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#the ghost ship babbles to herself in the night
hmslusitania · 2 years
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In other news Washington continues to be Washington
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incorrectpizza · 9 months
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@jacensyndullaweek is pretty much over - thank you so much to ALL the creators and commenters who made the week fun!
I didn't write as much as I would've liked but I have added quite a few entries to "First" and am calling it complete - for now. If anyone has any ideas for more entries, I'd love to continue it someday.
Fic under the cut for anyone who prefers to read here on Tumblr.
"Dada"
Hera drops the dish she’s washing the first time she hears Jacen say “Dada!”
The plate, made of child-proof plastoid, doesn’t shatter.
Her heart does.
Jacen’s sitting at the table when he says it, playing with the Tooka cat Sabine had made him out of one of Kanan’s old shirts.
Hera stares, watching every movement of Jacen’s tiny fingers. As she analyzes her son’s burbling noise, she wonders if she had heard him correctly.
Then Jacen points at the cat and exclaims “Dada!” again.
It’s all she can do to stay standing.
She inches along the wall from the kitchen to the common room, bracing herself with one hand.Sinking down onto the bench next to Jacen, she rubs the back of his hand and strokes the tooka’s ears with her fingertips.
After over a minute of excruciating silence, she tries to make sense of Jacen’s new word.
“Your tooka is made out of Dada’s shirt.” The raw truth. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Did Sabine tell you that?”
In response to her rhetorical question, Jacen nods while burbling and babbling “Dada” and “Mama” both several more times.
Using the Force
The first time Hera sees Jacen use the Force, she breaks.
She's suspected it for a few weeks - how else could Jacen have retrieved the plushie he tossed from his crib? - but she hoped, prayed she would be wrong. Having a normal child would be easier. Safer.
She wouldn't have to worry about him getting delusions of grandeur and going off to fight a war single-handedly, or dying on some backwater world protecting a few innocents. But watching his favorite green Tooka flying across the room, she can picture a lightsaber hurtling to his hand someday, in some stupid, noble act.
She snatches it away from him, and holds it tight, but he wails and pulls at it again, harder. She can feel the toy pulsing, and it’s one of the strangest sensations she’s ever felt. She loosens her grip and the Tooka returns to Jacen, who immediately returns to giggling.
Seeing his smile only makes it worse. She can’t breathe, can’t stay. Stumbling into Kanan’s old cabin, she clutches one of his shirts and sobs into it. Praying and ranting to her Ryl gods and the Force itself, she pleads for her son and mourns her dream of a peaceful life for him. 
Flying the Ghost
“Mom, mom, can I fly?” 
Hera has absolutely no recollection of the first time Jacen asked her, begged her , to let him take the pilot’s chair. He was no more than three, and in subsequent months and years, the question seems to echo throughout the Ghost every day, whether they’re together or apart.
She does, however, always treasure and remember the first day she finally relents to his pleas. He’s five years old and inquisitive as ever.  They’re taking a joyride after the victory at Endor, a rare reprieve from the fight. Hera has seen enough to know it’s not over - and might not be in her lifetime. But the joyous atmosphere has permeated her so thoroughly she lets herself imagine, for one night, that it is.
When Jacen asks once again, “Can I have a turn, mom?”, she tells him,  “Yes, but you have to be careful, love.” She lets him clamber up on her lap, and he shrieks and giggles. After he’s over his little fit of joy, she lets him “fly” - gently placing his hands above her own.
She loosens her grip, letting him steer the ship. He circles and spins and she gulps down bile for as long as she can before gently retaking control of the Ghost.
"Does this mean I'm a pilot now?" 
She rustles his green hair and places a light kiss on top. "You still have a long way to go, love." 
Date
Jacen goes on his first date when he’s sixteen. Hera gives him a ride to Ryloth to spend a quiet evening with a girl he’s been friends with since the first summer he spent with Cham. 
Hera doesn’t know her well, but she’s heard all about her from Jacen. 
Her name is Melyni, but her friends call her Mel, and she’s seventeen, with purple-pink skin, a few light freckles and a bubbly laugh. She just graduated from high school, early, and she’s leaving Ryloth soon for university. 
Hera walks with Jacen as far as Central Square. From a nearby shop, she watches as he knocks and waits and shakes Mel’s father’s hand. They walk hand-in-hand down to a traditional Twi’leki restaurant, then disappear. She buys a few meilooruns and walks a few blocks to Cham’s little cottage on the outskirts of town. They spend the evening reminiscing of their own young loves.
When Hera makes it back to the Ghost , Jacen’s still not there. She and Chopper wait up until dangerously close to curfew. Jacen comes back with a glint in his eyes she remembers from Kanan’s youth - and a smudge of red on his lip.
She offers him a napkin and he stares at it for several seconds before blushing a brilliant green.
Steps
Jacen’s first steps are not from mother to father, but mother to droid. He’s been testing his legs for weeks, hands gripping onto ledges and chairs. Hera gives him her hands and he wraps his fist tight around two fingers.
And then he takes his first wobbly, independent steps.
Chopper’s on the other side of the Ghost ’s common room, waving his manipulators and beeping some concerns about the ship. Jacen glances over at the droid and wriggles free of Hera’s grasp. He toddles precariously a meter or so, then leans up against Chopper, hands on his dome, and looks back at her, grinning. 
Hera swears she feels a presence beside her, light and joyful, and looks over, half expecting to see Kanan standing there. There’s nothing, of course, but, somehow, she knows he’s watching. Turning back around, she watches as Chopper waves his manipulators, and Jacen claps and shrieks. Jacen’s excitement causes him to grow unsteady again, and he falls flat onto his bottom.
Hera scoops him up, tickles him, and praises him. And for once, she doesn’t cry, doesn’t mourn, just laughs and enjoys her son.
Meeting Ezra
Hera’s sons meet for the first time when they’re six and twenty-four. Ezra returns home with little fanfare, just a hastily-thrown together family dinner. He’s shocked to discover Jacen, but delighted. No longer the baby of their ragtag family, he scoops Jacen up in his arms as Hera tells him that yes, he’s Kanan’s son - a last gift to them from lover and father and friend. 
After the initial surprise wears off, Ezra swiftly steps into his new big brother shoes.
The years have made him more confident. He walks with a bit of humble swagger - not the childish attempt he’d done at fourteen, but real charm. He and Sabine laugh and joke and Jacen begs to see his new lightsaber, which Ezra wisely locks in a cabinet on the Ghost after briefly showing the boy how it lights up. They spend the rest of the day playing games, sparring with practice sticks and meditating.
At the end of the night, they all gather around the common room in Ezra’s tower, Ezra telling story after story from the last six years. Jacen sits scrunched between Hera and Zeb, neck craning over to watch Ezra until his head finally flops onto Hera’s lap. Sabine grabs a tie-dyed blanket and stretches it over him before returning to her seat at Ezra’s side.
“And then, Thrawn said-”
Hera feels herself slowly drifting off to sleep as Ezra’s words blur together. Zeb’s arm creeps around her and he offers Hera a sympathetic grin, inviting her to rest her head on his shoulder. She surrenders, unwilling to disturb Jacen - or leave her family, just this once.
In her last moments of wakefulness, Hera hears a distant wolf howl.
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omgericzimmermann · 6 years
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The true Irish uni experience is looking at St Patrick’s Confessio in three separate classes.
Happy St Paddy’s Day 🍀
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biggest-stupidhead · 3 years
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Heyy!!
I dont think there's such think as semen donors in aot cannon?
BUT WHAT IF Captain Levi agrees to be the donor to squad leader (or just cadet) reader in a platonic relationship/eventual romance?
Just cute ackerbabies!
Lmao you’re probably right, no semen donors in canonverse. But I honestly love this idea so much, I feel like it would be hard for Levi to make that romantic connection so I could see him making that choice, and maybe it developing into something more!
Summary: Levi can’t wait any longer to start a family, and you are willing to take that step with him.
Word Count: 1.7K
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You choked on the small sip of tea that you had taken. Catching the small drops of liquid that had escaped your lips.
“Come again now?” You managed to form words after a moment, Levi seemed uninterested as always, those charcoal grey eyes dull and apathetic.
“You heard me just fine, you know that I hate repeating myself.” He scoffed as he shifted so that his leg was crossed over his opposite knee,
“Yes I heard you but....marriage?” You were shocked to say the least. Levi had never shown any prior interest in any long term relationship with anyone, although the two of you had hooked up a handful of times.
“I don’t see why not. We already share a room, not to mention that we-”
“Okay I get it, just...it’s a big commitment and I’m not sure that I’m-”
“Oh please, what else do we have to look forward to anymore? No more fighting, no more political issues to deal with might as well settle down and...” He trailed off, his gaze cast downwards into his cup of tea, which was probably cold by now. You sighed deeply, placing your cup down gently and leaning back into the sofa that the two of you were seated on. His arm was slung casually across the back of the sofa, his finger tips ghosting over your shoulder.
“I know but Levi...marriage?” you were a bit disappointed. He had said it so casually, as if he was asking you if you wanted to run to the market to grab apples.
“If you don’t want to then just say no.” He snapped, clearly getting frustrated, he rose to his feet and began to march towards his desk. You chased after him, catching his wrist. You knew it was difficult for him to express himself, to put things lightly or being considerate to your feelings.
“It’s not that...I’m just a little caught off guard.” You admitted as you held his wrist gently. He let out a breath that he had seemed to have been holding in, he turned and laced his fingers through yours, his other hand diving into his pant pocket. You waited patiently for him to say something, but he only pulled out a small black box. Your heart skipped a beat, this was more how you had pictured being proposed to. He fell onto his knee and opened the box slowly, revealing a modest silver ring with a small diamond embedded in the ring.
“Oh Levi...” Your fingers were still laced with his as he knelt down, you squeezed his hand affectionately.
“I already bought the damn ring, just say yes.” He grunted, averting his gaze as his thumb glided over your knuckle.
“You have a point there.” You chuckled as you gave him a small nod, which was enough of a yes for him.
__
You were married by the end of the month, a simple court house wedding with Armin and Mikasa as your witnesses. Afterwards you had gone home and eaten dinner as usual. Just another week, except now the sex that you and Levi occasionally had, became a hell of a lot more regular. You had no complaints, or at least that was until you were hunched over the kitchen sink puking your guts out. You had missed your period as well, and it didn’t take a genius to know what that meant. You decided to wait until you were certain to tell anyone this however, seeing how difficult pregnancy could be, and the unlikeliness of carrying to full term seemed high.
So you made sure to go to the doctor twice before telling Levi that you were pregnant. He’d had a very similar reaction that you’d had when he had asked to marry you.
He choked on his tea, his hand flying to his chin to catch the liquid.
“Pregnant?” He repeated, and you nodded, leaning against the table where he was sitting.
“H-How long until...”
“Give or take seven months.” You shrugged, trying to put on a brave face, after seeing how frazzled he was you wanted to make this as casual as the rest of your relationship.
“So...we should probably start cleaning out that spare room and-” You cut him off by kneeling down and placing a chaste kiss to his lips.
“We’ve got plenty of time for that, for now let’s just...enjoy not being responsible for a helpless shitty baby.” You said softly as you slowly sank onto his lap. He hummed his approval, but still seemed rightfully on edge.
“We can start cleaning the room in few weeks, there’s no rush.” You assured him as you scattered kisses across his sour face.
“I’ll start tomorrow.” Levi hummed as he tilted his head to the side.
__
Turned out that you were both in way over your head. Around 12 weeks into your pregnancy Hange was pressing her stethoscope to your rapidly swelling belly when she froze. Levi tensed when he noticed this, and you frowned.
“What is it?” Levi asked as he gripped the back of the exam table.
“Nothing’s wrong...just-”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Levi scowled as he watched Hange continue to feel around your stomach.
“That’s cause it isn’t nothing, I’m hearing two heart beats.” Hange told you as she stood to her full height.
“Two heart beats?” You felt feint at the news, you had known that twins ran in your family but you had never expected to have them yourself.  
“Yes, it appears that you are having twins” Hange said with a wide smile as she folded up the stethoscope. Your vision blurred, the worry that you had been experiencing prior to the appointment had doubled along with the number of children you were having. 
“No shit.” Levi replied breathily as he held your shoulder firmly. 
“If I were you guys I’d go clean out that room now.” Hange advised as she cleaned up the space that you had been using as a makeshift exam room in her office. 
“I’ll get right on that.” Levi said, shooting you a concerned look as he helped you up onto your feet. 
__
The twins were born premature, the labor itself wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. But you realized that it wasn’t that bad because of how small they were. The only reason that they both survived was thanks to the Marleyan medical equipment that had been shipped over courtesy of Zeke and Yelena. You and Levi spent countless hours in the hospital as you awaited for the twins to be discharged. In that window of time you decided on names, it was difficult but you decided on Harrison and Harper. You weren’t surprised to find that they both took after their father, dark bluish grey eyes with a full head of black hair. The one thing they seemed to have gotten from you was your facial structure and your complexion. 
It was a massive relief to bring them home, now instead of staying up until the wee hours in the hospital you could do it in the comfort of your own home. 
One particular evening you were walking laps with Harrison, gently patting his back as you bounced off of your heels as he cried. On your third lap around the entire cottage, you peeked into the nursery to see Levi reclined on the rocker with Harper fast asleep. His eyes were closed, his naked chest rising and falling evenly as he slept. You envied him as you rubbed circles on Harrison’s back once more. His cries slowly died out and you managed to drag yourself to your bed and place Harrison down gently. Using the extra pillows, you managed to make a small barrier between him and yourself as well as the edge of the bed. It wasn’t often that you got to do this, seeing as you usually slept with Levi. But Harrison seemed content with laying in his dad’s spot for the night. His big blue eyes were watching your hair sway over his face as you adjusted the pillows. He cooed and babbled for a few minutes before falling silent, his tiny breaths putting you at ease. 
It couldn’t have been but an hour later when the sound of Harper crying woke you once more. Levi was pacing around the same way that you had been earlier before he finally managed to put her at ease. He returned to your room to see you sitting up, Harrison fast asleep at your side. 
“Care to join us?” You asked, voice gruff with sleep, or rather the lack there of. 
“Would I ever.” Levi groaned as he placed Harper in the pillow barrier with Harrison who was still fast asleep. He managed to squeeze onto the bed, laying on his side like you were as the two of you watched Harper sooth herself into sleep. His gaze left the small baby in favor of studying your features. 
“What would you have done if I had never asked you to marry me?” The question caught you off guard, your fingers were tracing the soft features of your babies. You hummed in thought but the answer was already on the tip of your tongue. 
“I’d have asked you to marry me.” You said with a wry smile and Levi rolled his eyes at your cheesy reply. 
“That’s not what I meant...well not really.” Levi grumbled, you paused again in thought. What would you have done? Certainly no more military work, that chapter was over for you. 
“Maybe I’d open a bakery. My grandmother left me all of her recipes. What would you do?” You asked, finger running along the soft dark locks of hair that were growing from Harrison’s head. 
“I’d open a tea shop.” Levi answered quickly, his own gaze back on the babies, his hand resting on Harper’s stomach, rising and falling with her breathing. 
“Why don’t we just say fuck it and do it?” You asked, not sure if you were serious or if it was the lack of sleep talking. 
“There was that space for lease last time we went into town...” Levi offered thoughtfully. 
“Yeah, we could fix it up and open a cafe.” You said excitedly as you leaned over the sleeping babies in hopes of coaxing a kiss from Levi. He nodded in agreement before leaning over and planting a kiss to your lips. 
“We’ll talk about it in the morning. Go to sleep.” Levi sighed as he stretched out on his side, and closing his eyes. You smiled and mirrored him, your hand resting on Harrison’s stomach now as well, your fingertips brushing his. 
You knew that you’d made the right choice. Marrying Levi was the best decision that you’d made in a long time. It may not look like the typical love story, but you knew that it was real, realer than most relationships. And you wouldn’t want to have it with anyone else. 
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kanonsarchivedblog · 3 years
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Might Be Onto Somethin' (Kiss Me More)
Word Count: 2142 Rating: E Character(s): Mitsuri Kanroji Ships: None; Mentions of Rengoku Kyōjurō, Iguro Obanai, Sanemi Shinazugawa Genre: Smut Author's Notes: I... Have no excuse other than the fact that Mitsuri is cute and she deserves so much love. And many partners. Give her all of the partners please. She has so much love to give- This can also be read over on my ao3! ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The perks of having your own portion of the compound meant the peace and quiet that came with it. It was nice to be able to just relax, to not have to worry about being walked in on. A nice soak in the hot spring had been well earned! A trim to the ends of her hair to get rid of any split ends and to keep the long layers still looking good, and then a bit of skin care! Mitsuri was even able to paint her nails! And her toe nails!
Evening was falling, the sounds of laughter coming from her siblings filling the air as she closed the shoji. Dinner was already done; they would all be retiring to their own spaces soon enough. Summer was in full swing, the heat of the day melting away, though that didn’t mean it still wasn’t warm- too warm to wear proper clothes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stripped out of her dinner kimono so quickly; she took a moment to simply stand in the nude, enjoying the slight cool breeze that drifted through the room from an open window.
Open window. Naked. Oh, no!
A squeak escaped her as she grabbed hold of a light cotton yukata, slipping it on to cover herself, cheeks growing rosy in embarrassment. What if someone had come by? And seen her? That would have been so awkward! What if it had been Tomioka-san? OR Shinobu-san? Oh, she wouldn’t have been able to look them in the eye! Or even Uzui-san!
… Or Rengoku-kun.
Or… Or Iguro-san…
Swallowing roughly, Kanroji turned on her heel and marched herself to her bedroom, chastising herself for even considering those thoughts. That- that wasn’t ladylike! Was it? No- yes? A groan slipped free as she flopped onto her futon, face pressed into the blankets. It wasn’t… Wrong to feel lust. She knew this. It also wasn’t wrong to feel love! And it… Wasn’t a bad thing to be attracted to people- to people she knew well! There wasn’t anything bad with that at all!
Kyōjurō had been her friend for years- they’d known each other long before they became Hashira. He’d been her teacher, even! And she’d watched as he grew- as they both grew! Cheeks tinting with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, she rolled over onto her back, staring up at her ceiling. Her window was open in here, too; from there, she could see down the hill to where the Rengoku compound sat.
Her gaze drifted to the window, watching as clouds began to drift across the night sky, the stars peeking out from behind clouds occasionally. It wasn’t a bad thing to… Want. Everyone wanted something, someone- it was natural. Her thighs clenched, an unconscious movement that drew a soft gasp out. Her eyes slid shut, the battle beginning to wane in her mind. This was okay. It was! Especially with… How good it would feel, oh- oh, it would feel good.
“This is okay,” she decided, speaking softly to the empty bedroom. Pushing herself up, she glanced around- as if making sure she was truly alone. Which was silly- of course she was alone! She would have heard if someone came in. A giddy smile curled her lips as she settled back down against her pillows, nimble fingers quickly undoing the tie that held the yukata together, allowing for the fabric to shift.
Her eyes slid shut as she drew in a slow, nervous breath. It wasn’t as if she never touched herself- she did, more often than she really wanted to admit. The tint in her cheeks darkened as she squeezed her thighs together again, creating a gentle sort of pressure that had a sigh slipping free. A hand raised- not her own, not in her mind, no, this hand was much larger than her own, somehow still so soft despite wielding a wicked blade- and came to peel away the yukata, baring her naked form to the room. She was proud of her physique- she was soft, her tummy softer than her fellow Hashira, but beneath that layer of softness was muscle she’d always had, would always have. She liked it- liked having soft hips, a soft tummy, soft thighs.
Iguro-san liked her thighs. He’d complimented her on them a few days ago- when they’d all been granted time off to have their blades sharpened. It had been an idle comment in a conversation with Shinobu-san, who had brought up the idea of a lighter fabric for their summer uniforms. They’d all agreed- it would be nice not to smother in the heavy, dark fabric. Tengen had mentioned how it was smart to have a uniform like her own- a skirt, which did mean she was able to cool off faster than her companions.
The conversation had drifted, which let Obanai murmur close to her ear that he enjoyed her uniform quite a bit- after all, it allowed him to see her beautiful thighs. It had made her blush, had made her squeeze her thighs together and hide a smile.
“Iguro-san,” she sighed out, hand drifting lower, nails ghosting against the skin of a thigh before digging in in a way that gave both pain and pleasure- something she was certain he would enjoy. Something he would do. “Please…”
He wasn’t the only one who looked- she would never admit it aloud, but she caught Kyōjurō looking at her chest a few times, his gaze soft, lids heavy before he caught himself and looked away, cheeks rosy. She thought it was cute! She was more than aware of her bust- it caused her problems at times, especially if she couldn’t bind the proper way before a mission. But oh…
A hand cupped her left breast, fingers squeezing the soft flesh. She pictured the hand to be larger, much larger and warmer, massaging and squeezing, pinching at her nipples just so, drawing out a soft squeal because oh, that’s sensitive! “Kyo-” she whined, head turning to the side, thighs parting as the hand shifted to the other, giving it the same treatment. “Sensitive,” she whispered, though she didn’t hear her own voice- the rasp of another, of a tongue drifting across her nipple, of silver hair and wild eyes.
The hand on her thigh slipped upward, dragging sharp nails along the inside of her thigh. It sent a shock through her system, her legs jolting with the pleasure it drew forth. “Iguro-san!” She gasped, and for a moment, she swore she heard a chuckle- his chuckle, but it only made her hand settle over herself, adrenaline and lust mingling in her veins. Her toes curled as she slipped her middle finger between her folds, surprised to find herself already wet. Then again-
She had been excited for days now, hadn’t had time to handle this.
Oh, but the finger pressing against a bundle of nerves drew her from her thoughts quickly, a moan drifting into the open air of the bedroom at the relief that brief touch gave. Her eyes opened, blinking in the darkness of her bedroom, the images dispelling for a moment.
Toy. She needed something. She needed to be filled- to feel full. It wasn’t as if she could just… Go get the real thing! No, instead she rolled over, grabbing an ornate box that looked as if it should hold jewelry, and tugged it closer. It was inconspicuous; no one would ever think of what it would hold. The toy itself was a good replica of the real thing, thicker near the base, thinner towards the top with a flared head. The material used was soft so as to not cause discomfort- perfect for her, considering how sensitive she could be sometimes. And tonight was certainly one of those times.
Rolling back onto her bed, she took hold of another pillow and slid it down, settling it beneath her rear. Eyes closing once more, images flooded back to the forefront of her mind. The toy pressed to her lips, and if she thought hard enough, she could imagine it having heat along with the weight it held. Her lips parted, the toy slipping in, her tongue curling around the head before she forced her jaw to relax. She’d never admit it out loud, but she’d trained herself with this toy, her throat relaxing. Fingers of another hand drifted low, gathering the slickness that had formed between her lower lips before slipping inside, drawing out a whine around the toy. Her brows furrowed as she tried to time the thrusts with the toy in her mouth, brushing against that one spot every now and then.
In her mind, it wasn’t her fingers in her, or a toy in her mouth- no, the fingers belonged to a man with golden and ruby hair who pressed kisses to her thighs as he opened her up and tore her apart, as he coaxed her closer and closer to the edge with his delicate touches. In her mouth sat the cock of the Snake Pillar, thrusting slowly, deeply, fucking her face.
Too close, too close- she pulled her fingers free and slipped the toy from her mouth with a whine, head falling back. Not yet, she didn’t want to stop yet. Licking her lips, she readjusted, bringing the toy down to settle between her lips, rocking slowly, the head nudging against her clit with each rock until she couldn’t handle it, slipping the toy inside slowly, a hiss slipping free at the stretch. It wasn’t painful, not in the least- no, it felt good, wonderfully so. She whined, nose scrunching up as it bottomed out. She took a moment to adjust, shifting her hips to get a more comfortable angle.
A hand settled at her breasts once more, groping, teasing as she began to move her hand. “Oh,” she whispered, brows furrowing, “yes- yes, like that! I like that, please, yes,” she began to babble as the toy sped up- no, not a toy. Obanai was between her thighs, Kyōjurō behind her, holding her, his hands on her chest as Obanai used her. “Harder, harder, harder- please, I’ve been a good girl!” She whined, lost to her fantasy. “Obanai- Obanai, please.”
'Only good girls get to cum. Are you sure you've been good?' The phantom image asked, voice gruff- Oh. Oh, that would be Sanemi.
“I have!” She squealed, hips rising as the toy began to hit that one spot dead center. “I have, I’ve been good! ‘Nemi, ‘Nemi!” She whined, body moving with the force she used. “Kyo- Oba- oh, there, there, there, don’t stop!”
'We won't stop,' Kyo’s voice whispered in her ear as his fingers played with her nipple, twisting, pinching, massaging. 'Not until you're sobbing and making a mess for us.'
“Fuck me!” She pleaded, something so vulgar that, had she not been in such a worked up state, would have embarrassed her. “Please! I’m a good girl! I’m your good girl! Fuck me, please, God- Obanai, you feel so good! So good in me, so good, yes, yes, 𝘺𝘦𝘴!”
'Gonna be a good girl and cum for me?' Obanai asked, panting. 'Cum on my cock like a good girl, Mitsuri?'
“Yes, yes- Obanai, Ob-” She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her scream as she tumbled over the edge, legs twitching, chest heaving as she kept fucking herself. “Harder, harder, please-” she begged, working herself higher and higher up before her hand stopped, body stilling. Tears spilled free, trailing down her cheeks as she removed her hand from her mouth, panting harshly. Wet- very… Wet? Blinking to clear her vision, Mitsuri shifted her hips.
Oh.
Oh!
“Oh, no- that’s- that’s new, oh dear, oh no,” she whispered, pulling the toy free so that she could sit up and gawk at the wet… Puddle. That was a puddle. “OH-” She squeaked, cheeks red as strawberries as she realized what she’d done. She couldn’t stand to clean off her bed- not yet, anyway. She’d clean the blankets and sheets tomorrow, but that poor pillow… “At least you were already ready to be tossed,” she murmured, a giggle bubbling up.
She settled back down on a clean portion of her bed, body relaxing. Sanemi? Kyo? And Obanai? Oh, my! She covered her face with her hands and let out a soft squeal. How would she look them in the eye tomorrow! She shifted, staring at the window- were her eyes playing tricks on her? Brows furrowing, she rose to her feet and stepped closer, poking her head out. No one was there.
Huh.
She could have sworn she’d seen golden and ruby hair. Strange.
Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Shrugging, she turned back to the mess she now had to clean up. Or…
“Or I could… Have some more fun?”
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poorlytunedukulele · 2 years
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Day 26 - Pacifist
January 06, 2957; Undisclosed Location, Outer Rim
There is commotion in the square.  A child comes to warn Efrideet, babbling something about a stranger and a ship. This is a hidden place, a secret community, so a jumpship nearby is cause for concern.  A stranger suddenly appearing is cause for panic.  Nobody should know that they are here.
So Efrideet puts on her helmet, dons her cape, and then after a long second of consideration, opens the chest by the door and takes out a handgun.  She hooks its holster onto the back of her belt, where her cloak will hide it, then locks the chest and steps out of the door, Ghost trailing in her wake.
The stars are brilliant tonight, like every night.  The air is cool.  The internal lights show the time to be early evening.  Efrideet walks with purpose, feeling protectiveness bring aggression back into her bones.  She will not let an interloper disturb the peace here.  They’ve worked so hard to make this dream a reality, she will protect it with death if she needs to.
She dearly, dearly does not want that need.  But the Iron in her bones refuses to bend.
There is indeed a stranger in the square.  Not just any stranger, a Guardian.  She is equipped in Guardian fashion, guns and knives bristling out from under her long, green cloak.  She wears combat armor but, Efrideet notes, no helmet.  She’s pulled her hood down in a Hunter’s appeal for peace.
The crowd parts for Efrideet and the Hunter turns.  Efrideet is surprised that she does recognize the Guardian, if only vaguely. She’s one of Lord Saladin’s new champions.  She’d survived the Red War, it seems.
The Hunter smiles in recognition and nods, but isn’t able to hide her wariness.  The crowd stands at a distance, but they are all staring at her. Her weight stays on her toes.  Efrideet does not miss the nervous glance the Hunter casts at a group of Eliksni residents and feels herself bristle as well.
“I-“ the stranger begins, then stops to rethink her words.  “…You.  You’re the one I’m looking for.”
“My name is Efrideet,” she says, strict and unwavering.  A challenge.
The Hunter bows her head. “Didn’t want to assume.  I’m here on Saladin’s behalf.”  She holds up a hand and her Ghost appears to transmat something into it.
Efrideet does not miss how several onlookers flinch.  Neither does the Hunter, it seems, by the way she grimaces.  The Guardian continues nonetheless, tension grinding in her voice. “He asked me to find you and give you this.”
A letter.  It’s a letter in the Hunter’s hand, thick parchment sealed by wax.  Efrideet takes the last few steps and accepts it as the Hunter offers.  She does not open it, not right now.  She instead looks at the Guardian, taking her in again.
The stranger places her hands on her hips nervously and scans the crowd.  “Sorry… about the guns,” she apologizes.  Her eyes flick from a group of adolescents to Efrideet’s helmet.  “I didn’t know what this place was.  D’you want me to… put them away?”
“Please,” Efrideet says, steel still in her voice.  The Hunter shifts and her Ghost appears again.  A flash of light and the weapons are all gone, save for a knife at her hip. Efrideet could insist on that going, too, but she knows it is semantics.  Guardians are weapons unto themselves.
“Does Lord Saladin expect a response?” Efrideet asks, holding up the letter.
The Hunter shrugs. “Dunno.  I didn’t open it.  I can certainly take back a message if you want; Saladin’s not nearly as hard to track down as you are.”
“How did you find us?” a man speaks from the crowd.  He is half scared, half angry.  Not everyone here can expect such benign intentions from the City (or from the Reef, or the Fallen houses).
“Saladin asked me to,” the Hunter says as if it explains everything.  She pauses a moment, then adds, “I respect privacy.  You all don’t want to be found, I’m not in the business of finding you.  But Saladin asked.”
“That explains why,” Efrideet says.  “But not how.”
“About two weeks of searching, several lucky breaks, and too many hours of scrolling through transmission logs,” the Hunter lists.  “Listen. I’ve been careful.  Nobody could have followed me here- and I’ll make sure I won’t leave breadcrumbs when I leave.  But I’m an experienced scout and I’ve been doing a lot of work on the comms system lately and Saladin asked.”
“Transmission logs?” Efrideet asks.
“From the end of the Red War,” the Hunter says.  “There were some scattered rumors about you from the survivors in the City.  Managed to find an unregistered radio ping in the transcripts, took a gamble that it was you.  Then I had to hand map where it came from- not easy considering the rerouting protocols you use and the fact that half of the satellites are still down. When I reached the dead end I just had to scout around looking for signs of life.”
Efrideet looks up at the dome above them, expertly hidden with cloaking tech, and to the shielded radio receivers, the radar jammers.  They had taken extreme pains so that there were no signs of life here.
The Hunter taps the side of her nose, eyes twinkling in hidden pride.  “The Light provides,” she says- in Eliksni.
Full of surprises, this one is.  “…What’s your name,” Efrideet demands after a moment’s hesitation.
“Azra Jax,” the Hunter replies smoothly.  “My Ghost is Spark.  Sorry he’s not going to hang around outside and make your acquaintance.”
The unspoken sentiment that it’s not safe to have her Ghost out makes Efrideet frown behind her helmet. There had been whispers through the crowd at Azra’s name- among both Human and Eliksni.  The Guardian’s gaze is entirely too sharp for Efrideet’s liking. Her posture is tense, arms crossed, tension in her shoulders.
It is unclear whether she feels threatened or is trying to make a threat a threat.  Sometimes they are two sides of the same coin, walking a thin peaceful rope over an abyss of violence.  Perhaps it’s best to move the conversation to a different place.  There is a palpable friction ringing in the air.
Efrideet straightens her posture.  “Well, Lady Jax-“
“Oop.  Didn’t say Lady,” the Hunter corrects.  She gives a pointed look at Efrideet.  “And neither did you.”
Fair enough.  Efrideet hooks a thumb over her shoulder, down the path to her humble cottage and away from the prying eyes of the public.  “Why don’t you join me for tea in my house?”
-
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As Family Does - SWR
In snippets, Hera experiences the ups and downs of motherhood, and all the wonderful relationships her son has with family near and so very far away.
WORD COUNT: 2206
XXX
Kanan
A sharp, desperate cry, and Hera’s world changed forever.
Jacen Syndulla was a testament to his parents’ strength long before he came into the world. He emerged bloodied, during battle and war, but the galaxy suddenly recentered itself around this tiny, helpless being.
Hera should have been used to this kind of change by now- in less than a year, her whole life had been broken and reformed in more ways than she could count.
And yet- so much of it was good, Hera thought, as the squirming baby was placed on her chest. This love she felt was so familiar, after carrying her son for 9 months, after loving his father, after being family and foster mother to Ezra and Sabine. She felt it in every cell of her body, so much that it was hard to breathe.
“You did it, Hera,” Zeb said, sounding rather choked up. Hera nodded, numb to the rest of the galaxy, save for her child in her arms, and realized that there were hot tears on her face. She sobbed, her whole body convulsing, and that hurt, but she didn’t care. She’d faced greater pain and been awarded less joy at the end of it all.
The baby wailed again, and Hera gasped- the boy’s eyes had flown open, revealing a clear, vibrant blue. His skin was tinted green and his features were already sharp, sure hallmarks of his mother’s identity but his eyes- they were Kanan’s eyes.
She never thought she’d see them again, and she sobbed harder. Even with the hormone changes that came with pregnancy, it had been a long time since Hera had cried this much. She felt Zeb’s hand on her shoulder and the love in the air. She cried tears of happiness, as new parents do, and tears of sorrow because Kanan wasn’t there to meet his son, nor Ezra to meet his baby brother.
But still- she knew Kanan loved her and he loved their son. She knew Ezra would too, when he came home. Their love was still with her, even if they were not.
That would be enough for now. Hera had her son and her beloved’s eyes, and the love needed to carry her through this and darker days.
Chopper
Hera knew- despite her avoidance of the fact- that Jacen couldn’t stay with her forever. She wasn’t the only one in the Rebellion with a young child, but she was the only general with a newborn. Somewhere in the galaxy, there had to be a safe place for her son, and she would find it. But for now, she kept him the best she could, even if it would only be for the first months of his life.
The fear and the exhaustion of war were heightened by bringing an infant into it. They threatened Hera in her lowest moments, but then there was Zeb, putting Jacen back to sleep in the middle of the night before she could get out of bed, or Kallus quietly filling out her rising piles of paperwork when she was too busy or too tired to do it herself.
It was okay- a new challenge, a new routine, and an ever-constant show of their resilience. She witnessed love and community in all parts of her life, from her kid pilots offering to babysit, to the Organas sharing some old baby toys and clothes. Even the most unlikely of figures rallied around her, and for that, Hera was grateful. Sometimes, she would even have time to herself.
One of these calm afternoons was spent completing mission reports while Jacen slept, which Hera boldly presumed would last long enough for her to catch up on everything she had to do. As soon as she dared to hope this, however, a mechanical whirr indicated the presence of Chopper- and serenity rarely, if ever, followed him.
Where is the new one? He asked, disregarding the fact that Hera was very clearly busy.
“The new one- you mean Jacen?”
He’s new. Her droid was very matter-of-fact about this statement.
“He’s a baby, Chop,” Hera amended, and the astromech beside her warbled in disagreement.
He has not been around very long. He has not done many things either. Therefore, he is new.
“Whatever you say.”
Chopper didn’t humor her further, only groaned in complaint, and waited for a response. Hera rolled her eyes, but obliged. “He’s down for his afternoon nap. Same as yesterday. Why?”
She received no reply, other than a broken lament that the little one took too long to recharge, then her oldest companion rolled off and out of sight. Hera sighed and turned back to her work.
Later, Hera glanced at the chrono and readied herself for her son’s cries, but the Ghost remained silent and lonely. She crept down the room towards the pilot’s quarters, the door still open so that she might reach Jacen faster. Perhaps she would find him still asleep, and she could clean or shower with the extra few minutes to herself.
She instead discovered her baby wriggling happy on his cot, Chopper looming over him. One of his mechanical arms was extended, dangling Jacen’s favorite tooka in front of him. Chopper made gentle sounds, and Jacen grinned up at him.
So Chopper had a heart, beyond the occasional moment of mercy. Hera hid her mouth with her hand, ignoring the wetness in her eyes, and watched the scene from the doorway.
Zeb
It might not have been fair to blame a baby for picking favorites before he could talk, but Hera still shook her head as Zeb passed back Jacen, who wailed the second he left the Lasat’s arms. Zeb chuckled at the reaction, scratching at the back of his neck, but shrunk instantly at Hera’s glare
“Aw, com’on,” Zeb tried while Jacen furiously kicked against Hera. “He doesn’t mean anything by it. Nobody holds a candle to ya, Hera.” He finished the statement rather ungracefully, as Hera relinquished Jacen, plopping him back in Zeb’s arms. As soon as she did, Jacen giggled, clutching at Zeb’s fur and gurgling happily, his woes entirely forgotten.
“You’d think he’d be a little more grateful to the one who feeds him,” Hera said dryly, regarding Jacen with her hands on her hips. Zeb shrugged, looking vaguely sheepish.
“I’m just softer than ya, that’s all,” Zeb assured her, snuggling Jacen against his chest. When Hera raised an eyebrow at him, he laughed in surprise.
“Lasat kits like to sleep on their parents,” he explained, “but some of us like to say that they prefer the Lasat with the longest and softest fur.”
“Well, you certainly have me beat there,” Hera conceded, and Zem hummed in agreement, rocking Jacen in his arms. He babbled cheerfully, and Zeb laughed again. “Maybe nobody holds a candle to Uncle Zeb, either,” she said, her tone hushed, and Zeb froze. “We’re both lucky to have you.”
Zeb didn’t say anything for a long moment, then he shifted Jacen to one side and slung his free arm around Hera’s shoulders. She leaned into the embrace, and Zeb pulled her closer.
“We’re family,” he said gruffly, his voice suspiciously thick. “Of course I’ll take care of you both.”
The admonition sent warmth flooding through Hera’s chest, and she sniffed. That was what she’d count on through it all- her family and their love, unfaltering.
Sabine
Each of Jacen’s milestones- his first smile and wave and babble of a word- came with the reminder that Kanan wasn’t there to witness them too. Her son had just started to lift his own head when the anniversary of his father’s death passed, and Hera realized with grief weighing on her heart that even the idea of Kanan would be unfamiliar to Jacen for the first years of his life.
Her sorrow at the fact that “Dada” wouldn’t be among Jacen’s collection of first words (which included “Mama,” “ship,” “no!” and “Chop”) was expressed to Sabine during an exhausted and teary conversation. Together, they concluded that Kanan would have made a great dad, if he didn’t collapse from the stress while doing it, and the two women held each other until the talk turned back to recollecting fond memories at laughter at what once was.
In one of the biggest shocks of Hera’s life, the grief became lighter and easier to carry. She knew it would never leave her, but at least she didn’t bear it alone.
When Jacen turned one, she declared it a happy occasion and resolved not to spend too long dwelling on those not present to celebrate with them. There were still wistful smiles and comforting hugs, but as luck would have it, she had Zeb, Alexsandr, Rex, and Sabine all with her to mark the occasion, and that was a happy blessing on its own.
Jacen destroyed the small cake Alexsandr had made for him with pudgy fists, smearing it all over his face and onesie. Hera laughed, trying not to think of the possibility of finding uneaten food in Jacen’s diaper again, and their small family celebrated, and it was good.
They exchanged presents before everyone had to return to their respective duties. Mother and son received a collection of toys and bigger clothes, and Hera was even gifted a nice bottle of wine for her to enjoy after surviving a year of motherhood.
At the end, when it was just her and Sabine sweeping crumbs off the floor of the galley, the young Mandalorian presented her a final gift. An intricately bound book, made from sketch flimsi and filled with page after page of illustrations. It told a story, in few words and in brilliant, dynamic colors, of a Jedi, a hero, on quests to make the galaxy a better place. The Jedi wielded a blue lightsaber, and although he could be grumpy, he was deeply loyal to his friends, and he always came in to save the day. His face was unmistakable, his demeanor kind and familiar.
“So Jacen can know his dad,” Sabine said, and her voice was carefully measured. “I never thought I’d illustrate a kid’s book.”
Hera had no words, so she threw her arms around Sabine instead, murmuring her thanks through her tears. Sabine accepted the hug, squeezing Hera just as tight, and they stayed that way for a long while.
Ezra
Jacen grew and grew until he no longer fit in her arms- or rather, he wiggled out of them every time Hera tried to pick him up. He started to beg to learn how to fly as the war drew to a close but it wasn’t until after the Battle of Endor that Hera felt the skies were safe enough for her son.
Sabine teased her that Jacen inherited his recklessness from both sides of the family. Hera couldn’t bring herself to disagree, but she looked around at her friends and family- Mandalorians and Lasats and spies and galactic heroes- and thought that her child’s thrill-seeking tendencies came more from his company rather than his blood.
The conclusion of the war didn’t mean the end of the fighting, but peace was at last on the horizon and her fellow rebels begun planning their lives in this new, free galaxy. Hera could be a mother full-time now, and not have to worry if each goodbye to her son would be her last.
She thought that this would mean fulfillment- and in many ways, it did. The galaxy was entering a new age, but there were too many things left behind for Hera to move on completely. Much of it, she would never get back- but for some, there remained hope of rescue.
She saw so much of Ezra in Jacen. His energy, for one, and his innocence. His optimism, too- Jacen was a happy baby and nothing short of an ebullient child. Hera and Kallus liked to joke that his smile could light up the galaxy. It was impossible, when gazing into Jacen’s blue eyes, not to see the hope and love of another boy who once looked to her as a mother. They had so much in common, these children of war, but their biggest similarity was those who loved them.
Sabine was the first one to teach her the bittersweet pride of a child leaving the nest, and she came to Hera again to tell her that she must go. Hera had fear and love and faith for her, but little surprise when Sabine promised to bring Ezra home. With a blessing and a plea to stay safe, she hugged Sabine tight and watched her set off into the galaxy again.
When evening fell, and Hera was alone again, Jacen approached his mother and snuggled into her arms. As much as she tried to protect her son, he always seemed to know when she was sad.
Hera didn’t think that she’d ever be complete without Kanan, without Ezra, without everyone she’d lost in a lifetime at war. But she was not alone, she knew- she had her son in her embrace and a family in every corner of the galaxy. That, for now, was enough, and she had hope that she would see them all again one day.
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starryeyedstories · 3 years
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Prologue
My Heart Will Go On series
Pairing: Poe Dameron x female reader (Titanic AU)
Summary: A visit in hospital from your granddaughter becomes a confessional session that takes you back to the day in 1912 that changed your life forever.
Warnings: Hospital setting, mentions of dying of old age, discussions of a break-up
Disclaimer: Inspired by the movie Titanic which I do not own!
A/N: I’m so excited to start this series and I hope you’ll love it!! Bear in mind that this is the prologue so the man you’re here for isn’t physically in this part but he’ll be here soon...
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A month into your admission, your hospital room was beginning to feel a bit like home- not in the way that meant you were happy to be there, although you didn’t doubt that you would be spending the rest of your life in it. It was simply that you could no longer imagine existing outside of its four walls.
The view of the hospital car park from your window was reliably boring every time you decided to look out at it for want of something better to do. The walls, painted a pale green shade that you would have never chosen yourself, kept out both rain and sun with equal effectiveness. The monitors which you were constantly hooked up to- in case you decided to call it a day before the doctors decided it was your time, you assumed- beeped and bleeped at you at random intervals and never became less annoying. The thin sheets never became less scratchy, the pillows never became less uncomfortable, and the room never became less like a prison cell. 
The only aspect of your room that brought any change of scenery was the tiny television mounted on the wall in the corner. 
Today, it showed you the lunchtime news report, reminding you that outside of the four walls around you life went on. A chirpy blonde reporter babbled on about some subject or other- you had removed one hearing aid a while ago out of boredom- without you paying much attention to her, other than to wonder when you had last looked as young as her and why you hadn't appreciated it more, until a single word caught your attention. 
“-the mystery of what really happened on that fateful night on the Titanic could finally be a mystery no more.”
Your old bones groaned at you in protest as you struggled to sit up in bed, one hand reaching for your abandoned hearing aid and the other turning up the volume on the remote control as you silently cursed your rheumatic fingers for having difficulty simply pressing a button. Finally, you were able to hear the reporter more clearly. 
“After over eighty years, an investigative crew have finally succeeded not only in locating the wreckage of the infamous ship, but in capturing images of it using the latest in underwater technology,” she explained, smiling a bright, empty smile at the camera. You remembered having to smile like that in your youth; it was a smile to please others. “A spokesperson for the research team has stated that the discovery could allow us to finally understand exactly how Titanic met her end on that cold April night, so long ago.”
You remembered exactly how Titanic met her end. 
You remembered the icy shock of the water, colder than you could have ever imagined, a cold that you had never felt the like of since that night. You remembered the screams and how they were the most terrible sound you had heard in your life, until the silence after they stopped became even more terrible. 
Above all else, you remembered him.
The frantic, rapid beeping of your heartbeat monitor snapped you out of the past, and you forced yourself to take deep, gulping breaths of air to calm yourself, but that only served to remind you more of that night, of a ghost’s voice urging you to breathe and keep breathing. You settled for letting your head fall back against your pillows, and snowy white hair lurked at the edge of your vision, reminding you of where you were and how much time had passed since he had made you promise to live. 
You had done well to keep that promise, at least.
On the television, the screen cut to a blue-green haze that gradually focused to reveal the coral-encrusted bow of a ship, and you lifted the remote to switch the television off with an agility you hadn’t displayed in years. You tasted something bitter at the back of your throat at the thought of the world sitting at home, staring at the images with a macabre fascination. To you, it was footage of a tomb being cracked open for entertainment. 
There was something about seeing it all brought to the surface, seeing with your own eyes the decay and decomposition that you knew in your heart had to be going on under the ocean, that took you straight back to that night. You had known yourself as one of the few left alive who had seen the great ship above the waves; it was a burden you had lived with your whole life, and it almost maddened you that the world could now look at it with casual curiosity. 
The sound of your door opening made you surface from your thoughts, and a familiar smiling face in the doorway helped to keep you afloat.
“Hi, Grandma!” Kate greeted you cheerily, closing the door behind herself before coming to kiss your forehead, “How’re you today?”
At nineteen, your granddaughter was beautiful; the spitting image of your late husband, the beloved grandfather she had lost at only nine years old. She was your best friend, and the only member of your family who had made the effort to visit you in hospital at all.
“Hello, my love,” you replied with a fond smile, turning your frail hand over for her to hold, “I’m still here, as you can see.”
She chuckled at your attempt at humour, giving you a reproachful look.
“I’m glad!”
“Have you brought me gossip from outside?” you asked, a running joke between the two of you; television aside, Kate was your only connection to the outside world, and her weekly visits often passed in idle chatter about the lives of celebrities and your mutual relatives. 
She sighed, squeezing your hand, and you frowned at the sad smile on her young face.
“I have gossip for you, but it’s not particularly happy,” she told you, “And it’s about me.” You raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging her to continue, and she sighed again. “James cheated on me.”
“I never liked that boy,” you said immediately, and she chuckled. 
“You never met him, Grandma.”
“And I’m glad of it. He wasn’t good enough for you.”
She didn’t look convinced, and she focused her eyes on her hand in yours; you followed her gaze, no longer alarmed by the sight of how wrinkled and gnarled your hand looked compared hers.
“I just...I thought I loved him,” she admitted quietly, looking up at you with watery eyes, “I thought...well, I thought he was the love of my life. And before you say it, I know it’s stupid to say that at my age.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid at all,” you told her earnestly. She gave you a look of disbelief, and you were hesitant to continue, but continue you did. “Y’know...I found the love of my life when I was around your age.”
That got her attention, and the way her eyes brightened at the way your tone hinted at a story behind your words gave you the tiny burst of bravery you needed to keep talking. First, however, there were things that needed to be said.
“If I tell you this story...” You closed your eyes briefly, opened them again, then continued in a serious tone which you weren't used to using on Kate. “You have to swear to me that it doesn’t leave this room. Not even your mother has heard it. Promise me, Kate.”
“I promise,” she said slowly, her brow furrowed in equal measures of curiosity and confusion. 
You nodded, and suddenly you couldn’t find the words to start the story. You had been silent for so many years, so many decades, that you were quite unsure how to speak; it was like a lost language. 
Finally, you found a handful of words that seemed suitable to begin with and, with a final squeeze of your granddaughter’s hand for courage, you began to speak.
“It was a bright morning, and all the world seemed to be gathered on the docks at Southampton...”
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the prologue! If you’d like to be added to the series tag list and/or you have feedback, my ask is here!
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luccislegs · 4 years
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↬ the 𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝑜𝓁𝑜𝑔𝒾𝓈𝓉 is in
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↠ pairing: nico robin/trafalgar law
�� summary: law works such late nights for the both of them and robin just wants him to feel a little better
↠ warnings: smut, pegging, needy law, dom!robin/sub!law
↠ word count: 1.6k
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↠ an: this is a product of @thenotsofantasticlifestory talking about pegging in the discord server combined with @nicorobinreads hyperfixation with robin and law. i’m not real familiar with writing pegging but yolo
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Law blinks in the dim lights of the hallway leading to his apartment, the number plates sliding by without really taking them in as his feet take him along the familiar path by memory alone. Lately, all of his days are all a blur of work-sleep-work-sleep. He’s rarely home and, even when he is, it’s largely coming in, pecking Robin on the cheek, and then slinking off to the bedroom. Most times, Robin follows after him, laying down with him and whispering quietly in the dark until his eyes can stay open no longer and he falls asleep. More than once, he’s brought up his fears that he’s neglecting her, but she always waves him off with a laugh and a gentle kiss.
Tonight, Law is exhausted. Beyond exhausted, he’s practically falling asleep as he walks through the door. Robin is up in an instant, settling her hands on his cheek and side, allowing him to fall limply into her embrace. She’s warm and soft and smells of lavender and home, and he sighs into her neck. His lips find the skin there and she shudders.
It’s been weeks since they’ve made love, and Robin’s been satisfying herself at night when Law can’t make it home. It’s enough, but it isn’t the same. Her hands slide up under his shirt, nails scraping just enough to send shivers up his spine. 
He hadn’t realized until now just how pent up he was. He pulls back from the warmth of Robin’s embrace, looking down at her with half-lidded, glazed and needy eyes.
She knows immediately what he wants and allows her hands to fall lower, one settling on his hip and the other cupping him through his jeans. He’s nowhere near hard, but just her touch against that part of him makes him gasp. 
“Robin-ya, baby, please,” he groans, letting his head drop back to her shoulder. His hand covers hers, trying to force her to touch him harder, but fingers lace in his hair and tug, warning him.
“Please what, Law,” she whispers against his ear. She won’t make him beg-- tonight-- but he’ll still have to ask properly.
“Please, will you fuck me?” he asks, his voice breathy and quiet. He’s too tired, but her hands on him, soft and warm and gentle ignites something he can’t ignore. His hips buck as she squeezes, lips parting and eyes fluttering closed. He needs it now and he isn’t in the mood to play. Not that it’s his choice, but he hopes she’ll take pity on him tonight.
“Of course, my love. Let’s go to the bedroom.” She takes him by the hand and leads him down the hall, Law trusting her to get him there while he stares tiredly at his feet. He undresses in a haze, her soft hands helping him to shed his shirt and his jeans. When they hit his ankles, he kicks them off and follows her directions down to the bed, flopping down on his back. He sighs in relief as the familiar smell of vanilla and laundry detergent fills his nose, and he almost falls asleep right then. 
Only Robin’s featherlight touch on his thighs woke him up, sliding up until she’s cupping his balls. Her free hand wraps around his half-hard cock and he jerks at the simple touch. As she pumps his hardening length, she pulls open the nightstand, removing a bottle of lube and their well-used strap-on. It isn’t uncommon for Law to beg to be fucked, especially on nights like tonight. It’s something he wants and needs, and Robin is more than happy to do this for him.
He jumps a little, his head lolling down to look at her when she touches a finger to his entrance. She’s warmed the lube up but it’s still colder than he’s expecting and he lets out a ragged gasp, his cock jumping in her hand as the first slid in. His hips jerk in time with her thrusts and he moans when the second joins. He could have cum just from that, but then she removes her hand from his length, denying him. 
Her lips litter kisses on his sensitive thighs, feeling the skin twitch under her ministrations. Her fingers are slick in his entrance, working him open and little moans escaping his lips, making her unbearably wet.
But tonight is about Law. He’s so desperately needy and exhausted from working so hard for them that it’s the least she could do. She licks one long stripe up the length of him as she removes her fingers, leaving him a slick, open, twitching mess as she prepares the strap-on.
Law fondles himself as he watches her slide the harness on, his eyes locked on her hand stroking the dildo attached to the front until it’s glistening with lube and copying her strokes on his own throbbing cock. She wipes her hand off on a towel, tossing it to the nightstand, and then one hand locks around his ankle, lifting it up and away from him.
Her other grasps his thigh, pushing it up and exposing his entrance to her questing cock. He whines, a needy, breathless plea as it probes before sliding in, stretching him around it’s girth. It feels perfect, his eyes rolling back as pleasure makes his cock jump, pre leaking out onto his stomach. His back arches as it settles deep inside him, Robin’s hips finally meeting his in one long, slow thrust. 
He can feel the tip nudging gently against his prostate, massaging it even though she isn’t moving, and he’s a half-second from begging when she pulls out again. His fingers curl in the blanket as she thrusts in and out of him, moans and gasps filling the room along with the wet sounds of fucking. His brain is a foggy haze, only able to focus on the soft smile gracing Robin’s face as she fucks him open, pushing as deep as she can with every movement of her hips. The constant friction on his prostate is too much and his eyes roll back in his head.
Before he knows it, he’s coming, ropes of his own release covering his stomach, but she doesn’t stop. He shudders every time she fills him now, his mind blanked out and torn between begging her to stop and begging her for more. She drops his legs after a moment, pulling out and before he can decide to whine or breathe in relief, she’s forcing him to roll over onto his knees and filling him again. 
From this angle she penetrates deeper, and he can feel his cock hardening all over again. It’s borderline painful but it feels so good and when Robin leans over and laces the fingers of one hand with his, he can’t stop the babbling call of her name. The new angle allows her to *dig* into his overstimulated prostate, her free hand ghosting so gently along the length of his overwhelmed, leaking cock and suddenly he’s coming again.
It goes on for-- what seems to Law-- hours, time having no meaning against the insistent push of her fake cock in his loosened, slick hole, her voice whispering in his ear, asking how he feels, does it feel good, is he going to come again? It all blows over his head, like the stress of the day as he answers good, yes, and god yes Robin, please.
His teeth sink into the heel of his hand, drool running down his wrist as he fights to stifle the needy whines escaping his throat. Robin’s hands thread in his hair, tugging gently back so he releases his hand. His eyes roll to meet hers, a small, mischievous smile on her face. She thrusts hard, burying the fake cock deep inside him and grinding, overstimulating his prostate for the however many-eth time and he comes again, his cock throbbing in pleasure even though no one has touched it as it rubs against the fabric of the comforter. He moans loud, his eyes rolling shut as he starts to come back down, but a roll of her hips milks another spurt from him.
After that, she allows his head to drop, and he feels her withdraw from him. He’s trembling and even more exhausted than before, but so satisfied he feels like crying. When he rolls over, he realizes what a mess he’s made of the blanket, but Robin seems unconcerned as she cleans him up. She helps him to get under the blanket, promising to return in a moment after she’s cleaned herself and the equipment up. 
Law is alone for several long moments, his heart beating harder and harder in his chest until she comes back in, immediately crawling underneath the blankets and drawing him close. His head is cradled against her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart as if she hadn’t just fucked him for hours. He knows he’s going to regret it in the morning, but he can’t bring himself to care right now.
He stays wrapped up in her arms for the rest of the night, every time she tries to move away, a whine leaving his fast asleep self and strong arms pulling her back. 
She chuckles every time, running her fingers through his hair to soothe him again.
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↠ rules!
↠ non-one piece requests are open! | no ship requests, except poly!reader
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winryofresembool · 4 years
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Fic: Nightmares and Morse Code
Fandom: Heroes of Olympus (I imagine this happening some time post TBoO. Also, I have not read Trials of Apollo and I don’t know if I ever will so if this fic has some canon divergence, that’s why)
Characters/ships: Leo Valdez/Calypso
Summary: Calypso notices a certain habit of Leo's when she's trying to comfort him after a nightmare.
AO3 link
A/N: I decided to post this fic here too, so if you saw a link earlier, yes it’s the same fic. Anyway, I guess I am now officially writing non FMA content. Heroes of Olympus has pretty much consumed my life for the past few weeks (or even months by now) and while I adore Leo and also Caleo as a ship, I've noticed the fandom doesn't agree with me especially on the latter and there's very little Caleo content anywhere. So, I decided to change that! The idea of Leo saying I love you for the first time through Morse Code had me soft and I just had to write a fic around that. So, without a further ado, please enjoy and don't forget to review especially if you'd like to see me write more HoO content in the future! (And FMA fans, don't worry, I surely haven't abandoned Edwin or my fankids!!)
Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort
Warnings: none?
...
That night was particularly bad. Leo thought that in exchange for the happy moments he spent with Calypso, some evil force had decided to make his dreams double as bad.
Some of them were old, familiar ones. The fire that had killed his mother. Abusive foster families and bullies at schools he had escaped from. The voice telling him that he’d forever be the seventh wheel, his friends smiling and laughing together while he was stuck alone in his bunker. The Argo II group, all except him, getting killed by the giants, because of him.
But there were a couple of new ones too. In the first one he was back in the underworld, feeling that same pain he had back then he had died, positive he was on his way to Tartarus. But he found the second dream worse: Gaea was torturing Calypso, telling Leo that he had to pick from two options: either Calypso would have to die or she’d wake up again and destroy all the life on earth. If Leo had had to pick between himself and the rest of the world, he wouldn’t have had to think long. But… Calypso was just barely starting to learn what living in the real world meant after her 3000 years lasting imprisonment, she was so excited and happy to see new things, and genuinely wanted to be with Leo (despite the constant bickering) for reasons he didn’t quite understand, and… he could not bear the thought of living without her. Finally, he woke up to his own screams as he watched Gaea’s ‘minions’ cut her with a sharp knife yet again.
“Leo?”
It was too dark in his room to see, but he heard fast footsteps approaching him and soon the door was opened and someone switched the light on. He had to squint and protect his eyes from the light before he finally saw the slender figure next to him. Relief flooded into him as he realized that it had all been just a nightmare and Calypso was just fine, although with a very worried expression on her face.
“Hey, Sunshine,” Leo said with a slightly hoarse voice, attempting a lopsided smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s up?”
“I… heard you screaming.” Calypso replied, suddenly embarrassed about rushing into his bedroom like that.
“Me? Screaming?” Leo sat up and waved his hand, trying to brush it off. “I think your ears are not quite yet used to the mortal world, mi sol.”
“Leo Valdez. I’m serious. I know what I heard.” Calypso glared at him, her beautiful features getting surprisingly scary when she wanted to. However, Leo didn’t budge.
“Sirius? Like Sirius Black from Harry Potter? I thought your name is Calypso,” he attempted, fully aware of how poor his joke was.
“What’s Harry Potter?” Calypso asked with confusion, not yet familiar with the modern popular culture.
“Only the most popular black-haired fantasy hero of our time… After me, of course.” Leo winked, but Calypso wasn’t happy with his answer.
“You’re only trying to make me forget the original topic. Why were you screaming?”
His face fell and he was twitching his hands nervously on his lap.
“Fine. It was a nightmare. But nothing I can’t handle.”
Calypso looked at him sadly, wanting to reach him but not sure if she should. Instead, she said softly: “I know you’re trying to act brave for me, but you don’t have to. I can see that something is hurting you and I want to help you. Like you’ve helped me. Maybe opening up would help you feel better.”
At this point Calypso noticed that Leo seemed to be tapping a certain pattern on the wooden edge of the bed with his fingers. She wanted to ask about it, but decided against it. Instead, she sat down next to him and slowly inched her hand towards his arm, encouraging him to talk.
Leo shook his head to clear his mind. “I… well, in these nightmares, I was reliving some of my worst memories… My mother and stuff… But there was a new dream too.”
“Please. Tell me about it.”
Leo tried to resist but something about Calypso’s calm tone and expression worked like Piper’s charmspeaking and he started babbling so fast Calypso couldn’t keep up with him. “Calm down a bit, Hot Head,” she stopped him. “I only got the part that I was in the dream.”
Leo took a deep breath, trying to focus on his hands that were still tapping against the wood nervously. Then he started in a slower pace: “Yeah… Dirt Face… I mean Gaea…” he added when Calypso raised her eyebrow questioningly, “in this dream, she was trying to wake up again… And she tried to make me choose between you… and the rest of the world… I mean, either you die or them… and I couldn’t.”
Calypso let that information sink in. Trying to hide her emotions, she crossed her arms over her chest and asked: “Are you saying that you would even consider letting me stay alive if you could save the rest of the world?”
Leo probably hadn’t expected that reaction. He failed to recognize that a part of the reason Calypso asked that was to conceal the fact that she was moved, going defensive: “But Cal, remember how she tried to make you kill me in Ogygia. And she could have offered you something much better than I could. But you refused to kill me. You even helped me get off that island even though… you know.” In his mind he added ‘even though it hurt you’. “Do you really think that after all that I could just…”
“Hey, it’s OK. I… think I understand your feeling. But thankfully you don’t have to choose because I’m right here, I’m OK, and she’s gone.” Calypso squeezed Leo’s free hand briefly. After a moment of silence, deciding to change the subject: “That… thing you do with your fingers… Is that a Morse code? Or have you been listening to too much of that rap music you talk about?”
Suddenly Leo’s face went all red. Calypso probably would be weirded out by his habit if she knew the meaning. “You… don’t happen to know Morse code, do you?”
“Not really…” she had to admit.
“That’s… that’s fine. The thing I was doing was just something my mother taught me when I was a kid.” Leo shrugged, trying to look casual.
“Oh… I thought it might mean something.”
“Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t. If you want to know, you’ll have to figure it out on your own.” Leo smirked, even though he couldn’t hide his blushing.
“Leo Valdez, so full of mysteries.” Calypso rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile a bit.
“That’s why the ladies love me! Even you fell for my mysterious charm.”
“Uhhuh.” Calypso pushed him back to his bed, sticking her tongue out. Then she spoke with a softer tone. “So, are you feeling better now?”
“I think I am. Thanks. Talking with you made me feel better.” He still looked like something was bothering him, though. In reality, some, annoying part of him tried to tell him to reveal the code.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Calypso replied, reaching to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Um, maybe I should go back to bed. We have some work to do tomorrow.”
“Sure… Well, good night,” Leo answered, looking a bit… disappointed? Before Calypso was out of the room, though, he said with a new determination:
“Hey, Sunshine. I’ll give you a hint. It’s ‘te quiero’ in Spanish.
“What is?”
“The code. And… I mean it. With you.”
“Oh. Okay.” Calypso answered, even more confused than before as she exited the room. She only knew a couple of Spanish swear words (thanks to Leo) so she had no idea what ‘kiero’ or whatever that word was meant. But she decided to find out.
A week later, Calypso heard Leo scream again. But this time, instead of waking him up and inquiring him about his dreams, she decided to sit down on a chair next to the bed and hold his hand, hoping it would reach him. She had spent a long time researching on both Spanish language and Morse codes and had finally cracked Leo’s code. Some part of her had already known its meaning but seeing it for real had made her strangely overwhelmed. As she saw him there, whimpering quietly, scrunching his forehead and looking so vulnerable , that exact same emotion he had been expressing struck her with force. This brave, determined, smart (and, she had to admit to herself, sometimes kinda funny) boy had been through so much. Ever since his mother had died, his life had been nothing but a struggle, and even now that they were (relatively) safe, the ghosts of the things he had experienced were still haunting him. She wanted to show him there were still things worth living, worth loving, in this world.
So she started softly tapping on his hand.
.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-
I. Love. You.
It seemed his form relaxed as she reached the end of the code. She waited a bit longer to see if the nightmare had faded away, but when she finally stood up about to leave, his fingers suddenly wrapped up around hers.
“So you figured it out,” a sleepy voice said against his pillow.
“I did,” Calypso admitted.
“Cal.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t go.”
Calypso wasn’t sure if she had heard right. “Huh?”
“I… I’d like you to stay.” Leo said, sounding unusually vulnerable.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sunshine.”
“OK. I’ll stay then.”
Leo backed up in his bed to make her space, and she settled down next to him. She didn’t protest when an arm wrapped around his waist after he had put the comforter over them, instead nuzzling closer to him and taking in the warmth that was radiating from him. And gods, he really was warm. The two didn’t say much after that, but Leo’s fingers started automatically tapping an answer to her message against her stomach. Soon enough, both of them started drifting into sleep, this time a much more peaceful one.
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evoedbd · 4 years
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Innocence?
Summery:   How could Zhora let that be destroyed? Worse, how could she prevent it? The more she thought, the more she realised that it was already unavoidable. Zoe was right, curse it. Solis wouldn’t stop with just Zhora, not after Wyst and Zoe had dug their heels in. They’d suffer too, no matter what Solis actually said. Zhora and Zoe have a discussion the night before they go after Solis. ************** Space. It was a word to invoke thought. A distance as much as a destination. So much of nothing it became something. Something became nothing. Infinite became irrelevant within a few strides and grew with time. Outer space was infinite. The void between life. A chasm to suspend reality. Poems sung of hanging the stars in the skies. Compared their gleam to diamonds, whispered their deepest desires on a star falling from the inky blankets of space. Science spoke of the stars as echoes of what had been. To see a star, sometimes, was to see when it had already died. The brightest beauty of something past. Something out of reach. Some viewed space as a negative, as something empty. Others viewed it as something full of possibility. As something to fill until space no longer existed. The space to hang a child’s painting on the wall. Space for flowers to grow. A place for a ship to dock... euphemism intended. The list of the ways space could be filled was immense, especially to someone as creative as Zhora. For Zhora, space simply was. At the moment, it was fucking freezing. Yes, the stars were beautiful. Yes, the distance between her and her target meant she would not die that day. The space between brain and heart would keep her alive. That didn’t eliminate the literal chill just outside the hull. It didn’t dismiss the loneliness embedded in her soul. Literal or emotional, it was cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. As so many did, she used space. With engines, the infinity of space shrunk into insignificant hours between planets. With plants and weapons, she filled her walls. With the shots from her rifle, she filled the distance between herself and the enemy. With contacts in every port, she filled other spaces... at least for a time. Some longer than others. Another euphemism intended. The one space she could never fill was that of loneliness. Of emotional emptiness so stabbing it could threaten to cut. Her mind resisted well. It was of stone. Uncompromising. In control. Ahead of the game. She had to be. If she wasn’t, she would be dead. Both her and her crew would pay. That was where her heart of glass came into play. So fragile was her heart that she protected it fiercely. When it came to heart or head, she chose her head. The death of friends was merely a dent in her business and profits. The angst of her crew would pass with the storm; all she had to do was hold tightly to her beliefs. Cling to that lifeline of logic and rationality. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her crew. She did. Truly. They were near her while she slept. They technically had unrestricted access to all her weapons, supplies and her quarters. It was very rare she locked her quarters anymore, not when Zoe could hack the security within a minute. Only her word kept them from acting out. Although, truthfully, her word didn’t always bind them. They disobeyed. Went over her head. Between her knees. Around her outstretched fingers. So long as it benefitted Zhora, no angle was too obscure for them to take. They practically lived on the phrase “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.” Something which had only gotten worse since Zoe had taken the role of Engineer. The two other women aboard the ship were trouble together. It was a good thing Zhora was practically addicted to their brand of trouble. Anyone else might have done some serious damage to the Kid or the Cutie. That thought always made Zhora’s brows feel heavier and her teeth ache, even when she didn’t adopt a snarl. The thought of losing either Wyst or Zoe was...it churned more unpleasantly in her gut than any poisoning she had ever suffered. These girls were her crew. Her family. Her loves, aside from her weapons and adrenaline. She was efficient when she showered, providing she was alone. She cleaned quickly, washed her mermaid inspired hair, dried and dressed within the space of ten minutes. As it stood, she had no intention of entertaining guests. With 200,000 credits painted across her back, she wanted to keep herself clothed and ready. Sure, luring some company may be fun, whether it be the pleasure of touch or combat, yet Zhora had more to think about than just her own entertainment. It was dressed in her typical armored pants and crop top that she stepped back into her room, only to be greeted by a familiar sight. In the dim lighting of her quarters the light of her workbench was a supernova, dragging Zhora’s eyes. There, she found herself staring at Zoe Rayner’s shadowed back. The tight body suit she wore was standard Union Colony, yet it did leave very little to the imagination. The way the suits melded to their wearers put everything on display, every curve, muscle and bone. In Zoe’s case, it did wonders for the lithe woman’s back, and her backside. Zhora watched for a few moments, almost hypnotised by the steady undulating of Zoe’s sharp shoulder blades beneath the green fabric. Every time Zoe pulled a pin into alignment or moved to grasp another tool was a shadow dance, something for Zhora to feast her eyes on. Perhaps it could delay the inevitable. Zoe kept herself organised to perfection. On her left was where she had laid out the deconstructed weapon parts apparently by size and importance. Barrels, piping extensions, firing pins. Plasma packs. Electronics. Grips. Everything was so neat that it could only be an Engineer’s layout. To her right was an array of tools. Delicate tools, each laid out on black fabric that emphasised their pristine condition. Beyond Zoe’s instant reach, different components lingered, many pieces fused together in ways Zhora was not completely sure she could ever understand. Zoe’s brain was wired so differently from any engineer Zhora had ever worked with, yet the Colony Girl was an utter genius. Her unique brain and concepts had saved Zhora’s life numerous times, as well as allowed Zoe to bend countless rules. Namely, hacking her way into Zhora’s room when the Captain refused to communicate. “What are you doing, Cutie?” Zhora called as she approached, having to bite back a victorious smirk when Zoe gave a small eeeekkk of alarm. Zoe was an absolute image. One knee raised defensively as her other foot stretched for the ground. Bare toes barely grazed the floor, given the chair was designed for Zhora’s superior height. The Engineer had some form of screwdriver raised across her chest, wielding the tool like a weapon in her alarm. Zhora couldn’t help but let her smirk grow a little at the sight of Zoe’s heaving bosom, once more silently thankful for the Union Body Suits. As usual, no curve was left to imagination, and the way Zoe had twisted her hip in preparation of an attack left more than her breasts on display. The shapely curve of her hip and rump stretched the material, which also clung to her lean stomach. The clear panels gave Zhora a view of skin, nothing indecent. “Zhora! I was just... well. After the Ghost gun, I was seeing if I could make my pistol more reliable. Incase... incase. If anything goes wrong, I want to have a backup.” Zoe hurried to explain, relaxing from her improvised martial arts form to slumping in the chair. Relaxed, Zhora could see the strain in Zoe’s arms. The metaphoric weight on the Engineer’s shoulders which seemed to be affecting her quite literally. “Zoe-“ “Aside from the programming to the Ghost gun, I was thinking of taking similar coding and programming it into the attachable -“ Zoe continued to babble, waving her hands wildly as she spun around to face her components once more. Zhora wanted to follow along, she truly did, yet she was caught up in the perky engineer’s excitement. Zoe was magnetic once she became passionate; her energy was almost like an inferno swallowing all in its path. Somehow, Zoe became infectious when she was like this. The inferno never harmed those whom it consumed. Instead, it filled Zhora with a pleasant warmth; a feeling which radiated from the centre of her chest. This passion was for HER. Zoe was so dedicated to these weapons because the Engineer wanted to save Zhora. The Captain couldn’t fathom how she had earned such loyalty, only that she strove to earn it. That she kept waiting for Zoe to run. To leave. Still, Zoe stayed, striving further and further away from her safe life and into danger. All for Zhora. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.” Zhora found herself cutting Zoe off mid explanation. This caused Zoe to pause. The clink of a tool hitting the bench was the only warning Zhora had before she found herself staring straight into the steely face of Zoe Rayner. Deep brown eyes shone. No, shone implied too much softness. Zoe’s eyes blazed. They were the black holes which summoned Zhora’s gaze. The hardest edges of determination stole Zhora’s voice, even as Zoe’s soft brows furrowed in unspoken frustration. There it was. A brief moment where the two halves of Zoe warred. Her kindness and patience softened the blow, yet the fiery determination and outrage was akin to a sledgehammer into Zhora’s gut. Would Zoe offer another tongue lashing, or would her patience prevail? “I know what I have signed up for. I’m not a Little Colony Girl anymore. You’ve shown me how the Galaxy works. The truth of it.” It was a very true statement, Zhora realised. When she stared at Zoe, the Captain could no longer see the meek little colony girl. She saw her Engineer, a woman who could bring the Galaxy to its knees in prayer. Zoe was the stereotype of normal colony kid. Every common aspect of her seemed crafted to perfection, causing what should have been an ordinary looking girl to gleam amidst the stars. Honey and Gold had been mixed to create the perfect shade of blonde for Zoe. Her hair hung from its messy ponytail, always vibrant in its chaos. Zhora briefly wondered how much one would pay for such a treasure. The thought was banished. She didn’t want Zoe to become ruined for something as common as credits. “This isn’t something I can undo, Zoe. So far, everything has been something we could fix if you decided you wanted out. This... I can’t protect you from. If you regret this, I can’t...” Zhora almost hated herself. For the first time, control was completely out of Zhora’s grasp. She had been so careful, introducing the Outlaw life to Zoe in situations that wouldn’t scar the young Engineer. Zhora had executed her iron grip to ensure that Zoe wasn’t hurt. Wasn’t sullied beyond repair. Now, there was nothing to shield Zoe from the darkness. Zhora couldn’t sacrifice her own body to shield the girl, nor could she manipulate the situation so that Zoe wouldn’t suffer. What would happen when Zoe pulled the trigger? Would such an act break her? The very real possibility that this would destroy everything Zoe was weighed on Zhora’s heart. She couldn’t watch those fires in Zoe’s eyes die, nor see Zoe’s gentleness fade. Not the girl who spoke to her pistol and bandaged wounds with the gentlest hands. Zhora was placing her life in Zoe’s callused palms, along with the most dangerous weapon in the known Galaxies. Was Zhora worth it? “I know, Zhora. I tried to be bothered by it, but I’m not. Solis has hurt millions of people, and will continue to do so. She won’t stop trying to hurt you. I can’t let her take away the best thing to ever happen to me, okay? If it’s a choice between taking her life or watching you die, I’ll pull the trigger every time.” “Zoe. You’re taking a life. Not just in the heat of the moment, but premeditated. It’s not just a kill, it’s an assassination. I can’t as-“ “You really don’t get it do you? I love you. Wyst loves you. You’re our friend, and our Captain. We both owe you everything, and we WANT to help you. I can’t let you die. I won’t. The galaxy isn’t always nice, and I can’t always play nice if I want to protect what I love.” Zoe cut Zhora off with her impassioned speech, her eyes appearing to burn even darker. The Engineer trembled with the ferocity of her emotions. Zhora herself froze, reconciling the power Zoe emanated with their first meeting. Oh, how times had changed. “So, yeah. You’re not asking, I am telling you... I‘m ready. I’m doing it. Deal with it.” The Engineer concluded, spinning so that she could resume her work on the parts. For a long time, they remained silent. Zoe’s powerful words echoed in Zhora’s head, leaving the Captain staggering beneath their weight. Without realising it, Zhora found her fingers teasing the bottom of Zoe’s ponytail, taking in the softness of perfectly kept hair. It was another thing that made Zoe stand out. Her hair was natural, compared to the splashes of colour Wyst put through hers and the Blue to Green wash through Zhora’s hair. Zoe didn’t seem phased or distracted by Zhora’s fidgeting. Zoe’s hands remained remarkably steady as she worked. She had magnets dancing in their fields with such ease. A little flick would see those magnets dance; something which always drew a smile from Zoe. It was such an innocent thing to watch, magnets bouncing and Zoe smiling. The little giggles she let forth before licking her lips and settling down. Pink peeped out the corner of Zoe’s mouth, pinched between delicate lips. The tip of her tongue expressed so much. When she was annoyed, it ran across her lower lip; a cat’s tail swishing. When she was on the verge of success, the tip of her tongue peeped a little further out, chasing down victory. When Zoe paused to think, she rolled her tongue over the same place of her top lip for minutes on end. These little gestures were accompanied the adorably dorky scrunch of her nose, and a pursing of her lips to the right. Her left eye closed a little more than her right, yet her work remained unaffected. How could Zhora let that be destroyed? Worse, how could she prevent it? The more she thought, the more she realised that it was already unavoidable. Zoe was right, curse it. Solis wouldn’t stop with just Zhora, not after Wyst and Zoe had dug their heels in. They’d suffer too, no matter what Solis actually said. “I like the gumption, New Girl. Keep it up and I might let you have a look at some new designs.” Zhora eventually stated, breaking from her own dark musings. The surprise she felt at herself was echoed in Zoe’s wide eyes. “I’d like that.” Zoe’s response was level, yet she clearly couldn’t force herself to stop smiling. Zhora was thankful for the casualness of her response. It startled the Captain that she had even made such an offer. It was another breech in her security. Another door Zoe had hacked her way through, seemingly effortlessly. Offering such closeness was not Zhora. It was too hard to let people get this close. It made the inevitable loss too difficult to cast aside. Zhora couldn’t afford this. With Wyst, she had sworn it would be her only exception. Zoe made a liar out of her. That damned determined, fiery little colony girl. Damn Zoe, for being an actually interesting person. Damn Zoe for making Zhora actually care. Zhora may have been putting the most dangerous weapon created in Zoe’s hands, along with her own life, yet Zhora couldn’t help feeling as if she carried the most weight of them all. The weight of Zoe’s future. The weight of Zoe’s innocence.
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hmslusitania · 1 year
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melancholy-joj · 5 years
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Undo - Matty Healy smut imagine
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Summary: I’m not even gonna bother, this is just smut, no plot, just smut. ;)
Warnings: dirty talk, swearing, I guess a bit of a praise kink, oral (male receiving)
Words: 1655
Ships: Matty Healy x fem!reader
Requested(?): yes! I’m really sorry for the wait, I wrote it then scrapped it then wrote it again, and it’s still not long enough. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it :)
“Could you do a Matty smut with a lot of dirty talk ?? Love your work btw <3”
———————————————————————
His mouth moved with hers as they joined together in a heated kiss, their fingers nimbly pulling at the fabric held on their bodies, something that highly annoyed the both of them and they wanted off. His hands encircled her waist as soon as her shirt had been taken away from her chest, head dipping down to press kisses down the length of her neck, his slacks getting tighter and tighter after hearing every gasp and little moan that fell from her lipstick-stained lips.
He loved this side of her, he loved it when she would just let everything go and focus on him, her husband, the love of her life. She hadn’t been with him for a couple of weeks, with Matty working on a new album and y/n working long hours, they had no time on their hands for each other. But that was before he decided to let them have their much needed break, that was admittedly pushed back quite a bit from their schedules being so tight.
“You getting wet for me, baby? Hm?” He breathed, reaching down towards the waist band of the jeans she was wearing, nudging the fabric to the side and pushing his fingers under. The tips of his fingers ghosted over the wet patch that had formed in the short amount of time, his tongue fanning out over his bottom lip, teeth starting to nip at the softer patches of skin he had access to. “Who did this to you, babe. Tell me who made you this wet,” She audibly whimpered at his words, looking like a fish out of water as she attempted to keep her composure, trying so hardly to not let her voice shake, but the way his hand cupped her core made a breathy moan tumble its way from the confines of her throat. His lips parted near her ear, teasingly blowing hot air onto her neck before he spoke up. “Words,” one simple word. One simple word that made her knees buckle and her legs start to give way, hands clutching onto his biceps for dear life, loving the way he spoke to her, the way he got her so riled up in such a short time. “You,” she swallowed, “you made me this wet, Matty,” the corner of his mouth rose up into a smirk, thumbs unbuttoning her shorts and pulling them down her legs with a quick tug. His lips trailed over her shoulders, hands groping at her breasts, squeezing them firmly in his calloused hands whilst his tongue trailed up her neck making a shiver run down her spine. “That’s my girl,” with shaking hands, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, keeping herself up as she began to give in to submission. “Feel how hard you’re making me, baby,” he groaned, hand guiding hers to the obvious bulge in his slacks, inhaling deeply through his nose as she palmed him through the material. “M’so hard for you,” she whimpered, feeling his cock twitch in her hand as her fingertips traced the outline. His hands fell from hers, pulling his shirt off his back, muscles clenching, smirking to himself when watching her lips part at his shirtless chest, running her palms down his hot flesh, tongue swiping over her lip as she thought of all the things he would do to her. “On your knees, babe,” she nodded enthusiastically, stumbling to the floor, her knees holding all her weight. She hooked her fingers into his trousers, pulling them down and watching him step out of them, throwing the fabric behind her with a scowl as if it disgusted her in some way. He smiled at her eagerness, mumbling out a barely audible “pretty girl” as she kissed his thighs lovingly, hazy eyes looking up at him for approval, waiting for him to nod before pulling his boxers down. She watched in awe, his cock springing free from the material, tip an angry red, just aching to be touched, to have her tongue swiped over it. Her thighs involuntary clenching together at the sight of his length, her mouth watering, wanting him so badly in her mouth. “Go ahead, baby girl. Wrap your pretty lips around my cock,” she leaned forward, wrapping a hand around his base, licking a stripe up the length of his erection, her tongue swiping over the bulging vein that ran across it. She lapped at his tip, collecting all of the pre-cum that had dribbled down, the both of them moaning at the contact. “That’s it, that feel so fucking good,” his head tipped back, but soon snapped back to her, wanting to watch her every move, the sight of her mouth on him made his head reel and his lip bleed from how hard his teeth had been clamped down onto it. She circled her tongue around the head before sinking her mouth down onto him, taking him down her throat like a good girl, her gag reflex kicking in, but the sight made Matty’s legs shake from how hot it looked from his angle. His hands held her head in place before snapping his hips up into her mouth, tears sprang to the corners of her eyes as his cock rammed down her throat, the action starting to cause her throat to burn but the sight of his face in complete bliss made something inside of her tingle and she couldn’t help but to hum around him, causing vibrations to run along his shaft.
His cock began to throb, twitching inside of her mouth, still getting impossibly harder with every snap of his hips and every time her throat would swallow around him.
Her eyes began to water, tears streaming down her cheeks as the urge to breathe covered her mind like a blanket. With a couple taps to his thigh, he pulled away, lifting her up from the floor as she gasped for air, a string of spit falling from her mouth, crudely wiping it with the back of her hand making his jaw drop and his eyes squeeze shut, the want of taking her right there and then consuming his thoughts. “Lay on the bed for me, sweetheart,” he swallowed, the sight of her naked body making his cock jerk up, rushing after her and kneeling between her thighs. “You looked so fucking pretty sucking my dick, baby,” he growled, groping at her skin and kissing his way down her body. “M’gonna make you feel so good, babe. M’gonna fuck you so hard, make you scream my name, make you cum so good,” he mumbled into her skin, fingers tweaking her nipples, face between her thighs as he gave a teasingly long lick to her pussy, tongue barely grazing her clit as he sat back up. A whine left her throat, her hips thrashing about on the mattress as he wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling her closer to him, running his length along her folds, teasingly slapping her clit before lining himself up with her opening. With a few quick tugs, his pushed himself inside of her, inch by inch, the delicious burn of being stretched out making her let out incoherent babbles, to which made Matty moan out a few expletives. “You feel so fucking tight, baby girl. So tight even when you take my cock every night,” she whimpered at his words, his hips rocked, forming a proper rhythm. His arms supported his weight above her as he pounded himself back and forth. His speed had gotten increasingly faster, his thrusts becoming deeper and harder; just the way she liked it.
Her breasts bounced with every little movement, the feeling of his girth brushing against her walls made her tighten around him, something Matty found extremely pleasurable. “Do that again, princess. Do that again,” he clenched his eyes shut, rhythm breaking for a second from the feeling such a simple action made. “S-such a good girl,” he groaned, swallowing thickly before craning his neck downwards, lips connecting with hers, tongues dancing erotically, the feeling so good. So, so good.
Her legs connected at the ankles around his back, hands somehow reaching his backside, squeezing the flesh there making his hips buck up. He hummed in her neck, fingers toying with her bundle of nerves, squeezing and stimulating her to the near edge. It didn’t take long for him to hit that special spot inside of her, a sharp intake of breath and a few whines falling from her lips. “That your spot, babe? Right there, yeah?” Throaty groans escaped the confines of his throat as his hips jutted into her, wanting so badly to let go, chasing his release to oblivion that was just so close.
With his rhythm getting sloppy, and her pussy clenching around him, his orgasm was near. “I want you to cum for me, baby. Let go. That’s it, babe, cum around my cock,” her gasps and pleads of his name bounced off the walls, fingernails digging into the skin on his back as she milked his cock, the feeling in the pit of her stomach releasing entirely. “Cum for me, Matty,” she mumbled into his shoulder, teeth clamping down onto a patch of skin, still sensitive from her release, hips bucking and toes curling, fingers shaking and lips parting. “M’cumming, baby. M’cumming for you,” he breathed, hips stilling, cock twitching as he came. Hard.
Her name fell from his lips along with incoherent babbles, neck settled into the crook of her neck as he painted her with his cum, the beautifully erotic feeling of his warmth simmering through her making her let out an involuntary moan. “So good, princess. You’re so good to me,” his fingers framed her face, hands cupping her cheeks as he brung her into a softer, innocent kiss, filled with everything they felt for each other in the moment.
“God, babe. When did I get so lucky?”
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omgericzimmermann · 6 years
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Hey! I’m not sure if anyone here is wondering why I’ve more or less vanished the past few months, but if you were it’s because I’m in grad school and occasionally babble about it over on my main blog @hmslusitania under the tag “the ghost ship does grad school”
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collaredomega · 4 years
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"Oh! That's them!"
O loved conventions, all the fun panels and wonderful art and interesting people. Taking up cosplay had made it all the more fun. A silly hobby where she could express herself in costume, a night and day difference from her serious and carefully coordinated work life. And while the crowds were sometimes overwhelming, it was so easy to hide in a sea of faces. Some lotion to cover her own scent, and a little beta scent on top of that, and no one could differentiate her, she was just a small female beta, nothing unusual, especially unnoteworthy when there were plenty of alphas and omegas wandering about not bothering to hide at all. The semi-anonymity was incredibly freeing.
She had also managed to make quite a few friends, a growing circle of people she could break out of her shell with. Well, for the most part. She still hadn't told any of them she was an omega, it was easy enough to pass for her, and that was one wall she was unwilling to break down for anyone. Not even the friend she'd grown close enough to that she didn't mind when they grabbed her hand shortly after making their declaration, and began to drag her over to a small group that had formed just outside one of the panel rooms.
"That's the person I was telling you about, you have to meet them, seriously, they're so cool!"
She felt a little awkard about it, she didn't want to charge up to this stranger, a guest of the convention, a "somebody", and look desperate for attention, but her friend had never had any qualms about pulling a "notice me Senpai!!" at cons, and O always got dragged along for the ride.
Excited babble, questions asked and then a confident answer, laughter. It was becoming clearer as they neared the group that they were all centered around one individual. The first thing O noticed, with delight, was that they were dressed as the paired character to the one she was dressed as, both from her favorite show. The second thing she noticed, as they reached the edge of the circle, was that they were definitely an alpha. Tall, broad shouldered, strong jawed, and not to mention the unmistakable air of confidence they exuded, the ability to command the space. O's mouth tightened as she put it together, noting that the rest of the crowd were mostly betas and a couple clear omegas, all hanging on their every word.
It wasn't that O hated alphas, but in general, she found them to be a bit abrasive, and it didn't help that she had a chip on her shoulder about it as a hiding omega. On top of that, she had never been that affected by alpha pheromones, never met one with a scent that was very appealing, and she suspected that was another reason she had never found them that charming. It was all just a smokescreen of biological tricks. Omegas that fawned over "charismatic" alphas made her roll her eyes, didn't they know they were feeding in to archaic stereotypes? Didn't this throng of hypnotized fans realize that this alpha was-
Her thoughts came to a dead halt as her friend pulled her forward, up at the front of the group, close to them. Too close. Even with several feet of distance it was too close. Being in sight of them would've suddenly been too close, because their eyes, even behind dark glasses, were right on hers. It seemed like it had been instantaneous, sudden as it was shocking, a feeling that clutched her stomach and made it do flips, and associated to a scent she had no way of describing. It was warm and it was home and it was... intoxicating.
She wanted to fall in to their arms, wanted to feel this stranger hold her close and... O's legs began to tremble as her thighs pressed tightly together, her friend was talking but she couldn't make out a single word. This wasn't right. What was this? She felt dizzy, feverish, she wanted to lie down. '*Lie down with them,*' some part of her thought and it shocked her enough to make her gasp. Was it her heat? It wasn't due, not even close and she had been on long-term suppressants for years now, this had never happened like this before.
What was she going to do? This was bad, not even all her false scents could hide it if she started pumping out pheromones like this, and in a huge crowd like this things could get scary. Emergency suppressants. Where were they? Had she put them in her pocket? She couldn't remember. She couldn't think of anything and the part of her that was anxiously screaming at the thought of the oncoming humiliation of this public outing was getting quieter and quieter.
"You should get some air."
A hand grabbed the one her friend had let go of. An unfamiliar hand, but it was warm and soft and *perfect*. It was the stranger's hand, she realized with a wave of excitement she didn't understand, they were pulling her away somewhere, around a corner and down a narrow hallway in between panel rooms and then when they were just about at the end, they turned suddenly, pulling her close and then with a soft thud, pinned her against a wall.
The alpha was used to the adoring attention of omegas and betas, hell, they'd even had a few other alphas express interest before. It had all been fun, but just fun. They didn't want to mate, had never felt the instinctual drive to dominate or the magnetized desire for an omega. They were immune to it. Above those baser instincts. So why was this small person, this girl who's name they hadn't even asked yet, suddenly the all-encompassing focus of their entire being?
At a surface level she smelled like a beta to them, but there was something under that, something deeper, something sweet and subtle, and it made their body crackle with energy.
It had been so strange, standing in that group, talking to those that had stayed after the panel, answering the usual questions, putting on their best entertainer face, and then that scent. A sweet smell, fresh and soft and unlike any scent they had experienced before. It crept up on them, confusion building, wondering where on earth it was coming from, what had suddenly- and then there she was, standing next to another girl who seemed to be introducing herself. They smiled at the talkative one, but their eyes locked on *her's*. Short, petite, adorably dressed like the other half of their ship, and second only to the scent that seemed to be coming off of her, they noticed her stormy green eyes. They couldn't look away.
They had salivated almost immediately, having to swallow as they saw a wash of pink rise up her face, the color all the more noticeable for her primarily white clothes. They wanted to pick her up and carry her off, wanted to have her all to themself and know every little thing about her. As they began unintentionally committing her face to memory they noticed the change in her go past blushing. She looked dazed, her breathing was getting strange, was she trembling? It wasn't okay, for some strange reason beyond basic concern, seeing this person in any distress was absolutely not okay and they had to fix it immediately.
That's when they had grabbed her hand, said the first thing that came to their mind, and pulled her away from prying eyes. And now here she was with them, in this small hallway between panels and green rooms, totally alone. She was, in fact, trembling. They could feel it as they took one hand off the wall behind her to cup her cheek, and god she was breathing so heavy. She looked... beautiful.
O's hands came up and rested on their shoulders, they were even closer now, but it had shifted, suddenly they weren't close enough. She wasn't sure they ever would be until they were completely occupying the same space. Her hands moved up, grazing over their neck, their jaw, their cheeks, taking gentle hold of those designer shades and pulling them off to see their eyes properly. They were as dark as their glasses, inky and deep and completely focused on her. Drawn in, she raised on her tip toes, drawing closer to them, eyes closing, their breath ghosting over her lips as their own lips parted ever so slightly.
It was glorious.
It was as if there was an electric arc of intensity that passed between their lips, as they both breathed in sharply through their noses, pressing closer to each other. The burst of pheromones from both was going to linger in this hallway long after they left, but caught in the moment they felt incredible, it didn't matter in the slightest. All that did matter was the way they parted their lips, and the way she followed suit, and the feeling of their tongues meeting.
When they finally pulled back, it was only because they were both breathless. She had at some point taken grip of their lapels, one hand still half-clutching one of the arms of their shades, and all she had to do was pull at them the tiniest bit for her costumed pair to lean in again. They passed by her face as she tilted it to the side, neck arching to expose itself to them, the source of that fabulous smell hidden tantalizing just below that perfectly buttoned collar.
'*Bite her!*'
They pulled back as that desire flashed through their brain, swallowing and looking down at this sweet girl, so flushed, shivering, an omega in the full sway of their hormonal dominance. The realization of what had happened swept over them quickly. Their hands shifted, slowly, and with great caution they pulled back completely, letting one hand graze over her shoulder and down her arm to grab her hand again.
O barely noticed that she was walking once more, only let out a whimper that the alpha had pulled away from her and left only their hand in hers. They were so warm and they smelled so good, she hadn't wanted them to go, she had wanted to stay in that space between their arms forever. The only thing that did finally break her from her mumbled, unintelligble complaints was when they finally pulled her through the doors and the crisp, cool air hit her face.
The wind didn't quite blow the scent away completely, but it was like a splash of cold water in her face, snapping her back to reality. O gulped and brought her free hand up to her burning cheek, shades bumping against her chin, and then looked back over at the handsome stranger. They looked flushed too, and not much less shocked than her, just seemingly a little better put together about it.
"I'm A," they said, breaking the lock-eyed silence. That wasn't the name O had heard her friend refer to them by, this name sounded so much more real, a normal name.
"Ah, um, I'm O," she responded, holding out their sunglasses to them. A took them and smiled at her, she felt a light grow inside the pit of her stomach at the flash of those pearly whites.
They were still holding hands.
Neither of them moved to correct that.
But neither of them talked about what had just occurred in the hallway either. Where did one even start with unpacking such an intense and sudden event like that?
No, better to stay holding hands, and not acknowledge it for fear the other would explain it away.
"Do you feel a little better now?"
She could feel the gentle squeeze of A's hand when they asked and it turned her insides to jelly.
"Oh! Oh, yeah, yeah I'm fine, I just... got a little overwhelmed in there, I think, you know?" She smiled reassuringly up at them, putting her free hand over her heart, why was it still hammering so fast?
Another pause as the two of them took deep breaths, letting the wind pass over them, cooling their heads.
"Um, so-"
"Hey, do-"
"Oh, you go ahe-"
"No no, sorry, you go-"
"Okay, uh...." O hesitated another second, bit her lip, and then let out a small burst of a laugh before she asked, "Could I get your instagram?"
A grinned at her and her heart positively sang. "Yeah, y'know, I was just about to ask you the same thing."
They only broke their grasp of each other's hands to retrieve their phones and exchange user names. It felt so strangely familiar, such a normal thing to do compared to the absolutely bizarre occurrence that had just happened. How did either of them get started with saying how unusual that was for them? How completely outside of their normal experience. How magical it had felt to kiss each other.
The pair took a picture together to post, they were cosplaying a couple after all, but they both felt a genuine rush as A leaned in close to O to look cuddly for the picture. A bit more small talk about the con and the show, while they both tried to painfully ignore how good the other smelled, how badly they hoped the wind would keep up, and how they each secretly wished a little that it would die down.
A checked their phone, lips tightening as they realized they had somewhere they needed to be, as much as this was where they wanted to be, "I'm sorry, I gotta go back in, I have another panel."
O tried not to look crushed. Obviously they had to go, they weren't just at the con for fun like she was, "Oh! Right! Well, I'm certain we'll run in to each other more. Thanks again for helping out there, I guess I did need some air." She laughed a bit awkwardly, but they smiled all the same as they ushered her around the building to another set of doors, not sure if they could handle going in that hallway again.
As they reached the entrance, just about to part ways, A paused, turned back to O, and said, "How would you feel about getting crepes tomorrow morning?"
O couldn't help but break out in a full laugh, smiling at them brightly before she bit back down on her lip again, "Sounds perfect."
As she watched them walk away, they both thought to themselves, '*I can't wait~*'
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thedistantstorm · 5 years
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Keep On Rising (Until the Sky Knows Your Name) 03
Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation
A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.
(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)
Chapters: 01 | 02
This time: The head matron asks Zavala to talk to Amanda about her performance in school.
-/
"I was hoping you might have a word with Miss Holliday," Karena says, when talks of budget constraints and board of governors interference subsides. She slips it in so casually with her usual status updates that he finds himself nodding before he thinks anything of it. These maternal types would make excellent politicians, he thinks for what must be the thousandth time.
"What can I do?" He asks. It would not be the first time he's addressed bad behaviors or given pep talks to a child who needs it. Especially considering most of them look up to him in some capacity (though it was more due to 'superpowers' than the fact that he was the Commander of all Guardians).
"Well, they sent home first trimester grades." Karena slides an envelope to him. "Failing marks in every subject except PE. I don't know what to make of it. The teachers are beginning to wonder if she can read."
Zavala opens the envelope, pulling out a report card and letter. It's exactly as the matron described. "It's possible she can't." Survival didn't often leave room for more than the most basic of education.
"Amanda can read." Karena's tone is firm. "I caught her with her nose in a book the other night at nearly o'three hundred." She hands him something else. A bound notebook. "She's bored."
Amanda Holliday is, in fact, very bored. "This is…" Sketches of ships, vehicles, sparrows. Old ones, clearly from memory, notes in childlike scribbles. Repair information and basic specs for rovers Zavala hasn't seen in decades. The differences between different ship classes, times they pass overhead. Fuel conversion, basic wiring diagrams, all drawn from scratch. Things that should not be in the mind of an eight year old girl, but are. Surely, a combination of intelligence and necessity.
"I can't secure educational funding for her if she won't prove she's intelligent. Hell, I can barely get help for my stragglers. You know that."
He does. "You think she's got all of this all in her head."
"She told four of my staff how to change rotors, oil, and tires on the vehicle we have out back. Said she'd done it before."
"Clearly you don't suspect-"
"I do. She got annoyed when they wouldn't let her roll the tires, though they're bigger than she is. I could hear that little drawl of hers all the way over here in the building." Karena sighs, and he can see the worry lines, etched hard into her face. "She won't talk to me about it. I've tried. I asked her about tasks when she was on the roads. She was despondent for days."
"I doubt she will fare better if I ask." His eyes lock onto hers. "But if you would like me to encourage her to participate in classes… that I am able to do."
"Please." Karena frowns. "She's in her room, on restriction. I cannot reward this behavior, even if it does set her back to do so. At some point," The matron sighs again, "I have to stop treating her like the exception. She'll never overcome her trauma if I do."
"How can I-"
"You've seen things beyond the walls. She knows it, told me so, that after day you let her sleep in the sitting room." Her weathered fingers fold on the tabletop between them. "She feels like you understand her. She trusts you." Karena blinks, her eyes both sad and warm, evaluating him. “Anything you can do to encourage her, I’d appreciate.”
-/
The girl in question is sitting in her bunk, refusing to look at the pile of homework beside her. The exception is the maths worksheet with multiplicative tables on it. She's flipped it over - since the houseparents had taken her notebook - to draw on.
When the knock comes, the paper gets flipped back and tucked away under a history textbook.
"Zavala!" She blurts, in a surprised - happy - chirp, but tenses immediately at the sight of him.
And the orange envelope in his hands. 
He doesn't have an angry look. Not a scary one, like when Ma would threaten to blister her keester if she didn't help gather kindling for the fire because she was tinkering with scrap again. This one is almost sad, but not quite.
"She told ya," Amanda grumbles, when he closes the door behind him, pulling the chair tucked in the corner closer to the bed. He sits down directly across from her.
Zavala hands her the report card after he pulls it from the envelope, tilting his head. "Perhaps you could read this to me."
"Don’t need ta. S’all fails," She grouses, not quite accepting it from his hand.
One eyebrow goes up, and he inches the report card closer to her. "On the back. What your teacher said."
She looks down at it, eyes moving over the words, then back up to him. “I don’t-”
“Read it,” He instructs, tone broking no argument. “Please.”
A sigh so big it looks like she’s shuddering erupts from her. “Fine.” She shifts, holding it up in front of her like a shield. “Amanda Holliday is a quiet girl and does not cause trouble.” She looks up at Zavala. He’s watching her. “She does not, how’ver, c’m-complete tasks or parsipit- participate,” She frowns, inspecting the cardstock, “In classwork or activities. It is dishay- dishor-”
“Disheartening,” Zavala clarifies, softly.
“Disheartenin’ to see such a young mind be so ill a’verse to learn.” She swallows hard, looking up to him. He’s still watching her. Her vision blurs. 
Disappointment. This feeling is disappointment, she remembers. He’s disappointed in her. She wonders why she cares so much what he thinks, when she’s only met him five, six times? Maybe? The thought is fleeting, the knowledge of his disappointment in her overwhelming all other thoughts on the subject.
“And the rest,” He says, still in that cool, soft tone. He doesn’t shift gears even when that first tear falls and she’s crying.
“P-please ‘ncourage Miss Holliday to complete ‘er homework and be an active p-participant in class.”
She sniffles, holding it out to him with a trembling hand. He takes it from her and sets it on the windowsill to his right. “Thank you.” Her head shoots up in confusion. Seeing that he has her attention, he continues, “Is there anything preventing you from participating in class?”
‘There’s a pause. “No sir,” She murmurs, like she would whenever Ma or Pa would talk to her about misbehaving.
“Are you unable to read the materials or instructions your teachers give you?”
“No sir.”
Zavala pulls his chair closer when her head sinks down, and she’s only looking up at him through a nest of hair and dark lashes. “Your teachers put a great deal of effort into their lesson plans, to teach you things. By refusing to take part in that, you are not only hurting yourself, but making a poor reflection on everyone in your support system. That includes Matron Karena and the other houseparents.” She flinches, clearly not having thought of that. “And me,” He finishes, as a barely audible afterthought.
His message is well received. Her eyes are glassy and brimming with tears when she looks up at him, shocked and distraught. “M’sorry,” She whimpers, between great, guffawing sobs. “...’m real sorry,” She hangs her head again, afterwards.
A strange thing happens then, on the other side of the conversation. Zavala has to squash down the feeling of sympathetic distress, of hurt that burns in his gut from causing this child’s discomfort, even if it is the truth. His Ghost pings gently in his mind, tugging soothingly on that place deep inside him in that well-worn way she did when he felt anxiety.
“I didn’ know it made ya all look like that,” Amanda babbles. “...’m not anybody’s,” She shrugs, trying not to think about that too hard. “I didn’t mean ta-”
“I know. That is why I am telling you,” He cuts in, before she goes back to pieces. She hangs on his every word. “I do not believe you meant anyone ill-will. However, your teacher contacted the matron. She was under the impression that you might not know how to read, that no one had taught you how.”
“Ma taught me how!” She all but shrieks, thanks to the high-pitch of her youth, defensively. Zavala does not flinch, but she sees his eyes narrow at the sound. She dials it back. “A’course I know how to read.”
Both eyebrows go up to that. “Clearly,” He retorts, with a pointed glance at her report card.
She narrows her eyes at him. “Ya knew.”
“I do not believe you are ‘ill-adverse to learning.’” He considers her a moment. “Do you know what that means?”
“Yessir,” She slurs. “Means ‘m not a fan of it.”
“Are you?”
“Huh?”
“Do you like learning?”
“Yeah.” It’s quiet, like a church-mouse.
“Then why this?” He picks up the report card, waving it. Her mouth opens wide with a protest, her entire body heaving as she inhales to make her point and make it loud. “Yelling will not make your argument more compelling. Be honest.”
“‘S boring, Zavala,” She answers, willing herself not to raise her voice. “I’m not stupid like my classmates.”
“Amanda.” The rebuke is obvious.
“I’m not sorry fer it,” She argues. “It’s true.”
“It certainly does not appear that way based on your grades.”
She looks at him. "I don't need to learn what they're teachin'. I know it."
"Even City history?" He presses lightly.
"We've been doin' geography." Her eyes dull. "I know about geography. I been out there,"  She scoffs, growing more upset with every word. "I c'n read a map, know my cardinal directions."
Zavala sighs, but his words have an edge that demand her attention. "Amanda, you need to prove it. I do not doubt you know how to determine North from South. However, your instructors cannot possibly know that without you participating."
There is a stalemate between them. It lasts for hardly a moment. Her unhappy green-blue gaze is no match for him, not in the slightest. She looks away. Sighs. 
"I got a’lotta work to do."
That wins her a smile. "You don't strike me as the type to back away from hard work, Amanda."
"It's not hard, it's jus-" She motions to the stack of books and papers, exaggeratedly. 
He chuckles, almost amused. "Perhaps don't put it all off next time, hmm?"
She pulls out mathematics first, using a textbook like a lap desk. Pulls out a pencil and gets to it. He watches her move through the questions rapidly. Hands it to him. "Here."
Instead of the homework, he eyes the drawing on the back of an Acadia class ship, eyes sliding back to her in a silent question.
She shrugs. "The other side," She grouses, when he continues to inspect it silently. "That sides 's not my homework!" His lips purse, and she erupts into giggles upon the sparkling glint in his eye. He's messing with her. "This's serious! I'm provin' myself!" She parrots, when she gets it together, still shaking with silent giggles.
Children are so impressionable, he thinks, flipping the page. He's not so sure what he's expecting, but the mixed equations, basic ones, are all correct. His Ghost nudges him, mentally. 
It had taken her under a minute to do twenty five problems, she informs him. Perhaps easy is correct.
"What is nine times eight, Amanda?"
"Seventy two," She answers without hesitation, popping up and peeking at the page top-down. "D'I mess it up?"
"No," He tilts his head, studying her. "Show me something else you know how to do."
-/
"I've never seen anything like it," The teacher says, still a touch surprised. 
Karena is not. Amanda is outside on the swings. It's a little after recess should have ended, but on parent-teacher conference days it tended to run over, much to the children's delight.
"One day she's disinterested, the next you'd think she'd always been at the top of the class." The teacher is young, the matron thinks. She resists the urge to pat her hands when they finally rest on the desk between them once more. "Whatever you did, it's working for her. I-" She shakes her head, mousy brown hair swaying with the gesture. "My peers say she'll test well above her year in mathematics and science. There are programs, you know. Keeping her enrolled here is a waste."
The matron frowns. "I know. I have applied for multiple scholarships, but…" She waves her hand, unwilling to debate how such things are swayed by politics. "If we have the money left in our budget, perhaps I could get her in a supplemental program." She looks out the window at the girl, blonde hair flapping about as she soars higher and higher, back and forth. It will never happen. They won't break even this year without charitable donations. "But I am responsible for the wellbeing of forty-three other children, and I cannot play favorites."
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