#diath mention

[wafflecrew-outofcontext]

Paultin: *After being stabbed* It's crazy what happens when I listen to Diath

[lumi-of-the-universe]

Liking Star Wars is wild because you’ll see someone talking about movie or clone wars scenes and George Lucas quotes in an argument. And then someone else mentions a single page from an obscure comic like that’s equivalent.

It’s even worse when you’ve read the comic and realize they have no idea what they’re talking about

[coruscantguard]

FoxQuin Day 3

Written for the prompt "Goodbye Message"

@foxquinweek

Warning for major character death, mentioned Order 66, grief/mourning, and implied mind control

(Ao3 Link)

Quinlan returns to Coruscant on a Primeday, and learns that he's too late. 

[[MORE]]

In hindsight, it's obvious. Of course he's too late. Reeling from the loss of his family, from the betrayal and the hurt and the overwhelming grief, it's months before Quinlan can bring himself to go to Coruscant again. And everyone knows that the life expectancy of clones is twelve years at most. To quote something Fox said, months before the order— he had already lived for longer than his warranty covered. 

So it shouldn't be a surprise that in those months when Quinlan is barely treading water, and the thought of Coruscant makes him nauseous, time continues on, and Fox dies. 

A fool, he was, to think that the end of the war meant Fox was safe. It didn't make any of the Jedi safe, did it? Not with Palpatine, and the rise of his Empire, and— 

Here's what Quinlan will never know: if Fox participated in the genocide of his people. If Fox was a bystander to it. If Fox fought it. 

Fox died in the heart of the Empire. That's not exactly encouraging. But Quinlan doesn't know what he was doing there, doesn't know if there could be something deeper. After all, Bly killed Aayla, and when they used to get on the topic, all Fox would talk about is how much he adored her. Was Fox fooled, by the kind of man Bly presented himself as? He must've been. There's no other option that makes sense. They all were fooled, all the Jedi, tricked into believing that there was a companionship there, that any of the clones cared— 

But it didn't feel like a trick. Once, he caught a memory off of Obi-Wan's lightsaber, and in that memory, Commander Cody's fond annoyance when picking up the lightsaber felt as real as the ground beneath his feet. Once, he went to a bar with Commander Bly and Aayla, and the way he stared at her was more than telling all on its own. Once— 

Well, more than once Fox and him shared a bed, and it's hard to conceal murderous intent when psychometry gets brought into the middle of activities like that. 

"I'm sorry," Quinlan says quietly, into the night. There is no grave for Fox. No memorial. His armor has almost certainly been taken and redistributed to someone else. Death, and none of the rites that should come with it. 

Quinlan has had issues with the concept of becoming one with the Force for years now, talked it through with Tholme and Yoda and Diath and still failed to find peace. But for all his issues with it— 

The Force is still warmth, kindness. It feels like the first rays of sunlight on a chilly day. 

The Fox he knew, the Fox he's remembering and mourning, is long overdue for a bit of warmth. 

"I hope you're warm," he says quietly, words drowned out by the roar of the Coruscanti streets. Coruscant is the heart of the Empire now, and it stings, burns, the fact that the place of Quinlan's childhood has transformed into this. 

Yet this is what Fox got, in the end— years of training and fighting just to be rewarded with the responsibility of Coruscant. These are the streets Fox knew, for all that he loved them, and for all that he hated them. Whether he approved of the Empire or not, whether he tried to save Quinlan's family or not— there are the streets he took his last breaths on. 

His voice breaks when he says the final words.

"I hope joining the Force felt like coming home."

[riiseandfall]

cody fern . demi male . he / they ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s LYSANDER CRANE , the THIRTY-FOUR year old CELEBRITY / SPONSOR from THE CAPITOL . they’ve been in the capitol around THIRTY-FOUR YEARS, long enough to gain a reputation for being so ADAPTABLE & DISHONEST . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising ) 

Basic Information Full Name: Lysander Ignatius Aurelius Crane Nicknames: N/A Age: 34 District: The Capitol Gender: Demi male Pronouns: He / they Orientation: Demiromantic bisexual Profession: Apprentice gamemaker, celebrity / sponsor

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Cody Fern Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Grey ( their left eye has a slightly more blue tone due to being a cybernetic replacement after their disappearance ) Height: 5'10" Piercings: Lobes and upper lobes in both ears, diath & orbital conch in their left ear, tragus in their right ear Scars: A jagged scar from their right hip that curls to the middle of their back, a scar across his lower right ribs, a horizontal scar under his left eye, scars that circle both wrists, a thin scar along the base of his throat

Relationships

Father: Seneca Crane (deceased)  Mother: Eurydice Crane (deceased) Extended Family: Livinia Crane (cousin), Augustus Crane (cousin), Maxim Crane (cousin), Helena Crane (cousin), Aurelius Crane (cousin) Significant Other: Voltaire Owens (lover)

Extra

MBTI: ENTJ-A (The Commander) Temperament: Sanguine Moral Alignment: Neutral Evil Primary Vice: Wrath Primary Virtue: Charity Element: Air

BIO-[TW: MENTION OF MURDER, TORTURE, BLACKMAIL]

a weight was on lysander's shoulders, even at a young age. the child of the seneca crane--the beloved head gamemaker of the capitol--and his wife, a well-respected fashion designer, you could scarcely find a store in the capitol that didn't have her designs in the front window--or a capitol elite without at least one outfit made personally for them by eurydice crane.

eyes turned to him expectantly, wondering just how this crane would make a name for themselves. his parents loved lysander, he never doubted that even when they spent more time with caretakers and tutors than his actual parents--when their cousins became something closer to siblings due to how frequently lysander was there instead of their own home. their parents were busy--that didn't take the sting away.

and then there were the games. like so many among the capitol, lysander watched them with starry eyed wonder--enthralled by the pageantry, intrigued by the violence, a fan of the victors that stepped out of that arena--changed and adored by so many. when they got older, there were times where even lysander was allowed to spend time with his father at work, trailing after him and watching it all with awe, wishing for nothing more than to have a hand in this.

another crane that would make their mark by making the hunger games as memorable as possible. his father pulled strings, allowed lysander to get an unofficial apprenticeship at very young age. ambition ran strong in lysander even then, they wanted to learn. they wanted to impress.

he's fourteen when some berries are held up before the cameras--fourteen when peacekeepers take their father away. his mother reassures him, 'it's just to talk with president snow, that's all.' and that made sense, seneca always answered to snow--lysander had even met the president by that point, dressed sharply and told to keep his head high--'be respectful'.

he's fourteen when that perfect life is shattered as easily as the door to their manor was. he's fourteen when his mother grips his arms and holds him behind her, acting as a shield between her child and the peacekeepers who approached. lysander doesn't understand why she's crying or why they are ripped from her arms. his last memory of his mother is her voice screaming for them to not take lysander.

there were rules--to the capitol, to the games. seneca had broken them. the capitol had to make sure it didn't happen again. that any rebellious ideas he might have planted in his son's head were dug out, destroyed before they could grow.

he's fourteen when he experiences pain for the first time. not the kind that came from a scraped knee after playing with his cousins, easily swept away by the soothing voice of his mother. real pain. the kind that had them screaming and clawing at the walls of the cell they had been thrown in until his throat feels raw. until they can't manage even that anymore. the kind that has him sobbing and begging to know what he did wrong. fourteen is too young to understand the sins of his father. the kind that left scars that the capitol would never allow him to remove. never allow him to forget.

it is over a year before the presumed 'missing' lysander crane graces the capitol again. that beloved child returned to the welcome arms of an adoring capitol--the prodigal son, who returned when their parents didn't. they don't even notice the distance in those gray eyes, expertly hidden behind a boyish smile.

president snow still kept a firm grip on the back of lysander's neck--refusing to let lysander out of his sight, or to have free reign to do as he wished. that dream of following in their father's footsteps was swiftly smashed, snow wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

they had wanted all rebellious ideas broken out of them--and it worked. for years lysander was that loyal puppet of the capitol. say what they wanted, do what they wanted, stay in line. they became a promoter for the games--working at network ran by his uncle, alongside cousins that had withdrawn from lysander. close enough to the games that the citizens would be happy but far enough away to do any potential damage. they were left their fortune, the sole heir of seneca and eurydice. they were allowed to sponsor tributes--but only those who were cleared by the capitol.

what happened to lysander had earned his utter obedience---for a time. but that pain and fear turned to anger and bitterness. the capitol had taken everything from him--threatened to take more if he didn't comply. they had hoped that by staying out of trouble, they would be allowed their life back. it is ironic that in attempting to break a child of any rebellious ideas--they planted the seeds for them.

they're 26 when they join the rebels--a move that surprised some in district 13. and for a long time, they kept lysander on a similar leash. but over time, he earned their trust.

lysander deals in information--a socialite makes plenty of friends who like to deal in secrets and whispers. but they had more than that. those reports and promotions? they learned to read between the lines to find the information that capitol wants kept from the masses. they learned which tributes and victors were under watch or downright suspected--the ones from districts they couldn't sponsor.

lysander grew to appreciate the irony. that president snow had his puppet gripped so tightly that he failed to see that it was hurting himself in the process. lysander only hopes that he remains ignorant.

[tmae3114]

[kicks down a door]

HEY WHO WANTS A DCA FIC I’VE BEEN WORKING ON FOR [checks notes] ALMOST TWO YEARS???

I don’t know why tumblr is insisting on the link being called “New Session”, I really don’t, I think it’s just tumblr being tumblr, the fic is called “Denoting Self”

This one is near and dear to my heart and features a headcanon of mine which is also near and dear to my heart and also pervades everything that I write for this fandom bc I just... I can’t read it any other way, okay

So all that said

Diath Woodrow is autistic and you can’t change my mind and I hope you enjoy this fic which is a very long (and hopefully enjoyable) way of me going “HEY EVERYONE PLEASE LISTEN TO MY HEADCANON ABOUT DIATH’S NEUROTYPE”

[dnd-kin-tavern]

*i just got the tarokka deck so!! If anyone wants a reading specifically from that, you can specify it in your request :D

[marksandrec]

Marks and Rec: Misc #1148

(Gdi, Paultin.) (Dialogue from Brooklyn Nine-Nine.)

[quillyfied]

dozens...possibly over a hundred...of homestuck fanfictions written by me in my time...

and it’s a hypothetical dice camera action Homestuck AU that i learn to code pesterlogs on ao3 for

[blackkatmagic]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jon Antilles/CC-2224 | Cody Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CC-1010 | Fox, CC-8826 | Neyo, Sinker (Star Wars), CT-6116 | Kix, Jon Antilles, Knol Ven'nari, Nico Diath, Fay (Star Wars), CT-7567 | Rex, CC-3636 | Wolffe, Boil (Star Wars), Boost (Star Wars), CC-5052 | Bly Additional Tags: Heavy Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Past Character Death, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Emperor CC-2224 | Cody, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, mentioned child death, mention of suicide, Suicidal Thoughts Summary:

Two years after the Empire's rise, Cody wakes up.

[rozuchanhappytomato]

Any chance of a sneak peak of what you have planned with Jabiim?

Oh, abSOLUTELY! I’ll be pulling from a part that doesn’t give away too many spoilers, but keep in mind that this is part of a larger series and so there may be characters in there that aren’t part of canon (particularly clone troopers I love them so much). 

I decided to include the part that’s from Alpha’s perspective for you!

Ah, trigger warning, I suppose, for scenes of violence and mentions of death under the cut. If you’re just scrolling, I’ll save your eyes ❤

           “This is shit,” Alpha muttered under his breath. He was crouched behind a series of boulders, sadly in charge of a group of baby Jedi. How General Kenobi had gotten the impression that Alpha both liked and was able to babysit children, he had no idea. “Maybe I shouldn’t have handled Boba so well when the General was watching,” he said to himself, “then maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

           “If you don’t like us,” Commander Skywalker said from his right, “just say it.” Ah, that’s right, Alpha had been crouched right next to Commander Skywalker. Whoops.

           “Is that an order, Sir?” Oh, was that sass? Well, oh well. Too bad he hadn’t been able to stop it. Alpha turned his head to look at the Commander, who had a peeved look on his face, with just the slightest hint of amusement.

           “Sure,” the Commander said, “let’s make it an order.” Commander Diath sighed a gusty little sigh and shook his head, braid sweeping to and fro across his shoulder. Alpha shrugged.

           “I don’t like you,” Alpha said.

           “Wonderful timing, Alpha,” General Kenobi’s voice said over comms. Shit. “Anakin, please don’t order Alpha to say things like that, people might get the wrong impression.” Alpha felt the childish urge to stick his tongue out at Commander Skywalker. However, since he was more mature than that, he opted to ignore that urge.

           “Are all of you in position?”

           “Yes, Prof.”

           “Affirmative.”

           “At your will, then, and may the Force be with you all.”

           Truly a fate worse than death, Alpha thought as he leapt over the boulders to join the Padawan Pack outflanking the enemy. The fight raged on, and on, and on. The more the fight continued, the more there were casualties, the more Alpha found himself annoyed with the rebels and the loyalists. Maybe just killing them all was the key to ending this farce of a battle. Another group of clones dropped to the ground, dead. A rebel soldier dropped in front of Alpha, wounded and groaning. Alpha’s blaster dipped down as he cast about for the next target.

           “No executions, Alpha, he’s wounded,” Commander Skywalker’s voice jumped in through Alpha’s comm. Alpha blinked and eyed the rebel laying in front of him. Huh. What a convenient position. He hadn’t had the notion to kill this one before the Commander had said anything, but now it was tempting. “We can’t end this civil war just by taking out half of the planet.”

           “We’ll see,” Alpha said. He had the nagging suspicion that the Republic would fight the battle until the cost was either too much, or there was nothing left. Quiet – or at least as much quiet as Jabiim could get, with the constant fighting – filled Alpha’s buy’ce. He looked around. Huh, all the padawans had survived. As well as more fellow clones than he’d thought.

           “Sir,” a clone said to his right. Hide. Seek was behind him, and Shark and Whisper were flanking him. “We’ve just received word that the Shelter base is under attack.” Commander Kass was shouting the same on the other side of the field.

           “Karking Jabiim,” Alpha muttered, racing to the speeder that Commander Skywalker was definitely not hotwiring. “Where’s General Kenobi?”

           “He’s on his way to the base,” the Commander said, “get in.” Alpha did so, quickly, and they were off.

           “He’s on his way there with two new arrivals,” the Commander shouted over the sound of the wind, “a Master and a Padawan.”

[wafflecrew-outofcontext]

Strix: Why was the monster talking to you? Did you play a song for him once?

Paultin: No, so you know how y’all didn’t believe me about the whole Diath thing? That was Diath. He’s doing that thing with the possession and the mind and the control. It’s not fun, it’s really weird. I kinda liked it at some points but for the most part it was uncomfortable. 

Strix: How did you get drunk so fast?

[lo-55]

Tilt the Hourglass Ch. 14

Feemor stood before a small gathering of the Council in his mission attire. 

It was an unassuming body suit, with patches of thick insulated armor over each hip that went down his legs and a lined tunic that made it difficult to see the weapons he hid under his clothes. His cloak fell from his shoulders, and his hood was down. His lightsaber was tucked out of sight against the small of his back. 

His pale hair was cut shaggy but short enough to be out of his way. He looked at best like a civilian with odd taste, and at worse like an inexperienced bounty hunter. 

So. 

Exactly the way he wanted when he was about to go out into the field. 

Master Windu and Tyvokka sat before him, calm as could be. 

Looking at the holo projection of Obi Wan Kenobi and the blurry one of both the Mandalorian and the child he kept with him Feemor couldn’t say that he shared their sense of calm. 

There was a child at stake, one of their own and one that they had no information of except his height and the fact that he had cut down a Dark Jedi without breaking a sweat. That wasn’t a lot, but it was alarming. 

“Master Jinn suggested that we bring the other child in for… safekeeping,” Tyvokka growled. Feemor had to listen carefully. He hadn’t brushed up on his shyriiwook in a while. 

“Safekeeping,” Feemor repeated flatly. He’d been given the details of Jinn’s last mission, both what his former Master (and oh how that still hurt) and that of witnesses that had been interviewed after the fact. 

“Yes,” Master Windu said, his voice carefully level. His little Padawan, who wasn’t so little anymore, was sitting behind him as she tended to. It would be odd to see him without her when she passed her Trials of Knighthood. “He was of the opinion that a child that dangerous should be minded, by whatever means we might see necessary.” 

Feemor breathed through his nose. 

“I suppose he didn’t have time to wonder what could have made a child so filled with Darkness in the first place?” 

Master Windu grimaced and Tyvokka growled. 

“He believed the boy to be trained by a Darksider, though he didn’t know the origin or spend much time with the boy. He responds to ‘Maul’.” 

Maul. 

Feemor filed the information away carefully. 

“I see.” 

That sounded like Master Jinn. He had always been very self assured, and when Xanatos failed he somehow managed to keep that self assurance but also twist it together in a complicated knot of insecurity and self doubt. He was bundle of contradictory emotions that Feemor couldn’t puzzle out, and hadn’t been close enough to try in… years. 

Not since he’d denounced Feemor publicly in front of the entire council and several other Masters. In front of Feemor himself. 

Feemor breathed out carefully. 

There was a child who was missing, at part because Master Jinn had made his typical mess of the situation and called it the ‘Will of the Force’ and a ‘Test of Perseverance and Honor’, or something. 

Feemor needed to find him, and he needed to save him. And figure out what to do about the other boy. If he was truly capable of such actions at such a young age then Master Jinn was probably right about him being trained, but tails of what Darksiders considered training were still horror stories told by Padawan in the dark of the night. 

As a Shadow Feemor had seen more than his fair share of evidence of their ‘training’, and what he knew did not bode well for the youngling. 

He would help him too, if he could. 

The Mandalorian could be a problem. 

He could see the sign of the True Mandalorians on his armor, and while he didn’t have all the details of Galidraan he had heard that Master Dooku had been badly wounded during the conflict, and Komari couldn’t be pried from his side no matter what Master Che told her about attachments. 

Feemor should have gone to see her. But he wasn’t part of their lineage anymore, Dooku was no longer his Grand Master and- 

“I will see to it that the boy is safely returned to the temple,” Feemor said firmly, nodding towards the two Masters. 

“Good. Try to contact us every fortnight,” Master Windu instructed. Both of them knew that with Shadow assignments the check in might not be exact, and that no news was not necessarily a sign that he was dead in a ditch somewhere. 

“Yes, Master. I will leave at once,” he bowed to the pair and left the room. 

He sent a message to Nari, a friend of his who worked in the EduCorps, asking for any information she could find on the Mandalorian’s and their civil war. He didn’t know much as it was. He knew there were three factions, and that the senate supported the pacifists lead by a human man named ‘Kryze’. He knew that the True Mandalorians had been involved in Galidraan and had done a lot of damage to a lot of Jedi, though thankfully no one in the taskforce was dead. 

That wasn’t enough information to go off of. 

Certainly not enough to have if he had to approach the Mandalorian in his pursuit of Obi Wan. 

Feemor sighed quietly and turned his feet towards the hanger bay, where his nondescript ship should still be. 

“Once more, it looks like I’m picking up Master Jinn’s mess,” he murmured to himself. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Maul watched hyperspace pass them by with barely concealed impatience. He’d started pacing half an hour ago, and driven Kenobi and Jango both up to the cockpit while his vornskr trailed after him in a long line, until they too got tired and went off to hunt whatever poor mouse droid had caught their attention. 

The fact that Siolo had denied Kenobi was irritating. The fact that he had given them no realy information on where a more suitable teacher might be found was more so. 

There were, as it happened, a number of Jedi who made their home in the outer rim, travelling from one planet to next and following only the Force to where they were needed most. A handful that Siolo knew personally, and another small dozen that he’d heard of. 

He’d contacted one for them, a human named Diath, but he was rearing his own nephew, who would one day be his Padawan, and coudln’t do much for them. 

Siolo had entrusted them with the location of a few Outer Rim temples that had more average teachers they could meet with, but he admitted that those Jedi were not as strong in the Force as even Kenobi was. 

His hope for Knighthood was growing thin. 

Maul would have tried to teach him himself, but Kenobi was far to Light for it. It was disgusting. Maul had seen him at his lowest and he had had no more darkness in him then than he did today. His soul had ached and his heart had shattered, but no Darkness dwelt inside of him. 

To much a Jedi and too little of one at once. He couldn’t learn the Darkside if he tried.

“He who learns the dark way will become infected with darkness. His judgment will become clouded and he will forget the good things he learned. If a Jedi persists in this attempt to bridge the two ways, he will be torn apart in his very being.”

“Yes, that’s very helpful, but I’m already as Dark as they come, and he won’t be corrupted. Unless you’re going to spit out coordinates for his teacher, shut the kriff up!” Maul finally snapped at whatever irritating source the voices had. 

It was another woman, but this one felt warm and golden, like a yellow sun humming in space. 

He got the vague impression of amusement before the words cut off again. 

They did that. They said something that was sometimes only somewhat applicable, gave him annoying advice, and then disappeared. Thus far he’d tracked four voices total, and the woman who somehow managed to feel purple was the chattiest of all. 

None of them offered a name, but they felt old. 

They were getting one Maul’s last nerve. He had to go to Malachor to find some answer soon, or he might truly go mad again. 

They were not bound for Malachor now, nor even one of the Jedi temples Siolo had mentioned. 

No. 

They were bound of Dathomir, and after that they would go to Concord Dawn, where Jango had people waiting for him. He didn’t say much about it, but apparently he had some responsibilities to tend to, and the looming threat of the Death Watch was still there. Maul still hadn’t figured out how he was going to get Rook Kast and Gar Saxxon back on his side. He’d have to take over the Death Watch again, but they lacked a common enemy this time, and the Haat Mando’ade still lived. And they were children still. 

Maul scowled at the blurred blue light and turned on his heel once more. 

There was so much to do, and while he had time to do it he was very tired of being patience. He was tired of waiting and watching. He longed for the freedom of a good fight, face to face and simple. 

Xanatos had hardly been a challenge, and he left Maul more irritated than anything else. He should have fought Siolo while he could. He already had the Jedi’s attention through Jinn and Kenobi, where would the harm have been? 

Probably mostly physical. 

Likely on Siolo’s side. Maul still fought dirty, after all. 

The ship shuddered and they dropped out of hyperspace above Dathomir. Kenobi came down to join Maul while Jango guided them towards the planet proper. 

Maul stopped in front of the window to look down at the planet of his birth. It was a strange place, strong in both the Light and the Dark in equal, changing turns. When he’d gone through the old scriptures and studied what little the Nightsisters had left behind during his stint living there he found that oddly enough they worshipped both. 

The Nightsisters used the Darkside, yes, but their worshiped the Winged Goddess and Fanged God both. The Ashla and the Bogen. It was strange, Maul thought. 

He still thought as much. The Darkness of the planet swelled to welcome him when they came down from orbit, just as it reached curious tendrils of Force towards Kenobi. The Dark moved around him but Light caressed, gently, against his skin. 

Kenobi gasped faintly. Maul shot him a crooked grin. He remembered the first time he’d felt Dathomir’s Force before. It felt like stepping in from the rain for the first time in years. Not like home, but there was a familiarity to it he’d never known before. 

They floated to the planets surface, several klicks away from a Nightbrother village.  

Once they touched down Maul felt something different. Not the vaguely playful welcoming of the planet that he’d come to known, and one that recognized him in turn. It was the familiar feeling of the Force warning him something was amiss. 

Maul grabbed his poncho and pulled it firmly up over his head before he holstered his blaster and waited impatiently for Jango to come join them from the cockpit. He might be useful. Maul didn’t know exactly what was happening yet, but his gaze was drawn to the crooked forest that grew around the settlement. 

He lead the way to the Nightbrother village. 

The buildings were angular and primitive. They were made to be sturdy, not elegant or pretty. When Maul had come last it had been decimated by droids, and all that remained were bones littering the ground and buildings destroyed long ago. 

Now it was teaming with life. 

Dozens of Nightbrothers were working in the village, constructing new buildings, repairing old one, trading and training in the streets. Young boys, their tattoos not yet finished, raced each other through alleys and around wells that stuck up rhythmically. A strange shadow seemed to hang over the adults, one that the children were free of. 

Life swirled around them. Everyone carried weapons, primitive as they may have been. These men were warriors, trained their entire lives for combat. Even if they rarely saw open battlefields, or only fought for the pleasure of the Nightsisters. 

Maul had seen all the Nightbrothers of this village fight at one point, when Talzin sent him startling aid against Dooku towards the end of the Clone Wars. Most of them died, but they had won the day nonetheless when the rest of the Shadow Collective launched their attack. 

Maul rubbed his temple, under one of his horns. His head was starting to ache whenever he thought too much about the time that had come before, and the time that would never be again. 

When they reached edge of the village a ripple seemed to go through it. 

The young boys vanished and the work didn’t come to a halt but it slowed. Eyes locked on them. Hands hovered close to weapons. 

Kenobi and Jango tensed beside him, but Maul paid them little mind. He knew who he was looking for. 

There. 

Bother Viscus appeared at the edge of the street, his hands empty. Maul knew him to be a powerful hand to hand combatant. That didn’t stop Maul from leaving Jango’s shadow to approach him, his arms deceptively loose at his side. The Nightbrother’s tensed as he passed, and he heard whispers when someone caught sight of his lower face and the tattoos that marked him as one their own. 

He stopped in front of Viscus. 

“I seek Savage Oppress, and his brother,” Maul said clearly. He’d never met the younger brother, and speaking of him pained Savage. Maul knew that he should have pressed him, and pushed him, and forced him to relive to pain to make him stronger in the Darkside, but he hadn’t been able to. 

A failing on his own part. 

When his words registered the shadow on the elder Nightbrothers seemed to increase. Maul felt a swell of sorrow and rage in the Force. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Maul recalled the feeling when he’d stepped off the ship. Something in the woods. 

Savage in the woods? 

“Where is he?” Maul demanded, taking a step closer to Viscus. Viscus didn’t back down. His gaze darted to the markings on Maul’s face and his eyes widened minutely. 

“You’re a Son of Dathomir,” he realized, his eyes going wide. Maul scowled. He carefully pulled his hood back, revealing the rest of his face and his small, nubby horns that crowned his skull. 

“Savage is my brother,” he snapped. “You will tell me where he is!” The urgency in the air pushed him to abandon his usual caution. He couldn’t afford it now. Savage was in danger, and likely their other brother as well. 

Viscus’ gaze went from shocked to sad, even sympathetic, and Maul bristled at the pity. He bared his teeth at the adult, and barely felt it when Jango came to his side, with Kenobi in tow. 

“We came to fetch his brothers,” Jango explained, pulling Maul back to his side. “He said they were in danger here.” 

Not his exact words, but good enough. Nightbrothers were born slaves, and Jango had nearly flipped a table when Maul had told him as much. Mandalorian’s and their children. 

Viscus bowed his head. 

“I’m afraid you’ve come too late, stranger. Savage and Feral were fetched by a pair of Nightsisters not an hour ago. Mother Talzin had need of them.” 

“So young?!” rage roiled through Maul’s chest. No, surely not. Surely the Nightsisters had not touched his brother when he was barely a teenager! He wasn’t a man and they would- 

“She bleeds some early,” Viscus said, dispelling only some of Maul’s fear. “Or buys the cooperation of other planets with them. We live to serve the Nightsister’s, young one.” 

“They don’t,” Maul snarled. “I will not allow it! Where have they gone?!” 

Viscus’ eyes darted towards the woods before they settled again on Maul. 

“There is nothing to be done about it now, little one. You are Savage’s brother without question. I know your horn pattern. The same ones adorned your father, Barbarous. Yet we have not seen you before. The Nightsisters must have taken you before you were ever given to us.” 

Maul barely heard what else he said. The wood. Where he’d felt the disturbance. 

Maul pulled from Jango’s hand and bolted for the forest, ignoring the shouts that came from behind him. Viscus yelled and Jango tried to grab his poncho, but Maul was too far gone. The Force twisted around him and filled his body, making him faster, and stronger. 

More, more, more. 

He shot through the trees. Now that he was closer he could find Savage in the woods. His Force signature was so much smaller, and so much less Dark and dense than Maul knew it to be. It was like it had been at the very end of his life, unadjusted by the Nightsisters. 

Maul heard a child cry and sped up. Something had changed. They had not taken Savage until he was already grown before, what was different now?! 

He shot out of the woods. 

Two Nightsisters stood before his two brothers. Savage stood protectively in front of a Nightbrother half his size, his teeth bared and his eyes huge and terrified. Fear and anger radiated off of him while the child cowering behind him cried and clutching his cheek. 

One of the Nightsisters had a hand on the other’s raised wrist, her face twisted in a grimace, but Maul had seen everything he needed. 

He launched himself off the ground and caught the second Nightsister around the throat. With one hand behind her head he reached around, grabbed her jaw, and twisted her neck until it snapped cleanly. The first Nightsister leapt away from them, drawing a weapon from her hip, while Maul landed in front of his two brothers defensively. Savage was a good head taller than he but that did nothing to stop him from placing himself between his young brother and the threats. 

The Nightsister froze. His hood was still down, revealing his small horns and his tattooed skin. 

“Maul... “ she breathed, her eyes growing wide. Maul tensed. She knew him? Did she work for Sidious? 

“Mother,” Savage hissed from behind Maul. “You know him?” 

“Mother?” Maul repeated, daring to look back over his shoulder at Savage. 

The trees shifted and Jango and Kenobi came stumbling out of their branches just in time for the woman to drop to one knee in front of Maul, holding her hands up to show she meant no harm. Maul twitched away from them. He didn’t trust her. 

Her smile was crooked and familiar. 

“I had thought to never see you again,” she said quietly. Her gaze darted to the two humans before they returned to Maul, her smile growing wide. “Not that I am adverse to it. You were a unique child. Not many Nightbrother’s are your shade. It was an omen, a blessing from the Fanged God himself. If Mother Talzin had known about you, you would have been her personal slave, a warrior meant only to serve her. I couldln’t allow it. Is Sidious no longer your guardian?” 

His guardian? Maul eyed her wearily. 

“...No. I have left him now.” 

“I see. You have attracted interesting company. It is good to see you well. I knew I couldn't’ do anything for Savage, Talzin already knew about him, but when I found myself with child again, just after your sire died, I knew I couldn’t subject a second son to the life of a Nightbrother,” her voice was soft and the Force sang with her truth. 

Maul never looked away from her. 

“I kept you a secret, and when you were born I waited until an Offoworlder came. Sidious. He was strong with the Force, as you were even as a babe. I begged him to take you away, to give you a life you deserved. One that you would never have on Dathomir. Would that I could I would have done the same with all my son’s but… to fool Talzin even once is a great stroke of chance. I could not repeat it for Feral,” she sounded genuinely sad. 

Maul struggled to put together what she was saying but- 

It was true. 

The Force whispered that it was true, that this woman shared his blood. He could see it, if he squinted. Her crooked smile matched his. The shape of her eyes was just as Savage’s, even if they had the Zabrak look of Nightbrothers and she the humanesque look of Nightsisters. 

“You are… my mother.” 

“Kycina.” 

“Kycina,” he tasted the name curiously.  

Kycina watched them with shadowed, pale eyes.  

He glanced back at his brothers. Savage clutched Feral to his hip protectively. He eyed the woman warily, but it was not true fear. She was not the one who had struck the youngest Oppress. 

Maul had thought that Talzin was his mother. She certainly spoke like she was. Yet, the Force resonated with the truth. 

This was his mother. 

She had given him to Sidious. She had- 

She had tried to save him of all things. A near hysterical laugh clawed at the back of his throat. She wanted to bring him salvation from slavery, but she had sold him to a fate on par with the Nightbrothers. 

Well. 

Maul eyed the twisted neck of the nightsister he had killed dispassionately. The one taking the boys away to be reared to be bred and bled. 

Perhaps not quite on par. He had never been expected to breed and then die under Sidious’ care. 

“I am taking the other two,” he said firmly. “You cannot stop me.” 

“I would not try,” her voice softened. Around Maul, his vornskr prowled restlessly. The Force was so strong on this planet it had their short fur standing on edge. She approached, slowly. Maul put himself between her and his brothers but did not draw his weapon, even when she pulled out a short, serrated blade. 

“I felt I should carry it with me,” she said with a despairing twist of her mouth. “Your brother’s each have their own. It’s meant to be given to a Nightbrother after their first hunt by the clan leader. I had yours made in secret, in case… Well. It is yours.” 

Maul picked it up carefully. It felt wrong in his hands. 

He still turned it carefully over and over. He could recognize some of the markings engraved in the hilt. 

“Come with us,” Jango said quietly, his voice muffled by the helmet. He’d come closer while they talked. “We can help you.” 

“I cannot. This is my home. I am bound to Dathomir, to live and die on her soil,” Kycina unclasped her arm guard to show a carefully carved tattoo of the darkest green. “I cannot leave her. I am a Guardian, bound to my home.” Maul could feel thick threads of power sealing Kycina to the ground. 

“Talzin will know what happened,” he said slowly, “When she finds you, you will be punished terribly.” 

Kycina inclined her head. “I know.” 

Cold certainty coiled in his small chest. Maul peered over his shoulder at the other’s. His brothers and his- his whatever. He locked eyes with Kenobi and Jango. 

“You should take them back to the ship,” he said quietly. “I’ll be along soon.” 

Jango touched Kenobi’s shoulder and nodded towards the path they had taken to get there. Kenobi hesitated, but gently guided the other Nightbrothers away. Jango hesitated a moment longer before he went after them. Good. A look at Kycina showed her watching him with sharp, pale eyes. She seemed to know where this was going. 

Just as Maul did. 

“You showed me a mercy,” however it might have failed. “I will do the same for you.” 

Maul shoved the blade into her chest. 

Kycina touched his shoulders. Her smile was strained. “You have become strong, Maul. You have found your freedom.” 

“My chains are broken,” he recited quietly. He tilted the blade up and punched it through her heart. Kycina gasped faintly, and fell limp. 

Maul lay her on the forest floor. He felt like he should do something. Bury her. Honor her, for what she’d tried to do, but it was not to be. 

If he did it would take too much time and give Talzin too much to go on, should she try to pursue them. 

Maul cleaned the blade carefully and tucked it inside his cloak before he made his way back to the ship. His mother lay dead in the forests of Dathomir, and his family waited for him on a borrowed Mandalorian ship. 

[secretlyamess]

Wafflefam, I need your brains please.

Now, I just want to preface this with a couple of things:

1. Yes, this probably would be better off on the subreddit but I don’t think anyone ever uses it anymore tbh (and ngl Reddit scares me right now. I didn’t need to know about how some people feel about a female YouTuber/streamer I really look up to).

2. I recently got into the show. Like I’m talking last year at the start of quarantine. I’m currently on episode like 111 or 112. So if this is something that’s mentioned/discussed in a later episode try to keep it spoiler free in your answer.

3. It’s a very dumb request/thought process/question whatever the hell you want to call it.

4. Yes, I’m very much so aware that this NPC is a Curse of Strahd centric NPC that was just reoccurring and was adapted (for lack of a better term) for the DCA-verse.

Okay, on to the meat of the post. So as most of, if not all of us, are aware Paultin can break the 4th wall and has some degree of 4th wall breaking knowledge. We know he knows about Perkins to an extent, he knows some pop culture stuff (Diath not being Naruto enough), and even knows to an extent some of Nate’s lyrics (popping his head in to say “I understood that reference” when Perkins had an NPC quote a couple of lines from “Phantom.”)

Recently, a new sourcebook was announced. So I guess what I’m getting at is would Paultin’s 4th wall knowledge allow him to know that this book exists and was “written” by resident parent killer Van Richten? And if so, what do y’all think would be his reaction to it?

[trashwitchcoven]

SOM is still over on HOF swearing up and down he and he alone knows the full and honest truth because Holly and Jared told him everything …. Like dude they have every reason to paint themselves as in the right to people who are just getting to know them and not to mention people rationalize their own shitty actions all the time. You don’t have the full story because you know two people on the same side of it.

And that's the core problem: Holly and Jared have EVERY. SINGLE. REASON. to lie about what happened, when it happened, how it happened, etc.

What did Heidi stand to gain by lying? Clout? Spoiler alert: If she was just speaking out about what those two fucknuggets did for clout, she (A) could have done so MUCH sooner, (B) could have released their texts, divorce case be damned, and (C) would likely be mentioning it and rehashing it all over again on a regular basis.

What do Holly and Jared stand to gain by lying? Well, depending on what they chose to lie about, they could have been trying to avoid the cancellation of WoTC and the loss of their dedicated fanbase who shipped Diath/Strix something fierce. Jared might not have ever been revealed as a creepy dude abusing his e-fame to get nudes of fans, some of whom were minors. People might not have connected the dots between Ross' story of an emotionally abusive ex with Holly.

Instead of looking at it rationally, SOM has gone all starry-eyed with getting direct, personal attention from two e-celebs who (I'm sure) love bomb the shit out of him while he's out fighting their battles for them. Telling him the truth might take a little bit of the doe-eyed admiration away, ain't no way that two people who THRIVE from adoration are going to risk that.

[celticmess]

Sunshine

in which Evelyn gets captured by the Zhentarim and Paultin is pretty angry by the time they find her.

~~

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since he had last heard Evelyn’s voice. Three weeks since the name ‘Lathander’ had last been mentioned in the house. Three weeks since his son had last seen his mother. Three weeks since the Wafflecrew had last seen their sunlight. The more Paultin thought about it, the angrier he got, and no amount of wine or ale hid that. If anything, it made him worse. He had actually been forcibly removed from the house by Strix at least twice, from what he could remember. He never became dangerous, he was just… loud and scary, in Simon’s words. Words that broke his heart more than it already had been by Evelyn not being in his life.

Three weeks of darkness.

Which was why when they had a lead, a Zhentarim base here in the city, Paultin didn’t even give Diath or Strix time to formulate a plan for them to fuck up before he dragged them out of the door. He tore through the base like a thunderwave hurricane, blasting Zhentarim thugs out of his way left, right and centre. Any that decided to stay in place after the thunderwave got hacked into by the sunsword, and it wasn’t long until they were in the cell block. There was clamouring from the others that had been prisoners of the Zhentarim, but Paultin had tunnel vision. He knew exactly who he was here for, and he was getting out with her, even if that meant killing every Zhent in the base.

“Evelyn!” he shouted, ignoring Diath as he clamoured for him to be quiet. Strix however joined in, using her thaumaturgy to amplify their voices as they raced past cell after cell. Evelyn didn’t respond to any of their calls, so Paultin began checking the cells one by one. He was fifteen minutes into and about thirty seconds away from thunderwaving Diath as he rattled on about taking too long when he found her. He walked in to see her curled up in a corner in just her sundress, which was dirty and torn in places.

“Evelyn?” he called, walking in. She lifted her head, letting Paultin see how battered and bruised she was; her lip was split, she had a cut on the bridge of her nose and on her cheek, as well as a bruise blossoming across her temples. Not to mention the many cuts and bruises that littered her arms and legs- no, leg. Wait.

“Where’s your prosthetic?” he asked, crouching down next to her. She threw her arms around his neck in a hug and for once he returned it, genuinely, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“They took it.” she said, wiping the tears that had started falling from her cheeks as Paultin helped her up to her foot. He was trying his hardest to keep his temper under wraps as he helped her out of the door.

“Have they got your armour as well?” Diath asked as they exited, and Evelyn nodded.

“They took everything when I arrived.” she explained.

“Then we’re getting it back before we leave.” Paultin decided. Diath opened his mouth to argue, but Strix gave him a look suggesting that he probably shouldn’t do that as they helped Evelyn down the corridor.

It took longer to get to the storage room than it did to get into the base and down to the cells, mostly because Evelyn was moving on one leg and using Paultin as a crutch. Once they got there things sped up a bit. While Evelyn armoured up, Diath approached Paultin.

“Are you okay?” he asked, frowning at him.

“Just peachy.” he replied through gritted teeth.

“You don’t sound it.” Diath muttered.

Paultin didn’t reply.

Once Evelyn had gotten her armour on, she reattached her prosthetic, put her winged boots back on and re-equipped her armoury’s worth of weapons and they were ready to go. Diath led the way towards the exit anxiously, followed closely by Strix and Evelyn. Paultin hung are the back of the group with an unreadable expression that none of the others noticed as they rushed down twisting corridors. They weren’t even fifty feet from the exit when all of a sudden Zhentarim soldiers flooded in and surrounded them in seconds, with Manshoon dead ahead of them. Paultin’s expression went from unreadable to stony as he glared at Manshoon.

“Evelyn. Is he the one that did this to you?” Paultin asked.

“Um… Yeah…” Evelyn answered uncertainly, and Paultin leed his gaze at Manshoon. He made his way to the front of the group, visibly angry.

“Good.” he held his hand up to Manshoon and said the words ‘Fuck you’ in a voice that was not his own. The other three watched as Paultin’s eyes went pitch black momentarily. A second after Paultin returned to normal, Manshoon let out a cry of confusion and terror, and the bard smirked triumphantly.

“What did you do?” Strix screeched as Paultin lowered his hand and rolled his shoulders.

“Cursed him. It’s no Ring of Winter, but he’s not going to be hearing or seeing anything for a while.” he explained, his voice cold.

“That’s… fucked up.” Diath whispered, and Paultin turned on him instantly.

“Can’t you see how fucked up this is?” he snapped, gesturing to Evelyn. “She spent three weeks in a cell unable to move! I’m not the fucked up one here!”

“Paultin…” Evelyn put her hand on his arm to try and calm him down. Around them, the Zhentarim were clueless of what to do as Manshoon blundered, unable to see or hear anything. “I think we need to leave.”

“Okay, everyone stick close!” Strix hollered. Diath and Evelyn both moved closer to Strix instantly. Paultin hesitated first a second, watching as Manshoon’s soldiers uselessly tried to ask for command from their leader. Their confusion and turmoil gave Paultin a sliver of satisfaction as he moved closer to Strix and the sorcerer teleported them all home with her Word of Recall.

They appeared in the panic room amongst all of the kids, and there was a beat of silence before they all realised who was with them, and they all tackled Evelyn in a hug, moving in one big commotion of flailing arms and legs as they shouted and yelled.

“Evelyn!” they all exclaimed at varying volumes and pitches.

“Hiya kids!” she smiled widely, immediately crouching down to their height to try and hug all of them at once. Paultin noticed that Simon wasn’t with the other kids and scanned the room for him. He would be over the moon that Evelyn was back home.

“Mom!” Everyone looked to the doorway to see Simon come flying through the doorway and straight into Evelyn’s arms, a blur of arms and legs. The kids’ antics made everyone smile. Everyone except Paultin. Although it was cute how excited the kids were to have Evelyn home, even if she was a bit roughed up, Paultin couldn’t help but simmer with rage beneath the surface at the idea of Evelyn being stuck in that cell for three weeks with little to no movement available. After a minute of watching the kids clamour and exclaim, Paultin stepped away.

“I’m going to lie down.” he mumbled, heading for the door. His friends let him go, going quiet. He didn’t see the anxious looks they exchanged as he exited the room, heading straight to his own to find his stash of wine and hopefully drink so much he forgot all of this had happened.

AO3 Link

reblogs are always appreciated <3

[lyricfrost13]

I figured since Simon mentioned wanting to be a bard, and he definitely is closest to Paultin, that the only instrument he should play is a blowdart fey flute. (it’s an existing thing I believe?) so he can keep his weapons that he’s familiar with while he learns to play. 

And I wanted to update his outfit - he’s probably a bit older here than in canon, and he obviously can’t stay a little jester dude entirely. Probably tries to become the leader of the kids’ adventuring crew, but maybe co-leads with one of the others. 

I picture that Nat definitely gets a bit of training from Diath, Jenks learns from Strix and Evelyn about spellcasting, and Squiddly finds someone to teach him how to shoot, so the four of them become, as I’ve heard people call them, the Eggo Crew, off on their own adventures and giving the Waffle Crew heart attacks in the process.