#empirical evidence slaps never forget that

[whaleofatjme1920]

I’m sure that like 95% of the creepypasta/marble hornet fandom are LGBTQ+ people that major in psych, criminal justice, or both.

There’s definitely simplification going on. Not a lot of people want to go in depth on what exactly is going on with the reader and I get it. It’s a lot to understand and a lot to unpack. It’s also a pain in the ass to work that into a story. But I want to see a fanfic that does do that, you know? Like make it 100% as realistic as possible. I feel like it would make it more enthralling and more relatable. To be able to see the reader at their fullest and get broken down mentally and physically cause of the cortisol and constant stress would be an experience to read. Maybe that’s just my nerd side talking though. That seems like it would only be for a specific audience with the patience for that.

It definitely depends on the previous experiences of the reader, which ultimately just depends on the plot and direction the writer wants to take. But there are so many fanfics that do not correlate with the realistics of it all. There were only a couple that truly got it correct, and those are the ones that I absolutely love. Humans are stubborn and when we are faced with a dangerous situation, we can do just about anything to survive it. But that also goes back to the point of the readers backstory. We all might be stubborn but our breaking points are at different places depending on our past and current state of mind.

Also I’m so tired of those two options 💀 the nihilistic reader or the “UwU I’ll kill with you cause I love you even though I just met you and you tried to kill me” reader. Like whatever happened to the reader being a normal human being that has some skeletons in their closet. For me, relatable fanfics are the best fanfics.

Idk abt you guys but I have subtle beef with criminology/forensic psych majors. Tbf, psych majors in general are pretty insufferable and I know that bc I’m absolutely insufferable but criminology,,,, I’m watching you.

How do we,,, keep bouncing between realism and being off the wall here? A day or so ago I was talking to someone on how they believe realism is kinda not fun? Or something similar, the perception some of you have takes all my brain cells pooling together. We were just talking about how There’s Never Going Back kinda touches on these ideas and I believe they said it was, and I’m paraphrasing in my own words, convoluted and subpar. A lot of the works I gravitate towards more are exactly in the ballpark of what you want. Again, I don’t see too many where the reader just gets up like nothing happened, those mostly died out as we grew up.

There’s plenty of dark fics that exist like this, plenty of UwU family and something in between. I don’t read fanfic anymore, I just trust you guys with your process and sometimes hear about it here.

I think Creepypasta is bizarrely relatable to people and a good amount of fics are written in a relatively realistic light. I don’t know, when I do my worldbuilding, I don’t like focusing on the reader because the reader doesn’t matter to me in the way the established characters do. I genuinely don’t think we can really attain ultimate reality, canon compliant as long as it’s a reader insert. When you make those, you have to keep the reader relatable to everyone, and often end up empathizing with no one. They’re so bland and one dimensional that we can’t delve into specific breaking points and end up making a character we pretend is the reader, which defeats the point of reader inserts.

It’s hard. It’s hard to attain what you want given the confine of the thing you’re writing.

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

any headcanons / favorite things / silly ideas you have about dimivain? 👀👀 either romantic or platonic or everything in between, it's just always a delight to find a fellow connoisseur who loves these two trucks

[I'm gonna cite some cute little dialogues between them from Three Hopes, so tread gently if you're trying to go into the game absolutely blind.]

Okay these two make me deranged. Like as individuals they fucking rot my brain. Self-destruction in different genres; unwavering loyalty that's bone-deep; a view of themselves that's so damaged that there's no choice but to follow through on behaviours they think suit the worst they have to offer--and then they get SLAPPED TOGETHER and HOO BOY do they hurt!! Oh god the lads!! The dudes!! Agony!

I very much like to read romances that are devoted in nature. They're smitten, they're gone on each other, wrapped around each other like a braid of distinct colours; still their own entities, but woven together in a way that lets them both shine. These two? Oh boy. It's them. It's the dudes.

Because like. Hear me out here. Sylvain flat-out loves Dimitri. I take no criticism on this because there has always been evidence to that effect. And what's great about them is that it's just. Sort of always there? It's quiet but it's always there, showing in little ways the great way they care for each other. So allow me to compile a list of all my favourite dimivain moments.

Spoiler. It's all of them.

Dimitri before the Lions fuck off to tell Miklan to get good: "House Gautier is Sylvain's home. It would be nice of you to check on him as well."

Sylvain while everyone is trying to parse out Dimitri's breakdown: "I knew he'd been carrying the burden of that tragedy. I understand his thirst for revenge. His family and closest friends...all massacred right in front of him."

Dimitri feeling safe comfortable enough to say, "Will you never let that rest?! It was many years ago! Perhaps a good knock on the head will help you to finally forget about it..." and not have it be an outright threat/ruin the mood with Sylvain.

Sylvain being the one of Dimitri's only friends to use his name regularly (interchanged with "Your Highness")

And it's so goofy but like the fact that their dynamic shows in part in their support when Sylvain is all "Relax, Your Highness. Relax. I'll sort this whole thing out, real easy. [...] You just wait right there, and I'll fix everything."

and the VINDICATION i feel whenever I think about their Three Hopes interactions. Oh god. Spoilers are in tiny text

Sylvain, post-chores: "See, even I can be useful sometimes! I probably could've gotten away with doing less, actually ;)." Dimitri, post-chores: "I've never once doubted your utility, Sylvain :( Do not be so quick to belittle yourself."

Sylvain, in-battle: "That's our king! ;) Wherever you go, we'll be right there with you." (THIS ONE . . . HOO BOY IT FUCKED ME UP. I had to pause the battle and set down my damn controller.)

Also the sheer difference of Dimitri's Sylvain introductions between Hopes and Houses gljdflkgj like "He's a good person, even if he's a bit of a whore" and "he's a slut, and he's smarter than all of us combined. i would know" is just such a wild range for talking about someone for the first time that I'm forced to confront how well Dimitri really does know Sylvain.

Sylvain reminding Dimitri to stay calm when they march on Enbarr <//3

The AGONY of "Striking down the Empire is my offering to His Highness."

Everything about the Tailtean Plains to be honest. Like getting to Dimitri inherently means going through Sylvain first. Sylvain is a Gautier, at the end of the day, and he does it well; the crown doesn't walk into hell without a Gautier watching their back, picking off the threats that aren't close enough to be an immediate danger.

And, of course, my favourite: "I don't feel like I can just forget all the awful stuff he's done...But if His Highness is owning up to his past, and trying to move forward...I figure I can give him that chance. We've been friends since we were kids. I'm gonna be there for him all the way to the end." (i teared up reading through this on the datamine. they're fucking insane. i love them.)

I mentioned this in the tags of my recent post, but the dynamic between House Gautier and House Blaiddyd is an untapped gold mine, at LEAST as far back as Lambert (though that may be expanded upon with Three Hopes, if word on the street is to be believed). Gautier's responsibility is to protect and defend; Blaiddyd's duty is to bear a crown worth protecting. They're so tightly woven that it makes me dizzy. Sylvain, for all intents and purposes, is a defender. He's cited to have come in in clutch and saved his friends over and over again, and that combined with his complex relationship with his destiny as margrave/his destiny that's only as awful as he lets it be lends itself to a man that fights for one thing and one thing only: what he loves.

What's also wild is that like. Plonk them into any AU and it simply works. Tortured souls in the form of overly empathetic gentleman and self-deprecating clever manwhore is just so universal. Organized crime is a personal favourite of mine; I'm also partial to a sugar daddy AU. Absolute TRAVESTY that there seems to be only one fic per each of those AUs for these two. I will be rectifying this personally. Like they're so elegant in their own ways but they're so STUPID that I want to see them love the worst and best in each other.

These two have such intimate understandings of each other that jealousy is just. not a factor at all. Sylvain will make some dumb flirtatious comment and Dimitri will just wait patiently for a tender cheek kiss he knows is coming. An apology, an I love you, a thank you for not turning away at the hard-to-break habits. Sylvain reads books whenever Dimitri wakes them both with a particularly bad nightmare. Sometimes he'll read them aloud; others he'll be utterly silent so Dimitri can focus on things like their breathing and the wind.

It's less that they're little and big spoon and more . . . interwoven forks. There's never a night where they don't want to both hold and be held, so limbs are all over the place and faces are buried into whatever warmth they're closes to, but it's so good. It's so them.

Dimitri calls Sylvain beautiful--thanks him for trusting such careless hands with a heart so tender. Sings his praises and kisses him softly and fumbles the cheesy romantic stuff, but it's so much sweeter for it. Sylvain cries sometimes, but it's a good cry.

Sylvain does not leave Dimitri's side, even when his psychosis eats up the better part of his week, or the stress of trying to negotiate peace wears him down. Dimitri will try to bury himself into Sylvain's very soul, because that's always where he'll feel safest. Sometimes that manifests in sexual intimacy; sometimes it's just Dimitri pressing them together, head to toe. Their similar heights and builds are good for it.

Dimitri wears an eyepatch whose stitching is Gautier-teal. Sylvain accepts a gift from the blacksmiths specially employed by House Blaiddyd to craft weapons to withstand their strength; a promise that everything in Dimitri's power will be used to protect Sylvain as Sylvain's protected him. It's peacetime now, but a child of Faerghus knows a weapon better than most know the pen. It's a lovely gift regardless, and a little better than a dagger with the rising sun.

Byleth marries them, and the ceremony is limited to the Lions and whichever of the Academy's students/staff are free. Sylvain cracks jokes the whole way through, even when they both start crying, and Dimitri is so annoyed and so in love and when they tie together little ribbons of their regions' colours, cutting the newly woven rope in two to tie around their wrists, he whispers a quiet vow only for Sylvain's lips, his heart.

Once it becomes public knowledge that the Saviour King and his margrave are more than allies and friends, they decide to adopt a pair of siblings who were orphaned by the war. Neither really thinks themself incapable of being a good father, but they both have a fair deal of hangups over it. Sylvain knows he has to usher in peace, but teach their children when it's right to refuse to budge. Dimitri imparts to them the knowledge of both bodily and mental strength, all without forfeiting their heart.

Anyway. It's 4AM. I've been thinking about them for three hours. I'll probably wake up with more thoughts of them but this is all the dimivain word vomit I can manage in one go. Thank you so much for the ask though! I love thinking about them in any capacity.

[athys-obelia]

summary: the non dysfunctional!imperial family au hcs no one asked for 😳👉👈

character/s: anastacius de alger obelia, claude de alger obelia, athanasia de alger obelia, jennette de alger obelia

here's part 2 :)

let’s set our stage, shall we?

first of all claude n anastacius’ dad is dead coz we don’t like him at all ew

so ana is the emperor, and claude is his heir presumptive (aka he’s got the strongest claim to the throne rn, but this can be changed by the birth of someone who has a stronger one - ie, anastacius’ child who would be the heir apparent) also bc “i know my mom and i gave u lots of childhood trauma that you prlly won’t be recovering from because therapists aren’t a thing here but here’s a crown you might get to make it better”

claude’s in a position where after the birth of ana’s kid/direct descendant, he’s gonna be given a duchy that athy should inherit after him while still retaining the title of prince

but after hearing of diana’s pregnancy, ana tells her and claude he doesn’t really plan on having children and wants to make their future kid his successor

he basically reserves a spot for their child in the directory and rather than announcing anything publically, anastacius names her athanasia after the sex is confirmed

then this mf obviously pulls a clown move and gets penelope pregnant and complicates things, ultimately naming her jennette, finding the name fitting - ‘god is gracious’

and really, what could be more evidence of god’s grace than the child he’s now fathering, when he thought his legacy would be ending with him?

anyways!!!

so since athy and jennette are born near the beginning of ana’s reign, both claude and anastacius are wayyy too busy trying to bring back the empire from the literal brink of bankruptcy and a possible war to really spend time w their kids

it’s alright, though!! lily is hired as athy’s nanny, while jennette gets kiel’s mom as hers

they all still live together, though obviously the main palace is for ana + jennette while claude + athy are in a separate one

this 'separate one’ is ruby palace after ana dismisses the concubines and he definitely 100% did this on purpose, and whenever he’s summoning claude he’s such a shit about it and goes about it the way you’d summon a deadass concubine

on a separate note, it’s surprisingly claude who visits athy first - he’s seen her here and there with lily but hasn’t ever had the chance to spend time w her. but now it’s almost been a year since athy’s birth (or diana’s death), her first birthday is fast approaching, and he is drunk

lily is a reallyyyy light sleeper and enters the nursery upon hearing someone inside

she doesn’t expect to see the prince standing above his daughter’s crib, a strand of her golden hair between his fingers as he just…stares at her

she approaches quietly, curtsying in greeting - he���s too absorbed to notice, and after a few minutes of silence lilian tells him, “babies can get lonely too, your highness.”

he glances at her then, confused. “how?” he really can’t understand how this girl, who can’t even speak yet comprehend something like loneliness

“princess athanasia is very responsive to her surroundings, much more than children her age usually are,” lily says, “and i like to believe children are able to tell when their parents are with them.”

he scoffs - what a foolish thought. still, claude sits by her bedside, and before he can register it, he’s taken over by sleep

the next night, claude makes his way towards the nursery and stiffly asks if athy could sleep beside him for the night - it’s fairly late, but lilian allows it

he’s gone to the main palace too early the next morning for athy to be awake, but she spent about two minutes tops worrying about the strange surroundings, saw the shiny chandelier and fancy bed and decided yes, she doesn’t mind this kidnapping

this becomes somewhat of a regular occurrence soon enough, and sometime that week she wakes up in the middle of the night with her nose pressed into something soft and literally falls off the huge ass bed at the realisation that this something soft is actually her papa’s hair (you just know that hair smells great i mean uh-)

this mans wakes up and peeks at her on the ground, reaches out to grab her from the front of her nightdress (he swears it’s exactly how he’s seen lilian do it) and plops her back onto the bed

she backs up OBVIOUSLY, you don’t just wake up with a random ass man in your bed and just vibe together?? lee jihye is dying but he glares at her for disturbing his sleep and athy pulls her act together in 0.000001 secs as claude pulls her closer and goes back to sleep

as athy grows, claude starts allowing her to visit his office during the day until it becomes a sort of ritual - he’d have tea and milk prepared and she’d come, sitting somewhere completing a puzzle or sum while he works

mans nearly tears down the entire imperial palace the day she doesn’t show up until he finds her in the garden, teaching jettie the 'proper’ way to hold a teacup during tea parties while lilian and roger’s wife, vivian, watch

athy emotionally blackmails asks him to join the tea party, so half an hour later, anastacius finds his brother sitting on the grass with a plastic teacup that athy’s filling with hot water as she lectures him to learn to fix his posture from lily so he can sit like a “proper dignified lady”

so in the beginning, jennette actually ends up spending more time with claude than her dad. though one day, the brothers are in the audience hall when athy runs in with felix running after her telling her not to run (there’s a shit ton of guards surrounding anastacius so felix has orders to be with princess athanasia when claude is with ana)

anastacius is used to this sight, and watches, smirking at his brother’s subtle smile as athy offers him this wonky looking flower crown - claude accepts it wordlessly, and ana wants to slap his ass to sanity, who wouldn’t thank their kid when they do adorable things like this??

but then they hear another voice, and in comes jennette with vivian not too far behind her. now jettie has a much cleaner looking crown in her hand, but she glances at her father’s elaborate and beautiful crown all embedded with gems and glittering and then at the one she’s fashioned out of daisies

she's always thought she was much like her uncle - jennette was so fascinated by the plain daises, they weren’t flashy but caught her eye all the same - while athy was shiny and bold like her dad

but now she’s second guessing her choice, how could she make such a simple crown for her dad, the emperor??

claude sighs from beside anastacius and literally picks off his brother’s crown before tossing it towards a very tired felix

athy urges jennette forward, and with a bright red covering her entire face she offers the crown. jennette glances at her uncle for comfort before muttering, “for papa”

anastacius.exe has crashed

this blushly, embarrassed, and apparently talented at flower crowns kid was his?

long story short he forgets to breathe or react and jettie thinks he hates the crown and hates her and won’t ever like to see her again so she starts getting teary

claude pushes his brother’s head down before athy can be convicted for murder

ana 100% almost faints when her tiny chubby fingers delicately place the crown in place, he’ll never admit it but he closed his eyes and almost hugged her instinctively as she shyly adjusted some of his bangs around the new headpiece, muttering, “papa pretty”

jennette rushes back to her sister, who’s glaring daggers at the emperor

anastacius tries to smile to calm jennette a bit and maybe look nice enough for his niece to not kill him in his sleep

right well kiel becomes the royal playmate for both the princesses - athy has her classes with him since she’s advanced and honestly they’ll be going back forth with infodumps one minute and he’s teaching her to make paper airplanes the next

(she writes notes on the paper airplanes the next time she’s in claude’s office and flies them towards him, stuff like, 'does uncle cius also snore loudly like papa?’ and he gets seriously offended like a pissbaby)

jennette first met kiel when he was visiting his mom - vivian had to leave for a bit and she taught him a bunch of flower names and their meanings in the meantime - he makes sure to research a new flower every time he visits her, and brings her a bouquet of said flowers she always knows them but never says anything coz she doesn’t wanna hurt his feelings and he gets so excited as he tells her about their meanings it’s so cute

speaking of jennette - claude and ana may seem worlds apart but they’re at the same level of emotionally constipated

ana watches his brother and niece interact and he craves that, an unconditional, timeless love that can’t possibly be tainted by ulterior motives or the like, but he just doesn’t know how to approach little jettie

it seems easy enough - she’s a smiley, sweet girl and theoretically would be friendly if he is to approach her

but gods he’s just so ashamed - such a sweet babe grew without either of her parents and he doesn’t have an excuse because holy hell, even claude is close to athy

he’s being served food in his chambers when he asks the maid about jennette, and she tells him how among her first words was 'love’ and the brunette would just stroll the palace pointing at people and declare “love you” and watch their face light up

thats so CUTE OMFG

his jaw is touching the floor when he’s told that his daughter knows the names of every worker within the palaces

at this point he’s honestly questioning whether this child is his at all

he’s absolutely horrified at the realisation that this maid, who doesn’t even work in jennette’s part of the palace, knows more about her than he does - hell, he hadn’t even asked vivian to keep him updated on her growth, what right does he have to stick himself into her life now?

now, the maid quietly suggests starting with something small like inviting jennette to tea and

of course he goes about it the wrong way??

poor jettie thinks she’s being tested by the ruthless emperor on her etiquette and spends the entire day practicing with claude after athy guilted him into it

she’s so nervous in front of her dad that he honestly feels even guiltier, and anastacius hurries to grab her hands in his to calm their tremble as she reaches to serve him tea

she apologises lmao and he’s just so flustered himself that he orders for her to sit down and instructs her through a few deep breaths

as she calms down, ana serves her the tea before asking whether girls her age even drink tea

she says no and you can literally hear the crickets

he slides the cup he’s poured for her over to his side before gesturing towards the deserts (it was claude’s daughter-luring pro tip) on her side

“you look like you read a lot,” ana says, before asking whether she’s been reading anything interesting lately

“i don’t, actually,” she tells him shyly

anastacius laughs at how of all things his hate for books is what she got from him - and only when jennette chuckles does he realise that he said that out loud

he lets her go around her bedtime, feeling rather… energized? he doesn’t know how to explain it, but it’s a good feeling

he’s busy again the next day, but has an aide send her flowers - the same ones she had put in her flower crown for him

yes lucas is still sleeping in the palace, yes athy still finds him

so athy sees the flowers from uncle cius and is enraged, literally walks up to her uncle and demands he leave jennette alone if he’s only gonna break her heart by neglecting her

and so we have fifteen minutes of the emperor of obelia stuttering as he explains himself to this seven year old

smfh his cluelessness reminds her of her own dad and she takes pity on ana’s suffering soul

the next morning, to give him a chance to redeem himself, athy asks all four of them to have breakfast together - they accept the invitation, and despite an awkward start, the meal seems to be going well

peace is not written in this family’s fate however, and this is where the first coughing up blood thing happens

ohhhh the palace staff almost gets massacred that day

athy’s limp body is moved to jennette’s room since it’s the closest - lily bursts into tears at the very sight of her princess, jennette refuses to eat or drink until her sister can, felix hears his heart break, claude is barely holding himself together

ana is livid - who dares poison a member of his family? what has he even done to earn the privilege of calling these girls his family, when he can’t protect them, at the very least?

claude absolutely refuses to leave her room and finishes all his work right outside her door, lest she wake up in pain again

anastacius can’t keep his own anxiety about jennette at bay, insisting she sleep with him as long as claude stays with athanasia - he can tell she’s drained, and she ends up sharing some of her worries late at night. he soothes both her worries and her cries, letting her curl up into him despite it being a rather uncomfortable position

the family is thrown into chaos again once they realise it was never poison, but athy’s own magic that caused this

aka when chibi lucas drops by and voodoos her back to 100%, everyone legit starts worshipping the ground he walks on - he saved their precious princess!!

ana insists on making him athy’s royal playmate after hearing she isn’t fully healed yet

what does this give us? well, a very very early lucas vs kiel

since they’ve both got the title of royal playmate, they constantly argue on whether being the future duke alpheus is a better title than the future royal magician

the girls are always dragged into this - athy always takes kiel’s side to avenge blackie, and jennette likes kiel too, but the young magician sir saved her sister!!

so.

when vivian passes away due to an illness, it’s like roger is an entirely different person

jennette + kiel + athy all help with the funeral preparations since she was a mother/aunt to them all

felix seems to be paying extra attention to kiel

it isn’t long after this that roger decides to send him to arlanta for his studies, leaving behind two disillusioned princesses

athy spends her time viciously studying to stay ahead of arlanta’s curriculum, while jennette takes an interest in cooking

(athy tries and fails spectacularly; lucas laughs at her and jettie accidentally serves him his favourite food too salty to be edible)

a/n: this would be the first of the two parts, so stay on the lookout, hope y'all enjoyed n have a great day <3

edit: part 2

[lilhawkeye3]

Find Your Way Back Home- Ch 3

Riyo Chuchi x Commander Wolffe, Riyo Chuchi x Commander Fox

Rating: T |||| Word Count: 1.9k |||| Set Post Order 66 |||| AO3 Link

previous • next

Riyo gripped the kitchen countertop tighter than anything in her whole life. The loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears threatened to drown out the pounding of her heart as she sought a tether point in her whirlwind of emotions.

She couldn’t do this.

How could she do this? The ghosts she’d left on Coruscant were now seeking shelter in her bedroom.

She’d looked at Wolffe laid out on her bed, and some sick part of her expected him to be Fox. She used to bandage her lover’s wounds on their bed in her old apartment. What had she done to deserve this cosmic taunt?

“Riyo?”

Riyo’s hands flew to her mouth to hold in her startled shriek at Ahsoka’s appearance just to her left. Her friend’s lips twisted into an apologetic smile, and she patiently waited for Riyo to come down from her sudden rush of adrenaline. Her rusty hand cupped Riyo’s elbow to help ground her.

“I’m so sorry,” Riyo murmured, blinking rapidly to hide her brimming tears before she met Ahsoka’s gaze.

The Togruta’s eyes were sad as she searched for the right words, despite them both knowing nothing would ease Riyo’s pain. “You see him.”

Riyo tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a gasp for air after so long underwater. “How can I not?” Her tears stubbornly refused to fall now, despite clamoring at the floodgates only moments ago. “I can’t… I can’t focus on this right now.”

“You can’t go back in there right now either,” Ahsoka calmly pointed out. “Wolffe needs to heal.”

And so grew her guilt. “I know.” She needed to do something to keep her hands and mind busy. “I’ll get some more juvan ready so I can make a cold pack and show Rex what to do. You’ll both need to know how for when you go back.” She tried to ignore the predatory way Ahsoka’s eyes followed her around the kitchen as she gathered supplies.

“I find that talking helps sometimes,” Ahsoka quietly suggested, once Riyo stood back at the sink with her items gathered around.

“I’m not sure I remember how to do that after so long on my own,” Riyo muttered, grabbing a bundle of leaves from a jar more harshly than they deserved.

“No time better than the present.”

Riyo paused to stare calculatingly at her friend. She wasn’t lying about not knowing if she’d be able to speak of her nightmares after so long bottling it all in. “I propose a trade.”

One of Ahsoka’s painted brows rose in interest. “A trade.”

“I will tell you if you update me on your… situation.” She’d tiptoed around the circumstances of her guests’ arrival– and unlikely survival– for the past few days.

“Alright, deal.”

Riyo’s hands hovered uncertainly as she tries to steady her breathing before she begins. Where to even start? She’d tried so hard to forget that night six months ago. Now she had to relive it in full.

“I… I was home for the night.” Riyo doesn’t even recognize her voice with how vacant it sounds. “Everything was normal, even when I got a call from Co– Thire.” She didn’t want to relegate them to their titles. Those men– her friends– were worth much more than that. “He’d call sometimes if Fox was too busy to come home.”

Breathe in, one, two, three, breathe out.

“There’s– there was a code phrase Fox had me agree to. Dusk is falling soon. If one of us used it in a communication, we knew it was from the other.” Her hands began to shake as she ground the juvan up. “Thire said it to me that night. He said I had to flee Coruscant while I still could, before I was marked as a traitor by the Chancellor. That Fox needed to know I was safe, because… because he didn’t think he was coming home.”

“Oh, Riyo…”

Riyo tried to laugh but she choked on her voice. “No, no it’s fine. Please don’t feel sorry for me, not after–”

Not after what you’ve lost. It hangs in the air like a shadow, chilling the two women to the bone.

She could feel Ahsoka’s eyes on her for a long moment before she conceded. “Alright. So you fled Coruscant?”

Riyo nodded. “Yes. I waited for him, but… then I gathered those I could and had a trusted pilot shuttle us off. It wasn’t just those from my office, though. There were several other members from Pantora’s allies that we also safely evacuated. It was beneficial in the long run, since the number of hyperspace jumps we needed to make ensured that we weren’t followed.”

“That was wise of you,” Ahsoka confirmed. “You most likely had been tailed. The Empire has been interrogating anyone they view even as having a potential to be rebellious.”

Riyo dipped her head in a gentle nod. “And I never was one of the Cha– Emperor’s greedy followers,” she added.

Her friend’s lips quirked up in a humorless smile. “No, you weren’t.”

“Anyways, I timed my resignation to autosend sometime during our flight, and I contacted Bail, who gave us directions to follow. That’s all there really is to tell,” Riyo sheepishly shrugged, relieved to be finished and able to turn her attention back to the juvan leaves she’d laid out. They needed to be diced and then ground with water into a paste that could be either frozen and saved, or wrapped in a damp cloth and held to the wound.

“So, my turn then?” Ahsoka asked, faux-cheer evident in her voice but appreciated.

Riyo nodded, thankful for something else to focus on. She beckoned her over though, waiting until the Togruta was looking over her shoulder. “Just make sure to watch how I do it, so you’ll be able to on your own. The leaves have to be separated carefully, or you’ll negate the medicinal qualities.”

Ahsoka observed quietly as Riyo worked, nodding along to each specific task that Riyo pointed out. It was quite simple, but an untrained eye would still mess it up. It was nice to have someone at her side. She’d been so used to being alone.

“We agreed on a trade?” Ahsoka prompted, once Riyo stepped aside and handed the knife over for her to try. “Would you still like to hear what we’ve seen?”

Riyo bit the inside of her cheek to try and keep herself afloat in the surge of stress that threatens to sweep her away. “Yes, please.”

Ahsoka nodded sharply, and then the knife made its first clean slice. “We were on our way back from Mandalore after apprehending Darth Maul– the Sith Zabrak,” she elaborated for Riyo’s sake. “And an order went out to all the clone troopers, everywhere in the galaxy: execute Order 66, to kill the Jedi.” Her fingers clenched around the knife handle to the point that Riyo thought it’d snap. “Somehow Rex… he fought it long enough to warn me to find a file about Fives, an ARC trooper that–”

Riyo could feel the blood drain from her face at the mention of that name, one she’d long forgotten. “I remember. Fox… he shot him, to protect the Emperor.” It felt like lifetimes ago.

In a twisted sense, it was. It’d been during Fox’s lifetime, when he still came home to her every night.

Ahsoka hummed in agreement. “Right. Well, Fives had told Rex that the clones all had control chips in their heads, and that a damaged chip had caused another trooper to shoot a Jedi. No one believed him.” Her shoulders drooped. “I was able to capture Rex and take the chip out of his head, and he was back to normal. I… I let Maul out of his cell though as a distraction, and he damaged the ship so it crashed into a moon. We lost the whole battalion,” she finished in a whisper, head bowed.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” Riyo gasped. She wasn’t sure how a hug would be received, so she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Ahsoka’s eyes were teary when she looked up. “Thank you, but please don’t be for me. I took a risk, and it was Rex’s brothers that paid the consequences.” She shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m glad we found Wolffe. There have been other clones that escaped, but Wolffe was always one of his closest brothers.”

A small smile slipped onto her face unbidden. “I’m glad for the both of them as well. How did you find Com– Wolffe, though? You all barely made it here,” she pointed out.

The Togruta sighed. “You know Bail’s been coordinating a lot recently. We were sent out on a mission to try and contact a defector from the Empire. They’re a medic, and they’ve been treating several troopers sent to them for abnormal behavior. We arrived to get them out, and Wolffe was their latest patient, but they were being watched.” She stopped talking to peer at her work cautiously. “Is this correct?”

She stepped out of the way so Riyo could observe her work. “This is very good for anyone’s first try,” Riyo praised her. “Now we just need to grind it with some water to get a thick enough paste.”

Ahsoka waited for Riyo to set up the next step before continuing. “We had the freed men escort the medic onto our waiting ship, but we couldn’t take Wolffe back to base because of his chip. I followed their instructions to try and deactivate it, but we had to leave in a hurry. It took us a few days and several firefights before we lost them well enough to get here.”

“Had no idea you’d gotten that good with a blaster, either.”

Riyo bit back a shriek as Rex’s voice piped up from behind them. Good thing she’d been using the mortar and not a knife, otherwise she might’ve cut herself. At least he had the decency to send her an apologetic smile once she whirled around to face him.

“Gee thanks, Rex,” Ahsoka huffed, reaching out to playfully slap his chest. The two of them shared a grin, and Riyo decided to study the wooden floor beneath her feet until they snapped out of it. She wouldn’t dare disrupt their small moment of joy.

“I came out to let you know Wolffe is asleep again,” Rex finally explained his presence after he shook himself free of their little bubble. “We spoke some, but he tired quickly.”

That was good. He clearly was suffering from some form of head injury, so any amount of time Wolffe was able to be awake and coherent was a step in the right direction.

“Alright, that’s wonderful news. We should be able to apply this compress despite that.” Riyo picked up the bowl of ground javun and gestured at a clean cloth folded on the counter top. “Would you grab that and come with me? I’ll show you what to do, so you know how in the future.”

A quiet grief crept up her spine with each step she took back towards Wolffe’s room. He needed her help. She could pull herself together for him.

Riyo entered the room alone and took the seat beside Wolffe’s still form. Rex would be along in a minute.

Until then, she studied the still man’s face, finding and cataloguing each unique feature of him and hoping it wouldn’t come back to haunt her like before.

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 5 – The Outsiders

(Mando x f!reader)

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Summary: A new lead brings you to a new planet where you search for any trace of the child. Unable to locate him the two of you stop in at a Cantina and when a fight brings the two of you to a hotel new information comes to light, and not just about the childs whereabouts

Notes:Happy new year! Hope your all treating yourself and others with kindness! As always thank you for the likes and shares❤️❤️

TW:swearing, drinking, mentions of drug use/abuse

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

Word count: 6.3K

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Nar Shaddaa, Hutt Space, S-12

Exiting the ship you take in your new surroundings. The city was highly technological; filled with high speed trains, sky scrapers, constant noise and the richest and poorest members of the galaxy. It was a true Ecumenopolis and there’s no mistaking that you’re out of your element in it.

“You’re right.” You remark, causing Din to look over to you “I do hate it.”

“Here” he says, handing you a set of knives to go with the blaster he’d previously gifted you. “Bow and arrow would stand out and it’s best we blend in.” You take them, concealing the blades in the sleeves of your cloak.

“Anya, stay close” you whisper, pulling up the hood so as to shield the majority of your face from any passersby. The likelihood of you being recognized was exponentially higher than it had been during previous visits and anonymity was something that needed to be taken seriously here. Anya sniffs at the polluted air, miraculously picking up the child's scent in minutes.

The two of you pursue her with heads down, maneuvering through the crowded sidewalk lining the busy highway where speeders rip up and down the tarmac towards their destinations. She leads you off the main road and down a side street backlit by the various neon hues radiating off the signs attached to the strip of cantinas and clubs. Anya sits down and you and the Mandalorian exchange a look of confusion.

“There's no way the kid’s in a strip club,” he states.

“Ya I figured,” you snap back, the unintended harshness catching you off guard, “the water must have washed off some of the scent”

“What does that mean for our plans?” he queries.

“It means they just got more difficult.” You reach out through the force hoping the child may have caused a ripple in it recently, you can feel he’s one the planet, but there’s nothing to suggest his whereabouts. The situation wasn't being helped by the intermittent noise coming from the groups of intoxicated people moving between bars. You let out a groan of frustration causing a few nearby garbage cans to rattle and fall over subsequently startling a couple who were making out near them.

“C’mon, let’s find a cantina, cool off, maybe someone’s seen the scavengers that ambushed the base.” he offers, not wanting any more attention drawn to the two of you.

“Best idea you’ve ever had Mando.” You say, slapping him on the shoulder as he escorts you into one of the many cantinas lining the streets of the city.

The club was packed full of creatures from all across the galaxy. You’d seen places like this before, having even been inside them on more than one occasion. Sometimes clients wanted to take the gladiators out to show them off as a demonstration of power and wealth. The clubs were usually loud with dark corners, expensive drinks, illicit drugs and company you could pay for.

This place was no exception and honestly you’re surprised the Mandalorian had set foot in the cantina, you thought this would have quantified a den of sin to him and his creed. You push through the crowded dance floor taking a booth in a far corner in an attempt to disappear into the background. This task was helped by the dim lighting, loud music and general drunkenness of the patrons.

“What do you want?” you ask, pulling your hood down, feeling confident no one would recognize you.

“I don’t drink in public,” he explains taking a seat.

“And I don’t drink alone” you state, staring down at him.

“When was the last time you had to drink alone?” he asks. If it wasn't for everything you knew about his personality you would have thought that was some kind of line. Unfortunately, you must have been speaking too loud as your statement had drawn the attention of a nearby Balosar.

“Well I can make sure that doesn’t happen” the Balosar slurs clumsily placing a hand on your hip and moving his groin too close to your ass for your, or Dins liking.

“I wasn’t talking to you leave” you state calmly, and the man releases you walking off as if nothing happened, before the Mandalorian could even formulate his next move.

“Here’s the deal, I'll drink if you tell me about that trick of yours” he offers, watching the Balosar disappear back into the crowd.

“Deal” you say, turning to the bar. You make your way over through the mass of what we’re likely criminals or the ultra-rich, though oftentimes they fall hand in hand. This club didn’t smell like the lowbrow places you’d been to early on in your career, no it had that perfumed soaked scent of a millionaires mansion trying to masquerade the smell of fraud and blood that built it.

“Hey can I get two retsas, one with a long straw” you shout over the synthetic music blaring throughout the club to the Togruta bartender. You rest your elbows on the counter leaning forward, biting gently on your thumb as you turn your head, gazing over the crowd to where the Mandalorian was sat, absentmindedly stroking Anya’s head.

“Here ya are love” the bartender says, you turn back around to face her smiling as you hand her the credits and take the drinks back to the table.

“What’s this?” Din asks, picking up the straw slightly.

“Straw.” You say as if it’s obvious, taking a sip of your own beverage as you pull back into the booth “you can stick it up under your helmet. Then no one has to see your face”

“So how do you do that.” He asks referring to your ability to seemingly send people away.

“Do what?” you ask innocently, causing him to push the drink away,

“Fine.” you say, and he pulls it back towards him “the truth is I don’t really know how it works. Just does”

“Like magic” he states, maneuvering the straw under the helmet.

“Not a witch” you return, watching some of the liquid drain from his glass.

“The kid can heal can you?”

“No, I never learnt, I think only certain Jedis can. My specialities lie elsewhere.”

“Like the mind tricks.”

“Amongst other things but mind tricks are the simplest. Heads are easily influenced afterall.”

“Jedis'' he laughs audibly. It was the first time you’d heard him do so and you were taken aback by how pleasant it was. Sometimes it was easy to forget a human being was underneath all the metal.

“Why are you laughing? They exist.” you say smiling, still caught up in his laugh.

“I know I’ve met three now. I just think it’s funny that the kid is more qualified than you” He jokes. Your mouth opens, somehow feeling both admired and insulted by the man sat across from you.

“Say aren’t you a Mandalorian” a passerby interrupts

“No he’s not.” You say, sending him on his way with a flick of your wrist.

“You have to teach me how to do that.”

“You just have to put your mind between a state of complete serenity and complete control. Once you tap in, it’s easy enough to use, but you have to keep at it, it’s a skill and it's remarkably easy to lose.” You say gesturing for him to continue drinking. “Well that and a genetic predisposition for force-sensitivity.”

“Oh seems very easy,” he says.

“Well if it’s easy enough for a child to do.” You return.

“Did you use it to get the upper hand on me when we first met?”

“Maybe.” you respond finishing the last of your drink, only just noticing how lightheaded you were. It has been a while since you’d had a proper drink, but even so being this much of a lightweight wasn’t something you wanted the Mandalorian to know about.

“But you don’t use it all the time?” he prompts.

“No, not always safe. That why I was kept on Vryssa. Guess the empire, or ex-empire or whatever the hell they’re calling themselves these days, were hunting down any remaining Jedi” you explain, lightly tapping your fingernails along the empty glass.

“Can you choke people?” he asks, causing you your eyebrows to raise involuntarily.

“Only if they buy me dinner first,” you quip, watching as he finishes the last of his drink evidently not bothered by what you had just said “ but yes, I try not too unless absolutely necessary.”

“The kid tried it on Cara once.” he says laughing for the second time that evening.

“Fuck,” you snort, partially coughing up your drink “what’d she do?”

“She was beating me in an arm wrestling match.” he chuckles, more so at the sound you had just emitted than anything else.

“So you also need a kid to help you win an arm wrestling match?” you tease.

“Don’t start with me, I’d snap your arm like a twig if we went at it.” Did he know how what he was saying sounded? If so, what was he hoping to achieve by it? He’s about to ask another question when you put a finger up “More drinks” you say scooting out of the seat and making your way back over to the bar.

“Back so soon?” the bartender asks

“Drinking’s a specialty of mine” you say with a smile “Same as before please”

“Of course” she wipes her hands on a towel before heading back to make the order. You rock back and forth on your heels until she returns, but not with the drinks.

“If you’re looking for something stronger” she offers, pulling out a packet of what you recognize as spice. You’d done your fair share of it in the early days of the arenas. Trainers used it to control their more unruly fighters, and you found yourself falling under that classification more often than not. It had also come in handy when you had to deal with some of the less pleasing clients who were paying for your services. After you made it to the big times you were weaned off it by San who couldn’t have you overdosing and losing him money. Your hand reaches out for it but you stop yourself, knowing if you took it the Mandalorian would find out and you’d lose his trust. Something which you hadn’t realized mattered so much to you.

“I’m good for now, thanks though” she nods putting it back and returning with your drinks “If you change your mind, names Ynre come find me” you smile grabbing the drinks and moving back through the crowd. Sitting down you decide it's your turn to ask a question.

“How did you know I was a tracker?” you slide the drink towards him and he catches it with ease.

“ A bartender told me you’d helped him find his daughter, I thought you were isolated from the rest of the world.”

“Living has its cost even if you're off the grid” you begin “we needed credits as well, we offered our services to find those who had been taken, most of the time, all memory would be removed before they returned to the real world.”

“Why did you let him remember.”

“Somethings need to remembered, so they don’t happen again” you say, absentmindedly moving your index finger around the rim of the glass

“What’s it like.” He asks “Being one with the galaxy.”

“Pretty uneventful until you showed up in my life.” you say pointing a finger at him as you take another swig.

“Well I can’t imagine anything much happening on Vryssa. Is there anything on that planet except for mud and trees.”

“Some people like the mud and trees, it’s the poverty that stops most people from staying long. Mining isn’t the industry it once was.”

“So that’s what the planet is known for fuel?”

“That and the most hangings during the war, tall trees make for excellent gallows.” Having finished another round of drinks you go to stand up again, hoping when you went back you wouldn’t be offered the spice again. You weren’t sure you’d be able to deny it a second time.

“I’ll get the next ones'' he says standing up. You sit back down, breathing out a sigh of relief as you watch him walk over to the bar. As he reaches the counter you watch him order placing his hand on the bar turning to talk to a Twi’lek, Arkanian and human who had appeared around him. You take note of the body language, it’s plain to see what their intentions were.

Whether it was for the armour or something else you weren’t sure, but there was no denying the Mandalorian had something about him that made him undeniably attractive, even if his face was hidden. He allows a few of them to trace their hands over his armor, the helmet disabling you from gauging what he was thinking. As you watch the scene unfold you smile to yourself finding it somewhat amusing, but at the same time you feel a knot form in your stomach. You brush it off as you see him returning back to your table.

“Armour kinks really a thing then?” you ask nodding your head to the women who were still staring at him from the bar, as he hands you a drink.

“You have no idea,” he says,sitting back down. So he was experienced, you hadn’t been sure what his creed had said about sex. Your mind drifts back to the cave, causing you to wonder what else was going on under that armour. It was hard to say you wouldn’t if the opportunity presented itself, not that it ever would, most days you were unsure if he was even indifferent towards you and vice versa.

“Any more questions” you ask, freeing yourself from your thoughts, which you chalked up to the alcohol, not enough sleep and too much time alone.

“Are you sleeping?” you're taken aback by this question, why had he asked that. Noticing your concern he continues “When you fall asleep in front of me it’s hard not to notice the night terrors. You ask for me in your sleep. Do you know that? ” You did, but the nightmares were none of his business.

“Well if it’s your name I’m saying it really must be a nightmare, either way I couldn't tell you about them if I wanted to” you lie, hoping your smile would snuff out any suspicions.

“Are they about the fighting rings?” he asks, a sense of guilt hanging in the air.

“No, those stopped a few weeks in” You mumure, refusing to make eye contact with the helmet. He’s about to press for more information when a group of Zabrak walk in. You hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten and trouble usually starts after 1am.

“We should leave, gangsters and you’re too drunk to be of any use.”

“Shut up” you say, downing the last of your drink and cocking your head as if you had just proven some kind of point before pulling your hood back up. As you stand your foot gets caught in your cloak and you stumble. With one strong arm he stops you yet again from plummeting forward, catching your waist just in time.

“I’m not drunk, I just tripped!” you exclaim, trying and failing at hiding a smile as you stare up at him. If it wasn’t for the helmet you’d have seen the grin that had been plastered on Dins face for most of the evening as well. The two of you are almost out the door when you feel someone pull your hood down. The culprit, a tall, handsome man, has moved in front of you, blocking your exit.

“The huntress, you got out,” he exclaims moving towards you causing you to take a step back.

“You have the wrong person” you lie, trying to move past him but he steps in front of you again.

“I wouldn’t forget you, not after what we did,” he looks from you up to the Mandalorian “She’s worth every penny you spent Mando, the best,”

“She says she doesn’t know you. Now move.” Din interjects, succinctly cutting him off. You try again to move towards the door but once again the man steps in front of you.

“C’mon for old times’ sake.” He goes to pull you into him. Tiring of the interaction you drop down one of the knives with an aim of shanking him. Before you can, you hear the distinct sound of metal against skin as Dins fist connects with the man's face, knocking him out.

“Let’s go” he says, pulling your hood back up and ushering you quickly out the door, having now gained the attention of the group at the bar.

“Someone’s following us” you whisper, as Anya begins to emit a low growl. “bounty hunters. Five of them, I can take two if you get the rest.” Without looking at each other the two of you turn, in sync, to face your stalkers.

“Quite a bounty on you two.” One shouts, spitting out chew onto the street, “between the underground, the empire and the gladiators you’re the galaxy’s most wanted duo.”

“Walk away. While, you still can.” the modulated voice says as Din moves his cloak back, revealing the blaster at his side.

“Five versus a drunk Mandalorian and a girl. I like our odds. You don’t mind sharing do you Mando, we like to try the merchandise before we” The lead Zabrak drops to the ground before he can finish his sentence. One of your knives embedded deep in his throat you maintain eye contact with the other four Zabrak as their leader sputters out the last of his breaths. They draw their weapons and an array of blaster shots sound throughout the alleyway until only two of you remain standing,

“You okay?” The Mandalorian asks, giving you a once over.

“Ya, but you’re not.” You say gesturing to the knife currently lodged deep in his side. He reaches up to pull it out.

“Don’t,” you exclaim, grabbing his hand in yours, causing him to look down at you. You quickly release it, worried you may have just crossed a personal boundary. “ It needs to be removed carefully, it’s close to a vein. If you take it out you could bleed to death before we can patch it up.” you explain quickly. “C’mon there’s got to be a place around here somewhere.” The good news was there was a hotel in sight as you turned the corner, but the bad news was that it was upscale. Security would be increased and the knife currently embedded in the Mandalorian would stick out like a sore thumb.

Noting Din’s slowing pace, and aware of the knife's close proximity to a vein and how more movement could dislodge it, you opt to head into the hotel. You enter through the high reaching, stained glass doors depicting what appeared to be a ball of sorts. You sit the Mandalorian down in an armchair near one of the romanesque pillars lining the foyer, hoping to obscure him from the front desk.

Leaving Anya with him you make your way towards the desk, fortunately, due to the late hour late the lobby was essentially vacated. You look up, making eye contact with the concierge as you do, you pull down your hood hoping it would make you appear less threatening. You realize your error when you see a look of panic plastered on his face, likely caused by the flecks of blood marking your hands, neck and face. You see his hand reach for the phone. You make it to him as he's dialing, placing a finger on the hook switch ending the call before it starts.

“Please, we were ambushed on our way back from town, I’m here on a trip for my father. He's an ambassador, the Mandalorian is my bodyguard. We need a room, we can pay any price.” You plead apparently convincingly enough for him to place the phone back down on its receiver as he begins the process of checking you in.

“Seperate rooms I assume.” He says inputting the information

“No ones fine” you say. Noticing the look of judgment coming from the concierge, you continue “He doesn't sleep.”

“Don’t worry, everything here is kept very secret even from your father.”

“No... we… we’re not..” you decide to quit while you're ahead. He ends up offering you a cheaper rate for the room, you being an ambassador's relative and all.

“Thank you” you say sincerely as he hands you the key.

“How’d you manage that?” Din asks upon your arrival

“What can I say I’m an impressive negotiator” Helping him slowly to the elevator, looking back to the concierge offering him a look of thanks once again.

“You sure are.” he says as the elevator doors close, reopening again on the 21st floor.

“Not bad,” you murmur, taking in the room as you sit him down on the king size bed. “I’m going to get some medical supplies, don’t take that knife out until I’m back, and try not to die.” you say, tossing him one of two room cards before exiting the room, descending in the elevator to the main floor and exiting back into the street with Anya at your side.

The two of you dart through the alleys the street lamps illuminate the puddles forming on the pavement beneath your feet. You turn into the first pharmacy with an open sign and begin gathering the necessary supplies from its shelves. One of the benefits of being on a planet run by crime lords was the availability of cheap, illegal and oftentimes more efficient medicines. You’re reaching for a bottle of Shesharile Vodka to use as an antiseptic when you feel something watching you. You turn just in time to see a black cloak disappear into the adjacent aisle.

You follow it over to the next aisle but it moves just out of your view. You carry on into the next aisle, then the next, following the shadow frantically until you reach the cashier who gives you a side eye suggesting to you that there was definitely no one else in the store. You pay for the supplies and make your way back out into the rain which hits against your hood lightly. The soft padding helped to drown out the sense of foreboding that had been with you since you left the hotel. A nearby rib cat runs into a garbage can, making you jump. Startled, you look behind you, but there’s no one there. You shake your head, what was going on with you. It must just be the drink, or the lack of sleep.

You continue to tell yourself it’s just your imagination even when you hear your name whispered into your ear as you re-enter the hotel. Making a bee-line for the elevator you manically press the close door button, the elevator opens once you reach your floor and you swipe the key card. You rip the door open at the sound of the beep, briskly closing it behind you, chest heaving. Your panic worsens when you look to the bed and notice the Mandalorian was not where you had left him. Your eyes scan the room uncontrollably until you hear a faint buzzing coming from the bathroom. You swing the door open and look down to the floor where you see Din sitting. The knife lays next to him as he works at cauterizing his abdomen's broken skin back together. You bend over slapping his hand hard enough for it to retreat away from the wound.

“I said to leave the knife in.” You chastise stepping over him and squatting down to get a better angle of the gash.

“It’s fine, I've done this a hundred times,” he says nonchalantly, once again picking up the pen. After a few minutes of playing tug-of-war you manage to wrangle the cauterizer out of his hand taking it with you as you make your way back to supplies you’d bought. You pull the vodka and return to his side pulling the cork out with your teeth before applying a small amount of it to a towel.

“This might sting” you say as you wipe it against the lesion with gentle strokes. As you do he remains stoic, there’s not even a flinch. A notable sign of someone who was used to being in pain.

“I” he says, but you cut him off, preventing him from making a case for cauterization.

“Shut it, it could get infected, we have no idea where that knife has been. Plus stitches heal better than burns.” You state matter-of-factly, fetching the needle and thread from the supply bag.

Mandos POV

He can’t stop looking at your face as you stitch him back up, you were focused, but there was no sign of stress. You were calm, relaxed as if it was a second nature to you, something that was to be done absentmindedly. You must have done this before, maybe in the early days of fighting. Low brow gladiatorial battles were often messy and crude, you must have had your fair share of wounds when you were just starting off. His mind wanders to the comment you made about burnt wounds healing poorly. Had you seen the many that covered his body that night in the cave? Did you think he was hideous? Why did he care so much, seemingly all of a sudden?

“There. All done” you say, biting the string and applying some bacta to the now closed skin. As you stand up he notices a dark stain glistening through the back of your shirt.

“Wait,” he says quickly, trying to get your attention.

“What?” you ask, turning to face him still wiping his blood off your hands. He’s shocked you hadn’t noticed, based on the amount of blood the laceration was deep.

“You’re bleeding” he says, watching as you casually turn to look at your back.

“Come here” he says, taking another step towards you, concerned you don’t seem bothered by the news that you were bleeding profusely.

“I’m fine, it’s just a reopened old wound. I’ve had worse in the arena.” You say. Every time you brought up the arena, a twinge of guilt came over him. He wouldn’t let any harm come to you again, not while you were with him.

“Stop being stubborn.” He says. He’s about to grab you and force you down, but he rethinks his approach. Instead he places a leathered hand gently on your shoulder, turning you to face him.

“Let me help. Please.” This does the trick and he looks away as you remove your shirt which was now soaked through with blood. As you make your way over to the bed he sees the large open wound going up your back, it was red, swollen and bleeding. He puts some towels down on the bed and you lay down on your stomach. Upon closer inspection he notices the markings going up your spine. They were still prominent even amongst the healed over scars. His hand hover over the ancient scripture which matched up with those on your arms and face.

“Is it bad?” you ask, pulling him out of his trance and stopping him from tracing his fingers over your skin.

“Yes, it’s reopened a few times by the looks of it, did this ever heal?”

“Don’t know can’t reach back there” you mutter.

“It’s infected, it needs to be cleaned, and closed, it’s not deep but it’s too wide for stitches so it’ll have to be cauterized.”

“Just leave it. It’ll heal” you say pushing yourself up onto your elbows. He places a firm hand on your shoulder stopping you from fully extending upwards.

“Or it won’t and you’ll die and I’ll be back to square one.” He says, hoping it's enough to convince you to let him help you. He sighs a breath of relief when you lower yourself back down onto the towels. He positions himself over you, pouring some of the opened vodka into the lesion to cleanse it, noticing your back arch slightly as it does. He takes off one of his gloves, offering it to you.

“Bite down on this”

“This some kind of thing for you.” you ask, taking it from him.

“Or don’t cauterizing isn’t a walk in the park.” he says watching as you reluctantly place it in your mouth before turning your head back to face out the window overlooking the city below. Apparently it was a thing for him, but he shakes his head of any kind of desire in order to focus on the task at hand.

“This will hurt.”

Your POV

You feel the flame hit your skin, but you refuse to flinch, not wanting to appear weak in front of the Mandalorian. You remain still as he cauterizes your skin back together as the smell of burnt flesh fills the air around you. You find yourself wondering how high his tolerance for pain was, if he could essentially melt his skin back together without so much as a twinge. You found yourself exceedingly grateful for the leather which was likely stopping any noises being emitting unwillingly. He closes it up and you feel his hand go to your neck.

“I’m not dead” you say unmoving, your body was still in shock.

“You hadn’t moved in a while, I just wanted to make sure.” He says reaching for the salve,

“Leave it we may need it later.” You protest, but he ignores you, putting it over the wound, evidently not in the mood to argue with you. After a while you stand up and make your way to the mirror to check out his handiwork, not too shabby you think.

“Well now you’re not going to bleed out, you should get some rest” you say, throwing him his glove back before picking up your shirt and rinsing it out in the sink. You lay it out to dry over the radiator in the bathroom.

“You rest i'll take first watch” he says

“Seriously” you say emerging from the doorway “you lost a lot of blood.”

“I won’t be able to rest until the kid’s found.”

“No use to it if you're half asleep, off your game and get shot down one parsec in.” you retort. With that he accepts defeat and gets on top of the bed spreading out his legs and placing his hands behind his head. Careful not to disrupt Anya who was curled up on the bed's corner. You pour yourself a glass of the leftover vodka, swirling it around as you gaze out the window of the 21st floor. The city lights illuminate the sky as if it was daytime, you couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to live in such a place.

You gaze over to the Mandalorian, was he really asleep? He looked like he was, you’d never seen him splayed out like this before. Must be the only comfortable way of sleeping in all that clunky armour. You still couldn't wrap your head around how he kept it on all the time. Staring back out the window you imagine what life will be like once you’ve gotten the child back and you're free to lead a calmer life. After a few hours you hear the rustle of bed sheets. Turning your head you watch as the Mandalorian maneuvers off the bed with ease.

“Batteries recharged?” you joke, finishing the last of the vodka.

“I'm not an android” he replies, not having caught that it had been a joke. You make your way to the bed and get under the covers which were still warm from where he had been sitting a few moments ago. You rest your head back onto the pillows and shift to your side pulling the covers over your head to block out the lights of the city.

“What are you doing?” he ask

“I’m trying to get it dark enough to sleep.”

“I can close the curtains”

“And you'd just sit in a chair in the dark like some kind of weirdo?” he doesn’t respond after that and you doze off before another conversation can be started.

You wake up with the sun in your eyes, you must have de-cocooned yourself sometime during the night. Shit, you’d slept through the night. Not something you’d usually be upset at but you felt guilty for making Din take the majority of the watch.

“You should have woken me up, I would have taken another watch” you say sitting up in the bed and stretching your arms up to the sky, the tightness of the closed wound pulling slightly as you do.

“It seemed like a restful sleep. I figured you needed it.” You hop out of the bed and go to the bathroom pulling your blood stained shirt back on, muttering out a gross. The heat from the radiator had crusted the residue into the fabric.

“I’m gonna go get some towels from the front desk do you need anything” you ask scratching Anya’s ears and grabbing a room key. He shakes his helmet no.

You make your way to the desk, taking note of the assortment of well-dressed creatures moving throughout the lobby in the light of day. They stare as you pass through the lobby either disgusted by your bloodied appearance or suspicious of your intent.

“Must be a bounty hunter. I wonder if she has any idea what’s being auctioned off tonight. Should I ask” You overhear a woman ask as you pass by

“Good morning” a new concierge says.

“Morning, can I get some towels.” You ask, nonchalantly rifling through one of the many pamphlets littering the desk.

“Of course anything else madam?”

“ No, that's all thanks” you say, taking the towels. “actually yes this auction what’s that all about.”

“Oh yes the collector, he's having one tonight. Its location has been kept top secret. It changes each year to add to the excitement.” they explain.

“How would one go about getting an invite?” you implore, placing the towels back down on the counter.

“They usually find you. If you're rich, important or dangerous enough that is.” They say offering you a smile.

“Thanks” you say, formulating a plan the second you start your walk back to the elevator.

“I’m, so sorry” you say bumping into a woman who had been flashing around an invite when you had first entered the lobby. Slipping your hand into her shawl you grab the thin piece of paper pocketing it as she exclaims something along the line of how they're just letting anyone in these days.

As you re-enter the room you hear the shower turning off.

“You shower in that thing” you ask when the door opens.

“Not the towel.” He says “where are the clean ones?” he asks, tossing the bloodied fabric onto the floor.

“Got something better. A lead” you say throwing the invite on the table.

“We won’t get past the door, looking like this” he says. You hold up a finger and dial the front desk putting on the voice of the woman in the lobby.

“Hi it’s Mal Ytha” you say looking at the card, “the dress for tonight should be delivered to room 2108, yes its changed, thank you” you say hanging up the phone.

“How do you know it’ll fit?” he asks.

“She looked about my size.”

“If you’re planning on going in alone to get the kid, think again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, invites got a plus one which means you get to be my bodyguard.” This gets a laugh.

“What” you say, his laugh still taking you by surprise, its sound not quite matching up with the gruff Mandalorian you knew.

“ It’s just a funny thought, you needing a bodyguard.” He says as you open the knock at the door.

“Thank you”, you say, taking the towels and garment that had just been delivered by a member of the hotel staff.

“Shine up your armour princess, the event starts in an hour and its inner city, so we should probably drop our stuff back off at the ship before we head in ” He nods in agreement.

You get back to the ship and drop Anya off with the rest of your stuff, not willing to risk bringing her into another auction room. You change in the cockpit, the bathroom was too small and you didn’t want to devalue the constitution of the dress, afraid it may cause you to stand out. If the rich could spot anything it was someone masquerading as one of them. Fortunately your ability to guess proportions were right and the dress fit almost perfectly. Dins rearranging the armoury as you lower yourself down his helmet doing a double take when you enter into his line of sight.

“Don’t worry I can still run and fight in this thing if needed.” you say, assuming that’s why he had been staring for so long. Little did you know he was staring because he’d never seen something so beautiful in the entire galaxy. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.

“I’m not worried.” He says clearing his throat, trying to get a hold of himself.

“Good”, you say slipping the knives into the pants concealed beneath your dress.

“Shall we” you say, gesturing to the door in front of you.

[crystalsexarch]

Six: Avatar - E

You have some nerve, Hades. Blushing like a virgin.

Allow me just this once to play the role.

-

Explicit. Second-person ambiguous WoL. Despite their differences, the Crystal Exarch and Emet-Selch pine for the same Warrior...and develop similar habits.

CW: tentacles?

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

A wisp. A wanderer. A shadow of a shadow. You are to him what moths are lanterns; a sign that light is there, but not the light itself. Never the light. No, not even close.

And yet he watches you. Something in your affects sways him—the spark behind your eyes, the way you carry yourself from room to room. You remind him, almost, of what it felt like to be truly vulnerable.

Eons have passed. Empires have come and gone. Vulnerability was long ago rooted out from the Ascian Emet-Selch’s repertoire. However, for you—for something shaped like you—he has worn many masks in private. As you wander about the First, trying your damnedest to impede his patient plan, he goes through the motions of brooding, craving, and pining in his private quarters somewhere ancient beneath the sea.

You’ve been many things to many people. A traveler. A voice from ages past. A cackle on the battlefield, before would-be defeat. A secret reason to keep fighting. You are the least imperfect iteration of the worst possible you. As much as you are an argument to stop at seven Rejoinings, you are even stronger evidence that he needs to keep going. That he needs to go all the way.

He could do it like a beast on hand and knee. He could do it like a man, hunched over and pitiful. He could conjure something to fuck—in the image of something worth fucking—but why limit himself to one option at a time? In this foolish dance, he does his very best to please every part capable of feeling pleasure. And when the bliss fails to change his mind, he knows again that the way forward is a bitter one. He knows the resolve of his mind is greater than the lust of his body.

The lust always begins and ends with you. Old you, ancient you. The one strong enough to take him as an equal. Sometimes, he kicks his boots up on his useless dining room table and fits both of his hands around his cock, tossing his gaze elsewhere like he’s too bashful to bear the sight. A show of shyness for no one but himself. He imagines how the teasing might go.

You have some nerve, Hades. Blushing like a virgin.

Allow me just this once to play the role.

You’ll have to work hard to convince me.

He can never get your voice right, but he hums in amusement anyway. Once he’s had enough of using his own hands as a hole, he bids away his clothes with a flicker of magic. Dark particles scatter, leaving him fully exposed to an audience of none.

How exciting. He loves to play for a crowd.

One natural benefit of remaining unsundered—he retains the full scope of his abilities. Thus, calling up a chorus of slick, swollen-headed vines is a simple task, accomplished with his eyes closed. Spreading his legs, he lets them lap at his body and vie for the right to plunge inside. Two hardy tentacles bind his hands high above his head.

Oh my, warrior! What are you up to?

Silence, Ascian, and let me work.

He doesn’t know when new you, broken you started slipping into these moments, but he cannot deny that flashes do come. It’s laughable, that your pitiful, sundered form would appear to taunt and tease him with tentacles. None of your magic could spread him how he spreads himself. Two arcane heads leak upon his hole until one presses inside and starts pumping. A tiny rush of cool air leaves the ring of his lips with a muted groan.

Look at yourself.

He keeps his eyes closed, despite your imagined command. The fog of limbs tugs his right leg from the table. Another arm of darkness slaps onto his chest and squeezes. Emet-Selch treats himself impolitely, and he pretends any version of you would do the same. If you called him disgusting, he would laugh and tell you to fuck him harder as punishment for wanting it so badly.

And he does want it badly. The second head slips in. Both vines fuck at the same tempo, spread apart by a single beat. One at a time they find his sweet spot over and over again, until he’s whimpering out loud.

“Harder…”

He forgets he is safe here, sometimes. He forgets this place is untouched by yours or any other presence. He can process loss if he wants. He can weep into his hands and no one shall ever be the wiser.

“Harder. Please…”

But doing so would force him to admit a weakness. This dramatic mess is the closest he shall get to re-processing what he thinks he’s already processed, confronting what he confronted centuries upon centuries ago. One tentacle wraps around his cock and another sucks at his head, while the rest double down on their assigned tasks. Every sense he has is firing in full force all at once, and soon—

Come for me, Hades.

Everything is gone in an instant. He rights himself in his chair and hunches over, folds his hands in his lap. This is the only way he can stomach longing, because it’s the only way he can believe it’s just for show.

You are the center of his mission. The focus of his hatred. The seat of his passion. You are the thing he wants to destroy, and that which he seeks to recreate through destruction.

//

A beacon. An absolute. Sometimes the thought of being close to you is enough to make him weak and weeping. That his name—his title—might share the same page as yours in a history book is solace from the fact that he shall be remembered as a villain.

If all goes according to plan. And in the Crystal Exarch’s mind, after centuries of browbeating himself into accepting the dark path, all must go according to plan.

When he touches himself, a bitter aftertaste follows the pleasure. Your victories have inspired more than hope in his private chambers. A Lightwarden slain, a hooded man hardened. He likes to sit on his knees and lean his head against his desk, looking down upon the want he’s nursing. He uses his hand of crystal to pressure his inner thigh and his hand of flesh to stroke.

The first time he indulged like this, he tried to get it over with as soon as possible. Once he granted himself permission to imagine you straddling him, the escalation was quick and effective. He was able to come and clean up in a matter of minutes. He was able to walk away half-believing he wouldn’t do it again.

But he does. Dozens of times, sometimes more than once in quick succession, like he’s a hot-blooded scholar finding partners at the Find. Your presence, while inherently new to the Exarch after decades of waiting, is also intoxicatingly familiar. As he remembers the scent of your room in the Pendants, he recalls what it was like to fill somebody twice and still want to keep going.

The first orgasm comes with a gasp. He catches it with crystal, while his spoken hand jockeys for a few more complete motions. Up and down he rubs, until he’s shivered through the brief oversensitivity that chases even the most virile of miqo’te after climax. As it passes, he takes a deep breath and makes a V of two crystal fingers, sticky with cum. His tail whips beneath the mess of robes at his back, as he smears the letter down his shaft. He’s ready for the next, and so is his imagination.

A hero. A message. A promise. A symbol of a future worth fighting for, and one future worth avoiding. Hope incarnate. Victory incarnate. A walking, breathing legend, whose stories shall fill the annals of history from wall to wall.

A human. A person who wants things, perhaps wants people. What if you wanted him?

He starts stroking again, and his eyes flutter closed. Your mouth would be so warm around him, your tongue so deliberate at his slit. He imagines you lapping until you taste the leak of precum, then lowering your lips to the root. He would grip you by the hair and force you down, even when he knows you can go no further.

He would. He would—G’raha Tia, a scholar, an archon, an Exarch. His eyes cross at the concept of compelling you to do anything, much less let him fuck your mouth. He squeezes his cock from the base and focuses on his memory of your body—all the places you are strong, all the places you are soft. By the time he pulls his second orgasm, his tail is thumping like a hare's foot against the floor of the Umbilicus, and his legs are on the verge of cramping from the strain.

He looks down again and watches himself bob against the flat of his palm. Is he a fool to imagine he has any more right than the common admirer to jerk off to your image? In his deepest fantasies, he often plays the role of a romantic hero himself—one you might see as an equal. Though he imagines getting rough with you, he'd be just as happy to let you have your way in all ways, he thinks. You are a chance he must never take. An arrow that must not be plucked from its course. He might call you his reason for living.

Ultimately, he believes you'll be the reason anyone is able to survive.

[hunidlo]

Call of Fire

CHAPTER 2 - The Purpose

Rating: M

Word Count: 3K

Pairing: The Mandalorian x F!Reader

Warnings: slow burn fic,  violence, injuries, death, grief, language

A/N: English is not my first language so apologies for any mistakes in grammar. I’m basically making stuff up about the reader’s powers but why not, right?

Summary: Taunting a bandit is never a good idea. Thank Maker, Mando is near to save the day.

< Previous Chapter  //  Masterlist

***

The Mandalorian stands on the top of the ramp to his ship looking in the direction of your escape, the stick still firmly clutched in his hand. He tosses it to the side with frustration and shakes his head to clear his mind and forget about the whole incident. He knows he has more pressing matters to attend to right now. He looks at the tracking fob which is now flashing rapidly with red light. 

He lifts his head and looks again towards the woods where you have disappeared just moments ago—

“Shit!” he sighs.

------------------------------------------

You are trying to calm down and catch your breath. Your knees buckle, taking you to the ground. You sit exhausted, stabbing pain regularly shooting to your side. 

“You mean ... like ... a real Mandalorian?” Zullu is standing above you, wiping sweat from her forehead with dirty hands, smearing mud all over it. “Like from my gran’s stories?”

“Yep,” you say simply. 

And then you start laughing. Hysterically. It might be the exhaustion, or maybe you just can't believe you pulled off sneaking into a ship belonging to a Mandalorian. Maybe both … but you are currently laughing yourself silly.

Zullu is watching you awkwardly. She chuckles a couple of times until she is laughing with you and your guffaws echo through the forest.

“We should get back to the village,” you say eventually, still panting and your stomach aching from all the giggling. “I owe you—by the way—you totally saved me back there,” you admit and Zullu smiles at you in appreciation.

“D-do you think he’s following us?” Zullu is biting her nails and keeps looking over her shoulder as you walk.

“Relax. If he was, he would have already caught us.”

Oh, just how badly you have underestimated him.

***

You’re finally getting closer to the village when the sun is about to set. You’re exhausted but you can’t stop wondering, what is a Mandalorian doing on this planet.

Then again, maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know and if you are lucky, he’ll leave just as quickly as he appeared because the last thing the people in your village need right now, is more trouble. And he sure looked like a lot of trouble … broad-shouldered, mysterious, intriguing, and so intimidating … yeah, ... basically a definition of trouble.

“Gran used to say, most Mandalorians were mercenaries and bounty hunters. Maybe he’s really here because of ... you.” Zullu says out of nowhere, interrupting your—let’s be honest, slightly embarrassing—train of thought.

You shake your head when you process what she’s saying, “Nonsense, how could he possibly ... it’s been fifteen years ...”

“Yeah, but they don’t forget, you know,” Zullu frowns, looking genuinely worried. “You can’t be hiding here forever.”

“Fed up with me already?” you try to lighten the now heavy atmosphere. In fact, you are not overly fond of the conversation getting far too serious now.

“No … n-no, you know you’re my best friend”—she’s looking down at her feet as always when she’s struggling to find the right words—“it’s just … I feel … feel like you have a different … purpose, you know? ... Like in life? ... You’re not supposed to work on the field for the rest of it.”

“What’s wrong with the work on the field?”

“Except the fact that you hate it?” 

You don’t like her sarcastic tone—yet—she’s got a point. You love the village, you love the people, but a farmer’s life is just not for you. You crave adventure. Maybe that’s why you so desperately seek it whenever a chance occurs. Eventually, you have to admit to yourself that—to some extent—that’s why you want to fight the bandits … and why you so recklessly pissed the Mandalorian off ... 

… And then there’s the thing about your origin and your parents. Fifteen years ago, your parents left you here to hide you—to save you. The villagers took you in. You want to go to search for your parents but … you could never leave Zullu.

“I …,” Zullu continues when you’re being quiet for too long, “I just think … know actually … you’re meant to—.”

“And you?” you smile and try to steer the conversation away from you. “What’s your life purpose?” 

She shrugs, “Uh ... don’t know... haven’t found my purpose yet.”

“Well, I’m sure yours is much greater than mine.”

Zullu exhales through her nose. “Don’t you wanna know why your parents left you here, hiding you from—” She looks over her shoulder one more time. “—the Empire?” she whispers the last words as if someone might be eavesdropping.

Oh no, here we go—the topic you wanted to avoid.

“The Empire is gone,” you reply, “my parents are ... too—most probably—so we might just never know.”

“A-and you’re okay with that? I mean… not knowing who you really are?”

“Yes,” you say resolutely. “And I’m fine with working on the farm for the rest of my life,” not so resolutely.

Zullu tilts her head sideways, raises her eyebrows at you and blinks slowly.

“Why are you bringing this up again?” irritation in your voice is now undeniable.

“Because… the Mandalorian—”

“Oh, Mandalorian-Shmandalorian ...” you snap.

“... and I haven’t told you but—” she continues, ignoring your comment, “—I have overheard mum talking about you. She said … said your parents—”

“Do you hear that?” you cut her off. “Listen ...”

And then you hear it again. The horn.

The horn!

What? No. No! It’s too early, it can’t be ... next week … it’s three months next week … they shouldn’t be here this early.

Wasting no more time, you burst into a sprint and run to the village as fast as you can. Zullu’s right behind you.

The villagers are just as confused as you are but are already gathering on the square nevertheless.

“What’s happening? They shouldn’t—” Zullu panics.

“I know,” you exhale, “They’re early. We’re not ready.”

“What do we do?”

You sigh but do not reply to her.

The bandits head straight to the barn to look for the stored food. Their leader is watching over the villagers who stand in a line as always. One of the bandits comes over and whispers something to his boss, but you can’t hear what he’s saying.

“Take everything, we’re gonna need it,” the leader replies to his mate and dismisses him with a simple wave of his hand.

With that … Shit! The fire’s back. It’s back and it’s running through your body like molten lava— 

“You can’t!” you hear yourself crying out with a voice firmer than you expected. “You’re early … we couldn’t … the people will starve here!”

Zullu, who is standing next to you, turns her head in your direction wide-eyed.

You are not exactly sure why you did it—and what you should do next—but you can't let them steal all your supplies, right?

The leader takes a few steps forward and looks down at you.

Surprisingly enough, you’re not scared. You’ve seen a more intimidating gaze today and this guy is nowhere near as threatening as the Mandalorian. So you give him the most defiant look you have. And then—

Your little staring competition ends abruptly when the bandit slaps you with the back of his armoured hand and watches as you drop to your knees. 

Son of a bitch, that hurt. That fucking hurt. You hold your jaw in your hand and flex it as you feel the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth.

--------------------------------------------

“Stupid … again … brave … but stupid,” the Mandalorian exhales to himself.

He’s lying on the top of the hill above the village, observing the whole scenario through the scope of his rifle. 

He rises to his feet with an irritated grunt.

--------------------------------------------

You don’t remember ever being hit like this. Your jaw hurts but you’re determined not to let the bastard enjoy humiliating you. You need a few moments to recover but then you slowly get to your feet again, put on the same venomous look as before, and spit in the bandit’s face, spattering a considerable amount of blood mixed with your saliva all over his repulsive visage.

“You little ...” The bandit wipes the blood with the back of his hand and gropes for his blaster. 

To your astonishment—and before you can come up with an action plan preventing you from being shot in the head—he suddenly halts his movement and is now looking over your shoulder, squinting at something behind you.

You follow his gaze and turn around to see ... 

… the Mandalorian?

Huh, so he followed you back after all.

Only now can you take a proper look at him as he’s slowly approaching the village. Sure, you saw—and let’s not forget also fought—him back on his ship, but everything happened so quickly that you didn’t have time to fully scrutinize the way he looks. 

You should not be so amazed. You used to listen to Zullu’s grandmother—eagerly hanging on her every word—when she told the stories about the Mando’ade to local children in the evenings. You knew the Mandalorians are bound with a creed and their culture revolves around war and battles which the elderly woman used to tell you about. Never have you imagined them to be this impressive though. So you just stand there with your mouth half open, taking in every detail of him as he comes nearer. 

He’s tall, evidently agile and strong, judging by his arms and thighs. Well, and you also remember how hard his grip was on you this afternoon. His armour seems almost crimson now as it reflects the light of the setting sun. Beskar—you recall— that's what the old woman said their armour was made of. He has a rifle strapped to his back, a blaster by his side, and the wind plays with his cape as it flutters behind him. What a presence. 

His helmet is pointed at the bandit standing next to you, piercing him with the same intimidating look he gave you when he caught you sneaking into his ship.

“Let them go,” he says, his voice dark and foreboding.

“We have no quarrel with you, Mando. Feel free to turn around and walk away.” The bandit is trying to stay calm but he’s just whistling in the dark.

“If you don’t want to start one, leave the supplies and never come back.” The Mandalorian is getting closer and closer to the square keeping the same slow resolute pace.

The other raiders have already noticed the disturbance and one by one began emerging from the barn, joining their leader on the square.

The Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care much that he’s outnumbered. He stops and rests his hand on his holster. He looks at the villagers and jerks his helmet to the side. They understand the gesture and back up slowly. You intend to do the same.

However, the bandit leader notices your intention, quickly wraps an arm around your neck and pushes you in front of him, hiding thus his body behind you. He’s now taking slow steps back—retreating—using your body as a human shield.

“Kill him,” he growls and drags you behind the cart that is conveniently standing in the square with half of your supplies already loaded up.

Your back is pushed to the offender's chest so you're facing away from all the action and you can only hear when the blasters begin shooting all at once. You have no idea what’s happening on the square behind you. You can hope for the best but you’re not entirely sure what it is. From what you know, the Mandalorian might be just as barbaric as the bandits so it might be out of the frying pan and into the fire for the village anyway.

After a good ten minutes of shooting, dull bangs and a couple of shrieks, there’s silence. 

Suddenly—you’re being pulled out from the hideout. The last bandit standing is pushing you in front of him and you can feel a barrel of his blaster now pressed to your temple.

There are about ten bodies lying scattered around the square—lifeless—a smoke from the blaster shots still rising from some of them. With your peripheral vision, you can see a few of the survivors disappearing in the woods. They apparently decided to cut and run.

The Mandalorian is kneeling on one knee, leaning over one of the bodies, checking their vital signs. He swiftly draws his weapon again when he sees you two approaching.

“Drop the blaster, Mando,” the bandit warns. “Drop it, or I’ll kill her.”

The Mandalorian puts his hands up slowly and lays his blaster on the ground. However, as he raises to his feet, a flock of little whistling arrows shoots from his vambrace and flies towards you. You shut your eyes awaiting certain death. Instead, the pressure against your temple disappears, the arm around your neck eases its grip and the bandit falls dead behind you.

You raise your vision only to see the Mandalorian striding towards you. You’re still petrified and puzzled. 

Suddenly, he stops midway, staring emptily behind you. 

Um ... this is not good. 

You slowly turn around and gulp.

A horde of bandits, probably the rest of their encampment is rushing towards you. Ten or fifteen brutes armed with blasters, knives and spears got alerted somehow and are ready to avenge their fallen comrades. 

“Hide!” the Mandalorian shouts to you, raising his blaster again.

You do as you’re told. You run past him and across the square, noticing the huts are deserted. All the villagers must have already fled to the woods during the first shootout. You can only hope that Zullu escaped with them.

You dash into the woods not stopping for a moment. You can still hear the shooting behind you coming from the village. You should find the others, find Zullu, make sure she’s alright—

A figure comes from their hideout behind one of the trees about fifty feet in front of you.

It's one of the bandits.

“Going somewhere?” he smirks at you, his blaster already levelled at your chest. 

He doesn’t wait for your reaction. A blaster shot echoes through the forest. For a second time today, you close your eyes awaiting the inevitable. When you open them again, Zullu is standing in front of you, her hands spread out in a protective gesture.

“No!” you cry out, tears already forming in the corners of your eyes.

She falls backwards to your arms and you slowly put her to the ground with trembling hands, holding her head in your lap as you kneel under her.

You hear the bandit in front of you burst into laughter. Horrible, gruesome laughter. Rage is building in your body, igniting every molecule. You look at him to see he’s raising his blaster once more to point it at you.

You’re going berserk, the fire is spiralling through you more intensely than ever before. You feel like your body would combust if you hold it back longer. You can’t fight it anymore. You won’t.

Somehow instinctively, you stretch your arms out in front of you, your fingers spread out but you’re slowly, convulsively closing them up. The bandit’s body lifts from the ground. Confused, he frantically kicks around, searching for solid ground under his feet. Then, his face distorts into a horrifying, painful grimace. You are holding him in front of you for a couple of seconds until you abruptly spread your arms with an excruciating scream. Following the movement of your hands, the bandit’s body is torn in half in front of your eyes. His lower half is tossed vigorously to the left, his torso to the right, colliding with the nearby tree with a splashy thud.

You have absolutely no understanding of what just happened but you have no time to think about it now. You quickly turn your attention to Zullu who is looking at you with glossy eyes.

There’s a nasty blaster wound in her belly and she’s covering it with her weak hands. 

“Zullu—,” you cry out, “—fuck—what have you done?”

“I saved you, dummy.” Her chuckles turn to cough.

“... You’re gonna be alright. We’ll get you help … just stay with me, okay?” You try to shift yourself under her body so that you can attend to her wound.

She grabs you by your wrist and shakes her head. “I’m fine ... I’m ready ... f-found … my purpose ...,” she struggles to speak, “... now promise me, you’ll find yours.”

“Don’t talk like that—” 

“I saw what you did … I’ve always known … you’re special.”

“I-uh ...” You’re lost for words.

“... I overheard mum saying … saying your father was a doctor—clone engineer … worked for the … Empire … betrayed them … they hunted him ... that’s why your parents hid you here.” Zullu coughs and takes a couple of deep breaths before she speaks again. “She knows where they are.” Zullu looks straight to your eyes as she continues, “I’m sorry I haven’t told you before. I was scared you would leave, but I know now that you have to go,  you have to find them.”

“You’re my best friend, I won’t leave you, I need y—” a choking sense of despair causes your voice to crack before you are able to finish.

“You were never meant to stay on this p-planet ... you’re meant to do great things ... I know it ... find your parents, find your purpose … promise me ...”

You feel dizzy now. “Zullu—” 

“Promise me!” she urges.

“I promise ...”

She smiles at you, raising her hand to touch your cheek but it collapses on the ground beside her and you witness the sparks in her eyes die out.

You burst into tears and tug her close to you. Hugging and squeezing her motionless body—consumed by aching grief—you cry.

You do not know how much time has passed but you finally find the strength to get up from the ground. You gently pick Zullu’s body up. The shooting that could have been heard from the village before has ceased.

You slowly walk towards the village, carrying Zullu in your arms. You don’t care about the possible threat that might still be lurking in the woods. Your mind is blank, you feel empty inside. There’s nothing left, only pain.

You have lost everything today.

***

< Previous Chapter //  Masterlist

[k-i-ssmyash]

Pls I would love to hear your analysis on why those mitski songs fit each iz boy (feel free to ignore this but if you'd like do tell bcs I think it is interesting B) )

Oh buddy you've made a mistake. You'd love to hear the analysis? Well I love to talk; I hope your ready for the absolute word vomit and rambling that's under the cut. But yeah, no, i'll never turn down asks like this! Interact with me! I'm but a simple, lonely tumblr hermit.

Let's start off with the first post containing Zim and referencing A Pearl. I tie this song in with his (fandom assumed) character development and how it effects both his mental state, Dib, and his ideology of the Irken Empire as a whole. In a way, I think a lot of us over-sympathize or find common ground with our alien and it prompts us to victimize him and excuse a lot of his actions. And for good reasons honestly? It's easy to do so consider that he was born under the rule of a tyrannical society where flaws are looked down upon. He does wrong but to him it's not exactly wrong, is it? It's unfair to judge him and scrutinize him the same way we do humans. The show is slap-stick at it's core and despite the grim and black-humor based undertones, not much is taken seriously. Although it often ends up in failure, everything he attempts to do is to better the empire, to receive recognition from the beings they hail to about the same degree as a deity. The long and short of it is that he wants to make the Tallest happy. To prove that he's worth their time and that he can live up to everything he dreamed he could be, but the truth is that he can't. He loves the people that hate him the most. It's an abusive relationship at it's finest, really. So he picks up the most unhealthy coping mechanism: Denial. He can't accept the fact that he's a fake invader, or that his Tallest weren't coming to Earth, because it would genuinely destroy him. And why wouldn't it? Pleasing his superiors and contributing to the hive-collective is encoded in him. It's all he's ever known. I specifically chose the given lines "(It's just that) I fell in love with a war and nobody told me it ended-" because that's the back-bone of Zim's character. You can take it both literally and metaphorically if you'd like. He's invader Zim. He likes being an invader because it gives him a purpose. The Tallest give him a fake mission and play into his delusion of doing good and being someone important (of being loved, even) and never truly hammer in the fact that he's exiled--not counting the unaired episode or the bit of commentary mumbled under the Tallests breath-- because they find the situation funny to an extent. (also, what gets me just in general with it is that Zim thinks that people like him but he's actually just one big joke and ow goddamn it my feelings) Main lyric(s) out of the way there I similarly associate the song to Zim's uh 'character redemption' so to say. I think he'd struggle to become accustomed to Earth and the fact that he doesn't have to rely on commands to live his life. I relate the line(s): "You're getting tired of me (and all of the things I don't talk about) / You love me so hard and I still can't sleep / It's not that I don't want you / It's not that I don't want your touch / There's a hole that you fill" With his relationship with Dib-- platonic, romantic, whatever-- and the general give and take of it all. He'd like to assimilate and believe in the freedom given by living on Earth. He wants it and in a way Dib provides the stability he needs there and it would be so, so, easy to give in to it. But he can't because the Empire continues to loom over him and his day-to-day life. As it's been proven, without Dib there to provoke Zim, the little alien falls into a depression, not unlike the one he fell into in Enter The Florpus when he saw the truth in his mission. Dib is his substitute, essentially. (there's something to be said with that relationship and how I view it but this is already dragging on and this is only the first analysis, so maybe another time.) And lastly, I'd like to think that the Pearl the song is eluding to can be compared to Zim's PAK. The whole 'Pearls are parasites that live inside of mollusks' bit can relate to the PAK and it's purpose. But I see it more in the sense that the PAK is the second brain, a computer memory drive that grants Zim access to the memories he can't bring himself to forget or delete. I.e., "And it left a pearl in my hand / And i roll it around every night just to watch it glow /

Every night, baby, that's where I go" Every time he takes a step forward, he takes two back because he just can't let go of what he knows (the Empire).

--- As for Dib and I Bet On Losing Dogs, well, it's a little more complicated and I'm still not entirely sure of my break-down here because there's so many layers to apply. Originally when I started messing around with this idea, it was going to be centered on Membrane "My baby, you're my baby, say it to me" and him loving Dib despite his flaws. And I still think it could apply. While Dadbrane doesn't support Dib's paranormal bull-shit, and he shouldn't considering the lengths Dib goes through to prove it (bus hoping, obsessive behavior, the fucking trench-coat) he does support and love his son despite the absentness. Hence the "I bet on losing dogs" and you know, Dadbrane just being there to pick him up and have his back when he really needs to. But then we get to the last line of the first verse. "Tell your baby that I'm your baby" To which Dib, in all of his edgy glory, decided to stick his big-head in to my thought process. I saw it as Dib wishing that Membrane would pick him over Science. Kind of a plea for attention? Like: Put your work away, I know you love it but you need to love me more. Dib has got to have the biggest hero-complex out of everyone in the show. He also has an inferiority-complex that compels him to try and prove himself. Quite frankly, and pun fully intended, he is the underdog. The odds are always against him and he almost never comes out victorious in the end, in that way, I feel like Dib himself is the loosing dog. His belief in the supernatural is the loosing dog. No one will ever believe him, "I bet on losing dogs / I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place" but he's too stubborn to give up. Even if he's mocked and ridiculed he would never stop trying to prove himself correct and would continue to stick to his guns. "I'll be there on their side / I'm losing by their side" He ostracizes himself from his peers by not letting belief go. He is purposely sabotaging his chance of being seen as someone other than the crazy kid.

That being said, the next line is where his Hero-complex comes back into play. "Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down" in Enter the Florpus, his sworn enemy was in a funk that he knew all too well. Sure, in the end he wanted to use Zim for his own gain, but before that he sympathized with him. And in a way, he possibly wouldn't know how to act if he ever did actually succeed? I couldn't help but think that Dib, who has always lost wouldn't feel like exposing Zim would be a win? He'd miss the fight. Dib would miss the struggle of being beaten down only to rise up when he finally gets some sort of substantial evidence: "I wanna feel it / I bet on losing dogs" he hopes that Zim will come up with something big and bad not because he wants him to win either, but because then Dib has something to fight against. Along with that, the one time Dib actually broke away from paranormal to go along with his father's wishes he was absolutely miserable. He was successful. He made his father happy, he could have made something out of his life but he couldn't; the appeal of Zim and their on-going stalemate was too much to resist-- "I always want you when I'm finally fine / Someone to watch me die" -- Dib is ruining himself by obsessing over the truth and Zim would be going down, right there with him. ahaha, that was a lot wasn't it? It probably didn't make sense either as it's just my personal rambling here, but I'd be interested to hear your thoughts and opinions on it all.

[morethanwords229]

#4 

“I’ll never forget you.” From this prompt list.

*

Mexico, some years ago

She was halfway down her second bottle of too-warm beer when the target finally showed up. He selected the bar seat next to hers, his usual spot according to the intelligence, a glass of neat tequila appearing in front of him before he’d even finished shucking his jacket.

Alex Barrera commanded quick service around here.

“What do you have to do to get service like that?” Elizabeth asked, in lieu of hello.

He glanced over at her and then, apparently liking what he saw, looked longer. “I own the place,” he said. His English was excellent. He smiled at her, a crooked thing that might have been charming if she didn’t already know exactly what he was.

She knew that, actually, he didn’t really own the place. His daddy owned the place, along with control over the vast majority of this Mexican border town and swathes of the country beyond. A multi-billion-dollar enterprise built on illegal drugs could do that for a guy. Alex was his heir apparent.

Except that Alex was young, and hadn’t yet mastered the complete discretion that had helped his daddy earn his empire. Which was how his name had come to cross the CIA’s Middle East desk, when it was brought to their attention that he was taking steps to further the international side of the business – apparently without his daddy’s knowledge, if the evidence was anything to go by. Alex had been working to develop his connections with interested opium producers in Afghanistan, and while he had been careful about it, he had still left footprints behind him.

Hence Elizabeth’s trip to a scummy tourist bar a couple of miles south of the US-Mexico border, at the end of a long, hard-fought investigation. She had intentions to bring down the drug king’s son, and tonight was the night she had chosen for him to fall.

A fresh bottle of beer appeared in front of Elizabeth, a single raised finger from Barrera enough to get the bartender to do his bidding.

“Neat trick,” she said.

He leaned in closer. “What is a beautiful woman like you doing in a place like this?”

She laughed. She leaned in too, close enough to whisper into his ear, “Arresting you.”

She pulled back to see the flash of surprise on his face and then the realisation as he looked up and around and saw himself suddenly surrounded by officers. His hand instinctively went for the holster strapped around his waist but he found a cuff slapped on his wrist before he could reach his gun.

“Bitch,” he spat at Elizabeth. “I’ll make sure you pay for this.”

Maybe she should have been afraid or at least wary of his anger, the fact he didn’t feel the need to bother protesting his innocence. After all, he was a man with the resources to follow through on any threat he made, and she was under no illusions that he would still be pulling strings even once he was securely in custody.

“I think you’ll find it’s you who’s going to pay.” She said the words with confidence. He didn’t know who she was beyond a blonde in a bar. He could guess that she was probably CIA, but she was here on a fake passport in a fake name, no way to link it back to her. Any trace of the CIA would be erased within hours of them crossing back into the US. He had no way to track her down.

And still, she felt a chill pass through her later when she was overseeing her team putting Barrera into an armoured car around the back of the bar. Just before the car door shut, he looked over at where she stood with her back against a rough brick wall, looking her up and down before his gaze landed back on her face. He smiled at her. She stared back. He blew her a kiss. “I’ll never forget you,” he said. Ever the charmer.

The door slammed shut. Elizabeth turned and walked away.

[glapplebloom]

As much as I trash talk Chrysalis as much as I do, she was the best part of this two parter.

Twilight and friends are not only invited to a wedding, they’re essentials to it as they are basically assigned to do the major things for a wedding. And who is getting married? Twilight’s Big Brother and Babysitter who were so important to her they were never mentioned until now.

Now as I have said in the past that I do bet she did mention about them just off screen (after all, how weird will it be if like in the middle of the slumber party she just talks about her brother out of the blue?) so let me criticize them for something different. She consider them her friends yet neither one of them taught her about having more friends? I worry for Flurry Heart.

Twilight is mad though that she didn’t knew until the wedding. And even if Shining Armor’s excuse about having to protect Canterlot was a good one, a wedding takes MONTHS to prepare. How slap dashed is this wedding if it was decided upon a week ago.

That excuse is good enough for Twilight, but Chrysalis, I mean Chrysalis, I mean HONESTLY HOW IS IT THAT ANYONE WITH EYES DON’T KNOW THIS IS CADANCE CELESTIA!!?!?! All Seeing my butt. She couldn’t see her own Cutie Mark if she was folded in half! Anyway Chrysalis managed to get away with the worst acting in history thanks to a leaked invasion. But Twilight sees right through her.

Forgetting the first lesson of this very season, when Twilight came by with her worries they don’t take her feelings into consideration. I said this last time but it is worth repeating...

Fluttershy: Please, your Highness. We all saw that Twilight was upset.

Rainbow Dash: But we thought that the thing she was worrying about wasn’t worth worrying about.

Applejack: So when she ran off all worked up, not a single one of us tried to stop her.

Rarity: As Twilight’s good friends, we should have taken her feelings seriously and been there for her!

This is them basically saying “LOL! Nope! Its a classic Bridezilla situation”. While their comments about Twilight being a little possessive maybe true, they should have remembered this lesson and taken her feelings into consideration.

Twilight goes to talk to her brother but seeing Chrysalis zap her brother just confirms her suspicion. So when she confronted everyone, she makes a big scene and gets everyone to hate her. That’s when Chrysalis makes one of many mistakes in this invasion plan: bring Twilight to the real Cadance.

I’m thinking she thought Twilight would destroy Cadance, but instead the two reunited and worked together to escape. So between being a terrible actress, having her invasion leaked before they were ready, having the one person suspicious of your actions taken to the one evidence to prove them right, and unable to shut off a shield spell despite controlling said husband? The Apotheosis she is not.

Well, since she found out she pretty much reveals herself and her plans for Equestria. But since Celestia is there, she can attack Chrysalis from behind while she’s distracted with her monologuing right? Riiiiight?

As much as I hear people think Celestia is stronger than she is supposed to be, outside moving a sun that maybe the same size as ours but I really doubt the same mass, she really doesn’t have much going for her. Luckily the other girls are much more capable and leads us to the best part of the episode: 

Main Six takes on Changeling Army. Seeing all of them fighting a small portion of the army was great. Sadly, throw enough fodder at people and even the strongest will eventually fall. After all, they’re not invincible.

Luckily for them Chrysalis is completely incompetent. So when she had them all on the ropes, she doesn’t imprison the main six, who in turn frees Cadance to be with Shining Armor, and ignores their reunion because she doesn’t think their love, the same love that allowed her to beat Celestia, is good enough to beat her.

And of course, she was completely wrong. After clearing the Changelings from Canterlot (and Thorax heading to the Crystal Empire sometime after this), the real wedding goes off without a hitch and it ends with them singing a song and Shining and Cadance going off to make Flurry Heart. 

Overall, the rewatching has not been kind to this episode. This is to me the lowest of the Finales. Even compared to Season 1′s we had a build up to it instead of basically trying to cram a month’s worth of planning in two to three days. It was hard to watch, especially since this was being watched while the new Animaniacs just appeared.

I was even planning on just linking to the old review, but considering it was just a highlight real, I wanted to give it at least a proper review. The rewrite on it though is still what I consider canon so go there to read that.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Secrets” Part 3

The Joker did something so unforgivable and despicable you don’t ever want to see him  again. After months of avoiding The King of Gotham, you really can’t understand why he appointed you as the only person to take care of his son in case of emergency. There’s no way you’ll accept to help the little boy in his father’s absence, yet the three years old has no fault in what happened between you and your ex.

Frost just called with a security report for The Joker: most of the henchmen in the building are dead; five missing for the moment and his best guess is that they are the ones who sold his boss out and allowed Ezra to get inside the Penthouse. Maybe even helped the New York gang kill the others; no way to know for sure until watching the footage from all the cameras scattered around the premises.

You and J barely convinced Alexis to go back to sleep after he was given a bath: the three years old was very agitated and scared, which is understandable after what happened just a couple of hours ago. The fact that he’s sick didn’t help either: his fever increased and you had to put in extra effort in order to convince him to swallow his medicine.

“Can y-you take him to Los Angeles for a few days until I clean up the m-mess here?” The Joker asks, struggling to wrap new bandages around the surgical marks on his right leg. The soft fabric of the sweat pants keep on sliding down his foot and J lifts it up again, frustrated he can’t manage to keep it in place.

“Yes, no problem,” you agree and check your cell, waiting for your father to call.

Jase didn’t answer his phone and Y/N left a short message urging him to get a hold of her as soon as possible. You really don’t know how you’ll explain what you did: invoking the code in order to offer protection to another clan is a serious matter and The Godfather won’t be happy to hear that J has LA’s alliance now.

Not after everything The Clown Prince of Crime did.

“For God’s sake,” you sigh and decide to be the bigger person, kneeling in front of an irritated Joker that just can’t get the gauze around his scars. “Hold this,” you frown and he grabs one end of the roll while you cover his skin with the dressing. “It seems healed,” you point out, continuing to patch him up.

“The doctor told m-me to do it for one more month. Nothing that can be d-done about the way I talk; I hope it goes a-away,” J shares extra information you don’t care to hear. “A-are you sure you don’t mind t-taking my son?” the question makes you yank at the bandages and the change in mood is evident.

“I don’t mind,” you respond through your clenched teeth. “What I do mind though is being lied to. What I do mind is you being secretly married to another woman. What I do mind is you pretending you liked me,” you pause for a second to breathe in much needed air. “What I do mind is you convincing me that we should have a baby when I didn’t want one. What I do mind is you saying that if it’s a boy we should name him Alexis when you already had a son named Alexis with your wife!!!” you raise your voice, incapable of stopping the tirade.

“So?” The Joker bitterly replies, in a very foul disposition himself.

You slap J and he instinctively closes his eyes before the second strike lands on his already numb cheek.

“A-are you done?” he growls, barely restraining the urge to escalate the fight that just started.

You glare at him without blinking, enraged by the indifference of his hurtful actions. So many thoughts rushing through your head and you don’t have a chance to tell The Joker everything you want because your phone suddenly rings. You take it out of the pocket, correctly guessing your father is calling back.  

“Do this yourself!” you hiss and undo the bandages wrapped around J’s scars, getting up in a hurry.

“W-what the fuck, Y/N?!”

You don’t even pay attention to his tantrum since reporting to the Godfather is more important than listening to your former boyfriend’s complaint.

“When Alexis wakes up, I’m gone! I don’t want to spend one extra single minute in your presence!” you shout and rush towards the terrace, pressing the screen of your cell. “Hi daddy,” you soften your tone and step outside, slamming the glass door behind you.

J forcefully exhales, staring at the gauze loosely hanging down his foot.

“Goddammit,” he grumbles and bites his lower lip, not excited on how the conversation ended.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been a jerk for once?...

Definitely.

Not after what you did for him and his son.  

The woman J used in such a despicable manner didn’t think twice about saving a child that’s not hers; LA’s future queen didn’t even hesitate to save the man that made a fool out of her and didn’t deserve any kind of help no matter the circumstances.

The Joker shouldn’t have been a jerk…

Not today.

*************

Three days afterwards

“Sir, The Godfather is here,” Frost announces on intercom to a less than pleased King of Gotham. 

“…Great…” J talks in a low voice, dreading the imminent meeting he was expecting anyway. “Let him pass,” the consent is given even if Jase doesn’t need it: the mobster is already in the elevator, going up to a Penthouse he hates infinitely more since The Joker’s secret was discovered.

Your father stomps out the elevator, immediately noticing the green haired Clown Prince of Crime sitting down on the couch closest to the center of the living room. The Joker wants to get up but Jase cuts him off:

“Sit down and don’t insult me with more fake respect!”

J smirks and The Godfather is already fed up with person he always despised and barely tolerated because of his daughter’s request.

“I heard we have a situation,” Jase grumbles and halts in front of The Joker, his menacing demeanor warning of a disastrous outcome in case things go wrong.

“You c-can say that,” the vague answer makes your parent lose his temper:

“YOU WILL DO NOTHING! You won’t seek revenge, you won’t move a finger until our year of forced partnership is done!! Gotham is under LA’s protection for 12 months and there’s nothing that can be done!”

“A-apparently,” The Joker’s insolent remark prompts so much outrage it’s nearly impossible to suppress the damage:

“You insolent prick! You were learning how to crawl when I was already building my empire! Do you think I’m intimidated by the likes of you?! I AM THE GODFATHER!!!” Jase shouts while J puckers his lips, aware he shouldn’t push it yet he can’t shut up:

“And I’m The Joker! I w-won’t let anyone…” 

“You’re The Joker?!” your father interrupts. “Do you know you would be dead right now if it wasn’t for Y/N?! Why do you think I didn’t come for you when I found out what you did, hm? Do you think I just turned a blind eye to your affront? ME??!! NEVER!! I wanted to do exactly what Ezra did and my daughter begged me not to!!! You’re still here breathing because of Y/N! Do you understand?!!”

The two men hatefully stare at each other, none of them willing to lose any ground despite the sticky crisis they landed in. J is fuming and your parent is far past enraged: he’s furious to the point of sharing something personal to prove his affirmations.

“I never understood what my daughter saw in you, Joker!” Jase snarls. “I had such a bad feeling about your relationship and I’m never wrong about that stuff!”

“Then y-you should have t-told her!” The Clown bites back since this is the perfect opportunity to retaliate.

“I DID!” your father screams. “But Y/N insisted she loves you and I had to stomach your company because if she was happy, then I guess I had to accept it! And for what?! For you to break her heart again after it took her forever to recover from what happened with Sean?!”

The Joker surely wishes to lash out but the last sentence catches him by surprise: why would The Godfather mention Sean? The insane events that occurred a few years ago are sort of common knowledge in the underworld: Sean was your boyfriend until it was discovered he was actually an undercover CIA agent.

“I failed my daughter,” your father’s firm tone diminishes while confessing to the ugly truth. “Sean passed all the background checks; there was nothing suspicious about him. Believe me when I tell you I was very thorough: I wouldn’t just let anyone come so close to her. And when I found out by accident…” Jase deeply inhales, flustered, “…it was goddamned late, 10 days after he proposed.”

J’s eyes get big at the revelation: he had no idea about this part of the story and for once he keeps quiet and listens, intrigued.

“I went over to their house with my crew and dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night. Y/N was very agitated, not comprehending what was going on until I told her and showed the evidence. I’ll never forget the look on her face: she seemed so lost staring at those papers and pictures certifying that Sean was Matt Simmons, CIA agent infiltrating our lives in order to bring me down. He didn’t care about her; she was just an assignment…”

The Joker wants to finally reply, yet The Godfather won’t allow interference:

“He knew what was in store for him and he kept on begging, promising he was truly in love with her and stating he didn’t report to his superiors in a while and had no intention in doing so. Who knows?... Maybe he did love her after all…,” Jase straightens his shoulders. “I doubt Y/N heard any of his vows; she was too shocked to process the gravity of the news. I should have been more vigilant, but I didn’t see it coming: she yanked the gun out of my hand and shot him in the head. I think she regretted her choice the moment she pulled the trigger, but it was already too late…” your father mutters.

The Joker weights in all this information thrown at him since he had no clue you were the one that killed your ex: everyone assumed it must have been your father.

“Do you know how hard it is to watch your only child die a little bit more each day? I‘m not talking about death in the real sense of the word, but about the worst kind of demise: when you lose someone you loved so much that nothing else matters. And then you came along,” Jase shrieks getting to the conclusion he was aiming for since the beginning of the dialogue: “And you were infinitely more appalling than Sean: at least he was doing his job, while you were nothing but a greedy, manipulative asshole!”

The King of Gotham is so aggravated by The Godfather’s comments his heart is pounding out of his chest.

“Y-you can’t t-talk to me like this!!” he stands up to confront Jase but your parent is immune to the Clown’s threat.

“I can and I will!!” he yells. “That’s why you will do nothing! Got it?! Stay put! In the meantime, be grateful Y/N is such a saint offering safe haven to a little boy that’s not hers! If you think tending to Alexis is a piece of cake, THINK AGAIN!!!!!!” Jase lectures a stunned Joker to the point of starting a physical altercation, but he manages to contain himself and walks away towards the elevator, mumbling: “Son of a bitch!”

The Joker is left in the middle of the living room, completely stupefied at your father’s rant: it’s tough for him to grasp the notion of not being invincible or untouchable. And he is aware why Ezra came after him: because The King of Gotham did to his daughter the same thing that was done to you. J used her also in order to acquire what he wanted since his wife didn’t mind the little indiscretions as long as they were able to get richer, more powerful and influential. And now Nessa was lying 6 feet under after he barely escaped the ambush that almost claimed his life too.

Once his secret was out, everything came crashing down so fast he didn’t have time to process what it all meant: when you claw your way up without any remorse, you might end up bleeding worse than the ones you tear apart.

************

2 weeks later

Nixon is guiding The Joker around the patio, the final destination only a few feet away: he’s here to pick up his son and the bodyguard thought you’re still outdoors, yet there’s no sign of you or Alexis. Only Harvey Dent relaxing on the cozy sofa under the umbrella shadowing the guest from the late afternoon sunlight.

“Hm,” Nixon halts. “She was here a few minutes ago; I’ll go search for her. Please take a seat Mister Joker,” the man offers and J nonchalantly limps towards the ottoman opposite Two Face, sneering.

“Dent…”

Harvey taps his fingers on the mixed drink he’s holding, already annoyed by the green haired visitor.

“Joker…” he acknowledges the unwanted presence.

They watch in silence as the goon disappears inside the house before Dent inquires:

“Are you here to get your kid?”

“U-hum,” J admits. “You?”

“Visiting.”

The Joker tugs at his longer than usual locks gathered in a ponytail while bending over to grab a bottle of water from the table. A gust of wind blows a few shorter strands right on his face and he brushes them off, huffing.

“Y/N went to put your little boy to sleep; I guess he needed a nap,” Harvey communicates in such a sour manner it instantly irks J. “Some people wouldn’t recognize a good thing happening to their miserable existence even if they had it written black on white.”

The Clown grinds his teeth, vexed:

“You have s-something to say to me, D-Dent?!”

“Oh,” and the scarred ex-politician pauses before gulping down his cocktail,”I have plenty to say to you!”

The clash is inevitable but actually terminated before it blows out of proportions since you are coming out of the mansion.

J stands up and greets a displeased Y/N that was expecting him tomorrow morning, not that it really makes a difference: her world is turned upside down every time she sees him anyway.

“Alexis just fell asleep and I don’t want to wake him up,” you ignore his false politeness and march towards the two individuals postponing their brawl. “He often has nightmares after what happened with Ezra and it’s best to let him rest.”

“C-can I sleep here t-tonight then and we’ll take off in the m-morning?”

You are not a huge fan of the idea, yet you consent for the sake of the three year old that you took under your wing when you didn’t have to.

“OK. You can sleep in his room, there’s an extra bed in there. You can order food, one of my curriers can go pick it up for you. Or you can eat whatever you want from the fridge,” you extend your hospitality and bite in the same time: “I’m sure you remember where stuff is; nothing has changed except…everything.”

The Joker doesn’t reply and Harvey can’t help but realize how much you struggle to keep it together; he wonders if J realized also or if he even gives a damn. Probably not.

“Y/N,” Harvey intervenes. “When you have a moment, could we please work on my transaction?” he elegantly gets you out of the unpleasant meeting using the main reason he’s there for.

You momentarily snap out of it, grateful to oblige.

“Of course. Yes,” you add and escort him through the glass panels leading towards the stairs that will take Dent to the second floor where your bedroom is.

J is left alone, not that he doesn’t enjoy the solitude. He’s indeed debating on what he should have for dinner, maybe dishes he can share with his son after he wakes up from his nap. The Joker wishes to talk to you and he speculates you won’t want to listen to anything he has to say. Why bother?

He lost that privilege a long time ago.

*************

“How much would you like to invest?” you get on your laptop while Harvey is stretching on the leather sectional in front of the TV.

“Same as always, please.”

“Alright, it will take me a few seconds for the wire transfers between accounts,” you type in a frenzy and almost ignore his honest concern:

“Are you ok?”

“Huh?” you lift your head higher while glued to the screen: you crave the welcomed distraction so badly nothing else counts.

“Are you ok?” he repeats and the evasive response heightens his uneasiness regarding the apparent calm Y/N.

“I’m perfect, no worries,” you crack a smile and glance his way.

Dent scratches his scar, disputing on his next sentences.

“I’m asking because…e-hem…because you used to have this sparkle in your eyes and now it’s gone,” he blurs out before he loses confidence in his speech. “I know it’s not my place to comment, but I thought you should know someone noticed…”

Your hands stop on the keyboard and fighting the tears back is somehow so much harder than wearing the mask you parade with in front of everybody, including your father.

“You want to know how I noticed?” he pushes it more, hoping you will understand he’s well intended. “After Rachel died, I see the same emptiness daily when I look in the mirror. It might not be the same situation…”

“Harvey!!” you cut him off and he suddenly registers he’s out of line.

You sniffle and wipe the tears rolling down your cheeks, the bottled up emotions too strong to control.

“I’m very sorry,” he scoots over, upset he made you cry.

You start sobbing and Dent feels so bad he instantaneously curses his stupid decision.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I should have kept my mouth shut,” and he’s relieved when you grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Thank you,” you faintly articulate and Harvey offers the box of tissue from the coffee table with his free hand, still uneasy about your present condition. “You’re a good man,” you whisper and he shakes his head, regretfully informing:

“Used to be, honey. Used to be…”

You let go of his fingers and he softly caresses your shoulders since he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Yyyy/Nnnnn,” Alexis pushes the cracked door opened. “Ynnn/Nnnn,” he whines and you jump from your spot eager to lift him up in your arms.

“What is it sweetheart? Another bad dream?” you inquire and the little one rubs his eyes, pouting.

“Whe’s mommy?” he buries his face in your neck, comforted by the woman’s embrace.

“Your mommy’s very far away,” you signal Harvey to sit down since he’s preparing to flee. “I’ll return soon,” you wink and exit your bedroom in order to take the three year old back to his chamber.

“Whe’s daddy?” Alexis yawns and you gather the strength to be cheerful for an innocent child’s sake.

“Daddy will be here when you wake up,” you kiss his temple. “After your nap you can play in the backyard, then we’ll have dinner and you can watch cartoons, ok?”

“U-hum,” he agrees and you lay him in bed, covering him up with the soft blanket.

“Do you want your giraffe?” you push the toy on his pillow and he snatches it, sulking.

“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Y/N soothes The Joker’s son the best way she can, reckoning if it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t be alive right now.  And that makes her sadder.

The young boy got under her skin and even if he reminds her of his father’s deceit, she wouldn’t have it any other way; keeping Alexis close is a way to make sure she always stays alert:

When you give your heart away and it’s returned to you in pieces, a few will go missing each time it happens until there’s nothing left.

************

Two hours afterwards

J is walking towards your master bedroom, angered he left his cane on the patio: his leg is hurting and the limp only makes it worse. Ten minutes ago he received a text with new information that you and The Godfather will be interested in also: it might not change the situation as a whole, but the plot twist could ensure he takes full advantage of the forced alliance between LA and Gotham. That’s what The Joker does anyway: he exploits every tiny thing to his advantage and the fresh data is certainly no petty scrap.

The door to your room is still opened simply because when you have Alexis over you want him to have easy access to your quarters, most likely to snuggle under the covers with the nice lady that’s taking care of him.

J pries the door open and wants to call out your name when the sight compiles the opposite: you dozed off cuddled up to Harvey, both covered with his suits’ jacket. After you invited him to stay and watch a movie you passed out first and he didn’t dare wiggle; he just used his coat to ensure you’re not going to get cold with the AC blasting from the ceiling. Having Y/N near him felt genuinely peaceful and Dent snoozed without a care in the universe for the first time in years.

And even someone like The King of Gotham can’t help but discern the vague smile on Harvey’s lips: the smile of a man that’s been through hell and he’s finally granted a small piece of heaven.

Part 1: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/177920419051/the-joker-x-reader-secrets-part-1

Part 2: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/178630090876/the-joker-x-reader-secrets-part-2

Also read: Masterlist

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[ofaphrvdite]

silence ! raise the royal standard, for the bastard princess of rajasthan, LEELA JHAWAR, has arrived. being 26 years old, she is out of line to the throne. many around the court call her the hellion, by virtue of her being brazen and nonconformist, while also being perverse and turbulent.  — played by naomi scott. 

- THE BASICS.

full name: leela chandani jhawar name meaning: leela ‘play’, chandani ‘moonlit’  known in history as: the bastard of rajasthan, the moonlit princess, the crowned serpent date of birth: july 29th, 1641/1994 age: twenty six star sign: leo profession: influencer (modern verse) / bastard princess of rajasthan (royal verse) loyalty: house jhawar, rajasthan, the coalition alignment: chaotic neutral mbti: estp spoken languages: hindi, advanced marathi, advanced english, intermediate ottoman turkish (royal verse) / english, intermediate french (modern verse) mother’s name: lady marie victoire von arenberg father’s name: raghunatha jhawar siblings, if any: padma jhawar, vijaya jhawar, manikya jhawar, raya jhawar height: 5’6” hair colour: black eye colour: brown

- BACKSTORY / MODERN VERSE. 

born to a real estate tycoon and his second, swimsuit illustrated model, wife, leela hadn’t wanted for much in her childhood. she was the youngest of five and doted on by all her family including her half-siblings. until the age of seventeen, she knew nothing but happiness. she was spoiled and never learned how to fend for herself beyond wrapping people round her little finger and getting what she wanted with as little effort as possible.

so when her father’s fortune fell through and they lost everything, life got a little bit harder for the heiress who had never worked a day in her life. suddenly she was expected to work to help provide for the family, and she needed skills that she did not possess. college was off the agenda, she had literally nothing beyond her bank account that she was passionate about. so she started off selling clothes, organising the wardrobes of the people she used to call friends. slowly she built up a client portfolio and she was bringing in money for home, but not enough for her to keep up with her luxurious tastes.

eventually leela began to post on instagram. outfits of the day, workouts, skincare. she started racking up sponsors and soon realised that the more together her life looked, the more views and money she got. if she posted a selfie from her dull bedroom mirror, she might get a few hundred likes, a thousand at most. if she took the same picture in the bathroom of an upscale restaurant and tagged it then she would garner ten times the amount. even if she hadn’t eaten there. who needed to know that?

over the next few months she grew her instagram following and made the natural transition to youtube. she began to vlog her day, post meals she wasn’t eating full of sponsored supplements she wasn’t taking. she would post doctored photographs of her holidays in the maldives that never happened, just sunbathing in her back garden. when she went anywhere, it was because she was invited there as an honoured guest. little lies that would dress up her feed, give her the life she craved but didn’t have. as the money began to roll in, the lies needed to be upped.

leela’s life is mostly a lie. she does now possess a fraction of the money she used to have, enough that she can afford some of the luxuries she pretends are her own. rather than posting a photo of the rented gucci dress, it now hangs in her wardrobe. a proud testament to her supposed hard work. it’s a dishonest career that could be toppled with just one youtube expose commentary. but she was careful to cover her tracks, there’s no way she’s going back to the other life. whilst her siblings settled into quiet careers, leela was intent on keeping her star shining bright.

as she climbs higher, she only gets herself deeper into the lie. the friends she has made on her way up all assume her pockets are as well lined as their own and leela has to keep up. every holiday they plan, or weekend away in cabo, she must attend or risk losing the reputation she has cultivated. but whilst she has money, it’s not nearly enough to cover the costs of her made up life. the debts are beginning to pile up and very soon she’s going to have to pay them off or cut ties with the life altogether and risk public humiliation - but even that isn’t enough to slow the swipe of her credit card.

her weekends are always the same. she parties until the early hours and returns to her empty flat. literally empty, she only has the bare minimum flat pack furniture to fill out, because every cent of her earnings goes on the materialistic purchases she needs to stay afloat. the parties are always the same, and she always drinks too much. barely ever does she really enjoy them, but it’s an image she must keep up. who wants to a follow an instagram page that stays in on a friday night watching tv? 

her family have expressed their worry on multiple occasions, that have only made the stubborn self-proclaimed social media star to push them away. she doesn’t want to hear about all she’s doing wrong, that it’s not too late to really make something of herself instead of wasting all her time and potential on people who will desert her when her bank account depletes. leela knows full well that she’s the family fuck up, so why should she bother trying to change that now? either she’ll soar, or she’ll crash to the ground in a ball of flames. but at least she’ll look good doing it. at least she’ll be remembered. 

- BACK STORY / ROYAL VERSE. 

the netherlands, despite being her place of birth, is known only to leela through sailors stories and distant memories - ones that may be no more than a product of an overactive child's imagination. her mother had been of noble blood once upon a time, wed to a high up ambassador tasked with securing trade through india. the lady marie was a renowned beauty in her home, one leela’s father had found impossible to ignore. their affair had been secret dalliances, whispered promises when he was just a prince about to ascend. when her mother returned to the netherlands, it had only been just long enough to realise she was pregnant, to carry the child to term, and to flee to the arms of the man she loved. she remained in rajasthan as his proud mistress.

her life as a bastard would no doubt have been a miserable one in europe, with the eyes of scandalised nobles on her. but the halls of rambagh palace were filled with warmth, the young leela’s laughter imbuing the walls with joy and shielding her from others disdain. her summers were spent boating on the man sagar lake, and then evenings in the hidden depths of jal mahal. despite her status, she was never made to feel less. even at dinners, when her title saw that she must sit at the back for feasts to save guests the embarrassment of sharing a meal with a natural born daughter, she was sought out as the life of the party. the back of the hall always roaring with laughter as leela delighted them all with tales of her adventures and jokes at her siblings expense. she may have been born destined for low birth, but she was born loved. cherished by her father for her wild spirit, and treasured by her mother for being her only child. the two women were indeed very similar, both ambitious but keen above all else to lead a life of their choosing. decided by no one but themselves. perhaps that was why leela was her father’s favourite.

her childhood was as perfect as one could have asked for. almost pristine if not for the large black burn that would mar her for life. at sixteen, an evening in the cellars of jal mahal had gone horribly awry. with her siblings around her she had her first taste of wine, and all reason between the five of them had gone out the window soon after. leela had left to retrieve another bottle when she’d run into one of the noble guests staying with them. bastards were a product of lust, and their offspring assumed to be wanton too. the man had said as such when he had gripped her arm tightly. if her brother had not come looking... the man had been executed, and she had turned into her mother when the axe had swung. to this day, she avoids small spaces and dreads the feeling of someone lurking over her. she would be in control, she would have the advantage, or she would have nothing from them.

leela relishes in being a bastard, for she has all the royal benefits of her four siblings, but near none of the responsibility. whilst they must smile and preen for foreign visitors, leela can go where she wishes. no escort need follow the bastard of rajasthan, their moonlit princess they so adored free to wander the city and mix with commoners and merchants alike. it is for that very reason that her father saw an opportunity for his kingdom, and a use for the wandering leela. a bastard she may be, but everyone needed a place.

as she grew, leela’s friendly banter turned quickly to flirtation and she soon learned she had inherited more from her mother than just her beauty. the bastard soon grasped that her looks could be used for her own advantage, and manipulating the men of the court became her favourite sport. with one flash of her smile, men and women alike would bend to her every whim and that had been her first taste of true power. her father instructed her to use her charming talents to extract secrets from tight lipped nobles, the merchants in the city and the peasants he ruled over. leela was not royal, nor was she common, she was on a plane of her very own. the lowest trusted her and accepted her as one of them, whilst the highest saw her as nothing but a useless nuisance - evidence of their ruler’s indiscretions. secrets were easy to garner for the unseen, and leela was difficult to deny. the whispers she had fed back to her father have stopped many a disaster before they even had the chance to take root. 

but they took their toll on her too. leela can charm whoever she wants but always for a purpose. making bonds, forging friendships? this she has never mastered. always a fleeting enigma in another’s life. for that she suffers in quiet loneliness. she has the love of her family, but not much else. she’s never learned how to keep a hold of something for good. she loves her freedom, and has traded any stability in her life for it.

though she swans about the halls in red satin dresses and trusted brown leather boots, it is not just her seductive charm that she takes pride in. rajasthan is known for war, for it’s soldiers that were unmatched but for the warriors of old. she was no different. unlike the noble ladies, she was able to train from a young age and soon grew to be an excellent warrior of her own. though she will never be able to join the men at any front, she ought not to be crossed in combat either. with a sword she is light as a dancer, a breeze on a ships sail. many men have gambled their chances, and lost their bets and dignity soon after. often she trains with the men at the waterfront, enjoying the wind in her hair as swords ring around her. in another life, she might have boarded one of those ships and sailed the seas as an infamous pirate queen.

life didn’t change much for her when the war broke out. in fact, it didn’t change much for rajasthan at all. for a while they stayed out of europe’s messy business, not caring for a sultan that washed up dead on some beach. eventually, their powerful cavalry was sought out by the ottoman empire and they were drawn into the fight to aid the coalition. still, leela went about unchanged. the battles were not brought to their home, only men were sent away to prove their glory in a fight. life was all rosy for the bastard princess, until a certain kingdom came begging.

the marathas had allied themselves with the entente, with trade promises that had fallen through and leaving them with empty pockets. the two kingdoms had always been in petty dispute with the other, never really coming to blows but the tension had always been there. a war waiting to break out if neither side were careful. the marathas were still a great kingdom, well known and revered. it was not a fight leela’s father wanted to engage in, and so an agreement was drawn up. they would fill their empty coiffers in exchange for their alliance with the coalition. to seal the deal, leela was offered as a bride for the prince and a betrothal was arranged. a bastards hand for a prince was slap in the face, and they all knew it, but the marathas had little room to negotiate.

unsurprisingly, leela was not one to bow to authority. in fact, had she not been the daughter of a king she would be the one to rise against him, to rebel against the monarchy’s imposed rule. but such is not the case, so she finds other ways to flout the powers that be. ignoring the courtly graces everyone knew she had, purposely misusing titles and mocking the nobles who sneered at her. leela is overconfident, impudent and refuses to listen to anyone about what she can and cannot do. she is prone to chaos, revelling in it more often than not. she is quarrelsome, sometimes just for her own pleasure as she lacks any knowledge of consequence.

her very touch means chaos, and trouble follows her every smile. the serpent is chanted proudly by the people that adore her, for she is a woman who would drag a man to their grave given the chance, and slithered her way into the hearts of many. leela is bold, and relishes the adventure that her life has given her. she cares very little for anything. as far as she's concerned, she has all she could ever want.

leela is not pleased with the loss of her freedom, and her pending title of queen should raj ever make it to the throne. nor is she keen on the cocky prince, but she is thrilled that her hand is proving an embarrassment for him. they’ve both been sent to versailles to represent their separate lands, but leela only sees this as a chance to enjoy herself and see more of the world. her father has reminded her that she is there to be the face of rajasthan on the world stage, but that’s all semantics. after years of doing whatever she wished, she is not like to change now even if she may end up outranking all her siblings in the end. a nasty twist of fate for the woman who’d always been impossible to forget but never wished to be caged. 

[chuckling-chemist]

A Study In Novels

((The second piece I wrote for the @fantrollszine! This one a little more comedic than the other piece I wrote. And don’t forget, if you like it consider buying me a coffee or checking out my AO3 -- where both of these short stories will be going eventually)) 

Dontoc wasn’t one for reading romance novels.

Maybe it just wasn’t for him. Dontoc much preferred subversive fantasy steeped in lore and original wiggler’s tales from before the Empire found and censored them. Books that praised the Empire or grounded themselves too close to reality weren’t likely to catch his eye. That’s not to say a romance novel couldn’t be subversive or fantastical -- Dontoc’s sure they existed somewhere -- but his experience in the genre was limited to whatever books he acquired secondhand from either his moirail or his hivemate. Which, to be fair, Dontoc held as little interest in books describing in excruciating detail the ins and outs of traditional interstellar subjuggalator pailing that his moirail found morbidly interesting as he did the godawful romance self-published stories his hivemate regularly printed off from some blog and left sitting around on tables when she got stuck on something in the lab.

Then again this current one he attempted to slog through, recommended by his matesprit to give him a good example of the genre, wasn’t any better. It felt less like a novel and more like a subpar lecture on the importance of keeping quadrants filled and separated, combined with a bizarrely saccharine tone out of place for a novel that critics heralded as “diving into the dark, twisted secrets of forbidden flush love between two castes”. It was no more than yet another creepy realistic-fiction that tried to play off the caste difference as something inherently disturbing.

His so-called matesprit, to give the kindest words to a troll forcing their relationship on life support through thinly veiled threats against his friends, lamented his apparent lack of interest in romance novels indicated a lack of romanticism. Had Dontoc not had sufficient evidence to the contrary, he might have believed her.

I reach across the desk, over to the looming seadweller on the other side and he snatches it out of the air. I flush, face turning impossibly teal under his watchful gaze. How did he know I would try to grab it?

“Okay, that is enough of that for tonight,” he said with a groan.

“Enough of what?”

Even knowing the voice instantly to be the chirpy lilt of his hivemate, Pallia, her sudden entrance into the mainblock still made his heart skip a beat. She plopped down on the seat next to him of the black couch, peering over half-moon glasses to grimace at the book in his hand. She didn’t have to say anything to exude the level of judgement he felt from her.

“You, lover of subjuggalator documentaries, cannot possibly be judging me for reading something bad,” he said lightly.

“Oh come on, Dontoc there’s bad and then there’s this.” She glanced down at the book again. “What’s it even about anyway?”

He shook his head with a sigh, letting the finger holding his spot slip out of the book. “Certainly you could wager a guess.”

“Oh a puzzle?” Pallia shifted around in her seat, turning to face him with crossed legs. She was dressed for ultimate relaxation in a pair of sweats and loose sweatshirt, with her hair pulled up in an unusually well-kept bun thanks to a few well-placed pencils. She contrasted him, tall and fully dressed in a three piece suit with his perpetually unkempt short hair, quite perfectly. Her teal eyes sparkled with mirth from behind the glasses. “Do I get any hints?”

He smirked playfully. “You have not somehow ingested enough bad media to hazard a proper guess?”

“Not for romance.” Pallia crossed her arms and huffed. “God Dontoc, I only have one quadrant. Do I really strike you as the romantic type?”

Did Pallia strike him as the romantic type? Dontoc wasn’t actually sure. With her only having one quadrant, he couldn’t accurately say for sure if such were true, or if he simply never had the chance to see her interact with a quadrant proper. She might not be the same affectionate, teasing troll who went out of her way to make sure he felt included around a quadrant. His doubt might just be his own long-time, latent flush crush on her causing him to project.

After all, he did have a flush crush on her. That much was certain. A sweep or two ago, he might have tried to deny to himself, but by now there was no other way to explain the way being around her made his whole body feel ten pounds lighter and pointlessly giddy at any little thing. His other friendships, even his actual matespritship, failed to elicit similar reactions. The closest was his moirail, Valeba, who always always brought serenity with her presence, but even that wasn’t this bizarre effervescence that floated him away from his anxieties. Not that he’d ever tell Pallia any of this. Managing to get a best friend whom he adored, despite their caste difference, was more than acceptable. To ask anything more was selfish.

“You simply strike me as the type to have read enough bad media, regardless of genre, to take some sort of guess,” he said. “Or have I somehow misread that one and you happen to unironically enjoy ‘Subjuggalating Mentor to Highbloods is Put Under Great Scrutiny after Explaining to Bluebloods the Importance of the Mirthful Messiahs Upon Inquisition. When the Bigoted Seadwelling Upper Staff Wish to Cull Her, She Goes to the Courtblock to Defend Faith In Schoolfeeding, Alongside a Plucky Tealblood Looking for His Big Break’?”

She snorted. “Please. I don’t think a single person unironically enjoys that. How can anything fall face first into every stereotype while acting like it doesn’t? There’s never been a more--” she paused to slap her forehead with an amused groan “--oh of course! The book’s hemoist isn’t it?”

Dontoc grinned. How could he not? “Oh, extremely. The highblood is the dominant one in the relationship, and he is honestly worse than you would expect.”

“Tall, well dressed and…” she tapped her finger on her arm in thought… “indigo? That strength is attractive to a lot of trolls.”

“You are not far off. Think higher.” He gestured upward toward his own twitching fins. “Much higher.”

“Violet? Really?” She looked at the cover again doubtfully. “But this looks like some kind of rich businessman type of story. I thought the violet caste normally keeps to themselves.”

“Oh they do. This book bypassed such a problem by saying he simply moved onto land when he was very young, shortly after his lusus was culled by extreme hemorebels, to get ‘more out of life’. Or perhaps it was not. Honestly, the backstory was brushed aside in favor of having the two stare blankly at each other.”

Pallia raised her eyebrows. “Is the protagonist’s backstory any clearer or is it just as bad?”

Dontoc shrugged helplessly. “If I tell you her backstory, I assure you it will give away her caste immediat--”

“Oh, so she’s a tealblood. Probably ten sweeps old, if they’re playing off twenty sweeps as young somehow. Tiny waif of a troll too, I bet.”

Well. That happened. Dontoc blinked owlishly at her assessment. Every single piece was completely true, down to the size of the tealblood. There’s no way she read the book. He would’ve seen it somewhere. “Um...how...how did…”

“You said if you tell me the caste, it gives it away. Teals and jades are the most rigid in jobs, but jadeblood romance is mostly always two women, while this love interest is male.” It was her turn to smirk, pointy fangs poking out from underneath her lips. “Despite your best efforts, you still gave away way too much.”

“You asked for a hint,” he pointed out.

“You said you weren’t giving it to me.”

He hummed, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose I did. My mistake then. Perhaps we can try this again the next time Careen insists I do some reading.”

Pallia’s amiable expression dropped into a far more worried one. “She insisted? Really? That’sss abssolutely…” she trailed off with a shake of her head. “Ignore me. That’sss not my place.”

Dontoc set the book down on the floor, shifting so he could face Pallia better. She must’ve scooted closer at some point. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed how close they were? It was only a loveseat after all. “Are you certain? After all dear, I--”

“It’sss fine. Ssserioussssly.” She gave him a reassuring smile. It looked somewhat forced, but it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. Better to just move on. “So, anything else to guess about the book?”

“Hm? Oh, yes right. Let me just, ah...” He reached toward the empty space in his lap for the book, but Pallia got to him first, stopping him with a soft hand. He looked at her with a puzzled expression, a stark counter to her amused one.

“Dontoc you put the book on the floor,” she said with a chuckle.

He glanced down at the floor, realizing with growing horror he most definitely did put it down on the floor. Heat pricked up his neck, causing his lips to twist into a sheepish grin. He wiggled his hand out of Pallia’s to run through his hair instead. If nothing else, the action helped calm his nerves. “So...so I did. My apologies,” he said finally.

She shrugged. “None needed. Do you even need the thing, or is the book that forgettable?”

“I ah...well, poorly constructed story or no, it is comforting to some degree to hold it. After living in what may as well have been a library alone I suppose it just...it just happened.” He sighed, a mixture of bittersweet and wistful. Memories of his childhood flooded back in waves. The lonesome library ran by a kindly jadeblood. Her impeccable ability to find whatever he should read next. The other kids trying to steal and damage them. His instructor taking his copy of The Grimdark Narrator’s wigglers tales and insisting it was inappropriate for him to read it.

Thank God Pallia was there to keep the focus, or else who knows how long he’d reminisce on the parts of his life he’d rather forget. “So you said it’s a violetblood right? And a tealblood? Not any other mid-caste.”

“Erm...yes.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Though I am not sure why that is important. It is just a caste gap. From what I understand, those are quite common in romance.”

“Oh they are. Totally common. Which is funny, considering it happens anywhere else and people can’t take it.” She pointed down at the book on the floor, the cover of which showed a lone desk covered in papers. “But that’s beside the point. So the teal is probably some personal assistant to him?”

Dontoc nodded slowly. That much was hardly a guess. While in reality tealbloods got well-to-do, white collar jobs, it seems any time a tealblood actually showed up in media, they were subservient to some higher caste. Not the same way the lowbloods were, how many of them were maids or butlers at best, but the paid equivalent of such didn’t feel like much of an improvement to him. “Of course. Did you not know that teals are little more than suck-ups to the Empire? Constantly following around the Empress to compliment her and give her the newest gossip on the common folk. After they round up all the little bad trolls, of course.”

Pallia crossed her arms, smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Did Careen let you in on that hot tip?”

“Oh no, someone far more reasonable in such a regard. Someone with a good head on their shoulders, you see.” Pallia seemed to sag in disappointment until he added, “It was Pothos.”

“Oh my God!” she squealed. Her whole body convulsed with laughter as she fell back into the couch.  “You are not allowed to do that again!”

“...Make you laugh?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t think she was upset, but at the same time her worried look when mentioning Careen earlier had him on edge. “You are ah...you are--”

She heaved herself up and nodded, bun askew and grin plastered on her face. “Oh I’m great. I cannot believe you got me to think about that bumbling idiot. Did Careen tell you about when she thought we’d work as a quadrant?”

Dontoc shook his head: she hadn’t. While Careen was always eager to do nothing but complain about Pallia, and had been downright enthusiastic to tell Dontoc all about when his hivemate supposedly expressed flush interest in Pothos that he didn’t return, she never gave any more details. The whole story felt off in a way he couldn’t fully explain (in fact, it was another one he was willing to brush off as him projecting his crush --  sure, he can’t imagine Pallia wanting to be with a troll who truly thought skull shape indicated intelligence but maybe it was only wishful thinking), but he never told Careen such. It was good to know he had every right to be suspicious.

“How did it go?”

Pallia snorted. “About as bad as you’d expect. He learns I have a hint of an interest in something, and just starts talking over me like he’s suddenly the expert. He knows the chemical formula for table salt. That’s it. Wouldn’t know a stem cell from the stem of a plant.” She paused, eyes suddenly going wide. She wasn’t looking at him, not anymore. Her gaze was pointedly focused on that book. “Wait a second. This is her book right? Does Careen have some kind of thing for violets and teals?”

Dontoc rolled his eyes. “I doubt it. She has an odd hatred for teals. Jades too, to a lesser degree. She will not voice it, but it is present. Besides, if she really wanted you to be paired up with a violetblood to conform to her romance tropes, there are far better options.”

Pallia chuckled. “Yeah, at least if it’s like...us, it subverts that ‘teal employed by violet’ thing.”

Whatever train of thought he had immediately crashed. His face burned, and fins fluttering in embarrassment or not, there was no cooling it down in time to reduce the flush. “Ah….uh…” he swallowed harshly, realizing as he spoke his mouth was suddenly dry as sandpaper, “excuse me dear, what?”

“Oh you know. Technically speaking, you’re my research assistant. Not the other way around.” She paused, closing her eyes with a sigh. If she recognized how flustered he was right now, she wasn’t saying anything. “Then again though, considering the whole Preypal thing...maybe that doesn’t count? But sponsorships don’t count as employment. This might be more complicated than I thought.”

“You’ve thought about this before?”

“Well yeah. I mean…” They locked eyes, and he only just noticed the blush creeping on her own face. “I get bored waiting for the ion spectroscopy to finish. The logistics of how our lives would function within a work of fiction is far from the weirdest thought experiment I’ve had. I think that one started with a conversation I had with Aisral? I dunno.”

“But you have thought at length about the logistics of us...uh…”

“Ssssort of? In the same way I’ve thought about like...I dunno, me and Aisral or something. Purely hypothetical. Don’t worry. I realize you’re with Careen and talking about it’s probably strange to think about dating your hivemate...” Pallia trailed off, letting out a quiet, awkward laugh as she rubbed her neck.

“Oh impossibly so, but continue.”

“But seriously, it’s not the most unlikely thing I’ve heard. More likely than anything in that book, anyway. If that makes any sense. Sssorry for worrying you.”

“Think nothing of it.” Okay. So it’s only that they’d make a better story than whatever dribble Dontoc was reading. That’s probably true. While not the worst novel he’s come across, there weren’t many worse. His fluttering pulse calmed down enough that he actually felt he could breathe again. “If it helps, I would much rather read about us than this couple.”

Pallia smirked. “Even the pailing scenes?”

Dontoc’s face fell. He erased those from his memory, too. “Okay, we’re finished here.”

[chrisfranklinchow]

contested territories: the problem with memories

cw: death mention (daddy issues? hitting of children?)

when i was going through my historiographical methods course, one method that stuck out to me was the use of oral history. while often a compelling way to convey personal and community-based histories, it also has its controversies and challenges. one such challenge is the reliability of one's memory.

recently, both my sisters have chided me for jokingly telling them that my late father was a "bad father". they told me that my words are hurtful and can soil their memory of him. interesting response, but of course i put my head down because i love my dad and i miss him dearly.

was my dad a bad dad? what is a bad dad? does each child have their own limits on what a bad dad is? let us delve into some memories shall we?

one of my fondest and funniest memories that i can remember is in the last few months of his life, me running home excitedly after finding out i aced my chinese national exams and letting him know how happy i was. and how he laid in bed and smiled and laughed through his excruciating pain. teasing me and saying was it an imposter who took the test, his second daughter who has developed an accent and hesitancy when it came to her mother tongue. however, praising me and telling me how proud he was of me. he told me that even though he might be gone when my actual o levels rolled about, at least i have one 'a' under my belt. he told me that i should live my life to the fullest. he told me he loved me.

but my younger sister recently shared one of her fondest memories with my father. my younger sister was obsessed with glee but she was also considered to be "less intelligent" and had many remedial classes after school to help her improve her grades. apparently, one day, my dad calls her teacher-in-charge to tell them that my younger sister would not be attending remedial classes for a day due to some family matters. turns out, he accompanied my younger sister to watch the glee movie.

one thing i have to note is that my younger sister is the apple of my father's eye. and anyone who treated her 'badly' (in his eyes), was subject to punishment.

and that's where i reveal that i was often seen as an antagonist to my younger sister while we were growing up. as someone who grew up being told that i should stand my ground, i sure was punished a lot when i stood my ground against my younger sister!

i don't have many memories of my childhood but i will never forget when my younger sister decided that she wanted one of my belongings and laid claim to it. and when i retaliated, i was marched into a room behind closed doors, and dealt a harsh slap to my cheek. i was told that i should give in to my younger sister because she has it very hard in life since she's hard of hearing.

my siblings and i to this day still agree that our mom dealt harsher punishments and was stricter on us. but i cannot forget the times when i was slapped or caned or asked to choose the belt in which i were to be hit with by my dad. i don't remember the reasons for the punishment, but i remember the screaming and crying and begging of the punishment to end.

so based on my memory, which is apparently empirical evidence, does that make my dad a bad person? am i allowed to sort of 'defame' him in his death? should i only remember the good and not the bad?

i highly, highly respected my father. he truly did so much to ensure that i lived my best life growing up. but i think i was always scared of him because he never showed weakness, and he only showed weakness at the end of his life; and that's the man i remembered the most because he spent so much time at home.

i don't think my negative memories of him negate the many more positive memories i had with him. but i do think that my sisters not allowing me to voice out that "hey, maybe papa wasn't a perfect father", is very strange because they've enshrined him and anyone who talks bad about him, gets punished.

and isn't that reminiscent of how my dad punished me for standing up for myself all those years ago?

[vaderssidechick]

FICLET: The Worth of Tears (A Companion Piece to the Dark Angel/Chronicles of House Vader Series)

Howdy Y’all!

This is really just more-or-less a writing exercise to help me explore Vader’s thoughts and feelings for Lylla. I was VERY inspired by this piece on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15280773

GREAT one-shot, very dark, and is a unique take on Vader’s inner life. I highly recommend it (@perfecttimemachinestranger, I think you’d really dig it).

This is the first time I have ever written Vader in 1st person. Like I said, it’s really meant to be just an exercise, to help me build up some writing muscle. I’ve been feeling really stuck, unmotivated, and untalented recently. Writing a quick one-shot kinda helps me get my head right. It is NOT a finished product, just a drabble more or less.

Enjoy!

* * * 

Synopsis: Vader’s thoughts and memories of Lylla on the Death Star, and things he cannot bring himself to say to her.

I cause you pain. I do it because I love you. Because your pain is delicious, euphoric, and I drink it like wine. Because I am the only one in the Galaxy who can cause you suffering now. No one else can, and no one else would dare. They would die by your hand, but more likely, they would die by mine. Your tears belong to me and me to only, my beautiful Lylla. My dragon, my bride, my dark angel. 

I knew it that day. I do not surprise easily, nuyak kranjen, but I did that day. When I sensed you in that hangar bay of the Death Star. For the briefest moment I thought I had sensed another Sith, for I had never felt such rage, such buried despair in another being save for myself. But then I looked down and saw you. You towered over everyone around you, in your worn, cheaply-made corset and your ragged cloak and another’s boots a size too small for you. Yes, I felt that pain too, as well as your lamentable pride in having been been chosen to service DS officers. To have your body used and abused by the Empire’s finest was, at that moment, the pinnacle of your existence. Oh, my dark nova. You had no inkling of your potential greatness.

I had seen thousands of women many considered beautiful over the last two decades. They were nothing more in my eyes than the compilation of the genes that humans find physically appealing, and their attributes meant nothing to me. Many foolishly thought they could persuade me, with their supposed allure and their offers of sex, to spare their lives. Needless to say, they never did. But you Lylla, with your scarlet hair, your pale skin and your aura as black as a Tatooine horizon at midnight… you possessed a beauty I had never encountered before. A preternatural beauty. A Sithly beauty.

You dared look up at me, the only one in that hangar who did. You didn’t know of me, did you? Had you never heard the tales? Had you even known my name? I do not know, even now, for I have never asked. But when I looked at your face, I saw no fear there, no terror. I saw awe in the part of your lips. I heard the quickness of your breaths and the pounding of your pulse through the Force. I saw wonder in your eyes, wonder of me, as well as...interest? No one ever looked at me like that. Not since before… I became this.

But you did. And you still do, my sa’thraxxx.

I immediately had you followed. Watched. You performed your work dutifully, and played your role of the eager seductress well. Exceptionally well. Until you thought no one was watching.

I questioned the guard posted at the library. The one you solicited with the offer of oral gratification for clearance. Unlike all the others before him, he refused you, as per my orders; had he agreed to your offer, my Lylla, I would have killed him where he stood before me. He told me how you had gone from seductive to desperate, how you pleaded with him and even offered him credits to allow you in. When he refused again, he told me he saw your lip quiver before you bit it down and hurried away.

Security footage showed me where you went afterward. To a seldom-used viewing lounge a level down. I watched you light a glimmerspice joint, in spite of such actions being against regulations, and take a long, slow drag. You sank into a seat, ran pale fingers through your bobbed red hair and stared out the port. You turned your face away from the camera, but your body told me everything. The slump in your shoulders, the mournful bent of your head, the way you held the cigarette down between your knees, all betraying your hopelessness, your defeat. Caused by my orders to bar you from the library.

It was the first time I caused you pain. Even before I met you. I will never forget it nuyak kranjen, and will always cherish it.

What was there, Lylla, in that library that you so grieved? I pondered for a moment that you might be a Rebel spy. But your records showed no evidence of such an affiliation. Indeed, the examination vid conducted for serving onboard the Death Star assessed that you were wholly loyal to the Empire. That you were grateful for its protections, and that you had never eaten or slept so well once the Empire seized you from Malifino’s estate. The lie detectors embedded in the room confirmed this as well.

I saw you drop your head, and your shoulders tremble. You had begun to cry. But then you bolted out of your seat and slapped yourself across the face. Again. And again.

I understood, Lylla. How inflicting physical pain can suffocate a deeper one. But there were other ways to do so, my girl. The pain you inflict needn’t be your own to ease your own. I could teach you.

You struck yourself several more times until you panted like a thirsting animal, but you no longer cried. You cheated me even as you beguiled me. I wanted to see you cry. I coveted those tears, because I knew I had caused them even if you did not. I wished to feel them drip on my cheeks as I tangled my fingers into your hair and forced your weeping eyes near mine. I longed to taste your pain. Would it be like mine, bitter and burning? Or would it be sweet on my tongue and in my mind, coming from a delicious creature as you?

You straightened, tall as a willin tree and as graceful. You inhaled your cigarette, blew the smoke through your nose. The smoke curled around you, glowing in the faint light from the stars outside. You smoothed the black mesh body sleeve down your long body, unashamed of its indecency. I saw you wipe your eyes and stare out into space once more. I could not hear your mind, but I could see your face again. I saw hatred stiffen the lines of your mouth and tenacity harden your eyes. 

In that moment, I craved you. To thrust into you, crush you in my arms and under my weight, to devour you, to feel you. I wanted to hurt you, to hear your sweet cries in my ears. But I did not want to break you. No Lylla, quite the opposite. I wanted to experience you, because only suffering reveals the true self. Would you crumble under my strength? Or would you challenge me, fight me, even knowing you could never win? Or would you enjoy me, as women could with men? Would you use your prowess and share your passion with me? Perhaps even… kiss me? Could you see me like that, Sa’thraxxx?

As simply a man?  

Did you never wonder why, the next time you tried to enter the library, you were allowed access without refusal? Without having to offer any favors for it? I do not doubt you did, but you didn’t know it was I who had cleared you. I wanted to see what it was that you wanted so desperately in there. Why you would offer yourself in such a degrading way.

I had had the cameras set on the most comfortable seating area in the library. I was pleased that you took it. I had ordered the guard to allow you to stay as long as you wanted so I could witness what you read. I watched you rush through the aisles of cylinders, grabbing without looking at them, until your arms were full. You spilled the cylinders onto the viewer table, and I perused the titles. I realized then that there was no one piece of information you were seeking, no one subject that interested you, but a plethora of texts and literature. You had, truly, just wanted to read. To learn. Anything. Everything.

Then you sat at your station, shoved one into the viewer, and started reading. The first cylinder was a history of the Goroth Alpha system, the first history ever recorded by a sentient Galactic race. You read it for over three hours, even paging back and reading certain parts again. I watched the subtle changes in your face, the way you raised your brows and exhaled incredulous breaths at various passages. I saw you devour it with your eyes. The second cylinder was, of all ridiculous things in a military library, a romantic novella. Before I realized it, I chuckled with you at the preposterous plot and inane antics of the protagonists. I watched you shake your head and cringe even as you laughed at the foolishness.

The third and last for that evening was a strategic history of the Battle of Salient, led by none other than Tarkin himself. This was when I watched you with the utmost attention and first realized the full potential of your intellect. You were entranced by it, entirely glued to the text. I saw you curse and mimic the wish to have something to write on, to take notes. Instead, you just read a passage over and over again, memorizing it. I saw you want to understand, to know the mind and maneuvers behind such a bloodbath of a campaign.

I was already fully aware that you were Tarkin’s favorite whore aboard, having received the reports from my spies about your visits to his quarters. Tarkin had had a number of lovers over the span of the Empire; Admiral Natasi Daala was one, Ysanne Isaard was said to be another. Even Orson Krennic was rumored to have succumbed to him at one point. But a conscripted pleasure slave of no rank, of no influence and with no formal education, one not even of the elite Imperial courtesan caste? I did not fully understand why Tarkin would have deigned sully himself with you until that moment.

You fascinated him too. You challenged him. He had seen your intelligence, your drive. He even conversed with you. He saw it in you before I did. And called you back to have you, again and again. I became angry, my girl. I seethed with jealousy for the first time in twenty years. Because I know Tarkin. I know his need to control. He wanted to tame you, to break you.

I wanted to refine you. Forge you.

It was then I decided to summon you to me. But not that night. I watched your eyes droop and wander after hours of reading the viewer. You yawned and set your high-boned cheek into your hand. No, I wanted you refreshed. Collected. Ready to meet with me.

You arrived the next day, dressed to entice me. While you wore it well, the outfit was far too  suggestive for my tastes. Perhaps common men found such show of skin tantalizing, but I did not. I would dress you differently. Elegantly. Modestly, for then only I would know what you truly looked like underneath. Nevertheless, it was a provocative ensemble, obviously one of your own choosing and not Imperial issue. I knew then that you did nothing without purpose, even in dressing. But what was your purpose, kranjen? What was it that you wanted from me that you wore such a thing in my presence?

The answer came easily enough, from your lips and through the Force, without guile or deception. You wanted me. Not my power nor influence nor favor. Just me. As fiercely as I wanted you. Then you did challenge me, insolently tossed a verbal barb back at me. I knew then you did not fear me. My loins tightened and burned for the first time in years, I grew hard under my codpiece. I didn’t know I still could. I walked away from you, because if I didn’t, I would have taken you right there. Pinned you against the viewport, torn your salacious clothing, buried myself inside of you, felt you tremble in my arms. I wanted to make you come, over and over again through the Force, and have you beg for my mercy. But I did not act upon the impulse, because if I did…I might have killed you.

So instead, I set you to a task. The first of many. To prove to me that you were deserving of my desire, and of my mercy. I wished to see if you were worthy to be spared before I destroyed the Death Star and everyone on it. You had shown me your intelligence, your strength, and your will.

It was time to show me your cruelty.

I knew it was there, simmering under your cool poise. Admiral Motti’s aide was one of my spies, and her reports indicated that his… tastes… were well entrenched in the sadomasochistic. And that you were the only pleasure slave onboard who could satisfy him. This was proven fact when at a meeting of the Moffs, Motti took his seat slowly. Carefully. And winced when he settled in. A sound came out of my vocoder, garbled and diffused, that no one in the room recognized or comprehended as laughter. What had you used on him, Lylla? A strap? A whip? Your bare hands? Your teeth? When I tasked you with interrogating the Rebel prisoner, I made sure you were provided with a wide choice of implements.

That prisoner had been close to breaking as it was under my own hands. But just as he was about to crack, I exited the cell and left him. For you. And you did not disappoint, my scarlet star. With murder in your eyes and glee in your soul, you slashed that barbed flogger down the boy’s back, your lips curled back in a drooling snarl. You showed me yet another part of yourself.

The killer.

As I watched you tease, mutilate and toy with that Rebel pup through the cell’s camera, I sent a message to the Imperial Registrar of Citizenship from the detection block’s computer stating that Malifino’s tax debt had been repaid, to release you from Imperial indenture, and to grant you full Imperial citizenship. Seconds later, I received the response:

To the Illustrious Lord Darth Vader, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces:

In order to complete your request to grant Imperial Comfort Thrall ID 6790237-1 full Imperial citizenship, we require a complete name. Please respond.

I glanced at the monitor again, and saw you caress the boy’s face and coo in his ear just before you gripped his genitals and twisted with all of your strength. As his screams spilled from the speakers in the detention control center, I found myself typing this name:

Lylla Sa’thraxxx. I presume that is sufficient, Director?

The response seconds later: Affirmative, Lord Vader. Imperial Comfort Thrall ID Number 6790237-1 is now officially named Lylla Sa’thraxxx and is granted full Imperial citizenship. Glory to the Empire.

Someday I will tell you why I chose that name, my dark nova. That day is not today.

When you emerged from the prisoner’s cell, you were breathless, flushed, and still held the bloody flogger in your hand. How proud you were, and how you craved my approval. I gave it to you gladly. As well as my arm to take. Your shock did not escape my notice. I saw your eyes widen and glisten, and I smiled under my mask. I had caused you delicious tears again Sa’thraxxx, and even if they were not born of pain, they were for me nonetheless.

Do you understand now, my Dark Bride of the Sith? From that moment on, the cruelty of the galaxy, of existence itself was no longer worthy of your tears.

Only I am worthy of your tears.

[chatting-leaves]

Maggie (or “Don’t lose hope, someday you’ll need it!)

November 2002, Poughkeepsie, New York

For most people, the period of life immediately following high school is one of great exploration in life, a way to wade the waters of the so-called "real world" before launching fully into adulthood. For many, it is a chance to go away to continue their education away from home, getting a taste of life somewhat on their own while building friendships and memories that would last a lifetime. Others take the route of a trade or a skill, while some others end up realizing that college wasn't their calling and fall into the workforce if they were so able. Then there was myself, an odd person stuck between all of these places.

Mom, ever the fearful person prone to fall in line with what empirical evidence she was confronted with, wanted me to go to community college first to "see how I would do" before transferring to a four-year college. Her reasoning was heavily influenced by the fact that every friend of hers who sent a child away to college, had them withdraw by the end of their freshman year and she wasn't going to shield such a risk given the debts it might incur. While in hindsight I will say I gained quite a bit and the typical "I don't know what to do" degree of an Associates in Arts in Humanities, my social life wasn't there as I had erected walls around myself after some early incidents where unsettled conflicts from one high school still stood while me running away from my past at another shooed away potential rebuilt friendships. My life could be distilled to classes and the work study job I had two days a week doing Human Resources work at a nonprofit. 

One Friday night in November, I was killing time in a chat room for teenagers; while I was 20, I was only a couple of months removed from my teens and related a lot better downward. In the background, I notice a person we'll refer to "goaliegal" and I make a beeline knowing that there is a probable chance that they could be good people. As a child, I wanted to be a hockey goalie badly until I figured out that balancing on skates was just not my thing and to say I didn't have a crush on at least one field hockey goalie in high school was a lie. I give the standard "a/s/l" greeting of the day and get something promising: "19/f/NY". This person was in my state! Rather than pollute the room with an awkward first conversation, we ended up going into a conversation of direct messages, away from a room probably teeming with middle aged men posing as twentysomethings preying on thirteen year olds.

As we talked, I got a feel for who "goaliegal" was. She grew up in a rural town south of Rochester, an area that might as well have been on another planet for my borderline Downstate self as I had never been west of Utica. She was a freshman at Buffalo State but already was plotting her way out as she was feeling a bit homesick. In her spare time, she was a goalie on the club team there but was itching for ice time which was in short supply. She then sent a picture and I was immediately smitten: long red hair flowed down an oval face adorned with glasses as she was otherwise in full goalie gear. We then swapped names, I complimented that her name of Maggie fit her well even if it seemed a bit unconventional for a person taking slap shots at up to 100mph.

I should say that at this point, I was the epitome of romantic desperation. My most recent date, a pair of arranged meetings with the younger sister of a sobriety sponsee that Mom had, went nowhere and I had not had a date of any sort in three years let alone a kiss or any contact. Any sort of positive attention from anyone of the opposite gender was something I hopped on like white on rice. Soon enough, the conversations between Maggie and I began getting very detailed with myself having a somewhat unhealthy obsession over certain things such as what she was wearing. If I couldn't be there, at least I could sigh in what I was missing had we been in the same room, clearly heading towards a heated makeout session.

As 2002 came to a close, Maggie's life path was shifting as she was transferring from Buffalo State to a college in the Rochester area in order to be closer to home. As my time at community college was one semester from its end, I was looking at other schools in the state university system to transfer to and one caught my eye: Geneseo, located right outside Rochester. If I was accepted there, I would be relatively close to Maggie and what existed online could exist in real life. We both felt that we were the one for each other going into the new year, clearly fate would help accelerate things.

Three days into the new year, things came crashing down. While on a two and a half hour plane ride to visit Dad, something in Maggie snapped and when I went to check things once I got to Dad's house a sobering bit of news came up: Maggie had a boyfriend, a local boyfriend, someone who would actually be able to do things with her. My trip which would have been a respite from Mom and her ways instead became me marinating in my own self-pity, trying to find a means to move on now that The One faded away. Nevertheless, I persevered until several weeks later when Maggie came back out of the blue. Instantly I forgave her and soon put in my application for five different SUNY campuses: Geneseo (for her), Stony Brook (Mom's family was nearby), New Paltz (the nearest to home), Albany (close yet far enough), and Plattsburgh (practically Canada). I got into four of those five, the one rejection coming from the most obvious of these five. At least in Albany, my eventual choice, she'd be the shortest drive away?

As Spring sprung, Maggie entertained the idea of inviting me out to visit her for the Fourth of July, my being inserted in the typical family events of fireworks and fish fries enjoyed by herself, her siblings, her parents, and the other new arrival of her baby nephew. I was elated at the idea of being able to share a holiday with someone I had grown increasingly infatuated with who I would be able to share a wide assortment of experiences with. Right as I was about to book the train tickets from Poughkeepsie to Rochester, something happened and things once again were off. Lather, rinse, repeat. I still held out hope in her, that perhaps someday things could work out. Eventually she became a background person in my life though if she came back wanting to be with me and only me I would have pushed away any local person to be with her especially as my emotionally damaged self was unsuccessfully navigating the minefield of romantic relationships.

The next year, fate and circumstances started to push us back into each other's path. I was seemingly certain that this time, unlike all the others, things would work. Needless to say I was in for a rude awakening when out of the blue one November day she hit me with the news that she was dating an old friend who lived across the border in Canada, a fellow hockey player going to university over in St. Catherine's. To say I was devastated would be a massive understatement in itself as by that point I felt I had no other options. I was socially inept on that front, gaslit from the past actions of my parents, bitter, jealous, angry, and just at the point of sheer hopelessness. Maggie tried to assure me but I was having no point of anything at all. Over the next few years she'd drop in from time to time but in my mind the damage was already done. Why string me along that much and then do an about face?

Going through the cobwebs of some old zip files archiving the contents of former computers, I found some old logs from the dearly departed AOL Instant Messenger from the above period that made me cringe at the pathetic desperation that I embodied with Maggie and overall, however that state is for another day. I also discovered some awkward late 2000's chats from a period where she was regularly commuting transborder to visit her boyfriend while I had settled down in the Washington, DC area. Analyzing these over a decade later, I can see an air of unresolved frustration, deep down inside yearning for Maggie or at least the idealized concept of her my mind had built up. We'd drift in and out, I do remember her congratulating me for finally finding someone who I was compatible with when I began dating my now-wife in 2010 but after that point I felt that I could close the book on Maggie. I finally had someone, why would I need to have her around?

Three years later, I end up getting curious about certain people and end up running a search on Maggie. In the years since, she ended up moving across the border - having a Canadian parent and dual citizenship from birth helped - and had recently married the man she pushed me aside for all those years earlier. She also had little social media presence, no publicly findable Facebook, no Twitter, nothing I could send a request on outside of all things Pinterest. Naturally, wanting to make a lowkey reintroduction into her life, I shot her a friend request on Pinterest. Within an hour, I got a request on AOL Instant Messenger from one of Maggie's old screen names. I accept only to find her complaining at how dare I track her down on Pinterest of all places and for the who-knows time to leave her alone.

This is probably the only time in recorded human history in which AIM was used in regards to Pinterest, two mediums at different eras of the internet interacting with one another. I moved on and did all I could to forget her, for once I thought I had really moved on.

By 2017, I had moved on, a difficult task for me to undertake especially for someone who never gives up on anybody when lo and behold one afternoon I find a request in my New Message Requests folder on Facebook Messenger. It was Maggie, the previously unfindable Maggie, apologizing for her past actions. Being a pushover, I accept and save some fits and starts we've spoken ever since. Soon enough, I realized that years of marriage behind me that in some ways, we wouldn't have meshed that well as a couple, my naiveness and desperation would've eaten me whole had I done so. Save for some fits and starts, it's gone relatively well and Maggie is the sort of person I know who will usually reach out by default, a stark change from years ago. This would be the end of the story, only it isn't.

July 2019, Scarborough, Ontario

My wife and I had been planning a trip up to Toronto for years and soon as our new passports came in I was given a litany of ideas from Maggie of what we should do during our trip there, scheduled coming out of Canada Day while enveloping Independence Day in the United States while also straddling a baseball series between the Blue Jays and Red Sox. Originally, we were to meet Maggie before a game one of those nights, then that got jostled around. She invited us to the museum she supervised volunteers at the time, that would've been too much of a headache. Then an idea came up: the zoo.

For those not familiar with Toronto, the Toronto Zoo is as far east in Toronto as you can get. It's halfway to the farther out suburb where Maggie and her husband made their home. As our trip there was via several modes of transit and Maggie was headed into Toronto anyway, she volunteered to pick us up. Only issue: my wife didn't know the circumstances of how I knew Maggie.

Our trip came as Toronto was under a heat wave, the humidity quite oppressive with the ever-Canadian Humidex pushing 40 degrees Celsius. Trekking through the zoo left us exhausted, worn, and all-around tired, the heat taking a toll on our bodies. Waiting in the little zoo cafe, I got the question I was waiting for my wife to ask.

"So, how do you know this 'friend'? Is she some old girlfriend?," she sarcastically tailed off. It had become a bit of a running joke between us that anyone I listened to in the past was automatically a "girlfriend", a sign of my desperate nature then mixed with my ability to listen that never will leave. I then spilled the beans, finishing right in time to see a black pickup truck make it to a dropoff area. After sixteen years, what 20 year old me wanted was finally happening at age 36.

Maggie and I hugged instantly and it felt all worthwhile. Had I not fallen head over heels with her as a desperate younger me, she would've been the great female friend I really needed, the close-in-age sister I wanted to a degree, yet I blew it. As we worked our way into Toronto on local roads, dodging the mess of Highway 401, Maggie quizzed my wife about who she was, what she did, how dealing with me in person on a day to day basis went. Somewhere underneath the scaffolding holding Toronto's aging Gardiner Expressway up, I realized something: Maggie and my wife are largely one and the same. Similar personalities peppered with heavy sarcasm poking out of introversion, same height, same attitudes, similar likes and dislikes. Perhaps awkward younger me had gotten the happy ending they sought. Even how Maggie spoke of her husband made me realize that he and I had a lot more in common than I had thought, especially given how much more put together he came off to my hurt mind a decade and a half earlier. 

While our time together was short, less an attempt to meet for dessert after said baseball game when both of us were tired and achy, it was one of the best memories I had that year. My only regret is not getting a picture of us three, a reminder to be brought up for the rest of my life that sometimes hopes and dreams do come true!