#going into my hidey hole for the next two days until MY stuff ships

[howldean]

it’s not even my pakidge stuff ☹️☹️

[starlene]

Quarantine tags!

Once again, sorry for being a bit absent lately and not answering many messages – the current situation is not really helping me with the constant fatigue thing, so I’ve been ignoring most of my notifications as of late.

However, I have lovely Tumblr friends who tag me in things to digitally drag me out of my hidey-hole, so here goes... Answering all the text-based questionnaires you’ve been tagging me in!

Music list tag game

Tagged by @homospeksuaali!

Rules: list ten songs you’ve been listening to recently.

Straight from the top of my Spotify On Repeat playlist to your dashboard:

Tomas Ledin: Midsommarafton i Himalaya

Så som i himmelen original cast: Tonerna

En del av mitt hjärta soundtrack: Just nu

Erika Vikman: Cicciolina

Tomas Ledin: Hon gör allt för att göra mig lycklig - Live

Så som i himmelen Norwegian cast: Drar selv om jeg ikke vil

En del av mitt hjärta soundtrack: Lika hopplöst förälskad

Alexander Lycke: Gethsemane

Tomas Ledin: Håll ut - Live

Så som i himmelen Norwegian cast: Så som i himmelen (same song as Tonerna on the Swedish album)

In conclusion, Spotify is trying its best to hide my shame, I have literally listened to nothing but Tomas Ledin there for over a week now. Right now, I’m listening to När kärleken kom for the 20th time in a row.

Quarantine Tag Game

Tagged by @oopperan-kummitus!

Are you staying home from school/work? Yes, but it’s because I was unemployed & going to the career psychologist to try to figure out my career when this situation started. Still very much trying to figure that out, it just seems somewhat more hopeless now.

If you’re staying home, who is there with you? My seven houseplants.

Are you a homebody? Very much so. Despite that, in my circle of friends, I’m also usually the one who organises outings and such. Since I’ve been too tired lately to make many things happen (I love traveling and seeing shows and whatever, of course – but organising those things, especially for a group, can be a huge pain sometimes), I’ve been spending even more time home than usually, even before the quarantines were a thing. In that sense, the quarantine hardly bothers me at all.

An event that you were looking forward that got cancelled? Seeing Alexander Lycke as Freddie in Chess. It’s been my dreamrole for him since forever. However, I try to keep my hopes up – if it’s truely meant to happen, it will still happen one day, and if not, hopefully the universe has something else nice with him in store for me. (There are other things than that, too, of course – but I already wrote about the birthday thing earlier and I can deal with the rest.)

What movies have you watched recently? Nothing since I saw En del av mitt hjärta for the... 7th? time in Stockholm in February. I don’t really enjoy watching movies on small screens, especially when I’m alone, and I’m admittedly lazy when it comes to going to the cinema, though I really like watching stuff on the big screen.

What shows are you watching? None. I can’t really concentrate on them.

What music are you listening to? See above. Also, Jesus Christ Superstar (the 2009 Swedish & 1996 West End revival recordings), it’s the only Easter tradition I have.

What are you reading? Tonight, in honour of Easter, I went on a Wikipedia binge about the historicity of Jesus. Here’s something you maybe don’t know about me: I absolutely love learning stuff about different religions. Stuff like the origins of Christianity is simply super fascinating to me!

What are you doing for self-care? Uh. I try to take a walk every day and not buy any unhealthy snacks. Does listening to Tomas Ledin 24/7 count? I think it’s helping my soul to stay above water these days, if a metaphor like that makes sense.

Nameless tag game

Tagged by @agenderhyde!

Top 3 Ships: Utterson/Jekyll, always and eternally and forever... and, seeing what I’ve been watching lately, I think I have to give a shoutout to Isabella/Edwin & Molly/Simon from En del av mitt hjärta here. They’re all very cute in that movie.

Last Song: Tomas Ledin: När kärleken kom (yes, I’m still at this, I’m listening my way through his discography by having an individual song on repeat until I’m fed up with it – which, let me tell you, takes a lot of repeats – and then moving onto the next one.)

Last Movie: En del av mitt hjärta

Reading: Just bought two new books, a nonfiction book about women in the Viking Age (because I listened to a very interesting podcast interview with the author) and a historical novel about Jesus (see previous tag for reasons). Let’s see if these help me to find my ability to concentrate again!

Three Random Things that Make Me Happy: Seeing squirrels, wearing my old leather jacket & shoes, the existance of Norwegian fjords.

I’m tagging @veilingofthesun, @askyfullofcomets, @ensignbeedrill, @bluepeets, @ananaskeksi & @fraciel to do all of these, if you want to – feel free to pick the ones you like the best or haven’t done yet, or do them all!

[jacksgreysays]

anon: A platonic interpretation of Florence + The Machine's What the Water Gave Me, feels like what I'd consider Reverse Garden!Sai & Root!Shikako vibes? idk

[Verse 1] Time it took us To where the water was That's what the water gave me And time goes quicker Between the two of us Oh, my love, don't forsake me Take what the water gave me [Chorus] Lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow Pockets full of stones Lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow [Verse 2] And oh, poor Atlas The world's a beast of a burden You've been holding on a long time And all this longing And the ships are left to rust That's what the water gave us [Chorus] So lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow Pockets full of stones Lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow [Verse 3] Because they took your loved ones But returned them in exchange for you But would you have it any other way? Would you have it any other way? You couldn't have it any other way [Bridge] Because she's a cruel mistress And a bargain must be made But oh, my love, don't forget me While I let the water take me [Chorus] Lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow Pockets full of stones Lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow So lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow Pockets full of stones Lay me down Let the only sound Be the overflow

I’m glad you liked the Reverse Gardens idea, anon! This is a pretty excellent choice for Reverse Gardens in general--though, of course, if I could figure out how to get Shisui in there somehow that would be the most excellent. :D 

This next bit is unrelated to either Sai or Shisui or ROOT!Shikako, or, even, I think AUs that currently exist (or maybe they do? Oh man, I’m so bad at keeping track of them) but I thought maybe people might appreciate this as well?

---

She dodges the first blow, easy. The second, not so much, it catches her across the jaw and with it goes her sense of balance. She stumbles--not much, not enough to fall, but enough to create an opening--and a leg sweeps hers out from under her. She crashes to the ground, rocks scraping, and doesn’t even bother to get back up. Instead, she rolls, out of the way of a sword stabbed into the ground where she was just seconds ago.

She doesn’t bother to complain about the double standards going on in this fight, the teachers don’t care. Or, well, they do. But not in any way that will benefit her.

Netsui is occupied, her sword stabbed too far into the ground that now it’s stuck--if she cared at all about Netsui, she’d say something about how relying on that sword too much is more of a liability than a strength, but she doesn’t so she won’t--so that’s one combatant down, at least. Not really the one she was worried about, but one less to worry about.

Akantai is there as soon as she pops up, kick high and fast and brutal. Impressive. If it had landed, she’d have been out like a light. But it doesn’t. It leaves him vulnerable, especially without his partner to provide cover, leaves his stance too wide, weight poorly distributed. She counters with a kick of her own, low and sharp and ruthless, her force and his own mass used against him. She connects with his ankle. A snap, followed by a strangled scream, and Akantai is down.

Netsui finally pulls out her sword, ready to wield it once more, only to be met with a kunai held close and sharp to her neck. The sword is too long and unwieldy to do anything. Netsui surrenders.

“Victory to Shippai,” the teacher says with barely concealed displeasure in his voice. They’re never pleased when Shippai wins. Good. They’re the enemy.

-

The nice thing about genjutsu is that it doesn’t use a lot of chakra. If done right, if it’s small and subtle enough, it barely uses any chakra at all. What it does require is a lot of imagination, focus, and determination.

Three year old Shikako doesn’t have many tools at her disposal--what with being a three year old and all--but she does have those at least.

-

Shippai does not go back to the orphanage after classes are let out for the day. She tries not to go back to the orphanage until she absolutely needs to, either hunger or exhaustion drawing her back.

Instead she takes an extremely circuitous route around the village, shaking off her inept tails from the academy, a small hand darting out every so often to palm whatever she can reach. By the time she gets to one of her hidey-holes way in the outskirts of the village boundaries, her jacket is full of money and senbon and trinkets and food.

The perishables she eats, the senbon she hides back in her clothes, the money and trinkets she stashes for later. She doesn’t know any actual earth jutsu, but her chakra is naturally aligned that way: she sweeps a hand over her hidey-hole, the stone sliding along enough so she can add her haul from today, before she sweeps it back to close it.

Then she heads back to Hidden Cloud.

-

The Cloud ambassador successfully kidnaps a Konoha clan heiress and runs back to Land of Lightning.

The Sandaime Hokage, fearing war, does nothing.

No one dies.

The tragic thing is, this is the best outcome Shikako could think of.

-

She doesn’t have much of a range on her sensing, but what she doesn’t have in distance she makes up in detail. (Her enemies are all already so close, what does she need range for?)

It’s how she knows that the woman standing in front of her, hand pressed to her mouth in horror, is using a genjutsu. (She recognizes the feel of it.)

It’s how she knows that the woman isn’t from Cloud at all. Chakra bright and somehow translucent, like glass and crystal; fragile, still, but precise and deadly. (Some part of her feels like she should recognize it, but she’s certain she’s never met this woman before.)

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Shippai asks and the woman inhales sharply, as if wounded.

“N-no,” the woman responds, lowering to a knee so as to be on an even eye level with Shippai. (She doesn’t understand why, since it’ll be harder to react if it comes to a fight, but that’s to Shippai’s advantage so so she doesn’t say anything.)

“No,” the woman repeats, more confident this time, before she lets the genjutsu go revealing pale white Byakugan. (The part of Shippai that isn’t stunned is now  especially confused as to why this woman bothered to get on eye level with her.)

“But neither are you, Shikako-chan.”

~

A/N: Is Cloud!Shikako already a thing? Anyway, I figure they’d rename her--Shippai means failure, mistake, blunder which is as much an admonishment to the Cloud ambassador as it is to belittle Shikako since, as far as Cloud knows, the Nara don’t have a bloodline and thus they have a “useless” Konoha clan heiress.

The genjutsu and the details vs range sensing and the small but potent earth jutsu (being able to do stone instead of just rocky earth) is how I think the situation would have changed her style. She’s essentially in hostile territory, she doesn’t have the freedom to do big bold stuff.

Also, with her eyes closed and hair cut, I do think a three year old Shikako could do enough genjutsu to look similarly enough to Hinata to trick the Cloud ambassador. Would she have done it? I dunno, I guess in this universe she did.

[dreamworksworddump]

Pavlov’s dogs Ch.2

Part 1

Pidge wakes up at what feels like three a.m. feeling like a black hole has taken refuge in the pits of her stomach. She groans, and buries her face in her arm, wishing that it’ll go away so that she can return to the blissful nothingness that is sleep, but now that she’s awake and aware, her position starts to wear on her bones, and makes her muscles ache. With a long, annoyed sigh, she sits up, stretches, and then starts for the kitchen.

If she’s lucky, there’ll still be some of Hunk’s leftovers hidden in the back of the fridge. If not, well, she’s eaten stuff far worse than food goo (cough, cough, Matt’s cooking).

She’s still half asleep when she stumbles into the kitchen, and almost runs into Lance because of it. Lance juggles with his juice box for a moment, catching it just before it’d’ve hit the ground. Pidge freezes, feeling much like a deer caught in the headlights, and then shakes off her surprise.

“Hi.” Her voice is thick with sleep, and barely audible over the sound of the ship’s life systems.

“Hello.” Lance says back, just as quiet. He leans back on the counter, and sips at his drink. “Funny running into you around these parts. Thought you were upset with me or something.”

Pidge shakes her head. “No, of course not. Why would you think that? You just got out of the pod earlier today.”

“Well, uh.” Lance brushes his hair back from his eyes. It falls back, tangling with his eyelashes, as soon as he lets go. “There was the thing I said to you, back on the ship, and then later today, you were acting all weird, and then you ran off. You didn’t leave Green’s hangar since.”

Pidge… hadn’t considered that angle of it, of how it would make Lance feel. She rubs the side of her arm awkwardly, and shifts from foot to foot. “That’s- it’s not- you weren’t-,” She stops and takes a deep breath. “That wasn’t it. It’s not you.” Not all you, anyway.

“Oh.” Lance finishes off his juice box, and tosses it in the recycler.

“Can you pass me a-”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Lance hands her a box, and she pokes the straw through the top almost angrily. The mice scurry out from some hidey-hole of theirs, and climb onto the counter to stare at the two of them, unimpressed. Pidge takes a few sips of her drink. Lance taps his fingers on the side of his arm.

“So,” Pidge plays with the hem of her sleeve, picking at a thread until it starts to unravel. “Do you remember what happened before you, uh…” She isn’t sure how to bring up ‘you confessed to me whilst bleeding out’ without turning as red as Lance’s lion, so she stops, and tries again. “All I remember is you bleeding out. I can’t remember much of what happened before.”

“Oh? You called for backup ‘cause the Commander, uh, Therad? Theerad? Something like that. Anyway, he’d caught you messing with his computer, and you were fighting him. You called for backup because you’d hit your head, and I came in to help.”

“How’d you get shot?” Pidge isn’t feeling so hungry after all. She sets her drink aside and pulls herself up onto the counter beside him.

Lance shrugs. “Being awesome, as always. I took over, because you were injured, and he tried to take advantage of that. Aimed at you, and I pushed you out of the way. Shot him at the same time too. You remember what happened after that?”

Pidge pets one of the mice softly, and without looking at Lance, admits, “You said that you love me. And that the hero never dies before he gets the girl.”

Lance rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah… that wasn’t my best line ever, but, uh, you got the gist right?”

“That was your ‘big romantic gesture’ wasn’t it?” Pidge asks wryly.

“Maybe. Just a little.”

Pidge slaps his arm. “You doof. You chose then of all times to confess? You stupid, stupid, boy.”

“If I was going to die, I wanted you to know. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”

Pidge pushes off of the counter, and grabs his shirt, tugs him down so that his face is level with hers. “You’re a complete and utter idiot,” She leans forward and kisses him. His mouth opens slightly and she shoves her face at him even harder, following the heady taste of mouth, of Lance. As they pull apart, Lance blinks. She wipes spit off of her mouth. “But so am I.”

He shakes his head, one of his quiet little grins pulling at the corners of his mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted that to happen. Can I,” He brushes her bangs out of her face and tucks the behind her ear. “Can I kiss you again?”

Pidge nods sheepishly, and Lance ducks his head down, and presses a gentle kiss to the side of her mouth. She can’t tell if that was intentional, or if their height difference somehow messed up his aim. He makes his way slowly to her mouth, and one hand cupping her cheek like she’s the most dangerous thing he’s ever tamed, the other resting gently on her shoulder, as if to steady himself. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, and she thinks to it, be still. A mere kiss should not have her feeling this way, like there is no where else she’d rather be other than here.

Lance pulls back, that small smile still lingering there, and gesture at the counter behind her. “You mind if, um,” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “If you sat on the counter?”

Height difference, she thinks amusedly as she lifts herself up. For once it works in her favor; Lance’ll always be the one with the crick in his neck from stooping over.

“Better?”

Lance stands in the gap between her spread legs, one hand on her knee, the other knotted in her hair, and kisses her again. Pidge hooks one of her legs around his waist, and pushes against him. His hair tickles her face as he sucks on her bottom lip, and brushes against her nose as he trails down to her neck. He grabs her waist securely, the taut, strong grip the opposite of the gentle way that he kisses her, and makes bruises bloom underneath her collar.

“You’re- you’re good at this.” Pidge feels breathless, like she’s just finished morning training.

Lance straightens up, grins at her like she’s one of those alien girls he always flirts with. “I read a lot of Cosmo back on Earth.”

Pidge snorts and kisses the side of his face. “‘Course.”

The lights in the kitchen snap on to full brightness. She blinks to adjust her eyes. Lance backs up.

“What’re you too doing up?” Shiro steps into the kitchen, the heads of his lion slippers peeking out underneath his pajama pants. With his arms crossed and hair all messed up from sleep, he looks more like a depressed college student than the leader of Voltron. “Training resumes for the both of you tomorrow, and it’ll be harder than it has to be if you don't get some sleep.” He reminds them as he brushes past to grab a juice box. “Good night.”

As Shiro leaves, and the door closes behind him, the two of them exchange a look and them promptly bursts into laughter.

Pidge slides off of the counter. “He’s right. You get cranky when you don't get enough sleep.”

“Maybe so.” Lance admits. His hand brushes against hers, as if asking for permission, then their fingers link together. “Can I walk you back to your room?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The next few weeks go by in a pleasurable haze as they get over the novelty of being in a relationship with each other. Holding hands with him never ceases to make her blush, no matter how often Lance reaches for her hand. Besides the new points of intimacy between them, little changes in their relationship; one day Lance jokes that they should call themselves ‘BFWB’, or best friends with benefits. Pidge can't even fault him for it, because it's true. They don't tell anyone else about it, but she suspects that the mice have snitched to Allura, and that Shiro has his suspicions. She feels good, instead of just okay for the first time in a long time.

Then Shiro starts assigning Lance and Pidge back on missions and the nightmares start.

She dreams of Lance taking shots meant for someone else, of blood and bone instead of warm brown skin. She watches him suffocate after him giving her his hemlet, watches him burn from the safety of her lion, watches faceless Galra slice him into pieces. She watches him die over and over and over again.

Pidge tries her best to hide it. She busies herself with her work during the day, and stays up as late as she can at night to hold them off. Every night, she falls asleep anyways. Every night, she dreams of his death.

Pidge pulls on her pajamas, burrows under layers of blankets, and hopes that tonight she may finally get some rest.

Pidge miscalculated. How could she have miscalculated this?! The countdown blinks in the corner of her visor. Thirty-five ticks. Thirty-four. She’ll spend the next twenty ticks running there, leaving ten or twelve ticks to disarm it.

She’d thought that they’d be gone by now, that the prisoners would be freed and safe and there would be no one left on this godforsaken ship except for the droids. But things never go as they should, do they?

“Lance, is the kid out?”

“He’s heading out on the last escape pod. Hunk’s gonna pick him up. I’m coming your way now.”

Pidge stumbles over her feet, stopping just before she runs into the droid-turned-bomb. “What?! No, get out of here!”

“Too late.” Lance says from behind her. Pidge can't look up, can't waste anymore time arguing. She pulls out the green wires and tries to switch them to force the overload to come to a stop.

The droid begins to hiss from the heat.

“Pidge.”

The countdown is down to three.

“Pidge.”

“Wait a minute, I-” As the countdown reaches zero, Lance grabs her under his arm and throws her down the hallway, out of the immediate radius of the bomb. He breaks into a run, but he cannot beat time itself. The fire consumes him, melting his armor from his skin like wax.

Pidge wakes up in a sweat, sheets tangled around her legs like chains. Her pajama shirt clings to her skin like plastic and for a moment, she thinks that she is burning.

Her hair sticks to her forehead and moves limply when she pushes it back. The image of him burning- skin turning black, shifting to ash before her eyes- lingers. She considers switching on the light and reading, or hooking up her laptop and finishing the code she’d been working on earlier that day, but she’s tired. She’s so tired and all she wants is to get a good night's sleep.

Pidge climbs out of bed and creeps out of her room. She looks down the hall, both ways, and then dashes out and over to Lance’s room.

She hates feeling like this; irrationally scared for him, when she knows that he can take care of himself just fine, knows that the chances of dying of the job haven't increased since they both admitted to their feelings.

She knocks on his door, and tells herself that if he doesn't answer, she’ll be fine. She’ll find some other way to deal with it.

The door opens.

Lance yawns, and rubs his eyes. “Pidge? It’s the middle of the night. Are you-”

She barrels into him, and he stumbles back a few feet before regaining his balance.

“Pidge?”

Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh.” Lance says, his voice muffled in her hair. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes. She sniffs, her tears dampening his shirt. “It’s okay. I have them too.” He waddles backwards with her until they reach the bed. He falls back and scoops her into his lap, still holding her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Pidge shakes her head. To verbalize it will make it feel more real, and the terror from her dream still has not left her. “I-I-I don't. I can't. I can't sleep, I can't.”

“That’s okay.” He plays with her hair idly. She slumps against him. “You can just stay here, alright? Stay with me until you feel better.”

She doesn't know what to say, but has the feeling that he understands anyways.

Pidge tugs him down by the shirt to the bed, holds his arm around her as he spoons her. She doesn't grow tired, but the fear begins to melt away, replaced by an all consuming awareness of Lance, of his body pressed against hers, of his breath stirring the hair on the back of her head, of his crotch pressing against the small of her back.

“Are you really turned on right now of all times?”

Lance shrugs and murmurs in her hair. “I was having a dream when you came knocking. And now there's a beautiful girl in my bed. I think I’m entitled to that much.”

“Maybe.” Lance strokes her face, and presses a kiss under her ear, in that sensitive spot between face and neck.

“It doesn't matter. You can ignore it. Right now, we’re focusing on you.”

But Pidge doesn't want to focus on herself; she wants to push that lingering feeling of fear away, wants to pretend that everything's all right because it's her nature to push her feelings aside when it’s not convenient. And besides that, the intimacy of having him beside her, the feeling of being loved has her feeling warm and fuzzy inside; she doesn't mind.

Pidge turns around, and kisses him on his jaw. “I really do care about you.”

“Yeah, I-I care about you too.” He kisses her back, licks the drying tears from her cheeks.

She slips her hand past his waistband, and he freezes. She wonders if her hands are too cold.

“Pidge, what are you doing?”

Pidge’s hand wraps around his length, maps it carefully from its base to it’s tip. It’s strange, she thinks, how smooth it feels, how the hair on his base feels like stubble, familiar and yet not. “Stuff.”

“Yeah, but-”

She pulls back, wiggles up to face height. “I’m doing something that I want to do.” Pidge squishes his face between her hands. His mouth puckers and she kisses him again and again, until Lance’s eyes are smiling. “So just shut up, and enjoy it, okay?”

Lance still seems hesitant, even beyond the smile, but he nods nonetheless.

Pidge scoots down again, till she's chest height and can reach his pants again. She slips her hand inside and grabs him again, firmly but not too firmly; like a joystick.

“Tell me if I do something wrong.”

“Don't think that's possible.” Lance mutters.

She holds his hand with the other, and slides her hand up slowly, plays with the tip, marvels at the wetness that spreads on her fingers, and then slides down again. Lance makes a sound like he’s choking, stifles it with his hand.

She furrows her brows and concentrates on his reactions, committing them to memory like one of Iverson’s lessons. When she tightens her grip, he grunts, and his eyes flutter like the power trying to stay on in the midst of a storm. When her palm glides across his shaft quickly after a series of long, slow ones, he groans, and arches towards her, attracted like a magnet to its opposite. When she moves slowly, decisively, he begs, his body rising and falling as he resists the urge to thrust into her hand.

When he cums, it is a surprise; She’d been studying his face- fluttering, open, unguarded. Warmth hits her hand, creeps through the gaps in her fingers and drips down to her wrist.

“Oh.” She says dumbly, unsure of what else to say.

“Sorry.” It’s dim in his room. The only lights are from the castle’s biolights, bringing energy to each and every crevice. Still, she thinks that his cheeks have darkened, and that a slight blush lingers on the tips of his ears, barely visible beneath his curly, overgrown hair. “I should’ve warned you.”

Pidge withdraws her hand from his pants, and stares painted across her hand. “It’s okay.”

Lance shimmies out of his soiled pants and tosses them aside, grabbing a towel and a new pair in one swift movement. He holds her hand still and wipes it away, then slides his new pair on.

He presses his hand against her crotch. The fabric is damp there, though she hadn’t noticed until now. “You want me to,” he licks his lips, suddenly dry. “Want me to return the favor?”

Pidge nods, a movement somewhere between hesitation and eagerness. He pins his hair back with a bobby pin from his dresser, and then scoots down under the covers with a wink, his bravado suddenly recovered. He tugs her pants down to her ankles, he guides her thighs apart gently, and presses his face into her apex.

Lance licks her widely, unfocused, and then narrows in on her clit. He circles it with his tongue, and her hands grab his hair, fingers pulling and tangling and urging his closer, harder. He takes her quiet, unsteady moan as confirmation, and keeps circling, sucking, licking, milking her tentative sounds of pleasure out of her.

He grips her thighs maybe just hard enough to leave purpling bruises, and then she’s done. She comes in rippling waves, thighs clenching around his head, hands pulling like she's trying to separate his head from his body.

She worries that she might’ve hurt him, but when he pops up, face slick with her wetness, he’s grinning like they’ve finally killed Zarkon.

“Good?”

“Great.”

“Good.” Lance says again, flopping onto his back. He wipes his face off with the dirty towel, and then wraps his arms around her again. “Now you really should get some sleep, ‘else we’ll both be tired in the morning.”

“You’ll be cranky.” Pidge murmurs, the afterglow already pulling her towards sleep. “You’ll need it more than me.”

“Mmhmm.” Lance says, and a moment later, his breathing evens out, and he falls into sleep. Pidge follows not long after and for the first time in a long time, she doesn't dream.

[darthmama]

Troublemakers

Couldn’t think of a better title for these two really...*sigh*

Anyways, a contribution to the OC kiss week.  I got the permission from the ever awesome @inquisitorhotpants of Star Wars shenanigans to use one of the Sartoris Sisters for my Sith Bladeborn Sadik.  Opted for Ca’ii although given her smuggler nature she’s not addressed by her actual name in the fic at all.

Thanks for letting me goof off with your OC Inquizzy!  Let me know if I need to write Sadik having someone suddenly pay him a visit to interrogate him. XD

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

Sadik couldn’t say this was the first time he was on a ship, but he had to say that The Felicity was...well an interesting one.  Not so much for the appearance no, but dents and dings told a story.  So did little nooks and crannies.  If he had not had Dal’har with him Sadik was fairly certain that he would not have found all the interesting little hidey holes that peppered the place.

He walked the halls like any large predator surveying territory that was new.  Not that the ship was his, he was just inspecting it.  Orders were orders, and even though he was a Sith Lord in his own right now he couldn’t quite duck lessons learned from the military.  Besides he worked better with a unit than most of his kind.

As he neared the exit though he could hear a commotion.  A small grin twisted his lips and he took a guess at that being the captain of this ship.  The rest of the crew were already in holding, respectfully so as he had ordered the troopers though the brown haired kid had gotten uppity.  Some people just always needed to play hero even when there was not a reason for it.  Surely smugglers (which he was fairly certain this ship was one) were use to being boarded once in awhile.  This time there was nothing of interest, or whatever had been moved.  It was a possibility but Sadik’s orders only pertained to the ship so he was not going to worry about it.

He had bigger fish to deal with once he was done here.

He set a hand on Dal’har’s head, the massive golden bha’lir had been growling at the ramp but with Sadik’s hand on his head it subsided and the cat settled, watching intently.  Sadik knew the cat would behave unless it felt his brother was in danger.

“Let the Captain up Private, it is likely better for them that we do not discuss their ship in public,” he called out before settling himself at ease and waiting for the captain.  He did however make sure his sword was loose in it’s scabbard on his back and his lightsaber was in reach on his belt.

There was a moment of silence before she finally came into view, which Sadik had to admit was surprising to find in the first place.  Female smugglers were not uncommon but a mirialan operating in Imperial space was.  The green skinned people had a habit of sticking out in a crowd given their people were members of the Republic.  Being notable was not something most smugglers liked, since it made work difficult.

“You must be Captain Salrit,” Sadik stated, his voice rumbling out of him as he looked the Captain up and down.  She was a tall but lean thing but she carried herself well, with a ready grace he recognized as someone that knew violence and didn’t have a problem with it.  It made him wonder if she would move as well on a dance floor as she might in a combat situation.

“I am, now you tell me what you are doing on my ship,” she snapped back, apparently displeased about things.

“Routine inspection,” Sadik replied.  “The Empire commonly has issues with criminals.  Smugglers in particular like to ferret in Republic spies.”

“Smuggler?  How insulting.  I’m a Independant Shipping Consultant.  I just got back from a meeting with Darth Nox and I’m sure she will not be happy about me being harassed in this manner.”

“Darth Nox is well aware of the laws that allow the Empire to search any ship in it’s territory,” Sadik stated blandly, amused at the attempt to drop names.  “If she has an issue she is certainly welcome to take it up with Darth Mortis at the next council meeting.  I have heard how much she just adores those.”  He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the last bit.  How various council members didn’t strangle that woman was a mystery at times.  Though to be fair she was highly entertaining as well so maybe that played into matters.  

Apparently the disrespect made the Captain twitchy an Dal’har gave a rumbling growl of discontent for a moment distracting her.

The green skinned woman let out a gasp, seeming to see the animal for the first time.  Sadik braced, ready to hear some complaint against his brother like many people gave when the bha’lir was around.  Instead though he cringed from the high pitched squeal of delight.

“Awww what a cute lil kitty!” Salrit said and without pausing came over to the startled Dal’har.  Sadik had to issue a command quickly to keep the cat from ripping the woman’s face off in self defense.  

“Cute little kitty is a wild animal and will rip your hand off,” he stated in warning as she got closer.

“But he’s so cuuuute!  Aren’t you?  Yes you are!  You’d never hurt little ole’ me would you?  No you wouldn’t,” the Captain said, her tone pitched like a parent talking to a baby and making Sadik want to stuff his ears with something.  Dal’har thankfully took things in stride as the paused a minute to let the big cat sniff at her and then started petting him.  

In a minute Sadik was thinking he might need to change Dal’har’s name to Og’lend.  The bloody cat started to purr happily as the mirialan scratched his ears and neck, the bha’lir’s big head practically pushing the woman over.

Well...he supposed it at least eased some of the tension out of the situation.

“About your ship,” Sadik stated, directing back to business though he let her keep petting his cat.  “There was nothing incriminating found so you will be free to go.  There is however a different problem caused by one of your crew.”

“What?” she said looking alarmed for a minute before fire leapt into those bright blue eyes.  “You bastards better not have hurt my crew or I’ll -”

Sadik only raised a hand to stop the rant before it began.  “He has suffered no lasting harm.  A few bruises achieved while we detained him but nothing more.  He is however guilty of attempted assault on a Sith for taking a swing at me.  The penalty for that is death, I am however willing to look at alternatives considering he thought he was protecting the ship.  I would not count on Darth Nox’s help in this particular area.  It falls to Darth Mortis to mete out justice and he is not likely to be as forgiving as myself.”

She did not like it and Sadik could tell.  The spine straightened as she stood and crossed her arms to glare at him like he was particularly loathsome.  “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Sadik scratched at his chin and the patch of hair he allowed to grow there.  He had been intending to press the captain into service for some matters but with how things had transpired he was more curious about her.  He didn’t need her ship for matters either, he had his own.  It had been a while since he had met anyone that was particularly entertaining either…

“How about dinner?”

The Captain blinked at him, then blinked again as if trying to process matters.  “Excuse me?”

“Dinner, the routine meal consumed at the end of the day.  Sometimes in a nice place that makes money selling the best food around.  That’s called a restaurant,” Sadik stated with a widening grin.  “One night of dinner and conversation with myself and only myself in a public place.  Or if you would rather, we can go the legal routine.  Your crew mate will be incarcerated until one of the judged is available to hear his case.  The rest of your crew will have to remain behind as well to testify about events.  You are of course free to take your ship and return for them later if you wish.”

She looked like she wanted to strangle him, maybe pull her blaster and shoot him in the face.  He could see the wheels turning though behind her eyes and knew she was stuck even as she struggled to see a pit fall.

“One little night,” he said holding up a finger.  “I swear on my honor you’ll be returned to your ship as safe, sane, and sound as when I pick you up.  I will not lay a single hand on you.”

“Because obviously all Sith have honor,” she said in a dismissive tone.

The sword was out as fast as she pulled her pistol.  She aimed from the hip, up to the vitals while Sadik’s sword edge rested against the jugular.  The pair stared at each other, her blue eyes wide even as Sadik’s golden ones were narrowed in wrath.

“Among Bladeborn...yes, we do,” he stated intently as he stared into those eyes.  “We don’t take our honor as lightly as others.”

They stood for a moment, Dal’har rumbling in warning next to Sadik before finally the blond Sith straightened and took his sword away from Salrit’s throat.  “Do we have a deal?” he asked as if the tense exchange had not even happened before extending his hand for her to shake or ignore as she chose.

Salrit’s blaster went back into her holster but she still took a moment.  To finish internal debates or recover was anyone’s guess.  Finally though she took his hand and shook it.  “Deal.”

Sadik’s grin returned as they shook but his fingers tensed as she tried to pull her own away.  His eyes never leaving her he bowed over her hand like some kind of knight out of a fairy tale.  His black armor glinting and his sword still out in his other hand though he pulled it behind his back.

He couldn’t resist though ghosting his mouth over her knuckles before purposely finding where the gloves ended at the wrist.  He rubbed his lips gently at the spot for a second before straightening and backing up out of Salrit’s personal space.

“That’s not keeping your hands to yourself,” she commented evenly though her color was a bit high making Sadik want to gloat.

“My hands did nothing,” he pointed out with a wicked grin.  “And I never said anything about my mouth.”

The sword was returned to its scabbard as he said a word to Dal’har.  The big cat seeming to grumble as it followed him out the door.