pliant beneath his large, steady hands. She is so small, so perfectly tailored to him, so soft to the rough bits of him that he cannot help but gasp in their embrace. The tantalizing curve of her smile melts into his lips as she giggles at his gasping. 

She is everything like Modanifil, the second she is on his tongue she hits his veins faster and harder than any post-gunshot amphetamine-mimicking pharmaceutical. He hums and huffs into her as he notices that she really is tiny compared to him. She could fit snugly on top of him and not seep to the sheets beneath, he could toss her over a shoulder with ease and carry her miles across any terrain, he could protect the whole of her body with his own and not leave any weak spots. Like dovetail joints, a great carpenter must have made them to fit together. There must be a God, and he must have made her to perfectly fit beside (and dare he hope, inside?) her. 

The only thing older than war to mankind is intimacy. You need soldiers for war, you need men for soldiers, and you need love to make those men. Battle is a cruel Rube-Goldberg machine of “if this, then that,” and it's all König has ever known. The rigid structure that bends and breaks for no one, the absolute rule of power and intellect even at a material disadvantage, the vain hope that you make a positive difference when in reality your life is worth a few millimeters of ballpoint pen ink as it scribbles out K and I and A. 

War is all König has ever known, it's the only thing he has ever taken comfort in besides alienation and purposeful seclusion.

At this moment, he understands something older than war. He feels the most primal form of empathy and community and he fucking craves it. For the first time in his life, the hum of blood in his ears is welcome and he doesn’t mind the idea of surrender. War is nothing compared to this, compared to her. He is remembering how to be human, to be a man and not a soldier, and he smiles back into her mouth.

He spends a blissful eternity licking into her mouth, mapping the soft tissue with his tongue. He drinks the occasional squeak of surprise she lets out when he does something just right. Her exploration is reciprocal, careful, and agile just like she is on the field. Her hands grasp each other behind his head and he distantly hopes she never has to move them. One of his hands cradles the back of her neck and the other strokes her cheek. He pauses only long enough to bring her slender neck to his lips for a fleeting kiss— a silent signal that he wants more if she’ll give it—  and he inhales like she is oxygen before continuing to worship her mouth with his. She smells like cinnamon and he’s desperate to get a taste. 

He breaks away when she pushes him slightly. Before he can even think about having offended her, her thumb strokes the scar between his left nostril and the corner of his mouth like a honey salve in reassurance. She glances down to his hand on her cheek and he follows her implicit orders like a good little soldier attempting to impress his commanding officer. He raises his gloved hands to her mouth and she keeps them in her teeth to pull them off. Before his hands can go anywhere, as if she knows right where they’re going, she kisses his digits and suckles on his fingers. His unoccupied hand goes back to her cheek as she works at the other one. She hums and moans when he presses them in a little more, then a little more, then a little more, then-

She gently chokes and with tears in her eyes, she pants around them. 

He could kill her. Now. He could slam her head back and choke her. Gut her with the knife in his waistband. Or worse, he could have his way with her. He could let feeble cries of God, no more! die on her tongue as he takes what he has wanted so badly. He could prove that he really is a monster.

The intrusive thought is ripped away by the overwhelming urge to do the exact opposite as her throat constricts around his fingers. 

All this time, she hasn’t refused them. She doesn’t refuse them. She doesn’t refuse him. 

She is giving him total control. Complete power and without hesitation. In her teary eyes, he sees a soldier’s trust, firm and unwavering. Ever faithful. Unquestioningly and genuinely she believes the man she’s at the mercy of will make her need no mercy. 

She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He’s the one that takes the fingers out of her mouth. He is hellbent on rewarding this fidelity, his own pleasure be damned. 

“König,” her eyes glaze over with worry. It’s a dangerous game they’re playing and they both know it. “Are you sure you want me?” She whispers, lips meeting the shell of his ear, he feels her fever pitch skin even through the fabric of his mask. His heart aches and he’s so angry with himself that she could even ask that. As if there were ever any questions. As if he has ever wanted anything else in his life like he wants this. As if there is anything else to want. As if there is anything else. 

“Always, Maus,” he says instead of the million things he wants to because he cannot wait. She is right there. She has asked for him. This is all he wants. He kisses her perfect lips just once more and grunts once he tears their flesh apart. He’s too impatient to prove himself any longer to be bothered with waiting. He has nothing of worth for her, except the fragile hope that if he can keep her physically satisfied in ardent service this angel may let a pitiful man worship her a little longer. 

Her desperate question and the obscene amount of her spit on his fingers are all the invitation he needs to dive between her thighs. He keeps one hand on her hip and the other at her left breast- and he sighs when his flesh meets and yields to his palm- and before he can latch onto her center and give her all the attention she so deserves-

“I knew you’d fall for it,” she says. Her thighs grab his head and twist. 

His neck snaps. 

When he wakes up in his cold barracks, decidedly alone and not in between her thighs, he pounds the bed in frustration. The bed that his Mäuschen isn’t in, the bed that’s not in the loft of some secret mountain hideaway, the bed that he sleeps in alone. The bed he considers leaving forever, leaving KorTac, running into the night, and taking her from her own quarters at SpecGru.

He’s thought about that. Long, long ago someone told him a story. In the story, spartan warriors would kidnap the women they wanted and have sex with them in the barracks. It was to claim their marriage rights because they couldn’t get married while in the military but had to be in the military. They were supposed to kidnap the women to prove they deserved them. It was just what they did. Not so dissimilar to the bride-stealing traditions his Oma had told him about as a boy.

He’s not sure if he believes that, but that night when he fucks his hand in frustration and bites his pillow to shreds, he lives in that fantasy. 

Where he finds Maus sleeping in her barracks. He steals her away in the dead of night. In his fantasy, she’s willing. She whispers “I was worried you’d never come,” when he wakes her up. She throws her arms around his neck and he lifts her out of her bed and they run. They just run. Until they find a cabin. Or a tent. Or something. She lets him do whatever he wants to her and he asks for nothing in return. He’s waited for her for so long and he’d wait longer if he could just find the proving ground of the heat between her thighs and claim his rightful spot as the winner of her- then, and only then, he’d worry about his own satisfaction. 

In the end, however, he cannot convince himself into escaping to her. The fantasy of her is potent and life-consuming, but he is also viscerally aware that it is just that. A fantasy.

It is not real and despite his choking desire to be with her, he is not entirely sure she wants him. In fact, he is quite assured of the opposite, that she would reject him without a second thought. That she does not want him, that there is nothing to want because he is just hulking gore covered in scars and a hood. He is less than human, maybe even less than animal, he enjoys war and his comrades consistently remind him that that is so far into abnormality he may as well not even be animate. His long etched scars and sins burn across his forehead, cheeks, and lips in a phantom pain when he pictures her own face. There is nothing for her in him and all the dreaming in the world isn’t going to change that innocent little mice don’t fall in love with things like him.

He wants so desperately to just be a fucking person for her. A person allowed weakness, a person allowed good-morning kisses, a person allowed terrible flirting, a person allowed to sit in the same room, a person allowed to touch and savor and make better another human. Allowed to heal, not harm. Allowed to save, not slaughter.

But he is a soldier, he’s not a person, and he’s not sure he ever really was a person in the first place.

He wants her. Wanting is an unusual sensation for him, long dormant and now suddenly hotter than hellfire. He wishes he could stop burning himself but every time he sees the flickering flame he gets a little closer, convinced this time he will walk away unscathed or better yet cleansed of original and perpetual sin. She could be his funeral pyre and most of what he’d think of that is “God, she’s pretty. I’m glad it was her.”

He could just take her, he is more than capable of it. If he really wanted to he could just reach out and sink his teeth in and have his way with her just like a Spartan King. But, then he would really and truly be a monster. He might not deserve better than ire and hate, but she certainly does. 

The only thing he wants more than to have her is for her to want him. That hope is a delusion deeper than the ravine they met at, he’s sure. Even still, he cannot run the risk of scaring her off or going against her wishes. 

So, König stays. In his cold bed, harsh snow beating against a rotting window sill, his only company the images of Maus he makes up in his mind and the perverse and shameful noise of wet-skin slapping.

He finishes twice in his hand that night, hot and pissed, and halfway to desertion when he finally falls into a dreamless sleep. He’s so exhausted and uncomfortable in his own skin and brain that he doesn’t even have the shame of being embarrassed about the ways he imagines her. His fantasy is punctuated by the all-consuming settle of her weight upon his chest somewhere warm and dry. He feels no shame when he wraps his arms around the bunched comforter on his chest, imagining it’s a slight body he faithfully cradles.

When he wakes up, however, that shame drowns him when he prepares to meet for orders in the morning. What kind of a man does that? Now he’s sure she will never want him. If she knew how obsessed he’s become that he cannot help himself from having dreams about her and cannot help himself from getting off to the idea that she killed him with her fucking thighs she would hate him and she would have every right to. He nearly claws his eyes out when he washes his face with cold water. He asks the mirror if he’s a monster, his clear and evident scarring from a lifetime of abuse and war does not need to answer in the affirmative for him to know it to be true. 

Even more so than usual, those around him give him a wide enough berth that he does not need to do so much as walk in a straight line for others to scurry out of the way. He only half hears his orders in the morning briefing, he only glances at his map when he is sent out.

He tucks the whetstone into his right pocket when he goes on his patrol, beneath the familiar weight of his beloved field knife. His right hand burns from healing flint cuts and getting bucked into for hours, the rough whetstone doesn’t help but he still caresses it in his pocket like a prayer. 

Once he’s in the woods his radio receives a message. 

“I was worried you’d never come,” it calls to him, full like fresh dirt of relief over a buried urn of anxiety. His throat catches on the tone, the static hides none of its desperation.

He finds her in her tree. 

He falls. He knows it’s fatal. He cannot recover. 

There’s nothing he can do and nowhere he can go. 

He’s in love. 

“Always, Maus.” He says back.

He’s always in her sights.

Sometimes he wishes she would just pull the trigger.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo

[hippopotatoe]

if you don't like to work out literally no one (i hope) is forcing you. humans aren't meant to be sedentary but like all movement is good. if you don't wanna work out: don't. and on't feel guilty about it. it's your life. if you want to work out but find it to be boring or gyms terrify you, here's some alternatives:

dance. sign up for dance classes or turn on a cd or playlist and do whatever you want

play team sports. if you don't have any low stakes clubs nearby, get your friends to play football or whatever. or find like your town's facebook page and ask uf someone wants to get together and play something

climb trees. join a climbing gym. find a large rock to climb: you're now the mightiest goat around and deserve all the tin cans

take riding lessons

swim or sign up for water aerobics. or try to get your friends to join you to a pool or beach and play in the water

play games. do you have friends or siblings? cool. find an open area and play tag. or play whatever you want. hard to motivate your friends to be silly? make it a weekly or monthly taskmaster-esque competition with some shitty prize after a set amount of challenges

pokemon go

find out if there's an obstacle course near you. go with a friend and treat it like a jungle gym, because that's pretty much what it is. if not, does anyone you know own any land (garden, driveway, whatever)? cool, make a little internet search for "ocr diy" or wing it; a rope is now a balance board, a chair can be jumped on or over and tables can be crawled under or climb up on. or hell, go to a fucking playground a play your heart out!

feel too old for laser tag? sounds like a you problem

tabata: workout for 5mins a day. that's literally it

join a fencing or martial arts club, they almost always offer adult beginner classes

trampoline parks are fun. some areas have free outdoor ones. we have a wheelchair accessible, free, summer trampoline park where i live. other places have cool indoor ones. you can also like. buy a trampoline

have snowball fights

go on silly adventures. if hiking feels too serious, put on comfy shoes and hike for an hour or two with an epic soundtrack in your headphones. or listen to the lotr soundtrack while you take a walk around town (there's apps that'll generate a random map point within set distances which makes city adventures more fun imo). try orienteering if you want to learn how to read maps while gamifying your nature walks

here's the thing: most things are more fun if you do them with others, but you can trick yourself into having fun on your lonesome as well. attitude and music can work miracles. it can be extremely challenging to get used to being seen as bad at something or childish, but that will get better with practice. no one cares if you're in your thirties or fifties (except for very miserable people whose opinions are fucking shit anyway). it's totally 100% okay to be new at things. it's equally okay to be bad at things! and the concept of childish is fucking childish and nothing you should ever care about

[jackdaw-kraai]

Everyone tagging my addition to a post about how fucking cool my little sister was at fourteen and has been every year since to say that they were an absolute cringe fest at fourteen: one, it was about my rad as hell baby sis, it’s okay, not everyone can be as cool as her

And two: be kinder to yourself. Just because you were in the awkward second stage of your pokemon evolution line doesn’t mean you didn’t rock hard. You had the whole world stacked against you and the monumental task of finding out who the fuck you were while every adult was telling you you were either acting like an idiot or had nothing to look forward to. Do you even comprehend how unfair those odds were? How unfair it was to ask you to not make mistakes trying to figure out how to be an independent adult figure while everyone who already was an adult talked down on you instead of helping? How absolutely fucked it was to dismiss you as an idiot and as embarrassing just because you were young?

You were awesome at fourteen years old, no matter how lame, because you’re now here and you survived that fucking gauntlet of never-being-enough for long enough to realize you don’t need to give a shit. The only job you have now is to not be that same jackass adult to the next batch of fourteen year olds trying to climb their own Everest that is figuring out who the fuck they are by talking down on them like they’re idiots or chronically cringe or whatever the hell the kids are saying these days.

Kids are cool. They rock hard. Probably harder than you do if you’re actually bullying the younger version of you by calling them an idiot or cringe or uncool or whatever the current trend is.

I was a lame fourteen year old because I actively wanted to be, and figured that being lame was the best way to survive into adulthood without get ground down by the boot upon my neck. And fourteen year old me was right, making them the coolest fucking lamest fourteen year old as far as I’m concerned.

That fourteen year old fortnite dancing or making tiktoks or doing whatever kids are doing these days is cool as shit because they’re earnestly trying to figure out who they are and taking joy our of things even if they’re silly or adults are telling them they’re idiots for enjoying it instead of being miserable and depressed to “build character” or some horse shit. And they’re cooler than you if you’ve become the type of adult who talks down on teenagers doing that kind of stuff and having fun while doing it. That’s some “I’m not like other girls/guys/people” horseshit if I’ve ever seen it. Knock it the hell off and start rediscovering what fourteen year old you already knew: that earnestly trying to find out who you are is a process that necessitates mortification and that anyone who willingly and genuinely submits to that fact is more mature than anyone mocking it could ever dream of being.

And if you’re fourteen years old and reading this, or just a teen in general having to figure out who you are while all the adults in the world seem to be shitting on you out of some kind of projection of their own issues onto you and yours? You’re stronger than they are already. Don’t let them fool you, they’ve got it no more figured out than you. Continue whatever you’re doing as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone and you’ll be fine. In fact, you’ll be cool as fuck. And that’s a certified adult opinion.

[basilica-gel]

something they don’t tell you is that when you exercise regularly in your 20s it fucking rules. im not talking about going to The Gym or whatever im talking about getting silly with it. go find a rock climbing gym. take a dance class. play outside with your friends. this shit is awesome

[captainderyn]

4, 15, and 33 from the Shepard asks!

Thank you for the asks :D!

4. Is your Shepard any good at poker?

Gut instinct is telling me absolutely not lol. Much like her dancing I think she absolutely sucks at it :P She may be good at bluffing in high stakes conversations but she absolutely cracks in a game like Poker or anything like that. Reads like a goddamn book once you learn how (start questioning her and she immediately goes red and flustered). If she's off duty her brain is absolutely out the window, checked out, no strategic input is firing from those neurons.

I also think she's like a dad where trying to teach her how to play games is a nightmare. Like, reading rules or whatever and I think her eyes start to glaze over xD

15. What colors does Shepard prefer for their armor?

~basic bitch black, red, and white lmao~ yeah no I keep her in the classic N7 armor xD for awhile it was black with the deep red but I didn't like it so she's back in whichever armor set has the white and red stripe down the arm. Not related to color but she does keep her armor in pristine condition. Cleaning it and caring for it is meditative for her so she spends a lot of time on it when she's decompressing from missions. Eventually Garrus gets brought into this ritual.

(I can't not show of sbeep's art of her okay I'm obsessed still)

33. What skills do they have that are a surprise to the people around them?

Okay so I think people see Ryn and think she's just some meatheaded grunt because she's a military brat and jacked as fuck. So first and foremost I think people are shocked professionally when she's very diplomatic, very well spoken, and a master at diffusing instead of escalating conflict. People also don't expect her to be as skilled at repairing and modifying her armor on her own as she is.

Outside of military though, hmm, I think people are a surprised to learn she's a rock nerd. Girl loves rocks. She's a geologist or something in a different life (hm..maybe not, I don't think Ryn would be enough of a math gal to make it as a geologist). But let her look at cool rocks. Hell yeah let her see the rock cores they collect to study. She sits there and reads the bios of every planet they scan. She loves to learn even if they don't always have time for it.

Post-war and recovery I also think she'd get into hiking and rock climbing and be rather good at the latter even with her physical limitations. Gives her a bit of the adrenaline thrill the past several years has unwillingly addicted her system to while still being safe. Plus she can take her future dog on hikes :D

[southernlynxx]

15 Questions // 15 Mutuals

Got tagged by @picnokinesis​  - I actually saw this one 🤣

1) Are you named after anyone?

My first name if after an 80s Marillion, one of my middle names is the French version of my nanna’s name.

2) When was the last time you cried?

I’m not too sure, I’m not usually much of a crier unless super stressed out. The last I can probably recall is January, but there may have been something between then and now (April) that set me off.

3) Do you have kids? 

I have a bunny and I love her.

4) Do you use sarcasm a lot?

More than I probably should, but it’s not as chronic as my swearing!

5) What sports do you play/have played?

Oh man, time for my undiagnosed childhood ADHD to surface; Running, Basketball, Mixed Martial Arts, Horse Riding, Football, Field Hockey, Volleyball, Rock Climbing, dance & Pole Dance (classing these as a sports/fitness activity). And though I never did it competitively, I swam *a lot* as a child.

6) What's the first thing you notice about other people?

Probably their hair or height. Or their present presentation. Whatever is the most super-obvious visual detail because I am not observant.

7) What's your eye color?

A greenish-blue.

8) Scary movies or happy endings?

I do love scary movies (scary, not gory or brutal fetish-fests), but ultimately I’m a happy-ending kinda person. Put me through the emotional wringer, but leave me feeling satisfied. Even if I can appreciate a tragic or bittersweet ending for it’s narrative or artistic means, I need to leave happy.

9) Any special talents?

Nothing in particular special comes to mind, but I’m pretty good under pressure and taking control when things start breaking down. I like solving problems, finding solutions, and I’m not usually one to flustered or stressed out in unpredictable situations.

10) Where were you born?

Hospital in Edinburgh. 2.02 AM and about a week late (a quality that will stick with me to this day).

11) What are your hobbies?

Hello ADHD is that you. My ongoing hobbies include DIY (nothing is safe, things are being painted, renovated, re-tiled, decorated, I have no idea what I’m doing). Gardening (mostly keeping our plants alive), writing/drawing (very sparse, these are very stressful hobbies for me), crafting (learning to sew, and still have a calligraphy set and pyrography pen to use), Making lists (at this point it’s more a hobby than practical!), Fandom events/activities (comes with fandom server management), video games (so many video games), Reading (mostly fanfic, but I hope to get back to books at some point), yoga. Past hobbies include horse riding, violin, origami, knitting, puzzles, pole dance, dance, cycling, acting/improv, amv/video editing, online roleplay, film making, plus some others I probably forgot.

12) Do you have any pets? 

YES. I HAVE A CUTE SASSY BUNDLE OF OPINION AND CALIGA AND I LOVE HER

13) How tall are you?

Just pushing 5′3″ ):

14) Favourite subject in school?

Either Art, P.E, or Media Studies, depending on what we were doing at the time (fuck you beep test)

15) Dream job?

Don’t really know anymore; whatever pays me decently and doesn’t take up my life so I can live comfortably, travel, and keep up my hobbies.

Tags, in case you’re interested! @purplecatdad​ | @sweet-by-and-by​ | @avengertonystark​ | @gaslightwestern​ | @krystal-callahan​ | @sunspott​ | @mephistia-arts​ | @littlestarofthewest​ | @theyoftenwhisper​

[cursedbeasts]

Bestia's Wrath Chapter 21: No Rest for the Wicked

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Summary:

Vaylin attacks Odessen much sooner than everyone thought. Bestia faces her inner demons.

Beginning Notes:

Music for the chapter

Terror Syndrome - Creature Feature

Berserk 2016 OST - My Brother

Marches - Ashes to Ashes

Dead Can Dance - Host of the Seraphim (Bestia looks over the devastation she had caused)

No one aboard the small ship expected the Empress to make her move THIS soon. The moment the shuttle dropped out of hyperspace, the group was confronted with rows upon rows of Eternal Fleet vessels floating in orbit over Odessen. Bestia gawked at the sight, a scowl painted on her face.

"Well, that was fucking quick." 

Her holocom beeped, and she picked it up. Styrak and Lana crowded around her to listen. An image of a brown-furred vaguely feline alien with deep bags under his eyes appeared. Bestia wasn't sure if the bags were a trait of his species or a result of exhaustion.

"Commander? Do you copy? Odessen is under attack!"

"Yeah, I can see that, Bey-Wan. Looks like the whole fleet is here."

"One of your Dread Master friends warned us, but we're still at a disadvantage."

"Where's the Gravestone?" Lana cut in.

"Rerouting the call to Koth."

The image changed to that of Koth and Brontes.

"They caught us in the dry dock. We'll need a few minutes to recalibrate the systems."

"Don't tell me you need three minutes." Bestia groaned.

"It is closer to two and a half. Then Zakuul will know fear." Brontes said. "Still, Tyrans and the others could use some reinforcements. You will likely find him flying around the outside of the ship and coordinating the defences."

"Got it. We'll head there."

The shuttle landed in a clearing by a lake. As soon as the four Sith disembarked, Theron took off to help with the defence.

Bestia faintly recognised the area they were in. She enjoyed getting away from the base and exploring the woods and cliffs around it, and over time, learned the land fairly well. Sometimes Styrak joined her. If her memory was correct, the gorge she was facing led back to the base.

Styrak crouched, dark wings coming into existence from behind him.

"I'll fly ahead and help Tyrans." He said.

He leapt into the air, weaved around a cliff and disappeared from view. Bestia watched him, then turned to her companions and rolled her shoulders.

"Let's go. I'm in the mood to scrap some droids." 

Bestia grinned and set off in a run. As she did, she called out to the beasts of Odessen that lurked in the woods and rocks around her. Soon, the three Sith had a sizable following of various animals around them. 

A rumble of thunder caused the group to look up. The top of a tall cloud emerged from behind the bend. It appeared unnaturally quick, and a bolt of lightning struck a passing Eternal Empire transport, sending it spiraling down. 

The beasts overwhelmed the Zakuul forces they came into contact with, or at least distracted them enough to be easy pickings for the Sith. Rammas faded in and out of view, appearing behind people and running them through with her lightsaber. Bestia let out a roar that left the human enemies paralyzed by fear, then charged. Lana fell back and took on a more supportive role, striking at those Bestia, Rammas, or the beasts haven't gotten to yet, and healing the two other Sith. 

Between the beasts, the Sith, and Bestia's Force Fear, the outpost was empty within minutes. But even with the help of the wildlife, they were too slow. Then Bestia's gaze fell upon the empty walker. 

"How about we do some grand theft whatever the fuck this is." She said, running over to it.

"You don't want to let her drive…" Rammas muttered to Lana. 

"Understood."

Lana caught up with Bestia. 

"I can drive. You can operate the weapons."

"I don't think there's enough space for three inside. Rammas, you get the weapons. I'm going on the roof!"

"I...suppose this may work too."

Lana and Rammas climbed inside, while Bestia leapt onto the walker, balancing on the very top. When the machine began moving, Bestia let out a triumphant howl, and sent a wave of fear rushing forward.

Human targets scattered before Bestia and her team, and were easily picked off by the beasts. Droids and the more resilient knights of Zakuul were exterminated by the walker's weaponry. 

They came across another walker, and Bestia jumped on top of it, jamming her lightsabers into the viewport, killing the driver. The machine wobbled and fell over as Bestia rolled off of it. 

Sadly, the group had to abandon their new ride soon after. A fallen ship blocked the gorge, leaving only a small gap between it and the ground. The Sith themselves could fit through it easily, but the walker was too large. 

When they emerged on the other side, they saw the Gravestone in its dry dock. A forest of catwalks and stairs surrounded it, with Alliance forces standing there, shooting at the enemy. An ominous thundercloud swirled above. The ship was surrounded by Zakuulan forces, and a noticeable pile of charred remains ringed the base of the platform. 

Bestia broke into a run, Lana and Rammas following. Up close, Bestia saw Tyrans zipping around on shining metal wings, throwing blasts of lightning and fear at the enemies below. Styrak stood on top of the Gravestone, arms raised. He did a throwing motion, and a bolt of lightning struck a group of droids that got too close.

With a metallic groan, the Gravestone started moving. Styrak's thunderstorm dissolved, and he flew out of the way, landing next to Bestia. The ground shook, and Bestia spun around. A large group of Zakuul walkers was approaching, guns trained on her and Styrak. Styrak raised a hand, about to fling lightning at them.

Neither he, nor the walkers, got the chance to attack. A ray of green energy struck the walkers and obliterated them where they stood. Bestia let out a whistle. 

"The upgrades function perfectly." Brontes's smug voice came from the earpiece. Koth cheered in the background.

"We do have a problem."

Tyrans was patched into the call.

"Vaylin still has a huge advantage in numbers. We will not hold out much longer, even with our power."

"What do you have in mind?" Bestia asked.

"The fleet is controlled through the Gemini frequency. There's only a few points where you can send direct orders, and fewer people who have access to them."

"So, if we remove Vaylin, the fleet will stop."

"We do not know what will happen, exactly." Brontes sounded pensive. " It may stop, yes. But it may also revert to some sort of default protocol. And we do not know what that entails."

"I think it's worth a try. How do we get to her? She's with her fleet."

"Lure her out. She is angry at you and Rammas for messing with her." Tyrans said. "Make yourself as much pain in her ass as you can."

"Oh, that's easy. Just kill a bunch of her people, and refuse to die." Rammas quipped.

The plan was easy in theory, but much more grueling in reality. The two Sith had no idea how many droids they had to scrap and how many soldiers and knights they had to kill before the Empress took notice. At least there was no shortage of either. Bestia blasted the human troops with Force fear, and set beasts upon the rest. Rammas moved unseen through the woods, striking at single targets and disappearing before they could retaliate.

They found themselves in the middle of another small outpost, taking a few precious moments to rest, when Bestia found a communication station. An idea formed in her mind. The device belonged to Zakuulan forces, and could potentially be used to reach Vaylin. 

Bestia called Rammas over.

"You lived on Zakuul for a while, can you read what it says and find what frequency goes to Vaylin?"

"Yeah, sure."

Rammas pored over the computer, looking through what essentially was a very fancy contacts list. Finally, she found it. A frequency, marked with all kinds of warnings. "Do not call this line unless it's the only option!!!" and "only call this if you want to die!!!". The Sith wondered if the warnings applied to Arcann, Vaylin, or both. She pointed the frequency out to Bestia and stepped back, content to let her do the talking.

A holo of the Empress appeared, her back to Bestia. She turned around and Rammas flinched, and Bestia raised an eyebrow spike slightly.

"Oh, hello there." Vaylin said. "We were just talking about you." 

Vaylin was hunched over. Her arms seemed much longer than they used to be, and definitely much too long for a human. They were wrapped in stained bandages. Her face appeared stretched out into an odd shape, somewhere between human and vaguely canine. Her eyes were bloodshot and glowed a fiery yellow of someone neck-deep in the Dark Side.

"What the fuck." Rammas muttered, making sure she's out of reach of the device's camera. 

"I was planning space on my walls for those pretty masks of yours." 

"You'll have to come for them yourself." Bestia snarled. 

"I intend to. But first, I'll kill all your friends. And grind the Alliance into dust. Would be really nice for my garden."

Rammas found her voice and stepped from behind Bestia.

"Dude. You're not scary. I pretty much ruined your party with some music and a single fearblast." 

Rammas flipped a bird at the camera. 

"Get good, 'Empress'."

"YOU." Vaylin pointed a gnarled, clawed finger at Rammas. "Your life ends tonight, little bird."

Bestia and Rammas exchanged glances as the call fizzled out.

"It's almost like she hates you more than she hates me." Bestia said. 

"No shit."

Bestia patched herself into the general Alliance frequency.

"Vaylin's going to be here soon. I need status updates."

Lana stayed behind with the group that defended the Gravestone, and was currently moving towards the base to regroup. 

Styrak was on the roof of the base, about to summon another Force storm. 

Tyrans and Brontes have joined up with Calphayus to coordinate the defence. They were inside the base now, in the war room. Calphayus looked shaken. 

"What's wrong?" Bestia asked.

Calphayus shook his head.

"Mu'hass is in danger, and the Dread Beast comes."

Bestia's heart sank. She frantically searched through the frequencies until she found Mu'hass. 

Mu'hass appeared above the device, clearly backed against a wall. He held his lightsaber up defiantly. A short Twi'lek girl cowered behind him, hand clutching at her shoulder, a blaster held in the other. Her attention was split between answering the call and fighting back.

"Mu'hass!"

"Me and Mu'hass took out their guns!"

"And they're not happy about it!" Mu'hass added.

"Hold on, I'm on my way!"

"Please hurry!"

Several Horizon Guards came into the view. Mu'hass let out a roar that sent them staggering away. A volley of blasterfire was unleashed at him, but he threw up a shield. It held, for now, but Bestia could see exhaustion slowing his movements. Neither Mu'hass nor his shield would hold up forever. 

The image distorted and glitched out. Instead, Vaylin appeared above the communicator again. 

"That is your son, right? Surrender." Vaylin growled, her warped face splitting into a grin. "Or he dies." 

Black tendrils snaked their way from the edges of Bestia's vision as fury rose inside her. It had been rattling the bars of its cage ever since Nathema, ready to rain devastation once again. Vaylin's mocking voice did the entire cage in.

Rammas stumbled away, hit by an oppressive feeling of dread. She retreated until her back hit the almost vertical slope of the ravine they were in. 

She watched as dark tendrils erupted from all over Bestia's body, obscuring it. Bestia let out a loud distorted roar and the mess of darkness resolved into the shape of a huge creature. The Dread Beast was much taller than Bestia, the body completely black with the exception of the head and claws. Those were golden, the head protected by a tough looking plate shaped somewhat like Bestia's mask: two wings coming from around the eyes, and a tall central crest. A bright red mane flowed from the back of the beast's head. 

Rammas shrunk and hid behind a rock, cloaking her presence as much as she could. She hasn't felt fear like this since her ordeal with the Phobis Devices. This was something ancient and primordial. The fear the earliest prey creatures felt when hunted by the first predators. Deep down she knew that if the Dread Beast found her, it would smear her across the ground. 

Rammas risked a peek from her hiding place. The beast was sniffing around, its three tails swishing around. Rammas swore she saw maws and gnashing teeth at the ends of each tail. Finally, the beast roared again, and sprinted forth along the canyon. Rammas followed it, but quickly fell far behind. Her short legs and sneaking pace were no match for the beast.

Bestia left an easy trail to follow. Vines of Dreadseed corruption shot out of the ground where she'd rampaged through. They coiled around trees, strangled droids, and impaled people, both dead and alive. Soon Rammas started finding people, droids, and their parts, strewn about in pools of blood. Rammas steeled herself and continued.

Mu'hass was tired. He's been fighting off waves of droids and Zakuulan forces for what felt like hours, and even his endurance was running out. And now he was surrounded by powerful Force users. Not to mention, more droids. Behind him, Vette slumped by the wall, no longer able to lift up her blaster.

His shield was almost out of energy, and he himself could barely block incoming attacks. His back was against a wall, and he couldn't see where the nearest Alliance forces were. 

This is how we die, he thought. Alone and cornered in an unfair fight. He'd never move back to Rishi to enjoy peaceful days at the beach like he wanted to. Or find a partner. He knew Vette wanted to return stolen Twi'lek artifacts back to Ryloth, and she wouldn't be able to do that either.

Suddenly, he heard screams, and his attackers turned away to face in their direction. He started retreating sideways along the wall, hoping the distraction would last. 

A dark vine erupted from the ground, running through several skytroopers in the back. Mu'hass recognised it. 

"Mom?.." 

As if in reply, a towering beast pounced upon his attackers, tearing them apart in moments. Blood splashed everywhere. Mu'hass froze watching the carnage, suddenly very afraid. Vette hid behind him.

The beast turned to face him, eyes burning red in the sockets of its golden faceplate. Fresh blood stained its golden fangs, dripping down the chin to the ground. The beast stalked towards him, and once again Mu'hass was backed against a tall piece of debris. He saw no recognition in Bestia's eyes. 

He raised his lightsaber into a defensive position. His arms were shaking from exhaustion. The beast growled and raised a bloodied, clawed arm to strike at him. 

"I'll… I'll hold her off. Run." He said to Vette, his voice trembling.

Bestia was drowning. All she could see was red. And yet she kept struggling, clawing her way to the surface. She always tried to regain control when the beast took over, and she always failed. And yet she never stopped trying. 

Especially now that her son's life was at stake. Bestia screamed, but no sound came out. She could see a tiny window high above her. She could see Mu'hass and Vette looking up at the Dread Beast, fear and exhaustion painted across their faces. She tried to swim up towards it but no matter how hard she struggled, the window seemed farther and farther away. 

And then, a hand grabbed her by the arm, and she suddenly was standing on the surface of a dark red lake. She looked over at the person who pulled her out, expecting to see Styrak or Calphayus. But instead, a tall Red Sith with the same bright orange skin and face as her own stood before her. Her hair was bright red and very curly, with a white spot in the front, and was held back by a golden band. 

"Mom?" 

Ha'nadi nodded slowly. Bestia hadn't seen her mother's ghost in a long, long while. She knew it was bound to the Phobis Devices, but it rarely made its appearance. Panicked, she looked over at the window. She saw Mu'hass, still intact, and still looking up at the Dread Beast, now visibly confused. Vette's expression mirrored his, and she looked from Mu'hass to the Dread Beast and back.

"I am so sorry, Bestia. I left you with the Dread Beast. You weren't ready." 

Ha'nadi shook her head, the sorrow in her golden eyes replaced with resentment.

"Vitiate decided our fate for us."

"You didn't know he'd kill you. Even dad didn't know." 

"We don't have a lot of time. What you're dealing with is a blessing by a Force entity called the Dread God. I received a vision from it, and created the masks in its likeness and the Phobis Devices to test myself and anyone else who wished to connect to the entity." 

"Something jumped from you to me when I… found you." 

Ha'nadi nodded. 

"That was the Dread Beast. It was the power that the entity gave me, along with the ability to control fear."

"And then I started having these blackouts when I got really angry and the first time it happened I killed many people who didn't stand a chance against me." 

Bestia looked down and rubbed her arms. At that point she was a Sith Apprentice barely out of her teens and hands already elbow deep in blood of slaves. 

"How did you do it?"

"Do not run from the Dread Beast. Do not fear it."

"How can I not fear it when I can't control it and now I'm moments from tearing my own son apart?!" 

"Are you afraid of the Dread Beast, or of your own anger?" 

"I…" 

Bestia sputtered. The question pierced her very core and she had to face it. She was afraid. Mostly of the Dread Beast, but moreso, of her own anger, that summoned it. Ever since she killed those rebelling slaves on Ziost, she forced her anger down unless she was fighting. She tried to find outlets for it. Maybe being loud and obscene and spending hours sparring with Dread Guards and Styrak vented the anger. It was not enough. The Dread Beast would come out once in a while anyway.

"I don't know." She finally admitted.

"Your rage is here to tell you you've been mistreated. Do not fear it."

Ha'nadi hugged her, and Bestia gingerly hugged her back.

"Work with your rage and with the beast. You will gain a powerful ally."

Ha'nadi let her go, and Bestia flinched when a dark mass moved into the edge of her vision. She slowly turned, and found herself face to face with the Dread Beast. 

She took a deep breath, looking the beast over. She could never get a clear look at the creature before, too busy either drowning or trying to run away from it in her dreams. Its head looked like her mask, with golden wings coming from around the eyes and a tall fan crest rising in the middle. It looked less like metal and more like scales up close. It even had the same scar across the bridge of the nose as she did. 

The beast studied her impassively. Bestia reached out to it. It sniffed her hand, and Bestia smiled up at it.

"I should have tried this so long ago. So much for my connection to beasts." Bestia said. "So…do you want to be friends?" 

The strike never came. Instead, the beast froze for a while. Then it shook its head, its eyes shut. When the beast's eyes opened they were no longer red, but the familiar cyan blue. 

Mu'hass lowered his lightsaber slowly. His senses told him the beast wasn't a threat to him anymore, but he was still cautious nonetheless.

"Um… Mom?" 

Bestia blinked, slowly getting used to the much taller form. She looked down at Mu'hass, and nodded. 

"I didn't hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine." 

A lightning bolt struck the huge platform at the entrance of the base and Bestia could see a winged figure descend from the roof. It hurled electricity at something below, and the opponent answered in kind.

"Vaylin. She's here." She growled. "Climb on!" 

Mu'hass did as he was told, his vision obscured by the bright red mane. He reached a hand out to Vette, who shook her head.

"I think I'll pass. I'll just rest here and make my own way back."

"I'll take the lift, thanks." Rammas emerged from the shadows, a slightly shell-shocked expression on her face. 

Mu'hass helped her climb up. 

As Bestia started towards the base, she had to retrace part of the path she had taken to reach the small hill Mu'hass was on. As she ran, she was confronted by the destruction she had left behind. Huge Dreadseed vines climbed the walls of this gorge. Droid parts lay scattered among pools of blood and torn bodies, both Zakuulan and Alliance. More were impaled on some of the Dreadseed vines. Farther away, an Eternal Fleet vessel lay wrapped and crushed by more vines. 

Bestia leapt onto the downed ship, running along the length of it until she was level with the base's domed roof. With another powerful leap, she was on the roof. Her claws clacked on the surface of it, and she peered over the edge. 

Down below, Vaylin and Styrak circled each other, their lightning bolts colliding in the middle. Horizon Guards crowded behind Vaylin, ready to pounce on Styrak any moment. 

Bestia let out a loud roar, and jumped down. She landed in front of Styrak, facing Vaylin and the guards. Mu'hass rolled off her back and retreated towards the base entrance. Rammas slipped into the shadows. 

Up close, Vaylin looked even more messed up. Some of the bandages on her arms were gone, leaving huge torn wounds open for all the world to see. She was hunched over, and her face was twisted into a vaguely canine shape. She clutched a tall gilded lightsaber trident, using it to stay upright, and her other hand crackled with lightning.

"Aww we're both fucked up monsters now." Vaylin said in a fake sweet voice.

Bestia didn't reply, just growled quietly.

"Guards! Kill the beast!" 

The guards charged, spears and lightsabers at the ready. Bestia let out a roar, staggering the ones in front of her, and sending them flying off the platform with a swipe of her arm. 

The next wave was more cautious, advancing at her with lightsaber spears pointing at her. Bestia couldn't swipe at them. She growled, looking for an opening. 

A shadow slipped behind one of the guards, a gnarled vibroblade erupting from his chest. The others guards shouted, looking for whatever killed their comrade, and, in the process, taking their eyes off Bestia. Big mistake. The Dread Beast's golden teeth clamped down onto one of their heads while the other was pinned under her claws. 

"She's like me." A quiet rasp came from below. Bestia looked over and saw Shyren standing there, a bloodied vibroblade in hand. Shyren stared at Vaylin in awe and horror. 

"She's a Chosen of Nahut." 

Bestia shook the guard in her maw from side to side, and threw him aside. The body flew past the edge of the platform. 

"That would explain it." Rammas appeared next to Shyren, grabbing them by the robes and dragging them slightly out of view.

She was about to do something incredibly reckless and stupid.

"Can you help me talk her down?"

"What?"

"I'll explain later, but short story is: me and her were fucked over by the same person. Except I was taken out and raised by a loving family."

"And now you want to give her that chance?"

Rammas nodded. 

"Will you help me? If she's a Chosen like you, you could help her go through the change."

"If she doesn't just kill us."

"Let's just try. If it doesn't work, we'll fight her. 

Shyren sighed, then shrugged.

"Fuck it. Let's do this. At least it's a glorious way to go."

The Scion and the Sith stepped out of their hiding spot. Rammas took the lead, walking towards the center of the platform. Styrak was still holding off Vaylin. Bestia threw one last Horizon Guard off the edge of the platform, and then turned to face the Empress. 

"Vaylin!" Rammas shouted.

The Empress threw one last, powerful blast at Styrak, making him stagger, and turned to face Rammas and Shyren. 

"Little bird. And the beast Scion! An entire menagerie up in here tonight." 

"I learned a lot on Nathema." Rammas started quietly. "I am a child of Vitiate. Made by him to be a weapon, or a backup body. Not to be a person of her own. But I got out. And I'm offering you a way out. Stand down. There are healers here who can help you."

Rammas held her hand out. 

"We both were fucked over by Vitiate from birth. It doesn't have to end like this."

Vaylin looked at the offered hand for a while. And then she started laughing. It was a hollow, high-pitched sound. 

"And why should I trust you? You pretended to be meek and nice, and then you ruined my party and made me relive Nathema in my head over and over again."

Rammas scratched her head.

"Fair point. I'm sorry."

Shyren opened their mouth to say something, but they, along with Rammas, were thrown back by a telekinetic blast. The Sith and the Scion regrouped in the air and skidded backwards along the floor.

"Let's try to knock her out."

Shyren faded into the shadows, and Rammas did the same. Vaylin's attention turned to Bestia and Styrak. Bestia growled softly and advanced on the Empress. Vaylin slashed at her with the trident, and Bestia jumped out of the way. At the same time, Styrak hurled a blast of lightning at her, actually managing to surprise her. She was blinded for a moment. Bestia pounced, and backhanded the Empress, making her drop her weapon.

The Dread Beast was about to pin Vaylin under her claws, when the Empress screamed and exploded in a massive blast of Force energy. Bestia was sent flying upwards. Styrak was thrown back, and Shyren and Rammas were nearly swept off the platform, grabbing onto the edge. 

She was screaming, and Rammas suddenly realised that those weren't screams of anger or defiance. They were pained wails of someone being torn apart. 

Rammas climbed back onto the platform and nearly got knocked down again. She braced herself against the Force onslaught and looked around. Vaylin hovered above the floor, surrounded by a storm of lightning. Bestia lay in a heap some distance away, turned back to Sith. Styrak was slowly climbing to his feet by the wall. Cracks formed on the base facade. Everything moved painfully slowly, and someone had to do something.

An idea formed in Rammas's head. She didn't like it much, but it was the only way out that she could see. She reached inside herself, searching for the dark area within her being that has always been there. A hungering void that Rammas did her best to ignore up until now. Now she understood where it came from and understood its potential. 

Rammas drew the energy around her into the void. She found herself able to stand without bracing against the waves coming from Vaylin. She started walking towards the Empress, devouring the Force that came at her. The exhaustion she felt after Nathema and the long battle slowly melted away, her Force reserves replenished. 

Blood leaked from Vaylin's mouth and nose, and she didn't react to Rammas approaching her. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, and hoarse agonized wails escaped her.

Rammas sighed, balling her hand into a fist.

"I'm sorry." 

Rammas punched Vaylin with as much strength as her small body had. It was enough to cause the Empress to crumple to the ground. The Force storm immediately died down. Rammas carefully drew in more energy from the unconscious Empress, until she saw Vaylin change. Her limbs and face reformed back to a human shape, although the claws and the wounds remained.

Styrak limped over, followed by Bestia. He knelt before Vaylin, checking her pulse. 

"She is alive." 

Shyren joined them. 

"This looks much worse than my first transformation had been…"

Rammas turned to the Scion.

"Is there any way to stop her from turning again? Or stop the process at all?"

Shyren thought about it for a while, then shrugged.

"Something has been preventing it up until now."

"Not an option." Bestia said. "We are not Vitiate."

"I could cut her off from the Force." Styrak said.

Rammas shook her head.

"That would have to be her own choice." 

Styrak picked Vaylin up and carried her inside the base. Rammas and Shyren followed him, leaving Bestia to her thoughts.

Bestia walked to the edge of the platform and looked out at the forested cliffs that surrounded the base. She could see a part of the path she had carved as the Dread Beast. It was a dark corrupted scar that would take a long time to heal, if that was even possible. 

When Sharack managed to broker a tenuous peace between the Jedi and the Dread Masters, one of the conditions was that they'd cleanse the areas corrupted by the seeds of rage. Bestia took on the task personally, coaxing the dreadseed out of the soil. What was left behind were darkened barren blemishes. Status reports indicated that those areas were slow to heal. It was the same here, except instead of a Sith artifact that she modified it was a result of her own power.

She looked away, shame suddenly gnawing at her. She'd become a force of corruption and decay over the centuries spent as a Dread Master, trying to build up as much power as possible out of fear of Vitiate. And now there was no turning back. The Dread Seed was part of her now, and she would have to make peace with that, like she did with the Dread Beast. 

Her ears twitched at the sounds of steps approaching. Uneven, interspersed with the clack of a cane hitting the metal floor. Styrak was back.

"The fleet has retreated." He said.

"That's good." 

Bestia looked up and indeed, the skies were empty, no longer choked by the grid formation of the Eternal Fleet. 

"Vaylin is in Oggurobb's care. Rammas and Shyren are staying with her."

He put a hand on Bestia's shoulder, and she held onto it.

"They want us in the war room. They're not happy even though we've earned them a victory."

There was a sneer in Styrak's voice. Bestia's shoulders slumped. It was time to face the music. Maybe she'd finally get some rest afterwards. 

"Let's go deal with that."

One step at a time. 

Bestia felt the eyes on her the moment she stepped into the War room. Styrak moved in closer, as did the other Dread Masters. Rammas and Sharack were there too. Bestia gently pushed her way to the front of the group. 

She caught Theron glaring at her from across the table. The hatred in his eyes would have made any Sith jealous and proud. She sensed similar levels of hatred and distrust coming from the rest of the people gathered here, especially those who used to be part of the Republic. So much for the peace her daughter had tried to build. Lana stood out, as both the one former imperial, and one of the few people who weren't openly hostile. She kept a neutral expression and was difficult to read as always. 

"Hundreds of Alliance soldiers are dead, and the holos of your rampage are spreading across the Holonet."

Theron jabbed a finger at Bestia.

"She did defeat Vaylin in the end, though." Tyrans retorted. "You're fucking welcome." 

Bestia raised an arm, and Tyrans fell silent. 

"Yes, I did lose control and go on a rampage. I will not deny that. I believe I've regained control so it will not happen again."

"And we're supposed to trust you." 

"If we wanted harm to the Alliance, we had many opportunities to do so." Brontes said, crossing her arms. "Make of that what you will."

"Bestia has been on the forefront of almost every Alliance victory up until now." Lana said. 

"The Dread Masters do not benefit from sabotaging the Alliance. We want the Eternal Fleet gone as much as you do." Tyrans said. 

"They destroyed centuries of research and stole the Phobis Devices. Do I have to remind you that I had to recover an active Phobis Device from a bloody museum on Zakuul?!" 

Brontes quietly fumed, her metal tentacles undulating. Koth looked at her, deep in thought.

"Wait, was this the incident with the massive panic in the upper Spire during the first year of Emperor Arcann's reign?"

Brontes huffed.

"I believe so. You're welcome."

"You have been helpful with the Gravestone upgrades…" Koth conceded. "This still doesn't undo the fact that your friend turned into a giant beast, rampaged through Odessen, and killed a lot of our people." 

"No, it does not." Bestia said. "I can't bring back the dead, but I can at least deal with the Dread Seed corruption I had left behind."

"And what if you decide to rampage again?" 

Another distrustful, accusatory voice. It was Aric this time. The Cathar bared his teeth at Bestia.

"I should have shot you when I had the chance." 

"And you'd have the remaining Dread Masters on a rampage. Are you not aware of what happened when Styrak was torn out of the union?" Brontes locked eyes with the Cathar, and held his gaze until he looked away. 

"Are you and Theron done scolding me like I'm a Tu'kata Hound who shat on the floor? I said I will do what I can to deal with the aftermath."

An edge of a growl found its way into Bestia's voice. It only had been a short while but she was sick of this. She was surprised the Dread Beast wasn't reacting to her anger. But maybe she really did find common ground with it. Or she simply was too exhausted.

She saw Sharack shift her weight from one foot to the other, an uncomfortable scowl etched into the Jedi's face. Then Sharack stepped forward, joining the Dread Masters on their side of the table. 

"By the stars, this is the fucking Jedi Council all over again. Treating people like beasts and weapons. Ugh."

The two groups glared at each other from across the table in uncomfortable silence. Lana stood slightly to the side, like the neutral party she tried to be.

The standoff was interrupted by the table lighting up, a map of the galaxy with several spots pulsing red. Bestia recognised the locations: Coruscant and Dromund Kaas. There was a third location, in the same region as Odessen, that Bestia wasn't sure about. 

"What's going on?" Sharack asked.

"It's the Eternal Fleet. It's bombing Zakuul, and there are distress calls coming from all over the galaxy, reporting similar news." 

End notes:

Flipped bird count: 16