#passive motti

[mothiepixie]

Violet lovers

[ask-sad-ghost-piett]

Posthumous Admiral's Log - Entry 39

Read the full log on Ao3.

I contacted my mother for help out of miserable desperation. Having found no other way to return to the afterlife, I had no choice.

Per usual, it wasn’t a pleasant phone call. She was upset with me for interrupting her Axxilan soap opera, and even more upset to hear that I had fallen out of the afterlife. She then subjected me to a lengthy lecture on how I ought to be more responsible.

“This is just like that time you wound up stranded on Endor,” she said. “I thought you’d have learned something from that.”

I tried to explain to her for the thousandth time that the Endor incident was the dirty work of my nerfherder ex-boyfriend in the ISB sought to have me eaten by miniature bears after we quarreled over his poor taste in music. However, she refused to listen. She’s never shown me any sympathy concerning my relationship woes, particularly concerning Chief Inspector Brek. I believe she fancied having a son-in-law in the ISB and was awfully bitter when that didn’t work out.

In the end, she reluctantly agreed to give me and my fellow undead officers a lift from this accursed planet of Exegol. However, she stated that she will not be coming until tomorrow because she has evening plans and wants to teach me a lesson of some sort.

“It’ll give you some time to think about what you’ve done,” she told me.

I asked her whether she needed the coordinates to Exegol, but she said it wasn’t necessary.

“I’ve been there a thousand times, Firmus,” she claimed. “I used to go there on a weekly basis before you were born.”

I tried to ask her what business she had on Exegol all those years ago, but she cut off our connection before I could finish my sentence.

At the end of the call, Needa patted me on the shoulder and said “she seems nice”. I swear, I wanted to slap him. I know the man has good intentions, but he absolutely cannot read the room. That’s what got him killed to begin with. The moment that his shuttle arrived on the Executor, I told him Lord Vader was in a foul mood and wouldn’t take well to apologies, but Needa refused to listen, and we all know how that story ended.

And so, I found myself left with another 13 hours to spare, stranded with the likes of Motti and Jerjerrod. Even under the present circumstances, they are pretentious as ever. Jerjerrod wrote a bloody poem about Exegol, for the love of the Emperor. I believe he claimed it was a sonnet. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never liked poetry, especially not Jerjerrod’s. The opening line was “the dead speak!”, and I walked out before he could recite the rest. I know he’ll hold this against me later, but for now, I cannot be bothered to care.

Hoping to spare myself the dreadful poetry, I decided to wander the barren landscape as a forlorn ghost, as one does to pass the time. This proved to be very bad for my emotional state, and I soon found myself with even more worries than I’d started out with, which says something. Seeing as this exercise had done no good for me, I decided to return back to the others, only to realize that I had become lost.

I then realized that my aimless wandering had gotten me into a predicament tantamount in suffering to Jerjerrod’s poetry. By virtue of being an uninhabited planet, Exegol has very few landmarks. Fortunately, my many years in the Imperial Navy thought me a thing or two about navigation. Eventually, I was able to find my way back using the angle that the starlight formed when reflected in a pool of my own tears. (Grand Moff Tarkin thought me how to do that, although he usually used the tears of others.)

Upon my return, Motti ridiculed me for getting lost while Jerjerrod mostly made passive aggressive remarks about how it was rude to walk out on his poetry recitation. Needa and Max were relieved to have me return safely, though Max was a bit upset with me for wandering off.

“You could have been accosted by Rebel exorcists for all I know,” he said. “We all hate Jerjerrod’s poetry, but that isn’t an excuse!”

I’m touched that he worries about me, though I think he’s being a little too paranoid. It isn’t as if I’m some fragile little thing after all. I did survive under Lord Vader all those years.

- Admiral Piett

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

What if...10b

Okay, so this ‘epilogue’ became... a monster. I decided to split chapter 10 into two parts because it was already so big, and, uh, yeah, now I’m splitting 10b into three parts. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU ENABLE ME, PEOPLE. Your lovely comments, your kind reblogs and support turned this from what was supposed to be no more than 4 chapters into 90 000 word ramble.

*ahem*

So part 10b is Dulcy POV, 10c is chaotic everyone POV, and then there will be a bonus part for someone who didn’t get to join Dulcy and Dav’s little family.

-

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10a

Epilogue; Dulcy

“We’ll be back later, dad!” Corin exclaims from where he’s standing next to Din in the doorway, eager to call Davarax that at every occasion he can find.

Davarax nods and gives a light wave to the two teenagers about to step out of the house they have rented on this obscure, little planet and head into the nearby town. (Having picked up a bit of Motti credits makes things a lot easier.) “Duly noted, son.”

The slight smile on his face tells Dulsissia that Davarax is well aware of Corin’s need to constantly reaffirm their new relationship and indulges him with never-ending patience. But what she also notes is how Din hesitates half a second while Corin turns to leave and she sees there is hurt in his dark eyes as they linger on Davarax.

That evening, while Barthor wraps up his conversation with his father via the holo-communicator, Davarax holds Raga back until the boy is done and the line is free for her to call her parents.

Dulsissia glances after Barthor shuffling back towards their house, helmet held low and shoulders slumped. Just like during previous calls, his parents show close to no interest in their son and he is equally disappointed every time. “Dav?”

Davarax turns his attention away from Raga and over to Dulsissia. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you adopt the others too? Like you did with Corin?” Her heart breaks every time she sees these children with sadness in their eyes and Davarax is the one who always brings smiles to their faces.

Sighing, Davarax leans against the door frame. “It’s not that easy…”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, Paz and Raga have their families. The Saxons are… unique, but they love her. And Dez, well, I hope that maybe he’ll come to his senses.” Davarax looks over at Barthor’s retreating shape as well. “Barthor… I might have to talk to him about it.”

Dulsissia frowns as he doesn’t mention the most obvious one of all; “What about Din?”

“Din…” Davarax looks down at the floor. He looks guilty. “I messed that up. Big time.”

“He’d forgive you in a heartbeat.” Dulsissia declares. “He worships you.”

“Maybe.” Davarax replies, not sounding convinced. “But I don’t deserve his forgiveness. And after what he’s been through, I think Din needs to be allowed to hold on to his roots before another adult tries to pressure their identity on him.”

What that boy needs is a father, Dulsissia thinks, but before she can voice her thoughts she’s distracted by someone shouting. Looking over, she sees Raga’s mother in the holo-projector screaming at someone out of sight before turning back to focus on her daughter again.

“What was that, Raga? You said something about how many push ups? You’re up to what now?”

“Fifty-”

“PUT THAT DOWN!” Raga’s mother bellows to her right and then makes a frustrated grunt and reaches out to grab someone. “Here. Talk to your brother. I have to murder your other two brothers for a bit.” She steps away and a smaller Mandalorian with a green helmet takes her place.

“Raga. Still ugly I see. You really should have kept the helmet on.”

“Sioben. Still a moron, I hear. I was kind of hoping dad had followed through on his threat to dropkick you into space.” Raga counters. “Paz taught me some new tricks. I’m going to kick your ass when I see you again.”

Sioben shakes his head. “I don’t know why he puts up with you. He could have anyone he wants, he’s a huge badass ‘and’ a Vizla. I can’t think of a single reason why he lets you stick around.”

“Don’t hurt your brain trying to think.” Raga snarls.

“At least I have a brain. Unlike you.” Sioben fires back.

A hand appears and smacks into Sioben’s helmet and he goes toppling out of sight and Raga’s mother appears again. “Listen, I have to go. I’m a bit busy here. Say hi to Davarax from me. Be careful out there, Raga. Byebye.” The woman’s holo-image dissolves and she’s gone.

When Raga walks out of the room, Dulsissia reaches out and touches her shoulder. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“What for?” Raga asks with a huge grin. “Didn’t you hear that? She didn’t yell at me once!”

Dulsissia looks over at Davarax with a look of slight belief while the girl walks away, humming happily and he can only offer a weak shrug in return.

-

And on the subject of Paz and Raga...

While there are still sides to the Mandalorian culture that are still a mystery to her, Dulsissia remembers more than enough about what it was like to be a human a teenager to see what is happening there.

The two have been drawn together as friends since they were small children, as far as Dulsissia understands. They always gravitate towards each other. If you see one, odds are good that the other is nearby or about to appear. And Dulsissia feels both compassion and amusement as she sees the growing awkwardness as a different kind of attraction between them starts to enter the picture.

Dulsissia tries to hide her laughter when she sees Raga pretending to need a water break but only so she can let her gaze roam all over Paz as he continues his intense training next to her. Raga has always been climbing him like a jungle gym, but these days it brings a flush to her cheeks when he holds her close or play-wrestle with her, and Raga even smiles in her sleep the times she drowses off with her head resting on his chest. It’s a shame she seems unable to voice what she feels.

This leads to the seething anger in Raga’s eyes when Paz mindlessly flirt with the local girls and basks in their attention. An anger which causes her to pick fights with Din and the others, violent fights that always ends badly for at least one of them and Davarax has to patch them up while trying to calm Raga down.

At the same time, with a stealth worthy of admiration, Paz’ gaze discretely seeks out Raga with an interest and longing he doesn’t show any of the local girls desperately trying to hold his attention. His attention trail along her curves, he flushes at glimpses of her skin and it is kind of cute how he’s only happy if Raga is happy.

Unfortunately Paz seems too insecure, which is absurd, to actually show how her how he feels.

His temper is as bad as Raga’s, though, which causes Paz to one day actually punch a hole in a wall. He flat out refuses to explain why he’d done it, even when Davarax wraps up his bleeding hand and asks in a frustrated voice what is going on with him, but Dulsissia accidentally overheard earlier when Raga agreed to go out on a date with a suitor of her own and suspects that is why.

“I’m going to help them.” Dulsissia declares one morning after Raga had managed to draw both Din and Corin into a vicious brawl the previous evening, just after Paz had gone out to meet some girl.

Davarax grunts, half-asleep on his stomach with his face partly burrowed into the pillow. “They’ll figure it out eventually.”

She sends him, or his back to be more precise, a dry glance. “Are you kidding me? Those two? If someone doesn’t help them along, it’ll take yeeaars.”

Davarax snorts a laugh. “At your own peril, cyare.”

Dulsissia thinks about all her excellent work as a matchmaker back on Seswenna. That included family ranks, politics and enough credits to buy a minor planet. These are two teenagers. She’s got this.

It’s a delicate mission. First Dulsissia establishes through a little research that there is absolutely no doubt that these two feel the same and are just too emotionally constipated to do something about it, then she goes to work on them separately. Hints, questions and light nudges.

It takes a surprisingly short time for them to admit to her what she already knows, but neither is willing to make the first move.

“Why not go for it?” Dulsissia eventually asks..

“I don’t think he/she thinks of me that way…” Raga/Paz replies. Her face bright red as she half-heartedly trains defensive moves with Dulsissia one sun-soaked day. Him with quiet sadness when Dulsissia delivers some clean laundry to his room one evening.

“I think you’d be surprised.” Dulsissia teases and winks.

After that, they become a little braver. Instead of just friendly bickering, Raga and Paz both add a little intent and teasing to their interactions, and that eventually develop into outright flirting.

During training Davarax sends Dulsissia a dry look when Paz, instead of following through with his attack, merely keeps his hands against the wall, fencing in the grinning and uncharacteristically passive Raga and hovers there with a slight smirk of his own. Davarax rolls his eyes when Raga, after flipping Paz over and have him land on his back, simply straddles his stomach and pretends to hold him down with her hands on his shoulders instead of following through with her attack and Paz, also uncharacteristically passive, looks like he’s enjoying himself more than anything else.

Dulsissia regrets nothing.

-

Barthor is in heavy denial, Din wrinkles his nose and Corin is incredibly oblivious as Paz and Raga keep inching their way closer to what they both dream about having. They push things as far as they can go and then some, before one of them finally dares to cross the line...

Sitting next to each other on the stairs behind the big battle arena, Paz and Raga had decided to sneak outside the building instead of staying with the others to watch the final game. Usually they both live and breathe for such big fights, but for some reason it seemed more tempting to sneak off like this.

They sit in this dark back-alley, her shoulder bumping lightly against his upper arm, talking.

It’s silly. They see each other every day, they talk every day, and yet they struggle to look at the other right now. Words tumble a little awkwardly. Hearts thump hard.

Then there is a huge cheer from the crowd inside the arena and Paz looks over at Raga. She looks back over at him, and after a moment of hesitation, he cautiously leans towards her.

Raga’s eyes light up. Oh. But just as she lifts her chin a little to meet him, giving him an unspoken invite, Paz abruptly loses his courage and quickly withdraws to stare down at the ground again.

Raga exhales, disappointed. Suddenly her eyes flare with angry annoyance and she thumps her shoulder against his arm, and when he looks at her, she quickly leans over and presses a brief, hard kiss to his lips. After that, she’s the one to turn to stare at the ground while heat burns in her face.

Stunned, Paz stares at her. He stares for what feels like a small eternity, then he slowly reaches out his hand, touches by her jawline and eases her into facing him again. And that is when he finally has the courage to lean over, his fingers still resting on her skin, and ever so softly touches his lips to hers.

It’s a gentle, trying thing. Raga draws a shivering breath, her lips trembling a little as well but soon they move to meet his as he cautiously coaxes a response from her.

After a little while, Paz pulls back and scans her face for her response.

Raga grins.

That makes him smile as well.

-

Dulsissia is obnoxiously pleased. Declaring herself the matchmaking champion.

Davarax only regrets not stopping her when stolen kisses in secret between the two becomes public make-out sessions. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have minded if had taken yeeeaars before he had to see that.

But he draws the line of having to watch it in their house. Entering the living room and finding them at it again, Davarax kicks at the sofa, making them jump apart. “Tongues in separate mouths when I’m around. Not negotiable.”

Paz flushes deep red. Raga glares.

And Dulsissia wonders who she can match up next...

-

While Dulsissia’s stop on Seswenna had resulted in them having a nice amount of credits to use on their family, Davarax knows they won’t last forever and he’s too used to support his family to stop, so he takes on the occasional job. And it’s easier now than before Dulsissia came into his life.

It’s strange not be be constantly exhausted. It’s even stranger not to have nightmares any more but wake up in the mornings with a sigh of satisfaction or even a smile on his face.

His favourite jobs are the ones where Dulsissia joins him. She’s come far from the helpless beauty he’d met what feels like a lifetime ago. Now she’s a deadly beauty. And the sight of her in Mandalorian armor is the best bonus he’s ever gotten on a job.

This is an easy contract. Just head up to a damaged cargo ship floating just above the planet, pick up the shipment and bring it to the owner on the surface. It’s the rumours of pirates in the area that makes them want to hire a couple of Mandalorians.

The ship is where it’s supposed to be, there are no signs of pirates, and Davarax does the mistake of thinking this mission will go without a hitch. He and Dulsissia board the ship and walk towards the cargo hold to secure their target.

It is years of experience combined with quick reflexes that saves Davarax’ life when something drops from the ceiling in the hallway. He jolts backwards and sparks fly as something sharp slides across his breastplate. Davarax tries to lift his blaster to fire at his attacker, but a boot kicks his arm and the shot goes wide.

It becomes a wild dance of attacks launched at him, sparks flying again and again when his armor takes the brunt, and he frantically back-pedals to stay alive. A streak of yellow spins in front of him and Davarax gets his arm up just in time for the vibro blade to impale it instead of his throat. The pain rages through him and instinct makes Davarax turn to the best weapon he has in such a close encounter; a harsh kov’nyn.

His opponent collapses while he stumbles backwards and clutches his arm. The blade is still vibrating and sending waves of agony through him while tearing more of his flesh. He yanks it out, fighting back the intense urge to scream with pain, unable to respond right away despite hearing Dulsissia calling out his name in fear.

Once his eyes clears again, Davarax realizes Dulsissia is by his side and trying to make him let her look at his arm and he sees the crumpled shape on the floor.

A skinny Twi’lek youth around Raga’s age. Her skin under layers of dirt looks to be pale yellow, her clothes are rags and even unconscious she looks angry.

Well, that was unexpected.

“She’s just a kid.” Dulsissia whispers with quiet disbelief, wrapping his arm.

“I was too busy trying to keep her from cutting my throat to notice.” Davarax rumbles, twitching slightly when Dulsissia tightens the bandage. His heart softens. “I wonder what her story is...”

Her name is Zev’sonya and she’s anything but friendly. Sure, his own kids have a habit of baring their teeth every once in a while, even at him, but this one? She’s outright hostile and extremely dangerous. And while his kids’ trust in others has been severely damaged, hers is non-existent. Whatever her story might be, she’s not telling them anything beyond her being on her own.

Davarax has absolutely no idea how Dulsissia manages to persuade the girl to come with them.

It takes over a standard week to make her stop trying to kill and rob them. A lot longer for her to actually trust them, especially Davarax.

-

Zev’sonya and Raga end up in a fist-fight two minutes after the initial introduction. Paz watches her with some cautiousness but he’s not unfriendly. Barthor avoids her like the plague. Corin is terrified of her and claims she keeps stealing the blades in the house. (Dulsissia knows he’s right as she keeps retrieving them from the twi’lek’s room.)

The only one she instantly connects with is Din, who seems to share her way of communicating in as few words as possible and have no fear of her scowls.

-

They renew their rent on the house and Davarax recruits Din to help build a couple of sheds and do some repairs on it.

After a scorchingly hot day, emerging from the refresher room, Dulsissia saunters over to the big bed in their room where Davarax is reading something on his datapad. She crawls into the bed and rolls over to face him with a dramatic sigh. “Dav? Cyare?”

“Mmh?” He replies, not looking up from his datapad.

“I’m hungry…”

Davarax lowers the datapad and reaches out to run his hand gently over her hair. “What are you in the mood for?”

“There’s leftovers from dinner...”

She rarely asks him to bring her things because she knows he will stop whatever he’s doing and get it and she doesn’t want to abuse that kindness. But this is a special occasion. After he’s padded out of the room, she slides the medical scanner out of her pocket and places it on his side of the bed.

A few minutes later, Davarax comes back with two plates. “Food for my love. And I brought some sweets for dessert too. Might as well make it a proper meal when we’re dining in bed.” He hands her one of the plates with flourish.

She leans up and gives him a kiss, which he is very pleased to accept, and waits as he circles the bed to get in on his side.

Davarax frowns a little when he sees something in his way, reaches down and picks it up so he can settle in his spot again. “This yours?” He holds it out to her.

Sighing, Dulsissia fails to hold back a smile. “Look at it.”

He studies the device but the numbers on the screen doesn’t make sense to him. Davarax glances over at her again, now a little worried. “A medical scanner? You’re not sick, are you?”

She shakes her head, losing the battle against a bubbling laugh. “No. Look at it, silly.”

Davarax looks again. “I’m looking, but what am I supposed to…” Finally the information on the screen makes sense to him and what it means. His gaze snaps back at her. The plate in his other hand is completely forgotten. “Y-you’re…? Are you…?”

Taking a bite of her food, Dulsissia nods and her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “I’m pregnant.” It’s almost funny how happy she is with this fact. After Corin was born, the mere thought of having another baby offended Dulsissia after she had come to realize that was the only reason why Macero wanted her. But that was in the past. Things are so very different now.

Davarax nearly drops his plate, only his quick reflexes prevents him from spilling it all over the bed. He cautiously, but as quickly as possible, places his plate on the night-stand so he can hold on to the medical scanner with both hands, reading the information once again. “You… You’re sure?”

“You’re looking at the evidence, mister. I scanned ten minutes ago.” She takes another bite, endlessly amused by the whirlwind of emotions visibly rushing through him. He keeps wobbling back and forth between intense happiness, paralysing fear and blind excitement. It is so painfully sweet to see how much he wants this. “Breathe, baby.” Dulsissia advices.

Davarax gulps down some air, then puts the scanner aside and turns all of his focus on her. “Are… are you okay? Do you need me to do anything? What do I do?”

Laughing a little, even more charmed by him being so uncharacteristically clumsy and helpless, Dulsissia glances over at him. “I thought Mandalorians were experts on children. They didn’t teach you about how this is going to work?”

Davarax hesitates and then he reaches out and touches her hand. “Sort of, but all I care about is what you need me to do. Weapons and flowers, remember?”

Dulsissia feels the usual wave of warmth and adoration when Davarax is his sweet self and she curls her fingers around his. “I remember. And we’ll work this out as well.”

That seems to reassure him and his shoulders relaxes a little. Enough so that she lets go of his hand and goes back to eating. Maybe it is just knowing she’s pregnant again that makes her so hungry, but at least it is a very valid excuse to indulge.

Davarax is silent. Too silent.

After a while, Dulsissia has to laugh again as she realizes what he’s doing. He’s staring at her stomach. “There is nothing noticeable going on there quite yet. It’s too early. You’re going to have to be patient for a while before things get exciting for you.”

Davarax gives a tiny shake of his head. “This is already one of the most exciting things I’ve ever been a part of.” He looks like he’s about to say something more but loses courage.

“What?” Dulsissia asks, taking another bite of her food.

“Can I…?” He lifts his hand a little in a mute request.

Stars above, she loves this man more than she thought was possible. Dulsissia lets out a soft laugh. “There’s nothing much to feel right now, like I said, but… if you want to, go ahead.”

Davarax inches closer, reaches out further and cautiously places his hand on her stomach, below her bellybutton. His hand is warm and so very careful and lingers there for a while. “Hey, you…” Davarax eventually says in a quiet voice, a little strained with emotion. “Welcome to the family.”

Dulsissia doesn’t make a sound as the first tears trail from her eyes, overwhelmed by how right this feels, how much she loves him and their unborn child and their beautiful family. This time, she knows, this time everything will be perfect.

-

When Dulsissia tells him, Corin is incredibly excited to become a big brother. Paz declares he’s mighty pleased their clan is growing, sounding like the adult he now looks like despite still not having enough years on his back to deserve that title in Dulsissia’s eyes, and the other Mandalorian youngsters eagerly agree with him. Davarax looks a little awkward when they start talking about how they can create a Covert of their own at the pace their clan is growing.

Half an eternity later, when the evening comes where she feels the first barely noticeable change, Dulsissia calls Davarax over and slides his hand over her stomach. She feels him shiver and he looks at her with breathless awe. She has to laugh and then kisses that look off his face.

A little over six standard weeks after that, Davarax feels the first curving before she notices herself, on a sleepy morning when he, as usual, runs his hand over her stomach.

Corin and the other boys hover near her with innocent curiosity and watch the development with bright fascination, while Raga and Zev’sonya stay a little more in the back and observe with cautious interest.

When Dulsissia really starts showing, that is the point where Davarax’ self-control starts slipping. He has tried his hardest to act normal, yet now he becomes downright clingy. Others might have gotten a bit annoyed with the man’s behaviour, but Dulsissia knows the sadness of going through this with someone who doesn’t care, who can’t even bother to be there, so she happily suffers through his tactile presence.

Dulsissia even has to hide tears one evening when he inches close, runs his hand over her stomach yet again and softly hums a Mandalorian lullaby to their restless child.

Then she gets even bigger and Dulsissia realizes she’d forgotten this part. She gets grouchy, her feet aches, her back aches, everything aches, she has to pee all the time, she can barely get up if she does the mistake of sitting down, she can’t sleep like she wants to, and Dulsissia decides the thought of delivering the child isn’t all that bad if she can just get back to normal, please!

It is all worth it when the time comes after seven hours of hard work and sweet, sweet pain killers, and Dulsissia gets to meet her daughter as she’s placed in her arms.

She is absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way and so very, very loved!

Looking up at Davarax by her side, Dulsissia is both crying and laughing at once. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Davarax, pale as a sheet, nods with a look of awe on his face.

Allowing herself another moment of holding their child, admiring her, kissing her, Dulsissia makes herself look up at Davarax again. “You want to hold her?”

To her surprise, he hesitates and looks like he’s about to take a step away. Catching himself, Davarax remains where he is and tries to remember how to speak. “I… Are you sure?”

Laughing a little, Dulsissia is far too exhausted to untangle the mystery of his mind at the moment. “Of course I’m sure. She’s your daughter too.”

“It’s just…” Davarax reaches out a cautious hand only to withdraw it before he can actually touch the wailing baby. “I don’t know how. I mean, I don’t want to hurt her. I-I’ve never held a baby before. She’s so tiny, Dulcy.”

“She’s tougher than you think.” Dulsissia replies, then turns a little to make it easier for him to pick up the baby. “Support her head, careful with the neck, like that, yeah… Perfect.” She leans back, exhausted and strangely enough a bit hungry, but for the time being she is satisfied to just take in the sight of her husband and their child connecting.

“Hello, ik’aad.” Davarax looks nervous, awkward and absolutely devastated by the intense adoration he feels for the still screaming bundle in his arms. The baby really do look tiny in his embrace, fragile even, but that doesn’t prevent her from aimlessly raising her tiny fist in what looks to be a threat.

Mandokarla from the birth.

Dulsissia sees how tears well up in Davarax’ eyes and he leans down to place a feather-light kiss on the baby’s head.

-

Corin is staring wide-eyed at the baby and eagerly reaches out when his mother eases her over into his arms.

“Say hello to your new sister.” Dulsissia says in a quiet voice, hoping not to wake the sleeping baby.

Din hovers over Corin’s right shoulder and reaches out to ever so gently run his fingers over the dark tufts of hair on her head. “She’s cute.”

“So tiny…” Paz observes, hovering over Corin’s left shoulder, sounding a bit worried.

“She’ll get bigger, idiot.” Barthor mutters, tilting his helmet as he studies the baby too.

“Are… are you okay?” Raga asks Dulsissia while the boys block the view to the new arrival.

Smiling, reaching out a hand and curling her fingers around Raga’s when she takes it, Dulsissia gives her a reassuring nod. “I’m fine, baby. Corin gave me a lot more trouble than this one.”

Corin blinks and looks up to focus on her for a moment. “I did?”

Dulsissia nods. “Yeah, you were not inclined to come out to greet the world. It took over two days to persuade you.”

“Two days?” Raga blurts out, with no small amount of horror.

“It sounds worse than it was.” Dulsissia reassures her. “Without the pain meds I’m sure it would have been a nightmare, but with them, it’s mostly just uncomfortable and boring.”

“Two days and you still decided to have another child?” Davarax asks from where he is hovering in the background.

“Well, yeah.” Dulsissia shrugs. The amount of joy her son has given her was well worth it. And without him she would never have broken free from her golden cage, so, no, she had not hesitated to do it all over again. Her daughter is already worth it too. “Zev. Baby. Come say hello. Don’t just hide over there.” She waves the Twi’lek over and fails to see everyone there stare at her with the kind of awe saved for the most impressive of Mandalorian warriors.

They call the baby Nemi.

[jakeh0wl]

Star Wars Short Fiction - Week IV - A New Hope

“…We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke.”

The Imperial officers gathered at the table nodded their agreement, murmuring declarations of concurrence. Even the arrogant Admiral Motti, seated to Tarkin’s right and still recovering from Vader’s choking display of power, dipped his head towards the Grand Moff.

Tarkin stood, eyeing the officers. “You may leave us,” he said, sweeping his hand towards the seated men. “I would speak with Lord Vader alone.”

The officers rose from their seats, each giving Tarkin respectful half-bows before filing from the room, several of them shuffling nervously beneath Vader’s black, eyeless gaze. Once he and Vader were alone, Tarkin waved to the Death Star Troopers flanking the entrance to the conference room, who sealed closed the doors.

Tarkin straightened, hands clasped behind his back, then turned to Lord Vader. As always, the six-foot, black-clad cyborg regarded Tarkin with that unreadable jet mask of a face, the eyes shimmering a dark red when the light caught them. The identity of who hid behind that visage was something Tarkin had guessed at, and was now fairly certain of.

Still, the regard of the Emperor’s Force-wielding pet remained unsettling, even after all these years. “You have still had no luck with the princess, Lord Vader,” Tarkin said. It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” Vader replied in a deep, dread-inducing voice. As always, Vader said little when he could help it, preferring to unbalance those he was addressing with the mere power of his presence.

Tarkin, however, was not so easily shaken. Whilst Vader still left Tarkin with a sense of unease, the Grand Moff had built an impressive immunity to Vader’s influence. This, coupled with Tarkin’s favour with the Emperor, guaranteed a certain level of mutuality between them. “Despite your assurances that we will soon have the Death Star plans returned to us,” Tarkin continued, “I remain uncertain of the probable success of your interrogation methods.”

“The princess has a fierce will,” Vader replied. “She bears an unexpected degree of resilience.”

“She’s the daughter of a politician,” Tarkin said, pacing across the reflective black floor of the conference room. “Such things are understandable from one of her upbringing.”

“We will retrieve those plans,” Vader said, watching Tarkin from across the room.

“Can you be sure, Vader?” Tarkin said, meeting the man’s – the machine’s – masked gaze.

Vader didn’t respond.

“I thought not,” He shook his head, running a hand through his thinning hair. A thought occurred to him then. “Whilst I cannot say I approve of you choking my officers, Lord Vader, and despite my lack of knowledge in the details of your powers, there is no denying that you are in possession of certain unique… assets. Assets that, concerning our present situation, could prove very useful indeed.”

“Dispense with the ambiguity, Governor,” Vader demanded. “You would have me refer to methods of interrogation utilising the Force?”

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. Something in Vader’s tone suggested he had already considered – or perhaps even tried – using the Force to manipulate the princess. “Could such a thing be done?”

“The Force is not a torture machine, Governor,” Vader growled. “To perceive it as such is to lay bare a gross ignorance of its nature.”

Tarkin mentally scoffed. It seemed that the Emperor’s most feared and deadliest servant was not above the occasional thinly veiled insult. There was something about that revelation that Tarkin found surprisingly amusing. “Very well,” Tarkin replied. “I have outlined a proposal of how to deal with this rebel problem of ours which I intend to present to the Emperor momentarily. He is awaiting my transmission. Would you care to join me, Lord Vader? I believe this proposal will be of interest to you as much as it will be to the Emperor.”

Vader said nothing, simply gazing across the circular table at Tarkin with those eyeless, black visors. Then he nodded, striding across the room to stand at Tarkin’s side, cape rippling slightly as he moved. Despite their occasional differences, Tarkin’s respect for Vader was rivalled by no other. Everything that Vader was emulated power and authority, and there were oft times when Tarkin found himself envious of the pure fear Vader struck into those beneath him.

Tarkin leaned forward, sliding back the black panel of the activation key for the holographic projector. Pressing the key, Tarkin took a step back as a great, shimmering projection of Emperor Sheev Palpatine, supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, took shape above the table.

Tarkin gave a sweeping bow. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said.

Vader went one further, falling to a knee. “My Master.”

Not the first time, Vader’s unwavering loyalty and devotion to the Emperor reminded Tarkin of a muzzled akk hound. The most ferocious akk hound in the Galaxy, one who made entire systems tremble when the Emperor saw fit to let him off the leash.

The Emperor’s holographic eyes, shadowed beneath his ever-present hood, shifted between the forms of Tarkin and Vader. “Governor Tarkin, Lord Vader,” the Emperor addressed them. “You hinted at a proposal you had for me, Governor?”

“I did, my lord,” Tarkin replied, straightening in the Emperor’s presence. “It would appear that we are faced with a dilemma of a rather urgent nature. Despite Lord Vader’s best efforts, the troublesome Princess Leia has yet to inform us of either the location of the rebel’s hidden base or where the data tapes containing the plans for this space station are. Now, considering recent development concerning the Imperial Senate and the state of the Imperial Systems, I believe, my Lord, the time has come for more aggressive negotiations.”

“Speak on, Governor Tarkin,” the Emperor drawled.

Tarkin glanced at Vader, the black-clad cyborg expressionless as ever. “There exists a way to ensure the princess’s cooperation. Namely, her revelation of the rebel’s hidden base. We have yet to exercise the full destructive potential of this space station, and now we have been presented with the perfect opportunity, my Lord.” Tarkin reached down, activating a second hologram above the table. The form of the Emperor slid back to give way for the blue-green projection of a planet that now hovered before them, between Tarkin and the Emperor. “Alderaan, my Lord. The Princess’s home planet. It is a world of beauty and peace. The Alderaanians bear no love of weapons and claim passiveness. However, our intel holds that this traitorous planet was a core breeding ground for the Rebellion, offering the rebels both a hidden base of operations and support in the Imperial Senate. Now that the Imperial Senate is no longer an obstacle, I propose we test the true power of this space station’s superlaser. Jedha and Scarif were but… inklings of the Death Star’s capabilities, my Lord. Alderaan will provide the perfect test target to experience the obliteration that this station is prepared to unleash on the Galaxy. With Alderaan held as an example, no System would dare oppose you, my Lord, nor give the rebels any further support.”

The Emperor studied the holographic projection of Alderaan. “Wisely spoken, my friend,” the Emperor said. “I approve. As does, I sense, Lord Vader. However, what is to become of the princess and the rebels?”

Tarkin clasped his hands behind his back. “Herein lies the final stroke, my Lord. We will suspend the destruction of Alderaan before Princess Leia as a threat. With the Senate’s recent dissolution, the princess’s father, Bail Organa, will soon be returning to Alderaan. I believe it wise for us to wait until we have confirmation of his return before we initiate the test of the Death Star. Then, faced with not only the annihilation of her home planet, but the loss of her family, I believe the princess will be quite willing to give up her rebel friends. Alderaan will still be destroyed, of course. Then, once we have the location of the rebel base and Alderaan is but dust between the stars, the princess will be deposed of most adequately.”

“Excellent, Tarkin, excellent,” the Emperor said, cackling. “Have the princess brought to me on Coruscant once Alderaan and the rebels have been destroyed. We will make her execution most public.” The Emperor’s holographic shadow shifted towards Vader. “Lord Vader, I believe you may be of some use in that respect. I would have you execute the princess personally.”

Vader bowed. “As you wish, my Master.”

The Emperor turned back to Tarkin. “You’ve done well, Governor. I am most pleased.”

Tarkin felt a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I will have an order for the princess’s execution written up, my Lord.”

“Good. I will await news of Alderaan’s… eradication.” The Emperor’s figure blurred, then faded, the projection fuzzing out.

Tarkin subsequently disabled the hologram of Alderaan.

“You have garnered the Emperor’s approval,” Vader said.

“As I have yours, apparently,” Tarkin replied, turning to face him.

Vader pointedly ignored the statement. “Despite the advantageous effects its destruction offers, Alderaan will certainly be a loss to the Galaxy.”

Tarkin nodded. “A necessary one, however.”

Vader made for the doors of the conference room. “Perhaps if events in the last weeks had transpired differently, it would not be so.”

Tarkin sensed the implication. “It was not I who lost the data tapes to the rebels above Scarif, my friend,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “From your troopers’ reports, you practically had the plans within your grasp. Had you not been distracted by certain… unnecessary thrills, those plans would now be in our hands.”

Vader turned back to face him. “The rebels were far more prepared for our pursuit than anticipated,” he replied. “And perhaps if you had turned the Death Star’s weapon on the rebel fleet instead of firing on the planet, their escape would have been impossible.”

Tarkin smirked. “You saw what the Death Star did to Scarif,” he said. “There was no guarantee our own forces would not be decimated in the process. Including your own.”

Vader took a step forward, towering over Tarkin and raising one gloved hand towards him. “Galen Urso’s daughter was on Scarif, Governor, as was Director Krennic. Your frequent bouts of rivalry with the Director were well documented. So do not speak of unnecessary thrills to me, Tarkin.”

Tarkin swallowed, holding his composure. Likely only his imagination, but it had seemed for a moment that the softest touch of pressure had brushed his throat. He stepped back, carefully forcing an amiable smile across his lips. “Perhaps, my friend, it is best if we simply agree that the loss of the plans at Scarif was an unfortunate misstep on both our counts,” he said.

Vader studied him for several quiet seconds, then straightened. “Indeed,” he said eventually.

Tarkin moved made for the exit, the doors to the hallway beyond hissing open at his touch to the entrance panel. Vader strode past him, the Death Star Troopers standing outside the conference room wincing slightly at his shadow.

“I will set our coordinates for Alderaan. If you would be so kind as to retrieve the princess, Lord Vader,” Tarkin said, “I will have her execution order procured.”

Vader gave the slightest, towering nod, then turned away.

Tarkin watched, eyes narrowed to slits, as Vader walked down the hallway, black cape billowing with his stride. Tarkin would need to tread careful on this ice, fearsome things waited beneath.

Turning away from the conference room, Tarkin made for the command bridge.

[darthdodo]

Complottismo e dietrologie a parte i fondi neri di questa società e corporazione affiliata suddetta UBS, come tante altre istituzioni finanziarie sono stati per decenni l’oggetto di indagini e il tema contrastato, impepato di parentesi opache e dibattuto da non meno che una manciata di puristi e cronisti scrupolosi quanto più per raccontare le gesta altisonanti che danno spessore, voce a degli illustri sconosciuti economisti e manager cravattari, il programma degli affari derivati e ottimizzatori nello spazio-tempo degli interessi e dei titoli spazzatura, voci di spesa aggiunte sul libro-paga nelle entrate che sostituivano la vecchia guardia di puttanieri con le nuove esche di rampolli figlioni e figli d’arte nelle commissioni sbiadite che ad ogni volta e svolta destavano frustrazione e sedute improduttive spesso reticenti; per ragioni che risiedono nelle capacità tangibili di disporre di tutto questo ben di Dio e aldilà del mero riciclaggio dei singoli e nei singoli conti correnti intestati, ad esempio, in quelle holding che fanno capo alle famiglie perbene fabbricanti di armi come furono quei gloriosi armaioli della Fabbrica d'Armi Pietro Beretta S.p.A. infognate anche nei grandi consorzi Finmeccanica oppure negli appalti nazionali e sovrannazionali per le forze armate e dell’ordine di mezza Europa (vedi progetto Eurofighter).. questi prestidigitatori mani di forbice dalle iniziative ecosostenibili, ecomicidiali.. dalle discussioni infinite sono passati ai fatti, che ne sulla prevenzione come il congelamento di certe transazioni, e nemmeno negli anni dove non sono mai pervenuti a quelle autentiche misure e provvedimenti antiriciclaggio hanno dato luogo ad una separazione di quella mescolanza di figure e cariche troppo in conflitto d’interessi, per es con la presidenza della Repubblica.. nella maniera e col tempo di meritarsi sufficiente appoggio da parte dei collegi e delle authority compiacenti che nel frattempo frantumavano il tutto per fare del mercato una sostanziale dimensione protetta al più da quella volgare trasparenza, mantenendo e mai trascurando quel profilo basso e omertoso indispensabile e un risalto mediatico minimo solo nel frangente di tali attività di autogoverno condensate e costituite nelle rispettive decisioni autocratiche ed eurotroike; cosìcché non destando o suscitando accertamenti e indignazione di fronte agli organismi di controllo e a quell’opinione pubblica perennemente presa per il naso in quelle innumerevoli movimentazioni finanziarie che di continuo frodano davanti ai soci sprovveduti sfoderando i loro trucchi migliori d’illusionisti: le loro istituzioni legittimate e passive incominciassero a rimpallarsi le responsabilità i questa epoca decadente al collasso e in declino giusto per ripristinare il rimpiattino euroscettico e l’immobilismo di quelle brexit, che sono il disagio quasi inerte di fronte ad una connivenza con quei nazionalismi fascisti millenari e che  al fine illustrativo non sono al cospetto nei dei veti, e nemmeno nel merito dei dignitari sovranisti e speculatori, al centro del problema vero e proprio.

Fondamentalmente e anzi nonostante, in questi ultimi anni siano state attinte forti somme di euroquote da scorte copiose di valuta nominale stampata e immessa come fosse liquidità indefinita sul mercato fiduciario dei titoli CHF, il cosiddetto centro gravitazionale di questo scenario asserviva uno stato di perenne tassonometria bellica concetto derivato e residuato delle svalutazioni che l’inflazione degli anni 30 60 e 90 ha concatenato con strascichi guerrafondai e dalla connotazione impiantata e incardinata quasi sempre all’escalation: dando il Là a diverse iniziative e corrispettive crisi geopolitiche tra fancazzismi e totalitarismi varati e raggirati attorno a delle motivazioni che risalgono alla notte dei tempi.. essi si sono riabilitati grazie ai loro debosciati figli.. e

hanno trovato la quadra e un accordo di sfruttamento, consolidato in quei trattati sulle risorse disponendo e sostanzialmente attuando una liberalizzazione  per vie approssimative che convergono e concernono l’uso e il riuso del denaro come incentivo per soddisfare le preferenze e una domanda di GNOCCA personalizzabile, di FIGA fresca, in un desiderio egoistico quanto esclusivo al più che ottenebrante, che in loro diviene la dolce frenesia inebriante e la trasformazione delle pulsioni più naturali nell’adito insistente di un vero e autentico delirio o possessione animale; liberalizzazioni e moltitudini di concubine quindi prelevate da ogni dove e ogni realtà che come nel secondo conflitto mondiale rappresentano la meravigliosa essenza di certi magnati e incrollabili puttanieri.. quasi fossero avvenuti al mondo per schiacciare la civiltà e macchiare tutte quelle tele ancora bianche da sverginare da esporre un giorno come trofei appesi al muro, sul plantageneto allargato allo stupro.

La scorta di grazie necessaria e sufficiente che trova il fiato per respirarle tutte in una notte, come fottute droghe usa e getta nella voglia che questi suini coronati o potentati percepiscono come il bisogno inesauribile e rimuginato di qualcosa, quasi gelosamente e geneticamente nel loro diritto, sia nelle loro fantasie e smanie nostalgiche sospirate di vivere una seconda giovinezza, giaccia nel vizio perenne ..con una verginale musa del capriccio, figura eburnea o di bontà carnale, esotica oppure magari languida afrodite turgidamente altera, ma sempre nel corpo di una femmina.. docile da fottere, quanto sublime prezzo dello struggimento, dello sgocciolamento, dell’innamoramento, o addirittura del cazzone frignone smarrito nell’oblio di un ventenne erede universale dell’impero di un altro magnaccia.

Trasformando questo sogno in pura estetica e nella favola erotica delle debuttanti infiammate buttane o nel materiale di letteratura per un tormento interiore che quei campioni e intenditori anonimi conoscono bene e penetrano in tutte le sfumature del benessere, fremendo in ogni istinto e irrefrenabile godimento che non sanno placare quelle cavalcate insaziabili, impagabili, incontenibili, di un idillio insopprimibile, impalpabile, insopportabile e incontentabile di un ideale che solletica i loro sensi e da mattina a sera nutre l’adorabile balzello del loro eccitamento in una contemplazione che riempe di tesori e di venerazione l’ornamento prelibato e soprammobile di una perfezione ed eleganza che ha da sfinire nel dilemma di frequentare motti e ritrovi e tradizioni intercontinentali per ubriacarsi di venale sciccheria ridotta a lussuriosa ambita preda di un mantenimento inesorabile..

Colei che crebbe assieme ad altre millenarie appartiene alle leggendarie gemme da aggiudicarsi ad un’asta, all’ultimo carato.. cosìcché se ieri erano pregiate e irraggiungibili status symbol per pochi fortunatissimi nudisti barbieri di Siviglia adesso rimangono costose Madonne da prenotare con anni d’anticipo, seppur inevitabilmente facili sia da procurare sul listino e da oggi persino le schiave d’elezione nel piacere di chi le ha riscoperte come merce facile da CLONARE e allevare in proprio.

Bisognerebbe sempre capire quali implicazioni scaturiscono dall’abuso di queste dilette grazie, a partire da un’idea fino alla ratifica e alla pratica di quest’ultima in una società di consumo sfrenata come questa, e dedita a traffici d’armi, di favori, di organi.. nei valori dei conti correnti ivi primi.

Ma per quei frutti stupefacenti che assuefanno i figli/e debosciati di certa elité, e soprattutto per Saturno e tutte le sue dilette sparse (e scomparse) in ogni dove bisognerebbe comprendere dalle premesse dove arriva una lobby quando la richiesta non accontenta tutti questi grandiosi puttanieri assortiti e padroni del mondo.

[mothiepixie]

I put Motti through a lot, whoopsie

[mothiepixie]

A look into the Past

[mothiepixie]

Man, I felt so bad for Mattie in the latest comic because the situation she’s in is trying to save the multiverse, but now she realizes the Corruption isn’t the real Nightmare, and it just got so much more complicated. I very much wanted to doctor Mottie’s wounds because what Corrupted!Nightmare did to her woke up so much protective instinct in me. Glad to see Passive is in there somewhere and trying to protect her even so. And just the pain and anger in Mottie’s face…give this girl a vacation and spa day, she needs it. Overall, I loved this comic and it hurt me in the best way. /positive 🥲

How does the gang feel about this whole situation? They didn’t seem to either care or just tried to ignore it until Mattie spat in Corruption’s face and then they kind of had an “oh, snap” moment. Yikes, how is Dream going to react to this? He’s got a crush on her too, right?

The Boys are in a predicament where showing care or retaliation can elicit the wrath of Corruption (no one is there because they want to be), but there is one amongst the three who cares for Motti and will show it in upcoming comics.

Dream does indeed care for Motti very much...let's just say Dream is kind but not always merciful.

[mothiepixie]

Now we delve more into my Passive Nightmare lore.

In this au, Motti is a denizen of the dreamtale kingdom, though this takes place centuries after corrupt Nightmare started raising hell. Many centuries of fighting and Corrupt Nightmare being a tyrant

[mothiepixie]

i've been drawing for 13 hours already but that won't stop me from indulging in their happily ever after

[mothiepixie]

🌸✨️

[mothiepixie]

"In another Universe, she would've been mine."

[mothiepixie]

Hmmm, how would either Dream or Nightmare react to your version of Motti who's a goddess? I'm imagining her with Dream and the positivity from them both might be overwhelming lol

they all would be super ecstatic! (and the bois thinking that Goddess Motti has immortality which makes them extremely happy)

HOWEVER- Reaper gonna shut them down real fast.

[mothiepixie]

He's just a lil shy

[mothiepixie]

Passive Nightmare is not so passive when it comes to others flirting/being mean to Motti

[mothiepixie]

I may or may not have stayed up late with brainrot