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seollenda · 3 years ago

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aftertastes (princess!reader x princess!yeji)

historical au <3 who said arranged marriages were loveless?

( apologies for sitting on this one for so long...i fretted over it a tad, ngl. kinda wished this came out longer but dragging it out didn't seem like the move either xx )

CW: n/a

word count: ~1500

“i hope you know that this arrangement was not at my request.”

such were the first words your new bride said to you on your first evening alone. princess hwang yeji met your gaze in the vanity mirror, brushing the creases of the wedding day’s pleats out of her long, silky hair. you had little to say in response, your hands gathered in front of your white nightdress in silent self-consciousness.

“wasn’t it at yours?” she prodded.

“no,” your voice was smaller than you’d intended. what about this girl cowed you? the princess of a neighboring domain; equal in stature to a degree that even conventional male-female marriages could never approach. brides often grow to be the closest of friends, your mother had assured you as she watched you being wrapped in wedding regalia. you are quite fortunate to receive such companionship.

“i’ve heard of you refusing male callers,” she replied bluntly, setting the brush down on the tabletop. “if this is a ploy to escape bearing heirs, i don’t appreciate being used as such.”

shock at such a blatant accusation welled in your throat.

“there are just as many concubines for myself as there are for you,” you stammered, cheeks flushing hotly. “take your pick, i don’t care whichever are left over for me!”

yeji turned, sparing you the shortest glare before looking past your shoulder and walking to bed.

“glad to know we are on the same page.”

–

yeji was beautiful.

you’d heard plenty of the beauty of the northern peoples, but to see their princess before your very eyes was different.

because she was not just lovely; her sharp, feminine eyes brewed with life in a hundred unadulterated ways. as the princess grew accustomed to your court and palace, you saw some of the storminess give way to softer moments of joy, even affection.

one quiet afternoon spent on the rolling lawn, yeji reading under a parasol, a silly fancy came over you. you picked the tallest, brightest daisy from beneath the blooming weeping willow, and tapped her knee until she looked up from her book.

the flower tucked into her lightly pleated hair easily. you sat back, kneeling before her. her gentle smile felt warmer than spring sunlight, and you would soon find yourself chasing its glow again and again.

–

the princess was homesick, you’d realized one night.

“yeji?”

the sniffling from the other end of the sleeping mat awoke you gradually, until you turned to regard your wife’s turned back.

“yeji?” you repeated, reaching a tentative hand to her shoulder. she trembled at your touch, curling further in on herself under the covers as if she were burned. “are you okay?”

“yes.” her answer was curt but evidently untruthful. you lay there for a moment, at a loss. two weeks of marriage, and unspoken rules remained. despite sleeping in the same bed, so much as holding each other like close friends was off limits. even when your wife shivered in despairing sobs, you were frozen in awkward indecision. you took a deep breath, knowing something had to be done.

the night air was cold on your skin as you climbed out of bed, its chill working its way easily under your nightclothes and sending a violent shiver through you. yeji paid you no mind as you slipped out of the bedroom and hurried down the hall.

it was apparently closer to dawn than you’d realized, because the cook was already busying herself with prep for breakfast. she turned to see you, wide eyed and shivering in the doorway.

“my goodness, your highness!” she gasped, holding her chest in genuine fright. besides the gentle bubbling of the abalone porridge, the kitchen was silent and empty.

“i’m sorry, cook lee,” you hurried, rushing into the warmth of the room. “do you have anything ready to eat yet? something warm?”

“is her highness hungry? we can have food sent to your quarters, there is no need for you to hurry in your nightclothes at such an hour!” she fretted, but you shook off her attempts at rubbing warmth into you. you peeked into the pot of porridge, looking over the counter piled high with the morning’s harvests.

“not for myself,” you murmured. “do you have something sweet, maybe?” you opened the pantry. “something for malaise?”

“is ahgassi feeling ill?”

“no, not myself. consort yeji,” you replied. your busy hands fell on a wooden case, beautifully inlaid with images of mountains and phoenixes. when you slid the top open, untouched morsels of sweet dried persimmons sparkled up at you.

“those were in emperor hwang’s court’s dowry gifts,” the cook supplied helpfully over your shoulder. “they’re a near fortune and only made in their kingdom. nearly forgot we’ve kept those!"

you nodded, shutting the lid and holding it resolutely to your chest. she only thought to stop you when you were nearly out the door.

“at least take some hot tea with you!”

so you set off back down the dim hallway, weighed with a tray of herbal tea (“for wellness, revives any sort of malaise!”) and the entire box of the expensive sweets.

“yeji?” you whispered, stepping into the bedroom and shutting the door behind you. she turned, sitting up at the sight of your burden.

“there was no need,” she started, shaking her head, but you set the tray down next to her and thrust the box towards her.

she looked at the wooden case, uncomprehending yet briefly entranced by the ornate designs. unable to contain your anticipation, you reached forward and gently slid the lid open.

the sugar encrusted fruits sparkled in the lightening dawn behind the bedroom windows. you watched your wife’s eyes grow wide, then fill quickly with tears again. seemingly arrested by overwhelming emotion, she sat still until you lifted a persimmon and fed her from your own hand.

she met your eyes, the taste of what you could only assume was home for her eliciting a slow, sorrowful smile. she chewed until there couldn’t have been much flavor left and swallowed. your hand rested on your knee, still holding the bitten fruit, yourself just as entranced by the princess as she was by your unexpected gift.

your heart quickened, realizing you were suddenly the sole subject of her gaze. her eyes flitted to your lips for a moment, just as her own tongue darted across hers. a dull pang of longing shot through you as they’d begun to occur with greater frequency.

yeji reached down, gently plucking the fruit from your hand. what you hadn’t expected was her to lift it to your own lips, her stare attentive and insistent on you now. take it, she seemed to dare you, as if something more dangerous would follow.

the persimmon was sticky and dizzyingly sweet, a level of sugar you hadn’t experienced before that sent you into a kaleidoscope of pleasant disarray. your lips had just barely brushed the edge of her thumb, but even that simple contact set your heart aflame with something akin to desire.

the princess consort watched you carefully, hypnotized until the fruit dissolved on your tongue and was carried down in a dry swallow. she set the half-bitten sweet on the tray next to you, shuffling forward in her seat towards you.

your heartbeat sped crazily, but you couldn’t will yourself to move, either closer or away from her. yeji’s gaze was clear of tears, replaced by careful, intense curiosity.

“did you like it?” she murmured, breaking the silence.

“yes,” you nodded, your voice hoarse.

and that was apparently all she’d been waiting for before meeting your lips with hers. she surprised you with a gentle tongue against your lips, so careful before nudging the both of you into a deeper, open-mouthed kiss. her hands found yours in your lap and she leaned into you until the both of you sighed in dazed unison.

the kiss was slow, just as indulgent as the unfinished dessert forgotten on its dish. she was the first to pull away, though she stayed close, her nose just barely bumping yours.

“it’s customary to check if the sweetness lingers on your spouse’s lips,” she murmured, a shy smile on her face. “if it does not, it was a poor fruit.”

“and if it does?”

“it means the couple’s love will linger just as sweetly.”

you giggled until she joined you, suddenly hushed and secretive like young lovers. the thought made you blush in mortified thrill. “well, i cannot tell if it is the persimmon or you that i am tasting anymore.”

“mmm,” she shrugged, letting you capture her lips again. when she drew back, her dark eyes were smiling at you, the warmth of a rising dawn that had you so entranced. she held the front of your shirt, pulling you toward the sheets again with a playful tug. “we’d better check again to be sure.”

#itzy imagines #yeji imagines #itzy #yeji #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #itzy fanfic #fluff #submission

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angelmavmurdock · 4 years ago

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Our Little Secret: Part Seven - A.R.

Word count: 4883 Summary: Arvin has to avenge Lenora but has to see y/n before he leaves.

WARNINGS: SMUT, ORAL (fem recv), DIRTY TALK (mild), EXHIBITIONISM (kinda? car sex basically). a LOT of emotions.

TW: mentions of guns, the preacher being the horrific person he is

It was a week later and probably the worst week of my life. I was ultimately grounded: not being able to go to cheer practice, not being able to leave the house and of course, not being able to see Arvin. I would still cook and bake for the Russell's but I'd just drop it off at the door or give it to Earskell outside.

Daddy was getting worse and school was getting more stressful due to exams coming up. Ma and I were not talking much. Only statements, really. Nothing more, nothing less.

I missed Arvin. But I was angry at him and confused about the previous week and why he acted like that. He just gave up, just like that. He has always been so protective of me but in that situation he left me with the wolves.

And on top of all of that, I was dealing with grief: an emotion I had never experienced before. Some days I felt numb and all I wanted to do was go to Arvin about it but I couldn't. And I was still dumbfounded at the fact she was pregnant and I had no idea. Lenora had somehow had sex and not told me. Maybe she didn't even know she was pregnant.

I often sat at my desk, pencil twirling in my fingers, thinking and wondering and daydreaming about him; when really I should be studying.

What was he doing? Did he miss me? Was he planning on seeing me again?

I could only wonder what he'd be doing at this moment...

Arvin's POV

I watched from the drivers seat, slumped with my cap low.

Reverend Teagardin had just gotten home from his rendezvous in the woods with the Reaster girl and was now greeting his wife. I saw him begin to take his suit jacket and tie off while gesturing for her to undress, too.

I clenched my jaw watching him. He undressed down to his shirt and socks, sitting proudly and smugly on his armchair like he owned the place. Like he owned her.

She sauntered up to him in her nightdress and dropped to the floor, hands on his thighs. I watched as he pushed her down fully on him.

I felt nauseas. I turned away and opened the window to get some air. I didn't like what I was doing but I had to do it. For Lenora.

After I'd seen enough, I drove home in silence. I didn't listen to the radio anymore. Just didn't feel right without y/n.

Despite the planning, the darkness and the grief going on in my life, the only thing that kept me going was the fact I might see y/n soon. But even then, I don't know if she'd even want to talk to me.

I had to leave to protect her and her parents. I understood them. I was the bad guy and she was the good girl and that's how it always was and always will be. There's no changing that.

When I got to the house, Earskell was sitting on the porch, a cigarette in his mouth

"You're late." He stated as I walked towards him.

"Yeah." I sighed.

I took my hat and jacket off then sat down next to him.

We sat in silence but it was far from that in my head.

I needed to leave tonight. But I had to see y/n. And I had to say some sort of goodbye.

But when I opened my mouth to say something, I closed it again. I wanted so bad to say goodbye but they'd be better off knowing nothing if the law came looking for me.

"Uncle...you have to be good to Grandma,"

I felt my eyes tear up. Thankfully it was dark so he couldn't see.

"She's hardly been out of bed since the funeral and without y/n here, she ain't been doin' good."

"I know." Earskell clenched his jaw.

"Grandma needs you, alright?"

He turned to me and nodded. But he looked longer than usual. It was almost like he knew.

I waited outside until Earskell went to bed. I walked in behind him and stood in the quiet house, my foot tapping the floor in thought.

If I was going to do it, it had to be now.

I collected my thoughts and quietly went into my room, packing a bag of basic clothes. My heart raced as I moved. Was I really doing this?

I stood and rubbed my hands over my face. I was crazy. What was I thinking? I sighed and sat on the edge of my bed, looking up at the art on the wall.

I never liked that drawing. It haunted me. Everything about this house and this town haunted me. Everything except from y/n.

I reached under my bed and pulled out an old wooden box. I sat it on my bed side table and opened it.

My daddy's old gun sat in the middle, accompanied by some bullets.

I gulped, staring at the weapon for a few moments before picking it up and loading it with shaky hands.

I placed it in my bag and left my room. I had every intent just to go. In the dead of night, just leave. But as I passed Grandma's room, I knew I had to write her. So I did. I quickly got out a pen and paper and wrote her a goodbye letter.

Dear Grandma, I'm writing to you because I cannot say goodbye to your face. I love you and I will always remember the things you have done for me. What I'm about to do, I do because I have to, not because I want to. Please do not try and find me. Love your grandson, Arvin.

I rolled it and sat it in a tin can. I quietly opened her bedroom door and tip-toed in, gently placing it on her bedside table. I looked at her for a few moments and then left, heading out her room, down the hall and out the front door. I got into the car, throwing my bag in the back and driving off.

It was 2 o'clock in the morning so I wouldn't expect y/n's parents to be awake. I drove up the drive of her house, nerves and adrenaline rushing through me. I parked before the gate and hopped out. There were no lights on except from one. The front left window on the second story. y/n's room.

I smiled and walked carefully along the gravel, trying not to be too loud. I picked up a few of the small gravel stones in my hand and grinned up at her window.

I aimed and threw a stone. It hit her window perfectly. I smiled, the realisation that I might see her dawning on me. I threw another, and another, and another. I was about to throw yet another until she pulled her window up.

She peeped her head out the window and looked down in shock.

"Arvin, what the hell?!" She whisper-shouted.

"y/n! Come down, please." I dropped the stones, wiping my hands on my jeans.

She looked behind her and I could see her hair pulled back messily. She must have been lying in bed.

"I can't!" She whispered.

"y/n, I really need to see you."

She scoffed, "Maybe you shouldn't have been such an asshole and I might have come down."

I hung my head, "I'm sorry, I really am. I was just trying to protect you-"

"Protect me?!" She hissed.

"Can you just come down and we can talk about this? Please?" I clasped my hands together.

She hesitated, looking at me to her door and then back at me again.

"Wait in the car I'll be there soon." She whispered before shutting the window.

I grinned and silently celebrated, returning back to the car to wait on her. I bit my lip nervously, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

But soon a figure caught my eye. I saw y/n exit her house and close the door carefully. She checked her surroundings before jogging over to the car. She was in a white blouse with a white A-line skirt. Her hair was intricately pleated and tied with a white silk ribbon. She looked ethereal as I opened the door for her and she got in. She didn't wear any makeup so I could see her freckles that peppered across her skin and her natural glow in the moonlight.

"Hi." She gulped nervously.

"Hey...d'you wanna go to the lake?" I asked.

"Sure." She nodded.

I pulled out and drove away and onto the familiar road we took to go to our spot.

"So, y/n I just-"

"I recommend we talk when we get there because if I scream at you and we get into an accident, that's my fault." She stated, not taking her eyes off the road.

I gulped, "Okay."

We drove in silence down the quiet roads. No one was out except from travellers. We finally reached the lake and I parked just beside it.

It looked picturesque; the moonlight shining onto the river making it gleam at the stars and the trees were full and lush.

Reader's POV

We sat in silence for a few moments. It was awkward and tension filled the air. I had snuck out and risked getting grounded again for this.

"Arvin, why am I here?" I finally asked, arms folding in front of my chest.

"Just to see you. I needed to see you." He spoke quietly.

I felt all the emotions come back to me but I didn't have enough energy to shout at him.

"Why did you leave? Why did you do that?" I asked.

He sighed, "I was protecting you."

I rolled my eyes, "Protecting me? Protecting me from what?"

"From your parents kicking you out or for them hating you for the rest of your life because you wasted it on me." He snapped.

"Wasted? You think that if we were together it would waste my life?" I turned to him fully.

He lay his head back, "I'm not like you, y/n. I'm not rich, I don't live in a fancy house, I don't work in some office job. I wouldn't be able to give you what you wanted and that's why your parents don't like me and I understand that."

I spluttered then scoffed at his negative attitude.

"Arvin, you are you and that is all I want." I felt tears spring into my eyes.

He turned his head to look at me.

"I don't need a fancy house or tons of money..." I shook my head and reached over to take his hand.

"But I do need you." I took his hand to my lips and pressed kisses onto his skin.

He watched me and I could see him tear up.

"I can't ruin your life like this." He shook his head.

"You are not ruinin' my life, Arvin. You're doin' everything but that. My life is miserable without you." I smiled slightly.

He moved his hand from mine and traced his calloused hand over my cheek, then pushing some stray hairs behind before cupping my face. His thumb stroked my skin softly as a tear rolled down his face.

"Oh, Arvin," I exhaled in sympathy.

"I'm already causin' trouble. I snuck you out at two o'clock in the mornin' I mean, that's not very responsible is it?"

I chuckled, "We're still teenagers, Arvin. We can still have fun. We don't need to be responsible all the time."

He slightly smiled, looking at my lips then to my eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked in a whisper.

I nodded, "Kiss me, Arvin."

He brought his lips to mine as I rested my hand on top of his. Our lips touched and it was as if nothing had happened and we were back to normal. It was soft and sweet, our lips moving in sync like we had done this a million times before. He slid his tongue into my mouth and I hummed at the taste of him. He moved his hand from my face to my waist and squeezed my skin. I took the initiative and crawled onto his lap.

It was a little awkward with my skirt but a chuckle and a giggle we resumed, lips clashing together in a new passion. Our tongues pushed and swirled in each other's mouths, exploring as much as we could.

His lips travelled to my neck and he sucked and licked over my skin. I moaned, threading my finger through his hair as I leaned back, allowing him more access to my neck. He kept going, kissing the spot on my neck he already knew I liked. I pulled him as close to me as possible and rolled my hips in reaction.

I moaned in pleasure and confusion. Arvin hesitated for a moment but when I experimentally rolled my hips again, he held them tighter and kissed my neck with more fervour.

I picked up a rhythm, grinding my hips down onto Arvin's jeans. The friction between my pants and his jeans sent pleasure coursing through me.

"Does that feel good?" Arvin asked even though he knew my answer.

"Feels so good," I moaned.

He helped my hips move faster on him and we stopped kissing in concentration. I tugged his hair in my fingers, closing my eyes to enjoy the unexpected pleasure. I paused to rip Arvin's jacket from his shoulders and to take his shirt off. He complied, lifting his arms and then shaking his hair back into place once it was off.

"Back seat." I mumbled breathlessly as I kissed his lips.

"You sure?" He asked in the same manner.

"Please." I whimpered.

We pulled away and I got off of him, shedding of my blouse and skirt on the passengers seat before getting into the back seat and lying down. Arvin removed his jeans awkwardly but then climbed on top of me relatively easily.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around his neck as he dipped down to meet my lips again. His slid down my sides, cupping and groping my breasts covered by my bra. I gasped, arching up into him. He smirked at my reaction and snaked his hand around my back, unclipping it with ease and then throwing it in the front seat.

He palmed my boob with one hand while the other cupped my face, our lips sloppily kissing one another.

He started to kiss my jaw, my neck and then went further, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down my breasts, my stomach and he stopped at my panties. He hooked his fingers under the waistband and I lifted my hips to help him take them off. He slid them off and discarded them.

I furrowed my brows in confusion when he didn't come back up to face me again. Instead, he lifted my legs and readjusted himself between my legs. I suddenly felt self-conscious as he was face-to-face with my crotch.

"Arvin, what're you-"

"Tell me if you want me to stop, baby." He said lowly before dipping his head between my thighs.

I gasped and gripped his hair instinctively as he licked my skin from my thigh to my core.

"Arvin," I moaned, his breath fanning over my core.

He looked up at me with his dark, lustful eyes as he licked a strip from my entrance to my clit. I bucked my hips onto him in shock and pleasure.

I had never even heard of this. I knew people had sex. But I didn't realise this was a part of it.

"Taste so good, baby." He mumbled.

His tongue flicked upwards on my clit and gained a steady pace. I held his head tightly, my fingers messing up his hair. I had never felt such pleasure before. His hands held my thighs but I noticed when one of them slipped from my skin.

I looked down at him and whimpered at the sight of him between my legs, tongue working against my clit expertly.

"Feels so good- oh my god!"

He slipped a finger into my entrance with ease, curling up to find my spot.

"Shit! Yes!" I arched my back, removing a hand from his hair to grip onto the back of the seat for some stability.

The duo of his tongue and his fingers was nearly too much for me to handle. Nearly. He kept going, never halting and praising me through it.

"Look so amazing, baby. Feel so good. Taste so sweet, darlin'."

"Arvin, I'm so close." I choked, feeling the same knot form in my stomach.

"Go on, baby. Come for me."

I held his hair and pushed him further into me as I felt my high approaching. He groaned as I chased my high, feeling myself clench around his fingers. His tongue never stopped and neither did his fingers as I came. I moaned loudly, my free hand trying to grip onto anything around me. My high washed over me euphorically, his mouth and fingers still riding me through it.

I pushed his head back a little when I became sensitive to his touch and he pulled away and lifted me off my back and swiftly onto his lap. I was still hazy but he kissed me softly, tucking some hair behind my ear.

"You did so good, baby." He uttered against my lips.

"That was...so good." I sighed in satisfaction.

"D'you wanna feel me?" He asked lowly.

I bit my lip and nodded, "Yes. God, please."

He smirked and lifted me up slightly with one arm as his other pulled his underwear down to his knees and he shrugged them off. I gulped at the sight of him again. He went to touch himself but I beat him to it, wrapping my hand around his member.

His breath hitched in his throat and he rested his hand on my thighs as I pumped my hand up and down, my thumb brushing over his tip each time.

I lifted off him and swiped his tip through my folds and then eased myself onto him. We both moaned as I sank down on him, bottoming out almost immediately because I was so wet.

"So tight, darlin', fuck." He groaned.

I moved up and down on him, picking the speed up relatively quickly.

Soon enough we were both panting, moaning messes. I bounced on him mercilessly, the sound of skin slapping filled the fogged car and I gripped onto his shoulder with one hand and the inside handle on the door with the other. Arvin's hands stayed on my waist, helping me to move up and down on him.

"Fuck, it feels so good. You feel so good, Arv." I moaned.

"So good for me, y/n. So fuckin' good." He leaned forward and encased my lips in a wet kiss before flipping me onto my back.

I gasped and then moaned in upmost pleasure as he pulled out and pushed back into me, his member hitting deep within me.

He dipped his head down to my neck and I clambered at his back, leaving scratch marks over him.

He thrusted into me relentlessly and I wrapped my ankles around him, bringing him as close to me as possible. Suddenly he shifted me down slightly and I moaned as his member continuously brushed against my spot.

"Yes! Right there, fuck!" I moaned, gripping onto him with dear life.

He continued, his grunts and moans filling my ears. I gripped his hair with one hand and his back with the other.

"Fuck, I love you so much." He said into my skin.

My heart fluttered, "I love you too. So much."

"You gonna come for me? Gonna come a second time for me? Good girl."

His words coaxed me into my second high. I arched my back and moaned louder than I should have but it felt too good. I held him as close to me as possible as he thrusted into me, every brush making my orgasm more intense.

"Fuck- baby, I'm gonna come." He groaned.

I released my legs from his waist and he pulled out of me, leaving me feeling empty. I replaced his hand quickly and pumped him on top of my core. He watched with an agape mouth, pleasure consuming him as he finished. He painted all over my lower stomach but I didn't mind. I enjoyed watching him finish. I loved the fact I made him finish.

"Shit," He crashed next to me, panting.

We sat listening to each others breathing before he sat up and grabbed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. I giggled as he brushed it over my skin, cleaning me up softly, mindful of the fact I was still sensitive.

He reached behind the seats and retrieved a blanket we'd often use for cold nights.

"I'll put the radio on." I smiled.

I reached forward and turned on the radio. A song finished and I sat back. Arvin had found a comfortable position in the corner and tapped next to him. I smiled and sat where he gestured, both of us putting our feet up and relaxing into each other.

'I'll Never Smile Again' by Frank Sinatra came on the radio and I nuzzled into Arvin's bare chest.

(PLAY NOW!)

Arvin's POV

"I love this song." She sighed sweetly.

I gulped, knowing that this song would now have a whole new meaning to her after this conversation. In fact, it was pretty fitting.

"y/n, I gotta tell you somethin' that might seem crazy and horrible but..." I spoke nervously and I could already feel the lump beginning to form in my throat.

She squeezed me a little, "What is it?"

I took a few deep breaths, gathering my thoughts and what I was about to tell her.

"I needed to see you tonight because...because I'm leavin'. Tonight."

She paused and then sat up, holding her half of the blanket over her chest.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

I gulped, "I have to do somethin' and I can't be here anymore."

"What d'you have to do, Arvin?" She asked, concern lacing her voice.

I looked into her eyes, "I need to avenge Lenora." I said truthfully.

I think she immediately knew what I meant. She stopped and stared at me with the same blank expression for nearly a whole minute.

"y/n please say somethin'."

"I uh...I don't know who you're gonna hurt. But do you really need to?" She asked.

I nodded, "I have to. I won't be able to rest until I do."

Her chin began to quiver, "But I need you."

She broke into a sob and I brought her close to me, holding her head to my chest and rubbing her back soothingly.

"You will be just fine without me, y/n. I know you will."

"How can I live my life knowin' you might be out there. Or what if you die, Arvin?! What will I do?!" She sat up, facing me, tears staining her once glowing face.

I cupped her face and wiped her tears away, "I love you. And I will always love you, y/n. You need to know that. If I could, I would stay with you."

She cried into my hands and I felt myself begin to break.

"I would stay with you. I'd marry you, I'd have kids with you and get a house with you. I'd spend the rest of my life with you if I could, y/n. But I can't." I felt tears fall down my face.

She shook her reddened face in my palms, "I can't go on without you, Arvin."

"Hey, yes you can." I stated.

"You will be just fine. You're startin' college after the summer and you'll be gettin' a job, a life."

"Without you." She cried.

"I know. I'm so sorry it has to be like this, y/n."

She looked at me, "I'm sorry, too."

I brought her back into me and we sunk into our original position. We were both still crying and we both knew.

"Keep close with Grandma but don't tell her anything about me. I don't want her worryin' and I don't want her knowin' if she doesn't have to." I said, kissing the top of her head.

"Okay." She nodded.

"I don't know where this'll take me. I don't know if I'll get in trouble for it, killed for it, or what. But I can't come back here even if it was to be with you."

"How could we reconnect if you did survive and get through it?"

I sighed, "I have no idea. I could be half-way across the fuckin' country."

She sniffled and wiped her nose, "I can't believe this is happening."

"I know, darlin'. I know." I kissed her head again.

We sat listening to the radio just being with each other for another hour. We fell asleep for an hour after that, wrapped in each other with the blanket draper over us. The sun rising woke us up. We awoke at the same time and readjusted our position to how it was before and watched the sun turn the sky red, pink, purple and orange.

"Ain't this the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" She asked quietly, as if trying not to disturb the sun from continuing its venture into the sky.

I moved her hair away from her face and tilted her chin to look up at me.

"Nothing can or will ever be more beautiful than you, y/n." I said softly.

She smiled and colour rose to her cheeks. I leaned down and kissed her. It was deep and meaningful and timeless. Like the world stopped just for us. It was breathless and beautiful and it made my heart ache knowing I would never have this again.

She was the love of my life.

"I'll need to drive you home before your parents wake up." I sighed, pulling away from her.

She closed her eyes in dread but nodded in agreement.

We got out and peed then changed into our clothes. She took her hair out of the plait so it was wavy. I'd never seen it like that before. She looked beautiful. I leaned against the bonnet of the car with a cigarette in my mouth, watching the lake liven up again and the sun poking through the trees. y/n walked up slowly to me and stood next to me, wrapping her arms around me. We both looked at the scene in front of us and took it in.

"Let's get on the road, alright?" I whispered to her.

"Okay." She gulped.

I disposed my cigarette then we got in the car. I reluctantly drove away and we got back on the road, heading up to her house.

My hand stayed gripped in hers the whole way. I drove as slowly as I could up the drive but we reached the gate and I had to stop.

We turned to each other and crashed our lips together. We were both already crying so the breathlessness and the salty taste on our tongues was mutual. I cupped her cheeks and threaded my hands in her hair, then down her back and her waist to her hips and her ass, squeezing and then coming back up.

We both parted but stayed millimetres away, gasping for air.

"I love you." She said hurriedly.

"I love you too." I said it back.

"Fuck, I don't wanna get out the car." She cursed.

I brought her head to my clavicle, pressing my lips to her head and inhaling her scent.

"I love you." I said again as she pulled away.

She reached for me again, our lips meeting in a rushed, passionate manner.

Her hands moved into my hair to down my chest and then back up to cup my face.

"Fuck, I've gotta go, Arvin." She panted, a tear falling down her cheek.

"I love you." I said.

She hesitantly pulled away, our hands still intertwined.

"Be safe and do what you have to do, alright? I will always love you, Arvin." She said shakily.

"I will always love you, y/n." I stated, my eyes blurring.

She waited and paused and I knew she was about to go.

I leaned in again, kissing her deeply, getting the last taste of her, swirling my tongue hurriedly around hers in an attempt to savour every last moment with her.

We pulled away.

"I love you, Arvin."

"I love you, y/n."

She immediately got out the car. Slamming the door shut to rip the band-aid even more. I watched her as she walked up her driveway and up the steps to her house.

My heart shattered when she got in and shut the door without looking back.

"Fuck."

****

I sat down a few pews back from Reverend Teagardin, resisting the urge to shoot and kill him on the spot.

"Excuse me, Preacher?" I spoke up.

I looked up at him from my cap.

"You got time for a sinner?"

{Tags: @notanordinaryprincess96 @imagine-yourself-happy}

#arvin russel #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel fluff #arvin russel smut #arvin russel angst #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel mini series #mini series #tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #arvin russel fic #one shot #imagine #tom holland imagine #arvin russel imagine

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kalosaethetics · 4 years ago

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Photos shot by Horst P. Horst for Vogue (February 15, 1949)

💚 Two models in lingerie by Odette Barsa. The standing model wears a dark blue corselet slip of silk satin and lace, and black mules by Delman. The seated model wears a navy-blue rayon-and-silk lace boudoir coat with a mauve silk chiffon pleated empire-waist nightdress, and cultured pearl earrings.

💚 Model lounging in blue-and-grey lingerie from Saks Fifth Avenue. She wears a nightdress and matching triangular mantilla, of chantilly lace and mingtoy silk crepe, as well as blue woven-satin mules (also from Saks Fifth Avenue).

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elderling-magic · 5 years ago

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Character Descriptions: Liveship Traders Trilogy

Once again, I might have missed some descriptions and any addition will be welcome. I might have especially missed descriptions on “Ship of Destiny” since I listened to the audiobook for that one.

Kennit: Tall, muscled porportionately, wide shoulders, long-fingered hands, tanned, high brow, firm jaw, straight nose, finely-drawn lips, beard fashionably pointed and ends of his moustache waxed and curled, has black ringlets of hair and pale blue eyes. He has a double thong of black leather with a small wooden face like his pierced at the brow and lower jaw against his wrist, initially painted black.

Kennit tattoos an Other on the nape of his neck in “Ship of Magic” (Kennit does tattoos and burns them after). He had a sevent pointed star tattoo on his hip that was seared after.

At the start of the trilogy on Others’ Island: He wears boots, linen trousers, a brocated waistcoat, an indigo jacket with pockets, a white silk shirt with lacy cuffs, has a ring on his finger and wears a hat.

When Etta met him the first time: Wore a dark green broadcloth jacket with ivory buttons and a spill of white lace down his chest and at his cuffs.

Mad Ship page 611: Wears a hat with black plumes and a jacket with silver buttons on the cuff.

Usually wears lace in cuffs and collar, high black boots, blue breeches, waistcoat and jacket. Has a crutch and peg after losing his leg.

Etta: She is straight (no roundness or softness) and very thin, near as tall as Kennit, long-limbed, has dark eyes, narrow hands, long flat flanks, slight roundness of belly, modest breasts, black hair cut off short ot reaching her shoulders (cut of square like a boy’s) and the planes of her face are long and flat. She has a tiny white skull, small as an apple pip, atached to a fine silver wire that pierced her navel. Kennit offers her a earring with a ruby.

First outfit on the ship: She wears lavender perfume, an emerald silk loose-sleeved blouse tucked into brocaded trousers, a cloth-of-gold sash around her waist, a tiny ruby earring and a lush fur-lined cloak.

2nd outfit on the ship: Azure cotton shirt, dark woollen trousers and a short matching woollen jacket, black knee-boots, gaudy scarf confining her hair leaving only the tips free to brush across her cheeks.

3rd outfit (seen by Wintrow): Silk blouse, brocaded vest and trousers.

4th outfit: Red lips, scarlet blouse, black silk skirts that shifted with her hips.

Wore gold fabric in “Ship of Destiny” (chapter 18). End of SOD: Simple black dress and the only jewelry was the miniature of Kennit strapped to her wrist and earrings he had given her, sleek black hair pinned up with jewel pins.

Wintrow Vestrit: 13 years old at the start of the book and turns 14 during the trilogy. Thin, shorter than Malta, has big dark brown eyes, fine black hair, long dark lashes, warm colored skin, cheeks and jaw lost most of a child’s roundness, white teeth. Gets a tattoo with the Satrap’s sigil beside his nose and next to that a larger tattoo of Vivacia in his face. Only 4 fingers in the right hand, index (forefinger) finger missing.

Wears a novice brown robe and no shoes. Wears shirt and trousers on the ship. Wears his black hair in a plait queue. Has two suits of canvas shirts and trousers for crew work. Sailor on shore clothes: Loudly-striped woven shirt and coarse black trousers that did not fit him well, shirt hung long and full on him. Wears loose white shirt a bit large for him tucked into dark blue trousers. Chapter 18 in SOD: Wide-sleeved shirt of dark blue silk embroidered with ravens. End of SOD: wore black to match Etta.

Althea Vestrit: 19 years old. Small like her mother, thin, has a long waist, round hips, small breasts, black wiry hair, black eyes, is tanned.

When a child: Hair cut to no more than a brush, was barefoot and bare-armed, hair queued down her back, wore trousers and a jacket.

When she arrives in Bingtown: Petticoat , overskirts, blouse, vest, lacy shawl, lace snood to confine her hair, straw hat addorned with feathers, dove-grey and pale blue trim.

To see Ronica at night: Wears a striped shirt and black trousers of a sailor on shore, long dark queue of hair down her back.

When she runs away: Simple dark dress, modest jacket and laced sandals. Wears 2 simple silver hoop earrings and a wooden egg bead of warm brown with the grain around it rather than from end to end that Amber gave her.

On the Reaper: Wears an oilskin, pigtail, shirt and trousers. She has a wooden egg in a single strand of leather about her neck. Flat cap pulled low on her brow and boy’s clothes. Wears felted stockings and heavy boots and a knitted cap on the Reaper.

Split in her scalp as long as Brashen’s little finger and gape open from the pull of her queue on SOM.

Council meeting: Magenta robe, hair pinned up, touch of colour to her lips, garnet earrings swinging from her ears given by Grag.

Work on Paragon: Hair sweated to her skull, loose white trousers and roomy tunic of the same fabric. Wears ship’s tag from Ophelia at her belt.

When Paragon sails: white blouse, split skirt with matching vest, shoes. Althea is wearing the same outfit to meet Vivacia again in SOD, with plaited and pinned hair.

Brashen gives Althea a brightly colored scarf that she binds her hair with, hoop earrings embelished with jade and garnet beads and a necklace in Davytown (SOD).

Ronica Vestrit: Small and dark woman with silver in her hair and high cheekbones. Usually wears her hair pinned up in a similar way as Keffria’s and wears a loose household robe. For reyn’s visit she had a dress of pale green linen with skirts sashes about her waist and over-blouse laced up from behind, pearl necklace and earrings. When althea comes back home: wearing a simple day-gown of creamy linen, hair coiled and perfumed, silver chain in her throat. Has a parasol on the day Paragon set sail.

Keffria Vestrit: Olive skin, dark long hair. Wears a simple blue woolen robe and usually uses long pins to fix her hair. For Reyn’s visit Malta plaited her hair into coils. Has a parasol on the day Paragon set sail.

Malta Vestrit: 12 years old at the start of the book and turns 13 during the trilogy. Warm-toned skin, long straight shiny black hair, taller than Wintrow, developed early. Has one greyish blue fingertip mark on the back of her neck after meeting Amber on Paragon. She gains a scarlet crown that extends back into her hairline one full finger lenght, has scales on brows, lips and arms on SOD.

Harvest ball: The outer edges of her ears and ear-lobes are traced the same color of her eyelids, wears a necklace and a dress of pale green silk with lace that frothed in her bosom and accessible panels of the skirts.

Cerwin and Dello’s visit: Simple woollen shift, embroidered at the throat and hem, sashed tight to show her waist, painted lips, brushed hair.

Council meeting: Hair swept from her face, braided and secured to the crown of her head, artless tendrils danced on her forehead and brushed the top of her cheeks, tiny roses deep red. Very simple trader’s robe deep magenta (Vestrit color), round neckline, ankle-lenght, belted at the waist like a monk’s robe by a black leather wide belt with stylized initial that formed the buckle.

Reyn’s visit: Hair in gleaming coils, white dress with red flower pinned to the shoulder, another flower fastened into her upswept hair.

Meet cerwin in the night and 2nd dream box: White nightdress.

Reunion with Amber: Wrapper of thick blue wool over her white nightgown.

Summer ball: Stockings, bright panels of fabric set into the lavish sleeves of her dress had once been skirts of another dress, lace at her cuffs.

Rescuing Cosgo and Kekki: robe on rags, only one shoe on. Later she cuts the hems of the robe and fashions them into a head wrap to cover her head on the Chalcedean ship.

SOD ball: Slippers, white laced gloves that came to her elbows and cleverly fashioned to show glints of her scaling through the lace. Gown was a confection of white with hidden panels of scarlet fabric that would flash when Reyn whirled her.

Selden Vestrit: 7 years old at the start of the book. He has silver scales across his cheeks near the middle of SOD and a blue shimmer to his lips. Day Paragon sails: Wears blue trousers and a white shirt.

Brashen Trell: 24 years old. Brown eyes, heavy brows, bristle beard, long moustache to hide corners of the mouth, muscled and shorter than Kyle, has a thick patch of curly hair in the centre of his chest and black stubble elsewhere on his chest and belly. 1st Outfit: He wears battered shoes and the edges of his rough cotton trousers are tattering. 2nd Outfit: Striped shirt, stockings, woolen trousers. 3rd Outfit: Yellow silk shirt, scarf at his throat, dark blue trousers, short jacket with some mending, hat (visit to the Vestrits). Day Paragon sails: White shirt and dark blue trousers and jacket. He has gaps in his brows in SOD after the serpent’s attack.

Amber: Gold skin, hair and eyes (tawny), bones of her cheeks and line of her nose too sharp to be feminine, flat chested and narrow hipped. Wears 4 swaying mismatched earrings: twisted wooden serpent in the left ear and a shining dragon in her right (each as long as a man’s thumb), freedom earring of silver net with a blue gem. (Later is dragon earring on the left ear and serpent swinging on the right...) She changes her skin during SOD and has skin and hair a bit darker.

When Althea first sees her: Wearing a long brown gown that hungs simply from her shoulders and has bare feet. When Althea encounters her again: Dressed in a long simple robe the color of a ripe acorn and has her hair down her back in a single shining plait. The fabric of her robe fells in pleats from her shoulders to the hem, concealing every line of her body. Her hands are gloved and she wears a necklace of simple wooden beds in every tone of brown that wood can be..

Slave Outfit: Smudge-faced, tattoo across one wind-reddened cheek, crusty sore encompassed half her upper lip and left nostril. Dirty hair pulling free from a scruffy braid, shirt of rough cotton, bare feet peeped out from her patched skirts, dirty bandage bound one of her ankles, rough canvas work gloves replaced the lacy ones Amber habitually wore, dirty canvas tote concealed inside a marked basket. Ragged scarf tied about her head and over her ears. She tucked her earrings up, out of sight.

Traders’ meeting: Wearing a simple golden-brown robe almost the same shade as the many plaited hair that hung over her shoulders.

On Paragon before sailing: Loose pantaloons, blouse and a vest, freed hair floated in the wind. Day Paragon sails: Togs of an ordinary sailor but buttons on trousers and shirt were carved beads, snuggly laced vest with fanciful butterflies embroidered in it, pale honey-.wood skin and hair, eyes almost the same shade, long hair back, braided and pinned to her head, mismatched earrings.

After serpent’s attack in SOD: Tawny hair hang from a peeling red scalp, the left side of her face and neck was scarlet, she walked with a limp and her hold her left arm close to her body.

Reyn Khuprus: Close to 20 years old at the start and turns 20 during the trilogy. Bronze skin, thick black curly hair, copper eyes with blue shine, blue highlight scales, scaled brow and scales around mouth and eyes.

First appearance: Blue gown with a jewel fastened at the throat (on the scarf - wears it life a muffler), heavily cloaked, face veiled, gloved hands, two small blue flame-jewels on his cuff. Veil that covered his face was split.

Visit to Malta: Dressed all in blue, discarded cloak of dark blue on a chair, traditional rain wild garb of loose trousers and long-sleeved shirt. Lean waist sashed with a wide silk belt of a darker hue than his other clothes, black boots peeped out from the loose cuffs of his trousers, fine black gloves studded with azure flame-gems, plain hoodmade of the same silk as the sash, face veil with black lace.

Summer ball: Veil of black lace, hood that covered his hair and back of his neck secured with an elaborated folded cravat of white silk, soft white shirt and black trousers, slim waist and narrow hips, wide shoulders, light dancing boots were filigreed with silver and gilt to match his veil.

End of SOD: Close-fitted indigo jacket, white cuffs, collar and trousers, black knee boots and small gold hoops in his ears.

Jani Khuprus: Smooth-faced for a rain wild trader, markings are subtle, pebbly outline traced the edge of her lips and eyelids. the white of her eyes and hair teeth and nails flow bluish. First appearance: Heavy outer cloak and hood. Scarlet flame jewels, lighter mantle of ivory also hooded and the lace veil was part of it. 15 flame jewels the size of shelled almonds. First Vestrit Visit: Scattering of flame jewels red on her face-veil. Reyn’s presentation to Malta: Face veil white lace shimmering with pearls, loose hood that covere her head decorated with braided and coiled silken tassels in many shades of blue. she wore an extravagantly beribboned blouse and loose pantaloons that were gathered at her ankles with yet more ribbons. Fanciful embroidery almost obscured the white linen that backed it.

Serilla: She is a head taller than Cosgo, has green eyes, brown hair, wears the ring of the companions of the heart and sandals. She was 19 when she met Cosgo. After cosgo calls her back (page 538 on "Mad Ship”): Loose pair of white pantaloons and red silk shirt, trousers belted with a finely woven black scarf, embroidered vest covered her breasts, hair braided back from her face, earrings and a throatpiece, fingers decked with rings, heavy chain of gold about her ankle. Summer ball: wears a cream gown. Council in SOD: long soft white robe decorated with crossing ropes of cloth of gold, long sleeves and cloak.

Satrap Cosgo: Taller than Malta, lean, no muscle, white skin, dark hair and eyes and has a tiny thin mustache. He was 15 when he met Serilla. Summer ball: Clothing soft and flowing in pastel hues, pale blue trousers cuffed tight to his ankles above his low soft shoes, loose folds of his saffron shirt shawled about his throat and shoulders. SOD: heavy scarlet cloak (too big for him) trimmed with jet beads and with a hood lined with fur given on Vivacia and used when he is taken by the Jamaillian ship.

Kekki: She has dark hair. Summer ball: Wears a gown of feathers and lace.

Jek: Long blonde hair caught in a tail, white teeth, long-boned and well muscled. On first appearance she wears a leather doublet, boots and a light cloak. On Paragon she wears sailor’s trousers that reach no farther than her knee, she did not bind her breasts and her hair was in a long braid.

Grag Tenira: Blue eyes, bronze skin, handsome, has work-scarred fingers and well muscled legs. In Bingtown: Dark coat and trousers and a white shirt. Traders’ Council: Dark blue traders robe seafarer style that show his legs and sandalled feet. Hiding: Dark shirt open at the throat and loose white trousers, golden earring.

Kyle Haven: Big man with broad hands, blue eyes and unruly blond hair. Wears tight-fitting breeches of blue and a blue jacket over a shirt of soft cream. Hair plaited with oil (first talk with Wintrown on the ship when tries to give him a earring). (Sailors wear something that marks them as a crew from Vivacia. An earring, a scarf, a pin or a tattoo. Kyle offers Wintrow a small gold earring with Vivacia’s figurehead - that he refuses.)

Ephron Vestrit: Black eyes, smooth black queue hair, beard.

Cerwin Trell: Slender, milky-skinned and has black hair. Harvest ball: blue trousers and coat, black boots, single gold earring in one ear, hair curled into long locks.

Delo Trell: She has brown eyes. Harvest ball: Wears a deep blue dress, hair plaited into a crown decked with fresh flowers, flounce of lace on her short skirts that went almost to mid calf and matching lace trimmed the high collar and cuffs. No jewellery. Summer ball: She wears blue stones at her throat and wrists and on the fine silver chains that secured her unswept hair, eyes and mouth are painted and has a fan.

Sorcor: Large well-muscled man with thick chest and a beard, tanned, has dark eyes and a scarred cheek where once was a slave tattoo. Oils his hair sleeked back from his bow for formal look. Wears a shirt of red and white striped silk and mermaid earrings with tiny pearls in her navels and green eyes. Dresses in a wide array of fine clothes in colors that bedazzled the eye. Silk scarf on his waist, jewelled dagger stuck in it, yellow silk shirt. Has a vest with gilt buttons, unruly hair caught back in a queue and further confined in a bright gold kerchief. In Chapter 18 of SOD: Emeralds in his ears and broad belt of leather worked with silver held two matching swords.

Davad Restart: Immaculately groomed, leggings bagged slightly at the knees, embroidered doublet laced too tight, modest belly looked like a bulging pot, dark ringlets on oiled hair but almost no curl so it fell in greasy locks. Small hands.

Caolwn Festrew: Leather gloves, cowl hiding face and hair, sagging growths on her face bobbed with movement of head, violet/lavender eyes, scaly growths that threatened her eyesight, lumpy flesh visible at the parting of her thick bronze hair, lumps and wattles of flesh depended from her fingers and knobbed the back of it were rubbery. Veil of lace in the hood tro cover the face.

Sparse Kelter: Wide man, red beard and red hair down his arms but not much on the crown of his head, has a chest as big as a barrel.

Ekke: Tall woman with freckles, big boned and has a red tint in her sandy tousled hair.

Cleff: About 11 years old, blue eyes, light hair and has a spidery tattoo by the side of his nose. He wears a ragged tunic scarcely longer than a shirt while working for Davad.

Dedge: Sea-grey eyes, hair no more than a fringe above his ears, muscled, tattoos on his face, sash of silk about his waist.

Gankis: An old sailor shorter than Kennit, has brown eyes, wears low shoes and a worn coat with big pockets.

Torg: Brawny man, not tall, has short blond hair, pale grey eyes and white eyebrows, skin underneath his round chin began to sag into a pouch. Wears a kerchief around his neck anciengly soiled, the collar of his blue and white striped shirt shows an interior band of brown.

Sa’Adar: Big priest, mark of shackles on wrists and ankles. unkempt hair spills onto his forehead, clothes have not been washed in days, dark eyes.

Mild: Around Wintrow’s age and a full head taller than him, hard-muscled, grey eyes and the hair on his cheeks is starting to dark into proper whiskers.

Comfrey: Has an elaborated tattoo on his arm and is missing a tooth. Wears a ragged red cap adorned with cheap brass charms.

Gantry: Tanned.

Ankle: Dark eyes (slave girl that crippled herself and limps).

Kennit’s mom: Thick woman with grey hair pinned up, blue eyes, barefoot, dressed in cotton tunic and trousers and has her tongue cut out.

Berandol: Young priest with more than 20 years old.

Bettel: Black locks into ringlets, wears layers of powder, wears lots of jewels, breasts showing volume on dress.

Avoretta: Small pale woman with an heart-shaped face and large blue eyes. Has painted pink chees, a plump little mouth painted red, short golden hair in tight curls all over her head. Dressed in pale blue with nipples visible beneath the pale gauze of her dress, wears gilted jewellery.

Faldin: Wears brilliant colors and extravagant embroidery. Expanse of fabric round his girth. Earrings were an elaborate twining of gold and silver. Wears a vest.

Daughters: Pale skin and honey hair (typical in Durja), almond-shaped hazel eyes, plump with bare arms round and white. One no more than 15 and the other at most 17. Alyssum and Lily.

Road Caern: Young trader, tall, lean, has dark eyes and black hair (usually in a tail), a sharp nose and narrow lips. Harvest ball: Hair flowed down his back in a black stream and his shoulders strained the seams of his tailored coat.

Krion Trentor: Harvest ball: Dressed in grey with a golden scarf at his throat. White gloves. Always wears gloves to cover the scars where he stumbled into a fire as a child. Aurburn hair, freckles, green eyes.

Fayla Cart - Old woman with a hair growing out of a warty looking mole on her chin. (first dress maker recommended by Delo to Malta)

Territel: Wears her skirts as if they were silk scarves, clinging and revealing her legs. (seamstress Malta chooses)

Devon: Gray eyes and handsome. (Althea’s first crush and a jerk)

Dujia: Heavy boned woman with tattoos across her cheek and down to her neck. Ragged trousers and patched tunic, bare feet dirty, bandage upon her upper arm (lider of the tattooed).

Guards in Cress: Kentel - Bearded veteran with a white stripe tracing an old scar through his dark hair and down his cheek; Flav - Younger and brawny. Both tall.

Clava: Slave Wintrow meets in Jamaillia. Blue eyes, yellow hair choped into a short brush, wide shoulders, very pale, wore shift patched and stained, shirt over her shoulders, face overwritten with tattoos.

Pag’s daughter: blue eyes (woman serving drinks in Nook - Crimpers scene).

Captain Finney: Brawny, whiskery-faced man, bright eyes, red-veined nose.

Brig: No more than 25 yo. Chestnut hair confined by a yellow kerchief marked with the raven insignia, grey eyes, old slave tattoo on his face over-needled with a dark blue raven that almost obscured it.

Lop: Skinny man of middle years on board of Paragon.

Haf: Larger than Althea, well muscled, youngster on board of Paragon.

Other in SOM: Nearly as tall as Kennit, webbed fingers and toes, flexible limbs, flat fish eyes, cartilaginous sockets, supple scaled skin, blunt bald head misshapen (not human or fish), hinge of jaw under his ear holes, large mouth that could engulf a man’s head, thin lips that cannot conceal rows of tiny sharp teeth, shoulders slumped forward, greyish tongue, neckless body. Wears a garment like a cloak of pale azure that moved like the fluidity of water.

Other in SOD: heavy slug like body, flexible limbs on upper body, long fingered hands, webbed fingers, grey-green body, yellow cloak, flat eyes.

LIVESHIPS:

Paragon: Warrior with a beard, hairy chest and muscled arms usually crossed on his muscled chest. He has hatchet bites between brow and nose and a peculiar star with 7 points livid as a burn scar on his chest. The chopped part is grey despite the figurehead being painted. Amber gives him a necklace with five wooden beds on a cord: a dolphin made of willow knee, a gull, a oak seastar, a crab of pine knot and a fish of halibut.

In “Ship of Destiny” Amber gives him Fitz’s face with the broken nose and gives him a freedom earring like hers, a wooden bracelet and a axe. He has blue eyes. Amber carves charging bucks on his axe handle and battle harness at the end of SOD.

Vivacia: Silver wood, black hair, sanded flesh flushed pink, green eyes, ample bared breasts, perfect teeth, red lips, golden maple wood figurehead. Kennit gives her a long red piece of fabric that she ties to her head like a pirate scarf.

Slaves bought by Kyle and on board the Vivacia had a clenched fist tattoo.

Bolt: She has golden eyes like a whirpool with black at the center, jet black hair shot with silver greens like a nest of serpents, lips are redder than Vivacia’s and her teeth are too white and smaller than before.

Ophelia: A cog ship. Like many figureheads of her day, she is arrayed upon the beakhead of the ship rather than positioned on the stern below the bowsprit. She has lips painted scarlet, very white teeth, long loose curls, patrician hands and eyelashes. She got blackened/scorched hands after meeting the chalcedean ship. Amber fixed her hands after.

Kendry: Handsome young man figurehead with blue eyes.

SERPENTS:

Maulkin: Male serpent with copper eyes and golden false eyes in his body.

Shreever: Scarlet female serpent.

Sessurea: Male blue serpent with orange mane and great green eyes.

Tellur: Male green serpent (dead).

Kelaro: Male blue serpent with silver eyes.

Sylic: Male scarlet serpent, has a scar (dead).

She Who Remembers: head the size of a pony, pale yellow-green body, plump and soft, thick layers of callus where she rubbed against the rocky walls of her prison, has golden eyes and a faint pattern on the body in colors that remind of the eyes in a peacock’s tail. When freed her body is green-gold (dead).

Carrion: White male serpent with red eyes (dead).

Tintaglia (dragon): Silver blue, bigger than a ship, sharp silver claws, silver/copper eyes (it changes... but usually is silver) the size of cartwheels with eliptical pupils.

#rote #Realm of the Elderlings #Liveship Traders #character descriptions

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montmartre-parapluie · 5 years ago

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Making Your Own Merchandise: Elizabeth Swann Edition

Warning: Pic-heavy post ahead:

Hello everyone!

It’s been a long time since I’ve really been inspired to make anything 18th century, but weirdly enough, a week in Florida wandering around Disney’s Magic Kingdom was just the thing. Mostly because I finally, after YEARS of pining for the merchandise that never seemed to be available in the UK, I finally got myself one of these:

Back in the day 14 year old M-P had serious hankerings after Keira Knightley’s wardrobe in Curse of the Black Pearl. Current day M-P hasn’t got any wiser - Plus, I can now sew. So... costume-making ahoy!

But what to go with? Elizabeth has multiple iconic outfits in the original movie. I decided to start at the beginning, and go with Elizabeth’s very first costume - her pretty nightdress and dressing robe - perfect for feeling general foreboding’ or ‘being abducted by undead buccaneers’ in - as well as a nice, practical addition to my 18th century wardrobe.

Historical Research:

Lizzie’s dressing gown is a lovely item, and looks to be loosely modelled on the robe battante, an early 18th century style dating from the 1720s- 1740s:

They were very useful as maternity/ slightly informal gowns, although you could still receive visitors in them - and,as the century progressed, stays and hoops were worn beneath them, gradually evolving into the robe francaise. Elizabeth is clearly wearing hers as a dressing gown here mind you, but the pleats and general shape of the sleeves? Definitely drawing inspiration from the robe battante. And there are some wonderful details on the movie dressing gown - check out those gathered sleeve cuffs and the pleating! Plus the lovely light floral fabric - perfect for the tropical temperature of the Caribbean.

My Materials:

As luck would have it, I had a PERFECT piece of fabric for making this in my fabric hoard stash - a reproduction 18th century cotton print from Colonial Williamsburg that I’d ordered from Renaissance Fabrics a few years back.

Period appropriate, and a really nice cotton to sew with, as it turned out. And I found the perfect pattern to use - Mill Farm’s Robe Casaque pattern. In addition to making the short jacket on the front, it has bonus direction for making a full length robe battante inside - so this was pretty much perfect:

Elizabeth’s dressing gown also has a very fine cream braid trimming on the edges of her robe, so I matched it as closely as I could:

The Result So Far:

Not looking too bad, so far - I had a spare 18th century shift handy which is currently doing duty beneath to test the fit. I just need to add the sleeves and cuffs, and the dressing gown should be done...

#potc cosplay #elizabeth swann #18th century fashion #robe casaque #pirate inspired #disney inspired #18th century dressing gown #undress robe #PotC #18th century costume #dressing gown #costume designer: penny rose #robe battante

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anghraine · 5 years ago

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“the jedi and the sith lord” - chapter four

I said it wouldn’t take me another year and a half to update! :D

Last chapter:

She didn’t understand. Lucy repressed a burst of aggravation at it all, the Force drifting from her.

No. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave me.

The man tilted his head. Lucy moved forward, just able to make out a bit of red among the layers of his robe, and—

Darkness fell.

This chapter:

“Um,” Lucy said, “pardon me?”

The man inclined his head a little, without turning around. “Do you need to be pardoned?”

She thought of turning her father’s lightsaber over to Darth Vader, of leaving Yoda for Han and Leia and the Rebellion for Yoda, of those she’d seen die and those who lived on.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I think I’m supposed to meet with you.”

chapters: The Adventures of Lucy Skywalker– prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten; The Imperial Menace–chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven; The Jedi and the Sith Lord—chapter one, chapter two, chapter three.

Yet again, Tuvié, Tisix, and Ellex led Lucy to meet with Darth Vader.

Yet again, she walked in the clothes of the woman who had helped Palpatine on his path to the imperial throne. The layers of under-skirts brushed against her legs as she walked, and she felt almost chilled by the inoffensive fabric. But Amidala had turned back. She couldn’t erase what she’d done, but she could fight against its consequences, and she had. Lucy was named for the later Amidala, the one who’d befriended Lucy’s father and helped kickstart the Rebellion.

She’d lost her Rebel uniform, but—this was one, too, Lucy decided, and smoothed out a pleat with her free hand. Amidala would want Lucy to take strength from her memory, surely.

Lucy didn’t aspire to the gravitas of a senator, the sort that Leia had, but she could be strong. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked unhesitatingly alongside Tuvié.

A door slid open, and Lucy immediately heard the unmistakable sound of Vader’s breathing. Fear rippled down her spine, but thinking of Amidala and Ben and Anakin, she refused to give into it. Instead, she reached for some scrap of the hard-earned calm from her training with Yoda, trying to slow her racing heart.

The currents of the Dark Side swirling around them didn’t help. Lucy focused; something here seemed less consuming than the rest, though it wasn’t the Light Side.

“Here she is!” said Tuvié brightly. “In quite good condition, as you can see.”

For several seconds, Vader just breathed. Lucy refused to shiver and stayed silent.

“Lucy,” he said at last.

She repressed a twitch, and he paused again.

“Leave us,” he told the droids, who promptly withdrew. Lucy knew better than to think any of them would defend her against Vader, but she still felt as if she’d lost some protection with their departure.

She remembered Ellex saying that Vader valued Lucy’s life. And she’d guessed as much yesterday. He wanted her here as Anakin Skywalker’s daughter, and an ally, not another body at his feet. She could probably afford some risks.

“Are you just going to say my name?” she asked. “Or did you need something?”

Vader ignored this.

“I assume you have yet to see reason,” he said.

“I have yet to see anything,” said Lucy.

“Your vision will return in a matter of days,” he said dismissively. “It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t insist on cutting yourself from the Force.”

Her hands clenched. “If I—”

“The Force is strong here,” said Vader, “and strong with you. You could grasp it if you tried.”

“Grasp the Dark Side, you mean?” Lucy shook her head. “Yes, I’ve heard it’s easier. Not all of us choose the easy path.”

“It is many things,” Vader told her, “but easy is not one of them. Still, it is necessary for your progress.”

“No, it’s not,” said Lucy stubbornly. “And even it were, I wouldn’t turn.”

“I once thought as you do,” he replied. “Soon, you will understand the truth. Now, go.”

Despite her intention of presenting an implacable face to him, Lucy started. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this was not it.

“That’s it?” she said.

“For the moment,” said Vader. “I have more pressing concerns right now. Leave.”

“Where am I supposed to go? I can’t see—”

To her horror, she heard the heavy thud of his footsteps coming towards her. Then, worse still, she felt two large, gloved hands grip her shoulders. If he wanted, he could break her neck with barely any effort.

He doesn’t want to, she reminded herself. But how long would his patience last? Did he mean to put up with her refusals forever? It seemed improbable.

Regardless, his tolerance at least lasted for the present.

“The Force is waiting for you,” Vader said. Then he simply turned her about and gave her a light shove in the direction she’d come from.

Lucy didn’t need to be urged more than twice. Trying not to trip over Amidala’s skirts, she fumbled her way to the door, then darted through once she found it. Once the door slid shut after her, she took several deep, gulping breaths.

All right. That had happened. And all things considered, it could have been worse. Honestly, she wasn’t sure why it hadn’t been. Maybe the trouble with Admiral Whatsit had distracted him? Regardless, it seemed hardly worth the trouble of summoning her for that.

Maybe there wasn’t any point in trying to understand how Vader’s mind worked. Obviously, it wouldn’t follow the tracks of any normal person.

Still—it seemed odd.

Once Lucy had regained something of her composure, she peered around, straining to see any lighter or darker patches. Everything seemed an interrupted stretch of darkness.

Well, there was nothing to do but head out. Hesitantly, she moved in the direction she thought she’d come from, trying to retrace turns and curves as she counted steps. More than once, she scraped her outstretched hands on walls or tripped on irregularities in the floors. She was going to be left with bruises just from trying to walk back to bed. And stains on her dress.

This area of the castle must be isolated from the rest; she didn’t encounter any droids for a good hour, and then ones that only clacked at her in a dialect she couldn’t recognize. Probably laughing, she thought sullenly.

Of course this was meant to be humiliating. Maybe overpowering. Well, she refused to be either humiliated or overpowered, much less both, but—she didn’t have to like wandering around an unfamiliar fortress in endless darkness, either. By the time two hours passed, she was starting to feel a trickle of alarm about ever finding her way back. She no longer trusted her memory at all, or her sense of direction, or the Force.

It would be easy to reach for it, whatever he said. Just for a moment, for a little thing.

Lucy set her jaw, laid her palm against the wall, and wandered on. Soon, she could hear noises in the distance, mostly mechanical. But when she turned another corner, she made out a clear, familiar voice.

“Don’t be overconfident. There must be no—what are you doing here?”

“Ellex!” Lucy exclaimed. She’d never thought she’d be glad to hear her. “I’m lost.”

“Suspicious,” said Ellex. “Where is Lord Vader?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said, her voice rising shrilly. “He told me to leave and I did! But I can’t figure out how to get back to my room.”

“Why didn’t he have one of us escort you?” Ellex demanded.

“You’ll have to ask him,” said Lucy. “Can you tell me which way to go from here?”

Ellex gave a grating clank that Lucy couldn’t help but interpret as menacing.

“I doubt it would help you,” she said. “ZT-47, stay here and stand guard. Skywalker, come with me.”

Gladly, for once, Lucy followed after Ellex, too tired and confused to ask further questions. The path swerved in more directions than she could keep track of, but before long, Ellex came to a screeching halt.

“This is your chamber,” she announced, and the door whooshed open.

Lucy had hardly taken a step forward when she heard more clattering machinery, and then another voice.

“Oh, Miss Lucy! I’ve been so worried!”

“It’s all right,” said Lucy, more relieved than she wanted to be. “I was just lost.”

“I’m supposed to watch over you at all times,” Tuvié said, with what passed for sternness with her. “The Maker said so. He—”

“Lord Vader can change his mind if he wishes,” Ellex told her. “But you’d better take charge of the girl before she turns nonoperational, or you really will be in trouble.”

“Oh! Yes! Yes, of course!”

A considerably more welcome hand touched Lucy’s arm.

“You must be tired, poor thing. Come this way, Miss Lucy.”

Lucy didn’t see any point in repelling her.

“Thanks, Ellex,” she said, receiving only a clank in return, and followed the little nudges of Tuvié’s hand until she reached the bed. She didn’t even resist when Tuvié whisked her out of her robe and gown, tsking over the dust and dirt on it, took her through another door to a fresher, and then pulled a nightdress of some kind over her head.

“I don’t know what Lord Vader was thinking,” she said.

“I’ve got a few questions, myself,” said Lucy.

“Well, it’s all over now, and you’re safe and sound! That’s what really matters, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Lucy said.

“Are you ready to … ah, I always—that’s it, sleep? You needn’t worry about further mishaps. I will remain on full alert at all hours and prevent any inconvenience until you are fully operational again!”

“Um, thanks, but I’m going to stay awake for a little bit,” said Lucy.

She did her best to meditate again, struggling against the waves of the Dark Side, and her own weary frustration. I must be passive, she told herself. Calm.

Passivity here seemed inexpressibly dangerous. But Lucy did her best to settle into a mood of quiet acceptance, letting her thoughts come and go, pushing away anger and resentment. She didn’t know how long it took before she caught a familiar trace in the Force around her, a tiny chink in the Dark Side. She couldn’t seem to grasp it, but it was something. She wasn’t completely beyond the reach of hope here.

Lucy opened her eyes, unseeing as ever.

Automatically, she said, “Goodnight, Tuvié.”

Tuvié gave a startled little click.

“Well—goodnight, Miss Lucy.”

That night, Lucy dreamed she was in the desert city again. This time, she hurried past the stalls, prodded by a formless urgency.

“Hello?” she called out. “Hello!”

Everybody continued about their business as if she weren’t there. Or as if it were a Holonet recording, every piece of it running along prescribed paths. Curious, she stopped long enough to pick up a fruit from a nearby stand; the seller didn’t respond, and the fruit disappeared from her hand.

Again, a mingled sense of loss and unreality descended on her. She turned around, breezes catching in her skirts and hair.

“What’s going on?” she asked, and heard nothing but the wind in reply.

Lucy kept walking, following the same path as before. And just as before, her gaze landed on a man in dark robes, turned away from her and evidently listening to something. Yes, the red sash was the same. He seemed an odd figure, ill-fitting in a way she couldn’t identify.

He didn’t move, perhaps not given the sort of limited paths that the others seemed to be on, perhaps even more absent than the rest. Yet she felt a presence there, decided and curious.

“Um,” Lucy said, “pardon me?”

The man inclined his head a little, without turning around. “Do you need to be pardoned?”

She thought of turning her father’s lightsaber over to Darth Vader, of leaving Yoda for Han and Leia and the Rebellion for Yoda, of those she’d seen die and those who lived on.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I think I’m supposed to meet with you.”

“And who are you?” said the man.

Lucy looked around, as if the city would supply the answer, but it was gone. All that remained was a stretch of desert with crumbled rocks here and there, and a small oasis that the man sat by. His voice seemed to echo around and around: who are you? who are you? who are you?

“I—”

Even in her dream, she felt a wave of exhaustion. Without a word of warning, the desert and the man disappeared, and she could see only shifting darkness all around her.

Who are you?

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Each morning, Lucy woke up, used the fresher, and stood quietly by while Tuvié draped her in Padmé Amidala’s clothes and brushed her hair into a braid. Then they explored more of the castle, which must be truly vast. Lucy ate portions of lavish meals—she wasn’t sure if those came from some command of Vader’s, or the cooks’ desire to show off their skills, but they were always delicious. She never encountered Vader himself until evening, when he always sent for her. But he only lectured her about the need to turn to the Dark Side, dismissed her irritable replies, and sent her away. At first, she wandered until some droid or another gave her direction, or summoned Tuvié. But Tuvié was so dismayed by these misadventures that she insisted on Lucy waiting until she fetched her.

The whole situation struck Lucy as so strange and inexplicable that she hardly knew what to think. She couldn’t imagine that it would continue like this indefinitely, yet everyone seemed to behave as though it would. There must be some explanation, some purpose she couldn’t yet perceive. But despite her better instincts, her fears began to subside as she accustomed herself to her bizarre imprisonment.

Perhaps that had something to do with the Force. She still couldn’t touch the weak flickers of the Light Side, but she felt its presence more and more distinctly. With it came more dreams of the desert city and the robed man—strangely tiring dreams. They always woke her up or shifted into more ordinary dreams before long.

On the fourth night, she reached the man in time to hear his voice again.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Lucy. “There’s something I’m supposed to be doing, but I don’t know what it is. What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” he said, with a quick laugh. “I’m quite at peace.”

He wasn’t lying, Lucy decided. There was an easiness about him, a serenity. Ben had felt more contained than really peaceful.

Then, for the first time, the man turned to look at her. Or rather, to face her, because his eyes were pale and milky, and fixed on a point to the right of her.

“You’re blind,” she said, “like me.”

The city was almost swaying around her.

“Not like you,” said the man comfortably.

She tried to understand. Despite the difference from Ben and Yoda, he did remind her of them in some amorphous way.

“Well, are you a Jedi like me?” asked Lucy. Then her lips thinned. “Not that I’m a true Jedi.”

The city had faded to an oasis again, the man sitting on roughly-hewn bench. He patted a space beside him. After a moment’s hesitation, Lucy clambered up onto the bench.

“Neither of us are true Jedi,” said the man. “But we are as near as anyone comes in these times. The Force is with us both, and you are a storm. Even I did not hope—but who are you? Why did you call me?”

“I didn’t,” Lucy told him, swinging her legs a little. “I don’t know who you are. I’m Lucy Skywalker, though.”

Unexpectedly, the man tensed, his eyes flying wide. “Starkiller!”

“No, Skyw—”

With no further warning, he relaxed again. “Now I understand.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Lucy.

He smiled again, and was gone.

The next day, as Lucy and Tuvié left the bedchamber, Tuvié took up her usual prattle at full speed.

“—and then M-72b said that the Maker would have me disintegrated, but he didn’t—obviously—and actually said I’d followed the correct course of action. Of course I did, but it was very nice to hear it from the Maker himself, and M-72b hardly knew where to look.”

Lucy, who was growing acquainted with the assorted droid dramas that permeated the castle, nodded.

“And the Maker—”

“Yes?” said Lucy.

Uncharacteristically, Tuvié said nothing at all. Lucy left her to process as she would, wondering what form Vader’s ineffectual demands that she turn to the Dark Side would take today. Maybe it’d be worse than usual? Or maybe better. He’d yet to threaten her—which, well, she might have done in his position, as much as she could imagine being in his position, but—

“Miss Lucy?”

Tuvié actually sounded nervous.

“Yes?” Lucy said again.

“How would you say it?”

This came so far out of nowhere that Lucy halted, her brows drawing together.

“How would I say what?”

“Maker,” said Tuvié.

“I’d say Maker,” Lucy said blankly. Then her frown deepened. “Oh, you mean in Alsaraic?”

“The mystery language,” Tuvié replied. “Is that what it’s called?”

Lucy abruptly felt very uncomfortable. One word didn’t seem very important, but ... she didn’t know.

“Yes,” she said.

“And Maker—”

“It doesn’t really translate.”

“Oh,” said Tuvié, plainly disappointed.

For several more minutes, they walked in silence. Then Tuvié said,

“It’s interesting that there is no way to refer to the person who made you. It seems like it would make some interactions quite complex. How did one of your people address the person who made them?”

“Valiya,” said Lucy, without thinking. She bit her lip. But it couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Valiya,” Tuvié repeated. “So the Maker is Valiya Vader. Is that correct?”

Lucy couldn’t help laughing.

“No, it’s—well, it’d be strange, because it’s more like … mother,” she said. Alsaraic hadn’t developed with droids in mind, though she wasn’t about to say so. “And it doesn’t have to just be the one who, um, made you. My aunt called my grandmother valiya even though Aunt Beru was only the fiancée of Grandmother’s husband’s son.”

“And this ... aunt of yours was your valiya?” said Tuvié.

Lucy thought about it.

“No,” she said at last. “I loved her, but I wasn’t brought up to think of them that way, and I never called them that. My valì and valiya are dead.”

Tuvié managed to imbue her answering whirr with sympathy.

“Now I understand,” she said. “You would say Valiya Amidala.”

Lucy blinked. “No. She’s my namesake, but I never knew her.”

“That is very probable,” said Tuvié. “Senator Amidala’s date of termination would have occurred very shortly after your period of functionality began, and humanoid memory banks do not usually develop until a significant amount of time and development has taken place.”

“That’s right,” Lucy said.

Tuvié clicked. “Unless I am misunderstanding you, however, it is the appropriate term for her.”

Puzzled, Lucy asked, “Why?”

“Well,” Tuvié said, “she was your Maker.”

#the jedi and the sith lord #anghraine's fic #rule 63 #tuvié #ellex #/#//#///#lucy skywalker #star wars #luke skywalker #anakin skywalker #genderbending #long post

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tomatodeals · 3 years ago

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anghraine · 5 years ago

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“the jedi and the sith lord” - chapter three

Very belatedly, an update!

Last chapter:

“Why should I believe that?”

“Search your feelings,” said Vader, and through everything, the words fell into the same cadence as Obi-Wan’s, Yoda’s. Any Jedi’s, she guessed, and nearly shivered. Was he a Jedi, still? “The Force will tell you it is true.”

“The Force!” Lucy nearly screamed with laughter. “I don’t feel anything! You—you’ve cut me off from the Force, you’re—”

“You are a Skywalker,” Vader said sharply. “Nothing can block the Force from you.”

This chapter:

Tuvié’s hand returned to Lucy’s arm and she gently led her into the practice room, pointing out various raised platforms that could be remotely moved about the room, and a sealed equipment cabinet. Lucy paused in front of it, once again trying to reach out for the Force, sense anything that might be of use. But she felt not even the tiniest glimmer, and could nearly have screamed in fury.

Anger is a path to the Dark Side. Anger is a path to the Dark Side. Anger is a path to the Dark Side.

Lucy tried to meditate. She really did.

Everyone had told her that the Force would always be with her—Ben, Yoda, even Vader. But she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything beyond a heavy miasma that pulsed in erratic, intense surges.

The Dark Side. She knew it. And she refused to touch that, no matter what Darth Vader said or did. She still remembered her failure in the cave, the future that awaited her on that path. She couldn’t ever allow herself to follow Vader’s footsteps.

Here, though, the Dark Side blotted out everything but its own power. No matter how much Lucy tried to clear her mind, and settle her racing thoughts into peace and passivity, the Force that she knew remained out of reach. It might as well have not existed, for all she felt of it.

She had no connection to the Force. She had no weapon. She couldn’t see.

She was afraid.

Her rational mind knew that for the danger it was. Fear must be suppressed, sealed away into some deep pocket of her mind where it could do no harm. Otherwise, it would consume her thoughts and decisions, drawing her inexorably towards the Dark Side, whatever her intentions. Fear existed only to be conquered. She knew that.

Yet when she woke the next day, a blinded, disarmed, cut-off prisoner in Darth Vader’s fortress, she lay frozen in place under the blankets. Every instinct urged her to scramble for a place to hide, like some hunted animal.

Her own voice haunted her. I’m not afraid!

You will be, Yoda had told her. Had he known this was coming? Surely not. Surely—

There was no place to hide, she reminded herself. And whatever she might have lost, she hadn’t died. She had to keep going, just like yesterday.

Lucy breathed deeply, as Yoda had taught her, letting that first burst of terror subside. She still felt frightened, her hands shaking until she forced them into stillness, but she could think. That was her only chance.

Sitting up, she strained to sense anything, even without the Force. The air felt cool on her skin, and a little stale. That made sense; it seemed doubtful that anyone had stayed here—been trapped here—at all recently. Unless Vader habitually kept prisoners in comfortable bedrooms, anyway. But she thought she caught a quiet sound now, something metallic, like a very low whirr.

“Tisix? Tuvié?” said Lucy, tossing the blankets aside. “Is that you?”

The whirr intensified. “Good morning, Miss Lucy! Are you prepared for activity?”

Lucy, immediately wary, said, “It depends on the activity.”

“Why, that is exactly what I think!” said Tuvié, moving a little further away. Something slid open on the opposite side of the room. “Hmm. Let’s not damage anything.”

Lucy wasn’t about to make promises on that front.

“Yes,” Tuvié went on, “I think this one will do nicely! If you’re careful, of course, but I’m sure you will be.”

What was she even going on about? Had Vader sent her to prepare Lucy for combat? Doomed combat, without a weapon or the Force—

Tuvié clattered back over.

“Miss Lucy, raise your arms.”

Lucy hesitated, then obeyed, bracing herself for whatever might follow. With no further warning, Tuvié pulled Lucy’s nightdress up over her head and tossed it aside.

Lucy jerked away. “What the—”

“Please keep your arms up,” said Tuvié. “It’s the best way.”

For a second, Lucy stayed still, arms wrapped about herself and every nerve on alert. But her flesh shivered in the air, and she couldn’t see—ha!—a way out.

“Miss Lucy—”

“All right,” Lucy said, and lifted her arms again.

Soft material fluttered over her skin as Tuvié lowered something over Lucy’s arms and let it drop down to her waist, then shook it out until the bottom rustled against the floor. Another dress?

Irrepressibly, Lucy thought of Leia helping her dress after she’d blown up the Death Star. They’d gone through Leia’s finery together, looked at their reflections together, talked at times and fallen into comfortable silence at others. She’d never known anyone who understood her the way that Leia did. Anyone who cared the way Leia did, for all her sharp edges. Even Han—that was different, and all tangled up with Leia, anyway. Or it had been, before Lucy left them—but she’d had to! And now Han was all but dead, and Leia might be anywhere at all, assuming that Vader hadn’t lied about her escape. If he really hadn’t, then … then Lucy was glad, more than glad, to be separated from her. Glad Leia was somewhere safe.

She just missed her.

“Here we go,” said Tuvié brightly, pulling one of Lucy’s arms down into a satiny sleeve, then following with the other.

“Umph—”

More material brushed the underside of Lucy’s chin. A high collar, tightening about her throat as Tuvié buttoned up the back of the dress. She took two gulping breaths of air that felt like they might be her last—but nothing happened, except that Tuvié made a satisfied click before pulling another article of clothing around Lucy’s shoulders and over her arms. A sort of pointed short robe. Lucy brushed a finger over the material of the robe, little beads jangling against her wrist with the motion of her hand.

“Very nice, if I do say so myself,” said Tuvié. She sounded immensely pleased with herself.

“I guess this was Senator Amidala’s, too?” Lucy asked. She felt less like the Jedi prisoner of a Sith Lord and more like some sort of doll for Vader’s droid.

She’d often seen droids treated as glorified dolls; now it seemed the tables had turned.

“Oh, yes,” Tuvié said happily. “It all is. We couldn’t find anything else here—not anything appropriate for your size and, hm, situation. The colours used to be more vibrant, I think, but they’re still quite pleasing. It does show when one uses quality materials, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” said Lucy, laying her palms against the thick skirts. They were stiff and slightly pleated. What would Aunt Beru think?

She had no idea. She didn’t know what Beru would think of almost anything she’d done, or Owen either. There was so much she hadn’t known about them, that she’d never know, thanks to the Empire. Vader might not have personally killed them, as he had her father, but—

“—I was constructed too recently to have ever seen her with my own optics,” Tuvié was saying, “but it seems quite typical for the senator. From all I have observed, she had very refined tastes. And she was small, like you, so you’re quite lucky!”

“Lucky,” said Lucy blankly.

She thought of her uncle and aunt’s bones, and Obi-Wan, and her visions of Han’s and Leia’s suffering, and that terrible moment of choice when she’d turned over her father’s lightsaber. But she also thought of Biggs, and how little this imprisonment resembled Leia’s on the Death Star, and of Alderaan and the dead she’d left behind on her way to Dagobah.

“Imagine if you were tall for your species,” said Tuvié. “It would be a disaster! I’d wager my right arm that the Maker never thought of that.”

“I’m not going to take you up on that one,” Lucy told her. “What activity were you thinking about?”

“Oh! Well, you’re still recovering, of course, but I thought I might escort you around the castle. Even if you can’t see anything, I can describe it to you. Surely that would be more interesting than sitting here until Lord Vader returns?”

“He’s not here?” Lucy said, hardly daring to clutch at relief. “Really?”

“There was trouble with some foolish admirals,” said Tuvié. “He told us that he had to manage it personally. He was most displeased, if you ask me.”

“I bet he was,” said Lucy. “But wouldn’t he be even angrier if he found out you let me roam around his castle?”

Tuvié patted her shoulder with that oddly fleshy hand. “No indeed! I asked him myself, and he said you could go anywhere in the castle you liked, as long as I watch over you.”

This seemed extremely suspicious. “You’re sure?”

“Quite sure,” Tuvié said. “Most organics can be terribly duplicitous—no offense to you, Miss Lucy. But Lord Vader always means what he says. And there’s no danger here, I assure you.”

Lucy gave a strangled laugh.

“But if there were,” added Tuvié, “I am more than capable of handling it. So you’ll be quite safe! Unless you’d rather stay here?”

Lucy hesitated another moment, then shook her head. “No. Let’s go, Tuvié.”

Tuvié had somehow dredged up a pair of soft shoes that fit Lucy exactly. She helped Lucy put them on, and with that, they headed out of Lucy’s personal prison, into the wider one.

As Tuvié guided her about the castle, she described everything in a detail that Lucy might have appreciated, had she been able to listen more closely. But she was busy counting and memorizing steps from one room to another, trying to create a map in her mind. Tuvié didn’t seem to notice her distraction, even though Lucy’s preoccupation had her stumbling over her own feet more than once.

At one point, she even fell down, scraping her palms on the stone floor and blushing with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Tuvié had released her arm to turn towards a training room of some kind, explaining its many features while Lucy tried to remember if she’d gone forty-three or forty-seven steps from the last room, and without the Force to guide her steps, some unevenness in the floor tripped her up.

“Am dkadha!” she said.

“Oh! Miss Lucy, I’m so sorry!” cried Tuvié, helping her to her feet.

“It’s not your fault,” Lucy told her wearily. “Let’s keep going.”

“Well—if you’re sure—”

Anger is a path to the Dark Side. Anger is a path to the Dark Side. Anger is a path to the Dark Side.

“That word,” said Tuvié.

Lucy gave up. “What?”

“The one you said a few minutes ago, when you fell down.”

She wasn’t going to be embarrassed about swearing in front of Vader’s droid. Really, she shouldn’t even have been embarrassed about falling down in front of her. Tuvié just made it easy to forget that she was Vader’s droid. Still, Lucy felt her cheeks flush again.

“What about it?” Lucy said.

For several seconds, Tuvié fell uncharacteristically silent. Then she said,

“I’m not familiar with it.”

“You wouldn’t be,” said Lucy.

“I am familiar with over one hundred million forms of communication,” said Tuvié stiffly.

“I didn’t mean … of course you are,” Lucy hurried to say. “But I’ve never met a droid who knew my family’s language—”

It had struck her after the award ceremony at Massassi, when she wandered alone in the hills for a little while, that except out of her own mouth, she would never hear her ancestors’ language again. Shmi’s people had been slaughtered, and Shmi herself enslaved and tortured to death. She’d taught Alsaraic to Beru before she died, and Owen picked up some along the way, but the Empire had burned them both down to their bones. Beru faithfully taught it to Lucy in turn and Anakin knew it from the cradle he never had, but Darth Vader murdered him long ago.

Alsaraic was gone, and the Alsarai with it. At least, she thought so, until months later, when she muttered to herself in Alsaraic and Threepio responded in it, his accent better than hers. She’d nearly burst into tears. And now, Threepio was—he’d be all right. He had to be. Even Vader said he was.

“—except one,” she finished.

“They must have exceptional programming,” said Tuvié.

Lucy actually found herself smiling, and didn’t know whether she should regret it. “Yes, rather.”

“Still, no one could be better than the Maker,” Tuvié said. “I don’t see why he didn’t program me with it.”

Lucy replied, “Threepio—my droid friend—is pretty old, I think. He must have been programmed by someone who knew Alsaraic back then, or had records, but Vader wouldn’t.”

“Why not?” said Tuvié.

“My people are dead,” Lucy said shortly. “It’s just me. Vader wouldn’t have access to it.”

“Hmm,” Tuvié said, sounding doubtful. “Perhaps not. But that means my knowledge banks are incomplete.”

Lucy squinted around the room. Was some of the darkness a shade lighter than the rest? She couldn’t be sure.

“You will be here for some time, though!” Tuvié said more brightly. “Won’t you?”

Everything looked black again.

“I suppose so,” said Lucy.

“Then you could expand my knowledge!”

Lucy turned to stare in the direction of Tuvié’s voice. “Do you mean—you want me to teach you my family’s language?”

Absolutely not.

“It would be a great favour, I know,” said Tuvié. “But I would very much appreciate the addition to my banks.”

Lucy opened her mouth to say no. However much she feared the total eradication of Alsaraic, however much she’d miss being able to speak and hear it, it was not something to be shared with just anyone. Certainly not someone she could trust as little as a droid programmed by Darth Vader and loyal to him. Yet something kept her from absolute refusal.

“I’m not much of a teacher,” she said at last. “Well, which room is next?”

Normally, it would take more than a walk around a castle to tire Lucy out. Certainly, it would have on Dagobah. But her legs felt weak and rubbery by the time her stomach started growling.

“Are you ill?” Tuvié cried.

“Yes,” said Lucy, “but mostly, I’m hungry.”

“Oh! Of course! Organics require refuelling as well,” she said. “I don’t know how I always forget these things. But the kitchen droids will be so pleased.”

Without further explanation, she tugged Lucy into a new room, one that felt vaguely more spacious than most of those they’d explored so far. The air, too, seemed different—fresher, though even colder. She could hear a low murmur of machinery.

“There you are!” said Tuvié.

Something made a metallic scraping sound.

“I am,” Ellex replied. “What do you want? Is the girl causing problems?”

Lucy stiffened.

“Oh, no, no,” Tuvié rushed to say, “it’s only that she requires sustenance. Would you mind guarding her while I speak to the kitchen droids? I’m sure they’ll enjoy the chance to—”

“I have more important tasks than observing a small organic,” Ellex told her.

“I am quite sure that the Maker would disagree,” said Tuvié, as cheerfully as ever.

Apart from the quiet sounds of Ellex’s and Tuvié’s machinery, the room fell into total silence. Then Ellex said,

“Fine. Just be quick about it.”

Tuvié’s presence made Lucy feel absurdly weak and useless. Her absence was still worse. When her steps receded and a door slammed closed, Lucy felt her heart pound, her will alone keeping her legs and hands from trembling. Alone with a disgruntled super battle droid, she dared not move, just held herself as ready as she could for whatever might come.

For several minutes, Ellex neither did nor said anything. Lucy briefly considered trying to say something to her, but after a moment’s thought, gave up on it. Then the droid remarked,

“For some reason, Lord Vader values your life.”

Lucy scowled. “I know.”

“Therefore,” Ellex went on, “you needn’t concern yourself with my ending it. I will only kill you if Lord Vader changes his mind.”

“That’s very reassuring,” said Lucy.

“Yes, I thought it would be,” Ellex replied.

Despite herself, Lucy did relax a little. She knew she couldn’t take Ellex on in her current state, so she thought she might as well accept the droid’s word that she intended no harm (yet). It was hard not to wonder, though, if she stood next to her eventual executioner, or if Vader would do the job himself, as he had with her father. Or perhaps she’d survive somehow, as a perpetual prisoner, or, in some miraculous scenario, an escapee. She didn’t quite let herself hope for the latter, but if the opportunity came—she’d be ready.

After a few minutes of silence, Tuvié returned, immediately scolding Ellex for not helping Lucy to a chair. Lucy didn’t bother attending to Ellex’s prickly response, instead trying not to welcome Tuvié’s light grip on her arm as she led her several feet away and guided her into a chair. Lucy reached out, her fingers brushing a wide, flat surface. A table, made of some glossily smooth material. Not metal, Lucy didn’t think.

She stretched further, but she couldn’t reach any of the other edges of the table; it must be large.

“Lord Vader hosts guests here,” Tuvié said helpfully.

“I thought he didn’t have guests,” said Lucy.

“Well, not guests-guests—none of them stay for more than a few hours. Admirals and moffs and the like who have business with Lord Vader that he prefers to handle in private.”

Lucy paused, then asked, “Speaking of Vader, where is he? How long will he be away?”

“That’s no concern of yours,” said Ellex.

“It’s hardly a secret!” Tuvié returned. “You needn’t worry, Miss Lucy; he’s just dealing with some admirals who gave him trouble. Admiral Varti, I think, and … Jerrod? Something like that. He said it would only be a few hours, and that was three hours ago.”

Lucy took a deep breath. He’d be back any time now, then.

“Jerjerrod,” Ellex said. “An incompetent waste of space, if you ask me. Lord Vader should lop off his head and be done with it.”

“How uncivilized,” said Tuvié. “Anyway, he’s a cousin to some grand moff or another. It’d be a disaster.”

Ellex gave a dismissive clank. “If that’s quite all—”

“Yes, I can manage perfectly well,” Tuvié told her.

With that, Ellex marched away. Lucy waited until the door slammed shut behind her, then took a steadying breath. It was impossible not to feel the strain in her muscles easing out with just Tuvié.

I can’t trust her, Lucy reminded herself. I can’t trust any of them.

“Dreadful, isn’t she?” Tuvié remarked. “Very impressive, of course—but no manners at all!”

Lucy gave a short nod.

Tuvié chatted lightly for several more minutes. Then, the door slid open again, and what sounded like a veritable army of droids clattered in the room.

“F-2VA, you requested a luncheon for this human?” one of them said in a deep, resonant sort of voice. “We have prepared a feast!”

“A what?” said Lucy.

“She’s not human,” Tuvié said, “but—”

This drew even more of Lucy’s attention. “What? Of course I’m a human!”

“Your genetic code is hardly distinguishable, to be sure,” Tuvié said soothingly. “That looks most satisfactory, Arren.”

The droid, or another one, gave a loud whirr. A loud clamour of metallic footsteps drew nearer—Lucy instinctively braced herself for danger—and then something clinked on the table before her. The clink was joined by several others: four, five, six. Before Lucy could respond, someone reached past her, and suddenly, a combination of savoury smells wafted to her nose. She was, she realized, ravenous.

“I—”

“This should sustain you, humanoid,” boomed Arren. “We hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Lucy said automatically. Her stomach gave a loud growl. “Uh, thank you?”

“It—was—our—pleasure. We do not often have the opportunity to exercise our abilities.”

“Right,” said Lucy.

She reached out cautiously, her fingers touching the edge of a plate. It was only then that she reached a horrifying realization: she didn’t know how to eat without her eyesight. Were there even utensils?

As she fumbled cautiously, Tuvié’s familiar grasp took hold of her wrist, and directed her slightly to the side, where Lucy could feel a fork. She awkwardly took it in hand.

She’d have rather figured it out alone, or at least with only Tuvié. The cooking droids seemed to be waiting for her judgment, however, so—guided by Tuvié—she managed to break off a small piece of whatever was on the plate in front of her and stab it. Cautiously, she lifted it to her lips and took a bite.

A rich, lightly spiced flavour filled her mouth. It was some sort of meat, but the most delicious meat she’d ever had, and so soft that it all but melted on her tongue. Lucy closed her eyes.

“Is it satisfactory?” Arren asked.

Lucy swallowed. “Uh—yeah. More than satisfactory.”

“Very well. We will now depart, having excelled at our function!”

“Goodbye,” said Lucy weakly.

Once the cooking droids left, Lucy scooted closer to the table, irrationally anxious about spoiling a dead woman’s dress, then abandoned nearly all restraint. She ate through three dishes of combined meat, vegetables, and bread, all cooked as perfectly as the first, slowing just enough to avoid indigestion, and stopping just short of making herself sick.

Lucy set down the fork.

“Do you feel better?” Tuvié asked, sounding more than usually solicitous. “There’s more if you need it.”

“I think I’ll explode if I eat anything more,” said Lucy.

“Oh! Lord Vader would be most displeased,” Tuvié replied. Lucy wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “We’ll leave the rest to be preserved for dinner.”

Vader would certainly have returned by then. Lucy’s brief sense of well-being fled, though she did her best to avoid betraying it to Tuvié. As they walked out of the dining hall, she asked,

“Why did you say I’m not human?”

“Tisix analyzed your genetic code,” said Tuvié. “It falls slightly out of the parameters of variability among humans. Very slightly, to be sure.”

That’s impossible, Lucy almost said. But she supposed she really didn’t know anything about her mother. For all Lucy knew, she could have been a member of some compatible species rather than purely human. The idea had never crossed her mind, however, and unsettled her in some odd way.

“My mother was nonhuman?” she said, more to herself than the droid.

“I wouldn’t think so,” said Tuvié. “Well, where to next?”

“I’d like to rest,” Lucy said firmly. Maybe, despite all evidence to the contrary, she’d be able to touch the Force now.

Tuvié took her back to the bedchamber, and for a good hour, Lucy sat cross-legged on the bed, trying to meditate under Tuvié’s eye. If she had eyes. As soon as Lucy attempted to reach out to the Force, she felt the Dark Side’s suffocating embrace. She inhaled, tamping down her frustration and fears, but only the miasma rippled about her.

Until—something glimmered on the furthest edges of her awareness. Just for a moment, a flicker of peace touching her before slipping beyond her senses, but it was something. She hardly dared hope that it was the Light Side, and tried again. Now, she felt nothing. But when she finally managed to sink into a steady calm, she felt the flicker again before it slid entirely away.

Lucy opened her eyes, feeling as exhausted as she had after Yoda sent her racing through the swamp and all its obstacles.

“You’re perspiring,” said Tuvié, sounding puzzled. “But you didn’t do anything, and the temperature is normative. Is it the carbon-sickness?”

“No,” Lucy said, offering no further explanation. She doubted Tuvié would understand even if she did feel like betraying her efforts. “I just need some sleep. Will you be watching me?”

“Of course,” Tuvié replied. “Nothing will happen to you under my guard!”

Lucy sighed. But despite the creepiness of trying to sleep under the observation of one of Vader’s droids, she was tired enough, and Tuvié inoffensive enough, that she soon drifted off.

In her dreams, Lucy could see. She blinked, refusing to cry, and peered around. Nothing seemed familiar. She stood in a desert city, not on on Tatooine—at least, not one she recognized, and when she craned her head back, she saw only one sun. She seemed to be in a major market of some kind, people bustling all around, some of them jostling her as they moved from stall to stall, weighing fruit and examining glass ornaments. It struck her as cleaner than any of the towns she knew on Tatooine, in a way she couldn’t quite pin down. There was a power in this place, slippery but unmistakable; the Force was strong here.

Lucy shivered and glanced down. She was wearing a dress passed down from Beru, a thin brown one meant for Tatooine’s scalding daytime hours. But this place was cold.

Something, she couldn’t have said what, drove her onwards. As she walked, she reached out to the Force, letting herself drift with its eddies until it suffused her. She felt welcomed, and yet grieved—an odd sense of loss.

As she made her way through the crowds, they seemed to shift in and out of her sight. Not because of her eyesight itself, but because—because—

It’s not real, she thought.

Then her eyes fell on a man, dark-robed and slightly turned away. He seemed real. And he seemed to be looking around, looking for something, and yet—not.

She didn’t understand. Lucy repressed a burst of aggravation at it all, the Force drifting from her.

No. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave me.

The man tilted his head. Lucy moved forward, just able to make out a bit of red among the layers of his robe, and—

Darkness fell.

Lucy opened her eyes, to nothing. The man was gone, the Force, every bit of colour and comfort. Then she felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her.

“Miss Lucy? Miss Lucy!”

“Tuvié?” she asked groggily. “What is it?”

“I’m so sorry to wake you,” said Tuvié. “But it’s Lord Vader. He wants to see you.” She paused. “Now.”

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