#ro ro shipping services

[goldenfreightforwardingmarketing]

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[dystopicjumpsuit]

OC Sunday: Cerra Kilian, your friendly neighborhood traitor to the Empire

Whether you need to repair a hyperdrive, infiltrate an Imperial base, or get absolutely kriffed up in the entertainment district, Cerra is your girl. GAR supply officer, turned deserter, turned full-time rebel. With a seemingly endless array of unsavory contacts and absolutely no moral qualms about sourcing supplies via questionable means, Cerra can get whatever you need, from expired ration bars to decommissioned GAR medical equipment. All that, and the odds of her deciding to adopt you are only about 60%!

Look at me. I’m the captain big sister now. Art by me 🩵

More info below the cut! Content warning for non-descriptive violence and spoilers for Stars Beyond Number.

Overview

Name: Cerra Kilian

Birth year/age: born 48 BBY; 31-32 at time of Stars Beyond Number

Species: Human

Pronouns: she/her

Orientation: bi/pan

Home planet: Corellia

Current location: Coruscant

Occupation: military supply officer (deserted); full-time traitor

Affiliation: Corellian Military Defense Force; Grand Army of the Republic; Clone Underground

Alignment: Chaotic good

Family: CT-5555 “Fives” (husband; deceased); Admiral Shoan Kilian (uncle); Lorn and Vianne Kilian (parents, estranged)

Physical characteristics

Height: 5’10”/178 cm

Eyes: brown

Hair: black (shaved)

Skin: brown

Tattoos/piercings/identifying marks: full sleeve tattoo on left arm; multiple piercings in ears; large shrapnel scar on left thigh

Personal history 

Cerra was born on Corellia, the daughter of Lorn and Vianne Kilian. Vianne, her mother, had joined the Corellian Military Defense force as a mechanic, as it was one of the only avenues to escape the Corellian underworld slums where she was born. She eventually married Lorn, whose family had a longstanding tradition of service in the CMDF. 

Cerra joined the CMDF at the age of sixteen, serving as a supply officer for ten years before the outbreak of the Clone Wars. At that time, the CMDF was absorbed into the Grand Army of the Republic, and Cerra was assigned to the 501st Legion, serving under General Anakin Skywalker. While serving as supply officer on the Resolute, Cerra became friends with Captain Rex, Jesse, and Kix, along with many other clones in the 501st and beyond. 

It is also where she first met Fives, who visited the supply office weekly to submit requests for candy. Every single request was denied, and eventually, Cerra ordered a crate of sweets to be delivered with her personal supplies, then passed it on to Fives, who distributed it to the entire battalion. She never told Fives that she’d paid for it, but he figured it out (of course). After the Battle of Kamino, Fives stopped by the supply office one last time before he shipped out for ARC training. That was the first time Cerra kissed him.

When the Resolute was destroyed at the Battle of Sullust, Cerra was on the bridge. She helped as many wounded as she could into the escape pods, including Admiral Wullf Yularen as well as several clones. She was on her way to her own escape pod when she was caught in an explosion and hit in the leg by shrapnel. A shiny she’d helped into a different escape pod that was at maximum capacity jumped out and dragged her inside, then launched the pod, staying behind on the Resolute and sacrificing his life to save her. She never knew who he was, so she had a blank Phase 2 helmet added to the tattoo sleeve on her left arm when she’d recovered from her injuries.

After Sullust, Cerra was reassigned to a different unit, serving on the Ro-ti-Mundi until the Battle of Coruscant. She stayed in touch with her friends in the 501st, taking every opportunity to spend time with them whenever leave schedules permitted. In particular, she and Fives commed each other as frequently as possible, though his ARC duties prevented them from seeing each other again until just after his mission to Lola Sayu, where Echo was presumed dead. At that point, Fives and Cerra began a relationship.

The Battle of Umbara was the turning point for the pair. The treachery of Pong Krell shook Fives’s faith in the Jedi as well as the Republic, and he told Cerra that their lives were too short and too uncertain not to seize their chance at happiness while they could. He asked her to marry him, proposing with a ring he’d carved out of plastoid armor. Despite the ban on clone marriages, Cerra didn’t hesitate, and the two married in secret. When she met Tup after Umbara, she forged a close bond with him and quickly came to see him as a younger brother. He was the only witness to Fives and Cerra’s marriage, and the only person who ever knew about it.

And then came the Battle of Ringo Vinda. 

In the months following Fives and Tup’s deaths, Cerra threw herself into working with Kix to try to discover what had happened. They were close to a breakthrough when Kix disappeared. Utterly disillusioned, with her faith in the Republic and the GAR shattered, Cerra abandoned her post following the Battle of Coruscant.

Her family did not understand. Her parents felt that she had disgraced the family by deserting, and after a disastrous visit home to Corellia, Cerra returned to Coruscant and disappeared into the underworld.

Until one day, several weeks after the fall of the Republic, Rex knocked on her door.

Personality

Fiercely loyal, sarcastic, competent (with a healthy dose of imposter syndrome), protective to a fault. Once Cerra decides she likes someone, she adopts them. They’re hers now. She's keeping them. And she’ll make sure everybody else in the group is nice to them, too—or else. Despite being an only child, she has strong older sister energy, which occasionally causes her to clash with the people she cares about.

She is pathologically opposed to displaying negative emotions in a healthy way; if she’s feeling anger or grief, she’s likely to shut down or hide rather than talk about it. After Fives’s death, she became withdrawn and reticent, not even trusting her closest friends with all of her secrets. But underneath her durasteel-reinforced-with-beskar walls, the same fierce, loyal heart still beats.

---

You can read about Cerra’s adventures in my Tup x Reader short fic “Do It Again” (NSFW), and you can find out what happened after Rex knocked on her door in my complete longfic Stars Beyond Number (sequel in progress but will not be posted until it is fully written). You can read her GAR Datafile here.

---

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod @ivyyyyy @somewhere-on-kamino

@burningnerdchild @saneabandoned @heidnspeak @maniacalbooper

[007-nightfire-yakuza-agent]

@horsesource

gosh such a big question. a ship is so much to the sailors she holds. more than just a home - shelter, conveyance, workplace, friend, protector, confessor, and so much more. every ship is different, has her own quirks and traits and personality. some ships are truly on deaths door and you feel bad for them - you feel like they're begging for rest in the way that an old blind and arthritic dog is. like let it sleep bro. be loving. some of them are formidable seawise giants that seem to conquer the waves, but they often lack charm. the favoured ones to me are the smaller ships, like this, the ones that go up against the odds, the ones that need the love and need the affection but will see you through for it... i think it'd be best if i gave a brief account of some notable ships from my time, i shant name names as it's impolite to kiss n tell.

The Ro-Ro - a roll on, roll off vessel that also had capacity to take containers. was enormous - over 300 meters - with a terrifyingly large engine. built around 2015, it was fresh, new, the machinery never really had problems, the engine room was spacious and well laid out, it was pretty, capable, endured rough seas... the ship herself didnt leave much of an impression, but i remember feeling the heartbeat of her engine, dread and terrible, and feeling so small, and so honoured to be held so tenderly by something so colossal.

the tanker- a plucky ship if ever i knew one. not too old, but with many problems - especially the main engine, which destroyed a piston not once but twice - and with many machinery problems due to dealing with tropical heat constantly. the ship was designed with cargo capacity in mind, but unfortunately was a product tanker which meant she often sailed from port to port unloaded by cargo... meaning she floated like a cork in rough weather. her main engine was small, 6 cylinders compared to the ro-ro's 12, but the engine room was laid out in a smart, intuitive way which meant that even with these issues she was pleasant to work on. probably my 2nd fave ship and the only one i wish i could go back to.

the cruise ship - hell on earth. a bloated, sickly beast brimming with sin so mighty it poured out of her continously. like the passengers she carried, she was old, ready to die, but unlike them she embraced death eagerly. EVERYTHING that could fall apart fell apart. she even overflowed sewage while in port. she had, in her midlife, some work done - an extension that made her able to carry more passengers- an act that left her forever scarred, forever limping, like some pitiful chimera dreamed up by an inhumane melder of flesh. i worried abt staying onboard that ship, because i had the feeling that if we did not end her service, she would do it for us.

every ship has her own personality and history and feel, though its interesting how they can grow on you. my current ship felt so meek and in bad condition when i joined. i know now how badly i underestimated her. she's a fighter, a valiant one at that. if i could, i'd sail with her forever.

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

How would the ro’s handle working a customer service job? Like who gets fired first

RO'S IN CUSTOMER SERVICE

THE DEMON —

Fired within the first 30 minutes. Tried to fight a customer. Police were called, Dante had a warrant. Got arrested.

THE ANGEL —

An awesome worker, but please give her a task at a time, or she'll get confused. Usually works alone in the gardening section or the very back of the story.

THE DRAGON —

Slacker. She's there for her specific hours and you won't hear a thing from her. She's a good worker tho, when she wants to be. Men love her and constantly tipping her.

THE ARMADILLO —

Hardworking. Too hardworking. Takes this job a little too seriously. At times a snitch but he means well.

THE WARDEN —

Sigh. A manager but the one you pray isnt working when you are. He's great for intimidation, and you get your breaks and paid time off, but Gods does he run a tight ship. Everything is orderly.

THE KING —

Best Employee. Becomes the manager effortlessly, everyone loves him, everyone's tipping him. He's the most patient and kind and gets the job done. I'd love working for him.

[naminethewriter]

Deciding Darts

It's the one Intruloceit story I always sneak into these ship weeks for Loceit Week Day 6! And of course it's by far the longest 😅 What can I say? Remus demanded to be in this one and then wouldn't stop until he reached his goal... I love him 💚 @loceitweek

Masterpost | Loceit Week 2024 Masterpost | Ao3

Prompt: “We really sold our souls to the devil here, haven’t we?”

Summary: Janus and Logan are on a double date with Patton and Roman when they get interrupted by Roman's twin who's surprisingly back in town.

Content Warnings: Mentions of sex, Remus being very blunt and almost crossing several lines

~~*~~

“…and that’s when one of the tree branches came lose and hit Derrick on his head. Luckily it was just cardboard, so he wasn’t injured but it was pretty funny.”

Janus only half listened to Roman’s tales of his latest theater shows. Patton next to Roman looked as enamored with him as always, even if he was pretty sure he must have heard the story before. Logan was sipping from his glass but politely nodding along. Even if Janus was a bit bored at the moment, he couldn’t deny that the double date had been more fun than he’d imagined so far.

When the idea had first been brought up, Janus had asked Virgil if he wanted to come along but the emo had quickly refused.

“You want me to be the fifth wheel in a loud and crowded bar that probably way overprices the drinks? Over my dead body. Plus, Remy already asked if I could come over that night to keep him distracted while Emile’s out of town and he promised me free drinks, so yeah no dice.”

Janus had rolled his eyes but let it slide. Remy usually was a mess when he was separated from his husband for more than 24 hours even if he liked to pretend to be a loner.

“Just make sure he doesn’t make you too many drinks that include caffein. And don’t drink any of those too late either.”

“Sure thing, mom.”

Janus had lightly hit him on the head for that one.

Suddenly, Janus was pulled back into the present by a loud voice.

“Ro-bro! Fancy seeing you here!”

All four of them looked up to see a man with Roman’s face but slightly off standing in front of their booth. He had the same eyes and features as Roman but sported a mustache and a white streak in his hair. And if that didn’t set him apart from his brother enough, the clothes the man was wearing were probably the opposite of Roman too with ripped jeans, a dark crop top and combat boots.

So that must be the infamous twin, Janus thought as he looked the other up and down once more. What was his name again?

“Remus?!” Roman gaped. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting drunk! And looking for someone to take back to the hotel with me.” He winked suggestively at Logan who simply raised an eyebrow.

“Not what I meant and you know it,” Roman almost growled, clearly annoyed. “What are you doing here in town, I thought you were still in Europe.”

“Yeah, some stuff happened and I got back early. I was gonna surprise you at your place tomorrow but this is even better! Nice to finally meet you in person, Patty Daddy.”

“Yes, nice to see you, Remus,” Patton laughed uncomfortably. Remus paused.

“Nickname too much?”

“Obviously,” Roman sighed.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll behave. So introduce me to these fine gentlemen.” Remus grabbed a chair from nearby and plopped down in front of the booth, grinning at Logan and Janus.

“Logan Croft,” Logan spoke up before Roman could interject, holding his hand out for Remus to shake. “And this is my partner Janus Dean. We’re longtime friends of Patton’s.”

“Pleasure,” Janus said simply, nodding instead of offering his own hand. Remus laughed and gripped Logan’s hand tight.

“Remus Kingsleigh, at your service.” Instead of shaking Logan’s hand however, he brought it up to his mouth and licked it. “You taste delightful,” he added with a grin.

“Remus!” Roman scolded, pulling him away from Logan who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He simply pulled his hand back, got a bottle of disinfectant out of his bag and rubbed it into the skin.

“Well then, Remus, how long are you staying?” Patton asked, still looking incredibly uncomfortable and desperate to change the topic. Janus wasn’t surprised. While Patton was very tolerant of other people’s behaviors and believes, he was rather strictly catholic himself and didn’t want pre-marital sex, which Roman was very much okay with. But Patton also was very uncomfortable with the topic of sex in general, so Janus could imagine that Remus, who as far as he knew had made sex and innuendos kind of a big part of his personality, put him on edge.

He was in luck however since Remus was open to the change in topic and started detailing his plans and told stories about his travels which Logan especially appreciated. For the next hour or so, pleasant conversation flowed between the five of them until Patton got tired and asked Roman to drive him home. The two paid off their part of the tab and left.

“Well then, that just leaves us three,” Remus grinned as he slid into the seats his brother and Patton had just vacated. “Are you open to have some fun?”

“You do understand that we’re in a committed relationship, right?” Janus asked, eyebrows raised and trying to inject boredom into his voice. Remus was entertaining, sure, but not all that appealing to him.

“So what? I can take you both.” The grin on Remus’ face was without a hint of shame. Refreshing, Janus could admit but he still wasn’t interested.

“Thank you for the offer, Remus, but we are not currently looking for a third,” Logan answered. Diplomatic as always.

“Currently? So that might change?” Remus was leaning over the table now, his eyes wide and wild.

“Sure. Ask another ten times and we’ll probably say yes!” Janus huffed.

“Promise?”

“No.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.”

“Then maybe you should seek your thrill elsewhere.”

“How about a bet?” Remus suddenly offered, sitting back in his seat, still grinning.

“I believe we have been quite clear—” Logan started but Remus interrupted him.

“A game of darts for your phone numbers. And a week to change your minds if I win.”

Janus rolled his eyes again, but to his surprise Logan leaned forward, studying Remus’ face intensely.

“You seem quite sure of your skill.”

“I am.”

“Very well. I accept.”

Janus sighed but didn’t argue. Truly, he should have seen it coming. Darts was the only sport Logan was interested in – well, besides chess but in terms of physical sports it was the only one. It relied on dexterity and math, both of which Logan appreciated greatly.

Logan and Remus agreed on a set of rules and Janus was pulled along to judge.

“Don’t you think I’m going to be biased?”

“No.”

“Nah.”

Janus had expected that answer from his partner but not Remus.

“Lolo here seems to have a bit of a stick up his ass about rules. I imagine he’d be pretty cross with you if you didn’t play fair.”

“You… aren’t wrong,” Janus conceded, surprised by his insight. Maybe Remus wasn’t as aloof and uncaring as he first seemed.

They got some darts from the barkeeper and luckily one of the three boards was still available. They played best of three with Logan easily winning the first one, Remus barely clutching out the second and now they were both in finishing range for the third.

Logan was up first. He hit the triple he needed without difficulty and just slightly overshot the double with the second and took aim with the third. Before he could throw though, Remus stepped up to him and whispered something in his ear that Janus couldn’t hear. Logan glanced away from the board and at Remus for a moment but didn’t answer. Remus laughed and stepped back, letting him finish his turn.

Janus watched as Logan took two deep breaths before aiming again.

He threw the dart.

And it bounced off the second dart that had already missed the target, falling to the floor.

“My turn!” Remus giggled, delighted, as Logan gathered his darts.

“Will you aim for the double 14 and then tops?” Logan asked. If Janus remembered correctly, ‘tops’ referred to the double 20 on the top of the board.

“Nah, where’s the fun in that?” Remus grinned and threw his first dart. It landed square in the 18 field. Leaving Remus with a rest score of 50. He needed the bull’s eye to win.

That truly fit with his character.

If he was just slightly off, the math wouldn’t work out anymore and he might not be able to use his last dart to finish.

Despite the high stakes, kinda, Remus looked very relaxed to Janus. As if he had unending confidence in his skills.

He took aim.

He threw.

He hit.

The dart landed in the bull’s eye with a dull thud.

“Congratulations,” Logan said, genuinely. “That were some impressive games.”

“Aw, thanks Logie! Now pay up!”

“I was under the impression that you wanted our phone numbers not our money.”

“That’s what he means, Lo,” Janus explained as he stepped up to the two. “Here.” He held a business card out to Remus that had his name and law firm printed on it. He’d also added Logan’s number on the other side. “Your one week starts now.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Janny! And I promise I won’t send you dick pics immediately!” With that, Remus waved to them and left, handing the darts back to the bartender on his way out.

“We really sold our souls to the devil here, haven’t we?” Janus commented dryly as they watched the door close behind him.

“Well, I always thought the devil had some fair points,” Logan shrugged, a small smile on his lips.

Janus had an inkling that his life was about to get a lot more chaotic.

He found that he didn’t really mind the idea.

[wanderingaldecaldo]

*lightspeed powerwalk into your ask box for the soft OTP prompts* 3 or 10 with Val/Ros, if any of these two strike you fancy? 💕

Thank youuuu @blackrevell for the ask from the soft prompts!

I was sure that I was going to write 10 (getting ready in the morning) then I had an idea and it possessed me and I had to exorcise it. I reserve the right to also write 10 later. ☺️

3- Write about your ship holding hands in a tense moment.

Outside the unbreakable window panes, heavy shadows dance and loom as the wind whips the trees back and forth along the South Lawn. There are at least a dozen Federal Secret Service agents outside blending into the shadows. Inside, the flashing red, white, and blue of the screens reflect off the windows and obscure the darkness, the cascade of colors on the glass mirroring the cacophony behind her. The flashing colors coalesce into her own face, then melt into that of her challenger.

President Rosalind Myers stares out the window, seeing nothing as her thumb presses into the metacarpals of her left hand, digging into the tender muscles. The hand has twinged more often recently. She should talk to her surgeon about it, but a lifetime of repressing weakness makes her reticent. Val wouldn’t approve.

Behind her the door sighs open and a glance over her shoulder confirms the entrant as the only person who would dare interrupt tonight’s vigil, then she returns her attention to the window. A click, and the room darkens and falls silent as Val turns off the screens.

“No reason to listen to that scop,” she says quietly, a gentle hand resting between her shoulder blades.

Rosalind leans back into her touch, and strong arms wrap around her waist and pull her tight. Val leans down, rests her head on Rosalind’s shoulder, and she covers Val’s hands with her own.

“You’re probably right.”

“Probably?” Val laughs and presses a kiss to her temple. “Know I am. Shit’ll rot your brain.”

She hums a laugh and turns to look at her most ardent supporter. Dogtown feels like yesterday, but then she sees the fine spiderwebs gathered in the corners of Val’s eyes, the worry lines that have begun to etch themselves on her forehead, the grey hairs that have started to grow into her always sharp fade haircut. Rosalind doesn’t feel old until she sees the last decade reflected on her lover’s face.

She raises her hand, fingertips trailing along the buzzed hair above Val’s ear to the cold metal netrunner port at the back of her head, then twists and pulls her down for a kiss. When they part, Val turns Ros to face her and links their hands, twining their fingers together.

“Whatever happens, ’m with you. Know that, right?” 

Rosalind nods. Ever her loyal merc.

“After the results...” Rosalind trails off. “If they send someone—”

Val interrupts before she can even finish the thought. “Have to deal with me first. Saved you once before. Save you as many times as it takes.”

Her chest tightens and her eyebrows draw together as she gazes up at Val, at the woman who pledged her heart and life to her. She hopes it doesn’t come to that; she knows they won’t stop coming for her, but as long as they are together....

Chest tightening again, she blinks as she feels the sting behind her eyes. She frees one hand and traces the gold cyberware along Val’s cheek then cups it and pulls her down for a soft kiss.

“You’ve already saved me more than you know.”

[quasi-normalcy]

For all that people complained about how bleak Star Trek: Picard was when it came out, I would say that its depiction of the Federation was just a culmination of all of the flaws that it was depicted as having on Deep Space Nine (and, to a lesser extent, Voyager and even TNG): Earth-centrism, disregard for the rights of artificial persons, and a willingness to regard entire non-Federation species as disposable if their survival is deemed a threat to the Federation (or even if saving them contradicts an abstract philosophical point). It’s a society that has clearly lost its way, and its annoying (at least to me) that the writers couldn’t have instead imagined the Federation getting its shit together, but the thing is: everything that’s wrong with it emerges organically from the Federation we’ve seen, and, most critically, it is problematised. Our heroes stand in opposition to this corruption. Picard, Rios, and Raffi all left or were cashiered out of service over various aspects of Starfleet’s authoritarian turn; Elnor is a survivor of the Federation’s neglect; Seven and Soji are both members of oppressed minorities and Jurati had her academic career derailed, all because of fear and reactionary opposition to cybernetics. And yes, it’s bleak, but it’s also fundamentally hopeful: they are standing up for what’s right, even in the face of bigotry and oppression, and what could possibly be more Star Trek than that? You can argue about whether it was successful or particularly well-executed, but its heart was very much in the right place.

And that’s why, for all that I’m enjoying Season 3--for all that I love seeing the TNG crew together again and paying-off character arcs that I’ve been watching play out over the course of my entire lifetime--it gnaws at me. Because the thing is: the Federation hasn’t gotten any better. The genocidal criminal conspiracy from Deep Space Nine is now considered “a critical division of Starfleet Intelligence.” This “critical” bunch of war criminals keeps a sentient AI comatose to guard its warehouse, and nobody even comments on how fucked-up that is. The captain of the Titan constantly denigrates his ex-Borg first officer and orders her to deadname herself, but it’s okay because he’s *traumatised* and kind of funny in his assholishness. You get to have a heartbreaking moment with Picard saying “I didn’t know...” when he hears the extent of Section 31′s war crimes, but then he and Beverly, in the face of 35 years of consistent characterisation, immediately compound the war crime by resolving to execute Vadic. No, the Federation hasn’t gotten any better; the heroes have just gotten worse.

I love the TNG crew. I love seeing Picard and Ro finally have it out with one another; I love having a lifetime spent shipping Jean-Luc and Beverly pay off; I love that we finally get to see just how deeply Data’s death affected Geordi, and that we finally get to see Data’s relationship with Lore and his “becoming more human” arc pay off in a way that’s so seamless that it honestly feels kind of obvious in retrospect. But at a deep, philosophical level, I would rather see an angsty story about heroes opposing corruption than a happy story about heroes going along with it.

[brightaxe]

kinktober day 9 : body worship. (yes, i'm behind.) @volotramp's bg3 kinktober prompts. ship : gortash x rosalind. rating : mature. words : 1458.

The kisses that rained down upon his collarbone and sternum burned like holy fire, as if her perfect mouth was the scourge she often wielded against herself. Behind the burn came an ache. Fingers pressed to a fading contusion. Bones cracking and popping and settling again. His chest rose and fell beneath her unfaltering attention, though it was not the only thing about him that stood to attention. 

Gortash angled his hips away from the careless brush of her body to avoid excess stimulation; that was the last thing he needed if she was so committed to taking her time. 

She did not seem to notice.

Instead, Rosalind shifted herself easily to the side, her body curling over his right thigh as she made her tender way across the soft flesh of his chest. The upturned tip of her nose rubbed against the coarse black hair beneath it, and he felt her sigh as she opened her mouth again, a rush of warm breath pouring over his skin before she found what she’d been looking for.

When she shut her lips around his nipple in a hungry suckle, Enver’s thighs spread and hips lifted. There was no other reaction to be had. Anything less would have only been expected of the dead and buried.

“Nnh, there,” Enver sighed, his hand digging deep into the spill of ginger hair that tangled at the nape of her neck. He coaxed her closer, groaning low in his throat when his encouragement hit its mark and the paladin in his bed pulled harder on his chest, pulling with the suction of her mouth and gasping when she could pull no harder. She released him with a wet pop. “Are you finished? How disappointing.”

But she was there again, rolling her tongue around the stiffened peak of his nipple before pulling it in as if she was no more than a ravenous kitten.

Perhaps that was not far off.

The hand that had settled against his waist pulled inward, her callused fingertips swirling through the dense hair that stretched across his stomach only to crawl downwards and disappear into the waist of his trousers. Her nails were blunt things, but they felt good across the sensitive skin of his belly. They had not had much time to steal from each other of late, but every time they did, Rosalind gifted him with this.

Worship. From her, it could only be seen as such.

Her dedication to his pleasure bordered upon zealotry. Enver sank back against the plush stack of pillows behind his head, his eyes falling shut as she moved from one nipple to the other, tasting him all the way, leaving no small amount of kisses behind.

With her mouth otherwise occupied, his drive for more left him reaching for her wrist.

He coaxed her hand downward, hoping to bring it between his legs, but found that she would not budge.

“I want more,” Ros pleaded with him. She slowed her assault to peer up at him, the pale gold and gray of her eyes shining in the morning light. Though he could see little of her face, he knew she was smiling. He felt the shape of it on his chest. “Allow me more time with you.”

Allow me.

Enver bit back another moan that threatened to slip its leash.

She laid another two dozen kisses along his ribs and stomach, exhaling shakily as she lingered above his navel, her thumbs massaging into the curve of his waist where his trousers pressed sharply in against his body. She touched him and marveled at him, and he watched all unfold before his very eyes, half-surprised, half-deserving.

Never before had someone taken their time the way she had. Quick fucks were preferable with noblemen, while the women had a strong preference for being adored, no matter the lip service being paid. There was crossover in either direction, but Rosalind was a first. Not the first, but a first.

Just as he’d been for her.

Toying over the hair that gathered against her cheek as she rested her head down near his thigh, Enver watched her. 

At fifteen, he’d wanted nothing more than to claim her as his. At twenty, he’d thought she owed him no less. At twenty-five, he’d pursued her like he pursued all others. At thirty, he’d attempted a different approach. At thirty-five, he’d cut the wanting out of his heart. At forty, he’d let it back in, no matter how strangely it settled amongst the scarring. At forty-five…

At forty-five, he’d given up entirely.

At forty-six, the sudden loss of her dredged up everything he’d put aside in an instant. He’d done anything he could to bring her back to him, only to discover that she stood as his foe.

And now, Enver watched as she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down over his hips, past his thighs and calves and off entirely. A glow burned in her cheeks, as if her delight at having him at her mercy was enough to light her from within. Her tired eyes sparkled, somehow, even with such a weight weighing upon her. Circumstance was not enough to dim her, he found.

He believed that nothing could.

Letting himself rest back against the mattress, the corner of his mouth curled. His expression arranged itself into something familiar, some half-smirk that she’d claimed was dangerous when they were both barely old enough to know any better.

“Is that it, then?” he teased. “Are you quite done?”

He could not sound frustrated with her if he tried, not as she laid down between his legs, knees bent and ankles crossed, her pink toes curling eagerly as she found her place.

“Not yet,” Rosalind said, squirming down into the bedding until she found absolute comfort. “Unless…”

Enver arched a brow. “Unless…?” he echoed.

His precious paladin chewed on her lip, rocking the swollen thing back and forth between her teeth. She didn’t want to elaborate; he could see that much in the quick dart of her eyes and hear it in her hesitation. If she said nothing, he could not agree.

“Unless you’d rather I stop.”

They hadn’t spent an abundance of time together since their first night, but he could recall every moment as if they all still happened to him, pleasure layered upon pleasure in every thought and every memory. He knew what her mouth felt like. He knew the rough skin of her palm and her gentle grip. He’d taken her cunt and her ass and anything else she offered him.

But she had not been given enough time to do this. This was new, and this threatened to take his breath away, as if he was some sexual novice rather than a man with more practice than most of Baldur’s Gate.

“Curiosity demands otherwise,” Gortash ventured. The low gravel of his voice made her toes curl again. The sight turned his smirk to a smile. “No, no, I do not want you to stop. Have your way with me, hero. I would love to see what you plan on doing next.”

The points of her ears darkened. She shifted, fitful and flushed – the way she always did when that word rose to his lips.

Hero.

“Well? Go ahead.”

His cock ached against the pulling fabric of his underwear, but his discomfort waned as she lowered her lips to the soft, hairy muscle of his thigh. Her breath was a sweet thing, something that almost tickled despite the heat that poured through him when he felt her mouth pressing again and again against his flesh. She kissed him there once, then twice, then three times, each higher on his thigh than before.

And then, she moved. She shifted her attention to the other, one arm curling beneath the hook of his knee to keep him stable and keep herself still.

As she moved, her mouth brushed against the straining arch of his cock, but only for a moment.

Only long enough for him to bite out a particularly nasty curse.

“Would you like me to stop now?” Rosalind asked. 

Her voice went quiet and malleable at its edges, and when she glanced up at him from between his legs, her pupils were pools of black. They were endless things, as if he might truly understand the infinite if he continued to stare down into them. 

She was teasing him. If not teasing, then coaxing, urging, hoping. Had she always craved validation so much? Had everything always hung on one precarious point?

Yes, she had.

As had he.

“Don’t…” The word splintered on his tongue. He swallowed hard and shut his eyes, head tipped back and fingers curling tight into the bedding. “Don’t stop.”

[gammaraydeath]

So, Ro. Do tell us/me everything you want to tell. Or to be more specific, tell me five facts that you think one should know first.

omg yes hi!!! this is exciting :D thank you so much for asking! this is very long bc i love to talk about ro. this got very long so i'll have to break this up into two posts, i'll add the remaining facts in a reblog!

she has the spacer background. born on arcturus station. it does have a permanent population and i assume the space equivalent of on base military housing. hannah took maternity leave but couldn't stand being idle, and didn't take to motherhood as naturally as she had hoped. rose's father, placeholder name chuck, wound up being her primary parental figure. once rose was old enough to qualify for daycare/education services on larger noncombatant alliance vessels, around 5 years old, her parents sold their arcturus apartment and she was henceforth spacebound. dad took the career hit - hannah kept climbing the ranks and taking postings that rose could not board for. as a consequence, rose was closest with her father. naturally, he tragically perishes, leaving hannah in a tough spot. grieving, busy, and now with even more pressure to succeed in her career to provide for her child, she sent rose to earth to live with relatives, finishing her education in a more traditional high school setting. rose, ro to her close friends, had always had a bit of a rebellious streak though. having lost her father, feeling unwanted by her mother, cut off from the only life she had known and the unease of being planetside, she leaned fully into the shitty punk teen act. she plays a futuristic bass/synth instrument in a garage band. they play in dive bars. she gets her hands on all sorts of things she shouldn't, courtesy of her older "boyfriend". she doesn't go to school. she makes her poor gramma's life hell. her relationship with hannah is at its worst and most fractured, and although they will get closer (they do love each other), there will always be some distance between them that neither knows how to close. a series of misadventures culminates in ro committing a bit of light treason - given a choice between charges being pressed or her skills put to use for the alliance, she enlists. anderson is a personal friend of hannah's, and although he doesn't have a ton of weight to swing around at this point, he's got enough clout that when hannah calls in a favor he vouches for her daughter, and it's enough. ro takes her second chance extremely seriously, knows that she's starting with a disadvantage, and works hard to prove herself.

she also has the war hero background. i have this whole idea for how elysium goes for her - she's a second lieutenant, which is a bit of a high rank for her age, but hey she becomes commander at like 29 so whatever lmfao. she's rapidly rising the ranks, we'll just say that. she serves on the SSV Denver (placeholder ship name that also might just be kept) and mostly keeps to herself. she's known for being very serious, by the books, and studious. huge departure from her personality before enlistment. most are intimidated by her demeanor, and she feels unable to make friends. she's not yet the charming and personable commander that can befriend a whole crew. she does, however, have 1 friend - allison hartley. kid genius, only 19, intelligence specialist. allie comes from a rich family, skipped over high school, had full ride scholarships into the most prestigious universities, participates in community, sports, clubs, is kind, and is just an all-around good person; she stays humble despite her privilege. and she sets her sights on ro, the dour, quiet goth girl and works very hard to break down her walls to befriend her. and it works! and one day she convinces ro to take leave with her to visit her family's ski resort in illyria on elysium. and it all goes so very wrong, but not immediately! first, they do get to enjoy their vacation for a few days. they wind up meeting a veteran named louise, who is bitter about a recent divorce (get her drunk enough and she'll start opening up about her ex wife but anything less and she's a brick wall), and a bartender named audax (possibly the only turian who likes the cold; he's fond of skiing in his free time) that ro is a little bit taken by. all that time in space and she's never really met an alien before. these two, along with allie, will form ro's "squad" when shit goes down. ro is responsible for forming the plan to rally civilians to take back their city - block by block, they push back against the invaders, and they're gaining momentum. it really seems like they're winning, and the pirates all pull back like a tide going out. turns out they were clearing the area for an incoming orbital strike. allie is among the casualties. when the invaders return in force, ro pulls herself together enough to direct survivors to safety and hold the line until backup finally arrives. ro, louise, and allie's parents on her behalf all accept the star of terra award. audax receives his own dues, and has his moment of fame for being an exemplar of interspecies cooperation. ro gets a memorial tattoo of allie done in her honor - this will later be wiped by the lazarus project, and is redone as a pair of black bands around her bicep; one for allie, one for kaidan.

[anathemafiction]

Love your latest Q&A! Theyre fun to read. Made me wonder what kinds of jobs or hobbies the ROs would have in modern life?

So glad you liked the Q&A! They're so fun to write! 😄

As for your question, hmm… I think Hadrian would do some type of work where you use your hands. So a handyman or an electrician or something. He could also be drafted to some professional sport, although I can't really see him enjoying that life too much.

Lance would be tied to music in some shape or form. Ideally, as an artist, but it's a tough world, so if that failed, he'd try to be a producer or lyricist. He'd also write poems, but outside of music, I don't see him seeking publication. Maybe if a friend pushed him, but yes. Music. Lance would study and work in the music industry.

Alain would be a rich kid, and as such, he wouldn't have to work a day in his life, but if he stuck to his studies… he'd be a biologist.

Ysbaella would go to law school, but although it would genuinely interest her, her real passion would be politics. She'd use her degree (and money) to advance within her political party and thus begin the real work.

The Pirate King would be tied, somehow, to the sea. Depending on his life's trajectory, I could see him as a high-sea fisherman, a deep-sea explorer, or a marine geologist, but in all of them… he'd be a ship captain. He'd always have his own ship and spent more time on the ocean than on dry land.

I can't see Neia in anything but the army. She'd be deployed to the most dangerous or active warzones, and I don't think she'd live long enough to face retirement.

Rafael… probably still involved in something illegal 😄. Cyber security breaches, heists, and robberies. I could see him as an independent, third-party thief that would work with organized crime or whoever paid him well enough for his services. No violence or death, though.

Alessa is the hardest one. I can't imagine her as anything else but a mercenary. Maybe she'd still be one? A modern mercenary, but not one for hire. She'd work either for an organization or a person in particular. A head of security, perhaps? I can even see her as a detective. Something along those lines.

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – BLACKWATER.

you're coming back.                                 and it's the end of  the world. we're starting over.                                     and i

love you, darling.

"Remember wait until the ships-"

"The ships are in the bay."

"They must be far enough in so they won't be-"

"I know what 'in' means. D'you know how to use that?"

"I chopped wood once. No, I watched my brother chopping wood."

"I saw you kill a man with a shield. You'll be unstoppable with an axe."

Tyrion shot forward to grab Bronn's hand in his, pulling the man towards him ever so slightly. All at once, Lyarra felt as if she were intruding — quickly moving to lean back behind one of the columns of the hall to look for Sansa. It was expected of Sansa to see her husband, the king, off to war — and seeing as Lyarra had no intention of leaving her niece alone for the remainder of the night, there they were.

"Don't get killed," Bronn remarked, shaking his head as he spat the words out. For all his lackluster attitude accomplished, it was evident that he cared for Tyrion. He turned to Lyarra then, reaching out with his other hand to clasp her arm. "You either, for that matter."

"Nor you, my friend." Tyrion rushed, his stare still lingering on their clasped hands. Lyarra held her grin at the sight, forcing herself to think of the events to come. This was no moment to find joy in the repressed nature of the two friends she had left.

"Oh, are we friends now?"

"Of course we are. Just because I pay you for your services doesn't diminish our friendship."

"Enhances it, really."

"Oh, enhances. Fancy word for a sellsword." Lyarra retorted, holding in another snort at the unimpressed look Bronn shot her.

"Been spending time with fancy folks."

Bronn stepped away then, bowing as Sansa moved into the center of the room — with Shae and Aianna at her side. Aianna had yet to say a word the entire evening, though that hadn't been altogether surprising. She had a duty. Lyarra knew that well enough. Yet the thought that she'd expected differently of the girl even still, never once failed her. Lyarra moved to her niece's side, with Tyrion quick to follow.

"Lady Sansa, Aianna, and .. Sheila?" He dragged the name out as if he couldn't properly recall the woman's face. Shae almost snarled, biting her true new name out.

"Shae," He corrected at once. "Surely my sister has asked you to join the other highborn ladies," He remarked, this time directing his point towards Lyarra as well. She only shrugged as her niece began to explain.

"She has, my lord, but King Joffrey sent for me to see him off. Aunt Lyarra felt it best to remain at my side."

"Sansa!" The boy in question called, beckoning the girl over to him. Sandor stomped after him, pausing in the slightest as he took in the sight of her. He expected her to be in Maegor's Holdfast with the rest of the highborn ladies, just as Tyrion had, no doubt.

"Always been a great romantic, my nephew."

"I will pray for your safe return, my lord. Just as I pray for the king's." Sansa claimed, before turning on her heel to march towards the king. Lyarra watched the interaction from a distance, assuming that the king would likely not take her presence welcomingly. Sandor never once pulled his gaze from her, despite her forcing herself to look away.

Tyrion winced at Sansa's words, as Lyarra only shrugged. Sansa had no reason to trust Tyrion. Not after all his family had done. Despite her growing care for the man, she couldn't expect her niece to feel differently about him. She could faintly make out the hushed whispers of Shae and Tyrion sharing words between themselves before he turned defiantly back to Lyarra. She halted in her step for a moment, thinking over her words. Tyrion was a beacon of light in the keep, in her eyes. She had Ros, at times. Aianna, at others. But Tyrion was something different. He was always there.

"Don't die out there, Lannister. I'll bring you back, and kill you myself." Tyrion tilted his head as if he believed that she was being entirely sincere, nodding quickly in agreement.

"If all goes well, I'll rent us out an entire brothel. All night. Drinks on me."

Lyarra scoffed, shoving the man away as he made his way out of the hall — Podrick hot on his heels. She stepped to Shae's side once more, linking her arm with the girl in the hope that the motion would be comforting. Aianna stepped forward as well, resting her hand on Lyarra's shoulder. After another moment, Sansa stepped back to the group — Joffrey and his men stomping out of the hall. Sandor shot Lyarra one last look, one filled with too many emotions to properly decipher, as he moved past her.

"Some of those boys will never come back," Shae whispered.

"Joffrey will." Sansa argued. "The worst ones always live."

"I don't know why she wants me here," Sansa stated as Cersei flitted into the room. They were surrounded by highborn women, children, and servants alike. At the moment, they were perched on a set of bunk-beds. Shae and Aianna sat on one side, while Sansa and Lyarra sat on the other. "She's always saying how stupid I am. She hates me."

"Maybe she hates you less than she hates everyone else," Shae retorted, sitting forward to make sure the words carried their desired distance in the hushed room.

"I doubt it."

"Maybe she's jealous of you?" Lyarra chimed in.

"Why would she be jealous?"

Cersei chose that moment to call the girl over, beckoning her to her side with one word alone. Lyarra sat back, once again taking note of the fact that she was not invited. She may be a woman of higher standing, a lady of Winterfell — but she held no birthright, not really. Winterfell would only go to her if each of her nieces and nephews fell, alongside her sister-by-law — and Benjen, for that matter. She was the last in line. The least important figure they had left.

After a while, Lyarra wasn't certain how much time had passed. The queen had gone through at least three cups of wine already, even calling for Sansa to be poured one as well — though the girl hadn't so much as taken a sip of it. Lyarra sat mostly silent, curled into her seat while Aianna and Shae maintained an almost-decent conversation. Shae evidently held a grudge against the girl for running to the queen before, and yet she seemed almost civil throughout their talk.

Eventually, Sansa was able to peel herself away from the queen's side. At once, she collected a group of girls from the room to sit together in prayer. Ser Dontos sat in the corner, juggling as a few of the girls watch. Lyarra took note of the way that Cersei watched Sansa, something akin to interest in her stare.

"Sansa, come here, little dove," The queen called, at once breaking the girl from her prayer. Lyarra sighed, leaning back as Shae continued to watch their conversation from a distance. Aianna hadn't said a word in what felt like hours, instead staring down at the ground almost solemnly. Lyarra, thinking only of the battle transpiring outside, reached forward to take Aianna's hands into hers in comfort.

"Lyarra, you as well. Come here," Cersei called after her. Lyarra paused for a moment, before taking a seat on the pillow across from her niece. The queen had been coaxing Sansa into another glass of wine, nudging for Lyarra to be poured one as well.

"I should have been born a man," Cersei claimed as Sansa downed another glass. "I'd rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens."

"They are your guests under your protection," Sansa argued, seemingly in disbelief at the queen's callousness.

"You did, admittedly, ask them here," Lyarra chimed in. Cersei scoffed, leaning back to take another swig of wine.

"It was expected of me, as it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey's queen. Despite how much the two of you try to prevent it,"

"If my wretched brother should somehow prevail," The queen continued, meeting Lyarra's stare with an almost amused glance. She knew something, Lyarra surmised. She had some sort of plan. "these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits."

"And if the city should fall?" Sansa inquired. Cersei paused, her grin contorting itself into a scowl as the words hit her.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? The both of you." After a moment of silence stretched through the room, she continued, "The Red Keep should hold for a time, long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Lord Stannis in person. If it were anyone else outside those gates, I might have hoped for a private audience, but this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance of seducing his whores."

The pair went silent at that, Sansa seemingly taking the words in with wonder — as Lyarra continued to think of what would happen if Stannis beat Tyrion's forces back.

"Have I shocked you, little dove? Ask your aunt, tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs. Learn how to use it."

Lyarra wasn't certain how long the queen continued to ramble on, telling Sansa of whatever it appeared she could think of. Whether it was the wine reaching her system, or the ongoing battle, the queen seemed almost loose at the moment.

"Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace, and I was taught to smile and sing and please," Cersei stated, and at once understanding flooded through Lyarra. She longed to be taught to fight as her brothers were. To live the life of a man. Only, she was raised to be a lady. She didn't have the freedom of a choice. "He was heir to Casterly Rock, and I was sold to some stranger like a horse to be ridden whenever he desired."

"You were Robert's queen," Sansa argued.

"And you will be Joffrey's. Enjoy."

At once, one of the Lannister guards swung open the doors — dashing forward as he grunted. Lancel, she recalled. Lancel Lannister.

"What news?"

"The Imp has set the river on fire," He started. Lyarra paused as she took in the thought. He'd used the wildfire, then. Pride threatened to bleed through her, as another thought of horror reached up to meet it. Fire. Sandor wouldn't take the flames well, no doubt. Worry tugged on her heart for a minute longer, before the boy continued, "Hundreds of ships are burning, maybe more. Stannis' fleet destroyed, but... But his troops have landed outside the city walls."

"Where is Joffrey?"

"On the battlements with Lord Tyrion,"

"Bring him back inside at once,"

Lancel argued for only a moment longer before begrudgingly agreeing, stomping out of the room with haste. Lyarra longed for nothing more than the king to die in battle, to be slain by one of Stannis' nameless warriors. And yet, she understood the woman before her then better than she ever had. Cersei knew what her son was. In truth, she likely couldn't stomach the sight of the boy. But he was her son. There is nothing in the world that one loves more than their children. Lyarra would give her life for Jon, for Reyne. Even now, she would stand in front of a blade for Sansa if she needed it.

"The battle is lost, Your Grace. Stannis' troops are at the gates. When the gold cloaks saw the king leaving, they lost all heart."

"Where is my son?"

"I want to escort him back to the battle."

"Why do I care what you want?"

Cersei pushed Lancel to the ground, taking her son Tommen in hand as she marched out of the door. Sansa jumped to placate the women in the room as quickly as she could manage, coaxing them all into humming a hymn. Aianna dashed to Lyarra's side, clasping her hand in hers.

"You must go. Both of you. Run to your chambers and bar your door," Shae whispered, pushing them in the direction of the door. She nodded to Aianna, signaling the girl to pull it open. "Stannis won't hurt you."

"Come with us,"

"I need to say goodbye to someone,"

Shae all but pushed them out of the door. Lyarra clutched onto Sansa's hand as she dragged her through the hall. Once they'd reached Sansa's quarters, she nudged the girl in. She thought then of the dagger Tyrion had given her just nights before. If she had to protect herself and Sansa, she'd need it more than ever. Lyarra patted her sides for a second, searching for the blade. She had it on her just before they'd gone up to Maegor's Holdfast. It had to be in her quarters, then. Just as Lyarra turned, Sansa reached for her wrist.

"You're not going to stay with me?"

"I need to grab something. Bolt the door. I'll knock twice, so you know it's me,"

Lyarra turned on her heel as the door was shut, Aianna quick to follow. Just as they'd reached her quarters, Aianna called out for her.

"Lyarra," She called, dropping any hint of formalities. She halted in her tracks, turning to the girl in concern. Aianna was shaking with terror, each limb trembling. Lyarra shot to her side, grasping her hands in hers as she attempted to meet her gaze.

"It's alright, Aianna. I'll keep us safe. Stannis' men won't hurt you,"

Tears began to cascade down Aianna's cheeks, building as each second passed. Lyarra shot forward, pulling the girl against her as she attempted to soothe her. Her heart all but shattered as she continued to bawl in her arms, pulling Lyarra closer to her. Despite what she'd done, the girl was still a sister to her. She needed her family, now more than ever. As Lyarra pulled back, a sharp pain speared her through the gut, twisting as nausea bubbled through her to meet it.

Blood began to pour down her, pooling at her core. She reared back, meeting Aianna head-on, as the girl only fell into another pit of sobs. She was overcome with the need to comfort her, even now. To keep her safe. As she should have with Lyanna. Aianna wrenched the knife from her gut, forcing a cry from Lyarra's lips. She fell to the ground, Aianna sliding down to meet her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. She told me to. I didn't want to. Please, please believe me. I'm so sorry, Lyarra. I'm so sorry," Aianna reached to grab Lyarra's face, coating her cheeks with blood. Lyarra rasped, piercing cold flooding through her as she grasped onto her remaining force of life. At once, Aianna pulled back, and just before Lyarra could do so much as blink — shoved her dagger into her own gut, collapsing at her side.

A sharp cry left Lyarra's lips, as she dragged herself to the girl's body. Aianna was choking, blood dribbling from her lips as she convulsed. Ragged breaths fell from Lyarra's lips as she attempted to cover the girl's wounds. However, it was no use. The light fled from Aianna's eyes just as quickly, as Lyarra let out a harsh roar.

Within a moment, her own door swang open, a large figure collapsing at her feet. She recognized Sandor's touch at once, though her eyes drooped ever so slightly. Her vision was fading, the blood on her hands becoming thicker with every growing moment. For once, she found nothing but fear in Sandor's gaze. She paused, thinking of the battle itself. He shouldn't be here, she thought blearily. He left the battlefield. They'll be looking for him. She swatted him away once, before ultimately leaning into the warmth of his touch — as he raised her head to face him.

She could faintly make out the fact that he was speaking to her, though his voice was muffled. The sound, hardly recognizable.

"Sandor, Sandor," She called, reaching out to grasp onto his chainmail. "You need to go. They'll find you. You can't stay here,"

"What the fuck are you talking about? You think I'd just leave you here?"

"You have to. Take Sansa. She's in her chambers. Knock twice. Take her, and go. I'm just going to slow you down. I'm not.." She trailed off, choking on the thick blood that now coated her throat. Sandor let out a sound almost reminsicent of a whine, as he rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs in desperation. "Sandor, please. Please, just take her and go."

Before she could properly realize it, his lips were on hers — claiming them as his own. The last, and only, man she had kissed before was Gogni. Where Gogni was gentle and soft, Sandor was desperate and harsh. Her blood soaked hands pulled him closer, tugging on the strands of his hair that she could capture.

"I was waiting for you," He growled as he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, "like a fucking idiot. I sat there, waiting for you. I've got a horse, we could've left. Could've taken the little bird. I'd keep you both safe,"

"You can keep her safe. For me, for both of us. But you need to go. Now."

Lyarra wasn't certain how long the two laid there, wrapped up in one another, Sandor pressing his temple against hers. He cursed as he stepped to his feet, scowling down at her. Lyarra did her best to force a smile to her lips, waving the man off. In truth, she had never been more afraid than she was in that very moment. She was afraid of facing Lyanna, of seeing Eddard again — knowing she'd failed to protect Sansa as long as she could. She was afraid of seeing Gogni after all this time. Of leaving Petyr on his own, knowing what he could become. Of leaving Arya alone, never certain of where she ended up. Of not seeing her children grow, not knowing if Jon would make it on the wall — how Reyne fared in Winterfell. Of finding love, only to lose it just as quickly.

"Sandor?" She called, just as he began to retreat. He paused, turning after a harsh sigh. His eyes were wide, his cheeks marred not only by his burns — but stray tears. Even in this light he was beautiful, she thought.

"Promise me that you'll protect her."

"I promise, Little Wolf."

Lyarra hacked out another puddle of blood, leaning into her hands as a wail fell from her lips. By the time she was able to look up again, Sandor was gone. She leaned into Aianna's side, gazing into the lifeless orbs. She only hoped, as her eyes fell shut, that Stannis' men would find her before the Lannisters did. Before Tyrion could find her body. If she was to die tonight, at the very least — the reign of the Lannisters could as well.

So. Um. Hey guys. Bit awkward of a moment I guess. Maybe. So. Sandor and Lyarra finally kissed! Yay! Go team! Um. Admittedly Sandor now believes Lyarra is dead. So, that's a little .. awko taco.

Then.. the whole Aianna bit. This was admittedly my plan from the beginning. I tried to make the fact that Aianna was progressively pulling away a bit obvious? But. That's life. Is she really dead? Who knows. Well. I know. I do in fact know. I guess you'll have to stick around to find out ... Anyways. I know this chapter moved a bit fast, and some of it .. kinda lacked logic. But that's the point. There's a lot going on. I hope you enjoyed (shakes). And as always, feel free to leave a comment below!

Thank you,

Zevran.

[pixiedane]

I have been emotionally compromised by Star Trek Picard

MANY SPOILERS BELOW. Also rambling and rabbit holes into my psyche.

I've explained often that Ro Laren is the first Star Trek character that represented ME on screen. That the reason Voyager is my Trek is it's a whole shipful (and showful) of Ro Larens. And that is also why Picard owns my soul. From the beginning it's been ABOUT rebels who exist within and without the confines of Starfleet and how they navigate between the two.

I was told last April an appearance by Ro Laren was a likelihood in Picard S3 and since it had wrapped at that point, I believed it. I've been carrying around the potential for a Picard/Ro reunion for nearly a year and I got it and it was glorious. EXACTLY what I wanted from that scene, that conversation. It was painful and angry and yearning on both sides and could even be seen as shippy if you are a me. It was even perfect that it was in Guinan's bar.

And then minutes later she sacrificed herself. And I knew that would happen, too. Not because it was suggested to me, it wasn't. Because that's what happens to the characters I relate to the most. They are never the protagonists (I call myself after the manic pixie dream girl trope for a reason) and they never win. They barely ever survive and when they do they disappear, they are forgotten, or they turn into something unrecognizable from what I related to in the first place.

Ro gave Picard closure. She reminded him not to conflate duty with honor. She showed him he could be a good parent if he saw his child for the person they already are in addition to the person he imagines they could be. She connected his past to his present. And then she died because her purpose was fulfilled.

I actually quite like the idea of Picard as the deconstruction of the Great Man. It's more satisfying than the far more widely seen and (mis?)understood hero-turned-wise-mentor trope. JL tries to be a wise mentor but he fails at it more than he succeeds. And he hasn't given up being the hero. He hasn't given up being the rebel. He knows his name is in the title. He's still trying to prove himself to me. To me.

I sensed that Ro Laren was going to die the same way I sensed that Katrina Cornwell was going to die and I preemptively protected myself against my feelings about it by choosing not to feel. Kat died four years ago and to this day my main emotional reaction to it is the lack of an emotional reaction. I'm numb about it.

That said, Kat's death broke the narrative. It didn't make sense in the context of her character. Kat's entire arc was one of survival, the survival of self and the survival of Starfleet, and her sacrifice was a misread of that. It doesn't make sense. Katrina Cornwell is a survivor.

Ro's entire arc actually is about sacrifice. From introduction it was about the things she had to give up. Her father, her freedom, her faith, her ideals, her career, her mentor. She gave up everything over and over and over. I don't want her death and it was not necessary but it makes sense in the context of her character and in service to the reconstruction of Jean-Luc Picard. That second part may be a slap in the face but that first part is validation.

Was Ro Laren fridged? Yes. Am I happy about it? No. Am I angry about it? Intellectually yes, emotionally I'm numb. Do I hate this episode the way I do "Such Sweet Sorrow" and tbh the entirety of Disco S2? No. It breaks my heart but not my brain. The Picard/Ro scene is perfect. The part about being seen was a message to me, to the girl who wanted to be seen in/by her favorite show and wasn't until Ro showed up. With the exception of the death this episode is Anika catnip, Anika cocaine.

Jack Crusher is the most made for me character in the history of characters made for me or anyone else. The only thing different between him and every original character I've ever created for any reason is he's a boy and I love him so much I can't hold it against him. In fact, I see my boy mom relationship with my son in his relationship with his mom and I actually really needed that.

And Ro Laren was sacrificed for Jack Crusher in every possible way one character can be sacrificed for another. My emotions are literally everywhere.

[short-wooloo]

I really hate that the fucking human pet guy keeps popping up on SW tumblr

and he has some of the most irritating takes too

like how the Galaxy joining together to fight the sith in ROS shows that centralized government is unnecessary

never mind how the fleet from all over the galaxy was gathered and lead to exegol by Lando, aka was organized by a central leadership and didn't just show up on their own

And never mind how the first order rapidly conquered the galaxy precisely because they wiped out the central government, and in the absence of said central government many worlds adopted "look out for themselves" stances, which only further guaranteed the first order's successful conquest as those worlds had little chance of resisting alone

and that's just one thing, centralized government is needed in SW at the very least for dealing with common threats

threats such as...

What if the first order regroups and keeps fighting?

What if the mandalorians start conquering again?

What if we get another separatist type situation where a bunch of mega corps make a sham government that says its about democracy and self determination but really is just a corporate-military dictatorship?

What if Kanjiclub, the Guavian Death Gang, or other crime factions want to rank up from criminal organizations to actual territorial powers?

in a similar vein, what if the Hutts decide now's the time to make a comeback?

speaking of the hutts, If there’s no centralized government how do you effectively combat slavery? How do you keep slavery illegal?

What if one of the highly aggressive alien species from legends like the Ssi-ruu, the Yeventha, or the Yuuzhan-Vong get brought into canon?

what if the Chiss decide to give galactic conquest a try?

what if the Chiss start conquering worlds to harvest resources to fuel there wars against the Grysk, Vagaari, or other unknown regions powers?

what if the Yinchorri (big aggressive mind-trick immune turtles) start attacking like in legends?

which btw, was only stopped by a collective effort organized by Chancellor Valorum

Or what if stronger planets start bullying/conquering weaker planets, thus encouraging planets to create tangled webs of alliances between each other, and that in turn creates a WWI-type powder keg where a minor dispute between two planets drags their varying networks of allies into a galactic scale war?

Central government would be good for preventing that

it would also be good for enforcing a ban on superweapons and preventing the spread of that technology

very important in the post-ROS galaxy, as planet killers can now be mounted on smaller ships and mass-produced

(Not mine) The villains' plot in *The Phantom Menace* is only possible because Palpatine *takes the central government out of the picture*

and the backstory of SW is the centralized government has worked for several thousand years

so why does a few decades of it being deliberately sabotaged discount the entire concept?

Because they don't like the concept that's why

They are so obviously libertarian

I mean, their whole thesis comes down to "centralized government is unnecessary because if the collective people need some service or task done then people will just do it"

Textbook libertarian crap, the stuff that gets a town taken over by bears

And all the above is just the more dramatic exciting stuff

A central government is essential for mundane things like maintaining a universal galactic currency

Trade agreements

Consistent tax rates

saftey ratings being the same across the galaxy

Maintaining travel and communication infrastructure (eg hyperspace routes, however comms work)

exchange rates for more archaic currencies

[ravencromwell]

Ros Vortalis trans headcanons

There are some remarkable trans Holland fics and headcanons, but can we talk about Ros Vortalis, whom all of his friends simply call Vor? Who, even when he’s _dying Holland calls Vor, to be expected, but also Vortalis which’s so much longer than Ros.

A bit of googling informs me Ros is “protector” in German, which’s chef’s kiss one hundred/ten no notes V.E. But it’s also, more frequently, a diminutive of Rosalind. Disclaimer before I start these that I respect and love! the headcanons of Makt as fairly gender nonrestrictive, with power being more of a defining factor of treatment. My Makt, however, is more complicated, with gender and gender transitions being imperfect but still a site where joy can be created, much like the rest of White London existence. Putting the rest of these beneath a cut with that in mind because as a trans person, I know some days I can’t handle transness as careful complication to be navigated and don’t want to inflict it on anyone unprepared. (Though, I promise! there’re fluffy as fuck nsfw Vor/Holland and Vor/friends headcanons in here to cut the angst.)

Ros retains a shortened form of his given namefor business purposes within the Shal—we know Shal means “market” in Red London, and I tend to think it means the same in White, such that when Holland calls him a “thug from the Shal” he’s referring to Vor being in the merchant/smuggling business. When he transitions, he’s relatively young and honestly to flagrantly demand a name change would be seen by too many as blood in the water. His greatest focus, always, is Makt rather than his personal happiness and he’d rather be burdened with the “nickname” Ros and be capable of rising in the Shal in service of becoming king.

There’re two ways of transitioning: the easiest and least painful is utilizing a spell similar to Astrid’s with Lila and stealing a face and voice. But that spell fades with death and though Vor understands that his body is likely destined for desecration once he’s gone as Makt’s people drain its blood and magic, there’s still this stubborn demand that they destroy a body without the face that made him shudder every time his child self caught a glimpse (he is so grateful for a lack of mirrors in Makt for much of his young adulthood.)

So he chooses the harder, excruciating method: finds a bone magician to permanently reshape his body. Session after session, over months traveling abroad on a ship with only the open sea and crew to hear him scream himself hoarse.

The first time they share a bed, Holland strokes along the broadened shoulders, runs fingers along the scars on his chest—eyes fixed on Vor’s all the while— and murmurs: “If they did not believe you would hold the throne, they were fools.”

“I’m flattered.” He’s bright-eyed, with that deep, rolling-sea laugh.

“After this, very little would stop you.” Fools have marveled at the extent of spells across his body, and inwardly he howls in hysterical laughter because there is very little to dull pain in Makt, and the shipboard pain was so vast it made everything else feel like pinpricks by comparison. He’s never bedded someone who would know that as intimately as the man who had done his damndest to use that same magic in stopping Vor’s fist before it connected with his face, and the admiration uncoils something deep in his chest. “Sometimes I’m certain I can’t keep it. One moment it will be there and then not.” He manages a farse of a smile “Foolish, after all these decades, but such is the weakness of your future king, Holland.”

“Lucky you would have an Antari to put it back, then.”

By the time he returned to London, voice rumbling deep from an expanded chest, people understood quickly to use “Ros” with the proper pronouns or see just how effective the runes on his hands were. But well…Ros is an easier shirt than Rosalind to slip into, but it will never sit comfortably. As he develops allies, he finds that Vor and Vortalis fit easier. And it becomes a good gauge for trust. Those who understand implicitly how painful his given name is and respect that, are people worth keeping. It becomes easier, as fewer and fewer people survive who remember Rosalind.

There are far too many moments to count when former friends or lovers try to use “Ros” as a weapon, with a little smirk that says: “You never said we _couldn’t call you that.” And he’s deeply glad he made a relatively small name fuss and provided only a small chink in his armor. (Those sorts of people tend, inevitably, to cause the use of his knives. As though letting them close and showing kindness is an invitation for open season. But such are the risks in Makt, and he is a man who craves touch and closeness. What good to craft the ideal body only to never have it appreciated. The way Holland simply…withdrew from people after Talya is something almost unfathomable. Whether they’re the closest of friends or both king and night and! king and beloved—which’s pretty much always in my head—there’s a deep, profound ache that he could never touch Holland enough to make up for too many years alone.

It’s the dimmest flicker every time he sees the “knight” and “Antari” masks slip, when Holland leans against his shoulder or puts his head in Vor’s lap, eyes half-closing at fingers in his hair. But, simply because the task is nigh on impossible, doesn’t mean he won’t do his best. Vor touches Holland Vosijk a hundred thousand times in those two years of rule—and so, so many more if they both survive—and is so very, very grateful he could take the touches the best of his lovers and allies offered over the last thirty years. (On a slashy front, can we also just talk about how, as a couple, there’s an incomparable way arousal and awe intertwine for Vor _every time Holland reaches out and shows affection: a kiss against his temple as Vor lets their foreheads rest together; a hand moving slow and easy down his back. To be trusted enough for the most guarded man he’s ever met—it took Vor _months to convince him to kill Gorst and he’s never had to work so hard or wanted so desperately for someone to say yes in his life—to touch him is such a valuable thing that he has immense responsibility not to break.)

Also in couple’s verse: If Vor has a small regret, it’s that the bone magicians are far more skilled with outward, above-the-waist presentation—because the best of them have not only done this for trans people, but for criminals etc. seeking a disguise. Thankfully, they had no trouble cutting him open to ensure he would never be with child—he doesn’t have the vocabulary for dysphoria, but the idea of his stomach rounded and heavy is one of the few things that can make him viciously soul-deep terrified. But the below the waist equipment well, it’s not a magic Makt has the luxury of learning.

By the time he meets Holland, it’s the very faintest of regrets: he has a collection of strap-ons for when he and a lover want to indulge in that particular fantasy—and is comfortable enough in his skin it’s an indulgence and not a requirement. It’s beautiful to watch lovers slide to their knees and take them in their hands or mouths or slide inside and watch them arch with pleasure. But oh, oh he wishes he could _feel it. It’s not a complaint worth voicing, and honestly after he becomes king, there’s very little time to indulge.

But one day, Holland comes back, smelling of flowers holding a box, tells the guards to wait at the end of the hall because he has crucial business from “the other London” for the king’s ears alone, which has Vor intrigued and concerned because he hasn’t come close to asking Holand to send a message. But before the concern can swell to anything beyond a flicker, he sees a flush so faint anyone would miss it who wasn’t watching. (Even before the Danes, Holland held his feelings and desires in an iron grip; Vor learned early in sharing a bed that Holland loathed the idea of being heard by those not his lovers when losing control: not merely a discomfort that could add spice to an evening, but viscerally, the way it would take everything Vor had to turn his back on an armed opponent.) This is pleasure, not business and he flicks his fingers in a silent command before they can even turn to look.

"Go get yourselves some dinner,“ he says for good measure, "If there is a foe Holland cannot protect me from, there’s little more bodies can do.”

When he opens the box…there are the usual straps but the cock. The cock feels like _skin. “The Arnesians-” and oh, there’s still so much contempt in those words “With their infinite supply of magic have learned to transmute. From earth to bone, and then something softer. There is an illusion for the Arnesians who want to forget the straps.” There were layers upon layers beneath that statement: neither of them wished, at least then, to go begging for scraps, but to _take a little of the bounty Arnes had hoarded,

“_Yes!”

Neither of them know how the illusion works: it is as mysterious as the fireworks Holland has seen that fool his eyes into certainty dragons fly across the unbearably vivid Arnesian sky. It does not matter; in those moments when Holland’s mouth is hot on skin, Vor is utterly, entirely certain Holland is swallowing down the cock he has always had.

It’s almost too much, leaves him speechless for the first time in decades, has Holland scrambling up and onto the bed even as his eyes are still glassy from watching the king come undone to wrap himself around Vor’s back until the world comes into focus again. “Is it only good once or-” he asks, finally and Holland’s smirk is wicked.

When he’s upending the Ost table and coughing up blood—, so much, too much kajt I hope Holland can take the throne because whoever these bastards are they can’t rule, the thing he clings to: more than “Stay with me"—though he _tries—, more than the raw panic in Holland _swearing—is the name. _Vortalis, he says when the table overturns—though it would be such a forgivable mistake to use Ros. Vor, he says while chanting stay and one of his blood spells. He will die as who he made himself, not as he was born.

The three threads of coherence for Holland are the blood spell. That Vor _has to stay. And that if he cannot be enough to stop this, he _will not let Vor die hearing him use the wrong name.

In verses where Vor lives, they both know the "thank you” when he wakes is not for the healing, though to be alive is a joy.

[leianaberrie]

One thing I noticed is that when a ship has two white characters/actors and gains a huge fanbase the writers/producers will find a way to shoehorn a random romance/sex scene.

Even if the writers don’t care much for the ship or didn’t intend for the ship to become popular. We seen it with Klaroline how they got their hookup in the woods and then a reunion on The Originals. We seen it with Reylo. There was zero romantic indication between those two characters in TFA but the fandom of course can’t help but ship a white villain with the white heroine so Rian Johnson basically made TLJ a bad Reylo fanfic. And ROS shoehorned that kiss.

But then when it comes to a ship that has a person of color especially if they are not white passing then the ship doesn’t even get crumbs, at most the writers will just fanbait. Bellark from The100 is a perfect example of this. (Spoiler alert) That ship had a huge following but the writers didn’t budge.

I don’t ship Bamon at all but I have no doubt Bonnie and Damon would���ve hooked up if Bonnie was white. Bonkai would’ve had hate-sex, and Kai would’ve called Bonnie beautiful and danced with Bonnie at the wedding. Enzo would’ve pursued Bonnie since season 5 etc. i could go on here.

There are so many other instances of white ships getting fan-serviced by writers while a ship that has a Black character or POC could have the same dynamic as a white ship but the writers would refuse to go there.

If Rey was Black or a woc would Reylo have happened? Would Reylo even have become a popular ship? I read somewhere that if Zendaya was white, people would’ve been crackshipping her and Andrew/Peter.

Smh.

This is sooooo true! I literally have nothing to add.

[aurelim]

Echo

The Siren

❝What is it? What do you want now?❞ ❝Ugh, Poseidon above, why do I love you?? You are such a idiot! Lovable, but an idiot all the same.❞

Age: ???

Race: Siren

Gender: Nonbinary

Pronouns: They/them

Physical Appearance: Echo has the wings and feet of a large bird. Their wings are brown and soft to the touch, and in addition to wings they also have arms. Skin is dark tanned and they have short black hair. Their most distinguished physical trait are their bright yellow eyes with slitted pupils. It's hard not to notice them. Height presumed short. Echo does not have a human appearance.

Trope(s): Oblivious to love, unrequited love, last to know, insecure

Echo has been helping your family with hunts for the past eight months, but despite this they have never talked about themself before. While you do not know much about them, you do know that they keep push away at any personal questions with a cold response. Echo acts as a spotter, looking out for ships and helping with luring humans off those ships during said hunts. They have really sharp eyes, able to see thousands of miles ahead.

Beyond the cold defense mechanisms is a sensitive siren who is afraid of getting close to others. They consider themself ugly—an abomination of a half-winged half-human creature. Nowhere is safe for them; not even a tree can protect them from the wrath of humans. Echo feels so much insecurity about everything and so they don't trust easily at all in case someone betrays them. That does not stop them from helping your family out, though.

You first met them during the worst hunt of your life. You were spotted by humans and our brother was injured in the process. Echo swooped in with a distraction, and you and your family were able to make a quick escape. In thanks for their service, your parents allowed them to join you on your future hunts in case trouble like that occurs again. In return, they would get a portion of the energy you collected.

Echo remains silent for the most part, speaking with a sharp tongue when they must. Siren wings are impossible to hear, so you never know if Echo is trailing behind you. Besides the faint noise of cutting air, their presence can remain largely unknown.

A trait they likely gained in their years alone; before they met you.

Fun Facts About Echo:

Your official unofficial guardian "spirit"

"Ancient guardian spirit" as K likes to call them

Echo is demisexual, so it will take them a very long time for them to realize they have feelings for you. Demi overall

This is why Echo's romantic route has the most slowburn. They likely won't realize it until the last second

tired. just tired.

Sirens sleep though! They get sleep, but Echo gets very little since they suffer from frequent nightmares and insomnia

Stonecold to a lot of things. This includes murder and puppy eyes

Their yellow eyes glow when they sing. It allures their prey and creates a cloud of confusion, allowing them to sweep in before their victim realizes what's coming next

Echo left their nest when [REDACTED]. They were alone for six years by themself before meeting your family

Has tried human food before when they managed to get a chance. Would eat fish and fruit, but vegetables are the ban of their existence. Do not even try to put it in front of them

Loves humming a tune about a depressed man whose lover was lost at sea, presumably dead. Awfully sad, but it is their favorite

Nervous tick of theirs is when their feathers ruffle up. Same tick if they are pissed. So really you never know if they are nervous or ticked off

Faster than any existing birds. Yes, this means Echo is faster than the peregrine falcon (who can reach up to 240 miles per hour). While sirens are fast, Echo is faster than most. Much faster

You will want to keep your eyes on this RO for...many reasons.