recruits face

anything’s possible

for @therebelcaptainnetwork​‘s rebelcaptain week → day four: nerve

four times they were nervous, and one time they weren’t. 

my first fic in this format!

word count: 920



Jyn’s stomach jumps up and down as she makes her way to Mon Mothma’s private office. The thought of the regal and imposing former Senator chastising her for running off with her troops is… nerve-wracking.

Cassian would probably laugh if he found out. “You can take down a squad of stormtroopers and spit in an Imperial Director’s face, but you’re afraid of a reprimand from a Rebel Leader?”

On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t. The same worry had been written all over his face when he had been called to a meeting with Draven.

He’s probably not used to reprimands, Jyn thinks. Always following orders. The perfect rebel soldier.

But Cassian wasn’t ignorant, not like what Jyn had first thought. He’d been fully aware of what he was getting into. He just thought that the end goal – freedom – was greater than all else. Not to justify what he’d done, Jyn soon learned, but to keep the nightmares at bay.

Now, if only she could carry his sense of conviction into this meeting.



<CASSIAN.> Kay chirps. <You’re acting jumpier than usual. Your pulse is higher than normal. Shall I run a diagnostic on you?>

Cassian was still getting used to looking down in Kay’s direction, after his personality chip had been transferred to an old Artoo unit. Thank the force he understood binary.

“I’m fine,” Cassian hisses. “Just nervous.” He bites his tongue. Not the best phrasing. He leans out into the corridor, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jyn.

<Nervous?> Kay beeps wildly, <Since when were you nervous on missions?>. There’s a long pause filled with whirls and clicks. <Ah. I see. Since Lieutenant Erso has joined you on them.>

“Of course not,” he says a little too roughly. “Besides, this is only our first official mission together.”

Kay’s motors whirr as he mulls – processes – the statement. <So that makes my observation all the more accurate, Cassian. You’re worrying about her.> Kay’s fans make a noise that vaguely sounded like a huff. <I told you not to bring her along. Your emotions for her are distracting you.>

“Emotions? What emotions?” he jumps defensively, almost knocking over a wastebin.

Kay lets out a string of high pitched beeps. <You’re the one who needs to tell ME, Cassian. What do I know about human feelings? If you were a droid I could find the faulty line of code in your programming. But…>

Cassian leans back to glare at the red-and-silver astromech.

What did he know about his own feelings?


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dasakuryo  asked:

Hi there! :) for the acts of intimacy prompt thingie, can I request the ♣: Back scratches prompt for rebelcaptain? :D xxoo

Sorry this took so long to get to, I seriously rewrote this with three different ideas so many times before I was semi-happy with it. And this got kind of out of hand, due to a headcanon AU I have about Jyn/Cassian recruiting for the Endor Strike team, but here goes :) I may post to AO3 later, just haven’t come up with a good title. Bleh.

Words: 1128


He’s antsy, and Cassian never gets antsy. Always stoic, his actions controlled. Now he’s uneasy, fidgety, like there’s something caught under his tunic. They’d just returned from their recruitment mission, the most important one to date, and he insisted he speak to the new recruits before they met with their General, Han Solo, alone.

She huffed, not wanting to leave his side when he most certainly wasn’t himself, but eventually she complied, walking far enough away from him but still remaining in earshot.

Draven had pulled Cassian from Intelligence years ago, perhaps the most empathetic act the man had ever committed, well —- if she didn’t know that Mon Mothma had actually been behind the suggestion.

She suggested he focus his efforts on recruitment, both of them, actually. After all, they were the “faces of the Rebellion”, who better to send into the field than the two of them?

“I’d be a crap recruiter,” she had remembered joking to Cassian, “but if you insist.”

“You say that, but you’re living proof,” he had replied, and well … she had him there, didn’t he?

His back is towards her now, but she can tell he’s nervous, on guard or —- something, as he talks to the recruits. They’re scared, she can tell. None any older than she was when Saw dumped her, most probably having nowhere else to go. They’d hung onto Cassian’s every word back when they picked them up.

The Rebellion, the Alliance, the Cause. She hadn’t seen him that impassioned since Scarif, his words stringing together effortlessly. Their gaze on him fixed, unbroken. It wasn’t just because of his name, though they’d had to of known his name, her name — everyone in the galaxy knew “the heroes of Scarif.” But when Cassian had something to say, he made his words count.

And if it was because they were heroes or not, his words or simply who he was, they agreed to help, to ride back with them to the Rebel Fleet — to join the Rebellion.

He jerked suddenly, and she couldn’t help but laugh at how awkward he looked, attempting to stretch a hand behind his back without anyone catching wind. She sighed, realizing now why he’d been so antsy. A recruit eyed him curiously, then wandered to meet hers. She raised a brow in reply, and the recruit quickly yawned, eyes focused back to Cassian.

There’s a moment of silence from the group as his next statement falls; instilling fear. Not of him, but of why they’d been brought on, why she and Cassian had risked their lives to bring them back to the Rebel Fleet. She knows what he’s said, doesn’t even need to read his lips. Instead, she eyes the recruit’s faces — some blank, some frightened – but all rendered speechless.

She can’t blame them, she’d reacted the same just a week ago.

“A second one, a second Death Star,” he’d breathed into her temple, the words splintered with fear. It jarred her from sleep, the look of terror in his eyes.

The weight of his forehead pressed to hers; the heaviness, the defeat in his tone. Years before there had been hope, her father’s message, and a flaw to exploit. Now what did they have? She fought with how to answer him then, to comfort him how he’d done for her in the hangar, before Rogue One, before Scarif.

She had her answer now. In front of her, watching as he talked to their new recruits, those that would eventually join the Endor Strike team.

As his shoulder quirks to the side, again, she decides enough is enough. Her mouth tightens, settling into her ‘Sargent Erso’ face. The recruits fall silent as she approaches, the air growing thick with a mix of unease and astonishment. She’d been experiencing that a lot these day, and she can’t stand it.

Her hand slips along Cassian’s back, trailing down the leather of his jacket. It’s a measured touch, stopping short between his shoulder blades. He flinches, and relaxes once he realizes what she’s doing. She scratches him there, flicking her gaze up, catching his eye briefly. It’s quick, but she finds that they’re thankful, happy. It’s hard to believe she once thought those eyes were mindless, that there wasn’t humanity buried deep beneath his tactical facade.

And perhaps he’s thankful for more than just the scratch, maybe her presence at his side helps in some way, as she sees the recruits still standing in front of him, silent.

One in an Imperial flight suit raises his hand, barely above his head. Cassian nods.

“Cassian, sir,” he began, “before, you were saying you had something, to defeat the Death Star.”

“We had a message from her father, Galen Erso,” he took the opportunity to wrap his hand behind her waist, mirroring her own grasp at his back. “Brought to us by an Imperial pilot, Bodhi Rook, now Captain of the Rogue Squadron. That message was all we had to go on, that and her father’s word.”

“That was it?” It came quick and he hadn’t meant it as rude, but she felt her arm unravel from Cassian’s back, stuck firm at her side in an attempt to calm herself, forcing her breath to slow.

“Yes,” she interjected, feeling Cassian squeeze at her side gently. “And we know how to destroy this one.”

A week ago they hadn’t known, the Death Star looming over them on the beach all over again.

“Endor,” Cassian finished, pulling the tips of her fingers in a tight squeeze, before letting go of her completely. “The shield generators, for the Death Star. That’s where they are, and where you’ll be. If you’re up to that.”

A week ago they found out about the second Death Star, a week ago all hope was lost.

“Well,” Jyn said, eyes bouncing from recruit to recruit.  “Are you all up for that?”

The recruits hurried to salute, some nodding while other’s audibly confirmed their commitment. Jyn looked up at Cassian and smiled, reminded of when he’d cobbled together their own group of volunteers, those that what would eventually become the Rogue One team.

Here they were, doing it all over again.

As the recruits hurried to follow Cassian, leading them to the command room, Jyn ran to his side again and leaned into him, gathering his hand in hers.

“Think we can talk Solo into letting us on the Strike team?” Jyn said quietly.

“We’re going whether he wants us or not, if we have to take our ship in,” he said, that casual confidence beaming from his eyes. “Besides, we do know someone familiar with Imperial ships.

((Tbh, I combined this with the other prompt you sent me, I hope you don’t mind. <3))

He didn’t understand why you distracted your teammates or why you were attempting to carry him away, he stared at your face. He remembered when you were a fresh faced recruit who always was nice to him. It didn’t surprise him that you answered Winston’s recall, he always liked you. You knew your place and did what you did not for glory or fame; you just wanted to help people in any which way you could. He could see you haven’t changed much, you weren’t as bright; the world does that to people. It teaches them through intense pain and suffering, it amazed him how you didn’t let the pain ruin your kindness. Still, a man like him was better off dead, he caused more than enough strife for many people innocent and not. “Do you realize what you’re doing, (L/N)?”He coughed, feeling faint from the blood loss.  “You could end it all and be hailed a hero.” Gabriel added, as you dragged him further away from the battle field.

“I don’t care. You’re still my leader, and my boyfriend.  Even if you don’t answer to the name I used to call you, or the fact I haven’t seen you in years. “You commented as you groaned at how heavy he was, finally you were in a place no one would find either of you. You set Gabriel down carefully as you pulled the medic kit off your back, you were a healer in your soul; the battle field still called for you, even if you didn’t like fighting as much. You leaned down, pulling off his jacket, shirt, and mask; you smiled at his weary and pained face to assure him. “It’ll be alright, you’re in good hands, mi amor.”

He just stared at you, wondering what he ever did to deserve your undying loyalty and love. There were plenty of men who would’ve treated you better throughout the years when he wasn’t with you, yet you still wanted only him. He hissed loudly as you dug into his skin, pulling out buckshot; one of many to come. It was safe to assume Morrison was just as pissed off as he was, not to mention those other pains in the asses that were more than happy to shoot where ever Jack ordered.  Soon enough you had removed everything, cleaned his wounds up, and dressed them. The blood loss made him feel delirious; you put his head on your lap and held a bottle of water to his chapped lips.

“Drink, you need to keep hydrated. I’ll see if I have any painkillers. I can’t take you anywhere until the fighting dies down at least for the night. They’ll be looking for me and we can’t risk getting caught.” You explained, worried for Gabriel… His skin was so much paler than you remember, and the injuries he received didn’t make him look any healthier. What had they done to your beloved? It was hard to believe one of your mentors could do this.

Greedily he drank the water you gave him as you rustled through your kit. “Hey… (Y/N), are you an angel?” He garbled as he reached for your hand weakly.

“No, I’m afraid not. I am however someone who loves you very much. “You chuckled in amusement as you pulled out a pill.

“I love you too, I-.. I haven’t told you that enough. I’ve missed you. Thank you for risking everything for someone like me.” He swallowed the pill, briefly he wondered when it would kick in and what would happen after all of this was over with. It was selfish but he didn’t want you to go back with them, he needed you more than they did. He slowly drifted to sleep as you stroked his hair, humming a lullaby you used to sing for him long ago. You might not be an angel, but you were his saving grace; the only reminder of who he used to be.

anonymous asked:

Can I request a fic where Sombra and Widowmaker suavely hit on a new talon recruit and the recruit gets really flustered?

Weakness wasn’t something that was often shown in Talon. If any of it was shown, it was quickly exploited. And in the new recruit’s case, Widow and Sombra were all over exploiting them. Since the moment they entered the conference room, they were as stiff as a board and as jumpy as a spooked horse. The two girls exchanged glances and knew right away what the plan was.

“Welcome to Talon, [Alias], we’re so pleased to have you,” Amelie hummed.

The recruit just gulped and nodded, taking a seat between her and Sombra.

“Niiiice hair,” Sombra cooed, running her long nails through their [color] hair.

“U-uh…” the recruit stammered.

“Let’s get down to business,” Reaper spoke up from the other end of the table, opening a holo file and revealing a series of file holograms.

They were all files on [Name], everything from their family, to their past occupation, to their blood type. They were a little intimidated from how much they knew about them.

“You look so much prettier in person than you do in your ID,” Sombra mused as she stared at the files.

“Type A/B/AB/O? They say that type is the most compatible with mine,” Widow chuckled.

“It’s obvious you’ve had an interesting line of work,” Reaper ignored the two, “You have a versatile set of skills, all of which we can put to use.”

“Previously a computer programmer?” Sombra raised an eyebrow, “I am a hacker myself, maybe I could have some private sessions with you sometime? Swap codes?”

“W-what?” the recruit whimpered, their face turning red.

“You play the [musical instrument]? Exquisite,” Widow bit her lip.

Now Reaper facepalmed and retracted the files, “If you two are just going to hit on the new recruit, then you can just go.”

“Aaw, what’s the matter, Gabe,” Sombra pouted, “Want them all for yourself?”

“Sombra,” Reaper growled.

“We were just having a little fun, weren’t we?” Widow looked over at Sombra then over at the recruit, “Right, mon cheri?”

“Y-Yeah,” they tried to force a smile.

“Of course,” Widow giggled evilly, “See, Reyes? We’re all going to get along swimmingly.”

Glass Table Girls - m.

member: Kim Namjoon, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook (Different members further on)

genre: Sugardaddy!au, Prostitute!, Smut

warnings: Nsfw, Mature Content, Vulgar Smut, Dirty talk, Drugs -Use, Prostitution, Vouyerism, MxFxM

  words: 3.4k

Part 1 - Part 2?

Two puffs for a lady who’d be down for that.

If it hurts to breathe, open the window. This is a happy house, We’re happy here. Oh, this is fun


The days were exhaustingly slow. You have moved to Seoul in a little cramped up apartment by the Han River. Honestly, it stank of beer and piss around the staircase and it didn’t have any elevator, so you had to work your legs up the stairs everyday.

Your apartment was tiny and cramped, and you meant it. There weren’t place for a wall to separate the living room, the kitchen and the bedroom. It was an open surface except for the bathroom. Every morning when you’re doing your stuff in the bathroom, you had to crouch since the roofing was so low.

Everytime you sat up from the toilet, your poor head is greeted by the roof with a painful bang that made you instantly sit back down. The only place you could stand in the bathroom was the shower, you were taller than the most girls which was a curse. Your head barely had space to jump.

You swore that you were getting more and more claustrophobic living in the mouse hole as you called it. It was your last year in college, to graduate and you had to bear /🐻/ it out.


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A Hard Bargain

Originally posted by barrissoffee

Request: “Can you do a Kylofic where it’s set during TFA when Kylo takes Rey but the Resistance takes his wife who is also force sensitive. And when when Finn, and Han go to rescue Rey they bring his wife as a bargaining chip???”

Summary: With the war between the First Order and Resistance raging more than it has before, things get personal. Kylo impatiently decides that Rey’s vision of the map is sufficient, taking her away from Han and Finn. The Resistance however plays the same game, taking the only thing Kylo holds dear in his life in hopes of getting information and Rey back.


It was quiet. Almost too quiet. The soft sound of various machines humming and keyboards clicking were all that could be heard. Something was off. The whole atmosphere around Starkiller felt odd. Tension wasn’t the right word to describe it, more like someone trying to withhold. There was something hanging in the air that nobody spoke of or thought loudly about today. Kylo could undoubtedly sense it. 

The attack on the Republic shouldn’t have left the workers phased enough to fear recollecting it in anyway. You had to be a certain kind of soul to work at the First Order, someone who even flinched at the sight of the red beam wasn’t it. No matter where Kylo stood in the control room he could feel the silent tension in those around him. Reaching the center of the room Kylo stopped, pondering this odd feeling in the air with his hands behind his back. Hux stiffly strode into the room, his faint scowl resting on his face as his eyes scanned over each of the workers and their consoles. He halted as he approached Kylo’s side. 

“Ren, my troops tell me you have the prisoner ready for a second interrogation.”

“Yes General. It appears our little guest not only has seen the map to Skywalker, she is also powerful with the force.”

At this Hux finally turned his icy blue gaze from the window to Kylo. He more than frequently underestimated Kylo, so the fact that he had actually achieved something was in short, surprising. 

“Surely we must tell the Supreme Leader.”

Kylo nodded. 

“Indeed. There’s…also something else General.”

Hux simply remained staring at Kylo, the same indifferent expression he always held with him.

“There’s something…off. I can sense it. It’s throughout the base…in this very room…at this very moment.”

Kylo felt Hux’s aura shift to an even more noticeably tense state as he adjusted his collar. Hux was now displaying the same tension that the officers and troopers had. This had to be something big. 

“Why would you say that Ren? Are you sure it is not the prisoner?”

“General I would have known if it was that girl. Something is-”

Suddenly he heard the faintest voice, or thought, towards the end of line of consoles. His masked head snapped in the direction. Marching to the source his boots thudded heavily against the metal. Stopping in front of one particular desk, Kylo glared down. Though the new young blonde male recruit couldn’t see Kylo’s eyes he knew they were burning straight into his face. The recruit obviously afraid gulped as he slowly looked up to Kylo, his green eyes trying not to shoot open any wider. 

“What did you say?”

The mechanical voice startled the young man a bit.

“W-what are you ta-….Commander sir.”

“Your thoughts…they’re quite loud.”

Reaching his hand forward he brought the blonde officer a pounding pressure in the front of his mind. As the young man’s eyes winced closed in pain, Kylo sifted through his thoughts. His bland breakfast, his fear in this moment, his family back on Takonda, his fellow officer and girlfriend on the base, and…(Y/N)? Kylo’s own wife? A memory of her gliding through the halls after training, in her tight black attire, head held high, her (Y/E/C) eyes sharp as daggers, (Y/H/C) ponytail bouncing behind her as his eyes obviously looked to her rear end. 

He clenched his fist a bit as the thought came up, the leather of his glove squeaking. He hated when other men or women thought of you, especially in any indecent manner. You were his wife. MY WIFE he thought harshly. To see this new recruit obviously watch you in a lustful way, discreet or not was unacceptable. Just as his anger bubbled the thought suddenly developed into something more detailed. Now it was a frantic admiral, sweat on his forehead as he ran into this very command room, panting. 

“General Hux!! Lady Ren…she’s gone.”

Releasing the recruit as he gasped for air and held his temples, Kylo turned to Hux aggresively grabbing the collar of his uniform.

“General Hux… if you want to live I suggest you answer me honestly.”

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  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: i'd forgotten how much i thirsted for diego luna after i saw him in dirty dancing: havana nights shaking his lil body for cuba and love and freedom but DAMN DID THE ROGUE ONE TRAILER REMINDER ME TALK REBEL ALLIANCE TO ME BB

homoryder  asked:

did you ever write Scott's reaction to finding out Cade died in 2183? (if not, consider this a prompt)

The main deck of Arcturus station is always a rowdy mess of fighter jocks, fresh-faced recruits and one or two disgruntled senior officers left in charge of the ruckus. Scott avoids it as much as he can, especially now during the twilight shift. He keeps his eyes on the ground as he walks through, intending to head for the flight deck and a quiet engineering bay. Something familiar. Shepard’s been gone for months, and the vid calls weren’t cutting it, and then the last he sees is grainy footage of his strike team taking down Saren and the geth on the Citadel, of all places. Scott grimaces when the thought passes his mind.

And now the Citadel is still in ruins, being slowly rebuilt, and Shepard’s disappeared again. Scott understands it, but it’s no less frustrating when all you have is the luxury of a static-ridden vid call every couple of weeks to get by on. The fact that Scott misses him is obvious, he’s not denying that, but he can’t place why missing him is making him feel so incomplete instead of simply inconvenienced, and that bugs him more than he likes.

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Setting: Many Years Prior to the First Battle of Hoover Dam

A nameless recruit lay face-down in the dirt, gasping for breath, exhausted. His skin was scorched from where the summer sun had scorched its claim, and a trickle of blood ran from his nose. Before the battle had begun, he had had high hopes, even wild daydreams of somehow attaining glory. But now? Now he was tasting the bitter Arizona earth, stunned by the unexpected explosion, brought down by simple raiders. Profligate scum, unworthy, disgusting, devoid of higher purpose…

And yet they had brought him down, and would likely end his life soon. He pushed weakly with one arm, rolling over- at least he could face death. Maybe not. His eyes closed as the sounds of battle grew louder, the raiders having turned out in larger numbers than expected, and better equipped to boot. Some scout was going to get whipped for this.
A shadow fell over him; he flinched. Surely death must be near. Breath held, he braced himself. To either side of him, there was an impact: the thud of boots.

Wild, panicky yells split the air, and death did not come. Two gunshots echoed over his prostrate form. He opened his eyes.

Above him stood the Legate. The snakeskin boot swept back over him and a strong hand hauled the recruit to his feet. He could hear the change in the tone of battle as his regrouped compatriots routed the raider band. It was exciting, but nothing compared to the hellfire blue eyes which were focused on him. The recruit shifted, uncomfortably aware of how poorly he’d done in the fight. His gaze settled in the dust at his feet. In that moment, he knew nothing but desert dirt and the weight of the Legate’s attention. Finally, judgement rolled out in a voice like deep bells:

“I’ve given you a second chance, a next time. Do not waste it.”

The recruit’s head jerked up, words of awed gratitude ready to tumble out, but the Legate was already striding away, and there was still some of the fight to finish.

Post Break-Up Sex

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: !SMUT! Swearing, slight violence
Summary: Break ups can lead to many things. For some, it calls for the best rom com and a bowl of ice cream to drown yourself in your own feelings. For others, it can mean shutting yourself down for a while, taking time for some well needed self care. For (Y/N), it meant going off the rails just a little.
A/N: This song is inspired by Post Break-Up Sex by The Vaccines, one of my all time favourite songs. Listen to it here!
Word Count: 3K

{MASTERLIST}

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The Herald of Snowballs and Prayer (NSFW)

*cough* so here is my fluff/smut.  Not going to lie, kinda nervous considering the amazing smut talent in this fandom.  Hope you guys like it, and if you’re interested in reading more about Isabel, you can find the rest of the SFW pieces on AO3



The hot springs below Skyhold, coupled with the ancient magic that cling to its bones, keeps the fortress livable in the mountaintops.   It is, however, not immune to the rapidly changing weather systems that plague the Frostbacks.  Waking to a blanket of snow is not uncommon, though it’s usually melted by midday.  Isabel is roused by the bracing chill air on one such morning, and she is loath to leave her warm bed in exchange for the training yard.  When she does finally emerge, her breath is puffing out before her in smoky tendrils.  Cullen is already running drills.  Isabel’s rank and her relationship with her general afford her certain privileges, unlike a tardy recruit.   Her late arrival is met with the commander’s crooked grin and warm eyes, instead of a dressing-down and twenty laps around the fortress, in full plate armor.

“Good morning, commander.”  Isabel resists the urge to kiss him good morning, resists the urge to take his hand and embrace him, and resists calling him by name, knowing it would cause her to flush.  Affection was becoming easier, and it was the absence of it in front of the soldiers and court that was becoming difficult.  

“Inquisitor, it’s good of you to join us.”  The low timbre of his voice warmed her in the cool morning air.

She grabbed a training sword and paired up with an awed recruit, slashing and blocking to Cullen’s curt orders.  Muscle memory takes over, and she gives the new recruit a sore shield arm.  Cullen walks through the ranks, correcting stances, adjusting swords and shields as he goes.  He stops by her partner, fixing the young woman’s grip, and when she slashes next it rings in Isabel’s shield arm.  Isabel praises her, and Cullen grins before moving on to the next pair. The morning moves forward, the snow on the ground melting and sticking to the bottoms of boots.

“Maker’s balls!”  Cullen’s sudden angry curse breaks Isabel’s focus. She looks up in time to see Cullen take what must be a second snowball to the side of his head.  Somewhere above her she hears Sera’s distinct peal of laughter.  

She shouldn’t laugh, but his look of pure indignation and the snow on his face and hair has Isabel giggling.  She covers her mouth, trying to stifle herself; it would not do to be laughing at Cullen in front of his recruits.  He catches her eyes and she’s biting her lip, offering a halfhearted sorry, trying her best to stem the flow of laughter.  She can’t stop,that is, until she gets pelted with a snowball smack dab in the middle of her face.  The recruits have stopped their drills.   They watch  wide-eyed as their commander and inquisitor are targeted by the morning prank.  Unsure if their laughter would be as easily forgiven as Sera’s. The snow falls from Isabel’s face with a splat, and it’s Cullen who snorts out a chuckle first.  

“Sera!”  Isabel looks up towards her usual perch on the tavern roof, trying to sound angry and serious.    

“That one wasn’t me!”  The elf argues, pointing towards the guilty party.  

“Chargers, take aim!”  Bull gives her a wicked grin.  He signals to his boys to throw their arsenal of snowballs at not only Isabel and Cullen, but the recruits as a whole.  

“Commander, it seems we’re under attack.”  She blocks her face but gets pelted in the back of the head, the snow dripping down the back of her tunic.  She squeals at the cold, a high pitched ridiculous sound.  

“Recruits, your Inquisitor is under attack, defend her at all costs.  To arms!”  Cullen is the first to bend and pack a handful of snow, aiming at Krem.  “Attack!”  His war cry was loud and resonated throughout the training field.  

Isabel could only laugh, leaving herself open to more than a few snowballs.  She was fairly certain Sera was aiming for her lower back, trying to get snow into her breeches. Her suspicion is confirmed when she feels a handful of snow slide between her cheeks.   Isabel yelps and dances away to hide behind Cullen, throwing what she can while using him as cover.  The recruits, feeling playful, and confident there will be no lasting repercussions, started turning on their commander in the chaos.  

“Cullen, I believe we may be overrun.”  Isabel’s breathless, her nose bright red and her cheeks pink and indented with rarely seen dimples.   

“Traitors!”  he calls out before earning them both a new volley.  He grins at her, his carefully combed hair damp and curling, his face flushed.  “Inquisitor, I’m calling a retreat.”  He takes her hand, giving her an impish grin.  “Follow me.”  

He holds tight to her hand, and starts running, practically dragging her along, she has no choice but to follow him, and soon she’s only a stride behind him.   They climb the steps up to the ramparts.  Isabel doesn’t need to look behind her to know they’re being pursued, but they have a good head start.  Cullen’s sudden retreat took Bull and the others by surprise.  Cullen nearly yanks her arm off as he turns down the stairs towards the garden.  Below,  Mother Giselle and the other sisters and clerics are exiting the small chantry from ringing in Terce.   Cullen gives her a crooked grin. He half-catches her when he suddenly slows to a walk and she is nearly toppled by the change of pace. He’s still holding her hand, but his grip has relaxed.  He whispers a soft sorry under his breath.  He nods to Mother Giselle and Isabel imitates the action; she gives them a warm smile as they slip into the now empty chantry.  Cullen drops her hand once inside and closes the door.  

“What is your game?”  Isabel asks, but Cullen covers her mouth, his hand shushing her.  

“Quiet.”  He pulls his hand away, and with the other on her waist walks her backwards beside the door, until she bumps softly against the wall.  “Listen.”  His amber eyes are glowing in the candlelight, his lopsided grin never leaving his face.  

Outside there is a distinct commotion as their opponents invade the sanctity of the garden. The Revered Mother Giselle intercepts them quickly and is not amused in the slightest.  Isabel’s eyes widen and she bites her lower lip when she hears snippets of conversation: “this is a place of reflection, people come here for refuge, the Inquisitor has many rare herbs and plants growing.”   Bull’s deep voice mumbled an apology.  Sera curses.  “Acting like children, you should be ashamed…no, the commander and inquisitor are at morning prayers, you will not disturb them.  Out, you are supposed to be examples…I said out!”    They wait, and outside there is the crunch of snow as their opponents leave, defeated.  Inside, Isabel is still biting her lower lip, Cullen’s hand is still on her hip, and his thumb tracing circles against her damp clothes.  

“You knew that would happen.”  

“Revered Mother’s and Chantry sisters are especially good at scolding and making you feel like a child again.  Of course I knew it would happen.”  Cullen looks especially pleased with himself; he looks younger, happy, and particularly smug.  

“Of course, you say.  I thought you were the perfect example of a templar in training. I can’t imagine you were scolded very often.”  Isabel can’t help but smirk right alongside him, running her fingers through his damp pauldrons until they link behind his neck.  

“No, not often, but there was this one time.”  He pulls her closer, pressing her against the wall, hands splaying against her hips.“I got caught kissing a pretty girl in the chantry.”  

He covers her mouth with his before she can exclaim her disbelief.  Her lips mold against his easily, quick and eager, a small hum rumbling in her chest when his hips press flush against hers.  Cullen feels her tongue on his lip and he opens to her, welcoming the velvet press and taste.  He runs his still gloved fingers up her sides, a feather light caress against breasts, and he feels rather than hears the small moan it pulls from her.  He breaks the kiss, her lips are swollen and her face is flushed highlighting the dusting of light freckles against her cheeks.  Cullen watches her as he drags a thumb against a clothed nipple, his scarred lip lifting in a lazy grin when she bites her lower lip.  He runs his thumb against her lower lip, and breathes out sharply when her pink tongue darts out, followed by a playful nip of her teeth.  He gropes her breasts rolling her nipples between his fingers, and Isabel squeezes her eyes closed and rolls her hips before opening them again, bright flint grey eyes watching him through lashes heavy with lust.  He gives each breast one final squeeze, removing his hands slowly, enjoying the weight of them, before bringing the fingers of his leather gloves to his teeth, pulling them off.  They fall to the ground with a wet thud, and his fingers burn trails against her skin. They’re followed shortly by his mouth nipping at her ears and neck his tongue tracing her collarbone.  She whimpers her approval, running fingers through his hair, turning his head so she can gain access to his throat and ears.

“Aren’t there rules against this?”  Isabel wonders, running cool fingers into the band of his pants, feeling skin, and hard muscle and soft hair before he pulled her fingers away, bringing them to his lips to kiss.  

“Actually, there aren’t, I checked.”  He twines her fingers with his, dropping his head to her jaw and neck, tongue and lips trailing a heated path.  

“Of course you did,”she moans teasing him.  She pulls her hands away, finding his belt again, brushing the skin at his waist.  

Cullen chuckles into her mouth, and takes her hands firmly in his.

“That tickles.”  His voice is low, warning her.  

Isabel smiles against his lips, and he nips at them before bringing both of her wrists above her head.  He holds her with one hand, letting the other run through her hair, wisping across her neck, unclasping buttons until he sees the top of her breast band.  He tugs at the band, loosening it to reveal the pale pink of her nipples, pebbled and hard from his ministrations.  He runs his fingers over her naked flesh reverently, and she whispers his name like a prayer.  He rolls his hips, letting her feel the hard bulge before pulling away to unlace the top of her trousers.  He has his forehead against hers, and she’s looking up at him, her body taut as a bow string, licking her lips, breathing quickly, and she’s pulling against his grip every time he touches skin.   He very slowly and deliberately brushes his knuckles against her clothed mound, testing the waters.  Her mouth opens and a stuttering breath pulls through her lips.  

“Is this alright?”  he whispers, warm breath puffing against her cheeks. He stills his hands and waits, unsure for a moment.  Their physical relationship had been relatively tame up until this point;Isabel has run from him once before, afraid of getting involved.  She doesn’t want him to doubt and brings her lips up to his, not quite a kiss, sliding her fevered skin against his.  She inhaled his scent, which has mingled with the incense and candles of the chantry.

“Yes, Cullen, it’s alright.”  Isabel nods, the words barely audible.  Cullen brushes his knuckles over her mound again, claiming her lips in a hungry kiss, dropping her hands so that he can cup her face, kissing her hard and touching her.

Isabel finds the hand that is cupping her clothed sex. He’s rubbing her gently, teasing, barely any pressure and her hips move in tandem with his hand.  She wants more, but her mouth can’t form words, so she interlaced her fingers with his, guiding his hand, slipping him into her pants, past her smalls.  

Cullen can feel her heat, and he’s moaning into her mouth when he feels how wet she is, her calloused fingers guiding his own, showing him exactly how she wants him to touch her.   He circles her clit, and her legs buckle; he slides a thigh between hers and circles her clit again. Her free hand is pulling at the hair at the base of his skull, bringing him closer; she is angling her head to deepen the frantic kiss they’re sharing.  He’s sliding his fingers through her wet folds until she pushes one of them into her, breaking the kiss when her head falls back.  He slides his finger out, then in again, sucks her earlobe, nips at her neck while she bucks against his hand.

Isabel can feel him rock against her, and she skims a finger over his clothed length.  The kiss on her neck turns into a bite, sharp and painful, and his groan is urgent.  She’s pulling his head away from her shoulder.  She wants to taste the salt on his skin, she answers his bite with one of her own, marking him.  He hisses a breath in through his teeth.  Isabel’s fingers are shaking as they continue to guide Cullen’s hand.  She pushes another one of his fingers inside of her, and stifles a loud keen against his pauldrons. She presses the heel of his hand down against her clit and grinds, wanton and needy.

“Maker.”  Cullen groans and shifts, reaching deeper.  He increases his pace and Isabel can only hold onto his wrist, letting him finish what she helped start.  She comes undone around his fingers, coating his palm.

Isabel wants to scream and moan. She knows she shouldn’t but can’t remember why; her clit and her cunt are pulsing  staccatos and all she can do is ride the wave, squeezing her eyes shut, biting the fur around Cullen’s shoulders as pleasure takes hold.  She’s shaking, white bursts breaking under her closed lids, a ragged cry ripping from her throat, muffled by the fur.  She hangs onto him when her muscles relax, not able to stand on her own.

 He pulls his hand from her pants, and tilts her head back so he can see her flushed face, her mouth open and panting.  Her scent surrounds them and she is hyper-aware of his erection pressing hard against her hip.  She watches through heavy lids as he brings his fingers to his lips and sucks, his eyes closing as he savors her taste.  Her cheeks are burning when she pulls those same fingers towards her, running her tongue over them and tastes herself in turn.

“You are a wicked woman, Isabel,” he groans out,  his cock twitching against her as she sucks on his fingers.

“I daresay you’re worse than I am. After all, prayers should be made while kneeling.”  Emboldened by his obvious need she slides down the wall, dragging his pants down as she goes, the cool air hitting his cock only briefly before her mouth is on him.

“Isabel…we, should be getting back…we…should….”  He swallows hard as her tongue swipes over the tip, catching the precum that’s beading at the head, tasting and teasing the tip before slowly taking more and more of him into her.  He glances down and is met with her eyes, his cock between her lips, and achingly, teasingly she starts moving back and forth. She doesn’t look away, and her tongue is speaking of heaven against his cock .  Cullen braces himself on the wall with both arms, resting his forehead on the cool brick, not daring to take his eyes off what Isabel is doing.

He’s willing his hips to still, but she hums and slides her tongue just so, and he feels himself react, his hips move to meet her, and he locks his knees so they don’t buckle beneath him.  She scratches pink lines against his thighs, fingers tracing his hips and squeezes his ass. He bucks into her again, earning another hum of approval.  She  scratches and squeezes him encouragingly and he thrusts into her mouth until he’s moving at the pace he needs. Her tongue never stops moving, pressing against his base, sliding in contrast to the rest of her mouth, and he can barely breathe.  Her eyes flutter shut; he can feel her warm saliva slip down his balls, and her mouth is warmth and wetness, her tongue driving him mad. He dags a hand down to cup her face and touch her hair.  Flint grey eyes open and stare up with adoration, and she moans around him, urging him on, and it sends him crashing into his climax with a strangled groan he can’t subdue.  His fingers grip her short hair tightly as her wicked tongue and lips milk him, fingers squeezing hard against his ass, pulling him forward and deeper into her mouth.  When she finally pulls away she’s breathing hard and smiling up at him; he’s soft and his entire body is shaking.  He pulls her up to standing and kisses her.  It’s slow and purposeful, and he can taste himself on her tongue and he growls into her mouth, her talented, evil, and perfect mouth.

“You…are very good at that.”  He laces his pants and pulls her to him, hugging her, brushing his lips against her ear.

“You’re not the only one to get caught kissing in a chantry, Cullen.”  She smiles at him, and with one final adjustment to her tunic pulls open the door.  The air is cool, and they both hurry out of the garden, purposefully not making eye contact with the Revered Mother.

They return to the courtyard, the melting snow turning the grounds into a muddy quagmire.  Bull has the chargers and recruits doing joint drills.  He gives them each a once over and shoots Isabel a look.

“Morning prayers, huh?  Right.”  He smirks at both of them. Cullen clears his throat and looks away, and Isabel smiles despite herself.

“Will I see you later?  For dinner perhaps?”  Cullen drops his voice, taking her fingers in his.  

“Dinner sounds perfect.”  She gets on her toes and kisses his cheek, squeezing his fingers. He blushes but doesn’t pull away from the show of affection.

Cullen watches her go for a moment longer before schooling his face into that of the Commander of the Inquisition.  He makes sure to work the recruits extra hard for their insubordination, regardless of how grateful he was for the distraction.

Isabel hums the entire day, her cheeks aching from the unfamiliar smile.  

Writer’s Tips: Veterans and Soldiers

I have decided to begin a new series for my blog: Writer’s Tips. Because I have a very unhealthy relationship with Ravenclaw love for research, I’ve become affectionately known by many of my friends as “Walking Wikipedia.” This isn’t one of those topics I learned from hours of wiki walks, though - this is a topic that I’m intimately familiar with as the wife of a combat veteran.

Writers who approach the topic of writing about combat veterans or soldiers typically tend to focus on the obvious manifestations of trauma - PTSD and its associated symptoms. While many veterans will experience PTSD and we should by no means diminish how often it occurs or how severe the effects are, there are many other habits, turns of phrase, or small details a writer can include to flesh out their military character into a three-dimensional individual who is believable not only to civilian readers, but to any military personnel that happen to be reading, too. Below the cut is a list of things that I’ve observed over the course of my nearly six-year relationship with my husband, who was an Army medic and a veteran of the Iraq war. While he does experience trauma related to combat, most of these things are not trauma-related.

THESE ARE NOT MEANT TO APPLY TO ALL VETERANS, ALL COMBAT VETERANS, OR TO BE A BLANKET STATEMENT. These tips are based on my own experience with combat veterans and are intended for writers to use to flesh out their characters. Not all of these will apply to all veterans.

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