#first appearance dark empire 3

[swtechspecs]

Kuat Systems Engineering CloakShape Starfighter

Source: The Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels (Del Rey, 1996)

[sinner-as-saint]

no masters or kings - 3

Priest!Bucky x Reader 

Read Part 1 and Part 2 here 

Run-through: Father Barnes’ life had been rather peaceful for years. He never complained though, he chose this. Between mass on Sundays, bible study sessions during the week, and office hours, the amount of time he has left he dedicated to reading and keeping his body active. There wasn’t much to do in this small, almost forgotten town. Then a new face appeared. A woman, married to some businessman who leaves her all by herself while he grows his fortune in the city. Father Barnes seemed determined at first, to herd and care for the new, young, lonely little lamb. But that is until he found himself tempted to sin like never before. 

Requested: “i really wanna hear more about priest bucky. what would be his reaction to the readers partner coming back to town suddenly? or what about readers spouse saying they should start trying for a baby?” 

Themes: priest!bucky, smut, degrading kink, infidelity, explicit language, (sacrilege, blasphemy, and all the other bad stuff), breeding kink, jealous!bucky, slight angst

a/n: for @cadence-on-beat and @winters1917 (sorry this took so long ily) 

Bucky was leading a double life, and he had never been happier. 

By day he was the kind, gentle, compassionate priest he’d been for years in this small town. By day he was the man who had chosen this plain life rather than be the heir to his parents’ business empire. He still visited his family home over the holidays, and helped out with business stuff whenever he could. Like the good man he was. By day he prayed, and helped, and preached, and listened to all those who came to him, to confess, to lean on his shoulder, to cry, to repent. By day he was the priest the people in this small town knew and loved him as. 

But then in the dark, he’d find his way to you. Always. Each night ever since those first few times. It was almost instinctual. Natural. Like Persephone finding her way back to Hades’ kingdom of darkness come autumn. Like it was destiny. A primal pull. 

Bucky didn’t run at night that often anymore. If ever he did, he’d never come home. He would just run to you and stay the night, and leave right before the sun rose. 

It all started that one night he found himself running in the dark in one specific direction – towards your luxurious home. 

Your home was located in the rather quiet part of the town, which was a good thing. You didn’t have any neighbours, which was also good because no one saw him making his way to your front door. 

His heart raced as he reached for the door handle. He thought back to what you’d once confessed to him: “Sometimes I leave the doors and windows unlocked or opened, even at night. Shamelessly hoping someone might just walk in…” 

Surely not. Right? But what if– 

He stopped thinking and froze the moment he turned the handle and the door opened an inch. Unlocked, just as you had said. Were you secretly hoping he’d seek you out one night? 

He was here unannounced. This was not planned. He was sort of worried that he might scare you, given the boundaries he was crossing. But part of him – the long restrained, dark corner of him – was excited for this little game he was about to play. Hunter. Prey. Cat. Mouse. Something stirred inside him, and he quickly realised that his cock was harder than ever as he quietly stepped into your home. 

It was dark inside, no lights were on. Except one upstairs, it looked like the soft, dim light in the hallway which lit part of the staircase. The house smelt a lot like you. Sweet. Soft. Warm. For a moment he pictured you moving around this space. And he liked it a lot. 

He began making his way upstairs, he figured by the darkness and silence that you weren’t downstairs. He went to follow the dimmed light coming from somewhere, then two things happened at the same time. It began raining outside, the wind making the rain hit the windows harder than normal. And second, Bucky realised that the stairs were creaking with each step. 

He went still for a moment. Every other sound around him became louder. His heartbeats, the rain hitting the glass around the house, and the muffled shuffling coming from upstairs. 

You were awake. He figured. You were awake and aware that he was here. And you were trying to be as quiet as possible, not screaming bloody murder which meant that… you wanted to play as well. 

Bucky smirked as he took his sweet time in making his way upstairs, making sure and letting each step creak as loudly as possible. He soon found himself in that dimly lit hallway, at the end of which were dark, double doors. One of them was partially opened. Surely your bedroom. 

He could hear noises the more he approached the doors. And he was certain he even heard a soft giggle which warmed his heart, and made him smile despite the hard as rock erection in his running shorts which desperately needed attention. 

He didn’t even bother knocking on the already opened door, he just pushed it open wider so he could step inside. And there, even in the dark room only lit by the street lights outside, he could see the shape of you in the middle of your four-poster bed, sitting, waiting. 

“Father Barnes?” You called out softly. 

“You shouldn’t leave your doors unlocked. You don’t know who might just walk in,” He spoke as he walked further into your room, approaching the bed. “You wouldn’t know it, but some people walk around with the most dark thoughts in their heads. You don’t know when they might just…” He braced a hand against one of the posters on your bed and leaned down just a little, “... give in.” 

-

He didn’t see the slight smirk on your face. It was dark after all, the rain was getting heavier, trapping you two even more inside this perfect bubble. 

Father Barnes spoke to you with that priestly voice of his, like he only had good intentions. Like he wasn’t here to fuck you, but guide you gently like you were a lost little lamb. It was comforting, that voice. Except right now, it only made you clench your thighs tighter together under the covers. 

“I see.” You mumbled, faking the apologetic tone in your voice. All you wanted was to pull him down onto your bed and straddle him but if he wanted to play this little game, then fine. You could wait a little more. “But I’m safe with you, aren’t I? You’re here to make sure no one with ill intentions finds their way to me?” 

You watched as he walked around the bed to come to the side, sat down on the edge of your bed and reached out to touch your cheek with his cold hand. “Of course, little lamb. You’re always safe with me.” He said, stroking your cheek. His hand was cold so you shivered against his touch, but didn’t pull away. He noticed and said, “Are you cold? Poor you, come here.” He patted his lap, “I’ll keep you warm, and safe. I promise.” 

You wasted no time in getting out of the covers and finding your way onto his lap, straddling him and enjoying the way he groaned the moment your bare cunt brushed against his hard on. “Fuck,” You mumbled, unable to help yourself from grinding against him just once. Just to feel him between your thighs. It made your head all foggy. 

“What is this?” He questioned, faking displeasure. “Is this what you wear to sleep? With the door unlocked? You’re practically naked.” He chided, fingers rubbing against your exposed back the moment he noticed you were wearing nothing but an excuse of a silky night dress, with the back open, the neckline dangerously low, and the length barely below your butt. “Good women don’t dress like this, you know? You’re a walking temptation. Is this what you want? To lure strange men into your home while your husband is away? Is that what this is?” 

His hand found its way in between your legs, shamelessly toying with your wet folds and clit, making you whine and whimper as you ground your hips against his hand, seeking more. 

“No,” You mumbled, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t do anything.” You whined as his finger slowly slid inside you. His other hand still stroking your back. This was all you wanted. To be here in his embrace. 

Father Barnes chuckled, “Ah, see but you did. You lured me in. You tempted me.” He looked down and saw, with whatever minimal light was available, how his hand disappeared in between your thighs, and how your hips moved so perfectly, riding his finger. “Look,” He said, “Look at what you’re making me do.” 

You moaned out loud when he slid another finger inside you, fucking you so slowly and perfectly that it felt like you might die. “But I–,” 

“Shh,” He cut you off. “You should be thankful I’m not like other men. You see, they would just walk in and use you. But not me. You know me. You’re safe with me, remember?” 

You nodded, shoving your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “Yes, Father Barnes.” You mumbled in between moans. 

“That’s it, lamb. Just trust me, okay?” 

-

Fuck. 

Bucky couldn’t take this any longer. He enjoyed this little game but he needed you. So it didn’t take much for him to twist around and place you down on the bed and hover above you. The little light coming in from outside allowed him to see parts of you. Your parted lips, the hunger in your eyes, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, the way your thighs cradled his body. Fuck. He could live in this moment forever. 

“How many nights have you waited for me to just walk in here and play with you, hmm?” He lifted the hem of your night dress and sighed at the sight of your naked body. 

You easily removed the night dress and threw it aside, your hands finding their way into his hair as you pulled him closer. “Too many to count.” You whispered, lips brushing against his mouth. “I need you, please.” 

You were barely done talking when he lazily ran his fingers down your wet folds. You shivered under him, squirming on the bed. 

“Look at you, so shamelessly wet.” He growled, grabbing your face in his other hand as he slid two fingers inside you and making you gasp and moan. “Does this feel good? Hmm? This is why you leave your door open, and dress like that at night, huh? All because you want some man to show up and touch you however he wants? Does that make you feel wanted?” He stroked you in all the right places and had you coming all over his fingers in no time.You whined and squirmed as he kept finger-fucking you through your orgasm. 

He pulled away for a brief moment, taking his clothes off but leaving his boxers lowered just enough to free his erected cock. You watched as he stroked it once, twice before finding his way back in between your legs. 

One of his hands found its way to your throat and he wrapped his fingers around it carefully as he stared into your eyes. “You’re gonna let me fuck you just that easily, huh? You’re that hungry for it? I found my way into your house at night, unexpected, and you’re not even gonna put up a fight?” 

You were trembling with need. Unable to look away from his intense eyes as he guided the tip of his cock over to your clit and circled it, smearing his precum and your wetness around. You whimpered at the sensation. “Please…” You begged. 

He chuckled, teasing you a bit more by just pressing the tip of his cock against your tight hole. Not pushing it in, just pressing ever so gently until you whined and clawed at his shoulders. “See how bad you want it? Is this how good women behave?” He taunted before pushing his cock inside you. “No they don’t,” He whispered as he slid all the way in, “This is how good little sluts behave.” 

He remained still for a few moments, just relishing the feeling of your warmth around him. Your breath was shaky as you felt him fill you up and stretch you out so deliciously, snug deep inside you. 

He stared at your face, contorting in pleasure. Then he chuckled, and the slightest friction made you whine even louder. “I feel good inside you, don’t I?” He teased, rolling his hips just the slightest bit against you. When you cried out in pleasure, he tightened his grip around your throat and said, “I know, I know it feels good. Desperate woman like you, this is all you needed, huh?” He whispered. 

Fuck, he felt so good. You nodded, going along with whatever he said because it was so hot – his body, his words, his touch, the depravity of it all. “Yes,” You mumbled, so overcome with pleasure even though he hadn’t started fucking you yet that you felt like you could cry. 

“Then tell me.” He said, “Tell me I feel good inside you.” 

Another whine, and a gasp, then you mumbled, “You feel so good inside me, Father Barnes.” A pause then, “Please, please fuck me.” You begged, desperately.

-

Bucky didn’t want to wait another second, he couldn’t take it anymore either. His entire body felt like it was on fire as he started fucking into you hard and fast, not bothering to be nice to you. Not this time, not right now he couldn’t. 

He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear and telling you how good you felt. You could only respond with moans and whimpers, which only made him fuck you harder. 

“That little head of yours is filled with filthy thoughts only, isn’t it? Seducing a priest,” He said in a tone of pretend discontent, “You should be punished for that.” He whispered in your ear, in a daze as he pounded into you. Your body squirmed under him, your back arching off the bed, chest pressing into his. 

You must’ve wanted him closer still because Bucky let out a soft chuckle when he noticed you raised your trembling legs and wrapped them around his hips. Pulling him deeper into you, if that was possible. 

“You want me closer? Want me to fuck you deeper, harder? Hmm? Is that what this is?” He taunted. “You just want to be my dirty, filthy, little slut? Huh? You never want me to stop?” He held your stare, pressing the sides of your throat as he fucked deeper into you. 

He watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your moans getting louder, your body heating up beneath him, your walls clenching around his cock in that way he loved. 

“Well then, you don’t get to come that easily.” 

-

Those words brought you right back to reality, just when you were right on that edge. 

“What?” You questioned in disbelief, but not doing anything to stop him as he pulled out, grabbed you by the hips and flipped you around onto your stomach. 

“Bucky!” You cried out as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your lower back with one hand. That earned you a smack on the butt. Hard. Stinging. 

“That’s Father Barnes to you, you little slut.” 

You moaned when you felt him guiding his cock back to your hole again. 

He leaned over your back to whisper into your ear, sliding his cock inside you as he said, “You belong to me.” He said, like it was the most ardent prayer. He tugged on your pinned wrists, which made you whine in pain and pleasure. “So if you’re gonna leave the doors unlocked, and if you’re gonna wear these slutty things to bed, it’ll be only for me. You hear me?” 

“Yes!” You agreed immediately, then yelped in pleasure as he pulled out and pushed back into you from behind. 

Then he began fucking you again, hard and fast. Mercilessly. Like an ancient god taking what was offered to him at his altar. Like it was his right. Like you were there, open and willing only for his taking. Rough. Raw. The pleasure was overwhelming. 

“Come for me…” 

And you did. 

Not just that night, but every night which followed. 

Each time you heard those stairs creak in the middle of the night, your heart would begin racing in anticipation. Because nothing was as exciting as indulging in what was forbidden. 

But naturally, things couldn’t go on like this for long without some kind of hindrance. 

Then there was that phone call. 

Your husband called and a conversation was had which soured your mood for the rest of the day. To a point where not even Father Barnes could take your mind off things. 

The two of you laid in your bed that night, both sweaty and damp and in dire need of showers but neither of you wanted to move so there you remained. Limbs tangled. Your head on his chest, listening to his strong heartbeats. His hand rubbing your back, while the other traced random shapes all over your thigh. 

“What is it?” He asked after a good half an hour of just cuddling in silence. 

The room was dark, and it wasn’t raining so the silence was too loud to ignore. 

“Nothing.” You answered. 

-

Bucky sighed. Of course it wasn’t nothing. “Tell me,” He insisted. 

“It’s… complicated.” You answered. 

“Try. We’ll make sense of it together, I promise.” He used that priestly tone, one he knew worked with everyone. 

A moment of silence later you said, “My husband called.” And Bucky’s heart dropped. Suddenly he felt cold, empty, deserted. Like something, someone had abandoned him. And he didn’t even know what your husband had said yet, but he could tell he wouldn’t like it. 

“I see. Has he found out about us?” 

A humourless chuckle from you meant that that wasn’t the case. 

“Worse,” You spoke quietly, “He met up with our parents for lunch recently and… they mentioned wanting grandkids.” 

Bucky pulled away instantly like your touch burned his skin. It was childish, he knew, to be this jealous when he was clearly in the wrong. He sat up on the edge of your bed, and tried to get his emotions under control. 

He had no right to be angry. To feel betrayed. To feel sad. 

“Don’t pull away from me. Please.” You whispered, kneeling behind him on the bed and wrapping your arms around him from behind. 

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the warmth of your skin. The feeling of your chest pressing against his back. The way you nuzzled his neck, leaving soft kisses all over his skin. 

“Everytime I think I have you, I’m reminded that you belong to someone else.” He confessed. “And I have no right to be angry. Or expected anything from you.” 

You sighed, letting your hands touch him all over his chest, caressing his shoulders, down his arms as you said, “I don’t belong to anyone but you. My husband and I… we talked about it earlier. We respect each other, but there’s no way we could get together like that. Maybe we can adopt. Or find a surrogate, but–,” 

He cut you off, annoyed at the mere mention of another man. “There’s no place for me in your life.” He announced, calmly. “There is still time. We could put an end to this. Then perhaps you two could try and do right by your marriage and–,” 

That calm tone pissed you off for some reason, “Oh stop trying to be all nice, calm, and priestly as if you weren’t fucking me like an animal just now!” You pulled away from him, glaring at the back of his neck even in the mostly dark room. “Do right by my marriage.” You scoffed. “Is that what you want?” You questioned, keeping your voice steady. “You want me to climb into my husband’s bed? Let him fuck me however he wants until–,” 

You barely processed what was happening because that’s how fast he moved. One moment you were talking and the next his hand was around your throat and he was standing up, looking down at you still kneeling on the bed. 

“Keep talking, come on.” He dared you, squeezing the sides of your neck. His voice was cold, and unlike anything you’d heard before. 

Despite the chokehold, you smirked. “You don’t like the sound of that, do you, Father Barnes?” You taunted. “I’m just telling you how it’ll go.” 

“I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He growled.

You found yourself flat on your back again, with him above you. The little light available allowed you to see his silhouette. Broad and muscular, all that running made him just the right amount of lean. 

He parted your legs and pushed his cock into you without wasting a second, stretching you out easily. Bucky’s thoughts were all over the place. How dare you talk about sleeping with another man? How dare he get jealous? How dare you even think about having someone else’s kids? 

There it was. The thing that bothered him the most. Someone else’s kids. Not his. And suddenly he was nothing but a man – not a priest, or a considerate human being, just a man. 

“How fucking dare you?” He questioned, his cock buried so deep inside of you that he was certain neither of you could even think straight. “I give you everything,” He spoke through gritted teeth as he began fucking you, “I take care of you, I fuck you whenever you ask for it, and this is what I get in return?” 

There was nothing gentle or passionate about him. He was wild, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear while you were a moaning mess under him. Skin slapping, breaths mingling, it was so hot. So hot and you couldn’t think. 

“You belong to me.” He hissed in your ear; speeding up again. “I don’t care what the rules are, if you’re gonna carry a child it’ll be mine. Do you fucking hear me?”

Your heart raced at what he said. What about the consequences? What about his job? What will you tell your family? 

But none of that mattered right now, not with his body weight on top of you, not with how perfectly his cock moved in and out of you. You whimpered desperately as he fucked you, relentlessly. 

He sped up into you, whispering into your ear, “I can already see it… you with a bump, my child growing, and safe inside you.” He spoke in a haze, his voice deep and growly. “We’ll go far away from here, consequences be damned.” 

You nodded, agreeing. 

Bucky had never thought about laicization before. Never considered it as an option. Never wanted to. But now? Now things were different. Now he was determined to make you his. He wanted this now, he wanted to have this forever, have you forever. 

He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. He slowed down just the slightest bit. He pulled away a little and stared down into your eyes. “You will be mine, forever. I promise you.” He whispered as he fucked deeper into you. “I’ll fix this, I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing, you hear me?”

He pressed his lips to yours, swallowing all your moans and mewls as he came inside of you. You felt his warm load shooting at your walls as he shoved his tongue past your lips. You cried out as that triggered your orgasm, and your walls clenched violently around him until you came undone as well. 

Your brain was a foggy mess at this point. 

He pulled his cock out of you and pulled away to reach for the bedside lamp, turned it on so he could admire you under him better. 

A triumphant smirk appeared on his face as he stared at his cum leaking out of you while you panted under him, squirming still as you came down from your high and tried to control your breathing. 

He slowly slipped his fingers back into you and watched how your face morphed into a frown as he fingered his cum back into you again, making you arch your back and whine in pleasure, “Please…” you whined, unsure if you wanted him to stop playing with your body or if you wanted him to make you cum again. 

He didn’t care about how sensitive you were, he just needed to remind you that you belonged to him. He had to make sure you knew. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss you again. “You will carry my child, won’t you, baby?” He whispered against your lips as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. “We’re gonna find a way to make this work. But you are not fucking leaving me, you hear that?” He growled against your lips as you came again. 

He kissed your lips gently, then your closed eyelids, then he left a final kiss on your forehead before he laid beside you, leaving the light on, as he pulled you into his arms. You were limp, and quiet, possibly closer to sleep than consciousness. 

Bucky on the other hand couldn’t stop thinking. He wanted this with you, he’d never been more sure about something in his life before. 

Money was not an issue, he was always going to inherit everything his parents have anyway, and they’ve always begged him to come home and take over the businesses. The only issue would be your family and husband, but he was certain that although some difficult conversations would need to be had, things would be sorted soon enough. 

Then you and him could start your new life. 

He couldn’t wait. 

—

A/n: I won’t be writing more parts for this series, I like to leave some things open-ended. Have fun imagining the rest, if you want, I’ll leave that to you <3 Thank you for loving Father Barnes as much as I did, see y’all in hell. I’ll wait by the gates ;) 

[akanemnon]

Since you confirmed that it is possible to open a Dark Fountain and, consequently, create a Dark World in the Underground (but only after the connection between the two worlds has been established), I have some doubts:

1) If someone opened a Dark Fountain (and, therefore, created a Dark World) in Asgore's house, would the resulting Dark World be similar to the Evergreen Empire? My personal theory is that Asgore's house in Undertale is some sort of counterpart to Asgore's shop in Deltarune (just as UT!Toriel's house in the Ruins seems to correspond to DR!Toriel's house in Hometown). For this reason, it would make sense if the two places were at least somewhat similar.

2) Following the reasoning of the first question: if (hypothetically) UT!Asgore had a wedding ring in the house (since, even in the Undertale universe, he and Toriel are divorced), when this new Dark World is created, could a version of Lesslo from Undertale appear?

And if so, would this version be similar or identical to the canon Lesslo? (In my opinion, considering that the canon Lesslo is already an annoying little bitch — probably because of DR!Asgore and DR!Toriel's divorce — I don't dare to imagine what a version of him would be like in the Undertale universe, where UT! Asgore and UT!Toriel had a much more traumatic divorce...)

3) And finally:

Would the six human Souls (who, if I remember correctly, in the Twin Runes canon are called Patches, Nikey, Quaver, Doodle, Sunny and Clover) become Darkners in all respects if this hypothetical Dark World were to be created? Or would they be some sort of hybrid, half Darkner and half Lightner, similar to Chara?

(Sorry for asking so many questions, but I got carried away...)

You are asking me questions that I cannot answer. Mainly because I haven't thought that deep into them. All of this is more of less fan territory. Things for fans to work with if they ever so like to.

[tremendouskoalachild]

Inquisitor Women in Star Wars: a 2024 Summary

while women are underrepresented in the Sith order, the Inquisitorius is quite an egalitarian organization :) let's sum up what we know about these lovely ladies

(spoilers for everything concerning inquisitor characters, including the manner of their death)

2. Second Sister aka Trilla Suduri

Padawan to Cere Junda at the time of Order 66

captured and tortured into joining the Inquisitorius shortly after

dies 5 years later, executed by Vader for her perceived failure

human; age unknown, I'd estimate late teens to mid-twenties at the time of recruitment

created for Jedi: Fallen Order (2019), appeared before the game's release as a cameo in Darth Vader 2017 issue 19 (2018) and as a main character in the game tie-in miniseries Dark Temple. mentioned in Rise of the Red Blade (2023).

ambitious, relentless, a good slicer. wears a full helmet all the time when on the job.

3. Third Sister aka Reva Sevander

12-year-old human youngling at the time of Order 66

joined the organization voluntarily and while hiding her identity, at an unspecified point a relatively short time before 10 years post-Order 66

left the Inquisitorius 10 years after Order 66, after failing to kill Darth Vader and being left to die

created for Obi-Wan Kenobi (2022). not in RotRB, likely due to not yet being a member during the book's timeline. does not appear and isn't mentioned in other canon material, outside of OWK's comic adaptation.

spent 10 years single-mindedly pursuing her goal of revenge. very intense and ambitious. youngest recruit we know of and the only one to have at least a quasi-canon number duplicate (the Third Brother).

4. Fourth Sister aka Lyn Rakish

joined the Inquisitorius around the time of Order 66, apparently of her own free will

species, age and rank at that point unknown, may have been a peer of Barriss or somewhat older

left the Inquisitorius after serving it for over 15 years (actual time unknown but less than 20 years)

created for Obi-Wan Kenobi (2022), part of the main cast in Tales of the Empire (2024), mentioned in RotRB (2023).

dedicated to the organization, pragmatic and better at cooperation than most colleagues.

7. Seventh Sister

joined the Inquisitorius shortly after Order 66, and appears to have been tortured into it

mirialan; age and rank before recruitment unknown, implied she may have been a peer of Aayla Secura or younger

killed in action after serving the Inquisitorius for 16 years

created for Rebels s2 (2015), a minor character with several scenes in Darth Vader 2017, RotRB (2023) and the Inquisitors comic miniseries (2024)

only one on the list without a known name. snarky and flirty with targets. strained relationship with multiple coworkers.

9. Ninth Sister aka Masana Tide

Dowutin, age unknown and hard to estimate

joined the Inquisitorius involuntarily shortly after Order 66, through torture and mutilation

dies 10 years later, killed by her target

created for Darth Vader (2017) as a recurring character. part of the main cast in Jedi: Fallen Order (2019), shows up in Jedi: Survivor (2023), has a part in RotRB (2023) and Inquisitors (2024).

best empath of the Inquisitorius. snarky and jovial even with Darth Vader. very traumatized. keeps losing body parts.

13. Thirteenth Sister aka Iskat Akaris

joined voluntarily after flirting with the dark side for years and being groomed by Palpatine

21-year-old Knight at the time, pkorian (species created for her)

killed 5 years after joining by Vader for perceived disloyalty

created for Darth Vader 2017 issue 19 (2018), main character of novel Rise of the Red Blade (2023)

only inquisitor to have a boyfriend in canon. has a helmet she wears on missions but is pretty laid back about it. only gets her inquisitor name a while into her tenure, so her birth name is known to others.

+ Barriss Offee

former Jedi in Republic prison at the time of joining

agreed to get recruited a short while after Order 66, but left on her first mission after learning more about the organization, never got a proper inquisitor title

mirialan; age unknown but is around the age or slightly older than Ahsoka, 17 year old at the time; would have been 21 according to a non-canon reference book

has existed since 2002 as a background character in the prequels and their now non-canon tie-in novels, her short-lived inquisitor iteration was long rumored and introduced in Tales of the Empire (2024).

[bearw-me]

This is kinda dark so if you don't wanna do it it's cool. Can I request Carmilla running into a son reader? [Years before she had her daughters she had a son but she was too strict/serious on her boy which led to him...taking his own life. The experience made Carmilla realize she mightve been too hard on him so when hid sisters come around she showers them with love] The reader thinks carmilla is going to scold him, scream at him or anything but she just hugs him hard and tells him she's sorry and that she loves him

i'd like to put my author's note up here before you guys read what i wrote/make a little disclaimer!

TW: mentions of harm

I wouldn't write the act, per-se, but i had absolutely no problem with your request because it doesn't really involve those details (fic wise) this one is mostly about comfort and a nice reunion!

just before you go, know your best-friend mal is always here for you <3 this and every other fic i write is my silent love-letter to you

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨 — 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

𐐒 includes : carmilla carmine x son!reader, odette, clara 𐐒 cw : angst, hugs, kisses, comfort 𐐒 summary : after a few decades in hell, you decide it's time to stop putting it aside and visit your mother for the first time since you've appeared in hell. as anxious as you are, she receives your visit with open arms. 𐐒 word count : 1.1 k

The metal body of the cab rattled against the broken highway, the sights of Pentagon city flashing past you in a pink florescent blur. You sighed, slumping into the leather seats.

Were you really doing this?

The thought made your stomach bubble with new found nerves. Rolling and wrenching the muscles in your stomach so hard you suddenly had to lean forward in your seat. Forced to stare at all the dust and garbage littered about the floor.

"Oh god I'm gonna be sick," you mumbled to yourself.

"Don't throw up in my car kid," the driver growled at you, suddenly adjusting his rearview mirror so that he could keep an eye on you.

You tried not to roll your eyes, taking a quick glance out of the window just in time to witness the change in districts.

"Might wanna keep your head down kid! We're in Carmine's district now," he laughed, a hoarse sound filled with cigarette smoke.

You had never actually been in this part of hell. After all these years you've been here, watching as the districts had shifted between hands in the great soul exchange. . .

All those years until you realized she had fallen here just like you.

And you didn't really know how to process that thought just yet.

The once chaotic district was now more silent.

Shadows skulking between buildings and alleyways, making deals to sell weapons and bartering for money.

You grimaced, opting to let those images blur in your mind and let your head fall against the rattling window.

What possessed you to see your mother after all these year? Who knows. . .

It just felt like it had to be done.

Soon, the tall white building had come into view, a place you heard the overlords of hell met up.

And today, Carmilla would be here, same with your-. . .

Odette and Clara.

You stepped out of the cab, soles hitting the pavement with a tap. You paid what you owed to the driver and waved a quick thanks as he sped off, the devil on his heels.

That left you alone, standing like David against Goliath with the empire she had built.

She's. . . kept herself busy.

It's all you could think about. Staring at the gleaming tiles of the building with hesitance.

What would she say to you? Should you have told her you were coming? That you were here?

The sickness that seemed to be plaguing you had come back in waves.

The last time you had remembered seeing her, you were both alive on Earth, screaming at each others faces.

"One day, mi hijo, you will have to do everything for yourself! You will have to take over the business! YOU have to carry all that burdens us and I NEED you to be ready for that! Why can't you just see that! I won't always be here for you! YOU NEED TO STEP UP TO THIS!"

But. . .

You just couldn't do everything she had wanted of you. The standards, the rules, the burden. . . it was all too heavy for one person to carry.

And now here you were, on the white-waiting room couch unannounced.

To sayy. . . what exactly?

You bit at your nails in thought, leg bouncing up and down as you waited for your name to be called.

It was pretty empty today.

No one was really sitting in here with you.

That was a great thought.

A deep, strung-out exhale shook its way out of your lungs.

Nerves, you figured.

You didn't even know what to do with your hands, running them through your hair and rocking back and forth in your seat, wondering if it was too late to just stand up and leave-

"Um. . ." You stopped completely, turning your head towards the sound of your voice.

Just before the office doors, two small sinners stood side by side, holding a clipboard up to their faces as they eyed you with surprise.

Odette and Clara.

There was no mistaking them.

"That's. . . me?" You rose from your seat like a ghost, not really feeling anything but utter surprise.

It was the first time you've ever seen them. The same cream colored hair, the same eyes, they even stood en pointe like her.

Odette and Clara.

"Come with us," Clara beckoned, her curly hair and grey skin. . . did she look like that too? Now that she was a sinner?

Thank goodness the girls turned away from you quickly, giving you just enough time to wipe a stray tear from your eye. Estranged siblings that you've never even met. . . and you were so full of emotion at just the sight of them.

Did they know who you were?

You watched them wearily, the two exchanging quick glances at each other and occasionally, at you.

"She's right in here," Clara trailed off.

Odette glanced at you through her round glasses, a hint of worry lifting her eyebrows up "She wasn't expecting you today."

"Alright," you shrugged. I mean, it was a fact you already knew, but to hear the two of them say it to you was the final slap of reality you weren't sure you entirely needed.

The two of them opened the doors for you, watching intently as you shuffled into the room, and back at each other incredulously.

"Ay dios mio, I said I didn't have time for meetings. . ." you heard her mumble, face covered by a laptop screen, hunched over and lost in her work.

It was how you remembered her.

"Mamá," you called out, finally taking a seat in front of her desk, unsure of who or what you'd find on the other side of that screen.

With that one word, she froze still, a pair of demonic red eyes peering over the top of that silver screen.

"Mamá," you said again, a choked sound now that you realized it was her.

It was actually her.

A sinner, your mother, an overlord, who was finally before you.

It was like all the things you had planned on telling her had thrown themselves together and crumbled beneath the sight of her.

"Mi hijo."

"Mamá, I know you're mad at me," the tears came without warning, and you shuffled uncomfortably in your seat, unable to keep looking at her as the sobs wracked through your body, pleading for her forgiveness "I tried my best! I tried! I-"

"Mi hijo, I'm so sorry," your mother flew into your arms, the familiarity of her love so striking that you became undone in her arms.

She cried into your neck, a sound you've never heard before "Oh mi hijo, no heavens could ever keep me away from you, never, and I and never letting you go again,"

"I love you mi hijo."

[jedimasterbailey]

Tales of the Empire Thoughts (Mostly About Barriss)

I know I’m a little late to the party in terms of laying out my thoughts on Tales of the Empire but honestly I needed a few days to process and digest what happened (not to mention being on vacation delayed that process as well). Obviously as a Barriss stan/fanfic writer/blogger y’all know that those episodes were the upmost priority for me and I will be rewatching those episodes on repeat like no other since it’s been far too long since Barriss has had her time to shine. 

The majority of this post will be centered around those specific episodes because I’m just gonna just go ahead and say that the Morgan Elsbeth episodes were boring and didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know about the character. Also the bullshit reasoning as to why Morgan doesn’t obviously look Dathomiran is so dumb in that my brain will malfunction if I think about it too much. If the “magic going away” thing was true then how do you explain Merrin and Ventress who still have power and retain their clear Dathomiran appearance? Either way, there is no way Darth Felonious could explain his “logic” to me there because it is all too clear that Morgan was never meant to be Dathomiran in the first place. She was just a bad lady with a spear and that’s that. Love the actress, but the character is just lame. Furthermore, it is so clear that the hat man knows absolutely nothing about Thrawn and I’m not even a Thrawn stan but why even if the guy involved if he just says a few words and leaves? Now before y’all come for me, yes I’m aware these episodes are shorts and the time is precious but to me they could have dedicated more time into explaining to me why Morgan is so loyal to Thrawn. Her reasoning for wanting to join the Empire is empty too in that the Separatists that annihilated her race is now the Empire so…to me that’s not enough reasoning for Morgan to be so dedicated. The only parts that had me engaged were the Grevious bits which were both beautiful and frightening at the same time.

Now onto the meat which is the Barriss arc which has me both elated and frustrated at the same time. Let’s begin with the stuff I absolutely love.

1.) Barriss proving herself to not be committed to the Dark Side/Empire is a huge win for me and other Barriss super fans who have been preaching this for over a decade. We knew from the moment the trailer came out that Barriss was just going to do what it took to survive and even though she was forced into doing things she really did not want to do, she stayed true to herself and escaped before it was too late. The light in her never left nor did it ever leave her and I just know that Luminara would have been so proud of her. Barriss constantly questioning the Grand Inquisitor and the Fourth Sister had me smiling because that is just Barriss. She will always question things that seem off and will defend her beliefs and values no matter what the danger to herself may be. The line of reclaiming her position of a Jedi is my absolute favorite line and gave me all the feels I get whenever Luke tells Palpatine that he is a Jedi like his father. On a final note, I loved that she showed genuine concern/fear for what was happening to the Jedi when Order 66 was happening and demanded an answer. 

2.) Barriss being a healer and a protector. It is so satisfying to see it canon on screen that Barriss remains to be a healer after years of being obsessed with the Legends Medstar lore. I absolutely loved that Barriss took off her mask to the terrified boy in the village and protected him against the Fourth Sister’s unnecessary wrath only to save the non-binary (yay representation!) Jedi from death later that day. It all just makes me so happy to get that validation that Barriss has always had a big heart which makes her stand out from other Jedi in my opinion. 

3.) Barriss sporting that lesbian pixie cut with the adorable laugh/smile lines and being a healer in the mountains helping Force sensitive and the sick/injured just makes my day. It warms my heart to see Barriss be at peace and doing so much good after so much pain and trauma from her past. Though I do miss her hood and would like to see a head covering on her again. Also doing the math, Barriss should be in her thirties during the third episodes so why did they age her up so much? I’ve heard the theory of the Force healing taking her life force but damn Luminara was in her late thirties during the Clone Wars and she had like nothing 😅 One other note that makes me smile is that Barriss is referred to as a “wise mother” and that’s just everything.  Also she looks and acts like just like Luminara they truly could be mother and daughter it’s so sweet 💚💙

4.) Barriss defeating an Inquisitor without a weapon of her own and catching a blade with the Force is so fucking badass, I could re-watch that sequence on repeat forever. 

5.)The vague Ahsoka mention had my Barrissoka heart exploding. I demand an animated Barrissoka show immediately. 

Now here are the bits that have me frustrated and I demand that Darth Felonious fixes them later.

1.) The lack of closure between Barriss and Ahsoka/Luminara. Barriss hurt a lot of people from her actions but at the very least it would be nice to see her repair the damage she inflicted on the people closest to her. We never saw anything in regards to Luminara’s reaction to the bombing and knowing what gruesome fate awaits her in Rebels, I was so hoping the two would meet again, make amends before Luminara inevitably sacrificed herself as a final act of love and forgiveness for her Padawan. As for Ahsoka…if the two are able to work together in the future, could we at least see how exactly that came to be? I’m personally growing tired of major developments happening off-screen and we as an audience are just expected to roll with it. Again I’m aware these are shorts, but why do they have to be shorts? Why can’t we just delete the boring Morgan episodes and get like a movie or limited series on this exact journey? 

2.) The return of yet another ambiguous ending for Barriss. I am a firm believer that Barriss is alive granted that people seem to get stabbed all the time in Star Wars and they get to live so why not Barriss? I understand what they’re doing with Barriss getting through to the Fourth Sister to show us that Barriss has come full circle in her journey from dark to light, however since I’m forced to believe that Barriss had some sort of relationship with this random Inquisitor pre-Empire instead of someone who did have a significant relationship to her, it falls flat for me and it enrages me that if Barriss were to die from this….well I just don’t have words for that. So now I’m wondering if I’m going to have to wait another 10 years to get answers. Thank the Force for fanfic and fanart to get me through. 

3.) Does Barriss even know what the Empire did her Master? Because… I feel that’s another huge story thats being missed here. Ahsoka was able to get some closure with Anakin, why can’t Barriss have the same with Luminara? 

4.) Never getting anything in terms of what pushed Barriss to bomb the Jedi temple in the first place. That’s my biggest beef with the original Clone Wars series since we see no development as to how Barriss goes from a kind gifted Padawan healer to mastermind of a terror plot. That could a book or show on its own. 

5.) Star Wars continuing to miss what a satisfying redemption arc is. Not only do we need to understand what got a character to do the crime(s) but we need to see the growth that comes from it. That’s what makes the Obi-Wan Kenobi show so good to me is that I now know how Obi-Wan grew from RotS to where we meet him in ANH. I would love to see the same for Barriss, because you just know she’s been on very spiritual/emotional journey to get to where she was at the end of the show. 

6.) Why was Vader even in this? Given the history Barriss and Anakin share, it is incredible that nothing happened between them post ROTS. And this is like fresh Vader still full of grief and anger by what’s happened so I doubt seeing Barriss even as an Inquisitor initiate would be anymore soothing. I just don’t understand…what a waste. Something more epic and cathartic could have come out of that interaction.

Well I’m done ranting for now, I’m curious to know what your guy’s thoughts are. Otherwise my brain is buzzing with fanfic story ideas and I’ll be getting back on the writing horse as I re-Watch the Barriss episodes into oblivion. 

[creabirds]

creabird's fics master post

charles/max

your heart, love (has such darkness) | chaptered fic, roman empire inspired fantasy au, enemies to lovers, rated e, 48k [fic post | fanart]

“Who did this to you?“ The question escaped Max in a low growl, sounding more animal than human. Charles’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Your men,“ he answered, as if it was obvious. And it was. “No, who exactly?“ Max hissed, “because I ordered them not to hurt you and I will cut their fucking heads off for defying their commands.“ The provinces' war against the empire has been raging for years, but finally, Max Verstappen and his rebel army are close to bringing their enemies to their knees. The dire situation has the empire's most powerful warrior, Charles Leclerc, il predestinatio, running right into Max's arms in an attempt to stop him before it's too late. Max wants the empire's darling for himself, but their relationship is much more complex than that of a villain and hero, king and concubine. Though Charles is chained and collared, nothing is really as it seems.

bare your teeth verse | on-going series, a/b/o drivers au, enemies to lovers, rated e, 3-4k each [fic post | fanart]

part one: see me bare my teeth for you

It has been five years since Max gave Charles his mating bite on a rainy day in Val d'Argenton. Five years of Charles keeping his head down and ignoring it had ever happened. Until the day he set foot in the paddock, freshly signed to drive in F2, his dreams becoming true. Only there is one problem: his mate is too close for his body not to react.

part two: bound with the curse don't want this bubble to burst

Charles has finally made it to Formula 1. But reaching this milestone forces him closer to Max than ever before. On and off the track - they fight, and they clash. Grudging acceptance bubbles over into rage once again after the 2019 Austrian Grand Prix, with Charles on Max's private jet and nowhere to run.

part three: it feels better biting down

Charles has not stepped foot outside of his apartment for the entirety of the lockdown. He has not seen anyone, especially not Max, so he is shocked to find him attempting to break his door down, deep in his rut and desperate to get his hands on Charles. For once, the tables have turned and Max is the one out of his mind with want.

part four: i cut my teeth on people like you

Ever since spending his rut with Charles, Max's jealousy has been going haywire. It doesn't help that their relationship is more strained than ever. Winning his first championship and seeing his omega congratulating his biggest rival instead of him is the final straw.

late night devil (put your hands on me) | one-shot, vampire/priest au, rated e, 5k [fic post | inspo art | fanart]

Welcome to the Halloween Special! “Don’t worry, I’m a priest here at St. Fiacre, you are very welcome. I can call for a doctor in the morning, as well,” Max explained. As he turned towards the man, coming eye to eye with him for the first time he was suddenly struck by the beauty of him. “It is not that, I would love to come in,” the man offered, a shy smile curling over his mouth and creating a set of dimples on its corners. Max tried not to stare. “However, I simply cannot. I am not allowed, so to speak,” he explained. “What,” Max looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Why?” The man flashed a broad smile and Max could not avoid looking. What he saw were fangs.

the world is so much wilder than you think (all the mermaids have sharp teeth) | chaptered fic, siren charles au, get-together, rated e, 22k

Charles' eyes focussed on him, bright green, not in a scary, alien way, but more like the sunlight had caught in his irises, making them appear brighter and more saturated than usual. Only there was no sun. It was the middle of the night. Max felt an itch in his fingers and feet, as if he was being pulled forward magnetically. Charles blinked again, and it was gone. Max sat back on the chair with a grunt. He hadn’t noticed he had been in the process of standing up. “What?” he asked, not even sure what exact question to phrase. “Oh, you know, this is the part where you find out that supernatural creatures exist?”

i'm starving, darling (come and get some) | series, grid slut charles au, rated e, 5k

Well, it wasn’t like he was actively looking at his ass. It just seemed to always be in his line of sight. Like in Baku, when Max couldn’t stop himself from constantly glancing over to where Charles and Checo stood waiting for him to finish his interview because Charles kept dropping things. His racing-driver-instinct-eyes had immediately snapped over to the exaggerated movements in his peripheral vision and he couldn’t even tell what exactly it was Charles dropped because all he could see was a full view of butt in a fire-red racing suit. Max had considered whether he had gone insane and had started hallucinating due to a recent lack of sexual gratification (sue him, but he was a busy man) and Charles’ proximity and relative attractiveness (it was off the charts). And now this. Max was finally, thoroughly convinced. He’s doing this on purpose, he thought. His phone pinged with a message.

called to the devil (and the devil said hey) | one-shot, charles goes to red bull au, get-together, rated e, 16k

Charles joins Red Bull in 2025 in the hopes of finally winning the championship in a reliable car. Max is a suspiciously supportive teammate. Or: Max Verstappen's very secret retirement plan.

charles/max/carlos

hot in it (no stopping it) | series, grid slut charles au, threesome, rated e, 5k

14:43 [from Max Verstappen] [image attached] come over and bring a long pair of pants for charlie Carlos opened the message to view the picture and had to suppress a groan, lest the mechanics next to him would suspect anything. It was a shot of Charles, he recognized by his bright red shorts, even shorter now that they were pushed up and bunched around his upper thighs by a big hand that could only belong to Max. Beneath Max’s hand was an angry-red looking bite mark. The perfectly straight row of teeth indented into the skin was easily recognizable.

charles/carlos

maneater (make you spend hard) | series, grid slut charles au, rated e, 2k

“Do you like getting head, Carlos?” he asked, then. He had never claimed to be smooth nor subtle. He watched as Carlos’ eyes became comically wide before he narrowed them again, staring at Charles intently. “What?” “Blowjobs? Getting your dick sucked?” Charles tried again, a sly smile on his face, being very aware that Carlos’ question might not have been due to a lack of understanding of the terminology used at all. Carlos blinked at him and he swore the blush on his cheeks got a tad bit darker. “I mean— yes, doesn’t everyone?” he rasped, voice slightly airy. Charles’ tongue slipped out to wet his lips and he watched Carlos’ eyes flit down and back up to his eyes in a matter of milliseconds. “Sure,” he hummed, “but I also like giving it,” he grinned.

charles/grid

greed (i want it all right now) | one-shot, sex pollen, magical pussy, gangbang, dead dove for dubious consent, rated e, 9k [fic post]

Charles has to sneeze, and laughs. His Secret Santa seems to have had his fun with it, adding some fake snow to douse him in. He does not notice the nervous glances the producers behind the camera share. He reads the card, out loud, but falters as he tries to process what is written there in elegant cursive. “Since you are a lazy gift giver I will help you out this year,” it says. Charles furrows his brows. Or: Charles wakes up with a pussy. The grid is delighted.

yuki/pierre

inches in between us (i want you to give in) | one-shot, friends to lovers, rated e, 8k

4 times yuki sent pierre into gay panic + the one time he gave in alternative title: yuki being outrageous and pierre losing his shit (canon)

[sinisterexaggerator]

Tech and Hondo Ohnaka (Part 4)

Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)

Warning: Pain mention.

Fic Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.

Word count: 1.9k

Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired by Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone,." :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.

*This is a shorter chapter, but it sets things up for what will happen next, and it felt right to stop where I did.

Chapter 1, 2, 3 | Read on Ao3

“Nu good, ensufferable know-et-all! Lousy carbon copy! A bold-faced liar, tinking he can hide de truth from me! Hondo!”

The Weequay ranted and raved as he made his way through Eriadu’s foilage, once more employing the use of his vibrocutlass. He hacked at those bits and pieces of plants that dared to hinder his forward march, having left the clone no more than thirty minutes prior. Hondo had nearly traversed a quarter kilometer before he stopped, allowing himself to cool off and for a clearer head to prevail. He was better than this, he mused, though it was about the principle; how dare this so-called soldier take him for a fool!

“He should have told me from de outset,” he muttered, his chest rising and falling more slowly as he caught his breath. With eyes asquint, the pirate gazed around himself, noting that it was nearly dark, and that he was all alone out here, minus one bruised and battered brainiac.

“Ugh, now de creepy crawlies will come out,” he grumbled, missing his desert home more and more each and every minute of each and every hour of each and every day, wanting only a stiff drink back at his beloved base on Florrum—too bad that would never happen now, left to roam the galaxy with the remainder of those men that were loyal to him.

Hondo was not stupid; he knew that they were growing restless; this job was meant to be a way for them to recoup that which was lost thanks to the Empire, only now it appeared he would be lucky to escape with his life—a feeling that clone must also be experiencing—the pirate sighed a deeply exaggerated sigh.

“What tu du, what tu du…” It was a rhetorical question, one he often asked himself, even if he already knew the answer, that pesky sense of honor returning to him at a most inconvenient time.

“He es dead weight, liable tu get me killed. Et would be easier tu steal a ship witout de extra baggage…” The pirate began to pace, aware that he was talking to himself, bits of dirt and dried leaves becoming displaced as he walked to and fro, his blade bouncing lightly against his shoulder.

“Ah, but he has a family—and let us not forget de reward!” Hondo reminded himself, suddenly finding it in his heart to be of help once more.

“Hopefully he es … still alive, unlike my men,” he offered to the forest, turning about face. Sheathing his sword, he felt he did not need it, having already cleared a path his first time through. “Ef not, wellll, one cannot say I ded not try.”

---

Though he felt destined for an unfavorable outcome, Tech had the heart of a soldier, and the ability to give up was not something within his wheelhouse. Trundling onward, it was easy to track the Weequay, for he was doing a poor job of hiding his trail. Tech doubted he was even attempting to, so angry had he been from the moment he left camp. He supposed he had every right to be, as he had not been completely forthright.

This had been his fear—to be left behind should the pirate learn the entirety of the truth—wondering if anything would be different had he come clean in the beginning. Transparency, of course, brought trust, yet he had taken quite a risk in keeping quiet. In other words, he should have known better—he did know better—but getting off Eriadu was more important, and so he carried on, even when his body was on the verge of failing him.

With the planet’s sun giving off its last rays, darkness fell, leaving Tech bathed in glimmers of moonlight. Peering out into the darkness through his cracked heads-up display, he stiffened at the sound of footsteps from somewhere ahead, wondering if it might be some kind of animal, or worse—more TK troopers that were out to capture him.

Taking cover, the commando stilled, curtailing his arrhythmic breathing the best he could. He waited for his enemy to show itself, thankful that he still had the element of surprise.

When at last a figure appeared on his infrared scanner, Tech took aim, firing off two shots in the direction of this would-be adversary. He was only able to make out the heat signature of the individual, though he wore what appeared to be a helmet—a possible lone TK who would undoubtedly call for backup if he had the chance.

“You imbecile, you shot me! Me! I thought you said you were smart!” the voice of the aggrieved called out from between the trees. “You are lucky dat Weequay have blaster resistant skin, you ex-republic dog, but you can rest assured you will be paying for de damages tu my very expensive, very valuable, Wroonian coat!”

Tech immediately holstered his blasters, though it was too little, too late. He had not expected to ever see the pirate again, trusting he had been left for dead. He was glad to be wrong, if only just this once, presently standing in an awkward manner as he attempted to regain his equanimity. “I thought you to be an enemy,” he stated plainly.

“Nu, just de idiot who has come tu rescue you. Again,” Hondo gruffly complained, dusting off his lapel. There was an obvious singe mark across it, and another along his right sleeve.

“I must admit that this is a surprise.”

“Tu you and me both,” Hondo replied snidely.

Tech had nothing to say, simply waiting for the pirate’s next move. If he had learned anything in their short time together, it was that he had a flare for theatrics and was sure to take over the conversation as he saw fit; he was correct in that assumption.

“But unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, I have a heart.” The pirate felt deceived by his own shortcomings, wafting a hand dismissively for him to follow. “Now come, hurry, I was nearly tu de lommite mine when I had tu turn around and fetch you. Et es already dark, however dis may be en our favor.”

“Obviously, the cover of darkness is a boon in this situation,” Tech agreed.

“Dat es what I just said,” Hondo snapped, though the clone remained quiet, refusing to buy into what would quickly become a game of tit for tat. He felt exchanging quips, in this case, was not worth the effort, and that it would only prolong the rogue’s sour mood. He was not, after all, one of his brothers, and he was unsure what future repercussions might await him should he continue to engage.

“I am ready when you are.”

“I am ready now,” Hondo shot back, turning on the heel of his boot. He hastened his departure, leaving Tech to keep up as quickly as his legs would allow.

---

Without Hondo, and due to the failure of his equipment, Tech would not have known just how close the lommite mine truly was or its precise location. Soon, they reached the safety of rolling hills that spread into mountains, a large structure built into the mass of rock looming straight ahead.

From their refuge beneath a stone projection, they could observe that beyond a set of open hydraulic doors was a spacious bay, loaded with an assortment of mining equipment. There were bucket excavators; hauler trucks; rock dusters, and crushing machines, all serving a distinct purpose. More importantly, there were cargo ships, ground cars with treads, and speeder bikes most likely belonging to the Empire—or the employees of the facility itself—though Tech could hardly make out anything but nebulous lines.

“Just dere, you see? Eriadu Mining and Shipping. Dey have large industrial transport ships dat leave every hour on de hour, and a rotating staff of nearly one hundred men, not tu mention droids! Of course, dat does not account for de Imperial personnel lurking about … Just our luck, ah?”

“Indeed,” was the only answer the clone afforded him, having been distracted by the heat signatures of two sentient beings that were out of bounds. They were skulking about just as they were, though much closer to the entrance of the mine. “I believe we are not the only ones here.”

“Yes, yes! Dere are many people! Are you suuuure you are de genius you say you are?” Hondo probed.

“Unsurprisingly, you misunderstand,” Tech informed him. “There are two individuals lurking nearby the entrance. It appears they are planning to sneak inside.”

“What? Where!” Hondo asked, raising his voice. Realizing his own mistake, he lowered it to an excitable whisper. “I du not see anyon—more troopers?” he asked, spotting two white dots amid the darkness.

Tech attempted to zoom in with his heads-up display, though the screen temporarily blacked out; the clone held his breath until it came back online. “No.”

Though unable to clearly see the pair below, they were not behaving like Imperial soldiers, and Tech was sure of at least one thing—they were not wearing buckets on their heads.

"I was sure they had escaped off-world," Tech said, more to himself, noting that Saw was down one man. There had been several Partisans in total, though now he only spotted two lifeforms below.

“And of whom are you speaking?” The pirate was becoming increasingly annoyed.

“Saw Guerra. I mentioned him when discussing the events that transpired at Raven’s Peak.”

“De man wit de most beautiful sister…” Hondo trailed off, reminiscing on what he knew of him and his family; he remembered delivering weapons to them at Skywalker’s behest, having been paid handsomely for his services. “Dis es an interesting development! Perhaps he may offer us a distraction while we find a ride out of dis place, ah? Or maybe he would be willing tu work tugether. Four heads are better dan two, nu matter ef one of dose heads es presumably smarter.”

Tech ignored the comment about Saw's sibling, having never known him to have a sister. "Saw will help himself and his cause, disregarding even the soundest advice if it interferes with his own plans," Tech declared with confidence; he knew this to be true based on his most recent experience. While presenting a logical counterargument against the destruction of the Imperial base, Saw stated it was, "for the greater good," even after being told that the lives of clones were at stake. It was safe to say he had lost some, if not all, of Tech's respect.

“Dat es terrible news…” Hondo stroked the length of his frills, contemplating the situation. “Dough ef we are lucky—and I am lucky—I will be able tu change his mind.”

“I highly doubt—” Tech ended his thought to begin another as the scoundrel rose, worried that the Weequay would also disregard him. “Wait, we should formulate a plan. It is unwise to—”

“—blah blah blah,” Hondo interjected, beginning to make his way downhill. “Are you coming, or du you prefer tu stay here, for I am leaving wit or witout you.”

Tech sighed heavily, standing unsteadily to his feet. Though it was against his better judgement and defied all common sense, he made slow work of following the pirate, unable to shake the feeling they were headed for disaster.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Azriel x Reader | Memento Mori

type: smut warning(s): explicit descriptions, this is filth, an dark, and a bit sinister word count: 3.3k words summary: As Grim Reaper Azriel is absolutely not amused to find out about a young healer, saving his already claimed souls from dying. He comes to find you, to have a word with you. He does not know what expects him.  Once again thank you to @moonlightazriel for placing this thought in my mind <3

-all rights reserved-

He comes for everyone — the rich, the poor, the strong, the weak, those who suffer, those who do not expect. He cuts your thread, you are his, his to claim. He will come for you at night, find you at day, curl his cold, scarred fingers around your trembling body, take you with him.

You are his from then on. He, whose name is unknown to mortals, goes on the hunt, every day, every hour, to find his victims, his new prey.

No pleading, no begging helps—he is merciless, ruthless, cruel, cold. And what he wants, he gets.

The echoes of his former claims, the pleas for just a day longer, one moment, another chance, hollow in the mind of the angel of Death, Azriel. He leaves his empire of claimed souls, long cloak gliding over the floor like a shadow, rustling on the ground.

One dark winter’s night his target is something new, something that makes his blood boil, his cold skin grow hot. Fueled by anger he is driven to the mortal lands once again.

You make his blood boil—a mortal who challenges Death, makes fun of him by saving people, saving them from death, bringing them back to life.

His balance is out of control and if there is one thing Azriel cannot stand then it is losing control. You make him lose control, and he doesn’t even know you in person yet. He does not know what will expect him when he lays eyes on you, when his soul for the first time in centuries starts glowing, yearning. His balance is shaken and that only through a mortal?

The knock of death against your door is soft, yet powerful. You don’t even have to ponder, having already expected the male hidden behind his shadows. Confident steps carry you to the door where you peek through a tiny hole in the wood. His face is veiled in shadows, his hat drawn, a dark cloak completing his appearance. 

You draw in a deep breath, readying yourself for your very first encounter with Him—the Lord of Death. Azriel, born of shadow and darkness. 

And then your own fingers curl around the cool handle, almost teasingly, like you’re a playing death once again, you open the door, your eyes lifting to the covered face, the male looming over you. His face is shielded, yet his eyes, the deep hazel, stand out—are a stark contrast to his appearance. They pierce right into your soul and you know that in this very moment Death knows what you have done in your life. Every good and every bad deed, it is all revealed to him.

Icy cold creeps into your skin, almost making it burn. You can see your breath, can feel your heart beat in your throat. It is true what they say, his biting grip starts when you make eye contact with him.

Your voice is a breathy whisper, in his ears the most erotic sound he has ever heard, when you say, “I was expecting you, Lord of Death.”

Azriel is not too fond of this feistiness. He does not like it when people are not scared, when they don’t run and beg. It makes his anger increase that your are so confident, so cocky, so feisty.

He is so very angry and all of a sudden thoughts of how he could punish you for that flood his mind. None of these things only partly scrape the thought of taking your life. He is beyond that. He wants to do other things to you, he wants you to beg for other things, plead and cry when he his moving inside of you. These thoughts that are so obscene and lewd, his cock strains against his tight pants, making an ache and longing appear that he has never felt before.

Another thing he hates because this is also what losing control feels like. His rising lust only fuels his anger, his desire making it so hard to breathe that his voice is ragged and raspy when the next words leave his mouth. “How dare you?”

Azriel takes a step closer, his jaw clenched, his eyes like burning flames.

“How dare you be so fearless in the eyes of Death? So reckless? I’ve known you are one of the bad kind, but you are even worse.” His voice is a cold, rough growl that has your insides clenching, your toes curling and you accept this challenge, inviting Death inside your home.

“You may enter, Lord of Death.” And with that you step back, allowing the cold and darkness to fill every little corner of your home.

You allow him your entrance? It feels like the greatest mockery he has ever experienced.

He sweeps in, his dark cloak moving over the ground like a wave of darkness. His presence immediately fills the interior of your little hut, power stretching out like a dark cloud, his cold curling around your spine. But it is his darkness that thrills you, that you want to consume you.

The male, so tall, looming over you, makes a sharp spin and pins you with his gaze. For a moment you find yourself unable to look away, to think, to breathe. All your attention goes to his piercing eyes, flames of hazel burning in them. 

“Why are you not afraid, mortal?” The Lord of Death spits his questions like the words taste foul on his tongue. “Because I am not scared of a man whose only job is to claim those who have no choice, those who suffer, those who—“ The shadowy male cuts you off, hurdling towards you so quickly you have not seen it coming. The is a moment of taunting and teasing, you circle each other, until he cradles your face in his icy, scarred hand, glaring deep into your eyes, your soul. 

“I am keeping balance. And I claim all of them. All of you. All mortals. The suffering, the happy ones, the kind ones, the bad ones.” He puts stress on bad, nearing your face, but before he can make any further move bindings snap up from the ground, curling around his wrists, by magic a chair moves forward, the bindings pull him down, restraining him. 

You grin in triumph.

“You—“ he hisses. “How dare you defy me, mortal filth. Release me!”

Eyes aglow, Death scans your body with a predatory gaze. 

“Release me!” His voice is louder than expected, the deep tenor hollering through your hut.

But you withstand the rising threat, the rising angst, slowly creeping into your body. You clamp it down. You withstand it—you withstand him. The corners of your lips curl upwards, you are at an advantage, you have him exactly where you want him. He will be the one begging, pleading…for your mercy. “As I said, I am not scared of Death. Having conquered him many times already.”

You add and extra sway to your hips when you waddle over to the male, grinning delightedly. “I am not afraid of you.” 

And although this sentence is a mockery and he should feel angry and violent, his heart warms at that, his heart beating frantically. You are not afraid. You are not afraid of death. Of him. 

Everyone has always been afraid of him. Not you. You are not scared—not even in his presence. It is this knowledge, this knowledge that no matter what he will do you won’t scare of him, that makes him want to lose control. That makes him feel alright with this loss of control. He wants to be submissive for you. He likes that you have taken control of this situation.

Azriel's head tips back an inch, his chest heaving when your scent of life, of night, of forest, fills his nostrils. You place a knee on the chair between his thighs, your hands moving to his shoulders.

This is the last push he needs to fully give into you, to fully give himself to you. You are not afraid to touch him. Everyone has always backed away from touching his icy surface, scared they might die right where they were.

Death has never had a lover, has never had any intimate encounters, but he knows exactly how he would take you that night, how he would worship you. 

Azriel groans lowly, when intentionally or not your knee slides closer. He squeezes his eyes shut, releasing a shuddering breath. “Tell me what you want from me.”

Not a question, but a command that leaves room for interpretation. 

Your hand brushes over his shoulders, the lapels of his cloak. You can feel his cold skin underneath, wanting nothing more than to let your palms glide over it. You have no idea what he does to you, why you want him so much. It feels like some primal need is finally awakened, yearning and longing filling every fiber of your body. Voluntarily or not your arch into him, nearly coming in contact with his chest. “I want you to stop claiming the lives of those who have done nothing in their life to deserve it. Who have not gotten a chance to live. Children, babies.”

“It is not my decision to make!”

That makes you angry and you grit your teeth, leaning closer. You grasp his hat from his head, tossing it away and fully revealing his stunning face. Cruel beauty.  

“It is! Don’t you have a heart?” Azriel’s fingers curl towards his palms, stuck on the armrest of the chair. 

“I do have a heart!” he spits and wants to add, that it is finally beating, beating for you and you only. Filling with warmth for the first time in centuries. Not the only body part that is filled with warmth. His cock throbs with need, a painful ache behind his all of a sudden so tight pants.

“It is to keep the balance. When the—“ “Fuck the balance. You take children away from their mothers, their fathers. Their hearts are ripped open without hope for repair.” Tears dwell in your eyes at the thought of your neighbour, losing her one year old. Fury burns it way through your body, your skin is on fire when your fingers curls around Azriel’s throat. He meets your gaze, nostrils flared, eyes ablaze. 

“I was going to say that when the fates cut their life thread I am coming to claim them. It is not me who makes this decision. And it is never ever easy to take a child, just so you know. I might have thought you think that I find incredibly pleasure in taking children away from their parents.”

That…you haven’t known. “It is not you who…”

You lose yourself in your thoughts, your mind running wild. It is not him who cuts the life threads. He only comes to claim the people. 

“I didn’t know.”

The corner of Azriel’s lips curls into an almost mocking smirk, his eyes darken when they seize in on your face. “Obviously.”

For a moment your gazes are locked, piercing into the others soul and for the first time this evening you care about what he might see inside your soul. His eyes do things to you. And you know one thing for sure: when it comes to this male there is not much seduction needed, he pins you with his gaze and you core starts throbbing with need.

But you won’t let him have this. You lean closer, so close your noses are almost touching. Your tongue poking out, licking over your dry lips, the shadowy male’s eyes cast down, following the movement. You know what your are doing. You know exactly what you are doing and that it is driving him mad. Death has truly lost control and that to a mortal. A mortal who tired to defy him, mock him, play him. But gods, does he like this. 

“What is it that you want?” you ask, your voice a breathy whisper. Azriel knows that you want to know what he wants in life, what he would rather do instead of claiming those life. But in this very moment there is only one thing he can think of, only one thing he truly wants. 

“I want you. I want you on my cock.”

Slight shock makes your body go rigid, your breathing ragged. You pull back sharply.

Astonishment fills every fiber of your body because you have expected a lot, but not this. Never this. You can smell his arousal, feel his desire stretch out but you would have never guessed he would ask for this, would use such vulgar wording.

Azriel must have noticed your surprise, his face turns grim, eyes losing their fire. He looks almost worried for a moment, his skin turning even colder. 

You want to show him that this is exactly what you want. That you have been yearning for this since the moment he stepped into your house. You need him, need Death to consume you, claim you in another way he normally did with mortals. 

You brush your thumb over his chin, eyes following the movement and suck your lower lip between your teeth. You lift your gaze to his, lips slightly parting when your hand moves to the ties of your dressing gown. Pulling on them, you manage to shrug your dressing gown of, leaving you just in a tiny slip, that accentuates your curves and nearly has the shadowy male panting. 

“Beg.”

It is a whispered command that slips through your lips when you climb onto his lap, your thighs caging his. A wicked grin spreads over your lips, feral delight aglow in your eyes. Azriel’s mirrors this fire of desire, of pure, primal lust. 

 “And plead.”

You fully lower yourself to his hips, hands sliding over his shoulders, arms curling around his neck. 

“Beg for me just like you love to hear people beg to you. Plead that I give you exactly what you want. What you,” —your lips are mere inches from his— “desire.”

Your chest heaves, brushing against his toned chest covered by the thin cloak he’s wearing. You feel how tense his muscles are and lean back, watching the tendons stand out on his neck, how tight his skin appears all of a sudden and how his eyes are blazed with lust. 

You roll your hips, rubbing against him when Azriel leans forward and brushes his nose over your skin. You can feel his passion just as acute as your own.

You are playing with darkness, and Azriel, he would consume you. And this is all you want.

"Death and life have never been that close, have they?" His breath is a cold whisper along the side of your neck. The press of his hips against your own offers another proof of his desire, his erection hard against your softest parts. But he hasn’t given you an answer and you don’t like that. Hand coming up, your grab a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck.

“Beg,” you order, getting impatient. 

“Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth. His nostrils flare, his heated gaze caressing your skin. And so you have Death begging for you. For your mercy. It is a sinister delight that comes alive inside of you, making you feel powerful, strong and ruthless. 

“Please what?” You nip at his jaw, tasting his icy skin. This is a sin. The worst of all sins.

You grin when you hear him groan, his hips rubbing against yours. Although he loves your control over him, he decides that two can play this game. He also decides that, just for a moment longer, he lets you believe that these restraints could actually hold him, hold Death.

When his hardest parts press against your softest, so perfectly fitting, Azriel is rewarded with the breath catching in your throat.

“Please…kiss me, fuck me. Claim me. Make me yours.” 

He breathing is ragged, chest heaving with sharp inhales. “I, Death, Destroyer of Lives, surrender to you. I am fully yours.”

You have planned on teasing him more, making him beg and plead more, but your restraint is shredded, that very moment. There is only one thing on your mind: need. You need him. On you. In you. All over you.

His surrender is your undoing, proof that Death is willing to give his all to you. He lets you have control and despite how twisted this situation seems, your heart warms at this thought. 

One hand parting his cloak and sliding over the laces of his pants, you pull them open. His already rigid length springs free immediately and your mouth waters at his size, his thickness–he is beautiful. 

Azriel must have noticed your slight hesitation because he says, “No worries, we both know you can handle this.” 

You lift yourself up, hovering, fingers curling around his length to ease the tip into you. Something low in your belly clenches, your wet heat welcoming him. Azriel slides fully into your, a gasp parting both your lips when your bodies become flush with the other, merge, become one, come together. You take a short moment to adjust, to angle your hips and then you move. 

“Yes,” Azriel pants. “Yes, that's it. Fuck, yes.” His voice, the deep tenor reverberating through you, has the hair on your body standing, your toes curling. You moan loudly, the stretch of your walls from his cock on the edge of painful. But it does not hurt, it feels good, better than anything you have ever felt before.

“I…have never felt like that. Nothing…nothing can compare to this.”

And although he is death, a cruel monster in the eyes of most, Azriel feels alive for the very first time. Having you bounce on his cock, makes all sinister parts of his life fill with light. All he has done in his life has been that way so he could meet you. Fate has brought him here, and he will stay. With you. You are his.

Driven by lust, Azriel’s tongue latches over your right nipple, the short nightgown having slipped down your chest. You grab his shoulders, head thrown back, riding him. You cry out in pleasure, a mix of curses slipping through your lips. Azriel feels himself getting closer, your sinful sounds his most favourite music from now on.

And he knows, at the back of his mind he knows, that he doesn’t hear them for the last time today. He will hear them a lot from now on. You have entered into something there is no escaping from. You have let Death enter your house, your body. You are bound to him–his forever. Because there is no one apart from you that accepts Death likes this. That sees him, sees him for more than he is believed and he will never let you go, no matter what. 

“I want you to come with my name on your lips.”

You angle your hips, letting him hit that one damnable spot inside of you with every thrust. His name–unknown to mortals.

“Azriel.”

Azriel. The name hollows through your mind. It sounds so beautiful and he has told you his name. You are the first mortal to ever know of his name and this, even though it has been spoken and revealed in frenzy, does something to you. Your walls clench tighter around him, riding him harder.

A moan parts your lips, fingers gripping his hair tightly. “Azriel.”

It is a breathy whisper, and Azriel knows that this…his name on your lips is his end, the most erotic thing he has ever heard, his weakness. You are his weakness. 

He rips through the bindings, loosening every restraint that has formerly holding him back. Azriel’s hips jerk up, his pants sliding down to his knees and before you can comprehend what is happening he has you pinned underneath him on the harsh wooden floor, pounding into you mercilessly, his large body covering yours. His hips slap against yours with deep, quick thrusts. The sounds are wet, your high-pitched moans and pants the only things that are louder.

And then you fall apart, Death is their to catch you, to hold you, guide you through your height. He follows right after, his hot release spurting of your walls, his hips meeting your with sloppy thrust. Azriel’s lips capture yours in another bruising kiss, he is not down yet. 

Hours later, Azriel still hovers over your, damp strands of hair sticking toppling over his forehead.

“Come with me. Come to the Hewn City with me. Become my queen.”

It should have been a difficult decision, but it isn’t. There is only one correct answer.

“Yes.”

And so Death has found his queen. He sweeps you up, his cloak wrapping around him, taking you with him to the Hewn City, his territory where you will be granted immortality, where you will rule next to him. 

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

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123

[swtechspecs]

Salla Zend's Modified Mobquet MB-C1 Medium Transport "Starlight Intruder"

Source: The Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels (Del Rey, 1996)

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

A Pirate's Life for Me Chapter 3

Summary:  Captain Bucky Barnes and his crew on the Armored Star are the most fearsome pirates in the known world.  They’ve given the British fleet a run for their money as they try to free the enslaved and take from the rich, but they could have never guessed how the British empire would retaliate against them.  When a new pirate ship appears and lays waste to all in its path, will Bucky and his crew be ready for the wrath of a woman scorned?

Warnings:  piracy, pillaging, sexual assault, death/murder, blood/gore, violence, smut

*manbo:  voodoo priestess

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The Armored Star sailed along another shipwreck.  It was the third British ship they’d come across in the last week.  The charred remains of the ship were sticking up from out of the sea, some parts of it still on fire and smoking.  It looked like the ship had been torn in half, and British sailors’ bodies were scattered along the ship and out into the water, staining it red as sharks circled.

“How the hell?” Steve, Bucky’s first mate, breathed as they stared at the two halves of the ship.

“Multiple guns?  A double attack on either side?” his second mate, Sam, ventured a guess.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the splintered wood that had what looked like claw marks etched into the planks before they ripped.  “Whatever it was, let’s steer clear,” he said, moving back to the wheel and steering them away.

The crew watched on in curiosity and worry as they headed further away from the watery grave.  As they made it into deep sea territory their barrelman, Peter, called down to Bucky.  “Captain!  A ship following us sir!”

Bucky looked up at him in confusion then looked behind, back from there they’d come.  The ship was still a long way off, but the fact that they were following them wasn’t a good sign.  “How long?” he yelled back up at Peter.

“At least the last mile,” Peter said.  “I had to make sure they were actually following us.”

Bucky took out his spyglass and walked to the furthest point of the helm, bringing the glass up to his eye and looking at the ship.  Steve walked up next to him as Bucky stared for a long while.  “Emerald hull with a mermaid figurehead,” he said under his breath to Steve.  “I believe we’ve finally run across Dido’s Lament.”

Steve hummed.  “Well, they’ll have a hard time catching up to the Star, sir.”

“Either way, keep an eye on them,” Bucky said, giving Steve the spyglass.  “From what I’ve heard they only attack the British, but let’s be wary if we’re the ones they choose to change their minds about.”  He turned to the crew who was waiting down below for instructions.  “Ready the cannons!  Stock the guns!  Arm yourselves!  We don’t know what we could be facing if they catch up!”  The crew immediately sprang into action getting everything ready.  He felt an anxious pull in his gut, but tried to ignore it.  Surely Dido’s Lament wouldn’t catch up to them quickly.  They still had the wind on their side, and the sun was setting, so they could change course in darkness if need be.  

Hours later Peter had lost sight of the ship as night fell, and Bucky felt they were in a good place to change course, heading further north than they normally would.  They usually tried to steer clear of Barataria Bay, but he wanted to make sure they lost the ship.  Not everyone knew where Barataria Bay even was with how small it had been, and now it was a mere ink blot on the map.  In the early morning hours as the sun arose over the horizon Peter couldn’t find any trace of the ship, and Bucky thought they were safe, until he heard an eerie creaking sound.

“Is that us?” Steve asked, looking down at the ship.  

“No,” Sam said, looking around.  The entire crew was baffled, looking around themselves.  A few of them looked over the railing, down at the water.

“It’s…coming from beneath us,” Steve said, looking at Bucky in shock.

Before Bucky could say anything there was a rumble that made the entire ship vibrate and shake, then a huge swell of water surged high in the air next to them, dousing the Armored Star and everyone on it.  It knocked the ship sideways, Bucky gripping the wheel as the ship righted itself before toppling over.  He looked to where the swell came from and his eyes widened, his mouth falling agape.  It was Dido’s Lament emerging from the depths of the sea, the ship twice as large as the Armored Star.  At the front the mermaid figurehead he saw wasn’t a mermaid but a siren, her upper body looking like it was going to spring from the ship, her long taloned hands outstretched and her mouth open wide, with sharp teeth and angry, menacing features.  As water poured from the emerald green hull a lone figure appeared at the helm, staring across the short distance of water at them.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed at the figure that climbed up onto the railing, holding onto a rope as they peered back at him.  The figure started singing:

“The king and his men stole the queen from her bed…”

Bucky ran to the side of the ship when he heard the voice.  It couldn’t be.  The figure had their head down, their hat and hair covering them.

“And bound her in her bones…the seas be ours and by the powers, where we will, we’ll roam.”

The figure looked up and showed their face, making Bucky gasp.  It was Y/N.  Multiple other people started to show up along Dido’s Lament’s side railing, and Bucky recognized them as the crew member’s wives and lovers they all thought long dead.  Steve let out a pained cry when he saw his wife, Peggy, the other crew member’s starting to call out to them.

“This can’t be real,” Steve said, running his hands through his hair.

All the women started singing:

“Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colors high.  Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die!”

As they finished the phrase their voices got louder until they were screaming, and another swell of water arose from the depths.  Bucky covered his head as it doused the Star again, then he felt a hard smack to the side of his body.  He went flying back into the helm, looking up to find an actual siren crawling its way toward him.  She looked just like the figurehead on Dido’s Lament and he scrambled back, grasping his sword and standing as she reached him.  He tried to swipe the blade at her, but she merely dodged it then grabbed his hand and twisted it, making him cry out and drop the sword.  There were shouts and sounds of swords falling to the ground, a few guns going off with accompanying screams that were unearthly.  The siren he was facing forced Bucky to his knees, her long tail wrapping around his lower half so he couldn’t move, wrenching his arms behind his back with an iron hold.  Bucky looked around as best he could to see his other crew members either fighting or being forced into the same position with a swarm of sirens flopping around the deck, their otherworldly hisses and noises filling the air as they overtook them easily.

The siren holding him used one of her webbed hands to grasp at his jaw and make him look up as Y/N and her crew members boarded the Armored Star.  Y/N slowly walked over to Bucky as the other women went and found their husbands  and lovers amongst the crew members.  She looked down at him, a look of pure disgust on her face that he’d never seen before.  Her gaze left him to look at the siren.  “Thank you, Mira,” she said, reaching a hand out and caressing the siren’s face.  “Whoever doesn’t have a woman next to him, you may take.”  She leaned over Bucky to the siren and nuzzled her nose on hers, the siren making a chittering noise in her throat before releasing her hold on Bucky.  He fell forward on his hands as the siren moved away and spoke in a language he couldn’t understand to the other sirens aboard.  They all spoke back to her then released the men they were holding except for seven of them, who they started dragging off the deck.  The men screamed, begging for help before the sirens holding them launched themselves overboard, diving back down into the sea, the remaining sirens following them with strange laugh-like sounds.

Y/N suddenly kicked Bucky backwards, taking his gun and the knife he had hidden in his boot and throwing them as hard as she could overboard.  The women on the deck followed her lead, then they all took their own guns and pointed them at their husbands.  Y/N took out her gun and pointed it at Bucky’s face.  “Hey Captain,” she sneered at him.

“Y/N,” he whispered, trying to reach for her.  “My treasure–”

Y/N backhanded him with the gun, making him cry out and fall back.  “Don’t call me that!” she yelled.  “You lost your treasure the day you left!”  She stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar and dragged him from the helm down the stairs to the deck, throwing him near the captain’s quarters.  She was surprisingly strong and he felt like he was in some kind of weird fever dream.  “Do you wanna know what happened after you left us?” she called out to all the men.  They each had shocked faces as they stared at their wives holding them at gunpoint, glancing at each other and at Y/N and Bucky.  “The British came two days after you left,” she said loudly, pacing back and forth as Bucky wiped at the blood falling from his brow where she struck him.  “Just as I thought they would.  Just as I TOLD YOU THEY WOULD!” she screamed in Bucky’s face, making him wince and cower before her.  

“Y/N please,” he begged, trying to reach for her again.  “We didn’t know.  I didn’t know!  The scouts checked–”

“SHUT UP!” she screamed.  “Do you wanna know what they did to us when they came?”  Bucky shook his head, afraid of what she was going to say.  Y/N pointed at Peggy, who was already crying as she stared at Steve in pain.  

“They raped us,” Peggy said loudly.  Steve looked at her like she’d stabbed him, his face crumpling in sorrow.  “They raped us…over and over again, for weeks.  Said it was our punishment as lovers of pirates.”

“They killed the children!” another woman called out, pushing her gun against her husband’s forehead harshly.  “All of them!  Left their little mutilated bodies all over the village.  I found our son in pieces!  All your babies are DEAD!”

Bucky cried heavily as woman after woman recounted what happened those days after they left them behind.  The British had tracked them without them knowing or realizing, the scouts somehow not seeing what Y/N had seen, and attacked their families as retribution for their piracy, then set the Bay ablaze, abandoning the remaining women.  After they all said their piece, Y/N leaned down to Bucky, gripping his jaw tightly and shoving the gun against his temple as she got closer to his face.  “You said you would never let anything happen to me,” she whispered, blinking back the tears building in her eyes.  

“Y/N–”

“You said we were safe,” she grunted, shaking his face in her hand.

“Please–”

“You said we would be fine!” she yelled, slapping him hard across the face.  Bucky’s head whipped to the side and he cried harder.

“I know I did, I thought you were safe,” he said, peering up at her pleadingly.  “We came home and the Bay was in ruins.  We thought you all died.  We’ve been mourning you all for the last year!”  He grasped the lower hem of her jacket.  “Please, lovey, I’m so sorry!  If I had known I would have never left–”

“I TOLD YOU!” Y/N shouted at him incredulously.  “I begged you to believe me, and you just laughed.”  She looked at the women around her.  “He laughed!”

The women all started screaming, their sorrow, pain, anger, and grief manifesting as they each stared at the men in front of them.  The men all winced, some of them covering their ears.  The screams rivaled the noises from the sirens.  It was the worst thing Bucky had ever heard.  

“The sea heard our cries and answered the call for vengeance,” Y/N said.  “The sirens came to us.  And we have used our newfound power to sacrifice all those who hurt and killed us to them and the sea.  You hurt us.  You hurt me.  Why should I give you, any of you, mercy?”  

“You’re right, I didn’t believe you.  I didn’t trust your judgment.  And I’m sorry!” he cried.  “Please, my love, have mercy on me, on all of us.  I have suffered pain like I never could have imagined since we saw the Bay was destroyed.  My guilt has been my punishment, and will forever be until I die.  I told you I love you until worlds end,” he said.  “And I meant every word.  If today is my world's end, so be it.  But please, don’t let this be it.”

The other men all echoed similar sentiments to their wives, pleading and crying with them for mercy.  “Peg please,” Steve begged next to them, bending down and kissing her feet.  “My sweet Peggy.  Knowing you're alive is enough, and if you decide to punish me to death at sea, I will accept my fate.  Just know I love you, and if you can forgive me, I will never leave your side again.”  He started to slowly stand up, cupping her face in his hands.  

Peggy paused as she looked up at him, her gun still pointed at him, but then her hand shook, and she sighed heavily before pointing it downward.  “Steve,” she cried, and he quickly hugged her.  

Y/N watched in disbelief and frustration as the other women around her all forgave.  She looked down at Bucky, and he could see the war in her eyes.  There was a deep anger and abandonment, but a hesitation in her full wrath and fury that he most rightfully deserved.  Bucky held his hands up in surrender as he slowly stood.  “My treasure,” he whispered, taking a step closer to her.  She flinched, one foot stepping back and she raised her gun again, nudging it into his forehead.  “I’m sorry,” he continued, and let his hands fall to his sides.  “Whatever you choose, please know I love you…until worlds end, and beyond.”

Y/N started to cry, her hand holding the gun shaking.  She shook her head, her teeth gritting as she glared at him.  Peggy then came and stood behind her, then another woman, then another woman, then another, until a small group of her crew were surrounding her.  Peggy slowly lifted her hand and gripped Y/N’s shoulder.  “We’ve done what we set out to do.  The sea helped us avenge ourselves.  Now it’s time we heal,” Peggy whispered to her, leaning in and kissing the side of her head.  “Come away dearest,” she said, glancing at the gun, “come away…”

Y/N started breathing heavily, shaking harder, until she screamed then dropped the gun at Bucky’s feet.  She folded in on herself and Peggy and the other women caught her before she fell, helping her to sit on the deck as loud wails and choked cries fell from her mouth.  As she clung to Peggy, Bucky kneeled before her, reaching a hand out and touching her knee.  “Y/N,” he called to her.  She peered up at him from where she’d buried her face in Peggy’s collar.  He let go of her knee and held his hand out to her in offering.  Y/N looked back and forth from his hand to his face, then looked up at Peggy, who nodded in encouragement at her.  She looked back at him and slowly sat up, extending her hand out to him.  He didn’t move, letting her take her time.  She hesitated, still afraid and unsure, but took his hand.  Bucky let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and smiled at her.  “My treasure,” he said, his lips trembling as he kept crying.  He leaned down and kissed her knuckles, and she stifled another loud cry.  Bucky slowly started to stand and helped her stand up, the women around her getting up with them.  He stepped closer, and this time she didn’t step away or flinch.  She stared at him with a look of hurt and yearning.  

He lifted his hands and cupped her face, watching her carefully.  Y/N’s hands held his wrists tightly as he slowly leaned in so his forehead was pressed against her forehead.  “I thought you were dead,” Bucky whispered.

“I did die that day,” Y/N whispered back.  “I don’t know who was born in my place.”

Bucky smiled at her.  “A pirate,” he answered her.  

Y/N’s eyes flicked back and forth between his eyes, and a small smile started to grow on her face.  “A pirate,” she repeated.  

Another rumble came from the sea beneath them, and they all braced themselves.  An ear-splitting horde of screams reverberated through the air as sirens surged from the depths to Dido’s Lament.  They ripped at the ship, the splintering wood flying as they shredded it.  Y/N walked to the side railing as the siren from earlier, Mira, looked back at her as Dido’s Lament cracked in half and started to sink, the torches on board breaking and setting fire to the parts still above water.  Mira chittered at her, and Y/N chuckled a watery laugh and blew her a kiss.  Mira tapped her chest then spoke to the sirens, and they all dove back into the sea, the ship humming under the pressure as the ocean bubbled and swallowed it whole.  The pact was broken, the call of vengeance appeased.  

Bucky joined Y/N at the railing, watching Dido’s Lament sink with her until he reached a hand out and caressed the side of her face.  Y/N looked up at him, and they stared at each other for a moment as the sounds of sweet rendezvous behind them drowned out the unsettling sinking ship in front of them.  Bucky’s other hand joined the first and he traced the features of her face, memorizing her.  Her eyes fluttered at his soft touch, and after a moment she leaned her head into his palm, closing her eyes as she let him feel her.  “Can I kiss you, treasure?” Bucky asked quietly.  “I still can’t quite believe you’re real…that you’re here.”

Y/N inhaled deeply at his request, still looking hesitant.  Bucky knew it was going to take a long time for her to fully trust him again, and he was willing to wait, to be patient, but he hoped she would say yes to just this one thing.  She nodded.  “Yes,” she whispered.

Bucky smiled softly, then slowly dipped his head, nuzzling her nose with his nose first, then kissing her gently.  The kiss was healing for him, melding together the fractures in his heart and his mind.  Y/N barely moved, her lips kissing him back but not with the same fervor or passion she used to.  It hurt Bucky, but he knew it would take time.  He pulled away and smiled at her, kissing the tip of her nose.  “Thank you, lovey.”

[kiwinatorwaffles]

I found This is About a Stuffed Bird bc of you and its one of my favorite fics ever. Do you by chance have more suggestions?

hermitcraft/mcyt fic recs? :0 let's go!!

i get a lot of my fic recs from other friends since i don't really go out and search on my own all too much for this fandom. but there are lots of great works out here! i will be listing out some of my favorites :3 mostly hc but a couple general mcyt ones that i think are an excellent read no matter what. all of the fics i'm listing will be genfic without ships!

also i just realized a lot of my bookmarks are grian-centric which is funny i guess because i am admittedly quite picky about content of my other favorites and grian just tends to have the most content in the fanbase. hope that'll be alright

(i hope some of my friends and mutuals don't mind me tagging them for their works)

hermitcraft longfics:

the last days of the free angel of carrows by @theminecraftbee - loved stuffed bird? here's another great longfic by second! this one is about joe and cleo in an urban fantasy mystery setting. again, second writes our beloved hermits into an captivating au!

leaping and hopping on a moonshadow by @lunarblazes - a fantasy au by luna my beloved! pearl suddenly gains magical powers and goes on a quest to find her long-lost friend grian who might know what's happening to her. she meets a lot of familiar faces along the way!

Recall by @redwinterroses - hey, i was the artist for this one! :D mumbo goes missing, so grian and scar search for him. they find that grumbot has been up to some... things along the way. the fic isn't finished but i think the chapters red put out is worth a read if you don't mind leaving off on a cliffhanger because it really is super interesting

dramaturgy by wormcity - a universe where gem and pearl join in a season 7 that was never finished. mumbo became the mayor, but the turf war went so very wrong afterwards. admittedly i have not finished reading this yet because ummm short on time xD but it's super interesting with a lot of layers of drama(turgy hahaha)!

hermitcraft short fics/oneshots:

for trying. by @autistic-evil-xisuma - a stuffed bird universe oneshot of x and xisuma during their lab days. great if you want to be sad over the doomed brothers again :D

the wheels on the bus by sparxwrites - a hilarious post-s8 oneshot about grian being a little shit towards the watchers. one of the first fics i've read from this fandom and i still love it

a body is an object by ruffboi - grian is a mimic, and pearl's arrival in s8 shakes him up. she hasn't seen him in a while and is quite upset to learn that the grian she knew died a long time ago. a great read for familial connections and conflict of friendships!

Goatman and the Rift by TheDepressedCanary - doc's eldritch powers start acting up when the rift appears. what shenanigans will ensue?

other mcyt fics/crossovers:

late at night, when the stars don't look quite right by @lunarblazes - an excellent empires s1 and hermitcraft crossover longfic, where grian lands into the server and is discovered by pearl! very great worldbuilding and relationships, i especially love the dynamic between gri and pearl and pearl and gem :D

every new discovery is just a reminder by amaranthinecanicular - grian begins pulling alternate versions of the hermits from the life series into the server. he does save a lot of them, but at what cost? it does end on a cliffhanger but this is genuinely one of the most captivating oneshots i've ever read... argghhh

The Fair and the Brave and the Good by @slashmagpie - an afterlife smp longfic centered around the shelby, scott, and sausage. i have never watched afterlife smp before in my LIFE and this is still one of my favorite pieces of literature ever. the characters and worldbuilding is impeccable and perfect if you like something dark with themes of hope and renewal.

Two Can Keep a Secret (If One of Them is Red) by anonymous secretmcblog - a 3L oneshot! ren suspects grian has stockholm syndrome with his pact to stay with scar, but his expectations are wrong. a truly excellent read and one of them first fics i've read! i still go back to reread it from time to time

dog at the door by fluffy_papaya & iamsolarflare - a longfic where doc and ren take a trip on a van on their way to s8. ren, however, is not quite himself, and doc has to learn to befriend the red king.

devil town is colder in the summertime by @bananasofthorns - a oneshot from a 100hsmp/life series d&d au! team BEST ventures into a cursed evil fucked up forest. uh oh.

Interview with the Aftermath by @ranchersrevenge (wanderlasts) - the last life contestants are invited for an interview. the responses vary greatly.

stars, smoke, and stolen car keys by wormcity - a 100hsmp modern au oneshot where grian, scar, and joel go on a hike. it doesn't go quite as they expected.

the beehive state by amaranthinecanicular - a dsmp oneshot after wilbur moves to utah. tommy visits him, and the two reconnect. i have to say i stopped following dsmp a long time ago but this fic made me BAWL. i don't even think you need to know any of the characters that well to really enjoy just how amazing the writing itself is

Can't Go Back (This Time) by @duckmumbo (musicaltvbooks) - soup group goes end raiding and accientally finds themselves in afterlife smp. nothing goes wrong, surely! also admittedly i havent finished reading this either but roy i swear i will. this is a great read nevertheless and the soup group dynamic is impeccable!

TommyInnit's unbeatable method of avoiding sudden death by eneliii - on the train of dsmp fics, this is the superhero au longfic that inspired my own hc superhero au, vdhau. it's a lot of funny shenanigans with tommy and his friends. the fic does take a dark turn at the end, but that can be skipped entirely (as said by eneli herself) if you just want the wholesome aspects.

if you don't mind a little self promo, here are some of my fics!

it takes two to play (the game of mutual secrecy) - the aforementioned hermitcraft hero au. this installment is centered around xisuma and evil x as brothers resolving their issues through hero work and solving the mystery of welsknight's disappearance :D there are other works that are set in the same universe if you're interested for more!

how to form the ultimate besties dynamic: an unreliable tutorial by hypnotizd - a oneshot! hypno is a warlock who goes treasure hunting under the sea. he meets a guardian who later becomes his unlikely friend.

smoke and mirrors, the hunt perseveres - grian's arrival in empires s2 unwittingly brings the watchers' suspicions with him. cue jimmy freaking out and a lot of shenanigans.

ballad of etho’s lab - my newest installment! a oneshot about etho's storied life as the redstone god.

i'm also currently working on the sequel to the game of mutual secrecy and a new (well not exactly new since i made concept art for it) au called private detective gem tasey! these will likely be released sometime late january or february. have fun with these fic recs! i haven't been reading as much lately but i hope ill be able to find more if anyone else asks in the future. cheers!

edit: the fics are out! here they are!

hiding in plain sight (the meaning of trust) - sequel to the hermitcraft hero au! it follows an escaped lab rat trying to acquaint themselves with human society while avoiding suspicion and making friends with familiar faces from tgms ;D

private detective gem tasey: a rotten mystery in london - a hermitcraft detective au where gem gets hired for a case that spirals completely into drama and politics!

[xxx-silhouette-xxx]

Am I the only one disappointed with season 3 of The Mandalorian?

Contains SPOILERS - so skip if you don’t wanna know

Tonight was, painful.

I’ve REALLY been trying to hang on with an open mind but after tonight, there’s no going back.

And I’ve got some things to get off my chest.

Din Djarin has had NO character development from the sacrifice he made for Grogu’s life. This has been inarguably, the biggest disappointment for me. I was hoping for a season of exploration of a man’s moral compass and worldview being hauled upside down, a young boy who’d been orphaned, traumatised and taken in by a cult that raised him with titanium religious beliefs. Who grew into a hardened bounty hunter but gave up everything he knew for the sake of a lost child. Became shunned for protecting said child and despite doing what he felt was right, strived to seek redemption and forgiveness. There was so much potential for Din as a character in terms of growth and development, all of which was swept under a rug within the first two episodes. He has instead become apart of Disney’s formula of “the boss ladies side bitch” with nothing to add to the scene but his catchphrase “this is the way”. That and the sudden revival of his hate for droids even though he had been working on that issue in past seasons.

Grogu is more or less the commodity Disney grew cash dollar signs in their eyes over for the sake of product marketing and just have him doing cutesy shit for the sake of being cutesy.

And then there’s Bo Katan.

Now disclaimer - I’m not the type that hates an actual person for a character they play. Yes, I’ve never liked Bo Katan (that much I’ve made clear in recent posts) but I also think that Katee Sackhoff does a brilliant job playing a character as such. And to see her come to life in season 2 was incredible and to me, Bo Katan from season two is the REAL Bo Katan.

Because I’m sure as hell disappointed with what they’ve done to her character in season 3. Bo Katan was a terrorist who broke away from Mandalore unable to accept a new direction in leadership from her own sister. She massacred and terrorised innocent people, she plotted towards the death of her sister, splintered off from her terrorist group after the throne of Mandalore was taken by Maul and continued to fight against his loyalists and later the empire itself.

And we all saw the look of death on her face when Gideon pointed out that the dark Sabre belonged to Din

This isn’t someone I was rooting for but this was someone who didn’t know when to give up and would go to any means possible to get what they wanted. This is the same woman who made an oath in the throne room of Mandalore, saying that an outsider would never rule the people. The odds were against her in many ways yet she still fought like hell…. Where is that woman? And who replaced her with Disney’s first emo teen princess whose suddenly forgotten her xenophobic upbringing?

And as for Lizzo and Jack Black’s appearances in episode six?

My partner said it best when he commented that they turn the whole show into a parody of itself.

Personally, I found Christopher Loyd’s character as flat as cardboard and an absolutely pointless goose chase used to build up momentum all to throw away the opportunity for a twist ending.

It really breaks my heart to see the series diminish into what it has. The whole reason people fell in love with the show was due to Din and Grogu’s father son dynamic and that’s all been thrown to the side in favour of other characters, setting up for the future of other shows and tying off the ends to the sequels.

Season three completely lacks the drive and purpose of the previous seasons.

It should and could have been so much more than what it is.

And Din Djarin deserved more depth in his story then to be abandoned to the side lines.

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT! I love Lionheart most ardently - it is truly one of my favorite stories (in general, not just fanfiction).

One thing that really impresses me is your ability to make the personality, depth, and voice of every character shine, far beyond just the core four of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco. Two questions for you - one, which supporting character has been the most fun for you to write? And two, are there any characters that you especially wish had gotten more character depth or "screen time" in canon? Thanks!

Thank you so much! Much love from one Austenian to another. <3

Taking the core four off the board, Theo and/or Pansy have been the most fun to write, because they're so deliciously nasty. After a lot of scenes in Gryffindor, which is a warm, cozy, everyone-knows-your-name kind of place, Slytherin is a splash of cold water. Teddy and Pans in particular are tangled up in the kinds of toxic oddball dynamics you get when you take a bunch of emotionally repressed children, give them more money than God, and tell them they can't trust anyone but each other. Also, they deliberately talk like they're in a novel, because they're pretentious, and that's fun.

Characters that I wish had more time in canon: my kingdom for a scrap of information about Narcissa. Some lore, some dialogue, some narrative anything from Narcissa. Because if you just lay it out in bullet points, her life is the most fucked-up insane series of catastrophic fall-of-the-Roman-Empire type disasters — like, her (canonical) timeline currently goes, in chronological order:

Sister elopes and gets disinherited

Cousin runs away and gets disinherited

Other sister joins a cult

Other cousin also joins a cult

Husband joins a cult (timeline unclear, possibly predates your sister and/or cousin)

Other cousin goes missing, presumed dead(??)

Disinherited cousin is arrested for betraying his best friend to your cult leader and killing ten muggles (even though the muggle-killing was what he got all pissy about in the first place?)

Disinherited cousin's dead best friend's kid kills your cult leader on accident.

Your husband is arrested and tried for trying to overthrow his government (which he did) but they acquit him because you guys are rich. Your sister (also rich(?)) goes to prison though

Your husband unleashes a string of murders at the school your only son attends by smuggling a Dark artifact bequeathed to him by your dead cult leader to an eleven-year-old girl

Harry Potter frees your house-elf by tricking your beautiful idiot husband into punting a twelve-year-old's sock at it

Disinherited cousin breaks out of jail, tries to kill(?) Harry Potter

Your cult leader comes back from the dead

Your cult sister breaks out of jail to join her resurrected cult leader and moves into your house

Your son joins the cult and tries to kill his school principal. You make a suicide pact with his chemistry professor to help him out. Your son appears to succeed; everyone is still in your house for some reason.

Cult leader kills Harry Potter, Notoriously Unkillable Guy, and doesn't check the body himself. Maybe has bad knees or something? Unclear. Anyway, kid's not dead, so you lie to your immortal cult leader because you're sick of having all these people in your fucking house.

But hey, I'm glad the books made time for us to meet Ted Tonks.

[silent-words]

My favourite magic nerds (Gale Dekarios and Dorian Pavus)

Alright, I'll squeeze some DA obsession here by comparing two characters, one from BG3 and one from DA: Inquisition. Not only do I want to get back to Gale (my beloved), but also draw some attention to the least romanced character in Dragon Age: Inquisition (Dorian Pavus), who is, of course, unfairly neglected.

Appearance

First and foremost – stunning looks. They're both handsome in my very biased and totally subjective opinion. Just look at them and try to tell me they're not gorgeous.

Immaculate facial hair. I actually have screenshots of the underside of Gale's beard, it is as neat as Dorian's moustache.

They're both Mediterranean-coded tanned dark-haired men. Which is supported by Gale's Greek-sounding surname and Dorian's homeland being the analogy of the Roman Empire.

Profession

Both are wizards/mages, very skilled mages, who know what they are doing with their power.

Both are very talented mages, either by luck, or because of Tevinter mage breeding programme (how else would we call it?).

Both love magic, both are proud of their magic knowledge and fascinated by all things magical. If in both games you face some unknown magic, these companions will go 🤩

Dorian literally lives in a library in Acts 2 and 3 of DA:I. Gale makes a library out of his tent.

They both want to push the boundaries of magical knowledge (Gale does it in his confrontation with Mystra, Dorian in his timey-wimey magic).

To sum up, they're both magic nerds (and I love them for it).

Personality

Both are witty and make a lot of jokes. Dorian is more sarcastic, of course, while Gale is more subtle.

They do not lie to the main character and do not approve of lying.

They do not disapprove when you try to help NPCs.

Both are show-offs, especially when they can demonstrate their magical prowess.

They pay a lot of attention to their looks and want to look dashing. Dorian's make-up and Gale's earring make it even more pronounced.

Both are accustomed to the comforts of civilisation and feel uncomfortable in the wilderness.

They love their city/country of origin, although they know the downsides. With Dorian the very country of origin is a complicated issue, but the homesickness is the same as what we see with Gale (do you remember "I wish I could go home" from the House of Hope?).

Arrogance can be sexy, and those two are the embodiment of this phrase.

Trauma (but that's part of the definition of a companion in these games, so we go on to the next point)

Self-destructive tendencies. With Gale more than with Dorian, but the latter's addiction (referenced in the game) still counts.

Highly emotional and sometimes lashing out on the main character.

Romance

They like sex, but that's not what they actually want from the romance.

They fall in love not for the appearance (we just need to make adjustments for the DA:I weird romance system).

They do not betray the trust of the main character.

Both are not straight characters ;-)

Of course, there are many differences between the characters, but I just wanted to draw some parallels and to show you my pokemons wizards.

P. S. if you want to romance Dorian, you'll need to create a male main character (remember what I said about the weird romance system? it doesn't make sense not only after BG3, but also after DA2).

[theoperativeif]

Ari (The Operative short story)

Here is the finish short story! I actually wrote the whole thing with the pronouns switched between Ari and 002, I needed to go back and correct it to make it fit the poll results. But I am so happy to have it finished! Feel free to let me know your thoughts on it.

Enjoy! <3 you all!

(Content warning, all warnings in The Operative demo apply to this as well!)

The specks of far-off stars dotted the viewport, an ethereal canvas of black and purple that seemed to stretch into infinity. No artist, however skilled, could have crafted such a perfect tableau.

"Admiral, the Emperor’s Herald is calling,” First Officer Gallo announced, his large frame eclipsing a swath of console lights. “Should I put it through?”

A hesitant glance swept across Admiral Anderson's crew—faces caught in a blend of darkness and eerie console glow. Custom dictated that a Herald's message be broadcast to the entire ship. But not this time.

“No, this is a private assembly,” Elia instructed, straightening her uniform as a screen unfurled before her, obscuring the cosmic tapestry.

The Imperial Anthem, a bombastic melody woven into the very fiber of her being, filled the ship. As it faded, metal walls isolated Elia from her crew. For a moment, she stood in encompassing darkness before finding herself surrounded by a grand chamber of marble stairs. Virtual figures of obscured Admirals and Generals stood beside her in this ritualistic gathering known as the Emperor's embrace—an event Elia usually avoided.

Slowly, she looked up to the throne above her, where a shadowy figure reclined. A second figure descended the stairs, coming into full view.

“Generals, Admirals, Leaders of the Empire," a voice boomed, blending martial roughness with Capitol sophistication. "The Emperor’s chosen voice, his Herald of guidance, will now address you.”

The Herald appeared—a lithe silhouette veiled in holographic stars and galaxies. As Elia locked eyes with two bright stars, a shiver crawled up her spine. Her own reflection in those stars was a haunting revelation, one that weighed heavily on her conscience.

"Elia," the Herald whispered with unsettling familiarity, "child, what do you wish to ask of the Emperor?”

“Only to thank him for his leadership and blessings,” Elia replied in a rehearsed tone, hearing echoed affirmations from her obscured colleagues.

“The Emperor is displeased with Vanern. They dishonor the very souls they owe him. Examples must be made,” the Herald intoned.

“We need to withdraw from the planet,” General Parcer interjected, his voice breaking the uneasy silence.

Elia winced. The General's defiance made her uncomfortable, yet also resonated with her own suppressed reservations. The general was an imposing figure, with a thinly trimmed mustache and long blue cloak behind him. 

“The Emperor commands you to hold the planet,” the Herald cautioned.

Several other Admirals voiced their concerns, echoing that of Parcer.

 

“What of you, Admiral Anderson?” The Herald's virtual fingers grazed Elia's cheek, adding an unsettling intimacy to the long look they gave her, “Is there not one soul brave enough to stay?”

General Parcer stepped back, a look of hurt pride on his face as he shook his head. Elia sensed the moment's significance—a junction of personal ambition and collective destiny. Her eyes met the Herald’s stars again, but now they shimmered with resolve.

"The Chemical Core and my Operatives can hold the line. If we win the skies, they can win on the ground. General, do you have the stomach for it?" she challenged.

Parcer hesitated, his eyes darting between the Herald and Elia, before exhaling a defeated sigh. "I pray you're right," he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

“The only power that matters is the Emperor’s,” the Herald declared, turning back to Elia with a nod. “Proceed with your plans.”

Five Months Later

The evening winds screamed over the southern plains just outside the city of Mulhat, like vengeful spirits mourning their losses. Once a site for thousands to enjoy the celestial lights, the plains were now a desolate tableau, inhabited only by the dead—or those resigned to join them soon. Six medium Imperial tanks rumbled down the roads, weaving through abandoned vehicles, shallow graves, and the occasional forsaken pet. Flanking and leading them were the remnants of the 7th, their rifles swinging from point to point as if desperate to find a target.

More than a third of them had unmarked armor, but it was caked with the mud of a long march. They were green. Ari frowned at the sight, his eyes narrowing beneath his helmet.

Perched atop the second tank, Ari wiped the dried blood off his helmet with swift, forceful strokes. Around him, no one spoke. What could they say? By some fluke, another day had passed without casualties. Yet an uneasy air hung thick, as if death had merely postponed its visit.

The lead tank juddered to a stop, and the rest of the column followed in an ordered sequence. Ari rolled off the side of his tank and landed softly on the mud-caked earth, eyes scanning as platoons fanned out in every direction.

From an armored carrier at the rear, Captain Carrington surveyed a map. Tall and bespectacled, his impeccable uniform seemed out of place next to his subordinates, whose attire bore the scars of ongoing conflict. Ari had felt uneasy when he took over the 7th two weeks ago; he was too young, his uniform too clean. The original officers had fallen during the first week of operations, leaving NCOs to improvise.

Carrington finally closed his map and approached Ari, a polished smile contrasting sharply with his mud-splattered armor. "Ahead is a town suspected of harboring a small Commonwealth presence," he said, never quite meeting his eyes. "Command wants it cleared and any arms seized from its citizens."

Ari's eyes flicked to the map Carrington was still clutching. 

He continued, "I want you to clear it for us. You leave immediately."

Ari stared at him, his gut tightening before he consciously willed himself to relax. This is what he was engineered for.

"Lieutenant Hammond of the Third Platoon interjected, stepping forward. "Sir, Ari's already cleared four towns this week. Maybe we can—"

Carrington cut him off with a glare, his plastic smile returning. "Nonsense. I have the utmost faith in Operative 005."

Ari winced. Hammond had no reason to draw the ire of their greenhorn commander. He gave him a nod of appreciation. His thoughts retreated to his past, to his "mother's" incessant instruction and the tales from 002 about honorable warriors. Tales that now seemed like childish fantasies. He was a soldier. He would obey.

The town that awaited Ari was a mere ten miles up the road—a modest industrial outpost framed by skeletal factories on either side. Once bustling centers of production, they were now hollowed-out relics, victims of the relentless artillery that rained from above.

Ari peered through his rifle scope, his eyes hardened behind the dark visor. The forest that once provided cover had been reduced to smoldering embers and blackened stumps, leaving an unforgiving mile of barren terrain between the town's outskirts and the nearest semblance of shelter.

He had challenged Captain Carrington on his tactics. "How do you expect me to approach the town without cover?" The Captain's response had been a disconcerting smile and a vague assurance: "I'm confident you'll manage."

Suppressing a sigh, Ari activated his suit's cloaking device. A shimmering ripple enveloped his armor, harmonizing with the charred landscape behind him. As he advanced, his suit's sensors fed him real-time data: the air was thick with smoke, but mercifully free of chemical or biological threats. "Good," he thought, recalling a nightmarish scenario where an entire town's air filtration had failed, asphyxiating its inhabitants. He could have easily been one of those children, had fate dealt him a different hand.

His thoughts wandered, as they often did, to questions of origin. Had he come from a lush, verdant world? Or maybe a frozen wasteland? He smiled beneath his visor, imagining a little 002 thriving in a harsh, unforgiving environment. He had always ensured he would too. He was a warrior Ari could only dream of matching.

But not now. Not when 002 was at the frontlines, and he was stuck under the command of an inexperienced captain, showcased like a trophy weapon. He had obeyed his orders dutifully, wading through skirmishes while he observed from a safe distance, his eyes twinkling in unsettling fascination.

He was an instrument of war, and the Captain was merely using him as intended. Yet, a nagging sensation of being wasted gnawed at him. He imagined his "Mother" laughing at him inner turmoil—a cruel, mirthless laugh that echoed in his mind.

Just as he reached the fringes of the town, his steps faltered. A shallow ditch caught his eye. Inside lay five bodies—two women and three men, faces down, their skulls shattered by bullets.

Death had been quick at least.

Grimacing, Ari skirted past the ditch and crept along the side of a nearby building. Its facade bore signs of conflict, scarred by bullets that may have been fired from makeshift firearms.

Taking cover behind some empty supply crates near the corner of the building Ari turned off the cloaking field, letting it recharge for a few minutes in silence. 

The wind blew, howling for a moment before settling into silence without any response. 

Then Ari heard it. A boot stepping on metal with a fairly heavy thump. Too heavy, Ari thought, slowly raising his rifle and pointing it against the wall of the building. Turning his cloak back on he let his armor scan the building. Noting the fuzziness of the screen he waited. 

Some fireteams would carry a scrambler with them to black out a building from an outside fireteams sensors. It was effective except for one issue. A blacked out building also revealed their location.

Ari guessed there must be  at least five inside, if there was more then a fire team others would most likely join in after the fight had started.

 

Ari waited until he heard the last bootstep, then pulled the trigger. With a loud bang his rifle fired easily through the wall, a loud metal ping sounded as he discharged the large casing as she rolled to the side. 

A hail of bullets fired through the walls of the shelter. He could imagine each path as time slowed before he let off two more well placed shots.

In a matter of four seconds it was silent. 

Breathing heavily Ari waited. Satisfied at the lack of noise Ari moved around, peeking out towards the road running in front of the building. If there were more soldiers here they were doing a good job of not revealing themselves. If they were there Ari didn’t intend to give them the satisfaction of spotting him. 

Placing two breach charges on the wall Ari circled around towards the back door. Keying the keypad he opened it, carefully monitoring his sensors. 

Room by room he swept, noting the three bodies, large holes blown threw their personal armor, blood coating the metal fragments. Commonwealth Soldiers, he noted from the insignia’s on their shoulders. Bending down he lightly pushed one, noting the armor had been fused together in a custom repair job.

Interesting. he thought, wondering if the Commonwealth was as low on supplies as their Imperial foes were. 

He heard the faintest scuff of a boot on flooring. 

Diving to the side he barely missed the sword that embedded itself in the floor, it was large with an ornate looking handle. A tall soldier with a curved armored helmet pulled it out of the floor. Standing nearly as tall as him it looked almost like an Operative. A Commonwealth knight. He thought cautiously. Not enhanced. He noted the more clumsy movements.

It raised the sword, pointing it at him in a challenge as several Commonwealth soldiers filed in behind it. 

Not waiting, Ari opened fire, letting off two rounds. 

The first slammed into the large soldier's helmet, skimming off of it in a wave of sparks. The second blew through the next soldier before continuing on to blow the leg off of his comrade behind him. 

There were shouts as Ari rushed behind a wall, bullets striking the space she had just been in.

Calmly aiming at the front door he fired a single round through it, a cry of pain sounding from outside. 

Calmly picking the Commonwealth soldiers off with precise shots he, looked around as the wall behind him exploded. Light pops of gunfire outside sounding. 

He ducked under the sword of the imposing knight. The next swing he blocked with his rifle, the blade digging into it. The Knights free gloved hand shot out, gripping Ari’s throat in an iron embrace.

Drawing his knife he plunged it in the small gap in the suit by his abdomen, ripping upwards in an arc, warm blood coating his hand.

His armor growled, reinforcing his strength as he tossed Ari across the room. His Rifle clattered to the floor as he gasped for air. 

The Knight stumbled, holding the wound. 

Flipping the knife over in his hand Ari circled him, making a feint he got him to raise his sword with one hand. Dodging under it he stabbed two more times, once into his armpit and another into the gap on his other side. 

He cried out, his armor unable to make up for his failing limbs as he dropped to his knees. The sword clattering to the ground.

Ari walked over, picking his rifle up and quickly checking it over. 

Satisfied he stuck the barrel underneath his helmet and fired a single shot. 

Blood splattered his face as the helmet was thrown off the knights head. 

He sighed, turning and eventually finding the jamming device in the house. 

He would clear four more holdouts in the town. Around fifty soldiers in total when he was finished. He sat near the front of the town, cleaning his wounds as the tanks finally crested one of the hills, the marines slowly making their way over to him. 

Fireteams passed him silently, sweeping through the buildings long since cleared. 

Captain Carrington sat calmly on the last tank as it rolled into town, stepping off of it his boots sank awkwardly into the muddy ground. Ari gently grabbed his arm, keeping him upright, a thought crossing his mind to let the kid fall. 

He looked at Ari with a strange mix of embarrassment and anger before shaking his grip off. 

“I see you dealt with things adequately enough,” he said, looking back at the tank commander whose head was silently peering out front the top hatch, “get your tanks under some cover, camouflage the ones you can’t get under the overhangs, the Commonwealth might still be sweeping this area with some ground attack aircraft.”

 

The tank commander nodded, the tank's engine roaring as it was slowly guided by a marine between two buildings and a large camo net was thrown over it. 

“Confiscate any communications devices the locals might be in possession of, can’t have them specifying coordinates.”

Ari looked at some of the townspeople with a critical eye. They wore simple clothes, worn and obviously in need of replacement. He walked over to a graying man who had claimed the role as the town's representative. 

“There is a grave towards the front of town, who were they?” Ari asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. The man held his gaze, his eyes worn and haunted before shaking his head. 

“A family, they objected when a soldier took their daughter for an,” he hesitated, “interrogation.” 

They stood in silent understanding. Such things were common.

 

“We are here to help,” Ari said finally, looking at the man, “I’m Ari.” 

“Antonio,” the man said with a practiced smile, “you will forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. Those soldiers said the same thing when they came.”

“You are Imperial citizens,” Ari objected, “we would never hope to-”

A shot rang out from somewhere towards the edge of town, Ari looked out as birds scattered from where they had been peering atop buildings. When he turned back to Antonio he saw the man's expression had gone dark with a hint of disappointment before passing him and rushing off towards the gunshot. 

Captain Carrington meanwhile paid the gunshot no mind, instead choosing some lodging for the night from a selection of still intact shelters. Ari started to head towards the commotion but stopped as he was waived by the Captain to follow. 

Staring down the street as a young man was dragged by two soldiers out into the street Ari hesitated before slowly following after the young Captain. Two gunshots followed. Military caliber. Ari noted silently as a woman's screams of grief replaced the silence. 

The Captain arranged with an old woman to ‘rent’ one of her guest rooms, with arrangements for breakfast and coffee in the morning. The woman smiled a merchant's smile, practiced and precise, but Ari noticed the daggers glinting in the dim light as she watched the Captain’s men unload his personal effects into the room. 

Ari eventually was allowed to leave without so much as a word said between them. He would be told by a sergeant that a young man whose father was in the Commonwealth army had stowed away a small firearm and had shot one of the officers in the neck. The officer had lived, sporting a bandaged neck by the time Ari finally saw him. The boy on the other hand had been dealt with quickly, his mother given a small sum of money to compensate her. 

Ari found himself wondering if he should step in, this boy was obviously unfit to command this unit in pitched combat. Let alone his inability to keep control of the green recruits who looked like they had been plucked straight from the street corners of the red light district. 

Ari was shown to his own quarters, a tent hastily erected and guarded by two soldiers, each holding a rifle. It was as if he were both a valued asset and a potential threat.

After changing into a simple shirt and pants, Ari reached for his worn sketchbook and pencil. He took a moment to center himself. Closing his eyes, he thought back to a single, beautiful tree they had passed twenty miles back—a stark contrast to the desolation around his. With gentle strokes, he began sketching the tree's every leaf and branch. As he breathed in deeply, he could almost smell the earth and hear the rustle of leaves, a brief refuge from the harsh reality he faced.

He paused and flipped through the sketchbook's filled pages, each a snapshot of a lost moment or a lingering hope. His eyes stopped at one of his earliest drawings. It was a young woman, her face peaceful yet filled with determination. He felt a lump form in his throat and pressed the drawing against his chest as if trying to absorb its essence.

002, the second Operative created by Mother, had always been his sanctuary in the labyrinth of darkness they called home. He remembered their stolen moments, sitting side by side, staring up at the artificial stars above the lab. While 002 was a girl of few words, her smiles spoke volumes. They were like tiny rebellions, showing a sense of wonder and inner freedom. Ari dared to hope—still hoped—that he occupied some corner of her dreams as well.

She had always been in mine, he thought, his finger tracing the contours of the drawing. Last he heard, she had been deployed somewhere on this war-ravaged planet. A bittersweet hope clung to him; perhaps fate would cross their paths once more.

Just then, one of the guards interrupted his reverie. "Visitor for you, Lieutenant Hammond."

Snapping back to reality, Ari quickly hid the sketchbook under his pillow. "Come in," he called.

Lieutenant Hammond entered, his burly frame barely fitting through the tent flap. His face was etched with a mixture of concern and internal conflict. "What he's doing isn't fair to you," he blurted out, almost as if he couldn't hold it in any longer.

Ari's eyes shifted nervously to the tent flap. "Is this the time or place for this conversation?"

"They agree with me," Hammond reassured, his voice tinged with urgency. "Those of us who've seen enough know this is wrong. You're more than just a weapon—you're one of the Emperor's Chosen Children."

Ari's lips quivered for a moment before he steeled himself. "I am just a weapon," he replied, echoing the cold words that Mother had etched into his very soul. "I exist to die for the Empire, in any way my superiors see fit."

"That's no way to live," Hammond argued, his eyes softening, revealing a paternal concern.

"Operatives don't live; we merely exist between missions," Ari retorted, bitterness lacing his words.

"Don't say that," Hammond insisted, his eyes imploring. "You deserve more, so much more."

Tears welled up in Ari's eyes, but he blinked them back. I am the Emperor's weapon; that's all I will ever be, he reminded himself, fighting back his emotions.

"I'll report the Captain to high command," Hammond declared, getting up from his chair with a newfound resolve.

"No," Ari said softly but firmly, stopping him in his tracks.

Hammond turned, an incredulous look on his face. "No?"

"Do it if you must, but not for me," Ari clarified, his voice tinged with resignation. "If you believe he's a danger to you and your men, report him. But he's just using the resources given to him. I am that resource." As he spoke, he wished he could make himself believe his own words; perhaps then the weight he carried would be a little lighter.

Hammond stared at him, bewildered and heartbroken. He let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head, and exited the tent, leaving Ari alone with his thoughts.

Retreating to his cot, Ari took a deep, shuddering breath. He lay there in the suffocating silence until sleep finally claimed him, bringing with it the haunting dreams that were his constant companions.

Ari opened his eyes to find himself atop a haunting hill, overlooking a forest that seemed almost alive in its dark expanse. The twisted carcasses of tanks and spaceships lay strewn about the hillside like the skeletal remains of fallen giants. Piles of bodies marked the midpoint of the hill, their positions suggesting they'd collapsed against an invisible force field. Ancient ruins clawed their way up from the base of the hill, their tendrils of stone and metal as if reaching for something lost.

Further up the hill, a sparse selection of bodies lay in disarray. He didn't recognize any of them; they were all strangers, perhaps souls who'd been pulled into this morbid tableau against their will.

"Just us, it seems, hmm?" A voice whispered from behind him, chilling him to the bone.

He pivoted, his breath catching in his throat. An enormous, ethereal beam of light shot upwards, splattering the sky in a surreal blend of purple and green. Between him and this spectacle stood a lone figure.

001—the original Operative. It was a monstrous vision, devoid of any shred of humanity, encased in an unholy fusion of bone and silver-colored armor. Its helmet wrapped around his head, with two jagged armor plates that met in a mesh, pulsating like some insectoid maw. Two malevolent, glowing green eyes bored into his very soul.

"Disappointed?" 001 sneered, as if savoring his reaction. "You wouldn't think something like that of 002."

"She is nothing like you," Ari managed, his voice quivering as he took a step back.

"She is exactly like me," 001 cackled, a malevolent sound that made the hill beneath them tremble. "I paved the way for all that is to come. Don't delude yourself. She's walking the same path, right behind me. And so are you."

Ari's breath hitched. No, they were wrong; 002 was nothing like this abomination. She was kind, she was heroic, and above all, she cared about him.

"I cared about someone, too, once," 001 said, its voice suddenly hollow, almost wistful. In a blinding flash, it closed the gap between them, gripping him by the neck and hoisting him into the air like a ragdoll. "Want to know what became of that love? What he will one day do to you?"

Ari's eyes snapped open. He was back in his cot, drenched in cold sweat. His hands shot to his throat; it was untouched, yet the sensation of that iron grip remained. He sank back into his cot, his eyes clenched shut, his heart pounding in his chest. It had felt unbearably, terrifyingly real.

Then again, it always did.

Ari wiped away tears that he hadn't realized he'd shed, and reached for his sketchbook lying next to him. Could his longing for decency be just a child's fantasy? No, it couldn't be.

There was a commotion outside, shouts of anger and one of terror. Ari jumped from his cot, snatching his rifle easily off its rack and rushing outside. His two guards had their rifles at the ready and quickly fell into step with his. Captain Carrington exited his own quarters, a look of bewilderment on his face as he wrapped a brown cloak around his sleep attire. 

Several marines were aiming their weapons at a group of townspeople who held a marine with a knife to his throat. On the ground was a woman, her face bruised, crying and shaking, beside her was a marine, a gunshot wound through his chest.

“Lower your weapons god damn it!” Carrington ordered, his voice not carrying the order properly over the chaos.

“Lower your weapons now!” Ari ordered, his voice carrying easily as the marines obeyed, shouldering their firearms. 

Carrington cast an unreadable look towards him before focusing back on the marines and townspeople. 

“What's the meaning of this?” He asked, looking expectantly at his marines. 

“Your man drunkenly attacked one of our women,” Antonio said, a dark look on his face as he glared at the young Captain, “when his comrade intervened he shot him!”

Ari’s fingers tapped his combat knife, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. 

“Is this true?” Carrington looked at the sergeant who looked down before nodding his head.

“Seems to be Captain, luckily people intervened,” the Sergeant looked down shamefully, two other veterans nodded their heads, though several objections were raised by several of the younger marines. 

Captain Carrington seemed lost for a moment, looking between the townspeople, their faces filled with a mixture of anger and expectation and his marines who seemed disappointed he would even consider taking the townsfolk side. 

“Take him in front of my quarters,” Carrington said quietly, waving for the marines to take him, “whats, whats his name?”

“Private Summers Sir,” the Sergeant replied simply.

The man holding the marine at knife point lowered the blade, allowing the two closest marines to grab both of his arms.

The two groups followed the Captain back to his quarters. Ari followed him inside quietly. He watched as he suddenly started shaking as he searched through his makeshift work desk, scattering papers and data pads across it. He seemed to be searching for something specific. 

He eventually found it, reading over something on his datapad. He read some parts out loud, but only in pieces.

“If a soldier in his service should…”

“Discretion of commanding officer…”

“Carried out by company…”

Afterwards he pulled up the accused man's military record, he tapped on several other incidents reported.

He shakily put the pad down, hanging his head with a loud sigh before straightening himself and walking back outside. 

He walked over to the Sergeant, speaking quietly so the townspeople could not hear him.

“Sergeant, tie him to that post over there,” Captain Carrington said, drawing his pistol and examining it carefully, he was pale now. His hand barely able to properly secure the weapon, he looked at his marines doing his best to make his voice strong, “we are the Emperor’s marines, we conduct ourselves according to the Imperial Codex of War, and any breaking of that should result in a tribunal of the accused. However when one commits such an act in a warzone and may endanger the lives of others the commanding officer may carry out an execution.”

The townspeople had gone silent, meanwhile whispers and grumbling broke out among the marines. Lieutenant Hammond and the Sergeant quickly quelled the murmurs, their own opinions hidden behind  serious faces. 

Private Summers struggled against the two marines dragging him, “fuck you Captain, you spineless piece of shit!” 

The Captain had gone silent, pistol gripped in his hand. Once the man was tied to the post the Captain raised his pistol, and nothing. The Captain’s hand was shaking as he gripped the pistol. Silence had fallen over the area. 

The private, perhaps sensing the Captain’s weakness, began to silently sneer in contempt.

Ari flexed his hands, looking at the Captain before slowly looking over the crowd. If he didn’t carry out his declared sentence now not only would the town scorn them but the marines under his command would be even more likely to commit acts against the populace. 

His mothers voice popped into his head. One of the instructions given to an Operative was to be the weapon at their betters disposal. Perhaps the Captain was overlooking him as an option.

He took several steps forward to be beside the Captain before leaning over, “I would be honored to carry out the sentence.” 

The Captain spun on him, eyes flashing anger before he noticed the doubting faces of the crowd around them. Something else flashed in his eyes as he looked between Ari and the private. Ari blinked in surprise, was that hatred he saw?

“Yes, I think that would be better,” the Captain said, raising his head in a failed attempt at maintaining dignity as he handed the pistol to Ari, “once in the head please.” 

Ari turned, squeezing the trigger and firing a single round straight through the mans skull. He slumped instantly, with Ari nodding in satisfaction at the shot. He handed the pistol back to the Captain who merely stared at him. 

“Everyone disperse!” Lieutenant Hammond bellowed as he turned to the crowd.

After that fateful evening, an eerie silence settled over the town for the next few days. However, on the fourth day, the tranquility was shattered when a sealed communique arrived for the Captain. Ari and Hammond received orders to report to the Captain's quarters immediately. As they approached the worn wooden door, Ari thanked the elderly homeowner who greeted them with a resigned smile before opening the door.

Stepping inside, they found themselves in a room heavy with the scent of tobacco and aged leather. The Captain sat at his worn desk, the dim glow from a desk lamp illuminating his pale face as he fixated on a datapad.

Ari felt a knot tighten in his stomach, and he exchanged a puzzled look with Hammond before the Captain looked up and acknowledged their presence.

"The 14th and 9th have been annihilated in a counteroffensive. We're being rotated to the front lines to support the 22nd," he disclosed, his voice tinged with an anguish that he couldn't hide. "New officers are coming in to take the 7th from me."

A mix of dread and anticipation filled the room. Hammond, trying to cut through the tension, chimed in. "Well, at least our boys will finally see some heavy combat. I'll get the officers assembled."

With a curt nod, Hammond exited, leaving Ari alone in the stifling atmosphere of the room. The Captain leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, shaky breath before breaking into an unsettling laugh.

"You planned this somehow," he slurred, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid from under the table and taking a defiant swig. "Your kind always finds a way to win, don't they?"

"Sir, I don't understand," Ari said cautiously, flinching as the bottle flew past his face, shattering against the dark wooden wall and leaving a wet stain.

"Don't feign innocence. From day one, you've played the role of the shining warrior, haven't you?" His eyes narrowed, and he staggered to his feet, gripping the edge of the table for support. "All along, you've been subtly undermining me. Turning my men and this town against me. Your entire kind is just twisted, isn't it?"

Ari felt his pulse quicken, his mouth going dry. In a moment of candid emotion, he retorted, "You've done that yourself."

As the words escaped his lips, Ari froze. Why had he said that? What would happen now?

The Captain stared at him, and for a fleeting moment, Ari thought he saw a glimmer of realization cross his eyes—but then it was gone, replaced by an even deeper darkness.

“You,” he snarled uselessly as he sat back in his chair, “get out of my sight monster.” 

Several hours later they had set off, leaving the town behind them.

Ari reclined in his seat as the armored transport rumbled inexorably toward the frontline. Streams of civilians—the collateral damage of war—fled in the opposite direction. Their faces were etched with haunted expressions that Ari knew he'd remember for a lifetime. A few children, perhaps too young to grasp the gravity of their situation, waved at the passing soldiers. Ari mustered a smile and waved back, but his eyes couldn't help but shift to the metamorphosing landscape outside.

Once verdant fields and dense, peaceful forests were now marred by the scars of war. What had once resembled a pastoral painting was now more akin to a nightmarish hellscape. The earth was gouged open, as if it too had suffered wounds, with mud oozing out like brown, coagulated blood. Deep trenches dissected the land, and the carcasses of tanks and even entire aircraft lay sunken in the mire, forgotten monuments to failed human endeavor.

The landscape brought an unbidden thought to the forefront of his mind: What hell had 002 been enduring out here? A wave of guilt washed over him, complicating his earlier feelings of dissatisfaction with his assignment. He had been pouting about his orders, resenting his inexperienced Captain, and feeling underutilized. But was he not, at that very moment, headed toward the place he felt he should be? A place where he could be of real use? And yet, even that idea felt tinged with a selfish desire—to find 002, to ensure he was alright, to fight by his side just like they had in what felt like another lifetime.

Ari closed his eyes briefly, wrestling with the confusing medley of emotions that churned within him. He felt a strange amalgam of guilt for wanting more action, worry for the woman who had always stood by him, and a newfound, unsettling empathy for the people whose lives had been upturned by this war.

His eyes widened further as they drove past the artillery units. Mammoth cannons, engineering marvels that belied their grim purpose, launched rocket-assisted shells that could traverse several hundreds of miles. The ground itself seemed to tremble with the concussive force of each shot, sending a primal shiver down Ari's spine.

Adjacent to the artillery were the repair units, swarming with engineers and technicians. They buzzed around damaged fighter craft, each a casualty of the dangerous aerial ballet occurring far above them. Sparks flew, welding torches flared, and the scent of hot metal filled the air as these units labored to return their birds to the sky, and into the maw of the ongoing conflict.

Inside the transport, the atmosphere had become thick with tension. Ari looked around and noticed the stark transformation in his comrades. The new recruits, previously flushed with the naïve excitement of youth, had turned ashen. Their eyes darted nervously, and their faces held a greenish tint, as if the reality of war had settled in their stomachs and was threatening to come back up.

As if on cue, their own artillery began its relentless cacophony. The initial hiss of rockets and shells slicing through the air resonated in the confined space, cutting through the tension like a knife. Several marines flinched visibly, their eyes widening and jaws tightening.

For a split second, the sounds vanished, swallowed by the void before them, leaving an eerie silence. Then, the far-off booms reached their ears, each explosion a ghostly echo that seemed to reverberate in the very marrow of their bones.

Ari remained silent as the transport finally crossed the final miles to arrive at the front. 

Hopping out, Ari turned, pausing to look above. Hundreds of ships, small shapes far above were visible, dashes of light flashing as the two fleets far above battled. Hundreds of streaks of light were across the sky, rockets striking all parts of the battlefield around him. 

And what a horrible sight it was, miles of mud, pockets of water and black dirt kicked up at random without the faintest hint of green to be seen. In between the dark mud, smaller pockets of light lit up as gunfire and laserfire intermixed, smoke constantly rolling over the entire area as far as Ari’s eyes could see. 

Ari and the 7th crossed even more miles only just beginning to approach the front. A constant stream of dead or dying soldiers were carried past them on stretchers, the cries and explosions intermixing into a chorus rising up all around them. The sound felt suffocating, as if it was closing around Ari’s throat. Overhead fighters flew past, firing into positions they couldn’t see. Some were hit by flak, rolling over and hitting the ground in a faint explosion. 

Somewhere far off something exploded, shaking the very ground so much so that soldiers lost their footing, collapsing to the floor. 

Miles off to their right Ari could see the glowing green wave of chemical smoke crashed over a Commonwealth position. Ari fiddled with his mask, making sure its filtration was functioning correctly.  

  

Marines marched back past them with cracked armor, missing limbs and some missing most of their armor entirely. The looks on their faces were haunted, young men and women with lines now aging their faces beyond recognition. 

The Imperial defensive positions were layered in four overlapping lines. Two lines carefully positioned in the center had a shock group backed by two battalions of marines positioned seventy yards behind them. Behind that reserve was an enormous trench nearly fifty yards wide and several miles long. Smaller transports could reposition behind the lines without exposing themselves to fire. 

To the right and left were the other two lines of troops, these dug in defensive positions with multiple overlapping fields of fire nearly across the entire line. Some positions even had tanks sunk up to their turrets to provide a sort of pillbox support. Further past the lines were hundreds of scattered foxholes serving as forward posts to delay enemy advances.

In front of all of them was the target the generals coveted. The city of Proko. Its ruins were barely visible in the distance through the haze. 

Imperial bombardment had long since brought the once towering skyscrapers down. 

Ari ducked as a violent explosion shattered the air, hurling a forty-foot-wide wave of mud skyward before it came crashing down like a filthy rain. Amid the chaos, Ari could hear the grotesque sound of mud mixed with human remains slapping back onto the earth—punctuated by the grinding of armored vehicles repositioning. Shouts of agony and confusion erupted all around him.

Nearby, an officer stumbled through the mire, his eyes glazed over with shock, his arm missing from the elbow down. He frantically dug through the mud, sifting through an indistinguishable blend of earth and human remains.

"I lost my ring," he mumbled, his eyes unfocused as though seeing through time itself. "Can't lose that. Can't lose that."

The words struck Ari like a bullet.

With a wave of his hand, Ari signaled a corpsman. "Stay with me," he said softly, placing a gentle hand on the disoriented soldier's shoulder. "We'll take care of you first, then we'll find your ring."

A glimmer of relief passed through the soldier's eyes as the corpsman arrived, directing them toward the medical tent. Ari's armor made light work of the injured man's weight. As he carried him, his eyes remained peeled on the churned earth they traversed.

After laying him carefully on a cot in the medical tent, Ari turned away, his chest heavy with a sense of inadequacy. He was trained to be an Operative—to fight, to survive, but moments like these reminded him of the limitations of his role.

Unable to let go of the soldier's distress, Ari decided to make one more sweep of the battlefield, assisting medics in carrying another wounded soldier back to the tent. Each face he encountered was a blur, but his mission was clear. Amidst the rubble and remains, his eyes caught a glint of metal. Bending down, he unearthed a mud-caked ring.

Ari returned to the medical tent, hope welling up in him as he approached the soldier, who was now being attended to by medics. He placed the ring into his remaining hand, closing his fingers around it.

His eyes met Ari’s, filled with a complex mix of relief, sorrow, and something indescribable. For the first time that day, Ari felt a tiny fracture in the wall of helplessness that had encased him.

"Thank you," he whispered, clutching the ring as if it were his very soul.

Ari nodded, swallowing hard against the emotional lump in his throat. "Hang on to it.”

Eventually, Ari caught up with the 7th, a battalion now rotated up to occupy the first line of defense—or offense, depending on the ever-shifting tides of battle. The 7th was the vanguard, the first to either storm enemy lines or hold their ground against an incoming assault. Even in the cloak of night, squads from the 7th began to disperse, their forms almost spectral as they waded through the mud-cloaked nightmare, reinforcing the foxholes that served as crucial early-warning posts.

But the night was deceptive, never truly dark. It was a canvas incessantly invaded by artificial light, robbing soldiers of the cover darkness might have provided. Flares arced into the sky at irregular intervals, their fizzling ascents followed by an eruption of glaring light that rendered the landscape in sharp, ominous relief. Star shells burst overhead, showering the earth in iridescent hues of blue and white, turning mud puddles into tiny, reflective lakes and casting eerie, elongated shadows on the faces of the troops. Explosions from artillery and grenades added their own erratic lighting, a pyrotechnic display that would have been mesmerizing if not for its blinding effects. These detonations painted the scene in flashes of orange, imbuing everything and everyone with a surreal, otherworldly glow. The intermittent lighting made the mud seem like a flowing river of lava one moment and a desolate lunar landscape the next.

During one of those blinding bursts of light from overhead flares, a piercing alarm cut through the cacophony. Soldiers jolted from their positions, their faces twisted with a blend of readiness and terror. Ari snatched up his rifle, his senses sharpening as he took his position behind an armored shield that topped the trench.

Through the slotted visor, he saw it—something monstrous darting between the foxholes. It was immense, nearly as long as two tanks laid end-to-end, its long tail shimmering in silver and blue light. An advanced Commonwealth warbot, its body like that of a dragon. His gut clenched as bullets pinged off its metallic hide. In retaliation, the warbot whirled, letting loose a barrage of mini-rockets that silenced the foxholes in a spectacle of fire and gore. The screams that followed were guttural, filled with a primal fear that rattled even the most hardened soldiers around him.

But what sent shivers down Ari's spine was the figure mounted atop the warbot. Clad in shining armor of silver and blue that matched its monstrous steed, the knight-like figure sported a single twisted metal horn on his helmet. He brandished a spear, its shaft alive with undulating lights of green, blue, and red. It looked as though it were forged from nightmares and technology, giving it an ethereal yet sinister aura.

The 7th and 22nd opened fire alongside others, tracer rounds arcing through the night, illuminated by the perpetual light show. But they might as well have been firing pebbles. Ari watched as the bullets merely bounced off, as harmless as raindrops. He took aim at the rider, his sights focused on a vulnerable spot between the arm and breastplate. He pulled the trigger.

A brilliant flash erupted, and the rider was hurled from the warbot, tumbling through the air before landing in the mud with a sickening thud.

For a moment, Ari allowed himself a brief grin. But it was short-lived. With a mechanical roar that seemed to shake the very earth, the warbot surged forward, its limbs churning the mud as if it were water. Soldiers screamed, scrambling in a panic, some trapped in the slick mire as the monstrous machine lunged into the trench.

Ari threw himself back just in time, the beast landing where he had stood just moments before. Its mechanical eyes glowed a menacing red, scanning for its next target. Around him, soldiers from the 7th  froze, the horror of what they faced rendering them momentarily paralyzed.

A deafening burst of gunfire erupted from the 22nd Marines, snapping the immobilized soldiers out of their trance. The warbot spun on its axis, extending long blades from its chassis. In an instant, the trench transformed into a grisly blender, whirling metal through air and flesh.

Ari executed a rapid roll, squeezing the trigger to fire rounds into the beast's exposed joints. A nearby flak gun swiveled, its operator focusing on the warbot. With thunderous thunks, the gun spat flak rounds into the behemoth's side.

For a split second, the warbot wavered under the relentless barrage. But then the flak gun fell silent. Whirling around, Ari cursed—he saw the knight, now on foot, finishing off the last member of the flak crew. He vaulted into the trench beside him.

Darting backward, Ari dodged his whirling spear. Then he switched tactics, drawing a pistol and snapping off two shots. His armor absorbed the bullets, but he felt the impact like a sledgehammer to his chest.

Behind him, the warbot's roars resounded, mingling with the screams of dying soldiers. Firing his rifle, Ari targeted the knight's leg, bringing him to one knee. With a quick lunge, he overpowered him, forcing the spear against his throat. Metal shrieked against metal; his suit whined, struggling to compensate for his superior strength.

Suddenly, a searing pain erupted in his shoulder. Metallic jaws clamped down, wrenching him away. Ari unleashed a furious scream, his hands clawing at the warbot's maw.

The knight rose, his spear poised for the kill. But then he froze. Ari, too, heard it—the ground-shaking rumble, like a tank but deeper, angrier. The warbot released him, turning to face the new threat.

Ari scrambled aside just as a brilliant flash rocketed past him. It struck the knight, hurling him through the air before he crashed into the muck. His heart leapt—standing there was 002, encased in hulking battle armor, the gauntlets of her suit still smoking.

Cheers erupted from the soldiers. Their elation, however, was cut short. The warbot lunged at 002, its gaping maw aiming to devour her. But it was halted mid-air, its jaws pried open by 002's immense strength.

Marines of the 22nd wheeled the flak gun back into position, aiming directly into the warbot's vulnerable spots as 002 held it in place and firing at point-blank range. The knight had regained his footing and hurled his spear, skewering two marines. Unfazed by their losses, the crew kept firing. Seizing the moment, Ari lunged at the knight, tackling him into the slippery mud.

With a feral snarl, Ari unleashed a punch that shattered the knight's visor. Staggering, he tried to regain his stance. But before he could move, his own spear flew through the air, sticking him to the ground like a gruesome butterfly pinned to a board.

Silence fell over the trench, periodically interrupted by cries from the wounded. Soldiers from the reserve trench behind them quickly poured into the area, preparing for a possible follow up attack. 

Ari stood silently over the Knight body. He had been stronger than any knight he had fought before. He heard 002 approaching behind him and shivered, 001’s words echoing in his mind. 

She is exactly like me. They had said. 

No, Ari thought, feeling his heart tighten in both anticipation and fear as 002 stopped right behind him. 

For a few seconds, neither spoke.

"You did well," she finally said, her voice tinged with a metallic resonance from her helmet.

Ari almost laughed as he turned around. "Well? Two minutes later, and the whole trench would've been a graveyard."

002 removed her helmet, revealing a face that was as stoic as her armor. Her eyes met his. "But it isn't. That's what matters."

She reached out, her gauntleted hand heavy on his shoulder where the warbot had clamped its jaws. The touch was surprisingly gentle for such a massive suit of armor. "You're hurt."

Ari shrugged, trying to downplay the soreness that was now settling in. "We’ve been through worse."

For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something in her eyes—relief, maybe, or concern. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. Instead she gestured with her head for him to follow. 

The medic wrapped up Ari's wound and declared him fit to continue, 002 watched him, her face unreadable. The fluorescent lights in the medical tent seemed to bathe everything in a cold, sterile glow, but the atmosphere changed perceptibly when she led him outside.

The officers' quarters were a far cry from luxury, dug directly into the muddy earth and consisting of little more than a cot and a small desk. The walls were reinforced with corrugated metal, lending a harsh industrial feel to the space. Yet, when Ari turned around, he was surprised to find 002 still standing at the entrance.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, an unusual display for someone who usually radiated certainty. Then she placed her helmet on a makeshift shelf by the door. For the first time that evening, her eyes met his and softened.

"Good to see you," she began, her voice catching just a little, "I was worried that..." She trailed off, shaking her head as if unable to find the words.

Ari felt a warmth bloom in his chest at his unspoken sentiment. "Yeah," he replied, his own voice softer than he'd intended, "me too."

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. Then, as if guided by some mutual understanding, 002 stepped forward and pulled him gently into her arms. Even through the fabric of his uniform and his armor, he could feel the heat of her body.

Their foreheads touched, the simple point of contact sending a shiver down his spine. 

Ari closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the embrace. And for a moment, surrounded by mud, metal, and the remnants of war, he found a pocket of peace. 

And it was enough.