#Agent of the Chancellor

[sunlight-shunlight]

ok i'm slowly psyching myself up to Finish and Post the opening part of my fic. it's in the editing stage now. i WILL get this done and posted at some point. i'm too far into the sunk cost fallacy to stop, and it is becoming plausibly readable instead of 34374 unconnected notes 🙏

[neurotonic]

and 🧵 for mina!

🧵 hobbies - mina

Aside for drawing and watching cartoons, Mina's a studious one and she loves to read books! literally any book she can read through real quickly. She probably has a wide array of trivia swimming in her head rn. She likes the detective stories most :]

she's also very much a writer and storyteller at heart, inspired by the stories she has read and watched and such. Is learning how people think a hobby.

[ladybugmania]

BE AWARE: HISTORY IS REPEATING ITSELF

Trump & Hitler Compared

Comparison 1: Nationalism and Scapegoating Minorities

Hitler (1930s Germany):

Hitler’s rhetoric emphasized an ethnically pure German identity and national rebirth, exploiting economic despair and cultural anxiety following WWI. He blamed Jews, communists, and other minority groups for Germany’s defeat and economic troubles. The Nuremberg Laws institutionalized racial discrimination, stripping Jews of their rights as citizens.

Trump and the GOP (2015–Present):

Trump has repeatedly used xenophobic and racially charged language, calling Mexican immigrants “rapists” and proposing a “total and complete shutdown” of Muslims entering the U.S. His administration instituted the Muslim ban, attempted to eliminate DACA, and enacted family separation at the border. Republican-backed state laws increasingly target immigrants and minority voters, using the guise of security or voter integrity, echoing exclusionary policies of the past.

Comparison 2: Undermining Democratic Institutions

Hitler:

After becoming Chancellor, Hitler manipulated the Reichstag Fire in 1933 to invoke emergency powers. The Enabling Act gave him the authority to legislate without parliamentary consent, effectively dismantling democracy. He repeatedly painted political opponents as traitors or enemies of the state.

Trump and the GOP:

After losing the 2020 election, Trump refused to concede, launched dozens of baseless legal challenges, and incited the January 6 insurrection—an unprecedented attack on the peaceful transfer of power. He and his allies have labeled political opponents as “deep state,” “communists,” or “enemies,” aiming to delegitimize dissent and create a hostile political climate. Many GOP figures continue to downplay or deny the events of January 6, paralleling historical patterns of rewriting or ignoring threats to democracy.

Comparison 3: Control of Media and Disinformation

Hitler:

Joseph Goebbels led the Nazi Ministry of Propaganda, controlling all media, art, and public messaging. The regime spread disinformation, suppressed dissenting voices, and crafted a narrative that glorified the regime while demonizing its enemies.

Trump and the GOP:

Trump labeled mainstream media “the enemy of the people,” a term used by authoritarian regimes to delegitimize journalism. He and GOP-aligned media outlets like Fox News, Newsmax, and OANN have been pivotal in spreading conspiracy theories (e.g., QAnon, election fraud), while vilifying fact-based reporting. This creates an alternate reality for supporters and undermines trust in factual information, similar to propaganda methods used by authoritarian regimes.

Comparison 4: Cult of Personality and Loyalty Above Law

Hitler:

The Nazi regime revolved around the Führerprinzip—absolute loyalty to Hitler. Personal loyalty to him was expected above all else, including law, ethics, or reason. Independent institutions were absorbed or dismantled.

Trump:

Trump demands personal loyalty from public officials, often attacking or firing those who disagree with him (e.g., FBI Director James Comey, former Attorney General Jeff Sessions, or military leaders). Loyalty to Trump—not the Constitution or democratic norms—has become a defining feature of many in the GOP. Those who criticized his actions, including former allies, are frequently branded as traitors or RINOs (“Republicans In Name Only”).

Comparison 5: Militarization of Patriotism and Law Enforcement

Hitler:

The SA (Sturmabteilung) and later the SS were paramilitary forces used to intimidate opposition, enforce Nazi ideology, and maintain “order.” Hitler used them to blur the line between state power and partisan violence.

Trump and the GOP:

During the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests, Trump deployed federal agents (often unmarked) to suppress demonstrations, particularly in Portland, Oregon. He encouraged violent responses to protesters, infamously saying, “When the looting starts, the shooting starts.” Some extremist groups like the Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, and others that support Trump have acted as quasi-paramilitary forces—prominent among those who stormed the Capitol.

Conclusion:

While the U.S. remains a functioning democracy, the parallels between Hitler’s authoritarian rise and the tactics employed by Donald Trump and elements of the Republican Party are real and well-documented. They include:

Scapegoating and demonizing minorities

Discrediting democratic institutions

Spreading propaganda and disinformation

Fostering a cult of personality

Encouraging or ignoring political violence

These tactics, if unchecked, threaten the foundations of democratic society—just as they did in 1930s Germany. As history shows, democracies often crumble not from external attack, but from internal erosion.

Be Aware: History will repeat. This has happened in the past and it can happen again.

[redstuffs-ig]

Time to get burned at the stake but here's my hot take: Both sides were justified in the "You are on this council but not a Master" debacle

Anakin had been moved to the Council to play triple agent for the chancellor. It was already a sham, a purely political move, so to still be a Knight - essentially rubbing in that he was a member in name only, was a slap in the face after all the chicanery the Order had put him through, and he was justified in getting upset.

HOWEVER.

The Council had no obligation to promote Anakin. He was twenty-two years old, and an exceptional warrior, but if Jedi promoted based purely on combat ability they'd be closer to Mandalorians than the peacekeepers they are meant to be. Jedi Masters are spiritual leaders, and Anakin was still a kid, not to mention a notorious hothead and maverick. Mace Windu probably respected Anakin as a warrior and as a Jedi, but he had the wisdom to understand he wasn't ready to be a Master. Anakin felt he was owed the position as a reward, and though his thought process is understandable it wasn't right. This argument only happened because someone tried to strongarm the Jedi... Hmm...

You know, it's almost like Palpatine's scheming wearing down the Jedi through difficult situations and impossible choices is a theme of the trilogy.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Director's Obsession - Phase 5

Character: Director Orson Krennic x F!ISB Agent

Summary: Director Orson Krennic keeps one ISB agent under his thumb, pulling her from lunches, stealing her sleep, and destroying three dates. The project demands everything. Or maybe his obsession demands more.

Word Count: 9,460

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi🙏🏻

Phase 1 , Phase 2 , Phase 3 , Phase 4 , Phase 5 , Phase 6 , Phase 7 , Phase 8 , Phase 9 , Phase 10 , -

A/N: The intimate moment is here!

Phase 5 : His Equal

The speeder glided beneath the towering lights of the Imperial Gala, slipping through the heart of Coruscant’s elite like a ghost in velvet. Outside, camera drones swarmed, flashing like artificial stars. The entrance was a spectacle of power and elegance—senators, admirals, aristocrats, and planetary governors moving like jeweled chess pieces across a grand marble board.

Inside the speeder, your hands rested tensely in your lap, fingers curled against the smooth fabric of your gown. It was the most exquisite thing you had ever worn. Deep obsidian blue, edged with silver threading that caught the light like fractured starlight. It hugged your form without apology, the bodice structured, the neckline sharp and modern. Your shoulders were bare, sculpted and elegant, exposed beneath the delicate sweep of the fabric that gathered at the spine and fell into a long, commanding train. It was more than a dress. It was a declaration. And Krennic had chosen it.

"We're late," you murmured, trying to keep the rising panic from tightening your throat.

Beside you, Director Krennic adjusted his cufflink with calm precision. His white uniform was immaculate, gleaming beneath the subtle interior lighting. Every detail was deliberate: the straight line of his collar, the subtle shine of his boots, the perfect alignment of his rank bar.

He did not look at you when he answered. "I made us late."

You turned toward him, brow furrowing. "You planned this."

At last, he met your eyes. That measured smile played at the corner of his mouth, refined and infuriating.

"Timing is everything," he said, voice silk and steel. "The last to arrive always own the room." His eyes swept over you, deliberate and slow. "And tonight, the room belongs to you."

Before you could reply, the door opened.

Krennic stepped out first, cape flaring with theatrical elegance as it caught the breeze. He turned, extending his hand to you with ceremonial calm. You took it, and the moment your heels touched the steps, a wall of flashes erupted. Camera drones burst into motion. Murmurs swept the grand plaza like a wave.

He guided you up the marble staircase, his arm linked with yours, posture impeccable. His steps were slow, deliberate, forcing every dignitary in the atrium to turn and look.

Inside, the Imperial elite turned like planets toward a gravity they couldn’t resist. Mon Mothma’s expression flickered. Senators whispered into gold-trimmed glasses. Officers stared too long.

"Is that Krennic?"

"Who’s the woman?"

"He never brings anyone."

"She’s the ISB’s propagandist?"

He leaned toward your ear, voice low and cool. "You hear them?"

"They’re all staring," you whispered back, breath shallow.

"Good," he said, barely moving his lips. "Let them. You are mine tonight. Let them see what perfection looks like when I make it."

His touch was refined. His tone was respectable. And yet, everything about him screamed claim. Not affection. Possession.

At the base of the grand staircase, two figures awaited: Governor Tarkin and Mas Amedda. Power incarnate.

Krennic bowed just enough to show protocol. "Governor. Chancellor. I’m honored by your presence."

Tarkin’s pale eyes narrowed as they settled on you. "You’ve brought… company. That’s unusual for you, Director."

Krennic didn’t flinch. His voice remained level, clear. "This is the architect of our public initiative. Her words have unified more systems than our fleets could reach. She is the reason the project finished ahead of schedule."

Mas Amedda turned his gaze to you, intrigued. "What makes your voice so persuasive, Agent?"

You met his eyes without faltering. "Because I’ve seen what chaos creates. Hope is fragile. Comfort is rare. What people crave is order. And order only exists when power is absolute."

Tarkin tilted his head, impressed. "A pragmatic view. I may have use for someone with your instincts."

Krennic’s smile was polite, but thin. "She’s not available."

You nearly sighed aloud. Even in public, his need to keep you close bordered on compulsive.

The orchestra swelled.

Krennic turned to you and extended his gloved hand. "Shall we?"

You placed your hand in his, and together, you stepped onto the floor. The dance was measured, elegant, slow. His hand rested on your waist, the other curled around yours. Every spin placed you at the room’s center. You were no longer his shadow. You were his announcement.

When the music faded, he led you toward the refreshment table. His hand did not leave your back. It moved lower. You allowed it.

A server offered two crystal flutes of Corellian wine. Krennic took both and passed one to you.

"You use me like a trophy," you muttered.

"My most precious trophy," he replied, voice even.

"You enjoy this far too much."

"I did not bring you here for small talk. They need to see who stands beside me. You frighten them more than I ever could."

"You are impossible."

"And yet you are still here."

You sipped your wine, trying to ignore the heat rising under your skin.

He watched you, calculating and calm.

"Enjoy this while you can," he said suddenly.

You raised a brow. "Why?"

"You will be promoted soon. That means…" He tilted his head, feigning neutrality. "You’ll lose a friend. A valuable one."

Before you could answer, a senator waved him down from across the hall.

Krennic gave a slow, courteous nod, his tone dry. "I must return to being congratulated."

His hand brushed your back again, a subtle squeeze—deliberate, firm. Not romantic. Strategic.

"I will return shortly."

And then, just like that, the Director of Imperial Advanced Weapons strolled into the crowd, perfectly poised, leaving behind the storm he had so carefully sculpted.

You stood still, wine in hand, gown gleaming like star-forged silk, with every eye in the room still pinned to you.

Just as he intended.

You finally exhaled, letting your shoulders fall, the weight of the evening temporarily softened—until you saw him.

Marlon.

He moved through the sea of dignitaries like a ripple of shadow, his eyes locked on you with predatory precision. Your stomach clenched. You turned your head, hoping the flicker of recognition had gone unnoticed, but his voice sliced clean through the swell of music and conversation.

"You look breathtaking tonight," he said, low and deliberate, each word dipped in venomous charm.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the patience.

"Outside. Now."

The command left your mouth like a blade. You didn’t wait for a reply, already walking, weaving through the crowd toward the balcony. He followed. Of course he did.

You reached a shadowed alcove away from the eyes and ears of the Imperial elite. The city lights below flickered like a false constellation. You turned on him the moment you stopped.

"You shouldn’t be here."

"I came for you," he said, his voice still that same worn-out softness he had used when you first met. "You don’t belong with him. Look at yourself. He parades you like an ornament."

You crossed your arms. "Do not start. You knew what this was from the beginning."

"You’re smarter than this." He stepped closer, his tone shifting. "I can give you purpose. Real freedom. The Rebellion needs someone like you."

You scoffed. "And what? Become your tool instead of his? You were never honest with me, Marlon."

"I was honest about one thing," he said, his eyes narrowing. "I want you."

He reached for your arm. His fingers brushed your bare skin, trailing lower toward your waist.

You shoved him with force, but your heel caught on uneven stone. The stumble gave him just enough room to close the distance. He grabbed your wrist, desperation crackling in his voice.

"You’re only afraid because he owns you."

Your voice dropped, cold and unwavering.

"No. He doesn’t own me. He values me. He knows my worth."

There was a beat of silence, then a sharp crack. Marlon’s head snapped sideways as Krennic’s fist collided with his jaw.

Marlon staggered, clutching his face. Krennic stepped between you both, towering, composed, his white uniform pristine, his eyes aflame with cold fire. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

"Leave. While you are still breathing."

Marlon’s breath came heavy, teeth clenched, blood already on his lip. "This isn’t over."

Krennic didn’t even blink. His silence was louder than fury.

Marlon backed away, retreating into the shadows like a coward who had mistaken a diamond for glass.

Krennic stood still for a moment, restraining his breathing, then slowly turned to you. His hand found your waist, steadying you as your balance shifted.

"Enough excitement for one evening," he said quietly. "We’re leaving."

You nodded, but as you took a step, pain shot through your ankle.

"Orson," you gasped.

He halted immediately, eyes snapping to your face. In one smooth motion, he scooped you into his arms as though you weighed nothing, cradling you like something irreplaceable.

"What are you doing?" you whispered, breath catching.

"You’re hurt," he said, his tone gentler than you’d ever heard. "I do not tolerate seeing you in pain."

His grip was firm, protective, like the world might dare try again and he would strike it down.

Inside the speeder, he didn’t let go. Not right away. Not until you had caught your breath.

"You should have told me about that parasite," he said at last.

"I didn’t want to give him power," you murmured.

His voice dropped, dark and razor-edged. "No one should breathe near you without my approval. Let that be the last time someone tries."

Outside, near the walls of the gala plaza, Jung and Heert stood smoking, watching the speeder.

Jung exhaled slowly. "That escalated."

Heert nodded. "I thought ISB was brutal. But that? That was personal."

Across the city, in a dim underground chamber, Marlon slammed his fist against a metal table, his lip split and still bleeding.

"You lost control," Luthen snapped, his face colder than ice.

"I almost had her," Marlon growled.

"Almost got her killed," Luthen corrected. "You’re done. You’ll return to your sector and stay there. She’s not yours. Not your mission. Not anymore."

Marlon’s fists trembled. "This isn’t over."

Luthen didn’t flinch. "For your sake, it better be."

*******

The speeder halted outside your flat, lights dimming as the vehicle powered down. You didn’t move. Not because of pain, but because you were afraid your legs would betray you. Your ankle throbbed. Your head spun. Your chest… still burned from the chaos of the gala.

Krennic didn’t ask permission. He reached for you again and lifted you as though it was his right, not a kindness. His arms, strong and sure, wrapped around your back and beneath your knees, holding you like you weighed nothing at all. You pressed your hands against his chest. It's useless, half-hearted resistance.

"You don’t have to carry me every time," you muttered.

He didn’t answer. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered on your lips just a second too long, told you he wanted to.

Inside, your door slid open with a hiss. Lights flicked on automatically. The space welcomed you with silence.

Krennic stepped in like he owned it.

He carried you past the threshold, ignoring the furniture until he found the softest part of your couch. He eased you down like something precious, his hands careful, precise. But his gaze… it never let go.

His cape slipped from his shoulders with practiced ease. He draped it across the back of the chair, and then… Stars help you. His gloves.

One by one, the leather peeled from his fingers. The sound made your breath hitch.

He dropped them to the table, loosened the top buttons of his uniform with one slow motion, and knelt in front of you. Your heels were still on, barely clinging after everything. His fingers reached for them.

"Wait…"

He silenced you with just a glance. No words. Just eyes full of unspoken things you weren’t ready to name.

He touched your foot.

You tensed.

He was gentle. The pressure light, careful, reverent. His thumbs pressed slowly along the arch, circling near the sore spot. You bit your lip. Not from pain. From the way it felt—like every inch of you mattered.

"I’m sorry we had to leave the party early," you said softly, trying to focus on anything but the warmth of his hands moving up your calf.

His head tilted. "I’m not."

"You’re not?"

He looked up at you with that smug smile.

"The point was to celebrate my work, and they did. My mission was to show you to them. And I’d say it was executed perfectly."

He continued to work his way up your leg, massaging lightly. His palms were warm against your skin, your dress pushed slightly higher with every touch.

"You’re too calm about all this," you whispered.

He met your gaze. "I got what I wanted."

You swallowed. "Director—"

"Orson."

The name slipped out of his mouth like a confession. Your breath caught.

"Call me Orson. You screamed my name before that," he said again, quieter this time. It was not a command. It was not a suggestion. It hovered somewhere between pride and vulnerability, a plea cloaked in control.

You blushed, the memory still fresh. The panic when he suddenly carried you. You had cried out for him, not as a director, not even as a superior. Just his name.

Orson.

You hadn't realized you'd done it. But he had.

Your cheeks flushed with warmth. You tried to glance away, but his gaze held you fast.

"Orson," you said quietly.

Something shifted in his eyes. They softened, but not weakly. It was the kind of softness that could shatter steel. A quiet intensity filled the space between you.

He slid closer. Your knees parted just slightly. He didn’t touch you. Not yet. He hovered.

His hand rested at your thigh now, his fingers splayed wide. He leaned in. Your faces were so close his breath warmed your lips. Your heart thundered, and your entire body ached—not from the pain this time—but from the tension so thick it smothered you.

You thought he was going to kiss you. You tilted forward just enough to meet him.

But he stopped.

Right there. Inches away. Close enough for your lips to crave his. Far enough to be cruel.

His smirk returned.

"There’s a lot I want to do to you," he murmured. "But not when your ankle is wrapped like a ration pack."

"You're a bastard," you breathed, face flushed, breath shaky.

"And yet you’re still sitting here," he replied, rising to his feet with maddening grace.

He grabbed his cape, his gloves, every layer of armor he had peeled off… and put it all back on.

You stared, stunned, lips still parted from the kiss that didn’t happen.

He reached the door.

"You should ice it," he said, motioning toward your leg. His tone was neutral, like none of what just happened meant anything.

You stood. Barely.

"You came into my home, touched me, undressed me with your eyes, and now you leave?"

He turned at the door, eyes roaming your figure slowly. "You think I didn’t undress you in my head the moment I saw you in that dress? I’ve been patient all night."

Your stomach flipped.

"And I will continue to be patient," he added, smoother now. "Because when it happens…"

You didn’t breathe.

"It won’t be interrupted. Or rushed. And you will beg for it."

He opened the door, then paused. "Rest well, Agent."

And then he was gone.

You stood in your living room alone, heart pounding, face flushed, knees weak. You pressed a hand to your chest.

Damn him.

He left you burning.

And you hated how badly you wanted him to come back.

*******

The ISB Headquarters greeted you with its usual cold efficiency. The moment you stepped through the security doors, you could feel the weight of every gaze on you. The whispers, the sideways glances—everyone watching, calculating, observing.

You kept your chin high, trying to ignore the prickling sensation running down your spine. Inside, you could hear the soft murmur of voices, the familiar hum of the ISB machinery that had once felt like home. But today, it felt different. Out of place. You were different.

Something about last night had shifted.

Your steps echoed as you walked deeper into the halls. You passed your colleagues who watched you a little too closely, some turning their heads quickly, others meeting your eyes with a mixture of curiosity and caution. It didn’t take long for you to notice that a few desks were empty.

Heert, always the one to linger at the periphery, caught your eye. You approached him and Jung, both men standing near a row of screens, seemingly distracted. Your heart sank.

"Where’s Dedra?" You asked, trying to keep your voice even.

Heert glanced at Jung before looking back at you, clearly unsure whether to answer. His lips parted as if to say something but hesitated. The uncertainty was palpable. You were no longer just an agent to them, but a force of something else entirely.

Before he could respond, Paltargaz appeared from the shadows, his footsteps firm and purposeful. You stiffened instinctively. He was a man who carried weight in his voice. A man who made decisions that affected lives.

"Agent," he said, his tone more neutral than expected.

"Major," you responded with a nod.

"I heard someone tried to hurt you last night at the gala," he continued, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if he had been following the trail of rumors, and there was something more beneath the surface. Something simmering.

"It’s been taken care of," you replied flatly, refusing to give him more than necessary.

Paltargaz studied you for a moment. His sharp gaze flicked toward an empty chair near the far side of the room, and his lips pressed together in something like displeasure, though it was expertly hidden. "She’s still in interrogation," he said, voice firm, but there was an undercurrent of frustration just beneath the surface. It was clear that whatever had happened to Dedra, Paltargaz wasn’t happy about it. Or perhaps he wasn’t happy about her being so distracted.

The tension in the room rose slightly. You couldn’t help but turn to Heert and Jung, both of whom had looked down at their boots as if the answer lay hidden there. Heert shrugged, his usual calm demeanor momentarily breaking. Jung’s face remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with uncertainty.

You thought about Krennic’s words from earlier, about the Empire’s endless backstabbing and the high cost of ambition. Dedra had always been someone you could count on, but in the cold world of the ISB, allegiances were fleeting. Trust was fragile. In a way, the words Krennic had said about losing a friend felt like they were carved into your bones now.

There was a pang of something, maybe regret, maybe guilt. Or perhaps fear.

"You make the ISB proud," Paltargaz said, his voice cutting through your thoughts. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, they softened, just slightly, as if he recognized the weight you were carrying. "Don’t disappoint us, Agent. I’ve had enough searching for rats."

His words hung in the air. The layers of meaning behind them were impossible to ignore. Searching for rats, he’d said. The ISB was full of rats—traitors, spies, people with their own agendas. People like Dedra? Or people like you, the ones who were starting to see the cracks in the system? You weren’t sure anymore.

“There was a breach. Minor, but targeted. Some idiot tried to access restricted weapon development files. It was contained before anything spread, but it triggered a full protocol audit.”

Your stomach dropped slightly.

“And?”

“Every agent is required to secure their data. Effective immediately. Yours included.” He finally looked at you. “Some of us thought you’d already gone rogue.”

That earned a few glances from nearby officers.

“I’ve been off-world. Under direct orders,” you said steadily.

“I’m sure,” he replied with a clipped tone. “Agent Meero is currently in holding. Her clearance activity flagged anomalies.”

Paltargaz stepped closer. “You're back. Good. Then no excuses. Lock down your console. Triple encrypt everything. I don’t want to hear your name next.”

You nodded once. “Understood.”

He turned away without another word.

You made your way to your station, feeling the weight of every watchful eye. As your hands hovered above the console, you glanced toward Dedra’s empty chair. The tension curled in your chest like smoke.

Backstabbing. Promotions. Interrogations.

Krennic had warned you this would happen. And now the game had already begun.

When you were doing your job, red light flooded the corridors as warning sirens cut through the thick tension already gripping HQ. Officers jumped to their feet. A synthesized voice barked over the loudspeakers: “Security breach detected. Immediate lockdown initiated. All non-essential personnel evacuate the upper floors.”

Paltargaz’s voice followed seconds later. Sharp. Stern. Laced with authority. "All departments, evacuate to Level Four corridors. You know your protocols. Move."

Jung bolted from his console. Heert cursed under his breath, slamming his terminal shut as agents flooded the main hallways. The panic was restrained, but it was real. Everyone assumed it was related to the breach. No one questioned it. Not at first.

And that was the problem.

In the chaos, no one noticed the woman walking down the hall at a controlled pace, flanked by two men in ISB uniforms. The insignia matched. The badges cleared. She looked slightly dazed, maybe in pain. One man supported her arm, the other walked ahead.

Security let them pass.

The troopers were too focused on the potential cyber breach. Everyone believed the alarm was about data. No one imagined a physical extraction was underway. Not here. Not in the heart of Coruscant’s intelligence center.

You tried to speak, but the pressure in your veins made it hard to focus. You felt lightheaded, dizzy. Cold sweat clung to your neck.

The sharp sting at your side—barely noticed at first—had been a syringe.

You stumbled once, but they steadied you, smiling like allies. Your limbs started to fail you. Vision blurred. One of the men whispered something into your ear, something you couldn’t comprehend through the sound of the sirens and your pulse thudding louder than thought.

The last thing you saw before the world went dark was the glint of Marlon’s eyes.

His face hovered above yours, mockingly gentle.

"You should’ve chosen better."

Then there’s nothing.

Not the blaster-ready stormtroopers, not the agents rushing to secure the data vaults, not even Paltargaz himself. None of them realized that in the middle of this breach, something far more valuable than data had been stolen.

You were gone. And by the time they noticed, it would already be too late.

********

You woke slowly. Your head throbbed, your limbs felt heavy, and the low rumble beneath your body told you immediately that you were in a shuttle. Not Imperial. Smaller. Rougher. The scent of old fuel and recycled air scraped against your throat.

Your vision blurred at first, swimming behind a veil of pain, but as your eyes cleared, your stomach twisted.

Marlon sat in the pilot’s seat.

You bolted upright, chains on your wrists clinking harshly. "What the hell—"

He didn’t look back. His voice came over his shoulder, casual. Almost gentle.

"We’re going home."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Home?"

You leaned forward, struggling to push through the lingering fog in your mind. Then, you saw it. Through the viewport, a brown-orange planet loomed ahead.

No.

Your chest seized with sick recognition. You knew those jagged rock ridges, the burnt treelines, the barren plateaus carved by years of war and neglect. The very bones of the Outer Rim were etched in that world’s soil.

Cinderis.

"No," you whispered, horror creeping up your spine. "Turn it around."

Marlon didn’t even blink. "We’re landing."

"I said turn it around!" You lunged forward, but the cuffs dragged you back. Your voice cracked. "Why would you bring me back here?"

He finally turned to face you, the shadow of something long buried in his expression.

"Because I’m from here too."

The silence inside the cockpit roared louder than the engine. Your breath hitched.

"What?"

He didn’t answer. The shuttle jolted as it began its descent.

Dust clouds spiraled in the air as the landing gear struck dirt. You felt your heart racing, your body tense as he stood and moved toward you, unlocking your safety harness but not your cuffs. He offered no explanation as the ramp lowered.

The light outside was harsh and raw, exactly as you remembered. The smell of dry earth and metal filled your lungs. The air was colder than you expected, or maybe that was your memory chilling your blood.

You stepped down beside Marlon, flanked by two armed men in scrappy uniforms. They weren’t dressed like the polished Rebels you’d seen in intelligence briefings. These were local. Underground. Old loyalties. Old grudges.

And then you saw him.

A tall man stood in the center of the landing zone, arms open like a mockery of welcome.

"Welcome home," Joric Stone said with a thin, calculated smile.

The voice hit you like a blaster to the chest.

You froze, every muscle in your body locking.

Joric Stone

The man who ordered the execution of your parents. The man who turned your village into ash.

"Good job bringing her, son," he said, glancing at Marlon.

You turned slowly. "Son?"

Marlon didn’t meet your eyes.

Joric grinned wider. "What an honor to have the Emperor’s favorite propagandist here." He turned to the scattered Rebels around him. "And would you believe it? She’s from Cinderis. One of ours."

Murmurs spread like poison in the crowd. Eyes narrowed. Hands gripped blasters tighter. Their stares burned into your skin: judgment, suspicion, hatred.

You kept your spine straight, jaw tight. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.

"I am not one of yours," you said, voice low. Controlled.

Joric chuckled. "Come. Let’s give our guest a proper seat."

Inside the crumbling command building, you were shoved into a seat. Your wrists still bound. You faced a semi-circle of local leaders—elders, militants, opportunists wrapped in old resistance colors that hadn't meant anything in decades.

Joric paced like a man preparing a speech.

"To think," he mused aloud, "a girl from this dirt-ridden world would rise so far. ISB. Director Krennic’s right hand. Tell me, what do you dream of, now that you're rubbing elbows with the men who build the stars themselves?"

You looked him in the eye, no fear left to spare.

"You don’t know who I am, do you?"

Joric raised a brow. "Should I?"

You leaned forward, voice like ice.

"I’m the daughter of Kessa and Halin Verin. My father refused to give you the safehouse coordinates. So you killed them. And the others with them."

Something shifted in his face.

You pressed further. "You called it strategy. But we called it betrayal. You burned our homes. Took our food. Sacrificed children. That was your rebellion."

Joric scoffed. "Ah. Now I remember. Ingrates, all of you. We gave you shelter. We gave you a purpose."

"You gave us death."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Massacre is a strong word. Your people simply didn’t know how to defend themselves."

You stared, hollow and sharp. "Is that what you told yourself while my mother bled out in the street?"

The room went silent.

Joric’s expression darkened. In one fluid motion, he stepped forward and slapped you across the face. The blow rang through the small chamber like a gunshot.

"You should’ve died with them," he snarled.

You didn’t flinch. You bled from the lip, but your gaze held steady.

"That’s the problem with your cause," you whispered. "Rotten leaders pretending to fight for peace."

"Take her to the holding cell," he growled.

Marlon hesitated.

"Now, boy!"

He moved to your side. But as he pulled you to your feet, you turned your face toward him.

"I hope you’re proud," you murmured, voice trembling from pain, not fear.

And he couldn’t meet your eyes again.

Not this time.

*******

At ISB Headquarters, the mood shifted quickly. Whispers passed between agents. Your absence had gone unnoticed for the first few hours, but as the day wore on, it was impossible to ignore.

"Is she with Director Krennic?" Partagaz asked, voice sharp as ever.

"I don’t think so, sir. No transport requests, no dispatch notices, and no orders came through from Scarif or Coruscant High Command," Heert replied quickly.

"Maybe she's sick," one of the junior agents offered, almost too casually.

"What?" Partagaz narrowed his eyes.

"Last night, during the breach alarm, when we had to gather outside the command floor... I saw her. She looked pale and was leaning against another agent. He was helping her. I thought maybe she fainted or something."

Heert and Jung immediately exchanged a look. Partagaz’s face darkened.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Heert moved fast. "I’ll check the surveillance records." 

Minutes later, the three of them stood in a control bay, observing holorecordings on glowing Imperial holopanels. Footage flickered. They saw you following evacuation protocols after the data breach. Then in another feed — you being led away discreetly, supported by someone in an ISB uniform.

"Wait," Partagaz narrowed his gaze. "Enhance that visual. That’s not one of ours."

"I’ve seen him before..." Jung said carefully.

Partagaz’s jaw tightened. "So have I. That boy from the fundraising gala. The one who made Director Krennic twitch with jealousy."

Heert leaned in a little closer. "Well, I guess it’s a good thing Director Krennic ruined her date."

Jung shot him a look, clearly not in the mood for jokes.

Partagaz cursed under his breath. "Stars help us... he's going to kill someone when he hears this."

He tapped the holocomm. The signal flickered once, twice, then sharpened into focus—Director Krennic appeared, surrounded by the clean lines and bright light of Scarif Command. His white cape shimmered faintly in the background, and his expression was cool, unreadable.

"Krennic," Partagaz began without ceremony, his voice clipped, "I need a moment of your time."

Krennic didn’t look up from whatever data he was reviewing. "Make it quick. I’m debriefing with the Scarif engineers before the Finance Guild arrives."

"It’s about your propagandist."

That made Krennic glance up, but only mildly. "What about her?"

Partagaz hesitated just slightly. Just enough to be noticed.

Krennic’s brow twitched. "Partagaz?"

"She’s… missing."

The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. Krennic stood straighter, his face hardening, but his voice stayed measured.

"Missing as in unaccounted for, or missing as in someone took her?"

Partagaz’s jaw flexed. "We have reason to believe she’s been taken. By rebels."

Krennic stared, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then his voice dropped, dangerous and low.

"How long have you known?"

"She didn’t report in today. That alone isn’t irregular. But an agent saw her during last night’s security evacuation. Pale, disoriented, being helped by someone we now believe wasn’t one of ours."

Krennic's face shifted—just slightly—but enough to betray what Partagaz rarely saw from him.

Fear.

"And you’re just telling me this now?"

"We were verifying before—"

"You should’ve called the second she was late." Krennic’s voice cracked like glass under pressure. "You think I wouldn't notice her absence? You think I’d be too distracted by bureaucrats to care?"

Partagaz stood silent. Not out of guilt, but because there was nothing he could say to temper the storm brewing through the comm.

Krennic exhaled sharply, trying to reel it in. His voice dropped to a hiss. "Who."

"The man she was seen with at the fundraiser. We pulled footage. He's not on our personnel list."

Krennic didn’t even blink. "Marlon."

Partagaz nodded grimly.

There was a loud crash—off screen, something metallic hitting the floor. Krennic had thrown something. Then he paced out of frame briefly before returning, his composure beginning to fracture at the edges.

"I left Scarif for two days to deal with financiers and walk imbeciles through the Death Star's metrics. Two days. And this happens."

Partagaz straightened. "We’re already tracing his ship. We’ll have a location soon." Actually they have no lead. But he lied to ease Krennic anger. 

Krennic’s eyes bored through him. "If you don’t find her, I will personally raze the entire ISBy department and bury it to the ground."

"We will find her," Partagaz said flatly. "You have my word."

The line cut. Silence remained.

He turned to Heert and Jung.

"You heard him. Lock every hyperspace corridor from here to the Outer Rim. Track every flight manifest and heat trail. I want Marlon before the sun sets. No excuses."

They nodded sharply and moved in unison.

********

Somewhere in the lower levels of Coruscant, buried beneath the glowing towers and chaos of the upper districts, Jung waited in the shadows of a narrow service corridor. The stale scent of coolant and metal clung to the air, mixing with the faint hum of power lines overhead. His eyes tracked every sound — footsteps, the hiss of hydraulics, distant traffic above — until finally, a figure stepped into view.

Luthen Rael approached with his usual calm, the folds of his dark cloak hiding his arms, but his stance betrayed tension. They were alone — or at least as alone as anyone could be in this city.

Jung stepped forward, his voice low but loaded with accusation. "Is this your plan? Kidnapping an Imperial agent?"

Luthen exhaled sharply, as if he had been holding that breath for hours. "No. That wasn’t supposed to happen." His voice dropped, almost regretful. "I should never have trusted Marlon. He’s reckless. Ambition clouded him. Whatever he’s doing now... he’s doing it alone."

"Then give me something," Jung demanded. "Anything about him. Location. Contact. Ship ID. Anything."

Luthen tilted his head slightly, studying Jung with piercing eyes. "Why do you care so much?"

Jung’s jaw tensed. "You don’t understand what you’ve done. Krennic will burn everything to find her. He’s finished his weapon. And now? Now he has motive."

Those words struck like a bolt to Luthen’s spine. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The faint twitch in his jaw, the flicker of fear behind his eyes, was enough.

"You know what that thing is capable of," Jung added, stepping closer. "And he’s already unleashed it once. Imagine what he’ll do when it’s personal."

For a long moment, the silence between them crackled with unspoken threats and truth. Finally, Luthen reached into his cloak and pulled a datachip. He held it out with reluctance.

"That’s all I have. Coordinates. A drop point from Marlon two days ago. He stopped responding after that."

Jung snatched the chip without hesitation, his fingers cold around it. He gave Luthen one last look, one that said, if this goes further south, none of us are safe.

"You better hope she’s still alive."

*******

The cell was small. The air stank of rusted metal and mildew, a cloying, rotted scent that clung to every breath. The walls were damp and bruised with age, and the faint trickle of water in some unseen corner made the silence worse. The dim light flickered overhead, casting shadows that danced too slowly. You sat on the cold floor, knees pulled close, the metal cuffs biting into your wrists. This wasn’t just a prison — it was a memory. And not one you wanted.

You had grown up in places like this. In corners of the galaxy forgotten by the Senate and ignored by the Empire. Back then, you had to sleep beneath broken roofs and dig through ration crates just to eat. The smell in this cell was the same as the caves you’d hidden in when the fighting got too close. And now here you were again, only this time with nothing but your title, your pain, and a past you’d tried so hard to erase.

Beside you, in the opposite cell, two stormtroopers sat chained together, their armor dirtied and scorched. Even they looked hollow. It was strange seeing them like this — once so imposing, now reduced to quiet breathing, just as trapped as you were.

The cell door groaned open. You didn’t look up.

"Miserable place, isn't it?" Marlon’s voice echoed off the walls, too familiar, too calm. He stepped forward carrying a tray, the weak scent of reheated rations doing nothing to improve the atmosphere.

You still didn’t meet his gaze.

"I brought food," he said simply. "Eat. You'll think clearer with something in your stomach."

You turned your head slightly, eyes sharp. "You think I’m going to change my mind because of scraps and kindness?"

Marlon crouched, placing the tray on the ground just out of your reach. "I think you're tired. I think you're remembering why you came from here. Why it hurts. I'm offering you a way out — a real one. Leave the Empire. Come back to what your parents believed in."

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking your head slowly.

"My soul was already torn to shreds the day my parents died in front of me," you said. "I had to hide. I had to crawl through ash and bone just to survive. There were days I envied worms — at least they could burrow deep underground and disappear. I couldn’t. I had to keep running. Keep breathing."

Marlon's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "And now you betray that sacrifice by siding with the very people who helped tear this planet apart?"

"If my parents were still alive and saw what I have become — they would understand," you replied coolly. "Because I no longer sleep under rubble. I no longer starve. I live with comfort. I live with control. I am not a hunted animal in a hole anymore."

Your words echoed through the cellblock. One of the prisoners nearby gave a loud cheer. Another clapped a chained hand against the wall in support. Even the stormtroopers grunted their amusement.

Marlon rose to his feet with a humorless scoff. "You're clever with words. No wonder the Emperor and Krennic keep you close." His voice sharpened. "I wonder if Krennic even realizes you're gone yet. If he does, I hope he's enjoying the chase — because he won’t find you."

You flinched before you could stop yourself. That flash of dread, sudden and heavy, slammed into your chest.

Marlon noticed. His gaze softened, almost pitying. "Clear your head. No one here wants to hurt you. You're too valuable for that."

Your voice came out low, bitter. “So. The first meeting. The date. It was all for a mission.”

He didn’t answer right away. He stared at the floor, the words pressing into the space between you like a heavy fog. Finally, he admitted it. “It was. I took the assignment because you were from Cinderis. I thought you’d be easy to pull back. One of us.”

He looked at you then, and for the first time, there was no mask. No act. “But you weren’t. You were different. Smarter. Colder. It stopped being a mission after the second time we spoke. And that scared the hell out of me.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. The betrayal settled in your gut like a bruise that would never fade.

He turned and walked toward the door, pausing only briefly before the guard opened it for him. Then he was gone, leaving you in the silence that somehow felt colder than before.

You curled in on yourself, resting your back against the wall. Your thoughts drifted, too fast to stop. Mia’s laugh. The soft giggles of her daughters. The quiet joy of watching the little one hand you a drawing with pride. Your ridiculous director — smug, impossible, infuriating. The way his eyes burned when he looked at you. The unexpected gentleness in his voice that night after the gala. The way he carried you like you mattered. Like you were his.

And now?

Now you were in a place that reeked of ghosts, waiting to see who would find you first. 

******

They made you walk again. This time, escorted by Marlon, his grip firm on your arm as he guided you through the base. The air outside the prison was just as stifling, though now filled with the murmurs and glances of rebel fighters as you passed. Your injured leg ached with every step, but you didn’t let them see it. You kept your spine straight, your face cold.

They brought you into a larger chamber. At the center stood Joric Stone, his presence as smug and arrogant as you remembered — the man whose orders had ended your parents' lives. His expression was all show, arms spread in mock welcome.

“She’s here,” Marlon announced.

Joric stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, voice low and controlled. “We need your skills, girl. The Empire’s propaganda has flooded too many systems. But we have you now. You’re going to turn the tide.”

You didn’t answer.

“Make a piece. Just one,” Joric said, tone too casual. “Stir up sympathy for our cause. Convince the people the Empire is a machine. Cold, cruel. Empty.”

You stared at him with open contempt. “I won’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, then smiled, slow and venomous. “Mia,” he said.

You blinked. The name hit like a slap.

“She’s from this planet too, right? Your friend? Married well. Living comfortably in Coruscant. Two lovely daughters.”

Your stomach twisted. “What did you say?”

“I know everything,” he said softly. “Where she lives. Where her children play. Who drives them to school. I have people near her. Watching. Waiting.”

Your hands clenched into fists. “Fine,” you hissed.

Joric turned to Marlon with a smirk. “Bring her a pen. Let her do the job.”

Marlon placed a sheet of flimsi and a pen in front of you. You didn’t move.

“I’m still cuffed,” you muttered.

Marlon hesitated, then unlocked the cuffs. “Try anything, and it won’t end well.”

Joric chuckled. “You’re an ISB agent, sure, but they don’t train you for real combat. Just enough to die dramatically.”

You stared at the pen for a heartbeat. Then you smiled. “That’s true.”

In one fluid motion, you grabbed the pen and drove it into Joric’s eye.

He screamed, stumbling backward in agony. “Arrgh!”

You lunged behind him, wrapping your arm around his throat, dragging him upright even as his blood slicked your arm. The room erupted into chaos, blasters raised, voices shouting.

“Drop it!” someone shouted.

You pressed the edge of the broken pen to Joric’s neck. “Do it, and he’ll never speak again,” you growled. “Put. Them. Down.”

Joric whimpered, clutching his eye, pain overcoming his pride. “Stand down. Stand down!”

Blasters lowered.

With her hostage trembling, you used him like a keycard. One room, then another — barked commands, stifled panic. No one dared challenge you, not with Joric bleeding and furious.

Finally, outside. You didn’t have a plan. You just needed to get away.

A parked glider bike waited by the supply platform. Sleek, half-powered, but fast enough. You shoved Joric away, climbed on, ignoring the white-hot stab of pain in your leg.

“Stop her!” Joric roared behind you.

Blaster fire rained across the tarmac as you gunned the accelerator and shot forward. Lights streaked past. Voices blurred. All you knew was the wind and the pain and the desperate need to get out.

The vehicle jerked as a blast clipped the side panel. You lost control. The world spun violently. You hit the dirt hard, tumbling through brush and bramble before slamming into the edge of the forest floor.

Your ears rang. Your ribs burned. You tried to crawl.

Footsteps followed.

Marlon emerged from the trees, face twisted with frustration. He raised the blaster in his hand but didn’t shoot.

“Why,” he said, breathless, “do you have to make everything so difficult?”

You forced yourself upright, swaying. “Because I don’t belong here.”

He laughed — not amused. Bitter. Unhinged. “So you’d rather be dragged around by a man in a white cape? That’s better than this?”

You didn’t flinch. “It’s not about him.”

“It is. You love him,” he spat. “I can see it.”

You said nothing.

“Damn it.” His voice cracked, the blaster trembling slightly in his grip. “You really do.”

Then he laughed again, the sound wild. Something about it made your chest tighten with unease. You took a step back, slowly, the dirt and leaves crunching underfoot.

Marlon stopped laughing. His hand steadied.

He raised the blaster.

You closed your eyes, accepting it. If this was your final moment, at least let it be quick.

And deep down, your only regret was not kissing Krennic that night. 

Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the air.

Marlon’s scream tore through the clearing, raw and helpless.

You gasped, eyes snapping open just in time to see him stagger backward, his hand clutching his shoulder. Blood bloomed between his fingers. He tripped in the dirt, eyes wide with pain and disbelief.

The wind screamed louder now, a sudden gale rushing through the trees. Dust rose around you in a violent whirl. Above, cutting through the storm clouds like a blade, descended a black shuttle. Its landing thrusters roared as the ramp lowered with a hiss, swallowing the earth in shadow.

He emerged from the storm like a myth made real.

Orson Krennic.

White cape billowing, posture tall and unyielding, he moved down the ramp with measured steps. The fabric snapped in the wind behind him like a war banner. Death Troopers followed, their presence massive and silent, flanking him with the precision of judgment.

Krennic didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His eyes were locked on Marlon, gaze like a weapon in itself—burning, fixed, merciless. He didn’t so much walk as command the space around him. The wind seemed to part in his wake.

Marlon’s mouth worked soundlessly. He tried to move. A second shot rang out.

He screamed again, this time falling to one knee, his leg torn beneath him.

Still, Krennic did not rush. He advanced with slow, terrifying calm, the kind of deliberate pace that promised no escape. His boots struck the ground like the toll of a war drum.

His eyes flicked to you.

The bruises.

The cuts.

Your trembling form.

His expression barely changed, but his jaw tightened, his breath shifted—enough to show the storm inside him was far more dangerous than the one raging around you.

When he reached you, he did not speak.

He pulled you into his chest without hesitation, one gloved hand cradling your head, the other curling protectively around your back. The moment his arms wrapped around you, something in you collapsed. A sob escaped your throat, muffled against the fabric of his uniform.

"You came," you whispered, your voice hoarse.

He pressed his lips against your temple, his breath shallow and trembling with fury.

"Of course I came, darling. No one touches what I value. No one takes you from me."

Behind you, Marlon whimpered in agony.

Krennic turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He raised one hand. The gesture was subtle. Dismissive.

The third blast echoed like judgment.

And then, silence.

Marlon’s cries were gone. So was Marlon.

You didn’t turn to look. You didn’t need to.

"Is it done?" you whispered.

Krennic exhaled slowly, his breath a controlled release of fire. He nodded once.

"It’s done."

His hand found your cheek, brushing gently across the tender bruising. His touch, so soft now, trembled with everything he refused to say. The cold rage that had consumed him moments ago was buried beneath something deeper. He leaned close.

"Let’s go home."

He didn’t let you go, not once, as he led you back toward the waiting shuttle. The storm clouds above had not calmed, but their fury no longer reached you.

You were in his arms.

And nothing dared touch you again.

*******

You didn’t remember fainting.

One moment, you were wrapped in Krennic’s arms, the scent of his uniform clinging to you as your adrenaline finally gave out. The next, everything was light and noise.

You awoke slowly to a sterile hum, the sharp scent of antiseptic stinging your nose. The lighting overhead was clinical and bright, too clean. Your body ached. Cold metal beneath you. Soft beeping echoed faintly from the monitor beside your bed.

You blinked, disoriented.

"You're stable," a voice said.

A physician stepped into your view. Imperial white. Calm. Detached. "Mild concussion. Lacerations. Deep tissue bruising. But nothing permanent. You're lucky."

Your throat was dry, your voice barely audible. "Where am I?"

The physician didn’t answer right away.

Then another voice filled the room, deeper, familiar, and somehow cutting straight to your core.

"The Death Star."

You turned, slowly, already knowing what you’d see.

Krennic stood in the doorway, cape draped behind him, gloves absent, though his posture was still rigid, still dignified, like nothing could rattle the empire forged in his mind.

“You’re safe now,” he said, but his eyes never quite softened. They scanned you like a checklist, finding every bruise, every mark, and filing them away with lethal precision.

He turned to one of the command officers waiting behind him. "Report."

"Sir, we’ve retrieved every Imperial asset from the rebel prison. All accounted for," the officer added. "Including the children."

"Good," Krennic said coldly. "That means only one piece remains."

The officer nodded and stepped aside.

He stepped forward to you, and without another word, he held out a hand.

“Come with me.”

You hesitated, weakly pushing yourself upright.

“I want you to see something,” he said.

And somehow, despite everything, you took his hand.

He led you silently through the sterile corridors of the Death Star, the vastness of the station unfolding around you like a throne carved into space. Stormtroopers stepped aside. Officers stood to attention. No one questioned your presence.

He brought you to an observation room overlooking one of the central detention decks. You immediately recognized the figure kneeling on the floor.

Joric Stone.

He looked different now. Small. Broken. His hands were bound behind his back, his body bruised and bloodied, one eye missing. He didn’t look like a rebel leader anymore.

“You didn’t kill him?” you asked quietly.

Krennic’s voice was low. “Not yet.”

He gestured to one of the guards.

“Bring him.”

The stormtroopers moved quickly. Joric didn’t resist, but he groaned in pain as they hauled him to his feet. You turned away, just slightly. Not out of sympathy. Out of memory.

Krennic led you to another chamber. A circular control room—one that overlooked the vast targeting array. On the central screen, the blue-green surface of Cinderis filled the projection. Cloud banks drifted lazily over its mountains. You knew those forests. You knew the smell of the dirt. The taste of hunger.

Joric was dragged in and forced to his knees before the viewport.

“You wanted her to suffer,” Krennic said, voice quiet. “Now you’ll see what that earns you.”

He moved behind Joric and crouched. Then, with one gloved hand, he gripped the back of the man’s bloodied head and forced his face upward.

"Look."

Joric flinched, trying to pull away, but Krennic tightened his hold.

"You made her bleed. You dragged her back to this place. And now you're going to watch it vanish."

"Don’t—" Joric wheezed, shaking.

Krennic ignored him completely. His eyes were on you.

“You deserve this,” he said. Not to Joric. To you.

Then, to the operator: “Target the rebel stronghold.”

Joric screamed.

"You can't! My soldiers!”

"Collateral," Krennic said simply. "The price of your rebellion."

The targeting system aligned. The weapon charged, humming with power that vibrated through your chest.

Joric sobbed now, his voice ragged. "Please… Please!"

Krennic leaned closer to him. His voice was almost gentle.

“Do you want to know why I brought you here?”

Joric whimpered.

Krennic’s voice dropped, cold as vacuum.

“Because I want this to be the last thing burned into that skull of yours.”

Then he nodded once towards the operator. 

“Fire!"

The chamber went silent as light erupted across the screen. A single beam lanced from the weapon array. Blinding. Absolute.

Cinderis bloomed into a sun.

Joric screamed, convulsed, and fell limp in the guards’ grip.

You watched, unmoving. You didn’t cry. You didn’t speak. The world that had hurt you your entire life was now a smear of smoke in orbit.

Krennic finally released Joric’s head, and the man slumped to the floor in a heap of whimpers and failure.

“Dispose of him,” Krennic said, his voice devoid of weight.

Then he turned to you. The storm in him settled. Not gone. But quiet.

"Are you satisfied?"

You didn’t answer right away.

But a part of you—one you had buried long ago in the forests of Cinderis—whispered yes.

And you followed him to another room to avoid the chaos. There’s only both of you at the moment. 

You turned to him, lips parting with disbelief. "Why did you show me this?" 

Krennic didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were trained on the fading light from the projection, watching the data clear from the screen as if brushing off ash. He didn’t look at you when he finally spoke. "Because I wanted you to see what justice looks like." 

You stared at him, heart hammering against your ribs. 

He turned then, slowly, the edges of his voice softer now, but no less steady. "That place... It stole everything from you. It buried your family. It made you believe there was no power that could ever protect you." 

He stepped closer, his eyes locking with yours, unflinching. "I wanted you to know that I can." The breath caught in your throat. "I didn’t do this for protocol," he continued, voice quieter now, but deeper. “I did this for you. Because you deserve to see it gone. Not hidden. Not buried. Gone.” 

Your vision blurred, but you didn’t look away. 

You couldn’t. "And Joric?" you asked, your voice low. 

Krennic’s lips twitched faintly. No smile. Just grim truth. "He watched his empire burn. Just like you watched yours. The difference is, you built something greater out of the rubble." 

You exhaled shakily, your body trembling from more than injury. You looked out at the screen again, at the now-empty sky. 

No more lies. No more ghosts. No more Cinderis. 

Krennic stepped closer and, without asking, placed his gloved hand over yours. "You asked me once if I saw you as my equal," he said. "This is my answer."

‘My Equal.’

The words echoed between you, low and deliberate, landing like a final strike on everything that once held you apart. The room was quiet now. The only sound was the low hum of the Death Star’s power systems in the walls and the pounding of your own heartbeat.

You stared at him.

No smirk. No smugness. No layers of manipulation. Just Orson. Exhausted. Unflinching. And for once, not trying to win. Just telling the truth.

You hadn’t come looking for this. You hadn’t thought your moment of justice would look like this, feel like this. But in the aftermath of everything of blood, ruin, betrayal, and survival. It made terrifying, perfect sense.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t graceful.

You stepped forward and kissed him.

A startled breath left him through his nose, like you’d struck him again. Not with a weapon this time, but with something more dangerous. You felt it the moment his mind caught up to his body, when surprise turned into something hungry, something scorching.

And then, he kissed you back with controlled force, one gloved hand sliding behind your neck, the other bracing against the glass wall beside you. You rose onto your toes, pulling him closer, as if the world around you didn’t matter, and for the first time in so long, it didn’t.

He tasted like heat and metal and thunder. And you wanted more.

When he finally pulled away, just barely, his breath was ragged, his eyes unreadable but burning. He looked at you like a man seeing something sacred. And for once, you didn’t feel like a pawn. Or a weapon. Or a piece of strategy.

"You kissed me," he said quietly, like he needed to hear himself say it to believe it.

You nodded, heart racing. "Yes."

His lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. "It’s about time."

You stared at each other for another beat. The kind of beat that changes everything.

And for once, it was not about power. Not about politics. Not even about revenge.

It was just the two of you. Finally standing in the same place. At the same time. No more waiting.

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@me-internally-writing-my-novel

@the-goon-tm

@sparklebunny57

@marsaligned

Please feel free to leave your comments. I'd love to know what you think. What do you want too see in the chapter?

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

Link for Dad I Can't Let You Go

Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

[rebel-hunk-enjoyer]

I don't think Kallus is a great spy!! Here me out, though :)

I like the idea of him being fairly competent at spying compared to your average rebel, because of some of his experiences in the ISB, but the ISB isn't exactly an intelligence bureau in the traditional sense. They're law enforcement and internal intelligence, they are the not-so-secret police who are internally investigating things like treason, disloyalty, thought crimes, etc within the Empire.

To get into the gritty details: the ISB is a part of COMPNOR or the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order. This commission grew out of the Clone Wars Era COMPOR or the Commission for the Protection of the Republic, a hard-line loyalist group that lobbied the Galactic Senate to give more authority to the Supreme Chancellor and promoted wartime propaganda that aligned with their agenda. When Palpatine became Emperor, the New Order absorbed COMPOR and reorganized it into a government agency that served as the Empire's propaganda wing. The Imperial Security Bureau is a part of that because it used to be the Internal Security Bureau of COMPOR. They were already shady af and trying to root out disloyalty within their ranks during the later stages of the Republic and just shifted that over to rooting out disloyalty within the Empire at large through the ISB.

Which means that the ISB is ultimately tasked with making sure the New Order's agenda is advanced: enforcing the state-sponsored political religion to maintain control, order, rule of law, uniformity, Imperial civic pride, and so on. COMPNOR supported xenophobia and the Empire's humanocentric policies, advanced the human 'natural right to rule' nonsense, minimized the accomplishments of alien species, and pushed anti-alien xenophobia to the point of sowing distrust throughout the Empire. The ISB is their agency that does all of that in the name of security. In fact, the ISB has an entire division for interrogation and another for re-education, just to underscore the New Order's dedication to the bottom line of thought conformity and the role the ISB plays in that. They aren't just the not-so-secret police, they are the not-so-secret police who have the authority and means to brainwash loyalty into Imperial citizens.

Now, Kallus worked within the enforcement, investigations, and internal affairs divisions of the ISB throughout his career and by the time we see him in Rebels, he's clearly operating as a part of the enforcement division. He specifically states that "as an agent of the ISB, [he] follow[s] the letter of the law" and I imagine that he has the ISB Loyalty Manual memorized backwards and forwards. But knowing the letter of the law when it comes to hard-line New Order political religion conformity doesn't automatically translate into knowing everything, right? He's ignorant about larger scale operations to the point that he seems almost disinterested in them on Bahryn while talking to Zeb about Geonosis, actually.

This, I think, is what makes Kallus very interesting as a defector. He isn't just some guy who changes his mind when presented with new information, he's some guy who has dedicated his entire career to toeing the party line and rooting out the mere suggestion of anyone, anywhere within the Empire not doing the exact same. He's the thought cop and he's suddenly thinking thoughts he has never had before, he's suddenly doing things that he's only ever seen done by people who were arrested and re-educated if they were lucky, he's suddenly the thing that he's spent his entire career trying to stop.

But that's also why I think he wouldn't be a good spy specifically in S3 against Thrawn. He's used to finding traitors to the Empire, that's what all of his skills are honed toward. Now he's the traitor to the Empire, surrounded by a bunch of hard-line Imperials who are all focused on stopping the rebels, and he's ... trying to get information from them? To pass along to the Rebellion? With a repurposed MSE and some sleight of hand with Lyste's code cylinder? This isn't to say that he didn't give the Rebellion valuable information, he did that on several occasions, but when it came down to the wire, when it came down to the actual spycraft of keeping himself safe, he did not perform well. He got the job done, he covered his ass, but he did not cover his ass in such a way that he was able to fool Yularen or Thrawn. They were onto him immediately, they left him in his position with the intention of using him against the Rebellion, Thrawn even waited until he had Kallus dead to rights, caught him right in the act of sending a message to the Rebellion.

All of this is to say that I think Kallus might have been a better spy if he hadn't been ISB and that being ISB maybe set him up to be terrible at spying on Thrawn. Because I can't imagine spending nearly two decades hunting down people for non-conformity, then suddenly finding yourself on the other side of that and not being really, really nervous? He probably saw accusations of treason on his own face every morning in the mirror, he was probably sick about it constantly, worried that he might slip in a way that would be meaningful to an ISB agent, thinking more about his performance of being an Imperial than on the actual spying itself, than the MSE or the code cylinder or whatever else. I imagine him worrying so much about his Imperial Mask and not thinking as much as he should have about the rest.

Because first and foremost he was a cop who policed loyalty, not actually a spy.

Now, of course, this changes once he gets into the rebellion at large, because I do think a lot of his ISB skills would be adjacent to spycraft, but I think before that he was more backed into a corner like a wounded animal about it than anything else because of the political atmosphere surrounding the Empire and how it polices loyalty.

[owlpockets]

my piece for @daflowerzine with spot art by @gellymilk, which is perfection

full transcript under the cut, including image descriptions (also on ao3 if you prefer)

Collaborative Preservation in the Dales—An Update.

As many of you know, rashvine is a poisonous skototropic vine able to travel long distances before finding a suitable location to produce foliage. The insidious nature of this vine makes it the bane of cultural heritage preservation in the Dales. The problem is unmanageable by the RAS alone. Controlled burning has been attempted in the past, but it produces smoke capable of causing internal bleeding at a distance of eight yards. Clipping the vine merely duplicates it. Goats refuse to eat it.

We selected Ghilan’nain’s Grove to test hand removal of rashvine because it remains high on Her Imperial Majesty’s list of at-risk heritage sites. Additionally, the ongoing presence of Inquisition forces made it a safer choice than many other sites in the Plains region. We assumed Inquisition engineers had completed stabilization of the ruins. As such, we designed this study with the hope of empowering local farming communities to join our efforts as citizen scientists.

However, we regret to announce that the inaugural expedition has ended early. Poor compliance with safety and removal standards resulted in several casualties from rashvine calcification, gurgut attacks, contaminated rock pools in the fens, and sub-level room collapse.

New participants recruited to fill these gaps quit due to ongoing exposure to rashvine toxins caused by the lack of adequate personal protective equipment. Serault-infused glass goggles are apparently subject to high import tax in the Imperial hinterlands. Participants expressed discomfort with the leather masks. Without sufficient funding, it became necessary to continue the expedition using what we had.

Our herbicides began to mysteriously disappear soon after the project began. Inquisition field agents at the site merely resumed picking their teeth rather than assisting us to capture the culprit. We sealed the rashvine in crates and forwarded it to the alchemical department at the University for disposal instead.

For a complete report see our forthcoming monograph, Rashvine Mitigation with Citizen Scientists in Ghilan’nain’s Grove (Brynmor et al 9:41).

How did this pass institutional review?? Unqualified buffoon. -Professor Nadia Cecilia Dimont, Fearghal Stackpole Memorial Chair of Dalish Studies

Pay your people fair n’ square or the Chancellor’s prize roses get it! -Red Jenny

—Except from The Royal Archaeological Society newsletter “News & Notes” section, with handwritten comments

Image descriptions for pg. 64:

Scientific illustration of the rashvine plant labelled as plate III. The plant is long and spindly as it hangs. It includes details of the vine, leaf, and berry. The vine is covered in small "feet" that allow it to cling to stone. The leaf is long and thin. The berry is somewhat elongated, with numerous seeds shown inside.

A doodle of Sera's face sticking her tongue out has a bee flying around her and the scrawl "Goats refuse to eat it."

Image descriptions for pg. 65:

Field drawing of the statue of Ghilan'nain's represented by a halla from Ghilan'nain's Grove in the Exalted Plains. The statue is covered in rashvine runners and leaves. The background shows a bit of the elven ruins leading to the fens.

Sera's doodles of a peach, a hand giving the middle finger, bees, and flowers surround her threatening note, "Pay your people fair n’ square or the Chancellor’s prize roses get it!"

[tossawary]

You know, given all of the cloning and other evil experiments that Palpatine apparently had going on, it's a little remarkable in hindsight that he never targeted Shmi Skywalker personally.

Like, this woman apparently reproduced asexually and gave birth to one of the most powerful Force-sensitives of all time; I don't generally characterize Sith Lords as having great scientific curiosity or a sense of wonder for the universe (or bothering to remember "little" people exist most of the time), because their whole deal kind of precludes that, but it seems reasonable that one might conclude that there's potential power in investigating this.

If Anakin was friendly with Palpatine for the latter half of his childhood, it seems like it could have been relatively easy for Palpatine to learn things like 1) Anakin's midichlorian count (which he can use to tell Anakin that everyone else is just jealous of his power) and 2) Shmi's situation on Tatooine (which he can use to foster resentment between Anakin and the Jedi Order for not helping Shmi too). Just get Anakin a little frustrated and he'll probably start talking! Palpatine could make some concerned offer to send someone to check on Anakin's mother - it is the least that Naboo can do for the family that helped to save them, the Chancellor might say, but he would prefer that such favoritism remain a secret between them - and then Sidious would have Watto's exact address no problem.

And it's not like it would be hard to kidnap Shmi. Palpatine (as Sidious?) could pick some random bounty hunter and order them to go buy her, because this amount of money is presumably pocket change to him, and if Watto resists selling her off to a stranger, the bounty hunter can claim that they've come on behalf of her son. And if that doesn't work or if Shmi is already with the Lars family, there's always violence. Palpatine can just lie to Anakin and say that his agent discovered Shmi was targeted by enemies of the Jedi Order. Oh, what a shame they didn't protect her!

I don't know what would happen from here. Sidious could potentially contract the Kaminoans as a private, anonymous citizen to research Shmi and see if she'll be useful to him at all; the Kaminoans seem to be in the business of designer babies for specific clients (Jango + my vague memories of some "Clone Wars" comic). Which means that Shmi could be unhappily, awkwardly hanging around Kamino, probably still enslaved, when Jango Fett and the clones business is going on. For years, potentially.

Ideally for the Sith, the Kaminoans would be keeping Shmi in an entirely separate facility most of the time, away from the army intended for the Jedi and the Republic. But Jango might be sent around the planet on errands or something and the Kaminoans might need to use very specific equipment at some points, and I am a fan of grand plans being ruined by chance encounters or workplace logistics, so I think it would be fun if Shmi met Jango or Boba. Maybe Palpatine assumed that the Kaminoans had already disposed of Shmi or were keeping her on ice, due to a badly worded email or something else mundane, because the Kaminoan forgot the right Basic word (it's not their first language!!! or a translator malfunctioned or something) during their space phone call.

There's lots of Canon Divergence directions for this, like more serious angst or drama or thriller horror being imprisoned by a Sith Lord (somewhere besides Kamino) or discovering what's being done to the clones. Shmi could end up being rescued by Jedi and helping uncover Sidious. Or she could have a different tragic ending.

(This whole post regarding Shmi and cloning is partially inspired by that one post pointing out that Rey looks a lot like Shmi, and given the strange circumstances of Anakin's birth, any attempt to clone Anakin might have created a clone of Shmi instead. I still think a "Rey as Anakin's clone" is a fun sequel trilogy AU.)

I'm leaning towards fix-it and comedies of errors ideas because the prequels are tragic enough for me. Currently, I'm thinking about Shmi eventually ending up as part of young Boba Fett's gang somehow, because it's amusing to me that he was somehow a recurring antagonistic figure on that TCW show despite being a child. The other bounty hunters are like, "Kid, did you... bring your mom on this mission...?" And Boba Fett is like, "No!!! She's my ship mechanic!!! But if you touch her, just so you know, I will fucking kill you."

I think that both Anakin and Boba would fucking hate being adoptive brothers in any way, shape, or form. And the idea of Luke and Leia someday having an "Uncle Boba Fett" is also very funny to me.

(EDIT: I'm currently dubious regarding a Jango/Shmi ship because Jango does participate in the creation and enslavement of the clone army. Like, it's the Kaminoans who do it, they hold most of the blame and they would have gotten someone else if Jango hadn't done it, but Jango is very much there and at the very least complicit in a horrifying series of crimes against millions of people. Depending on how you characterize Shmi Skywalker, an enslaved woman, I don't really think she'd be cool with that. She let her child go off to become a Jedi because she thought it would be a much better life for him, while Jango sold his own "children" off into war for money. So, I'm currently thinking that Shmi might like the innocent child Boba, but she might honestly dislike Jango quite a lot.)

[desultorydenouement]

have a writeup of some of my favorite coruscant guard fics! featuring messy rambles about why i like these so much!

Built on Bones and Middens by BilbosMom | 92,121 words | Complete | Fox / Quinlan Vos

When a handful of clones unexpectedly attack their Jedi, Commander Fox is tasked with clearing their names before "justice" is served. He and his reluctant partner, the peculiar Jedi Quinlan Vos, pursue their investigation deep into Coruscant’s underworld.

Detective-noir where Fox and Quinlan pair up to solve a mystery that Fox knows has his brothers' heads on the line. Very cleanly written, featuring plenty of undercover ops, stakeouts, etc, with really grounded urban worldbuilding and characters.

2. murder most fowl by hesketh | 31,762 words | Complete | Fox/Quinlan Vos

“C’mon,” Hound says, knocking his shoulder into Fox’s with a force that makes Fox stumble. “You gotta admit, it’s pretty funny.” “It’d be funnier if we didn’t have to investigate fucking bird murder now,” Fox mutters.

Heartwarming buddy detective story where Fox gets roped into figuring out what's killing the endangered, force-sensitive ducks in the Chancellor's fountain. Plenty of Hound and Grizzer. This one's really funny and has amazing dialogue and narrator voice

3. Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by yellow_caballero | 1,597 words | Complete | Commander Fox & Leia Organa

SUBJECT: Regarding Senate Guard Objectives For Today This is a polite reminder to all guardsmen that patrol schedules for the Senate vote ratifying dictatorships are posted in the breakroom. I am also issuing a warning to linear time that days should follow sequentially and are not intended to repeat. Please cease repeating. I am getting a headache. Additionally, I'd like to remind all guardsmen that it is illegal to harbor invisible women in the Senate. If you see a ghost claiming to be Leia Organa, please remove her from the premises. She will be making a scene.

Fox, on patrol duty in the Senate Dome shortly before the Republic's final fall into dictatorship, realizes he's trapped in a time loop. Also trapped in said time loop is a very angry and secretly very scared 19 year old Princess Leia. Also, his men keep spouting complex political and philosophical theory instead of doing their jobs (working as loyal, mindless agents of the fast-approaching fascist dictatorship)

Incredible story about loss of personhood and agency that will slap you in the face with the sheer horror of everything Palpatine canonically did to the clones. Simultaneously a story about grief for the people you can't save. It's the old Shakespearian tragedy of knowing how this story ends. It reminds you that Fox is both an enslaved, brainwashed soldier and an active agent of the rapidly rising fascist regime; Princess Leia is both a diplomat, a princess, and a 19-year old trying to be strong in the face of indescribable horror. And in this story they're lowkey all each other has. All set against the political backdrop of a wartime Republic rapidly declining into totalitarianism. It's like if Catch-22 was feminist and a metaphor for both the McCarthy-era and the post-9/11 trajectory of America's politics. Somehow it's also funny and heartwarming.

4. Life During Wartime by chermit | 86,449 words | Incomplete, last updated June 28th | Fox & Mace Windu, Fox & Rex, Fox & Thorn

Commander Fox has a lot on his plate: managing his Corries, filling out piles of forms, dealing with obnoxious Senators, and not thinking about the way he keeps waking up covered in other people's blood. All that considered, he really doesn't have time to deal with being investigated by the Captain of the 501st and the Head of the Jedi Order for two separate murders he (probably) didn't (want to) commit. But Fox is a soldier, and good soldiers follow orders, so when does he ever get what he wants?

Palpatine orders Fox to murder a particularly meddlesome (and heartbreakingly kind) senator. Before Fox can properly cover his tracks, Mace Windu shows up and asks to be Fox's partner on the investigation. This goes about as well as you think

Really really fun and suspenseful twist on the usual detective story, with plenty of unreliable narrator BS and Palpatine-induced doublethink. A good chunk of whump and hurt/comfort also (some of that comfort pending as it's not complete yet lol). Featuring one of my favorite depictions of Commander Thorn ever (he is so weird it's delightful!)

5. Commander Fox is Completely Fine by Maddy_B | 275,029 words | Complete | Fox & Riyo Chuchi & Padme Amidala & Bail Organa, Fox & Wolffe, Fox & Cody, Fox & Hound & Thorn & Thire & Stone, Fox/Quinlan Vos

Cody was still staring at him. Fox wasn't sure what made him keep talking. "It's always the shinies who think they're invincible," he muttered, "who think they're above the rules."

This fic has some of the best, most suspenseful, and funniest depictions of these characters I've seen! In the first arc of the story, Fox is assigned as protection detail for Chuchi, Amidala and Organa on a diplomatic mission. The events of that mission trigger a slow-burn found family between that spans the rest of the fic. Loads of hurt/comfort.

6. Mind over Matter by Anonymous | 12,075 words | Complete | Fox/Quinlan Vos

They station Fox in the Chancellor's office after the third assassination attempt.

Every day, the Chancellor invites Fox to tea. Meanwhile, Fox's mental and physical health rapidly declines for reasons he can't remember or explain.

Warnings for implied rape, gaslighting, and implied drugging or mind control. Not at all graphic – nothing is depicted whatsoever except the emotional impact – but nonetheless really, really heavy. This is Not a hurt/comfort fic, but, trying not to spoil it, there are some elements I find hopeful.

This fic does such an incredible job painting around the truth of what's really happening. We don't see what happens in the Chancellor's office; we only see the unnamed horror of it start to leech through Fox's daily life and relationships. The narrator voice is incredible – depressed, uneasily detached from reality, and deeply unreliable.

7. let the river in by saltsanford | 154,784 words | Complete | Fox & Coruscant Guard, Fox & Rex, Fox & Cody

Kix refuses to let Fives out of his sight after their meeting at 79s. Meanwhile, Fox grows increasingly desperate in his search, Cody wants nothing more than to help all his brothers, and Fives can’t figure out why he feels so odd now that his chip is gone.

This fic splits its time between two arcs – Fives and Kix, and Fox and the CG. Kix helps Fives escape into hiding after he's framed for trying to assassinate the Chancellor; meanwhile Palpatine threatens horrific consequences if Fox doesn't find and capture Fives, and fast. Great building tension, really cool depiction of force sensitive clones, and an incredibly desperate, terrified Fox.

8. A Stranger On Coruscant by meerlicht | 28,916 words | Complete | Fox/Quinlan Vos, Fox & Thorn, Fox & Thire

"I'm not going back," Fox hisses. "Sweetheart, you don't really have much of a choice in the matter," Quinlan says. "Your mind has been messed with. You quite literally need to talk to us." "I don't think my mind has been messed with," Fox says. After a moment he adds: "Why aren't they taking Thire?" "Thire told us everything he knew already. You're the only one staying loyal to the old fuck." "The Chancellor is a good man," Fox says. "You wouldn't understand." Quinlan raises an eyebrow.

Rahhh it's her. My favorite CG fic of all time and probably one of my favorite fics ever of all time (alongside everything else by this author). I want to download the prose into my brain. Soo much dramatic irony, unreliable narrator etc. Themes of found family, platonic love, grief, and recovery from trauma & abuse.

Quinlan Vos, Wolffe and Plo Koon run into Fox, Thorn and Thire on a blackout mission for Palpatine off-planet. Afterwards, back on Coruscant, Fox engages in doublethink of legendary proportions.

9. [inhale] by catboydogma | 3,619 words | Complete | Fox/Quinlan Vos

Fox braced fist against the wall behind him, knuckles to brick. His gauntlet was scraped to hell, dried blood clotting around the ragged tears around his knuckles and palm. He’d lost the backplate to one, somehow, the closures meant to attach armor to undersuit half missing and misaligned where they remained. “I don’t remember. I… I don’t remember.” Speeder traffic lit Vos up from behind, wheeling warm shafts of light across his face every few seconds. His mouth was drawn into a tight, thin line and he looked pensive as he rubbed the end of a loc between forefinger and thumb. He was still crouched where Fox had left him, half-kneeling and crouched, ready to spring into action as he always was. Vos had a curious tensile animation to him: no matter what he was doing, he was always ready. Fox didn’t think he ever wanted to find out what it was that Vos laid so fervidly in wait for. “Alright,” he finally said. “Let’s get to the Temple.”

Professional grade writing with a weird, funny narrative voice and a really funky dose of, you guessed it, unreliable narrator. I'd also highly recommend CHTHONIC by the same author.

[wyvchard]

Sweet as Honey

Phoenix ruins an operation run with Hivemind's tech. Thankfully, he receives a gift from an acquaintance that would cheer him up as a treat for his birthday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Out of all possible ways to destroy a mind control device, putting the explosives on a flagpole does seem oddly poetic, don't you think?"

Agent Phoenix scoffed as they carefully folded the flag they'd removed with gentle care, trying not to make it fall on the ground.

"Well, let's wrap up quickly, Agent." Reginald sighed as he saw the agent tried to suppress the chuckle as they pressed the shiny new button, interrupting Chancellor Magpantay's speech halfway. "... That wasn't the plan, Agent."

Phoenix shrugged with little care as they grabbed a packet of chocolate milk powder from their pocket and opened it, pouring the mixture in their mouth. They stayed in the van, watching security look at the remains of the flagpole.

A sense of glee filled Phoenix when the Chancellor looked enraged seeing the infamous Z once more.

"Seems like Zoraxis will have a harder time getting here in the near future, Agent. While I disagree with your flashiness, it worked."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hivemind is not having a nice time. With the latest operation not going according to plan due to that blasted Phoenix again, Zor was on edge and he is nervous that his bees will be the ones getting the brunt of their fury.

Why did that plot have to coincide with his birthday? Then again, it's not like many in Zoraxis cares anyway.

Those outside Zoraxis care more about his birthday, it seems. As seen by the package he received. It was scanned, no bugs (heh) or anything. Just some seeds and a few jars of honey produced in the tropics with booklets on what they are and how to care for the seeds. The note was sweet and short.

Happy Birthday! Hope you like these. Heard you mentioning them in your letters once -M.J.

He just smiled as he put the note away and took a closer look at the booklets his acquaintance had given him.

Things just feel just a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's Hivemind's birthday, yay!

Tried to go for something short and sweet since I'm currently unsure on how to write him.

[emmalostinwonderland]

oH ITS NOT WEDNESDAY? Yeah im like super late for... weeks worth of these. And 7 sentence sundays. So I'm gonna give you a couple disjointed snippets here - enjoy the long post! Thank you to the people who tend to tag me in these, plus the first 4 I see in my notifs: @dizzymisslizzie @onthewaytosomewhere @suseagull5914 @cactusdragon517

This one is from my FirstPrince sense share au that should've been finished back in december, Butterflies and Tummy Aches:

A, You asked me once if I cook for myself. I wasn’t lying when I said I rarely do and with little success, but my father used to cook for our family on occasion. He’d let me sit on the counter beside the stove while he prepared the meal, humming whatever tune was stuck in his head and feeding me bits of vegetables and seasoned meats. He called me his royal taste-tester, said I had a real appreciation for the parts that make up the whole. (On reflection, you may even recall some of these moments — it would’ve been early afternoon for you, most likely. And on further reflection, I’m more certain he wasn’t just referring to cooking a meal with that last bit.) When he was first diagnosed, before his energy started to go, I asked him to teach me to make his favorite. I’ve never been able to make it just the way he did, but I’ve included the recipe in this email if you’d like to try. I warn you, my penmanship was much sloppier then — please call if you can’t make out a word or six along the way. Or perhaps call anyway. It’s raining here again, and I miss your silly jokes in your gorgeous voice. Love, H

Below the cut I have FirstPrince Star Wars AU, and Merrical (Jedi Survivor) Cold War AU for those who may be interested in that

FirstPrince SW:

Henry breathes in deeply, trembling with the pain echoing out through the Force all around him. “By now… by now the Republic has fallen.” “What?” Pez sinks onto the other end of the sofa Henry is curled up on. “What does that even mean?” “The Supreme Chancellor has named himself Emperor of the galaxy. An order went out amongst the clones… they’ve turned their blasters to the Jedi fighting alongside them. I—“ he stops abruptly, suddenly choked up. Pez rests a hand on his ankle, and Henry presses on, tears streaking down his cheeks. “I may be the last one.” “That can’t be… no, what of Alexander? Surely—“ “I couldn’t warn him. He’s leading a clone platoon; he’s surrounded.”

aaaand MerrinXCal (holy shit it's been ages since I wrote het fic, who even am I):

Finally, the door swings open again, and Merrin opens her eyes, trading the mental image of her dear Ilyana for the very real sight of the red-headed man from before. "Hello again," he says softly in accented Russian. "I brought you some coffee." "Thank you," she replies in equally accented English. His surprise, written all over his face, amuses her, and she reaches for the styrofoam cup of dark liquid. "It's decaf," he says, in English this time, "I'm sure you don't want to be kept up much longer. We've all been running around too long without sleep at this point." She hums noncommittally, understanding just enough to not need to refute it. "Speaking of which," he continues, "Bode and I managed to work something out with the Director, but I wanted to see how you feel about it too." "I am listening." He nods and scratches the side of his face. He is nervous, hesitant. "They wanted you under full surveillance, but it just didn't sit right with me. The best we could manage was sending you home with an agent." Merrin nods. "I will go with you, Agent Kestis." "Just Cal, please, I- wait, me?" "Is that not what you said?" "Oh, well, um..." Whatever is going through his mind runs its course quickly, and he snaps his jaw shut with a single nod. "If that's where you'll be comfortable, that's where you'll go."

if anyone's still reading and wants a tag... uh sure. Open tag. Go forth. Also thanks for sticking around - you're pretty cool.

[neurotonic]

Someone whose Agent Phoenix is practically inspired by Filipino history and expectations of the time period at this point here.

I'm just practically vibrating at the rich history of the Philippines in the lens of espionage and expectations given by the society at the time. And I feel a kind of pride? fuzzies? whenever I see a Filipino Phoenix. It's just...

The subtext and the implications of the worldbuilding of that is so good. Sorry for rambling in your asks but I just wanna say that seeing a Filipino Phoenix scratches an itch I didn't know I wanted to be scratched in the first place.

I just wanna thank you for that.

aww my gosh, thank you so much for the kind words!! ;u; I'm so glad you think so, especially when I'm just really being self-indulgent with my phoenix interp ADSFKJHSDF AND YESSS pinoy phoenix for the win!!!!!!!! 🔥🔥🔥

I'LL be perfectly clear though. I haven't been doing much research as I should be when it comes to 1960's Philippines and its relation to international espionage.. !! or whatever the Agency's up to. I mean I also have to look into fil immigrant experiences more since my Phoenix is one but I'm not LOL I think the nature of IEYTD's worldbuilding opens up a lot of questions that are waiting to be answered , politics wise especially. I'd be interested in exploring them myself but I've just been a little busy with other stuff these days. sad !!! But yes it has been super neat otherwise. Always such a fun time to see the Philippines get mentioned even just in passing...when I saw Chancellor Magpantay's surname the first time I almost leapt out of my seat SDKJFHDS

Well I ended up rambling about other things but. bottom line is, thank you so so much!! this means a whole lot to me even though I Personally feel like I haven't done enough to properly represent the historical accuracy that I could fully give to my Phoenix ;u; but we're frolicking in the fields together. ok. Maraming salamat <33

[vodika-vibes]

While I was sick, I bounced between Leverage and Criminal Minds, and so I had a thought.

During the Clone Wars, a group of criminals—consisting of a con artist, a slicer, a thief, and a hitter—form a group with the intention of helping people that no one else will. Their boss, a former Agent from Republic SIS, ensures that every plan goes off without a hitch.

And these criminals, for that's what they are, are the first people to say that they're not the solution to the galaxy's problems. No. They're the emergency bandage so you don't bleed out before help can get to you.

They're necessary, but they're not the solution.

And, at some point during the Clone Wars, they're hired by a family who has been wronged by the Kaminoan Ko Sai.

And, while investigating, they realize that Ko Sai is under the protection of a group of Clones called the Nulls.

This is seen as a minor problem by the Agent, who brushes any concerns off with a simple, "Well, we're not conning them, are we?"

Its quite possibly the most dangerous thing they've ever done, but as the con blossoms in this little medical facility, the group finds themselves wrapped in a conspiracy much larger than ever before.

Now, this isn't unusual for them. The rich and powerful, their usual marks, are often at the core of such conspiracies. But it's never been so big before.

The conspiracies have never implicated the Supreme Chancellor before.

And so the group takes a step back, their boss ponders and schemes for a couple of days, and then he goes to Kal Skirata and offers him a deal.

The truth, the whole truth as to why they're there and what they've learned, in exchange for the protection of the group of Commandos while they dismantle the government.

And Kal Skirata, who knows a good deal when he hears one and has little love for the Republic, cheerfully agrees. (Though he regrets it when he finds out the Con Artist is teaching Mereel the find art of the Con).

[matiasman1]

The situation in Argentina is awful

I live with my dad, he's got a good salary, we live sorta comfortably. Taxes and inflation don't allow us to save ANY money. I need a pc for college, in a year we might be able to buy something usable, which won't be necessary since I'll have finished my career.

I'll soon have to open pixel art commissions just to get some dollars (VERY valuable in Argentina) and save for my pc. The job market is saturated and currently there's a programming void from the 2019 programming and tech bubble. And I'm not even bad financially, it's just that bad here. There's people way more deserving of the money and help escaping the country.

The president, Javier Milei, is a complete and absolute malicious idiot, a fake libertarian (libertarians are bad, but hes not even libertarian he's just far right) who assigned his sister as chancellor (nepotism), is defunding ALL public spending (I know we had deficit but you don't cut PENSIONS AND PUBLIC EDUCATION) and who recently scammed his own people with a cryptocurrency scam. He's a Trump and Musk fanboy who never knows anything about what he's talking about, lies, cheats the system and fucks over the Argentinian people (like I said earlier, he's fucked over students and pensioners, evil shit)

The minister of Defense is a pro military pro police pro violence megalomaniac bitch, her police shattered a photographer reporter's skull yesterday in the pensioners' protest, he's lost brain matter and will most likely die, and she's calling him an "incitor" and "Kirchnerist Agent" (Kirchnerism is the previous political left wing power in Argentina, an extension of Peronism). Her police FIRED AT THE PENSIONERS, LAUNCHED PEPPER GAS CANISTERS AND PUSHED THEM TILL THEY FELL OVER.

Kirchnerism wasn't perfect, inflation and corruption was through the roof and Cristina Kirchner (current main face of Kirchnerism) is facing political criminal charges, but this man has only worsened the situation, he's a petty imbecile who doesn't know what he's doing, wants to wage war against the national bank, has claimed to be Jewish even though he's not undergone bris or a Bar Mitzvah, is pro Israel just to get the Jewish Porteños (huge part of buenos aires' population) on his side (also why he claims he's Jewish), let's himself be advised by known crooks and scammers and plays victim when it backfires

I know people who voted for him, were warned, and half of them regret it. The other half try to justify their vote with "it's a change of status quo, an escape from the failures of Kirchnerism" and "yeah but economically he's doing good things"

ECONOMICALLY HE'S DOING GOOD THINGS? HE PROMOTED A ZERO SUM CRYPTOCURRENCY SCAM ON HIS PERSONAL TWITTER THINKING IT WAS AN INVESTMENT OPTION. HE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT ECONOMY.

Córdoba and Bahía Blanca are flodding cause there's no money for infrastructure. People have died, dozens of people are missing, and his only response is "What a terrible accident, natural phenomena, not lack of infrastructure".

Fuck Javier Milei, I dont even wish him death since that'll only martyrize him, I just wish all the Argentinian people, his Libertarios, realize what a dog shit president he really is

Fuck Javier Milei, Fuck Javier Milei, FUCK JAVIER MILEI

Spread the word, lookup Argentinian donation Ko-Fis, lookup Argentinian e-beggars, and lookup Milei's policies for yourself, you'll see how bad he really is. Donate anything you can comfortably afford, support Argentinian artists and users, and I repeat, SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT MILEI, ARGENTINA'S DONALD TRUMP

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

The Vice Chancellor can surely do no wrong? Who has been complaining about their style during their time on the translation desk? Whoever it is should find a replacement translation officer themselves!

While we are deeply grateful for the Vice Chancellor's gracious offer to oversee translations in the interim, certain parties have expressed their constructive feedback via anonymous notes written in green ink:

The Vice Chancellor should know the proper Gallifreyan phrase for "Time Agent" does not translate to "idiot".

The term 'flibberwoggle' was not part of the original Mabazzian Squelchian text, and frankly, I'm offended.

Upon receiving my copy of Every Gallifreyan Child's Pop-Up Book of Nasty Creatures From Other Dimensions, I was astonished to find that the Great Vampires had been renamed 'Fluffy Nibblers'.

I was excited to receive my collection of plays from one of Earth's greatest bards, until I realised I had received The Complete Works of William Shatner.

I do not believe that "tetchiness" is an optional feature of a Type-54 TARDIS; I consider this a translation error.

I was dismayed to find that the formal diplomatic greeting for the Supreme Grand Minister of Blarn was rendered as 'Hey, mate, nice tentacles'.

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features:⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[unsuperingyournatural]

pedro pascal masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

joel miller {the last of us}

building something together <A day in the life in Jackson with you and Joel as you both work towards building a sustainable future together.> (Jackson Leader!Reader)

no hesitation <You and Joel have a moment one night on his porch.> no outbreak

warmth <In a cold and desolate world that has become increasingly desperate, you hold onto the only source of warmth you need: Joel.>

weathering the storm <You, Joel, and Negan get stuck together in a tight spot. The tension between Joel and Negan makes you almost want to confront the Raiders on your trail. Almost.> with Negan Smith

oberyn martell {game of thrones}

claimed by fire <Oberyn comes across you in a brothel and it sets events into motion that may just change your life.> (Sex Worker!Reader)

flames licking through <After your passionate night together and Oberyn now knows who you are, you find yourself suddenly unavailable for other would-be customers. You can’t help but let yourself start to hope but you should have learned long ago that hope can be a dangerous thing.> continuation of claimed by fire (Sex Worker!Reader)

solara <Tyrion had warned you upon your arrival in Dorne to watch out for Prince Oberyn, but what to do when the handsome and charismatic prince continues to watch you?> (Lannister!Wife!Reader)

din djarin {the mandalorian}

ours <A rare peaceful moment between you, Din, and Grogu.>

struggle to focus <While planning an attack on an Imperial base recently discovered, you, the new Chancellor, find your thoughts straying to the two people you trust most.> (Chancellor!Reader) with Bo-Katan Kryze

javier peña {narcos}

don’t fuck it up <While having dinner with the Murphys, you and Javi act as if everything is fine and there isn’t a battle of teasing touches between you going on under the table.> (DEA Agent!Reader)

letting the light in <You watch as Javier attempts to teach your young daughter a few Spanish words in the garden. Your husband seems lighter than when he first reappeared in your life a few years back. You want that to continue and hope moments like these help.> (Wife!Reader)

undeniable <Once you were back on US soil, things quickly changed between you and Javi. One night after a botched op, the last place you expected to end up was his doorstep.> continuation of don't fuck it up (DEA Agent!Reader)

marcus moreno {we can be heroes}

steady chaos <With a new threat emerging, the last thing you need is Soldier Boy causing chaos, in the field and within you.> (Heroic!Reader) with Soldier Boy

general marcus acacius {gladiator ii}

let them wait <A moment between Marcus and his wife when he returns home from yet another war in the Empire’s quest to conquer the known world.> (Wife!Reader)

the general & the empress <Marcus has always had a soft spot for the sister of Emperors Geta and Caracalla. The Empire whispers that Geta and Caracalla may not be the only ones in the family to be touched by madness, but Marcus knows for himself that she is as different to the twins as she possibly can be. She is good, warm and kind. After returning victorious from his latest campaign, Marcus’s desire for the Empress’s freedom from her gilded cage burns stronger than ever.> (Empress!Reader)

part i part ii

pero tovar {the great wall}

not letting go <You meet with Pero secretly where he begs you to come with him and Ballard when they plan to run, and you find out why he’s so insistent.> (Ballard!Daughter!Reader)

not without you <You and Pero Tovar enjoy a moment by the fireside after Garin negotiates your releases from the Nameless Order.> (Ballard!Daughter!Reader)

ezra {prospect}

pulling the stars closer <Ezra’s been pushing himself too hard. You do your best to soothe him and give him a moment’s peace.>

dave york {the equalizer 2}

coming home <When the man you thought had disappeared in a puff of smoke from your life suddenly turns up, after you’ve done everything you can to move on, you’re not sure what to think.> with Russell Shaw

don’t want to know <You overhear something that makes you start to question the man you'e chosen to involve yourself with. But Dave always has a way of clouding your thoughts and knows exactly what to say to keep you holding onto him.>

javier guttierez {the unbearable weight of massive talent}

real <You come across Javi at the same afterparty which leads to you waking up in his bed the very next morning, and you discover that he is just as much of a passionate romantic in the daylight as he is at night.> (Actress!Reader)

francisco frankie catfish morales {triple frontier}

stay <Frankie returns home after the mission that went awry in Colombia. He has a heavier set to his shoulders now as he watches your daughter sleep and you can’t help but notice.> (Wife!Reader)

tim rockford {merge mansion}

dieter bravo {the bubble}

max phillips {bloodsucking bastards}

clint flood {freaky tales}

marcus pike {the mentalist}

harry castillo {materialists}

jack "whiskey" daniels {kingsman: the golden circle}

let the game begin <You come across Jack Daniels at a music festival and you just can't resist inviting him back to your tent.>

reed richards {fantastic four}

lucian flores {the uninvited}

ted garcia {eddington}

rpf

all the small things <a series of scenes for Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader>

anchor <You and Pedro have been spotted together more frequently lately and the two of you look rather cozy. If only the world knew the truth behind him being glued to your side.> (Actress!Reader) <platonic>

chemistry <You and Pedro are giving an interview and while your usual banter is present, there is one moment that leaves you wondering if this is a little more than chemistry at play.> (Actress!Reader)

determined to win <You, Pedro, and company have a moment on set of The Boys during the production of its final season.> (Actress!Reader)

hot lips <You go along with Pedro and Jensen to their Hot Ones interview to show support, but you may have gotten a little more than you bargained for by the end of it.> can be seen as a continuation of yours or a standalone (Actress!Reader)

i really hate it when this happens <You make the mistake of watching The Last of Us episode 2x02 without Pedro there next to you.> (Actress!Reader)

just for one perfect day <Jensen asks you if you can join him on Saturday’s panel at JIB when Jared is unable to make it and you and Misha are already set to crash Sunday’s panel. But you already have plans for that day that he has no idea about.> continuation of worth a little ridiculous (Actress!Reader)

just kissing, right? <You and Pedro have the movie theater room in the beach house to yourselves and a few drinks and laughs in, he makes an out of left field proposition that you just can’t say no to.> (Actress!Reader)

just this <You have a press junket from hell and by the end of the day, you’re worn thin. You’ve gone into sensory overload and thankfully, Pedro already knows exactly what you need.> (Actress!Reader)

let yours find mine <While on set, you receive a heartbreaking phone call and you try your best to keep your feelings to yourself until the devastation building inside you starts to crack through. This sets off a chain of events that in hindsight has you wondering how you didn’t see any of it coming.> (Actress!Reader) with Jensen Ackles

part i part ii part iii

looks like a win to me <You and Pedro are sitting together during a break on set and Jensen is thoroughly disgusted.> (Actress!Reader)

nowhere else i’d rather be <Despite missing your flight, you’re determined to be there for Pedro after he’s wrapped on his latest show.> (Actress!Reader)

no takebacks <You’ve done it. You’ve won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress. Your third big award for the role that has been generating Oscar buzz in industry circles long before you were nominated. Now it’s time to cash in on a little something that Pedro has been promising you should you pull off the impossible.> (Actress!Reader)

pure blasphemy <In the middle of your premiere, Pedro finds out that you’ve never watched any of the Indiana Jones movies. Well, that simply will not stand, not on his watch.> (Actress!Reader)

touch <People speculate about you and Pedro constantly due to the closeness you share on and off set. When leaked photos of you both having a moment at a party go viral, PR decides it’s time for you both to clarify what’s really going on.> (Actress!Reader)

working it out <You decide to crash Jensen’s workout, not realizing that another well-known individual is nearby in the middle of his own workout.> (Actress!Reader)

worth a little ridiculous <You and Pedro are having a quiet moment together when your best friend shows up on your doorstep unexpectedly. Chaos ensues.> continuation of working it out (Actress!Reader)

yours <Jensen happens upon a moment in your trailer that maybe in hindsight he wishes he hadn’t.> (Actress!Reader)