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drabbles-mc · 3 years

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Like Father, Like Son

Neron ‘Creeper’ Vargas x F!Reader

Request by Anon: Could you do a fic with someone (idc they could all be my baby daddy lol) being a boy dad. Like helping him fix his bike, temporary tattoos to look like their mini me and just being lovey and protective over their mom like their dad

Warnings: talk of pregnancy, a whole lot of family fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I would die for soft Creeper Vargas. Me and @garbinge had a mini idea-bouncing sesh about him as a family man and I have a feeling this will not be my last fic about Dad!Creeper lmao. Hope you enjoy!

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You heard the familiar rumble of his bike as he pulled into the driveway. Smiling to yourself, you slowly made your way towards the front door. You opened it as he walked up the steps to greet you with a hand on your ever-growing stomach and a light kiss on your lips.

“How are you two ladies today?” he asked as he gently ran his hand over your stomach.

You chuckled, “We’re alright. The rest of your pack, however, is up to no good.”

He smiled, “Oh so they’re my pack now?”

Trying to contain your smirk, you nodded, “Go out back and see what they’ve been up to. You’ll definitely agree that they’re yours today.”

You listened to the sound of his heavy, booted footsteps as he made his way through the house to get to the back yard. You followed a little ways behind, and sure enough moments after you heard the deck door slide shut, you heard the sound of your husband’s laughter filling the air. By the time you made it to the door, Creeper was already crouched down, taking stock of the entire scene in front of him.

“What’s goin’ on out here, lil man?” he asked as he sat down next to his son, who was very seriously looking over all the markers that were spread out in front of him.

“We’re gonna look like you!” your son had the proudest smile on his face as he waved his marker around in the air.

You watched as Creeper took in the sight of his three kids all actually sitting and getting along together. Your son was outnumbered by his little twin sisters, and the three of them bickered constantly the way that young siblings do. But the rare moments when they all really liked each other and got along made the rest of it worth it. You subconsciously rested your hand on your stomach—truthfully neither of you knew the sex of the baby, but Creeper was certain it was another girl. He was practically willing it into existence. You were both going to be thrilled no matter what, but as you stood back and watched Creeper picking out what color to use for his son’s next ‘tattoo’ you couldn’t help but to hope that you’d have another boy running around soon to even out the ranks.

“Who came up with this idea, huh?” Creeper asked the three of them as he carefully started doodling on the back of his son’s hand with a magic marker. The twins simultaneously pointed to their brother and Creeper couldn’t help but to laugh, “I should’ve known.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard them so quiet,” you spoke up as you watched the four of them, “I thought I might’ve lost them for a minute—that’s how quiet the house was.”

“You three? Quiet?” he looked back and forth amongst them, “I don’t believe it,” he put the cap back on the marker and motioned for the girls to come closer, “Lemme see your ink, lil mamas.”

Creeper smiled as he looked at all the designs and doodles that covered his children’s arms. All things being considered, it wasn’t the messiest thing the little crew had ever gotten into. He loved everything about being a father, but moments like this really made his entire heart swell. All three of them had their arms covered in stars and smiley faces, and his son had a very scribbly skull drawn on his knee.

“I like this one,” Creeper tapped his son’s knee lightly, “You do that?” He nodded proudly and Creeper pulled him against his side, “You’ll have to give me one later.”

“Girls?” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, “Now that Dad’s home we can take the dogs out. Still wanna go?”

They leapt up, cheering happily with all the energy that six-year-olds usually had, as they ran inside to grab their socks and shoes. You laughed as you listened to the clamor they caused. Looking back at Creeper and your son, you couldn’t help but to smile.

“You’re more than welcome to come with us,” you rested your arms on top of your new baby bump, “But I figured you two might like some boy time.”

Creeper looked up at you from the floor, “You shouldn’t be doing all that, baby. You should be resting. I’ll take are of it.”

You shook your head, “Walking is good for me, Neron. And for the baby. We’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded as you walked over and placed a kiss on the top of your husband’s head, “Positive. You two have fun. I love you both.”

“Love you,” they both called after you in unison as you walked away. You smiled to yourself as you made your way through the house to catch up with your daughters, who were already being half-dragged out of the house by the dogs they managed to clip the leashes onto.

“Well,” Creeper slowly rose to his feet, holding his hands out to help his son to do the same, “Now that your tattoos are all dry, wanna help me with the bike?”

“Really?” his eyes lit up as he set his hands into his father’s.

“Yea,” he pulled him up and instantly tucked the boy against his side, “C’mon, it’s been a while since we worked on it.”

The two of them walked through the house and made their way out the front door so thye could get to the garage. Creeper stood back, allowing his son to lift and push the garage door up as high as he could before his dad had to take over and open it the rest of the way. Running in, the boy went right over to the light switch and flipped it on. Creeper chuckled as he walked in, making his way over to the large sheet that was draped over his latest project that he’d been tackling little by little with his son.

With a flourish, he removed the fabric, and his son’s eyes instantly lit up. Creeper had always been a bit of a fixer—he liked having projects to plug away at to help him unwind. The bike had been brought to the scrapyard by someone who, “Clearly doesn’t know a fucking thing about motorcycles,” according to Creeper, because there was plenty of potential left for it. The bones were still decent, it just needed a lot of TLC. Creeper called dibs on it and no one was going to fight him on it. So bringing it back to life had been his latest task.

For as much as he enjoyed his solitude a lot of the time, having your son as a built-in assistant to help him with the bike had been a great experience for the both of them. For as young as he was, he was very interested in everything that his father could tell him about the bike, the parts, and the tools used to fix it all. The two of them made a good pair, your son sifting through the tool chest to get whatever his father needed, and Creeper showing him little tricks of taking things apart and putting them back together.

“Y’know,” he cranked the wrench as his son sat next to him, watching intently, “when we’re all done with this, you can choose the color for it if you want.”

His eyes were bright, eyebrows raised in excitement, “Yea?”

He nodded, “Yea. You’ve been doing a lot of work on this—it’s only fair,” he paused for a moment, “It can be your bike, when you’re old enough.”

“Mine?” his eyes were filled with wonder as he thought about what his father had just told him.

“Yea. Just,” he chuckled, “Don’t tell your mom that I said that. It’ll be our little surprise for her.”

“Don’t tell me what?” you were leaning against the garage doorframe, a soft smile on your face as you watched the two of them working together.

Creeper turned around quickly, clearly searching your face to see how much of the conversation you’d heard, “Nothin’, mama. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You chuckled, not convinced, “Mhm. I’m sure,” you absentmindedly ran your hands over your stomach, “Just came out to let you boys know to start wrapping up—dinner’ll be ready in ten.”

You made your way back to the house to finish getting dinner ready and you could hear your two favorite men in the world behind you as they started to clean up their project for the night. It brought a smile to your face and put a warmth in your chest as you walked inside and listened to the loud laughter of your two daughters getting into some kind of trouble in their bedroom.

When they finally made their way inside, you sent them both to wash their hands and get ready for dinner. You could see the disappointment on your son’s face at the thought of washing all of his tattoos away and you had to chuckled quietly to yourself.

“I love you,” Creeper said quietly with a soft smile as he pressed a kiss to your cheek in passing while he made his way to the kitchen sink to wash up.

“I love you too,” you smiled over at him for a second before getting plates and cups down out of the cupboard above your head.

You were getting ready to lift the stack of plates when your son came sliding into the kitchen, skidding skillfully on the hardwood floor in his socks. He lifted the plates instead, beating you to it. You tried to take them back from him, not wanting him to drop the entire stack of plates and have them break, but he insisted.

“I got it, Mom,” he reassured with a nod.

“Honey, I don’t want you to—”

“Dad said you need to rest,” he turned and started walking towards the dining room table, “I got it.”

You chuckled as you glanced over at your husband, “Between the two of you, I’m never going to get to do anything anymore, am I?”

He laughed and kissed you lightly on the lips, “Maybe not. But it’s because we love you.”

You gently cupped his cheek and ran your thumb along his cheekbone, “I love you too.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #creeper vargas #creeper vargas x reader #creeper vargas x you #creeper vargas fanfic #neron vargas #neron creeper vargas #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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jimlingss · 3 years

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O SHOOT REQUESTS !!! ill take my chances and ask for a zombie apocalypse or pirate au ft. hoseok 👀 i couldnt choose between the two aus and im hoseok biased but i can honestly see any member so do as who u see fit. i will not let my pairing/au choice limit the authors talent 😤 and i dont doubt anything from you will satisfy. and pshhh,, where are my manners. please and thank u! love u 💛

↳ Crocodile Tears

1.8k || 98% Fluff, 2% Angst || Jung Hoseok || Pirate!AU

“Look what I nabbed, Cap’n.”

Gunner Taehyung’s grinning with all teeth, a golden chain wrapped around his fingers that’s so shiny it’s blinding with the sunlight. Hoseok’s intrigued and flips the locket in his hand. It’s heavy with a wild rose engraved on the front and once he pops it open, there’s a faded painted portrait of a young woman inside.

“It’s a booty, eh? Caught if off milady right over ‘ere.”

Hoseok hums and narrows his eyes on the wrench tied in rope sitting amongst the captives. Your face is dirtied, hair drawn in a bun at your crown but with many strands fallen around your face. Your gown rat’s coloured, dull gray. You are entirely unremarkable. Like any other peasant.

But it’s not often captives have something of value on them.

“Bring her to my cabin.”

“Aye, aye.”

The ship sets sail again. Taehyung keeps the captives quiet with the threat of throwing them overboard while the cabin boy Jungkook swabs the poop deck. Helmsman Seokjin mans the helm with navigator Namjoon by his side. The ship’s heading to dock at Port Galigeo to get a pretty penny for all the loot and treasures they’ve gotten after four months’ voyage.

Once steep waters are reached and everything’s been taken care of, Hoseok resumes to his cabin. There, he finds you, sitting in the corner on the floorboards with tears in your eyes. You gasp as he enters and shuts the door.

“Please! Spare me!” you beg sorrowfully. “Let me go!”

“Why should I?” Hoseok tosses his hat onto his table and his coat to his rickety chair. You look so frightful, even when he’s still in his drawers and shirt, held together by the red sash.

He fiddles with the many golden rings across his fingers, a habit since he began his adventures, and he comes over to you. Hoseok’s boots are heavy against the floorboards, and he crouches down to meet your trembling eyes.

“I-I am just a peasant,” you sob. “I have nothing to give to you! My father is merely a farmer.”

“Oh? Then what be this here?” Hoseok dangles the priceless locket in front of you as the corner of his lip curls. It catches the light from the tiny window of the cabin and the gold gleams against your eyes, practically sparkling like a jewel.

Your eyes flicker from it to him, hiccuping and frame quivering like a damn leaf. “It’s my grandmother’s. She left it for me before she passed.”

Hoseok hums a low note. “An’ if this be your grandmother’s, how she pay for such a treasure? Unless she been a thief.”

Your downcast head shakes. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

He pops the locket open before taking a good look at it. “This here be a portrait of you, isn’t it? You look different. Lavish. Like a noble’s daughter.”

“T-That isn’t me.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know.”

There’s something rather pretty in the way tears drip down your cheeks, so soft and gentle like jewels of their own right. But Hoseok has seen many women, children and men cry. It’s nothing astonishing.

Hoseok smirks, a rush of air leaving his nose. “I’ve been cap’n of this ship for nearly a decade, dearest. I’ve held treasures you could only dream of, been in battles that nearly lost my leg, sailed ‘cross the seven seas with me mates. I know when a wrench lies.”

His eyes are narrowed in on yours. And Hoseok comes closer, hand lifting to grab a hold of your chin. But before he can, before he can blink or breathe — suddenly, you brandish a piece of glass against his exposed neck.

The ropes around you clatter to the ground. Hoseok feels the sharp edge of the glass digging into his skin, a moment away from nicking him and drawing blood. But more notably, your eyes are aflame. Your expression is dark and you’re scowling at him.

Gone is the fragile little girl weeping for mercy.

“Don’t come closer,” you warn in a low voice without a single tremble.

He leans back, but his gaze stays on yours. “You reckon you could kill me?”

“I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Hoseok’s mouth curls, grin stretching into his cheek. His interest is piqued. He knew there was more to you beneath the surface, and he’s happy you haven’t disappointed.

His hand latches onto your wrist to force your hand away. It's a battle of strength. One that he ultimately wins as the piece of glass goes clattering on the ground out of your reach. He sees it’s part of a broken bottle. But Hoseok’s much too put off guard and when your leg kicks out at him, he’s smacked square in the chin.

He grips it as he lands on his ass, sharply exhaling. But then he bursts into chuckles.

“You got some mean spirit in you, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately for you, Hoseok has far too much experience in combat and capture. Even if you try to kick, strike and even bite him, it’s not too difficult to get you tied into ropes again. Except this time, he makes sure to use his special knots and get you so wound up, no sharp edge could free you.

“Let me go, bastard!”

“Settle down. You’re only gettin’ yourself riled.” Hoseok crouches in front of you again and comes to wipe away the stray tear on your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You angrily scowl at him, chest rising and falling. Crying won’t get you far now, not when he knows they’re just crocodile tears. “Don’t get yourself worried about someone hurtin’ you. Everyone on this ship swears by our code, me included.”

You scoff. “As if I’d trust a pirate.”

Hoseok smirks. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve done so already. It isn’t pleasin’ for me to force a girl like yourself either. Not when I have plenty o’ gold to play with a wrench at the dock. Now I suggest you behave or my Quartermaster’ll throw you overboard.”

“Then do it!” you shout at him with your entire body, only to flop over to the floorboards.

He grips the knob of the door and looks over his shoulder. “No. You’re too much of a treasure, sweetheart.”

The sun is falling over the horizon when Namjoon approaches. “Everything go well with the girl?”

Hoseok hums and turns with a glint in his eye. “Tell all hands to keep her separate.”

Port Galigeo is reached within two days time. The waters are calm without storms and the stars are clear at night. The sailing is smooth and so the docks are reached faster than ever before.

The men aboard are eager to sell the loot, to spend a few days ashore, spend nights at the brothel and replenish the rum. As follows, their steps are quick and they move the crates of jewels and tools to the harbour. Seokjin also takes care of the captives, leading them in a straight line off the gangplank to be sold.

“Cap’n! What ‘bout the beauty ‘ere.” Taehyung points to you.

Hoseok meets your eyes and you’re seething, glaring back at him. The corner of his mouth curls in amusement.

“Leave her. Tell the lad to watch over her till we return.” He points to Jungkook and Taehyung nods with an ‘aye, aye’.

Most of his crewmen take care of business, getting as much gold for the loot as possible. But Hoseok fiddles with your pendant in hand and heads to a jeweler. Said jeweler is an old man who quivers upon seeing him, Namjoon and Seokjin in his shop. He hides behind his table and cries, “Please! Spare me! Take what you must!”

Hoseok sighs. He doesn’t know why everyone thinks so badly of him. Maybe because he’s a pirate and he and his crew have pillaged countless. That’s fair, he supposes.

“Stop yer quivering,” Seokjin spews out, leaning against his table. “We need you to look at somethin’. Hurry before I steal your silver!”

Hoseok lifts your golden locket, letting it dangle from his hand.

The old man eventually slinks out when he realizes they won’t do anything, and he takes out his magnifying glass. He motions for him to bring it forward and Hoseok does. The old man hums, studying the locket before flipping it over in his hand. His thumb brushes against the wild rose engraving.

“Where did you get this from?” he asks.

“Don’t matter,” Namjoon says curtly.

Hoseok studies the man’s face and leans closer. “What is it?”

“It is a very valuable locket. I happen to recognize this symbol as well. It is the emblem of the Crochetta Kingdom.” He pops the locket open to the portrait of the young woman and looks up at Hoseok, clearing his throat. “I believe this locket belongs to the youngest princess of that kingdom. The runaway.”

Hoseok’s brow cocks.

The three of them leave in a hurry.

Seokjin’s eyes are glazed as his mouth starts to spew how Lady Luck is truly on their side, how they’ll be able to get their hands on a high ransom or sell you for countless riches. Namjoon is perplexed at how a princess like you managed to get here when Crochetta was countries away.

But Hoseok remains quiet. He doesn’t plan to trade you. He doesn’t ask questions.

He is entirely and wholly intrigued. Like never before.

“Blimey, the ship!” There’s a shout at the docks and Hoseok is torn from his thoughts. Taehyung has his hands in the air, cursing aloud. And Hoseok’s eyes trail from him to his ship that’s off the dock and disappearing over the horizon. “It’s sailing away!”

Seokjin is aghast. “How?!”

“Who’s still on?!” Hoseok shouts, looking around the dock to all his shocked men and their mouths drawn open big enough to catch flies.

“That girl,” Namjoon says, looking at the captain.

Hoseok tied you tightly, he made sure of it. Unless you freed yourself again. But it’s not possible that you lifted the anchor.

No. You must’ve cut the rope.

“Where’s Jungkook?”

At the same time, there’s a high-pitched shriek in the distance. All of the men are held to their spots on the docks as they watch a tiny figure in the horizon get pushed off the ship’s deck and then plopped into the waters.

There’s a loud splash.

You stole the ship.

Hoseok is quiet when his men turn to him. They don’t dare utter a single word, far too afraid their captain is boiling with anger. But what frightens them far more is when Hoseok suddenly bursts out into chortling laughter.

He laughs and grins as he watches his ship sail into the distance.

You were truly a treasure hard to find. He knew it when he saw you.

And now, he’ll just have to catch you again.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok reader insert #hoseok scenario #bts reader insert #bts drabble #bangtans-peaceful-piegon #Jimlings #let's goooo Hoseok as a hot sexy pirateee!!!

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loonylupinnn · 3 years

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Becoming the Devil: Chapter 1 - Diagon Alley

Y/n Valentine, a woman who was just simply walking around Diagon Alley. The sun was high, throwing its rays down to earth where the many witches and wizards were trying to block. There weren't many clouds that day, which didn't help much. But it was still a beautiful day.

The streets were filled with the chatter that came from the people walking around. Few cries could be heard. Cries from children who didn't get things they wanted. The day was flowing smoothly. It was too good to be true...

"We still need to get some Phoenix tears" Maeve spoke to me, reading off the parchment our boss had given us as a last minute shopping. I groaned, "Those cost way too much" Maeve laughed, taking my hand in hers. Her soft fingers touched the back of my hand when our hands had intertwined. I swang our hands back-and-forth, creating a bit of wind to flow.

"Well she said it was for a V.I.P patient. And you know how she is." Maeve looked around the shops, taking us into 'Kaylah's'. It was such a simple name although the shop wasn't simple. It was lively and full of colors. Many potions, ingredients, tools, etc. The owner was Kaylah Dunn, a friend of ours. Our friendship was divided. You see, back in our Hogwarts years, the three of us were in different houses. Maeve was a Gryffindor, Kaylah was a Ravenclaw, and I was a Slytherin. Lucky for me, the two girls didn't judge me or hold a grudge towards me because of my house's stereotypes.

Many found it odd. I was a Syltherin hanging out with a Muggleborn and Gryffindor. Two things no one would expect coming from a Slytherin. A famous Pure-blood family. Except the tradition was broken when my father married my mother, a muggle. He was disowned, kicked out of the family. But karma caught up with my grandparents. They died a few months later after disowning him, making him the heir of the Valentine's name. He inherited many riches and the grand Manor.

"Hello girls" Kaylah smiled from the other side of the counter. "Kaylah!" I beamed. It's been quite a few weeks since we last seen her. "Whatcha lookin' for?" She asked, fixing her brunette hair into a low-ponytail. Her deep and velvety eyes looked at us, awaiting for an answer.

"Phoenix tears. V.I.P patient!" Maeve said. Kaylah nodded, before bringing us to the other side of the counter. Taking us into the back, to the storage, she took out a shabby, old box. She took the handle into her right hand, lifting it up, making the lid go up as well. Inside the box were five vials of Phoenix tears. These tears were rare. There weren't many, due to the lack of Phoenix's. Back in Hogwarts, it was rumored that our transfiguration professor, Dumbledore, had a Phoenix.

"How many?" She asked. "One will do," I said. She took one out, then closed the lid of the box. She handed it over to me, placing it onto my palm. "Now do be careful, ya' know how rare 'ey are" We nodded.

"Thank you, how much?" Maeve asked. "Oh! Ya' know you can always take it for free, just-" She placed her index finger against her lips. "Yes, yes, we know," I said, shaking my head. "Great!" She clapped her hands together, swiftly moving towards the back door. "Go on!" She shooed us out, "Got a business to run" We laughed and said our goodbyes.

We walked through a narrow alley which brought us back into Diagon Alley. No one stopped us, as usual. We went back into walking among the rest of the people there, blending in. There wasn't much to us. If you ever saw us, you'd just think;

'Two normal girls walking around'

Yes. We looked that basic. But we didn't care much, other people's opinions didn't matter. Just normal witches like any other you spotted.

"Mayb-" Maeve was cut off by a loud explosion. Our heads snapped towards the noise. We saw a group of people in black hoods and masks with snake-like eye slits that covered their faces. They used their wands to cast various spells all over the place. The normal chatter and laughs were turned into screams and cries.

Smoke started filling up the clear sky which came from the few buildings lit up with fire. "Y/n, lets leave" But before we could apparate away from all the chaos, Maeve was stunned. She was thrown. I let out a gasp, taking out my wand. I turned around to see one of the many cloaked persons about to kill a young witch.

I quickly ran over. "Stupefy!" I shouted, pointing my wand at the person. They flew back, hitting their head against a bricked wall. The little girl ran over to me, her body hugging my legs. She seemed about the age of 8 or 9. I calmed her down, wiping dry tears stains away from her pale-freckled face. Her ginger hair tied into two braids.

"Molly! Molly!" I heard a much older, female, voice call out. "Mummy!" She ran to the lady right before three of the cloaked persons started to circle around me.

"Expelliarmus!" One of them said, catching my wand in their gloved hands. My eyes widened. I didn't have any way to defend myself and I was yet to learn wandless magic. I only knew a bit, but it was useless.

They trapped me. One took me, holding me back as they apparated along with us in a black smoke. My breath hitched. Surprised by the sudden action.

We arrived in front of a dark manor. The grass was perfectly mowed, there was a trail which led up to the front door. The whole place gave off really dark vibes. Something about it was odd, yet I felt somewhat attracted to it.

The person who had me in their possession, harshly took me in. I tried running away a few times, but it was pointless. "Control yourself," They said. The voice ticked me off that it was male.

"Wh- What are you going to do?" I stammered. "Well you're going to meet the Dark Lord" I could practically hear their smirk on his face.

The Dark Lord. I have heard of him before. It was said that he was a rising dark wizard, in hope to eliminate all muggle and muggle-born witches and wizards. His crew has been growing through these past seven years. Everyone says that the most people in his group were Slytherins.

Shivers ran down my spine at the thought of it. We entered the gloomy-looking manor. Everything looked dark and dull. The stone walls radiate bad energy. There was something, more like someone, in this place that had an evil and negative aura.

They took me near a wooden door down the steps of the manor. One of them opened the door. In it was the same, stone wall. Nothing was held there except a chair, placed in the middle of the room. It was dark, with very little amount of light in it. The one cloaked person who was holding me, threw me onto the chair.

I sighed. My two arms were moved to the back of the cold, metallic, chair. My wrists were being tied up with a rope. I was stuck. Trapped.

Captured.

#fanfic #tom riddle #harry potter #hogwarts #tom riddle x reader #y/n #story #love story #captured #magic #fantasy #death eaters #tom x reader #chapter 1 #diagon alley

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silvanable · 3 years

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Sweetest Gift : Shingen Takeda

me before writing this : ah, yes, cute fluff time for my husbando. something i would do for his birthday? baking. i would absolutely bake something for that sexy sweet-tooth fiend.

me as i was writing this : wHEN DID WE INVENT BUTTER? WAIT I CAN USE APPLESAUCE— SHIT WHAT ABOUT CHOCOLATE? I CAN SAY WE GOT THAT FROM SPAIN. WHAT’S A 16TH CENTURY OVEN LOOK LIKE?? CREAM CHEESE IS TOO MODERN I CAN’T MAKE THAT!

not to mention i had one way that this was supposed to go and instead i took 3 devours, a u-turn, and then ended up at a different destination. bUT OH WELL.

and i finished it fairly quickly and then went to edit and what do i do? add 5 more pages of my shamelessly simping my heart out haha.

ANYWAYS ENJOY THIS SHAMELESS SELF INDULGENT MESS FOR OUR BELOVED TIGER OF KAI!

↪ GUIDELINES

✒ tags : shingen x oc, fluff, shameless self insert, we got off track and it got long

✒ warnings : n/a

✒ notif crew : @oikame

✒ word count : 4,429

Sometimes, just sometimes, she forgot how different her time and this time was. There were things that she desperately missed about the future, but could live without them. That is until it turned out she really needed them… Particularly butter, chocolate, and an electric oven. All the things the petite girl had grown up with and taken for granted until now.

At least she had planned for this early— having that meticulous but mostly anxious drive to prepare for things long before necessary. She was able to gather all her ingredients and learn the necessary skills for the surprise she wanted to bake.

It also helped to have friends in high places though.

If it was not for Masamune and Nobunaga mostly, and a lot of help from everyone else, it might have been impossible. Luckily she had the best time-traveling ninja on her side, as well as the support of all those at Kasuyagama. It was between her and Sasuke’s uncanny knowledge of ingredients and historical markers together, as well as Nobunaga’s influence over foreign trades, that everything fell into place.

Now it was a matter of keeping it all secret. Shingen, after all, was eerily on par with Mistuhide’s tactical and informational gathering abilities. Lying outright was a definite no but without extreme care, he would find out.

Dancing around the topic was not as hard as she expected, then again being evasive or vague on certain things was almost second nature. After all, when one had four other siblings of varying ages, you had to be quick, not-quite-truthful, and convincing when it came to getting or staying out of trouble.

Any time the subject would get too close to becoming an interrogation, she would always change the subject to what Shingen wanted for his birthday. Of course, each time she was answered with another smooth but cheesy line, how he only wanted to spend the day with her. It was a heartwarming thing but she wanted to do more for him, something more than her words or the little bits of artistry she would leave for him to show her affections.

There were a number of things within her arsenal of creativity that she could do but after their trip to the future, she had kept a particular idea close.

Shingen had taken an affinity to the vast array of sweets from the future. Whether he realized it or not, she had been carefully taking notes on what he enjoyed the most. Of course, with the limitation of certain ingredients not being invented or hard to come by in 16th Japan, improvisation was necessary.

Now it only came down to what she was going to make, which at this rate seemed to be every available confection that could come to mind.

At current, it was truffles, applesauce which was a necessary substitute, and a sinfully hopefully delicious applesauce cake from her Oma’s recipe she could barely remember. At this rate, she might continue her baking spiral and attempt the first edible glitter in the world.

When night came around, the petite girl had rushed off and excused herself to go ‘work’ to finish before tomorrow morning. That was true in part, except that work involved fighting with sugar in the kitchen.

It was probably not the best time to bake but the quiet stillness of the night was an ally. Many people by now would have retired to rest, so it made it easy to move around and do what she needed. Granted, the darkness that stretched over the land also extended into the room the girl needed. Nothing a few quaint candles could not fix nor a nice, warming, bright fire that illuminated all necessary things.

Besides the occasional hum, she was alone with herself and the night. It was far too cold now, being practically December, so there were no nightly sounds from any nocturnal companions. At most, the noises that could be heard were uncontained swears, the crunching of chocolate under a knife, and the occasional hollow ring when she stirred the mixture a little too aggressively.

“I will never call Nobunaga an insufferable asshat behind his back again,” She murmured to herself in the kitchen, “And I will forever worship Masamune’s kitchen skills, he makes it look so easy.” She paused on mixing her ingredients to brush fallen strands of her brown and pink hair from her face, the stubborn few that refused to stay up like she wanted.

She reached off to the side, her hand fumbled across the surface for the sugar. When her fingers reached the edge of the container, she rather haphazardly, pulled it over towards her. A mess she nearly caused when she underestimated the weight and almost sent sugar to dust the floors.

“Oh shit!” Luck would have it no one was around to hear such an unladylike swear to leave her. Equally lucky, she managed to balance the sugar into her arm before she dropped it.

By agreement, Kenshin and Yoshimoto were supposed to distract Shingen for the evening. Sasuke and Yukimura were busy setting things up for the celebration. And she, well she was baking in the growing darkness praying to whatever deity was listening that Shingen would not come looking for her. After all, she had told him she would be busy working and would be done very late because she wanted to spend his birthday with him.

That still did not stop her from stilling every time there was an ominous creak or peculiarly loud howl of the wind. She would pause with a tilt of her head towards the cracked door to listen for the approach of footsteps. Either able to dismiss them being nothing or that the speed and weight of the footfall were not Shingen’s and she would continue.

There were soft voices in the distance this time but too far for her to make out clearly. She shrugged and returned to her mixture. If anything, it would likely be one of the guards who found her in here when they came for a late night snack. She had run into plenty of them like that because they all seemed to have the same thought… which was just their stomach demanding food late in the night.

The bowl was put down with a thud and she turned. Her ingredients all assorted on the counter, just out of reach, with a few measuring tools lying around.

Most of which were left from the evening when she had attempted to make applesauce. It had been a mess, mostly because the help she employed was intent on making a mess rather than cooking. Who was she kidding, she threw the first fistful of sugar. Really she had asked Yukimura and Sasuke for help because it would have taken too long to peel and mash all the apples. That and the fact she hated the texture and taste of applesauce was another big thing, so she needed special guinea pigs to taste test for her before she accidentally poisoned a cake or two.

When the monstrous experiment of a cake was nestled into the oven to cook and the truffles were set aside, it was fairly late into the night.

With a sigh, the petite girl stepped out from the kitchen, and into the cool winter air outside. Brown eyes flitted across the glowing garden, covered in a light layer of powdery snow from the earlier flurry. Her fingers deftly tugged at the collar of her kimono, loosening it and revealing further skin to be greeted by the cold air.

It was a wonder to her how anyone survived before having air conditioning or heaters. Then again, she would not complain after spending so long in a room with a roaring fire. The cold was something she would greet openly but not too much, seeing as she could not get sick until after tomorrow. Still… The snow was tempting to just dive into to cool down.

She took a seat on the edge of the raised walkway, lifting her eyes up to the sky. Stars danced and twinkled, seemingly waving down at her, as clouds lazily breezed across the open sky. The half moon greeted her once again for the night, except this time further in the west, as it descended into the horizon.

That was a sign to how late it was, how low the celestial sphere dipped to signal that sunrise was not far behind its farewell.

The nice was pleasant though. The chill in the air was refreshing and shooed away any sleepiness that had threatened her in the kitchen, enveloped by the warmth of the fire she worked with.

Besides, she could sleep later. There were no rules against a nap in the morning or afternoon before the banquet Kenshin and the others had set up to celebrate Shingen’s birthday. Not sleeping was not entirely uncommon for her either. Staying up late into the night, or dare she say morning, was an old habit that was not entirely her fault. Besides, it was for an important reason she was up right now and she had to use all the time she had to finish her surprise for… well, the man who had stolen her heart completely.

Granted right now, having a break made her realize how much she would have loved to curl into his arms and snuggle against his warm chest. Steal the warmth he radiated to battle the cold she allowed to crawl over her skin.

Her head nodded down, eyes drifted close at the pleasing fantasy. Her body leaned forward and her bare feet caressed over the snow. She jumped up with a start at the sudden damp, frigidness against her skin.

A laugh erupted from her lips as she rubbed her eyes. “Okay, break time is over!” She stretched the wariness out of her bones, not daring to give in to the desire to just hibernate through the pleasant winter season, “Back to the finishing touches!” She turned on her heel, entering the kitchen once more to check on her confections.

Light began to peek over the horizon. Stars began to fade as the deep sapphire of the sky began to fade and instead bled into luxurious shades of red, orange, and pink.

The girl was quiet as she snuck through the halls, careful where she placed her feet as to not make a sound. Luckily she had memorized which boards would creak and groan under her weight after sneaking around at night so often. She made a point to avoid the creaky betrayers, especially as she began to near her and Shingen’s shared room.

A tray in one hand, she slid open the shoji door, almost painfully slow as to not abruptly wake the sleeping figure in the room with any sound.

Teeth sank into her pink bottom lip, quieting the giggle that threatened to escape her as she crept into the room. She knelt beside the futon, the dark material of her kimono pulled aside as she sat on her knees.

The tray, decorated with the special sweets, tea, and fruit was placed safely to the side.

Brown eyes fell to Shingen’s face, admiring the soft way his lips parted and how his chest rose and fell with each deep breath.

He looked so peaceful and calm, she almost did not want to wake him.

A soft smile found its way onto her lips. A tan hand delicately touched over his forehead and brushed the strands of auburn locks from his handsome features. Her loving gaze trailed over his features, following an invisible line over his lips to his jaw, down his neck, and to the exposed skin of his chest that peeked through his sleeping kimono.

The trace of a scar, even in the dimness of the room, could be seen in contrast over the skin of his chest. Unlike all the other scars his battle-worn body bore, this one was the one she was most grateful for, because it had scared her the most. Yet now it meant only one thing to her, that this beautiful and infuriatingly charming man was alive and breathing still, so she could love and adore him for many more years.

She was overwhelmed by happiness, a spark that ignited in her chest and spread from her heart to her fingers and toes. Surely she was dreaming, to have someone as wonderful as him, and to have such a chance to celebrate his life with him.

Slowly, she bowed her head. Soft lips pressed gently against the side of his temple. Warm eyes fluttered closed as her lips lingered. A small, loving smile graced her lips as she barely pulled away.

“Hey, it’s time to wake up, birthday boy,” She whispered against his skin.

Her grin stretched further over her lips as he let out a low, groggy groan. Then she was greeted by his delightfully smoky eyes. The wariness in them faded the moment those silver hues met her dark ones, brought to life with a light that she wished she could bask in forever.

“I will never tire of waking up to see my goddess’s shining smile,” His voice was rough and deep from sleep. How she adored the way in made her heart leap in her chest, eager to listen and hear more of anything he said, so long as it was towards her.

If possible, she smiled wider and stroked his hair gently. “Good morning to you too.”

The smile Shingen gave her caused a giddy feeling to take her over, a mixture of her eagerness and happiness. She should have been ashamed at how easily he made her feel like a little schoolgirl but she could hardly care with how loving that smile was.

She dipped her head again, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. A fleeting touch she almost rescinded to indulge in him deeper, but she had to behave herself.

“C’mon, sit up now, I want to give you something.” Her petite form shuffled back a bit.

“Oh, something for me?” It was unfair how sinful and tempting his voice was as he shifted up onto his arm to watch her.

The edge of the blanket slid down, further revealing a frame hidden only by a thin layer of cotton. Her eyes raked down the outline of his figure. The lazy, satisfied smirk he offered her shook her back to her senses, somewhat at least. She tore her gaze away.

It was a lot warmer suddenly. How strange.

He caught her cheek with his free hand, gently denying her escape, and forced her gaze back to him. The sultry look, focused solely on her, was enough for her to let out a breath— one she had not realized she was holding. The smoldering heat, she knew now, was what radiated off him and the sinful way his eyes glazed over her features.

He guided her back down, joining their lips once again. The kiss, unlike before, was far deeper. His lips moved against hers in sensual skillfulness, drawing her further into him. Her hands pressed against his jaw to cup his face. The cool digits trace slowly over his skin as she drowned into him, savouring him.

It was only the need to breathe that caused them to part. Her faced flushed as her chest rose and lungs greedily sucked in air. Their gazes remained fix on each other, Shingen seemingly satisfied with how out of breath he left her. A callous thumb brushed over her lips gently.

“I do hope it’s you.” His hand lowered from her face, following the curve of her shoulder and down her arm until her hand rested in his.

A giggle escaped her as she moved to her knees, reluctantly allowing her fingers to slip from his, as she crawled away to grab the tray she had brought in.

“Well now you’ve spoiled tonight’s present,” She teased, allowing her fingers to curl into his palm, taking in his warmth.

“And what sort of sweetness would you offer otherwise?”

Her heart jumped, his choice of words seemingly all too specific. But surely she was overthinking it, right?

“I wonder what it might be.” The teasing tone and look he cast her made her flush.

How unfair he was, being so astute and observation. Her midnight snacking sampling of the truffles might have been a bad idea but she had been hungry. There was no doubt she had traces of that confection on her lips.

“You’re awful, it was a surprise!” She playful stuck her tongue at him as she shuffled away, “And I was doing so good too!” She returned to his side, “But despite that—” She presented the tray lavished with a surplus of sweets, “—I made you these.”

The way Shingen’s face had lit up with surprise and awe stole her breath. He was truly unfair to be able to make her heart beat like it did and to make her chest swell with giddy excitement.

Grey eyes flickered up to meet her eyes. Suddenly she felt rather shy under the loving and admirable gaze. The attention and emotions fixed so intently on her made her squeamish. She fidgeted in place, tearing her dark eyes away as she sank into embarrassment, as her face flushed.

“I know it’s not huge but I know how much you loved the sweets, so I wanted to make you some that I grew up around or making. Plus you liked so many of the sweets from the future and I wanted to share that with you—” Was she talking faster, or was that her imagination? “— despite not having everything exactly at our disposal. But just to show you how much I really love you and am so grateful that you’re here so I can make them for you and tell you happy birthday.”

She could still feel his gaze on her while she frantically allowed the words to fall from her mouth. Heat rose up her neck and to her cheeks, dusting the tawny color of her face dusted over with red.

At this rate, the way he was looking at her was going to cause her to implode on herself. Perhaps a run and dive into the snow would do some good to cool her down but she was afraid it would melt if she went near it now.

As silly as it was, his loving attention was still something that flustered her and it did not help she was confessing her feelings through words— she was only good with those when they were written, not spoken.

His callous hands brushed over her own softer ones as he took the tray from her. Fingers delicately guided her chin up to meet his gaze, one that was so soothing but tempting her further.

“And surely you are a goddess— bestowing me with such a beautiful sight and lovely blessings when I should be giving offers to you.” His lips pressed feather-light kisses from her ear to the corner of her mouth.

“Shingen!”

She let out a girlish squeal she was not proud of as his lips stole her own.

“It’s your birthday and—mph!—I’m trying to pour my heart out here!” She tried to pull away from his lips, only finding herself distracted with each time she tried to speak. She could not escape though, not unless he wanted her to, and she could not resist the flurry of affections pressed against her lips again and again to silence her protests.

When she did manage to push away, laughter bubbled from her lips, and she was met with a charming smile. How effortlessly he could make her flustered and steal it away with a touch or a kiss. She both hated and loved him for it.

“And you’re doing a wonderful job.” Fingers brushed through her unusually colored hair and lingered to twirl the pink ends around them.

“I’ll just write it in a letter, that’ll be easier than and you would have to listen to me stumble so ungracefully through it.” She covered her face with a nervous laugh.

Shingen pulled her hands away, laying gentle kisses over her knuckles as he grinned. “No, continue, I quite enjoy how cutely flustered you’re getting.” Of course, he would find her stumbling endearing. What a lovable jerk.

She huffed, trying to hide a smile, and pointed to the tray. “Stop teasing and try them!” Her order was more of a childish demand, “I slaved literally all night and you don’t even know what it took to get half of these ingredients!” It might have started out as a scolding but before she had finished, her words were broken by laughter.

“Oh, so this is that ‘very important’ work you had?” Shingen mused, a twinkle in his eyes, “And that trip to Azuchi?”

She did not have to answer, he already knew, that look said he always knew.

“You’re so unfair! I tried so hard to keep it a secret and be subtle!” She whined, “How did you know?”

“Well,” Shingen said carefully as he picked up one of the truffles, “I do now, especially after such a sweet kiss from your lips,” He offered her a smirk, “And Yuki rushed me away from the kitchen last night saying you were busy when I went looking to pull you to bed.” His amused gaze flickered from her to the confection between his fingers.

So much for subtly. She was definitely going to throw her sandals at Yukimura later for that.

Shingen popped the sweet into his mouth, allowing the sweet chocolaty flavor to coat over his tongue as it practically melted in his mouth. A satisfied hum filled the air as he reached for another one of the delightful chocolate bites.

All while the girl wiggled eagerly in her seat, an unspoken question reflected on her face.

“Delicious,” He purred the praise praised.

She sighed in relief. There should not have been anything to worried about to begin with, seeing as it was not hard to please a man who would eat anything so long as it involved sugar. But there was always that underlying anxiousness to whatever she did for him and she had worked so hard, so she only wanted it to be perfect.

A truffled was pressed to her lips, the man responsible smiling sweetly at her.

“Open,” The order was obeyed almost immediately, allowing the tasty morsel to melt into sweetness her mouth.

“It was worth all the trouble,” She mumbled from behind her hand with a smile.

It was not long before the tea and confections had been finished off, leaving the tray empty. Something she took great pride in.

She moved to grab the tray but was stopped by a hand on her wrist. In the next moment, she was pulled into a warm, comforting embrace. There was no protest from her, she only nestled into his chest and wrapped her arms around him in return.

“This was a lovely way to wake up,” Shingen hummed, his voice rumbling through his chest. Her eyes closed to listen to his heart and the soft rumble of his voice, a smile on her lips.

“I’m glad. And there’s plenty left in the kitchen. Just don’t tell Yuki I let you have some already.” She giggled against him.

“Of course not,” Shingen replied, laughter in his voice.

Now with the petite girl trapped in his arms, he fell back into the futon, which had began to cool with the absence of their warm presences.

“Wait—!” She made to protest but he shushed her immediately, lips finding her own to steal whatever complaints or excuse might befall those lips next.

Clearly kissing her into submission was his only choice. So when she broke away from the kiss, his lips immediately sought hers again, pulling her further into his warmth and inviting her to melt into him.

“I’m afraid I’m still quite tired,” The playfulness in his tone suggested otherwise, “And my darling goddess has worked all throughout the night without rest.”

She rolled her eyes. “If this is a guilt trip it won’t work. Nothing you can say will get me to stay. I’ve got more to set up for today still.”

“Oh, but it’s my birthday is it not? I can request you stay here with me and rest a little while longer. You would not deny me of my wishes on my special day, would you?” Even his pout was sensual and charming.

Brown eyes met grey ones as she looked up at him. Her glare was far too cute to be threatening and it spoke volumes to him. Apparently, he was playing the right angle and they knew it would work against her. She would never be so cruel as to deny him.

“It will be your fault if I don’t wake up for the party then—” Her eyes widened and she gave him a wary glance, “—you knew about that already too, right?”

He laughed. The sound filled the room with warmth, despite the cold outside, and vibrated through his chest, enveloping her as she hugged him.

“I did,” He replied, “So will you stay, my darling goddess?”

How could she resist such a sweet request and that roguishly charming smile?

She hid her face in his chest, “You’re so mean.” He was anything but mean, but she had a right to whine against his charm.

Fingers laced in her hair, rubbing soothing circles through the curiously colored locks. “You need your rest, I can’t have you drifting to sleep during the banquet—” A pair of brown eyes peeked up at him, “—Or tonight when I’ll indulge in the rest of my gift.” And promptly those eyes disappeared again.

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest, he could feel the heat radiate from her skin. How cute she was.

She pinched his arm in response.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to sleep,” She scolded, the embarrassed tone only barely muffled by his kimono.

“Of course, you will need it…” He paused as she settled against him, “Because you won’t be resting tonight.” His provocative tone left nothing to her imagination, he knew.

“SHINGEN!” She slapped his arm gently, face flushed red as she glared at him. That glare was anything but meaningful, he knew, because those murky, night eyes betrayed how eager she was for night to fall.

Besides, he truly wanted was her.

She was the sweetest gift after all.

#i will apologize for nothing #and you all know it #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikemen sengoku fanfic #ikemen sengoku shingen #ikemen sengoku shingen takeda #shingen takeda #ikesen shingen #fluff #fluff fanfic

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Vice Versa

Rating: Mature Relationship: Alien X Female!Human Warning: Dirty talk, strong language, Alien/human relationship, Body swapping, Extreme fluff

Word Count:4846

An Alien and his girlfriend screw around with some mysterious tech on an abandoned ship and end up switching bodies.

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"What a shit hole," I kick a wet napkin away. I tighten my hold on my toolbox as I step over the pile of damp trash.

"Probably why its abandoned, maids stopped showing up," Sander laughs to himself. I glance over my shoulder at his calm demeanor. His bottom set of hands are in the pockets of his jumper, the others are crossed over his chest. He looks around at the dark ship, stretching his neck as he looks behind him. His muscle tee is loose over his shoulders, tucked into the tied-up mechanic's jumper. Something falls from the ceiling, dusting his head with debris. He raises one hand and swipes it off his crew cut.

"well at least it looks better than my first apartment," I look around, "perhaps this place has actual running water too."

"You humans and your subpar living spaces," he shakes his head.

We walk through the hallway, searching each room we pass for any residents. The place seems truly abandoned. Trash and debris litter the walkway. No tracks or signs of the previous life is available. No one has been here for a while, which is fine by us. We are just here to see if we can’t kick start the engine. Then guide it to the U.S. Marsh to be dismantled for parts.

Working on a scavenger ship isn't a good life but it’s simple. Especially when you are a valuable asset, get better meals then. I've been working for a little over two years, having been mentored by Sander a few weeks after showing up. We both hit it off and one thing led to another. Now he is my partner in more ways than one. After a year we became inseparable, taking work together. Everyone on board knows by now that if they want something done right, it was sander and me to call.

As I’m distracted looking at the holo-map I jump when I feel something run up my leg. I jump and take a quick step back. Sander begins to laugh, watching me as I investigate my leg. I look up and see his tail flicking lazily around where I stood.

"Fucking asshole," I sneer. He laughs a little louder at my dismay.

"What," he shrugs, "You know I have no say in what that thing does."

I look down at his tail again, "Thing is just as perverted as you are."

He simply shrugs again, "at least the thing has its priorities in check, always finds its way to you."

I fight back the smile creeping on my face, "Flattery will get you nowhere." Sander walks over to me, grabbing at my arm. I playfully jerk away from him, making him fight for it. He gets a firm hold on my forearm and pulls me close to his chest. His bottom pair of arms grab onto my waist. His top plays with my hand, the other petting my hair back.

"Are you sure about that," he grins. I roll my eyes and he pecks me on the nose, "So damn cute."

I can’t stop the smile this time. I push him away and bring up the map again, "Alright, we need to get to the elevator and the engine is on the bottom floor."

"Lead the way mistress," he flourishes his hand. Sliding his bottom pair back into his pockets.

I guide us both to the elevator at the end of the hall. Making our way to the bottom floor. As the doors open, we are both hit by a rancid smell.

"God, that’s like a punch in the nose ain't it," Sander winces.

"yea, smells like damn spoiled eggs," I grimace. We both reluctantly walk out of the lift. Looking around at the complete disarray of the room. The walls are rusted, and the metal sheets are prying away. The floor is covered in an oily sheen and more garbage. Carcasses of rodents litter the corners.

"Put on your mask, I think there is a gas leak," Sander warns. I reach into my tool kit and find the small gas mask. I take it out and strap it to my face. I look over and give him a thumbs up. He copies the gesture. He doesn’t adorn a mask, having a better capacity at rejecting toxins in the air. One of the many reasons he is normally chosen for tasks like this.

We make it to the end of the hall, the door opening at our nearness. Inside the next room is what we came for. The large hydrogen-powered engine. This was an out of date ship it seems. Everyone is all about nuclear or solar-powered ships, not needing great power if you never intend to land on a planet. Just using it for long travel and orbiting.

Looking the engine over it seems a bit off. There are lines of green all around it, giving it a stereotypical alien vibe. Having some bits and pieces beaten out of the sides, leaving chunks missing. Looks like someone attacked this engine.

"Someone shut it off," Sander says from behind the machine. I follow around and see the large switch turned down.

"explains why it took the jaws of life to rip the door open," my voice coming out in echo around the mask. Getting into this disastrous beast was strangely difficult. Like someone made sure the doors were welded shut. Sander shrugs and goes to flip the switch. When it clicked there is a soft whirling then nothing.

"Can never be that easy," He sighs. He switches it off again and looks around the engine. Pulling out a flashlight to look inside the bits that are removed. I walk over to a table aside from the wall, setting down my case. I lean against the wall letting him figure out what's wrong.

Stopping at the front he squints his eyes to get a better look. I can’t help but admire the focus. Sander is amazing at his job, having done it since he was a kid. He loves doing this, this kind of stuff just makes sense to him.

"Seems to be missing a very large part right here," he mumbles to himself. I walk over and look with him. He steps aside, keeping the light still. Looking into the compartment I see what he is talking about. A bunch of wires connected to a splice lay haphazardly at the bottom of the empty space. Looks like someone yanked something out of here, ripping the cords from the connector.

"Well that’s a problem," I sigh. I lean back and look up at Sander, "What now?"

He looks around the room," Maybe it’s in here? Doubt it, but its worth a shot." I nod as we both part to investigate the room.

The tables around are littered with garbage and torn apart machines. Boxes are filled underneath the stands. We search through each one, picking any machine we find. After some time I find a large cube. In the back there are some wire protruding, seeming unnaturally welding to it.

"Hey, I found something," I shout. Turning the machine over I hear sander's footsteps. He crouches down next to me, watching as I fiddle with the wires. Feeling a soft buzz in my hand.

"Looks right," he mumbles," hand it over."

I turn and pass him the machine. As his fingers touch there is a loud pop then a pulse going up my arm then blinding my eyes. I drop the machine and lose my footing, falling against the hard floor. I faintly hear the box drop along with Sander. My eyes can’t focus, blurring and swarming with black dots. The last thing I see is sander passed out on the floor.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

With a jolt, I snap my eyes open. I sit upright, wincing when I see the light ahead. My torso is heavy, and my feet feel sensitive. I raise my hand to my head, jumping when I see two hands raised. I stare down shocked at the dark green skin and clawed hand.

"Wha-," I start. I grip my fist, watching as both hands do so. I try to raise one but they both follow. There is something familiar about this arm like I’ve seen it a hundred times. I look down at my chest, noticing immediately my lacking parts. I’m covered by a black muscle tee. My lower half covered by a blanket. I throw the sheet back and look down at the all too familiar jumper tied around my waist.

"No," I whisper. I jump out of bed, catching vertigo as I stand. My top feeling heavy and a large weight down my spine. I turn around and catch sight of a very familiar tail. "No," I say louder. I spin in a circle, following the- my - tail. "No," I shout.

Across the room, I hear a groan, looking up I see someone lying in bed. Feeling the familiarity but not placing it I walk over. I stumble a bit, not use to having such long legs. I catch myself with my two left hands at the end of the bed. I look down at the human. She has an all too familiar look, something I know I’ve seen a thousand times. Seeing that face every day in the mirror.

I’m looking at myself in bed.

"No," I shout, stumbling away from the bed.

"God, I’m trying to fucking sleep. Shut up," I- they - say from the bed. It’s very strange to hear my own voice, it's higher than I realized.

"Jesus, do I sound like that," I wince. My voice sounding extremely deep. I cough and grip my throat, "God, I sound weird."

My body sits up from the bed in a jolt. They look at me immediately, giving a once over. Their eyes widen, pointing at me before covering their mouth.

"Wha- wait, Fuck," she says. She looks down at her hands, flipping them over multiple times. She rubs her eyes then repeats. She jerks her hands to her side, feeling along her ribs. "Where are my arms," she whimpers. I watch in shock as this person controls my body.

She jerks her head to me, "Who are you?"

"Uh, you," I wince. They look down at their body.

"Who am I," she asks. Turning towards the side table she grabs the metal bowl. Checking her reflection, turning the item this way and that. "no," they whisper. Dropping the bowl she turns to me, "Baby girl?"

"Sander," I ask back.

"No fucking way," she-he- shouts. Sander- I- jump out of bed, falling immediately onto the floor. I see his hand-my hand- slap onto the bed. Pulling himself up he glares at me. "Where did we meet?"

I stare confused, "What?"

He stands up, staring at me cryptically, "How do I know that you are who you suggest, where did we meet?"

"Uh, I worked beside Larkin in Storages. You caught me fixing the lift and offered to mentor me," I rush out.

He squints at me, "Anyone could know that, where did we first have sex?"

"That’s appropriate," I drop my hands to my hip. I wince when I see the multiple arms. It’s easy to forget.

"Answer me, where did we first make love," he snaps.

"You considered our first time as making love," I blush. He slaps his hand onto the bed.

"Answer the damn question," he shouts. It’s very strange to hear my voice yell at me.

"Was my room because yours was a shoebox compared to mine, on the living room couch" I answer. His posture relaxes and he stares concernedly at me.

"Doll, what happened," he sounds so small. Which I guess for the time he is small. My voice not helping at all, making my heart break a little.

"I have no idea; I woke up and now I have two sets of arms. Then a fucking tail," I manage to lift my tail. I stare down confused as I shift it either way. Flexing it and twirling it. "You fucking liar, you have full control of your tail," I snap at him.

"Yep, it really is you," he smiles. I have a cute smile, I notice. He walks around the bed, stumbling as he goes. He stops in front of me, giving me a once over. "Damn, you make me look good," he chuckles.

"I don’t think right now is a good time for jokes," I scold. I try to lift my hand but still manage to lift both at the same time. "Also how the fuck do you control these damn things," I wave my arms around. I lift both sides and try to drop just the bottom set. I strain with the effort and manage to drop them to my sides.

"Takes practice, Doll," he plays around with his new hands, "Also your voice is very strange to hear coming out of my mouth. Well, I guess your mouth."

"Yea, your voice vibrates through my chest," I rub a hand down my torso.

As we investigate our new bodies someone walks in. we both turn and see a nurse.

"Oh you both seem to be up and at em," the woman smiles. She is a Krattin, or Kraxin. I'm not familiar with the name but she just reminds me of my Aunt's cat, Phillip.

"Do you know what happened," Sander tries to walk around me. He stumbles still, scolding himself. "How the hell is it so hard to walk with your legs," he barks over his shoulder. The nurse stares at him confused.

"Are you having weakness in your legs miss," the nurse asks.

Sander sneers at her, "Do not call my miss. She is miss, I'm Sander." he points back at me then to himself. The nurse is more confused.

"No, that’s Sander," she points to me.

"No, I’m Sander. That’s my Girlfriend," He clarifies. I can’t help but chuckle at the situation. Sander glares which makes me laugh more. Glared at by my own face isn't that intimidating

The nurse steps closer to Sander," Perhaps you hit your head a bit too hard, lay down and ill check you out."

As the nurse reaches over, sander bats her hand away, "Babe, your help would be divine right now."

"Yea alright," I laugh, "miss, there seems to have been a mishap because I’m not who I’m supposed to be." the nurse looks up at me with her head tilted.

"What do you mean," she asks.

"Well, I’m in the wrong body for starters. I generally don’t have four arms or a pointless tail," I gesture to my tail.

"It’s not pointless, I’m hella top-heavy. It balances me out," sander scolds.

"I’ve seen plenty of men with huge torsos that don’t require a tail," I snap back.

He folds his arms," I have four arms, that’s pretty top-heavy. Your human men hardly count at such with their pathetic muscles."

"Pathetic? How would you know, you have a swimmer's body," I gesture to myself.

"Don’t give me that bullshit, you know you love my slender physique," he tries to purr. It just comes out awkward.

"It’s too weird to be hit on by yourself," I shake my head.

He looks down at his body," Yea, it weird to talk to myself as well."

The nurse stands by watching the exchange with pure confusion," OK, now I’m lost."

We both turn to her, "Right, I’m sorry. I hope that explains it. We seemed to have body swapped."

"Ugh, don’t say it like that. This isn’t that stupid movie you made me watch," Sander winces.

"Which movie? There is a bunch like that," I turn to him.

"The uh," he flips his hand about, "the two women. Switches with the mom."

"Freaky Friday?"

"Yes, that one. Fucking stupid," he goes back to crossing his arms. We turn back to the nurse who looks on the verge of calling security.

"Well, I'm going to check your vitals. Perhaps order for a scan of your brains," she says slowly.

"We aren’t crazy," Sander snaps.

"I never said you are, just sometimes in a tragic situation like near-death that people can make up things," she tries to explain.

"Do you think we are making this up," I ask.

"No, I think you honestly believe that you have swapped but most likely just mimicking their actions and believe such thing as mental swap actually happened,” she makes an excuse. It would be a solid excuse if I wasn’t the one dealing with it. I know I’m not who I should be. The ground is way too far away from my head. I have way too many arms, and I have a prehensile tail.

"Here, how bout we answer some question that only we would know," Sander suggests. He was always the one to try to quickly face a problem. "call Peter and Macy. They know more about us than anyone," he waves his hand.

With that suggested the nurse leaves the room. We both assume to collect our friends, but more likely to talk with someone about the situation. We converse amongst ourselves, admiring our new bodies while we wait.

Around an hour later the room is filled with people. Peter and Macy stand in front of us. A few nurses are poking and prodding our heads as a small group of people are surrounding us. It seems word got out fast about our predicament and a few brave souls have shown up for the freak show.

"Alright, sander," Peter starts," Last Christmas I got super hammered. What was the favor I asked you the next day?"

Sander bats the hands of the nurse away, "Easy, you asked that I don’t tell Katy about that Huxst you were hitting on." a few people around the room chuckle. A Huxst is a species of Lethargic creatures. They are very intelligent but very slow, keeping weight like no one's business.

"I should have picked a less embarrassing question," peter winces, "But she could have guessed that"

"Then why pick that question, rule was that you pick one only I would know. That only Sander would know," He corrects himself.

"Fine, give me a second," Peter thinks," ok, last week you asked me to pick up something for your girl. You wanted it to be a surprise, so I know she has no idea about it." I look over at sander, curiosity peaked.

Sander glanced up at me blushing," Different question."

"No, answer that one," Peter scolds. Sander looks up at me then back at the floor.

"Fine," He hisses, "it’s a signed copy of her favorite vinyl. It was in mint condition so I know she could use it whenever she wanted. The sleeve was worn but you could clearly see the signature from everyone in the band." I’m a bit floored by his revelation. It’s a very considerate gift. I have an old beat-up record player I got from my dad when he passed. It has fond memories every time I play one of his records. I know exactly what band he is talking about. It was a very old rock band. The fact that he didn’t just find one but one that was signed it beyond me.

"Really," I ask. I set my hand on his arm. Feeling strange touching my own skin with his.

He looks up at me," yea, it was meant for your birthday next month." I smile down at him, pressing my hand to my heart.

"I'd kiss you but I rather not kiss myself," I laugh. I get a chuckle out of him as well.

"I guess that answers it," Peter claps his hands, "They switched bodies." a few people around the room grumble as some exchange funds. I guess in that short time there were already bets.

Macy steps forward with her arms out," Wait. We have to make sure they are switched with each other. He could be anyone" She gestures to me.

"Well then Macy, ask me a question that only id know," I fold my top set of arms over my chest. Copying Sander's signature pose by putting my lower arms in my pockets.

Macy gives me a once over as she thinks, "When you first met Sander's do you remember what you told me?"

"That he is an ass," I chuckle. Sander flicks me in the arm.

"No, well yes but not what I meant," She smiles, "We sat in your room after y'alls first time. You were all gushy and giddy, hugging the pillow he slept on." I remember that day clearly. It was the afternoon after we first had sex. He stayed the night but left the next morning to work. I met up with Macy, needing to talk to her. I couldn’t stop smiling as I gave her the details of our date. I looked at her said -

"I think he is the one."

There were a few awes from the crowd, but I was too embarrassed to look up. I hid my face in my hand, not wanting anyone to see the blush on my cheeks. I felt a hand on mine, pushing it aside. I look upon my own face, filled with admiration.

"You really knew by then," He whispers. Keeping his voice down so no one can hear our private moment.

"Of course, you were wonderful," I can’t help but smile. He smiles back, bumping his head into mine.

"God you are such a softie," He has a wide smile, "I think I have to kiss you"

I lean back," No, I’m not going to kiss myself."

He grabs my face," Too bad, that was too adorable. I have to kiss you, its law." I fight against his hands, finding it easier now that I’m the stronger one. "Nope, don’t fight it," He laughs. I give in, letting him peck me on the lips. I drop my head to his shoulder.

"Fuck, I wish these people weren't here," I grumble. I feel Sander turn his head and regards the group.

"Proof enough," He asks the crowd," Now someone fix this, please. I’d like to kiss my girlfriend with my own mouth."

Everyone left the room besides the nurses who are still trying to poke and prod. We gave up trying to fight them a while ago. As we sat in relative silence we jump when the door opens. A few people roll in some machines on a dolly cart. One of the machines caught our eye immediately.

"that one," Sander shouts. He jumps out of bed, getting used to his new legs, and stops in front of the box. "this little fucker," He growls.

I hope out of bed and stop behind him. He leans down to pick it up but thinks better of it.

"Do we know what this is," He asks the workers in the room. I look around to see they are his workers. The mechanics that do more of the tinkering and fixing of the place.

"No, but it does emit a strong power. Rodney assumes it’s a battery of some kind," one of them that I recognize as Krait says.

"A battery," Sander rolls his eyes, "The thing is some magic body swapper device and you assume it’s a fucking battery."

"Chill out, they know as much as we do," I rest my hand on his shoulder.

"Excuse me for being a bit tense," He scolds over his shoulder," Fuck, I can’t even scold you properly. When did I get so damn tall!"

"Sucks being short doesn’t it," I laugh.

He sneers up at me," We better figure out how to switch back soon because I will have you on your back in seconds."

"promises, promises," I shake my head.

"Damn straight it’s a promise," he snorts. He looks down at the box, using his covered foot to nudge it a bit.

"How did you two switch to begin with," Krait asks.

"Well I found the thing and handed it to him," I point to Sander," and then there was a flash and we woke up here."

"You feel the weird buzzing up your arm and to your head first," Sander looks up at me.

"Yea, it was like being shocked," I rub my arm.

"Then let’s do that again," Krait suggests, "She picks up the box and hand it so Sander."

"I guess it’s worth a shot," Sander shrugs, "Can’t imagine we can get more fucked up."

"Hey, watch yourself. That my body you are 'fucked up' in," I nudge him.

He pets his hands down his chest, groping himself as he does so." and what a lovely body it is too." I kick him in the back of the knee, making him buckle. "Fucking ow," he winces. He rubs his knee as he eyes the box. He glances up at me next, "Ladies first?"

"According to the genitals in the room, I'm afraid to say that it’s you who is the lady," I smirk.

"On your back, screaming my name. that will happen even if we aren't switched back," He glares at me.

"Then let’s hope we can switch back because If we don’t I will be the one topping you," I laugh. He continues glaring but with a bit of mirth.

"Guys, please touch the creepy alien box before I vomit," Krait cringes. We both smile at each other at Krait's expense.

Sander reaches out first and grabs the box. Without my command, my tail wraps around his ankle. He looks down and grins.

"Told you I don’t have control over it," he glances back up. I shake my head as I tighten the tail's grip. Sander lifts the box from the dolly and turns to face me. "If you are in any pain, I want you to say so, I know how stubborn you are," he demands.

"I promise, it’s going to be ok," I console. I timidly reach out my top arms. Hovering my hands over the box, feeling the electric pulsing already. With a quick breath, I slap my hands to it.

Just like before I feel the current run up my arms and into my head. This time I feel like my skull is going to burst. I feel the heat behind my eyes and all I see is white. Then in a second, my legs buckle, and I fall to the floor. My head bouncing as it cracks against the tiles.

<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>

I wake up with déjà vu. I'm sprawled over a hospital bed but this time I’m not wrapped in a blanket. I squint at the ceiling lights, making a note to tell the nurse to dim them for anyone who has been knocked out. I rub my eyes, feeling the softness of my own skin. I run my fingers through my long hair, brushing it away from my face.

"You are damn slow to the catch," I hear a deep voice beside me. I look over and see Sander sitting up in bed, watching me with a smile. I squint at him confused before it clicks. I jolt up in bed, "there she is. Hi, doll."

"It worked," I twist off the bed. He does the same, planting his- HIS- feet on the floor.

"Yes it did, lovely to see you again," he laughs as he walks over to me. I grab his bottom arms and pull him close. He kneels and wraps both sets around me. "God it feels so good to touch you with my own hands," He rubs his face on my head. I can’t stop the choked laugh that escapes me. It really worked, it fucking worked.

I lean back and grab his face. Pulling him down and taking his lips to mine. He gives no fight, tilting my head with his hand. His other hands petting me, memorizing everything. Perhaps having a new admiration for touching with his own skin when he lost it before. I reach up and grab his hair. Tugging on the short strands the way I know he likes. He groans into my mouth, grounding his hips into the bed.

"I’ll take it that it worked," I hear a voice call. We part and I turn to see Peter and Macy.

"Yea," I answer softly. Sander brushes his nose around my ear, still groping and petting me.

"I guess we should leave you two alone," Macy says. She grabs peter and drags him out of the room.

I turn back to Sander, resting my forehead on his.

"Hi," I smile.

"Hi," he answers back.

"What should we do now?"

"Fulfill a promise," he lifts me from the bed. His lower arms hold my thighs around his waist while his top ones hold my hips. He walks me towards the door, opening it to a nurse.

"Where are you two going," the nurse asks as she steps aside. we walk past her.

Halfway down the hallway, Sander yells out, "I'm going to make love to my girlfriend."

I laugh while peppering his face with kisses.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Refrenced the only two body swap movies i know. Vice versa and Freaky Friday. This was meant to have more to it but it was already getting long so it's cut short. still reads well in my opinion. Check out my archive

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #Alien boyfriend #alien x human #four arms #body swap #fluff #sander #reader #mechanics #space

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renwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

first impressions

I submit to #MERWEEK2020, First Impressions. Samantha Traynor x FemShep

Sure the first time they spoke was on the Normandy SR-2, but that was not the first time they met.

October 22, 2183

“I thought you were allergic?”

“To free food and rubbing shoulders with the top brass?” A plump woman with a short bob of brown hair and blue eyes arched an eyebrow as she swept lipstick over thin lips.

“To bullshit,” Specialist Samantha Traynor clarified, her arms still crossed as she hunched in her desk chair.

Specialist Mary Dietrich gave an acknowledging shrug. “You’re not wrong, but free food does wonders for keeping my bullshit allergy at bay.” She made a theatrical sniffing noise.

Sam pressed harder, “You know the ANN vultures will be there. Probably Khalisah al-Jilani too, your archnemesis.” She took a loud slurp of cold tea from the mug on her desk, racking her brain for more reasons why they shouldn’t go out tonight. “Also Staff Lieutenant Jeong and the rest of the smug quartermasters who love rejecting our grant proposals. You know we would be done with the new defense suite if Jeong wasn’t besties with Bautista in applied physics, right?”

Sighing, Mary made flicking motions to smooth out wrinkles on the sleeves of her dress blues. “Well now I want to go just to kick Jeong in the balls.” The orange holo screen projected from her wrist that was acting as a mirror disappeared as she set a glare on her fellow R&D mate. “C’mon Sam. Contrary to your belief, this is actually one of the perks of working on Arcturus Station. First on the victory tour to celebrate the end of the Eden Prime War! Oo-rah!”

Oo-rah, Sam groaned inwardly and more than a little sarcastically. Her nose wrinkled with her silent scowl.

Mary must have seen the face Sam made, because she stood up, hands on hips. “Suck it up, newbie! I will pull rank on you if it’ll make you leave the damn lab.”

Samantha squawked in protest. “I leave the lab!”

Sometimes! To sleep!

Traynor.

Okay, I sleep on the couch most nights. To change?

...Traynor.

Well they shouldn’t make the laundry service so convenient then. To shower?

……Traynor.

Fine! L Wing has the best faucets! Not my fault the washroom is one door down! I am a slave to convenience, okay??? It keeps my mind researching and developing per my job title, doesn’t it??

“Sleeping and making tea don’t count,” Mary scoffed back. “Plus this is a big deal. Don’t you want to be able to tell your grandkids about meeting all the heroes who saved the Citadel and the Council?”

“...Do I have to?”

A laundry back was draped over Sam’s face, filling her vision with crinkling plastic. Mary patted her head through the bag. “Damn right, you do. Or you get to tell Lydia you made me late.”

Oh fuck. She had only met Mary’s wife Lydia half a dozen times in the 6 months since she started at R&D on Arcturus, but the woman made an impression. A stern, stoic Kodiak mechanic, Lydia had never cracked a smile once at any of the dozens of quips and small jokes Sam compulsively made. And Lydia had a voice like a drill sergeant that made Sam want to stand up straight before offering to do push ups please-and-thank-you-ma’am.

Pulling the bag off her face, Sam unzipped it to find her dress blues freshly laundered and folded crisply. She mumbled, “....I’ll be good.”

Arcturus Station was the pride and joy of the Alliance with a state of the art light rail to traverse the 5km diameter arms. At the center was a large convention hall that could hold 20,000 of the 45,000 population at one time. Surrounding departments had been cleared out to serve as food stations, coat checks and privacy areas to host the current set of guests.

Sucks to be them, Sam frowned in empathy as she waited with Mary in the biometric security line. I can’t imagine having to clean up and stash all the rubbish we have lying around just so some fancy-pants donor can hang their coat up. Reminds me of a grammar school open house.

The overwhelming number of people made it hard for her to carry on a conversation with her coworker. Mostly human, with a few asari in sleek dresses and tuxedoed turians sprinkled in made up the meandering line that started at the light rail station. Background noise consisted of a dull roar of voices that grew louder the closer the two women got to the convention hall proper with just the faintest bass beat of music.

As they finally crested the last stairwell, the site of the grand hall was truly breathtaking. Large blast windows revealed a swirling backdrop of the Arcturus Stream nebula. Even the Arcturus mass effect relay was visible, the blue element zero core at its center flickering like a star. A few moving pins of light appeared next to the relay, more ships arriving to join the fleets already at Arcturus Station.

Decorated in heavy Alliance blue and gold, there were holo posters posted at intervals around the circular hall. Dramatic vid portraits of human heroes (with occasional notable alien Council SpecTRes appearing in between, no doubt a nod to the Council guests present) animated silently, larger than life.

A red-headed woman appeared multiple times at different angles and wardrobes on the vids, clearly the focus of the event. In one image the woman was pictured with a straight backed salute wearing dress blues, another wielded a rifle in heavy armor, another was flanked by a group of men and women (human and alien alike).

Commander Annelise Shepard, First Human SpecTRe. Hero of the Citadel. Captain of the Normandy SR-1, the most advanced ship in the Alliance Navy.

The room was warm with all the bodies and Sam found herself clinging to Mary, who was busy texting Lydia to attempt to meet up somewhere on the crowded floor. The clamor of conversation barely dipped during a few speeches broadcast across the hall. Admiral David Anderson’s low bass voice welcomed the guests to the station and indicated there would be a meet-and-greet with the Heroes of the Citadel after cocktails.

Excited jabbering was all around them as people tried to catch glimpses of the headliner heroes. Sam was only somewhat familiar about the events from a few weeks ago, much of it still under top secret clearance. Just that all the recent geth activity triggered from the terrorist attack on Eden Prime culminated in the attack at the Citadel. A joint task force crew, helmed by the first human SpecTRe, was responsible for bringing the terrorist down and saving the Citadel and the Council at the cost of human lives.

It seems kind of far-fetched, doesn’t it, Traynor?

Like something I’d read in a story. Or play in a video game.

Ooo, I hope it has a character creator. And I can make the character super hot.

It took the better part of a half hour of crowd weaving to track down Lydia Dietrich, Mary’s wife. A tall woman with very short, slicked-back hair was nursing a beer while she chatted with a small group of fellow mechanics hunkered by the dessert table. While Lydia and Mary started a row of friendly bickering (“What took you so long?” “What took you so long?”), Sam wandered over to the desserts to seize an opening in the line.

Ooo, lemon curd tarts! Her fingertips drummed impatiently on her pant leg as she watched the pile of tarts diminish with each new tiny plate down the buffet line. Couples in front of and behind her were laughing and gossiping.

“Oh did you see the Commander? I saw Cameron snap a holo of her.”

“I thought she’d be taller.”

“Not sure why they felt the need to bring the quarian, too.”

“I mean, it was on the crew, right?”

She. She is on the crew. Even Sam knew that.

“Can’t believe General Williams’ granddaughter was there, too. I thought all that family knew how to do was surrender.”

“Maybe she and the quarian were a distraction for the real heroes to do the real work.”

Simpering laughter followed which made Samantha’s skin crawl.

“Not sure why they had to open this event to all the little minions at the station. We paid forty-five thousand credits a plate for this? While little desk-jockeys like miss-didn’t-even-do-her-hair over there can show up and eat our food?”

It took a glance backward for Sam to realize they were talking about her. She resisted the temptation to lift a self-conscious hand to her hair.

Poppycock, I know I look amazing. I always look amazing.

“I know, darling. Our tax dollars pay their salary. You’d think they’d have the courtesy to stand behind us in line. Like good help.”

Remaining silent, Sam continued the slow march to the dessert table. She did fire up her Omni-tool and do a quick scan while waiting, the extranet chugging a bit due to the density of guests. But she was satisfied with her results.

The long-awaited distance closed and Sam finally stood before a half-empty buffet table. The dextro desserts had been picked over, as had some of the hybrid mini-cakes and parfaits. It looked like everything was in the process of getting refreshed by the catering company. Several waitstaff with tall silver trays were making their way over from the back.

But all that mattered is that there were still three lemon curd tarts left. All of which ended up on Sam’s dainty white plate as she swept out of the line. She felt a tug on her sleeve.

An older human woman in a far too tight evening gown scowled back at her. “I beg your pardon! Where do you think you’re going? How dare you take the last tarts? Have you any idea how long we’ve been waiting?”

Sam shrugged. “I’d wager about five seconds less than you as I was ahead of you in the same line?”

The woman’s date, a balding, rat-faced gentleman in a shiny tuxedo stuck a finger in Sam’s face. “Such rudeness! We actually paid good money to be here, so we deserve priority.”

“Perhaps she’s with the catering company, darling,” the wife simpered back as though struck with a thought. “She’s certainly dressed like them.” Her saccharine-smile was betrayed by cold, smug brown eyes.

An excited commotion could be heard behind them in line, but Sam didn’t dare glance away.

Remember, Traynor. Fixed eye contact. Bullies look for weakness.

She smiled back. “I wouldn’t say you paid Good Money to be here, did you?” She took a bite of lemon tart, savoring the acerbic flavor accented by a light sugary texture.

“What do you mean?” The couple replied in unison matching their haughty glares.

“You really should have better security on your Omni-tool. I mean, any old desk-jockey could just waltz right in and see that your asari mistress scored you free tickets. An asari mistress in the quarian slave trade, no doubt. Tsk tsk.”

The glaring transitioned to sputtering, confusion from the husband and outrage from the wife.

“Oh don’t worry, I reported her to the authorities for tax evasion, too. I mean, how else will your tax dollars pay my salary, right? It's the only way I can afford to eat such delicious tarts.” And Samantha took another large satisfying bite before saluting with the pastry, turning on her heel, and walking proudly off to go find Mary and Lydia.

The couple stepped out of line to argue, hands gesturing wildly. They turned to leave when they walked straight into the source of the commotion: Commander Annelise Shepard flanked by Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams and Tali’Zorah nar Rayya. All 3 women stood, hands on hips, glaring back at the pair. The two fled the hall, pushing past other lines in a desperate bid to save their dignity.

Ash and Tali burst into laughter before spotting Garrus Vakarian waving them over to a photo op with the turian hierarchy. Shepard remained behind, watching the dark-haired lieutenant disappear into the crowd. Her eyes crinkled and she suppressed an airy laugh.

“What are you so happy about, Shepard?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I?” Commander Annelise Shepard tried for nonchalance as she helped herself to a fresh lemon curd tart. She sniffed the confection, intrigued. She had never seen anything like it, but she couldn’t wait to try it.

“You are. It’s been awhile.” The asari in a low-necked evening gown came up and wrapped a hand around Shepard’s elbow, careful of the sling that held her left arm hugged tight to her chest.

“Oh, uh, yea. There’s just been a lot on my mind lately.”

“Well, I’m grateful for whatever it was.”

“Me too, Liara. Me too.”

And for the rest of that night Shepard’s smile came a little easier.

#merweek2020 #june 1 #first impressions #shaynor #samantha traynor #femshep #better late than never?

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jacklyn-flynn · 4 years

Photo

It’s finally here! The new chapter of Space Trash! You can find the full chapter here on AO3!

It’s a little on the long side, but hopefully worth it. Also, smut next chapter 😉

Jules and the crew heads to Redcliffe to finalize the alliance with the rebel mages but things go, per usual, spectacularly wrong.

Jules couldn’t help but notice the occasional, curious gaze from the elf behind the bar in the Officer’s Club. It wasn’t necessarily intrusive but since they were the only ones in the room, it was hard not to notice. Jasoom was lounging lazily across her shoulders, his tail occasionally flicking across her cheek. His very presence was soothing and helped her not feel anxious about being the center of someone’s attention.

The woman busied herself behind the bar and then walked, or rather sauntered, over to Jules with a drink in her hand. She was rather unlike any of the other elves that Jules had met. Her hourglass figure was a sharp contrast to her usually tall, lithe brethren. Black pants molded to her legs, rising high on her wide hips and accenting her slim waist. Jules wondered if she knew that she had a wide rip across her right knee. She wore a navy blue flannel shirt with thick black lines that was mostly unbuttoned, showing a black shirt beneath with a lacy neckline.

Her hair was dark green and perfectly straight, falling to the small of her back. It swung from side to side slightly when she walked. Silver rings adorned the tips of her ears, which was common, but the decorations in her lobes were completely foreign to Jules. There were wide circles through the lobes that she could see through, beyond the light mandala pattern that capped the front.

She had a cute button nose under upturned eyes that were framed in dark liner with flicks at the corners. If it wasn’t for the friendly smile on her black-painted lips, she would have looked suspicious of Jules.

“Can I sit?” Her voice was low for a woman but in a melodic way that harmonized well with her attire’s inclination toward black.

“Please, help yourself.” Jules couldn’t help but smile back at the elf.

“My name is Elbereth. Or El.” She slid gracefully into the seat and set the drink she’d prepared in front of Jules. “On the house for the lost Trevelyan.”

“Oh, thank you. I appreciate it but I don’t drink.” Jules said with a gentle smile.

“I know. You can’t get drunk. That’s what makes you a bartender’s best friend. I can get you to try all of my best experiments and get an unbiased opinion, “ Elbereth said cheerfully.

Jules’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I suppose that would make me quite the useful asset.”

El’s laugh was low and musical. “You aren’t a tool, dear. First of all, you can say no. Second of all, I’d like to give you companionship in return. Ya know, be friends.”

Feeling a blush on her cheeks, Jules covered it by lifting the glass to examine the drink. It was in a small, square glass with very distinct layers. The bottom was a rich reddish-brown color. The next layer was more of a warm amber while the third was more of a bright gold. On the top was a very thin layer of something creamy. The entire thing smelled of hazelnuts and was vaguely woody and spicy.

“All at once?” Jules asked, looking through her lashes at the elf who nodded, her smile broadening. With more hesitation then El was used to seeing when people drank shots, Jules brought the glass to her lips and drank it slowly. She was pleased to see Jules take some time to evaluate the flavor before swallowing the concoction.

“That’s-that’s actually really good,” Jules said after a moment of contemplation. Her smile widened slightly. “I don’t get them often, but I’m quite fond of hazelnuts.”

“I have some chocolate that you’ll love then.” El laughed, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll bring it with me on my next shift so that you can try some.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be back for a while. We’ll be arriving at Redcliffe soon to meet with the leader of the rebel mages. She wants to talk more before she agrees to ally herself with the Inquisition.” Jules’s eyebrows furrowed. “Everyone just wants to talk. It’s exhausting, saying the same thing a dozen different ways. They make it so difficult and I don’t understand why. It should be easy.”

El nodded sympathetically. “Politics require a unique form of communication. It’s one that not even the people who speak it fully understand. Honestly, I don’t know if you’ll ever get the hang of it.”

Jules frowned and looked up at the elf again. “You don’t think so?” She sounded disappointed.

“No, but that isn’t a bad thing.” Elbereth sat up again, leaning toward Jules. “Sometimes they get so lost in the talking they forget what they’re supposed to be working toward. A new voice is a disruption and sometimes disruption is what you need to break the cycle and get results. You aren’t a politician or diplomat, but that’s a good thing, Jules.”

“I don’t even understand why they want me there. I’m just a Flea.” Jules reached up to scratch Jasoom’s head when he pushed it against her cheek.

“You aren’t ‘just’ anything.” El gave her a smile. “You are a marvel, and we’ve only begun to see what you’re capable of.”

()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()o()

Jules adjusted the belt of the holster that carried Zevran’s, or rather her, blades. The harness wrapped around her waist and then around each thigh, keeping the short blades tight against her legs, moving as she did. She smiled at her teacher as he disappeared into the transport with Cassandra. Cullen's smile was the one that caught her attention though. He reached out to her and she grasped his hand, letting him pull her closer to him.

“I’ve seen how far you’ve come. You’re fast and lethal. But-” he hesitated, brows furrowed, “-I feel like I should tell you that it will be completely different when you’re in a real battle. It’s loud and it’s bloody and it’s scary.” Squeezing her hand, he brushed his fingers down her cheek. “Don’t lose your head. Breathe, stay calm, and stay close to everyone else. Most of all, be careful. I want you-I need you-to come back.”

“I’ll be surrounded by very dangerous people. I promise I’ll be careful and that I’ll come back. Besides, we’re just going to talk.” She pointed out.

“I hope so.” He didn’t want to scare her any more than he probably already had. She was right. Jules would be in very good company. “Could I kiss you goodbye?”

Immediately, Jules felt a flush spread on her cheeks. They had talked about their spontaneous kiss in the hallway. She’d been so relieved that she hadn’t driven him away. Jules had surprised herself with her impulsive gesture. They’d both agreed to take it slowly. Her to adjust to the feeling of attraction she’d never felt before, and him to ensure he didn’t take advantage of that. Other than that talk, it hadn’t been brought up again. Until now.

“I would like that.” Her admission came with a hesitant smile. The confidence in his smile, however, made her shiver though she didn’t exactly know why. He bent his head, closing his eyes as he drew near. Her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed her lips to his. He was so warm and so inviting. She could do this all day long. She let out a hum of disappointment when he pulled away, her lips chasing his for a moment. “Will I get another one when I come back?”

He laughed, sending warmth through her. Maker, he was gorgeous when he laughed. “Absolutely.” He walked her to the shuttle door, squeezing her hand before he released her. “Be safe.”

With a nod, she turned away and mounted the ramp. Heading to the front, she rested her hand on the back of the pilot’s chair. “Cassandra, I-” With a start, she took a step back. “You aren’t Cassandra.”

“Nope!” A pale silver-skinned Qunari woman grinned up at her. “Sure aren’t!” Small spiral horns peaked out of her mauve hair, their color a blend of her hair and skin. She wore black and grey leather pants and jacket, the Inquisition logo stitched on the breast. “Catch!”

Jules’s hand shot up to catch the object that was thrown at her face. “Nice reflexes!” The woman complimented as Jules opened her hand to see what it was. It was a small dracolisk figure. The protruding horns and spikes were replaced with shiny little jewels. Even bejeweled, they were truly ugly creatures. When she handed it back, the Qunari set it on the console in front of her, affectionately turning it just so. “Thanks. My name is Sonja Trygvassen. Most people just call me Tryg.”

Cassandra moved past Jules to take the co-pilot’s seat. “Ms. Trygvassen is a pilot that I’ve worked with extensively in the past. She’s quite good.” The Seeker was reserved with her compliments so Jules knew she meant it. “Since I am needed elsewhere, I thought she would be an adequate replacement.”

“Adequate? I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me, Cassie.” Tryg grinned. Jules saw Cassandra’s jaw clench at the nickname. She got the distinct impression that no one else was allowed to call her “Cassie.” Perhaps not even Tryg.

“Did you need something from me?” Cassandra asked, clearly hoping she wouldn’t ask about the nickname.

“I-um-I don’t remember,” Jules admitted. “I’ll just go take my seat. It was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Tryg gave her a nod and then turned back to her console.

Shaken by the odd encounter, she returned to the back of the shuttle, taking a seat between Morgan and Zevran. Varric sat across from them, his precious Bianca cradled in his lap. His head was resting against the back of the seat and his eyes were closed. “Are you okay, Varric?”

He didn’t even open his eyes when he responded. “Oh yeah, Precious. I’m just peachy. Nothing like hurtling through space into an atmosphere that sets you on fire in a tin can propelled by highly flammable fuel. What could possibly go wrong?”

Jules frowned and looked at Morgan, unsure by Varric’s reply if he was okay or not. “He’s being sarcastic. He’s scared of flying.” Morgan translated with a chuckle.

“I’m not scared of flying,” Varric said indignantly, “I’m afraid of crashing.”

The hydraulics of the shuttle door whirred as it closed. The solid thunk of the locks engaging was reassuring. To Jules at least. Varric looked like he was walking to the gallows. When the shuttle left the Herald’s dock, she noticed his knuckles turn white as he gripped Bianca. Jules couldn’t imagine being afraid of flying. “Is he going to be okay?” she asked quietly.

“Only if we do not die.” Zevran's laugh always made her smile.

“In other words, yes, he’ll be okay.” Morgan joined in the laughter. Varric made a mocking face, silently mimicking them and making it clear what he thought of their ribbing. “Let me know if you need someone to hold your hair for you.”

“Stow it, Beefcake.” The dwarf grumbled.

#Space Trash #jules trevelyan #cassandra pentaghast #varric tethras #zevran arainai #morgan trevelyan #dorian pavus #that bitch alexius #redcliffe runaround #beefcake #precious #zexy #seeker #meeting elbereth and tryg

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limited-practice · 4 years

Text

1. Pins and Needles

Happy October! Here's the first of what will eventually be 31 Goretober fics that will get written throughout the rest of the year, because I’m can’t write 31 fics in 31 consecutive days. If you can do that, you’re amazing!

1920 words of Swerve, Overlord, a massacre aboard the Lost Light and a love of fingers are below the cut. The prompt is Pins and Needles, and is taken from Drawkill’s excellent prompt list.

Warnings for gore, robo gore, amputation, suicidal thoughts, implied cannibalism and torture.

Ao3 link here

Swerve sits on his favourite barstool with a drink in one hand and a congealing mass of energon at his feet and wishes he was dead.

But he’s learnt the hard way to stop begging Overlord to kill him.

The first dozen times he’d whimpered and screamed and pleaded with the Lost Light’s new Captain to please just kill him had been met with amusement. Which had inevitably morphed into weariness. Swerve’s mouth had once again taken on a life of its own and he wouldn’t stop talking he couldn’t stop talking, because something might get through to this insane monster if he could only string the right combination of words together and there was still a chance he could live when so many had been butchered and he’d babbled and joked and pleaded and bargained and finally Overlord had lost patience and kissed him.

Swerve had gagged and kicked out sharply, but Overlord had held him effortlessly in place on his favourite barstool. The one that still spins smoothly; the one whose colour hasn’t yet faded despite constant use. It’s a good little stool, and he wishes he’d paid it more attention. He wishes he’d thanked it out loud. He wishes he’d done so many things differently. Overlord had kissed him for longer than he thought he could possibly bear and then slowly, with a long, long, squelching sound, had pulled away.

Swerve had vomited immediately.

Swerve looks down at the wobbling mess he’s made on his ruined bar’s floor. He starts to cry.

Overlord chuckles. Unlike Swerve’s voice, he doesn’t find Swerve’s tears annoying. Overlord pries the glass away from Swerve's hand and goes behind the bar to top the drink up.

Tears leak out of Swerve’s visor. “I’ll clean that up later,” he whispers.

“Here you go.” Overlord says gently, as he places a glass full of warm liquid back into Swerve’s hand. He curls Swerve’s trembling fingers around it. “Drink up. It will do you the world of good.”

Swerve wipes his face with his free hand. He looks down into the glass and the thick dark liquid it contains. His damaged optical and olfactory sensors still have enough function to warn him that there are substances in the glass that he should on no account consume. They activate their branches of his alarm network as best they can. The warnings they send out are weak and muffled and dim, but they're trying so very hard to warn him despite being damaged by Overlord’s backhanded blow earlier.

The cocktail looks like an overlaid grid of sharp lines and even sharper ends through his broken visor. It looks like it’s made from poisoned energon that would kill him after one sip. Maybe it will do him the world of good to gulp it down in one go after all.

Swerve lifts the glass to his lips. And pauses. A niggling thread of his old life vibrates and plucks at him. Swerve tilts his head, and watches light from the shattered overhead lights illuminate the drink. He rotates the glass slowly. The liquid inside changes colour. But not permanently - it’s moving in and out of a different molecular state depending on how much direct light touches it. That must mean there’s optical contraction liquid in there. There’s part of someone’s eye in there.

Swerve shudders but doesn’t look away. And he certainly doesn’t throw the drink and smash it against the wall and scream and scream and scream.

“Not your cup of tea?” Overlord asks him softly, his lips brushing Swerve’s ear.

Swerve startles violently, and spills the drink over himself.

“Oh dear,” Overlord says. “I spent a lot of time making that for you.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I'm sorry.”

Swerve paws at himself with one hand in a pathetic attempt to clean himself and return the drink to its glass. Liquid crawls down his plating and seeps into his transformation seams and sticks to him and it won’t come off, he knows it’s not ever going to come off of him. His fingers are covered in it.

“Thank you for making it for me and I’m sorry I spilt it but I appreciate it I do I really really do,” Swerve babbles, as he glances down at himself and tries and fails to ignore the horrible tingling in his fingers. The sensors in his hands have erupted at the onslaught of chemicals sticking to them and they’re screaming at him, they’re screaming so loudly at him that it hurts.

“You clearly worked hard on this drink because I’m detecting things in it,” Swerve continues, because he’s never known when to stop talking. “There must be three, no four, no five, no...six? Six? There are different parts of six different people in here? Six. Six people. Six people liquified and mixed up to make this drink.”

Swerve looks at what remains of the drink. He swallows back another glob of vomit fighting to escape.

Overlord crouches down in front of him. There’s an expression in his eyes that Swerve doesn’t care for one single bit. He doesn’t care for any of Overlord’s expressions, but this one is unsettling because he hasn’t seen it before.

Overlord looks impressed.

“How did you know that?”

As always when he receives genuine praise, Swerve chuckles self-consciously and pretends not to fully understand. “Oh it’s nothing special, it’s just something I can do. It’s nothing. I’m nothing.”

Overlord’s expression then melts into one that Swerve is already achingly familiar with - impatience.

“You are refusing to answer my question.”

“No I’m not I swear I’m not.”

“How did you know that drink is made out of six people?”

Swerve unconsciously waggles the fingers of his hand that’s not holding the glass.

“I, uh, just can,” Swerve says. “And I know I just said that but it’s the truth I’m not lying or refusing to answer you I swear it! I just...can. I was forged with these fingers.”

He flexes his fingers as if playing an invisible instrument with them.

“You are a chemist?” Overlord asks.

“Metallurgist. A good one. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe. Ha. These, uh, my fingers, they- they’re tools of the trade. Essential actually.”

Overlord gently rests Swerve’s hand onto his palm. “Tell me about them.”

Swerve fights down another ball of vomit. “Uh...when we’re out in the field. Or in the lab. Or anywhere. And by we I mean metallurgists as a whole, not bartenders, not me, not-”

“Swerve.”

“Right. Yes. Fingers. Hands. I was forged with them and they’re brilliant. I mean I’m not brilliant, but my hands are. All metallurgists’ hands are. They’re essentially one big databank studded with sensors and coated in scanners that can identify every substance and chemical composition ever discovered. So long as it’s been recorded. Each finger has a neural link communications wire that goes up to my brain after it’s passed through my spark and t-cog, and it can download the latest materials update from the Academy when the Chief's second assistant remembers to send out the update after spending their day on more important things like sleeping at their desk, which means that if a new element or compound is discovered and recorded I’ll know about it.”

Swerve swallows dryly.

Overlord doesn’t say anything. Swerve chooses to see this as an encouraging sign.

“Some people say that my hands are better than medics’ hands. I don’t of course. And neither do the medics. They think theirs are way better. Well some of the forged ones do, even if they don’t say it out loud. You can always tell that’s what they’re secretly thinking though. And, uh, theirs are good of course - they’re better than mine in lots of ways. They’re faster and lighter and more dexterous. But mine are just as sensitive. And mine are studier and stronger. They’re more durable. They have to be, because if you’re out working in the field and a boulder lands on your hand you don’t want your fingers to be crushed because then what would be the point of keeping you around? They’re designed to survive rough treatment.”

Overlord holds Swerve’s hand up in front of his face. “Are they now,” he says softly.

Swerve’s weak sparks dims further.

“They sound magnificent,” Overlord says.

“Uh, yeah, thank you. Thanks. Um. They’re pretty good. I kinda like them. In fact I like them a lot.”

“So do I.”

Overlord runs a huge fingertip up and down Swerve’s smallest stubby finger.

“So tell me,” Overlord asks pleasantly, “Who is in your drink?”

“...excuse me?”

“By using the power of your fantastic fingers, tell me who is in your drink. Let’s play a little game together.”

Swerve’s visor dims in tandem with his spark. “...I…I don’t...”

“I am not going to ask you again.”

Swerve looks down at his short feet dangling off the barstool and wishes he was dead.

“Uh…” he forces himself to concentrate. He forces himself to stick two fingers into the liquid in the glass. He forces himself not to yank them back out and immerse them in a vat of paint stripper. He pushes them down further until the fingertips touch the bottom of the glass. His exquisite sensors fire up and explode with data. He pushes that data up the wires that run through his fingers to his body’s connection points: spark, t-cog, brain module. He pushes past the roadblocks all three of them have desperately thrown up to try and prevent him from knowing. He collects. He investigates. He analyses. He identifies all six of his former crew members and wishes he was dead.

“Rodimus,” Swerve answers in a small soft whisper that makes him feel like he’s nothing. “I can feel remnants of his spark casing. It was touched by the Matrix and I can feel it. It’s still there. It’s still pulsing. Oh, god, it’s still pulsing.”

“Good!” Overlord beams. “Very good! Our former Captain made the mistake to keep talking to me when I’d asked him to be quiet, so he was the last to undergo this treatment. He got to watch the others go first.”

There are pins and needles in Swerve’s fingers. They crawl up into his spark and scratch at it with poisoned tips and he knows that they’ll never stop.

“Who are the others?”

Swerve recites their names quickly and doesn’t embellish.

“Excellent,” Overlord purrs. He examines Swerve’s fingers. “I like these Swerve. In fact I think I like them a lot.”

“...thank you?”

“They could be very useful to my endeavour.”

“Yes I can be useful to you,” Swerve bursts out, as his self-preservation kicks itself into high gear and steamrolls his earlier thoughts of self-destruction. If he’s useful then he might be kept around. He might be allowed to live.

“I am going to have your excellent fingers for myself.”

Swerve’s too wide smile freezes. He feels his plating stretch and warp and start to buckle as he realises what Overlord is planning to do.

Overlord holds Swerve’s hand tightly and fans all of his fingers out.

“No!” Swerve screams. “Don’t cut them off! They won’t work as well if you cut them off! Please don’t cut them off I’ll be good, I’ll be good.”

Overlord blinks. And then smiles slowly, like a smouldering black sun rising over a toxic yellow wasteland. “I don’t remember saying anything about cutting them off.”

Overlord jams two of Swerve’s fingers deep into his mouth and bites down hard.

#swerve #overlord #transformers #goretober #goretober 2020 #swerve's not having a good time at all here #not all of the goretober fics will be dark and heavy #some of them will be pretty silly because it's fun to change the tone up #but this first fic is on the darker intense side #my writing #gore #robo gore

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pikapeppa · 4 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Bridging

Chapter 55 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which Fenris and the crew wrap things up in the Frostback Basin with one last little mission. ~5500 words; read here on AO3 instead.

*******************

One week later...

Dorian sighed happily. “Finally heading back to civilization today,” he said. “Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I for one–”

Hawke cut in with a terrible impression of his voice. “...am thrilled that we’ll be returning to the great indoors,” she said. “A hot bath, a soft bed, and proper wine. Kaffas, how thrilling.”

Bull chuckled, and Fenris smirked. Dorian shrugged, apparently unfazed by her imitation. “You stole the words from my mouth,” he said loftily. “I’m not even angry about it.”

“We’re not out of the woods just yet,” Fenris reminded him. In fact, they were on their way to find Sigrid, the augur’s possessed apprentice. Hawke had tried to coax him to let the issue go, but he was determined to meet this possessed mage and see what qualities she had that made Cole and the augur so confident that she was safe.

Dorian sighed. “I don’t quite see why I’m being forced to join you on this encounter. I’d be perfectly happy to remain with Kenric until you’re ready to go home.”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you happy to be left behind?”

Dorian shot him an offended look. “Since being left behind means I needn’t get my boots filthy.” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “It’s fine. I shall bear the burden of this arduous task. I know you can’t stand to run errands without me, Fenris.”

“Vishante kaffas,” Fenris said good-naturedly.

“As long as it’s not bogfisher shit,” Dorian retorted. “Now that is a vile substance if ever I’ve smelled it.”

Hawke wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about? All shit smells vile!”

“Not Orlesian noble shit,” Dorian said. Then he tapped his chin. “Oh wait, that’s just what they like to think.”

Hawke and Bull burst into laughter, and Fenris smiled at him. “It’s unfortunate that Blackwall and Sera already left,” he said. “They would have appreciated that.”

“Well, you know me,” Dorian said casually. “I live to please.”

They continued to chat light-heartedly as they made their way to the cabin where Sigrid had sequestered herself. In truth, however, Fenris did have a specific reason for dragging Dorian along on this errand: he genuinely wanted Dorian’s perspective on the situation at hand. As much as Fenris trusted Hawke, her judgment regarding spirits was favourably biased by her affection for Anders, Solas and Merrill. Dorian’s judgment wasn’t completely impartial given his necromancer background, but it was at least a little more impartial than Hawke’s.

As the cabin came into view, Cole appeared beside them. “Still strong, but still sad,” he said. “I hope we can help.”

“So do I,” Hawke said. She squeezed Fenris’s hand. “Let’s hear her out, all right?”

He frowned at her. “I told you I would hear her out, and I meant it.”

“I know,” she said. “Just, you know. Making sure.”

He grunted, then ushered her toward the cabin with a hand at the small of her back. As they neared the cabin, the door opened, and a girl stepped out.

She looked to be in her twenties, and her expression fell into surprise as she eyed them. “Lowlanders,” she said cautiously. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Fenris nodded just as cautiously. “We are friends of the augur at Stone-Bear Hold. He spoke to us of your… troubles.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and she scowled. “That chatterjay! What business is it of his to tell that to a lowlander?”

Fenris frowned slightly. “Why didn’t you finish the ritual to release your spirit?”

Her scowl deepened, and Hawke stepped forward. “So sorry, we’re being extremely rude,” she said with a sweet smile. “I’m Rynne Hawke, and this is my husband Fenris. These are our friends – Dorian, Bull, and Cole.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Sigrid Gulsdotten. What do you want? Did the augur send you here?”

“No, not at all,” Hawke said pleasantly. “We came on our own. We’re new here, and we’re curious. Nosy, even, if I’m honest, and we were wondering… well, where we’re from–”

“I’ve heard what things are like where you’re from,” Sigrid said in a hard tone. “You spurn the gods and ignore the wisdom they offer.” She glared at Dorian in particular. “And you. You’re a Vint. Your kind trap the gods and force them to work against their will. What do you know about our ways?”

Dorian frowned, but Hawke spoke up before he could retort. “You’re right,” she said quickly. “We don’t know anything. Well, we know a little bit from what your augur told us–”

Sigrid interrupted her again. “He’s not my augur anymore. I left the hold, as you already know.”

Her tone was belligerent, but that didn’t stop Cole from sharing her thoughts. “Ashamed, unsure, oaths sworn and spurned,” he said. “You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want this either. Guilty and grateful that it’s still here, but it hurts more than you hoped.”

Sigrid’s petulant expression immediately melted into shock. “Who are–! But you’re a god! You…” She looked at Fenris and Hawke incredulously. “You walk with a god in human form? He walks with you?”

Dorian harrumphed quietly. “We’re not completely terrible,” he muttered.

Hawke laughed lightly and patted Cole’s shoulder. “I suppose you could say that,” she said to Sigrid. “He’s Compassion, actually, but he lets us call him Cole.”

“He is a friend,” Fenris said. “He has travelled with us for years.”

Sigrid stared at them in silence for a moment. All of her belligerence seemed to have fled her with the discovery that a god – spirit – was their friend.

Hawke spoke in a gentle voice. “The augur mentioned that all Avvar mages are, um, joined with a spirit when they’re young so the spirit can teach you how to control your magic.”

“They teach us much,” Sigrid said. “They teach us to not be afraid of who we are. And when they’ve taught us everything they know, we… we let them go to teach others.” She dropped her gaze. “But…”

“You didn’t want to release your spirit?” Fenris said.

“I couldn’t!” she said. “I prepared my offering, began the spell to release the spirit, but I couldn’t do it.” She looked pleadingly at Hawke. “I have no close companions in the hold, no kin. I could not lose my only friend. It has taught me patience and kindness since I was a child, frightened of the fire I could suddenly call down.”

“It loves you, too,” Cole said. “It will stay if you want it.”

Fenris looked at Cole in surprise. The spirit loved Sigrid? Were spirits capable of love? But Solas had always said that spirits embodied emotions, not that they felt them.

“I know,” Sigrid said to Cole. “But I was oath-sworn to release it when the time came. I…” She sighed and twisted her fingers together. “I do not want to lose the one who loves me.”

Hawke twisted her lips sympathetically. “What makes you so sure your spirit would leave?”

“They cannot stay for long without a host. Usually, at least,” Sigrid said with a curious glance at Cole. “They can visit, called by the augur and the fire of the Fade, but they don’t remain. Not like… not like this.”

“And visits would not be enough for you?” Fenris asked.

She shot him a resentful look, then jerked her chin at Hawke. “She is your wife. Would brief visits with her be enough for you?”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, but didn’t reply. She wasn’t wrong. Brief moments of happiness would never be enough.

Then Dorian spoke. “Have you asked your spirit if it wants to stay?”

“I don’t have to,” Sigrid said. “I know it would stay if I asked. The gods that teach the spirit-touched are kind.” She sighed again and gave Hawke a pitiful look. “The augur knew, didn’t he? All this time, he knew I never cast the ritual.”

Hawke grimaced. “He, er, didn’t seem convinced that you tried, no.”

Sigrid bowed her head and kicked idly at the dirt, and they were all silent for another moment. Then she lifted her head. “It’s not right to stay in pity,” she said. “I will confess to the augur.”

Fenris eyed her in surprise. He genuinely had not expected her to capitulate. “Will he help you to release the spirit?” he asked.

“I do not need his help,” Sigrid retorted. “I would… I would ask for his advice.” She took a bracing breath, then turned to go back into her cabin.

Hawke took a step toward her. “Listen, for what it’s worth, if the spirit is staying with you because it loves you, that’s not pity. That’s just…” She shrugged. “That’s just love.”

For the first time, Sigrid gave her a tiny smile. “We will see what the augur says about it. Thank you, lowlander.”

They took their leave of Sigrid’s cabin. As they made their way to the treehouse camp for lunch, Fenris looked at Dorian. “Any thoughts?”

“Of course,” Dorian said. “Stunningly intelligent ones, as always, thank you for asking.”

Fenris gave him a flat look. “I am serious. What do you think of this? This… mage possession as a teaching tool?”

Hawke tapped his arm. “Can we really call it possession if it’s voluntary? I think we need a new word for it.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“What about hosting?” Hawke suggested. “That’s like the word Sigrid used, right? She’s hosting a spirit.”

Bull gave her a skeptical look. “Like hosting a parasite, you mean?”

Hawke grimaced. “All right, fine, that is rather unflattering. What about… damn, I’ll have to think on it.”

She fell quiet with a thoughtful frown. Fenris turned back to Dorian and Bull. “What do you think of this? Tell me honestly.”

Bull rubbed his chin. “I can’t lie, boss, I don’t like it. Letting demons get that close…”

“Spirits, not demons,” Hawke said vaguely.

“Either way,” Bull said. “If you’re letting them in your body, you’re letting them in your head. No way of knowing if your thoughts are theirs or yours. Even Cole gets a little too close, and he has a body of his own.”

“I don’t mean to,” Cole said. “It’s very loud sometimes.”

“I know, kid,” Bull said. “You don’t mean any harm. But it’s still unnerving.”

Dorian stroked his chin as well. “It’s certainly an unusual arrangement. I can’t see Tevinter ever embracing it; even I can admit that we enjoy our control too much to share it with a spirit. But I can see the merit to the method.”

Fenris looked at him in genuine surprise. “You think this method of voluntary possession has merit?”

“At the very least, it sounds superior to the way the southerners do things with their ghastly Circles,” Dorian said. “And you said it yourself: it’s voluntary. The Avvar mages allow the spirits to inhabit them. There’s nothing voluntary about the southern Circles.” He glanced at Bull. “Or about how the qunari saarebas are treated, for that matter.”

“Hear hear,” Hawke said.

Dorian smiled at her, then turned to Fenris again. “I also quite like that these Avvar mages are taught to not fear their abilities. Being afraid or ashamed of an ability or… or a trait you had no choice about – or worse yet, having those around you make you afraid or ashamed of who you are?” He raised his eyebrows sagely. “Now that’s dangerous.”

“More dangerous than an abomination?” Fenris asked. In truth, he could understand Dorian’s point; Fenris and Hawke had even spoken about this before – about the damaging stigma against mages, and how lucky Hawke felt that she’d been shielded from it by her apostate upbringing. Still, he was somewhat surprised by Dorian’s apparent acceptance of voluntary possession.

It was Hawke who replied, however. “I don’t know about you fellows, but I didn’t see an abomination back there,” she said. “I saw a girl who didn’t want to lose the spirit she loved.”

Fenris gave her a fondly chiding look. “Of course that is what you would see.”

She smiled, but her reply was serious. “Am I wrong, though? She loves the spirit, the spirit loves her…” She shrugged. “Let them live happily ever after, I say. Now that’s a romance novel I would read.”

Bull smirked. “You read too many romance novels, little Hawke.”

She snickered. “I think I read just the right number, thank you very much. The smuttier the better.”

“Who said the relationship between them was romantic?” Dorian said. “Perhaps it’s a parent-daughter sort of thing.”

Hawke shrugged. “True. But a girl can dream, right?” She elbowed him. “Come on, Dorian, just imagine it: ‘Sigrid and the Spirit’. It practically writes itself. Anyway, my point still stands.” She looked at Fenris. “Sigrid didn’t keep the spirit for power. She kept it for love.”

Fenris pursed his lips. Of course Hawke would focus on that, rather than the risk of a mage seeking power. But… if he was honest, Sigrid’s story did seem to be a tale of star-crossed lovers more than one of gaining power. Unusual lovers, certainly, but lovers nonetheless.

He looked at each of his companions in turn. “So you think it’s safe? That this Sigrid woman is safe?”

Bull sighed and scratched one of his horns. “The qunari would hate this. It’s a good thing I don’t have to tell them about it.”

Dorian patted Bull’s arm, then looked at Fenris. “From what you said on our way here, the Avvar have been doing this for hundreds of years. I’ve never heard of a mage rebellion among the Avvar, have you?”

“Just because we didn’t hear of it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen,” Fenris pointed out. “History is selective, as we all know.”

“Well,” Dorian said, “the Avvar don’t have Templars, and their society doesn’t seem to suffer the sort of magic-related power struggles that you hate so much. They must be doing something right.”

His tone was a bit acidic. Fenris frowned at him. “Why are you getting sharp? I’m not criticizing you.”

Dorian sighed, then gave him a frank look. “Fenris, for all your wonderful qualities, you’re constantly suspicious of mages who are confident in their abilities.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “That is an unfair statement. I’m suspicious of anyone who wields their power like a weapon.”

“And how often does that overlap with that person being a confident mage?” Dorian retorted. “Me, Solas, Morrigan… even Hawke, from what you’ve told us before.”

Fenris scowled, both at Dorian’s accusation and at the apparent accuracy of it. After all, there were even more examples that Dorian hadn’t listed: Merrill, Anders, that Vivienne de Fer woman from Val Royeaux…

Then Hawke spoke up. “In Fenris’s defense, he comes around eventually. Sometimes, at least. I mean, look at us. He loves us.” She smiled sweetly.

Fenris gave her a flat look. “I love you. I tolerate him.” He jerked his head at Dorian.

Dorian gasped dramatically and pressed a hand to his chest. “If you’re looking to wound me, I’ll have you know you’ve succeeded.”

Bull chuckled, and Fenris grunted. “I’m not only suspicious of mages,” he muttered. “I’m suspicious of many people.”

Hawke giggled. “Honestly, that’s true. You’re pretty suspicious of everyone you meet.”

“See?” Fenris said pointedly to Dorian. “Hawke agrees with me.”

Dorian tutted and flicked her arm. “Sycophant,” he accused.

“Shit on your shoes,” she retorted with a smirk.

Dorian flinched, bumping into Bull in the process. “What? I haven’t, have I? Bull, look for me–”

Hawke laughed brightly, and Bull chuckled and patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, kadan. Your precious feet are clean.”

Dorian tsked and gave Hawke a baleful look. “Festis bei umo canavarum.”

Fenris smirked. “I know the feeling,” he said drolly, and he pinched Hawke’s waist.

She squeaked in amusement and smacked his hand. “That’s me. Rynne Hawke, cause of death for handsome Tevinters everywhere.”

Bull and Fenris chuckled, and Hawke grinned at them before sobering once more. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re even asking any of us whether we think Sigrid is safe,” she said to Fenris. “Only one person’s opinion really matters in all this.”

“Whose?” Fenris asked in surprise.

“Cole’s, of course,” she said. “Cole, you think she’s safe, right?”

“Safe and strong,” Cole said. “Sad but seeking solace. She’ll be all right.”

Hawke gave them all a matter-of-fact look. “If Cole says she’s fine, then she’s fine. Should we head home after lunch, then?”

“An excellent idea,” Dorian said. “I second it.”

Fenris hesitated, then shook his head. “I would like to speak to the augur one more time.”

Dorian groaned. “Fenris, must you?”

Fenris scowled at him. “No one is forcing you to come,” he said. “You and Bull can go back to Kenric’s office to wait.”

Dorian sighed. “No no, I won’t deprive you of my company. We’ll come along.”

“Oh good!” Hawke said cheerfully. “We can have a nice singalong as we stroll, then.” She linked her ams with Dorian and Cole as they approached the treehouse, and Fenris fondly shook his head as he followed them.

A couple of hours later when they stepped into the augur’s cabin, it was to find the augur looking very content. “I had a visit from Sigrid Gulsdotten,” he said. “She had much to tell me.”

“Ooh, she came back quickly,” Hawke said. “Are you going to separate her from her spirit friend?”

“Only she may fulfill that oath,” the augur said. “But together we will seek guidance from the other gods.”

Fenris frowned. “So Sigrid and the spirit might remain joined?”

“If it’s counseled by the gods, then perhaps.” He shrugged. “It’s rare, but not unheard of.”

“A healer inside the healer,” Cole said. “They helped Evangeline, and their purpose was fulfilled.”

They all turned to look at him. “Evangeline?” Hawke said. “You mean your Templar friend?”

“Yes,” Cole said.

Dorian tilted his head curiously. “What are you saying, Cole? A healing spirit helped your friend?”

“She died,” Cole said. “The spirit saved her because the healer wanted it to. Then the healer died, but she was happy.” He smiled vaguely at them. “She did it for Evangeline, and for Rhys.”

Fenris and Hawke exchanged a nonplussed look. Then Fenris frowned at Cole. “So you have known another mage who hosted a spirit. That’s what you’re telling us?”

“Yes,” Cole confirmed.

“And the mage didn’t get corrupted?” Fenris asked. “She didn’t turn into an abomination?”

Cole shook his head. “She was a healer until she died.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows, unsure what else to say. This was unexpected.

Hawke twined her fingers with his, and the augur nodded his head in satisfaction. “Thank you, Compassion. This is helpful counsel indeed.”

Dorian turned to the augur. “This practice of yours – this possession by choice…?”

“We call it the bridging,” the augur said. “The god helps to bridge the gap between the mage and the Fade. It helps the mage to master the connection to their magic.”

“Bridging, yes,” Dorian said. “And you’ve been doing this for a long time without any problems? No rebellions, mages taking power and quashing the common folk, that sort of thing?”

The augur chuckled knowingly. “I’ve heard many a tale of this happening in your Imperium. We don’t suffer such problems here.” He raised his hands in an expansive gesture. “What better teacher than one woven from magic? Once a mage masters their powers, their teacher departs, duty ended. Unless the mage is weak.”

Fenris straightened. This was exactly what he’d been wondering about, since it was impossible for all mages to remain incorruptible. “What becomes of the weak mages?” he asked.

“Their teacher stays with them, and the other gods watch them both so neither soul turns sick,” the augur explained. “If one does sicken, or the mage stands at risk of harming the hold…” He lifted his shoulders. “One day, they do not wake in their bed. It is very sad. It is what must be done.”

Hawke gaped at him. “Are you saying you kill them?”

Cole replied. “You give them every chance,” he said approvingly to the augur. “Spirits watchful, wary, waiting until you’re both sure. It’s always cold in the hut then.”

Bull huffed. “I suppose he means there’s no demonfire this way, huh?”

Cole looked up at him. “It’s all right, The Iron Bull. They only touch what they need to teach.”

Bull grunted again. “If you say so.”

Fenris glanced at him. His tone was casual as ever, but he looked a little hunted.

Dorian seemed to notice Bull’s discomfiture, too; he patted Bull’s arm. “Come with me to the trader’s hut, won’t you? I must find a gift for Maevaris. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t bring her back a souvenir from my intrepid trek through the Avvar swamp.”

Bull smirked. “Bring her a sample of mud. It’s a more authentic souvenir.”

Dorian snorted as they left the augur’s cabin. Then Hawke looked up at the augur. “I was wondering – this process of letting go of a spirit. It’s… every mage is capable of letting go of their spirit, right? Every, er, every strong mage, at least?” she asked. “Does it ever happen that a mage literally can’t let go, even if they want to?”

The augur nodded slowly. “This is the sickening I spoke of. If one refuses to relinquish the other, then the bridging has gone bad. It must be cut.”

“But any mage can, in theory, let go of their spirit, right?” Hawke pressed. “They’re not… it’s not possible for a spirit to become entangled with a person so thoroughly that they can’t be separated, even if they wanted to?”

Fenris suddenly realized what – or rather, who – she was talking about: Anders, with his damned Vengeance demon that he’d insisted was a part of himself.

He sighed. “Hawke…”

She shot him an apologetic look, but the augur was replying. “I haven’t heard nor seen that. Bridging is a choice, and it remains a choice for both the god and the mage.”

Hawke turned to Fenris with a hopeful smile. “So Anders could be free of Venjustice if he wanted to! It’s just a matter of a ritual to separate them.”

“He would never want to. That’s the problem,” Fenris said. He gestured at the augur. “Listen to what he is saying. The mage and the spirit need to agree to the bridging and to being freed. Anders refused to ever let go of Vengeance.”

“That’s not true,” she retorted. “He kept saying it was impossible to distinguish himself from Venjustice. He didn’t say he didn’t want to.”

“He didn’t need to say it,” Fenris said. “He was too fond of the power that the demon gave him.”

“He was not!” Hawke said defensively. “He didn’t like being out of control when Vengeance came out to play.”

“So you admit he was out of control,” Fenris said shrewdly. “And thus that he should have been put down, even by the Avvar’s rules.”

Hawke glared at him, but before she could speak, Cole cut in. “Hiding, hidden, hermitted so he won’t be harmful or harmed, but it burns inside of him like an unquenchable flame. ‘Only one way forward. Justice is not gentle. Justice is not kind.’” He turned to Hawke. “He just wishes he hadn’t hurt you along the way.”

Fenris gaped at him in alarm. “You know where Anders is?” he demanded.

“No,” Cole said. “His pain touches hers.”

Hawke inhaled sharply, and Fenris turned to her and grasped her arm. “Anders loved you, Hawke. That is no secret,” he said in a hard tone. “But it doesn’t excuse him. It doesn’t excuse anything he did!”

She pressed her lips together hard, then looked at the augur. “Are you sure it’s not… impossible for a mage and a spirit to be separated?”

“I am sorry,” the augur said softly. “But I have never known of such an intertwining.”

Hawke took a deep breath, then smiled at the augur. “Thanks for talking to us. I hope Sigrid and her spirit will be happy together.”

“They will find peace,” the augur said. “I am certain of it.” He looked at Fenris. “I understand you are departing soon. Lady see you safely home.”

Fenris nodded politely, despite his frustration with Hawke. “Thank you for all of your help,” he said.

The augur nodded in return, then bowed to Cole. “Honour us again someday, Compassion. We would welcome your blessing.”

Cole smiled vaguely before following Fenris and Hawke back out into the afternoon sun. As soon as they were outside, Fenris turned to Hawke with a scowl.

“Anders kept that demon by choice,” he said. “You know this, Hawke. He is the definition of an abomination! He’s–”

“Fenris, can you hug me?” she asked.

He paused, silenced by the fatigue in her voice. “I… yes, of course,” he said.

She slid her arms around his waist, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his cheek against her hair. He held her close, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his as she breathed.

He inhaled the sandalwood scent of her hair. Her body was softening into his with every breath, and he could feel his own muscles relaxing in turn.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Cole smiling faintly at them before wandering away. A long, peaceful minute later, when Hawke pulled away, her expression was more happy than sad.

“This little errand has been very educational,” she said. “I actually can’t wait to go back to Skyhold and tell Fiona and the rest of the College about this.” She twined her fingers with his as they started down the path to the main part of the settlement. “Do you think Cassandra would be interested in knowing about it?”

“I’m certain she would,” he said. “In fact, I would have liked her perspective on all of this.”

Hawke elbowed him playfully. “Of course you would. You and Cass, two big strong peas in a pod.”

He eyed her shrewdly. “You’re not truly jealous of Cassandra, are you?”

“Of course I am,” Hawke said promptly. “She has the most enviable cheekbones I’ve ever seen in my life. And the way she wields a sword, Andraste save me…” She fanned herself playfully.

He smirked. “Are you jealous of her, or are you infatuated with her?”

“Why not both?” she said with a wink.

He pinched her waist, and she giggled and bumped him with her hip. “Seriously though. I think Cassandra will have her mind blown when we tell her about this. The Avvar way of teaching their mages is the complete opposite of what the Chantry does! Welcoming a spirit instead of inflicting it like a method of torture? Teaching mages to embrace their abilities instead of being ashamed of them? It’s… honestly, it’s kind of beautiful.” She perked up suddenly. “Maybe I should suggest a sort of exchange program to Fiona! The augur could come to Skyhold and teach the College of Enchanters how to–”

“No,” Fenris blurted. “Please don’t.”

She stopped short, then gave him a careful look. “You really don’t like this bridging business, do you?”

He rubbed his face. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but the thought of mages at Skyhold becoming possessed on purpose made his skin crawl. “I… I can’t help it,” he said. “Perhaps it’s not logical, but I don’t…” He ran a hand through his hair. “It goes against everything I have known or seen. It makes me uncomfortable, Hawke. I can’t help that.”

“I know,” she said gently. She stroked his arm. “But I personally would rather host a spirit for a few years than go through a Harrowing.”

“Stop,” he said. “I don’t want to think about this.”

She raised her eyebrows. “About what?”

“About my wife going through a Harrowing or being possessed,” he snapped.

Her eyebrows rose even higher. “All right, fine,” she said cautiously. “I’ll go with a hypothetical, then. What if it was a child of ours?”

His heart jammed itself into his throat, but Hawke was still talking. “If we had a child who was a mage, would you rather they host a spirit like the Avvar, or go to a Circle?”

He swallowed hard to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. “Neither,” he said. “If we had a child, I would want you to teach them at home, like your father did.”

“That’s not the game,” Hawke said. “You have to pick. Bridging or Harrowing, which one–”

He took her arm and pulled her to a stop. “This is not a game to me,” he said seriously. “If we had a child, I would trust no one to teach them except for you.”

Hawke’s eyes darted up to his face. Her expression froze in a stunned sort of half-smile, and Fenris suddenly felt light-headed. Was this a game still? A hypothetical discussion with no grounding in reality? Or were they really talking about this, right here in the middle of the path in Stone-Bear Hold?

Hawke let out a nervous little laugh. “What makes you think I’d be a good teacher?”

He exhaled slowly to try and calm his thrumming heart. “You’re the co-leader of the Free Mages. That involves considerable teaching. I have heard no complaints about your performance.”

“Maybe I’m so scary that they don’t complain,” she said.

Jokes, he thought. She’s nervous. His heart rate ratcheted up even higher. “You were excellent with Kieran,” he said.

Her smile widened. “That’s because Kieran matched my mental age. He surpassed me, actually, with his Old God wisdom and all that–”

Fenris interrupted her nervous rambling. “You would be an exceptional teacher, Hawke. You…” He broke off and took a deep and careful breath. His heart was hammering so hard that it was making him dizzy, and even his fingertips were starting to feel numb from nerves. If he said this now, with the thick weight of tension between them, there would be no mistaking what he meant by it.

He licked his dry lips, then opened his mouth. “You would be an exceptional mother,” he told her.

For a split second, her face went slack – whether with shock or horror or plain old surprise, he couldn’t tell, because her expression lifted almost instantly into a smile. She laughed lightly and poked his belly. “Don’t be stupid,” she said cheerfully. “I’d be a terrible mother. Toby would make a better mum than me.”

A jolt of disappointment twisted in his gut. Did that mean she didn’t want…?

He cradled her neck in his palm. “That is not true. You would be–” He broke off with a hiss and grabbed his left hand.

“Fenris?” Hawke said sharply. “What’s wrong?”

He rubbed his left palm with his other thumb. “Nothing,” he said blankly. “It… it’s nothing.” He stared hard at the verdant fissure on his palm. It looked the same as usual, but he could have sworn…

Hawke stroked his forearm. “Fenris, what was that? What happened?”

It felt like fire, he thought. For a split second – no, less than a second – it had felt like his palm was on fire. But the feeling was completely gone now, and the anchor looked like its usual self.

Maybe it was nothing, then. Just a momentary ache.

He shook his head dumbly. “A… a cramp, I think,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

“Like a muscle cramp?” she said. She took his left hand in hers and started massaging it with her thumbs.

“I think so,” he said, but his heart was buzzing anxiously now. He’d never had a muscle cramp like that before, like a lightning-quick flash of pain…

She looked up at him, and he immediately regretted his reaction to the split-second twinge. Hawke’s face was twisted with worry, and the last thing he wanted was for her to worry.

He gently took his hand back and flexed his fingers. “Look, it’s fine,” he assured her. “It feels fine. No different than usual.”

“Are you sure?” she said anxiously. “Your face–”

“It was just a cramp, Hawke,” he said gently. “Now come, let’s gather the others. We should depart before it starts getting dark.”

She smiled. “True. Or else Dorian will complain even more.”

“A symphony of complaints, I fear,” Fenris drawled.

Hawke chuckled, just as he’d hoped she would, and they made their way toward the trader’s cabin at a brisker pace. Just before they stepped inside, Fenris glanced at his left hand once more.

It looked the same as usual: a faintly flickering green glow that crossed the center of his palm. It was the same cursed mark that had been sitting beneath his skin for almost three years. It was fine.

It was fine.

He stared at his palm for a moment longer, then closed his fist and stepped into the trader’s cabin to join Hawke and their companions.

#Lovers in a Dangerous Time #fenris #fenris fic #fenris the inquisitor #fenquisition #fenrynne #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #pikapeppa writes

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misadventures-phan-can · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3 - Toothless

The long awaited and thrilling Chapter 3 is here!

Sorry it took a while...

As Tommy went about her day as described in the first chapter, other things were simultaneously underway across the city that would’ve very much pricked her intrigue. If she’d known, of course. As it stands, she did not, and instead had to deal with unpleasant customers and a teasing employer. We now return to our doggish Lieutenant at the start of his day, and the events that led him to Melder’s great capital.

By Meldarian standards, it was the morning of a new Cycle when they reached Trader City. Cpt. Skewlls had explained that technically, this was not true. A Cycle was simply a means to divide time, he’d said as they leisurely flew through the planet’s atmosphere towards the capital; a means to divide a planetary day that lasted a Standard Galactic week and then some. When met with the surprised and, in some cases, horrified expressions of his crew the Dhuuma cackled, green eyes catching the light from the closest navigation console and shining like an animal’s. Yes, he’d continued, two-thirds of the week triplet suns shone something horrible down on the populace, and somewhere in the middle, it goes dark for roughly three Galactic days. Two extremes, with only some reprieve during the 12-some Galactic hours it took for the suns to set and rise once more.

“You’re somewhat lucky, pup.” Sharp teeth glinted behind the Captain’s playful grin, making the short hairs of Lieutenant Famillion’s neck prick uncomfortably. He was never quite settled around the Captain, no matter how much he trusted and respected the man, especially when he bore that expression and used that tone. It usually meant he spoke of equivocations whilst holding some sort of cleaning tool behind his back, readying to spring chores upon his crew unexpectedly.

“What do you mean?" He asked, nervously eyeballing the closet, which held all of the maintenance equipment. Surely not, his Captain wouldn't be so cruel as to- "It means you have less time in the sun, no chance of becoming a hot dog.”

The Captain’s amused voice brought the Mimic’s attention back to him, but the Lieutenant didn't hold his gaze for very long. The rest of the crew’s giggles, most prominently Jaylin’s, died out steadily; Cpt. Skewlls’ wicked grin fading with them as they all turned back to their stations. The mood which they’d labored so hard to lift fell muted once more, just like all previous attempts. The shadowy Captain drifted over to his Lieutenant from the central station, silent like a ghostly mist creeping over the deck. Silent enough that Canis started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, head snapping around to see the Captain holding out a sponge and grinning a bit too toothily. The Lieutenant’s nose scrunched and his lip curled at the biting smell of vinegar-soap emanating from the sponge, and he looked up to meet Cpt. Skewlls gaze with wide eyes and furrowed brows. When his superior’s grin only widened with amusement, he understood- face falling into a grimace.

“What, really? Now? I thought you were just joking!”

“Of course not,” The Captain’s eyes glimmered a merry, mischievous green at Canis’ tone of sheer desperation. “Now, now, don’t worry. The rest of the Jester’s will be at it as well.” The others groaned, collectively slumping at their stations. Cpt. Skwells merely rolled his eyes.

“Come on now. Chip-Chop.” He clapped. “We’ll be arriving shortly and I want this cabin shining so much that I can see my non-existent reflection in the breaker-boxes.” The Captain made sure to stand there and watch until they’d gotten up to gather supplies, then simply turned away and let them get on with their distraction. That’s what it was, and most realized it even as they happily settled down into the routine of cleaning. Joe stood at the closet and passed out the equipment- a broom to Ezio, a mop to Jaylin, and finally, the "dust-sticker stick" was handed to Canis- along with a bucket of vinegar-based product for the polishing sponge later.

And clean they did, until the call to get back to their stations and initiate Ramp-Landing procedures came over the high speaker. Despite the distraction, the cabin remained muted. Canis went through the motions, calling out positions and checking conditions on the outside of the locomotive as if he were merely watching from afar as someone piloted his movements. He tried to satisfy his aching chest by recalling all the good times, all their accomplishments- and all the tough times that brought them ever-closer. It failed miserably and only made his heart hurt more, a bitter taste spoiling his tongue. The Lieutenant didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave his ridiculous crew and his questionable-but-kind Captain. He knew the others wanted him to stay too, they kept glancing his way and he could tell exactly what they felt about this separation, even as they made their last descent.

"So… I guess this is it.” Once the jostling of a smooth, ramp-assisted landing ceased, and the elegant Casino Royale was parked in her bay, the crew sat in telling silence. The Mimic looked quickly away from his station’s screens, away from the shifting hot-red world outside that made his eyes water, and let his gaze sweep through the cabin to meet the eyes of his four other crewmates. He cracked a small grin, hesitant, biting his lip before he spoke again. “After you lot buy me a drink of course."

"We'll send you off with a nice swig o’ milk." Cpt. Skewlls smirked after another moment, teeth glinting as sharp as his eyes as he spoke. “After all, wouldn’t want our doggy officer getting poisoned with his last drink with the Jesters.”

"Ahah! Milk is as bad as alcohol for dogs, because, dogs! Again! Unlike Mimics! Again! Are lactose intolerant!" Canis huffed in mock annoyance, cheekily tutting as if disappointed in the Captain’s refusal to remember. “I am a Mimic, therefore, bring on the booze bitches.” He spread his arms wide, daring the Captain with a sheepish grin.

In the meantime, the crew had moved towards the door. Ezio stood in the corner, already anticipating the eminent jaunt into the infamous Trader City. He followed the conversation with slight bewilderment, eyebrows hiking ever further up as, finally, he looked to Jaylin, then to Joe for an explanation. The Tobitoan saw Canis' smug-looking face, wondering if all of these facts were meant to confuse, or were indeed legitimate. To the short Commander standing at his left, he leaned over and stage-whispered behind a raised hand, “Have we been… feeding our Mimic poison? Is synth-milk really that bad for him??”

"I don’t think he’d lie?" Jaylin didn’t know any more than he did and seemed to be just as confused, watching their Captain smirk and advance on Canis curiously.

"But… the whole… synth-milk in a saucer thing! The yogurt treats! Dogs are mammals, aren’t they?? Mammals drink milk. From their ma’s. Right?"

The other Tobitoan Lieutenant looked back at his counterpart, who met his gaze and winked in a comically forced manner. Joe merely shrugged. “The Lieutenant is not a Dog.”

Canis, who was most definitely not of the class Mammalia, curled his lips into a grin that showed far too much tooth to be all that innocent. “See, now the whole crew thinks I’m a common mutt!” He nudged their Captain, now standing to his right, with an elbow. “Except Joe of course, because Joe is the best person here.” At this point, they had all migrated from their stations into the antechamber of the engine, waiting for one of the Sub-Lieutenants in the wagons to give the ‘O.K.’ to open the airlock.

"I've been a bird owner my whole life, really, my family owned a Rockroc. I wouldn’t be able to tell you much." Jaylin provided with a shrug, sending an apologetic grin to a still-befuddled Ezio.

"You don’t say?" Lieutenant-Commander Joe perked up. He’d always wondered about those birds, it had been rumored that only a handful had ever been tamed, most notably the one that’d made its perch upon the shoulder of that one infamous space pirate. Hemlock? Herlock? Something like that, concluded Joseph, who came from a small moon of an even smaller solar system, the news of which, before he’d joined the SDF, had consisted solely of the occasional old, drunk spacemen’s yarn.

"Yes," the Cpt. Skewlls interrupted sharply, fingers snapping once to set the wandering thoughts of his crew back to the task at hand. Jaylin and Ezio straightened up so quickly from their semi-conspirative hunches that their spines cracked, and Joe, well. Joe, who’d been paying attention no matter how distant and birdish his thoughts became, only set his expression into something altogether sterner with barely a twitch of his lips.

“Yes, the milk thing is true. Moving on now,” The Captain glared momentarily at the youngest Lieutenant, blaming him in full for this quick, albeit appreciated, digression.

“We’re heading to the nearest pub, which I believe is the Dustdog, off-duty, and we’re getting drunk. The Sub-Lieutenants and the deckhands will join us once they finish up with things here at Royale. Catch is, we only have 3 hours or so to do it, so tab is on me.” Half the ranking officers present were near-vibrating in anticipation. Then the Captain’s tone dropped suddenly, dangerously- the antechamber became visibly darker, and green sparks- tricks of the light, they didn’t really exist, or did they?- danced in the corners of the mortal crew’s perception. “However, if one of you show any, and I mean any sign of inebriation whatsoever when we check in with HQ, you will regret it.” The oppressive darkness disappeared as abruptly as it had come, and the ‘fearless’ ones took a breath of relief. Cpt. Skewlls merely grinned something akin to a shark and clapped his hands in delight. “Perfect!”

The call to unlock the bulkhead rung loud above their heads, timed near-perfection with the Captain, as most things were on the Casino Royale.

“Okay humans- and Mimic- Let’s go hit the bar at a planetary hour that would shock most and completely offend others!”

"I'll just start off slow, I think,” hummed Canis, voice smooth and languid, almost whimsical. The Dustdog, despite the local hour, bustled with the sight, smell and energy of a couple of dozen patrons. Most either with keen business interests on the planet or simply waiting out a stop-over on their way somewhere else. Some species the young Lieutenant could recognize, while some were completely foreign and drew his gaze, eyes blown wide and sparkling with unguarded curiosity. Scents rushed to clog his nostrils, the air sweet with sweat and a pungent fruity aroma, toned with earthy malts and fermented brews. Something rancid and bitter seemed to be emanating from a couple pitchers on the bar counter, probably some sort of local drink. Lights flashed, music played a bit too loudly, the rhythm buzzing in his ears like the low, throaty yowl of a Hellcat back home. Swallowing a lump that had risen in his throat, the Mimic tore his attention away from the patrons and back to the Jesters, looking to them as they gathered around the doorway. Eventually they all stood in the entrance with matching, stupidly large grins spreading across both Jaylin and Ezio’s faces. Joe, calm as ever, scoped the bar out with a few sharp-eyed glances and then turned to his crewmates.

"Starting slow is good advice, I say we all follow it. ‘Ey Jay? Ezio?" He teasingly nudged the shorter Commander and earned a finger-flick for his troubles. It never hurt to urge the youth to be responsible, no matter how futile the effort.

Ezio, with a hearty slap on the back which nearly knocked the Mimic lieutenant off-balance, dismissed the very notion with a careless wave of the hand. "And where's the fun in that? Use that nose of yours.” He spoke straight to Canis. “Drinks are on the captain. We either all get plastered or we all wallow in a pitcher of sadness- there’s none of this designated driver bullsh-” He cut himself off when he glanced Joe’s expression. “Look, ok, the Captain can’t even get drunk, there is no reason we can’t do this-”

"Oh, my Telyris- Is that peanut butter?" Canis distractedly interrupted Ezio’s fumbling, saving the Tobitoan from an early grave and earning his endless gratitude. Paying him no attention, Canis pardoned himself with a mumbled word and zeroed in on the scent of the delightful treat he hadn’t had since leaving the SDF’s HQ. However, he did not expect the form in which he found his favorite snack; as he not-so-subtly passed around the table where four small shots of creamy, golden liquor had been served, he slowly realized that they were the source of the peanut butter. Eventually one of the occupants of the table realized he was there, and half-drunkenly told him what they were drinking, among other things. The lieutenant, now flushed deep blue at the ears, scurried off to track down his crewmates and order the first round of what would be quite a few, not dissuaded from his goal despite the minor hiccup.

He caught sight of the Captain first, sat at the counter sipping something strong and clear. The Dhuuma’s sharp gaze swept across the room, watching the patrons with the languid intrigue of a cat perched on a window sill, viewing that morning’s selection of finches at the birdfeeder. He met his lieutenant’s eyes, nodded, and promptly turned back to observing the bar-goers.

Much to Jaylin’s frustration, as for the first time that night she had to admit defeat and put down her hand. The luxury cards had shown a glorious green and black, bearing not a scratch or fold. Until a few weeks ago she’d merely use the cheapest cards money could buy, however Cpt. Skwells had decided that his favorite and only card-playing crew-member could not use such a drab set. She was, in fact, the only one in the whole of the SDF who had not yet given up on the absurd notion of, one day, defeating the Demon King of Black Jack himself. Jaylin’s determination brought a faint smile upon the Captain’s face, and he put his drink down to reshuffle the cards for another game. They were going to be there for a while, and the scene brought up tender memories of the Lieutenant’s first couple of weeks on the force. He’d learned his lesson on his second night with the Jesters, and soundly beaten he’d never tried his luck at poker ever again. Ezio would try once in a blue moon or when he was too drunk to know any better, in both instances resulting in solid losses that the rest would tease the poor Tobitoan with for weeks thereafter.

Joe was the only one who ever came close to beating the Captain, though he rarely played- much to the later’s deep, continuous chagrin.

Shaking off the creeping melancholy, the Mimic quickly searched for Joe and Ezio, knowing both would probably be together and saving a seat for him. Once he spotted them Canis quickly put in his order with the bartender, changing his mind from shots to an individual tumbler; seeing as everyone already seemed to have their drinks. That accomplished, he made his way over to the duo.

Joe, and with him Ezio, had taken a quieter seat at the end of the booze-stained counter and altogether not too far from Jaylin and the Captain. Canis perched on the stool to Joe’s right, watching curiously as the bartender approached the small group. With a quick glance around, he realized both his companions had yet to order and a smirking grin pulled at his lips.

“So Joe, wha’cha gonna get? Milk? Water?” The Mimic snickered, Ezio’s eyebrow curving up in what seemed like surprise. The Tobitoan seemed about to correct his younger colleague, but the bartender interrupted him, flatly asking for their order whilst simultaneously placing Canis’ drink on the sticky countertop in front of him. He took a sip of it, savoring the creamy, artificially flavored peanut-buttery delicacy as he watched and waited for Joe’s reply with mischievously twinkling eyes.

“I would like an Argyenian Basilisk Spritz, please an’ thank ya’ ma’am.” Canis sputtered, half his drink spat back into the tumbler as he turned to stare at Joe in wide-eyed shock. “Wh-what??” Ezio snickered, in turn ordering himself a local Meldarian brandy he’d never heard of out of pure curiosity. The bartender left without sparing them a second look, and Canis was left reeling.

"No! Seriously? Joe? What in Tyr’s nation-??”

Joe smirked, shrugging in a sort of smug nonchalance that had the Mimic even more confused and looking to Ezio for answers. He merely laughed, shaking his head in amusement and eyes glowing warm with mirth.

“That’s right, we never brought you to a bar before- My man here, Joe-” He clapped his partner on the shoulder, grinning, “-can hold his liquor like no one’s business. He doesn’t look it cuz he gives everyone the impression of a man who dines with his grandma every Sunday.” Joe’s harrumph at that had Ezio backpedaling, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Look, not that that’s a bad thing Marge is the nicest woman I know-” the Tobitoan turned back to Canis, “point is, don’t judge a book by its cover eh? Joe may look like the goodiest two shoes you ever did meet but he did some crazy sh-”

“That’s enough o’ that there now,” Joe warned, but he had a look in his warm brown eyes that had Ezio rolling his eyes and sighing. “Fineee. One day Joe, one day…” Pondering over what that could mean with a bemused half-smile, Canis turned to check in on the other two just in time to catch them making their way over. In lieu of greeting, Captain Skwells jutted his chin at the tumbler in front of the lieutenant. “What do you got there Lieutenant Famillion?” The tips of Canis’ ears warmed, and he just knew they were flushed blue in embarrassment.

“It’s a Reeses Meeses.” He muttered, much to everyone’s delight. They shared a laugh, Ezio cackling as he answered, “Peanut butter eh? That’s a start of a bad joke right there, ya know. Dog goes to a bar, followed by a cat and a Dhumma-” he jutted a thumb at the Captain mischievously, “Dog orders peanut butter, cat gets milk and the Dhumma orders a can of gasoline-”

Canis interrupted him before the Captain could, blowing the dark-haired Tobitoan a raspberry. “I’m not a dog! Again! Can’t relate.”

“You’re canine-like, and you have this weird fixation on peanut butter- that’s enough for me.”

A firm cough disrupted the argument before it could start in earnest, the Lieutenant biting his tongue to hold back his rebuke and glaring at Ezio’s smug grin before all attention was directed to the Captain. Simultaneously, the bartender arrived with Joe and Ezio’s drinks, darting away just as quick to serve a group of rowdy patrons who had just come in.

The corners of Cpt. Skwells’ eyes crinkled as a pleased grin spread across his face, and with an approving nod at the new refreshments took up his own glass and held it in front of him. The rest of the seated crew took the cue and grabbed their own, waiting anxiously for whatever their beloved Captain was about to say.

“Well, while I would have liked to be able to get properly plastered with you all- not that these words will ever be repeated, mind you, in a professional setting-” he met each of their eyes carefully, and as that bright, swirling green gaze passed over him, the young Lieutenant felt the small hairs at the back of his neck prick up warily, on instinct.. “-It is to my great displeasure that I am forced to announce this round- our first- must also be our last. We do not have as much time as initially thought, so let this speech be brief.” The Captain’s attention turned solely to the Mimic, grin shortening into his everyday smirk. “It was a pleasure to work with you, Ltn. Canis Lycaon Latran Lupis Famillion. You worked hard and played hard, fit right in with this band o’ misfits. Your first few years were hilarious, best entertainment I’ve had since Joe and Ezio began to crush on each other.”

Both parties sputtered, but the dhuuma’s teasing grin was enough for them to keep their complaints unspoken. The Captain continued without acknowledging them, his expression schooling into something more solemn, smirk tightening into something more mature. Canis’ back straightened, and he stood taller. He was now being addressed by The Captain. Not Cpt. Skwells, not even Ethan- but one of the most respected and infamous captains of the SDF.

“You are, and forever will be, a valued member of Jester Platoon. Call on us and we will be there, I will be there. You will always have a place with us, Lieutenant.”

The young mimic’s eyes stung, but he could not discern whether it was due to the pungent odors in the air or the assurances given to him by his Captain. He did not want to know which it was, either. He only managed a nod back, unable to speak.

From the sidelines, there came a snort and suddenly Jaylin barreled her way forward to fasten herself around the Lieutenant.

“Group Hug!” She proclaimed, quickly being followed by all the crew with the exception of the Captain. They remained like that a moment, Canis holding on to his friends, cheeks mysteriously wet as the others pulled away to reclaim their glasses. Cpt. Skwells waited for them to be ready before lifting his own tumbler with a sharp grin. “To Lieutenant Canis! May we many more successful missions together, and may he finally find his beloved peanut butter!”

Somehow, one round turned into three before the Captain, the only one still and forever sober, wrangled his crew towards the docks. Canis had followed them, the good-byes had been long and tearful until finally, all that was left for him to wave at was the dark-red smudge of the Casino Royal ascending through the atmosphere.

Not that he would remember much, as he stumbled off to find shade during the hottest time of the Meldarian day. As it was, Canis found an alley to crash in and nap- mind fuzzy and body heavy from alcohol, until his thoughts were clear enough to explore and find his bearings. Propped against some building’s wall, the mimic felt his eyelids droop, his last wistful thoughts wondering about the crew that he had just left behind...

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 (You are here)

Chapter 4 (Coming)

#MoP&D #chasing phantoms #Chapter 3 #Toothless #CanisLLLFamillion #JesterPlatoon #Phantom K. F.#Space Pirate Captain Harlock #Captain Harlock #fanfiction #galaxy railways #SDF #leijiverse

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imaginepirates · 5 years

Text

Hurricane part 2

Um, okay. So I wrote a thing. And it's awful, but some people wanted to see a sequel?? And I really hope I didn't ruin this, but here ya go. My apologies in advance.

Part 1

~3250 words

@tesserphantom @bonjour-frens @viper-official

~~~~~~~

As it turned out, James was a capable sailor. He worked tirelessly, never complaining. At first you were surprised; surely the navy didn’t work so hard for so little. They, at least, had consistent pay, and quite a bit more shore leave. You were grateful that he kept any negativity to himself. He hadn’t made any comments about your being a pirate- or pirates in general- since he had been accepted into the crew.

That being said, he was still cold towards the crew. It appeared that he didn’t make friends easily. The poor man sat alone during meals, and your first mate talked about the distance he kept from others. It perturbed you. You weren’t sure if he was still an officer at heart, or if his antisocial behavior was a part of who he was. You hoped for the latter. Still, you felt the need to bring it up before anyone got the wrong idea and tried to throw him overboard.

You pulled him aside when he was switching watches. Surely the others could handle a few minutes of work by themselves. “James,” you started, “I’ve noticed that you haven’t been very social.”

He seemed taken aback by the comment and more than a little confused.

“A crew is a family. We spend all our days together. The others feel a little uncomfortable with your distance. Talking with them would help you become a crewmember in their eyes.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. Furrowing his brow, he added, “I can try.”

It occurred to you then that James wasn’t a social person by nature. “Were you this distant from others in the navy?”

“I suppose I was. I was more focused on what I was working towards.”

“And what are your goals here? Do they distract you all that much?”

“Well…” he trailed off. “I’m not sure I can improve my position, really.” He looked to you with questioning eyes.

“I’m afraid you likely can’t.” You watched his face, finding only a little disappointment there. “Though I’d like to see you make some friends. I think it would do you good.”

You dismissed him to continue his work. He left you with a practiced nod. You watched him get to work, hauling himself up the rigging to the sails. He’d forsaken his old clothes, opting for a loose shirt and plain trousers. It suited him. His dark hair was put back in a braid, and the ties of his shirt were loose in a most attractive manner. He hadn’t shaved in a good long while; the beginnings of a beard were growing.

You still weren’t entirely sure how you felt about him. There were, of course, things that he’d done which you couldn’t forgive. Yet when you looked at him, there was a sadness about him that tugged at your heart. He still despaired. It was written all over his face. You wanted to hate him for what he’d done, but at the same time, you wanted to comfort and like him.

You sighed. It was too complicated to think about. All you needed to know was that he was good at the job you’d given him. Upon making a full recovery, he had become most useful. You were still afraid that he’d be recognized the next time you engaged a naval ship in battle. At the moment, you preferred not to think of it.

The fresh food had run out days ago. The crew grumbled from time to time, but there was little you could do about it. You wished there was a better way to store perishable items onboard, but there wasn’t, and everyone would have to make do. Although, you’d be the first to admit that regular rations weren’t satisfying.

A thin boy scurried down to the deck from the crow’s nest. He jogged up to you, worry painted on his face. “A blockade, Cap’n. Or what looks like one.”

A blockade was not good news. You’d been sailing towards Tortuga. Your ship needed a few repairs after its fight with the navy. “What colors are they flying?”

“British, Cap’n.”

“The Brits put a blockade around Haiti? What for?” Then, it occurred to you that if you could see them, they could see you. “Have they seen us?”

“I don’t think so, but they will soon if we don’t leave.”

You sent the boy back up into the rigging to find James. If anyone knew something about the British blockade, it would be him.

James walked up to you a scant few minutes later. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “You asked for me?”

“I did. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a British blockade against Haiti, would you?”

“I knew that relations between Spain and England were becoming strained, but the blockade is a new development. It must have been ordered after I left on the Dauntless.”

“How inconvenient.” You looked out to sea, and you spotted the faint outlines of ships on the horizon. “You don’t think any of those ships would break line to attack us, would they?”

“I think we should be safe if we keep our current distance. If we sail too close, they can attack us in force, but I doubt they’ll give chase to a far away ship.” James, too, looked out over the waves, squinting to see.

“I hope this doesn’t last too long,” you muttered. It was more to yourself than to James, but you were sure he heard anyway. “This ship needs repairs at some point. We can’t go on with holes in our hull forever.

You directed the ship just out of the line of sight of the blockade. That night, you refused to light any candles onboard, just to be safe. You lay awake, trying to figure out how to slip past the ships around Haiti. Surely the British hadn’t cut off all of Haiti; they didn’t have enough ships. Did they?

You were afraid that without repairs, your ship might be further damaged. If such a thing happened, you’d have no choice but to sail straight into the blockade. If you did that…

You tried not to think about it. You shut your eyes and prayed for sleep.

It was just as you dozed off that your first mate burst into your room. A gust of cold air accompanied him, making you glad for your thick blanket. You rolled over, squinting against the moonlight.

“Captain, we have an emergency.” Just the tone of his voice told you as much.

“What’s happened?” You croaked, still not fully awake. You feared the navy had come for you after all.

“We’ve hit a reef. Some of the planks down below have split, and water’s gushing into the hull. I have people on the bilge pumps, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. The water’s flowing through those cracks hard, and the carpenter’s having a hard time getting close enough to repair the cracks.”

You were out of bed and shrugging on a jacket by the time he was finished. “How deep is the water?”

“Around knee height, Captain.”

You swore. Bailing water wasn’t fun, nor would it likely be of much use. You’d have to rely on the bilge pumps, though you doubted they would suck out enough of the water to make a significant difference. As long as they kept the water at knee-level, you’d be happy.

You scampered down to the bilges, bare feet hitting the wood hard where you descended the stairs. You hit the final floor with a loud splash. If you hadn't been awake before, you certainly were now. The freezing water sent a shock through your entire body, even if you were only just past your knees in it.

Men sloshed to and fro through the water, carrying bundles of wood and tools to seal the breaches. There were quite a few cracks in the hull. You weren’t familiar with such things happening. If you were to be perfectly honest, it frightened you.

You were called over by one of the crew. He directed you to a breach. There, the water gushed out in torrents, soaking the poor men trying to brace new wood against the crack. You stepped up, trying to help keep the wood in position. The men next to you were close enough that their bodies were right up against yours. Seawater spilled out from the crack and onto your chest; the breach was at head height.

Together, you pressed the wood into position, and someone hammered it into place. When you stepped back, you couldn’t lift your arms. They screamed at you, aching from the strain of holding the water at bay. Yet when you looked up, the wood held, doing its job in sealing the hole that had been there.

You moved on to another crack. It was larger, and there were four of you keeping the wood in place. When you stepped back from it after it was sealed, you couldn’t feel your arms at all.

The only things left were little leaks. They hardly required effort to patch, but you still strained to keep the wood in place. The last leak you helped with was over your head, and you struggled in keeping your arms up.

You forced yourself up the stairs and onto the next floor. It was dry there, but you could hardly tell. You were soaked through. You'd fallen over multiple times as the ship lurched to get off the reef.

Exhausted, you sank against the wall. Your head fell onto someone's shoulder as you drifted off to sleep, but you hardly noticed. If you had, you likely wouldn't have cared.

You awoke to groaning from the rest of the crew. Most of them had been too tired to return to their hammocks. Everyone was sprawled in odd positions, tossed about by the ship. You were no longer propped up against the wall, but lying on the floor, half on top of someone.

They stirred, and you heaved yourself off their chest with leaden arms. You found yourself looking down into the face of James. He raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Looking around, you noticed that most of the crew were going back to sleep. Some were wandering off to their hammocks, but others were closing their eyes where they'd opened them. You turned your head back to James, but he was already asleep again.

You barely had enough strength left in your arms to keep holding yourself up. You lowered yourself back onto James' chest. If anything, you told yourself, he made a good pillow.

An arm draped itself around your back. Apparently, James hadn't been entirely asleep after all. You blushed, and you might have moved off of him, but his arm laid heavy across your back and side.

It was...nice.

When you awoke for the second time, it was with frantic urgency. You had to get through that blockade. There was no telling how long the repairs to the ship would actually hold. You couldn't afford any more leaks.

You pulled yourself off of James, scrambling to your feet. People were still asleep around you, but James cracked open his eyes.

You paid him no mind, running up the stairs and onto the deck. You shook your first mate from sleep and jogged to the helmsman. James appeared soon after, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to get through a blockade, would you?" You asked as if you hadn't been asleep on his chest only minutes past.

"In fact I don't. It wasn't particularly my line of business." He replied.

"That's a damn shame."

Later, you surmised that there were four ships surrounding Tortuga. The island was small, and you'd likely be caught by at least one. Even at night, there would be no way to pass unseen.

But you had to try, even if there was no feasible way. The moon was unfortunately bright, but you still had some cover in the dark. With all lanterns extinguished, you sailed forth.

You were doomed before you began. A British ship was waiting for you just as you created the corner of the island. You surrendered immediately. If you engaged, the ship would surely sink.

The brig was a less than pleasant place. The stench was rotten, and it hadn't been cleaned in a long time. It probably hadn't been used in a long time, but that was exactly how long it had gone without maintenance.

After a good many hours, keys rattled in the lock of your cell. You wondered if they would drag you up to the captain so you could listen to him gloat. Perhaps you could come to some kind of terms. You had money in banks up north, if only you'd be believed.

But it wasn't you they took. It was James, whom they grabbed by the hair, bending him nearly double. You called out; surely they knew he wasn't the captain. Nobody listened to you, and you only got the barrel of a gun to the gut when you tried to force your way out of the cell as it was being closed.

At some point, just after you'd dozed off against the bars, the cell was opened again. And left open. James stood outside, along with a smug looking man that you knew to be the captain. Disjointedly, people began filing out of the prison.

It was when you were filed back onto your own ship that you were truly confused. Were you being… let go?

You whipped around to find James right behind you. He stared at the deck. "For my last crew. They weren't so lucky."

"But how?" You hissed.

"Every man accepts a price."

You refrained from speaking to him again until you were back out at sea. The normality of your ship felt unreal. You should be in the brig of a naval vessel awaiting your impending doom, not commanding your crew.

Another voice whispered to you. A life for a life. He thinks he can pay his debt to his crew. The promise of redemption. But was he redeemed?

You shook the thoughts from your head, instead trotting up to him in disbelief. "How much did you promise him?"

"Currently, I'm worth less than nothing."

You looked at him, alarm on your face. Yet something about him looked smug.

"We signed a contract, in fact. It should give him most of my worldly possessions." Here, he smirked. "And he was stupid enough to think he'd get them. The crown claimed everything of mine as their own upon my deserting the navy."

"Pirate!" You accused playfully.

"It seems I'm learning." He gazed at you, smirk still in place. To your worry, his face grew serious again. "He'll probably ambush us on our way out of port. Or he'll tell someone else to look out for us."

"I wouldn't worry about that too much." You thought of Tortuga's supplies. There were giant buildings dedicated to housing supplies. "The island may be a shithole, but it can outlast a blockade for a year. With no ships coming in, we'll have all the supplies we need. Besides, the residents drink more than they eat, leaving more for us."

James looked relieved. "Good. I didn't particularly fancy trying to bribe the next man."

You were ashore within the hour. There, you hired carpenters and painters to work on the ship. You, for one, were going to take a break.

You sauntered down the gangplank, fully intending to visit a tavern. You noticed James standing on the pier, looking more than a little lost.

"James!" You called out. He was alone, which saddened you. "Still haven't made friends?" You asked once you were closer.

"Not particularly. I'm not sure the crew is fond of me."

"After that stunt you just pulled? You're everyone's friend right now." You turned, leading him up the pier. "And as I recall, making friends was an order."

"What will be my punishment?"

You were taken aback by how rakish he looked. He was unshaven, dark eyed, and smirking. Not to mention, the top of his shirt was open. "If you won't spend time with others, you have to spend it with me."

"And what would you like to do?"

"I hear there are some nice performers if you're willing to walk a minute out of the city. What do you say to a dance?" You knew said performers. Their music was beautiful, but they played away from the grotesque mess of the city.

James blushed. Ah, still himself, then. "I'm not a very good dancer, I'm afraid."

"I don't think I'll mind. Besides, it's not like any dancing you've done before. Not so formal. I think you'll learn."

You walked along together, heading out of the city and into a grove of trees. Beyond, you'd find a beach and the only sober inhabitants of Tortuga. Half-sober, anyway.

The sun was just setting as you pulled him out into the sand. A song was already going, and torches kept the beach well-lit. The music was slow and soft. People swayed with their partners in the sand.

You took James' hands, holding them between you. You tried to guide him a bit, but he was unsure of exactly how to follow. Deciding to be bolder, you set your hands on his shoulders. You were glad the darkening sky hid a bit of your blush.

Warm hands came to rest on your waist. You shivered under his touch. When was the last time someone had held you so?

"I miss just talking to you," you confessed. "When you were sick, I talked with you every day."

"Yes, I remember." James looked down at you, the height difference accented by your closeness. "I thought it odd, at the time. That you would waste time on me."

"I was trying to be courteous."

He hummed. His gaze wandered out over your shoulder. "I miss it, too. People never did that. Took time to talk with me. Ask me how I was."

You rubbed your thumb lightly against his neck. His gaze jumped back to your face. You smiled softly, drinking in his surprise. "It's how friendships start, actually. When people talk with each other." It was as genuine as it was teasing.

He swallowed. "I'd like that," he whispered. "Thank you."

"You're always thanking me for things."

"Probably because I don't deserve them."

He spoke in a way that broke your heart. He spoke like he believed his own words, like he was convinced of their truth. But you couldn't deny them. 'My fault'. Did he deserve what you gave him? Did you care?

"And yet I give them freely."

His eyes flitted everywhere except for your face. It occurred to you that he was tearing up, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. He opened his mouth as if to thank you, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he held you a little closer.

When his eyes settled on you again, they were full of so many emotions, you didn't know exactly what he was trying to convey. But you felt warmth. It radiated off him in waves. He cared, and you sensed that was no little thing.

And you decided it definitely wasn't so bad to have him around.

#pirates of the caribbean #potc #pirates #pirate #james norrington #commodore norrington #norrington #x reader #drabble #writing #fanfic

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “My Beautiful Sun.”

And end to another arc. And yes I know I am better at writing angst than fluff, so if you guys want some fluff, I am going to need some recommendations or ideas . I hope you like it and I hope you have a great Thursday!

The space above fiery A136 was quiet, a marble of glass hung in a vacuum of darkness. Fire licked silently across the planet’s surface as rain clouds gathered along the border of light and dark.

The star sone with increased intensity, white hot through the darkness. A myriad of satellites, space stations and the occasional abandoned mining ship orbited the planet systems of light blinking in the darkness.

One of these ships, a luxury civilian transport was on the bright side of its orbit, silhouetted against the fiery star=, the lines of white where the sun hit and pools of black where it did not, making a sharp contrast upon the face of the ship between light and dark.

It seemed a peaceful thing, hanging there in the darkness unsuspecting of thwart was to come.

ON the far edge of the planet’s orbit, there was a sudden whirling and a sharp flash of light as another ship appeared from the darkness.

It was hulking, massive, and painted black against the stars, only its blue highlight strips gave any indication there was a ship there at al. She crawled from the darkness stealthily slithering through the starry expanse until her shadow bore down on the unsuspecting ship.

***

Fiery starlight spilled in through the front window, tinted just enough that they were not completely blinded by its awful magnitude. A figure stood against the burning light, unmoving, arms crossed over his chest.

On his shoulder there sat a smaller figure all colorful fluff and impossibly large eyes.

“Lord Avex….”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Deploy the grapples… and don’t bother to be gentle about it.

***

Sunny sagged against her chains, her legs dumbed from the increased drugs. The dosage they had given her far outweigh any of the other doses that had come before, insuring that she would not move during the procedure. As limp as she was, she worried about her joints dislocating, as her shoulders were the only thing holding her up.

“Hold it steady.” The man ordered, and she could feel the cool, clammy tough of the man’s hand on her lower left arm as the last bit of her forearm carapace was stripped away. The cold was immediate and unpleasant, and the feel of the air against her bare skin made her want to scratch it off. It was a horrible sensation that she detested immediately.

Looking down at her arm, the only thing left there was the grey, gore stained skin cut with abrasions and pale from never having seen the light . The sight made her sick, as hideous as it was, and she used the last of her strength to turn her head away.

The man held up what was left of the carapace, “Ah, that should be enough for three vials, don’t you think? He walked across the room, and Sunny watched in hopeless anger as he fed her shining armor into the machine, grinding it into powder right there before her eyes. From there it dripped down into three bottles, and held them up to the light, “A little less than I thought we would get, But it should be enough.”

He walked back over the the fancy woman and handed her the vials, which she looked down at with distaste.”

“Is something wrong ma’am.”

She turned to look up at him as if that had been a stupid question, “Not as much as you were expecting? That sounds like you are short changing me. When I came here for three vials.I wanted three vials of the promised size, not a little less than what we were hoping for.”

The man held up his hands in a defensive way, “Ok ok, my apologies. We will get you some more.”

He turned to look at Sunny, and she knew what was coming next.

The circular saw blade began to spin slowly as his partner held it at the ready, lowering his goggles down over his face.

And then the ship jolted violentl.

The man pitched forward, nearly imbedding the circular saw tool in his own face, but catching himself at the last minute. The fancy woman keeled over backwards and hit the floor hard as her shoes unbalanced her, and the third man slammed sideways into the chains, releasing the mechanism that held her up, and causing her to fall to the floor. She didn’t really feel much when she hit, she hadn’t been all that high up anyway.

Out of all of them, her descent to the floor had been the least violent.

One of the men stood, “What the hell was that!”

The massive clatter of metal, was accompanied by the groaning of the ships hull which deflected and popped against the weight of something. Sirens began to go off overhead as the two men leaped to their feet, while the fancy woman struggled just to make it to her knees.

One of them raced over to the coms and slammed their fist against it, “What’s going on up there.”

There was no answer for a long moment before, “We are being boarded, sir!” The voice was frantic, and on the other end of the line Sunny could hear more metallic screeching.

The ship continued to vibrate and scream as the group of men staggered their way across the floor.

Sunny tried to lift her head, but didn’t have the strength.

Her mind moved slowly.

Being boarded.

Could it be?

But no…. That was too much to hope for…. Wasn’t it?

Next to her the other Drev shifted and lifted their heads.

The man pressed the comm again, “Someone do SOMETHING.”

“We can’t, sir they have shielding.”

“Than get rid of their shielding!”

The man on the other end of the line went quiet, “We aren’t going to win this one boss.

“Get the escape pods ready then.” She snarled.

“I can’t sir, its a magnetic grapple field, so nothing is getting out of this.

THe man howled in frustration.

There was a sharp thud on the outside.

“How could they even get in?” one of the men wondered, “There is no outside access to the airlock.”

Just then another voice came over the line, “Sir, sir something has taken over out internal computer systems…. I I don’t know what it is but I….”

There was a loud THUD from somewhere below them.

“The airlock!” someone yelled

And that was when Sunny began to laugh. It was so startling, that the entire room went quiet as they turned to look at her. She wasn’t really amused, but there was a part of her, one that was very smug about what she was sure was soon to happen.

“What are you laughing about, scarab.”

She continued to laugh for a long moment, “You’re fucked.”

“What is she talking about.” The woman demanded.

Sunny laughed again, “I know whose ship that is.”

More laughter

The men looked concerned. One of them pointed the circular saw blade at her, “Tell us!”

She giggled manically, “That’s the Omen.”

“What do you mean the Omen.” The man said nervously, shuffling his feet, “I mean you dim bastard THE omen. The pride of the UNSC fleet…. Captained b Admiral vir and a crew of a thousand men and aliens. Celzex weapons, Vrul shields…. And GRAVITY enabled grappling fields.” She began to laugh again.

“He’s coming…. Hes coming.”

Her manic laughter had clearly unsettled then, and her warning made it all the worse.

“Someone…..I, give me the damn blowtorch.”

Once given his prize, he thrust it at one of the other men and pointed towards the door. Outside Sunny was just beginning to hear the sounds of distant carnage, “Weld it shut!”

WHen the man didn’t move at first he nearly went ballistic, “DO IT NOW.”

Sunny began to laugh again.

The man still holding the saw blade turned to look at her, viciously kicking her in the side, “Shut up scarab.”

The man at the door was having a tough time getting the idea to work, and with everyone screaming at him and his hands shaking, it was doing no real good.

That was probably why the door didn’t last more than a few microseconds. With a loud screech and thunderous bang the door was ripped off its tracks. The six inch thick metal door, not just dented open or blown inward, but kicked out of its brackets and completely detached from the wall all together, with such a powerful force, it slammed into the first man and sent him back gnarly three feet, slamming into the floor, unmoving.

When the sparks settled, and the room quiet, Sunny heard the hydraulic whirr and hiss as two feet clattered against the floor.

Smoke from out in the hallway filtered in through the floor as the figure stood at the door.

The first human, the one at the intercom, raced forward, a steel pipe having appeared in his hands some minutes ago. He swung it at the newcomers head, but it was useless, he cot the steel pipe with the queal of metal against metal, forearm to pipe, and then ripped it backwards out of the man’s hands , sending him flailing to the floor.

The second man came at him with the only weapon left available: the whirring circular saw.

He caught that too on the metal of the exo skeleton and then droe it hard downward, sending the circular saw blade cutting right into the man’s foot and sticking him to the floor. The man screamed long and loud, but his attacker did not heed him, spinning once with a backhanded swing that sent the pipe careening into the other man’s head, with a violent THWACK.

The second man wrenched the saw blade from his foot with a roar of pain, but it was knocked aside and went clattering across the floor as he was punched in the sternum.

There was a sharp crunch as he went staggering backwards and hit the floor very still.

Behind him, a group of other figures poured into the room.

One figure, big and red, grabbed two humans by the backs of their coats and threw them into the nearby wall with a sharp clatter.

The original figure knelt on the floor fist drawn back, ready to send his fist through the man’s head.

“ADAM! HELP HER!”

His fist stopped and grew still. For a moment the man below him looked relieved, but with a sharp blow to the face he was knocked unconscious.

Adam stood, blurry in her vision as he raced over to her side.

She heard the soft hissing of the Iron eye suit as he knelt next to her.

Strong hands and warm arms grasped around her chest and middle, hauling her partially upright where her head leaned against his chest. He held her tight, tight enough that it should have hurt but she didn’t care.

“Sunny…. Sunny can you hear me?”

It echoed around and around inside her head.

Carnage nearly drowned him out.

A hand pressed against her cheek, “Sunny, Sunny please say something.”

Her head lolled against his chest as the light overhead faded in and out…

Her body, tense from a month of perpetual fear and anger slowly relaxed and she felt her body sliding downward before he caught her, holding her upright to sag against him.

For the first time in over a month, she was safe.

Her mind knew it.

And her body knew it.

So, it shut her off, allowed her some peace, in the arms of a person who wasn’t about to let anything more happen to her.

***

She didn’t feel the movement, wasn’t aware of the strong arms that carried her from the ship all on his own, wasn’t aware of the hushed voices and the quiet whispering. Wasn’t aware of the days that went by with her stillness and the waiting concern of those around her.

When she finally opened her eyes and awoke it was to soft beeping, and dim blue light. White curtains hung about her, over her head, and for a moment she wasn’t really sure where she was.

It wasn’t the sound at first but the sensations.

Something warm gripping her hand, and gripping it tight, and a soft caress over the skin of her exposed stomach, repeating circles, up the side down to the side and back.

She turned her head very slowly and groggily to the side.

At first she didn’t recognize the face of the man who sat next to her but as her slow brain caught up with her eyes she hummed in confusion and worry.

“Adam?”

The man lifted his head, turning to look at her. Scruffy, gaunt, and supporting about two weeks of growth on his chin and face, but when he smiled at her she knew for sure it was him, brighter than any light in this place. He rested a hand against the side of her face, “I…. i was worried…. You scared me.”

“Sorry” She muttered softly.

He brought his other hand up to the other side of her face leaning down to gently touch foreheads with her for a quiet moment, “I’m sorry I didn’t make it sooner.”

The pain in his eyes made her hurt just to watch and she shook her head, “An entire universe, and you still found me, considering you did it in a month is pretty impressive.”

He gave a weak smile. “If… If i had just been safer during the storm.”

She raised a hand, “Shh…. none of that.”

He trailed off and nodded sheepishly. He leaned forward, “I’m sorry, this… this isn’t about me…. How are you feeling?”

She shifted, and despite lethargy, she was at least able to move, “A bit…. Drugged.”

“Yeah, there were massive amount of paralysis in your system when we found you. Krill has been pulling the drugs out, but he says it may take a few weeks to get back to normal.”

Below her on the bed She flex and unflexed her lower left hand. She wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to look, but she knew she had to. WHen she turned her head down she grew sick to her stomach. The hideous grey expanse of scarred up tissue and disgusting pale skin. She turned her head away, but he caught her, hands to the side of her face again.

She let out a shaky breath

“Hey, hey, none of that…. Don’t even start.” One hand still on her cheek, he lowered the other and took her lower left hand in his, “This doesn’t change anything you hear me, nothing at all. Not about the way I feel, and certainly not about the way you should feel about yourself ok….”

She struggled internally for a moment.

He squeezed her hand tighter, “No matter what, ok.:

She felt as he slid his hand down the inside of her wrist, resting his hand along the strange exposed skin of her forearm. It felt strange, unusual, tingly. It made her cringe thinking about touching it, but he didn’t flinch once, “Don’t you think for one minute that this makes you any less.” She stared into his face and he stared back with a conviction so strong she felt herself starting to believe.

His serious face was broken by a sudden smile, “Besides…. I…. I have something for you.”

The bright smile and excitement filtered over to her and she sat up against her pillows.

“I made it myself!” he announced with pleasure, pausing as he turned around with a box between his two hands.

“I….” He looked down a bit sheepishly, “Don’t laugh alright….. It was my first go but I… I wanted to make something….”

Sunny didn’t even have to see it to know she would love it anyway.

Slowly he handed to box over to her, and she lifted the lid.

Inside, was a polished metal vambrace made of shimmering blue metal flecked with little golden bits on the inside.

She stared.

“Do you like it…. I…. well I made it while you were sleeping,... i mean i would have stayed here if krill had let me, but he sort of forced me to leave and get some rest, of course I couldn’t sleep so I ended up down in your workshop instead, and I wasn’t really sure what to do, but I made this and I thought maybe it would help, and since I remembered that there was a little bit of your dad’s carapace in my leg, I removed a little piece and used that inside the metal, and I’m sorry if that’s a bad thing or….” She gripped his hand to stop him from rambling.

“Can you, help me put it on.”

The relief on his face was so visible it was almost a sound, and he gently took the metal bracer from the box. He looked nervous as it snapped open and he situated her arm inside.

She had trouble looking at it, but his expression didn’t change once as his fingers brushed over the exposed skin.

The metal was cold against her arm.

He took a deep breath, and snapped the brase close with a sharp snap.

The strange feeling of the room was now gone, and she was left only with the slowly warming underside of the metal, and the beautiful glittering of the Crude metalwork inlaid with pieces of her father’s carapace.

“Does it fit?”

She lifted her arm and turned it this way and that, admiring the shine of the metal.

She looked up at him, “Not bad…. Not bad at all.”

He grinned, the relief still evident there. He pressed his forehead against hers for another quick moment before sitting back, “Now rest, or I’ll knock you out myself, you hear.”

She snorted but yawned, “I’d like to see you try.”

“If i can find one Drev in an entire universe, I’m pretty sure I could knock that same Drev unconscious, but whatever makes you feel better, Zhak, hijan chal.”

She closed her eyes.

And fell

Fast

Asleep

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natwhumps · 4 years

Text

From Chapter 5 of The Archon Arc by @natsora (me)

Without any warning, Ryder jerked into a sitting position. Her lungs worked double time as she gasped air like a drowning turian. Her eyes were open, wide open. Her breaths loud in her ears as she concentrated to get air. A jolt sent pain through her chest and her heart began to slow to a regular pace. Then, her world snapped back into focus.

“Ryder, you were dead!” Peebee shouted before wrapping herself over Ryder.

Really? A-fucking-gain? How long was it this time? Her chest hurt if she tried to breath too deeply. She rubbed her hand over her ribs. With a hiss of contained pain, she clenched her teeth as she touched her broken rib. No time to think about that. We’ve get back to the Tempest. The Hyperion is in danger!

Drack jerked and watched Ryder levering herself to her feet when Peebee released her. A wide smile plastered on his face. “Ryder, what are you doing?” he shouted.

She didn’t have the energy to answer instead she just headed towards the console. Her limbs were shaking as they struggled to obey her. “Argh!” she cried out as she attempted to interface with the console.

“Ryder, I don’t think that’s a good idea” Drack warned.

The pain was almost blinding like a a sharp bolt of lightning through her mind. This must be what interfacing with the Remnant without SAM is like. Her eyes watered but it didn’t stop her from trying again. “The door is Remnant, you need SAM!” Peebee warned.

I can, I must and I fucking will. Ryder didn’t acknowledge either of them. Her only answer was another cry of pain that sent her to her knees. We need to get back to the Tempest. She was tempted, so bloody tempted to just lie down and rest. Just a short rest but instead she pulled herself upright again even as a sharp pain lanced down from her head and through her spine. That last attempt had made the door moved a little. Success… Somewhat. “Goddess, you are doing it!” Peebee exclaimed.

The door closed as quickly as it began opening. The pain was just too much too soon. Her knees buckled and it was all Ryder could do to not sprawl back onto the cold hard floor. Her eyes squeezed shut in a bid to compartmentalise the pain, to push past it and get the job done.

“Ryder, it's causing you too much pain!”

Got to get back to the Tempest! Ryder struggled to her feet once more, sapping what meagre reserves she had left. Her hand trembled as it hovered over the console as she steeled herself for the white hot rod searing through every fibre of her being. The door moved slowly. It’s taking too fucking damn long!

“Ryder! Don’t, we will find another way!”

The pain bleached her vision white and she didn't even realise when she fall to my knees once more. We need to get back! The door slammed close again. No, no, no… Her body protested loudly and painfully as she picked herself up. Her hands clinging onto the console for dear life. She knew there was no way she’s getting up again if she fell again. Her breaths came quick and heavy. There just didn't seem to be enough oxygen. The darkness at the edge of her vision snarled at her. Ryder shook her head to clear it.

There was only one way to get the door open and by all she held dear she would do it. The shouts of both Peebee and Drack had literally fell on deaf ears as the world narrowed to just her and the console. Her throat was dry and raw. It was not adequate to give voice to the torment surging through her body and nerves. The door finally slide open and stayed open.

Another sharp jolt flared across her chest but she managed to keep on her feet. Ryder staggered towards the door as Peebee came over to help her while Drack had his shotgun out, taking point. She shook her head at Peebee. Her voice ragged, “Watch our six.”

Peebee looked at Ryder. Ryder was obviously tired and worn out in more ways than physical but her eyes were still clear with purpose and determination. Peebee knew she was on her last legs but Peebee couldn’t help but feel secure in the knowledge that Ryder would see them through this. Peebee couldn’t really explain why she felt this way. It was as if Ryder projected her confidence as a shield around her and her crew regardless how battered she was. Peebee nodded without hesitation, accepting Ryder’s command.

“I’ll make it,” Ryder croaked, answering the silent question in Peebee’s eyes. “I always do.”

Ryder couldn't spare any attention to Peebee. It took all her focus and strength to keep herself on her feet and shambling towards the Tempest. Peebee pulled her pistol from her holster and fell in behind Ryder. She tapped at her omni tool as they headed out, “Tempest, Ryder is up. Lexi, bring your med kit. She is hurt.”

With every other breath, a sharp jolt threatened to rip her apart from the inside. Ryder’s head swam almost dangerously so. Her movements felt slow and clumsy as if she were moving through jelly. Finally Ryder saw the Tempest past the last set of doors. Grateful for the end in sight, she stumbled through following Drack. Lexi, with her med kit in hand, was rushing over with Jaal hot on her heels. Ryder planted a shaky smile on her face with an energy she didn't feel to reassure them. It was fooling nobody. Jaal pulled her arm over his shoulder, concern and the edges of panic clear on his face. “I'm fine,” Ryder said. “I'm fine, just a little tired.”

“Liar,” Jaal retorted, his heart wasn’t really into it.

“Ryder, your heart rate is erratic, you have a broken rib and you can barely stand. You are most definitely not fine,” Lexi said as she waved the omni tool over her, scanning her vitals. “But your implant is working to keep everything within acceptable range. What happened?”

Ryder leaned into Jaal, grateful to have someone more competent to keep her on her feet. Words failed her as she tried to dredge up something useful to say. She glanced at the rest of the ground squad. Their words still sounded so far away but it was obvious that they were bickering. Why are we not leaving? The Hyperion and SAM went dark. We can't just stand around. Her mind was foggy as she retrieved her arm from Jaal. There was a strange buzzing going on in her head. Scott, oh fucking hell. Scott needs my help too. We can’t fight the Archon like this She turned and saw another console. Maybe we are out gunned but there is always a way. Always

Ryder shook her head trying to clear the fog but it stubbornly clung on. She shuffled over to the console and rested her weight on her arms against the console as she tried to catch her breath. Her knuckles whitening as she hung on. Jaal frowned, unsure what to make of Ryder’s odd behaviour. “Ry-,” he called out.

Before he could finish, Ryder pressed both hands onto the panel. Come on, we need to get a move on. A bright pain seared within her brain, travelling down her spine and spreading to the rest of her very being. It’s like her soul being burnt from her but her nerves were too fried to register. An uncontrollable shiver shook her body but Ryder’s grip on the console kept her upright and vertical. As if in response a tremor ran through the entire Remnant city. In the distance, Ryder heard a deep groan as swarms of Remnant flyers took flight. The team’s squabbles were forgotten as their eyes widened at the sight of the Remnant fleet taking off.

“Ryder, you did an impossible thing,” Vetra whispered with awe.

Another jolt kicked against her chest and the pain came flooding back into focus. Ryder’s mouth opened to call Jaal but she couldn’t find the words. Who is that screaming? Her throat felt torn. Oh… It’s me. The shiver had turned into a full scale tremor. Her nose felt wet. Ryder lifted a hand to wipe at it. She was surprised when her hand came away red. Then, without warning everything went black as if she was a light switch turned off. Her head slammed into the floor again.

No! Jaal saw her eyes rolling to her head. That’s not good. “Lexi, what’s going on?” he asked frantically, picking up the unconscious Pathfinder.

“Let’s get her to the med bay,” Cora said.

Read the rest on AO3 | Read from the start

#Mass Effect whump #lady whump #whump fic #Whump #Mass Effect #MEA #My writing

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livvywrites · 5 years

Text

crimson river [tmq prequel]

the origins of Talitha’s ship. it’s long, so most of it is under a cut <3

Talitha lifts the violin to her chin, and puts the bow to the strings. The music comes to her, easy as breathing; the melodies of childhood filling the clearing. She closes her eyes and lets the notes envelop her in sound. A memory rises, following the sound of the music. She’s taken back to when she first learned the song; calloused hand wrapping around hers, drawing the bow across the violin; chest pressed against her back.

The chest rumbles, and it’s Lyr’s voice that touches her ears; his breath ghosting across her skin in phantom memory.

He sings; pleasant baritone. Talitha doesn’t know the meaning the words he sings—she never asked, content to let the language stay a pleasant mystery. And as he sings, a glow flits on the edges of her vision. The pure, raw, unfiltered magic of Eldora becomes visible; shining bright under the hum of his voice and the melody of her violin. It dances and flickers like a thousand fireflies; like firelight; like glittering stars.

At fourteen, it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen—even now, there is no sight that could ever compare to that one; the courtyard lighting up at midnight, to the tune of a song she could never understand.

She fell in love that night—with magic, with the unknown, with music… and maybe even with her best friend.

The song ends, and she opens her eyes.

Golden green eyes, wide and luminous, bore into her own—only inches from her face. Talitha cannot bring herself to be surprised. She smiles.

“Hello, Cala.” She doesn’t know where the name comes from—doesn’t know how she knows the name at all.

But the nymph, the same nymph who gave her the violin in the first place, smiles back; revealing pointed teeth. “Hello, pirate.”

“Why did you call me here?”

“You want to get off this island. And I and my sisters would like you to leave,” Cala said easily. But Talitha didn’t get the impression that she meant it maliciously. They were invaders, and they had not been invited. More than that, Talitha and her crew could not truly survive out here, cut off from the rest of the world. (And, Talitha thought, Lynette deserved better.)

“What do I have to do?”

Cala smiled. She gestures to the violin in Talitha’s arms. “You have all the tools you need. Music—and your voice. You have the memories. Think of Lyr, and the magic he showed you. The magic he taught you, intentionally or not.”

“Majaria is a Slaeyr’s magic,” Talitha protested. “It’s—I’m not… I’m not a Slaeyr.”

Cala scoffed. “The Slaeyrs appearance brought it into the world, but just as they can be born to any race—so too can any race use that magic. Not as powerfully… in most cases.” Cala gave her a pointed look, a strand of bark-brow hair falling into her eyes. “You, my dear, have the ability. So use it.”

“I don’t—I don’t know how.”

“Yes. You do.” Cala reached out and touched her cheek. “Open your eyes… and sing.” Cala’s hand, green-skinned, slides from her cheek and presses against her forehead. She pushes, and Talitha falls backward; her mouth opening before she sits bolt upright.

For a moment she sits there, staring into the dying embers of a campfire. She can hear Lark snoring, and Ana muttering in her sleep. The ocean laps at the shore, and the woods are full of sounds. The chirp of frogs; the hum of insects; the calls of birds. But… as she sits there, staring into the ashes, she hears… something else. A song. A melody, that she… had long forgotten. She remembers, playing it with her sister. Lynette on the harp, Talitha on the violin. Shrouded in peace. Talitha had never been happier, growing up, than she was in the music room with her sister.

Talitha sits up. She wipes the sand from her body and steps over her sleeping crewmates. Falon has fallen asleep on watch, head ducked into his chest and loud snores coming from him. Tomorrow, she might berate him about it. For now…

She has to see if her dream spoke the truth.

She stepped into the woods, pushing aside hanging vines and stray branches. The path is overgrown. Roots grow in her way; some arching high off the ground and others just protruding, hidden by moss and clover. Talitha walks steadily. The branches grow thicker; the foliage blocks out the light of the moon and stars. She summons a dim, twinkling magelight. Around her, she can feel eyes boring into her. The branches shake, and the leaves quiver as creatures race through them. Birds take off, their wings fluttering and their cries piercing the air.

Goosebumps raise on Talitha’s arms, and her heart races in her chest. But she continues on; determined.

The trees begin to grow closer together, their branches tangling. Talitha can no longer tell which tree the roots under her feet come from. Perhaps they are but sprouts; roots themselves, springing from a much larger tree.

She ducks beneath arched roots, and climbs over others. Bushes reach out with prickly branches to tear at her clothes and skin. They’re minor cuts and rips, and she can live with them. So she ignores them. It would be unwise to ruin or harm any of this forest—especially when she was so far from the beach.

Talitha pushes more vines from her view, and immediately finds herself squinting in the moonlight. She steps into the grove. The ground is covered in moss and clover, and in the center of the clearing is a massive tree. Talitha swallows in its presence. This is no ordinary plant. This is a tree descended from the World Tree—Talitha would bet her ship on it.

Or, well. She would if she had one.

Her eyes slide over the grove. Hanging lights float in the air. Some of them are fireflies. But others—they look like wisps. Or fairylights. Flowers grow; their perfume thick and heavy in the air. The forest is concealed by thick, hanging vines. The area is unnaturally still; the moon beaming above, and the stars glittering mysteriously. Talitha swallows. She keeps walking forward, waiting for the sensation that something is wrong to creep into her gut.

It never comes.

Halfway across the grove, she spots it. Sitting innocuously on one of the thick roots of the tree… it’s the violin from her dreams. Grey wood, the same color as the tree bark, with green patches as if moss was growing on it. A perfectly from bow sits beside it, and so too does a tiny seed. Talitha walks over, and very carefully picks them up.

It feels right in her hands. As if it was made just for her. She swallows. She reaches out, with the hand holding the bow, and touches it to the tree root. “Thank you,” she breathes.

A breeze blows across her skin. The trees whisper—or so it sounds, as their leaves rustle against one another. Talitha turns and leaves, heart in her throat. She pauses, once, at the threshold, to look over her shoulder. She swears that, across the clearing and to the left, she can see the faint, ghostly outline of Calla, the nymph from her dream.

Back on the beach, Talitha walks away from the campsite. She finds a far away spot, and plants her feet into the sand. She stares into the trees. After having traversed the grounds, the forest should seem less foreboding… but it doesn’t. Something about the shadows lurking between the trees sends her heart racing and her stomach twisting nervously.

There is something… wild, and alive about this place.

Calla was right. She needs to leave. They all do. This is not a place that they are welcome. Not now—perhaps not ever. There is a reason it was hidden in the middle of the Dead Sea.

Talitha plants the seed beneath the sand, and stands. She exhales.

She closes her eyes, and she pictures the Captive Queen. And then—she pictures every change that she would make. She breathes in and out, steady and deep. Her heartbeat slows, and the tension drains from her body. The ship builds in her mind. She sees the hull, grey and barklike in texture; like the violin she holds in her hands. There are patches of moss. She sees the sails, made of fibrous material, made from the plants of the forest. She sees the anchor, hewn from stone. It is bereft of weaponry—but that, she can buy. Somehow.

She sees the rooms. The bunks. She sees the hold, and the brig. She sees the masthead—fashioned to look like Calla. But she also sees intangible things. The magical layers of protection, hewn into its surface. The way it’s tied to her, the way it will respond to her every thought. This is not something she desires, but it is something that will happen, because that is the nature of the magic.

She sees how deep her influence goes—and watches as, in her mind’s eye, the ships sails not just the sea but through the sky, like the airships of home.

Talitha opens her eyes; takes a breath; and begins to play. The melody is a haunting refrain, sliding between hopeful, and mournful. Her feet trace patterns in the sand, as she whirls and dances in place, her movements copying the rise and fall of the tides; the ever-shifting motion of the ocean.

The trees begin to sway in an unnatural breeze. The sand lifts from the ground in whirls. Talitha’s clothes begin to flap. Her heartrate picks up again. Her blood flows faster; her fingertips and feet growing warm. The trees begin to creak and groan, an ominous sound, but to Talitha it is of no consequence. Words form on her tongue, her native language springs to her lips, and she sings. What words she says she does not know but it does not matter, for her intentions are clear in her mind. And she can feel the island itself. Its age, and its power—and its willingness to help, if only to make her leave.

Their roots of the seed begin to creep out and into the sand. They rise from the ground and reach out towards the ocean. The skeleton of a ship begins to form, slowly and yet all at once. The rooms fill the gaps in the skeleton. Halls and ladders connect them, and then the hull forms to protect them. It gleams with golden runes. Some pulled from her—others, formed by the trees. They are in a runic language Talitha does not know and were she of clear mind, she would crave their knowledge.

But she isn’t, and so her mind piques in curiosity, but it is swallowed by the ebb and flow of the music, and the words forming on her lips.

The masts rise from the deck. Plant fibers grow, forming themselves into sails. Below deck and in her cabin, she can feel them transforming into mattresses, and blankets. They won’t be the most comfortable things—but they’ll do, until more can be bought. Stones rise from below the earth; precious metals with them. A chain weaves its way through the walls, and an anchor comes to rest at the side of her ship.

Ropes are woven of vines, connecting to the sails and forming riggings. The crows nest opens at the top.

The last thing to form is the figurehead. The rendition of Calla breaks through the hull, looking like a mermaid rising, chest first from the water. Though her coloring matches the ship—she is just how Talitha last saw her. Curly hair cascading down her shoulders; sweet, open face and calculating eyes; bare, curvy body with arms outstretched. Her legs do not form, and Talitha does not envision them.

The ship is finished. The wind slowly dies down, and Talitha sinks to her knees, the violin limp in her hands. She breathes heavily and harshly in the night air… but she doesn’t feel exhausted at all. She’s energized—her heart still racing and her blood still pounding.

Too much extra power. The thought floats to her mind. It takes an eternity to place the words. Her teacher, back in school. Sometimes people draw too much magic from another mage, or from Eldora, and it overloads them. She has to—she needs to get rid of it.

She struggles to her feet. She knows where to go.

She walks to the edge of the forest. The violin falls from her grasp and lands on the ground. She stumbles forward; splays her palms against a tree. She closes her eyes and reaches outward.

The trees—they’re an interconnected network. It all leads back to one tree… but not the one Talitha visited, in the center. The forest must be made up of multiple interconnected root systems. She files the thought away for later, and instead—she focuses on pushing out. She channels that extra magic into the tree, and piles with it her gratitude.

Thank you, she repeats. Over and over again, until she sinks to the ground, palms scraping against the rough bark. Her trembling subsides. Her heart slows down. Her blood stops pounding in her ears.

She can breathe again.

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