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heretyc · 10 months

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Horror [Trager, Eddie Gluskin, Val]

Horror: A collection of small fics, consisting of Outlast's most iconic antagonists [in my opinion].

The poll I started isn't over, but "canonically" is winning and I love it. Dark shit here we come lol. I will be writing for my beloved Terror-iffic Trio [aka my favourite antagonists from each game]. A party with these 3 would be lit.

Drabble ideas here.

Content Warnings: Uhhh...Outlast Antagonists lol. That is your warning.

Trager: Gore, awful jokes, his bare ass.

Eddie: Gore, murder, injury, mentions of his...lovely little display, sexual assault [minor, just a slight touch, no penetration]. [Please lord don't let him teach an art class.]

Val: Sexual assault [slight penetration w/ fingers], gore, murder, mud, Val's bare ass, mud breasts and mudgina.

I mean it, this is pretty heavy shit. It isn't too graphic, but if SA triggers you...either look away or read with caution. Trager's section is safe. Unless you're afraid of his ass...cause me too, man.

MINORS GTFO. Miners can stay as long as they're not minor miners.

Read with caution, I condone none of this. Fics underneath the cut.

You/MC take the place of the protagonist. So...you are Miles/Waylon/Blake. Yayyyyy....? Or nay? Depends on how you feel. MC is gender neutral, but is referred to with fem pronouns in Eddie's section for obvious reasons. You do not talk in Trager or Eddie's sections as Miles and Waylon were "mute". You speak in Val's section, though. You are described as having breasts in Val's section as both sexes/all genders have breasts. Tiddies for everybody!!

Enjoy.

Drabble idea: "See, this place isn't haunted!"

Sometimes, a saving grace can be your one way ticket to hell. And this had been an excellent example of that. The angelic voice over the dumbwaiter was a dream come true; after running and hiding for so long, it was like you were granted a break.

Only for your face to fall as the scarred face of a man greeted you. The air around him reeked of danger.

This was not the haven you were lead to believe was waiting for you.

"You made the right choice here, buddy," he declared before punching you in the jaw, a pained yell leaving your throat, and he was quick to take advantage of your shocked state to haul you into a wheelchair.

He must have done this a dozen times, as he was quick to lock your wrists into the cuffs attached to the chair. They were tight, and he merely chuckled at seeing your attempts of getting out of them.

He looked fucked up.

He stood in front of you, hands behind his back, and his eyes were scanning you like a wolf scans its prey before it mauls it to bits, "You're not a variant...huh. Well, buddy...you can call me...Trager. Everyone else does, anyway."

As Trager made noises looking you up and down, you looked at his face. Coated by some half-assed attempt at a mask and some strange glasses upon his face, you come to the conclusion that he was some doctor here.

He clicks his tongue and smacks you on the back, "You've got a lot of things to learn here, buddy. I am honoured to be your teacher."

Teach you about what, exactly? You didn't want to know. But he started to push you forward, and you only questioned where your hell would be.

This place was already hell, but...at the hands of some crazed madman, it was different.

Trager hummed to himself, making jokes here and there, and he once grumbled when you didn't laugh at a stupid impression, before he finally made it to an elevator. It was...somewhat cleaner up here, for some reason.

However...

You could feel a breeze upon your skin, and upon hearing the howl of wind and torrential rain, you saw an exit. Pitch black and windy, yet so much more welcoming than in here. You questioned if there would be a tornado warning or something by how violent the wind seemed to be.

The rain out there was intense, torrential, heavy and oh so divine, and Trager only chuckled.

"You want to take a quick walk, bud?" He leaned down next to you, eyes looking into yours like he was an old friend, despite also looking feral. "Run free, like Forrest Gump? Unfortunately, we're running out of time." He clicked his tongue once more, pulling you into the elevator.

This was a cruel joke. Even the Elvis impression - awful impression, mind you - wasn't as bad as this.

Standing beside you, Trager pressed a simple button on the control pad before clasping his hands together behind his back. After a moment of movement, he looked back toward you, his voice a tone that suggested jest, "Did you know they call elevators a "shaft" in other places of the world?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

Looking at him, you realized his skin looked...awful. Like he was a draugr from that video game you used to play.

His scalp was scarred, and after spending an hour in this place, you realize you're lucky your scalp was untouched.

Wires upon wires were wrapped along his arm, and upon closer inspection, you were horrified to notice that they weren't wires, they were tubes.

Of his own blood.

How did he not feel that?

A man like him probably enjoys that, to be honest.

His nails were quite long as well, albeit you couldn't blame him...hygiene in a place like this was laughable. He probably had to exert his inner wildcat to defend himself in this shit hole.

You nearly sobbed when the elevator came to its destination, and he took hold of the handles once more.

It smelled of death and lost hope up here.

Choruses of screams reached your ears and you flinched. He seemed to notice, as he violently shushed the poor bastards trying to break free of their confines, "Sh. Shshshsh...you weren't putting your tongue to good use anyway!"

Tongue...??

The man shrieking had a bloodied mouth, and he soon quieted after choking on, what you assume to be, his own blood. Trager only sighed, muttering to himself, "Really, I just needed something to lick my stamps."

This...was a cruel joke. Taking someone's tongue for stamps?? You were deep in thought, only for Trager to notice and grin evilly, "You should see what I do with the balls."

...Dear god.

"Yeah, this weird...cannibalistic guy downstairs begs for them...the guy knows what he wants, I gotta give him that. He reminds me of somebody...eh, buddy?"

He poked you in the shoulder as he pushed, and it appears he was referring to you.

"I saw your camcorder. You're some sort of journalist, here to...what, expose one of the biggest experiments in history?" He laughed at the notion, shaking his head. "I admire the bravery, really. Braving through disturbed masses...I have to admit, I'm impressed."

You only gulped.

"People love to say this place is...haunted." Trager noted, pushing you into a bathroom of some sort. Bloodied, smelled of decay and looked like a paradise for bugs and bacteria.

What had scared you the most was the array of torture devices he had laid out on a tray. This man was deranged, one way or another.

He continued his one-sided conversation, focusing on the aforementioned tray as he walked over to it, "I mean, who wouldn't? People love to paint asylums as haunted. They hear a ghastly noise or a terrified scream and immediately tell the papers that a house of human suffering is haunted."

Trager's hand hovered over each instrument of torture, trying to pick which one, but he hadn't stopped talking.

"And I am more than sure that's your entire...reason for coming here. Trying to prove it was haunted. But guess what, buddy?"

He finally picked up a blade, long and serrated, and he pressed it against a finger of yours, the edges sharp against your thin flesh. He leaned in close, his dry lips forming into a smile, "This place isn't haunted."

He moved away, the blade removed from your finger, and you breathed a sigh of relief as he placed it back down onto the tray.

"No, no. It's worse."

He finally picks up a gigantic pair of scissors, much like something you'd see picking away at a shrub, and he was more than eager to shut them and open them, metallic hisses invading your senses, much like the feeling of doom.

You will die here.

"This place is an example of human cruelty, my friend," he announced, voice loud and cheerful as if he wasn't about to maim you, and he placed the blades around some of your fingers. He cared not for your horrified shrieks and begs, he only leaned in once more and whispered,

"And you will be nothing but an example of what happened here."

Slice.

...

"Oh, come on, buddy...it's not like you needed your middle finger anyway. Now open up...I have some stamps to lick."

Drabble idea: "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

"Darling, please! You act as if I've done something rancid! What have I done to you to make you so afraid of me?!"

The bloodied behemoth on your tail was quick and hurried as he chased after you, his feet slamming against the rotting floorboards. You almost couldn't hear the music that played alongside the horrific display he handmade. The smell was awful, but the sight of it was enough to make you vomit.

You would not be the victim to the Groom. Not now. Not ever.

You would not have your pelvis slit, or your chest stuffed like you were a sex doll [ironically, that's all you would be to him], and you would not let him confess his undying love for you. It was fake and corrupt like this entire asylum.

Despite the smell of mildew and death, adrenaline filled your blood and you could tolerate the disgusting scents as you breathed in, your legs not yet faltering.

You've heard what he's done. The man who so giddily chased you rambled about it as you snuck around, and you were not pleased.

This was the only way out. Sometimes you have to take risks...right?

This wasn't worth it, though.

And sometimes, luck runs out. Like right now, as you are stuck in a dead end.

There was only an elevator. And it was not on your current floor.

Shit.

You could jump and risk a broken leg...or...

The emergency ladder. Broken and rusted, but it's tetanus over death.

You could explain all of this to the news with lockjaw.

"Wait, what are you doing?! Don't, don't-!"

You had leaped, gripping onto the ladder as your bottom half slammed against it. With a hiss you tried to pull yourself up, only for the ladder to break underneath you.

The top had snapped, and you tried to grab onto what remained on the wall, only to fall, your heart stopping.

Of all things to die from, it was a rusted ladder.

Oh well.

As your body slammed onto the top of the elevator, a sharp pang began to blossom from your ankle, and you look to see shards of glass sticking out of your flesh. Now coated in blood, you cried out and ripped the shards out, piece by piece. Blood pooled around your foot as you cradled it.

"Oh my god, are you okay?!"

The behemoth above looked down at you with a horrified expression, his hands out and wanting to hold you.

"I hate to see you suffering without me! Why would you do something like that to yourself?!"

His voice was full of panic and concern, and for a moment it seemed wholesome, until the panicked silence became one of anger. There was...tension.

"You would...rather die...than be with me...?"

His tone had shifted so quickly. He was unpredictable, and that's what had made him so...scary. In general, he had looked like he crawled from a 1940s horror series. Sweeney Todd had come to mind, actually...

"You're just another whore, aren't you?" He growled out, only to sigh, like this was a normal occurrence. "It's quite alright, darling. A good man can turn a whore into a house wife...and I have faith in us. Let me just..."

The elevator roared to life, and you panicked even more, now. Your poor heart would likely kill you before he had the chance to. But as you rose, he merely hummed to himself, waiting for the elevator to rise to his floor.

You had no chance at moving or escaping, as when you reached the proper floor, he was quick to grab you before you became sandwiched between the top of the elevator and the ceiling.

He dwarfed you. Instantly. He carried you bridal style, an eerie smile on his face, "Come, now. I must make sure you look perfect for our wedding."

You had no chance, now.

He clicked his tongue, footsteps hard against the rotting boards, and his voice was quieter as he spoke, "And I need to wrap up your foot...you are a silly one, darling."

It didn't feel silly. It felt like your ankle and foot were on fire, stinging like mad.

You had accepted your death already, but if there was also one thing you could accept, it's that he wasn't actually half bad.

Minus the...anger fits and the "whore" bit, he would have been wonderful. Looking up at him, you see a man soiled by corruption.

His eyes would have been a beautiful, shiny blue if not for the pools of hemorrhage. They had looked...empty. Dead. But whenever he looked at you, they shone like his soul had been revived.

Is this what he had wanted? Love?

Everyone in this hell hole had been deprived of it.

It was sad. Really fucking sad.

But you had read about what Eddie had done, and seen it too. And he was past the point of no return. He had done too much to be redeemed.

Dread made itself a home in your stomach as you were laid upon something cold and wet, and you were strapped in. Arms and legs spread, and your clothes were ripped off.

You were now nude, and being touched by the Groom himself.

His hands were gentle as he caressed a calf, "You have such soft skin...you will look absolutely beautiful," he cooed, hand gliding itself upwards toward your knee, then your thigh, and then...

You only flinched when you felt his hand begin to caress your genitals, as gentle as could be, as if he wasn't violating you. T'was the touch of a lover.

But he was no lover, no.

His fingertips merely grazed along your private flesh, rubbing it as if he had wanted to stimulate you, and you wanted to scream.

Eddie sighed dreamily, like he was a married man and his life would be filled with nothing but happiness, and he, luckily, let his hand glide up to your navel. "You look divine already, but when I'm finished with you? Oh, darling..."

He removed his hand, thankfully, but he was quick to turn on the saw, and all you could feel was cold air from its rapid movements and doom.

He gripped the sides of the table you were on, and he was smiling like this wasn't totally fucked up, "I know this will be hard..."

You felt the table move, slowly but surely, and you began to wriggle, but he continued, "You will have to deal with this...and then the conception, which I promise, will be wonderful," he winked as the saw came closer, "Then the pregnancy...and oh, I can just imagine the birthing. You will look so beautiful, darling...like a goddess. Mothers are goddesses in their own right."

And all you could feel was the sting of the saw, and your soul fading from your body.

...

"You're just like the rest. Filthy whore."

You're lucky you weren't alive to see your mangled body, tossed with the rest.

Ready to rot.

Drabble idea: "I want to go home..."

Val, in a sense, had been an angel to you.

They did not have a halo, made of purity and gold, or have pristine, white wings to wrap you and hold you close, no. They did not bear robes of white or play a golden harp or sing a divine chorus.

But they had wanted you all to themselves. And they would not let Knoth's guard dog, or his sickly bastards he called "friends", ruin you before they had a chance to.

Because unlike Knoth, or Marta, or Laird or Nick or whoever the fuck, Val would put you back together.

They are a loving mother, dedicated to spreading love.

It had been painted in blood on your way to the mines, 'LOVE SET US FREE'. Bottles encasing candles, bodies strewn up like Christmas decorations...

What were they trying to do, exactly? Make their cause look homey? Elegant? Acceptable?

You had felt oddly welcomed. Every single enemy in your way was slain, journals and notes left in your path to urge you to come to them.

"Come to me," the red ink beckoned you on the dirtied paper, "and I will show you my love."

They had been so kind as to leave batteries and bandages. Before you had taken the small, makeshift raft, a final note had been placed in one of the small shacks, the bed made and smelling of firewood,

"I am waiting for you."

You did not want this. But you needed to find a way out.

The mines were not welcoming. You were not alone. And you had been chased into the underground, where you are now; held down by Heretics as they muttered, "mother, burn..."

Like the fallen angel ready to relieve the sinners of their pain, their martyrdom, Val had approached, coated in mud and looking like the demon of the mountains.

In their hand was a torch, raging with fire, and it made their white eyes so much more intense.

They had hummed eagerly, the hum evolving into a laugh as the torch was placed down and the Heretics were shooed away. You were too afraid to move or notice their cold, dirtied hands leaving your flesh.

Their eyes were wide, pupils tiny, and they smiled as they strutted to you, "We are creatures of appetite..."

They moaned, feeling up their body and their fake breasts, like they were a porn star and giving you a show.

"I want to feel your hunger," their voice became quiet, something only you could hear, and they leaned close, your eyes staring frantically into theirs, searching for any fragment of humanity.

There was none. And you felt saddened, knowing that the Val in those journals was not this Val.

This was something different.

"I want to know your desires...and show you what true pleasure feels like," they rasped, pushing you down and straddling your hips, grinding against your clothed stomach. Your fear had aroused them.

"I want to go home..." you whispered, tears rushing from your eyes, and they only laughed, leaning close to your face and whispering, "This is your home, my love," a muddy hand came up to caress your cheek and wipe the tears away, "and I...will be doting."

You had no chance to respond or even acknowledge the powder blown into your senses, or the tongue forcing your mouth open, and immediately, they sought dominance over your own muscle, wrestling with it. It had ventured to each nook and cranny of your mouth, like they wanted to taste everything about you, and they eventually pulled away with a moan, saliva connecting you two.

They licked their lips, humming in delight as their hands rushed to push up your shirt and reveal your chest. "Your body...is delightful," they breathed out, squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipples with precision.

That powder did something to you. You had hated the feeling of their hands, but now you were overheating; desperate and quiet moans leaving your throat and making the cultist above you grin.

"I don't..." You couldn't even finish your sentence, as they pinched a nipple and made you shriek. It made them chuckle, and their hands moved south, ripping your zipper and breaking it. They got off for a second to completely rip your pants and undergarments off, and their naked thighs wrapped around your bare hips.

"Did you enjoy my gifts?" They questioned, hands now massaging your thighs, "You needed those batteries so badly...to document the lies of Sullivan, didn't you?" They purred, their hands tight and knowing just where to touch to get you to cry out in pleasure.

"That's why you came here. Fell from the sky, wrapped in flame..." they bit their lip, feeling aroused at the notion, "To record his bullshit."

You had even forgot about your camera, and you questioned where it was, until Val snorted, "It's gone, my love," their hands moved upwards to your genitals, "taken away...by my children. You won't need it anymore."

There was no pain when you felt their finger enter you. It was more pleasurable than anything you had ever felt, and it made you moan the loudest, and Val had revelled in this.

With precision their fingers located your pleasure spot, and sped up.

Your pleasure was their pleasure.

"God doesn't love you...not like I do."

And in time...you would know it to be true.

#outlast #outlast 2 #outlast 2 val #eddie gluskin #outlast eddie gluskin #outlast fanfiction #eddie gluskin x reader #outlast x reader #richard trager #trager #val #outlast val #val x reader #this was a doozy lmfao #enjoy!!!#richard trager x reader #trager x reader

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radioaf · 15 days

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{*rubs hands together while evilly chuckling* I'm going to talk about Alastor touch averse which is also something I deal with on a daily basis so I'm gonna have fun writing this one my loves because I am going to mention a little bit about how I think his childhood was like and what's I think it like for him being touched. This headcanon is very personal for me so please be kind I worked hard on this}

triggers: mentions of past childhood trauma and scars

First things first as always let's have a little explanation on what touch averse is shall we? because if you can't tell by my last headcanon I like to over explain things.

Touch aversion - is a feeling of intense discomfort or fear when someone attempts to touch you. It can be physical, such as when someone attempts to hug you, or it can be psychological, such as when someone attempts to shake hands with you. (taken from a article on overcoming touch aversion that I have laying around my room)

He is touch averse. He has intense discomfort and a fear/anger when someone attempts to touch him without his permission the best way is to always let him make the first moves and invite him to do so because oddly enough Alastor is big on consent when it comes to people touching him and not the other way around he will invade others personal space. So say if someone wants to shake his hand the way to this is to open your hand out to him and let him make that choice if want to or not . 9/10 times the man won't reciprocate the invitation of physical contact but it's worth trying. He will actively avoid it all together by as we seen in the most off-putting ways possible like snapping his neck in unnatural contortions, His main goal is to creep out whoever has tried to touch him so they won't do it again, he will also just straight up dematerialize to avoid things.

Yes this stems from his need to be in control but I also think it's trauma repose from his childhood with his father. Very little is know bout his backstory but I do lean toward the idea that his father was a abusive drunk who would lash out at Al and his mother now I think Alastor took on a role of trying to protect his mother from his father so in turned he took on a lot more of the abuse which lean to him having this deep rooted hate for forced physical contact he would get from his father but at the same time I think his mother was very lovely and that her love language was physical touch which is why I believe we see him more tolerable around women touching him a great examples of this is Rosie, Niffty and Mimzy. Don't get my wrong he still is uncomfortable with it but he knows these women well enough that they mean no harm to him and that they in turn know him well and what he is and isn't comfortable with.

Now Alastor has a lot of scars on his body. Being shot in the head and mauled by dogs will leave your skin and body gnarled and distorted. I've seen first hand injuries of people who have been injured by dogs that aren't pretty. Now scar tissue is made up from fibrous tissue that forms when normal tissue is destroyed and they can become very sensitivity if nerves have been damage like most of Alastor more than likely have been, which is why I do believe makes his skin extra sensitivity when touched but I think it feels worse for him when he is cold and that's why I think we see him in his coat so often because lower temperatures cause tissues to contract, putting pressure on nerves. As someone with a lot of scars I can say when I'm cold I can feel every damn one of my scars even that very visible ones and it fucking hurts. So think all that does play into his lack of wanting physical touch because it can cause him discomfort sometimes not all the time.

My inspiration for most of these ideas comes from my own experiences and I hope it made sense and gives you again more insight on how I write Alatsor. <3

#﹙˓ 🎙 ˒﹚૧ᵘᵉᵘᵉ. ᶜᵘʳʳᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵃⁱʳ #﹙˓ 🎙 ˒﹚ᴴᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ. ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ #headcanon

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radioaf-a · 6 months

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triggers: mentions of past childhood trauma and scars

First things first as always let's have a little explanation on what touch averse is shall we? because if you can't tell by my last headcanon I like to over explain things.

My inspiration for most of these ideas comes from my own experiences and I hope it made sense and gives you again more insight on how I write Alatsor. <3

#⌗ headcanons. ﹙ just little something to think about ﹚#headcanons

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savofid · 1 year

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Been working on a fanfic for over a year now. Not actively the whole time, really more "a lot to start, big lull, back at it again at Krispy Kreme." Anyways, in all that time, I've rewritten the intro chapter some 4 or 5 times. Still needs to be edited but I'll do that after I at least finish the first real chapter.

But I've got these big, grand ideas for it, along with a spinoff in the concept phase: an alternate timeline. However, while planning this out, cause I wanna be able to write with functional plot points and not make it up as I go, I'm looking at the CYOA system I'm using and I'm just confused. Not by the system or anything regarding the rules, but by my reaction to certain things.

People that know me personally would not describe me as prudish. When given the proper audience and a fitting segue, I have plenty of stories about some fairly unorthodox things I've done with my exes and by myself. However, when it comes time to write a scene that even tries to express love, let alone sex, I never want to.

Most people would assume that means that I'm bad at it or something because who wants to do the things they're bad at? Fair point, but I'm quite capable of writing erotica. I can go into full detail about how you should structure your sentence and which words fit best for a certain mood or how to make a sentence feel sexy, how to influence the breathing of the reader themselves and get them into it, too. Believe me, I can do that. Plenty of experience with long distance relationships and gently building anticipation over days or weeks, and that was just the foreplay to the foreplay.

It's using third person limited as a perspective in those scenes that I don't like. Maybe it's the vulnerability that the characters are sharing with each other and using the moment to keep our eyes fixed behind theirs, knowing their thoughts and feelings, that makes it feel wrong in some way. To watch, to listen, to experience it through them feels like a betrayal of their trust, this rapport we've established with them as we've journeyed together since the beginning. Who are we to invade their most intimate of moments?

I know most people would likely say, "Savo, they're not real. It doesn't matter." They might not be real but I still care about em. I want to see them happy and healthy and where they needed to be, and I'm the author that can make that happen but they're working for it just as much as I'm working to get them there. Some moments write themselves, a natural conclusion built out of what's long been established, not some Superman power of the week, but writing a character that would both draw him in and keep ahold of him long enough to stick in his life is gonna be extremely difficult and hard to justify. I can "make" them do whatever, yeah, but that's not a good story. Why is she there? Why him? What drew you in to want to spend time with this guy? What motivation would one have that would make them want to actively spend time with a guy who can't do basic math, travels around with a bunch of strange animals, and openly admits that his goal in life is to "fight (God)." He's clearly deranged, likely on some intense drugs, and possibly homicidal. This is not a safe person and alarm bells should be sounding to get away.

Without context, sounds insane. It's a Waifu Catalog-ish SIOC CYOA jumpchain that starts in Pokemon with its second stop being in Star Trek. Both similarly utopian, but much different in size, scope, and intent. Also no Pokemon in Star Trek, so gonna be tough trying to explain away one, especially if it's actively on fire, made of magma, or a sentient pile of garbage or slime. He wants to have a fistfight with Arceus because he thinks that it was Him who interfered in his Isekai and sent him to the manga version of the universe instead of the game version, resulting in him almost getting mauled to death by a group of angry Rattata. He's sworn an oath of vengeance.

Anyways, moves on to some federation colony and starts learning some math and science because what would be basic education there is guaranteed beyond college level stuff in today's day and age. It's at the school that I want him to meet his first true friend of the journey, someone hell be in and out of a relationship with for a number of years to come, failing every time until they decide to just be friends, moving on with their lives, and time passes. There's a quiet in their conversations, the knowing that that might be failing, too. They've become different people than they were before, and worry sinks like a stone into their stomachs. In some instinctive urge to put your all in just before it looks like death, they crash together one more time and it works. They've both grown and matured and become the one that the other needed, which led that sputtering ember to finally ignite a roaring blaze within their hearts.

The scene I'm worried about writing isn't gonna even happen for the next few real life YEARS at this rate, somewhere around the midway point of Arc 10 or 11 with another 7 or 8 beyond that, so the ⅔rds mark in the story, which is where it happens best because it often leads into the story's climax. Two people fall in love, bad guy learns about it, innocent partner is now a hostage and hero but fight to save their love. Those sorts of tropes.

But, again, what draws her in? What motivates her? Why does she want to be his friend? Why does he want her as a friend? Does he want friends this time around? Does he even want to try again with another potential ex? What's the point? He'll be moving on in time, so why bother putting down any roots at all?

Then again, he did just spend a year wandering the first two regions and suffered some pretty rough injuries throughout. Probably wants to take it easy and that's always best with friends. I've made really close friends over less, like a girl who worked in my office and at my old desk from before my mental break. Came in for two days straight and she was just gone. No one asked about it. Third day, she was back for only a few hours and just spent that whole time crying. Last day of the work week and she's back and still just crying at her desk. After about an hour of it, I decided that I was done hearing her cry and was gonna drag her out of this slump if I had to. I miss you, Jess.

But, again, why is she drawn to him? What is her motivator, the very thing that drives her to try him of all people? Maybe she's smart and is tutoring him? Nah, that's tired. Big dumb jock is failing a class and he gets the average looking nerdy girl as a tutor, but he's actually got a sensitive side and she falls for him but the popular girls don't like it so they bully her by pretending to be friends with her just to learn her secrets and publicly embarrass her, but she's too worried that BDJ will see her differently now and he actually still cares. Very tired formula.

I think I've got it: it's initially for selfish reasons. Not only is she smart and a bit of a geek, but she's an astrobiologist. He has living, breathing Pokemon. Also, Star Trek is just set in the future, so it's possible that maybe some Pokemon cards or games survived, especially digital copies, and she just so happens to be a fan. Basically, she's a weeb and a dude just showed up one day with a group of very real Pokemon. Dude just walked out of a literal manga and into her life.

Cool. Thanks, void. You're a good listener.

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catgirlthecrazy · 2 years

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ao3 wrapped: 3, 29, and 30

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Ooooh, tough call. If I had to pick one, it's probably The Art of the Possible. I've gotten so many comments from people saying that it made them feel seen, or that it helped them understand their own sexuality better, or that it helped them figure they were asexual, period. I cannot overstate how touching that is to hear as an author, especially since other people's fics have done the same thing for me in the past.

(Honorable mention goes to Cradle These Shattered Remnants for being the first multi chapter fic I've actually finished in literal years).

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Ugh, there you go again, making me pick a favorite child T.T

I will say, that this particular section from Cradle remains the most cathartic scene I've ever written (reminder: Caleb is Feebleminded during all of that):

"It is a shame," Ikithon continues, slowly ramping up the force on Essek. "I rather enjoyed working with you. But I think it is clear that this partnership of ours has outlived its usefulness."

The giant's hand presses harder, and Essek's bones start to creak with excruciating pain. He feels like a lump of clay being pressed flat by two plates. He would scream if he had the air for it.

Someone else screams instead. Forgotten until now, Caleb barrels into Ikithon, wildly swinging the beacon on its tripod like a battle-frenzied orc with a maul. It catches the Archmage in the stomach, sending him crashing to the ground.

Immediately, the force holding Essek vanishes. He collapses in a heap against the wall, gasping for breath. Somewhere very far away, Ikithon is yelling and Caleb is still screaming, but all Essek can do is focus on sucking in that sweet, life-giving air.

He looks up just in time to see Caleb bring the beacon down on Ikithon's head with a hideous wet crunch.

Ikithon doesn't move after that. Still yelling, Caleb bashes his head in again. And again. And again. And again. Essek has the distinct impression that Caleb will keep going until he's too exhausted to continue– and maybe even beyond that.

Inside me, there are two wolves. One thinks that it's ultimately more satisfying for Ikithon to be brought to justice and his crimes exposed in the light of day. The other thinks Caleb should get to murder that son of a bitch. As a treat.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Probably the intensity of the response to The Art of the Possible. As mentioned above, it struck a major chord with aspec readers in a way I was not expecting at all. Maybe that was foolish of me, but I didn't think of it as a fic about aspec issues when I was writing it. The story drew pretty heavily on anecdotes I've read (mostly on advice forums) from people in relationships where one partner has a much higher sex drive than the other, and that's not an issue unique to aspec people. On the other hand, the solution that Essek and Caleb come up with was inspired by a story from an allo guy on reddit about how he made things work with his ace wife, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised 😅.

Ao3 wrapped ask meme

#ask meme

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xx-justlikehoney · 2 years

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writing prompt, oct. 8th - umbrellas

Bridget rolled onto her side, tangled in a mess of sheets and her down comforter, willing her heavy eyes to open. Thunder gently rumbled through the sky and the sound of rain beat against the windows in a rhythmic tap, threatening to lull her back to sleep if she didn't drag herself out of bed soon.

There was no excuse to leave the apartment on a rainy Saturday, except for the cabinet lacking coffee or anything substantial to eat. Toast and more than likely expired black tea wouldn't do the trick this time. Bridget slid out of bed and rooted around in the dresser for something to throw on, settling on a pair of joggers and the biggest hoodie she could find. The sweatshirt was one she couldn't bear to give up for sentimental reasons, despite its little blemishes and fraying hem. It belonged to someone she hoped might drift back into the orbit of her life one day.

She grabbed her keys and an umbrella on the way out the door, blowing a kiss to her dog, Paddy. The rain had slowed from a torrential downpour to a steady shower, giving the world a good wash; everything smelled fresh and vibrant. Bridget kicked at puddles with the toes of her boots while she wandered down the street, watching the water arc and fall. There was a coffee shop a few blocks from her place, but being out in the rain was peaceful, and with nowhere else to be it seemed like a good idea to finally explore the neighborhood beyond her front door.

Thoughts of the boxes piled along the perimeter of almost every room back at the apartment drifted up to the front of her mind. It had been close to two months and still there were things to put away. Settling in was happening slowly. Some days a few knick knacks found their new home on a shelf and other days it took all of Bridget's mental energy to un-flap a box and survey its contents. She walked for blocks before realizing the buildings around her were familiar ones and it took a few moments for the reality to sink in that Bridget was dangerously close to her old apartment. The place she shared with Adam.

She hadn't stepped foot inside the shop for what felt like ages, but in reality was a few months at most. It used to be part of her familiar routine: go for a walk, grab coffee, return home to write. Bridget sat in the same chair every visit, the one with a small tear in the brown vinyl cushion nearly dead center. It faced the gallery wall where every few weeks a different artist's work was displayed; sometimes surreal landscape photographs swept across the white wall and sometimes there were drawings bordering on the grotesque.

Bridget took a deep breath and approached the door of the shop, listening for the familiar chime of the bell above. Everything appeared the same, and she wasn't the only one seeking temporary refuge from the rain. Most tables were full of people tapping away on their computers or reclined against the booths with books in hand; by some miracle her spot was clear. She shuffled over to the line and ordered a chai latte, swiping her cup from the counter to make a beeline for her favorite corner.

The first sips of her drink tasted like heaven. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the warmth chasing the chill out of her body. When she opened them, she found herself locked in a stare with one of the paintings on the wall. It was the portrait of a young woman who eerily resembled her; light brown hair, blue-gray eyes, and a slightly rounded jaw. Half of the face was stuck in an intense gaze, but the other half was something that could only be described as disturbing. Flesh peeled away from the woman's face in sheets, like the way old wallpaper begins to curl after a long time. Her hand, twisted at unnatural angles, clawed deep into the muscle. Beneath her mauled skin were multicolored wires, sparking and smoking.

Bridget was mesmerized by the vulgar piece of art. As soon as she began to look away Bridget noticed the mouth in the painting twitch; the woman's lips convulsed until what looked like oil came pouring from her throat. Bridget screamed, shrinking away from the wall and dropping to the floor while the rest of the coffee shop looked on in horror.

#horror #short story #story #writing #writing prompt #october writing challenge #fall #writer #text #original #words #scary #fiction #short fiction #women writers

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moodymisty · 2 years

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Okay here I'am! You said I should just do it, don't come crying to me ;P If you feel up for it. Maul pre losing his lower body x Fem!Reader with 1/3/19/45 of your kink list, all in one package. Consensual aswell as Dub-Con is fine with me, whatever is more comfortable for you to write. If this is too much or Maul is someone you don't write about, that's okay. Just thought I should try :)) I think he is the perfect cadidate for those kinks.

Damn girl you had an idea and you WENT FOR IT I salute you

OK, fair warning I've never written for the Maul the Big Red Sith before, so this was quite the exercise XD (aka please have mercy on me I'm nervous. Also I probably could've reread this forever, i'm still very not happy about it but I feel horrible for making you wait so long LSDJFLDJ)

Relationships: Darth Maul(pre-choppening)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Darth Maul's general existence, light predator/prey dynamics, Dub-con, but very light dub-con if that makes sense, (unrealistic please use lube)Anal, Begging, A single bite, Probably Stockholm syndrome and just general unhealthy relationship dynami-IT'S DARTH MAUL

It's not often in the galaxy you find people who can heal. Whether it's by the force or by bacta, it's a rarity, compared to the leagues of people holding blasters and lightsabers.

So when Separatist forces inevitably took over what little town you had called home, your resume had served as an almost instant target on your back.

It ended up landing you employed on a Separatist starship; And of course one currently transporting a Darth.

In your first days aboard it had been a nightmare, constantly hoping, praying you’d never see him. And when you had, it had become praying you didn’t come into his attention. Maybe it was that display of attempting to be a wallflower that ended up doing the exact opposite, and brought him right to you.

You don't know if you should be terrified or flattered that you managed to catch the gaze of a Sith. Being around Maul is such a wild cocktail of emotions you can’t really describe, and while anyone on this ship would tell you to keep as far away from him as you possibly could, there’s just, something that keeps you from entirely doing so. Even through any fear.

But you can't say you still haven't debated the idea of trying to find your way this flagship; However compared to everything else you’ve seen, it was far too risky and most jobs were far more dangerous. Safer than being on The Malevolence with General Grievous, at least; As seeing that flagship’s name on any transfer notice was an ill omen.

Your interactions, you’ll call them with Maul however, are tempting as much as they are dangerous.

He doesn't linger around you too often, but it's enough that you're used to seeing him more so than you aren't. Even if he isn't directly interacting with you; As sometimes you'll be somewhere and just feel eyes on you. You won’t see him close by, but you swear there’s some sort of feeling that’s telling you you’ve crossed his mind. In what way, you don’t know.

He’s crossed yours more than a few times, enough so that sometimes you have trouble thinking of anything else.

"Trying to hide away from someone?"

You almost drop the container of bacta you'd had in your hands, only just managing to grasp it before it topples to the floor, turning to look up and spot Maul looking down at you. The container rolls in your hand, as you put it back into the small box and grab the entire thing. He’s looking you with that same expression again; Thinking and watching your every move. Being under it sends an intense feeling down your spine, but you can’t quite tell if you like it or not.

"No, I just needed to get some things to stock up the infirmary."

You dared to look up into his eyes for a moment, before glancing away and letting out a small laugh. "I don't think I'd much be able to hide from you anyways." Maul lets out a one note chuckle. You've gotten a surprising amount of those from him; He seems to get a decent amount of entertainment value out of you.

The entertainment might almost be more so of a predator swatting at it's meal before it takes the killing bite, but it also might just be because his entire being is so naturally domineering.

"You are right that you wouldn’t. I would delight in your trying, however."

The way he stares at you could boil your blood, and holding the box of bacta containers in your hands you quickly move to scuttle by him.

"I, I have to get going."

Quickly you snuffle around the giant Zabrak and out of the storage room, attempting to make it down to the main medical bay where your tiny, private office resides. The box of bacta containers is gripped tight in your hands and you think you're almost home free, until people start looking in your direction and quickly begin peeling off as far to either side of the hall then can get; Almost stricken with fear. You realize why when you look over your shoulder, and see a swaft of black flowing fabric standing out from the legions of grey uniforms. A small amount of red skin with brilliant black tattoos stand out against the billowing cloak, giving no doubt as to who it is.

He's following you.

And there’s that feeling again, that you always get that tells you he’s close; You’d have known he was behind you even if you hadn’t turned your head.

It makes you move faster, walking as fast as you can through the minimally busy hallway. But you just know he’s getting closer; Your heart thumping against your chest. It seemed he was right that you had no chance in hiding from him, because you didn’t have the chance to start.

Once he gets within your reach he claps a hand on your left shoulder tight, and instantly begins guiding you. You can't do anything but follow, into exactly where you'd actually been heading. The medical office is unsurprisingly empty, and you'd never been so thankful for such a thing as the box of bacta containers nearly spills as you sit it down on a table, only for Maul to push you against it.

"I don’t recall ever dismissing you."

He was right; you’re never supposed to leave without being dismissed when in the company of someone of a higher station.

“I’ve seen many harshly punished for less insubordinate behavior.”

Your stomach presses into the edge of the table, feeling the heat of his body through your clothing. It makes you take a breath in, unable to let it out from how tight your chest feels.

This isn’t the first time things have become this, close. Each time has been farther and farther, wearing you down. Maybe it’s his way of flirting, maybe it’s him seeing how fast he can get you to crumble underneath him. At one point you stopped being petrified at not knowing; As while you can still feel how your heart is racing from fear, it’s also racing from the feeling of his body against yours.

“I’m sorry, Lord.” He almost laughs at your apology, clearly amused by it.

“So obedient.” His hands are rough and unforgiving, but not as painful, as you might’ve expected.

"Do you treat all your superiors with the same impeccable manners?" If he was someone else you'd have blindly said yes; But with Maul you dare to be honest. In your previous interactions he hasn’t seemed to mind when you slip up, so this time you dare to do it on purpose.

"No." He gets amusement out of it, for sure. Laughing as he presses on your shoulder enough to force your body to fully bend over the table. You don’t know why you’ve let your body be so malleable, having to cough to avoid letting out a less than un-approving noise as the way your feel his hand between your shoulderblades.

"Good. I think I'll keep it all to myself." One of his hands grips the waistband of your pants and begins moving them, scraping against your skin as they get pulled down; A rarely degree of mercy, as you felt he wouldn't care if it came off in one piece or not. Your underwear come off with them, cinched around your thighs.

You don't know exactly when he'd adjusted his robes but at some point he clearly had, as the shape and hotness of his cock against your ass is more than instantly recognizable. The motion is enough to make your body even hotter, feeling the way your cunt becomes slick with your own juices as he grinds between your outer lips. He’s not gentle; His body is rough and hard the table creaking underneath you as he presses against you, feeling his nails against your skin as he grips your clothing for leverage.

He grinds on your cunt for a short while longer before pressing his cock against your entrance and slowly pushing inside, listening to the way you gasp as your cunt tightens around him. He’s fucking you deep and slow, burying his cock inside of you before feeling your tight pussy fight his attempt to pull from you.

But once his cock is entirely slick with your juices he suddenly pulls entirely from you, cunt fluttering from the feeling of suddenly being empty. It surprises you and for a split second you almost fear he’s had his fun and was going to leave, until you feel him pressing against your ass. Your hands grip tight against the table as he ever so slowly pushes his way inside of you, unbeknownst to you keenly watching the way your muscles tighten and back arches.

He’s slow, almost agonizingly so and letting your body ever so slowly adjust to the intrusion. The moment he bottoms out inside of you again it feels like you're stuffed to the absolute brim, swallowing a knot in your throat and trying not to moan as he begins pulling your ass on and off his cock. Quickly you feel your stomach twisting in knots again as he fucks you, feeling the juices from your cunt leak down your thighs. But there’s a little part of you than can take more, mewling at the way you feel his nails leaving scratches on your skin.

Part of you might feel a little bold demanding something of a Sith but then again, you think the chain of command is more than a little bit broken here.

"Harder," You call out to him, listening to him let out an amused chuckle.

“Whatever happened to those impeccable manners?”

He says, wanting you to beg. It’s obvious, in his voice and the way he slows down enough that your senses aren’t as overwhelmed as they were. The feeling of knots in your stomach and the throbbing of your clit starts fading away, only coming back when he moves and dares to give you a taste of what he’s no longer giving you. You can’t hold out for long, not when he’s edging you like this and forcing you to beg.

“Please, I-, Please Lord harder,”

He listens to your request, the sound of his hips against your thighs louder as he batters your ass. It feels like he's going to shove you through the table if he keeps this up, thrusting into you as your muscles tighten around him.

Even as your cunt aches for something to fill it tightening around nothing you still feel yourself leaking against your inner thighs, feeling your stomach in knots and lower body jolting as he grinds against every single nerve. It feels absolutely overwhelming as he fucks you, like he's setting your body on fire as you moan and bite your lip.

You’re whispering profanities under your breath only seems to spur him on harder, and looking over your shoulder, you notice the way his eyes are slightly hooded; Looking down at the way your ass bounces on his cock. His robes are disheveled and you can see the way his chest is somewhat heaving, as his lips are parted slightly.

Even if you'd love to stare at the way his aloof facade has left ever so slightly in just your company, you instinctively move to look forward as your thighs press together and another loud moan gets just barely caught in your throat. Your knuckles are tense as you grip the table tight, mewling as you cum ass tightening around him.

In your mind for a moment you thought about being quiet; That anyone could walk by and hear either of you, but in the end it came of nothing. Not even a hand over your mouth, letting out a shameless moan now as you feel his hands gripping your hips hard enough you'd swear it'll bruise.

It makes you shiver when he removes one hand from your hips and slowly his nails trail up your thigh to your ass, leaving scratches on your skin. It's not enough to bleed, but it is enough to leave noticeable marks and make you gasp. Then his hand wraps around your hip again, body leaning forward as if trying to thrust as deep into you as he possibly can, and even deeper. It feels like his cock is in your stomach as his body presses on yours, skin feeling hotter than it should be.

He freezes in place cock throbbing inside of you as he finishes, sharp nails leaving marks on your skin. He’s throbbing and you swear you can feel the way he cums so much inside of you, heat pooling in your gut.

You don’t even think he’s finished when a hand comes to your neck and moves your clothing, before you suddenly feel your lips and teeth against your neck. He bites down hard enough to make you take a sharp inhale of breath, but you don’t feel any blood. It still stings when his mouth moves away from your skin, and he leans to stand upright.

When he pulls out you can feel cum leak down, trailing onto your thighs and cunt. It feels hot but not as hot as your skin does, entire body flush and stuffy beneath your clothes. Your body twitches as he trails one finger up your thigh and cunt, wiping alone the cum he'd just left moments ago. It would be a pity to waste, he thinks.

As much as you’d like to lounge and enjoy a breather, perhaps try and process what’s happened and how you’d manage to get from one thing to here, this is a busy flagship; You have duties and superiors hounding you. You can’t relax, as much as Maul might be an incredible temptation to do so.

You can barely gather your wits about you in a normal amount of time, trying to desperately at least pull your clothes into order. Quite obviously you'll have to clean up, once Maul takes his leave. The supplies you grabbed are still just haphazardly placed aside, almost falling off the table.

Much to your surprise however when you stumble attempting to fix your pants Maul actually catches your by the bicep, keeping you from tripping completely over. He's silent about it, and you finish getting dressed somewhat normally. The sterile lights in the room are hideously bright, and you don't think you've even seen Maul in a room this lit up. They shine against his skin in such a way that the red of his skin is even more vibrant, as well as the gold speckles in his eyes.

It's more than enough to distract you even while Maul eyes you more than a little confused as to why you seem almost dazed, before suddenly you're jolted out of your trance.

There's the sound of the door opening and your name, and quickly you attempt to look over yourself and make sure you're presentable before one of your superiors, who is entering the room after a short knock and you speaking a sentence of acknowledgment before his entering cut you off. Your superior wastes no time clearly, and instantly begins reprimanding you.

"You were supposed to be at your post an h-” He stops, recognizing the red skin and black fabric instantly. It's with that he gains significantly more formality, going ramrod straight and clearing his throat.

"A thousand pardons, Darth. But I have need of-"

"She is busy."

The commander visibly stutters for a moment at the harsh declaration, directly in opposition to his own, before attempting to continue speaking.

"I understand that believe me, but she is needed in-"

"Are you going to make me repeat myself?"

You can't help but glance up at Maul, watching the way his tense jaw moves muscles stretching his tattoos. Quickly with his tail between his legs your commanding officer nods and takes his leave, once more leaving you and the Sith on your own.

“It seems your superior has a temper un-befitting of their abilities.” Maul says, and you shrug.

“It’s not like I have much a choice in the matter.” He hums, and starts walking while you stay put. When he realizes you have he looks at you as if waiting, and in your trot to move up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

There is no way you’ll be able to hide the bite mark he gave you with the clothing you have on now, as it’s so high up your neck and bright red. With a sigh of defeat, you leave it exposed and go on to follow.

#Me when I first looked at this ask: 👁👄👁#a woman who knows what she wants #Have I ever thirsted for Darth Maul before? No. Did writing this convert me a little? Yes.#darth maul x reader #Darth Maul/Reader #the clone wars x reader #mywriting

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multifandomwritings · 3 years

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dark maul huh? 👀👀 got any relationship HCs for him? up to you if the reader is a jedi or sith or what~~

Ahh yay will do, hope you like them!! :) (This got long sorry, and I still have more thoughts/forgot so much so there might be more after this lol) Sorry for any mistakes!

Star Wars | Darth Maul general relationship headcanons (part 2)

- Obviously, a relationship with Maul would take a while to actually initiate (as with most of the people I write for really) he wouldn't easily allow anyone to get close to him, let alone to that extent

- Doesn't have a 'type', at all, considering he wouldn't even really be thinking of that kind of thing. Though I can see him being drawn to someone that was patient and gentle with him, kind of his opposite? Someone that just treated him like no one had before really. Or someone that openly challenged him and was more outspoken with him. Or both??

- Also, as I sort of touched on already (and discussed recently!!) he has Mr. Darcy energy and would express himself similar to how he does! It wouldn't matter how long you were together, he would still pine and long and stare from afar

- A relationship with him would be either ridiculously slow or fast-paced. He'd either connect with someone right away despite himself, and would pursue you begrudgingly to sate his own curiosity, or he'd keep you at arms length while quietly pining away and trying to sort through his feelings

- Just as focused about a relationship as he is everything else. He'd almost be overwhelming with how intense he can be. Would fixate on you a lot, and it wouldn't wear off at all over time either

- You would become his main focus, and he wouldn't be ashamed to admit it. Although, he'd be less inclined to admit that your relationship would distract him from his many other pursuits (not that he would complain. And as if it would really matter, because he'd still be the most determined, proactive person around lol)

- Very dramatic and passionate. He'd be more reserved about his new and unfamiliar feelings at first. But when he admitted them, it would but in such a beautifully put way. Somehow he wouldn't even seem to notice himself, as he'd only be detailing what he had been experiencing, not realizing how it sounded

- He would get so attached to you. He craves companionship and a sort of give/take relationship where he relies on you and you on him. He'd probably mistake that for wanting you to be his apprentice at first, until he could work through his feelings

- He's really only used to rough and violent touches. Tenderness and affection are little known to him, partially because he's so hardened and almost rejects it. So it would take him a while to get used to any kind of softness, any gentle touches and such

- And his own affection and feelings for you would be roughly shown for that reason. His words would always be beautifully put, his touches leaving you flustered, but there would be a hardness and a reservedness to them that would wear off more and more over time as he opened up

- Physically melts into your touches. If you so much as cupped your hand to his cheek, he'd instinctively move into it, leaning into your touch. Somehow both tenses up and relaxes completely, eyeing you with the same intimidating look that he had grown used to constantly wearing. But there would be a glimpse of something else in his eyes, an admiration and amazement that was reserved just for you

- If he had an S/O, in my opinion, he would be completely wrapped around their finger — and happily, willingly so. Like I said, that need for companionship, that want to feel needed and the intensity that he naturally has, all of that would be directed toward one special person. His words would be like those written from old romance novels and the actions and gestures that would follow would be beautiful in a way only he could pull off

- You would see glimpses of his personality he doesn't usually share with others. His more humorous, teasing, playful sides that would be unrestrained around you, a sign that he was genuinely comfortable with you

- Would develop a habit of calling you whatever nickname comes to mind in the moment. Normally it would be more basic stuff like darling, love, things like that. But other times it would be way more specific and random lol

- Very protective and defensive of you. Always the first to speak in your favor, as well and speak up for you if someone even made the tiniest negative suggestion about you

- Also really sweet and thoughtful, in his own way. Whatever pursuits and aspirations you might have, he would encourage wholeheartedly, often believing in you and your abilities even more than you would. And if you had negative things to say about yourself/insecurities, I think he would understand more than he'd let on. But he wouldn't understand how you could see anything negative in yourself as he would always see the best in you

- Clings to your every word and really mulls them over. Especially any sweet words directed toward him. He hasn't been on the receiving end of many, so they would really stick with him. Also the type to remember every little detail about you in the most casual way, as if it was to be expected

#darth maul x reader #darth maul x you #darth maul x y/n #darth maul imagines #darth maul imagine #darth maul headcanons #darth maul #maul imagines #maul x reader #maul x you #maul x y/n #maul imagine

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years

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Star Wars Aus

I have so many star wars time travel aus in my head. writing fanfiction is really, really hard (mad props, no idea how you do it). it is 1:26am. and i have come here to shout into the void.

crack/rock star fluff fix it: obi wan several years post ROTS travels back to the very beginning of TPM. Had enough time to mostly process/repress Order 66 and imagine 10000 if-i-had only-done-things-differently, so after a fairly brief freak out he can pass off as an intense force vision, he’s a pretty effective time traveler. Frees Anikan AND Shmi, keeps qui-gon from dying, properly kills maul on Naboo. Anikan is brought to the creche so he has time to befriend other initiates and learn Jedi culture before becoming a padawan. Obi wan is a young knight, he privately tutors Anikan and works with him on his issues and also his issues. The very first second Palpatine starts sniffing around he point blank tells Anikan do not let yourself be alone with him, I can’t explain completely but trust me and Anikan does.

Obi wan also has the independence to go off on missions and start covertly undoing only-visible-in-hindsight complicated sith conspiracies that have been eroding the republic and trying to gather actual evidence to take Chancellor Palpatine down cleanly without people turning on the Jedi. Doesn’t confide in anyone because a) he’s still a crazy hermit man and b)his biggest advantage is that Sideous has no idea he’s on to him. He has to disable all the back up destroy-the-Jedi plots before he plays his hand.

But this is all just background plot for the real meat of this au! Which is Obi Wan Kenobi is secretly a famous mystery pop star! Bear with me!

Obi Wan needs covert money to work against sideous.

He has knowledge of the future! Easy money.

He could invest in stocks or gamble on famous races, but...

��Just in case his covert ploting and secret money ever gets uncovered (yeah, he’s Xanatos gambiting) he needs his source of space cash to be clean, and not seem like everyone’s worst fears about Jedi seers.

What was that ridiculously viral pop song towards the end of the clone wars that got stuck in every human and near-humans head? That never stopped playing on space radio? That obi wan of course knows all the words to because its the most viral, slightly irritating but so catchy song ever made?

And wasn’t the guy who wrote it just, the worst? Like, Obi Wan wasn’t exactly following celebrity gossip, but towards the end of the songs replays someone would feel the need to ‘you know what that guy does to’- ‘yes. its a pirated version’. R Kelly problematic. Absolutely fine stealing his art before he makes it, noble even.

And hey, Obi Wan’s got a decent singing voice.

So! Obi Wan goes down a few levels. He finds a sketchy recording studio, picks up some backup musicians from dive bars, and records a demo.

The song goes out from a big recording studio who got it from a small recording studio who got it from an agent who got it from a lawyer who got it from a mysterious B.K who never reveals his face, who was absolutely convinced it would go viral, just protect the copyright, don’t ask or answer any questions, and channel the money into these discrete untraceable accounts and you can be ridiculously wealthy.

It takes a year or two, Obi Wan is a little concerned that the cultural influences just didn’t come together. or he didn’t replicate the recording perfectly enough. oh well.

And then it becomes an even bigger hit then the original timeline

He has enough money to fund his one man campaign against the trade federation. Success.

B.K’s mystery identity fuels a ravening, obsessive fanbase. The random band he picked up become overnight stars, and they literally have never seen B.K’s face, he appeared out of the ether, paid them in beer for a couple days while they jammed together and arranged with the lawyer for them to get a cut of the proceeds ‘once the song took off’

A few people who know obi wan do make jokes that the singer kind-of sounds like him. Bant and Garen tease him a little and try to get him to come to space karaoke to sing it but they never actually think its him.

Qui-Gon, who listened to him sing in the shower for a decade asks him about it the first time he hears the song and Obi-Wan just acts offended that he things he would write trash like that. He’s still a little suspicious but he know Ob-Wan doesn’t even like pop music so he just chalks it up to the force working in mysterious ways.

Quinlan is convinced its him. Obi-Wan won’t flat out deny anything, just scoffs and responds sarcastically. It drives him absolutely insane. Because it is just such a stupid song and Obi-Wan writes sad poetry how did this happen. WHO even are you. Makes conspiracy boards with yarn. Obsesses over it. Tracks him and finds him doing convert anti-trade federation/banking clans stuff. HOW DO YOU HAVE TIME TO DO THIS AND BE A SECRET POP STAR.

#star wars #star wars au #my au #crack #secret pop star wars au #sw #sw au no 3 #star wars au no 3 #pop star wars au

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lorenfangor · 3 years

Text

an incomplete examination of AniTV

so I’ve finished season 1 of AniTV now, watching it in earnest for the first time ever (late to the party, but I’ve always known it was bad, and now’s the first time I’ve wanted to have anything to do with it) and I’ve come away with three main sets of feelings

things that they did as well as the books or in some cases better:

Tobias’s ridiculously emotionally intense reunion with holo!Elfangor, which was brilliantly acted compared to a lot of the other acting on the show and made me feel a lot of things. I think it’s more satisfying actually that he gets his morphing back this way as opposed to the Ellimist, but I’m aware I might just be saying that because I love this family

“The Capture, Part 2″ is also just fucking great. Temrash being smart and everyone else being smarter, Temrash flirting with Cassie and quasi-flirting with Tobias, and Temrash inadvertently leading the team to another Pool entrance? All great. It’s a solid bottle episode and it gives the kids’ actors a chance to really shine

since the kids are all high schoolers and their actors are adults there’s a lot more immediate established chemistry between Rachel and Tobias, which makes their relationship feel fleshed out more quickly than in the books, where they’re a lot more will they/won’t they about how they feel

Ax eating and interacting with humanity isn’t better than the books but it’s often just as good, with a special shoutout to the scene where he tries to get Tom to watch women’s weightlifting in an effort to blend in after hearing from Marco that guys talk about girls and sports

Jake gleefully eating escargot in front of Visser Three in human morph and Controller!Tom

Actual!Tom getting a scene where he encourages another host to keep fighting

things they did way worse that they could have done better:

I’m purposefully choosing to focus on things that aren’t “get a better budget” or “get better production design” so this is primarily about writing and story structure

There’s no reason that Rachel and Tobias should have as much hinted history and relationship as they do but nothing actually depicted onscreen. From the start, even in the alternate-universe episode, Rachel thinks Tobias is cute and charming, and she saves him from bullies rather than Jake doing it. We get the sense that they liked each other before he went nothlit, and we’re also shown that she has a secret bird morph solely for visiting him with. Relationship drama is cheap!

Jake/Cassie only comes up in the context of Temrash flirting with her to try and seduce her into letting him go and that’s Bad. Again, human relationship drama is cheap to film

If the writers had introduced morphing detectors earlier and used them more consistently, we could have more justification for why the kids have to spend so much time out of morph and sneaking around

actually there should have been in-universe justification for a lot of the budget elements - the flashlight Dracon beams were modified so that Controllers could carry them and not be stopped by Earth police or security, Tobias’s hawk actor having ties on his legs is so that people watching him spend time with Rachel in a park or in the woods don’t assume he’s a wild animal attacking her, the Blade Ship controls being an audio rig is because they were hastily retrofitted to fit human hands with salvaged equipment, Visser Three and Ax have to be in human morph because Earth is hostile to Andalites. things being cheap or looking like shit can be interesting, just ask Classic Who fans, but things being cheap and the production never acknowledging this or making it feel campy and fun just comes across like nobody cares

Marco is the most inconsistently written of any of the main cast, and the most “racist stereotype” of them too.

Why is everyone’s name changed? Why did Steve, Jean, Michelle, and Peter become Greg, Nikki, Aisha, and Jeremy?

actually this show is weirdly racist in a lot of ways and it’s very jarring after the books

what the fuck did I just watch, and why:

everything Esplin does with his tailblade is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen

Ax and Visser Three “fighting” by throwing punches and shoving one another

the It’s A Wonderful Life episode that dares to taunt me with “Tobias is the only one who met Elfangor” but does nothing with it

the Ellimist looking like a Star Wars hologram and sending Rachel back from the Bad Future with a knife

Jake and Marco’s Blade Ship joyride that for some reason ends with a swamp crash and them just abandoning it

Visser One is an evil gardener now

Rachel only mauls like two people which feels like a crime against her character

Ax getting lassoed like a wild mustang

#animorphs #anitv

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stormyoceansmain · 3 years

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[im very much NOT a writer - i cannot stress this enough - but i truly mean it when i say sambucky is making me go insane. i find no other explanation for ending up writing 3.8k words of sambucky, alpine, and movie night. thank you if you decide to read this, i hope it's not too terrible]

Sam shows up at Bucky’s place for movie night with a case full of beers and ten minutes to spare.

Sarah makes fun of him for this Friday tradition they’ve been carrying out for the past few months, says he should just muster the courage to ask Bucky out on a proper date already. It doesn't matter how many times Sam told her he is just helping Bucky catch up to the 21st century, she always ends up giving him that Look that says she's not believing any words coming out of his mouth, which is kind of unfair, if you ask Sam.

Well, fine, maybe Sarah is right. Maybe Sam does want to take Bucky out on an actual date and hold his hand and kiss him goodnight and do all those sickeningly romantic stuff he used to daydream about when he was 16. Turns out former assassins who are incredibly annoying but also surprisingly kind are very much Sam's type. Go figure.

Still, they worked hard to reach the kind of friendship they currently have, and Sam doesn't want to lose that. He's also not blind to the way Bucky flirts with Sarah, and despite her insistence that Bucky does it more to rile Sam up than for any real interest in her, he’s not about to risk it all on a whim.

This resolution almost crumbles into dust a moment later, when Bucky opens the door wearing sweatpants and a blue shirt that matches his eyes. He is barefoot and his hair is getting longer, losing the harsh edges of the cut and curling slightly behind his ears. He is still all chiseled jawline and defined muscles, but he looks softer, more comfortable in his own skin, and the easy way he smiles at Sam makes a heavy warmth pool around Sam’s stomach.

“Hey,” Bucky greets him, sliding his metal arm around Sam's shoulders to pull him into a brief hug.

This, too, is something of a novelty. There's always been a sort of intense physicality about Bucky, both in how he carries himself and in how he is always aware of the bodies moving around him, but the casual affection, the playful abandon with which he touches and lets others touch him these days, feels like a wonder. Sam would have never expected it, and he had come to love and hate it at the same time.

“Hey yourself,” Sam greets back, splaying his free hand across Bucky's back, allowing himself to hold him there and breathe him in for a second, a fresh lemony smell coming off his hair, before giving him a quick pat on the shoulder and putting a respectable amount of space between them.

He buries his hands deep into the pocket of his jacket and follows Bucky inside, trying to resist the urge to slide his fingers under the hem of Bucky's shirt and feel the warm skin underneath it.

It's the first time Sam steps into Bucky’s apartment since Bucky took home the stray kitten he found on the side of the road three weeks ago, and the changes around it are staggering. Sam was used to empty spaces and few, essential furniture, but now the space in front of the window is occupied by a giant cat tower, and lots of smaller scratching posts are scattered all over the living room, along with different kinds of cat beds and toys.

“I see you redecorated,” Sam says with a grin.

Bucky shrugs, opening two of the beer bottles with a quick twist of his metal hand. “Cats need stuff.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I'm glad.” Sam grabs one of the bottle and clinks it against Bucky's. “Pets are great company and the place looks much better like this. I wouldn't have pinned you down as the crazy cat lady type, but it's always better than Robocop.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his beer. Sam catches the smile he is trying to hide anyway.

Sam knocks their shoulders together, asks, “So where is she?”

“Hiding, probably,” Bucky says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “She doesn't like strangers.”

Sam stops with the beer halfway to his mouth. “Excuse you,” he exclaims, outraged. “I very clearly remember accompanying you to the vet the first time you brought her in. I also sacrificed two of my shirts for her and have scars on my forearms where she scratched me to death. I think I deserve more than being considered a stranger. We basically co-parented that cat for the first few days!”

“That's nice,” Bucky deadpans. “Why don't you go tell her that? I'm sure the speech will convince her to keep the claws to herself.”

Sam glares at him and Bucky pats him on the arm. “Just relax,” he adds, turning to open the fridge and taking foods out for dinner. “If we let her be, Alpine will come out eventually.”

Bucky is right, of course. Sam had a few experiences with strays growing up, cats and dogs alike looking for shelter from Louisiana's storms under their porch, and no amount of treats he and Sarah tried to give them had been able to lure them out from their hiding spot. The best course of action in these cases was to wait, letting them come out when they felt safe enough.

It still weirdly feels like a rejection of some sort, but he tries not to let it show.

Sam takes a swig from his beer and asks, “Alpine?”

Bucky turns on the stove and shrugs again. He remains silent for a moment, a distant look on his face that Sam has learned to associate to memories better buried and forgotten. He is about to start telling Bucky about the science fair at the boys' school to change the subject, when Bucky speaks again, low and careful.

“She reminds me of the snow on the Alps.”

He doesn't elaborate on that, but Sam nods anyway, like he understands. He doesn't, like Bucky will never be able to fully understand what it means for Sam to carry the shield, but it's okay. They have each other, and that's still something.

Sam taps his foot against Bucky's bare one, watches Bucky's entire being exhale and relax. “Couldn't you have named her Snowflakes or something like that?”

Bucky levels him with a stare that tells him he would rather jump off another plane rather than calling his cat ‘Snowflakes’, and Sam laughs.

The far off look in Bucky’s eyes melts away and they fall into an easy rhythm, Sam sitting at the kitchen table and talking about some renovations he and Sarah would like to do to the house, Bucky cutting the vegetables to sauté.

They have moved on to argue about the best way to season chicken breasts – you cannot leave cayenne pepper out of the spice blend – when Sam catches a flash of white out of the corner of his eyes, and interrupts himself mid-rant.

A second later, Alpine jumps on the kitchen counter, sniffing the air.

It's been only three weeks since Sam last saw her, but she's already grown a lot, and looks much better too: her fur is shiny and clean, her eyes bright, and the slight sprain that caused her to limp around seems to be completely healed.

Alpine lets out a soft chirping sound and headbutts Bucky's arm, rubbing her head against him.

The smile Bucky turns to her is blinding, and Sam has to look away before he ends up doing something stupid, like climb over the table and kiss him.

“I know you're here for the chicken,” Bucky tells her, scratching her behind the ears. “But you can't eat this one.”

He scoops her up with a single hand, ignoring the disapproving meow that follows, and deposits her on the table right next to Sam's arm. Sam freezes, unprepared for the sudden proximity and recalling how quickly she can turn around and scratch, but as soon as Bucky's hand retreats, she is moving away, giving Sam a wide berth. She doesn't go back into hiding, though, just settles on the corner farther away from him and stares him down in a way that reminds him so much of Bucky, Sam doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry.

He is also struck by the sudden need to make Alpine like him.

“Is she gonna maul me if I try to give her a treat?” Sam asks.

Bucky tilts his head, considering, which does very little to reassure Sam about the safety of his fingers.

“I wouldn’t try hand-feeding her,” Bucky answers, fishing out a bag of treats from one of the cupboards. “But she likes to chase them.”

Alpine observes with quiet intensity as Bucky dumps a few treats into Sam's hands, and when Sam tosses one a few feet away she jumps down the table and runs after it, grabs it with a paw.

“Alright,” Sam declares, “that's pretty cute.”

Sam spends the next few minutes throwing treats at Alpine, inching them closer and closer to himself to test how willing she is to get near him with the proper incentive. The last one he places right in front of his feet, then he sits back and waits. Alpine hesitates, eyes flitting between him and the treat as to evaluate if it's safe enough, until finally she starts to move, slowly, slowly. She gets close enough to stretch her paw out, pull the treat towards herself and take it out of reach to eat somewhere else. Sam still takes it as a win.

Bucky clears his throat and announces that dinner is ready, so Sam leaves Alpine alone and helps him set the table.

Dinner is nice. Bucky makes a glazed chicken with honey and garlic that it's to die for, which Sam finds utterly unfair, considering he comes from a time where spices were believed to be a menace to the public.

He still goes back for seconds, and by the time they move to the living room to watch the movie, Sam feels full and content.

He finds Alpine curled up on one end of the couch, and while he believes they made some progress in their relationship, he doesn’t think either of them is ready to bring it to the next level, so he takes the seat on the other side, careful not to disturb her.

Bucky doesn’t say anything about it, just flops down between Sam and the cat with ease, his knee bumping into Sam’s.

This week they are watching the second movie in The Hobbit trilogy, if only for the horrified look in Bucky’s face when Sam told him that not only they made a movie out of the book, but that they actually managed to stretch it into three. Bucky, it turns out, is one of those people who notices every little changes from the original material, disapproves of them on principle, and is very vocal about his displeasure, exactly like the old man he actually is.

Sam had almost fell off the couch laughing during the first movie, and it had taken him a while to convince Bucky to give the other two a chance. Maybe it was a little assholey of him, knowing that it only gets worse, but just because he likes the guy it doesn’t mean Sam doesn’t want to subject him to some bad cinema for his own entertainment. After all, that’s what friends are for.

It doesn't take long for the comments to start up again. Bucky holds up for thirty minutes, rolling his eyes and grumbling under his breath from time to time, but then Legolas and Tauriel show up and Bucky turns his head to look at Sam, face completely blank, says, “Who the fuck are these people.”

Sam bursts out laughing, and it only gets worse when they reach the scene between Kili and Tauriel in the Woodland Realm: Bucky throws his hands up, exclaims, “Oh, come on,” and starts complaining about how they made the dwarf hot just to add a romance. It has Sam in stitches, and he has to grab onto Bucky's shoulder to stay upright and not end up falling into Bucky's lap.

The tirade ends with Bucky sulking and shaking his head, and Sam is glad for the temporary reprieve just so he can catch his breath. He feels flushed and warm, cheeks hurting from smiling, and the quiet is comfortable, familiar.

After a while, his eyes grow heavy, and he realizes he nodded off only when a light weight sets on his shoulder, jerking him awake.

The movie has ended, screen back on the Netflix title page, and Bucky fell asleep as well, head drooping until it had come to rest against Sam’s body.

The metal arm is glinting gold and blue in the light, and Sam stares down at it, then up at the lines of Bucky’s face, the soft waves of his hair. It always surprises him how vulnerable Bucky looks like this, how younger, and it’s so hard to remember there was a time Sam had actually been scared of him, of what he could do. Now, he would trust Bucky with anything. His life, his family, his home. His heart, too, if Bucky ever wanted it.

Sam knows he should wake him up, send him to bed so he can sleep comfortably there while Sam stretches out on the couch, but he also knows that Bucky still has trouble sleeping sometimes, and Sam doesn't have the heart to wake him up if it isn't really necessary. He’s well aware it's also a little bit selfish, because it's nice, having Bucky this close, warm and solid and smelling of lemon.

Sam takes a deep breath and rests his head on top of Bucky's. He thought he could handle this thing he has for Bucky, keep it under control, but he’s starting to realize he might have actually underestimated the size of his own feelings, which could become a serious problem in the future.

For now, though, Sam closes his eyes and lets himself have this.

The next time Sam wakes up, it's to something walking all over him. He blinks against the sudden light and when his vision clears, he finds Alpine sitting on his lap.

Sam stares at her, wondering for a moment if he is still asleep and dreaming all of this up, but his neck is sore, his arm heavy from Bucky resting against it in his sleep; there’s the beginning of a headache pulsing behind is eyes, and a pressure in his bladder telling him he should probably get up.

Alpine sniffs at his shirt and Sam tentatively raises his free hand, strokes a finger between her ears. She leans into the touch, head tilting up and guiding Sam's hand under her chin. Sam tries really hard not to shriek with delight.

“Oh, you're a sweetheart,” he says, a grin spreading out across his face. “Just like your owner. All tough and fierce on the outside, but adorable and charming on the inside.”

Alpine meows back at him, like she agrees with that statement, and Sam tenses up, glances at the steady rise and fall of Bucky's chest.

“We gotta be quiet,” he tells Alpine, petting her down her side. “We don't want to wake him up.”

“I'm already awake,” comes Bucky's voice next to him.

Sam's entire body jerks in surprise, and Alpine leaps off him, startled.

“Man, don't you do that ever again,” Sam says, a hand placed over his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Bucky hums, sounding way more amused than he has any right to be, and sits up.

Blood rushes back into Sam's arm, and while Sam is glad to start feeling it again, he's already mourning the loss of contact between them. Except Bucky doesn't go far, just adjusts his position to angle his body towards Sam and rest his head on the back of the couch. It's easier to look at each other, like this, but they are now so close that Bucky's soft breaths are hitting the exposed line of skin above Sam's shirt, the hollow of his neck, making him shiver.

“So,” Bucky says, dragging the word out, lips tilting up at the corner. “I'm adorable and charming?”

Shit.

Of course Bucky would hear that, that's just Sam's luck. God, he is never going to speak again. He will take a vow of silence like in one of those monastic orders and move some place far and secluded where he won't be able to embarrass himself anymore.

He swallows, makes himself let out a laugh. It's meant to be mocking, but it sounds more nervous than anything else. “I think old age is making you hear things,” Sam still tries to deflect, “I clearly said annoying and self-centered.”

Bucky jabs him in the side with a metal finger. “Nice try, Samuel,” Bucky says, grinning widely. “But I've been told I'm a sweetheart.”

Sam's cheeks heat up. “I was talking about Alpine!”

He wonders if maybe T'Challa would let him hide in Wakanda for a while, just long enough for Sam to regain some kind of dignity. He hopes against all hopes that Bucky will have mercy of him and drop the subject, but of course Bucky doesn't. Sam wouldn't either, if their roles were switched.

“You said she is like her owner,” Bucky points pout, eyes bright and so very blue. He pokes Sam in the ribs again. “Which means, you think I’m a sweetheart, too.”

Sam bats his hand away. He may have embarrassed himself and he's lucky if he ends up this night without Bucky realizing Sam has feelings for him, but he is Captain frigging America. If he has to go down, he will go down fighting.

“What you are, it’s a nuisance,” Sam says. “And a creep. Who the hell pretends to be asleep when they are actually awake?”

“I wasn't pretending, you just assumed I was still sleeping.”

“Anyone would assume that, if you don't say anything.”

“I thought you were going to move as soon as you woke up, it's not my fault you didn't.”

“I was trapped between your heavy ass and your cat. What's your excuse for not moving?”

The argument comes to a halt, an awkward silence stretching between them as Bucky lowers his eyes, scratches the back of his neck. He clears his throat, shrugs.

“Your shoulder is nice,” he says in the end.

It's Bucky's turn to blush, a darker pink dusting his cheeks, and Sam feels like he missed something important.

“My shoulder?” Sam repeats.

Bucky doesn't answer him for a moment, then he straightens up on the couch, rolls back his shoulders like he is bracing himself. He looks up at Sam, and all Sam can see are his eyes.

“It’s comfortable,” Bucky whispers. “And I always sleep better when you’re around.”

Sam's mouth is suddenly very dry, and his heart is drumming against his chest in a way he has come to associate with diving down in midair, or dropping from a high place before his wings open up. This, too, feels a little like falling.

“Buck,” Sam says, because he thinks they are on the verge of something here, but he needs to be sure, doesn't want to mess this up and do something he's going to regret just because his head wants so desperately to see what's not actually there. “You gotta tell me if I'm reading this wro--”

Bucky kisses him.

It's a short kiss, just a soft press of Bucky's lips against his own and he's already gone, moving back to look at Sam with wide eyes, face open and vulnerable.

“Okay?” Bucky asks, and if he didn't sound so uncertain, like he's expecting Sam to push him away at any moment, Sam would laugh at how much of an idiot they both are.

Instead, he holds Bucky's chin between his fingers and pulls him back in. The kiss is deeper this time, turns into a wet slide of tongues and a harsh grate of stubble that makes Sam's insides feel tangled and hot. Bucky's arm slides around Sam's waist, and Sam moves his hand from Bucky's chin into his hair, grips it in a way that makes Bucky exhale sharply into his mouth. Sam wants to touch him everywhere, and he moves his free hand to do just that when a long, loud meow interrupts them.

They break apart just in time for Alpine to jump on the couch and sprawl in the space between them.

Bucky huffs out a small laugh, pets her from head to tail. He looks lovely, with his hair sticking up in odd places from Sam's fingers raking through it, his lips red from kissing, and Sam itches to go back for more, to lay him down and map every single part of Bucky's body with his mouth. He has, however, a horrible feeling about this.

“We will never be able to do anything with her around, won't we?” Sam asks, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Bucky sends him an amused smile. “Someone feels confident.”

Sam rolls his eyes, bumps their knees together. “Says the one who was about to climb on top of me.”

He's pretty sure he was the one grabbing and pulling Bucky closer, actually, but it doesn't seem like Bucky is going to call him out on it.

“It was a good kiss,” Bucky says, smile going soft at the edges, turning shyer.

“It really was,” Sam agrees, and because Sarah is always right, even if he'll never admit it in front of her, he adds, “Wanna go out on a proper dinner, see a movie? Maybe do the kissing part again?”

He's not expecting the way Bucky's lips drop down at those words, and Sam's heart sinks. Maybe he did read this wrong, after all. Maybe Bucky wanted to keep things casual, no string attached, and Sam just ruined everything. He tries to tell himself it was better to know that now, before things got too serious on his side, but it gives him very little comfort.

Bucky takes a deep breath, lets it out in a huff. “I don’t know, man,” he says. “If you make me watch another one of these godawful movies I’m afraid I'm gonna have to break up with you before this relationship even starts.”

Sam blinks at him, then bursts out laughing, sudden and loud. “God, you're an asshole,” he declares, but there's no heat behind it, and when he searches for Bucky's hand, Bucky intertwines their fingers together, places a kiss on the back of Sam's hand as an apology.

“I’m lucky you have terrible tastes, then,” Bucky says.

Sam really has questionable tastes, and if you had told him a few years ago that this was how his life was going to turn out, he would have probably laughed, or worse, tried to stop it from happening. But now, sitting there with Bucky grinning at him and Alpine purring between them, he feels lucky too.

#i don't have a solid enough grasp on the english language for any of this and yet here we are #you can easily spot where i didn't know what the hell i was doing #when i say im literally losing my mind over these two..#most self indulgent thing i've ever done im sorry for subjecting you to it #sambucky #winterfalcon #sam wilson #bucky barnes #alpine #also - embarrassingly enough - i started to write this before the video of bucky saying he wanted to move in with sam #otherwise i would have made them roommate

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

Text

The Alpha and The Omega Part 1

Alpha!Maul x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: A Jedi Padawan prepares for her trials to become a knight but learns something new about herself that leads to her having to leave the order. With a fear of the large galaxy and a new, unexpected companion she has to learn to live with herself and how to survive an unforgiving environment.

WARNINGS: fear, going into heat (no sex), nudity. A/B/O dynamics

A/N: Maul is not actually in this chapter. He shows up in the next just so everyone is aware. This chapter establishes what my version of an alpha and omega are. No y/n

NEXT MASTERLIST

You had never been so hungry in your life. Master Plo Koon, Master Qui Gon Jinn and your fellow padawan Obi Wan all watched you in various levels of amazement and bewilderment as you worked on your third helping of whatever kind of stew the cafeteria had prepared. Your master however, was chuckling under his de-oxygenator.

“Are you alright little one?” Qui Gon asked with a brow quirked. If you paid attention, you’d have guessed he was more impressed than his horrified padawan at the immense amount of food you were consuming. You couldn’t pause between each spoonful long enough to answer him so your master spoke.

“For the last few days, she’s been utterly insatiable.”

“Are you quite sure you don’t have a parasite or something?” Obi Wan asked with a concerned frown. Your only response was shooting him a glaring look before continuing to eat ravenously. Clearing your bowl, you stood and went to drop off your empty dish with the rest of the dirty dishes followed by your friend.

“I am starting to become concerned for my padawan. At first I assumed that the rise in her nerves were caused by her upcoming trials for her knighthood but I’m not so sure.”

“What else is going on with her?” Qui Gon eyed you as you left the cafeteria followed by Obi Wan, no doubt to continue your studies.

“She’s always struggled with controlling some of her stronger emotions but she has made immense improvements over the years under my tutelage. However, the last few days it almost seems like she’s reverted back. She’s not outward with them in the least but I can sense them through our bond. She’s incredibly quick to anger and sadness specifically.”

Qui Gon furrowed his brows and sat pensively for a moment before asking, “you don’t think she could be pregnant, do you?”

“No, that’s not an option. She hasn’t left the temple in months except for her training mission on Hoth and it was just the two of us. Over the last few months, she has been fervently preparing for her trials bouncing back and forth between the archives, the meditation gardens and sparing with various willing masters. Even if she did find the time, with how emotional she’s been I would’ve sensed something but I don’t think she even has any idea what’s going on.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I’ve always liked her and appreciated her friendship with my padawan. Have the healers take a look at her if you can convince her to let them.”

“Yes, that might be a good idea.”

You had in fact spent the remainder of the evening in the archives with your long-time friend Obi Wan attempting to study while dodging his various inquiries to your condition. At the end of the night, you fought the urge to slam the doors behind you while you urged him for the hundredth time that you were fine. Walking back to your sparse room in the living quarters you realized that you were in fact not fine. You had never felt anything but safe living here at the temple, surrounded by your peers and masters. Now though, a sense of dread formed in the pit of your stomach. You hadn’t the slightest clue as to why. Yes, your trials were approaching in the following months but you felt completely prepared for them.

Your skin felt hot under your robes and the second you entered your private quarters you stripped out of them, hopping through a quick cold shower. It only granted you a temporary relief and by the time you left the ‘fresher you were burning up and feeling way too exposed, even within the confines of your small room. You watched your hands pull the mattress off of its rails and onto the floor. Gathering up all of your spare blankets and robes you had, you bunched up a makeshift perimeter along the edges before climbing into the center and curling up, not bothering to dress before-hand.

Rest did not come to you that night. You woke frequently in cold shakes and waves of fear despite your best efforts to push them away, panic always on the edges of your mind and intense cramping in your abdomen.

The following morning when you had not come down for your first meal Master Plo reached out to you through the force, when he sensed your terror, he practically ran back to the living quarters, banging on your door. When you only answered with chocked whimpers, he unlocked the door with the force and drew his lightsaber. His initial worry was sated momentarily finding that you were alone but was quickly replaced when he saw the state you were it.

You lay in the center of your clumsily made ‘nest’ naked and covered in a thin sheet of sweat shivering violently. The only sounds that left you were terrified, incoherent mumbles, eyes widened in alarm.

“M- master… help me. I -… I don’t know what.. what’s happening,” you sobbed.

Plo removed his large brown cloak and quickly covered you with it. When you were properly concealed, he lifted you in his arms and rushed to the healers. Utterly confused by your state.

Hours of examinations and blood tests did nothing to sate your unease but did well to expand it. You had begged your master to stay by your side, clutching onto the one person you felt remotely safe around. He only left when one of the healers came to your bedside and beckoned him away with a worried look in her eye. It took several attempts to assure you that he would be right back, utter panic setting in once again once he left but you could feel the waves of tranquility he sent you through the force.

“What do her blood reports show?” he asked with his arms crossed.

“Well master that’s where it gets kind of tricky. She seems to be exhibiting symptoms of a heat cycle.”

“But, humans don’t go through heat cycles. Wait, do they?” Plo asked.

“No, they don’t. I tested her for exposure to various strains of the sex pollen but they all came up negative. To ease her pain, I gave her a dose of a common suppressant that some of our resident Jedi use to help their own cycles but it didn’t take. That led me to perform a genome test.”

“And did you find anything?”

“Yes, she has the Omega gene.”

“Oh… Oh. Well, that is, unfortunate...”

“She’s terrified and feeling exposed. I wanted to tell you first so you could decide if she should hear it from you or me. She seems to feel safest with you.”

Plo thought for a moment, “I think I should tell her.”

“What the fuck is an Omega gene?!” you were still shaking, trying to fight off the arousal that had taken root in your belly that swirled with your fright.

“It is an uncommon genome; its sole purpose is to ensure survival of a species. Most commonly men develop the Alpha and women the Omega although there are records of it being the other way around. Almost every species in the galaxy has at least a few Alphas and Omegas.”

“And the suppressants didn’t work because..?”

“Because it is stronger than a common heat cycle. It is a mutation that developed not just to ensure frequent breeding but survival of a species on a grand scale.”

You broke out into uncontrollable sobs; when your master tried to soothe you with a touch to your shoulder you jumped and growled at him, surprising you both before falling back into your distress.

Over the following weeks you could feel the change in your peers’ attitude towards you. They would snicker if you passed by and taunt you silently behind your back. You could feel the unease the masters felt when you came into close proximity. Even Master Qui Gon was hesitant around you. You did however still have Obi Wan. Still the loyal friend he had always been.

It took more searching than you thought but with his help you were able to find information cataloged by only one author.

“Did you really build a nest?” he asked, void of any judgement, looking over your shoulder at the writings.

“Yes, I did,” you said without taking your eyes off of the tome. “It says here that its genetic and pops up every few generations…”

“Your birth mother probably had no idea.”

“No, I don’t suppose she did. It says here I have scent glands? On my neck, my wrists, between my breasts and on my hips..” Obi wan leaned in and gave you an undignified sniff, you smacked him away.

“I can’t smell anything, just that minty shampoo you like so much.”

“That’s because you’re not an Alpha bantha brains,” you flustered.

“You don’t need to be rude about it,” he chuckled, “I’m just trying to lighten the mood here. You’ve been so sad since you found out. What, your heat will come once every few months right? It can’t be that bad.”

“It really is terrible; you have no idea. It’s not even the heat that I’m worried about.”

“Well, what has you so worked up then?”

“It says here that being an Omega is dangerous, the Alphas are often times violent and that they can smell me long before they see me… I’m safe here at the temple but what if they kick me out of the Order?”

“You’re not going to be kicked out.”

“I very well could be!” you pushed yourself out from behind the desk and huffed, “being a Jedi means no attachments, be one with the force, calm and collected, rational and compassionate. I am none of those things when the heat comes and no suppressants can stop it. What if it’s enough to pull me to the dark side? What if the council decides I am too big of a risk to everyone here to keep me around? Needs of the many always outweigh the needs of the few.”

Sure enough, it was less than a week before the council called you to stand before them. The room was silent, the faces that painted the members was grave. You could tell that whatever decision they came to was a long argued one. It was the look on your Master’s face that made a sadness ring through your heart.

“Do you know why we called you here?” Master Windu asked.

You inhaled deeply and sighed, “I think I have an idea..”

“Please understand padawan that if we had known you were an Omega, we wouldn’t have recruited you to the Order. We simply can’t have an Omega or an Alpha within our ranks.”

“I…I think I understand Master.”

“Understand how you feel, we do.” The Grandmaster said with a grave tone and a nod.

“Forgive me Master but, no, you don’t. With reason or not, I have had my birth family cast me out into your care because I was force sensitive and now, my second family does the same because of a gene I carry.” Your eyes flashed angrily. Abandoned again because of what you were. “I will gather my things and be gone before nightfall,” you turned on your heel and strode out of the council chambers, leaving the heavy sighs behind you as you fought tears.

When you finally reached your quarters the dam broke. Fat tears and wailing sobs poured out of you while your heart bled. Fear, pain, self-disgust all swirling in your mind. You had no idea what you were going to do, where you were going to go. You barely heard the knock against your door while you tried to wipe the salty wetness from your eyes. When you composed yourself as much as you could you opened the door to your Master and Obi Wan, both looking solemn.

“May we come it?” your master asked. Standing aside you allowed them entrance. “I voted no. I don’t think the council is making the right choice in this matter.”

“Thank you Master but the result is the same, with all due respect,” you pushed past him and starting shoving your sparse belongings into a travel bag pausing only when your friend stood in your way.

“I-I’m going to miss you..” he looked down at his feet.

“Oh Obi,” fresh tears wet your lashes. “I’m going to miss you to,” you pulled him into a tight hug. “I know you still have a few more years before your trials but; you’re going to make a wonderful knight.” His only response was to hug you tighter.

“The council has allocated a small fund for you young one. Because of the nature of your departure and the fact that you never broke the code or did anything wrong…” Master Plo held out a large purse filled with credits, “I hope it’s enough to get you settled somewhere until you can find something to do..” you took the purse and wrapped your arms around your Master’s waist.

Thanking him silently for everything. For raising you, teaching you everything you knew and again for advocating for you. You gathered your one personal item aside from your clothes, a holo-pic Obi Wan had taken of you and your Master standing on a cliff overlooking the water on Naboo. At the time he said he took it because you looked like a knight with your straight back and hands clasped behind your back, mirroring Plo perfectly. You thought him silly at the time but now; you felt grateful.

Months later you found yourself waitressing in a dirty little cantina on one of the lower levels of the city. The credits given to you were enough to pay for a dingy little studio apartment and the owner of the cantina owed Qui Gon a favor for some reason. Giving you a job made them even. You were drifting through your new life. Every night you would show up in your too tight, too short uniform and serve various drunkards and bounty hunters. Every morning you would stumble your way back to your new home utterly exhausted. When your heat hit your boss was understanding enough to give you time off so you could cry and feel the terrible pain and loneliness in peace.

A few days after your last heat, the third one you had ever experienced; you were back to work. It was a pretty slow night. The atmosphere was surprisingly calm in the run-down little bar. You heard the door creak open while you were in the kitchen grabbing an order for a young starry eyed Rodian obviously new to the city. You looked around the kitchen smelling something strange, something incredibly strong, smokey and musky. It only got stronger when you dropped off the plate. Your eyes met the new customer’s, a lone Duro looked up at you from under the lip of a worn wide brimmed hat. A smile grew across his face as you approached cautiously.

“Hey there little lady. Where’s your Alpha?”

A serious trepidation squeezed your insides as you realized exactly what it was you were smelling. The man in front of you was an Alpha. There was no doubt about it, if he could smell you, it was true. Your feet moved faster than your brain and carried you out of the bar, ignoring your boss’s bellowing. You pounded into the duracrete until you reached your little room. Opening the door as quickly as you could with trembling fingers you slunk into a shadowy corner. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as the cool night breeze drifted through the window.

Window. As soon as you thought the thought his scent flowed through it, he followed right behind, slinging his lithe body through the opening. Standing silhouetted in the flickering streetlights, you backed up until you hit the door. His long leather trench coat fluttered around his calves. You could hardly process how he lifted his palms up to you and tried to calm you down.

“What in the seven hells’ the matter with you ‘mega?” you lifted your hand and force pulled your light saber into your grasp and ignited the blue blade.

“Whoa whoa whoa there little lady. Calm down I’m not gonna hurt you.. been a while since I seen another one a us. Outside Corellia at least.” His voice was smooth with a rasp to it, his eyes glowed bright red in the low lighting, your saber casting a blue glow over the room.

“Never seen a Jedi ‘mega before,” he started.

“I’m no longer a Jedi,” you spat. It was the first thing you could say to the Alpha before you.

“You gotta calm down girl. I told you I’m not gonna hurt you,” he was inching closer to you.

“What do you want with me?” you tightened your grip and clenched your teeth, causing him to halt again on the stained floor.

“Where’s your Alpha? I can’t smell him.”

“You’re the first one I’ve met.”

“Listen I wanna help. Obviously if you’re here the Jedi gave you the boot. I’m gonna go out on a limb here, they found out when the suppressors didn work on ya.”

You sheathed your blade and lowered your head in sorrow.

“How long you been on your own?”

“A few months,” you looked up and wished you were back in the temple. You missed the gardens, you missed the archives, you missed your friend.. The Duro eyed you carefully like he could read your history just from your face before he scrunched his eyes up in confusion.

“Diddn they even tell you shit or did they just give you a pat and ‘good luck’?”

Your lack of a response was response enough; he sighed and muttered curses under his breath.

“Listen, most of us Alphas aren’t dangerous. We’re leaders, protectors. Omegas aren’t weak, you’re our second in command so to speak.” Your eyes widened at him. “I wanna help you.. I kinda feel like I have to. My mate would’ve if she was still around…” his eyes dimmed, “some of the Alphas can be shitty but it’s the others you gotta worry about. Slavers like buying your kind up and sellin em to the highest bidder. Sometimes they got a paid Alpha to sniff you out, some of em got hounds that can pick out your scent. If you stay here, you’re sittin pretty an ripe for their pickin.”

“What happened to your Omega?” your voice was quiet and cautious. You didn’t know if you could trust him or not but if he found you, others would be able to soon too.

“Trandoshans… I was off on a hunt; left her at home. Thought it was too dangerous for her to come with… I tried to find her, looked everywhere, called in every favor, went broke on bribes… never found her.”

Some primal, instinctual part of your heart broke for him. You had no idea what it was like to have a mate but you thought you’d rather die than lose yours and the look on his face confirmed that, he would too.

“Look, take it or not but this is me reaching my hand out. Tryin to make sure that what happened to her, doesn’t happen to you. Bounty huntings lucrative if you nab the right contracts. I can get you set up… the moving around ‘s safer than sitting still.”

You thought for a few minutes, pondering the information this man dumped on you all at once. Your Jedi brain told you not to trust him; that this guy was bad news, but you weren’t a Jedi anymore. They were the reason you were sitting here trying to decide if you could trust him or not. So, you listened to your Omega gut and it told you to go with him; and that’s what you did.

You spent a year with Cad Bane and if you were being honest, it was the best year of your life. He introduced you to the Bounty Hunters Guild by the name ‘Mega. Told you if they found out you were a former Jedi you wouldn’t get contracts so you went with it. There was even a whole house of the guild that was dedicated to Alphas and Omegas a secret little society that you had been welcomed into. He taught you how to use a blaster, damn well too. Your light saber was a hidden last resort to use only if you were about to be killed and you left no survivors. The two of you galivanted across the galaxy bringing in dangerous, high paying bounties.

He taught you about the sub culture of the Alphas and the Omegas and helped explain some of the odd tendencies you showed but didn’t understand. He was respectful during your heat and let you wait it out locked in the cabin while he slept in the cockpit. Occasionally you’d ask him to put a hand on the back of your neck to cool you down. His cold-blooded hands were the perfect ice pack for your fevered skin.

Not once did he ever try to scent you. To say he was friendly though would’ve been a lie. You had a companionable silence most of the time. You could count the times you made him smile on one hand. Most of which were when you got extra rough with a difficult quarry. The only other time was when some guy tried to hit on you in a cantina while you and Bane celebrated the largest reward you had ever gotten. You pressed the barrel of your blaster into his balls so hard, without even looking at him, he cried. Life was… good. Life was actually good. After the costs of resupply and fuel he gave you half of whatever was left over.

That’s how you got to where you were now. On Corellia in a ship yard looking to buy your own transport. Bane had introduced you to the Guild Master on this planet, long having gained membership with him as a sponsor and you got yourself a few of your own pucks. He stood beside you now as you tossed the credits to the seller and loaded up your new; well new to you, ship.

“Better than my first ship that’s for damn sure,” Bane said as he walked around it. It wasn’t large, it wasn’t small either, but it had a kitchenette, a cabin and a carbon-freezing chamber in the small cargo bay below deck. “That freezers gonna let you pick up a few bounties at a time,” he noted, leaning against the doorframe of the cabin, watching you put away your clothes and setting up the holo-pic of you and Plo by the large bed.

“That’s the plan. Move around as much as possible. Get rich on these dumbasses,” you moved to toss the pucks into your bag.

“Listen ‘Meg,” he straightened up, clenched his jaw and looked at the floor, “it was shitty goin for me for a long time. It’s gonna get shitty again and stay that way for the rest of my life but; well, you made it less shitty,” he was visibly uncomfortable.

“Don’t go getting all warm blooded on me now Bane,” you shot him a sad smile. You had to move on. He wasn’t your Alpha and you weren’t his Omega. You didn’t really think you would find a mate of your own but you could feel it through the force; as much as you relieved some of his stress, you made him miss his mate.

“Don’t get your hopes up sweetheart, I like you but not that much,” he smirked, “you got my commlink channel set up in there right?” his thumb pointed to the cockpit.

“Yeah I got it.”

“Don’t hesitate if you get in over your head kid. I mean it ‘Meg, don’t be so proud you go and get yourself killed.”

“I won’t, I promise Bane.”

“Good,” he walked over to you and for a second you thought he was actually going to hug you; what he did was a bigger shock. He took his hat off and placed it on your head. Your eyes widened to saucers and you looked at him almost confused. A grin cracked your lips when he pulled a new, bigger one out of no where and shrugged his shoulders.

“I like this one better anyway,” he turned to leave the hull but not before rasping out a “see you around ‘Meg, give em all seven hells out there,” over his shoulder.

You made your way to the cockpit, pulling Bane’s hat down tighter on your head and running your finger across the brim; watching him leave the shipyard through the view port with one last swish of his coat. You were sad to watch that gun slinging bastard go but thanked the maker he found you, thanked the maker that you followed him that night.

You ran through your preflight checklist and started her up ‘The Wolf.’ You liked the way it sounded. Pulling up into the atmosphere and punching in the coordinates for Lothal, the highest priced bounty in your current collection. You pulled back the lever, shooting you into hyperspace. You made your way back to your cabin and picked up the holo-pic of you and your master. You wondered what he was doing right now. If he had taken in a new padawan. You hoped he had; he was a wonderful master; the best you could’ve asked for. You wondered if he thought about you as much as you thought about him. You smiled, probably. He always had trouble not forming attachments. You set the picture back down and pulled another one out of your bag. You had tried to keep it a secret from Bane but you were sure he knew about it.

It was from the night you almost took off the nuts of the guy who tried flirting with you. You had bought a round for everyone in the small cantina out of your own pocket, you were so excited about taking down the biggest quarry the two of you had seen to date. Several beings of different species all raised a glass of various liquors in your honor while Bane faced the bar not looking at you, the smallest smirk on his face below the rim of the hat you were wearing now. The smile you had on in this picture might be the biggest you’ve ever made. You set it down next to the one of you and Plo and compared the two, hardly believing you were the same person. You weren’t, but they were both you.

You kicked your boots off and plopped down on the bed, arms crossed behind your head and the hat tilted over your eyes. This was it; this was living.

#maul x reader #darth maul #Star Wars AU #TPM au #a/b/o #a/b/o dynamics #no y/n #darth maul x reader #star wars #the phantom menace

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gwenbrightly · 3 years

Text

The Sea Calls Me Home (pt 4)

I have a good feeling about today, Nyad says encouragingly. They’re returning to the surface again. Nya’s lost count of how many times they’ve been here at this point.

You say that every day, Nyad, Nya points out. Her companion smiles and shrugs.

And every day you make it a little bit further.

I guess… Nya allows with a sigh. She knows Nyad is right, but she wishes the evidence of that truth was a little more noticeable. So what if she lasted 5 seconds longer yesterday than the day before? 5 seconds isn’t much in the grand scheme of things.

What Nya really wants is to be done with constantly trying and failing to successfully unmerge with the Endless Sea (which totally doesn’t make her feel sucky at all, for the record). She yearns to see her family again and that can’t happen until she beats this. Or, if the endeavor kills her, until Kai does something undeniably stupid and gets everyone else killed and they all meet up in the Departed Realm. Which is… a very morbid thought. Moving on.

Nya turns to head closer to shore once more. Alright, let’s do this, she calls to Nyad.

Together, they make the trek, just like they do every day. As they do, Nya goes over everything in her head, trying to pint point what’s causing her so much trouble. Nyad makes transitioning from water to land look so easy, but it’s not. She must be missing something… right?

I believe in you, Nyad says eventually, derailing Nya’s train of thought, do not let the sea win this time. It is not good for its ego.

Nya gives a weak laugh. I’ll try to remember that, she says, not quite sure if the sea is actually capable of having an ego. It’s hard to tell when Nyad is being serious and when she is speaking more… artistically.

Good, Nyad replies. They both fall silent as Nya begins the long walk towards the sand shore in the distance. Wave after wave; step after step. The sensation of growing solid, human, has become less of a shock to her, now. If only it wasn’t a prelude to a much more unpleasant sensation.

Nya braces herself for the next stage of the transition. Only a few more steps until… do it for your family, she tells herself, do it for Kai, and Lloyd, a-and… Jay… The cold hits her first, then the waves around her grow more intense, louder. Deafening. And finally, the sea seems to develop claws. Like always it refuses to relinquish its grip on her. In her moments of clarity, Nya has come to liken the resulting pain to what she imagines it would feel like to be mauled by a tiger while being shredded by a cheese grater.

Gritting her teath, Nya forces herself to keep going. Not this time. Not. This. Time. She says over and over. Maybe if she focuses on something other than the pain? It’s worth a try. She pictures the monastery grounds at the height of spring. Cherry blossom season – one of her favorite times of the year. Aside from Christmas, of course.

Jay is always doing cute things like putting flowers in her hair when she’s not looking or writing little messages for her with stray petals . The air always feels so fresh. The atmosphere is somehow calmer… calm.

Nya’s next step comes easier. The rushing in her ears begins to die down. She returns to her happy place. Surrounded by family. Loved. Home. The sea called to her when it needed her the most, but now it’s time to leave. Time to find herself again.

Suddenly, the image of the monastery disappears from her vision, replaced by the very real sight of dry land stretching before her. With an elated gasp, Nya staggers onto the sand before sprawling face first onto it. Her lungs burn and her muscles feel like they’ve had a run in with a homicidal acupuncturist, but that’s okay.

“… made it,” she mutters, spitting out a mouthful of sand and seawater, “take that, you stupid ocean!”

A particularly large wave rolls towards her and she frantically scrambles away from it. Nyad laughs, saying, “I told you so.”

Nya coughs up a bit more sand as she tries to remember exactly how one goes about breathing. She can taste the salt in the air, feel the sun’s warmth on her skin, and it has never felt so good.

#ninjago #ninjago fanfiction #my fics #the sea calls me home #nOt my best work #I really don't know where I'm going with this-#but please enjoy anyway???#Please?

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aces-to-apples · 3 years

Note

Oh man oh man, for the writing prompt: 5 + 17 for either ObiMaul or MaulRex?

5. Enemies to lovers + 17. Sex then love Well now if that aint the most quintessential maulrex experience......

(Warnings for violence and implied sexual content ig? And also past Jessex and unrequited JesseMaul and however you warn for thinking of someone else while banging.)

Ahsoka leaves; Maul comes back. That's what it comes down to in the end.

It isn't abandonment—they agree that it will be safer for them both if they split up—but deep in Rex's heart, it feels like being abandoned. It feels like his only vod left in the galaxy is leaving him, walking away without marching, and part of him resents her for it. It isn't fair, but there it is.

And then Maul, again, alone, without weapons, without even his melodic hissing trying to turn Rex's mind inside-out. He sits next to Rex in the dingy cantina and says, "Lady Tano has left you?" As if it's a question; as if he's surprised.

"Why are you here," Rex mutters, slurs, three sheets to the wind because Ahsoka is gone and his vode are gone and his general is gone and everything is kriffing gone.

Maul hesitates, is the thing.

Not for effect, not to be dramatic or to manipulate. He sounds kriffing careful as he begins, "The lieutenant, Jesse—"

But he doesn't get farther than that because Jesse is dead, they're all kriffing dead, and Rex does his ARC Trooper best to put Maul's head through the damned wall. He gets a few good smashes in before he hits the wall himself, held a few inches off the ground by an immovable band around his torso, pinning him.

Rex wishes, viciously, that Maul was Human or an Iridonian hybrid, so he could see the spectacular bruising blooming all over Maul's face. He knows his own strength, he knows the damage he's done, even hidden by ink and blood.

"I know the lieutenant is dead," Maul snarls as the cantina quickly clears out, and he sounds—angry. Angry in the way that Rex feels; angry in the way that hides grief. "He wasn't meant to. I didn't want him to."

And isn't that a kriffing laugh, since Maul is the one who killed him.

Maul's fierce expression wavers.

"Jesse was already gone," he says, softly, looking tired and wrung out. And maybe that's what gets Rex to slump down, to give up fighting. Probably is, in fact. That even Maul is tired of being angry. "His body may have been moving, but he was Jesse no longer. That I can promise you, Commander."

Rex looks blearily up at him, on the floor now and when did that happen, and laughs. It sounds watery. But it's funny, Maul making him promises and talking about Jesse as if he knew him, as if he cared.

"Didn't you hear?" he says, laugh turning into a hiccup. "I got demoted."

The cold fire in Maul's eyes warms slightly, and between one long blink and the next, Rex is on his feet, a warm around his shoulders, gripping firmly at one of his elbows. Damned if he knows which one. "Captain suits you better," Maul's soft voice murmurs into his ear, warm breath tickling and making him shiver. "Come now, Rex. Jesse wouldn't want this for you..."

Part of him balks at that. Half-dragged out of the cantina and towards a ship, Rex can still summon up some offense.

"How the—the frip would you know what Jesse would want."

It's too loud, echoing around the little shuttle.

Maul slings him down on a cot and looks down at him, head tilted to the side. He looks... curious, maybe? And still so damnably soft. "Because he loved you very dearly, Rex. Now go to sleep."

“Kark you,” Rex tries to say, tries to snarl, but Maul is walking away and even just a shuttle cot is making him well up. Because it smells like a barracks cot. Because it smells like home.

He presses his face to the pillow and doesn’t bother—pretending, he supposes.

Doesn’t bother pretending to be strong, pretending to be okay. Just lets whatever happens next... happen.

Cried out, half-suffocated, and mostly asleep, a body warm and cold slips in behind him. Chilled legs pressing up against his, warm arm wraps around his chest.

It isn’t a vod.

Rex pretends anyway.

It’s funny, is the thing. Because he’s pretty sure Maul pretends too. Sometimes, at least.

When he’s not being disturbingly intense whenever Rex crawls on top of him or presses him down—and Maul always lets him, is the thing, always goes with it, never says no—then he’ll sometimes close his eyes, press his head back and let Rex use him. He doesn’t say Rex, or Captain, and that’s how Rex knows.

It’s odd to think about, so he usually doesn’t.

(Somehow, they both lost Jesse. If he thinks about that, he’ll have to break things. And breaking things might turn into breaking people. Rex doesn’t want to break people. Not even Maul.)

It takes almost two years, before he realizes.

Ironically, it’s because they both end up saying Jesse. And part of Rex wants to scream, wants to bite and scratch and curse. Instead, he kisses Maul over and over, whispering Jesse all the while, until he’s ready to go again. Maul does the same, touching him with fervor Jesse and Rex and Jesse falling from his lips.

After, Rex realizes that he hasn’t commed Ahsoka in months. Hasn’t even looked for her. He wonders when that happened, and why, then looks over at Maul, covered in bites and bruises, even thought he can’t see them.

And, oh.

It’s because all his vode are gone, but Maul—is here.

#ask meme #answered asks #maulrex #captainsith #jessex #jessemaul #star wars #the clone wars #sw fic #by apples #letsgetempirical #darth maul #captain rex #jesse is with them in spirit

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