#My digital footprint would never fucking recover

[oscarp81astri]

For FREE DANIEL?? YOURE GIVING THIS TO US FOR FREE???

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Footprints in the Sand

Part 10: Start a War

Summary/Author's Note: TWO MONTHS. Two fucking months Oberyn was silent in my head and y’all suffered for it. I just knew everyone would stop caring about this fic because I let you all down but I posted that it was coming back and my inbox and DMs have been BLOWING UP all fucking night. I love you guys and I am very emotional. Enjoy. 

We had to have just a little drama but of course I would never keep our main three from going to Dorne. Oberyn knows perfectly well that there will be consequences to his actions--he does not care. We are officially in double digits people?? This is unreal. Also, please listen to this song to get the feeeeeeel of what’s going on. 

Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 4.1k Warnings/ratings: 18+/R - Distress, Sad!Oberyn (this was hard to write but I fixed it), murder, throat slashing, Oberyn is angry and reckless.

[Parts] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]  [MASTERLIST]

The waves crashed against the rocks with as much gentleness as was possible for the crags of King’s Landing. The air was cold, but the sky a crisp blue as the sun started to peak over the water. It was a good day for sailing, a good day for travel, and most importantly a good day for going home. Oberyn leaned on one of the posts on the boardwalk leading out into the waters as he watched his soldiers ready the ship. He held the slip of parchment in his fist, torn between crumpling it, re-reading it for the hundredth time, or throwing it into the ocean. 

‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

Six words. After this week was that all they meant to you? The note was signed at the bottom with your name but he couldn’t believe it. His guts churned with the idea that what the three of you had shared in the brothel could be summed up in such a small note. He crushed it in his fist again and swallowed the lump in his throat as he tossed it into the sea. He watched it float down to the surface before getting swallowed by a wave and wished it was the sorrow he felt instead.

“My love?”

Oberyn looked over his shoulder as Ellaria came to stand behind him and put her hand on his sleeve, the other gripped his bicep as she bowed her head to kiss his shoulder. Her eyes were red and despite the stern, stoic way she held her body he knew she had spent most of the morning with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She had put most of her energy into ignoring their existence, and he didn’t dare bring attention to them.

“I thought she’d come,” Oberyn said flatly as he looked back out onto the horizon.

“So did I,” she whispered against his cloak.

He knew it had been quick, a passion spurred on by spite and excitement, but he thought despite the amount of time, there was a certain kinship between you. The idea of not belonging in one place, of wanting to see what wonders the world held--they could give that to you. That and so much more. All it required of you was a leap of faith and yet you were choosing to stay with the Lannisters.

Looking back to the city, looming in the twilight of the morning, it was as if he was waiting for you to come running over the hill. If it was possible, he would stand here and wait as long as he had to.

"I vow to worship your body with my mouth, hands, and cock, every night once we're in Dorne." “Promise?”

He had made you that promise against that table in the library with his cock buried inside of you and you had called him your prince. Had it all been for nothing? Was it just a pretty sentiment said in the height of ecstasy? The thought made a twinge of pain blossom in his chest and he pushed it deep into the background of his subconscious. If you truly didn’t want to go to Dorne, if you didn’t want Ellaria, if you didn’t want..him--he wanted to hear it come from your own lips.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he rubbed his beard in thought. “Who did you say brought the note?”

“I don’t know,” Ellaria answered honestly. “Your men said the messenger was wearing Lannister colors.”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Oberyn stood up straight and walked towards the plank ramp that was leading up to his ship. He stopped the captain of his guard with a gesture of his hand and the man stood at attention with his hand on his scimitar. “Change of plans.”

“But, my prince--” the man looked startled as he faced him. “We’re almost ready to set sail.”

“Then you’ll be ready when I return.” Oberyn held up his hand and stopped another of the guards from walking one of the horses up the ramp.

“Return?” Ellaria spoke up and turned Oberyn to face her instead. “What are you doing?”

“She didn’t write that, Ellaria--”  

“Oberyn--”

“Someone else did.”

“Listen to yourself--”

“My gut is never wrong. She’s in trouble--”

“Oberyn!” Ellaria grabbed both of his upper arms tightly, digging her fingers into the fabric of his yellow sleeves as she fought the urge to shake him. “I thought she would come, as well. I’m heartbroken that she--” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “That she doesn’t want us. But what are you going to do? Storm the Red Keep with a handful of men? And what if you’re wrong--what then?”

“I’m not wrong. And I don’t need a handful of men--I have me.” He gave her waist a squeeze in return and leaned forward to capture her lips and kiss her hard. It was brief, but it caught her off guard just enough to release her hold on him as he walked around her to the horse.

“Don’t do this,” Ellaria pleaded once she recovered, but it fell on deaf ears. Oberyn was many things, but with his fearlessness often came a stupidity that Ellaria knew was going to put her in an early grave.

“Captain,” Oberyn addressed the man from before as he undid his traveling cloak and tossed it to one of the other soldiers.

“Your grace?” The stoic man stood up straighter and gave a nod of attention.

“No one, except myself, is allowed on this ship. You are to stay with my paramour and keep her safe at all costs, do you understand?” Oberyn gave him a very serious gaze and the other man nodded.

“I’m coming with you,” Ellaria protested, but Oberyn shook his head as he grabbed the horn of the saddle and hoisted himself up onto the animal with a swing of his leg.

“No,” He said curtly, rubbing his hand along hers on his knee to soften the sting of his words. “You are correct in saying I will not be able to take the Keep by force. I’m going to go get her, and come back unseen--I need you ready to sail the moment our feet touch the deck.”

“This will have consequences.”

“Everything we do always does.”

She bit her lip and lowered her dark eyes at him. There was no arguing with him. He had clearly made up his mind. “Be careful.”

He grinned and gave her a nod. “I always am.”

“If that were true, I would worry less,” She said. He chuckled before clicking his tongue and spurring the horse forward back across the dock and back into the city.

--

It was early enough in the city square that barely anyone was in the streets. The shops and carts were still closed and the morning air was the cold, crisp kind that seemed to permeate one’s lungs and make them feel clean. The metal shoes of the horse clopped softly as Oberyn turned the reins and clicked his tongue again leading the animal down an alleyway.

The shadows swallowed him as he moved along the wall and pulled the animal up short, dismounting gracefully. He moved the reins up over the animal’s head and tied the leather straps to a beam that was protruding from the stone walls.

He knew the tower that held the servants quarters and the one that had held the bedchambers for the Lannisters when Elia had been queen. Ellaria would have skinned him alive if she had known that was what he was basing his entire plan off of--a memory of the castle layout that was the better part of a decade old.

He ran his hand along the damp stones of the wall that led down the alley and around the larger part of the tower. There were no guards to be seen, as they were no doubt guarding the doors, but he wasn’t looking for a door--he was looking for a window. He looked up, carefully pulling a bit of the mortar that held the stones in place from the wall and crumbled it between his fingers. Humming his approval, he pulled his dagger from the sheath on his side and reached up as high as he would and started digging one of the bricks loose.

He put his dagger away and grabbed the self-made foothold tightly before hoisting himself up to the metal sconce that held one of the Lannister banners on the side of the wall. With careful, meticulous planning, he found something to hold onto, one right after the other, up the side of the tower. A gap in the bricks, a stone that was slightly larger than the rest, it all served the same purpose. His arms and shoulders ached with the repeated motion of pulling his weight up but he pressed on.

He climbed to where the tower met one of the breezeways of the garden and used it as an opportunity to take a break and reassess. His boots dropped down on the roof of the apex of the tower and movement caught his eye. 

The window directly above him, where he was betting your bedroom was was open. But what was odd was the rope that was hanging down from it, blowing gently in the breeze. No, that wasn’t a rope, that was a long line of bed linens knotted together. The realization made him smirk as he searched the courtyard below for signs of movement.

“Clever woman,” he chuckled quietly to himself.

Staying low, he walked the spine of the roof along the perimeter of the courtyard until he got to the end and looked over into another dark alley. Whatever gods were looking down on him that day, were doing so favorably because just like he had hoped, there you were. You hugged the wall of the alley much like he had, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Not only were you not wearing a dress, leather riding breeches took the place of lacy skirts, but your hair was tucked carefully under the dark hood of your cloak. To the average person walking by, you looked ordinary, easy to miss, unless someone was really looking.

He turned his back to the alley and gripped the edge of the roof, lowering his body down as far as it would go before releasing his grip. His boots made a firm thud on the cobblestone behind you and he moved swiftly, putting one arm around your waist and the other over your mouth. Just as he expected, you tried to scream against his hand but he was quick to speak against your hair.

“It’s me, it’s me--”

You turned in his arms and he loosened his grip enough to let you. The look of utter relief on your face was enough to make his chest tight. He grinned and tucked a strand of your hair back into the safety of your hood.

“Oberyn..”

He let out a grunt and braced his knees as you threw your arms around his neck and put your face against his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around your back and he dipped his head to kiss you softly.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” he said, quietly.

"How did you know to come? I thought you were supposed to sail this morning before dawn. I was worried I would be too late."

“We are--but I knew something was wrong. I knew you didn’t send that note.” he rubbed his hands up and down your arms as if to keep you warm and convince himself that you were indeed real.

“What note?” You asked, a flash of fear crossing through your eyes followed quickly by realization. “Cersei--she said that she was going to send word to you and Ellaria that I had changed my mind.”

“She did,” he nodded. “But it wasn’t very convincing.” He winked and you gave a sigh of relief and hugged him again. "If you don't wish to go to Dorne, I expect to hear it from your own lips."

"No--" you blurted out and put your hand to your mouth, looking around the alleyway for any signs of another person. "No, I want to go--I want you, and Ellaria."

He smiled then and let his large hand cup the side of your face, allowing you to lean into his touch as he backed you up against the stone wall and kissed you deeply. "I was hoping that's what you would say." He whispered against your lips and you put your hands on his chest, gripping his tunic. He allowed himself to indulge for only a moment before he pulled back and said to the space between you, "We need to go. Ellaria is waiting and I fear the longer we wait, our odds of getting caught only increase."

You nodded quickly. "Cersei gave the order that if anyone wearing Martell colors came to the castle, they were to be killed on sight--especially you and Ellaria."

"Did she now? Well, that might make things interesting." He chuckled, but it held no joy, it was a noise of spiteful entertainment. "Come on," he grabbed your hand and walked ahead of you, keeping the majority of your body behind him.

The two of you hurried along the wall and you let Oberyn guide you down the alley and around the corner as he clearly retraced his steps. He stopped abruptly, almost causing you to collide with his back as he spotted his horse, now being inquisitively observed by two of the king's guard. They carefully untied the beast from its tether to the wall and looked at one another in confusion. Two against one? Those were favorable odds in his eyes.  

"Stay here," he said, planting you against the bricks with a firm hand on each of your arms.

"Oberyn--Obr--fuck." You tried to protest but he was already gone.

He moved like his nickname implied, swift and silent, like a snake in the sand. He grabbed the hilt of his dagger and pulled it from his belt, his hand wrapped securely around it as he reached the two guards. They never stood a chance as the prince grabbed the taller one by the back of the helmet, jerked his head backwards, and wrapped his arm around the front of him to run the blade across his throat in a dramatic display of red. The horse whinnied and reared back, taking a few steps away from the group of men.

“Stop!” The other guard yelled, as his comrade fell to his knees and then face down, unmoving on the stone.

The command didn’t do any of good, as Oberyn rushed him before he could pull his long sword. The Prince raised his knee and kickied the long sword from his hand with a clang. Oberyn used the momentum and slammed him up against the brick stones, the man tried to scream and he drove the blade of his dagger into his open mouth, through the back of his head, pinning him against the bricks. Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling an involuntary noise of shock as you watched the man’s body twitch, resembling a butterfly pinned to a board in a Maester’s laboratory.

Oberyn leaned in, gripping the man’s hair as blood poured down his chin and he fought his body’s urge to close his mouth around the blade. Any screams he may have made were strangled around the steel as he looked at his attacker with horrified eyes.

“You can keep the dagger,” Oberyn said quietly, close to the man’s face, as he traced his finger down the detailed snake on the hilt. “I want Jaime and the queen to know I was here.”

He looked back at you, expecting to see horror on your face, disgust, regret, anything that would have you second guessing your decision to go with him now that you had seen such a thing. But you were a Lannister, and when he extended his hand to you, you took it willingly. He pulled you behind him only dropping your hand long enough to hoist himself up onto the horse and reach back down to lift you up as well.

You put your hands in the mane of the animal as one of his arms came around the front of your body and held your back tightly against his chest. He dug the heels of his boots into the haunches of the horse and it bolted, thundering hooves against the stone. It was no longer about being quiet. It was about being quick, and putting as much distance between the you and King’s landing as possible.

The two of you rode hard and fast through the streets of the city. People waking up for the day and starting to open up their homes and shops looked at you with curious speculation but you moved too swiftly for much else. Oberyn’s arm was a comforting weight along your stomach and you put one of your hands over it, leaning back into his chest to ground yourself against the jerking of the horse as it galloped.

The minute the docks came into view you felt like you could breathe again. Your chest ached from the anticipation of being unable to see your destination but it was the image of Ellaria standing tall at the edge of the ship that made you want to burst into tears. She looked absolutely stunning, in her burnt orange robes, soft dark leather bodice and matching riding trousers. She was a siren on the water, and she was waiting to call both of you home.

“Sails!” She yelled, over her shoulder to the men behind her and Oberyn’s captain nodded in agreement before moving to make sure everyone within earshot followed her orders.

Your body jerked as Oberyn steered the stallion up the ramp to the ship and jumped it over the edge onto the deck with a loud thud. He let the animal slow to a trot as its chest heaved from the exertion and it blew loud breaths through its nostrils. He pulled up on the leather reins and came to a stop just as the ship shoved off from the port and Ellaria picked up her robes and came running down off of the quarterdeck.

No sooner had Oberyn released you to slip from the saddle and to the ground did she have you gathered in her arms. Your hood fell and she put her hands in your hair and kissed you. “Thank the gods,” she breathed against your mouth and you smiled, a few tears of relief forming in the corners of your eyes.

Oberyn swung his leg and jumped down, handing the beast off to one of his men before turning a fond grin upon the two of you. “I do believe I told you so.”

“Not now,” she chastised him with a smile and a shake of her head but she kept her gaze on you. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Ellaria--” you swallowed hard and took her hands in yours and gripped them tightly. “I didn’t--I would never have left..”

“I know, I know, sweet girl,” she brushed your hair back from her face and nodded. “Oberyn knew. You’re safe.” She kissed you again and drew you into her body, resting her chin on your shoulder and looking at Oberyn standing behind you. “What have we done?” she asked with a smile, her tone saying full well that the consequences didn’t matter.

“With any luck,” he shrugged and rubbed his chin as a smirk overtook his face. “We started a war.”

--

You had no idea just how long you had been on the open water, the days all seemed to run together. The sun rose, the sun set, and as far as the eye could see was just blue water that blended with blue skies. Your fingers twisted idly in the chain of your mother’s necklace that sat nestled between your breasts inside of your bodice--the only worldly possession you had made sure to grab when fleeing the Red Keep. Your lovers had assured you that their first task in Dorne would be to buy you everything you needed, but none of that seemed to matter that much.

The whole feeling of getting further and further away from your old life in King’s Landing seemed surreal. The idea that you didn’t have to return to Casterly Rock didn’t feel like it could possibly be true, but it was. As you stood on the bow of the ship with your hands on the railing and the wind in your hair, you knew that it was true--there was no going back.

Solidly strong arms slid around your waist as sun kissed skin nosed your neck and you leaned back against the solid chest of Oberyn Martell. You had been so caught up in your thoughts, that you hadn’t heard his boots on the planks behind you.

“How is she?” you asked quietly and he spoke as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“She’s fine,” he heaved a sigh when you reached back to put your hand in his hair. “Finally asleep--hopefully she stays that way for a while.”

True to what she had told you in the brothel, as soon as the ship broke the waters of the open ocean, Ellaria had become almost violently sea sick. She had spent the majority of the trip with her entire body over the wooden rails, Oberyn and you taking turns holding her long, dark curls out of the way as she emptied her stomach until there was nothing left. She refused to eat, and when she finally caved and allowed even the smallest morsel to pass her lips, it wound up back in the water a few hours later.

“I feel awful for her.”

“It happens every time,” he said, trying to ease your concerns. “It is a small price to pay to see the world--her words, my dear, not mine.”

You nod and keep your eyes on the horizon as he moves your hair to the side. The action bares your neck to him and your eyes close slowly as you feel his lips start a trail at your shoulder.

“Did you ever send word to your family?” You asked finally, putting your hands over his on your abdomen.

“No,” he answered flatly. “I thought I’d let it be a surprise.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Your voice was chastising and it made him nip your neck and chuckle when you jumped.

“I’m a Prince of Dorne,” he continued. “You need to get used to that. You don’t need to ask permission anymore.” He kissed up to the shell of your ear and whispered. “What’s our rule?”

The action caused you to shiver and you squeezed his hand. “Don’t apologize.”

“Exactly. Most people spend their entire lives making excuses and apologies for the things they truly desire--we are not most people.” One of his hands slid up from your waist to cup your breast through your bodice as he licked a slow, wet line down the side of your throat.

“Oberyn…” you bit your lip and let out a shaky breath before briefly glancing over your shoulder to make sure none of his men had their attention on the two of you. “Stop--” you moved his hand from your breasts and back to your waist.

“As you wish,” he grinned against your skin and went back to resting his chin on your shoulder and looking out at the water. “But the second we get settled in our chambers in the palace--you and Ellaria are both mine.”

“Our chambers?” you asked, turning your head to smile at him and he hummed in agreement.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather sleep elsewhere?” he teased and chuckled as you shook your head. He was quiet for a few moments before he squeezed you gently, moving one of his arms to point across the horizon. “Look, my love.”

Your gaze followed his arm and your heart raced as the horizon broke to show that there was indeed land on the other side of the world. The smile that broke across your face was so wide that it almost hurt. Unlike the shore of King’s landing and Casterly Rock, there were no cliffs, no crags, no ragged edges to dull the beauty of the waves and darken the landscape. No, this was very different. The sandy beaches were warm and inviting, the foam from each crest of the waves broke against the shoreline and rolled back to let the sunlight sparkle off of the surface. You wanted to jump into the water, to feel the sand against your skin, to immerse yourself in what was to be your new home.

As if sensing your thoughts, Oberyn lowered his voice and spoke against your hair, “Welcome to Dorne, Lioness.”

--

[Next Chapter]

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[kewltie]

Katsuki’s backlog of military pension from the Imperial Homeworld arrives thirteen cycles after he’d finally settled on a newly minted colony outpost in Wild Space. He’d given more than twenty years of his life to the Empire and its glory and they still half-ass his retirement.

Fucking figures. Useless bureaucracy as always.

His pension landed with a dropship of shipments from a nearby space station. Katsuki half expected some kind of parade of medals and acclaims, and enough credits lining his bank account to tide him over for several generations, because Bakugou Katsuki is a goddamn war hero. He’d carried more than his weight in battle and had fought on the frontline of the Empire’s wars since he learned how to carry a gun and shoot a man at eleven on one of the Empire’s offshoot colonies.

He’s a soldier through and through, and he’d paid his dues. It’s now their turn.

What actually steps out of ship is neither some fanciful rewards or some official congratulating on his overdue retirement, but a young man with curls of green hair that reminds him of an overgrown bush and the greenest pair of eyes to match. He even got freckles dusting his face and decked out in gleaming gemstones that covered his ears, hands, neck, and wrists. He is a walking treasury of the Empire, wearing a thin long flowy dressrobe too flimsy and delicate for the kind of harsh climate in CAPU VI, and his long hair is pinned up with a flower ornamental headpiece dyed in crimson colors.

Their eyes meet and Katsuki’s pension dip his eyes as his cheeks stained a soft hue of pink. “Colonel Bakugou,” he says, lowering his head and his long lashes dipping with deference. “I’ve come on the behest of the Empire as a reward for your honorable service and duty to the Imperial Homeworld.”

Katsuki drags his hand down his face and groans as Kaminari whistles appreciatively next to him. “Oh Merciful Thane, they got you a courtesan as your pension,” he says, barely containing his amusement. “What were they even thinking?!”

“Those fucking nutjobs,” Katsuki grumbles.

Courtesan. A fancy nomer for the flowers of the Core Worlds. Genetically engineered humans with spliced genes from various plants, they're bred and raised to be the companion of the elites. Docile, submissive, and blindingly loyal to their master; they're worse than actual pets.

Katsuki crossed path with a few of them in the past through public functions pushed by the Imperial's propaganda machine, because someone got to nicely package war to the ignorance mass. All the courtesans he'd previously encountered were all pretty smiles, well mannered, and soft spoken. They were so goddamn perfect in presentation that it was like talking to an empty headed doll. It had grinded his gears then and it still grinds his gears now. What the fuck is Katsuki even supposed to do with some artificial created flower doll?

Sheltered in the cradle of the Core Worlds, these courtesan certainly never know the meaning of starvation, never dirty their hands in a hard day of work, and certainly had never step foot on some far flung planet and told to survive they must fight and kill the enemies in front of them.

Katsuki had worked his ass off to be able to finally retired deep in Wild Space, far from the Empire's reach, so he can live a life away from the bloodshed and deaths of war after having endured it enough to last several lifetimes.

But, of course the Empire continues to fuck him over even now.

He gazes at the Empire's last fuck you to him, brows pinching in thought. Shipping him back would be an annoyance, too many toes he would have stepped on, but worth it.

The courtesan gives him a tentative smile under the intense scrutiny. Cool. Professional. And just downright perfect. "I'm Izuku from the Misty Rain Teahouse," he introduces himself.

Misty Rain, a famous teahouse that had train some of the best courtesans in the galaxy and Izuku is one of theirs. At least the Empire is not that much of a stingy ass autocracy to skimp out on his pension even if their gift is completely useless and inconvenience to him in this part of space.

"I don't care what the fuck your name is or where you came from," Katsuki says with narrowed eyes, "because you're going hop right back on that damn ship. I don't have time to take care of some pamper pet trying to warm my bed when this hellhole of planet is going to fuck me sideways if I'm not careful."

Izuku flinches, but holds his head high and shoulders firm. "I--," his cheeks redden as he clear his throat, "I'm not here to be just your b-bed partner, Colonel Bakugou. I'm to be your husband. You made an acquisition for a spouse with the VA and I'm here to fulfill it."

A beat of deathly silence, then, "what?" Katsuki demands with an outraged hiss.

Kaminari's brows shoot up to hairline at that revelation. "Sol's galactic balls, they sent you an equivalent of a mail order bride!" He clutches his stomach, and laughs and laughs like the idea is so absurd it got to be some sort of a joke. "I didn't think you were that lonely to be in a need of a spouse, Bakugou."

Katsuki's eyes flashes toward Kaminari and he smacks him at the back of his head for the trouble. "Shut your fucking mouth before I stapled it shut," he threatens.

Kaminari just grins and mines zipping his mouth in the face of Katsuki's glare and fury. "Aye, aye, sir," he says with a lazy salute that makes Katsuki bristle. They’re out of uniform, but doesn’t mean Kaminari can be indolent with his manners.

Katsuki consider throwing him in the compactor for his casual insubordination, but he's shorts on extra hands at his ranch and Kaminari when he's not speaking is actually a good engineer. He sighs, and turns back to the other problem at hand, who is sparing him a hopeful smile.

Katsuki rakes a hand through his hair furiously, before biting the bullet. "Look, I didn't make any formal request for a spouse," he tells Izuku. "So you can go back and tell those fuckers that they had made a mistake. I wanted my pension in credits at least and not a damn bedwarmer."

"B-but," Izuku's green go wide with hurt, "I got your signature here right here, sir." He pulls up a holocron page on his wrist and there's a digital footprint of Katsuki's signature on it. "You signed the paperwork so we're officially married under the Empire's purview."

Katsuki’s jaw locks, hands curling at his side as a windswept murderous rage set in. He thinks of that boy orphaned by war, who had learned how to wield a gun and shoot a man down long before he even knew the warmth of another home; his hands are uncleaned.

Twenty years. Twenty fucking years that he had let them strung him up like a toy soldier so he can bleed on foreign soil countless time, spearheaded invasions, and waged wars for the Empire's ambition that had left him half mad and lost in a sea of the ghost of his compatriots.

He was done. Done with their damning blood wars. Never again will he played into their hands. The day after they had pinned another the medal of honor on his chest, he'd sent in his retirement papers and that was that. Only thirty years old, but he was already a veteran of hundreds of wars.

It only took watching a friend get shot way too many times, that there's no honor or glory in burying the dead and having to grip the hand of someone you had slept and fought side by side with as they breathed their last breath. Katsuki was tired of it all. Losing and losing and losing, even when he had come out of each battle unscathed. Using the blood money they had given him and had accumulated over the years, he bought several acres of land and within a year he managed to carve a life for himself here in the Wild Space.

He'd never consider that escaping from the Empire's machination would even remotely entrap him with a damn husband for a spy later.

"I don't need or want you, so fuck off!" Katsuki spits out. This man before him reeks of the Empire's ploy to have him fall back into their grip. He would foolish to assume that once he hung up his guns and assumed a civilian identity that they would just leave him the fuck alone. He’s too good of a soldier to be ever truly let loose in society.  

Once a dog of war, always a dog of war.

 "I'll double whatever they'd paid you to be here,” Katsuki continues to offer with a glower.

Izuku blinks, taken back his sharp words as hurt flashes across his face, but he swiftly recovers with a steady voice that had been practice a million times before. "Colonel Bakugou, it is of great privilege to be able to serve you,” he says, the words flowing out of him easy and true. “You are not only a hero of the Empire, but the hero, the White Wolf, who had ravaged Epsilon VX and saved the Citadel from the Anrhon." He drops his gaze to the ground. "I was chosen specifically as reward for all your accolades. I deeply apologize that you do not find me to your taste or use."

Kaminari jabs him in the side with his sharp elbow. "Couldn't you be more considerate?" he hisses. "You're going to make him cry!"

Katsuki turns to him and glares. "I fucking didn't ask for him or any of this! I just want those fuckers at HQ to leave me the fuck alone." He switches his attention back to the new baggage that was dropped in his lap unceremonly and finds him hunch over, eyes still downcast, and so out of place at this shitty spaceport with all expensive jewelries and clothes. And fuck.

He sighs, dragging a hand down his face at this entire fucked up fiasco.

Izuku jerks his head up suddenly. "If General Bakugou wish for me to leave, I would," he starts, voice hesitant and wary, "but as the next transport shuttle won't depart to the core worlds till next quarter, I cannot leave yet."

Katsuki groans in defeat, because what the fuck.

When he'd chosen this quadrant of the in the outer rims, Wild Space, because he had wanted to put as much distance from the reaches of the Empire as possible and this part of space is harsh and still mostly untamed. It takes the Empire too much manpower to maintain control of the independent colonies this far off the rim. And very few seek to settle on this last frontier of the galaxy where raiders, slavers, and the worst kind of people make their home here. The colonists that landed here either has no other choice left or they're just plain mad. Katsuki is neither, because he's very good with a gun and he always like a challenge.

It's much easier to find shuttles that take the passengers here then is it to find one that is willing to take them back, because very few does. The outer rims will chew you up and spit you out all wrong and fucked up that you become unrecognizable. This place is not made for pretty, delicate flowers like Izuku. "Fine, fucking fine," he growls out, frustration thickening his voice. He's not that much of an asshole to leave his not-spouse stranded and alone in this hellhole. "You can stay with me for now. Temporary until I figure what to do with you." He scowls. "But as soon as the next shuttle arrived, you're going to drag your ass on that ship and never come back here, do you hear me?"

Izuku lights up, eyes bright as his hands clasped together. "Thank you, thank you so much, sir. I will not drag you down and will work hard to earn my bedding and food."

"So," Kaminari muses, "you got a free labor and companionship for an entire three months. Fun times ahead."

Katsuki’s scowl deepens. "Fun my ass." He rolls his eyes. "Come on, get your luggage and throw it in Kaminari's hovercar. We're heading back to my ranch and it's a long and bumpy ride hed."

Izuku shuffles forward hopefully. "Yes, sir." Then, he stops and winces. "My luggages are quite a lot. I'm sorry that it might be a tight squeeze in the hovercar for all three of us."

Katsuki snorts. "It’s fine. I didn't come here with him on the hovercar anyway. I have my own ride."

He prefers to travel around on his cy-bike anyway. It's faster, smaller, and his. Less chance of other people riding along, because he hates having passengers on his bike anyway.

"Oh," Izuku breathes, his eyes widening with delight and curiosity, "I've never been on a cy-bike before." He looks hopefully at Katsuki. "May I ride with you, general?"

Katsuki's brow twitches as Kaminari snickers beside him at the audacity of this sheltered flower from the core worlds. Suicidal or mad, he thinks in annoyance, these are the people that chose to come here. Izuku might be both. Sol, the boy is both. "You," he points at Izuku, then to himself with narrowed and skeptical eyes, "want to ride with me."

"Yes." Izuku nods eagerly. "May I? I promise to behave!"

Katsuki rubs his throbbing forehead and sighs. "I don't take passenger," he says, "and especially when you're wearing that." He gestures to Izuku – to the delicate, fine silk skirt of his long dressrobe that swamped his person. "It's going to tear into the fabric and you're going to be upset about your ruined clothes."

Izuku looks down at his chosen attire, frowns, and then with no hesitation he bends down, reaches for his skirt and tears right into it. His hands pull taught at the material like a fine knife cutting through water. Seamless, clean, it goes all the way around him till whatever remains is a very, very short skirt that hang loose mid-thigh,  making him look like one of those port hookers ready to drop their clothes for ten credits.

A treasured courtesan, raised in the core worlds with all its luxury and wealth, had ripped his overprice damn robe in front of them with no shame. "Will that do?" Izuku asks earnestly, holding the piece of fabric he had torn in his grip. "Or should I make it even shorter?"

Kaminari makes a scandalized sound next to him that sound like dying horine. "Fine, you win," Katsuki drawls out, mostly exasperated but also slightly impressed. This shittyass galaxy that had made children into soldiers and soldiers into monsters, he wouldn’t surprise if the flower before him will also grow some teeth one day.

Honestly, fuck them all. Clearly, Izuku has no intention to give him any peace or quiet in the next several months that he’s stuck here with Katsuki.

[anarxy-blog1]

‘waterboarding torture”

Would you like to know the definition of insanity? It’s simple. It is the condition of being insane. A deranged mind.

This is a story about myself and my ex, let’s call her Annie.

At the time, it was impossible to see. She had developed a fascination with, let’s say an obsession with, keeping tabs on my internet browsing history and similar items. All of the similar items. And the not-so similar ones as well. So much so that she MAY have actually quit her job to pursue her new favorite activity, torture.

My mom would torture my ass with a paddle when I stepped out of line as a kid. It was relatively accepted by society to the point retail shops carried ass whooping paddles for the strict family values you sought to implement.

Waterboarding, coals, boiling water as. Watching someone suffer at the simple act of a drop of water timed and measured to ping the exact amount onto the torturer’s forehead at specific incremental times. The sheer terror that begins to build in their faces as they anticipate the simplest, smallest organism drifting harmlessly towards their head. In a shower or any other location, this would be met with joy, ahhh warm water. Here the repetition begins to chip away at the torturer after only a few short minutes and will continue breaking down their spirit in fractional increments over a period of days. A drop of water. Perfect and beautiful, but in the right set-up, time and place a lethal weapon that will eventually break the spirit of the man or woman it is falling onto in no time. Terrible horrifying H20, you are a vicious weapon of small destruction. May I take a sip?

My ex used a modern version of waterboarding to slowly chip away at my mental health and stability. In the age of computers and the internet super highway, she had replaced the drop of water with the act of replacing my password(s). Simple. She would gain access to an account of mine and go about editing my profile or security info and passwords. In doing so she was committing many many crimes and probably paving the way for new, up-to-date cyber ready laws. She is that good, that much on the cutting edge of torture artists, that she is breaking new ground in the industry with relative ease. Removing and replacing one’s online account information is considered to be “invasion of privacy, unlawful access, impersonation, intent to deceive, forgery through computer, falsifying and tampering with records, forgery, wrongful access and impersonation/identity theft” for starters. Most of these laws are a bit newer as our justice system cant keep up with the internet and torturer’s best and brightest fast enough. The issue(s) faced in bringing charges on some of these are the extensive documentation required from various third party support teams. This is technical info and computer shit that fingerprints the hackers location, device, times logged, browsers and some additional info that can be used to track down the guilty party.

So here is Annie. On the cusp of a revolution in the way we view casual civilian torture practices as we know it.

Like I was saying. By hijacking a single password or account of mine she was able to create a trail of access logs, accounts, and information that could paint the picture of my entire life. She had my digital footprint in its entirety on her laptop. (she claims that I AM RESPONSIBLE for its being on her tiny 350 GB laptop HD) that I felt the need to load dropbox onto yet another machine in the house (totaling 7 or 8) for reasons unknown. Reasons that would take my entire life as I knew it to her in a gift wrapped, modest sized portion onto a computer for all and anyone to see. FUCKING HELL.

*i was never able to recover any of the above files. She had “Sold the computer” and eventually told me that was a lie to get me off her back. she retains all access to my digital archives both as a student and professional.

Actually, the above is perhaps the single most terrifying thing I have ever seen or experienced in my life. The loss of privacy to one’s digital cloud, to their media files, personal files, private life, work life, xxx library, passwords, browser histories, photo albums, video albums, mp3 collections, digital video and game collections, debit cards, bitcoins, phone app info. IT WAS MY ENTIRE WORLD. And I lost it. All in a single moment, one I cannot recall because it happened without my presence. One I can’t recall because I actually do not know the date(s) or time(s) it went into effect. Because, I am not my stalker. I am not the predator here, but the prey. A lonely digital citizen with an interest in technology. And now, without me knowing, there is someone delving deep into my entire folder files and sub-folders. Checking my e-mails and reading my SMS history. And she is sitting right next to him.