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[sugaurora]

éffleurer | 03

There were always whispers in your office about what secrets Seokjin hid behind his clean image. Now, you knew at least one of them. 

Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

Genre: CFO!Jin AU; Smut

Word Count:  4,900+

Tags: Sexually explicit content, profanity, Dom/sub relationship, light pain kink, references to stripping, heavy petting

🎶Music: Alina Baraz - Fantasy

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Crossposted on AO3

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— Y/N—

Seokjin greeted you at his door with a signature one-sided smile. He stepped aside just enough to let you pass, but left so little room that your body brushed against his chest, the heady scent of his cologne caressing your senses. It was subtle, but you had spent years learning the non-verbal cues of others, deciphering when someone’s body gave a message, even when their mouth couldn’t. Though it wouldn’t do to get your hopes up this early, so you tucked the interaction away for now.

“I didn't know if you’d come,” he said in a quiet voice after closing the door. You turned to face him in the entryway.

“I'm a professional, you requested me, and I can’t say I mind performing this service for you. So here I am,” you said, lifting your shoulders in a shrug you hoped looked nonchalant. Seokjin dragged a hand through his dark hair and nodded, seemingly amused, if not surprised. Did he really think you wouldn’t come?

You gave him a quick once-over. He was dressed more casually than you’d ever seen him: a cream-colored sweater, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and dark, fitted jeans that you immediately decided you preferred to his usual tailored slacks.

He seemed to notice your appraisal, his smile spreading across the rest of his plump lips. He held out a hand, offering to take your coat just as he had the last time. You smiled back and tugged the belt open, pulling apart the buttons and sliding the coat from your shoulders.

You had stacked your confidence in the end, planning to wear your lingerie as armor. If Seokjin only called you over in an attempt to talk you out of your moonlighting, you hoped the sight of you in this outfit would have him changing his tune quickly. How could he think about convincing you to quit when all the blood was rushing to his pants? And if he instead wanted to play the dangerous game of doing anything more, you had decided it was a game two could play.

His nostrils flared, the muscles in his long neck tensing, both barely noticeable. But it was enough to calm your nerves, knowing you’d had the desired effect. You turned on your heel and sauntered into his main room with your head held high, setting your alarm again at his fireplace mantle while he hung your coat.

One hour. This would be easy.

“The place is pretty clean already, but I couldn’t tell you the last time I dusted a damn thing in here.” He stood at the mouth of the entryway hall, eyes on you as he spoke. “Do all the surfaces, the tv, decor. Pretty much everything dust can cling to.”

He looked away after a moment, nodding towards a small duster and a few microfiber cloths sitting on an end table.

“Yes, sir,” you said, glancing around the room to decide on your plan of action before picking up your tools. You performed your task dutifully as he looked on from his seat on the couch, drinkless this time. He seemed content to just watch you again. Quiet music was already drifting from the speakers, but no conversation followed from him after he’d given you his request.

As you lifted another small figurine to wipe down, you decided you’d rather get him talking. There was at least one thing you’d been dying to know.

“You never answered my question, sir,” you said, not bothering to turn to him in the hopes of coming off casually.

When you received no answer, you glanced back at him curiously. Seokjin was still sat on the couch, leaning back into the cushions with one foot crossed over his knee, hands draped over his thighs. His eyes had gone dark and were clearly focused on you, or rather, your body. And that pesky erection had very apparently made its way back to his lap. There was a long moment where your eyes met his before you watched them refocus and acknowledge your face.

“Did you say something?” he asked. You laughed to yourself and set his figurine back down.

“I said, you never answered my question,” you repeated, coyly folding your hands behind your back.

Seokjin took a deep breath and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward slightly. “What question was that?”

You walked towards him slowly and his eyes never left you, tracking your every move until you stood at the edge of the couch. It felt good to have his attention like this and it stoked a fire in you, knowing the effect you had on him by just being in the room.

“Whether I have permission touch you,” you asked.

His eyes drifted away from you, tongue pressing between his teeth, clearly contemplating his options. You looked on expectantly, wondering if it was a question he’d hoped to forget. Maybe he truly only wanted to watch you, to have you dangled in front of him like so much forbidden fruit. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for that to be enough for someone. After all, that was what this whole job was about. Though you wanted to prod further, you decided it would be better to leave the ball in his court. If the extent of Seokjin’s desires ended with looking, you wanted to respect that, no matter how much you wished he wanted to explore more.

“Only while you dance,” he responded at last, his decision sounding final enough, though there was a hesitation in his words that gave you doubt. It wasn’t the response you were expecting, you thought to yourself. But it did open up a few possibilities.

You shifted forward, pressing your fingers into the arm of the couch, noting what was the softest leather you’d ever felt. “So...are you asking me to dance?”

He nodded, leaning back into his seat again. There was a tenseness in his broad shoulders that left you still unsure of what he really wanted, but with nothing to go on except his requests, you set your resolve to just do your best with what he asked. And, you hoped, you could loosen him up in time.

Pulling a stool from the minibar, you made a show of swaying your body around it to the music. Again, he hadn’t asked you to remove any clothing and though the urge was strong, you only tugged teasingly at the straps of your clothing, holding his eyes as much as you could, but giving him a fair view of your behind as well.

Once you pushed your prop aside and made it to the floor, spreading your legs as you moved, you remembered he was getting a full view of your very, very sheer undergarments. It set you wondering if you were saving yourself any modesty after all by not just stripping anyway. But Seokjin said nothing and whenever your eyes met his, you found a man only focused on your movements.

You crawled closer and again rested your hands on him as you rolled your body forward towards him. This time he made no comment as you touched his thighs. But you had to admit, something specific was drawing your attention now that you were this close.

“Y/N, your eyes seem a bit preoccupied.” His voice shook you from your concentration and you looked up at him instead, then smiled with no shame when you realized where your attention had been. He returned your smile and it encouraged you to voice your thoughts.

“You just seem like you have a big problem. Isn’t that frustrating for you?”

“I’m pretty sure I read the fine print of our contract correctly and solving certain problems for me is strictly prohibited,” Seokjin responded, the tease in his voice clear. Was it a tease? A challenge maybe? But his expression remained playful. You sat back onto your knees, sliding forward and positioning yourself between his legs.

“It's not a heavily enforced contract,” you said, all promises of behaving yourself out the window. If Seokjin wasn’t going to draw the line between you clearly, you would have to make him draw it. Because right now your line was long forgotten and nothing sounded better in the moment than separating him from his pants. And he didn’t exactly make any complaints as he stared down at you on your knees before him.

“And you're saying you would offer that to me?” He hesitated a moment. “Do you always..?”

You shook your head. “I never have before. I'm saying I wouldn't be opposed to helping you ,” you emphasized. “You're kind of a special client, after all.”

“Oh, special?” he considered, stroking a hand across his chin in mock contemplation. “And what makes you think you know what I need?”

“I don’t, but I could learn,” you purred, scratching your nails lightly along the fabric of his jeans. “You could teach me.”

You watched his jaw tense, dark eyebrows raising slightly. Calculating.

“I-,” he said, the word fading at the end. You gave another stroke of your nails while he thought. “I’m not sure you want to learn that.”

“Are you saying you aren’t interested?” you asked flatly.

Seokjin swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

The dance around your desire was taking its toll on you both, your patience wearing a little thin. Not that you minded a bit of coy banter, but what was the point if he truly wasn’t interested?

You could see the wheels in his mind turning as he considered your words, likely trying to account for the consequences of taking you up on them. But in your mind, you were both adults who wanted something similar. You had made your decision by walking through his door tonight. Though you hadn’t yet worked out how it would affect your position at work if you slept with the boss, but that was an issue for tomorrow.

“What are you willing to do for me, Y/N?” he asked. You pulled yourself up from the floor, slipping your legs on either side of him and sinking into the leather of the couch until you were straddling his thighs. It was a bold move, but at this point you needed him to clearly understand what you wanted.

“Whatever you need, sir. I came here to serve you after all. You called and I came and I did what you asked.”

Seokjin remained quiet, hands resting at his sides, and you continued speaking, hoping to urge him forward.

“And I think you’d very much like if I did something to satisfy the rise in your pants you've pretty much had since I walked through that door.” You were starting to feel a little desperate, like he was making you push him the whole way, and a spark of fear crossed your mind. Would he be cruel enough to reduce you to almost begging before rejecting you in the end? It was a struggle to figure out his angle.

“If you would be open to it,” he breathed, voice almost inaudible, dispelling your sudden worries.

You slid yourself forward, sitting back onto his thighs, leaning your face close to his own.

“I would be, sir.” Your lips curved around the last word, hoping to make sure he felt the full effect of his desired title, something the shudder in his body told you he enjoyed very much.

But there it was again, the same hesitation dangling in his eyes. He was holding back and it made you unsure. You wanted this, caution be damned. Wanted to finally close in on what your dreams had promised all those months ago. You realized then that you had wanted it all along, suppressed lust for him now bubbling to the surface. But you really didn’t want to push him if he wasn’t interested. And his strained silence seemed to give you that message.

“But if that’s not what you want-” you started, pressing your hands against the couch to push yourself off his lap, accepting the rejection.

Seokjin exhaled a heavy breath from his nose and immediately his hands were on your waist, pulling your body to his. As he took up your lips, you released the moan of satisfaction that had been building in your chest.

“Did you have to make me work so fucking hard for it?” you whined into his mouth and he laughed and pulled your body closer, nipping your lip before showering you in more hungry, wet kisses. His lips set off a chain reaction and you felt the pull, felt his fervor as he pressed your bodies ever closer. Your hands draped across his shoulders, fingers sliding into his hair just at the base of his neck.

As his lips trailed kisses down your jaw, each one leaving you shuddering against him, you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs and your longing to feel more of him flew straight to your center.

“Y/N, I have to warn you first,” he started to speak, his warm breath sending tingles across your neck as he spoke.

And then you felt his teeth, pressing into your earlobe, the rush of pain and pleasure wrapping around each other and you wanted it, more of it, right now. A moan escaped your lips and you scratched your fingers along his scalp. His lips pressed a soft kiss against the bite.

“I'm interested in something specific.” His voice was quiet, rolling in your ear and pulling your attention. “If we’re going to do this, you have to want what I want.”

His sincerity gave you pause. There was so much of the Seokjin you had come to know in his tone. Considerate and kind, he was more of the same man you had known for months, the leader you had come to respect. You pushed aside your hormones, ready to hear his request, but knowing you would say yes to almost anything he asked.

“What do you want, sir?”

“I want a submissive partner. I want full submission from you when you’re inside my home. I want to control you and punish you when you disobey me.” His teeth grazed along the tender skin of your neck. “And reward you when you're a good girl for me.”

You smiled to yourself. You knew it, knew that all along he had been holding back his desire to control you, most likely only putting up with your attempts at steering the situation out of respect for your office positions and his own reservations on what going down this path could mean. But this was his real desire and every part of you wanted to submit, wanted to please Seokjin exactly how he wanted.

“I'll do whatever you say, sir,” you said, closing your eyes, lost to the feeling of his teeth as they pressed into your skin again. “I'll let you control me. Teach me.”

His lips stopped with your words and you opened your eyes to find them meeting his own. Focused and serious, he held your gaze for a moment, making sure he had your attention.

“I don’t have any experience in this,” he admitted, voice a little meek. You found the honesty refreshing, the way his eyes softened endearing. His gaze trailed away from yours and you could tell he was a little embarrassed at the confession. “I’ve never been in control of someone else.” A pause. “I've never had the right partner for it.”

And then his eyes were back on yours. “But you, Y/N...”

“I'm not experienced, but I want to try,” you said sincerely. “We can learn together.”

You thought as you spoke the words. What did it even mean to be a submissive? With your mostly vanilla sex life lending no personal experience in the realm of power play, the obvious answer seemed like being controlled and used by someone else. But Jieun had always talked about the delicacies of relationships like this. A more than experienced female dominant, she liked to educate you over a drink about her escapades, and in this field she had always emphasized the trust and care involved in making a connection like this successful.

You cared about Seokjin from the moment you met him, from the moment he had been friendly and kind to you. He treated you with respect and dignity and never was at a loss for words of encouragement or guidance. And the longer you'd known him, the more your care had deepened.

And as for trust...

“I trust you,” you said, hoping it would reassure him.

Seokjin pressed his lips to yours, this time not hungry, but tender and gentle and you felt something new and unknown blooming in your chest. There was a promise in his kiss, a statement letting you know he understood what he was asking of you and what he was offering.

“I trust you,” he broke away for a moment to murmur, before his lips were on yours again, fervor renewed.

The conversation hadn’t been the type of dirty, pillow talk you expected in the moment, but the intimacy of the words was more sensual, more personal. You had formed a bond here with Seokjin, an agreement to trust each other on a deep, sexual level. An unmistakable excitement followed the idea of stepping into new roles and exploring new sides of each other together. The taboo of your office positions might have lent a little to the excitement as well, but you weren’t interested in thinking about that at the moment.

Seokjin’s hands slid past your hips and down to your backside, fingers dipping beneath the soft material of your undergarments and pressing into the flesh. He was tugging you forward, urging a meeting between the hardness in his lap and the soft barrier of your panties.

As you pressed your heat against the stiffness in his jeans, he groaned into your mouth, fingers digging harder into the plump of your ass.

“Fuck,” he breathed out and a surge of heat flew up your spine, mingling with the warmth of his body so close to yours. And then you felt yourself moving. In one smooth movement, Seokjin had lifted you up and turned your body away from his. His thumbs hooked into the straps of your bodice, slipping it down until your chest was exposed.

“Your body is so beautiful, Y/N. I could stare at you all fucking day,” he panted into your ear as his hands went to your breasts, cupping them in his hands. He caressed the soft flesh there, rough squeezes followed by rolling and tugging your nipples between his fingertips. The sudden, intense stimulation caused you to cry out, half-moaning from the pleasure, half-whining from the pain.

Alright, so maybe you were wrong about him being an ass man.

Changing to the opposite side of your neck, his teeth followed, leaving imprints sure to be future sore spots as he toyed with the flesh there.

One hand left to caress your breast, Seokjin’s other hand slowly crept down between your legs, rubbing circles into the skin of your thighs hesitantly, asking silent permission to move forward. As if it wasn’t alright with you. As if you weren’t already dying to feel his hands on you everywhere.

It wasn’t until his fingers made contact with your thin panties that you realized how badly you had already soaked through them, the evidence of your wet arousal immediately audible.

“Already this wet for me? My dirty girl.” His voice was a low hum in the background of your consciousness, drowned out only by his movements. His thumb made gentle strokes at first, which turned into full finger caresses against your wet mound. You whimpered against him, rolling your hips at his attention, still feeling the hardness in his pants now pressing against your backside.

“Moan nice and loud for me, angel, so I can learn what your body craves.”

You nodded, unable to press any words past your lips, lust pooling as he built up the fire between your legs, fingers rolling against the wet mess of the thin material of your panties. You spread your legs a little more to give him access and permission and he took it immediately, giving your clit a soft pinch. You let out another pained moan, letting your hands land on his thighs, gripping them in desperate need of something to hold onto.

“Good girl,” he murmured and the praise was almost as good as his touch.

His teeth were back on your neck and you felt yourself swimming through the agony of his denial as his fingers rubbed your clit in slow, methodic circles, keeping you dripping for him, but providing far too little stimulation for you to get anywhere. Was this the torture Jieun talked about? If he decided to spend all night teasing you like this, your muddled brain wasn’t sure you would be able to make it.

His fingers dipped lightly against your entrance, threading shapes against the fabric there, firing the sensitive nerves already dripping with your juices.

“Seokjin!” The name escaped you, curled in a tight whine as his teeth left yet another sore spot on your overstimulated neck. He paused for a moment and your breathing escalated, nervous and excited at this new level of the unknown. A long-fingered hand slipped across your bare breasts, down to the exposed skin of your inner thigh, then raised up and landed a sharp smack on the sensitive flesh. The pain shocked you and you cried out again.

“Don't start with me again,” he said, his voice colored dark with authority.

“S-sir…” you corrected yourself, the stinging pain only sending more heat to your core.

“Don't forget it, angel. You said you would be good for me.”

“I will, sir,” you cooed desperately. “I promise.”

His mouth went back to your neck, back to the sore skin as his hand floated back between your legs, squeezing the meat of your thighs, dancing across your heat, but still agonizingly never passing your clothing. After an age, he refocused on your aching clit and your moans joined his movements, desperate noises you hoped were letting him know you wanted more.

“That's right, angel, let me hear you. Tell me what you want.” His lips were pressed against your ear now, his voice alone enough to have you shaking.

“I want to feel your fingers inside of me, please,” you begged. Surely he had teased you long enough. Instead, his fingers stopped and you held your breath.

“Oh?” he said and you could hear the smile on his lips. “Is this frustrating you? Do you want me to stop petting you?”

“No!” you protested, placing a pleading hand over his. “Please don't stop. I just want your fingers inside me so bad, sir, please.”

He flicked your hand aside roughly and returned to his agonizingly slow strokes still blocked by cloth. “I’ll decide when you've earned my fingers rubbing your pussy, raw and bare. Right now I prefer this, making you drip through these panties for me.”

You were at a loss, desperate for his touch, but losing your mind at the slow build in satisfaction. Exactly what kind of treatment had you signed up for?

“Open your mouth,” he whispered, bringing his wet fingers to your lips, before jamming them into your mouth. The taste your own slick coated your tongue, unsurprising since you had fully soaked through your lingerie. How had he gotten you so close to the edge without even touching you bare? At this point, you were ready to sign over everything you owned, everything you were if he would just rip the stupid things off.

Instead, you suckled his fingers while his other hand continued its work and returned you to a whimpering mess, soaking through the flimsy barrier and leaving dark stains on the fabric of his jeans.

He tugged your panties away from your wetness, the sound sloppy and lewd and you heard him chuckle into your ear.

“You're making such a mess, angel,” he purred into your ear, tongue tracing along the shell and making your body shudder against his. Finally, you exhaled internally, more than eager to feel the warm flesh of his hand against you and within.

A familiar chime sounded from the fireplace mantle, signaling the end of his session. But you couldn’t move. Your legs felt like jello and your heart was racing a million miles a minute.

At no point had you imagined that you would both be clothed by now. Before tonight, you knew that if he was truly interested in you, you’d sleep with him and deal with the consequences later.

Yet here you lay, mystified against his broad chest, legs still spread wide, the wetness Seokjin had coaxed from you soaking into the denim beneath you. His toying had brought you to the brink, and yet neither of you wore less clothing than when you'd walked through the door. Well, besides your now exposed breasts.

“You’d better get that,” he said quietly and you shook yourself from your stupor, pulling yourself up from his lap and hurrying to your phone on shaky legs to shut the damn thing off.

Seokjin stood with you, and when you turned back to face him he was smiling down at his pants, brushing his fingers along the stains you had left him.

“I'm sorry about that,” you said because it seemed like the right thing to say.

“I'm not,” he laughed and began walking towards you. You stared at him, frozen like a deer in headlights, still yet unsure what you expected from him, but he only took your hand in his and continued walking. Unfortunately, it was in the wrong direction. Instead of towards where you assumed there were bedrooms, he was leading you back towards the entrance of the apartment.

His hand fell from yours when he reached the hall closet, quickly turning away from you and tugging down your coat. He reached out to hand it over and only spoke when you didn’t move to take it.

“We’re done tonight, angel. It’s time for you to go,” he said, the words taking a moment to soak through your haze. You gaped up at him.

“B-but-” What was he saying? You hadn't even done anything. He had just started, riling you up, toying with your body and twisting the coil inside of you. And if the clear rise still pressing against his jeans meant anything, you still had much more to do tonight. It was nowhere near time for you to go yet.

“Y/N,” he said in a sigh at your inaction, pressing your coat into your arms, pressing further still until you felt the wall behind you against your back. The same wall where he had you pinned before.

“Don’t be impatient,” Seokjin’s voice cooed. The words did little to soothe you, your head still hazy, thoughts still spinning from everything that had happened in the last hour. The shock of being so unceremoniously told to leave was too much to handle.

“Please don’t leave me hanging like this,” you breathed, begging him with your eyes. You were ready to be whatever he wanted, to be at the mercy of those hands all night. You had told him as much. But being brought so far to the edge only to be left dangling like was too much. Much more than a newly christened submissive could take.

He cursed under his breath, eyes taking in your disappointed face while his hands traced the soft lines of your lingerie before settling on your hips.

“You make this so difficult when you look at me like that,” he said softly before his lips were on yours again.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as he kissed you, begging for entrance with your tongue. He parted his lips slightly, teasing your tongue with the tip of his own, only to pull back, his hands sliding up, tugging up your bodice and covering your breasts.

His forehead was pressed against yours, cheeks flushed, pupils giving up his truth. He wanted you in this moment as much as you wanted him, those wide, darkened lenses unable to lie as well as his mouth.

“Go,” he said, taking a steadying breath before leaning back. He seemed to rein in his feelings, swallowing them down. “Think about this, Y/N, if you really want to do this with me. And if you want to continue, come when you're scheduled again.” A gentle smile, the smile you had gotten to know so well these past six months. “If you don’t, we’ll just pretend like it never happened.”

“That’s a little unfair to say to me after what we’ve done tonight,” you complained.

“I’m a humble man. I may be infinitely handsome, but you may not really want what I have to offer once you have a clear head. Or rather, what I want to explore.” He gave your hips another squeeze before leaning away from you. “Go. Give it some thought.”

You nodded reluctantly, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

“And none of this affects work, ok? At work, I'm still just Seokjin and you're just Y/N, ok? I'm trusting you.”

“I know. We agreed to trust each other,” you said.

One last wet kiss and he had you out the door, all but stumbling to your car in a blue-ovaried daze.

The ache between your thighs was unbearable, but it was minuscule next to the fire tearing through your body at that moment, burning a path for the new feelings that were growing in its wake: A new, carnal longing for your boss, Kim Seokjin.

[silent-scythe]

True Winter

Hi y’all! Technically, I should be doing world history homework, but I’m not. No, I wrote angsty Cassian fanfiction. 

This is crossposted onto AO3. I also started writing this during class and it’s not really edited, so my apologies for all the tense changes and any grammatical or spelling errors. 

Anyways, I really hope y’all like it. This takes place when Cassian is little and dumped at Windhaven- he was like 5 for something? Idk, but I just wanted to write a short little something about it lmao. 

Warnings: very mild cursing 

༺༻

When people think of snow, they often think of wonderland. They imagine the tall, powerful pine trees with snow piled on top, little flecks of dark green representing the branches that peeked through. They imagine the icicles that dangle from the roofs of bungalows and townhouses. They imagine powdery snowflakes and snowball fights. They imagine a world turned to bliss, playful by day and serene at night. They imagine the coziness of winter, snuggled in their warm homes with warm drinks and warm clothes and warm hearts. 

But what happens when they don’t get that privilege? When they instead, have to live outside, cold, shuddering at the freezing temperatures, fingers frozen, stomachs twisting in hunger?

There is a little boy. 

He’s not a little boy now. No, he is a courageous, compassionate and loving male with a family and friends. But before that, he was just a bastard-born boy with hopes shattered like ice in the frigid grasp of death. 

And he tells the story of true winter. 

༺༻

Winter comes again, but it’s different.

It is harsh, the snow. 

Cassian doesn’t like it. Hates it, even. Past winters had been spent with his mother, in front of a crackling fire pit, not alone in a camp full of people who hate him. He flinches at that thought, remembering all too clearly the last insult hurled at his face. 

He hasn’t experienced an Illyrian winter yet, at least not one by himself, alone, tossed outside like a rag, left to become dust in the wind. 

He trudges through the snow that has already reached his calves, his worn leather boots near tattered. He can feel the cold seep through the fabric, settling deep into his bones. 

I need a new pair of shoes, he realizes. And food, water, maybe a blanket or warmer clothes. 

He is but a boy right now, short and somewhat clumsy, although still more lithe than the average Illyrian, having spent his entire life fighting to live. His hazel eyes are round, with the type of innocence that seems both naive and old beyond his years. His hair is wild, tangled, and already down to his shoulders- he can’t remember the last time he got a haircut. 

He doesn’t want to. Haircuts remind him of a different time. A time with warmth and cozy beds and delicious food and love. A time with his mother. 

Cassian banishes the thought away, instead focusing on his task. Food, shoes, and something warm. 

He shakes his wings, the light snow that dusted them falling off with the action. He clenches his small hands into fists, trying to keep warm, since he doesn’t have any gloves, either. 

Cassian walks into the main parts of Windhaven, and the bloodied, crimson and gold sun rises. 

A new day starts. 

༺༻

Night is falling by the time he reaches his tent, which is on the outskirts of the camp, close to the forest. Cassian had heard tales before, tales of the creatures who prowled and hunted at night. He shudders at the thought. 

He calls his home a tent, but it really isn’t. It is made with fabric- the material that the tents were made from- that he took from someone after beating them in a fight. He had found a tall pine tree to mark his home. Then, he had dragged bricks, mud, and rocks from around camp to his makeshift house, building a single wall besides the tree, then he had draped the tent-fabric diagonally from it, securing it to the ground with nails that he found. It is lopsided, falling apart, and beyond dirty, but it will have to make do, at least for now. 

It is small and Cassian doesn’t mind, for he doesn’t have much with him. He is a bastard after all, thrown here into the mud with nothing, the tears on his face not yet dried. He has a small storage of food in one corner that he saves for the worst blizzards, the one he hears about from the adult Illyrians, the ones he knows are coming soon, and a change of clothes in the other corner. A bed is in the center, although it really isn’t a bed- just furs that lined the cold, hard ground, giving him something to help keep him warm during the dead of night. 

Cassian sighs and wonders if he will ever be able to sleep in a real bed one day. “It’s unfair,” he yells into his shabby home. “It’s unfair that I’m just a little boy, yet I have to go through all of this shit!” 

He is answered only by the howling winds.

Shit is a new word he learned a few days ago. Cassian doesn’t know if he used it correctly, but he doesn’t care. 

In his left hand is a big piece of fur. He thinks it's fur from the deer that reside nearby, although he doesn’t know. He is lucky to get his hands on it- a female Illyrian had given it to him, her face softened in sorrow. In Cassian’s right hand is a makeshift bag, which is really a square cloth that he uses to hold the food he manages to get everyday. Today, he has a decently-sized piece of jerky and something that probably used to be bread. 

“It’s food,” he says firmly, to himself. “I don’t care what it looks like, it’s food.” 

He adds the fur to his bed and sits atop it. He puts the bread to one side and breaks the jerky, taking a smaller piece and putting the rest in his little pile of stocked-up food, saving it for later. Just in case. 

There is a bowl next to him, with water inside that he collects every morning from dew-ridden moss and any clean puddles he can find, and if he has time, he goes to the pond to collect fresh water there. He takes a gulp of it and starts eating. 

Cassian finishes the food far faster than he wants to. His stomach is still making knots, still unfilled, but he pretends not to notice. 

Instead, he shuffles to the side, towards the short wall he made a year ago, the wall of bricks and stone that would probably fall if you kicked it too hard. He finds the little nook in between two rocks, and he pulls out a small black box. 

In the box is a golden necklace with a ruby attached to it. It is probably the only clean thing he has in his possession. He dares not touch the jewel, for fear he might dirty it. 

Cassian holds it close to his chest. 

“Hi mom,” he whispers. 

“I miss you. The other boys will laugh at me if they knew I talked to a necklace, but you’re the only friend I have. It’s cold here, and I’m starving,” he complains. 

“I wish you would find me already. I know they held you back and they took me here, and I know it’s already been a year, but I believe in you. I know you’ll find me, and you’ll give me a warm hug and a kiss. 

“Please find me, please. I miss you so much, mama. I hope you miss me too. They don’t like me here. The boys spit on me and bully me, but I have to endure it, since I need to survive. Endure is a new word I learned today. Devlon told me to endure. Well actually, he told me to endure or else I would get killed.”

Cassian’s eyes are teary. 

“I miss you, mama. I love you.”

Then Cassian closes the box and he goes to sleep.

༺༻

Two weeks pass, and the brutality of true winter sets in. It’s worse than what Cassian imagined.

There are less and less boys he can fight with and take food from. His stockpile of food is down to nearly nothing, and the latest blizzard made it near impossible for him to get out of his tent, which has surprisingly managed to stay up despite the heavy snow. 

Cassian is shivering, and he hasn’t eaten in days, not willing to waste his food.

He doesn’t know if he can make it through winter, especially considering it has only just started. He tries to remember a face. He tries so hard to conjure a face with fiery hazel eyes, long, wavy black hair, and soft lips, but his mother’s face becomes blurrier every day. 

The boy is losing hope. 

༺༻

More days pass, and the boy grows thinner, eyes duller.

The boy lost any semblance of hope. 

He no longer talks to the box. 

༺༻

Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your comments and opinions, they make my day. Also, if you want to be tagged when I write more fanfiction (about Nesta, Cassian, or Nessian), comment in the notes :0 

- Scythe 

[memoriashell]

hey i really like you ( can we go out? )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru, techincally some background Ishimaru / Oowada, Makoto gets a few lines, and Syo’s present for a bit in the begining.

crossposted on ao3

Notes: hello here's your late day five of @tokomaruweek​ week!! valentine's day prompt!!

the format for the texting section might look a little funky on tumblr since there’s no easy way of aligning right side / left side text but hopefully it’s obvious enough who’s texting what.

heads up i'll be skipping day 6 for now probably! i’ll come back to it when i’ve finished the rest of the week, i just might get stuck on it for a hot minute and i’d like to get the rest of the week out of the way first since i'm already behind.

anyways it's probably also noteworthy to mention that this drabble works on the basis you have a basic understanding of the cultural differences in how japan celebrates valentine's day. i was originally going to try and incorporate white day into this drabble instead of just mentioning it but i wasn’t super happy with how this one was turning out anyways and figured it was best to just get this out as it is!!

i also feel like i should clarify bc that i realize the way i characterize toko in everything this week has made it seems like she hates kiyotaka’s guts but honestly i think they’d be real close!! i really like them as two outsider kids who can relate to each other. they are two sides of the same narrative coin and in this essay i will /j anyways please understand she rags on him from a place of ( platonic ) LOVE. and also bc they r both my cc’s i could never be that mean to either of them. well. no meaner than canon is to them.

edit: forgot tws. nothing super huge bc it's mostly fluff, but it does refrence bullying ( although would you consider faked love confessions / etc as bullying? it's just cruel :( anyways. )

Summary:  valentine's day has never been good for ugly girls ( and hopeless romantics ) like her. 

Valentine's Day. Every girl’s least favorite day.

Or, well, at the very least, her least favorite. Uh, one of her least favorite holidays? Then again, it’s not like Touko really has a ‘favorite’ in the first place, so maybe her point is moot— but she’s getting side tracked here.

One would presume that a romantic like her, an author who writes romance for a living, would live for a holiday that's practically centered around love and romance, but they would be wrong. It’s a miserable reminder of a day for her who has practically been scorned by the idea of relationships. It is a bitter reminder of failed loves and societal norms that she’s never been able to meet.

( Ugly. Rude. Awkward. Unsociable. So what if they’re right? Who is she to tell them they’re wrong? )

If it is not for the fact that she is pretty sure Ishimaru will be at her door if she doesn’t show up, she would probably skip class today. Oh, to be a confident gay man on Valentine's Day and not a closeted lesbian who feels the need to meet heteronormative societal norms. It’s unfair because not only is he ( mostly ) unaffected by this kind of holiday, he’s probably one of the people who care the least about the delicate social intricacies ( and romanticism ) of a holiday like this one. If nothing else, so she can’t say she envies the position this puts Oowada in, because Ishimaru would probably just see this as a learning moment. Anyways before she sounds too envious of her peers for getting their shit together, she just wants it to be unknown that she thinks it’s really unfair that he would get to judge her reasons for wanting to skip school.

( Actually, if she fessed up the deep-seated issues related to why she’d rather not have to be present on a day like today, the last thing he’d do it judge but that’s not really something she wants to acknowledge right now )

Moving on.

Despite the fact that, internally, she is making a fuss about a holiday, she suspects that most of her class probably doesn’t really care about these things. That doesn't mean she feels any less pressured to conform. It’s not like any of them would want chocolates from someone like her anyways, so it’s not like she really needs to be worried...

It’s not the end of the world, stop being such a debbie downer! Syo butts in, ever so helpful. By which she means is very, very unwanted and unhelpful. All the same, they ( unfortunately ) have a point and if she has to put up with this shitty day then at the very least she’d like to have breakfast before someone sees fit to break down her door.

You technically don’t have to do anything. Syo sounds almost too enthusiastic to help with the ‘issue’ at hand.

Using you to escape my problems isn’t always a viable strategy. Touko rebukes. Nor is it a choice, usually.

Only because you try and make yourself as miserable as possible by making things worse for you.

She has nothing to say to that, and instead focuses on braiding her hair to be passably presentable.

“Fukawa-san?” Oh, what she wouldn’t give to not have to hear her name today. Granted, Touko doesn’t think hearing her name being called on any given day is usually a good sign, but it still feels too early in the day to willingly put up with anything and shoots a glare at Naegi, standing in front of her desk. It probably doesn’t help that he sounds nervous for some godforsaken reason, but that’s technically not out of the ordinary, and she’s pretty sure Syo has something to do with that. “Sorry, uh...I was going to try and catch you at your locker this morning, but I guess I must’ve missed you, huh?”

She gives him the most deadpan, withering stare she can muster at the moment as if to say obviously. She’d even turned up to class early because she figured that dealing with whoever else would be in class would be more manageable than having to deal with anything going on in the halls ( because Hope’s Peak is not a normal school and god knows if something can go wrong, it will, and she is not having any of it today ). She assumed that if she looked busy, anyone with any common sense would leave her alone, but Makoto is not the brightest, clearly.

It still kind of throws her for a loop, however, that he chooses to approach her today, of all days. If she were anyone else, or if this exchange happened in any other context, she is sure that him acting like this on Valentine's Day would seem like it was setting up for a love confession. If it weren’t for the fact that Naegi already had a partner so, that’s probably not an issue— not that that would be a theoretical issue, because hey it’s not like Naegi was likely to be the kind of person cruel enough to fake a love confession. That’s definitely not something that’s happened to Touko before and gotten her hopes up only to be horribly crushed and definitely not the reason she’s been particularly defensive today. Nope.

( Yeah, okay, she’s not fooling anyone, but thankfully the only one aware of this is herself. And Syo, but both of these things are clear givens )

It occurs to her that Naegi hasn’t said anything, waiting for her to say something to him, and she grits her teeth irritably. “Wh-What? Spit it out already.”

“Err...are you...” He starts to say something and then seems to think better of it, sheepishly ducking his head for a moment before holding a bag out to her. “Sorry. Komaru asked me to bring these to you. Kirigiri-san had to convince her to not try and sneak into the main building just to bring these to you herself.”

It takes a long minute for her to process what he says before snatching the bag from his grip and holding it close to herself. Friendship chocolates...? That’s probably what’s in the bag. Which is a pretty nice thought in itself— Touko doesn’t usually get gifts like this. It almost makes her not want to touch the bag and ruin the illusion, refrain from eat whatever’s in the bag: but honestly if she doesn’t, Syo will probably make sure to savor it, so she won’t even pretend like that’s an option.

( There’s a part of her that feels a little guilty too, that she hadn’t even considered that Komaru might do something like this and have something prepared for her in return, but if she’d made something and not gotten anything then she’d look like a fool, and it’s not like she would’ve been able to get it to her easily anyways, so she really shouldn’t feel guilty about accepting it, but— )

“I’m glad you like it. She was kind of worried about how you’d take it.” Naegi speaking breaks through her current train of thought and is he still standing here? Had she been stupidly smiling to herself? How embarrassing!

“It’s n-n-not like that...and what kind of person do, do you take me for, anyways...!” Well, if she had been showing any sort of positive emotion on her face, she isn’t anymore. Touko takes this as an opportunity to shove the bag into her book bag, before anyone can notice. For some reason, he looks vaguely disappointed. “I was...ugh, I was just th-thinking that it was surprising she’d trust you with it given the, the track record with how your l-luck turns out!”

Makoto opens his mouth to refute this but thank god someone calls his name from the doorway, and she takes that opportunity goes back to her books before he can try and say anything further to her.

touko-chan!!!!

makoto said he gave you my gift successfully so i know u got it

i think

i didn’t expect u to thank me or anything but it’d be nice

pls tell me u got it right

did u at least read the note i left in there for u

Does Komaru not have homework, or what? She could at least give her a few minutes to try and get a word in. It’s not her fault math is a bitch and Touko is too stubborn to maybe talk to one of her peers into explaining the subject to her.

                                                     Yes, by some miracle I did manage to get it.

                                                                                                             Thanks.

                                                                                        You’re a good friend.

                                                                                                               Sorry.

                                                                                         Is that all? I’m busy.

That is not all, apparently, because Komaru forgoes texting to call her directly. If it were anyone else, she’d ignore it; but since it’s her she figures she can probably talk and do math at the same time.

“So you didn’t check the bag at all?” Komaru speaks before she can even consider greeting her, and Touko rolls her eyes despite the fact that she cannot see it.

“Hello to y-you too. Uh…honestly, I shoved it in my bag earlier and...and haven’t checked on it since. I assumed it was j-j-just candy, and it’s probably safer hid from Syo there.”

“Ugh! I told Makoto to mention to you that I put something else in there. And there’s a box for Syo in there too!” She can practically hear her pouting through the phone line. “Well, uh— I guess that’s fine since you’re busy...? Just check it when you get the chance, okay? Please? I promise it’ll make sense.”

“I got it, I got it. I’ll take a break once I finish this up and check it out. Good enough for you?”

“Mhm! Thank you Touko-chan! I’ll let you go now, so you can focus. Bye!” If Touko wasn’t mistaken ( but probably is ), she sounded almost nervous, the way her words come out in one rushed breath.

Admittedly, now she’s too intrigued by whatever had Komaru pressed enough to make sure she was aware of it, and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to focus now, so...opening the bag it is. She grumbles and groans to herself for a moment, stretching as she gets up from her desk to grab her bag.

She hadn’t really noticed at the time, but now that she thinks about it, there’s some definite weight to this thing, more than she’d expect from some candies ( even now knowing that apparently Komaru had accounted for Syo as well ). Not much though, and she probably would’ve just passed it off for the box the sweet is stored in if she were to really think about it, but now she figures that’s probably not the case. Touko peeks inside the bag a little hesitantly— curiosity wins out over anxiety in the end, and spots what appears to be a small booklet along with a box of chocolates.

Oh god.

She braces herself because, this is probably some kind of manga if she knows Komaru and ( unfortunately ) not a mini-novella but otherwise has no idea what to expect. And once she opens it, she has to thank whatever higher being made sure Makoto didn’t say a thing to her about it because there’s absolutely no way she would have been able to keep a straight face if she’d looked at this in class.

One, she forgot how generally talented Komaru was at this type of stuff. Obviously, still room for improvement, but not nearly as bad as Touko would have thought. Two, this is not really a manga, but a fucking thinly veiled love confession, complete with the most casual ‘Hey I really like you, can we go out?’ Third, she’s extremely glad Komaru did not insist on being on the phone while she checked this out because she does not think she can coherently answer that right now.

In fact, it takes Touko a good half hour to calm herself down enough before she can even consider texting her a response. There’s no way she’s embarrassing herself any further by calling her about it, even if that might have been a more meaningful exchange, but like Komaru just confessed to her through manga so clearly they’re already past that point.

                                                                                                     You’re a dork.

                                           I hate that you’re using your talents for this though.

:)

thats not a no?

                                                                                                          Not a yes.

                         Very tempted to make it a no for making me suffer through this.

touko-chan;;;;;

be gentle to my poor heart if ur gonna reject me :(

                                                                                              Ugh. I was kidding.

                                                                                                      Yes you idiot.

                                                    Just don’t use manga for this stuff next time?

ok!!!!! :)

actually i promise nothing

lol sorry ♡

                                                                                                  You’re the worst.

hehehehehe >:)

i love you too!!

are you busy this week??

let’s meet up!!!

                                             Some of us care about our grades. As should you.

                                                            But Thursday and Friday are lighter days.

                                                                      Yeah yeah. I like you or something.

thank uuuuu ♡♡♡

She chews on her lip as she rereads the message and mulls over it as she tries to ignore the flip-flop of her stomach. It’ll be fine. She’ll just aim to have something planned out for White Day in return.

[independence1776]

AO3 Fic Writer Review

No one tagged me, but I wanted to do it. At this point, I have no idea who’s done it or not, so if you haven’t and want to, consider yourself tagged.

How many works do you have on AO3?

93 (+1 where I’m listed as the coauthor, but I’m the artist for the collaboration +1 unrevealed fic for TRSB 2021)

What’s your total AO3 word count?

395,609 (which I think includes the unrevealed fic and does not include the co-author fic)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Written and posted?

Silmarillion, LotR, MCU, Doctor Who, Star Wars (Prequels, OT, Rebels, Fallen Order, the Kanan comics are now its own fandom tag too but I tend to lump that within Rebels), Young Wizards, BBC Merlin, Babylon 5, X-Men movies (early 2000s films), Mutant X

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

To Remake the Universe (MCU; 15526 words) Kudos: 452

In Deep or in Darkness (MCU/Young Wizards fusion; 58746 words) Kudos: 384

An Unexpected Welcome (The Silmarillion & LotR; 2121 words) Kudos: 255

Evolving Roles (Star Wars Rebels & Prequels; 2835 words) Kudos: 216

Never Discussed But Silently Acknowledged (Star Wars OT; 1800 words) Kudos: 188

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Always! The fandom culture I “grew up in” has as its mores that you do that. Also, people reached out to me to tell me they liked something I wrote, so I feel it’s a bit rude if I don’t at least say thank you in return. Not being able to thank people who leave me kudos was the main reason I started doing my weekly kudos thanks posts because not being able to do severely bothered me. I don’t expect those people to ever see those posts, but I feel better doing it.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I’ve written a couple with major character death as the ending.

Do you write crossovers?

Yup! I’ve written a BBC Merlin fusion with LotR, a Young Wizards crossover with SW OT, a YW crossover with Doctor Who, a MCU crossover/fusion with YW, and a SW & Silmarillion fusion.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah. I existed on ff.net. Of course I got hate and it remains the site I get hate from. Though I have received sporadic hate on AO3, but it’s never approached the extent from ff.net.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I did it once to challenge myself and never again.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Only the usual website scrapping that seems unavoidable, but no plagiarism.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup! There’s been a few over the years, but the only ones I have links to are listed as related works on AO3.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oh dear. I… am not really in fandom for shipping. I guess the closest thing I have to an all-time favorite is Elrond/Celebrían. But even then, I don’t write things focused on it. It’s just there in the background.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I don’t post WIPs, so I don’t abandon fics like that. I also finish what I write even if I never post. Sometimes, that means I summarize what I know happens in the rest of the fic if I get tired of writing it. But the one story I can say I’ve abandoned is a Depa lives AU… and in the first chapter, Caleb gets pneumonia and ends up in a medcenter (and this is set post-Order 66!). I started writing it in January 2020 and got two chapters in. I have no desire to continue for a rather obvious reason.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue!

What are your writing weaknesses?

I can’t write action scenes for the life of me. I also have a tendency to not describe things.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If it’s there for a plot-relevant purpose, fine. If it’s there to show off the writer’s knowledge or as flavor text, not great. I especially cannot stand fics where dialogue is written in a conlang and not translated as though the writer expects the readers to know the conlang. (It happens in Tolkien and Star Wars fandoms. I hate it. I’ve quit reading otherwise good fics because of it.) We all know the characters aren’t speaking English or whatever language the fic is written in! So write out the dialogue in that language! Using the phrase “[Character] continued in [language name]” works wonders and gets the point across while still being understandable to your readers.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Written and posted? Mutant X. (My four earliest fics are only on ff.net; I need to crosspost (and backdate) them to AO3. One of them will reach the American legal age to vote in October!)

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Rise Again From Ashes: After spending millennia wandering Middle-earth, Maglor returns to Valinor, where he attempts to adjust to both his Valar-imposed restrictions and living once more with the Eldar. 60,653 words, rated Teens. Maglor and Elrond-centric.

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 1

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something's rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won't rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic's top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Spoilers: Forged Alliances. SWTOR Lost Suns and Annihilation. Some things in the Vanilla storyline, including the Revan flashpoints. Author’s Notes: Out of necessity, parts of this story will contain scenes from the game itself. Whenever possible I’ve tried to rewrite them so that they hopefully remain fresh and interesting, while still retaining the essence of the scene itself (so hopefully it doesn’t feel like you’re reading a transcript). This one is also going to be a bit slow to start, but it’s going to be a long one.

Crossposted to AO3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

When the Supreme Commander of Republic Forces called — it was generally a good idea to answer. Even if he just so happened to be your father.

However, this was official business, so Theron Shan decided to ignore that fact as he strode into the large office located in one of the corners of the Senate towers. The receptionist had waved him through without any fuss this time around.

Perhaps she had gotten used to him at this point — she hadn’t even glared at him this time. He supposed that was progress. It was nothing he had done, of course, just a bit of guilt-by-association. She and Marcus Trant, the Director of Republic’s Strategic Information Services had gotten quite chummy a little while back, but alas, she was not to become the third women to hold the title of “Mrs. Trant”. Easy come, easy go as the saying went.

Come to think of it, maybe the lack of glares this time around had more to do with the fact that Trant hadn’t accompanied Theron. It was a mystery for another time, though, as his gaze fell on the figure seated behind the desk in the center of the room. 

Jace Malcom was an extraordinarily tall man, he towered over Theron by at least a foot or so, and between the height, his deep gravelly voice, and the gruesome scars crisscrossing his face, the man could come off a little imposing. Theron wasn’t easily intimidated though, and he had a… unique situation with Jace. — considering the fact that the man was his father. Biologically at least, or… whatever.

It was complicated.

Theron hadn’t even known who Jace was, outside of his military record that was, until they’d met during the mission to take out the Ascendant Spear. Their first real meeting as father and son hadn’t exactly gone well, it was awkward, Theron had just wanted to leave, and most of their interactions outside of a professional setting had just been a bit like that. On the job, they were good. Despite popular opinion, Theron could take orders (when they made sense),  and off the clock they… well, they were trying to settle into something resembling familiarity. The “father-son bonding sessions” were thankfully few and far between. Theron liked Jace well enough, and they certainly got along better than he and his mother, but it wasn’t exactly like they were going to go out and throw the gravball around any time soon.

However, this meeting request had come through official channels, so thankfully that probably meant things would be less awkward and weird. At least he hoped.

Theron cleared his throat, pulling the older man’s attention away from the datapad he was reviewing. Seeing his visitor, some of the deep lines on Jace’s face smoothed into a smile. “Ah, Theron, you’re early.”

“Traffic wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.” He folded his arms in an effort to look casual. “Trant had a Senate briefing, so you get me instead.”

“That’s all right, I was hoping you’d be here for this. We can loop the director in later.”

“Your message was a bit vague,” he said, “just that you had some intel you wanted to discuss?”

Jace nodded. “One of my men came to me with something he picked up in the field — regarding Korriban. And a way we might be able to strike back.”

Theron’s eyebrows shot up. “Hitting Korriban? You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” The elder man looked at him grimly. “This all started on Korriban, it would be fitting for us to start the death knell for the Empire there.”

Korriban had been one of Jace’s first stations, and where he had met the future Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Satele Shan — who just so happened to be Theron’s mother. Theron shifted the weight of his feet, a habit he’d unfortunately picked up in these conversations when the subject of his mother came up, even indirectly as it was now. He hated having a tell, even something so minor and with someone like Jace who while sharp, probably hadn’t picked up on it.

A change of subject from ancient history back to the present was probably in order — and a lot more comfortable. So Theron addressed the deeper issue at hand. “SIS has been trying to get a mole on Korriban for years, and everyone we’ve tried to embed there winds up dead. That place is a death trap.”

“I’m not asking anyone to go undercover,” Jace assured him. “I’m thinking more smash and grab. But before that, I want you to look over this intel and let me know if you think it’s viable.”

“Me?”

“You were the one who cracked how to take out the Ascendant Spear — if anyone can do the same with Korriban, it’s you.”

It was a high compliment, and genuinely based on his skillset, rather than a form of nepotism. After their success against the Ascendent Spear, Theron had been tapped as a resource more and more for Malcom’s office. It had kept him out of the field more than he liked, but the tangible results of his work on the overall war was satisfying in its own way.

“That seems simple enough,” Theron said, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Any reason for all of the cloak and dagger?”

“Considering the target I don’t want to take any chances. I want someone I can trust taking point on this.”

Theron couldn’t quite decipher the look on Jace’s face, but nodded a thanks all the same. It was… odd having someone be so complimentary and open about that kind of thing. Trant’s usual way of expressing gratitude was a cutting sarcastic remark. Which he was fine with — it was familiar. Easy. But the mark of a good spy was adapting to the situation at hand.

Even if that meant a little bit of inadvertent father-son bonding.

Jace handed over a small data chip. The fact that he wasn’t trusting any of this on any network channel spoke volumes about the need for discretion.

“I’ll look this over and get you an answer as soon as possible.”

That seemed to satisfy Jace, but as Theron made his way out of the office and out into the streets, he was unsettled. The reason for that feeling wasn’t readily apparent, but hopefully once he had a chance to dig into the data he’d figure it out. He tended to trust his gut on these things, but a chance to strike as rich of a target as this was too good to pass up on a mere bad feeling alone.

The more he dug into the intel that Jace had given him, the more Theron had to admit that the Supreme Commander was right. A strike on Korriban not only seemed viable, but had the potential to yield invaluable information that could finally lead to an end to the war.

A Jedi named Jensyn had come away from an encounter with an apprentice to a member from the Dark Council, revealing that they had databanks in their main chambers with some of the inner-most secrets to the Empire. A literal goldmine of information that could turn every future battle and operation to the Republic’s favor. It was almost too good of an opportunity to pass up, and so Theron kept digging. Every intelligence report surrounding the encounter checked out, and just because he liked being paranoid, Theron looked into the Jedi too. The man had served aboard the Telos in its campaign in the Albarrio and Relgim sectors, and had an exemplary service record. The closest thing he found to a red flag was the copious amount tea Jensyn liked to consume.  

As far as Theron could tell, the intel seemed clean.

That just left the minor problem of storming Siths’ the inner-keep. Just getting on the ground would have been an issue, except that apparently a SpecOps commander named Rian Darok had found a gap in the patrols on Korriban. It wasn’t a large one, and they’d never be able to launch a full-scale assault… but a strike team could make it through and perform an extraction.

Theron filled a large mug to the brim with caf, settled into the most comfortable chair he could find at SIS Headquarters, and got to work mining everything they had on Korriban. He had to cobble the data together from a variety of sources to even get a close picture if it could be done. They had old schematics of the ground layout, but due to the age he had to cross-reference it with a report from an escaped acolyte to confirm the probable obstacles facing a strike team on their route from the landing zone into the Academy. This, coupled with bits and pieces of security information scraped from the almost-defunct Imperial intelligence, yielded an access point for someone on the ground that could allow a talented slicer to insert an exploit. It was technically doable, but the resistance the ground team would face stacked the deck against the op’s favor.

“Viable but a logistical nightmare” was how he summarized it to Jace and Marcus the next morning, gratefully accepting the giant mug of caf the Supreme Commander had ready for him the moment he walked in the door.

“Pay up,” Marcus said, and Jace grudgingly handed over a credit chip.

Theron narrowed his eyes at the both of them suspiciously over the rim of his mug. “And what was that for?”

“Just how quickly you’d go for caffeine,” Marcus said casually.

Theron fixed his boss with a glare before taking a very long drag of the zippy brew. Apparently being Supreme Commander came with some perks, because if the spy wasn’t mistaken, this was the more expensive Alsakan Mountain roast. The director just shook his head and turned to the datapad with all the findings, letting out a low whistle at the potential yield if the operation was successful. As both of the older men perused the data, Theron barely suppressed a yawn. The all-nighter had come at the tail end of an op, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was probably needing at least a few hours of sleep.

“You could have taken two days to look at all this,” Jace said lightly, “but I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Intel can go stale quick.” Theron shrugged off the paternal concern easily.

“All the reason to act quickly,” Jace said, “if Trant can spare you for a little bit.”

“Please, take him. Much less of a headache for me.”

“I’m really feeling the love here,” the agent muttered.

“You’d feel more if you turned your expense reports on time.”

“You have to get a thrill somehow since you’re not out in the field anymore,” Theron shot back easily. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You see what I have to deal with?” Marcus pointed the question at Jace, who just shook his head.

“Well, I’m happy for the loan, Marcus,” he said, turning the subject back to the matter at hand. “I can see how logistics can get sticky, but I think I’ve got someone who can help with that. Colonel Darok has a knack for this kind of thing.”

Having spotted the hole in the patrol route, Theron had to admit the man had a keen eye. 

“You’d need a small army just to get through that many Sith. No way to get that many troops in,” Theron pointed out. “I don’t even see how even a master tactician is going to navigate that. ”

“What about a small strike team?” Marcus asked.

“Might work, but they’d need to have hides of durasteel.”

Jace looked thoughtful for a moment, before he headed over to his desk and pulled up a few dossiers on a datapad. He paged through a few, before handing it over to Theron. “Have you ever heard of the Coruscant Aegis?”

“Never met them personally,” Theron paused to take another sip from his mug before continuing, “but one of them provided cover fire on an extraction for me once.”

Marcus snorted, apparently remembering the incident in question. “Is that what you’re calling it now?”

“I needed to make a hasty exit, and the lady was kind enough to clear a path. At least I think it was a lady—there was a lot of blaster fire. Pretty sure she called me insane.”

“That sounds about right.” Marcus heaved the heavy sigh of the wearied soul.

“I suppose I owe whoever it was some thanks,” Theron said. “Probably wouldn’t have made it out without the assist. Some nice flying and shooting.”

“They’re good at what they do,” Jace agreed, “the best actually.”

“Are any of them lightsaber-proof?” Theron asked sarcastically.

“They haven’t let one stop any of them so far.”

Theron juggled the mug and datapad, skimming through the personnel files as he continued to sip from the sweet caffeinated nectar. He tried to school his expression as he skimmed through the major highlights of each name, but the laundry list of heroic deeds associated with each individual was quite impressive. A notorious smuggler who had taken down the Voidwolf. The commander of Havoc Squad. Even a member of the Jedi High Council. It was the last one that made Theron stop and frown.

“Is this last one even real?” he asked.

Jace nodded solemnly. “She is.”

“It says she killed the Sith Emperor.”

That got Marcus’s attention, who leaned over Theron’s shoulder to read the dossier. Not liking the crowding, he handed the datapad over to his boss, and proceeded to prop his hip on Jace’s desk, still nursing the mug of caf.

“You asked for a small army,” Jace pointed out. “Any of them would be able to perform the extraction.”

“I’d say in that case we should get them all,” Theron said, “but they’re probably pretty scattered.”

Their window of opportunity to strike for this was going to close fast, though, so time was of the essence. It was probably also best to keep the number of those aware of the operation on the lower side too. Even if they were going to take on the entire Sith Academy, and maybe even the Dark Council.

Jace nodded. “You probably can get one in all likelihood.”

“Me, huh?”

“Colonel Darok will be in charge of the operation,” Jace clarified, “but I want the SIS involved on this. This is too big of a target to not bring in our best.”

Theron caught the backhanded compliment, but instead of responding verbally, he just nodded. “I can do some recruiting if you want. You have a preference?”

“Surprise me.”

 Jace flashed him a brief knowing grin, and Theron checked the urge to roll his eyes. He was fairly certain Marcus wasn’t aware of the familial connection, so showing disrespect to the man who was technically his boss’s boss probably wouldn’t help things in the long run. Knowing the way his luck tended to run, Theron would probably need to appeal to the director’s better nature in the next month for some reason or another. Theron didn’t intentionally cause diplomatic and inter-departmental incidents, they just tended to… happen. Sometimes. And by sometimes he meant like clockwork. 

“I’m going to need a little time to dig into the files if that’s the case,” he said instead of rising to the teasing.

“That’s fine.” If Jace was disappointed in Theron’s utter professionalism, it didn’t show, and the moment of levity slipped away. "It will take me some time to get Darok caught up and for us to put a battle plan together.”

Theron nodded and pocketed the datapad from Marcus. “Exactly how much time are we talking about?”

“Enough that you can sleep on it,” Jace tried to keep his tone light, but Theron still caught a hint of paternal concern threading underneath.

“Sleep?” Marcus snorted derisively. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“I sleep when I’m bored,” Theron shot back.

“Good. Then you’ll be out before you even get through the first dossier.”

“Are you kidding? This is better than a holo-drama.” The spy tapped his pocket where he had stowed the datapad. 

Jace just shook his head, amused, and the discussion turned to other matters of intelligence. Theron let himself out once he finished his mug of caf, the weight of the datapad in his pocket a reminder of the upcoming mission. Despite the caffeine, he could feel fatigue pulling at him. Either the long hours were getting to him, or the unsettled feeling from the previous day was still eating at him. Maybe after he was able to study the personnel files some more, he could take a moment to review his notes and pinpoint what was bothering him. And then he could get some sleep.

Next Chapter

[chipfics]

Rest Easy

crossposted from Ao3 Characters: Alyssa Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford About: Relationship fluff with some spicier implications/mentions. Set in a Trevelyan Siblings AU.

Summary: Alyssa has trouble sleeping- but she’s not the only one. 1700 words.

Sleep came scarcer and scarcer each night lately.

Alyssa's quarters in Skyhold were comfortable, spacious, well warmed by the fireplace. Much different from the drafty little cabin she had shared with her brother in Haven. Now he was in the quarters just below hers in the main tower, hopefully sleeping peacefully with no whispers from nightmares or worries of any kind. And hopefully no pains from the mark on his hand. She knew it still bothered him at times.

Alyssa herself had many little things to keep her mind in ill company now.

The Ostwick Circle had fallen suddenly, before the war between the mages and templars had fully begun. The rebellious there had staged a bloody uprising, and it had left Alyssa with little choice but to flee the place entirely or be singled out as one of the rebels by the templars who would not pause to ask any questions.

She had stayed with a Dalish clan after that, until word of the Conclave reached her and she chose to attend.

She had already developed sleep problems by the time she reunited with her brother there for the first time since leaving Ostwick. Most of the dreams that overtook her were full of the smell of the Circle burning, the noise of the fighting, the ache of her feet as she trekked further north to avoid getting her family caught up in the mess that was the spreading mage rebellion.

She still dreamed of that day even now. And now also of Haven burning, of Tristan facing Corypheus down alone and being lost in the blinding white of an avalanche, thought dead for days before a rear patrol found him exhausted and starved in the snow.

By some strange twist of luck she was now settled within the position of Inquisitor as well. So many people whose lives and faith depended on her. Every word she said could be twisted for good or ill now and the anxiety of the notion kept her awake as much as trying to avoid the nightmares.

And so tonight she found herself curled against the arm of a sofa in front of her fireplace, reading through a copy of Hard in Hightown and drinking tea that had long since cooled.

She knew the crime serial almost by heart now. It had been a favorite of hers for quite some time, and it was still an odd thought to realize she was now close friends with its author. Still, even as familiar as the words and imagery were they provided enough distraction to keep her calm. And failing that, she could always dress herself again and take a brisk walk. There were night patrols and it wouldn't be unsafe as long as she stayed within the fortress walls.

She was in fact beginning to consider doing just that when she heard the knock. A few quick, hard raps that didn't match the knock of the runner that usually interrupted her sleep with urgent business of some sort.

Alyssa paused, at first not sure she had really heard it. Several seconds passed, and she heard it again. Real, then. She marked her place and stood, smoothing out her shift and reaching for her nightrobe. She pulled it on and tied the belt then padded across the floor and to the door. She hesitated only a moment before opening it just a crack. Whoever it was, they needed her for something to be there at nearly two in the morning.

It wasn't a runner standing in the darkness of the hallway like she expected.

It was a man, tall and strong, wavy blonde hair mussed and hanging into his face. A five o' clock shadow was on his chin that she would know anywhere.

“Cullen?” She asked incredulously, and opened the door the rest of the way to get a better look.

His hair wasn't combed back the way she was accustomed to seeing, and it gave him a very different air. Disheveled, almost, but still very attractive.

“I'm sorry,” He said quietly by way of greeting, “I know it's late.”

“I wasn't asleep,” Alyssa informed him, “it's all right. Do you need something? Is anything wrong?”

She reached a hand out to grasp one of his. Bare, knuckles scarred and nails cut short. Now that she looked closer he was wearing his nightclothes without so much as a robe or jacket to keep warm on his walk from his own quarters. Alyssa frowned.

They were in a relationship- she had no qualms about him being here, even if it wasn't something he had ventured to do before. Cullen was shy in some ways, and very proper most of the time.

...Very improper other times, she recalled, but pushed the thought of his desk under her back from her mind. This wasn't the time.

“I,” Cullen hesitated, “It's not...I mean, there's no work you're needed for.”

He brushed his hair back out of his face. It fell back into place. Alyssa had a brief thought that she wanted to run her fingers through it.

“I couldn't sleep,” Cullen finally said, “And I...started walking, and somehow I ended up here.”

Alyssa pulled him forward. He offered no resistance and she tugged him through the doorway and into her quarters, into the warmer air. She closed the door behind them.

“It's frigid tonight,” She reprimanded softly, “You should have at least put on your boots.”

Cullen responded by drawing her into his arms and bending to bury his nose in her hair, made a brighter orange than normal from the light of the fire. There was the sound of him inhaling deeply and letting out a long sigh.

“You smell nice,” Cullen murmured. Alyssa pulled away and bounced onto her toes, kissing his chin.

“I took a bath after returning from the Graves this evening.” She said, “Come sit down, Cullen.”

She led him to the sofa, where they both sat down. Her book sat forgotten already on the coffee table and Cullen fiddled with his hands, stared absently at the fire.

“Bad dreams again?” asked the Inquisitor. Cullen nodded dumbly.

“I...” He looked up, “You said you weren't asleep? After riding all day yesterday?”

Concern shaded his features and Alyssa squeezed his hands with her own. The smile she gave him was weary.

“I have bad dreams of my own,” She said, “About Ostwick, about Haven...Sometimes it's easier to just do without sleep than...”

“I see,” Cullen said. He laced their fingers. “I am sorry.”

“It's all right,” Alyssa said, “I feel better with you here anyway. Seeing your face always heals me.”

The kiss he gave her in response was warm, tender. It fell more on the corner of her mouth the first time, so he leaned in again after. She smiled, pressed back, and once they had parted again she picked up her book.

“You can read with me, if you want,” She offered.

“A bedtime story?” Cullen's voice was tired but tinted with humor, “Aren't I a bit old for that?”

“I guess you don't want me to do the voices then, do you?” Alyssa quipped back easily. Cullen laughed.

“Lie back,” Alyssa said. Cullen listened, propped himself against the arm of the sofa with a throw pillow. Alyssa leaned back against him and opened the book.

“I'll start from the beginning,” She said.

The next half hour passed calmly. Alyssa read just loud enough for Cullen to hear and he let his hands wander a little, pressed kisses to the side of her neck every so often. His body was chilly to lie against at first, but he warmed up to the temperature of the room quickly enough and soon his hands ceased their aimless journey and settled around Alyssa's waist.

When his breathing started to slow, she closed the book. “Sleepy?” She asked.

“Hmm,” Cullen replied, “Your voice has a soothing effect.”

The book found a place on the coffee table again and Alyssa turned over onto her stomach. She left a trail of light pecks along Cullen's jawline and moved her hands to sift through his hair. It was as soft as it looked, she decided. And she was starting to feel the need to close her eyes as well.

“We can stay here,” She said quietly, “Or sleep in the bed.”

“You want me to spend the night?” Cullen asked groggily, “People will talk.”

“I mean, you're already here.” Alyssa replied, “People already talk. And I don't think you get to talk to me about what's scandalous after taking me against your desk.”

Cullen's eyes snapped open and his face flushed. “That was-” He sputtered, “Listen, you seemed to enjoy it quite well, so-”

Laughter bubbled out of her and Alyssa kissed him silent. “I was teasing you, love.”

Cullen sighed. “The bed,” He said after another moment, then added, “So I can get you out of those clothes later if I have a mind to.”

“Going to work on memorizing all my freckles, I suppose.” Alyssa kissed his nose and stood, happily considering the prospect of Cullen's hands all over her again. Rough, strong, warm hands.

For now though, it could wait. She shed her robe and nestled against Cullen snugly in her bed, hummed old lullabies as he curled his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Soft songs from her childhood, which had the commander snoring softly in only minutes. Alyssa was not far behind him.

The nightmares were not so bad that night. Fewer, less violent. She drifted in and out but after each waking she felt Cullen next to her, resituated closer to him if necessary, and found rest again in moments.

At one point just after dawn she awoke to find him half leaning over her, eyes boring into her face. The fire had died down and the light from the tall windows cast a pale gray about the room. It framed Cullen in a cool, wintry sort of glow. Alyssa smiled blearily at him.

“We'll have to get up soon,” She murmured sleepily.

“We can sleep in an hour,” Cullen replied just as soft. “But I haven't rested so well in years, I'll have you know.”

“Me either,” Alyssa said.

“Perhaps I should stay up here more often?” Cullen bent to kiss her. She lifted a hand to card through his hair, hummed.

“Just stay every night,” She murmured against his lips. He hummed wordlessly in response and kissed her neck.

The day would have to start eventually, but they had time to sleep or fool around a little as they pleased. And Alyssa felt rested in a way she hadn't felt for months now.

[hazusreaderinserts]

Legacy [Naruto Reader-Insert]

You’re definitely a Yamanaka, aren’t you?

Family and Village secrets run rampant. All you wanna do is survive long enough to see Naruto become Hokage and to find out who you really are.

[Fem! Reader x Various]

Warnings: Long Plot, Slow-burn, the slowest of the burns.

Crossposted on Wattpad and Quotev Masterlist

Chapter 4

The 'Deer Festival', as the civs of Konoha affectionately dubs. It was one of the biggest yearly celebrations of Konoha. Every other clan in Konoha had their own tradition. The Uchiha clan had their 'Festival of Fans', a summer event that you subtly think was a ploy to increase their clan income.

The Deer Festival is a festival that is held every year at the Nara compound to celebrate the arrival of the Takemikazuchi-no-Mikoto. A great god that was thought to have descended from the heavens with a pure white deer as his steed.

You also know of another, more recent myth; If you spot the White Deer, you'd be destined for great things. And if you and your significant other manage to catch a glimpse...

You know how it goes.

At dusk, all of the villagers gather in front of the Hokage Mountain and a grand procession (which all the men in the Nara clan would have to take part in) will lead them towards the Nara compound (which would be set up with stalls that sells various things like food and other relevant goods) where some religious rites will be performed.

The festival ends when dawn breaks.

The Yamanaka and Akimichi clan members show up, of course. All the clans do.  Akimichi sold food. Yamanaka sold drinks and various corsages of the botanical variety. Uchiha sold round paper fans in various designs, in homage to the origins of their name. The Aburame usually have several vendors dedicated to their love of bugs and the Inuzuka preferred selling goods of the animal variety. Other clans joined in the fun too, but this year there didn't seem to be many.

Brother stands beside you with you in a plain black yukata with a beige haori, draped over his shoulders. His ninjato, which he carries around in his normal shinobi clothing, was tucked neatly into his sash.

"She's a jealous one, she never leaves once she gets a hold of you. " He says with a smile when you ask, earning him a look of extreme doubt. It's a sword. Swords don't have emotions. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Brother only smiles like that when he wants to deflect the situation. Or if he's lying. You don't know which of the two is his reason.

But you couldn't deny that it was beautiful in both craftsmanship and make. The handle is long and narrow, and the cord wrap looked worn. It was dusty and faded, like it had seen many battles which it probably had. The blade itself is taller than you. It was an heirloom from Mother's side of the family and Brother had been the one to wield it when he came of age. He was 10 when the sword chose him.

You spot the carving of a great white serpent etched on the sword's guard and the eight-pronged star gilded on the pommel. You don't notice them until now. 

Brother wasn't home very often and that meant the sword wasn't around much for you to examine at your leisure.

You were wearing a luxurious yukata in your favourite colour with little purple bush-clovers as a pattern. Bush-clovers are your clan's representative flower, so you deem it was appropriate to wear as a member of the Yamanaka clan.

Mother was quite reluctant to attend, giving the excuse that she 'didn't like the hustle and bustle of a loud and noisy celebration'. She has used other variations of this excuse in the past so you asked Brother instead.

You stand within the throng of people watching the procession approaching the gates of the Nara compound. There are many people in yukata and haori, and you spot a couple of them were wearing their corresponding clan's traditional clothing.

The atmosphere is festive and the night sky is already lit by a couple of firecrackers. Jingles of the kagurasuzu and the reverberating beats of the taiko drum fill the air in a harmonious symphony. It is loud and you could feel the sound of each beat vibrating through your body. It is almost hypnotic, and it definitely helped make the mood.

As the procession reaches the final stages, you caught sight of a very familiar black-haired, ponytailed boy dressed in the traditional clothing of his clan, waving his hands and dancing to the likeness of a deer among the others who were doing the same.

You greet him with a shit-eating grin on your face when you caught his eye. You imitate the move that he was doing and gave him a thumbs up with a dramatic flourish. This is totally going to embarrass him.

Shikamaru sticks his tongue out, made a face and mouthed some words at you before leaping into the air with grace as part of his dance.

You giggle. You didn't need to know how to lip read to know what he had said to you.

The dance wasn't funny or silly at all. It was beautiful. Ethereal even. You only tease him because his reactions amused you.

The procession comes to an end, and the festival finally begins.

Lanterns are everywhere on the main road and various vendors advertising loudly for their goods. You saw a couple of vendors selling candy apples and other sweets further away.

You haven't seen Ino and Choji yet but you know they are around. Ino is probably running the flower stall with Father, and some other members of the clan, and Choji was probably running a small Yakiniku booth at the end of the road with his.

Brother slips his fingers into yours and leads you down the road towards the sweets. His hand are large. Much bigger than your own by at least three-fold. He makes you feel warm and safe.

You look up at him to observe his profile. You think he is subjectively handsome but maybe others think otherwise. He has narrow eyes that were the colour of amber under the afternoon sun and a slim but prominent jawline. He usually wore his hair short. The snowy streaks on the tips of his hair were now reaching his scalp.

It wasn't there before. How long has it been since it got that bad? When did it start showin-

You break your gaze and blink when Brother runs a finger over your knuckles.

"What are you looking at, little mouse? " He says with a hint of a lilt in his voice, his eyes glittering half-moons as he looks at you, " Your brother too handsome for you?"

You shelf your concern away and shake his hand, hard, throwing him off-balance. He laughs and so do you. You felt pleased that he was enjoying himself.

You feel that he plays the part of a friend, a confidant, a mother, a father, a mentor and a brother. Sometimes a mixture of the above and sometimes all at once. He basically raised you. Between a mother who is never home long enough for you to make a parental connection to and a father who never has time to talk or to check up on how your lessons were going, never giving you the time of day when you try to talk to him, brother is the only one who cares enough to be all those things for you

But today he's playing the part of a brother. And you're happy with that since he's enjoying himself.

Brother halts to a sudden stop when you bump into someone else.

"Oh, it's you." 

You narrow your eyes and give the person who spoke the stink eye. Sasuke clearly sounds like he is annoyed by the sight of you.

Of course it's your luck to bump into the person you consider your rival today.

Brother smiles and lifts up his other arm to wave at the person beside the younger Uchiha, " Didn't expect to see you here with your brother, Itachi-kun."

Ah, so he knew Sasuke and his brother then.

"Hakunetsu-san, what a surprise. " A modest voice comes out from the older Uchiha as he returns Brother's smile with his own.

He looks like Sasuke, but with a hint of visible tear lines. His hair was in a low ponytail and he had a parted fringe. Brother's features were more masculine than his. But his eyes. His eyes reminds you of the dark sky after the setting sun. Black, like the sky when the moon rises. 

His eyes pierces you like how his smile pierces your heart. Your instinct tells you that he is a dangerous man. A dangerous man with pretty, pretty eyes.

And maybe you have a crush on him.

You stare at his general direction with a vacant look as Brother exchanges pleasantries with him and some other words.

Sasuke just looks at the ground with discernible impatience as he held onto Itachi's hand. He doesn't get that much time with his brother so he just wants to just move on already.

" That's fine, we can look after her when you're away. The least I can do for a senpai. " Itachi says, still smiling.

" You're doing me a big favor! Thanks. You'll see her in a couple of days." Brother then gives your hand a few squeezes, "Say 'thank you' to Itachi-nii will you?"

You and Sasuke share the same wide-eyed look. No. No. NO!

"T-th-thank you, Itachi-nii, " You stumble on your words and you sport an embarrassed look on your face as your cheeks turn pink.

The younger Uchiha boy frowns and aims a kick at your leg when the older boys weren't watching. He misses.

Itachi directs a kind smile at you, "It was nice meeting you. We'll see you in a few days."

You feel your heartbeat quicken for a second.

You also don't forget to give Sasuke a nice, fat finger when Itachi looks away. Brother chuckles under his breath when he sees your hand making rude gestures to his colleague's little brother from the corner of his eye. The offended look on Sasuke's face almost makes you forget how childishly your brother had treated you.

Four of you say your goodbyes and walked toward opposite directions.

The bad mood that Sasuke put you in made you want to go find Shikamaru. You tell Brother that you'd be right back and you dash as fast as you could to the Nara's main house. You are confident that the Nara boy would be there, hiding from the other festival attendees after the earlier incident.

As you whiz down the road, you spot a shimmer of white antlers behind some bushes from the corner of your eyes. 

You blink, but it was gone before you could make sure you saw what you did.

[veliseraptor]

(you’ll never dream of) breaking this fixation, 3.4k, loki/grandmaster, breathplay

it’s @led-lite​‘s birthday today! and of course in honor of my main frostmaster enabler I had to...write some frostmaster porn. is it too soon for fic involving loki and erotic asphyxiation? I sure hope not.

anyway: happy birthday! this is how we celebrate friends’ birthdays on the internet: with dubious porn.

note: this will be crossposted to AO3 as soon as it’s betaed (as it currently isn’t - short turnaround, busy beta.). and for those who aren’t having a birthday: if you like what I do, consider letting me know via my ko-fi.

“You have,” the Grandmaster said, “the most gorgeous neck.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” He was sprawled on a chaise lounge in the room that had been designated for his use, the windows open in a futile attempt to relieve some of the heat. At least they were high enough above the ground that the smell was manageable. And at least so far he was only mildly drunk.

“Oh, yes,” the Grandmaster said, turning around holding two glasses and sauntering back over to Loki. “Absolutely. What, no one’s told you that before?”

“It’s certainly been a while,” Loki said. He took the glass that was held out to him, resisting the urge to test it for any possible additives. He’d made that mistake once. Why, Lo-lo, don’t you - don’t you trust me?

He shivered a little, though he quickly tried to suppress it and cover by taking a sip of the fizzy, light, drink he’d been given. Barely any burn. He wasn’t going to assume that meant it wasn’t...potent.

“My poor, neglected, flower,” the Grandmaster said with a click of his tongue. “I just can’t believe...well. It’s tragic. You should be absolutely lavished with attention.” Loki looked up at him, drawing a smile up from somewhere.

“You’re too kind,” he demurred. The Grandmaster smiled at him.

“I am, aren’t I? Anyway, your...neck. It’s really very.” He reached down, trailing his fingers up the side of Loki’s throat, thumb tracing the center line. Loki swallowed and tipped his chin up without thinking, the motion almost an instinctive response. The moment he realized what he’d done, he tensed; the Grandmaster hummed, sounding pleased. “Nice. And that thing you just did, where you...it’s like you’re baring your throat to me.” His thumb paused its slide down and pressed against Loki’s skin, just hard enough to put pressure on his trachea. “I like that. You do it when someone’s fucking you.”

Loki could feel his face warming. He brought the glass carefully to his lips, taking a small sip. “Do I?” He said, trying to sound casual and not like he could feel his pulse starting to quicken. By the Grandmaster’s little smirk, he was not successful.

“Sure do,” the Grandmaster said. “And you look great doing it.” He pulled his hand away and Loki let out a quiet breath, though the Grandmaster’s eyes remained fixed on him as he sipped from his own glass. “Ahh,” he said. “That’s nice. Anyway.” He tapped a finger against his lips and then waved a hand, setting his drink aside. “Up.”

Loki blinked. “Pardon?”

“You know I don’t like repeating myself,” the Grandmaster said reproachfully. “Stand up, sweetheart.”

Loki knew better than to question a second time. He stood, swaying a little but otherwise holding still as the Grandmaster stepped in close and adjusted the front of the robe that was Loki’s only thin covering. Then he grabbed the fabric and tugged Loki forward into a demanding kiss. Loki almost stumbled, the drink he was holding sloshing over the sides of the glass and spilling over his hand. He made a startled noise, muffled by the Grandmaster’s tongue exploring the contours of his mouth.

He pulled away slowly while Loki was still trying to get his bearings, the ground rocking a little under his feet. “I wasn’t planning on, ah, indulging again,” he said, eyebrows raised and a quirk in his lips, the stripe of blue paint still somehow unsmudged. “But I think...well.” He pressed forward, one thigh pressing forward against Loki’s groin so he hissed and jumped. “What do you think, Lo-lo?”

“I…” Loki took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I think I spilled my drink,” he said, instead of answering the real question.

“Oh! Oh dear,” the Grandmaster said, twisting to pluck the glass out of Loki’s hand. “Here, well, let’s just…” He put the rim to Loki’s lips and tipped it.

Humiliation burned in Loki’s chest, but he let his lips part and swallowed what the Grandmaster gave him until the glass was empty. The coiling, hot, feeling in his gut wasn’t unfamiliar, but he didn’t like that it was there, either. The Grandmaster ground his leg against him again and Loki jerked, grinding back; his hand slid from Loki’s chest to his sides, around his waist to his back where he pulled Loki in tighter.

He tossed the glass over his shoulder and Loki heard it shatter. He could feel himself breathing quick and unsteadily.

“So,” the Grandmaster said. “Now. What do you think, Lo? Should I, umm. Indulge?”

“I wouldn’t...dream of telling you not to,” Loki said. His voice sounded unsteady, too.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” the Grandmaster said. Loki could feel the planes of his body, pressed together as they were, through the Grandmaster’s own shimmering gold robe. “That’s just what I was thinking. I mean. What good is it running a planet if I can’t do whatever I want? Or, ah, whoever.” His eyebrows waggled up and down and it was so absurd that Loki almost laughed.

He didn’t. Just held still, feeling a little like a rabbit eyeing the circling shadow of a hawk above. “And what is it you’re planning to...do?”

The Grandmaster leaned forward, one of his hands sneaking under Loki’s robe and caressing his chest, circling one of his nipples. “Well,” he said, and bent his head to Loki’s neck, mouthing wetly up the side, pausing to suck hard at a patch of skin. “Well,” he said again, “what do you think about, hm. Have you ever had someone…” The hand on his chest migrated upwards, sliding over his sternum, fingers curling slowly around his throat. Loki froze, almost quivering, breath caught in his lungs.

“Have you?” The Grandmaster still just sounded innocently curious, but Loki could hear the slight edge of impatience. He swallowed, feeling his throat bob against the Grandmaster’s palm. Not constricting. Just...resting there.

“Yes,” he said.

“Oh, good!” The Grandmaster said. “Well - I do love introducing you to new things, but...you like it, am I right? That’s a...a good one? Just guessing, here, but I’m good at guessing.”

A tremor ran through him, and Loki was quite certain that the Grandmaster felt it. Thankfully, though his eyes glittered, he didn’t comment. “I have...enjoyed it in the past.” He was very aware of the Grandmaster’s hand. The strength behind it, despite the deceptive exterior. The Grandmaster’s power wasn’t primarily physical, but if he wanted to…

The shiver that went through Loki then wasn’t entirely fear. It should have been. It wasn’t.

“Knew it,” the Grandmaster said. “It’s all, uh, part and parcel, isn’t it?” His hand dropped from Loki’s neck and moved to the tie at his waist, loosening it. “Of this whole thing you have about control. You want it, you don’t want it. Can’t make up your mind, so...someone’s gotta make it up for you.”

Loki’s face flared hot and he desperately hoped it wasn’t visible. He did tense, though, and the Grandmaster laughed. “Hey now! No need to - ha - be embarrassed, I’m into it. So let’s just…” He planted a hand on Loki’s chest and started steering him back toward the bed. Loki tripped a little over his own feet, beginning to feel light-headed.

He’d been right to think that drink was more potent than it tasted.

Half falling back onto the bed, Loki just managed to catch himself, robe hanging open on either side of him. The Grandmaster just stood in front of him for a moment, eyes sweeping over Loki slowly like he was a feast and he was trying to decide what to devour first. It made Loki’s stomach clench, and his cock stiffen.

“Nice,” the Grandmaster said approvingly, and closed in, clasping Loki’s chin and drawing his face up, bending down for a kiss.

He didn’t let it last for long, though, before pulling away and shedding his own robe. Loki’s eyes trailed down to his cock and jerked back up to his face, his heart rabbiting nervously in his rib cage. He swallowed hard.

“Where do you want me,” he asked, lowering his voice deliberately to something sultry. The Grandmaster gave him an amused look.

“Where do you think I want you, honeybunch,” he said. “Flat on your back with your arms over your head.”

Loki swallowed hard. With anyone else, he would push back. With anyone else.

Not here. He inched back onto the bed to where he could stretch out, and slowly brought his arms up over his head. “Am I...not going to be allowed to use my hands?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have you very much at my mercy if you could, would I?” The Grandmaster said with his bright, bright, smile. Loki’s breath shuddered out of him and his throat tightened like the Grandmaster was already pinning him down, fingers squeezing.

Whatever look was on his face made the Grandmaster’s smile widen. He climbed over Loki and reached up to grasp his wrists, pressing them down into the bed. Loki’s body answered even that little, vague arousal starting to crowd out his nerves.

“Can you...could you, ah, hypothetically. Tie yourself up with your own magic?”

Oh. “I could,” Loki said, because he suspected the Grandmaster knew that already, and was making him say it. He thought he knew why, too. It would mean discarding the pretense that he was overwhelmed. It would mean he was offering up his own submission.

The bitter flavor of humiliation was familiar by now. The wave of arousal that came with it even more so.

“Well,” the Grandmaster said, “go on.” He released Loki’s wrists to trail his hands down Loki’s sides to his hips. The spell was easy enough to weave, twining around his wrists, binding them in place. He looked up at the Grandmaster, hoping to mask how his heart had started pounding.

The Grandmaster’s thumbs caressed across his hipbones. “Aren’t you just the prettiest picture,” he said, and Loki’s chest warmed, almost squirming.

“Thank you,” he said, trying to push down the feeling of vulnerability, of being - exposed.

“Oh, yes,” the Grandmaster said, his hand moving to Loki’s cock and dragging his thumb over the head, the dry friction just at the edge of painful but still - good. Loki bucked upwards and the Grandmaster whipped his hand away. “Ah - no rush, sweetheart. Right?” He shifted back and bent forward, tonguing at one of Loki’s nipples. A quiet sound escaped Loki’s mouth and he pressed up toward the wet heat of his mouth, his fingers flexing. Loki’s stomach muscles tightened and he forced himself to relax.

The Grandmaster transferred his attentions to Loki’s other nipple, this time with a brush of his teeth. He moaned, hips pressing up, and the Grandmaster raised his head. “You’re really - eager for it, aren’t you?” His thumbs slid between Loki’s thighs, pressing against his skin, not quite where Loki wanted them.

“You’re - good at what you do,” Loki said, because he was, and that was part of the problem.

“Of course I am,” the Grandmaster said. “You’re - ha - stating the obvious there a bit, aren’t you?” He sat up and climbed off Loki. His eyes widened and he tried to sit up, forgetting the magic that brought him sharply back down.

“What - where-”

“Relax, Lo,” the Grandmaster said. “We’re going to need some, uh, something to, ease the way.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I gotta tell you, it gets really good for, ah, for me when you can’t breathe. All tight and...hm. Tight.” Loki’s stomach clenched and he swallowed hard. His cock twitched and he heard himself make a faint noise.

The Grandmaster pulled a bottle from a drawer. “Legs spread, darling,” he said, not looking back as he inspected the label. Loki’s face burned but he moved, distantly hating his own obedience.

The Grandmaster returned and inspected him. “Knees up,” he said. “I’m going to need some room to work, here.”

Loki licked his lips and swallowed hard. The Grandmaster raised his eyebrows. “Go on, sweet thing. We don’t have all day. Well. We do, but…”

Loki drew his knees up to his chest. The Grandmaster climbed back onto the bed, gripped his thighs and slid his hands down to pull his buttocks apart, one thumb pressing against his hole. He closed his eyes, face still burning. This position had always felt somehow more obscene than others, and right now…

“So tense,” the Grandmaster said. “Doesn’t it just get exhausting? Let’s see if I can’t...loosen you up.” He shimmied down the bed, pushing Loki’s ankles further apart, and bent down to take Loki’s cock in his mouth.

He let out a surprised yelp, bucking upward, but the Grandmaster moved back quickly.

“Ah, ah,” he said, Loki’s cock slipping out of his mouth. “I’m still driving. You just take it.”

Loki shivered and dropped his head back.

The Grandmaster knew what he was doing. He’d done this before, but not often, and every time it shamed Loki how quickly he came undone. He could feel himself melting, and when the Grandmaster’s probing finger pressed into him he pressed back, the thumb rubbing behind his testicles sending a violent shudder through him.

The Grandmaster pulled off him with an obscene slurping noise and crooked his finger like he was trying to bring thumb and forefinger together. Loki jerked with a shudder and a strangled sound, his cock dribbling pre-come where it lay heavy on his stomach, slick with spit. His hands twisted, wanting to grab hold of something, his body humming.

“Easy-peasy,” the Grandmaster said smugly. “I knew when I saw you that you were just...made for this.”

Loki’s stomach lurched. “Made for - made for what?”

“This,” the Grandmaster said. He added a second finger and Loki gasped at the stretch. “You know. Lying back, taking what you’re given.”

Loki’s exhale was weak and uneven. “I don’t-”

The Grandmaster’s fingers stopped moving. “Careful there,” he said. “You know how I feel about that word.” Loki’s throat worked and he wanted to whimper. I’m not, he wanted to say. That’s not what I am, but even in his mind it tasted like a lie.

The Grandmaster shoved a third finger into him, too fast, and Loki cried out, trying to pull away, but he was ruthless, pressing hard with his thumb, fingers curling. The pressure slid between pleasure and pain and his cock pulsed with both.

“That’s - that’s-” Loki’s voice cut off on too much. His hips rocked, his cock leaking steadily.

“Let’s pretend,” the Grandmaster said, fingers still moving inside him, “that I’m - that I’m punishing you. Just a little.”

Pretend? Loki thought a little wildly. He could hear himself gasping.

“What would you say?” The Grandmaster sounded casual. “If I were, were upset with you.”

Loki’s chest squeezed and he forced his lungs to fill. “I’d - I’d ask you to forgive me.”

“Say please,” the Grandmaster said pleasantly.

“Please,” Loki said.

“Say please, Grandmaster.”

Loki inhaled harshly. “Please, Grandmaster,” he forced out, burning, burning.

The Grandmaster hummed. “All right,” he said. “I think I can forgive you.”

He pulled his fingers out and sheathed himself in Loki’s body in one smooth stroke.

Loki cried out, arching off the bed, but the Grandmaster’s weight pressed him back down, pinning him to the mattress. He groaned above Loki with satisfaction, shifting - to get comfortable and Loki could feel his cock moving inside him. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

The Grandmaster slid his hands up Loki’s chest and back down. “There,” he said. “That’s...very good, Loki.”

He shuddered with terrible pleasure, his cock jerking. The Grandmaster’s fingers brushed his neck and he bared his throat, unthinking, offering it to the most dangerous predator he’d ever met.

His hand just barely pressed, teasing Loki with a promise, or a threat. His breath snagged, and then he inhaled sharply as the Grandmaster moved, rocking his hips back so he slid almost all the way out and then snapping them forward. Then again, ruthless, precise movements that made Loki jerk, pulling reflexively against the magic holding his arms over his head.

The Grandmaster withdrew again, and this time when he thrust back in his hand squeezed. Not hard, but it was enough to make Loki gasp, lightning zinging down his spine, pressing unconsciously up against the palm of his hand. Another thrust, another squeeze, this a little tighter, each one in rhythm and Loki’s heartbeat hammered in his ears, inhales thinner and thinner. His cock pulsed and he rocked with each impact of the Grandmaster’s body against his.

“Good?” The Grandmaster said, his voice frustratingly smooth, only a slight breathless edge. “How does that feel?”

“Tighter,” Loki said, because it wasn’t quite enough. Almost, but not quite, everything beginning to blur together.

“Bossy,” the Grandmaster said, but with a laugh, and he shifted angles and tightened his grip. Loki sucked in a breath that didn’t reach his lungs. He bucked, writhing; his body clenched and he heard the Grandmaster moan and say, “that’s it.” He let go, but only for a moment, just enough for Loki to suck in a breath before he did it again.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and if the Grandmaster wanted to he didn’t need to stop, he could just keep squeezing until Loki ran out of air and he’d probably barely even register it, in the end what was Loki but a toy to be used as the Grandmaster pleased--

His cock was achingly hard. He strained, seeking friction he couldn’t get.

The Grandmaster let go, still moving, still thrusting away, and Loki let out a sound like a sob. “That’s - hmm, nice, tight and hot and just delicious, you should see your face,” the Grandmaster was saying. Loki’s head lolled to the side. He felt drunk, and no longer just mildly.

He let out a whine when the Grandmaster pulled out of him, but he was only re-slicking his cock, sliding smoothly back in. “You good?” He said. “You look good.” Loki couldn’t find the words to answer coherently.

“All right,” the Grandmaster murmured. “Let’s go.” He caressed Loki’s face. Trailed his fingers down the sides of Loki’s neck, dancing lightly over skin, and Loki panted in desperate, fearful, anticipation.

Both his hands clasped around Loki’s neck and bore down with all his weight.

Loki bucked, letting out a choked cry, caught by the magic binding his hands. He arched, but that only had the effect of rubbing his aching cock against the Grandmaster’s stomach. Pleasure and panic blended together, exhilaration and terror, his brain sparking like trying to set a fire in the rain. His eyelids fluttered wildly and he could hear himself making little noises as he tried to breathe. His head was spinning and that might be the alcohol or the lack of oxygen or both.

And the Grandmaster kept going, kept pistoning in and out of him as his fingers tightened, and Loki could feel it building, building, even as his lungs began to ache.

Then he let go. Loki bit his tongue so he didn’t howl, blood rushing back into his brain, the euphoric relief overwhelming, and for just a second his thoughts went completely blank.

He just felt the Grandmaster spill inside him, dimly aware that he’d come as well, probably in that moment of total euphoria. It never lasted long enough.

Now he was back where he was. Alone, on his back for a madman, sticky, exhausted, and feeling oddly empty.

The Grandmaster pulled out and stretched out next to him, splaying a hand across Loki’s stomach. His smile was vaguely predatory. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I knew that would be fun. Wasn’t that fun, Lo?”

“Definitely,” Loki said. He could still feel a bit of an ache in his throat, though it would fade quickly. He knew he’d miss it. He knew he felt vaguely filthy for missing it. “Without question.”

The Grandmaster rubbed his thumb across sensitive, overheated, skin, and Loki twitched with a little noise, not quite of protest. The Grandmaster laughed, and there was something dark in it. “Oh, Loki, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re so funny. You’ve just been wasted, haven’t you? And all along this...this is just where you needed to be.”

[soulstealer1987]

Arc 5, Chapter 5

So Gallus is in love, whoops. Too bad it'll take something drastic for him to say anything anytime soon. Too bad they're kind of preoccupied with Calcelmo. Then again... well... let's call this chapter the calm before the storm and leave it at that.

Crossposted from AO3. Masterpost is here.

Arc 5: Shadows of the Past

Arc 5, Chapter 4 ~ Arc 5, Chapter 6

“That really was amazing,” Gallus continues, and offers Karliah a grin. Sure, he’s still wearing the full face helmet, but she probably gets the sentiment. Probably. Hopefully. (Gods, he hates the helmet.)

“It really wasn’t that impressive,” Karliah says softly, “but alright.”

“It really was. You’re...”

Really the most capable person I’ve ever met, and I don’t need my memories to know that. You’re strong, smart, really cute, and while I seem to have no choice in the matter when it comes to falling in love with you, I’m completely okay with this. I just want to believe I’m good enough for you, that I can live up to who I was, and I—

“Really good at this,” Gallus says instead, because saying what he wants to suddenly seems a more daunting task than facing down a dragon. Evidently it worked, though, because she does return his grin with a more genuine one than she’d had the entire time she’d been working on Calcelmo.

“Thank you, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Let’s go.”

Within a matter of seconds, she’s adopted the air of a slightly-overconfident scholar once more, and marches up to the guard at the door they’d passed on their way in. (Gallus is assuming it’s the Dwemer Museum.)

“Excuse you,” the guard says, and Gallus nearly has a heart attack on the spot. Fortunately, Karliah’s got it far more together than he does, and he’s wearing a helmet.

“Excuse me,” she says indignantly. “I am a scholar, given explicit permission by Calcelmo himself to peruse the contents of this museum. Would you prefer I bring him here to confirm? I strongly suspect he wouldn’t be too happy with you wasting his—and my—valuable time.”

All of a sudden she sounds a lot more than slightly overconfident, dear gods. It’s already impressive, she’s already impressive, and that’s made even more so by the fact that Gallus knows she’s actually nowhere near this arrogant. Arrogant is literally the last word he’d use to describe her. If anything, she could use more self-confidence.

To be fair, watching your lover die probably isn’t good for your self-esteem, especially not if you’re framed for his murder. Once again, and not for the first time, Gallus desperately wants to take her in his arms and tell her that it’s alright, it wasn’t her fault, and he doesn’t need his memories to know that much. And yet, he can’t. Currently that’s because they’re in the middle of something, but there was nothing stopping him the last few times save his own fear that he can’t live up to the man she loved.

“Of course not.” The guard squints suspiciously at Gallus, but evidently thinks better of arguing and proceeds to unlock the door. Gallus doesn’t relax until they’re inside, and Karliah doesn’t for a fair bit longer. Even then, she waits until they’re well out of earshot of the guards within before ducking into a shadowed corner and grinning, slightly.

“That went better than I thought it would,” Karliah whispers, “but we’ve still got a long way to go.”

Suddenly, it hits Gallus just what her plan is, and he frowns.

“So… we’re going to steal his notes now?” Gallus guesses. Karliah nods.

“Unless you’ve got a better idea, yes. We’ll get in, get the notes, and get out. We’ll be long gone before he knows anything was stolen.”

It’s a good plan—and even so, Gallus’ frown only deepens. Sure, there’s always something that can go wrong, and something always goes wrong, that’s how plans work, but…

“What if,” he says slowly, “we just take the opportunity to scout out this place now, and return after dark? Calcelmo will remember you—it’ll be suspicious if the place gets robbed immediately after he gave you the key.”

“We’ll have to stay in Markarth longer, but that might be worth it if he doesn’t suspect us and we can make a clean getaway.” She hums speculatively for a bit, thinking on this. Eventually, her eyes light up and she nods. “Let’s do it. You should keep a lookout for anything that might be a problem late at night, two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

As it turns out, there’s quite a lot that could and would likely pose a problem late at night, not least of which being that there seems to be no windows in the main area of the museum, and the only definite exit is the way they came in. So, only one way out, and no natural lighting. No lighting at all, actually, save the torches carried by each and every guard.

After they pass another pair of guards—there are a lot of them, gods—Gallus says, “Should we be worried about the fact that the only light in here is with the guards?”

“It won’t help with tripping over things, but I’m a bit more worried about the notable lack of exits.”

He grimaces. “You and me both. Then there’s all the traps—I sincerely hope they’re completely deactivated. I wouldn’t put it past Calcelmo to have rigged them against intruders.”

“True. Not to say we can’t do it, of course, just it won’t be easy. It’ll be a challenge.”

“I like being challenged,” Gallus says automatically. His gaze meets hers, and she grins.

“I know,” she says cheerfully. “You’re not the only one.”

The pair linger in the Dwemer Museum a bit longer than Gallus would have liked, considering the potential lethality of literally everything within. Considering that it would have been much worse to stumble upon things for the first time at night, it’s likely for the best.

Even so, there’s still a few hours until sunset, plenty of time to figure things out—well, some things. Not others. They’re still both avoiding the horker in the room, and in any case it’s easier to discuss what they’ll be doing in the future than what was between them in the past. Somehow, Gallus gets the feeling that this isn’t the first time they’ve had to pull off something like this, and with any luck it won’t be the last.

“I wish we could have scouted out his laboratory too,” Karliah says eventually. “But as it is, we’ll have to assume it’s got a lot of guards and little to no lighting as well. Which is both good and bad.”

Gallus can tell why a lack of lighting would be both good and bad—the shadows would help hide them, but also could lead to tripping every five seconds if there was anything on the floor—which, if the Dwemer Museum itself was any indication, there most certainly will be things scattered about. Calcelmo evidently isn’t the most organized. However...

“A lot of guards are good?” He asks. Karliah shrugs.

“As I said, good and bad. If there’s a lot of them, they’ll be making quite a bit of noise. Chances are they’ll just assume it’s one of their buddies messing around unless we make it very, very obvious that there’s an intruder around.”

“Which we won’t do.”

Karliah shrugs helplessly, and says, “Shadows willing.”

Lately, Gallus has come to notice that while the vast majority of people swear by some kind of deity, Karliah does not. For whatever reason, with her it’s always shadows this and shadows that. Briefly, he considers asking about it, then thinks better of it, for several reasons. Likely the most significant is that, even though she’s evidently trying to hide it, she looks exhausted. It shows in the dark circles under her eyes, and in how heavily she’s leaning against the wall.

“We still have a few hours,” Gallus says. “You should get some sleep.”

“I don’t—”

Karliah lets out the biggest yawn Gallus can recall hearing from anyone, ever, quickly rendering her point moot.

“I’m not tired,” she says uselessly.

“Of course you aren’t.” He frowns. “I know you’re a better liar than this.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Sure you aren’t. Have you seen yourself lately? If you’re anywhere close to being as tired as you look, you really need the sleep. Besides, at this point, there’s not much left to plan for.”

Karliah looks like she wants to argue. She also looks even more exhausted at the mere mention of sleep. Gallus’ gut twists uncomfortably, and he strongly suspects he knows why.

“Please,” he says, and maybe that’s what finally sways Karliah. Silently, she nods.

“I doubt it’ll help much,” she says quietly, “and you do know the beds here are made of stone, right?”

“They what?”

In the end, Karliah just lays out her bedroll on the slab of stone that apparently counts as a bed here. After extracting a promise that he’ll wake her before the sun sets, she passes out almost immediately. Gallus winds up sitting against the wall, knees tucked up against his chest, and waiting for the sun to set. When he glances over at Karliah, he finds that she’s smiling in her sleep.

That’s good. She deserves to be happy.

[unpretty]

the thing about tumblr is that it's always had rss feeds, so it's always been possible to follow someone without actually having a tumblr account (even after they started adding login walls). if you are looking for new places to post, please consider whether it's possible for people to follow and view your posts there without having an account. i love you guys but there are artists whose work i haven't seen in years because i'm not making a ZuckMuskDotOrg account just to see what they're up to.

[greyias]

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 13

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | Crossposted to AO3

"Hell of a thing,” Jace muttered at the conclusion of Theron’s debrief. “Never thought the Imps would strike Tython.”

Theron shifted his weight, watching as Jace glared at his reflection in the desk. He had no idea if he was meant to respond to that, and if so, exactly what to say to it. It was just the two of them this time, as he was the official SIS liaison on the Korriban op. It was his job to debrief the military on both the Korriban raid and the Tython recovery. He’d already gone over everything with Marcus Trant.

Well… almost everything.

Of all the people in the galaxy to disclose his suspicions to, it made the most sense to do so with his boss. However, Theron knew that the first thing that Marcus would ask for was proof. For the SIS to do anything about Darok, they would first need actual proof he had a role in the attack on Tython outside of the suspicions of one agent. From the Republic’s viewpoint, the colonel was a hero whose quick actions had helped repel an Imperial invasion on one of their Core Worlds. Without evidence, the optics on accusing said hero of high treason were… not good, to put it lightly.

“First Coruscant, now this,” Jace continued on darkly, apparently still mired in his thoughts. “Hate to see the Order go through this again.”

The level of destruction hadn’t been on the exact scale of the Sacking of Coruscant, but was still devastating from the what Theron had witnessed via holo. Agents had already been dispatched to Tython to gather intelligence, and the Director was redirecting resources to the investigation. Even the mountain of data that Theron had managed to scrape from Korriban’s servers was being pushed to the back burner at the moment. It was possible those records contained information about how the Empire had not only managed to get their hands on isotope-5, but also more troubling, how they had managed to weaponize it.

Theron had done the scouting for the initial mission to Makeb, and had done a recent recon of the Aida Sector. Considering the attack on Tython, his suspicions about Darok, and the fact that there was probably a leak in their intelligence somewhere. It made him wonder how much else he’d missed… more than he was comfortable with. And it had gotten a lot of people killed.

“We’re going to find out how this happened,” Theron finally said, pulling the older man out of his dark train of thought.

“Don’t take it personally, son. Sometimes ops go sideways, it’s what you do next that counts.”

There was a part of him that bristled at being called “son” — although in the moment he couldn’t determine if the moniker had been meant literally or more figuratively. Theron really wouldn’t have appreciated it either way, but squashed the rise of irritation. Any long term relationship with the older man, either professional or familial, was going to take a bit of compromise on both sides. 

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, failing to keep the bitter note out of his voice.

“You, Darok, and Highwind are why we have Tython back.”

“She’s why we have it back,” Theron corrected firmly. “And her crew. They were the ones on the ground.”

He’d done what he could to help, but… he wasn’t the one that had been in the line of fire. And Darok definitely hadn’t been.

Jace raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “So, I guess you don’t find her dossier so fictional now?”

“No, she’s very real,” Theron said. “Just different from what I expected.”

“That’s how they get you.” The teasing lilt in his father’s tone was something that was not appreciated. “Take it from me.”

“Uh huh.” Theron didn’t know where Jace was attempting to go with the comment, and had a feeling whatever lay at the end of that conversational detour was something he really didn’t want to explore. So he tried to stay on topic. “She’s capable, I’ll give you that.”

“Capable’s a bit of an understatement — I don’t think I’ve ever seen Saresh authorize anything that fast, much less a Medal of Valor.”

“The paperwork didn’t go through your office then?” 

He kept his tone light, as if the answer to his question was really of no importance. Even if he was very interested in exactly how Darok had managed to procure that medal in the timeframe that he had. If Jace had any insight on it, it would chip away a little of the mountain of detective work that Theron had in front of him.

“It was a special case,” Jace said. “I think Saresh wanted to find a way to generate some good news out of this whole ordeal.”

Create a hero before anyone could focus on the disaster too much. That certainly sounded like Saresh. There was another possibility though. That someone else knew that about the Chancellor’s political tendencies, and had someone inside of the Chancellor’s office just waiting for the right moment. If all of the proper paperwork had been filled out ahead of time, an aide might only have to wait for a holocall from Darok so they could fill in the remaining blanks.

“I thought about putting one in for you and Darok, but I figured you’d want to keep a low profile. And Darok refused.”

“Where is the Colonel?”

“Still helping organize the cleanup on Tython. Dedicated soldier, that man.”

An uneasy tingling sensation took up at the base of Theron’s spine, and he studied his father carefully. “Sounds like you know him pretty well.”

“Never served with him directly, but he’s run a lot of operations under my watch.”

Not a close friend, but still had the ear of the Supreme Commander. Made sense. Darok would need the confidence of the main in charge of the Republic military to pull of a hasty covert mission. Even if Theron and Jace had a closer father-son bond like normal families, it would have been useless to mention any suspicions. No. It was obvious Theron was going to have to gather all of his proof before he would be able to bring anyone else in on this. And for that he was going to need to start his surveillance on the colonel.

Jace took Theron’s quick excuses of needing return to his investigation at face value. Although technically they weren’t excuses as he was returning to his investigation — just running a different avenue of it. He decided to head back to his apartment. It would take a little bit of extra work to disguise his electronic trail, but it would be far easier to start a trace on Darok’s activities there. It was considerably more difficult to stay off the radar if he used the main network at the Heorem Complex. For right now, it was best that any inquiries into Darok didn’t show up in official channels. 

Maybe it was paranoid, but at this point Theron didn’t know how far the colonel’s influence stretched. Better safe than brought before a board of inquiry (at least before he sniffed out the truth). He still owed the Director an official report on both the Korriban and Tython ops, but that paperwork could wait. Just long enough so that he could lay the groundwork on the real investigation. If Marcus asked, Theron would just say that he could write reports just as easy from his apartment chair than one of the uncomfortable ones in the office.

It took painstaking effort to set up a program to route through the HoloNet and track all of Darok’s activities in such a way that the data trail wouldn’t be traced back to him. The whole process might have gone quicker, but after about the fourth time he coded a line, he had to admit to himself that he was distracted. There was no point in pretending otherwise. With a sigh, he pushed back from his terminal and grabbed the nearest datapad. A few keystrokes later and he’d been able to run a discreet search and corroborate Darok’s whereabouts. 

The colonel was on Tython, just like Jace had said. The uneasy sensation that had been distracting Theron’s coding session still lingered, so he made one more inquiry: the current berthing of The Defender and her crew.

Also Tython.

Considering how eager his recruit had been to dig into the investigation, it wouldn’t hurt for him to check in. If she hadn’t run into Darok yet, Theron should give her the heads up — and remind her who was running the intel side of this operation. Without a second thought he pulled up a mail window, and began to write.

To: Greyias Highwind From: Theron Shan Subject: Reconstruction Efforts

I left the other day before I could inquire into your part in the reconstruction efforts at the Jedi Temple. I’ve seen some holos, and it looks like a lot of work. I heard that our mutual friend might be onsite, but also that he’s a very busy man. You probably shouldn’t bother him if he is there.

He stared at the message for about ten seconds before deciding that was good enough, and hit send. Temporarily mollified, he returned to his coding. It was at least an hour, but he was just on the final part of the trace when he heard a ding from his inbox indicating that he had a new message. He muttered a choice expletive, but pulled his attention away from his work so he could read the missive.

To: Theron Shan From: Greyias Highwind Subject: Slow Progress

So this is your address? Had you mentioned before leaving, I would have written to let you know about all of the people helping out with the reconstruction efforts here on Tython. It is slow going, but progress is still being made. Most of the Council was away with the war efforts, and even now not all of them can return. I’m afraid I have not been able to keep an eye on everyone as well as I would like, as we are still searching for survivors amongst the rubble. My friends and crew are helping, although I would not say I am on the “friendliest“ terms with everyone here. There has been quite a lot of activity in the library. Seeing as Doc says it would make a good area for triage, I am planning on speaking to the individuals blocking access. I will let you know how my conversation goes. 

Last we spoke, there was also mention of a certain bracelet. I have yet to see this mythical piece of jewelry make an appearance. Let me know if you find it.

Theron nearly missed the last paragraph, as his blood pressure skyrocketed on reading the previous sentence. Without hesitation, he immediately hit reply.

To: Greyias Highwind From: Theron Shan Subject: Patience Is a Virtue

Have you considered that perhaps the library is structurally unsound? It sounds like whoever is up there might just be part of the engineering crew doing their job. Being that it’s on the second floor, wouldn’t it make more sense for your medic to set up in one of the classrooms on the first floor instead? That way neither of us has to stop what we’re doing to have any premature conversations. It’s always good to have proof before you start accusing anyone — of blocking medical access in this case.

And I’m pretty sure I mentioned that the bracelet was hypothetical. So you are correct in your categorization of it being mythical.

He sent the message off without even reviewing it, hoping that it was read before she charged in like a raging gundark and started asking questions. He didn’t bother getting back into finishing his query, not until he was sure that she wasn’t going to tip Darok off to their suspicions before Theron even had a chance to start digging. He watched the seconds pass by on the chrono, feeling tension gathering in his shoulders. This was why he worked alone. It was much easier to control the situation if he didn’t have to constantly be riding herd on others.

Finally, mercifully, his mailbox dinged as another message came through.

To: Theron Shan From: Greyias Highwind Subject: Fine

We’ll use the classroom. I need to go. Someone has just found another body—I think it might be Liam Dentiri. I may have to go bury one of my friends.

Theron stared at the short, clipped message for several long moments, not quite able to untangle the cold sick feeling winding through his gut. He need to stay focused on the larger picture here. If he put too many faces, attached too much emotion to the lives lost he might lose focus. It would be too easy to get lost in the fact that every single person slain in both of the conflicts had a larger, wider effect on the world around them. That they weren’t just numbers. Numbers were easy to look past. Names weren’t. As evidenced by Dentiri’s continuing to pop up, even now. He could still hear the pain and rage in Kira’s voice ringing over the comm. Couldn’t completely banish the image of Highw—Grey—trying to brush away the evidence of her grief.

How many other names were on that fatality list? How many more people were mourning friends or loved ones tonight? With no answers for why beyond the grind of an endless war. No hope for justice or an end to their pain, just the endless call to press onwards.

Theron rubbed his forehead, tension mounting near his cranial implants as he stared cross-eyed at the screen in front of him. He needed to get back to work and finish those last few lines of code, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the “reply” button. Finally, he hit it, if for nothing else than to get rid of those four sentences burning a hole through him.

To: Greyias Highwind From: Theron Shan Subject: Condolences

Sometimes I can get too caught up with trying to see the big picture sometimes, and I miss smaller details. Which I shouldn’t, because rooting out the tiny details are part of my job. That came out wrong. What I mean is that you once called Tython your home. It wasn’t ever mine.

What I’m working on will take some time, but I’ll stay in touch. In the meantime, obviously you do whatever you need to do over there.

I’m sorry about your friend.

He hit send and ran a hand through his hair, and the cursor on his terminal continued to blink at him. As if trying to tell him that he still had the last bit of coding to finish. Instead he continued to stare at his inbox, all the while wondering what the hell was wrong with him.