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whatanoof · 3 years

Text

A Push in the Right Direction

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~7.6k

Warnings: fluff, smut, swearing, sexual tension, rough sex, sex pollen so by default it's dubcon, pining

Summary: Healing injured patients? Psh, easy stuff. Force healing? A little more tricky. Confessing your crush to your very close friend? Damn near impossible until a flower bush shoves you in the right direction.

A/N: Happy birthday my friend @marvelassassin221b!! I hope you are staying safe, and that your birthday will bring happiness and wisdom to your life. It's been a blessing talking to you and laughing at memes together <3 Thank you for giving me the push to get this fic done and posted, I couldn't have done it without you. Enjoy some of our favorite redhead Jedi ;)

You’ve always been terrible with directions. Like, it’s a miracle you haven’t gotten lost in more dangerous settings, but even your Jedi Master used to shake their head when you had survival exercises in your Padawan years. Greez too, makes comments about how atrocious you are at navigation. You hadn’t been allowed back to the holomap since a disastrous set of directions landed the Mantis on the more unfriendly side of the Outer Rim.

But even with all of your shortcomings at mapping, you have a solid crisis mode. You need to have one as a medic. It’s not a good idea to freeze when a patient is bleeding out on the ground in front of you, there is only one way that is going to end, and it’s not going to be a happy ending. Under pressure, all of the unsureness that surfaces during your attempts at navigation vanishes, and your body is moving before your mind even consciously thinks to. It’s your zen mode, almost your place of meditation, where you give into the inner instinct and allow the Force to guide you through the process. Too bad you can’t reach that state in any situation other than emergencies, maybe you would be able to navigate your moves in confessing a crush.

You had met Cal Kestis on Bracca. He’d cut his hand open on a jagged edge of wall paneling, and Prauf brought him to you, one of the few healers among the scrappers. You couldn’t tell what exactly it was that gave him away to you, but the instant his eyes met yours, you knew where he had come from.

Of course, you waited until Prauf had gone back to work to reveal yourself. Healing through the Force decreases the chance of infection, is painless, and is essentially instantaneous. While your normal supplies would have done the trick, the drama queen in you realized this would be the perfect way to show Cal he wasn’t alone. Force healing is tricky, but you’d had a surprising knack for it ever since your youngling years. The Order had trained you up in the way of Force healing and given you the tools to take advantage of your aptitudes. Cal’s face had been priceless when you simply waved your hand over his, and the wound closed within seconds.

There was a certain comfort in knowing you weren’t alone. Admittedly, in the long years after the Purge, you’d toyed with the idea that you had been the only Jedi to escape. Those had been dark days, where you could barely scrape together the energy to forage for food and water, laughing that the Jedi Order would die with a single Padawan who had lost her lightsaber along with everything she had known.

But then Cal stumbled into your little cordoned off area. You’d become close friends from that moment to the day Prauf died and the Ninth Sister shoved you both off of the cliff and onto the freight train below. The Mantis crew was surprised, to say the least. They had gotten reports of a single Jedi wreaking havoc on Bracca. But they welcomed you aboard and you had become the team medic, patching up Cal when he got back from missions and finding time in between to try and recover the Force abilities you had lost to time.

---

“Hey.” You look up from your work. Medical supplies lie strewn across the floor of your part of the room, bandages unwound and your meager supply of medication stacked methodically in the corner.

Cal looks down at you from the doorway, a streak of something across his cheekbone. You want to wipe it off, but you just smile back, “Welcome back. Find anything cool?”

His happy grin only widens, “You’ll have to come and find out.”

“What?”

He beckons you towards the main hull, “Come on!”

Cere and Greez are already there and seated around the meal table, and BD is perched on the table, chirruping animatedly as if talking to Cere. You take your place with them, noting the empty chair to your right. Merrin is back on Dathomir, searching for ancient texts about Nightsister magic and rituals. She’s been gone for several days, but you still find yourself seeking out her snarky comments and cool confidence.

“Okay.” Cal stands at the head of the table, rubbing his hands together in a way that makes him seem as if he is playing the adult. “I’m willing to bet you're all wondering why I’ve called you here today…”

“Spit it out Cal, you woke me up from a nap for this.” Greez eyes the redhead grumpily, and you fight to hide a grin. Cere also looks mildly amused, if slightly impatient.

Cal rolls his eyes, but continues, “Cordova left a message, saying something very valuable to our quest is locked in a vault in the Zeffo caves. I found the vault today and it matches Cordova’s description, but we need two Force users to access it.” He nudges BD, and the little droid projects an image of the vault door. It’s massive, with gold decorations swirling across it, and two obvious indents in the ground on either side for said Force users.

Everyone’s gazes flit to Merrin’s empty chair. It’s without question she would have been the best fit for this mission. Her combat style complements Cal’s perfectly, and Cere is still hesitant to use the Force.

Realization strikes you, and you glance up to see everyone’s eyes are now trained on you. You begin to shake your head. “That’s a bad idea--”

“We’ll be fine. I’ll lead us directly to the vault. I have my saber, and you have your Force healing. Worst case scenario, you have to patch me up in the field.” That is definitely not the worst case scenario, but there are no other options. This mission is time-sensitive, and you can’t wait for Merrin to get back from Dathomir.

You fix him with a stern glare. “I will come. But--” You hold up a hand when Cal opens his mouth. “You have to stick with me. No disappearing and popping out to scare me, because I will get lost We go in, and we get out.“

“I wouldn--” Cal protests.

“You would.” You snap.

“Yeah, he would.” Cere agrees.

“Sounds like something you would do.” Greez nods.

BD beeps cheerily from its place in the center of the table, clearly in agreement with you.

Cal shuts his mouth with an audible pop, and you cross your arms while staring him down. Yes he would.

“I need BD back here on the ship. I’m running diagnostics on the navigation programming, and I can’t do it alone.” Cere speaks up.

Cal hesitates. You understand; he never goes on missions without BD. The two are a package deal, but everything needs to be running at peak efficiency before you go to the Fort Inquisitorius. And there’s no way you’re willing to deal with a navigation error en route.

You speak up, “Yeah, it will be fine.”

Cal looks at you, “We need BD to unlock a shortcut. What happened to in and out?”

You wave him off, “We’ll take the scenic route. Cere needs BD back here, and we can manage without. We’ll have our comm units, it will be fine.”

---

Do you know that saying, “Famous last words?”

Yeah. You hadn’t realized just how famous those last words could be. It started when Cal realized he’d left his comm unit on the ship in the charging port. But it was fine, because you had yours. Until you dropped it into a puddle after tripping over a tree root.

The scenic route involved passing through the outskirts of a forest, and the terrain was a little trickier than you had been prepared to handle, obviously. So, commless and armed with a single lightsaber and two shared brain cells, you travel towards the entrance to the Zeffo caves.

A flower bush catches your eye. Its leaves are a shocking shade of red, with gorgeous blue flowers that seem to call you over to them. Cal keeps walking even as you stop and reach for the bush. You pluck the flower in the fullest bloom and turn it over in your hand, admiring the veins of deeper azure spider webbing across the petals.

Cal says your name behind you, “We have to keep moving if we’re going to get back before dark.”

Turning to face your companion, you tuck the blossom behind his ear and step back to admire how the blue contrasts against his hair. The word slips out almost without you noticing. “Cute.”

It’s almost comical how quickly his face blooms red. “Guh--”

“It’s a good look.” You reassure him quickly. “Adorable. Pretty. Cute.”

“--Thanks!” He ducks past you to the bush. “I’m just going to grab a seedling for Greez. He’ll like this one.” Cal grabs one of the large pods and breaks it open, removing a seed and sticking it into the pouch on his harness. “Okay, ready.”

But you’re distracted by the red pollen that explodes in a cloud around his head, dusting him with a fine mist that leaves scarlet traces on his face and shoulders. “What’s that?” You step forward and run a finger across Cal’s poncho, collecting the dust and rubbing it between your fingertips. You hesitate, then raise your hand to your face to smell the substance. The sickly sweet scent and underlying current of spicy musk sticks in your lungs. The back of your throat tickles, and you sneeze.

An echoing sneeze draws your attention. Cal leans against the flowering bush, one arm clamped over his nose as he sneezes over and over again. He glances up at you, coughing with watery eyes, “Wha--”

A spike of dread pierces through you. ‘Stars, was it poison?’ He won’t stop coughing, a dry rattle as his body tries in vain to purge the intruding red dust. You fall to your knees beside him. Panic fills your mind, blotting out logic and reason and you place your hands on his body, intent on Force healing him even though you don’t know what is wrong with him. Then, just as suddenly as the coughing started, it stops and silence rings through the trees.

“Cal!”

You're shoving your hand underneath his poncho in an instant to feel for his heartbeat. You hold your breath. You can’t feel a pulse. You scramble to rip his poncho off completely, dragging it over his limp shoulders and head. You shove your fingers against his throat again. There!

His heartbeat flutters delicately, beating a rapid tattoo against your fingertips. You allow yourself to breath. He’s alive. But his pulse is fast, too fast. You rip open his tunic, though you’re not entirely certain what it is you’re searching for.

Just as your fingers brush over his skin, Cal bolts upright with a gasp. “Wh-- where...?”

You swear you almost pass out from the relief that slaps you across the face. “Stars, I thought you were dead. I’m so sorry about the flower bu-- mmm!”

Cal smashes his lips onto yours, pushing you onto your back with the sheer force of the kiss. His tongue dips into your mouth, searching and probing and damnit you can’t breathe when he’s this close to you, this desperate. His hips jerk against yours with an unpracticed, aborted motion, dragging a very prominent erection against your body that makes you jerk back in surprise.

You push him away from him for a second, propping yourself up on your elbows as you search his face for some indication of… you don’t know what. But this isn’t like him. “Cal, what--?”

“Need you.” He groans, his hands roaming over your body without fear or shame and inspiring a wave of pleasure as he squeezes your breasts. “Maker, you feel so good. Smell so good.” You bite back a moan. This really isn’t the time, not in the middle of an Imperial occupied forest. But to be completely honest, he feels really good too.

You’d imagined this before. Well, not these exact circumstances, but the idea of being under Cal. You’d imagined the feeling of his hands scraping over your skin and squeezing your body wherever he would like. You’d imagined his lips on yours, and other places for sure. But you’d really only ever been able to envision Cal as a gentle lover, all quiet moans and hesitant movements and unsure expressions. But this rougher side? You moan raggedly against Cal’s mouth as he shoves a thigh between your legs, rubbing up against your clothed sex. This is amazing.

Streaks of heat flash through your body, converging between your legs. Everything is amplified, the sounds around you, the grass beneath your knees, the blueness of the sky overhead. But it all seems to pale when your attention lands on Cal, who’s more flushed than earlier. You feel the heat beneath your skin too, but he’s got to have it worse right now, because you’re not the one sweating like you’re stranded on a desert planet. Maker, the pollen was some kind of--

His name escapes your lips in a tiny whisper that morphs into a moan halfway through. You allow your head to fall back, and it thunks against the spongy moss across the ground, knocking you back to the present. Cal’s lost in you, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as he ruts weakly against your thigh.

You shake off the haze clouding your mind, crisis mode kicking into full gear. You have no comms, one horny Jedi, and a completely hopeless sense of direction. “Cal. We have to move.”

He whines high in the back of his throat. “No.” It’s almost pleading, but there is an undercurrent of steel that makes you pause.

“Cal. We’re out in the open. Troopers co-- could--” Stars, you can feel the lust pumping under your skin, so close to the surface that it could burst out at any second. But fear hovers on the edge of your mind, pressing in and suppressing the need to jump Cal and reminding you of the certain torture and death that would occur if you were caught.

Cal doesn’t seem to have any of the same restraints as you. His fingers are carding through your hair, “Just wanna feel you. Maybe more.” His teeth latch into your neck, and the dull pain pierces through the haze more firmly.

He got dosed more heavily with the pollen. You resist the urge to curse as you gently detangle from Cal and sit up, biting back a sigh of relief as his teeth leave your skin. “We have to find shelter.” You begin to look around, but all you can see is the forest. You need something better, a place where you can figure out what exactly is wrong with Cal. You try to stand.

“Noooo…” This isn’t going to work. You actually do curse this time. How are you supposed to find effective shelter while dragging a full grown man around hostile territory without compromising stealth, all while your libido is cottoning to the edge of your mind, clouding your judgment?

“Come here…” Cal’s arm wraps around your neck, dragging you back down to the ground even as you try to stand. Okay that’s enough.

“You’ll forgive me later, Cal.” You press your thumb to his forehead and concentrate. His skin is dry and burning to your touch, and your brow scrunches. That’s going to be an issue. You reach to tap into the Force, but you pause. Your Force connection is… foggy. That’s the only way you can describe it in words, but it’s muted and dimmer than usual.

Your Jedi Master taught you a metaphor for using the Force: a barrier exists between you and access to the Force. It’s a wall, and your mind must become like a sharpened sword to pierce through and reach the Force. You can feel the barrier, just as always, but it’s like a second layer exists around it. If the normal barrier is made of thin glass, the new layer is crafted from paper; it’s strange, and thicker than usual, but still easily pierced with extra… force if you can say that without making yourself laugh at the pun. You summon the strength and press your mental sword forward through the barrier.

Rest. Cal’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls asleep with a gentle exhale. He relaxes against you, and you relax in turn when you see the pained lines smooth out of his forehead. Jedi healing includes your own personal anesthesia on demand. It will keep him under for a little bit, though you can’t tell what kind of effect the pollen will have on the Force sleep.

Through some feat of the stars themselves, you struggle to your feet. Cal’s arm is looped around your neck, and you want nothing more than to just sink down to the ground again and give into the weakness and lust pulling at your legs, coaxing you to collapse and take your pleasure. And stars, Cal’s heavier than you expected him to be.

But you shake yourself awake. Can’t get distracted. You glance at Cal’s drooping head. He’s been strong for you this entire time. The least you can do is be strong now and find some shelter. But where?

Voices filter through the trees, and your head jerks up towards the sources.

“Yeah, she told me to take the bucket off, or she would charge the full payment and…” Stormtroopers. Kriffing hell.

“Come on.” You hiss underneath your breath. You gather your legs underneath your body and push. Your muscles scream in pain, but they ultimately obey and you stumble to your feet and begin to move away from the approaching voices. Cal is dead weight over your shoulders, pulling and urging you to rest. It would be so easy to give in, to sink back to the ground and let Cal do what he wants.

The trees blur together as you move through the forest. The stormtroopers’ voices are getting louder and you grit your teeth. You don’t know their patrol route. How are you going to avoid them? All you can do is place one foot in front of the other. Then the mossy ground turns to stone underneath your feet, and you slow. Caves. Perfect.

You hurry inside, fatigued legs forgotten in your relief. There’s a bend directly beyond the mouth of the cave, and you gently lay Cal against the wall. You’re completely hidden from anyone looking from the entrance. You sit opposite him, your head falling forward to sag against your chest. Now what?

Your comm unit is busted, and Cal’s is sitting back on the Mantis, so you can’t contact the crew. You hold a hand to Cal’s forehead. His temperature is getting worse. You don’t know what infected him, so your Force healing is out of the question. The only bright spot is you’re pretty sure the stormtroopers won’t find you. They’re not exactly recruited for their brains, and you’ll be able to sense their muted Force signatures if they get close.

Speaking of…

You trail off, contemplating Cal’s unconscious face. His head sags against the rock wall and there’s a line of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. His brow is finally relaxed, his breathing deep and even and it strikes you that this is the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him.

You reach out through the Force. It has become a habit for you, Merrin, and Cal to find peace in each others’ Force signature. Whether nightmares or difficult missions, the others would be there as a silent comfort.

Merrin’s is a mixture of whites and creams swirling against a dark maroon background. When she uses her Force magic, there is an unmistakable green tinge through it. Hers is powerful, with a sense of underlying safety in her strength. True to form, Merrin has been a protector figure in the Mantis.

But Cal’s is more diverse, a blend of warm colors against a grey background with blue tinging the edge. But while the colors are chaotic, Cal keeps a firm hold on his Force presence at all times, never allowing it to surge violently from emotion. He does not suppress it completely anymore, but you know he has the ability to make it nearly disappear from the senses of another Force user. You should know, because you can do the same. Merrin grew up without fear of having to hide her Force sensitivity, but you and Cal survived the Purge. You both have firm grasps of your thoughts and emotions projected through the Force. So in Cal, you found a kindred spirit that understands you better than almost any other person in the galaxy could. You’ve become more familiar with his presence than even your Master’s before the Purge.

But now, your brow furrows as you search for his Force presence over and over, pushing into every crevice of the surrounding environment without violating his privacy. You’re not mistaken. It’s gone, almost as if he has been turned into a droid before your eyes. Every living thing has a Force presence, no matter how minute. But Cal’s comforting whirl of light is gone, vanished as though he is no longer connected to the--

Cal’s eyes fly open and he sits forward with a quiet gasp. You jump. It’s worn off then. You secure his body with the Force, holding him loosely so as not to cause any lasting damage. You would have to tackle the Force connection problems later.

“I need you to focus.” He pushes against the bonds with a whimper, and you bite your lip as you struggle to hold him still.

“Cal!” Your Force bind tightens, and he stills with a grunt. “Talk to me. Fight through it.”

He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. “Hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Every-- ah! Everything. Can’t-- can’t th-think. Only thing-- makes it better… you.”

What? Your concentration lapses and the bonds loose. He lunges forward and buries his nose into your neck again, inhaling you as his hands scrabble at your clothes. “Hurts less with you. Smell so good--soft. Please?”

Stars, you can’t think straight with him touching you like this. You bite back a moan as his hands roughly squeeze your breasts through your shirt. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to give in. Just for a little. Indulge, and then you can figure out a way back to the Mantis. Then Cal raises your shirt and licks a long stripe up your neck, and that’s all the convincing you need.

You melt into his mouth, your hands running under his shirt and harness. His chest is just as feverishly hot as his forehead, but you can’t bring yourself to care when he swings a leg over yours so he’s hovering over you, knees planted on either side of your body. His hands shove your shirt over your head before setting to work on the button of your pants. You raise your hips to allow him to pull your pants under your butt. Your own hands yank at his clothes, silently begging him to strip with you.

But he doesn’t. He kneels between your legs and pulls your underwear to the side, exposing your wet folds.

“Cal--!” You’re cut off as he drags his tongue over your pussy, flicking against your clit at the end. Your stomach muscles contract, and it’s all you can do to keep quiet as he licks deep into your core.

---

The world is blurred. It’s like something crawled into his head and messed with his brain, dragging his focus away from more important issues… he can’t seem to remember right now. He can’t even feel the Force. His connection is compromised, the colors of the world are off, and there’s this bone deep ache within his body urging him closer to you. And as he’s drinking in your taste, the pain subsides and he can breathe again.

What is this? What’s happening to him? It has to be the pollen, it has to be its effect on his body, that’s why he’s lost all control over his mind and self. It’s why he can’t hold himself back from your body and you.

You’re all he can focus on; you’re so beautiful writhing under him as he tastes you. He’s never done this before. He can’t figure out why he hasn’t done this sooner, because you taste amazing right now and how you sound as he slides his tongue through your folds is doing things to him that he’s never experienced before.

His hips are dragging against the floor unintentionally. The friction of his dick against the rough material of his pants is a small slice of heaven, and he whimpers at the pure electricity spreading down his spine. He doesn’t want this to end so soon, but his body is shoving him towards the edge of release and the relief he knows is going to come with it.

---

A moan keens high in the back of your throat as Cal’s mouth presses against your soaked core. It’s sloppy and clumsy, but Maker if he doesn’t make up for it with enthusiasm. The only sounds coming from him are tiny moans and grunts and you shudder as his fingers dig into the pillowy flesh of your thighs, leveraging them apart and holding them there firmly. Of their own will, your hips roll up into his face, chasing after his touch.

You’re completely unprepared for Cal to growl when you do so. His grip tightens, and you squeak as your thighs are spread even farther apart and his mouth completely envelopes your clit.

Is this what heaven feels like? You can barely manage coherent thought when his tongue is devastating you like this, but thequestion rotates around your lust dumb brain as your toes curl and your back arches. Your release rushes up and sweeps you away, your core clenching as waves of pleasure wash over your body. You hear Cal whine as you cum, and you hear your own moans as you ride out your orgasm.

---

Stars, why hadn’t he done this sooner? The sounds that he’s pulling out of you right now could make him come in his pants on the spot, and the taste of your release has him rutting against the ground all the more insistently as he chases his own high.

But he doesn’t want to come in his pants, he wants to be inside of you. He wants you, your body squeezing tight around him, to feel the wetness seeping around his tongue rather than tasting it, even if it tastes divine.

He grabs your hips and yanks you down so your crotch is flush to his. He nearly loses his mind when your soaked core meets the bulge in his pants. Fuck, he thought he could wait, but he can’t.

But--something is still off with the world’s coloring. Where is the Force? The comforting pressure is gone from the back of his mind, the constant reminder of balance that keeps him in tune with his emotions and surroundings. Panic edges around the perimeter of his mind. In an act of desperation, he reaches for the Force, searching for the whispers of memories that accompany his world. They’re gone. Where did they go?

You whisper his name again, and this time his eyes meet yours.

---

You watch Cal carefully. He’s flushed, trembling as he hovers over your body, hands bare centimeters away from your skin. His eyes are desperate, and you can feel the pain in them as clearly as if it was your own. A bead of sweat tracks down his temple to soak into the collar of his harness, and he fumbles to rip the rest of his clothing off, discarding it on the floor as though it burned against his flesh.

“Cal.” He looks back at you. “Take what you need.”

It’s all the permission he needs. Relief and something else flashes through his eyes before he looks back down and fumbles with his pants fastening. His cock is flushed dark red, and his hands tremble as he pulls it out of his pants, jaw clenched as he lines up with your entrance. He slides into you with a bone-deep sigh of relief, and you cry out at the stretch. Every inch sparks pure electricity up your spine, and your eyes roll back in your head. He bottoms out, and for a heart stopping moment you feel a connection to him you couldn’t describe in words. Your hips roll against his, grinding the head of his cock up against something heavenly. Light explodes behind your eyes at the movement, arching your back and curling your toes.

Cal chokes, a beautiful sound you’ve only heard a few times before; the one that sounds like its been pulled from the deepest parts of his being, like he’s just ascended to another plane above the physical. It’s gorgeous and so insanely hot you’re completely unprepared for his sudden movement when he lunges forward.

Cal’s hand shoots out and presses against your neck, effectively pinning your upper body to the hard ground. You inhale shakily through your nose, but his grip does nothing more than hold you. You can still breathe, but the pressure on your throat sends a shock of heat between your legs with the reminder of the control you just relinquished.

“Stop that.” His other arm slams onto the stone beside your head, and your eyes lock. Cal’s pupils are blown, so dark you can almost see your reflection in the dim light of the cave as he glares down at you.

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he drags his hips away from yours, inch by painstaking inch and rocks back into your body with an easy roll of his hips. He exhales gently as he bottoms back out inside of you, a low moan rumbling out of his throat when he reaches that same depth within your heat.

It’s the eye of a storm; a hurricane you hadn’t known you’d entered. He rocks back and forth again, only there’s fractionally more force and speed to the motion this time. Again, and your body shakes with the force. Another, and you have to bite your lip to stifle the scream when he slams back into your body. It’s like the tide, coming in gradually, but more and more with each passing moment. The force swells, each thrust pushing into you a little harder and making your body shake a little more with each thrust.

A shuddering groan rumbles out of him as he finds the rhythm. The hand not pressed delicately around your throat slams down on the rock next to your head. When you look up towards the cave ceiling, Cal’s flushed skin and tousled hair fills your vision.

His hair, which is usually swept out of his eyes. Cal’s hair has always been so well cared for, usually brushed and slicked back so it doesn’t dangle in his eyes. Now, it’s soaked with sweat and falling into his face as he stares down at you like you’re the only star in the sky.

---

Take what you need? Holy stars, he can barely think enough to comprehend it, but some inner part of him aches at the sentence.

As soon as he realized his heart jumped every time you smiled at something, or that his brain short circuited at the sound of your laugh, he’d sworn he would keep it under wraps. He’d promised himself he would wait until after the galaxy finishes imploding and collapsing around your heads. The first time he’d jerked off to the idea of your body, he vowed to satisfy himself with his hand until it was safe. He’d wait until after the holocron is safe and there’s nothing to worry about, because relationships are messy and complicated and--

Fuck, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about that promise, because how can he regret being balls deep in you while you’re whining and squirming underneath him, when you look at him with such trust even as he pins you to the floor by your throat? His eyes gravitate to the mark on your neck, red and irritated with the indent of his teeth, and he feels his cock twitch even as he continues to pound into you. He likes that.

The promise didn’t keep his eyes from wandering to your face at any opportunity. It didn’t prevent the pressure in his chest from growing over the weeks and months. It definitely didn’t keep Cere and Greez from noticing, and that was a conversation he would rather have scrubbed from his mind.

Take what you need. That one sentence is spinning his world on its metaphorical finger. Take what you need. As if he didn’t want it, but he needed to do it. In all honesty, it had really felt like he was going to die. The burning in his throat that caused the coughing fit, then the racing heart and the overheating; he thought he wasn’t going to make it unless he--

Well, unless he fucked you.

But even if he needs it, he wants it even more, had wanted it for too long. But everytime an opportunity presented itself, he pulled back. He remembers how he threw away the flowers he gathered on the mission instead of bringing them back to you on the Mantis. He remembers every time he denied spending time with you, because his emotions were too raw and close to the surface, and he couldn’t predict his control over his own tongue. Because he didn’t think he could have handled it if you didn’t want him back.

But you had offered to help. Maybe you’d wanted it too, because the whole galaxy could be shoving you in one direction and you would defy it. Nothing can make you do anything you didn’t want to, and that applies to Cal Kestis too.

---

Your orgasm swells up sharp and sudden, gripping you in its claws and shoving you into the attack of muscle spasms and searing pleasure that punches into your abdomen. Your body arches, accidentally hitting your head against the ground.

Cal’s rhythm stutters and his hips jerk forward. His hand leaves your throat as he drops to his forearms. His head drops down to press against yours gently, even as he whimpers and continues to grind forward into your soaking heat.

“Fuck.” Cal gasps, eyelids fluttering rapidly. “Fuck. ‘M gonna cum.”

There’s no time to respond before he’s drawing up and tensing against you. His hips piston in and out once, then he’s cumming and all you can do is lie there and take it. Fuck that’s hot.

You can feel him spilling into you, every warm spurt of cum and every twitch of his cock as he spends himself. Even better is the drawn out groan that trails into his upper register, ending in a tiny whimper. The tension drains out of his face and he sags down, sweaty skin pressed against yours. His arms wrap around your body and he hoists your limp body up as he rolls over. He sits against the wall of the cave, seating you on his lap, cock still firmly buried inside you.

You allow your head to sag back against his shoulder, relishing in the feeling of his body pressed so closely to yours. His hand paws weakly at the fabric of your shirt, and you raise your arms to slide it off. It’s better like this, skin to skin contact seems to calm him down. He buries his nose into your bare neck and mumbles something you can’t make out.

You nudge your head against his gently, “Hm?”

“Thank you.” His lips ghost over the delicate juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Thank you thank you thank you...” He continues to mutter the phrase into your skin, tickling your skin as he nuzzles closer to you.

You should say something. Confess, maybe, everything you’ve been hiding. “Cal, I--” You shift slightly, and something feels off. You furrow your brow and glance downwards at your joining point, “Cal are you still hard?”

He props his chin on your shoulder. “Uh--” He thrusts shallowly up into you, and you stifle a whimper. “Ye-yeah. Sorry?”

“N--” You gasp as his cock twitches. “No. Don’t be sorry. Do you need to go again?” Arousal stirs in your core again, burning a slow path through your nerves and reigniting the flames that had dulled to embers. Your breath catches in your chest and you grind your hips back into his.

“I--I think so.” His voice is strained and his breath comes in short gasps next to your ear. “Not-- not as-- as bad though.”

“That--ah!” Cal chooses that exact moment to pick a spot on your neck and latch on. He nips at the skin before soothing it with his tongue. His hands, roughened with callouses from his saber, climbing, and tinkering, scrape over your skin with just the right amount of friction. You bite your bottom lip. “That’s fine. Should I move?”

His hands find your hips and hold you firmly in place. That’s a no then. His hips rock up into yours gently, and you feel your cheeks warm at the wet sounds of your combined release. Cal grunts, “Let me.”

So you do. You lie back against his bare chest and just take what he gives you, whimpering whenever he brushes against that spot inside you that sends electricity up your spine. You’re gripping his arms so hard you’re sure he’s going to have bruises in the shape of your fingers.

---

Stars, you’re fucking perfect. Just lying here and giving yourself to him. He can feel the Force dimly, but it’s there. The pollen is leaving his system as he slowly fucks you on a cave floor in the middle of a dense forest while stormtroopers patrol outside.

You cry out with his next thrust, the head of his cock striking something inside of you that must feel good because you clench around him and--

Did you just come again?

The additional lubrication only increases the lewd squelch with every thrust, the mixture of his cum and yours only making sliding in and out of your channel easier. He can still feel the effects of the pollen at the back of his mind, and it keeps him hard and sensitive as he continues to fuck you.

He’s aware he should be at least a little worried about the implications, starting at the top with how he’s going to complete the mission and ending with what exactly fucking on a cave floor means for your relationship. Somewhere in the middle is the stormtroopers and the pollen, and the oath of the Jedi Order forbidding relationships. But he can’t grasp it.

Even if there are more pressing concerns, all he can do right now is continue pushing his hips up into your soaking core painstakingly slowly. He wants to enjoy this while he can, while he’s able to fool himself that you want him back. Unless…

---

The only solace you could find in the situation was that you could have Cal, even for these few short moments. Because as much as you may want to convince yourself, a tiny voice inside your head keeps whispering: it’s all the pollen. That’s the only reason why he wants you. And you force yourself to believe the voice, because it’s easier to block off any chance for pain and rejection.

But you know you’re in trouble the second Cal opens his mouth. The words are a harsh whisper, rasping out of his dry throat into your ear, “Beautiful. So gorgeous, giving me what I need, what I want.”

You arch against him and stifle the whimper rising in the back of your throat. His mouth is right next to your ear, so there isn’t anywhere for you to escape from the words that rumble into your brain; words you try to convince yourself are empty. You shove your hand against your mouth rather than allow any sound to escape.

He moans, “Want to do this again. Don’t want this to be just once.”

“Th--that--that’s the pollen talking.” You gasp when you feel his fingers graze over your clit, your own hand drifting back to latch into his hair.

Cal hisses when you tug with a little more strength than necessary, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. One hand supports your weight as he moves you up and down on his dick, the other rubbing little circles around your clit. His hips make up for the lost strength everytime they drive up into you at the lowest point of the rhythm, squelching with every thrust.

“Not--not the pollen. All you. All me.”

You blink, all temporarily forgotten when the words register in your hazy mind. “...What?”

“Wanted this. Wanted this for a while.” Cal finds your clit with his fingers, and you can’t prevent the way your legs jerk and your body seizes against his.

Fuck you’re going to cum. If the first orgasm was a flashfire, this one is a slowly simmering blaze. It creeps up slowly, burning a hole through your abdomen, curling around your ribs and inching down your legs. Your eyes roll back, and your head falls back against Cal’s shoulder.

“Cal. I--I thi--” You try to warn him, you really do. But words aren’t forming correctly right now, and it’s all you can do to hunker down and try to prepare yourself for this truly devastating crest that’s preparing to launch you over the edge.

If Cal gets your warning, he doesn’t show it. All he does is turn his head to the side, press a light kiss to your cheek, and groan, “I think I love you.”

Oh shit. Cal’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect if he planned it. Before you can respond, hell, before you can even begin to fucking process that last sentence, you’re coming hard. Maybe it’s the whiff of pollen you got earlier, or the fact that Cal is the one fucking you so sweetly and thoroughly, or the thrill of being mere steps away from discovery, or a combination of all of it, but this orgasm certainly feels like the most intense of your life.

Spasms ripple outward through your belly, curling you up in Cal’s lap as you ride out your high. Your legs straighten and your toes curl and you clamp down hard around Cal’s cock.

Cal shouts raggedly in your ear, pulling your body close. But even as you whimper and shake on the end of his cock, you remember that you can’t make too much sound.

As if he heard you, Cal burrows his face into your shoulder, his teeth once again finding a place in your skin to muffle his voice as he cums deep inside you once more. His body shakes as he spends himself again, the spasms slowly subsiding with every jerk of his hips into yours.

‘I did hear you.’ There’s a tinge of amusement to the nonexistent voice that echoes in your mind, and you relax back against Cal.

‘Feeling better?’ You nudge him back through the Force, revelling in the feeling of his colorful presence swirling around you once again. The pollen has worn off.

He doesn’t say anything in response, only pulls you close with his arms around you. His mind pushes at yours, and you let him in. You’ve done this a million times, usually on the tail end of nighttime panic attacks, but this time is different. This is the most loose he has ever been with his Force presence, and you allow it to fill the empty parts of your mind. Wait, he loves you?

He rushes over you in the same way the tide comes back to land, calming your fear at finally understanding the weight of his last confession. He’s relaxed, and the familiar energy has a new angle to it, a new emotion you hadn’t felt before in another’s Force signature. You grasp it gently, turning it over and admiring it in the eye of your mind. What is it?

The answer rushes to you just as Cal mutters against your skin, “Love.” The same thing you’d been feeling in the pit of your heart every time you looked at Cal, everytime he kept you safe from the nightmares in his arms and stayed with you until morning, every time you made him tea and did maintenance on his gear after a tough mission.

“I love you.”

You blink up at the ceiling of the rock cave, mouth open with the words just on the tip of your tongue. But they won’t come. The words are stuck in your throat, and try as you might, you can’t make yourself say them.

“Hey.” Cal whispers in your ear, and you shut your mouth. “You don’t have to say it back. But you know that I do, and I know a little of what’s going on up here.” His finger taps the side of your head lightly. "You don't have to figure out where to go from here. I'll navigate."

‘Thank you.’ You send the words through the Force, and he acknowledges them. Yeah, you're shit at knowing where to go when it comes to feelings. But at least with Cal, you won't have to worry about getting lost alone. You sit in peaceful silence for a few minutes, before a thought occurs to you.

“Cal.” His name is little more than a weak rasp off your tongue. You clear your throat and try again. “Cal.”

He grunts unintelligibly.

“Don’t bring that seed back to the Mantis.”

A/N: I will be the first to admit that this fic was hard, because I wanted to incorporate some previous feelings into this to make it less dubcon, and I didn't feel that all plot holes were filled. But that didn't make this any less enjoyable for me, and it was fun to explore a new facet of Cal's character.

Thanks for everyone who gave me inspiration and motivation to keep pushing this through the old brain up here. Smut isn't the easiest for me:)

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #sex pollen #pining fools #pining #fluff #feelings #smut

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hizashis-lil-bunbun · 3 years

Text

No Rest for the Wicked- HardDom!Dabi X Fem! Brat Reader

Prompt: Dabi just wants to take a nap but everything goes wrong

I asked a friend in one of my discord groups for a random writing prompt when I was up late. Something about this one activated my inner ✨brat✨

Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.3k

Kinks/Warnings: brat taming, degradation, pain play, spanking, belting, mild dacryphilia, bondage, edging and denial, hints of dubcon

Banner made by the always lovely @ladyshinigami!

••••••••••••••

Exhausted.

That was the best way to sum up Dabi’s mood as he trudged through the bar fronting the League’s headquarters. Shigaraki had sent him out on a mission with orders to “stake out and take out” a small band of up-and-coming heroes. It had been easy enough to find them (newbies can never resist being flashy), but making sure they were all disposed of was another matter. A matter only made more complicated by a few rogue civilians that happened to spot him. It had taken him two full days to track everyone down, leaving him covered in blood, soot, and burns. In short, Dabi needed a break.

“Well, well, well.” Came the nasally voice of their fearless leader, “The prodigal son returns! Took you long enough, Dabi. Hope that means you didn’t fuck up the mission.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dabi snaps back, too tired and sore to care about his tone. Not that he’d be any kinder to Shigaraki if he wasn’t. “I did what you asked and left no witnesses. Now piss off before I turn you into a smoldering pile.”

Shigaraki didn’t rise to Dabi’s bait, opting to simply flip him the bird before going back to whatever game console he was currently obsessed with. Dabi returns the gesture in kind, glowering as he disappears behind the bar and into the League’s living quarters. Their warehouse provides more than enough space for everyone to have their own room, and the boss even allowed them to decorate and furnish them as they pleased. Wasn’t that generous? Dabi plods down the hallway to his assigned room and kicks open the door only to find it was occupied. By you.

“Dabi?” You question for a moment before your eyes light up with excitement. “Dabi! You’re back!”

As a fellow Stain devotee, you’d sought out the LOV and been initiated as a member a mere six months ago. And two months later, you’d been initiated into Dabi’s bed. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves “lovers.” Love was few and far between in a hornet’s nest of villains. But you’d certainly become something more than the occasional lay.

He grunts as he stalks into the room, shedding his coat and boots as he went. Dabi was never big on grand displays of affection. And in his current state, that small show of acknowledgment may as well have been equivalent to a bear hug.

“I missed you.” You chirp back, undeterred by his gruff response. “How was the mission?”

“Long and shitty.” Came his terse reply as he strips off the rest of his clothes and grabs a towel from a nearby wall hook. “I need a fucking shower.”

He wraps the towel around his waist before he sets about searching for body wash and a first aid kit. Greedy eyes roam the plane of his toned torso, eager to touch the scarred and stapled flesh you’d spent many a night mapping out. Before joining the League, you’d never had an opinion one way or the other on touch or physical intimacy. You didn’t dislike it by any means; it was just something people did, fuck buddies or otherwise. But now that you’d shared a bed with Dabi, your perspective had changed. His rough touch was your drug of choice, intoxicating in all the best ways. And with him being gone for almost 72 hours? It was safe to say you were jonesing for a hit.

“Oooh, sounds like fun.” You purr, sprawling out on the mattress in a catlike stretch. “Want me to join you? I think we could use a little… quality time together.”

He snorts derisively at that, straightening up once he’d found his supplies and fixing you with a deep scowl. So pretty even when he’s pissed. You bat your eyelashes in return.

“Don’t get cute, dollface. Once I get cleaned up I’m passing out for the next century.”

Before you can shoot off another coquettish remark, he turns on his heel and marches out the door in the direction of the communal showers. You huff and clamber out of bed to follow him, determined that he wouldn’t get away so easily.

“C’mon Dabi!” You whine, trotting along behind him as he stalks down the hallway. “I haven’t seen you in days! Are you really just gonna give me the cold shoulder?”

“Yup.” He snaps back, shooting you a harsh glare over said shoulder before barging through the bathroom door. From the other side you can hear his bark of “Move it, psycho!” followed by an indignant squeak from whom you can only assume to be Toga. You huff and stamp your foot like a petulant child, turning on your heel to flounce off in the direction of the League’s bar front.

“Bastard.” You seethe under your breath, “Who does he think he is, ignoring me like that? It’s his fault I’m so pent up. If I tried ignoring him when he was all hot and bothered–!”

You pause for a moment as a lightbulb goes off in your head. A single impish thought flashes through your mind and it causes your lips to curl into a Cheshire grin. He wants to play games? You’ll give him games.

You continue your trek into the dimly-lit, woodpandeled speakeasy, a renewed vigor in your stride as you make a beeline for the bar top. Kurogiri is standing behind it as per usual, wiping out a pint glass like the faithful bartender he pretends to be. You sidle up to the bar and place both hands on the oaken surface, adopting a sweet, too-innocent lilt to your voice.

“Kuro-baby.” You purr, the cutesy pet name causing the misty specter to look up from his task. “Can I have a glass of water, please? With lots of ice, if you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, Kurogiri sets down the glass and picks up a shorter one, using it to scoop up a generous portion of ice from the freezer below before filling it nearly to the brim from the tap. If he has any suspicion of you, he’s very good at hiding it. The same can’t be said for Shigaraki, sitting a few stools down from you and still tapping away at the buttons of his console.

“Fucking with Staples again?” He questions disinterestedly, followed by a hiss of annoyance when the game lets out a series of gunshots. He must have gotten himself killed again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shoot back airily, swiping the glass from Kurogiri’s outstretched hand and hopping off your own barstool.

“It’s your funeral!” He calls after you, waving you off with one hand. You snicker as you march back into the living quarters, one hand wrapped around the chilled glass and the other flattened over the top to ensure you won’t spill a drop along the way. Soon you find yourself back in front of the bathroom door and, suppressing the urge to giggle, you slowly push through it and into the steamy room beyond. In spite of the hideout’s outward appearance, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kempt (all thanks to den mother Kurogiri). Two sinks stand against the left-hand side of the wall, with two doors opposite them leading to the toilets. Next to the sinks are the showers: three open-faced, tile cubes barely covered by flimsy plastic curtains. Toga is standing in front of the nearest sink, wearing a skimpy pair of Hello Kitty pajamas and washing the blood and goop from her latest transformation out of her navy, pleated skirt. She looks up at you when you enter and you quickly put one finger to your lips, smirking as you point between the glass and the running shower beyond. Toga lets loose a sadistic giggle of her own before hastily shushing herself when you hear Dabi’s bark of “Pipe down out there!”

As you move past her, you can see her mouth the words, “You’re so dead, big sis.”

You can feel a jolt of adrenaline course through your veins as you sneak up to the edge of the tiled wall separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, the glass in your hand shaking briefly. A small amount of water sloshes over the rim and spatters onto the floor, the sound barely overshadowed by the shower.

“Doll?”

His low, rumbling voice coming from the other side of the curtain sends another shiver down your spine.

“What are you up to out there?” He growls dangerously, as if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you and your shenanigans. For just a moment, the rational part of your brain takes over and makes you question your actions. Dabi’s already in a foul mood, and getting worse by the second by the sound of it. Maybe if you hold off and behave like a good girl–

Your body seems to move of its own accord. The next thing you know, the contents of the glass are sailing through the air, arching high over the plastic curtain rod and landing with a messy splat onto your unwitting victim on the other side.

“What the fu–!” Dabi’s curse is cut off by yours and Toga’s mad giggling as you sprint out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Passing by a very confused-looking Spinner, you dart inside Dabi’s room and slam the door, locking it for good measure. Seconds later, he’s pounding on it, using enough force that you’re convinced it might splinter and break off its hinges.

“Open this door right now and make this easier on yourself!” He roars, furiously jiggling the handle.

You let him pound away for a few more seconds, in part to allow yourself time to catch your breath but mostly to delay the unenviable punishment. With a deep, steadying breath, you plaster on a mildly amused expression, undo the lock, and pull open the door. Dabi is visibly seething, water dripping from his hair and cascading in rivulets down his toned chest onto the towel slung low on his hips. His brows are knitted together in rage, turquoise eyes flashing dangerously while one hand is still raised in a fist.

“Oh hey, babe. Done with the shower al–?”

His hands are around your throat before you can blink, your sassy remark devolving into a high-pitched squeak.

“You little bitch.” He spits at you, forcibly backing you further into the room as he advances. “Was that your idea of a joke?”

“N-no.” You gasp in response, voice slightly raspy from the pressure on your jugular. “I just thought–“

“Thought what exactly?” Dabi growls, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot before giving your shoulders a hard shove and pushing you onto the bed. You land with a slight bounce, the momentum giving you just enough time to prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Well?” He hisses, venom dripping from the word as he glares down at you.

“I was worried.” You start slowly, tone almost loving as you gaze up at him with big, doe eyes. “You seemed so tense when you got back. And don’t think I didn’t notice those new burns on your arms. So I thought, since the mission was so hard on you…”

Your face suddenly splits into a shit-eating grin.

“I thought you might need to cool down for a minute.”

Dabi blinks for a second, seemingly struck dumb by your remark. And then his hands are back on you in an instant, roughly flipping you over to lie chest-down with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Of all the stupid–“

Your shirt is ripped over your head from behind.

“Immature–“

There goes the bra, clasps and straps lost to a wildfire of blue flames as it falls away from your body in a charred heap.

“Bratty little schemes.”

Your leggings and panties are harshly yanked down, slipped off, and discarded into some unknown corner of the room. You feel cool air hit your legs and backside, moments before a harsh slap lands on your right cheek. With a yelp, you cast a wide-eyed glance over your shoulder at the menacing presence behind you; a pillar of rage and sadistic urges looming over your naked form.

“You wanted my attention that badly, dollface? Well I’m sorry to say you’ve got it now.”

Before you can react beyond a pained, needy whimper, Dabi hooks his right arm under your thighs to haul you up and onto the bed. He lays his full weight across your back and reaches around and underneath the farthest edge of the bed to produce a simple, black cuff, attached to the nylon spreader running along the underside of the mattress. Giving it a few cursory tugs, he grabs ahold of your right wrist and yanks it towards the corresponding corner, attaching the device with practiced speed and precision. You continue to writhe and pant below him, muttering a litany of curses and “no’s” as he does the same to the opposite side. You’re now bound by both wrists, unable to do more than thrash wildly on the mattress in a humiliating, spread eagle position.

“Seems like you need a reminder of who’s in charge around here.” He snarls in your ear, pushing himself off of you and marching over to his discarded pile of clothing. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the telltale clink of metal on metal that makes your eyes go wide.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare…” You start breathlessly, just before the first blinding sting of leather greets your exposed skin, right at the juncture where the soft swell of your ass meets the tender flesh of your thighs.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Dabi says mockingly, his tone dripping with false pity and saccharine sweetness as he takes his place at the edge of the bed once more. “I don’t have any problems dealing with a mouthy… little… brat like you.”

His words are punctuated by three more vicious blows, this time striking the meatiest part of your ass and sending the pliant flesh jiggling. The metal rivets in his belt only add to the pain, biting into your rapidly heating flesh and causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. Shifting your hips in a futile attempt to get away from Dabi and his newfound torture device, you roll partly onto your side and look over at him with watery, pleading eyes.

“S-sir… Dabi, please!” You sputter out, voice already wavering as your resolve crumbles beneath the stinging sensation. But Dabi’s not in the mood for bargaining. Instead, he growls as he wraps an arm around your waist and shoves his left knee underneath your belly, hiking your ass further into the air.

“Hold still!” He barks at you, another crack of his belt sending a fresh wave of searing pain along your already raw skin. You scream in agony, unable to do more than wriggle and squirm against his hold.

“Start counting, brat.” He demands huskily, your only warning before the next punishing spank meets your burning flesh.

“One!” You gasp out, “I’m sorry! Please–!”

Another blow lands, somehow harder than all the others, revisiting the spot where ass and thigh meet and causing you to wail in pain.

“Too late for apologies, dollface. The only thing I wanna hear from that slutty little mouth is counting. Understand me?”

The arm looped around your waist tightens in warning, and you hiccup before sputtering out a shaky, “T-two.”

“That’s more like it.”

He continues spanking you at a steady pace, the only respite coming when he pauses to hear you choke out the next number. By ten strokes, you’re bawling. By fifteen, you’re practically brain dead, unable to quell the sobs that wrack through your body or think beyond the next count. He mercifully stops at twenty, dropping the belt and loosening his own grip on you. All you can focus on is the burning pain radiating out from your tanned backside, sobbing as you bury your face into the pillow below you for comfort. Dabi’s own breathing is heavy and ragged, and he takes a few deep, measured breaths to steady himself. After a few moments, that hand that once held his belt is carefully laid on the curve of your ass, and you gasp both at the gentle touch and the shock of prickly pain it brings. Judging by the way he strokes the heated flesh, you’re sure the silver eyelets have left a series of bruises behind.

“S-s-sir.” You blubber, “I’m... I…”

“Shhhh, quiet down.” He says softly, voice uncharacteristically tender as he runs his hand along the width of your heated cheeks. “It’s over now. You did so well.”

The unexpected praise makes you whimper beneath his affections, devolving into a quiet moan as his hand travels even lower, fingers coming to rest at the entrance to your heated core. He begins to gently massage at your folds, middle finger slipping inside to find you impossibly wet and clenching around the digit.

“You filthy little thing…” He breathes out on a chuckle, “Are you really that turned on by me beating the hell out of your cute little ass?”

His finger delves deeper, pussy eagerly sucking him in as you keen below him. His free hand begins to lightly scratch up and down your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of each careful caress. Without thinking, you shift further onto your knees, fighting through the pain to push against his hand.

“Please, Sir.” You moan wantonly, “More. Please.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi slips a second finger inside of you and begins to languidly pump them in and out. Pain and pleasure meld together in a sinful symphony, pants and whimpers coming from you as you rock your abused body against his own scarred flesh. He adjusts the angle and crooks his fingers downwards, curling them just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves you know would have you seeing stars. Your back arches as you hungrily push against him, dignity forgotten in the face of pure, carnal desire.

“Getting impatient, are we?” He growls teasingly, fingers suddenly slipping out from your sopping core and wrenching a high-pitched whine from the back of your throat. He moves off the bed entirely, ordering you to stay put as he walks over to the nearby dresser and opens up the top drawer. Like the cuffs would allow you to do anything otherwise.

“Ah, here we go.” He says after a few seconds of rummaging, striding back over to the bed and taking up residence behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight seconds before his hands find your hips, roughly hauling them upwards and forcing your face further into the pillows. You shriek as he grabs ahold of your left cheek and squeezes harshly, pain shooting up your spine like a bolt of summer lightning. Something hard and cool prods at your quivering entrance, briefly brushing against your clit before being plunged inside of you. The sudden stretch feels at once too much and deeply satiating, sending burning, pleasurable heat licking across your oversensitized nerves. Once the toy is sunk to the hilt, Dabi gives a short grunt of satisfaction before sliding off the bed and circling around to lean over your quivering form. You turn your head to face him and he smirks at the sight of your fucked out expression: eyes red and puffy, cheeks streaked with half-dried tears, lips swollen from the bluntness of your own teeth.

“Aren’t you a sight?” He hums lowly, brushing away an errant strand of hair to plant a condescending kiss to your temple. “Such a needy little slut for me.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi pats your cheek, straightens up, and turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You squeak out, squirming against your restraints as you watch his retreating back. “You’re just gonna leave me like this?”

“That’s the plan, dollface.” He shoots back, casting you a wicked grin over his left shoulder as he pulls the door open. “At least until I finish my shower.”

#bnha #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #Dabi #mha smut #mha x reader #tw: noncon #tw: pain play

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freddie-weaselbee · 3 years

Text

E2: The One in New York City//F.W.

Series Summary: FRIENDS but with Harry Potter characters after Hogwarts graduation, trying to figure out their lives and relationships. Non Voldy AU. Begins around the end of FRIENDS season 4 with The Wedding and semi follows plots in season 5.

Pairing(s): Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader, Romione, Ron x Lavender, Hinny, Georgelina

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, planned pregnancy

Summary: Years after Hermione came back into their lives, the gang finds themselves traveling to New York City for the wedding of the one and only Ronald Weasley. As tensions rise and feelings are revealed, the group has to take on New York and hope for the best.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: A little taste of the story: “I’d pee on you any day of the week.” “What the hell did I just walk into?” Message me to join the series or general taglist!

May 2004

“Guys, hurry up! The flight leaves in four hours! It could take time to get a taxi, there could be traffic, the plane could leave early! When you get to New York there could be a line at customs, come on!” Hermoine Granger was racing through the flat of Fred and George Weasley, the one above their infamous joke shop, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. She grabbed clothing from their drawers and tossed it haphazardly into suitcases, while the twins in question were lounged out on their sofa observing the scene.

You sat wedged between the two boys, leaning your head against Fred’s shoulder with your legs draped across George’s lap. You laughed as Hermione was practically hysterical about getting everything ready, even though she wouldn’t even be going to America.

“Good thing she’s not gonna be on the flight,” Fred whispered into your ear. “A six hour trip to New York? That’s a lot of Hermione.”

Smiling you turned to look at Fred who was holding something in his hand. “What’ve you got there?”

He grinned cheekily and gave you a better look. “Condoms, Y/N! You never know what American hotties I might meet overseas.”

Rolling your eyes you turned to George, who was giving you the same grin. “And I suppose you’re just as prepared as your brother?”

“Of course! Y’know, I feel bad for poor Ronniekins, getting himself all tied down to one woman. Me and Fred, we know how to live, isn’t that right mate?”

“You said it.” You sighed and settled into Fred even more, relaxing for a few minutes before Hermione would drag you all to the airport and you and Harry would be stuck trying to teach the Weasleys how Muggle planes worked.

There was an audible pop as Ron apparated into the room, standing off by the kitchen.

“Hey!” he greeted, causing you to sit up from your comfortable position wrapped in Fred’s arm and go meet your friend with a hug.

“Hey.” You squeezed him tight, noticing how his nerves had overtaken him.

“Are you ready yet?” he asked, fidgeting with his wand.

Before you could respond Hermione came barging out of George’s bedroom and threw two suitcases onto the twins’ laps with what could only be described as superhuman strength. “She’s ready. You have the tickets?”

“Harry and Gin do, they’ll be here any second.” The only current couple of the group, and an engaged one at that, suddenly arrived with another loud pop, startling Fred who had begun to count his condoms to make sure he had enough.

“Hey big brother!” Ginny hugged Ron with enthusiasm, but not as much as Harry showed as he threw himself onto his best friend.

“You’re getting married Ron!”

“I know!”

They stayed wrapped in their hug as they jumped around and around, George clapping along and laughing at the duo.

“Don’t know why Lavender would want to marry a specky git like you,” said the younger twin, “but at least we get to travel to the states for it.”

“And have wedding food,” said Fred.

“Oh and you can’t forget the hot bridesmaids, right boys?” you questioned jokingly.

They shared a mischievous look. “Never.”

A loud bell sounded through the loft, signaling that someone had come in.

“That must be Luna!” Ginny exclaimed. She sprinted down the stairs and wrapped the blonde girl in a hug, being gentle as to not crush her or her pregnant belly.

“Hello Ginny, how are you?”

“Never better! Thanks again for offering to help Hermione watch the apartments and oversee the shop and employees. Ron really wishes you could make it to the wedding, but seeing as you’re about to burst--”

Luna interrupted her old friend with a soft laugh. She was 8 months pregnant with twin boys, and was left home alone for a few weeks while her husband dealt with a work issue in Eastern Asia. Which meant she had plenty of free time to make sure things were running smoothly in London while her friends were overseas.

The two girls were joined by the rest of the gang who had been pushed down the stairs by a frantic Hermione. “Get going, all of you! You’re going to miss your flight.”

“New York baby!” The twins had jumped down from one of the landings, somehow managing not to injure themselves. Although they were now 26 they were never without their childlike energy.

“I’m walking here!” cried Fred in a horrid New York accent.

“Yee haw, cowboy!” said George, doing a little cowboy dance.

You sighed and slapped your head with your hand. “Okay, cause that’s not gonna get annoying.”

They ignored you and continued with their yelling and dancing, dragging as much luggage as they could out the front door of the shop.

“Well,” said Ron, “we’re all here and ready. I guess we should get going!” Harry and Ginny gave Luna one last goodbye as they followed you out to the alley, leaving only Ron, Hermione, and Luna left in the shop.

“So, we’re off,” said Ron, a little awkwardly. He and Hermione had a bit of a rough past, having dated on and off for the past few years. But that was all behind them now, and she was happy that he had reconnected with their friend Lavender from Hogwarts and had fallen in love.

“Have fun, Ron,” replied the bushy-haired girl.

“Thanks,” he said, giving his friend a tight hug. “Ugh, I can’t believe you’re not gonna be there!”

Hermione sighed and pulled back. “Oh I know, I’m sorry.”

“So-so come! Why don’t you come?”

“What?”

“To New York!” Ron was holding Hermione’s hands and jumping up and down. “Come to New York, please? It’ll mean so much to me.”

Hermione hesitated for a moment. She wanted to go, to have a great trip with her friends and visit the historical places she’d read so much about. But she didn’t have it in her to watch her ex-boyfriend get married to someone else.

“Yeah, well, I gotta work, I’m sorry. The Ministry is really up my arse these days, pardon my language.”

“Mione, this is my wedding,” he said, giving her his best puppy dog eyes.

You stuck your head back through the door and called out to them. “Alright, y’know what? Now we really are late, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Ron sighed and let go of his friend, grabbing his suitcase before heading out the door. “I’ll see you when I get back, Mione. Bye Luna!”

Luna and Hermione both gave small waves as Ron pulled the door shut. A resounding “New York, baby” could be heard even from deep inside the shop, and Hermione giggled as her friends made their way to the London airport.

----------------------------------------

“Alright,” said Ginny as you all stepped out into the streets of New York City. “Harry and I will help the groom and bride-to-be get everything set up for their big day. Which means you, Y/N, get the honor of babysitting my older brothers.”

“Ginny I can’t handle them all by myself! We’ve been here for less than 5 minutes and look at what they’re doing already.” You all turned to look at the ginger twins, who were standing on top of a map of the city and staring down at it.

“What is going on with you two?” you asked, but you were quickly silenced as Fred placed his finger on your lips.

“We’re concentrating. We went in the map so we can figure out where we are.” He kept his finger there until you finally removed it and looked at the map they had made, complete with little pop ups of all the important places they wanted to see.

“If you see a little version of me in there, kill it.” Harry laughed at your quip and grabbed Ginny’s hand, waving goodbye as the couple and Ron made their way to meet Lavender and her family.

“We got it!” screamed the twins. They stepped out of the map and started walking right, on to their first tourist destination. “Here we go.”

“Okay, listen,” you said catching up to them, “we’re not gonna have to walk this way the entire time are we?”

Fred shushed you and George groaned. “Y/N, you made me lose it!”

George put the map down and stood back on it. “A lot harder when the map doesn’t change specifically for you and show you exactly where you are, huh?” you asked, referencing the parchment the twins used for years back in Hogwarts.

They ignored you and took off down the street again, their long legs moving so fast you had to almost sprint in order to keep up the pace. This was going to be a long day.

------------------------------

Meanwhile Harry, Ron, and Ginny had made it to the Brown’s apartment in New York. Although Lavender was raised in England and attended Hogwarts, her extended family lived in the States and her parents moved there after she graduated. The apartment was rather large, but that was no surprise as the Browns were a wealthy family.

“Oh Won Won!” Ron was greeted at the door with a vibrant Lavender throwing herself into his arms. Ron laughed and spun her around, giving her a quick kiss before finally setting her down.

“Hey Lavender, I missed you.” He smiled warmly at his fiancee, soon to be his wife. After Padma left him right before he was going to propose years ago, Ron decided not to waste any time in popping the question once he and Lavender started dating. They’d only been going out for a few months before he asked, but despite the worried opinions of their friends they were convinced that this was the right thing to do.

Lavender pulled Ron down for another kiss, this one much more passionate than the last. “I missed you too.”

They were pulled apart by an awkward cough from Harry, an arm around Ginny who was covering her eyes to avoid watching her brother make out with someone in front of her.

“Sorry Harry, Ginny,” said Lavender. “It’s great to see you both. Come on in, will you, we have a few last minute preparations to attend to.”

They followed the brunette into her family’s apartment, which was decked out in reception decorations that still needed to be set up. “Where’s the rest of your group? They are coming, aren’t they?”

“Y/N and the twins are out exploring the city,” said Ginny. “I figured you probably didn’t want Fred and George to be around anything important, especially with their history of pyrotechnics. And I don’t trust them alone in the city, so Y/N’s making sure they don’t burn down half of New York.”

Lavender laughed and poured some tea for her friends. “And what about Hermione, is she at the hotel?”

The room suddenly got very tense and Harry quietly sipped his tea, trying to disappear from the awkward scene.

“Umm,” Ron began, “Hermione’s not coming. She can’t get time off at the Ministry and she’s helping watch over our apartments and take care of Luna.”

Lavender nodded sadly, sighing deeply at the news. “I guess it’s all for the best then. She never did like me, did she?”

“No, that’s not true at all,” Ron argued, taking his fiancee's hands. “She’s just...she takes a while to warm up to people. She really wishes she could be here, but you know how work is.”

The girl smiled slightly at Ron’s comforting words. “Yeah, thanks Won Won.”

He squeezed her hands gently.

“Alright then,” said Ginny, “what needs to be done? Even though Parvati is your maid of honor and I swear I’m not upset about it--” Harry elbowed Ginny hard, “--I’m still one of your bridesmaids, and I want my big brother’s wedding to be as amazing as possible. So, what should we do?”

“Well,” Lavender said, clapping her hands, “I need a new venue. The one I had was going to be absolutely gorgeous, but they tore it down early, which means we need a new spot.”

Although Lavender said these words calmly, it was obvious that she was on the verge of tears and the stress was getting to her.

“Got it,” said Ginny. “Let’s go check out the old venue and see if there’s anything we can do. I promise you Lav, this day is going to be amazing, for everyone.”

------------------------------

“This is going to be horrible!”

Hermione was pacing around her apartment, the one she shared with you and Ginny. She was packing up Ginny’s belongings for when everyone returned from the wedding. Once Ron moved out of his and Harry’s shared apartment across the hall, Ginny would move in with her fiance, leaving only you and Hermione to share the space. Hermione decided that packing for Ginny would help take her mind off of the wedding, but unfortunately her assumptions were incorrect.

“What’s the matter?” Luna asked from the sofa, leaning comfortably against a pillow with the Quibbler in her hands.

Hermione sighed as she continued to pack. “I’m just bummed about the way I left things with Ron. I shouldn’t have lied to him about having to go to work. He seemed so mad at me.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” the blonde said, not looking up from her reading. “If someone I was still in love with was getting married…”

Luna jumped as a vase hit the floor and shattered. She looked up to see a wide-eyed Hermione staring at her. “Still in love with?!”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m not in love with Ron!” Hermione screamed.

Realization flooded Luna’s face. “Oh, no, good! Yeah, me neither.”

Hermione sat down across from her friend, ripping the Quibbler from her hands and attention.

“Luna,” she said, “I’m not going to Ron’s wedding because he is my ex-boyfriend and that would be really uncomfortable. Not because I’m still in love with him! I mean, I like Ron as much as the next girl. Clearly I still have feelings for him, but feelings don’t mean love! I mean, I still have loving feelings for Ron. But, but that doesn’t mean that-that I’m still in love with him! I-I have sexual feelings for him, but I do love him--oh!” she gasped at her own words. “Luna why didn’t you tell me?”

“We thought you knew!” she said, surprised that Hermione was for once in her life so oblivious. “We talk about it all the time!”

“You all know?” Hermione asked. “Does, does Ron know?”

“Oh no,” Luna answered calmly. “Ron doesn’t know anything.”

Hermione started pacing once again, this time much more frantically. “Oh, I can not believe you didn’t tell me!”

“We thought you knew!” Luna replied. “It’s so obvious. That would be like telling Ginny ‘hey, you like to play Quidditch,’ or you know, ‘George, you’re gay.’”

The pacing girl stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”

“Oh please,” replied the younger blonde, “she’s always got a broom in her hand!”

------------------------------

“Alright! The Empire State Building. Hands down, best State building I’ve ever seen.” George pulled out his Muggle camera, still trying to figure out which buttons did what. They were a lot smaller than the one Colin Creevey used to carry around at Hogwarts and George still hadn’t gotten the hang of using Muggle items.

“What do you think of the Empire, Y/N?” Fred turned his head to you as he asked his question. Your legs had gotten tired from jogging to keep up with the ginormous twins so Fred had offered to let you ride on his back the rest of the way, an offer you couldn’t refuse.

You hopped down and quickly covered your eyes to hide from the bright flash of George’s camera. “I don’t know, I can’t see it with that thing blinding me, George.”

He quickly apologized, but not before snapping a picture of Fred wrapping his arms around you and smiling while you glared at the camera.

“Someone’s grouchy today,” Fred said, swaying you back and forth a few times before releasing his grip.

“I’m just tired, jet lag y’know?” He nodded and pointed to his back, letting you know it was alright to get back on. You didn’t hesitate to jump onto the redhead as he followed his brother into the massive building in front of you.

After waiting in line for what seemed like hours you finally made it onto the elevator to take you to the top of the building. George continued to take pictures of anything and everything, including you flipping him off from on Fred’s back. As the doors opened and you stepped out onto the observation deck, you were amazed by the incredible view before you.

Thousands of tiny buildings filled with thousands of tiny people stood before you, or rather below you. It was like you were on your broom and flying high in the sky, except this time time you didn’t have to focus on keeping your broom in check. You could just stand and stare.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Fred came up next to you, leaning on a railing in front of him. He hunched down enough that his face was right next to yours as the two of you stared at The Big Apple.

“It really is.” You looked around for George, but he was off pestering other tourists to take pictures of him and the city behind him. “Remember when we were playing Quidditch at the burrow, and I flew up this high and stayed there for hours?”

“How could I forget,” Fred laughed. “We had to send search parties for you, thought you had been snatched up by dementors or something.”

“Nope, just got a little distracted by the view.” You continued to watch the amazing landscape and incredible sky, not missing the looks Fred was giving you. “What’re you looking at, Weasley? Don’t tell me that I’m more enchanting than the city. I mean, we all know it’s true but try not to make it so obvious.”

You pinched his cheek and he swatted your hand away playfully. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “I was just remembering the time I peed on you to combat the jellyfish sting.”

“Fred!” you whisper yelled, laughing as he put his hands up. “We said we would never talk about that again. I don’t need that reminder!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just too good of a story! Really shows the strength of our friendship.”

You rolled your eyes at your best friend. Technically you would’ve considered Ron to be your best friend, as you’d known him the longest and had been the closest with him for so many years. But the past few years, living close to Fred and hanging out with him almost every day, he had become the most important person in your life. He was always there to make you smile or laugh when you had a rough day, or wrap you up in a blanket and watch a movie after a horrid date with some arsehole. He was one of a kind, and you were so glad he was in your life.

“Y’know what Fred?” you asked, scooting closer to him. “If you ever got stung by a jellyfish, I’d pee on you too.”

Fred wiped away fake tears from his eyes. “I’d pee on you any day of the week, Y/N,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug.

“What the hell did I just walk into?” George was standing behind you and Fred, having only heard Fred’s last sentence. The two of you cackled with laughter, bringing George into the hug with you and just enjoying the moment.

------------------------------

“Hey Luna?” Hermione called from her bedroom. She and her friend had spent the day discussing her feelings for Ron and trying their best to help her get over him. Apparently recounting the horrors of their relationship was not helping in the slightest.

“Yeah,” Luna called back from the kitchen.

“Do you remember where the pygmy puff food is?” Her muffled voice sounded rushed and anxious, even more so than Hermione usually was.

“Yeah, it’s under the front counter of Fred and George’s shop. Why?”

Luna turned her head to see Hermione come flying into the room dragging a packed suitcase behind her. “Because I’m going to New York.”

The pregnant girl nearly had a heart attack at Hermione’s declaration. “What? What do you mean you’re going to New York?”

Hermione grabbed a few more essentials from around the apartment, rushing in order to catch the next flight. “Yeah, I have to tell Ronald that I love him. Now Luna, you take care, you don’t have those babies until I get back.”

“I--but what about all of the finding his flaws and burning his picture rituals we’ve been doing?” Luna asked, straining to stand up and chase after her friend.

Hermione easily moved past the slow-moving girl, zipping up her bag and heading to the door. “Yeah, that didn’t work. I know he loves Lavender but I have to tell him how I feel! He deserves to have all of the information and then he can make an informed decision.”

Phoebe shook her head and continued to hobble around the room. “No, Hermione, it’s too late, you missed your chance! I’m sorry, I know this must be really hard, it’s over.”

The other girl paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “Y’know what? No. It’s not over until someone says ‘I do.’” And with that she took off out of the apartment and to the streets of Diagon Alley, on her way to another country to declare her love for Ron Weasley.

#fredweasley #fredweasleyxreader #fredweasleyimagine #georgeweasley #hermionegranger #harrypotter #friends #ginnyweasley #lunalovegood #ronweasley #fred #fredweasleyfluff #fredweasleyseries

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prettybiching · 3 years

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Okay writing this is 😳 but here goes: can you write a John King x fem reader fanfic with rough, unprotected sex where she goes back to work with cum dripping out of her 🙈

+ Omg your John King fanfic is my life. Thank you thank you thank you. Can you write one where they’re in the studio and JK bends her over his desk?

+ First of all, thank you for your amazing writing and for opening John King requests. It’s everything I never knew I needed. Second, I’m not even going to ask for this anonymously because I have no shame anymore. If you’re open to it: John King fic request: female reader x Map Daddy. Spanking.

Attention

Pairing: John King x fem!reader

Warning: 18+ mature scenes (viewer’s discretion is advised), rough sex, choking, sir kink, spanking, unprotected sex ( don’t do that ), dirty talking, I think that’s it?

Word Count: 2,335 words

Note: My last John King oneshot did way better than I expected lmao. Decided to join these three requests together because,,,I got WAY into it xD

PS: Feel free to request anything on my inbox. I promise I will write them, I’m just a slow af writer. Thanks for all the love and support, mwah!

You knew what was coming for you even before John asked you to join him in his office after the show.

He had been busy the whole week, barely paying you any attention. So, you decided to take matters into your hand. At first, it was your outfit that he noticed, the red dress he loved so much clung onto you in all the right places. You chose to ignore his unmoving burning gaze. Instead, you conversed with the camera crew and the producers.

However, the last test of his patience came when you texted him a picture of what you were wearing underneath, his favourite lingerie.

You tried not to giggle in anticipation, hearing him take a sharp breath before locking his phone. His eyes shifted towards you, a smirk plastered on your lips. He shot you a menacing glare, warning you not to tempt him. If it were any other day, you would've obliged like a good girl, waiting for your turn, but not today. Today, you wanted to be a brat.

"John?" you called out for him, fluttering your eyelashes at him, feigning oblivion to his current state.

He turns around at the sound of your voice, looking seemingly unbothered. Without saying a word, he gives you a once over, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the veins of his exposed forearms. No, your resolve was not going to melt.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice is calm yet commanding. If it weren't for his blown pupils, you might've thought the past hour didn't even happen. You roll your eyes, not wanting to give in to his demanding demeanour, no matter how aroused you were.

Your feet remained glued to the floor, unmoving. Once John took notice, he tried again. "Y/N," his voice was stern, leaving no place for a counter-argument, "I said, come here."

He is leaning against his desk, his arms crossed across his chest as he watches you come up to him, a hint of a devilish smile on your lips. You stand between his legs, only an inch between the two of you.

"What?" you bite, feigning disinterest.

He lets out a cocky laugh, shaking his head. "You're walking on thin ice, sweetheart," He says, and you have to bite back a moan at his tone. "How about you lose that attitude, do what I tell you, and I'll be nice."

However, you don't want nice, not after he's been ignoring you for a whole week. So, rolling your eyes, you cross your arms.

"No, I don't think I will."

The look on his face tells you he wasn't expecting that answer. Yet, he recovers quickly, a smirk growing on his lips before he swiftly leans forward and grabs your wrist, yanking you between his thighs. You have to catch yourself on his broad shoulders as you stumble from the firm tug, your stomach flush against his chest. His fingers fall to the back of your thighs before sliding up until they rested on your ass. He gave your cheeks a tight squeeze, holding you against him.

"You want to be a brat today, huh?"

Despite the tingling anticipation in your core, you're not about to give in easily. You were going to make it as strenuous for John as you could. You shoot him a glare, clicking your tongue, "Who said I'm in the mood?" You tried to push back against his shoulders, trying to create some space between the two of you, but his grip on you is unyielding.

"You are not in the mood, you say?" he asks, leaning against your ear, his warm breath over your skin, and you nod, trying not to gulp. "Then why do I smell you from here?" he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and subconsciously, you tilt your head to the side, giving him access to your bare skin. His fingers creep beneath the fabric of your dress, playing with the hem of your panties.

By now, your panties are soaking wet. After waiting for over a week for John to touch you, fuck you again, you were getting desperate. The way carried himself during the taping of the show didn't help either. Fuck him and his sinful mouth and intelligent brain.

His eyes remain fixated on you as he hooks his fingers into your underwear and slides them down your legs, until John leans forward, his cheek brushing your hip so he can pull them down himself. You step out of them, and his back straightens up, putting the piece of ruined fabric into his pants pocket.

"Bend over the desk."

"Baby, c'mon. We don't have time, just fuck me, you can spank me all you want later," You let out a whine, tucking out your bottom lip in a pout.

"So suddenly you are in the mood," he arched his brow. "Bend over the desk, now! You don't want to piss me off any more than I already am," he states sternly.

You unhurriedly move from in between his legs, but you are too slow for his liking. Before you can react, John again yanks you by your wrist before pushing you against the desk. One hand gently settles on the back of your neck, holding your head down, and the other starts trailing down your hem before slowly creeping up your thigh, tucking up the skirt of your dress, until you feel the cool air of the room brush against your wet pussy.

You clutch the edge of the desk with your palms, edging yourself and before you know it, the hand on your leg lifts itself up and strikes your right cheek. Your body jerks rightfully but the fingers around your neck tighten, preventing you from moving too much.

“Not so tough now, huh?” He says, stroking the sore skin. “How many do you think you deserve?” you shrug as best as his hold on you allows you. “If I remember correctly,” he pauses, just to brush his fingers against your pussy lips, smiling to himself when he feels the arousal leaking out of you. “You were being naughty.” He spanks your other cheek. “Sending those pictures when we had all those people surrounding us.” For that, the next hit lands on your right cheek again and you didn’t think before you dare to open your mouth.

"Really? You haven't fucked me in a week. If you keep on doing that I'll have to start taking care of it myself."

“Just for that, I’m adding five more for raising your voice at me and disobeying me.”

He spanks you for everything he listed, caressing your sore butt in between each hit and you are on the verge of crying, the tears in your eyes about to fall down your cheeks. When you think John is finished, you release a relieved breath, but suddenly, he strikes you three more times, without any break and you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut, the tears finally rolling down.

“That was for rolling your eyes at me,” he growls before leaning down, brushing his lips against your ear as he whispers, “now, what do you call me when we are alone?” You just need a minute to catch your breath to reply, but he’s not having it. “Answer me right now, or I’ll spank your ass raw, you won’t even be able to sit right. What do you call me?” he asks again.

“Sir,” You whimper quietly, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” He forces your body up with the hand on your throat and adjusts you on the desk, but before you can make yourself comfortable, he grabs your hips, pulling you up, so your ass is in the air.

His touch disappears for a moment and when you adjust your head to be able to get at least a little peek at him, your cheek pressed against the hardwood desk, you see him loosening his tie. He grabs your arms and crosses them at your wrist on the small of your back, tying them together with the piece of fabric.

He kisses each palm and then continues up your bare arm, licking, sucking, and biting, until his lips reach your shoulder covered by the short sleeve of your dress. “You okay, sweetheart?” He knows you are, but just to be sure.

“Yes, sir,” you smile, and he kisses the exposed skin of your neck.

Then, he kneels on the floor behind you, coming face to face with your glistening cunt, and he needs to adjust himself at its sight. He curls his fingers around your thighs and starts kissing them, getting closer to your core and his eyes close on their own accord when he inhales your smell. His lips finally make contact with your lower ones, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your entrance before he pulls away and hums, leaving you trembling.

“John!” You whine from the loss as your frustration grows, and he bites the tender skin of your ass.

“Baby, call me that one more time, and you aren't coming for a very long time.”

Your breath shudders when you exhale, “I’m sorry, sir.”

If it was any other time and any other place, he would take his time to properly punish you, but someone could knock on the door any second, and John has honestly been dying to devour you all day.

He spreads your cheeks and leans forward, finally burying his face into your cunt, his tongue finding the little bundle of nerves, and you moan, your eyes rolling in your head from the feeling of his soft tongue relieving the ache.

He takes the bud between his lips, sucking harshly and you buck your hips, causing him to grunt, and the vibrations go straight into your clit, more slick dripping from your hole. He didn't let a single drop go to waste as he licks up to your entrance, slurping the juices along the way before he starts plunging his tongue in and out of you. You bite your lip, trying not to make too loud sounds.

“That feel good?” he pulls away to ask, replacing his tongue with his thumb as he waits for your answer, rubbing your clit in quick circles.

“So good, sir. Let me cum, please,” you whimper and he smirks.

“You’re lucky we are in a time crunch or else I would take my sweet time to take this sweet pussy apart,” to emphasize it, he thrusts his thumb into you and pinches your sensitive clit between two fingers, another moan escaping your lips.

He slides his thumb back down to your clit, quickly circling it as he dives into you again, massaging your walls with the soft muscle until the knot in your belly starts tightening. You bite onto your lips to prevent yourself from screaming as the dam finally breaks, and you are cumming, John, drinking up everything your pussy has to offer and he needs to force himself to pull away, your taste almost too addictive.

Before you know it, the sound of his belt clanking reaches your ears, and a moment later, you feel his hand on your hip while the other gets a hold of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance before pushing himself slowly into your heat. He groans while you mewl, filling you to the hilt and giving you some time to adjust to his size.

He starts with slow thrusts once he feels you constrict around him and the hand that wasn't bruising your hip grips the knot that holds your wrists together, giving himself leverage when he begins to quicken his pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. So tight.”

And he feels incredible, too, his cock reaching all the right places, the familiar tingling reappearing again as your thighs start to quiver. He leans over you, his chest to your back as his hand on your hip slides down and starts rubbing your clit.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart?” his warm breath hits the shell of your ear. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel your pussy squeezing around me. God.”

“Please, sir.” You mewl, and he growls at your innocent voice, picking up his pace even more so, his thrusts becoming harder and your tied hands grasp his wrist.

“Cum for me, baby.” He nips at your ear and with a few more thrusts, you’re cumming again, not able to hold in the moans anymore. He rides you through it, chasing his own orgasm and when you feel his hot cum filling you up, he stills, his breath brushing your cheek as he pants.

Once he comes down from his high, he kisses your jaw and stands up, pulling himself from your heat, and you hiss at the feeling. He puts his cock into his boxers and zips his pants before he unties your hands, revealing the light red marks on your wrists. You stretch your hands a little before you bring them under yourself to lift yourself up, the skirt of your dress falling back down around your thighs and covering your now-glistening intimate parts. You can feel his warm cum trailing down your thighs as you attempt to stand back up.

Turning around, you stay leaning against the desk, looking up at John with those big eyes that make him weak in the knees. The corner of his mouth lifts at the sight of your dishevelled state; your hair is messy, your lips were swollen red from biting on them, a trail of dried tears run down your cheek and his cum still dripping out of you.

When you went back in front of the camera, you were evidently chirpier, your skin glowing and if anyone knew why they didn't bother bringing it up. Although, John's wide smirk when he watched you limp back to the studio might've given it away.

#john king fanfiction #john king imagine #john king x reader #john king #inside politics #cnn anchor smut #cnn anchors #requested #smut

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fullmetalscullyy · 3 years

Text

the way it was - chapter 34

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

and though my edges may be rough

i never feel i'm quite enough

it may not seem like very much

but i'm yours

Roy’s home office was quiet. Riza poked her head in after putting Mia to bed to ask if he needed anything while he worked. Currently Roy was sitting in his chair, both hands clenched into fists and resting upon his cheeks. A blank stare looked up the paper in front of him while his hair stood up on end in places. One strand pointed outwards, straight towards Riza, like a long finger beckoning her into the room. Given his current state of appearance, she would have entered regardless.

It was the last week of the year. A new one would begin with the next and while it was normally a joyous celebration in their household, Riza felt nothing but foreboding.

The homunculus’ plan would be set in motion in the new year. Roy knew that much but didn’t have a definite date. The thought twisted Riza’s stomach violently, making her fear for her children’s future.

“It’s coming soon, isn’t it?”

Snapping from whatever had clouded his thoughts, Roy’s head jerked upwards. He blinked at her, looking worse for wear. “What?” His throat was cleared as he recovered from being a million miles away. The papers on his desk were slowly sorted and shuffled into piles.

Riza entered the room and walked around his desk. “Whatever you’re planning for, it’s coming soon.”

“It is.” His shoulders slumped even more, rounding forwards.

Riza perched on the edge of his desk and crossed her arms over her chest as she studied him closely. Her eyes narrowed to scrutinise his appearance while he was distracted.

His counterattack was clearly taking its toll. Everything was weighing him down and it was beginning to show. His shoulders drooped. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, leaving them look bruised. Even his hair hung limp over his eyes - the result of him running his hands through it so often.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

A tired, but appreciative, smile was shot her way. “I wish there was but… It all depends on the answers I get back from others. Right now it’s just a waiting game until I’m essentially summoned by the homunculi,” he scoffed lightly.

Roy tipped backwards in his chair. His face lifted towards the ceiling while his hands rubbed at tired eyes. Riza felt a wave of sympathy wash over her.

“Any news on the others?”

“Increased strength from our enemies in the south,” Roy swallowed. “Fuery was sent right into the middle of it.”

Riza reached forward and squeezed his shoulder in comfort. She hated hearing how hoarse his voice sounded.

“Havoc’s fine but he’s feeling frustrated,” Roy continued, making an already neat pile of paper even neater. He just needed something to distract his hands with. “He’s stuck in a position he shouldn’t even be in. Breda’s gone dark. I don’t know where or how he is.”

“Breda will be okay,” Riza reassured with confidence. “He’s one of the most resourceful men I’ve ever met. There will be a good reason for him going quiet, I’m sure.”

Roy nodded weakly. “Falman reported from the north. The Elric brothers came and went. It… wasn’t without incident,” he added carefully, with a frown.

Riza shook her head fondly but still felt worry coil around her ribs. Judging from stories about their previous adventures, it rarely was a peaceful encounter with them. She just hoped they were all right.

“But they’ve been split up.” Roy bit his lip worriedly. “We lost contact after that.”

“You need sleep,” Riza murmured, running a hand through his hair.

“How can I sleep when everything is like this?”

“How can you expect to fight it all when you’re extremely sleep deprived,” she countered.

Maes’ night habits had eased as time progressed. They were both getting more sleep. He had the odd day where it was a struggle, but nothing compared to his first few weeks after birth. That was a nightmare that passed by in such a blur Riza barely remembered it. However, they still had some catching up to do. Looking after him and Mia was difficult to juggle, especially with Roy working so much. They’d still to find a routine that worked and were slowly easing into something that was relatively manageable.

Roy muttered something quietly underneath his breath.

“It’s because you know I’m right.” Riza nudged his shoulder affectionately with a closed fist.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

“Is there anything I can help with tonight, if you’re not going to come to bed? Anything I can get you?”

“I don’t know,” was his honest reply. If anything, it made him sound even more tired. “I just…” His hands found his hair, gripping onto the strands tightly in frustration. “I need action,” he mumbled.

“There’s nothing you can do this late at night, Roy.”

“There is. There’s plenty I can be doing, but I’m stuck here.”

Her hands folded together to rest atop her thighs. “Bradley has a tight leash on you still?”

Roy nodded. “I’m not to leave the city. Otherwise…” His expression turned stricken, quickly glancing up at her.

“I understand.”

“I hate it.”

“I do too. Especially when it’s upsetting you… But, you can’t be the hero all the time, Roy. Give yourself a little break, because you really need it. The Elric brothers will be okay. They have allies throughout the country. They’re not short on people who will help them if they need it.”

“Yes, but –” He sighed heavily.

“But it’s not you?” Riza guessed, and she was right.

Roy nodded minutely.

“You sound like their father.”

Roy scoffed once, twice, then snapped his mouth shut without a reply.

Riza grinned at him.

“I keep replaying the same thing over and over in my head, the more I look at this…”

Glancing over her shoulder at his desk, Riza saw the mess of notes still spread over the surface. A drawing of the ouroboros tattoo caught her eye, followed by a map of the country, covered in scribbles and notes. A map of Central was there too, the same one she’d seen at the hospital when Roy and Havoc were there. It had all the labs circled on it, the ink slightly smudged and the paper crumpled at the edges.

“What’s on your mind?”

His spine straightened as he took a deep breath. It was held in his lungs for a beat, before rushing outwards with his speech. “Hughes.”

Momentarily thrown, her eyes wandered off to the side, no longer focussing on his work.

“When it comes down to it, I’m going to have to ask them,” he admitted.

“Ask what?” Her head slowly turned to face him. Riza’s stomach dropped as she watched his jaw set in determination.

“Ask if they killed Hughes.”

“You’re going to do it outright?” Riza swallowed past the lump in her throat. “That’s –”

“It’s the only way I’ll get a straight answer,” he replied firmly.

“Roy…”

“I have to ask. I have to know. I can’t stand back and do nothing about it.”

Riza balked at his forceful tone and the action caught his eye.

“What?”

“I just - Roy we talked about this,” she replied. She was almost pleading with him.

“I know, but I still have to ask them, Riza. When it all boils down to it I have to find out. The military has already buried the truth but I won’t let that happen to Hughes. He will have justice.”

She felt like rubbing her temples but stopped herself. Riza’s head tipped down to look at her joined hands. She squeezed them tightly as she tried to keep a hold on all the emotions roiling inside of her.

They killed for Hughes for pushing too hard. They’d do the same to Roy eventually, even if he was important to them. Or do it to her. He had to play by their rules and keep the peace. If he didn’t, then…

“I can’t stop you from asking.” She tried to make her voice strong and even but it shook slightly. “I don’t want you to but I can’t stop you.”

Riza stood from leaning against his desk and walked towards the door. She needed some air. Desperately. The anxiety and fear that was creeping over her was getting worse. It was like her chest was being squeezed inside a vice.

“They can’t get away with what they did –”

Roy was indignant as he called after her but they’d already gone through all of this. Riza felt something begin to break inside of her chest as she clenched her fists by her side. Her nails dug into her palms painfully, but she barely noticed as she retreated from him.

“We’re not arguing about this again,” she nearly growled. The control was slipping the more the vice squeezed on her chest. It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Arguing,” Roy echoed. “Who said there was anything to argue about?”

“We’ve been through this Roy and I’m not doing it again,” Riza snapped, spinning around to face him. One finger lifted to point at Roy’s chest. “I’m not going through all of that after it was put to bed already. You’re not getting revenge,” she stated simply.

Roy’s eyes narrowed slightly at her, tightening around the edges. Before, it may have made Riza pause, but now she felt no hesitation. Because this wasn’t just anger at the injustice Maes and his family suffered. It was hatred too. Riza could see it clearly in his eyes. It was directed towards those who had murdered his friend. She wouldn’t let him give in to it.

“Riza –” He was almost seething but Riza would not let that talk or that behaviour fly now.

“Stop it,” she growled.

Riza stormed out of his office. She was getting worked up and needed to remove herself from the situation.

He couldn’t give in to that hatred.

In her mind’s eye Riza pictured their children. Their perfect, innocent faces smiling happily. Their expressions twisted in horror when they were told about what their father had done in memory of their beloved Uncle Maes. If she brought them up now, would they be enough for Roy to see sense?

“You can’t tell me not to do anything. I have to know.”

“That’s fine,” she relented. “But exacting justice, Roy? By your own hand? We’ve been through this –”

“And are you going to stop me? Would you stop me tonight if I left to do it?”

It was a challenge but it still pissed her off. She wouldn’t back down from it either. Instead she glared at him after he asked the question.

“You can fucking bet I would stop you,” she hissed. “You are not to get revenge for Hughes’ murder,” she forced out. “You can ask them, sure, but I will not let you take the matter into your own hands and perform your own punishment. That’s not who you are and you’re better than that.” Riza shook her head. “The man that would do that is not my husband.”

“Mummy?”

Mia’s voice sounded from behind them. She was impossibly quiet and sounded extremely upset.

Riza whirled around and saw Mia standing on the second step. Her hand gripped the banister in a white knuckled grip. Her eyes were wide with tears pooling in them as they switched between Riza and Roy.

“Daddy?”

Riza shot him a warning glance, telling him to shut up, but also telling him that their conversation wasn’t over. She noted Roy’s stricken face. However there was still an ember of his plight present in his eyes. Riza would be more than happy to continue this later but only once Mia was asleep and they were both calmer.

“Mia? What are you doing up?” Riza’s voice was soft as she approached their daughter. Crouching before her, Riza became eye-level with Mia and readjusted her pyjama top. One shoulder had slipped over to one side haphazardly.

“I…” She bit her lip, casting her gaze to the side worriedly. “I heard you both shouting.”

Riza’s gut twisted painfully. Her breath caught in her throat as she sucked it in.

“I didn’t like it.”

Guilt flooded Riza. Regardless of the topic of conversation, they should have been quieter. “Sorry, Mia Bear. Dad and I were just having a discussion.” Riza ran her hand over Mia’s hair and cupped her cheek to try and soothe her.

“You were very loud.”

Riza hugged her daughter, placing a hand on the back of her head so it rested against Riza’s shoulder. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to be.”

“Will Daddy really leave tonight?” Her head cocked to the side before looking over Riza’s shoulder at Roy. “It’s really late. And what does revenge mean?”

Mia didn’t know the meaning of the word. There was no way she should either. She was too young. It would only upset her if it was explained.

Riza prided herself on always telling her daughter the truth and explaining things as best as she was able, but this was not one of those times. It would only upset her. Plus, Riza would never let Roy stoop so low to that anyway.

“No,” Riza reassured, pulling away and cupping her daughter’s face gently in both hands. “He’s not going anywhere tonight.”

“What does that word mean?”

She was far too inquisitive for her own good. Once again, Riza brushed it aside. It pained her to do so because her father did that with her mother’s condition and ultimately, her death. She’d sworn she’d never do it to a child of her own if that ever came to pass, but she had no time at the moment to describe the intricacies of the word and what that meant her father might possibly do if pushed hard enough.

She and Roy needed to talk. Badly.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?” Riza smoothed her daughter’s unruly hair down. Despite her fringe being styled like Riza’s and her hair falling below her shoulders, it reminded Riza so much of Roy’s hair. It still had a mind of its own and didn’t obey any laws of physics or hairspray.

Mia yawned. “Okay,” she mumbled, appeased for the moment.

Riza hoped that by the morning, she’d forgotten about her mother’s promise.

“Up to bed with you now, okay?” Riza smiled at Mia. “I’ll come and tuck you in.”

Mia looked over at Roy. Without warning, she hopped down the last two steps and rushed over to her father. He’d been staring straight ahead, stricken, but Roy jumped in fright when Mia’s arms slung around his torso. He looked down at her face. One cheek was pressed into his stomach as she squeezed her eyes closed tightly in her hug. Riza watched with a pained chest as Mia’s hands fisted in his t-shirt.

“I love you, Daddy,” Mia whispered into his stomach, giving him an even tighter squeeze.

“Time for bed, Mia,” Riza called gently, her voice hoarse.

Mia nodded and smiled up at her father. A wobbly smile overtook his face and he nodded.

“Love you too, Mia,” Roy whispered. It was as quiet as a breath. “So much.”

“Come on, Mia.” Riza extended her hand for her daughter to take.

“Will Dad be okay?” Mia bit her lip worriedly, looking over her shoulder at him.

“He’ll be fine.” Riza shot him a look, noticing him swallow thickly as he stared after them both. She couldn’t be sure from the distance between them, but it looked like that ember in his eyes had fizzled out. “I’ll talk to him when I come back down.”

“Okay,” Mia whispered.

Their daughter walked ahead, up the stairs and out of sight.

“Think about one thing,” Riza stated quietly. “If you do go ahead with your own brand of justice, is that the father you want to be?” Her voice was flat as she asked her question. “Is that the home you want to build with actions like that?”

Roy had been staring after Mia, and finally, his eyes settled on her. A breath was sucked into his chest, the movement shaky as his chest heaved loudly.

They would talk but Mia was more important at the moment.

Turning away from him, not bothering to wait on an answer, Riza walked up the stairs to their daughter’s room. She ignored how heavy her footsteps were. It matched the heavy weight in her heart. As she ascended, she just prayed she wouldn’t hear their front door close. Her breath had been held as she climbed slowly. The exhale was quiet, but she heard no sound from the floor below. No door slammed and no floorboards creaked with movement.

Mia first.

“Sleep well, Mia.” Riza tucked her daughter into bed tightly and bent forward, pressing a kiss to her nose. Mia giggled and sighed happily.

“Night, Mum,” she mumbled tiredly.

The house was silent when Riza descended back down the stairs. She had hoped and prayed Roy wouldn’t leave tonight, but as she searched their house and he was nowhere to be found. Tears flooded her vision. Blinking them away, Riza’s footsteps were heavy once more as she made her way to bed.

She hadn’t been able to get through to him. Again.

However, Riza’s thought was banished from her head when she passed by Maes’ room. The door was cracked open which made her panic slightly. She’d left it wide open so she’d be able to hear him through the night if he woke.

Roy was bouncing Maes in the centre of the room. He was fussing quietly, one fist flailing above his head as Roy tried to settle him. His back was to the door as he stared down at their son. Riza heard a sniff and her heart broke.

“I’m sorry, Maes,” Roy whispered against their son’s head. He moved to kiss his forehead. “I’ve hurt her again. I let my emotions run away with me and…” Roy sighed and Riza heard his breathing hitch. “And I would’ve hurt you and your sister too if I’d gone through with everything. I would have been a big disappointment. You’d have thought me a monster,” he gasped quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

Fresh tears appeared in Riza’s eyes. She backed away from the door to give Roy some time alone to process and deal with everything. Despite feeling exhausted after their discussion, a tiny sliver of hope coiled its way around Riza’s ribs. They still needed to talk but witnessing that scene was a promising start.

Once in bed, Riza pulled the sheet up and underneath her chin. She curled into a ball, back to the door, as she waited for Roy to come to bed. Fatigue was threatening to pull her under. Riza fought it as best she could but eventually it tugged hard enough.

She was dozing when Roy slipped into the bed. Disorientated, her body jerked as she was pulled roughly from the half-asleep state she’d been fallen into. Settling down, Riza’s eyes blinked open and she grew still, listening to his movements. From what she could tell, he was on his back.

Roy sighed, a long drawn out sound, then scoffed in disgust. Riza felt the bed dip as he rolled towards her. She held her breath. Her shoulder tingled in anticipation when she saw the shadow of his hand hovering over it, but ultimately he pulled away before he could touch her.

“Are you awake?” His whisper broke through the loud silence of the room.

Riza nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding defeated and miserable.

“I thought you might really leave,” Riza admitted.

“I did it once.” She heard him swallow, then pull away from her completely. Her back felt cold now that his presence was no longer there. “I won’t make that same mistake twice.”

She rolled over to face him. “You’re willing to talk about this?” Riza searched his gaze, almost begging him to reconsider dealing with the whole thing by himself.

Roy nodded, staring up at the ceiling. Both hands scrubbed at his face before falling back to his sides, his limbs heavy. “Of course. But… I’ve made my decision.”

Riza stiffened and Roy noticed. He turned his head to finally face her.

“I’m staying,” he reassured. “And… And seeing your face, that look on it, and hearing Mia’s scared voice…” Roy swallowed, glancing away, unable to look at her. “I took one look at little Maes and… Everything just fell away.”

“Because big Maes wouldn’t want you to do it either,” Riza whispered.

“Big Maes?” Roy barked a laugh, filling the quiet room with his sudden amusement.

Riza smiled wryly. “I thought that might make you laugh.”

“It did. Big Maes and Little Maes…” Roy shook his head fondly. His amusement flickered out, replaced by quiet contemplation. “The perfect combo,” he smiled sadly. “I thought it might be too strange naming him after Hughes.” Roy swallowed. “Just one look at him and it’s like he’s really here,” he admitted.

Riza reached over to make first contact, brushing his fringe away from his forehead. Her thumb swiped over the skin underneath once to comfort him.

“I don’t think of him as Hughes, obviously,” Roy reassured, “but… It’s like a connection to him.” He turned his head to look at her. “Does that make sense?”

She nodded. “It does. I’m glad we got through to you. Maes always could talk you down so easily.”

“You do it so much better, though,” Roy sighed, rolling and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He shifted over, moving so she was flush against his bare chest.

“Really?”

“You think you don’t?” His hold on her tightened.

“There was a time when I did –”

“When?” He pulled away to look down at her with such concern on his face.

Riza shook her head. “It doesn’t matter –”

“It does. When?”

“When you first came back from Ishval. You were struggling a lot and I felt I couldn’t get through to you.” Her admission was quiet as she whispered it against his skin. “And then after Maes died. I… Well, I thought I was going to lose you to your grief and anger and didn’t know what to do.”

Fingers were placed gently against her chin. Roy tilted her head up slowly, tenderly, so she was finally looking right at him, however there was a fierce fire in his eyes.

“You were always the best at it,” he promised. “One thought of you and it kept me grounded. I think of our family and realise that you’re my top priority, despite my duty. You always were.”

“It’s been hard to juggle for you.”

“It has.”

His eyes stared into hers and Riza found herself pinned by his gaze but didn’t mind it one bit. She never had. Those dark depths were a comfort.

“That’s what happened tonight. It’s still raw and I let my emotions and frustration and fatigue get the better of me.”

“That’s why you need more sleep,” she added, teasing him lightly to try and lighten the mood.

Roy chuckled. “You’re very right about that one.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You always are.”

He turned quiet and Riza was content just to hold him. She was giving him all the time he needed to voice what he needed to say.

“If I lost myself to all of this…” His eyes closed and shame overtook his features. “That’s not the husband or father I want to be. I don’t want to be a monster again.” His voice grew hoarse, causing Roy to clear his throat. “I don’t want my kids to think of or remember me like that.”

“Only you can make that choice.”

“I know,” Roy nodded, “and I choose you. I choose all three of you. There’s no contest and never has been. It’s the easiest decision to make, like breathing.”

Riza angled her head and pressed her lips against his.

“I’m sorry for hurting you again,” he whispered huskily against her lips. His breath mingled with hers, warming the skin of her face in the same way his love and her relief was washing through her body.

“Thank you for coming back to me.” Silently, she wrapped her arms around his torso and cuddled into him.

“I always will, Riza.” His breath tousled her hair gently, tickling her. “You always bring me back.”

“I understand this is important to you,” she added, “it’s important to me too. I want to find out what really happened to Maes too and see the culprit be brought to justice but there’s other ways to do it.”

“I know,” he replied solemnly.

“I know how angry and frustrated you are about everything… Promise me one thing?”

“What?” He lifted his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Just… Think of them when it all boils down to it. Think about what you told me about not wanting to become a monster for our kids.” Riza’s voice almost shook with emotion as she spoke. “You tasked me with keeping you on the right path, and I’m trying, but when you fight back like that it makes it impossible.”

“My anger blinded me. I’m so sorry. It’s not an excuse, I know, but it did.” Shame coloured his tone.

“You saw sense, though,” Riza soothed him as she caressed his cheek gently. “And that’s what matters. When the time comes, think of Mia and Maes and your role in their life. Think of what you want them to see you as. Please.”

“And you too,” Roy insisted, his voice turning husky. His grip on her adjusted, holding her tighter against his body.

His inclusion of her made a tiny smile appear on her lips. She pressed a kiss to the column of his neck, seeing his Adam’s apple bob.

“And me too. Don’t let that hatred fool you, push you into something you don’t want to be. Not only for our sake, but for your own, and for Hughes’ memory. He wouldn’t want to see you turn into someone like that either on his behalf.”

“Always, Riza,” he breathed, sealing his promise. “Always, for you three.”

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #the way it was #emma writes #hhhhHHHHHH #i am once again tentatively posting #bc the first draft had a HMMM confrontation that i didn't like but i think its all g now and i prefer it a whole lot more #ive also stared at the same part for half an hour and got nowhere so BYEEE time to post #canon parallels? seeing as their roles have changed?? 👀#interesting...

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lacheriedesole · 4 years

Text

lost town

The announcement echoed loudly from the speaker on the wall. I blinked several times, hazy, unsure of where I am and what is going on. I realised that the train have stopped moving. The wagon that I’m in was nearly empty, hushed, except for an elderly couple walking out toward the left exit door. I gathered my conscience, relieved that I travel light―with only a small backpack―for a week I’m going to spend in this town. No, a town is an overstatement. This small region consists of a single area wide enough for a large family of three or four generations to live nearby.

I took out the crumpled map from the front compartment of the backpack, and studied it one more time. I have been memorising the map days before my travel, but I suggest a quick peek for a final shot won’t be much of a nuisance. This town―it will be much easier if I dress this area with the term―is so small and the borders blurry, the digital map on smartphones won’t be much of a help. Besides, the old map has scribbles and notes on it, a handiwork of my dad who have spent couple times here in his youth. I had no idea why, of all the interesting places and spots to choose for holidays, he chose this godforsaken spot.

The station is quiet and lifeless. Apparently, apart from the elderly couple, I was the only passenger that took off here. This is the last station before the train’s final journey, that explains why the wagon was deserted. There was no station workers, no taxi drivers, no merchants, nothing. The station looks exactly like an empty house that the train happened to stumble to drop off three lost passengers. Except that I am the only one who’s lost.

I recall the pathway to Mister Halcyon’s house, my supposed destination, and confidently marched on. Though the roads were perfectly tranquil, I do not want anyone to notice that I had never been here before and most likely to get lost. Mr. Halcyon is my dad’s senior of his earlier spiritual commune. They were really close, dad admitted that he looks up to Mr. Halcyon a lot, especially since a near-death occurrence that binds them close. Dad sees him as his saviour, long lost brother, almost like his own blood family. That must be why dad spent a lot of time here. This place must held a special meaning for him.

I was pretty sure I traced the right path, when I realised that each and every houses I passed are devoid of sound. It was a perfect silence, the one so loud that even my heartbeats sounded like an uproar. There were movements, of course, but aside from the blowing wind and swaying trees, there were no noticeable human sounds. No hustle bustle of everyday routine, no cries and screams of children, not even a whisper. Even the stinging sun has its own sound here. Well this is weird, I thought. I think I should wait until I get there, to his house, then I can make a judgement. I should hold.

Then I found his house. A serene-looking, medium house with subtle earth colour. Even the materials are natural, mostly woods and rough stones, unpolished. A very humble home. The house has no fence, just like any other houses in the town. The borders are immaculately trimmed berry bushes, or patches of hydrangea. This town sure is peaceful, huh? The people are definitely not concerned of thieves. I stepped on carefully set stones atop the lawn, which I assumed the only place I could set my feet on to. I knocked the door, the brass number plate shows 33 and a small carving reads HALCYON.

I waited for a response, but there was none. I knocked again, louder this time, and I felt like a total idiot. My knocks sounded notoriously loud compared to the stillness wrapping the neighbourhood. I knocked again, still no response, but the door was slightly creaked and opened. I hesitated. It seems that no one was inside. “Hello? Mr. Halcyon? I am Sever’s daughter. My father sent me here. May I come in?” Still no response. My voice echoed faintly to the deep parts of the house. I felt it. “Mr. Halcyon, I am sorry if this is a bad time to visit. I will search for a stay-house nearby and visit you later.”

My brains must be playing tricks on me. I thought I heard a faint ringing of a bell from the inside, beckoning me in. I felt uneasy, turned my back as I made up my mind to leave. The door creaked. I turned to find a still empty house front, the doorway opened wider this time. I was perplexed. My mind was so numb and exhausted that I went in, hesitantly. It was middle of the noon, leaked sun rays illuminated the interiors. The lively living room was hushed, as the other parts of the house. This is peculiar. The house was empty, and yet I went in, barging in. Somehow, the bell rings sounded like an invitation.

I seated myself on the grey sofa, waiting. Anxiously, I opened the map, closed it, opened it again. I did not dare to count the time. I waited and waited for what feels like a day, and I realised that the noon had shifted to dusk. For all the time I was there, everything was still wrapped in the same thick silence. The first noise was on exactly 5 p.m., so sudden that I jumped on my seat. It was coming from the collective ringing and clanging of the clocks in the neighbourhood. Then the lamps switched on, followed by hum of machines turning on, faint television mutter, and glasses clinks. The noises were building up, and suddenly there were distant chatters of people. The first human noise. They were coming from the station.

I had cold sweats and shifted uncomfortably on my seat. I had a terrible feeling about this. Something feels wrong. How did this happen? My thoughts battled whether I have to stay or leave immediately. My brains singled the latter. I snatched my backpack, sneaked out of the house and closed the front door, carefully and soundlessly ran into the shadow of the house side. I crouched and waited.

I could not believe my eyes. The insights felt flurry, hazy, like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare. There were about a dozen men and women, all adults at working age, wearing suits and formal clothing, casually chatting. They seemed to come back from a faraway job. Their faces have feline features. No, they are totally and absolutely feline. The paws with its claws, the round eyes, the triangular ears, the whiskers. They walk completely upright, their tails swaying and lifting on their own. I held my breath.

The group dispersed at every house passed, it seems that every house belongs to one (cat)person. Finally a slim grey cat wearing black suit waved to the rest of the group, heading toward the house. Oh no no no no. I must’ve been dreaming. I must’ve been on the train. This can’t be real. It’s not happening. Right in front of the door, the grey cat turned to my direction, its sharp green eyes piercing the wall I hid behind.

“You must be the daughter of Sever. Come on in, you must be waiting for quite some time.”

Contrary to his sharp appearance, the voice sounds relaxed, friendly, with a hint of modesty. It was really strange. I can’t tell if it was really him who talked as I hid and obscured my whole body. My sweats soaked the back of my shirt.

“I understand it must be strange, scary even. But for you to be able to see us, you must have undergone something grand. Something like near death experiences.”

“Us?” My reply came out as a squeak. “Near death... experiences?”

“Yes. Us. Near death experiences. Please, I can explain your confusion inside. I can’t bear it if my neighbours are watching.”

I gathered what was left of my courage and stood up. I brushed the bottom of my shirt, and stepped into the light. I found myself standing face to face with a standing cat as tall as I am.

“There you are, come in, come in.” His face lighten up and oh well, he really talked. His whisker sways with every syllable, his smile faint.

I felt giddy as I followed him inside, and plunged myself into the same grey sofa.

“The bells let you in, right? I told them there will be a visitor today. That’s why the doors opened.” He explained as he hung his coat and stored his briefcase.

“I must be a poor housemaster, am I not? Let me introduce myself properly then. I am Halcyon, a close friend of your dad. Can you please send him my warm regards when you get back?”

I found it hard to find my voice back. “I will, Mr. Halcyon. And I, I, my name is Nasca. Nasca Sever. It’s been, uh, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He laughed softly. I swear I heard the bells ring when he laughs. He opened a small fridge and took out two bottles of dewy cold water. “Please, call me Hal. I take it your dad has not explained you thoroughly. You must be really, really surprised. And thirsty. Here’s water. Do you need something to eat?”

“No, thank you. I am not hungry yet.”

He explained the situation in a simple, straightforward facts, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. The townspeople are cats, they are working with human only if the specific terms, specific time, and specific conditions are fulfilled. Apparently they have something to do with the state of mind, a mental point accessible to those with traumatic and threatening past that interfere their current state. Let’s say we’re mind healers. No, not really. But you can take it that way. He explained it with a plain bluntness. Supposedly that was how dad and Hal met.

As I sat there on a plump grey seat, dumbfounded, half-full water bottle in my backpack pocket, I wondered, How the hell did my father discover such a strange world?

#short story #watercolour #cat town

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baseballbitch116 · 5 years

Text

Bad Guy - part 5

Negan x reader x Daryl

Warnings: Language, violence, prisoner-type scenario

Word Count: 1573

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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You woke up to loud ass banging on a door, causing you to jump straight up and reach to your hip for your gun. You realize you don’t have your gun, and you’re not in Alexandria anymore. You stare at the closed door for a moment, remembering that Negan took you, everything that happened coming flooding back to you. “Negan wants to see you!” A male voice hollers from the other side of the door. You don’t respond, mentally hoping the guy would go away and you could hide in here until you figured out a plan. Your eyes trail over the room, and you take notice of light coming in from the tinted window, so it must still be daytime.

Suddenly you hear a click and your eyes shoot back as the door is swung open. “Are you deaf?! Get up, let’s go!” The man exclaims, waving his arm at you angrily. It’s the same one that was there earlier, the one with the dark mustache.

You hesitantly stand up and approach the man staring at you impatiently. He nudges you out the door and slams it behind you, motioning you to walk with another shove in the direction of the hall. You start walking slowly, trying to make an internal map of the compound still. There’s a lot of turns and different hallways, so it’s basically impossible to keep track of which ways you are going. Left, right, left, left, right. Door, another right.

You pass over the same common area, and you are almost tempted to jump off the side and make a run for it. You know that you are close to the exit, and the people down there look like prisoners or civilians, not fighters. It’s probably a twenty foot jump though, at the very least, so you would definitely end up hurting yourself if you did risk it. You decide against it, and the guy gives you another rough shove. You clench your jaw, your temper beginning to show. You consider punching him in the face too, nobody treats you this way. Fuck the consequences, you will not be shoved around by some dick.

He interrupts your plotting by opening one last big steel door and motioning for you to go through. The light is blinding, you can’t see, even with your hand shielding the light from your eyes. You step down the stairs and spot Negan with a few other men. You feel your heart speed up a little and your footsteps become shorter. The man is intimidating, especially after what he had just done to your friends... The image of Glenn flashes in your head again and you cringe.

The guy shoves you one more time and you snap, spinning on your heel and punching him right in the face, knocking him onto his ass. “Fuck!” You exclaim as you grab your fist with your left hand, not expecting it to hurt so bad.

“Oh shit!” You hear, and you spin around again, facing Negan and his men, two of which are aiming their weapons at you now. “Damn! I gotta admit... That was pretty fuckin hot!” Negan exclaims, leaning as he speaks again. He puts up a gloved hand without looking at his men, and they lower their guns.

You hear the man you hit groan and you turn around again, ready to defend yourself, but Negan interrupts. “Hey! We do not hit women!” He hollers at the man glaring furiously at you, clearly ready for a fight.

“But Boss-”

“No but’s!” He interrupts, taking a few slow steps toward the man. He glares at him for a few long seconds, then turns his gaze back to you, his face lightening up a little. “Now. Why don’t you tell me why you felt the need to sucker punch one of my men?” He questions, tilting his head at you a little. Your gaze trails between the two men, jaw still clenched. You want to go home, this is ridiculous.

“He kept shoving me.” You mutter through your clenched jaw, glaring evilly at the man. He makes the mistake of taking a step toward you and Negan turns real quick, stepping between the two of you and getting right in the man’s face. “What the shit did I just say?!” He growls in his face. The Savior cowers and takes a step away from Negan, nodding his head in submission.

“Go. Now.” Negan says, and the guy scurries off in a hurry. He turns to face you once again and his eyes trail from your face to your fist in your hand. He sighs and shakes his head a bit. “Let’s go,” He says, beginning to walk back inside, that stupid bat propped over his shoulder. You watch him for a moment, glancing around in search of somewhere to run, but can’t find somewhere to take cover for when they start shooting as you run, so you just follow him back inside.

Instead of going over the common area, he starts walking down the metal stairs. You stop at the top, watching as people start scampering around, and hesitantly follow after Negan again. He glances over his shoulder at you and continues over to a table where there is a long line of people. He walks straight to the front and chuckles a deep throaty laugh. “Gauze wrap and peroxide.” He says, and the worker nods excessively and starts looking for the stuff. Negan looks back again and motions you to stand beside him. You do, intimidated being closer to him, and keep your head down - feeling bad for the worker.

“What do you want?” Negan asks you, a smirk toying at his lips.

“Nothing,” You respond quietly, not even looking around.

“You can have whatever you want. So pick.” He basically demands. You let out a little sigh and look around. You spot a CD player and headphones and point to that, not wanting to actually ask for it. He chuckles and gives the worker a look, causing him to quickly hand it over to you. You take it from the man and give him a half smile. “Thank you.” You tell the worker, not looking at Negan.

“Come on.” He speaks, heading back up the stairs with the stuff he asked for and his bat over his shoulder still. You follow Negan through the endless halls and end up right back where you started - “your room.”

He walks in and stands in the middle of the room, turning around and looking at you expectantly. You walk in hesitantly, fearing the worst. His smirk returns as he sets Lucille against a table and takes a seat in the chair, motioning for you to sit on the bed. “Shut the door.” He instructs. You take a deep breath and turn around, slowly closing the door, looking around for anyone to call out to - with no luck. You walk very slowly over to the bed, taking a seat, pressing your knees together and avoiding looking at him.

“Jesus, don’t need to be that damn scared of me. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He rolls his eyes, grabbing some loose gauze and holding out his hand expectantly. You raise an eyebrow at him and he huffs. He grabs your right hand and you flinch, but he does not let go. He looks over it, as do you. You split it open a little from punching the man so hard, but the cut doesn’t look deep enough for stitches. He dabs some peroxide onto the gauze and begins wrapping your hand. It stings and startles you, causing you to snap your hand away from him. He gives you a look, cocking an eyebrow, and you lower your eyes, placing your hand back in his. His hand feels rough, but not unpleasant. You ignore all of the thoughts rushing through your head as he begins wrapping your hand.

Why is he doing this? Your hand is only hurt because you hurt one of his men. Why is he pretending to care if you are hurt? What is his plan here?

He finishes up and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking you over. You try to maintain eye contact, not wanting to seem so afraid of him. He smirks at you and chuckles a bit again.

“You’re gonna fit right the hell in here.” He mutters. You clench your jaw at his statement, wanting to holler at him, but your better judgement telling you not to. “Damn, you really don’t like me, do you?” He questions, seemingly genuinely wondering. You make a face, in disbelief he would even ask that.

“Are you insane? You just brutally killed two of my friends! You stole me away from my group, you’re gonna make them miserable and keep me here away from them. No, I most certainly do not like you!” You exclaim, outraged by his ridiculous question.

Instead of looking mad, he just chuckles and stands up. “You’ll get past that.” He states. And with that, he grabs his stupid bat and heads to the door. Before he closes it, he takes one last look at you, which you return with a glare. He chuckles again and exits, closing the door behind himself. You hear the snap of the lock and growl, grabbing a pillow from the bed and throwing it at the door in anger. “Damn you.”

---

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novamm66 · 5 years

Text

Red Sky in the Morning - Chapter 15 - Weigh Heigh

We are getting more away for the canon storyline and more into my own headcanon so this should be exciting.

This chapters name came from my one of my fav sea chants and my favourite version is below. ("It's only half you may ask. There is a reason *wink wink*)

Current favourite version: The Drunken Whaler Copilot Strategic Sound + Music

---

Met with V’s contact. will send report on Corpf C later. Hawke concerned about wardens. Going to meet with contact to learn more. Taking V, IB, & Sra.

—-

Like everywhere Kiaya went, Crestwood was in a state of disaster.

The journey there had been enjoyable. Hawke’s humour had fit right in with Bull and Sera, and they and Varric had tried to one-up each other’s stories all the way there. Kiaya had been glad to be left with her own thoughts, laughing along but with little to say.

The weather changed the closer to Crestwood they got, and Kiaya could feel a wrongness that set her teeth on edge. It was pouring and windy to the point of being miserable when they arrived at the first camp, and from there they could see the lake waters boiling with the effect of the fade rift deep below. It was infecting the water and rain, and it made Kiaya’s water magic sluggish and hard to cast.

Whether it was the fade magic or simply the rain itself, the group's mood shifted, and everyone became irritable and on edge. Hawke most of all. Meeting the other group of Wardens who were searching for Hawke’s contact had pushed the women over the edge, and she and Kiaya had been arguing ever since. The arguing didn’t stop upon discovering the dire straits the Crestwood townsfolk were facing. Currently, Sera and Bull were fighting alongside the villagers against the walking corpses at the gate while Hawke and Kiaya argued about what they should do next.

“We need to keep moving. we can come back after we find them,” Hawke said.

Kiaya sighed, this was a conversation that they had had a few times and she was tired of it. “Hawke, we can’t just leave these folks like this. We don’t even know if we can get to the meeting place. If the locals say we can't get there, they would likely know.”

Hawke snorted and waved her hand dismissively. “They probably haven’t even checked. And just because they can’t make it doesn’t mean we can’t.”

Kiaya lost her grip on her temper and she yanked a damp shirt out of her pack with too much force, breaking the bag’s drawstring. “Fuck.” Kiaya crossed to the fire and draped the shirt over the back of Varric’s chair to dry as much as possible before she had to put it on again. Then she turned to face Hawke as she ripped open the buttons and shucked off her soaked duster.

“I don’t get it, Hawke. How does someone with your reputation turn their back on people who need help?” Kiaya’s tone was accusing, and she regretted opening her mouth the moment she finished. But she met the eyes of the other woman, ignoring Varric’s scolding ‘Smudges’ from behind her.

Hawke’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t speak, the tension in the room thrumming in time with the rain beating on the roof. Kiaya locked her mouth shut, knowing if she said anything else it would only make things worse, and waited. She had hoped to get Hawke’s advice on the situation Kiaya found herself in, but that wasn’t likely now.

When Hawke finally spoke her voice was steady and low, like the growl of a cat “I’ll tell you what happened, Inquisitor.” The last word was spoken with a sneer.

“Everything I did was to protect my family, and it was all for nothing. It was my fault my sister got infected with the taint. While I was busy saving the city my mother was butchered. I barely managed to stop the mages and Templars from tearing apart what was left of the city after the Chantry exploded. But the moment I could not execute...” Hawke’s voice wavered then hardened. “The moment I could not execute one of my closest friends, someone who had saved my life countless times, I was chased out of my home. Again.”

“Hawke, I-“ but Kiaya was cut off by Hawke’s raised hand.

“The Hero of Ferelden is buried beneath a block of stone and I haven’t slept in the same bed twice in longer then I can remember.” Hawke’s voice softened, although her face remained hard.

“I am sorry for the position you are in. That mark pretty much puts you in the centre of all this shit. But I’ve given enough and I have to protect the only home I have left, and they are all in that cave.”

Hawke broke the stare she and Kiaya had been holding to cross over to the map on the table. Kiaya almost sagged, and she realized she was holding her breath.

Once Hawke had marked the map, she turned back and shouldered her pack. “Do what you have to do and meet me there. Be careful.” Hawke’s eyes rested first on Varric before she looked at Kiaya again. Her gaze was cool, but Kiaya could see sympathy underneath. “And don’t die.” She opened the door and was gone in a swirl of rain.

“You too, Hawke,” Varric called after her. Kiaya simply stared at the door.

It was a while before Varric spoke again. “Shirt’s dry.”

When Kiaya didn’t respond, Varric cleared his throat. “Smudges, you’re soaked. Get changed.” Kiaya felt her shirt hit her back. She caught it just before it hit the floor. Kiaya stripped off the wet shirt and slipped on the dry one. The warmed cotton was a simple comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. She fumbled doing up the shirt buttons one-handed, then turned back and hung the wet one up. Without looking at Varric, she crossed to Sera’s pack and pulled out the first clothes she found and hung those up as well. She repeated the process for Bull before Varric spoke again. “How ya doing, Smudges?”

“I’m-” Kiaya sat down in a chair across from him, elbows on her knees, hands clasped under her chin as she stared at her feet. “Feeling entirely too much.”

She dropped her head to rub at the sore muscles across the back of her neck. “Fuck me. Hawke must hate me now.”

“Naw, she likes you. I can tell.” Varric chuckled at the expression of disbelief on Kiaya’s face. “If she didn’t, she would have decked you.”

Kiaya couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m glad then. She would have to cream me.” Kiaya stood, stretched, then picked up her wet gear with a grimace. “Let’s go give the other two a chance to take a break, then we will make a plan for the Keep.”

“Great idea, Smudges.” Varric grinned at Kiaya grimace. He got to his feet and slung Bianca over his shoulder.

Kiaya stuck her tongue out at him as she pushed open the door and headed out into the rain.

—-

“Eggsuckingpissfucker!” Sera swore as she slipped and fell. “When it was raining, the mud washed off.”

“At least it’s warm.” Kiaya handed her a partially clean rag. “And just listen to those birds.”

“Lotsa birds means lotsa bugs.” Sera slapped the back of her neck.

They had successfully defeated the bandits that had taken over the keep, and had drained the lake to reach the rift in the caverns below. It had been a dank, slimy slog, and they were all exhausted. The better weather and safer roads made the journey to Hawke’s mark on the map uneventful and quick, but Kiaya knew her companions were eager to be done with this place and headed back to Skyhold. The hill and cave mouth showed no signs of any two-legged visitors; there was nothing around but brontos and birds.

“Keep your eyes open. We don’t know what’s waiting for us.” Kiaya said, making eye contact with Bull, Varric, and Sera in turn before Bull led the way into the cave.

The cave was dark and slippery and it narrowed quickly, and Bull had to stoop just to clear the ceiling so he and Kiaya switched and she took the lead, something the party normally avoided. She led the way until they reached a rough-hewn wall and door. Kiaya motioned for her companions to hold before gently pushing open the door and carefully slipping into the room beyond.

Two paces in and a magical force blew past her, causing her eyes to feel gritty and slamming the door shut, cutting her off from the others. The next thing Kiaya knew, she was flung into a cave wall, a gauntleted hand tight around her throat.

“Twitch and I kill you.”

Kiaya couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Hitting the wall had knocked the air out of her, and she was having trouble filling her lungs again. Black dots swam in her vision, and all she could do was stare at her attacker as she gasped like a fish.

Shockingly white hair, glowing tattoos, and the greenest eyes she had ever seen were the only details her scrambled mind could take in as she tried to make her eyes focus and her lungs work. Instinctually, she had no doubt he meant what he said.

Kiaya blinked as Hawke suddenly appeared behind him. “Fen, put the nice lady down or I might have to let Varric shoot you.”

—-

“Where’d Smudges go?” Varric asked as he packed away the cards. It had been an enjoyable evening, for him at least: once the excitement of their arrival had simmered down and the business talk about the Wardens had petered out. It had been good for him to be with his old friends again, tense or not. Broody and Blondie had never really moved past ‘barely civil’ after Kirkwall and that hadn’t seemed to change, but the three wardens, Hawke, and Fenris seemed to make it work. Bull could read and blend into any group, and Sera could enjoy any situation with cards and drink.

Varric felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t noticed earlier that Kiaya was gone.

“Relax, Varric. She hasn’t gone far.” Bull answered. He motioned to where her pack sat, sketchbook balanced on top.

Varric nodded, focusing again on the cards in his hands. He hadn’t realized his mouth had opened until he heard his voice. “That was a shit move you pulled earlier, Hawke, no matter how you and Kiaya left things before.”

“I know.” Hawke at least had the decency to look a little guilty from where she sat next to Fenris. “Sorry.”

“Wrong person to apologize to, Marion.” Bethany didn’t look up from the mending in her lap.

“I know that, too.” Hawke rolled her eyes. “You want me to find her now?”

“Wait until morning. I will go and check on her. I want some air before bed anyway.” Bethany shared a knowing look with Varric as she spoke, and he smiled his gratitude.

“Great.” Hawke glided smoothly to her feet, pulling Fenris up after her. “We’re going to bed.”

“Don’t forget: sound carries in here,” Bethany fired over her shoulder.

—-

Kiaya wasn’t interested in cards. She had barely been able to sit still long enough to pretend to eat. She had tried to practise her writing, but without a book for a guide or someone to help her it was a lost cause, and she had given up in frustration. Feeling too hot and closed-in, she slipped from the cave.

Kiaya had decided to agree to be Inquisitor. It was the right thing to do, she knew that, but just the thought brought a crippling wave of panic.

I have to get my shit together before I can face anything.

The cooler air and the darkness of the moonless night helped, but not much. Kiaya paced in the dark, losing track of time. She couldn’t get her heart to slow down, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her skin felt too tight, hot, and itchy, and she couldn’t stop moving. All the while her mind raced over every bad thing that had happened and every horrible one that possibly could. One knee gave out and she almost fell. After that she sat on the ground, rocked in place, eyes staring unseeing across the black plain, simply trying to unweave the mess of thoughts in her head.

She didn’t look up when footsteps echoed out of the cave, or when a shadow separated from the darkness and spoke. “Lady Trevelyan. May I join you?”

Kiaya blinked and stared up in surprise at Warden Hawke before nodding.

“Please.” Kiaya had to stop and swallow, her throat too dry. “Please call me Kiaya.”

The other woman sat on a boulder and seemed content to just look at the stars. Which was good for Kiaya. She hadn’t quite gotten herself under control, and if she opened her mouth much more she might bawl. Bethany Hawke’s quiet company was a balm, and Kiaya was able to slow down her breathing, and her rocking becoming more gentle until she stopped.

“Thank you, Warden.” Kiaya’s voice was still shaky, but it worked.

“Bethany, please.” The other mage dropped her gaze from the sky. “I was going to see if you had more questions, but it was just such a lovely night to sit and look at the sky.”

Kiaya could hear understanding and sympathy in Bethany’s voice. “I may later, but not at the moment. I’m a bit...” Kiaya cursed herself, her voice still sounding watery.

“Overwhelmed?” Bethany said gently.

Kiaya laughed quietly. It sounded bitter to her own ears. “I would settle for ‘overwhelmed’ right now.”

“All you have to do is save the world one day at a time.” Bethany winked.

This time Kiaya’s laugh was less forced. “Oh, well when you put it like that…”

The mark flared, and Kiaya choked on a curse as pain shot up her arm. She wasn’t expecting it, which always seemed to make it worse. The world around them was washed in green light until she clamped her hand firmly to her thigh and picked up her discarded gloves.

“I used to hate gloves, still do really, but I hate having a green beacon on my hand more.” Kiaya struggled to get the fingerless glove on her left hand while the muscles spasmed and the mark crackled.

“Do the gloves help?”

“Only with not glowing in the dark. The pain will lessen.” Kiaya sighed. “Eventually.”

“We saw a rift across the plain, by the farmhouses. Could it be reacting to that from here?” Bethany asked with concern.

“It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

Both women’s heads snapped up and turned towards a faint sound from the hillside below. They were immediately on their feet, slipping deeper into the shadow of the cave mouth. It was still pitch black, the stars not bright enough to light the ground. Kiaya wasn’t sure, but it had sounded like the scrapping of metal on stone.

“Are you armed?” Bethany’s voice was little more than a breath in Kiaya’s ear.

“Beyond my magic, no.” Kiaya exhaled back. The only thing she had on her was a boot knife.

Bethany was silently bringing her staff to bear. “Anders and I have set traps. He will know if any trip. What do you think? Are we jumping at brontos?”

“I don’t think so,” Kiaya answered slowly, eyes and ears alert for any sign of movement in the black. The mark was still twitching and sparking under her glove, and she was getting that prickly feeling on the back of her neck that she was starting to loathe. Kiaya started marshalling her mana, a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.

A wall of fire exploded at the bottom of the slope below. A wave of heat broke over the barrier Kiaya had thrown up, the change in the light making her eyes water. She could see eight moving shapes backlit by the fire before arrows clattered against the far side of the cave and she ducked her head. She couldn’t tell for certain how many archers there were, or if there were more attackers beyond the fire.

Bethany strode forward to meet the closest group with her staff in one hand and a spirit blade appearing in the other. Light from her staff glinted off of the red crystals that were growing out of the Templars faces. Kiaya quickly filled the air with fog and water to throw off the archers’ aim. She couldn’t see to hit them beyond the shimmering heat of the fire. She worked to maintain the cover while firing frozen bolts to distract and slow the Templars advancing on Bethany.

They needed time. Both mages would run out of mana before help arrived and without magic, they wouldn’t have a chance.

“Fall back to me, Warden!” Kiaya called above the noise of fighting and the roar of the fire.

Kiaya saw Bethany nod acknowledgement before she blasted the fighters near her back down the hill. She whirled and began running back up the short distance to where Kiaya stood.

Kiaya’s fog was disappearing; she needed all the mana she could get. Her eyes were peeled, watching for arrows in the mist. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a waver in the air, too far from the fire to be heat haze.

“Down, Bethany!” Kiaya shouted.

Bethany didn’t hesitate or look around but hit the ground immediately, throwing herself forward and almost landing at Kiaya’s feet. Kiaya released all of her power into a blast of water and ice that formed a wall curved over the cave mouth.

“We’re safe, for the moment.” Kiaya panted, offering her hand to the woman at her feet.

“Thank you,” Bethany gasped as she stared at the frozen, skewered, and very dead red templar assassin that had been right behind her.

Kiaya’s head was swimming. She could hear the pounding feet of their friends getting closer, meaning she had bought them enough time. But her mana was low enough that she might black out. Bethany caught her as Kiaya swayed on her feet.

“We need to get out of the way.” Kiaya’s words were slurred. Don’t faint, don’t faint, she chanted to herself.

“Out of the way of what?” Bethany’s question was answered by the clatter of an arrow that had found a hole.

“That,” Kiaya swallowed, “The wall is starting to break as well, but mostly, Bull won’t stop until he hits something bigger than him.”

Her words were punctuated by Bull pounding into view, a Qunari war cry echoing off the rock. He didn’t slow down as he approached the ice, slamming into and through it with the force of a charging bronto. Fenris was hot on his heels with the others not far behind.

With everyone involved in the skirmish, it was short work, and by the time they were done Kiaya no longer felt as wobbly as she had been as they all returned to the mouth of the cave.

“Shit, Smudges, you look like only slightly better then they do,” Varric said waving vaguely at the corpses down the hill.

“Thanks.” Kiaya smiled weakly. “I’m fine, nothing some sleep won’t cure.”

“You shouldn’t have been alone or unarmed.” Hawke sounded annoyed and angry but before Kiaya’s tired brain could reply, Bethany beat her to it.

“She wasn’t unarmed. She’s a mage, and if not for her I would be sliced to ribbons right now.” Bethany scolded. “Now I am taking Kiaya in for a sleeping draft. You clean this up.”

“You have to burn the bodies. And don’t touch the lyrium crystals.” Kiaya said.

“We know, Boss.” Bull replied. Kiaya could practically hear him rolling his eye. “Go, before you fall over.”

Kiaya could only nod. She wasn’t shaking anymore, but the bone-deep tiredness from using most of her mana too quickly was dragging her eyelids down.

“Beth, do you need me?”

“No, help them here. I’ve got the Herald,” Bethany answered. Kiaya hadn’t even noticed Anders standing next to them. It was the first words he had spoken since they had arrived.

The other mage nodded, reaching out to touch her arm before leaving them.

The two women turned and headed into the cave. Kiaya concentrated on not tripping over her own feet, grateful for Bethany’s arm around her waist guiding her.

“Well, you have convinced me,” said Bethany.

Kiaya tried to shake off her stupor “Of what?”

“That you can save the world.”

Kiaya groaned, then laughed. “One day at a time?”

Bethany smiled. “Exactly.”

—-

Thanks for reading!

You can find me on AO3 here.

#Red Sky #Kiaya&Cullen #Kiaya Trevelyan #fanfiction

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my-creative-hell · 4 years

Text

Blind (Avengers au)

“Hey Hannah!” Iden calls from the other side of the room, Hannah automatically turning her head to look in the direction of the noise, though she obviously wouldn’t see anything.

Hannah had been blind for as long as she could remember, sight a distant memory of the past, not that that bothered her anymore. All Hannah could see were intense lights, and sometimes silhouettes thanks to that, but everything else was a mystery to her.

But she had gotten used to it, wearing steel toed and heeled boots to create noise whenever she walked, using the sound to ‘see’ the world around her in a sense. And when she was fighting or needed extra help, her ability would help her, the physical manifestations of shadows helping her navigate the world around her.

Using the sound of Iden’s voice, Hannah moves around the living room, bringing the cup of tea she had been making, the space mapped perfectly in her mind from living there so long until she knew she was beside her twin, able to feel the heat coming off of him, and able to hear him breathing.

“Yeah, what’s up?” She asks, instinctively looking down at him as she speaks, the behaviour learnt from pretending she could see so people would leave her alone in public. Plus, it made conversations much less awkward feeling.

Iden shifts on the sofa before answering, the material rustling underneath him as he picks up his own drink from the wooden table in front of him, taking a quick sip before he answers the question.

“Grave told me she had something to show you, and wants you to go into her office to see it.” Iden explains, Hannah smiling slightly. Grave was the youngest on the team, sixteen years old and already the most chaotic, albeit intelligent member. She was also the only one who didn’t know Hannah was blind; she was so good at playing the role of a sighted person.

“Ah, well I guess I’ll go see what she has in store.” Hannah jokes as she smiles at Iden, knowing he would be smiling at her as she turns on her heel, swiftly moving through the halls to the room next to Grave’s bedroom, her self-proclaimed office.

She could hear movement from inside, no doubt Grave doing something else unknown within the room, working on some new equipment or altering something she had stolen from somewhere to annoy people she didn’t like.

Hannah opens the door, stepping into the room as it swings open, and pulling it closed gently behind her. The noise Grave was making gave Hannah an exact idea of where she was in the room, Hannah moving to that spot at an even pace, not wanting to risk startling her or getting hit with who knows what.

She approaches the noise, a smile on her face as she raises her eyebrow, looking at the rough place she knew Grave’s head would be resting, very thankful for her blacked out eyes that didn’t allow you to know exactly where she was looking.

“Hey hun, what’s goin on?” Hannah asks, smiling, cocking her head as she listens to the shuffling noises Grave is making as she stops whatever it was she was doing when Hannah approached her.

Grave turns to look at her properly very nervous and excited, it showing through on her voice as she speaks, the sounds very high-pitched and elated but also slightly wavering and unsure.

“I um… I have plans for a new suit I’m working on a-and I wanted you to see it and tell me what you think!” Grave exclaims happily, though Hannah’s heart stuttered a bit. Shit. Obviously Hannah can’t fucking read, so she was going to have to bullshit.

“Oh, sure.” Hannah smiles, knowing Grave returns it as she begins to search for whatever it was she wanted to show to Hannah, setting down a sheet of paper Hannah could tell was probably almost as big as the table she set it on, the breeze being given off as it was set down being quite large.

“Here they are!” Grave exclaims, and Hannah didn’t need sight to know about the large grin that was currently on her face as she presents her work to Hannah.

Not wanting to admit to anything, Hannah does what she has been doing for years. She pretends, tilting her head down and shifting her eyes as if she was studying or reading something on the sheet. Hannah scrunches her face in confusion to add more believability to her claims as she stands up, plastering a slightly sheepish smile on her face.

“You know, reading has never been my forte, why don’t you just explain it to me, I’m sure I’d understand it better that way.” Hannah explains, smiling and hoping Grave would go along with it so she wouldn’t have to be what she feared would be a very awkward conversation with the younger girl.

She hears Grave shift and waits for her response, not wanting the awkward situation she fears to come to fruition, and thankfully, Grave rolls with it, voice excited as she speaks.

“Of course! There’s a faster reload for any shooty shooty bois, the suit is lighter so it’s easier to run, but it’s also stronger. It’s made out of a new metal I made-” Grave pauses as Hannah looks confused at that last part, pulling her eyebrows together in shock and confusion.

“Oh boy, you made a new metal?” Hannah questions, knowing Grave’s mind was mulling over how to explain her answer and contain her obvious excitement and happiness while doing it, though Hannah could clearly hear it no matter what she did.

“Yeah! It was just a thing I made out of boredom but then I realized it could be useful so…” Grave trails off, excitement evident and Hannah can feel her trying not to bounce around too much if at all, possibly not wanting to seem too childish, making Hannah smile properly, the grin lighting up her face as she speaks, voice gentle and kind.

“Well, I think that’s very cool and an excellent showcase of your intelligence, this is super amazing.” She compliments, knowing anything Grave would be creating would be an amazing marvel of technology, whether she could see it or not.

“Thank you!!!” Hannah can hear the surprised expression on her face as she speaks, clearly trying even harder not to jump around or anything that would so clearly show the happiness and excitement Hannah can feel pouring off of her, making Hannah’s grin so much more genuine.

“Of course, hun, its not problem, you know we all love everything you do.” Hannah points out, and it was the truth. Grave was the youngest, but she was a valuable member of the team and they all loved her like a family of bigger siblings, encouraging her intelligence and her knack for inventing incredible devices that had helped them out of so many sticky situations.

Hannah can hear Grave gripping onto her shirt in her excitement, the fabric being pulled upwards, Hannah pretty certain Grave was biting her shirt to stop herself jumping around, making her even happier when she hears Graves much more excited voice.

“I’m!!! Glad!!!” Grave exclaims happily, Hannah knowing the huge grin that was no doubt etched into her face as she speaks, making Hannah laugh lightly, her own happiness clear in her expressions.

“I’m very happy you are.” Hannah expresses this earnestly. Hannah and Grave were two of the closest within the group, adopting a very family like dynamic they both enjoyed, and it brightened any of Hannah’s days when Grave was having a genuinely nice time.

The tippy tapping of Grave’s shoes on the floor makes Hannah laugh now, her excitement clearly bubbling over into more physical actions Hannah could clearly make out, showing her just how happy Grave was in the best way.

“It’s lovely knowing how excited you are.” Hannah states happily as she listens to her younger counterpart tapping on the floor in her happiness, a pure sound to Hannah’s ears, ricocheting only slightly through the room, since it was pretty soundproofed due to all the equipment Grave had managed to fit in there.

“I-I’m… I’m not. I am a normal amount of happy right now. Totally fine. This is business stuff.” Grave tries to justify, only making the situation funnier to Hannah, making her laugh slightly as she jokes in response.

“Mhm, sure hun, cause you normally tap your feet and bite your shirt when you’re just happy.” Hannah raises one of her eyebrows in a questioning gesture, but the blooming grin on her face shows that there’s no bite or rudeness behind the statement at all.

“I’m not doing that!” Grave tries to defend, but Hannah can hear that her feet are still tapping on the floor, though she does hear them stop after some shuffling, meaning Grave has most likely placed one foot over the other to stop the tapping. “Okay, maybe I was-” She admits, making Hannah laugh even more internally as she can hear the defeat in her voice at being caught out by her.

“You definitely were.” Hannah deadpans the statement despite laughing inside. She slowly starts to hear tapping on the floor again as Grave’s feet move on their own, seemingly assigning Grave to her fate.

“…Okay I was.” Grave resigns herself, and Hannah can practically hear her internal sigh as her feet return to tapping, indicating that she was still overall happy and excited, making Hannah smile again.

“Thank you for admitting it.” Hannah teases, her smile twisting to be jokey as she faces Grave, who she can tell is probably pulling a small scowl in response, scrunching up her nose.

“You’re welcome.” Grave says bluntly, putting on an angry voice in an attempt to fool Hannah, though it comes off as more playful than angry, dramatic antics being a sort of second language for Grave.

“Aw, are you trying to be mad at me? That hurts my feelings.” Hannah says in a sad voice pulling a stricken face as she speaks, having years of practice at this from her twin brother and other team-mates.

“I’m sorry!” Grave exclaims, making Hannah feel bad for a second for convincing her she was upset with her.

“I’m just joking hun, you know that.” Hannah reassures, smiling at Grave as she says this, voice soft and gentle as she subconsciously tells Grave not to worry and to calm down.

“It looks very convincing though…” Grave continues, making Hannah smile and raise an eyebrow, sipping her cooled tea as she answers, the smile much more sarcastic.

“That’s because I have a brother.” She explains to Grave. She could make her twin feel bad constantly, and he knew all of her tricks and faces, and yet somehow, she would still pull; him up on it and make him believe her.

“I… good point.” Grave concedes, making Hannah laugh as she listens.

“I know, right.” She laughs, smile wide as she answers the younger teen in front of her. Having a sibling makes you a master of deception, at least, in her case it did.

“Do you want me to make you a suit? It can be customized and stuff.” Grave asks, catching Hannah off guard. She hadn’t thought about Grave asking her this. The suits Hannah wore were designed to help the tiny amount of actual sight she had left, and allow her to see her surroundings using her other senses.

“Much as I would love that, my suits are pretty specially designed to help certain things about me…” Hannah explains vaguely, not wanting to go into the details to Grave, though she fully realised today might be the day she would have to explain her blindness to the younger counterpart.

“I can make the suit like that to help you!” Grave exclaims, further shocking Hannah, making her worried as the truth was coming closer and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to face it again. Being blind didn’t bother her, but the possibility that she would be pitied for it and treated like she couldn’t do anything because of it did.

“It’s um…” Hannah laughs nervously, her words failing her as her brain tries to stop the conversation out of fear. She didn’t know why she was so worried, she was sure Grave wouldn’t care, and yet, there was a small nagging portion of her brain that said otherwise.

“It’s fine if you don’t wanna tell me. You don’t have to.” Grave reassures and Hannah can hear her worried and concerned expression, making her laugh slightly,

“It’s not even that serious I just don’t want any pity from anyone.” Hannah explains as she laughs. Maybe she was downplaying it a little, but to her, it wasn’t serious, it was just her life.

“I mean…” Grave shrugs as she speaks, the fabric of her clothes rustling. “If it makes you feel better, I have a prosthetic arm. I understand the dumb pity you get from people.” Grave explains, making Hannah smile. Though she could never see the arm, she did always know it wasn’t flesh and bone, it sounded too different to her. No normal person would pick up on it, knowing Grave it would be a very elaborate and convincing prosthetic, but Hannah’s blindness actually aided her there.

“Oh I know, I can tell.” Hannah smiles, her voice soft and kind as she speaks, not wanting to come off as rude or sarcastic to Grave.

She can tell Grave is smiling as she hears her prosthetic make some small beeping noises, Grave clearly going it to prove her point about the arm and it was probably a fun thing to do, to be honest.

“That’s always sounded so cool.” Hannah laughs as she listens, smiling as the beeping noises fill her head somehow managing to sound as happy as Grave in their pitch and tone.

“I’m glad you like it!” Grave exclaims, making Hannah smile again with her enthusiasm that was no doubt written all over her face in a goofy smile.

“I really like it, I’ve always loved how creative it sounds.” Hannah elaborates, listening to the arm as it beeps as Grave either fiddles with it or makes it beep to make her smile more, she can’t tell.

“It’s just a song I heard that I wanted to turn into beeps.” Hannah can hear Grave shrug nonchalantly as she speaks, though her voice is still happy.

“That makes a lot of sense actually.” Hannah admits, raising an eyebrow in amusement at Grave’s statement. She was known for doing strange and amazing things, and this was no exception.

Graves tapping on the floor gets louder and Hannah can only assume she’s attempting to quiet her feet down, much to her amusement with the situation.

“You okay there?” Hannah asks in a teasing tone as she listens no doubt to Grave’s growing embarrassment as she tries to stop her feet from tapping on the floor.

“I’m fine, what are you talking about-” Grave asks as she continues to tap, amusing Hannah further as she raises her eyebrows as she speaks.

“You’re tapping hun.” Hannah reminds her cheekily before elaborating. “I can hear it.” She smiles gently as she listens.

Hannah can hear Grave presumably pushing her feet down with her hands to attempt to stop them from tapping as she speaks again, denial in her voice.

“Nope. No I’m not.” She says as Hannah grins at her, so close to bursting into laughter.

“My hearing never fails me, so don’t even lie.” She chastises in a light manner, joking with Grave about the situation.

“That wasn’t me. It was… my arm. I’m not tapping.” Grave lies, making Hannah laugh and be even more sarcastic.

“Mhm, sure hun. If you’re not tapping them I’ve also gone deaf.” She jokes, face like a disappointed mother, though they both knew that was for show and not serious at all.

“Fine…” Hannah can hear Grave pouting and it makes her laugh internally. “I was tapping.” She admits and Hannah has to stop herself from being too annoying, opting for a wide smile as she speaks.

“Thank you! My hearing continues to be my best attribute.” She laughs at the statement, which couldn’t be any more true for her as a person.

“Hhh will my feet ever shut the fuck up-” Grave complains, making Hannah laugh loudly as she tries to stop them from their excited tapping on the floor.

“I don’t know, maybe once you calm down a bit they will stop on their own.” Hannah suggests, shrugging in an unhelpful manner. Even if she wanted to help, she couldn’t see the feet to stop them, though she could probably fathom a pretty good guess of where they were.

“But um, what were you gonna say before I interrupted you?” Grave reminds Hannah as she redirects the conversation. Hannah flounders for a second as she is reminded of the truth she still had to tell the youngest member of the group. She huffs loudly, plastering a smile on her face in an attempt to lighten the news.

“Oh, um, I was gonna say that, and this is super funny. I’m kind of… blind.” Hannah admits as she looks at what is probably Grave in front of her, hoping she would have the response she wants.

“Coolio.” She hears Grave snap her fingers and loses it, laughing as she got the perfect response she was expecting from the youngest member of the ensemble.

“That was the most you response ever-” Hannah says as she laughs, wiping some brimming tears from her eyes as she does. “Just… promise not to make it weird.” Hannah pleads as she stands with Grave in the room.

“I won’t, promise.” Hannah can hear Grave smiling and it makes her smile herself, gentle and warm and full of happiness.

“Thanks.”Hann

#writing with friends #writing #my writing #original writing #sleepisafuckinglie #not my oc #others ocs #original characters #original story #avengers au #alternate universe #House of Hell

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foolproofidea · 4 years

Text

The Best Gadgets for 2020

Pelican Go G40 Charge Case

Pelican has consolidated its rough waterproof Go case with a 10,000mAh rechargeable battery. The brand structured the arrangement for simple remote charging of your cellphone. You can likewise go through it to charge different gadgets through a USB charge port while in a hurry.

The Pelican Go G40 Charge Case will hamper you $100. It estimates 10.63 inches long, 5.39 inches wide, and 2.42 inches down, and it weighs about 1.8 pounds.

NAD M10 BluOS Streaming Amplifier

In spite of its minimized plan, this remote speaker has the force and execution of an encompass sound framework. Perfect for laying everything out for on-board gatherings and meals, the M10 can stream and play music in remarkably high caliber from various administrations including Amazon, Spotify and Tidal and is additionally ready to help Alexa or Google voice-controls.

Self-Sealing and Self-Changing Trash Can-TOWNEW

This creative trash can will make taking out the trash considerably less of a task. It may resemble your run of the mill movement sensor container, yet it's quite considerably more. At the point when it's full, you should simply press a catch for it to naturally seal the trash pack and line the receptacle with another one.

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Samsung Ballie

Samsung's Ballie is an intriguing mix between keen home gadget and automated partner. The ball-molded device, furnished with cameras and sensors used to chase after you, can control different shrewd home highlights, take photographs, send you refreshes about your home when you're away, and even capacity as a wellness right hand. Intended to be an "inside and out life partner," Ballie may be adorable enough give your puppy a run for its cash.

A 20-PIN USB-C MAGNETIC BREAKAWAY CONNECTOR

Goodness, how this has altered my life. Thus did the MacBook MagSafe connectors from the times of old. They spared me hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in fixes and new MacBooks by keeping me from hauling my costly yet delicate workstation to the ground careful my occasional chimp-like clumsiness. Be that as it may, my MagSafe MacBooks became old and I in the long run needed to move up to a more up to date model highlighting USB-C connectors.

Delicate USB-C connectors. USB-C connectors that cling on enough to permit my MacBook to be pulled off a table and placed into Isaac Newton's cold, detached hands.

At that point a peruser pointed me in the direction of the 20-pin USB-C magnetic breakaway connector. I was skeptical, not just because they were sold under no-name marking, yet additionally because of the price. $25 appeared to be cheap.

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The connector underpins 100W (20V/5A) charging, which makes it perfect for all MacBooks and different PCs and USB-C devices, and even backings up to 10Gbps information move and 4K@60Hz video yield.

Samsung Sero TV

CES is always big on TV announcements, and especially worth noting is Samsung's new Sero TV, because its defining feature goes beyond LED and 4K and what have you. It seems so obvious: a TV that transitions from the horizontal plane to the, gasp, vertical plane. That's what Samsung is doing with The Sero, which means "vertical" in Korean. This QLED TV, already available in South Korea and going global this year, flips so that longways it resembles a 43-inch phone screen. That means it's ideal for mirroring an Instagram or TikTok feed from your Galaxy phone, should you have one. What a trick. And here you hoped you’d be looking at your phone screen less in 2020.

Cleer Flow II Headphones

Cleer sound have increased their game with the most recent model of remote, sound-dropping headphones. Close by a google-voice helped control framework the Flow II headphones currently highlight a discussion mode, permitting volume and sound-dropping to be incidentally diminished by squeezing the left earcup. Perfect for plunging all through discussions or tuning in to declarations.

Dell XPS 13

CPU: eighth era Intel Core i5 – i7 | Graphics: Intel UHD Graphics 620 | RAM: 8GB – 16GB | Screen: 13.3-inch FHD (1,920 x 1,080) – 4k (3840 x 2160) | Storage: 256GB – 1TB SSD

Focused webcamBattery life superior to ever2019 update isn't hugeExpensive

The Dell XPS 13 has been a customary of our best laptops list for a considerable length of time, and – despite the fact that the Huawei Notebook X Pro knocked it off this rundown for a brief timeframe – the 2019 model is a genuine come back to frame. It holds all that we've come to cherish from Dell's lead 13-incher, from the perfect and light plan, to the incredible present day segments that force it.

The Dell XPS 13 shakes an eighth era Intel Core i5 or i7 processor and a bezel-less 'Limitlessness Edge' show, this Dell XPS 13 keeps on being the most well known Windows laptop on the planet.

Likewise, there's a wide scope of customization choices, so you can truly make the Dell XPS 13 the best laptop for your needs. The 2019 model doesn't bring a tremendous measure of enhancements, yet then not so much about the Dell XPS 13 needs improving. Its webcam has been put at the top focus of the screen, rather than at the base, which a great deal of clients have been requesting. You additionally get a more drawn out battery life in the current year's model.

Mophie Powerstation GO Phone Charger and Car Jump Starter

You know Mophie for its phone chargers and force banks, yet the brand's most recent item makes it a stride further: It can jump start your car and charge your workstation, as well. Keep the lightweight Powerstation in your car if there should be an occurrence of crises, such as awakening on a virus winter morning to a car with a dead battery.

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Canon EOS-1D X Mark III

Rumors of the DSLR’s demise have been greatly exaggerated based on Canon’s update to its beloved — and expensive — EOS-1D X lineup. The Canon EOS-1D X Mark III boasts improvements like the faster Digic X processor, burst shooting at 16 frames per second, and face and head-tracking thanks to improved computer vision tech. It also shoots 5.5K RAW video and 4K video at 60 frames per second.

Altec Lansing EVP Speakers

Altec Lansing has refreshed its whole line of Everything-Proof (EVP) speakers. These speakers glide, are IP67-evaluated for waterproofness, and have a remote scope of 100 feet, fun-shaded LED lighting, and a carabineer clasp or convey lash so you can undoubtedly take them anyplace. Most even have Qi remote charging to effectively charge your cellphone from the speaker's battery.

There will be five sizes of the EVP speakers on offer in spring 2020. The two new bigger units offer Play Your Way innovation, taking into consideration vertical-direction, 360-degree omnidirectional sound or even direction, forward looking stereo sound. Estimating ranges from $40 to $200.

Bose Audio Sunglasses

The new audio sunglasses from Bose signal that the future really is here. While providing UV protection, these wearable devices can be used to play music, make and answer calls and connect to bluetooth. They can be pared with your other devices and are capable of accessing apps including Spotify, Skype or Google Maps. Eventually Bose hopes to offer sunglasses that can be connected to fitness and gaming apps too. There are currently two frame shapes to chose from; Alto (pictured) and Rondo

Fitbit Charge 3

Assume responsibility for your wellness with the best tracker

Light designBig screenNo installed GPSNot a shading screen

More refined than the Fitbit Charge 2, the Charge 3 is one of the organization's most cultivated gadgets. It has a more lightweight plan than the last-gen, and it looks better on your wrist. It's our main all-round wellness tracker since the cost has dropped somewhat as of late, and it offers a great deal of knowledge into your general wellbeing.

There's no locally available GPS, and it doesn't have the more test plan of this present guide's past victor, the Moov Now – which doesn't have a screen! the Charge 3 does, in any case, offer a full wellness suite including a pulse tracker. It's even waterproof as well.

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chameleon-of-the-fandom · 5 years

Text

Brothers In Arms: Pt 2

Words: 2375 Part 1

Magnum bends over, his ribs aching from the swim. Once he manages to get the pain under control, he stands back up and looks at the man still handcuffed to him. "What next?" He looks around, but there is nothing in sight. He doesn’t understand why these men just jumped into the ocean and dragged him onto this uninhabitable island. Kaho'olawe. With the amount of unexploded ordinance on this island, this trip was going to be interesting.

"Now, we load onto the ATVs stashed a mile in, and we get what we brought you along for." Great, just like Hannah's gold all over again. At least this time he was on land. Despite injuries, Magnum made it to the men's ATVs. Black shirt unlocked the handcuff on Green shirt's wrist and moved it to Magnum's open wrist. "You do anything stupid, like try to jump off the ATV, and he'll," Black shirt nodded at Buzz Cut," shoot you. We might need you for obtaining our treasure, but afterwards? Not so much, SEAL. Now get on with Jack, here." Ah, so Jack was the man in the green shirt.

Thomas nods. "You got it. Causing no trouble."

"Good." With that, they started up their ATVs and headed into the trees. While riding, Thomas couldn't help but hope his brothers were doing okay. He was planning on doing everything he could to get back to them. At least they weren't here. Before he knew it, the ATVs were rumbling to a stop. He looked around for a landmark to help identify where they were on the island. Unfortunately, it seemed they were nestled between two ridges. The only thing he could positively identify is the distance from the ocean, roughly a klick. They were stopped on the hill and he recognized one of the nearby gulches swimming in. Black shirt crawled off his ATV and picked his way over to Magnum. "Here we are." Buzz Cut lifted his gun out of the holster to a resting position. As Black shirt undid his cuffs, Magnum held his hands up. "Your objective is to retrieve this box." Black Shirt pulled up a picture on his phone to show the box, then slid right to reveal a map. "It's about 165 yards off this trail to the right. You bring that back to us, and we'll take you back to Oahu and you can go home safe and sound. Understood?"

"Can I know what is in there?" Thomas asks, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"No. You find out, and we'll leave you here."

"Okay, okay. No looking in the box, grab it, bring it back to you, and I go home safe. How long do I get?"

"We'll be generous and give you 30 minutes."

Thomas nodded and started towards the direction Black Shirt had given him. Since they weren't going to follow him in, he knew he was gonna look in the box despite their warning. They had kidnapped him, he wasn't going to do whatever they wanted simply because they promised him safe passage home.

About 10 minutes of carefully picking his path while looking for explosive ordinance, and he finally noticed a wooden box, that almost resembled his footlocker at home. He knelt down in front of it, and cautiously opened the box.

"Holy-" He cut himself off. Rough estimate, there was a million dollars in this box. There was absolutely no way he was taking this back to them. They could use the money to disappear or worse. But, they know where it is. "Screw this, guess I'm not going home." He picks it up, and travels farther into the trees. All this moving is exasperating his injuries but now, he has no choice but to push through the pain. He carries it a couple hundred yards before realizing that if he's careful, he can deposit it on the island and get back to the boat before the kidnappers. They'd be left here with no way off. Mind made up, he puts the box down and covers it loosely with some dirt. He then spots the beach they arrived on and quickly, yet carefully makes his way towards it.

Magnum is breathing hard by the time he makes it to the beach, and his ribs are twinging with every breath. He looks back to see if the men have made it down here yet, but doesn’t quite hear them. Deciding to not wait to see where they're at, he runs into the water to start heading for the boat that's anchored about half a mile from the shore.

Rick is steadily pacing, as well as Higgins, TC, and Kumu. His phone rings.

"It's an unknown number." Kumu shoots him a look.

"Well? Answer it." She looks back to the phone. He taps the answer button and puts it on speaker.

"Rick Wright."

"Rick." Thomas' voice comes over the line. "Good to hear your voice."

"Brother, it's good to hear yours. Where are you at?" TC speaks up.

"Currently, I'm sitting on a Coast Guard Vessel about 40 klicks from Lanai Lookout."

Everyone looks at the phone. "Thomas. Why are you with the Coast Guard?" Higgins asks.

"Um. Long story. Please tell Katsumoto he can call off the search though." He doesn’t think Higgins or Kumu can hear the pain in Tommy's voice but by the slight flinch TC gives off, Rick knows he can hear it too.

"Brother, Katsumoto doesn’t have the case anymore. Five-O took it." "Okay," Usually, Thomas would crack a joke about Steve, but when he doesn't make it, Rick knows either the pain is really bad, or Magnum's brain is running away. "Would you please let him know he can call off the search dogs?"

"Of course. What can we do?" Kumu asks again.

"N-nothing at the moment." Both TC and Rick catch the stutter from the pain. "I'll have someone drop me off at the Nest when I'm finished giving my statement." Rick catches the unsaid and after I get checked out. Not for the first time since the call, Rick wonders how bad shape Magnum is in, especially to get checked out.

"We'll see you when you get here, man." TC states with fondness. The line goes dead pretty quickly after that. Rick looks at his friend. "Orville, we'd better get things ready." Rick agrees. Higgins looks between the two men.

"What does that mean?" she questions.

A look passes between the two men. "Ladies, it may not be best for you to be around when he gets back."

Kumu reads between the lines and agrees. Higgins still wants the information, so she waits until the older lady leaves before asking again.

"Higgy, look you know you're part of our little family, but Magnum is gonna be fighting some demons when he gets back. Trust us, as much as you want to be here, it might be better if you weren't. It's gonna get pretty dark. You think the Hannah issue was bad? This is gonna be worse." Rick looks at TC, a wordless conversation passing between the two. "But, if you want, you can stay until he gets here."

"I can work with that. Thank you, gents." She accepts.

My fault. My fault. Stop, please. Please. No. Don't touch them. No. I will do whatever you want. Just please don't touch them. It’s my fault. I am sorry. So sorry. The words spin and rattle in Magnum's head.

"Lieutenant Magnum, I'm Master Chief Smith. Commander Steve McGarrett is picking you up from the dock to take you home as well as take your statement. Paramedics are also waiting to check you out." Magnum nodded at the woman who gave him the information.

"Thank you, ma'am." "Of course, Lieutenant." He tugs his arm a little closer to his side as they hit a wave that hurts.

When they finally arrive back at the port, Magnum makes his way over to the paramedics, who inform him that he probably has a couple broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and to monitor the small nicks and cuts for any sign of infection. His next stop is the black Camaro parked two spaces over.

"Hey, Steve." "Thomas. You sure know how to take a few years off a man's life." The SEAL grins, relieved to see his comrade alive.

"Yeah, I've had some time to perfect my technique since I saw you last."

"Hello." Danny speaks up from behind his partner.

"Detective Williams." Magnum greets respectfully.

"Hey, Danny works for me. Nice to meet you Lieutenant Magnum."

"Please, just Thomas."

"Wanna walk us through what happened?" Steve chimes in again.

"I was driving, on my way to see a prospective client, when an SUV pulled in front of me. I slowed down, and couldn't pass it, but it stopped. Three men climbed out, one with a Glock 9mil, the other two with ARs. They had me climb into their vehicle. One of them punched me and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in an abandoned warehouse. They pushed me around a bit, questioned me about the Rosalita."

"Questioned how?" Danny asks, and glares at the look his partner shot him.

"Pushed around, knocked around." Magnum keeps the answers vague. Danny nods in response, sensing Magnum's reluctance to talk about it.

"They didn't like the way I phrased some of my responses, so they cracked a couple ribs. We were there for about 3 or 4 hours. After that, they got me back into the SUV and we drove to a dock. We loaded into that boat and drove over to just off Kaho'olawe. There was a box full of money they wanted me to retrieve. Unfortunately, once I saw it, I took off in their boat."

Steve nearly jerks backward, only his training keeping him from moving. Kaho'olawe was known, well known even, for being covered in unexploded ordinance.

"I know how you feel about your clients, Magnum. But I gotta ask, is it possible they were targeting you?" Steve asked.

"Possibly. I'd hate to put a client in that position, but it's very possible that they set me up. All one would have to do to find my past is search my name on Google." Magnum looks at his friend. "After our escape, we were very... well-known. We even did a press conference. "

Danno looked thoughtful at this new avenue of information, "I think we have all we need. Steve?" He turns to his partner.

"I think you're right, brah. Magnum, we'll keep you updated and informed of any new information. Just don't do anything stupid." The man in question simply nods in response, more than happy to just go home and see his brothers.

As Steve pulls into the Nest, he sees some of the blinds in the guesthouse fluttered, and knows Magnum's friends were waiting on him. Once he has the car in park, he turns to the SEAL in the backseat. "We're here. Seems like TC and Rick are waiting."

"Yeah." Thomas takes a second to shore up against his nerves. The words my fault have yet to leave his head. He knew TC and Rick would help him get rid of the words, but he feels like he deserves the pain they cause. He opens the Camaro door, and thank Steve and Danno for the ride. He knows he is stalling, but he isn't sure he wanted to go in, to have his burden alleviated. It feels like it's his burden to bear, not something he deserves help with. He listens to the car tires crunching gravel as he makes his way to his home.

As soon as Thomas walks in the door, Rick and TC jump up off the couch to greet him. As they walk up to him, Magnum nods, letting them know it was okay to hug him, something they hadn't done since their time in hell. They pull him between them and fold him into a hug, where he sags, happy to be home and relieved that he made it.

Rick is ecstatic his brother has made it back to them, but he can see the torment in Tommy's eyes. A look that he's seen very little since they made it back from Afghanistan, one that was present when Nuzo died, and when Higgins got injured helping them solve a case. Dread sinks like a pit in Rick's stomach at that look, and he shoots a glance at TC, hoping the other man had seen it. When TC barely moves his head, Rick knows the pilot had seen the same thing he had. "You're here, you're okay." Rick starts to murmur, knowing Magnum is fighting not to visit a flashback. "This isn't your fault." Those words are going to make an appearance at some point today, so it's best to get a jump on fighting those thoughts off.

Juliet had stuck to her word and as soon Magnum had walked through the door, she'd been gone. But now that she was sitting in her study, she was horrified. His shoulder was a lovely shade of bruising, and the way he was walking- well, she knows that walk well. His ribs were, at the least, cracked, if not broken. But, the thing about him that scared her the most was his look of fear, and self-recrimination. Like he was blaming himself for the entire situation. Which, knowing him, she reasoned, is probably very true at the moment. Now she understands why Rick hadn't wanted her and Kumu there when he arrived. He looked miserable. Hopefully his brothers can help pull him out of the pit he's digging himself, and quickly.

TC knows it's gonna be a long evening, when Rick murmurs that it's not Tommy's fault, and he flinches at the words as if fighting their effect on him. Both uninjured men guide Magnum to the couch, and help him gingerly sit. They take their place on either side of him and put gently pressure on his arms, cognizant of the damage done to his shoulder and the extensive bruising coloring it. It's not the first time they've helped him heal this way, it's probably not the last. Unfortunately, TC thinks.

The End (for all)

Thanks to those who read this! I appreciate it. Let me know what you think, even if you think it sucked. I feed off the comments! Thank you!

#magnum pi #hawaii 5-0 #thomas magnum #juilet higgins #kumu #steve mcgarrett #danny danno williams #tc callahan #rick wright

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royal-writer · 6 years

Text

Memories 6

Nnnnn my brain is drumming some dubstep pain over here but I forced myself to finish this terribly.

One day I hope to say in the campaign “My grandpa was a badass bird” becuz of this. A grumpy old fart.

The climb up the rolling hilltops was dreadful. With no direction; no map, no compass, Essätha couldn’t determine the nearest road anymore. When woods turned to valleys, valleys to hills, hills to adjacent, low level mountains that plateaued and rose in increments she could no longer gauge a marker. No way of finding the next town. No way of finding her way out of the wilds that were both a comfort and a wall-less prison.

Only climbing and descending these hills existed. Hoping to see something. The steep incline and decline one after another proved hard on her calf muscles, her thighs, her… everything.

She stopped to rest as she met the ridge of the latest hill. Palms to her knees, sweat on her aching back as she leaned over. Breathing deeply; slowly. She loved the heat, but the sun was close and it was hot with no shade or protection at all. It was becoming overbearing on her dampened mocha skintone now with undertones of sunburned redness.

A loud snapping sound caught her attention.

With a glimpse around the hilltop, she spotted what appeared to be massively feathered wings. They were pulled close against the back of fuzzy tufted creature looming many yards away. Whatever it was, she couldn’t determine. The winged beast was aimed in the opposite direction of her. Swiftly tearing into the remains of a hooved animal hungrily; the creature torn to pieces and long since past expiration.

Another crack. Bones snapping.

Gods it was huge! The feathered beast had to be at least six and a half feet tall. She’d never seen a bird that large. Crouched down, wearing some strange, dark navy wrap around its neck and something covering its torso. Which made no sense to her; who would put that around a bird-

It turned it’s head towards her sharply.

Essätha let out a surprised cry, watching bone fragments and blood drip from it’s face.

The creature screeched in retaliation to her own.

Pivoting in the tall grass seemed a bad idea as soon as she took the act. Essätha suddenly slipped and fell, sprawled out in the stalks of yellow and green.

She pushed herself up nearly as quickly with her palms to look over the grass. Gasping for breath; her still dull, aching body throbbing from the heat and hard hard walk was screaming for her to lay back down. That it was too hot; that she had to be hallucinating.

Nothing. Only the decayed- deer? Goat? Whatever it was-

An ear-splitting squawk echoed from above. The beat of heavy wings against a current-less sky fanning from above. Flapping, flapping, coming faster and faster-

Essätha rolled out of the way as something struck the ground inches from where she’d just been lying.

With aged feathers molting, the bearded vulture rose up from it’s bipedal talons. A daunting height; all of that six-foot prediction and maybe more. Startling bright golden eyes so small for the shape of its head moving over her and cocking in her direction. Colors of white, tan, dark maroon, black and brown; all covering over features and tufts laying out around an enormous curved beak that came to a sharp point.

The humanoid-shaped bird wore a bulky scarf. Large enough that it could be easily be swooped over to drape over the creature’s face for concealment but still leave plenty around the neck that would fall down the back. Only the chest of the feathered bird was covered with clothing; nothing around the legs. It wore a mixture of fashioned animal pelts for warmth as well as sections of armor plating and leather that looked like the fashioning of a half-plate cover.

The bird snapped it’s winged plumage open with a screech. The gesture revealed sections of dappled black and brown underside with white dots just visible along the edge of the wings.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t just some mere bird.

Shouting loudly so her voice cracked, Essie scrambled back from the creature. Her hands digging into the dirt, diving for cover, searching for a stone to throw, something, anything in a whim of shock-

Her digits landed on a quiver.

Tearing her eyes around, she spotted the outline of a bow nearby. It sat neatly on a boulder just a few inches out of reach.

Launching herself out from the tall meadow, Essätha took hold of both. Fingers fumbling for an arrow, trying to hook it on the thread as she stood and turned-

The vulture was no longer there.

The arrow; improperly set against the bow and the line, tilted to the side.

“What do you think you doing?!”

Another yelp, and Essie released the string.

The arrow fell on the ground directly in front of her.

She turned, awe and fear written on her features to stare up at the vulture as it landed with ease on the rocky surface behind her. Massive wings snapped open and closed as it balanced before finally settling in place. Arms crossed; a look of disapproval set in judgmental golden eyes as wings neatly folded against the beast’s backside.

“Ignorant child,” the bird screeched; it’s pitch high with anger but tone suggesting masculinity. “That’s not proper arrow nock!”

Her mouth dropped open, not with humiliation, but with dumbfounded shock.

The bird-man reached across the space between them to grab hold of the wrapped riser area of the bow. It took him no effort to yank it out of Essie’s numb, loose fingers.

“Y-You’re making fun of how I notch an arrow, and not the fact I was going to shoot you with it?” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest with alarm.

She was talking to a bird. A large, scavenging bird. An intelligent, mocking bird who spoke the common tongue. A bird who was correcting her stance in holding a weapon.

That made a lot of sense.

The vulture opened his mouth as he exhaled sharply. It was the closest thing to a snort Essie could imagine. It caught off guard by by the foul stench from it’s mouth and her gag reflex activated at the smell of death wafting from the creature’s maw.

“You would missed,” the vulture informed her smugly. “If you not nock arrow, you miss.”

“Wait wait wait,” she wheezed, taking a step back to keep from breathing in the reek of rot and avoid any blood from splattering on her. “You can talk? You understand what I’m saying? You know about how to fire a bow?”

Insulted, the bird furled out his wings once more, giving a screech directly into her face as she cringed away from him. The stench of decomposition had her learning backwards, swallowing back the urge to hurl.

“I certainly do, child!” he snapped angrily. “And what of you, nosy terror? You have scales, but you no dragon. I’ve seen them. You do not carry blood of ancestors from mine home.”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Then why is my ability to speak and understand concern of yours?”

Essätha recoiled from the furious glare of the bird-man. Though his face lacked the muscles and facial cues to really look any other way then intimidating.

Satisfied with her silence, the vulture ruffled his feathers so they lay flat once more. Wings neatly tucked, his three digits; one opposable thumb to three fingers really, reaching out to her. They curled, an indication to give the quiver that hung from her arm by the sling.

With her mouth gaping, then closing, she finally connected two and two together. The sling released, and offered out to the bird-man in front of her.

He took it with an irked noise, slinging it over his shoulder.

Tilting her head towards the carcass, Essie spoke quietly: “Is that… your kill?”

“No,” the bird clicked. “A free meal in passing. A missed opportunity not to take it.”

Oh, that made her stomach even queasier.

Cocking his head in curious gestures in return, the bearded scavenger regarded her. His expression showed fascination; a far cry from her anxiety and uncertainty in this strange interaction.

“What is child doing out in the Emercour wilds?”

“I’m no child,” she defended with annoyance.

“You are no Aarakocra, but I am no stupid. Human age are very reliable placed on face,” the bird stated, gesturing to her features. “Your face says youth. A child.”

“Well in my species, I am an adult, and I demand you treat me as such.”

The look the vulture gave her said he seriously doubted she was an adult. Nevertheless, he gave a crowing sound of exasperation and nothing more.

It vexed her, but she really had no room to argue. At a mere twenty-one, she was only just barely cusping adulthood. Not many people looked at her with full respect. Even without bringing up age, just existing as she was made her distrustful to those who knew. And to those that didn’t, well, it all depended on the lie and the willingness of a person to believe said lie.

She picked up on the one interesting word though that the feathered folk stated: “Aarakocra?”

The beady eyes blinked rapidly.

“Yes?” he responded quizzically. “It is mine species. I have traveled here from ways. Some dragons roam free in the mountains and crevices. Rough terrain. People- humans find unfitting. It is where earth meets sky, in the Seaside Mesacliffs. Your speech, not mine. We call it else-names among Aarakocra.”

How intriguing. How confusing. Essätha found his speech pattern easy enough to follow, but they clearly showed some strain. However this bird-man learned common; he was well aware of himself, but didn’t always flow his sentences in the way most natural forms. Stiff and rigid words, blunt and to the point responses.

Seaside Mesacliffs? The name meant nothing to her. She wondered if it was even on the content they resided on, or if it was some other, smaller island.

“What is human doing with not-dragon scales?” the vulture inquired, waving a hand at her.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Fair question. I answered your one. You try also to fire at me.”

“You said yourself, I couldn’t have possibly hit you! I wasn’t holding the bow properly!”

The Aarakocra shrugged. “Fine then. I take it back. Pleasant meetings, girl.”

“I have a name,” she growled angrily, stomping a foot down.

“Girl has a name,” the bird mused, already turning away as his wings snapped out. “So does I. But girl did not ask.”

“Well, what is your name then?”

Was it satisfaction glinting from his eyes? The pull of his beak a bit sharper, like he was trying to smile.

“You call me ‘Kraw’. It is fine”

Essätha shook her head with disbelief. That sounded like the sound birds made. That was no name!

“You just made that up!”

“No!” Kraw insisted angrily. “Made up some time ago! Easier for humans tongue than-”

He let out a screech so terrifying and loud that Essie was forced to slap her hands over her ears to stop the penetrating, ringing cry from busting her eardrums.

“Your real name is lovely,” she rasped, looking up through squinted eyes of pain.

Kraw didn’t seem to acknowledge the sarcasm in her tone. He nodded vigorously. An honorable stance; his head held high and arms pinned to his sides like a solider.

“A girls name?” the bird pressed, intrigued.

Looking to the side and back again, she let out a single, quiet sigh.

“Essätha.”

“A fine name too.”

They stood there. A tense silence, with Essätha reaching up to wipe sweat from her brow.

“Essa’ is hot?” he questioned curiously. “Does not dirt bath?”

“No, I prefer water baths,” she stated with a slight smile. A nice, cool bath would be lovely about now...

Giving a sage nod, the bird-man gave a flick of his digits to her.

“Follow,” Kraw stated gruffly. “I will show you shelter. Mine shelter. Take time out of the heat.”

The Aarakocra took flight. A few flap of his wings, and he was steadily airborne. Flying higher and higher, until he could catch a faint breeze to help him glide as he circled around like, well, like a vulture.

He was clearly waiting for her.

Seeing no better or worse option at the moment, Essätha decided to go with him. Trailing sluggishly on the ground, her steps dragging, as the bearded bird-man lead her down the hill.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It turned out Kraw had created a tipi all by himself on a flat terrain in a valley bridged between grasslands and rockier mountains. There were trees nearby to cast shade for at least half of the day from the position he took root. He claimed there was a small lake nearby, but the route they’d taken had lead anywhere near such a location.

No high winds would likely tunnel and blow down the wood and tarp created structure. It looked stable, and going inside proved cool with the cone funneling out heat.

She learned Kraw was a scholar. He spoke high of his flock; of their schools and principals. They were civilized, culture beings. It marveled her into fascination to listen to his stories. Flying high in the clouds, soaring above the world. Learning how to hunt, to trap, to kill. Teaching the stories of their ancestors; about religion, about the dragons and what they knew of the world outside of the clouds and sun and the land that was their sanctuary.

“But I never settle,” he’d said a bit sadly. “Never. Learned much. Grew old, but never bothered to nest. Only wanted to see the world. So one day left; found myself flying far from home.”

From there, he acknowledged how he’d entered into a prestigious institute. The master’s were so amazed by his eagerness to learn and commitment, even with his knowledge only so-so and with a language barrier, they accepted him. Teaching him the common tongue a challenge. Learning of him as he did them. How there were humans and elves there; some dwarves and dragonborn.

“Even met lizardfolk once,” Kraw stated with awe. “Very pleasant.”

“What kind of things did you learn there?” she asked; more out of politeness than intrigue.

The sun dropped lower and lower into the sky the more he spoke. Explaining his deep interest in history; telling her tales that didn’t always cling to her mind but she nodded nevertheless. He was boisterous and appeared quite happy to share what he knew of the world and people. Things she never would have imagined or placed a bet on. Individuals long since gone from races and places she never dreamed or heard of.

She discovered Kraw was old. Quite old, really.

“I’m pretty sure no vulture lives more than twenty, thirty years maybe,” she remarked with skeptisim.

“Aarakocra are not just bird,” he stated pointedly. “We birdfolk. Birdmen. Our lives meet most humans. Ending in eighties, sometimes later.”

A sixty-eight year old, weathered bird-man, still on a journey of discovery. She was amazed, and a bit envious. He had goals. Priorities. So much to say and mule over as he followed dreams and curiosities to the end of the world and back.

As the cool air of night began to drift in, she nodded tiredly to his stories. Her thoughts drifting; finding it harder and harder to stay awake. She needed… she needed to get moving, yes-

“You is tired,” Kraw stated with alarm, standing suddenly.

Her voice slurred as she responded, “Only a little. S’been an exhausting day walking…”

She came to, her eyes opening and closing only to close again as a blanket was dropped over her shoulders.

“Take rest,” advised the old bird, placing laying layers of furs down beside her. “Tomorrow will be better.”

The phrase struck Essätha as ominous. She shivered, leaning down into the makeshift earthen bed with her hand reaching out. Groping, trying to find her bag. She couldn’t just lay there undefended, what if something happened?

Her eyes slipped closed, a drowsy sigh as she fell asleep.

Shaking his head, Kraw clicked his tongue down to the outstretched girl taking up half of his tipi.

“Just a child,” he grumbled to himself.

A helpless, thin, lost little child.

He could do something about that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Why did I ever agree to this stupid task!”

“Because a girl needs it. Essa’ knows this.”

Her hand trembled. Trying to hold the arrow steady. Pulling it to the anchor point on her chin. Exhaling deeply as the string was pulled tighter and tighter; drawing it further back. Her arm aching to hold it there, her other fingers curled to white knuckles against the rest.

She released.

The arrow only limply dropped a few feet away.

“This is impossible!” she cried, frustrated tears in her eyes.

The bow was yanked from her arm. She only had a moment to gasp, before the wooden edge was thunked upside her head, making her tears fall as she wailed with pain.

“Impatient!” Kraw sneered. “Try again.”

“I don’t want to!” she hiccuped, mouth trembling.

He raised the weapon in the air once more.

“Ssstrike me again, and I’ll end you!” she threatened, iridescent lines etching against her face. “I’ll leave!”

They remained there. Posed in equally threatening stances; a fist in the air to a bow.

“You need this,” he pointed out roughly, this time holding out the bow. “Magic not solve all problems. Death will not always save you.”

His words sent chills down her spine.

She didn’t dare ask if he meant dark magic, or something… more sinister.

With tears still trailing down her cheeks, she reached out to accept the bow once more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Kraw, are you drinking again?”

“Ayyyee no! No stop that! Ye’in can’t take mine! Mine bottle! Foolish girl! This only good thing humans’s make!”

She sighed, raising her hands in the air with submission as the bearded vulture held a dagger threateningly in her direction.

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” she countered sadly. “It’s not good for your health; especially someone your age.”

“M’drinkin is fine!”

“Do you drink because you’re lonely?” she asked, a whisper while staring up to the sky with understanding to her own words. “Do you drink because it hurts?”

No answer.

After a moment, eerily somber, the ranger bird-man pushed himself to his feet. His talons scrapping against the dirt mound free of grass around their fire as he shuffled away, into the late twilight darkness.

Her worried, light brown eyes looked from him back to the stars.

She never would get a real answer to that question.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I don’t want to do this-”

“Quick! Longer struggle, the more pain.”

She plunged the dagger into the juggler of the rabbit, watching it twitch once more before falling dead with the thread still knotted around it’s leg where it had been captured by the trap Kraw forced her to set up earlier.

Essätha dropped the blade, and placed her bloody hands over her face as she wept.

“I hate you!” she sobbed. “I told you I didn’t want to do this-”

A hand gripped her shoulder. Pulling her, until she rested against Kraw’s side. Her fist coming up, weakly striking his armor plating as she cried. Ugly, blubbering tears falling down her face, snot running down her face.

“A girl learns well,” he soothed, ignoring her attempts to physically harm him to stroke her shoulder. “Essa’ grows stronger. You hurt, but now have substance.”

“I could have done it another way!”

“Sometimes, better to see eyes. Payment. A life ends, a life continues. Not everyone lives, Essätha-child. You can not make all live. You must survive.”

“Why do I have magic if I can’t use it! Why can’t I-”

The arm around her shoulder slipped to her back. Pulling her closer, hugging her with one arm against the thick armor and fuzz of soft but dirty feathers to her face.

“Trust. You will need this some day.”

Everything he said was always so cryptic and threatening. It didn’t help her feel better; it didn’t stop her from sobbing against his chest like a pathetic, weak child as he called her. As she was. Spineless and afraid.

She hated that he made her skin that poor thing.

She hated that he forced her to eat it.

She hated him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A shriek awoke her from her sunbathing nap. Uncoiling from the folds of her serpentine frame, Essätha let out a hiss as talons came down upon her.

Nails hooked painfully into her side, drawing blood.

“Kraw!” she screamed, agonizing pain rippling through her as she reached out to grab his leg.

The vulture didn’t seem to hear her. Squawking, he tried to lift her from the ground.

Hissing, her hood folding open fully, she struck out at his leg.

He cried out, releasing her and amazingly, dropping her to the ground a good two feet.

The old man tried to flap his wings to go higher, but fell in a crumpled heap on the ground instead.

Wincing, Essätha placed a hand to her bloody side as she slithered over, tongue darting in and out sadly.

“You’re drunk again, aren’t you?”

A crooked beaked smile; or attempt to one, was offered up at her.

“Large snake! Sounds just like Essätha.”

“You know it’sss me, Essätha, Kraw. We’ve been over this. You sssaid how it makes us closer being more animal like, but alssso mortal enemies becaussse of our species.”

Lolling his head from side to side, Kraw sighed. His eyes closing, a tired groan escaping him.

She waited for a response, but all she got was snoring.

Relenting a sigh, Essie reached down to half pick up half drag the old fellow back to the tipi. He needed rest and water to recover from the hangover he was sure to have.

Oh, and food. This wasn’t the first time he mistook her for a snack in his drunken stupor. Better make sure he was fed so it wouldn’t happen again. Hopefully.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The arrow shot true, taking the deer down in a single, well placed hit.

Essätha smiled to herself. A bit of her fangs peering out as she turned her head, looking up to the sky as the beating of heavy wings caught up to her.

Kraw lowered himself down beside her. The impression of a grin on his face, his clawed fingers resting against her shoulder.

His eyes glimmered. A deep well of pride and satisfaction. Giving her a nod of approval, and a gesturing tilt of her head for her to go collect her trophy.

She bounded along the small treeline, still grinning to herself.

She no longer hated archery.

She no longer despised Kraw.

Patience. All she needed was a little patience, time, and the willingness to learn.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“How does one keep fire during rain?”

“Avoid digging a pit for your fire so rainwater doesn’t collect and put it out; keep your wood dry and peel off damp bark before use. Pine and needles are better for kindling and to keep a flame as the sap is highly flammable. Keep your fire tight; the looser your build, the more susceptible to it burning out.”

“How best find water?”

“Listen for water. Search for plants known to live close to water. Keep an eye out for bees and birds; especially finches, as they crowd water sources. Listen for frogs, as they live and breed near water sources.”

“Good examples,” Kraw praised, reaching out to pat her head.

Essätha beamed from ear to ear.

“Always remember Essa’; knowledge is power. We learn, we store information. Keep safe in your head. Learn every day. Grow.”

She nodded her head slowly in response, drinking in the older gentlebird’s words. There was no guarantee she’d be the wisest, or the most intelligent, or even spend time to search out the answer to all the history and questions in the world. She wasn’t like Kraw. Those things didn’t appeal to her.

But she understood that the comprehension of the world and all that dwelled in it to some degree was a power all it’s own. And like any fine-tuned weapon she owned or trained, that too would be something she would need to feed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She was no match for him.

His fist knocked the wind out of her. She moved to counter-strike, but he was already pivoting away from her to avoid the blow.

Another jab. Not quite as forceful this time. He was regretting hurting her by mistake now and was just pitying her with these weak blows.

Essätha snapped her leg up and missed entirely as Kraw took to flight.

“That’s no fair!” she panted, wavering on her feet.

“I know!” he cawed with laughter. “Not all enemies fight fair!”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. Reaching down to her belt, she brandished a dagger as Kraw landed. That big, feathery asshole looking proud of himself. Adjusting his armor, fixing the posture of his wings so they laid perfectly to his back-

She flung her knife.

Kraw’s shoulders jerked up. His head turning, looking slowly to the blade wobbling in the trunk of the tree beside his head.

“You was aiming for tree, right?!” he screeched, rounding on her with wide eyes. “Yes?!”

A devious smirk played out against her face.

“Let’s just say, if I had wanted that blade in your head, it would have landed.”

The look of horror on his face turned to delight and pride.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She gave a whistle, waving her arm out in the air as the rider circled her. Their steed giving unpleasant snorts as they approached, almost as though it sensed something inside of her. A danger; a coiled snake ready to spring.

Fixing the sling of her bag, Essätha offered a polite smile to the young man traveling the road. His eyes curious, boring into her.

“Hello~” she sang, offering a gentle smile. “You wouldn’t mind helping a lady out with a ride, would ya?”

He looked her up and down, swallowing. A distinct look of wanting in his gaze.

“A’ight.”

It took the horse more convincing than the man to give her a ride, but he managed to put her things in one of the large saddle bags. Her hands around his waist mischievously, hearing him breathing almost as loud as the racehorse as hooves ate up the distance quickly down the flattened earthen road. The wind blowing in her hair, the freedom, her eyes wild and grin crazy. Filled with adrenaline; fueled with excitement.

She turned her head back once. A bit unsure, a bit apologetic. Looking off in the faded hills that jutted out behind her and faded more and more behind trees and distance.

He would be okay. She had everything she needed with her right now, and a whole new range of talents to put to use out there.

After all, she was Essätha. Never one to settle.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His territory was empty. Looking high nor low proved any visuals of his Essätha-child.

In his sorrows, Kraw drank alone that night. Angry, hurt, vexed.

He had not been done teaching her.

What would the world do to that poor, broken, fragile child?

With a shudder, he continued on drinking until he passed out by the faded embers of his fire.

#eci artz #Essie rw

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catalinacimpoesu · 3 years

Text

Style hunting

Free the Monsterind

In my constant struggle of finding a unique drawing style, I faced many creative blockages that were crucial to my overall development.

The whole experience was like a rollercoaster of emotions: encouraging myself to draw, choosing a subject, letting my mind free and start sketching, adding colours, trying not to be picky on brushes and experiment different types and different textures without following any patterns, having that boost of energy and enjoying the moment while listening to music, feeling the dopamine rush, being excited when I considered the drawing looked good enough and any other changes would decrease its quality, then opening my social media account, returning to the drawing application and see the monster staring at me (Janda, 2013).

A long-phrase that sums up my past two years.

Is the “monster” that follows many artists worldwide. But it is the same “monster” or we all have different ones? At this moment my mind would turn to 180 degrees and see the final form of my drawing as being “ugly” and immediately my reaction would be to close everything and do not show my creation to the online world.

I found myself wondering how the monster would look like and this was the image that popped into my mind the minute after, so I started sketching again. Not a ferocious beast, but a snob fluffy mauve creature being too spoiled to remain grateful for what he has.

Mind monster (Cimpoesu, 2020)

Starting to ask myself what is happening in my mind whenever I finish a drawing, was a promiscuous start. Why was I so concerned about what the others might think about my work? And why all of a sudden I would just have transposed myself into somebody else’s body and start judging my art, forgetting all the feelings I have had when I was creating it? Was my art supposed to carry any hidden meanings to anyone that might have seen it?

Art is subjective and does not represent pure tangible knowledge. Moreover, its purpose is to suggest and be interpreted by anyone who sees it (Scrivener, 2002). Thinking twice, every piece of art can include a small amount of knowledge due to the power of imagination and analysis its creation process.

Scrivener’s vision was that art in any form cannot embody pure knowledge either in-the-making process nor in the final-created object. This statement is half true from my perspective, for one reason: art, in any shape, can pass intangible information through generations, only because people can imagine and empathise through their bodies and souls, without experiencing the same times as the person who created it, but placing themselves in the other’s shoes, as humans made from the same material.

To be more clear, it is normal that paintings, for example, will not express anything at first sight; the viewer cannot gain any skills while staring at a canvas, but through analysing it he can feel at some point, all the overlapping layers full of acrylics and rough brush strokes that resemble shadows and highlights. In my opinion, it just depends on whom the viewer is: an artist will probably connect with the painting and imagine every step concluding the creation of it, while at a mental levet he could even transpose himself into the creator’s position.

As I started to see the presence of the “monster” more often, I started to draw more frequently just to try to catch momentum to analyse the feeling in depth. The answer was simple: my mind would categorize any of my creations as being low-qualitative in comparison with the others I have seen before from a variety of artists. Focusing on the flaws I automatically assumed that in the future there will be people in the same position as me (age, gender, being a self-taught artist) but with higher-quality final products.

The way art should be experienced is generally seen as being a short period of curiosity, sometimes it can progress on a long-term as well, until the reflection instinct approaches, as Danto et. al. (2013) suggest. Art should be a representation of the time and the environment it was created in. Another factor should be included in the equation, such as the experience the creator had and the time he spent on that specific piece of work.

The right of criticising

Formal analysis represents the theoretical structure of the human perspective and it aims to categorise every element found into a pattern such as proportion, variety and unity, along with the emotional baggage a drawing is trying to express. Combining the intellectual effect with the feelings that are created just by looking at a piece of art can be considered the key to a high-rated critical analysis. This approach can be replaced with a pure intuition of someone who had experience and had seen plenty of evidence to have the right to classify any work (Heydat and Sabzali, 2014).

This made me think if art is such a versatile subject, it should not be fitted into some patterns conceived by somebody’s opinions and perspectives. At the same time if art does not follow these rules then anything can be considered a masterpiece. What a massive paradox.

Coming back to my twisted mind experience, I was starting to think what makes any of my drawings better than the others and why over time only a few of them still remain beautiful and worth to talk about in despite of others. As an interesting fact, the drawings illustrating objects won all of my sympathy, in comparison to the portraits and the artworks containing any kind of faces, on which I currently have doubts about their worth.

Restlesnesss (Cimpoesu, 2019)

Breakfast in Poznan (Cimpoesu, 2019)

Traditional house (Cimpoesu, 2019)

The way I perceived humans dramatically changed during time. Self-criticism help me to analyse the weaknesses of my artworks and what is representative for my vision. In addition, one reason for not recognise my digital drawings as being qualitative was the presence of errors in the proportions of the faces, along with the lack of accuracy of the shadows and highlights placed on the subject making the whole picture to have a flat look at the first glance. Improvement can be recorded in this area just by studying the basic human anatomy features and the basic principles of drawing. At the same time, art movement such as Expressionism and Surrealism are focusing on particular styles of representing the human features in an unfamiliar way and they are recognised as meaningful and interesting points of view.

Modern French girl (Cimpoesu, 2020)

False posing (Cimpoesu, 2020)

Eye contact (Cimpoesu, 2019)

Examining the artworks now, after a long time, makes me notice the above photos look similar when exposing some aspects and are illustrating a constant style because of the used techniques, colours and tools. Despite of using a birds-eye view and underlying their similarities, the images are still exemplifying my creativity.

Personal brand identity

Many artists point out that their style was shaped after many attempts of different ways to approach a subject and browsing through working instruments, tools and perspectives and in the end there is no defined path to follow to reach the goal in a specific period. The final form of an artwork is influenced by numerous decisions and environmental aspects (Zhao, Cao and Lau, 2018) aiming to reach the receiver’s feelings, along with his admiration and interest.

The personality created trough all the final decisions and the presented outcomes represents a graphic designer’s way of expression, seeking to reach people who possess similar views. Although aesthetic taste is subjective and in constant change phases, a few elements are still keeping their place on the sensitivity map and help building a strong brand image when seeing an artwork for the first time.

Building your own creative style as a designer, leads to a constant communication with yourself and the others around. In the end, only by experimenting different scenarios a graphic designer can mould his preferences and fully express his thoughts through art, without having second thoughts about showing the final version. Due to art’s ideology and skills’s perfectionism timeframe, there is always going to be room for reconsideration leading to improvement.

Considering that for each artist there will always be people sharing the same vision as him, the action of finding the personal artistic style should be a metaphorical rollercoaster itself, which in the end will bring to light each stage and its significant meaning throughout the whole process. Understanding to embrace failure and to forgive myself when I don't have the desired outcomes, helped me more than it was expected.

Art, drawings and design taught me that you don't need perfection (Airey, 2012). It is fine to post something you do not like anymore and to appreciate that you did it. You have to embrace any state you have and be curious about any project you make because it is yours.

In conclusion, you have to learn to work with what you own and cherish your goal for your mind to be able to create anything that appears in your mind.

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Airey, D. (2012) Work for Money, Design for Love: Answers to the Most Frequently Asked Questions About Starting and Running a Successful Design Business, 1st edn, San francisco: New Riders

Cimpoesu, C. M. (2019) Breakfast in Poznan. [Instagram] Available from: https://www.instagram.com/p/B5Laew2nahx/ [Accessed: 15th of November 2020]

Cimpoesu, C. M. (2019) Eye contact. [Instagram] Available from: https://www.instagram.com/p/B4uUYaBHinG/ [Accessed: 15th of November 2020]

Cimpoesu, C. M.(2020) False posing. [Instagram] Available from: https://www.instagram.com/p/B-iWyaHDHim/ [Accessed: 15th of November 2020]

Cimpoesu, C. M. (2020) Mind Monster. Unpublished personal artwork.

Cimpoesu, C. M. (2020) Modern french girl. [Instagram] Available from: https://www.instagram.com/p/B8MNRjwHcj-/ [Accessed: 15th of November 2020]

Cimpoesu, C. M. (2019) Restlessness [Instagram] Available from: https://www.instagram.com/p/BwxZJN_hbGf/ [Accessed: 15th of November 2020]

Cimpoesu, C. M. (2019) Traditional house. [Instagram] Available from: https://www.instagram.com/p/B5Laew2nahx/ [Accessed: 15th of November 2020]

Danto, A. C., Horowitz, G., Huhn, T. and Ostrow, S. (2013) The Wake of Art, Criticism, Philosophy, and the Ends of Taste. Amsterdam: Routledge

Heydat M. and Sabzali, M.K. (2014) Conceptualizing Art Criticism and Art Education for effective Practice. Saarbrucken: LAP Lambert Academic Publishing

Janda, M. (2013), Burn Your Portfolio: Stuff they don’t teach you in design school, but should, 1st edn, San Francisco: New Riders.

Scrivener, S. (2002) The art object does not embody a form of knowledge. Working Papers in Art and Design. [Online] vol. 2. Available from: http://www.herts.ac.uk/__data/assets/pdf_file/0008/12311/WPIAAD_vol2_scrivener.pdf [Accessed: 12th November 2020]

Zhao, N., Cao, Y. & Lau, R. (2018) "What characterizes personalities of graphic designs?" ACM transactions on graphics. [Online] vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 1-15. Available from: https://doi.org/10.1145/3197517.3201355 [Accessed: 15th of November 2020]

#personal #style #self-branding #catucuu #monster

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indianarrative1 · 4 years

Link

Xi Jinping is aiming at China taking on the mantle of the world’s pre-eminent power, displacing the United States, before he completes a third five-year term.

Xi Jinping comes from a privileged family that has seen both rough as well as good times. Unlike the assertive and brash children of some of the Chinese Communist Party leaders lower down the leadership ladder, Xi’s daughter Mingxe is quiet and courteous, refusing to partake 24/7 of the pomp and privilege of her father’s high office, while his wife Peng Liyuan is herself a well-known singer of motivational and patriotic songs, which are usually sung by her in a military setting. From his early years close to high authority, such as his affinity with China’s longest serving Defence Minister, Lin Biao, the current General Secretary of the CCP has placed the military at the centre of his statecraft.

This distinguishes him from Deng Xiaoping and Jiang Zemin, who put commerce above everything else, or Hu Jintao, who placed a high value (and spent lavishly) on securing goodwill across the world. Soft power was given priority by Hu, even as he took steps to increase the domestic component of hi-tech fields of endeavour, a task enthusiastically embraced by his successor, Xi. Since 2012, “soft power booster budgets” have been cut and those cadres engaged in “goodwill” missions and tasks have been downgraded. In the time of Xi, an ounce of hard power is worth a pound of soft power. For Xi, as for his idol Mao Zedong, what counts is raw power and its exercise. He is clearly a believer in the adage that if an opponent is in a weaker position, it is irrelevant where that person’s heart and mind is, for he will be forced into doing what is wanted of him. This goes for groups and countries as well.

Even the “friendly face” of the PRC, Foreign Minister Wang Yi, is voluble during conversations that his country is 100% right in whatever its leadership says or does, and so discussions need to centre around the sole point of how quickly and smoothly the other side acknowledges such an obvious fact. What counts in the Xi model of governance is facts on the ground, not talks about talks or meetings about meetings.

While Indian public opinion saw the Moscow meeting of Defence Minister Rajnath Singh with his PRC counterpart as routine diplomatic courtesy, the Chinese side saw it as a sign of weakness, and promptly stiffened their stance. Such an approach is the opposite of the situation in India, where international talks are given high priority and even visible failures (in terms of getting more than was given away) such as Tashkent or Shimla or the Tibet talks (from Nehru to Vajpayee) are seen as successes, a judgement made purely on the basis of optics. Indeed, optics seems to be the only result that policymakers in India have taken seriously in several situations.

The removal of the two-term limit by PRC President Xi Jinping has been taken as an indication that the CCP General Secretary would like to remain in office until the close of his life. However, the fact is different: Xi Jinping is aiming at China taking on the mantle of the world’s pre-eminent power, displacing the United States, before he completes a third five-year term. This would act as a force multiplier accelerating China’s lead over the US, the way its pivotal role in global commerce and geopolitics has assisted the US in maintaining its position within the global order. Once the milestone of global primacy is crossed, and it is regarded as axiomatic by his team that Xi’s leadership is crucial to such a success, it is likely that the current General Secretary, President and Chairman of the Central Military Commission will follow the example of Deng Xiaoping and take on an honorific title, such as Chairman of the CCP, handing over the General Secretaryship and other posts to trusted associates, although not to the same individual. India and the US are the two countries which figure prominently in the calculations of the team that has been gathered around Xi, individuals seen as the “best and the brightest” that the CCP has to offer. The question is whether they will ensure the success of Xi’s plans, or be responsible for a failure, much as the “best and the brightest” US policymakers in the Lyndon Johnson Cabinet were over Vietnam. The projections of Team Xi for both the big democracies are less than rosy.

EXPLOITING FAULTLINES

The US is seen as having potentially irreversible fault lines based on race, religion and income, which is expected to consume that country in internal strife on an increasing scale. While Joe Biden is preferred by Beijing to Donald Trump in the 3 November 2020 Presidential polls, the latter too is seen as vulnerable because of a “Two-Front” situation. The two fronts are (a) duels with the PRC combined with tensions with multiple countries, and (b) internal fissures created by those around President Trump seeking to impose on the US the same societal structure as was prevalent in the 1950s and in finance as was prevalent towards the close of the 19th century. The Supreme Court in particular is regarded as promising from the viewpoint of engendering chaos, in view of the fact that several of the justices are in effect charter members of the revivalist wing of the Republican Party and are visibly loyal in their verdicts to its tenets. Such a display of judicial partisanship is in the service of an effort to reverse the course of history, most importantly the effort by Stephen Miller and others filled with nostalgia for the segregationist past.

The main objective of immigration and “justice” policies is to reverse the steady increase in the non-white population, which is a factor that is deeply upsetting to such individuals. The selection of Kamala Harris as the running mate of Joe Biden has given oxygen to the efforts of such elements out of fear that Biden may, for reasons of health, have to hand over the keys to the White House to a non-white and this not long after the first non-white President of the US was sworn in for two terms. Should the Democratic Party prevail in the 3 November contest, including in the House of Representatives and the Senate, there is likely to be a growing conflict between the Executive and a Judicial branch honeycombed with closet revivalists by the Trump administration. Their power would increase with the likely nomination of another Republican ideologue to replace Associate Justice Ruth Ginsburg on the Supreme Court before the team chosen by the 3 November election gets sworn in.

An intensive effort is under way within the US to map for the CCP leadership the faultlines in US society and how they are developing. Or can be developed, a task in which China’s key ally Russia has been assigned to play the lead role on behalf of the common interests of the Sino-Russian alliance. At the same time, packages of misinformation that claim to show that Moscow and Beijing are working not seamlessly together (as is the case) but at cross purposes are being constantly tossed out to credulous policymakers in countries that are identified as hostile to a situation where China replaces the US as the centre of gravity of the international order. As a consequence, there are several policymakers in the US, the EU and India who believe that there is substantial daylight between the strategic ambitions and actions of Putin and Xi. The reality is that both wish to see the end of US primacy, ensure a fissured EU, and a weak congeries of South Asian and Southeast Asian states. Both Moscow and Beijing give an appearance of acting separately and on different sides, when in reality they are synchronising policy (often covertly) to bring about the geopolitical shifts desired by both.

SEPARATING THE U.S. AND INDIA

Both Beijing and Moscow regard it as crucial to keep the US and India strategically separate from each other, and the manner in which pro-Pakistan elements have embedded themselves within the Biden campaign has given Putin and Xi hope that a Biden White House would adopt a hectoring and unfriendly tone towards the Modi government. What is causing anxiety is the fact that Barack Obama, who seems close to Joe Biden, tossed away earlier US policy towards Narendra Modi within minutes of the latter winning the 2014 polls and becoming the second BJP Prime Minister of India.

A Washington-Delhi pairing as close as the Moscow-Beijing partnership would present an immense obstacle to the global designs of the Sino-Russian alliance, and extraordinary effort is being made by both capitals to ensure that this not take place. This campaign is active in Washington as well, where a whispering campaign has been launched even through improbable channels that India wants to be a “free rider” and is moreover “unreliable and quirky” as a partner. Thus far, this campaign has prevented the US Congress from going ahead with additional legislation designed to make India in law an ally of the US on par with any other country, including treaty allies. A bevy of voices are opposing this on the Hill, most of whom are unaware of the foreign link to their advocacy.

At the same time, several channels are being used in Delhi to convey a similar impression of unreliability about the US. Thus far, neither has Australia been invited to the Malabar exercises by India nor has BECA been signed. Keeping the US and India apart is a high priority and thus far, the strategy seems to have delivered results. Within the Biden camp in particular are several individuals who are in close contact with the Pakistan embassy, and during such visits, they “accidentally” meet diplomats from the country that is acknowledged as the single biggest threat to US interests by the Pentagon and the national security system. The close coordination between the Chinese and Pakistan embassies in numerous capitals is no secret. The usefulness of Pakistan in ensuring a covert bridge between Beijing and Washington, this time mostly in matters relating to the US Congress and to elements of the Republican and Democratic parties, is far from over.

MODI’S CREDIBILITY CORE TO STABILITY

Just as the US is regarded as being close to getting tipped into a societal war on a scale that will dwarf the unrest of the 1960s whoever wins on 3 November, India is calculated as being potentially vulnerable to a similar meltdown of public confidence and order. It has been factored in that the continuing credibility of Prime Minister Narendra Modi is key to ensuring a popular level of hope in the future as would prevent mass civil unrest across India. Efforts are ongoing to damage this credibility, and a military setback on the border is seen as the most effective way of bringing down the level of confidence of his people in the leadership of PM Modi. This would be on top of the economic hardship of the recent past. More than in the South China Sea or across the Taiwan Straits, it is the Himalayan massif that is likely to witness a kinetic effort by the PLA. This would be designed to shatter the image and confidence of India. The calculation is that such a setback would discredit those in the US and within the EU who are pushing for a more robust alliance with India. It would also eliminate any confidence within ASEAN that they can rely on India as a counterforce to an expansionist China. Clearly, interesting times are planned for the world’s largest democracy in terms of population.

The nightmare for President Xi Jinping is a military defeat at the hands of a country that is being constantly derided in state media as a paper tiger. Should the General Secretary’s Himalayan adventure end in catastrophe for the PLA, the impact on his leadership would be immediate. Given the governance structure of China, such a meltdown at the core would have a Chernobyl-style impact on the Chinese Communist Party, and a consequent weakening of the CCP’s hold on the people. This would lead to unrest in the PRC (and subsequently in Russia) on a scale that would dwarf whatever takes place in the US and India, even assuming some success in the Sino-Russian “Mission Meltdown” of the world’s two most consequential democracies. Those in the US and India who seek to “prevent war” seem to be unaware that the conflict has already started, and will end only with the defeat of one side over the other.

(This article was originally published in The Sunday Guardian)

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