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morphids · 13 days

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surrender to the sea, hange zoë

pairing: pirate captain!hange x noble!reader, they/them pronouns used for hange with afab anatomy for both

summary: your father’s shady business deals with a pirate crew lead to collateral damage.

warnings: kidnapping, pwp, explicit sexual content 18+, minors dni (consensual no dubcon here), poc friendly!! hange is a freak, r is SO down bad (same), r is dissatisfied w her life, tension, acc insane executions of gay panic, theres so much exposition before the smut im so sorry bear with me, cunnilingus, fingering, general filthiness — enjoy.

wc: 8.8k, sorry i cant stop yapping.

a.n : listen i tried to stop myself but im weak to my own devil thoughts ok hange worshippers wya

—

Jolting, you sat up in your bed, awakened from slumber by a whipping crash, followed by splintered glass cracking on the hardwood floors of your quarters.

Heart thumping in your ears from the shock, your head instinctively turned towards the shattered window, where the translucent fabric of the curtains were being dragged out with the cool night’s wind. Brows furrowing, your gaze turned to a small, thick object on the floor, illuminated by hints of moonlight, presumably the very cause of the shattering.

You felt an odd feeling, something in the wind warning you that you weren’t alone, you looked over your room, checking for anything out of order. There was nothing out of place, it wasn’t until your second skim over the room that you saw it. A shadow in the darkest corner, the corner where light barely hit it, something to do with the measurements of the architecture, you’d been told. It was there though, undeniably.

“Who are you?” You spoke, shakily, loud against the otherwise still atmosphere, your voice caused a small laugh to come from the unknown shadow.

“That’s your first question?” They spoke, an air of condescension about them.

“I should like to know the identity of the person who has broken into my quarters,” You steeled your voice, trying to portray an image of fearlessness though you were betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as they clutched onto the bedsheets for any hope of comfort, “May you at least come out from the shadows?” Your fear was definitely betrayed then, as the person stepped forward, the light now casting shadows over their features.

You looked them over, noticing a slight reflection from the glass in their spectacles, a black band covering one quarter of their face, obscuring the right eye. You shook, this was no person from court, maybe not even from this city. Their hardened features, accessories and strange attire placing them from somewhere else entirely. Who is this stranger? What business have they with you?

You find yourself lacking words, having been woken up in such a way was causing a lack of signals to be sent to and from the brain. You were just staring at them, stunned to silence.

“No more questions, huh?”

“I-I just, am confused,” You responded, blinking away tears that formed as you truly grasped the situation you were in, and anything that could happen from here.

“Well, let me explain then,” they shrugged, “You’re coming with me,”

You ogled, “Coming with you, where exactly?”

“As it turns out, daughters are the best way to get a man to pay up,” They chuckled, you didn’t like the implications of this, at all. What did this have to do with your father? Last you had spoken to him, he was furious at you, having been ‘disrespectful’ to one of the countless suitors he had tried arranging for you. You don’t know why he still bothered; every time each one of the suitors had travelled and began any attempts at courting you, you’d reject them.

“I hope you know I’m not going to marry you,” you’d said to one of them, once. You could almost laugh at the gears turning inside their heads as they looked at you as if you were an entity. You’d add in a couple of comments here and there about how their attempts were foolish and in vain, how they coat their dark intentions behind sweet words and promises. You could always see through them. Plus, it was hard to deny the entertainment you’d get from seeing their flustered faces, set on denying all accusations whilst having no actual defence, before huffing and wandering away, not before having words with your father about how they would never marry such a disobedient and insolent woman. Was this your father trying to teach you a lesson? No. That doesn’t feel right, they emphasised paying up. Pay for what? You wondered, had your father been up to something?

“Unfortunately, that makes you collateral,” they paused, looking down as they adjusted the sword that was clinging onto their side, sheathed away, for now. You hadn’t even noticed it before, shuddering as you realised you were completely defenceless. Not a weapon nearby you could use, even if there was, you wouldn’t be able to formulate an attack, regardless. “So, you’d better listen to what I say, and come with me,”

After a beat, with no response, they continued, “I will only ask nicely once, princess,” Sighing as one hand moved to their hip, the other remained on the hilt of their sword, “I’d prefer to do this cordially, if you wanna make it ugly, that’s your choice.”

You blinked, truly at a loss, what the fuck was happening?

“If I go with you, will you tell me what’s going on?” You hated the way that sounded on your tongue, so helpless and lost— a feeling you resented, pride dissipating and crumbling into a tiny speck.

“You have to come with me to find out,”

—

Wood creaked beneath your feet, steps hesitant as the stranger escorted you along the way, your vision totally blinded as they had wrapped a cloth around your eyes. Closing your senses from the rest of the world, all you could do was rely on the sounds of hectic chatter and sea waves, a salty scent around you.

You’d been walking for what felt like miles, but your manor wasn’t too far away from the sea, that stretched out to meet a vast ocean, the only connection between your country and any others. You knew you had been taken to the coast, based on the cries of seagulls and the humming water.

The stranger’s hand was placed on the lower of your back, guiding you, as well as deterring you from any sudden moves. You probably would’ve tried to run away from them, were it not for the clang of metal that was attached to the stranger’s hip.

“Can you at least tell me your name?”

“I think you’re confused on our roles here, sweetheart,” They chuckled, “You don’t get to order me around,” They added a slight push at your back, emphasising the fact that they hold all the cards, whilst you’re just leverage. That was the only part of this you understood.

Sighing, you sneered your lip. You were starting to get pissed off, this stranger completely disrupted your sleep, blindfolded you, is kidnapping you, and you still have no clue as to why. You needed answers.

Your steps came to a halt, when you felt the stranger press you forward to nudge you, you hardened your legs to the ground.

“I’m not continuing,” A pause, “You said you wanted to do this cordially, then tell me your name,”

The stranger sighed, you could almost hear the roll in their eyes, “Look, we’re almost here, okay?”

“Just a few more steps and then I’ll tell you,”

Another nudge at your back, along with a hand meeting yours, “Watch ya step,” They spoke, guiding you up what felt like a ramp, their hand leading you.

A door slammed behind you, the stranger removed their hands and disappeared for a short time before you felt them behind you again, fingers untying the knotted cloth. You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. Were they going to kill you?

Your eyes felt slightly raw after being covered so tightly for that long, after you adjusted to the air and light around you, you could take in your surroundings.

The room was slightly dimmed, lighted only by a few oil lamps that burned away in their designated corners, you noticed countless jars on the shelves, preserving different sea creatures and other things you could not recognise. Notes and maps were scattered all over the floor and the desks, piles of books, rustic and handmade, but neat and organised— in its own way. This was the room of someone who studied and researched, you could recognise the frantic illustrations immediately, could feel the passion that lingered in the room.

The stranger moved in front of you, “You just gonna stare?” Your eyes took them in now, fully in vision this time, with no more shadows to hide behind, no more cloth. Their eyes were a soft, dark brown, layers of hair falling over the sides of their face, the tips rimmed with leftover structure from saltwater. Strong jawline and a strong nose, their glasses sat atop the bridge, leaning down slightly, the black band you noticed before still covering their eye. Their attire consisted of a loose black, long-sleeved shirt, a large slit down the chest area, not tied with the laces, allowing you to see the vast black strings with pendants that made up the necklaces wrapped around their neck. You recognised it as a shirt that was traditionally stitched for men, though they certainly looked much better in it than any man could. Loose black pants which emphasised their slender waist, with dark long boots, you could see scuffing on the edges of them from wear, the laces splitting from frequent tying. You let out a sigh, before speaking.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hange,”

“You’re not from this land,” You say, “You’re a person of the sea,”

Hange hummed, their hand meeting their hip once again.

“Are you going to kill me?”

They let out a laugh, one so inappropriate it almost made you feel stupid, “Sweetheart, if I was going to kill you, d’you think I’d have taken you here?”

“Well, it would’ve been foolish to kill me in my quarters,”

“Leverage needs to be alive to be worthwhile, that’s the whole point,” The way they spoke unnerved you, with their charismatic words and smug voice. Hints of a smirk tugging at their lips.

“Where is ‘here’, anyway?” You didn’t feel stable, the floor rocked up and down slightly, your stomach turning a little as you adjusted to the slight weightlessness of the structure. “We’re on water, I can hear the waves,”

“Don’t worry, we haven’t set sail yet,” They walked over to their desk, moving around some papers, studying its contents, “There’s still business to tend to before we do,” In other words, your father.

You watched them, the way their sword clung and clanked against the hardwood of the desk, their tall stature almost reaching the short ceiling of the cabin, hand splayed on the desk for stability. Hair tied up at the back, with strands spilling out of their tie.

“What’s my purpose here?” Your arms crossed over your stomach, fingers grabbing at the sleeves of loose fabric of your nightdress, feeling vulnerable.

“Your father’s in some trouble,” They chuckled, your heart sank, “He owes me,”

“For what?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions, princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” you replied, voice tensing. “Do not address me as such,” Hange’s lips tilted, noticing your misgivings, the tense shoulders and a quip in your upper lip. Distaste. Interesting.

“Your father’s trying to make you one. Queen Consort, as I’ve heard,” Your brows furrowed.

“I do not follow,”

Hange looked up from their pages, gazing right at you. You tried swallowing, throat dry, as they hoisted themselves off the desk and stepped closer.

“He commissioned us, my crew,” Hange spoke, “To track and retrieve the Marleyan jewel.”

“I thought that was legend, an ancient myth of a mystical jewel, passed down from stories.”

“Oh, it’s very real, my lady.” You sighed, at least they were addressing you properly this time.

“And a very dangerous job, at that.” You stared at Hange, looking for any hints that this was just an elaborate joke. None were found, though. They were serious.

“I lost two good men, almost the rest of my crew for that buffoon,” They sighed, a flash of anger in their eyes, rubbing the skin of their jaw, “We retrieved this jewel, and your father tried to rob me blind, I want compensation.”

“Why would he go to those lengths? I do not understand,”

“For you, princess.”

When you did not answer, Hange continued, “Apparently this was his golden opportunity, get the long-desired jewel to gift the King an offering for your hand to the prince. Establish power and riches, and a good suitor for his daughter.”

Your stomach churned, you knew your father was adamant on marrying you off, but this? This was something different, sinister. You knew Hange was telling the truth, the intricacies of the story fell into place too well to be a lie.

Your father was truly a despicable man, hungry for power, and uncaring of those he stepped on to get to his station. Now you were paying for his greed. You think back to your mother, wishing she had outlived him, maybe you would be different, now.

“He cost me two men, our stock and supplies,” Hange pressed, shaking their head, “I can’t have that.”

“So you take me for ransom?”

“If he is not willing to pay up, I’m taking it upon myself to make him. One way or another, he will pay.”

Tears rimmed the ducts of your eyes, you blinked them away, a futile attempt to not show weakness. You know what that meant, either in physical currency or emotional currency, even if he cared little for you, he’d be paying with the loss of a guaranteed seat. To a man like that, that’s punishment enough. You chewed the corner of your lip, nerves eating you up.

“I can’t believe he’d do this,” You could actually, it was more the disbelief of how quickly your situation had changed, “All to marry me off to a disgusting man, be done with me whilst he sits comfortably,”

“You don’t wish to marry a handsome prince? Live a life of wealth and comfort?” Hange looked amused, almost perplexed that this was against your wishes.

“I wish for nothing of the sort,” You sneered, “I crave a life of my own choosing.”

Hange’s features softened, feeling a tug of pity before shutting the feeling down. They almost related to you, almost. Before reiterating to themselves that you were the same as all the other rich nobles. Wealthy and comfortable in your ostentatious manors, with even more ostentatious dresses, whilst the rest of the population suffered, starved and fought for dregs of burnt bread and half pints of spoiled milk. You were no different. No different.

“Careful, my lady, or I’ll sail this ship with you in it,”

You let out a saddened laugh, “Better than what he was planning for me,” You snuck a glance at the circular port window, watching as people were busying themselves with tasks. Filling up crates of fruits, dried fish, barrels of wine and weapons. You mulled for a second, it could be worse, Hange could’ve killed you at the first meet, or even worse, your father successfully got his hands on the jewel, and shipped you off to live a life with a prince who couldn’t even fold his own clothes, or bathe himself. You could visualise your father sitting back, smug and content as he finally got what he always wanted. Abundant wealth and power.

“I do not wish to stay here.” You said, voice more confident than it had been the entire time. Hange looked up at you, surprise taking over their features, “You may demand whatever compensation you require from my father, but…”

“When you set sail, I wish to come with.”

—

Hange had left the captain’s cabin for quite some time, leaving you inside alone as you couldn’t be allowed on the deck yet, not trusted to not do anything stupid yet. They had to check on a few of the crewmates first. You were an interesting character to say the least, Hange could tell you were stubborn, though that’s normal for a high-born, accustomed to making demands and having them realised. It was easy to imagine you not mixing well at court, with your disregard for hierarchy and noble customs. They almost laughed at your conviction when you said you wished to board the ship, of your own accord. The most determined glaze over your features. That was an unexpected oversight, Hange didn’t expect you to go so willingly. A part of them was relieved, content they didn’t need to make it bloodier than it had to be. They have morals, after all. Hurting an innocent woman would provide no respect amongst their crew, not when the real fish was the father.

The crew’s respect and admiration for the captain of the ship was of utmost importance, they need a leader they could trust and admire, it was easy enough to have mutiny on your hands. The ship was passed down to Hange from their father, but the trust and good dynamic of a solid crew, you have to earn yourself. Hange had established that respect from one of their first expeditions, under their confident lead the ordeal had been speedy and efficient. Hange ordered the rewards to be split and distributed as was deemed fair. With multiple feats over harsh waters and perilous expeditions, Hange had consistently proved themselves as a strong leader, they ran a tight ship and their crew meant everything to them.

You sat there in your silly nightdress, ennui eating at your brain as you sat, wishing you could change into something else. Arms wrapped around your legs, looking around as you waited. Deciding to get up, you looked around the room, it was rather nice, for what it was.

You walked up to the shelves, sea oddities neatly placed preserved in jars, with linen labels pinned underneath. You noticed various species, octopi, starfish, eels, crabs and lobsters, and other creatures you had never seen before in your books. There were also drawn illustrations of the anatomy, their organs and bone structure— did Hange do all this?

Your eyes trailed around, landing on the maps and compasses discarded around the tables and floor, with coded markings and notes around certain landmarks, sketches of what you assumed to be distant lands. Looking in awe, wandering at all the things you had never heard of, let alone seen before. Hange must be so knowledgeable, so well-travelled, so.. free. All the things you wished you could be.

Running your fingers over the maps, you jumped back into propriety as the cabin door swung open, Hange’s footsteps filling the room. They looked at you, having noticed your sudden switch in demeanour.

“You inspecting my collection, my lady?” Their back was to you, hanging their outer coat on one of the nail pegs that had been hammered into the wall.

“I’m sorry, I..” You looked down, “I was just curious,”

“It’s alright, I’m quite fond of it myself,” They joined you, standing to your side and looking at where you had been caught touching the delicate papers.

“You did all of this?”

“Is that so surprising?” They chuckled, crossing their arms over their chest. “No,” You paused, “I have just never seen anything quite like this,”

“There are many wonders out in the world, I like to keep note of them,” “For plundering?” You joked, too late to bite it back before it slipped out.

They laughed, “Not everything is to be plundered, sometimes it’s enough to just take it in and observe,”

You looked up at them, there was something you couldn’t quite place about them, yet. They were unlike the pirates you had read about or heard bedtime stories of as a child.

“The world has many corners of beauty, they’re deserving of respect and admiration." Agreeing, you pointed at the display of jars, thinking back to your own research on botany, categorized and illustrated, frowning as you realised it was all left behind. All those hours spent bending your neck under candlelight wasted. “I have a similar collection, pressings of flowers and plants- a little like yours, illustrations and marked under their specifications: edible, toxic, healing,"

Hange looked at you, "Sounds wonderful," unexpecting to have anything in common with someone of your stature, and yet, here they were. "It's all in my quarters, so I doubt I shall see it again," You breathed out, trying to not make it seem like a loss. Hange's gaze turned towards the floor, feeling slightly culpable that they had taken that away from you.

Straightening their back up, they moved back to their satchel, opening it wide and grabbing some folded clothing, jars with some clear liquid, slightly cloudy. Moonshine, you noted. Easier to distil your own rather than paying double for liquor.

“This is for you,” They hummed, holding out their hand waiting for you to walk over and grab them.

“What is it?”

“Provisions,” They shrugged, “And some clothes, we don’t have a lot aboard, but you can have my cast-offs, they were going to be left at the port anyway.”

You looked at them like they had grown seven heads, not expecting sudden kindness from someone who kidnapped you only a few hours ago.

“This where you say ‘thank you, Hange’.” There was the smugness again, an impish look on their features, you rolled your eyes you stepped closer.

Grabbing the items from them, “Thank you, Hange,” You felt meek, under their heavy gaze as you said their name for the first time. It felt strange hearing it from your own mouth, “Any longer in that nightdress and I probably would’ve thrown myself overboard,”

They laughed, “Don’t think you’ll prefer my clothes any more, truthfully, but if you’re going to stay here for now, might as well blend in.”

“Anything is better than this,” You ran your fingers over the fabric.

“Get dressed, it’s mealtime soon,” “You’re letting me eat?”

They looked at you strangely, “I’m not letting a person on my ship starve, I’m not barbaric,” They stated as if it was obvious, it might’ve been, but not to you.

“Thank you,”

Nodding, Hange left you to get changed. Giving you privacy as they shut the door behind them, you waited a few seconds before undressing. You weren’t accustomed to wearing pants, nobility requiring you to wear frilly dresses that cut off your circulation and itched at your neck and wrists, you were rather excited to adorn some comfortable cloth, for once.

As you manoeuvred the loose shirt over your limbs, you noticed a lingering musk of salt and sandalwood? It was rather pleasant, you would normally make your own scented oils and perfumes from boiled flower petals, lavender and honeysuckle, plants native to your country. This scent was uncommon, usually gifted to you at court from wealthy travellers. You lifted the fabric closer to you, inhaling, it truly was divine. Is this what Hange smells like? You couldn't honestly say you hated it.

Slipping your legs through the pants, they were a bit over your standard size, you tucked the wide bottoms into your own boots. You were glad you opted for your hunting boots rather than your daily shoes. Not quite sure that you had put everything on properly, as the fit felt odd. Looking down, everything felt slightly too big and made you feel like a child in adult’s clothing. Frowning you tried tucking in the shirt, though that didn’t really seem to help either.

There was a knock at the cabin door, “Are ya decent?”

The concept made you chuckle, Hange treated you with a lot more respect and propriety than some of the men at court.

“Yes.”

“Never had to knock on my own door before,” Hange joked, letting themselves in, gazing over at you in your fresh clothes. Their smile dropped ever so slightly as their eyes travelled over your new attire. Hange's poet blouse hanging on you, you had, of course, actually tied the laces at the chest, you were a Lady after all. Kinda suits you, they thought, before shrugging it away to hidden corners.

"Does it look alright? It's a little big," "You complaining?" You flustered, not wanting to come across as ungrateful, "Not at all, I-" "I'm messing with you, may I?"

When you nodded, they walked up closer to you, eyes unreadable. You stiffened up, back a little straighter when they brought their hands to the bottom of the blouse. Watching their movements hesitantly, Hange did not make contact with your eyes, they were so close to you. Catching that hint of sandalwood again, almost intoxicating as you honed your vision onto their hands. Looking for anything else to concentrate on, it didn’t help much as Hange focused on undoing the bottom three catches, revealing your uncovered abdomen. They grabbed at the two, now separate hangs of the shirt, your breath hitching when their fingers delicately grazed your bare skin, a minute jerk of your stomach as Hange began tying the fabric together so it fit tighter around your waist. So that was the trick to it, then? You must admit, it was an improvement.

You let out a heavy breath when they were done, and finally stepped away. It was harder to breathe when Hange was that close, you will not let that happen again. Feeling far too clouded upon their proximity, perhaps you were allergic to the fragrance, you reasoned.

“Better?” Their voice lowered, awaiting your judgment,

“Much, thank you.”

—

Mealtime came quickly after, you hadn't expected it to be so busy, or so populated. How many people does it take to effectively run a vessel of this size? Hange led you to the upper deck, evidently the largest space aboard, where mealtimes commonly occurred. A large pot of warm meat stew was being led out by a small woman from the galley, placed upon the floor as the crew grabbed portions as they pleased. Hange passed you a ceramic dish, before ladling a couple spoonfuls into your plate.

Thanking them, you looked around, spotting barely any dining tables or chairs, mainly stools or planks of wood nailed together to form a bench, most taken up by the sailors, as others sat themselves in the grooves on the ship deck, some on the rim of the ship itself. You shall not risk that, you thought, still adjusting to the feeling of a rocking vessel.

“You’re probably used to something more polished, but this is how we eat here,” Hange shrugged, “Try to enjoy the stew, Sasha truly works wonders with very little,”

“Landing at port was a godsend, I used fresh meat this time,” The brunette who brought out the food spoke, overhearing the conversation, who you assumed was Sasha. You stilled, this time? What about every other time, you thought, shuddering. Well, no time to adjust like the present. Sticking the spoon into the stew, you took a mouthful, before looking up at Hange in wonder, eyes wide, “This is delicious,”.

“Thank Sasha, she keeps us all standing,” Hange joked, placing a hand upon Sasha’s shoulder.

“What do you normally eat?” You asked, directing your question over to Sasha,

“Usually what we can grab and preserve for a long time, dried meats, beans, your city has a lovely selection of fruits so we’ve stocked some of those, too!” She smiled at you, and you found that she had quite a comforting presence, feeling at ease, you hoped you could form a friendship with her.

Hange excused themselves, as they had something to attend to with someone called Levi. You watched them as they walked away, interacting with their crewmates, laughing with them over something you couldn’t hear. They definitely knew how to command attention, their entire being was self-assured, and confident in themselves and their abilities. Dragging your eyes away, back to Sasha, who watched you with a smile on her face.

“You’re not what I expected when Hange told us the plan,”

“I hope I haven’t disappointed,” you retorted, not really knowing how else one could respond to that. Sasha simply laughed, “It’s a great deal different, but not disappointing,”.

—

You had remained on the deck, the crew wanting to have a little friendly spar for morale. If this was the only entertainment you could get, you’d gladly take it. Having finally secured a spot on one of the benches, you watched as different spars played themselves out.

After a few, though, it was all starting to become a bit monotonous. Feeling your eyes glaze over, you were suddenly conscious of the fact that you hadn’t had a good nights rest since Hange took you, where would you even sleep tonight?

Your attention was redirected when a crewmember called out Hange’s name, challenging them to a spar. The newly formed crowd cheered as Hange made their way into the sparring space. A smirk on their lips as they vaunted, hand clasping their sword as it was unsheathed. Finally take a good look at it, it was a fine piece of metal, sleek and thin. The handle was adorned with intricate patterned etchings.

You took notice of how Hange handled the blade, slender fingers wrapped around the hilt as they pointed it towards the opponent. No shaking, no hesitation. A sturdy, stable grasp, with an arrogant side smile that captivated you, eyes glued on their movements as the opponent tried to disarm them, unsuccessfully. Hange was slightly more agile, their body flowed like liquid, vivacious as they fought. It seemed like they could almost foresee the man’s footing and which way he’d direct an attack. They must’ve sparred together many times. A few more attempts and Hange trapped his blade, lifting his own up and twisting their arm. His sword fell to the floor with a clang, reverberating against the wooden deck.

“Damn it, Captain!” The opponent yelled out, frustration in his voice as he thought he’d actually win this time, Hange only hung their head back and laughed, the strands of hair that edged down their face slipped back, exposing their jaw and neck. A gentle smile escaped your lips as you watched, they looked so liberated, so strong. Hange truly was an enigmatic figure, they carried themselves with authority that you can’t say you’d ever seen elsewhere. They were charismatic, magnetic, you could see that they truly had the admiration of their crew.

“You’ll have to try harder to beat me,” Hange teased, sheathing their sword, a mischievous glaze in their eyes as they landed on you. Your heart picked up, unable to pull your own gaze away from theirs, almost enchanted when you noticed the corner of their lips tilt up.

Breaking away from the contact, you felt your ears grow warm. Deciding to find the wooden deck the most interesting thing around you, until scuffed boots appeared in your line of vision. Looking up, Hange had stepped closer to you, placing their hand into a pocket of their pants.

“Time to retire, my lady?”

Fumbling, you flustered, “Where am I to sleep?” Members of the crew were scattered, some sleeping on the floor of the deck, some had set up rustic hammocks, whilst others continued to wander the floor.

“In my quarters,” Hange stated as if it was obvious, “Unless you’d prefer to sleep next to that lot,” They pointed at the others, crewmates who slept on their stools with their heads resting on their arms placed on the brim of the ship. The expression on Hange’s face made it clear that they were mocking you, perfectly aware of how you would not prefer that option.

“I fear my spine would crumble,” You jested, your lie blatant.

“Come,” They nudged their head towards the stern of the ship, where the Captain’s private quarters were. Hange’s comfortable room with all the fascinating oddities. You’d much prefer sleeping there, you thought.

Following, Hange led you back to their space, all things considered, you felt rather guarded there. Strangely safe and sound. Something tugged at your mind that Hange wouldn’t stand for anything to happen to you, not even for you specifically— Hange’s crew appeared quite companionable, you attributed that to their leader. You wondered how far those pleasantries extended, what acts of horror were allowed and which were not.

Closing the door behind them, Hange hung up their outer coat on its peg, rolling their shoulders as a minor stretch. Bringing their hands up to the back of their neck, rubbing the tender muscle atop their skin.

You stood, clutching your elbows under crossed arms. The silence in the cabin contrasted the raucous crew outside, some still sparring.

“Was that moonshine?” Your voice broke through the quiet, looking towards the jar of liquid Hange had brought you as 'provisions'. "No, it's grog," "Grog?" "Rum and water," Pulling a face, you continued.

"Is it good?" "Not really, but we don't drink it for its taste." Nodding, you picked up the jar, inspecting. "Did you make it?" Hange scoffed, smirking to themselves, their arms coming to cross over their chest, "It's far easier to steal from merchant ships, they're always overloaded with stock," "I see."

"I think I would like to try it," Hange raised their eyebrows at you, a playful look struck their features. "Oh?" They continued, "I brought it for you, thought you might need a little pick-me-up, have at it."

Uncorking the jar, the aroma of the liquor invaded your senses. "It smells strong," Hange nodded, watching with a devilish face as you brought the rim to your lips. After a gulp, you couldn't hold back a cough as the force of the harsh drink burned through your throat, your lips twisting and your eyebrows squeezing together. "That's revolting," "Yeah, it's pretty bad," Hange laughed, grabbing the jar from you and taking a bigger gulp for themselves, passing it back to you. Truly, you don't know what possessed you to take another sip, but it became easier to tolerate.

A few half hours passed, and you had placed yourself on Hange's wicker couch, your bed for the foreseeable. Arms wrapped around your legs which pressed to your chest. You were definitely feeling the effects of the liquor, tolerance much lower than Hange's, who sat on the floor beside the couch. Feeling far more relaxed, your tongue was a tad looser, speaking to and asking Hange questions you would've otherwise probably not asked. Truthfully, you were curious, there was a lot you wished to learn about them. When you first met Hange, you expected a lot of things, you didn't anticipate them being quite as respectful and honourable towards you as they were. There was more to them than what was seen on the surface, you wanted to see what lay deeper.

"But why? Why do you choose to live a life of piracy? Wouldn't it be far safer to live on land?" "Not everyone is lucky enough to be born atop riches, that's an irregular gift given only to a few," Hange spoke, their words thoughtful despite having drank even more than you, "Life at sea is more forgiving than the hardships on land." "Yes, but... there must be something else, even with the hardships at land?

"No offence, my lady," Pausing, "What would you know of hardship on land? My father worked his hardest, damn near broke his back, just to be cheated and stripped of his dignity by the greed of others." Looking down at your knees, a pull of guilt struck, knowing that it was because of people like you, and your father.

"This was his way of ensuring his own future, on his own terms and not under the boot of the wealthy who build their livelihoods on the backs of others." Hange sighed, taking another sip of grog, "At least on the sea, what you see is what you get, fight for what you want and share the rewards. It's not the most honest work, yes, but it's far more honest than those sitting in ivory towers clicking their fingers for anything they desire."

You watched as Hange spoke, their words were true, honest reflections of everything they stood for. Pirate or not, Hange had more substance than you'd ever encountered in anyone else in your life. More than those who coat their words with sugar, kissing up to their higher-ups all for a sliver of what they had.

Hange passed you the jar, and you swallowed another sip, barely tasting the alcohol by this point. This was the first you had heard of Hange's family. "I understand that," you hummed, "I've always thought it unfair, why others are seen as less based on menial things such as money. I suppose my father was my introduction to that, a part of me has always despised him."

"I wondered why you came with me so willingly, though if I had your father I would probably have been similar." Laughing, you nodded, "Truthfully, I have felt disillusioned from my life, perhaps I wanted something refreshing, a different way of being."

"Besides, you intrigued me, I find you fascinating," Your words slipped out, the grog having seriously impacted your inhibitions. Hange's eyes met yours, impish and deviant. The edge of their lip quipped up, delightfully amused. "Is that right, my lady?" They leaned their weight on their right hand that was pressed against the cabin floor, as their left remained hanging off the leg they had propped up. Your skin burned underneath their gaze, and you found that your tongue shattered. Unable to respond, all you could do was meet their half-lidded stare, thunder in your chest, as it lifted up and down. Shit. "I think that's enough grog for you, princess,"

Breaking contact, you pointed at Hange's shelves, to where their collection lay, clearing your throat before speaking. "Like your collection, it-it's fascinating, I wish I could've grabbed mine," You deflected, altering the matter, anything to stop the thunder in your chest and remember yourself. Anything to stop the blaze before it spread far beyond control.

"When we set sail, you can start a new collection." They softened, "One with all the new plants you'll see,"

—

You felt like shit the following morning. Head thumping with each movement, you could only sit on one of the benches with your hands holding up the weight. "Grog fever?" Sasha's teasing voice rang out through your ears, "Been there."

"This is awful," "First time?" "Obviously," You rubbed your eyes, as Sasha lightly patted you on the back, "You'll survive,"

Two presences joined you and Sasha at your bench, one was shorter with black hair, and the other stood upright, with scraggly blonde hair. "This is Levi, he's the First Mate, pretty much Hange's second in command," Sasha spoke, introducing you, "Don't mind him, he's a bit of an ass." "The other is Reiner, also a bit of an ass," She giggled, finding entertainment within herself.

Levi nodded at you, a silent greeting which you didn't mind as listening and speaking were already hard enough with the thumping in your head. Reiner looked at you, before pulling his hand out to meet yours. "Lovely to meet such a beautiful lady," He declared, eyes scouring down your body, "I'm looking forward to having you aboard," His words reeked with flirtation, his cold eyes geeking you out, discomfiting, not like the handsome brown ones you melted into yesterday.

Almost as if reading your mind, Hange appeared, they had left the ship this morning, as apparently, they had some errands to run. Hange set their hands on Reiner's shoulders, carrying an indistinct countenance. "Reiner, I have matters to discuss, come," They spoke, before walking a few steps ahead, waiting for him near the stern, arms crossed.

"Coming, captain," Reiner followed their lead, you kept glancing over to them as Sasha picked up chatter with Levi. You were straining your ears to catch snippets of their conversation, a little difficult over Sasha's voice in front of you, the little you could make out came from Hange: Not this one.

As you switched your attention back to the table, wondering what the hell that was about, you had just bypassed Sasha's looking towards you, her brows crinkling and face pulling into a look of recognition. Huh, she thought, how about that?

—

As the day passed, the time to set sail was nearing, planned for sometime within the next two days depending on supplies and readiness. Apprehension was harder to ignore, you thought about what your father was currently doing, and his reaction upon discovering you had not been in your chambers the following morning. Mulling, you cackled to yourself, clasping your hand over your mouth to mask the giggles as the gravity of what you had done struck you. Never did you imagine your life to end up in this way.

Hange entered their quarters, hanging up their coat, "What's so funny?" " "I just can't believe what I'm doing," your laughter settled down, breathing returning to standard as Hange placed themselves next to you on the wicker couch. "Yeah? You 'n me, both," They chuckled, pausing, "Hey, uh- I wanted to give you this,"

You studied them, catching a modest element of hesitation on Hange that you weren't familiar with seeing. Hange handed you a book, of beautifully bound brown leather, the spine stitching exposed with light-coloured thread. "What is this for?" "You left your notes behind, so this is for your new collection," You gaped at them, prompting Hange to continue, "For all the new plants you'll see and learn about,"

Wordless, you looked between Hange and the book in your hands, feeling the skin at your cheeks heating up. "Hange, this is- thank you, so much," Nodding, Hange steeled, standing themselves up, nearing the door before speaking, "The shantyman is going to play for a while, the crew loves him, so you don't wanna miss it," It was customary for ships to bring musicians. They'd sing songs and play tunes to boost morale amongst the crew, to carry them through the harrowing nights, and oftentimes even spread their hopes for some romance. You definitely wanted to witness it, Hange held the cabin door open for you as you both made your way to the deck.

The musician was doing his thing, leading the crew in song, banging a drum as melodies rang through the vessel. You noticed Sasha dancing with the crewmembers. It was a little overwhelming, the events you had attended at court were much milder and reserved than this, uppity, really. People would rarely dance, it was almost taboo. This was far distant from that, it was fun, delightful even—almost hedonistic in style.

You weren’t quite sure how to join yourself with them, the dances varying from person to person made it hard to fall into a step. Hange noticed your hesitance, before clasping your hand and pulling you towards them. Their hand resting upon your waist, drawing you tighter as they moved into a dance. The air in your lungs tripped over itself, shortening your breath. Stomach pressed against stomach.

Looking up at them, Hange donned a smug smile, higher up on one side of their mouth as it hung from their lips.

“Dance with me, princess,” Hange hummed, their voice lowered. There came the thunder in your chest again, the blaze was spreading.

“I’ve told you to not address me like that,” You whispered, the contention you planned on executing in your voice was nowhere near where you had planned. Instead, it was mild, for fear that would fumble over your own words, as your tongue shattered once again.

“I can’t help it,” They grinned, skimming over your flustered appearance. You don’t know what kind of sorcery Hange held, what alluring magnetism in their blood drew you to them. You felt yourself begin to melt into their tempting gaze, as you blinked.

“Careful, don’t look at me like that or I might begin to get the wrong idea,” Hange’s head sank towards your neck, your breath hitched. Their proximity was intoxicating, you found you couldn’t bear the weight of it. Pulling yourself away from Hange, you rushed to the cabin, pushing open the door and letting yourself inside.

Letting out a bulky breath, your face was burning up, body temperature way over standard as you rested your hands on Hange’s desk. Clamouring to compose yourself. Hange knocked at the door, before entering. Shutting your eyes, you remained still.

“You okay?” Ignoring them, you relented in your stance. The tension in the room increased, heart pulsing as you heard their footsteps reach close.

“I think I have fever,” You mumbled, Hange was right behind you now. You could feel their warmth reaching your back.

“Stand and face me, dear,” An assertive hand maintained at your waist, turning your body toward them Hange held down your gaze, keeping their hand in its place, squeezing. “This is no fever,”

Their free hand came to meet your jaw, thumb ghosting over the soft skin. Hange lowered their head towards you, their face so near, your sanity was in a thick haze, heavy and clouded. "I can see the dark in your eyes, my lady," Hange hummed, relishing in the glaze in your eyes, at the darkness pooling in your pupils as you glimmered up at them, eyes doe and lips plump from biting. The heat from their voice raised your skin, touring down your spine as an ache between your thighs pulsed.

Hange's lips brushed against the velvety flesh at the base of your neck, tentative. You shivered as you felt their lips leave delicate kisses, hand tightening around your waist. You shut your eyes, reeling in the sensation as Hange's igniting touch drew shaky breaths. Thighs clenched together as their lips reached the base of your ear, teeth tugging at the skin. You whimpered, as Hange's hands grabbed at the top of your thighs, just underneath the curve of your ass as they directed you to the top of the desk. Placing themselves between your thighs, before whispering, "Will you indulge me, dear?" With another kiss on your ear, you crumbled, arms wrapping around Hange's neck as your legs folded around their waist.

"Please, Hange, I can't bear it," You panted, core clenching around nothing, as desperation took over. Hange sighed, hearing their name fall from your lips as your body trembled was a sight to behold. Their lips finally landed on yours, tongue pushing into your mouth. Quivering hands grabbed at the back of their head, tightening around Hange's hair, trying to release the buildup of tension in your bones.

Lips broke apart, "Do you know what it does me seeing you wear my clothes?" Voice impassioned, almost hoarse. The hand at your hip moved to the catches at your shirt, reminiscent of the way they grazed your skin that day. Undoing the catches, your abdomen and breasts exposed, goosebumps forming from the sudden coolness of the air. Hange observed as your stomach jerked, smirking as they watched how your body responded. Hand slipping in between the open fabric, meeting the bare skin as you gasped before the shirt slid off your shoulders and onto the cabin floor.

Hange whined at your revealed skin and dishevelled state, the most disordered they had seen you. Their hand cupped your breast, watching as your lips parted and the sweetest cries escaped. Fingers stroking at your hardened nipples, as your pants were slowly being dragged down your legs. Your hips squirmed as Hange went on their knees, head just at the top of your shins. One hand still massaged your nipple whilst the other was around your ankle, holding your leg in place as they lapped their tongue up the skin, retaining steady eye contact. As their tongue reached your inner thigh, your head hung back, and you bit back choked whimpers, hips jolting with anticipation.

"Hange," you rasped, squeezing your thighs around their head, your nails coming to meet the top of the back, "Yes, my dear?" "Please," you pleaded, you had already come this far, you needed to feel it through, you could barely sit up, losing strength in your back. "Patience, sweetheart,"

Fingers left your breasts and made their way to the hem of your underwear. Hange bit their lip at the line of the dampness that had seeped through the thin fabric. "Fuck," they mumbled, tugging the material down where it remained hanging at your ankles, so dishevelled, so messy.

The tips of Hange’s slender fingers reached your dripping heat, arousal covering your thighs as they ghosted sensual touches over your warm slit, puffed and leaking. Thighs tensing as the feeling released itself as strangled whines. Hange was obsessed, exhilarated by the sweet sounds that left your dear lips.

“Fuck, Hange,” Hips rolling into their fingers, pressing closer for more touch, chasing the sensation as it came, "That feels fucking good," "Such rotten language," Hange taunted, the tip of their finger burying into your soaking entrance, stretching the silky walls, “Looks like I’ve been a bad influence,”

Leaving a few more kisses on your thigh, Hange stood back up to reconnect your lips, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip. The kiss successfully distracted you, as more fingers entered, slowly rocking into your flesh, as bliss overtook the initial sting. Hips began to tilt, grinding against the pressure. The sounds leaving you were indecent, vulgar, as Hange augmented the pace, rocking their fingers into you. Suddenly you were glad for the singing out in the deck, obscuring the noise within the cabin. Your head fell into their neck, whining as you could only sit there and take it. Fingers stuffing your swollen centre, pressing against the squishy barriers.

The muscles in your abdomen tensed, clenching around Hange's fingers as your hips buckled. "That's it, dear, you're taking it so, so well," Your eyebrows pinched together, voice escaping you, "Taking me like such a good girl,". Hange spoke, voice purring. That was the nail in the coffin; the honey in their words, the strain in their voice as you felt your release shattering through you. Hips convulsed as your arousal spilled all over Hange's fingers, grabbing their shoulders for support. A few more pumps and Hange removed their fingers, looking down at your clenching hole at the trickling cum, their hand completely drenched.

Hange kissed you, before you broke away and uttered words that led Hange to understand they could never have their fill, "More, please," you begged, voice breathy and whiny as you tightened your legs around their waist. Chuckling, endeared Hange responded, "My, my, dear, you're truly filthy."

Hange moved themselves down to your pussy, still swollen despite its release. With a quick glance back towards you, cheeks flustered and eyes black. Desire tensed your features as your chest heaved up and down, breasts exposed and legs spread, quaking. Such a heavenly sight.

A touch over your slit, Hange spat on your folds, the sight eliciting languid moans from you. It truly was filthy. Pussy clenching with desperation as it grazed you, spreading down your slit with the weight of gravity. Hange pressed their tongue against it, carelessly lapping up the cum that had been leaking out of you. Frenzied guttural groans liberated into your centre as they sucked, the vibrations left you reeling as your hand came to clasp your breast, kneading. Trailing over your own nipple, Hange was not about to accept that, slapping your hand away and rolling their fingers over the bud.

Overstimulation left you choking, tears spilling from your lids as Hange worked their warm tongue over your sensitive folds, drinking in the saltiness as one hand played with your nipple and the other ghosted over your opening. Thighs tightened around their head, cutting off Hange's air supply as you rutted your hips over their face, pushing yourself closer against their tongue. Nose nudging over your clit as their head bounced against you.

“Hange, fuck— I’m, mhm- I’m gonna cum, please let me come,” You babbled, stammering. Needy. You took them in, nose, chin and cheeks wet from your arousal, saliva running down; their eyebrows pulled together with determination and eyes rolling with indulgence, as if you were the tastiest meal they ever had. The taught restraint you had carried your entire life totally dissipated as you surrendered to Hange’s command over your body. Fingers filling into you, knuckles deep, rubbing over the squishy flesh. The added penetration forced out the second catharsis, sucking Hange in as you released over their face, tainting their glasses.

Resting your back on the desk, breaths heavy as you came down from whatever entity had possessed you. Panting. You covered your face with your hands, as your clandestine actions struck you. The drunken, indecent impropriety you fell into and enjoyed.

“No use being bashful now, my lady,” They teased, dragging away the hands that obscured your face. Grabbing your face, reconnecting your lips with gentle touches. Kisses so tender you couldn’t find it within yourself to see anything wrong.

How could something so honeyed be perverse?

—

um yeah, this is my application to hell…

#pirate hange bc im obssessed #also why is there barely any fics on hange like have yall seen them???#someone call the doctor cos i am SICK #lowkey an essay on my hatred towards rich people 😭#also ive been reading lots of sappho can u tell #lesbian #hange zoe x reader #hange aot #hanji zoe x reader #attack on titan fic #wlw smut #hange zoe fic #hange zoe #hanji zoe

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jesncin · 3 months

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Hi! I'm sorry if this an inappropriate question to ask, but I was wondering if you had any advice on how to accurately portray characters of color? I'm White and my creative fiction includes a lot of diverse characters, and I don't want to just ignore how their races impact their stories but at the same time being a racial/ethnic minority isn't something I've personally experienced and I don't know how to walk the line between good representation and some White dude telling stories that aren't his place to tell. Do you have any advice on how to accurately present characters of color without appropriating?

Luckily I have time today so I'll give my 2 cents! For one: there is no such thing as "accurate" portrayals of POC. Our experiences aren't a monolith. Something personal I would write and pull from my lived experience might not be relatable to, say, another queer Indonesian. And characters I write that are outside of my identity (Black, disabled, etc.) are inevitably going to be less authentic compared to someone of those identities tackling those characters. That's just something to make peace with- we can only do the best we can with the perspective we have.

With that: the usual platitudes are "do your research" and "listen to POC", I dislike both of these sayings! I get what they mean, but I don't love the insinuation of "doing research and listening" as a means of personal creative benefit. So instead I encourage different mindsets:

Instead of "do your research" (where identities can be treated as subjects to be learned and not people) I prefer "expand your perspective". Art is so cool because it's self expression. Stories are awesome because it's a shortcut to a person's deepest feelings. They get you fascinated and invested in a life so unlike your own. I can't stand "I only read queer books" people because it's an admission that they refuse to engage with identities they can't relate or project onto. There are so many important stories out there outside of your bubble. Get into the habit of earnestly learning about perspectives outside of your own. And not with the mindset of "this'll make me a better writer if I consume the identity and can become them" but with the mindset of getting to learn about a new friend. I think people take "stay in your lane" too literally sometimes where they focus so much on writing about their own experiences that they miss out on empathizing with other people.

Instead of "listen to POC" (I hate this one. Because our opinions aren't a monolith, it essentializes all of us to being media critic savvy experts, and white people tend to cherry pick the POC opinions they like instead of looking at the wider conversation) I prefer "improve your media criticism skills, and supplement with different perspectives". Not only should you "expand your perspective" as my last point said, but you should also be critical of things you read and learn! Learning about how ableism, racism, classism, etc. operates in life helps inform your opinion of how an identity was portrayed in a story. Recognize that earnest, and well intended attempts at representation can still be flawed or performative (the amount of times I'm told "I'm sure they weren't intending to be racist" like I truly believe the writer is a mustache twirling racist villain is too much). It's important to be opinionated! Do the work to find different perspectives to inform your own.

Lastly, don't ask for labor from marginalized people haha. I know that's what you're doing now (and this always happens to me whenever I voice a critical opinion of race representation) but I happen to have time (I'm still waiting on my editors to get back to me, such is the life of publishing). Most people don't, and are exhausted with explaining themselves. I don't bother my other marginalized friends whenever I write perspectives outside of my own. I do as much of the work reading articles, history, criticism, art etc. first. Especially if it's going to be a published work, then find Authenticity Readers and pay them for their labor. Avoid asking general, easy to google answers y'know? A lot of people have done the work writing thought pieces in their own time about a variety of perspectives.

#askjesncin #media criticism #writing advice #there isn't a formula for how to write people of color #just a mindset on how to approach our art and representation

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doberbutts · 2 months

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i think what is making me speechless about people interacting with that post is the absolute obtuse way they steer around “poc men” where they state that men are oppressors but poc are minorities and dont benefit from male privilege and then run miles trying to avoid the most straight question of “then what do you consider a poc man then? what of this experience i have had?” to which they are running with the idea of a cishet white patriarchal idea of men with privilege and oppressor status- and refusing to analyze their own inherent racism when they state all men are oppressors and therefore all men should be quiet and listen to women- but of course poc is an oppressed class and dont need to be quiet and that no one would ever say that- but also men need to understand all women are afraid of men. they are refusing to interact with this flat out not controversial statement that the popfeminist/radfem-lite is not intersectional and erases peoples lived experiences, all because they dont want to do the work to unlearn their discomfort and know that they themselves are not immune to “being a bad feminist”. i myself as a mixed poc tmasc have a kneejerk discomfort to cis women due to my exwife leveraging radfem logic against me as a way to subdue and erase my voice and lived experiences because once i started to identify as masculine i was choosing the side of the patriarchy- but i acknowledge that my discomfort is from my own past experience and that i cant treat every woman like they would treat me the same that she did; so all of these users adding to your post, running themselves around in circles to state that they are in the right to continue to stereotype all and every man (but no not every man- poc are not a Man because they arent racist of course) as privilaged and predatory and therefore its the mans responsibility to bend over backwards for their or other people they are speaking on behalf ofs (lets go out to their fields to find the strawman out there) comfort; because feminism means men need to make themselves smaller- like PLEASE!!! these people need to evaluate their own biases and stop showing their entire behinds on a post that they want to interact with but also not be corrected on and please please please pick up 1 (one) bell hooks book (which they wont because they dont read anything, they just have other people tell them what the right things to say are)

sorry about my ramble- it might not be cohesive, but i am absolutely aghast and agog at the gall these people have to be telling you that you are incorrect and that they are simply stating the “accepted truth” of “feminist spaces” while they most certainly are not and are being incredibly dense about plain facts

Yeah I hit my breaking point the other day when I said the word evil. I am not proud of that moment but also I don't know how else to describe what I feel every time this happens. How can anyone look at the body count and say that's acceptable collateral damage as long as their feelings of safety (real safety be damned) are guaranteed.

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distortionbobble · 1 year

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Royal Flowers Chapter 7

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series masterlist

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader (poc friendly/coded)

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni! ageless blogs dni! canon-level violence/character death this chapter. series will have eventual smut, and just general warnings.

a/n: i am . baaaaack baby! hope y'all enjoy the chapterio. beta read by the very sweet @sythethecarrot . appreciate her so so much and alll of you for reading and giving this story your time :')

“Are you sure that we need Obi-Wan here, milady?” Anakin asks you, blowing on his clasped fists nervously as you wait for Obi-Wan to reach your chambers. He had sent a message an hour ago, letting you and Anakin know that he had landed in the forests of Naboo and would be reaching the palace soon. “What if it puts him in danger?”

“I understand your concern, Anakin, but we’re in over our heads now,” You hum, looking over the room once more to make sure things are in place. You realize it’s out of nervousness, and wanting to earn the Jedi Master’s respect, and quickly look back at Anakin. “But yes, we need him here, even if it’s just temporary. You’re not as skilled as he is, according to you, with the skill of mind-control, and we can’t risk the Separatists slipping out of your influence and realizing that the Queen’s husband was trying to figure out their plans. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, is unlinked to the palace, and his involvement would not directly jeopardize us. As for him being in danger… I have faith in Master Kenobi’s abilities, and I’m sure that his involvement will be brief, despite the necessity of it.” Anakin nods, grabbing his lightsaber from the depths of his pockets and flipping it in the air anxiously. He nearly drops it when Obi-Wan jumps cleanly onto the balcony, moving quickly to get through the open doors without being seen.

Hello there,” General Kenobi says. His voice immediately lifts a weight off of your shoulders. You knew as soon as you decided to take active action against the separatist while also uncovering their leader, you’d need more help. General Kenobi was the most adept in mind influencing. That, you could use. You couldn’t have done these last few months without Anakin, but it was time to move. And fast.

“Master,” Anakin says, striding to Obi-Wan and enveloping him in a tight hug. He hadn’t realized the importance of Obi-Wan in his life— the younger Jedi Knight’s torturous visions, nightmares of the people he loved dying as he watched helplessly, had stopped when he left, but the certainty of Obi-Wan’s guidance had disappeared with it. And when he was dealing with you and the nuance that your task called for, it certainly wasn’t easy to carry on without Obi-Wan and his gentle guidance.

Not that he listened to Obi-Wan all that much, but it wasn’t about that. He lets go of Obi-Wan reluctantly, knowing that their bond is deeper than words could convey.

“Master Kenobi,” you bow respectfully while Anakin quickly checks the noise dampener. “It’s an honor to have your assistance.”

“It’s an honor to be called. Will you walk me through the plan, milady?” He asks, settling criss-cross on the marble flooring of the room. You sit across from him, and Anakin joins your side instinctually before the puzzled look from Obi-Wan has him shuffling further from you until the three of you form a triangle.

“I was so caught up with the overarching goal that I lost track of the present. While it’s true that I absolutely cannot jeopardize my own mission, I cannot sit back and lose more of my people.” Obi-Wan nods in understanding, tracing circles on his knee as you confess your guilt.

“So you need to know more than what they tell you, and be able to have one of your Ministers know how to countermove without it coming from you,” Obi-Wan confirms.

“Exactly. It shouldn’t be too hard to get that information but I’ll need to know who it is I can trust. I don’t know exactly the scope of your abilities, would you be able to help me figure out which ones I can trust?” At your request, Anakin clicks his tongue, nodding at your request.

“Well, we can’t read minds. What we could do is something along the lines of figuring out what emotions they’re feeling when they talk to you?” Anakin suggests, garnering Obi-Wan’s approving nod.

“And as for getting the information…” you trail off, unsure of what to do now that you knew the Jedi couldn’t read minds.

“Well, there’s a few things we could do,” Obi-Wan processes aloud, something formulating in his head as he considers the options. “What do you know about the leaders of the Naboo Separatist chapter?” He asks. You snort.

“I’ve met their leader, but he’s a total dunce. I truly believe that they chose him because he’s easy to manipulate,” You say. At your words, Anakin lights up, nonverbal communication flowing between him and Obi-Wan. It’s kind of cute, seeing him more in his element. You like the side of Anakin that Obi-Wan brings out. It’s like the older Jedi pushes Anakin to be better— to think things out, to be rational. Something along those lines. But the shift is obvious.

“Easy to manipulate, you say?” Anakin says, an excited look on his face.

“If that’s the case, then there certainly is something we can do,” Obi-Wan says cautiously. “Is there any way I can see the leader in person?”

“I know where he lives,” you say, looking up at the ceiling to avoid making eye contact as you cringe at the thought of him.

“Why do you know where he lives?” Anakin asks suspiciously.

“Because he was once my boyfriend,” You sigh.

~~~

“Baby,” a sleazy voice calls out from the table you just crossed. Arus Dryskan sits in the booth of the low-lit pub, sketchy characters flitting behind you in the shadows. When your eyes meet his, you’re reminded of all those nights you spent with him, tangled up in the sheets. You’re reminded of the good and the bad: the way he’d toy with your emotions and blame you when other men would flirt with you, all the shouting matches, the control that he tried to impose on you. Part of you is affronted by the fact that he’d even dare to call you baby after putting you through all that. But you set it aside, reminding yourself that you’re in control here. He has no power over you.

You relax your shoulders and tell yourself that Anakin’s here, that you will be fine, forcing yourself to inhale and relax as you slide into the vinyl seating. Arus’ arm is thrown carelessly on the back of the seating, a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he eyes you up and down.

“It’s been a while, Arus,” You say, reigning in your repulsion and leaning in to gaze into his eyes seductively, batting your lashes and eyeing him up and down. That should work, right? Even when you were together, it was never about the two of you— it was about Arus, about making him feel desired. You never were the most affectionate with him (largely in part because he’s fucking irritating) but you need him to think that you want him. It’s funny, there was a time when you found him quite attractive, but now, the only thing you can focus on is how revolting he is. He rakes one hand through his greasy hair, flashing you that grin that used to work so well on you.

“You’ve done pretty well for yourself, huh, milady? Queen of fuckin’ Naboo,” he says, leaning in to whisper in your ear. The heat of his body feels suffocating next to you, and the mere thought of his touch makes you dig your nails into your palms, trying desperately to regulate yourself before your fear gives you away. “It’s funny that none of these suckers know you’re one of us.” His eyes are conspiratorial, which you can work to your favor. You smile slyly, allowing your fingers to dance on the tabletops as you slide in closer to him.

“Nobody knows I’m here,” you laugh, “Not even my dunce of a husband.” At your words, Arus raises his brows, a big smile spreading across his face. Sorry, Anakin. “I’ve missed you,” you whisper in his ear. Your tone wavers between the truth of your desperation and the practiced smoothness that you used so often when you were with him. Your hand finds its way to his shoulders, resting there as you wait for him to give you some sort of sign.

“What about your dunce of a husband?” He asks you playfully, leaning back.

“You think that nerf-herder could satisfy me the way you do? I played around with him for a while, yes, but he was so boring. Not to mention how much…bigger you are. ” You allow your hand to drift downwards, teasing him through the material of his shirt. He may be a sleemo, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t built.

You almost want to roll your eyes when his hand shoots out to grab your waist, pressing you even closer to him as your hand travels from his pecs to his abs. Was he always such a simpleton? A pretty girl bats her eyelashes at him and he goes absolutely dumb. Or stays dumb. He’s not very smart.

“Do you wanna… get out of here?” you ask, your voice a low, seductive hum in his ear. You can practically hear the blood roaring in your ear, the feel of your heart thumping traitorously in your chest and you can only pray that he can’t feel it. Take the bait. Let’s go.

You have to hold back an audible sigh of relief when you hear the clink of his speeder keys as he grabs them, and you, and pulls you out of the bar. You know Anakin’s following closely behind you — Obi-Wan’s already at his house, you just need to make sure that he gets there. If anyone asked at the pub, anyways, they would’ve just seen one of Arus’ usual nightly conquests.

You keep touching his arm as you sit in the speeder and on the way to his house; you need him to be distracted so that he can’t see Anakin following behind you both. The ride there is short but he’s so revolting it feels like a lifetime— he’s telling you about how he blew up a village the other day and found it so funny. You have to force your laughter, but you really just want him away from you. You’re disgusted— the fact that you had ever touched him, had ever been so oblivious to all of him. Back then, he wasn’t so evil— or maybe he was, and he just hadn’t had the chance to show it yet.

In the rearview mirror, you see Anakin cut into the side streets, a shortcut to his place that would work just fine. Arus is too busy talking about himself to notice, as per usual.

“Let me open the door for you, princess,” he says when you pull up to his house. The second he’s unbuckled and standing outside of your door, there’s a soft thunk before he slides on to the speeder, practically falling in your lap as Anakin looks down at him with a glower.

“Thanks, Anakin,” You say, opening the door and throwing Arus out.

“Was it really necessary to be all handsy with him?” Anakin grumbles.

“How else do you think I’d be able to get him here?” You ask, puzzled.

“Still,” Anakin frowns. Is he jealous?

“Oh, don’t worry, my darling husband, you’re still the only man for me,” you confess dramatically, throwing yourself into his arms and snickering when he pushes you off with a scowl. “Moody,” you tease, helping him hoist up Arus and carrying his body through his door.

“Took you both long enough,” Obi-Wan says from inside the house. Once inside, Anakin doesn’t bother carrying him, instead just lifting him with the Force into the little chair and flicking his finger so that ropes bind him tightly.

“Normally, I wouldn’t approve of you using the Force for such a trivial thing, but the Queen looks rather tired from holding him up,” Obi-Wan quips.

“He’s quite heavy, you know,” you chime, sitting down on the ground.

“I think it’s best that you and Anakin wait in the speeder outside,” Obi-Wan says. “It would be bad if he wasn’t influenceable and saw you here with me.” You and Anakin shuffle outside at his order, sitting in Anakin’s speeder as you wait for Obi-Wan to do his thing.

“So… is that your type?” Anakin asks, looking out the speeder, past the dim streetlights to the clear Naboo night sky.

“What?”

“Guys like him.” You look over at Anakin— at his lean structure, deceptively strong and muscular under his robes— and shake your head.

“No. Not anymore, at least. I really only chose him because I wanted to do something for once in my life that wasn’t the order of someone else. I learned pretty quickly that that wasn’t the right idea. He was controlling, obsessive, and just downright mean sometimes.”

“So what is your type?”

“Why do you wanna know so bad?” You ask curiously, propping your feet up on the dash as you study Anakin’s face.

“Well, we’ve got time to kill,” Anakin says, fiddling with the keys to the speeder as he avoids eye contact. He does that when he’s nervous. Why is he nervous? This whole interaction is completely puzzling to you, but you think there’s a way that you can mess with Anakin’s head the way he’s messing with yours.

“Hmm… My type is tall, melodramatic Jedi who go by the name of Anakin Skywalker and are secretly, hopelessly, in love with me,” you tease, leaning over to his seat to pretend to kiss his cheek. He pushes you away with a scowl, glaring at you when you start laughing at his anger.

“Not funny, milady,” Anakin huffs, crossing his arms.

“I thought it was funny,” You grin, pretending to cross your arms and puffing out a breath in mock irritation.

“Stop that.”

“No. Not unless you stop being a child.”

“Why can’t you just answer me honestly?” Anakin asks, a note of seriousness in his voice.

“Anakin…” You sigh, thinking that you have an idea as to what’s going on. Your eyes dart quickly to make sure Obi-Wan’s still inside, then you reach over and put your hand atop his. “If this is about Padme—”

“It’s not,” Anakin grumbles, but you pay him no heed.

“Since this is about Padme leaving you, because I really don’t believe you, will you let me just say one thing? I’m sure she had her reasons. Padme never does anything that she knows would hurt other people unless she thinks it’s totally necessary.”

“I know that,” Anakin says quietly to himself, the metal paneling of his arm rippling as he flexes and looks at you. In his eyes there’s a softness you don’t find very often, one that’s inviting, that makes you want to pretend for maybe a second that this marriage was real.

“You’re perfect, Anakin,” you reassure him, lost in the depths of his eyes. Why is it that you can feel every breath of his as if it’s your own? As though his heartbeat itself matches your own, in total synchrony with every part of you.

“And so are you,” he whispers. You can hear his breath hitch in his throat as he looks at you and you wonder, just for a second, if there’s actually something between the two of you. You can’t be imagining all of this. But it’s over as soon as it started, Obi Wan’s voice snapping the both of you to attention.

“Milady, you’re going to want to hear this,” Obi-Wan says grimly, the slightest of tremors in his hand as he rakes through his long strands. You don’t know him well enough to say, but the way that Anakin perks up at Obi-Wan’s tone tells you that there’s something big. “The Separatists, they’re not just planning on launching military attacks, they’re planning on attacking the food sources; slaughtering and burning the Shaaks, poisoning the water sources. They’ll have a series of attacks and bomb blasts set up to distract the Naboo Military. They’ll stop at nothing.”

“Okay. Okay,” You whisper, brought back to reality. Your fantasies of Anakin in some role that he would never play are blinked away as terror seeps in, tinges your view of the future. “We’ll need to ramp up imports of food, and be prepared to maintain a completely safe distribution of food. I’ll leave it under the charge of someone not at the Capital, as I don’t want the spies interfering with our stores of food. As for the water,” You sigh, your mind turning furiously as you think. It’s all coming to a dead end.

“We can’t let it become like Tatooine, where they have to moisture-farm just to get water,” Anakin interjects coldly. You look over at him to see that distant look in his eyes and you know he’s somewhere else, somewhere horrible. You reach out tentatively to bring him back to you.

“The water will come later, after the food,” Obi-Wan adds quietly. “Dryskan told me when they’d do it all.”

“Is there a possibility that he could have fooled us, at all?” You ask fearfully, hands shaking as you think of more blood under your rule, more blood on your hands. You can’t take it anymore. You can’t let what happened, happen again. Anakin seems to read your mind when he places a heavy hand on your shoulder, nodding silently when you turn your head to look at him. He knows what you’re thinking.

“It can’t hurt to prepare, milady,” Obi-Wan responds. “But not a soul can know of your knowledge of it. They could strike sooner, leaving you no time to prepare.”

“Get enough food to account for a famine without anyone realizing, get the people in danger out before they can be slaughtered, too, and fend against the increasing Separatist attacks. Sounds like it’ll go without a hitch,” You remark dryly, leaning your head back to close your eyes. “There must be something big. It has to be big, if they’re going this drastic. They’re trying to make Naboo an example, once and for all, and that means that there has to be something big coming our way.” The three of you sit in somber silence, hearts in your gut as worry tenses your muscles.

“There’s a list of military attacks as well,” Obi-Wan says, breaking the silence. You reach for a slip of paper hidden within the sleeves of your robe

“We can’t write them down. A paper trail could be fatal,” Anakin interjects, placing a hand on your forearm. “I’ll remember them.”

“You’ll have to act fast,” Obi-Wan responds. “Their next attack is in two days’ time.”

“That’s not enough time to plan a full-scale defense, let alone having to do it all without the Separatists knowing,” you sigh, frustrated.

“We’ll have to evacuate the civilians, then. And quickly. Let the Separatists attack a deserted town,” Anakin suggests. He’s tired of the bloodshed, and you can’t blame him. You imagine that the blood spilled by the Jedi didn’t often involve the blood of the innocents.

“If we go now, we could encourage them to evacuate with enough time,” you respond. It doesn’t take much convincing after that, the three of you shrouded by the night as you drive on in tense silence.

~~~

It’s nearly dawn by the time you arrive at the small town. There’s a feeling lingering in the back of your mind, some anxiety that you can’t give shape to with words. But you’ll be fine, you’re certain; if they find out that you and Anakin are missing, you’ll just lie. An early-morning stroll would fit you and Anakin’s dynamic rather well.

Some of the town’s workforce is up, walking in the dusty roads, illuminated gray by the early morning light. They look at you without suspicion, just a curious indifference. You stop the speeder, donning your palace robes and get out.

“Good people,” you say, your voice unwavering. You need them to believe you, like how they would if it was Padme telling them instead of you. “I come under the order of the palace. The Queen has knowledge of a Separatist plan that puts you all in grave danger. I’ve been sent here to aid you in evacuating; you are instructed to bring what is most important to you, and the palace will compensate and aid in rebuilding efforts should the town face damages.” You hide your nervousness— you can’t help it if they don’t believe you, but you also can’t tolerate another slaughter. Their faces show no signs of doubt, however; the mere mention of the Separatist forces are enough for most of the galaxy to tremble in fear. The chatter of conversation in response to your warning is slow but steady in its growth; the murmurs of people wondering what to bring, fear of the Separatists borne out of the knowledge of their crimes, and finally the concern for their wages.

“S’cuse me, ma’am,” one man says, stepping forward. You feel Anakin step forward in response reflexively, moving to guard you from any threat and for some reason, it brings a flutter to your stomach. “How can we trust that what you’re saying is true?”

“You can’t,” you say, a bitter smile pulling at your lips. “But the risk of not trusting me will lead only to death.”

~~~

“Six months is not enough to hide your thoughts from me, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says to Anakin as they usher the last of the town residents to the speeders, leaving them with the instructions on how to get to the determined shelter.

“I don’t know what you mean, Master,” Anakin mumbles, helping a child up into a speeder as he avoids Obi-Wan’s eyes.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan sighs. “I am glad you have recovered from your heartbreak with Padme. Don’t deny it, young Skywalker, I have eyes and you’re about as subtle as a bantha with a trombone. And of course, with the current Queen, closeness is only natural. You spend every waking moment with her. But can you trust her?”

“….I don’t need to trust her,” Anakin grumbles, pulling on a loose thread on his shirt.

“But you do. I see it in the way you look at her, Anakin; it’s more than a mission. And when this is over, will you truly be able to let her go entirely?” Obi-Wan refutes. Anakin can’t answer his pointed question— he doesn’t know how to, because the thought of letting you go feels entirely foreign to him now. At his silence, Obi-Wan sighs, moving to stand next to him as they look at the open, deserted town.

“I know what the Jedi Code says about attachments, Master. But this… it feels different. I do not covet her, I do not wish to own her; no, it’s that she shows me those parts of me which I hide. She is similar to me, and forces me to be better. I cannot call it love, nor can I say that I can trust her thoughtlessly, but perhaps it is the Force that brought me to her.” Obi-Wan hums, lost in his own thoughts as he internalizes what Anakin said. Anakin wonders briefly how well it is that Obi-Wan understands his words— after all, only a fool would have missed the dynamic between him and Duchess Satine. But part of him knows that it wasn’t entirely truthful— was it not jealousy that drove him to ask you about Arus? Was it not jealousy that he felt when you mentioned having been with another man? Hadn’t he wanted to rip Arus to shreds the second he saw him touching you? Anakin pushes his feelings down, ignoring the churning in his stomach in the hopes that it’ll go unnoticed by Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, after a sizable pause, sighs heavily and nods. “Where is the Queen? You should go find her,” he says to Anakin tiredly. For a second, Anakin feels a twinge of guilt— he doesn’t mean to make Obi-Wan feel as though this is a lesson that he must parrot again and again, but it’s not like that with you. He’s not like that with you. But he swallows it, and goes off in search of you.

The sun is bright and beating down on him overhead. It’s been hours since you first began evacuating every soul in the town, instructing them and helping them pack. You’re good and it couldn’t be clearer to him. And if you’re good, he’s good. Maybe that’s why he feels more self assured around you— you and him have so many similarities but you seem to live your life without that internal turmoil that Anakin knew for the past few years a little too well.

As he walks the dusty streets he can hear the telltale sounds of a struggle, the sharp cry of pain which quickens his feet and takes him to the sight of you. He watches, almost frozen in his feet, as you deliver a sharp punch to Reyna’s throat, winding her before you sweep her to the ground in a move that he knows he taught you. A sense of pride fills him before it is overcome with horror— your hands, tangled in Reyna’s hair, slam her skull on the dry, dusty ground over and over again, until her body goes limp. You grab a nearby rock and drive the jagged edge into Reyna’s forehead, a splash of crimson spraying across your face as you look up to meet Anakin’s eyes.

The look lighting up your eyes brings a sense of familiarity within Anakin, that bloodlust that had clouded his judgment all those months ago when he killed the Sand People. Nausea chokes his throat as he remembers that day, sees you mirror what he must have looked like. And through the fog of his revulsion and fear and regret, he realizes that no one can know what happened.

“She saw us evacuating the people from the town, she knew we knew, she was gonna expose us,” You babble, still frozen on top of Reyna’s body. “She never trusted me, she never trusted us, she was going to— we would be dead if I hadn’t done it, she wanted us dead,” You plead, trying to rationalize and explain it all to Anakin. You don’t realize that he understands you perfectly.

“Come on, come on,” he ushers you, getting you away from the body as you begin to shake.

“What did I do, Anakin?” You whisper, trembling hands reaching to the ground as you try to sink away from his grasp.

“No. Look at me. My queen, look at me,” he urges, wishing so desperately that he could take away the horrified look in your eyes. “You didn’t do anything. You haven’t seen her since you were in the palace, after which you and I went on a romantic stroll. How did she find you?” He asks, hands resting on your temples as he tries desperately to bring down your panic. A little feeling of guilt burrows itself within him as he realizes he had never felt this guilty about the people he had killed. Maybe he should have, and that makes him feel worse.

“She— I forgot to take off all my jewelry, and there was a tracker in one of my bracelets,” you whisper, going to rip off the bracelets. “She woke up this morning and we weren’t at the palace, so she checked the tracker and found us here. She didn’t tell anyone, or she would have brought someone else with her.” Anakin nods, stroking your temples with his thumbs. You close your eyes, murmuring his name in a desperate sob, with a sacredness to his name that he’s never truly heard before.

Anakin hoists you away from Reyna’s still-warm body, the heat flowing out of her like rivers that seek you out, staining your hands with more blood. He doesn’t want you to deal with this, but fate has left the two of you with no choice. He can’t use the Force— Obi-Wan’s natural distrust of politicians, spies, whatever category you fit into would only make his opinion of you suffer. He’d be able to sense it instantly. And for some reason, Anakin wants him to approve of you. Desperately so, in fact. So he grabs some tools from the front of a nearby home, using some sort of shovel to dig into the dry dirt of the road. Each thud of the shovel radiates pain up his arm and the metal of his hand creaks and complains, but he hardly notices for the fact that the only thing you’ve been able to say is his name, over and over again. You’ve turned him into your anchor, and he can feel it, the vulnerability, the pain, the fear that you’ve become something that can’t be reversed. It’s the same fear that he feels so often, the same fear that he felt after killing the Sand People. And it’s then that Anakin realizes, startlingly, that he’d do anything for you.

Anything.

#royal flowers series #distortionbobble's fics #my writing #fic #anakin skywalker series #star wars series #star wars fanfic #star wars #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin x reader #anakin x fem!reader #anakin x f!reader #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #x reader star wars fanfic #anakin skywalker x fem!poc!reader

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enby-jellyfish · 22 days

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Once Upon A Dream

Part of the Baldur's Gate 3 Fairytale AU Collection

Sleeping Beauty!Astarion X GN!Prince Phillip!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your, They/Them

Summary: Astarion gets a second curse after accidentally upsetting Cazador, however shall he get out of this one?

Warnings: Canon typical abuse/torture, minor character death, crying, graphic depiction of violence.

Word Count: 2952

A/N: Don't mind me, just giving Astarion some more angst :) (don't worry, it has a happy ending)

Once upon a time there was a young elf who, after a terrible incident where he was assaulted and almost killed by a gang of Gur, was turned into a vampire by the self-proclaimed ‘master of all evil’, the Vampire Lord, Cazador Szarr.

After his turning, Astarion was forced into servitude and the only interactions he was allowed besides with his master was when he was made to seduce and lure unknowing people back to the Szarr palace for his master to feed on while he was made to make do with dead rats and bugs.

If Astarion were to disobey in any way there would be a harsh punishment; beatings, starvation, cutting, isolation. The isolation was the worst.

One night when Astarion was on his way to fetch another poor unfortunate soul for his master he got almost run over by the horse drawn cart of an old woman, falling and ripping his doublet in the process.

The old woman had profusely apologised as she helped him up, insisting for him to come with her to her cottage not far up the dirt road so she could fix up his torn clothes. Astarion tried to refuse at first, fearing what his master would do to him if he didn’t manage to bring someone back, but eventually caved, agreeing to go with her if she would be quick.

The old woman had been overjoyed, practically dragging him onto her cart and prattling away about how it has been so long since her children had come to visit, how she misses spoiling them, and how she recently became a grandmother.

When they arrive at her quaint cottage, she sits him down in a far too soft armchair and puts on a kettle before grabbing a basket with various dyed wools, comparing the colours to the one of Astarion’s doublet whilst continuing to make conversation with him.

When she finds the closest match, the kettle starts whistling and she pours two cups of tea, handing one to Astarion and keeping one for herself as she sits by an old spinning wheel and gets to work.

Astarion doesn’t drink the tea, he can’t consume anything but blood since his turning, but still feels a sense of comfort from the warmth of the cup. Listening to the old woman talk isn’t that bad either.

The warmth of the cup mixed with the smell of the tea, the soft chair, and the sound of the old lady’s voice and the soft creaking of the spinning wheel puts him in an almost hypnotic state of calm. He hasn’t felt like this in years.

After spinning enough thread, she asks for his doublet and expertly mends the tear. When she is done it’s like it was never torn to begin with.

When Astarion ‘finishes’ his tea, he poured it in a plant when she wasn’t looking, she waves him off, telling him to come by any time.

Astarion continues what he was let out of the palace for, the kind spinster in the back of his mind.

After that night he stopped by the cottage every time he was on his way to town, the old spinster welcoming him with open arms and a hot cup of tea waiting for him.

Unfortunately, Astarion should have known he was not meant to have good things.

Cazador had become suspicious at his spawn’s increasing change in character, he had become more calm, less jittery, and decided to follow him, not at all liking what he saw.

The next time Astarion visited the cottage it lacked the familiar warmth it usually had, a cold chill running down his spine when he entered. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my pathetic excuse of a spawn. So, this is what you have been doing while you should have been doing what I sent you out for.”

Astarion feels sick to his stomach, fighting every instinct in his body to turn around and face his master instead of running away. It’s not like he could go far anyway.

“Master, I-” He tries to explain. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You broke the rules Astarion.” Cazador tuts like he is scolding a child. “Although, maybe your new friend here would like to hear an apology, you are the cause of her impending death after all.” He roughly pulls out the old spinster from behind him. “Go on.”

Astarion takes a shaky breath. “I- I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.” Tears start rolling down his face. “Oh, hush child. I know, and I forgive you.” She is crying too now. “I am sorry too, one day you will receive all the love and kindness you deserve, Astarion. I promise.”

Cazador interrupts them with a sound of disgust. “What a sickening display, that’s enough out of you.” He grabs the spinster by the sides of her head and with one swift movement jerks her head to the side, breaking her neck with a sickening crack.

A pained noise escapes Astarion’s mouth, a cross between a sob and a gasp, his hand quickly coming up in an attempt to prevent more noise from coming out. Tears are streaming down his face when Cazador harshly grabs it, stepping over the dead body of the spinster.

“Now, what to do with you, hmm?” Cazador looks around the room, his gaze landing on the spinning wheel in the corner. “The isolation always had the biggest effect on you, hadn’t it? A month in the dungeon should suffice. But what about future offences?”

He walked over to where his staff stood propped up against a wall. “If you break the rules again,” The staff begins exuding a lime green light, the air growing thick with magic. “, you shall prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into a dreamless sleep, never to awaken, trapped within the darkness of your own mind.”

Astarion falls to his knees. “NO, please master I beg of you, have mercy!” Cazador scoffs. “Mercy?” He pretends to think about it. “Fine, I’ll be merciful, you have been bringing me my prey as I ordered, despite your… escapades.” Cazador inhales sharply. “All right, I’ll give you a chance to break your curse.”

The staff brightens again. “Your curse shall be broken by receiving a true love’s kiss.” The light fades and Cazador grabs Astarion’s face again, smiling down at him. “As if you could find anyone that will be able to love you.”

Astarion spends the following month in the dungeon. His cell is small, cold, and moist. He feels utterly and absolutely alone. That is, until he falls asleep. Ever since that unfortunate night he has been having a strange dream.

He is dressed in formal clothes, dancing on the clouds with someone. He can never remember anything about this person when he wakes up, except the overwhelming feeling of love he has for this person.

Every day, it's the same dream, and every night, it's the same nightmare.

The dream continues when Astarion is let out of the dungeon. Part of him is happy it stayed; the dream provides him with the only comfort he has in his forced servitude. Another part is upset, because the dream reminds him that this will always be what it is, a dream.

Years later, Astarion is on his usual way to town, practicing his memorised lines as he walks. Lost in thought he suddenly gets pushed into the ditch. “HEY, watch where y-”

“I AM SO SORRY, I don’t know what got into him, are you hurt?” Astarion looks up, rubbing his head, squinting as he watches his, apparently unwilling, assailant jump off their horse, rushing to his aid.

You pull him up. “Are you hurt?” You repeat, looking the stranger in his ruby eyes.

Huh, there’s something familiar about him.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, lost in each other’s beauty while trying to figure out if you’ve met before.

Astarion breaks the silence. “Uh, no, I’m fine.” You are confused for a second before remembering your question. “Oh, right. That’s good.” You reluctantly let his cold hands go. “Say, how about you let me buy you a drink?” The question spills from your lips before you can stop it.

He has an odd look in his eye. Was that too forward? “Uh, to make up for my horse pushing you down!” Astarion takes in your question. On the inside he’s panicking. Who is this person? Why does he feel this way? Pull. Yourself. Together!

“And what makes you think I would accept a drink from a stranger? For all I know you could be a murderer, waiting for a moment of weakness before you strike.” The words come out just as he had practiced, smooth, flirtatious. He regains some of his confidence, only for it to be completely shattered again by the laugh you let out. “Oh, but we aren’t strangers!”

“Aren’t we?” Astarion is sure you’ve never met before, he would have remembered, yet he can’t shake that familiar feeling. “No, we’ve met before, once upon a dream.” It’s corny for sure, calling him the man of your dreams. But he is, isn’t he? You’ve had that same dream since you can remember.

Astarion is stunned. No, they can’t be- but maybe? “Right, how could I forget.” He lets out a nervous chuckle, deciding to just surrender to the moment. “I’ll allow you to buy me a drink, but I want to know your name first.” You smile and tell him your name; he repeats it before telling you his.

With that the two of you go off to find a tavern. You spend the whole night talking, drinking, and dancing. It’s almost too good to be true.

Astarion wants this night to last forever, but alas. The sun is coming up soon. He had to get going if he didn’t want to get burned.

“Same time tomorrow?” He smiles at you. “I’ll see you in my dreams before then, darling.” He kisses your hands and departs for the palace.

When Astarion enters the palace, he is met with an eery humming sound coming from above. In a daze, he follows the noise up several flights of stairs, to a room in a tower he’s never been before.

The room is empty, except for a spinning wheel, seemingly spinning on its own. Astarion feels an uncontrollable need to touch it. The humming is almost deafening as he gets closer, reaching out his hand.

With a hiss Astarion pricks his finger on the spindle and immediately feels woozy. Tearing his sluggish gaze from the bead of blood on his finger, he notices a dark figure standing in the doorway before everything goes dark.

Astarion doesn’t show up the next night, or the one after that. Your dreams have also stopped. Whispers have started circulating throughout town about a cursed palace. It’s not much to go on but considering it all happened at the same time you take it as a clue.

You start asking around, learning that the palace belongs to the feared Vampire Lord, Cazador Szarr, and that he hasn’t been seen since the supposed curse. With that information you take off, with your trusty steed, strong armour, and a sharpened sword, ready for anything you might find.

The first thing you notice is the plant life. What once must have been beautiful roses have overgrown the palace, its thorns digging into the stone, making sure nothing can get in, or out. You hop off your horse, unsheathe your sword and start cutting away at the thick stems. With some effort you manage to clear an entrance and enter the palace.

“Either you are incredibly stupid to try and break into a cursed Vampire Lord’s palace, or that snivelling worm actually succeeded in making someone fall in love with him, which would also not make you the brightest.” Startled you turn to face who you assume to be Cazador. “You’re talking about Astarion.” You grip your sword a little tighter.

He laughs manically at you. “Look at you, his knight in shining armour! I’m almost rooting for you, almost. But to truly win me over you’ll need to defeat the dragon first, of course.” You don’t like where this is going. “Dragon?”

He laughs again, his eyes now glowing a lime green. His voice starts sounding distorted, deeper than it was. His bones start shifting and he begins to grow.

You sheath your sword and take off, not needing to see what is happening to know he is turning himself into a dragon.

The ground shakes beneath your feet as Cazador follows you, letting out a growl and flapping his giant wings.

You find yourself in a ballroom, catching your breath you quickly formulate a plan. The tall room has several pillars holding up the ceiling, a staircase ascending to a balcony that overlooks the room, intricate banners hanging from the balustrade. You can make do with that.

With that thought, Cazador bursts through the entrance, taking down the door and part of the wall with him. Quickly you run for a pillar, managing to hide behind it right when Cazador sends a burst of fire your way, the flames just barely missing you. You try and slow your breathing, waiting for his next move.

Impatient with his now giant body, Cazador smashes his tail through the pillar, forcing you to start running for the stairs. You almost make it until a giant clumsy claw scratches at your arm, ripping off the armour. You scream in pain and stumble to escape up the stairs, just barely missing the next fire burst from Cazador’s mouth. You make your way to the balustrade and pry off a banner, grasping the heavy fabric close to your chest.

Your lungs are burning, beads of sweat are rolling down your face, and your arm hurts like hell, blood dripping down the limb, mixing with your sweat. Shakily you stand, facing the dragon.

You throw the banner at Cazador’s face before he can blast more fire at you, forcing him to stop and swat away the fabric so he can see, but he isn’t quick enough. You use the balustrade as a step, jumping to the dragon’s face, unsheathing your sword in the process and stabbing the dragon through its shout.

The both of you go down, you roll away with your sword as soon as you hit the ground. You shakily get up, watching Cazador starting to shrink, clawing at his face. He may not be dead, but he’s definitely incapacitated for a bit. Good enough.

You sheath your sword and rush back to the now destroyed entrance, running through hallways and up stairs until you finally find what you came here to find.

The tower is almost empty, a wooden coffin sits nailed shut in the middle. You use your sword as leverage to break open the coffin. Inside lays Astarion, cold, not moving, not breathing.

You are too late.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you cup his face. “I’m sorry.” You whisper tearfully before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

You stay there for a moment, your forehead pressed against his, until you feel his chest start to rise and fall. Confused you press your hand to his chest, feeling the steady thumping of a heartbeat. You watch stunned as his eyelashes begin to flutter and he opens his eyes. No longer are they ruby, but sapphire instead.

You mutter his name in disbelief. He looks at you with a dazed expression his hand coming up to hold yours. He feels warm.

Astarion slowly sits up, running his tongue over his teeth before looking at you in shock. “You’ve broken both of my curses?” You laugh nervously. “What can I say, I’ve always been an overachiever.” He laughs too, squeezing your hand.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here. You’ve been here long enough” You pull him up and the two of you stumble down the tower, almost exiting the palace before you hear a gargling sound.

You turn and are met with the sight of Cazador, back in his usual form, crawling towards you on the floor, his face covered in blood. The viscous liquid dripping down his neck and onto his expensive shirt.

Astarion looks from his former master to you, a mix of rage and grief thundering behind his eyes. You unsheathe your sword for the final time, extending the weapon to Astarion. “You can do with him as you please.”

Astarion takes your sword and stalks over to the bloodied vampire on the ground. He grabs Cazador by the hair, turning him over to face him before stabbing. Astarion drops the vampire and uses two hands to drive the sword through his former master again, and again, and again. Eventually he stops, Cazador long dead, dropping the sword as he lets out a tortured scream. Astarion is sobbing now and covered in blood.

Carefully you move to kneel next to him. The second you put your hand on him he flings himself at you, crying into your shoulder as he releases the grief over all those years of torture and abuse.

Eventually he calms down and you both get up, exhausted as you leave the palace. You help him on your horse, who miraculously stayed through all that, and start riding back to town.

You stop only briefly to watch the sunrise, Astarion closing his eyes and basking in the sunshine, knowing that the two of you will now be able to continue to live happily ever after.

The end.

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