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motherroam-rs · 7 months

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Wrap Me in Your Skin and Bones

NSFW - 18+

Warnings/Tags : Cockwarming, Nightmares, Mentions of Trauma and PTSD, Angst, Comfort, Love Confessions

Relationship: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Summary: After solitary confinement on Mount Tantiss, Crosshair is plagued by nightmares that lead him to seek comfort in your body.

A/N : Wrote and posted this to AO3 before season 3 but wanted to put it here too 🫡 I just had this angsty lil thing in my head about how a touch starved Cross would deal with physical contact after the empire 🫶 (even though I firmly believe Tech survived the fall - he’s dead for the purpose of this I’m SORRY)

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

The sharp hit to your ribs has you springing into a sitting position, eyes wild and scanning the room for a threat. Muscle memory from years in the war has you reaching for the blaster and pointing it towards various shadows in the room.

You would be a lousy shot with the way your hand shook from the adrenaline in your veins. But, there are no imperial agents hiding in your room, no battle droids under your bed, the source of the attack lays next to you, writhing against imaginary forces in his nightmare.

Crosshair.

Abandoning the blaster on the floor, you work on tearing the bedsheets away from him before he can tangle himself any further in the restrictive fabric. Every muscle in his body seems to be rigid, even once you manage to free him, but he still thrashes, as if fighting against invisible restraints.

The sight of his struggle has your stomach forming knots.

“Crosshair, wake up,” your pleading hands press to his shoulder, thankful that the prominence of his collarbones has eased over the last few weeks, but he’s still nowhere close to as healthy he was the last time you saw him before the war had ended.

Unlike the rest of the batch, you hadn’t seen Crosshair during his time under the empire, and although during his absence you were thankful for it, this only made it worse the day his brothers brought him home.

Crosshair had always been the leanest of them, you had even joked with him on several occasions that he resembled the toothpicks which always hung from his lips, but the breath had been stolen from your body when Echo half-carried him down the walkway. Crosshairs face was almost as hollow as Echo’s had been after Skako Minor, and it was now flecked in silver stubble, with a large scar that stretched across the side of his head where patches of hair were entirely missing.

Just as the pair passed you by, Crosshairs eyes had met your own. You were used to a range of emotions in them, from heated glares and desire filled gazes, occasionally there was even an amused look that framed his eyes with a hint of laughter lines. However, what you didn’t prepare yourself for was for them to be entirely void of any emotion, it was if you were just one of the stone pillars that lined the streets.

After a week in the infirmary, it became evident that Crosshair couldn’t sleep alone. With Hunter preoccupied with Omega, the responsibility fell to Echo the first few nights, he was the closest to understanding Crosshairs situation after all.

On the third day after the rescue, Hunter had told you although Omega was kept somewhat safe with another female clone, they had found Crosshair in solitary confinement. Something deep in your chest broke at the unsaid weight of the information. Despite his aversion to most people, Crosshair had spent years of being in tight living spaces with his brothers, only to be thrown in a cell alone for maker knows how long.

Maybe this was why he gravitated towards you once he was finally in good enough physical condition to be released from the infirmary.

Between Echo’s own complicated relationship with sleep, Wrecker’s inability to not snore and wake everyone in the immediate vicinity, and Hunters responsibility for Omega, it was you who took him in.

If Tech was still here, he would have been the one to stay with Crosshair. You push that thought down, but the pain still resonates in your chest.

You give Crosshair another shake, and the second your other hand presses to the bare skin of his face, his eyes snap open. He lashes out like a snarling animal trapped in a snare, gripping both your wrists and pinning you beneath him with a speed that causes the room to spin around you.

“It’s just me, Cross.” You speak in a hushed tone, attempting to calm him as you fight against his grip.

Reality bleeds into his eyes, momentarily easing his pained expression, but then he’s choking on the air, collapsing onto you.

“I need,” although his face is buried in your neck, you hear the emotion crack his voice, and you already know the broken look that on his face. “Please, I need you.”

“It’s okay, Cross.” You nod and widen your legs, allowing his hips to settle between them. Your bodies act on the familiar routine you had both fallen into over the last few months since he moved into your spare room - which he has still never spent a night in. Crosshairs shakes have already begun to ease with the contact, his hands have at least stilled enough so he can effectively rid you both of the few items of clothing until you were bare against each other.

He coils himself around you at first, as if he were a snake trying to suffocate its prey, but you only wrap your arms around him in return, welcoming his touch. You aren’t certain if it’s the solitary confinement that made him need the contact, or if it’s some lingering effect of the chip, but either way you still offer yourself to him.

Seemingly unable to wait for his heart to settle, he chases the comfort only you can provide, and begins the slow push of himself inside you. Crosshair’s breaths are escaping him in desperate pants and he’s pressing as much of himself to you as possible, seeking the warmth of your body to drive away the sensation of the cold interrogation table that plagued his mind.

The stretch burns with the little preparation you have, and Crosshair senses your silent discomfort. He draws his hips back with a mumbled apology, so only the tip remains inside you, and draws slow circles on your clit with his thumb. It doesn’t take long for the resistance to ease with your wetness, and soon enough he’s rocking back into you with a groan, allowing you time to adjust.

He doesn’t attempt to bring you to the precipice, or anywhere close to it. Once he fully settles into you, his hand withdraws and instead tangles itself in your hair.

Right now Crosshairs need for you isn’t sexual, despite what it seems.

Some nights it will delve into more once his body relaxes, and he’ll take his time to have you come undone beneath him with more care and attention than he had ever possessed before the rise of the empire. But tonight, as he does most nights, he stills once fully seathed inside you, his only desire being your embrace.

“Where was it this time?” Sometimes he would answer, but other times he would give a slight shake to his head in response.

“Barton-4, then the interrogation room.” His voice is strained, and you recall everything he’s already told you about these places, specifically the haunting memory of Mayday’s death.

“You’re safe, we’re both safe, Crosshair.” You press a kiss to his temple as if it would help the promise sink into his mind. One of your hands moves to the back of his head, cradling him against your neck as the other traces patterns on his back.

It takes a few minutes of silence for his breathing to fall in sync with yours, and despite his cock being inside you, the light exhale against your neck has your face heating at the intimacy. His shakes have entirely ceased now, and you think he’s fallen asleep, until you hear the broken whisper.

“I love you.”

Your body freezes at the admission, both hands stopping their comforting movements. His throat bobs against your neck with a dry swallow, and you wonder if it’s his body trying to subconsciously take back the words.

You had been somewhat together during the clone wars, but it was never emotionally intimate. He had a physical need for you in a way that led to fucking you from behind against almost every surface on the marauder. And yet, true to his cold nature he never faced you, or even kissed you. Once he finished, he would neaten his armour and leave without a goodbye, yet you would still allow him back every time he gave the word.

“Crosshair-“ you start, but he’s cutting you off before your mouth can form another syllable.

“I know it’s not the right time to say it, but I do, I always have.” He rasps, trying to force the confession out in one breath, as if ripping the bacta patch off a wound.

Always have?

Your mind begins unravelling years of your self-imposed torture during the clone wars from biting down your feelings, pretending not to care when some pretty girl inevitably threw herself at him in a bar.

“You need to sleep.” He bites out, hurt evident in his tone at your lack of response, but he doesn’t dare peel himself away from you. Despite the hurt seeping into him, he’s too selfish to let you go unless you ask him to leave.

“Crosshair.” There’s no response, but something possesses you to reach out anyways, and you’re pressing your hand to his face, craning your neck to meet his stare. His eyes are open, but still avoid your own.

Your brush your nose against his, and your thumb traces over the sharp angle of his jaw, memorising the way he ever-so-slightly leans into your touch.

“I love you too.”

His eyes close, a shaky breath of relief escaping his lips. Crosshair had never needed a helmet to mask his emotions before his brothers brought him back to Pabu, back to you. His face had always been set in an ever cold smirk, whether it be when he was taunting a reg, on a stealth mission, or when you caught glimpses of him in mirrored surfaces in the marauder as he fucked himself into you. However, at your words, something akin to peace washes over his face, allowing it to morph into a rare expression of something softer, like that of a soldier returning from battle finally setting eyes on his home.

When the morning comes, you half expect the bed to be cold, or at least as cold as it can be in the climate of Pabu, but when the midday sun casts its warming rays over your skin, he’s still inside of you. Slender limbs have tangled with your own and his face is nestled against your neck, but you can tell from his breathing that he’s already awake.

“Stay.” It’s a whispered prayer against your skin, a desperate plea to some deity that seems to have abandoned him long ago in that cell on Mount Tantiss. But you don’t think the gods, the Empire or even the force could keep you apart now, and you don’t want them to. You press your forehead to his, a wordless answer to him that you aren’t going anywhere, that he’ll never have to be alone again.

#tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x fem!reader #tbb crosshair #crosshair bad batch #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #bad batch

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macromantis · 20 days

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Debunking the most common misconceptions about Arihnda Pryce's backstory

Seeing the amount of people misunderstanding Pryce, I decided to debunk the most common misconceptions.

(Explaining why she DIDN'T betray her friends, why she isn't morally black, Batonn crisis, why Azadi isn't better, the issue with comics..)

I believe a lot of people miss or simply don't understand why exactly she did certain things, which is why I made this post, I want to address them and offer a clearer understanding of her character.

"She is and always was a horrible person."

This is simply not true. Arihnda was trusting, with a strong sense of justice and good nature, which were the qualities that ultimately led to her downfall.

Her naivety is further evidence that she didn't fully understand what she was getting into when she arrived on Coruscant. Having spent her entire life on Lothal, a place clearly lagging behind, how could she have known?

She naively trusted Renking and assisted him, only to be caught in a poorly planned trap for Moff Ghadi that he never disclosed to her. This led to the plan backfiring, her being threatened with imprisonment, and being forced to plant fake information in Renking's office, which resulted in her losing her job.

She believed she had genuine friends, but they all turned out to be using her for their own gain, putting her in danger and abusing power.

The only way for her to avoid such threats was to gain more political power, which only fueled her desire to climb the social ladder. It was clearly hinted that she was uncomfortable relying on anyone after all her experiences, relying solely on herself became the only safe option.

Actions that show she wasn’t morally black like people make her out to be:

When she was new on Coruscant, she compelled an arrogant landlady to repair a leaking pipe in a tenant’s apartment block by leveraging legal authority, purely out of her sense of justice. If she wanted to gain something, the landlady was the only one who could provide anything, yet she pitted herself against the landlady by standing up for the tenant.

She befriended Juahir, then a waitress, and her friend Driller, there was nothing to gain here from these people. Pryce helped Juahir find an apartment in her building, and as Renking’s assistant, she got the chance to attend a high-ranking officers’ ball, helping her friends who didn’t have that chance to get in as well, again expecting nothing in return.

As mentioned before, when she turned in Juahir to the ISB for her crimes, she gave her advice that ultimately helped her avoid execution.

When she became the governor of Lothal (after spending over a year on Coruscant training for the role), she closed her family’s company due to the doonium vein being completely exhausted. Despite her allegiance to the Empire, she ensured that the oldest employees, who had worked for the company since it was owned by her family, were prioritized in securing new positions.

Pryce discovered that the doonium vein wasn’t actually exhausted, it continued on the other side, where Eccos, a female Anx who used to be in charge of Pryce Mining, was secretly mining it. Instead of turning her in for illegal mining, Pryce told Eccos she closed the company completely so she could continue mining without Renking and his people intervening, offering further help if needed.

Again, despite her allegiance to the Empire, she genuinely cared for her parents and was even willing to kill other Imperials to keep them out of harm’s way. Instead of sending someone else to Batonn, she went there herself, putting herself in danger to save them, which further shows how strong her loyalty is.

"She betrayed her friends."

Ah yes, the most misunderstood part of her entire story.

First, it’s important to clarify that Juahir and Driller were not her friends, definitely not at the end. They were using her as a tool to gather information about the Empire for Nightswan, effectively making her an innocent agent in their treasonous activities. They intentionally never told her because they knew she would never agree to such actions.

Juahir was sending her students, whom she had trained as bodyguards, to spy on members of the Imperial Senate. One of these students even attempted murder. Juahir was also the one to introduce agent Ottlis to Arihnda, setting her up.

Driller was fully aware of Ottlis working for Moff Ghadi, who not only sprayed Arihnda with an illegal drug but also threatened her with imprisonment and got her fired from her job. Despite knowing about Ottlis' ties, Driller never told Arihnda.

Ottlis was specifically assigned to her since the very beginning as a spy, as stated by Ghadi himself.

By turning them in to the ISB, Arihnda gained protection from Colonel Yularen. Had she not done so, she would have become an accomplice and faced arrest along with them, or worse, they could have shifted all the blame onto her.

Arihnda’s choice was about protecting herself, not out of malice.

Being opportunistic, she also managed to turn this threat to her advantage, securing the governorship.

It’s worth noting that despite this, Pryce helped Juahir avoid execution.

People also tend to ignore the amount of political manipulation she was both under and had to perform herself. She had to eliminate another threat of imprisonment from Moff Ghadi by aligning with Moff Tarkin, all while trying to resolve the problem with Higherskies.

"She killed innocent civilians."

I could write entire paragraphs about how weak this argument is, as people cherry-pick which equally horrible (or most of the time even worse) criminal character is to be shamed and which glorified for their crimes, very obviously biased. But that’s not the topic of this post, so I’ll just explain the situation since many people ignore a very important part of it.

When Arihnda set off the explosion, she did so under the impression that she was hiding the body of an agent who had threatened her with a gun and intended to leave her parents to die on Batonn, along with the rest of the civilians. Hearing that the crew was already on their way to her parents’ house, and with the risk of the dead body being discovered increasing by the second, she acted quickly, failing to realize the massive impact the explosion would have since the shield was still up. The result shocked her as well.

Does that excuse it or make it any better? Absolutely not.

Does it tell you anything about her character other than that she acts impulsively under pressure?

Also not.

The result was unintentional, but at this point in her life, she would risk anything for her own and her loved ones’ survival. She had become fully capable of eliminating anything or anyone who dared to endanger her, which left her feeling no guilt for the impact of her actions, further showing how corrupted she had become along the way.

Arihnda Pryce vs. Ryder Azadi

People put Azadi on a pedestal and make Pryce seem like the spawn of the devil, which is neither entirely true.

When it comes to Azadi, we don’t know much about his character, but we can still make assumptions based on what little we do know. When he discovered that a vein of doonium had been uncovered in the Pryce Mine, he wanted to buy a controlling interest from the company’s owner, who was Arihnda Pryce. It was clear that Azadi had been bothering her about this in the past, and when Pryce refused, Azadi acted shockingly. He attempted a complete takeover by falsifying embezzlement charges, leading to the arrest of Pryce’s mother and denying Arihnda the chance to bail her out or even visit her.

When Pryce went to Renking’s office to appeal for her mother’s release, he confirmed that her mother would be held by Azadi until proven innocent, and he could not be convinced otherwise. This was a very strange thing for Azadi to do and raises questions about the actual goodness of his character. First, he wanted to slowly but surely take over someone else’s company, and then he resorted to extremes when he was refused.

When it comes to Arihnda, I never see people talking about the other things she did for Lothal.

Before becoming governor, she spent over a year on Coruscant training for the position, putting in effort to bolster Lothal’s standing among other Imperial planets.

Pryce’s main issue with Lothal was how behind it was, her primary goal to modernize the planet.

She constructed factories and mining posts, planning to increase industry, mining, commerce, and new workers. She also aimed to establish military academies and a powerful naval presence to maintain it all.

While many decried the increased Imperial presence, the new development increased employment opportunities and prosperity, benefiting the planet.

She also thwarted Governor Sanz of Kintoni’s plan to expand military-grade facilities on a neighboring planet, which threatened Lothal

The issue with comics

Now, a bone I have to pick with the comic.

Since the books are long, the comics are forced to simplify the story, often leaving out information or adding things that didn’t happen at all.

This is one of the reasons I always recommend reading the books before reading the comics, as the comics are supposed to be based ON the books, but obviously can't contain everything.

My main issue is with this specific panel:

The whole prison situation is very complex and generally misunderstood in itself, and this comic portrayal didn’t help it at all. Arihnda didn’t say the highlighted part, which I think is worth mentioning since it gives you false implications.

Original in the book:

Then this:

The fact that Arihnda was genuinely devastated by Juahir’s betrayal, tearing up, was completely erased, and the comic falsely portrayed her as unaffected, even malicious, with the whole situation.

My input:

Arihnda's whole character is about being opportunistic and cunning, the shots shot at her tearing her down and her standing right back up and shooting back. She's a someone who was initially a good person with a dream, fighting evil, and getting corrupted in the process of survival, turning into the very thing she originally fought against.

She doesn't forgive and takes revenge on anyone who ever did her or her loved ones wrong. She's extremely intelligent when it comes to politics and seeing her in action, coming up with a solution for any problem thrown at her, no matter how complicated, and often managing to turn it to her advantage aswell, was genuinely thrilling.

The hate she gets is EXTREME and unecessary, and that's a hill I'll die on.

You are a great complex female character, Arihnda Pryce, with strengths and flaws that make you feel like a real person.

I wish people were capable of enjoying your story without demonizing your every single move and hating you for reasons they love their iconic male antagonists for.

#if you've seen this post on another platform already‚ that was me #arihnda pryce #governor pryce #governor Arihnda Pryce #thrawn #star wars #star wars thrawn #thrawn novel #thrawn 2017 #eli vanto #star wars rebels #star wars pryce #star wars arihnda pryce #star wars governor pryce #thrawn trilogy

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appendingfic · 2 months

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What People Think Death of the Author Means: Once a piece of art is out there, you can fully ignore the author as an agent involved in producing further works, profiting from the work, and promoting their damaging agenda from such profit and popularity What Death of the Author Means: Setting aside JK Rowling's transphobia, a careful reading of Harry Potter reveals a thread of casual racism, classism, a traditional defense of "The System", Anglocentrism, defense of imperial values, abuse apologism, and, shockingly, the use of white female beauty norms as a tool of depicting character morality.

#harry potter #death of the author #jk rowling #sorry if i didn't get everything #i have read a LOT of analyses #and i couldn't remember them all

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inyri · 6 months

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Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 41: Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Trigger warning: graphic violence, depictions of torture, body horror.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

Archive of Our Own

Fanfiction Dot Net

Author’s Note: Please note the trigger warnings. I had to step away from this for a little while (all right, more than a little while). Chapters are consecutive, of course, and as I posted the last one and moved to wrapping up this one I found life imitating art in a very, very uncomfortable way. I don’t talk a lot about my work for many reasons. Normally it’s not very exciting. And then there are the days that stay, the reminders that sometimes the world is deeply, viciously cruel in ways that are hard to process. As part of my work I met two men who were subjected to that cruelty, heard their stories, and helped care for them on their paths back home.

The first iterations of this series of scenes were very different from where we ended up. Nine and her team were far nastier at first, which wasn’t really true to her, and then I tried to make it funny which- well, obviously we can see the problem with that approach. So this is where we ended. It’s still an ugly chapter, but here we are.

This chapter is dedicated to AD, AH, and all victims of torture.

Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Theron follows her close as a shadow as they make their way from her ship across the base, dodging carefully around the first watch guards on their patrol routes. A month ago it would have been simple but a month ago they’d been sloppy; since then she’d ordered new watchposts set, new floodlights installed, locked down the turbolift platform to the valley below. There were so many other places to land a ship on Odessen, canyons and clearings and deep, dark forest far beyond the view of the towers, and it would have been far too easy for an infiltrator to sneak in.

Or one might simply use your landing bay. Valkorion’s armor gleams as an arc of light cuts across the path. In through the front door. All comers welcomed. Perhaps Arcann should-

The illusion shatters when she steps through it, the sentence left ominously unfinished.

Second patrol. Third patrol. Through the external door on the heels of a pair of Sana-Rae’s adepts, weaving through the hall and crammed into the back corners of the lift with an absolutely massive Zabrak with a distinct half-ring of glitterstim around one nostril (she makes a mental note- the cantina’s more than necessary but if they’ve got a spice problem that’s another vulnerability they can’t afford), down the hallways into Science Wing and nearly to the lab- outside door’s open, good, but how’s she going to-

Shit.

She’s six steps ahead of herself in contingency plans as usual, mind racing, but that doesn’t matter worth a damn when she fucks up Step One. Stopping so abruptly he almost runs right into her, she grabs Theron by the wrist and pulls him into the darkest corner of an empty meeting room. His head tilts in silent confusion as she reaches toward the stealth generator clipped to his belt. I thought- he starts to sign, one hand raised.

Switching, she replies, left-handed; pulling it free, she replaces it with hers. Backup has a shorter clock when the main’s off. If it overloads-

Theron nods. Bad. Right. Where should I stand?

Back- her fingers stutter as she considers (Void, she really isn’t thinking, is she? She needs to be. One mistake and the whole thing comes apart)- back left corner. You’ll have a five-count to get through the door before it closes, then don’t move and-

Don’t say anything. I know. He repeats the sign, an added emphasis. I promised.

She rubs her forehead, trying and failing to settle the ache building between her eyes. I know. Come on.

***

The inner laboratory door slides closed with a soft hiss, just muffling Theron’s last few footsteps as he settles carefully into the corner, and she lets her stealth field drop.

“I got your message.” Nine forces the words out, forces strength into her voice as she sets the lock. She cannot falter, not now. “SCORPIO, give me the holo. Let’s get it opened up.”

“Commander.” Doctor Lokin looks up from across the room, setting a handful of instruments and an empty syringe- not all clean, she notes- neatly into place on a polished metal tray. Beside him, her would-be killer slumps forward against the treatment chair’s restraints, an intravenous catheter in his right arm and his lower body wrapped in a surgical dropcloth, head covered by black fabric and bound around the middle with thick strips of spacer’s tape. “We were just beginning.”

[ sleepy already, cipher? but we’re only just beginning.

when hunter’s slap hits she startles bolt upright in the chair and then wishes she hadn’t, her ribs shifting beneath the straps like so many shattered potsherds as she grinds her teeth to keep from screaming. she’s screamed so much already and she won’t give him the satisfaction of another, won’t-

hunter gestures- toward the woman, she thinks, it’s getting hard to see now with her face so bruised. let’s wake her up, hm? ah, no- something cold and metallic tightening on her right index finger- the other hand, to start. now the left side, still the index finger, tighter and tighter and oh void it hurts it hurts it hurts she’s got to say something or it-

i’m telling you, she gasps, when those reinforcements get here from- and there’s a sharp snap and she can’t help it and she screams-

keep singing, little bird. I do so hate to have to break your pretty wings.]

Her hand throbs.

“I didn’t tell you to start without me.” Her stomach churns even as she curls her fingers into an easy fist, testing their movement; she couldn’t do that for a month after Corellia so it’s only the memory of pain, isn’t it? “And how long has that tape been on? We need his eyes open, not swollen shut. It’s too fucking tight.”

“If you’re referring to this-” Lokin lifts a pair of bloody-gripped forceps with one finger and a long-suffering look- “your knife tipped his saphenous, and I assumed you would prefer he not hemorrhage before you had the chance to work. I’ve only just run the amytal in, nothing more. But,” he squints at the rings of tape, flips a vibroscalpel from the tray into his palm and before she can even begin to move he slices through the binding neatly, once and then again, “you aren’t wrong. SCORPIO restrained him while I was busy with his leg, but I ought to have-”

SCORPIO turns from the console, shoulders lifting in what might have been a shrug. “My primary directive on Odessen remains operational security, Commander. He cannot share what he cannot see.”

“Yes, but-”

One of the wall-mounted monitors beeps, shrill and insistent, until Lokin prods it with a gloved finger and it lapses into red-flashing silence. “He’s starting to wake. Shall we?”

Void, she hates interrogations. (She used to be good at them once, when she was younger and followed orders better. She used to be good at them because of course, why waste precious time on subtleties when you can simply pry and bend and break and it all comes out in the end either way- maybe in pieces, yes, but that was just another puzzle to solve if one was clever enough, even if it was messier-

Orders were orders.

She used to be good at them once. Before Corellia.)

“Is Lana coming? She’s covering for me with Sana-Rae, I think, but-”

She turns too quickly as the door opens behind her and as she spins the room tips sideways and then it starts to spin, too; pausing midstep, she grabs at the nearer benchtop to steady herself, her left hand raised as a counterbalance. Lana clears the doorway in two steps, the worry lines across her forehead deepening.

“I’ve got you,” Lana murmurs. “We’ve just finished, and I had a feeling you might-” she only wrinkles her nose a little as she glances toward the instrument table- “want my help with this.”

When she nods the world shifts unpleasantly anticlockwise. “Yes. Dialing out blind on his holo’s a losing proposition. With any luck he’ll talk, but I’m not counting on it and we haven’t got the time to wear him down.” Pressing her lips together against a wave of nausea, she inhales. Exhales. Inhales. The spinning slows.

“Physical methods, then?”

She shakes her head- oh, Force, there it goes again- inhale. Exhale. “Just tell me what you see. I’ve been bled on enough today, and if we push too hard-”

“Does it matter? You can’t possibly intend to let him-” at her gesture Lana lowers her voice, just above a whisper- “walk away from this. An attack, here, on you- there have to be consequences.”

“Do I look like a Jedi to you? You know me better than that.” When she says it Lana snorts and rolls her eyes and to be fair she has a point- of course she has a point- but a misstep now could be the last strand of a rope to hang herself by, the final block knocked loose that brings the whole tower crashing down, and she can afford that far less than to give away a shred of undeserved mercy. “You’re a step ahead of me, that’s all. I need the who before I decide the what.”

Lana sighs. “I know. I only- I defer to you, Commander. It’s your decision.”

“Maybe, or maybe it’s Trant’s. But we won’t know until we know, and-” another warning chime from the monitors; another warning look from Lokin. “We’re running out of time. And when we’ve finished I’ve still got to talk to Koth and Senya, and-”

“Already postponed, and that can wait in any case. There’s nothing to discuss that won’t keep for a day. We’ll call them once we’re in transit,” Lana eyes her up and down, “after another round of kolto.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Lana’s hand comes to rest beneath her lifted arm; with the world still half-spinning she’d have missed the subtle pulse of energy if Lana hadn’t flinched when their fingertips meet. “Force help me, you’re not - I’ll take it over, Nine. I’ll… I can do it. You should rest.”

“No.” When she shakes her head the room stays level now, at least. It’s something. “No. This is my mess to sort out. Just lock the door.”

***

Five minutes later all she’s got out of him is a slurred sequence of names, ranks, and serial numbers (lying, Lana says each time from her perch behind the chair, though she knew that long before she said it) and the unwavering gut-punch certainty that the man is an SIS agent. With so little actual information to go on and their databases two years out of date- when Theron left he’d downloaded what he could but slicing back into the mainframe to sync them’s a risk none of them are willing to take right now- trying to find a name for her attacker’s useless, with dozens of dossiers a partial match to the same physical parameters: average height, average build, Underlevels accent, Republic emblems tattooed on biceps and back and another handful laser-faded to barely visible outlines. With half the Republic’s infantry dredged up from the Coruscant undercity’s gangs and prisons and half the SIS (and nearly all of SpecOps) poached from the army, she could have shot into the Dealer’s Den or the Red Rancor on a Primesday night and hit five clones of him in a straight line between the door and the bar.

She studies his face from every angle, waiting for a memory to trigger, and- no, still nothing, barely a nod in the corridor or a passing glance in the mess line. Three weeks on Odessen and the man’s practically a ghost, a traceless alias for a name and a ride hitched on a transport from Port Nowhere. Granted, both she and Theron had been off-planet most of that time, but stars, if this one got in so easily how many more could?

That’s a problem for another day. It has to be.

But for now SCORPIO runs the serials, just for the sake of thoroughness, and- ah. Those faces she knows: Corellia, six years ago; a Coruscanti gala, bloodstains on a black dress; Dromund Kaas, only a month or two before Zakuul.

She just hadn’t known their real names, then. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had.

Orders were orders.

“So you’re ten dead men in a trenchcoat, then? And you’re wrong about that last one, by the way. That was probably Cipher Four. I’ve never been to Ord Mantell.” She pushes his commpad away with a scowl. The damned thing’s wiped clean- all the more likely he’d spoken to Trant within the last half-day, then; that was a lesson from Alderaan that only the Director ought to have learned. With enough time they could have recovered it, but they don’t have time. So she turns back to him instead, her thumb and index finger poised on closed eyelids gone puffy from the pressure of the binding. “Last chance to make this easier on yourself. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

“More’n ten. Way more.” His words are less slurred now, the serum finally taking effect, and Lana sits up straighter. “‘nd hells take your easier. You’re gonna kill me anyway, so-”

Void, why are they always so insistent on dying?

She doubts he can see her, so she just adds a twinge of melodrama to her sigh. “Not necessarily, agent. You tried to murder me. Naturally, I objected-” a little more pressure on his eye, just enough that he starts to shift against the restraining strap- “but if I really wanted you dead I’d have let you use your kill pill instead of wasting perfectly good antitoxin on you. I can be civil if you can.”

Lana closes her eyes, focused and still.

“To be clear, you’re alive as a means to an end and it’s in your best interest to cooperate. But you and I know how it goes, don’t we?” When she lifts her open hand SCORPIO presses the holotransmitter into her palm. “Good soldiers follow orders. It’s not personal. You were only doing as you’re told.” She leans in closer, knee jostling against his mended leg just a little harder than necessary as the paper drape crinkles, voice lowered in a simulacrum of confidence. “Stars, I remember those days. He sits in his big office and sics you on a target, unclips your leash and you just- well. Ours not to reason why, hm?”

The cuff around his right wrist clinks against the arm of the chair as he makes an obscene gesture.

Wrong tactic. Well, then.

Her sigh’s loud enough to make him flinch. “And it was all wrong, wasn’t it? All that planning, all that time pacing, writing a five-line message that he never even saw, all for nothing?” His breath stills, his heart rate spikes, and Lokin hooks another syringe to the IV port and slowly pushes the plunger down. “DId you think I wouldn’t see? I’d almost feel sorry for you if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic.”

His head lolls forward against the restraint, a counterpressure against her hand.

“Oh, no, no.” Shifting, she pushes him back upright with two fingertips in the center of his forehead. “Not yet. Not until-”

“I almost got you.” His mouth contorts- it might have passed for a grin in a darker room, teeth bared, feral- and something in his voice makes her hair stand on end. She recoils, pulling her hand away from his face even as he pauses. “So fucking close. Just a few more seconds and I’d’ve bled you dry, Cipher, and then I’d-”

(The words barely register; he’s not the first and certainly not the most creative person to threaten her with postmortem indecencies but somehow they always think it’s going to shock her into silence, as though it’s the single most awful thing that could ever happen when she’s lived through far worse horrors and more to the point she wouldn’t even know, she’d be dead).

“-see enough and you know Shan’d come running- Force, that would’ve been even better, the look on his traitor face even if it was the wrong way round-”

wait.

WAIT.

no, Trant wouldn’t have-

When she blinks she sees it all in the span of a millisecond: half a hundred ways it could have gone, half a hundred indignities inflicted, half a hundred times it breaks Theron for just long enough for the blow to fall. Lana must see something else; she makes the smallest little sound, a muffled gasp of disgust covered over by knuckles cracking in clenched-fisted fury and then a snarled Sith curse she doesn’t understand (but Valkorion clearly does- she isn’t wrong, he murmurs) and it brings her back to herself.

Her comm buzzes; her eyes flick down toward the screen.

Kicking him for breaking comm silence would be counterproductive, she supposes, but what does Belsavis have to do with anything? If Theron knows his name he ought to have just said so, not making her work harder than she already is.

< don’t know him but think I know the unit> <told Marcus it was a bad idea> <don’t think he listened>

That would explain the burned-off tattoos. Stars, has the SIS truly become that desperate? Or was this another Garza project- some experiment likely as not to fail just as Eclipse Squad had, so why waste frontline troops when the Republic had a whole planet full of froth-mouthed maniacs more than happy to keep killing as the cost of their freedom and if things did go bad, well, they were going to die one way or another so what did it matter?

Then SCORPIO blinks once, head turning toward her comm and then, slower, toward the corner and oh, damn it all-

“Didn’t think the SIS went in for necrophilia,” she says conversationally, covering her mouth over a particularly exaggerated yawn as Lokin barely stifles a snort. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Jedi. I am curious, though- did you pick that up on Belsavis, or was that why they locked you up in the first place?”

His teeth clench.

“Piracy? Hm, no. Some flavor of war crime, I’m sure- oh, I know. Fragged your CO, I’d bet. You’ve got that sort of look.”

“Onomatophobia. Go fuck yourself.”

(She’d come at it all wrong, hadn’t she?

She’d thought this wasn’t personal because for her it wasn’t. Okay, fine, with Trant maybe it is, now, but this is no old enemy. She only hurt him to start with because he cut her first and deeper and even Theron doesn’t know his name- and stars know his memory’s brilliant, to judge by his stories he remembers everyone he ever worked with and it was far harder for him when they weren’t all just Minder Ten and Fixer Twelve and Watcher Three. The garotte alone might have been sheer bloody-mindedness in a way she wouldn’t have expected from the SIS, but even the Republic for all its supercilious moralizing had its fair share of sadists; Hunter hadn’t truly been one of them but they’d certainly all thought so at the time and still they’d all turned their heads, every single time, even when she’d screamed until her voice gave out.

Of course her control word was in her Republic file. He wasn’t the only one to try to use it, the first ones in earnest and then, when she’d shredded enough of them into bloody little pieces that they realized it didn’t didn’t hold her any more, as a vicious sort of mockery. That worked a bit, she supposes; maybe it always will. Not well enough to save them, of course.

She’d thought it wasn’t personal, that orders were orders and he’d come after Theron because he had to. But stars, she’d been out of the game for five fucking years and he’s practically got her dossier memorized, errors and all, and he’d called Theron a traitor and the first time she really pushes his buttons he-

Oh, this was very personal.)

“No,” she says, and breathes, trying to untie the panic-knot tightening in her chest, “I don’t think I will.” Snatching up a scalpel from the instrument tray as her voice wavers, she presses its tip, just so, beneath his chin. “You thought you were close? Close only counts in horseshoes and heavy ordnance, puppy, and that and a slip of my hand’ll buy you an unmarked grave. And-” he’s trying not to move, trying not to flinch. A single bead of blood wells up beneath the blade and stars, it’d be so easy, just one little movement and stay calm stay calm stay calm- “you still haven’t answered my question. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

Lana exhales as her gaze comes back into focus, lip curling. Whatever she saw, she didn’t like it. “Today. It was today. But beyond that-”

“It’s good enough.” It was never going to be that easy. “SCORPIO, you don’t still have Belsavis census access, do you?”

A yellow flash, and then- “I am no longer tethered to Ward 23, and what I retained is long out of date. Proximity would be required.”

“Never mind. We’ll move on to the holo, then. Doctor?”

“Ready.” Lokin nods approvingly as she sets the scalpel down. “Retractor?”

“Retractor, please. Left eye.”

One click. Two clicks. Three.

The ‘pub squirms, fighting the restraining strap in earnest as he tries to blink against the cold metal instrument. “What are you-” his pupil constricts until she shifts the operating light away- “you gonna take my eyes now, Cipher? Keep ‘em in a jar somewhere, or-”

The holo’s scanner locks on as she holds it level with his forced-open eye. “No, thank you. I never was much for souvenirs.”

It chimes cheerfully as it comes to life in her hand; she flips idly through the settings. The user ID’s a string of alphanumeric gibberish, the message system’s not set up and the whole thing’s still on factory default but she’d expected all of that. It’s almost certainly a burner. The call log’s intact, though, with four time-stamped entries. One: incoming but barely five seconds long, likely a functionality test. Not useful. Two: outgoing, eighteen days old. Confirmation of arrival? That’s a Coruscanti subnet, but that could be a handler. Three: outgoing, one day old, to the same address as the second- they’d landed back from Nar Shaddaa by then.

Four: incoming. Coruscant again, but a different address. One minute and six seconds duration.

Two and a half hours ago.

He said he’d call it off, Void damn him. If Trant kept his word and she’s wrong, if she burns the last thin strands of the bridge between Theron and everything he ever believed in to ashes and she’s wrong-

(He did say he would call them. Reflected in the freezer’s glass door, Valkorion tilts his head contemplatively. And tell them what?

He said-

he said-

[-but those last few breaths last longer if you don’t struggle, don’t they? You’ll figure that out soon enough.]

For the first time she can remember there is something like approval in his smile. So you did hear it, he says. But oh, little Cipher, you didn’t listen.)

She gestures to Lana and Lokin, pointing with two fingers at each one in turn and then the door with a snap of her wrist that sets it throbbing. “All of you but SCORPIO, clear the room. Now.”

Lana blinks but it’s Lokin who speaks first. “Commander, if I may? If you plan to proceed further, the subject may require additional stabilizing mea-”

“Wait outside until I call for you. That’s an order.”

He’s halfway to the door before Lana starts to move from the benchtop and even then she pauses beside her as she passes, one hand on her shoulder and her mouth lowered level with her ear. “You’re not getting Valkorion involved? I know you’d rather not dial out blind, but I thought I felt-”

“I’m not,” she murmurs in reply. “On either count. But if this goes bad I don’t want you in the room when it does.”

“All right.” The sheer force of disapproval contained in Lana’s sigh might have leveled buildings; it isn’t all right and they both know it but it’s far too late to argue over it now. “Should I go and find Theron, then? I can think of some excuse to keep him with me until you’ve finished.”

They both startle at the sound of SCORPIO’s voice. “Unnecessary. He is-” her heart stops as the droid’s eyes flicker- “secure.”

“We can’t be certain of that. He still doesn’t know, does he? If there’s a second-”

“I see many things that you do not, Lord Beniko.” Five metallic fingers uncurl ceilingward (not toward the corner; her heart stutters, then resumes). “I am perfectly certain.”

Lips pressed together, nostrils flared, Lana grits her teeth against a retort before she simply continues toward the exit. “Then I will wait,” she says, a sparking halo of electricity coiling around her words as the door slides shut behind her, “until I am needed.”

And then the room is quiet save the beeping monitors, the ‘pub’s ragged breathing and the sharp rattle of his restraints, and Nine glances sidelong at SCORPIO as she settles herself carefully in the blind spot on his right. “Be nice.”

“Error. Program file: nice not found.”

She must have iterated again; the sarcasm’s new. Rolling her eyes, she glances down at her comm again.

< Also, you are welcome.>

She flicks an ironic salute toward the droid and that too makes her wrist ache. More time in the tank, then, on the way to Voss. More time lost that she can’t afford and a favor owed that she probably can’t afford either- stars know SCORPIO’s kept secrets for her well enough through the years but she’s no particular fondness for Theron; the last time he’d cracked a joke about needing a processor update she’d signal-locked his implant to play That Slippery Little Hutt Of Mine on repeat for forty-three minutes straight until half his face was twitching and he’d finally apologized- but hopefully that can be negotiated. Ongoing access to the network, maybe. Lana will fuss and she’ll be right, but if that message had gone through unintercepted they all know what it might have meant. It’s a small enough price.

“If you’re done arguing-” the ‘pub’s slurring again. He’s burning through the serum faster than she’s ever seen- “either get this thing off me or-”

If he keeps that up she may as well not bother with the call. She ought to have known better than to think that he’d say much of anything useful but his ranting’s absolutely tedious; they’re going to need to gag him after all, aren’t they? It wasn’t supposed to be that sort of interrogation, but she also hadn’t particularly expected him to- oh, if he calls her that one more time she might just stab him after all. (Like he’s got any room to criticize- all her old sins could overfill an archive but at least she’s not a stars-damned corpsefucker.) “Shh.” When she tilts her head toward it SCORPIO picks up the spacer’s tape and tears a strip from the roll, pressing it firmly over his mouth until th+e noise quiets into muffled incomprehensibility. “That’s quite enough out of you, I think.“

Hm. That brings to mind a better idea, actually.

“Do we have enough input for a voiceprint? Something like this?” Tapping a brief message into her commpad, she sends it through to SCORPIO. Only a few lines, but if it truly is Trant on the other end of the connection it should be enough to be certain.

It has to be enough.

She doesn’t look toward the corner. She mustn’t look toward the corner.

“Way more than enough.” It’s near enough a perfect mimic. SCORPIO folds her arms smugly and the ‘pub goes grey. “Prepared for playback.”

“On my signal, then, but give me a twenty second delay on video.” Her fingers twitch despite themselves, tingling at the tips; she forces her breathing into rhythm. (Lana was right. She isn’t fine.

Lana was always right. But she doesn’t have a choice.)

Inhale. “And prep the package files for transmission on verbal command. No passcode.” Exhale.

A pause, a flash of scarlet. Inhale. “Yes, Commander.”

Exhale.

Inhale. She smooths her hair back, adjusts her collar carefully under her chin, slaps both cheeks briskly with closed fingers to bring a little color into them and even that little jolt rattles her brain inside her skull. She considers, briefly, the backs of her eyelids. That seems to help. Exhale.

The far corner remains quiet.

She lifts the holo in line with the ‘pub’s eye once more as his pupil shimmers finely from side to side; they’d definitely pushed the dose too high but even so it’s far faster than it ought to be, chasing some other vice out of his system, and the camera struggles, beeping and chirping error after error until finally it locks on.

Inhale. Exhale.

She meets SCORPIO’s gaze, scrolls back to the end of the call log, and presses redial.

Inhale.

“Connecting.” The tinny synthetic voice of the SIS operator sets her nerves on edge. “Connecting.” Come on, pick up-

The channel opens with a click and she nods, lets her breath out into the following silence before the voiceprint begins.

“It’s done. Shan and the Cipher. Wrong way ‘round, but-”

“Well-” the video delay goes both ways but she doesn’t need it, she’s heard Marcus Trant’s voice in so many briefings it’s burned into her brain; the last brittle shard of hope she’d clung to shatters and leaves her with nothing left but rage. How dare he- “it’s about fucking time.”

Oh, she is going to end him.

***

Nine’s body language shifts then, her spine rigid where she’d been starting to hunch forward in fatigue, her hands fisted, fingernails digging hard into her palms. Her stance settles, just a little wider, forward on her toes; her chin lifts. He can’t see her face, still angled toward the prisoner.

“Send the photo confirmation, then execute extraction- and get your video on. Where are you?” Force, he’s going to throw up. Even when Jonas told him, even after hearing Marcus with his own ears he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d called it off. It had to be a mistake- or maybe Nine’s paranoia got the better of her (and he knows why and he doesn’t fault her, she can’t help Valkorion in her head and the poison he’s feeding her day after day after day) and this was just another shadow to peer into. Dragged into the light, it would have been nothing at all. A mistake. A mistake.

She nods to the droid once again. “ Just a few more seconds. Bad connection but I’ve almost got it.”

He shudders. The copywork’s uncanny and he knows for sure that’s not all readback. If SCORPIO gets it in her head to playact as one of them, starts giving orders in Lana’s voice or Koth’s or his own? He’s no reason to think she would, but whatever loyalty she seems to owe starts and ends with Nine. They’ve got to talk about it, at least.

Nine angles away from their prisoner, raises the comm chest-high as the little hologram springs up in the hollow of her hand. He can see her better now, her face blank and beautiful and perfectly, utterly cold, and then she smiles and-

(He has spent far more time than he’d ever admit to, from Rishi to Ziost to Zakuul to tonight, every hit and hurt and shattered bone and her bloody armor left in a pile again and again on the medbay floor, being scared for Nine.

This might be the first time he’s honestly been scared of her.)

“Hello, Director,” she says. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s only a little flinch, but it’s there. “Cipher. Still alive, I see.”

“Commander. You lied to me, Marcus. You know what happens now.”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.”

Every syllable of her laughter’s a rifle shot, clear and piercing. “Yes, yes. You said you’d call, and you did.” By his posture he’s caught and he knows it, back straight, shoulders set. “But you know perfectly well that wasn’t our agreement. To go by the way Theron spoke of you I’d have thought you an honorable man, but-”

Marcus lifts one hand, a futile placation as Nine’s mocking smile fades back into hard-eyed silence. “I really am sorry about Theron, for what little it’s worth. He-”

“You’re sorry?” That wasn’t a laugh, not quite, halfway caught in her broken throat. “You’re certainly about to be, but Theron’s fine. This puppy was just as stupid as the last one- worse, actually, since he got himself caught in the bargain.” She turns her body, lets the camera capture the prisoner behind her straining against the chair straps in wide-eyed muffled fury. “He never got anywhere close to Theron.”

“He knows, then?” (He still can’t see Marcus’ face. He isn’t sure whether he wants to.)

She shrugs, noncommittal. “One thing at a time.” Her free hand gestures vaguely toward the instrument tray. “I’ve been a bit busy, I’m afraid, and now I’ve got all these dossiers to send off-”

“I’d suggest some time in kolto first. You don’t look at all well, Cipher.”

“Commander.” When she blinks her eyes stay closed half a second too long and she sways back and forth and stars, she needs to sit down before she falls over but she’s too stubborn to let anyone see her hurting. He knows her tells now, though- her jaw clenches, her left hand curls and uncurls. “Five years in carbonite couldn’t kill me. You honestly thought a garotte would be enough?”

“No,” Marcus says softly. “Not really. But we make do with what we have, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do. SCORPIO, transmit file Eclipse . Full recipient list.”

One red flash, two green. “Transmission complete.”

(She really did it. Oh, fuck, she really, actually did it.

He should never have gone home. He should never have gone-

It isn’t home. Not any more.)

Marcus sighs. “Where?”

“Everywhere.” Nine looks up abruptly as one of the monitors sounds yet again; she reaches up and simply shuts it off completely and at this angle he can finally see properly, both of their faces in profile. “Every reputable news service in the Core Worlds and about half of the disreputable ones, so you may want to warn your receptionist. I suspect your switchboard’s about to melt.”

“She’ll handle it, and Eclipse Squad was Elin’s mess. I’m afraid I can’t comment. Now, if we’re finished-”

“We are not. Transmit file Legate. Full list. Call it off. Now.”

One red flash, two green, and Marcus winces, his composure finally breaking. “Are you out of your fucking mind? No one came out of that clean, you least of all.”

“I might be.” A knock at the door- no, it’s there, not here, and a comm chiming. “But Legate died in a warehouse collapse on Quesh, poor thing, though with all those warheads going up at once confirming it was quite impossible. Pity.”

A single vein pulses across his forehead.

“Call it off.”

Another knock. “Do you think Theron will believe that?”

“He doesn’t need to. He knows about the Castellan restraints- he’s known for years.” She glances, for the smallest fraction of a second, toward his corner. “I think he’ll understand if I blur the truth a little.”

(He nods before he remembers she can’t see him. Of course he understands. He wishes she hadn’t done it, wishes she hadn’t needed to do any of this, but of course he understands.)

The room goes quiet, the stillness broken only by restraint buckles clinking against the chair frame.

“Do you think he’ll believe this?”

The angle of her head’s a wordless question.

“What wouldn’t you do to bring down an enemy? The head of the SIS, no less.” The framing of the projection changes, the bottom edge of a screen coming into view as he stands up slowly from his desk. Marcus’d always lived at the office, one of so many bad habits he’d passed down to him over all the years they’d worked together (the work always comes first, he’d said. It always will. It will take everything you can give to it and then it will take more and you’ll swear and shout and threaten to quit. And then you won’t, because this is what we were made for. And that is how we win). “It’s everything you ever worked toward. So: a foiled assassination attempt in your own base- how terrible.” He clicks his tongue, a mocking little tsk. “You’d have to retaliate, and who would fault you?”

Nine’s eyes narrow.

“But if it came out that you set it all up- a few intercepted messages, perhaps, shared by an old friend-”

Her lips draw back from her bared teeth. “Stay away from him.”

“I’m finished,” Marcus says. “I know that. But that doesn’t mean you get to win. Once a iiar, always a liar, Cipher Nine. Who do you think he’ll believe- you? Or me?”

No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t . Not that it would have made a difference, but Marcus couldn’t have known that- Force, he really is going to throw up.

(When Theron joined the SIS he was seventeen years old and every adult he’d known for more than a galactic standard month had abandoned him, sold him out or simply sold him at the first sign he’d outgrown his usefulness. It took nearly a year on Coruscant, nearly a year of steady paychecks and a bed to sleep in every night, before he owned more clothes than he could fit into a go bag; it took almost two before he stopped apologizing for asking for equipment. But Marcus never gave up on him, even when he fucked up (which back then was more often than not), even when he bristled and snapped like a half-wild animal, even when he wanted to give up on himself. If Master Zho had been the nearest thing he’d known to a father- stars knows it wasn’t Jace, especially not now- Marcus had come close too, once.

Once.)

She takes a deep breath. She’s fading fast, now, hands tremulous even as she’s fighting to keep the holo steady. He can’t just sit here and watch this, he can’t, he can’t-

“Her,” Theron says, letting the stealth field drop as he takes a step forward and she spins, startled, at the sound of his voice. It comes out as a gasp; he doesn’t even know how long he’s been holding his breath. ”Who do I believe? Her. Always.”

Marcus buckles like he’s been gut-shot, bracing himself against his desk. “You- you said you hadn’t told him yet. You said-”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” Nine smiles, absolutely feral and absolutely beautiful, and he steadies her with one hand at the small of her back. “Though as you can see, I really have been busy.”

The last time he saw that look on his face was the day the blockade went up around Coruscant. “Hello, Theron.”

“Hello, Marcus.”

He sits back into his chair, heavy, elbows resting on the desktop. “This office would have been yours, you know. You were ready for it. But you’re on the wrong side of the war.”

“Which war?” Nine says it at the same time he does and then she dips her head, ever so slightly- you first. “We’re here fighting Zakuul. We’re here fighting Arcann,” he continues, “and we’re finally winning. I know you know that. I know Jace knows that, and I know you’re both still fighting the same fucking war against the Empire that you’ve been fighting since before I was born because for you that’s the only thing that matters. But I’m not.”

“You dare-”

“I made my choice,” he says softly. “Now you make yours. Are you going to drag the whole SIS down with you?”

Marcus rests his head in his hands. For a moment it’s the day after the Ascendant Spear, the day after Ziost, the day after Tython, the weight of a thousand impossible choices and ten thousand lies pressing down on him, and then he looks up and shakes his head. “No.” He sighs. “No, I’m not. What happens now?”

“Resign,” Nine murmurs. “Retire. Disappear before the Senate comes for you, or let them scapegoat you: I don’t care what you do, but you will call this off. You will do it now, and if I ever have reason to doubt you- if anyone from the Republic so much as breathes harm in Theron’s direction- the Ralltiir file goes public.”

Someone’s pounding on his office door, a woman’s voice shouting something incomprehensible as he reaches out of frame, and then a few moments later a series of four tones in a cadence burned into his own memory- send message; subnet selected; confirm?-

Message sent.

The holotransmitter in Nine’s hand chimes.

“Done. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Nine turns once more (and he turns with her, careful) to put their prisoner back into frame. “What do you want me to do with him? I’d put him back on Belsavis if I was you, but-”

Marcus stands up abruptly, even as he makes a face as she says Belsavis, at the unmistakable sound of a single round of blaster fire and the hiss of a door sliding open. “Elin,” he snaps, “not now -”

“Yes, now.” General Garza’s got a blaster pistol in one hand and a commpad in the other when she crosses into camera view. “I just got a fucking call from the fucking- oh.” She cranes her neck toward the projector. “Well, we can fix that problem, at least-”

The call disconnects abruptly.

Nine sags against him, exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I know I promised-”

“Commander.” He’d nearly forgotten SCORPIO was still at the console until she speaks, and he’s never heard that tone from her before; he looks sharply up at her and follows her sightline. The prisoner’s sitting bolt-straight, back rigid, eyes wide, and a high-pitched whine like a drill through durasteel shrills warning from somewhere that isn’t his mouth- “Commander, get down!”

All Theron can do is drop where they’re standing, his body a shield over Nine’s, before there’s an awful wet noise and the smell of blood and something else familiar in his nose, hot and metallic and not his and not hers and even though he knows he shouldn’t he looks up again and oh, fuck-

The lab door slides open and Doctor Lokin comes running into the room, Lana just behind with her lightsaber blazing, and they both stop short at the sight of it, at the ‘pub still strapped into the chair with half his head just gone and at him and Nine on the blood-spattered floor.

“What- who-” Lana covers her mouth with her free hand. “What in the Void happened?”

Nine’s shaking so hard she can barely move; he curls her close against him to keep her upright. “Not me,” she whispers. “Not me.”

#inyri writes #equivalent exchange #swtor #swtor fanfiction #imperial agent/theron shan #nine/theron #cipher nine #thank you all for your patience #as i wrote this one fought me for a very long time #so i hope it was worth the wait #and the next chapter is kinder to them i promise

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starplusfourletters · 10 months

Text

I read specter of the past (hand of thrawn book 1)

This turned into a liveblog srry

Me, reading the Thrawn trilogy: Okay obvi Mara/Luke is a slow burn

Me, skipping to the duology set 10 years later: GUYS YOU’RE LOSING DAYLIGHT

Oh no they have a passive aggressive “may the Force be with you” / “good luck” thing oh no I might ship it

Also the small existential crisis that ensues every time I remember Luke is (checks Wookieepedia) THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD. I cannot picture Luke Skywalker a day over 22 I think my brain would explode [actively represses the sequel trilogy]

This book is absolutely crawling with badass female smugglers and I’m living for it

Oooh proto-convor! [two pages later] OH NO PROTO-CONVOR DEATH ☹

Mara Jade, Force sensitive specializing in precognition, former Emperor’s Hand, second-in-command of the most powerful information dealing organization in the galaxy: Runs into a wall and spends the rest of the book knocked out

Lando “Could I Please Get Back to My Day Job It Has Been Two Decades” Calrissian. Just let the man mine in unlikely places it’s all he’s ever wanted

I got way too happy about the implication that the Imperial whose name I've forgotten figured out the tractor beam thing. He solved Science! Good for he!

Loving how everyone’s opinion on Karrde is basically “nice guy; sus that he insists on getting paid, though.” Like yes this is still a capitalist economy and he runs a business with a large number of employees

We interrupt your space fantasy to bring you a “Chicken Fried” music video with clone sleeper agents

Okay everybody place your bets is Car’das a secret brother, secret father, or ex-boyfriend (hype for some Karrde backstory and realizing the extent to which my brain has decided he and Kaz Brekker are the same person is Extensive)

Legit starting to feel sorry for Gilead “Sad Fascist Grandpa” Pellaeon. Somebody give this guy a peace treaty and a hug. Also more and more irked about No Prisoners why did that need a retcon

Really enjoyed the book’s interrogation of the premise “how do we actually make a galactic organization that includes cultures with mutually exclusive legal and ethical codes WITHOUT being fascist.” Felt very Trek. Actually went further toward radical inclusivity than Trek usually does; the Federation does have an element of “you must be this close to 20th-21st century American values to ride” which is its own kind of cultural imperialism and in this essay I will -

I simply cannot get enough of these books’ “protagonist stumbles, Kramer-like, into the Site of Maximal Galactic Importance Du Jour.” I will let you know when it stops being funny to me. Also really like how the villains are starting to learn to use it to their advantage; like yeah it DOES look like a conspiracy when you think about it

#star wars legends #timothy zahn #specter of the past #hand of thrawn #mara jade #talon karrde #gilad pellaeon #lando calrissian #long post

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vinca-majors · 7 months

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Yangsze Choo in conversation - St. Louis 2/21/24

Yangsze Choo is one of my favorite authors (The Ghost Bride is one of my favorite books ever) and last week she came to STL for her The Fox Wife book tour! I wrote up a little summary of the things she said about herself and her novels for anyone interested.

Her name is pronounced Yong-shee

She was warm, humble, funny, gracious, relaxed, and genuinely kind

She is very petite (I'd be surprised if she clears 5') and has a lovely, precise British accent reminiscent of Julie Andrews because she attended British schools when growing up

While she currently lives in California, she is Malaysian and spent parts of her childhood in Germany and Japan

This was her first time visiting Missouri and she only had the kindest things to say about it (this was heartwarming to everyone in attendance since flyover states get no love)

She is a slow writer and her drafts always have an excessively large word count

She never uses outlines "because I don't think like that" and blames her slow writing on this; her husband says if she would use outlines maybe there would be "less howling and rolling on the floor"

"There are thousands of good books that people could be reading. I am honored that people choose to read mine."

The Ghost Bride

One of her favorite scenes is the first chapter

She wrote a trial scene in the Courts of Hell but it was cut for wordcount

Pre-publication, she figured only her "mother and her hairdresser" would read it

Her older sister's feedback on a draft was that there wasn't enough romance and that what there was "is creepy"; her father's feedback was that it didn't read like classic literature; "With a family like this, who needs critics?"

She wanted to be the audiobook reader because many of the Malaysian words in the book have a specific pronunciation; she had to audition to do it "because usually voice actors do this unless you're Neil Gaiman"; the audition was in a studio in New York the day after Neil himself had been there ("I was like 'Can I touch everything that he touched?'")

She was in Trader Joe's when she got the call from her agent that Netflix wanted to make a screen adaptation - "'Give it to them! Give it to them!'"

She wasn't interested in writing the screenplay for the Netflix adaptation - "Novel writing and screenwriting are very different things."

She didn't have a problem with the book's ugly villain being played by a handsome actor - "That's Hollywood"

The Night Tiger

Her audiobook recording was an Audie Award Finalist - "My publisher says I should tell people that more often."

The Fox Wife

It is a story about "others", "what's on the other side of the door", first love, and is "a love story for old people"

Her favorite Austen is Persuasion and that inspired the elements of "regret and do-overs"

She said most ancient Chinese myths about foxes are about the human men who subdue the beautiful, wily female foxes and bear sons by them who pass the Imperial Exams; she wanted a story from the fox's point of view

She wrote it practically in the order that it reads and wrote the two timelines concurrently

The margins are wide and include footnotes because ancient Chinese scrolls had margins for readers to write notes in, which were incorporated into rewrites of those scrolls; this was also a way for women to engage with other female readers in a time when only men could gather to discuss literature and philosophy

She loves the footnotes in Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and was inspired to include asides/short stories in the footnotes of her own novel

Her first draft was 240,000 words long - she had to cut the bulk of the footnotes, a whole character, an entire arc, and "another murder"

She calls herself 'an old auntie' and doesn't know who the hot Asian actors are today, but her fancast for Kuro is Toshiro Mifune

If she could spend the day as any of her characters she would be Snow because she's "always wanted to run along rooftops and along garden walls"

Her favorite scene is—(looking at my bookmark at the halfway point) "Well, I won't spoil it for you. I love the last scene."

4th novel

It's about plants because she loves plants - she regularly listens to the NPR gardening podcast

She has always thought that ginseng root looks like a human baby; this book will be about a ginseng root that is a fairy changeling

At heart it's about parenthood

#yangsze choo #the fox wife #the ghost bride #the night tiger #on the shelf #i almost cheered out loud when she said toshiro mifune bc he was specifically how i'd been imagining kuro

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officialleehadan · 2 months

Text

Estimated Arrival

HGE – Blackbird

+++

The Downdraft was a heavy-bodied cargo ship, that the crew had modified heavily over her many years in space. She wasn’t a standard ship, and that, it turned out, was the secret advantage of her captain against those who were trying to board.

“First lock is holding,” Marcus said after a moment of watching the screen, which was now still of movement while the attacking ship tried to figure out what just happened. The violent depressurization should have sent the ships rolling, but it seemed Ikaroa had planned for that too, as stabilizers kicked into keep the ship from spinning wildly. “Second lock is loaded.”

“Let’s see if they run at us again,” Ikaroa said grimly as the whole crew took the respite to reload, and to pass water around to everyone. Maggie took a long drink and blessed the Downdraft’s crew for being so efficient, and sadly practiced, at repelling boarders from their ship. Unlike the Blackbird, which was not equipped for a fight, the Downdraft was very clearly ready to go down swinging. “Might be they get more careful now that they know we have a few tricks up our sleeves.”

“Does that airlock open from the other side?” Maggie asked once she was reloaded and ready to keep fighting. “Can they vent us out?”

“They can try, but the last lock in the sequence is automatic, in case one of the earlier ones fails,” Marcus assured her. He leaned back against the wall, but kept his eyes on the camera, ready for the next attempt to crack their defenses. “Any way you can get us a time of arrival on backup? We can hold out, but not for that long. If they have something heavy enough to crack us, we’re in trouble.”

“They very likely do,” Viktoria Tatiana shared. Like Maggie, she was armed, but she was taking the time to hydrate and center herself before the fighting resumed. “Magdalene, try to raise your brother on the comms. We may not have much time.”

There was very little Maggie wanted to do less than leave others to hold the line while she was safely in the cockpit, but she had a job to do. More importantly, she was the only one with the authorizations to actually do that job.

“We’ll be okay,” Marcus said when he saw her hesitating. “Whatever else, they don’t’ want to blow that lock until they’re sure they won’t drop you when they do it, right?”

“We don’t know that.”

“We know we need help. You’re our best shot.”

Maggie gritted her teeth, but he was right, and she knew it. Rather than argue, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He stared at her and pressed his fingers to the place she kissed with a stunned expression on his handsome face.

“Don’t die,” she told him firmly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Before he could reply, she handed her blaster to her mother, who traded nods with her but didn’t take her eyes off the airlock, and made for the comm in the cockpit.

The comm was temperamental. Maggie thumped it hard on one side, as she had the first time she used it. It crackled once, but didn’t connect until she hit it again, and tuned it to a rarely-used military frequency that was difficult to jam. More importantly, it was one the Carriers and Continental destroyers all monitored in case of an unexpected attack.

It took several long minutes, but finally here was the faint click as the comm connected.

“This is Destroyer Africa.” The comms director replied with the cool efficiency that comms agents always did. “Authorization.”

“Imperial Authorization, Lucia Therese Magdalene,” Maggie said shortly and didn’t wait for the comms director to reply. He would transmit whatever she said as she said it. “I am aboard the Downdraft, under attack by an unknown force that has Jump-grabbed us, and require immediate assistance.”

“We have your emergency beacon on our scans.” It was a new voice. Female this time. Presumably, the captain of the ship. “This is Captain-Commander Richal. We are inbound on your coordinates, Your Imperial Highness.”

“What’s your arrival time?” Maggie heard and muttered a curse when she head something that sounded distinctly like an attempt to get through the airlock. There was another explosion, and the ship shuddered. “Time is short.”

“Twelve minutes.”

“Is anyone else closer?”

“No, Ma’am.”

It was unprofessional, but Maggie couldn’t hold back a curse, and spared a glance over her shoulder. She couldn’t see anything, and didn’t hear shooting, but it wouldn’t be long. “Can you cut any time off that arrival?”

“Engines are at top burn already.” The Captain-Commander was apologetic, and Maggie tried hard not to resent it. She didn’t need an apology, she needed heavily-armed backup. ��Carrier Pacifica is en-route to you and is the next-fastest after us. Twenty minutes.”

“We’ll try to hold out,” Maggie said and did her best not to curse more, even though it might make her feel better. Officials tended to get nervous when a member of the Imperial family was cursing. “Notify your crew that every member of the Downdraft is classified as a protected individual and should be given every protection upon your arrival, regardless of the situation.”

That part wasn’t required, but the Richal couldn’t do anything to speed her ship, and neither could Maggie. What Maggie could do was make sure that the Downdraft’s crew was protected. They were risking their lives and their ship to keep her and her mother alive. It was the least she could offer in return.

“The order is already given, Ma’am,” Captain Richal promised her with military precision. “They and their ship will be treated with the utmost care.”

“We will need to be tractored into a landing bay. Our airlock is damaged.”

“I will see to it personally.”

“And make sure to tag our attackers, in case they bolt before capture. I imagine His Majesty would like to have a personal conversation with them.”

“With pleasure, Ma’am.” Now, Maggie heard the smile in the captain’s voice even if she couldn’t hear it. “We’re on our way. Just hold out a little longer.”

“I’ll do my best,” Maggie said as another explosion rocked them and she grabbed for the nearest panic-handle to steady herself. “Signing out.”

With that, she flipped off the comm and headed back to the battle-front.

It would be a long twelve minutes, but if there was one thing she was good at, it was stalling for time.

+++

HGE - Blackbird: (FULL COLLECTION)

HGE - Blackbird - Volume 1

HGE - Blackbird V2 (For full collection, see V1)

First Lock

Estimated Arrival

Four Minutes Left (NEW!)

+++

MASTERLIST

#Writing #Lee Hadan #fantasy #scifi #spilled ink #writing prompts

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ainyan · 2 years

Note

angst, tomorrow prompt list thingy

Two Tomorrows:

(FFXIV)

She was jolted awake, dreams of screams and sorrow falling by the wayside. With a grunt, she swayed into the body next to hers and hands caught at her shoulders. “Careful,” a familiar voice cautioned. “It’s a short tumble to the ground from here.”

Blinking, she lifted her hand, rubbing at gritty eyes, and peered around. They were in a wagon, every turn of the wheels sending a faint jolt through her spine. Beyond the bed, she could see the ground rising sharply into ragged hills; Northern Thanalan, then, near the border of Mor Dhona. “Where are we going?”

“Coerthas,” Alphinaud replied as he settled back against the side of the wagon once more, slumping into the bench and staring moodily off into the distance. “You did a turn for Lord Haurchefant once; I’m hoping that he will be able to return the favor.”

She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, grimacing. “Why do we need a favor from a Lord of Ishgard?” she asked, voice softly slurred with exhaustion.

Beside her, the young elezen straightened, gazing at her with concern. “Kali, do you remember anything about what happened yesterday?”

Yesterday? “What?” At the young lordling’s impatient stare, she frowned, racking her usually impeccable memory. Bodies swaying; music playing; voices saying - “Assassinated? Nanamo?” she whispered, lavender-edged eyes growing wide, glowing softly in the pre-dawn gloaming.

Alphinaud closed his eyes. “We know you didn’t, Kali,” he soothed as he felt her tense beside him. “We all know that you did not. But you have been accused, and us as your accomplices.”

“Us.” She sat up straight, looking around the wagon, but there was no one present but she and Alphinaud. “Where - Alphinaud, where are they?” she demanded as fragments of memory began to fall into place like jagged little puzzle pieces. “Where are they?"

He reached out, grabbing her wrist. “Kal’istae…”

“Where. Are. They?”

He stared at her in mute anguish, but she did not need the words; she could read it in his eyes; she could scent it on the dusty wind. She could remember it. “No,” she whispered.

“Kali.”

“Yda. Papalymo.” She saw them in her mind’s eye, racing towards the Brass Blades and Crystal Braves that threatened to overtake them.

“Kali.”

“Y’shtola. Thancred.” She clutched at her heart at the memory of the pair sending them off; of Y’shtola’s grim visage, of Thancred’s impatient glare. Of the sound of crumbling mortar and crashing stone. “Thancred,” she repeated.

Alphinaud clutched at her hand. “Kali,” he said urgently.

She stared at him blindly. “Minfilia?” All she needed was the panic in his eyes. “Not her too,” she whispered. “I promised - I swore to keep her safe.”

“Kal’istae! We don’t know that - “

She jerked her hand from his grasp, yanking roughly enough to cut his palm against her scales. He cursed and stared at the blood welling to the surface of his skin. “All of them?” she whimpered. Alphinaud bit his lip. “They’re Scions. Scions don’t die. They’ll find their way back to us, I promise.”

She met his eyes, and he winced at the tears streaming unheeded down her cheeks, dampening her freckles in a silver rain of sorrow. “You mean, like I did?”

What could he say to that? As the Warrior of Light fell to her knees in the bottom of the wagon, covering her face with her hands and sobbing for lost family, Alphinaud gazed at her and could not find lies convincing enough to alleviate her sorrow.

(SWTOR after the cut)

Theron Shan stood at the window of his apartment, gazing down at the lights of Coruscant, diffused slightly through the misting rain. There had been no word from Marr’s taskforce since Ciprys had joined with them early this morning. Whatever they had found, the Dark Lord was keeping under close wraps. He knew that Satele’s portion of the force had been detailed as rearguards - but that Ciprys had joined the main fleet aboard Marr’s flagship, welcomed as his equal by all reports.

He didn’t like this feeling of something looming over him. He hadn’t believed in destiny - in fate - in a very long time; not since his childhood dreams had been dashed and he’d had to start over from scratch. But he couldn’t deny that there was something happening out there - something momentous - and he was a part of it, even here, safe and snug on Coruscant.

Sighing, he turned away from the windows.

And destiny came crashing down.

Simultaneously, his holocom chimed and there was a pounding at his door. Frowning, he picked up his comm, toggling it on even as he opened the door. Satele’s slim form sprang up from the light, and Risha - bedraggled and soaked - stared at him with wide eyes in a pasty face. “Theron,” they said together. The smuggler snapped her mouth shut, shoving her fingers against her lips as she stared mutely at the holo of the Jedi Grandmaster.

“Theron,” Satele said again, and the compassion in her voice told him that he didn’t want to hear her next words.

Not with Ciprys’s sister standing on his doorstep, mute agony on her lovely features.

“Don’t,” he whispered, and Satele closed her eyes. Risha made a mewling noise. “I can’t - don’t. Just. Don’t.”

The Jedi gazed at her son, even her legendary control tested by the pain in his voice. “Theron,” she said a third time, and he barely managed to keep himself from crushing the comm. “We did everything we could - they went after his flagship with a ferocity I never imagined. They knew exactly which ship to hit. We barely managed to get a tenth of the taskforce out of there.”

“She wouldn’t come with us,” Risha hiccuped. “She got us free of the ship and made us come back here - she wouldn’t come with, she wouldn’t let us stay and help. Said we had to tell somebody…”

Theron threw back his head, teeth clenched tight as he dropped the comm to fist his fingers, pressing them to his eyes. Risha lurched forward, catching it in her hands, and crouched before the spy, gazing up at him in shared anguish. “I should have been there,” he said hoarsely.

Satele grimaced. “There’s nothing you could have done. Nothing any of us could have done. None of us were prepared for what the Emperor has wrought. His own Empire - a second Empire, hidden away, so much more powerful than the Sith.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I have to go - things are a mess here. I’ll be back on Coruscant soon. We can talk.”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied numbly, and she cast one last, worried look over her son before signing off. Risha closed the channel and continued to kneel in front of him, staring at the place where Satele had been. “We had a date tomorrow. Our first real date.”

Risha’s mouth opened, then closed again, and a single tear trailed down her cheek. “I know,” she replied hoarsely. “She was really excited. I had everything picked out for her - I was going to make her shine for you.”

Theron rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye. “She didn’t need anything special to make her shine.” He gazed down at Risha as her lip trembled. “I… I need to be alone. I’m sorry, Risha. I know - I know this is even harder for you. Thank you for thinking of me.”

The smuggler rose unsteadily to her feet and handed him his comm, then surprised him with a quick hug before stepping back. “You had to know. She’d have wanted us to be the ones to tell you. If you need anything, Theron, anything at all…”

“I have your ship’s frequency. Thanks, Risha.”

Swallowing against his sorrow, she retreated from the apartment, letting the door slide shut between them. He stared into nothing and tried not to think about how there would never be a tomorrow.

Original Ask Meme

#ask meme #asked and answered #ffxiv #swtor #kal'istae miurani #ciprys #theron shan #wol x thancred #female imperial agent x theron shan

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 2 months

Text

Marcus Pike Masterlist

Born to Run** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Marcus is sent on a vacation to a cozy cabin on a wooded bike trail by his coworkers after his devastating breakup with Theresa. You are training for your upcoming marathon on the same bike trail when one of your runs is interrupted by a creeper on the trail, and you are ‘saved’ by a handsome stranger with a tragic (recent) past… Content Warnings: BDSM

Common Grounds** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Stop me if you've heard this one: a handsome stranger walks into a coffee shop.

Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding | Part 2** (Serial Killer!Marcus Pike x Police Officer f!Reader)

When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

How to Kill an Immortal** (Marcus Pike x OFC)

There is a strange magic that surrounds the life of Marcus Pike. Born in Medieval York in the 1300s, he realizes that he is not aging like other people. For seven hundred years, he wanders the earth, falling love over and over again due to his caring nature. When a new art theft case takes him back to York, Marcus searches for a way to bring an end to his unnaturally long life, so he can finally be at peace.

Intimidation Tactics** (Marcus Pike x you x Dave York)

You and your partner, Marcus Pike, are investigating a case that brings you far too close to something much more dangerous than your average art thief.

le Palais des Roses** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

A Moulin Rouge AU

The Rift** (Marcus Acacius x Marcus Moreno x Marcus Pike x Reader)

Marcus Moreno and the Heroics managed to contain the detonation of a supervillain's black hole bomb in the middle of Washington, DC, but the energy blast created a mysterious crack in the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue. Scientists are calling it a rift in time and space. Marcus Moreno calls it a logistical security nightmare. Several weeks after the Rift opens, unusually well-preserved ancient Roman artifacts begin to flood the black market, inundating Special Agent Marcus Pike's team with work. He enlists you, a Classical Archaeologist with a focus on Imperial Roman art and a curator at the National Gallery of Art, to assist his team in identifying the growing pile of smuggled artifacts. Despite the Heroics' desperate attempts to close the Rift, it's only a matter of time before something much larger than gold coins makes its way through the crack in spacetime and onto the streets of DC... Or: Three people named Marcus are smooshed together into the same space.

Again, Again** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Marcus comes home to surprise you with lunch. In the end, who's the most surprised? Content Warnings: Contains CNC

All the Time in the World** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

You’ve never been able to climax without the aid of a vibrator. Due to your insecurities and internalized shame, you rarely involve any toys during sex with a partner, and have been “faking it” for years. You and your new boyfriend, Marcus Pike, have been taking your relationship very slowly–building up a beautiful connection without ever having seen each others’ bedrooms. Two months in, neither of you can wait any longer. How will Marcus react when he discovers the thing you consider to be your deepest, darkest secret?

The Art of the Double-Cross (Marcus Pike x Reader)

“People have been trying to solve the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum theft for decades,” she says quietly, putting her hand on his arm. “Decades, and yet you find the one detail everyone else had overlooked.”

Best Bike Crash Ever (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

After a hit and run at a crowded intersection, you are suddenly very intrigued by your rescuer–the cute FBI Agent who just happened to be a bystander.

The Crucible** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Marcus Pike’s latest case takes him undercover to a BDSM club. When he’s called to participate as a dom in a scene with an unattached sub, will he be able to keep his focus on the task at hand?

Everything** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Marcus is obsessed with your ass.

Lead Me Not Into Temptation** (Priest!Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

[Based on the prompt: "Priest Marcus Pike, praying next to the bed he just annihilated a pretty parishioner in"]

No Net Ensnares Me** (Victorian Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Co-Written with @littlebirdsbookshelf

Of All the Gin Joints...** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

You and Marcus are both trying to re-enter the dating scene after bad relationships, and you’ve been set up on a blind date. You really hit it off, but after a few dates, it seems like Marcus is being really distant. Before you can ask him about it, you run into someone from Marcus’s past…

Pizza Comes Third** (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

You’ve harbored a crush on your partner in the FBI Art Crimes Department for ages. When he accidentally knocks over your purse and a recent sex toy purchase falls out, how will he react? And how does acclaimed boy-scout Agent Marcus Pike know anything about nipple clamps?

Spilled Ink (Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Spring Fling** (Marcus Pike x virgin!f!Reader)

When you and your friend, fellow pre-Law student Emma, plan to go to Washington DC for spring break instead of the typical beach destination, she makes plans for the two of you to stay with her estranged father for the week to save money on lodging. You never expected Emma’s father, a man she says she’s barely seen throughout the years, to be so sweet, so troubled, and so unfairly pretty. Neither did you expect for what you’d thought was a one-sided attraction to turn into a spring fling… or maybe something more.

What A Pair We Make** (Marcus Pike x f!reader)

A series of short scenes depicting a very loving growth and evolution of a dd/lg relationship with Marcus. Content warnings: dd/lg

Date night**

It's me (I'm the problem)

Pregnancy sex with Marcus**

Slow Dancing [Iron Chef 30 Min. Challenge #1]

First Time BDSM Ask**

Kelli's Unhinged BJ Ask**

Marcus Kink Prompts Masterlist (Ask Game)**

Soft Dom Marcus (Brat-Taming Ask)

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #masterlist post

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enigmaticexplorer · 2 months

Text

I Yearn, and so I Fear - A Muse VI

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers.

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

11 Elona

The impenetrable blackness of the sky spoke of the hour: night quiescent and morning inchoate. The witching hour, as Eriadu folklore named it. A time so indecisive and unknowable even the gods muddied life and death.

Most parents and school teachers taught the witching hour as a means to scare younglings and juveniles into obeying curfews. It was why so many young explored graveyards at this hour. An adrenaline rush; a proof of courage. Carinthia thought they were fools. Then her life crumbled into irreparable fractures and she finally understood the intrigue of the witching hour.

For it was the witching hour where an individual could exist between planes. No longer was one determined by their past, and no longer were they controlled by their future. They simply were.

The witching hour became her sanctuary. A time when she escaped the clutches of her husband and marital expectations. A time when she pretended her husband’s affairs didn’t hurt. A time when she could pretend her daughter was still alive.

A time when she simply existed as herself—Carinthia. Not wife. Not daughter. Not breeding mare.

It was during the witching hour when she made her most important decisions: she fled Eriadu; she betrayed Command; she tricked Bash.

“Bash expects Quin to track the classified shipments from the mine,” Carinthia informed Fehr. Burnt embers simmered in the hearth, offering minimal light within the living area of Fehr’s quaint house. “He thinks the intel could give the Rebellion an edge. If we trace the doonium exports from Eluca, we can find whatever the Empire is constructing and then destroy it.”

From her seat on the couch, Fehr stared into the dying fire, her fingers laced in her lap. Deep rumination wearied her face. Carinthia recognized the intense concentration—the analytical disposition—and took Fehr’s silence to study the woman’s home.

Cold stone walls, in accordance with Elucan tradition, were offset by the redolent honeysuckle vines streaming from the ceiling. Potted plants towered above the couch and chairs. A wall-to-wall bookshelf housed various historical and political tomes along with farming ledgers.

“Bash has grown too bold,” Fehr said. Carinthia didn’t react. Her co-conspirator pierced her with the sharp-eyed look she’d grudgingly come to respect. “He’s too willing to sacrifice others.”

Carinthia moved from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Fehr’s peelroot farm and seated herself in the chair perpendicular. Embers popped—the fire a necessary heat provision for Eluca’s month-long winter season—as she scrutinized Fehr.

“Command agrees with his tactics,” Carinthia pointed out. “He’s proactive and lacks the impulsivity of other agents.”

“We’re not surrounded by the others,” Fehr said with a disapproving clench of her jaw. “You don’t need to play his devotee.”

Carinthia resisted the urge to sneer. Months ago, Fehr had contacted her with a tentative proposal. A proposal to deceive Command. They would retain their hard-earned positions in the rebel network and, to all, appear dedicated to the cause. In reality, they would undermine Command’s questionable decisions they didn’t support. Decisions affecting the lives of those in the network and those outside.

“I am not the Empire,” Fehr had emphasized when she first asked to meet privately with Carinthia. “I want to help people. Not hurt those already hurting.”

While Carinthia longed for vengeance against the Empire, she’d seen reason to Fehr’s proposal. Sacrificing innocent people to obtain the greater good was the same moral argument the Empire practiced.

Yes, the network needed people who were willing to damn themselves: people like Carinthia and Bash. But it also needed people who could withstand the thirst for personal retribution: people like Fehr. Someone who was clear-headed and pragmatic. Someone who could oversee justice while maintaining her humanity.

Fehr was the leader Eluca, the galaxy, would need when the Rebellion overthrew the Empire. Fehr was the leader whose compassion and judiciousness would inspire others. So, in the witching hour of Yelona, Carinthia shook hands with her fellow rebel and signed her own death certificate.

“Quin’s mine produces the second-most doonium planetside,” Carinthia said. “And since Quin’s a sympathizer to the cause, Bash decided he was the best positioned to be of use.”

“We don’t even know if the doonium is important to the Empire’s future plans.” Fehr thumbed her temple, as if trying to ward off a headache. “This plan will get Quin and Heracli killed.”

Heracli and Quin Obisany, parents to their adopted daughter Steiner, were old friends of Fehr. Both wife and husband served in the lower echelons of the network, mere informants. As a legal historian, Heracli held coveted connections with low-ranked Elucan politicians. Now, Quin—the owner of his family’s mine—held an even more important position in the network: a possible explanation to the Empire’s secretive doonium mining operations draining Eluca of its natural resources.

“Will we have warning if the Empire moves against them?” Fehr asked with pragmatic focus.

Carinthia shook her head. “A CI informed me that high-profile spies will be executed quietly. They fear the general public will turn them into martyrs.”

“Magistrate Aro has learned a few things,” Fehr said. The shake of her head was rueful. “We’ll need to move them, then.”

“I’ll be discreet,” Carinthia said. “We should send them to—”

“Is it safe?”

“The Empire has abandoned it,” Carinthia advised, “and Command deemed it unhelpful to future plans. Heracli and her family will be protected from the possible vengeance of both.”

Fehr inclined her chin in acceptance and then scanned Carinthia. With a scowl, Carinthia shifted uncomfortably in the cushioned chair, crossing her legs. The other woman’s overbearing concern grated her.

When Carinthia agreed to Fehr’s proposal, she understood the demands expected of her. They needed information—information neither of them had access to. One of them needed to place herself in a position to be extorted, and Carinthia had accepted that role.

Over the months, Carinthia sedulously constructed a cover: a devout infatuation with Bash. He maintained direct relations and held influence within Command, after all. Her known disdain for most of the other rebels combined with her vendetta for the greater good convinced Bash of the sincerity behind her advances.

Bedding him was easier than expected: one dinner invitation and seemingly guarded interest. He took the bait. Years with her husband prepared her for the intense sex and the seductive role she needed to play.

Keeping his attention without being clingy was the difficult part. To cultivate intel about his personal plans as well as Command’s secrets, she needed to earn his trust and confidence. She had to make herself convenient without being too easy. So far, she’d succeeded.

It helped that her body no longer felt like hers. The pain of taking an un-lubed cock no longer registered, and the revulsion she experienced at sucking one was easy to ignore. Over the years, she’d mastered the provocative praises and well-practiced touches that pleased a male; she’d mastered the techniques and positions that kept him engaged in her body.

Whenever she bedded Bash—whenever she let him debase her and use her however he desired—she cast her thoughts to the future. To a future without the Empire. To the future she wished she could have shared with her daughter.

“Do you want to leave?” Carinthia asked. “I can get you out, too. You will be safe on—”

“No.” Fehr offered her a thin smile. “This is my home, and I will not abandon my people. Not when they need us more than ever.”

Carinthia pushed herself to her feet. A glance at the chrono above the dying hearth confirmed she needed to leave. Bash would be expecting her.

“You’re a good leader, Fehr,” Carinthia said. Most likely spurned by the other woman’s concern for her whoring herself to Bash, she decided Fehr needed to hear the words. The older woman remained seated, unmoving, though her eyebrow knocked in disbelief. “You’ve made mistakes. But who hasn’t? Eluca will need you.”

With a final nod, Carinthia made her way outside. The dense fog of the witching hour welcomed her, and she smiled to herself. Soon, her witching hour would conclude, the suspension between past and future consolidated.

A reunion she most yearned for—a reunion with the one she loved more than any other—awaited her.

Masterlist | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25

#I Yearn and so I Fear #commander wolffe x oc: kazi ennari

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