#yes he is guilty for being a soldier of the empire why do you ask ? :)

[clownery-and-fuckery]

I am having so much fun writing Cody's guilt in Project Failsafe... he's so sad and wet cat coded and I am LOVING digging into his brain.

[athenodora-sulpicia-writer]

Artemisia x FemReader

A Princess and a Commander

A/N: I haven’t written for Artemisia in a while and I missed writing for her, so when I saw a story that gave me the perfect inspiration I knew I had to give it a go.

Warnings: None

Persia was one of the greatest empires of its time and none could match it strength in battle nor its wealth in knowledge. As such like a great and successful things, there was always someone or something wishing to topple them.

Persia was ruled by the great King Darius he was your father and you were the Princess and Persia's greatest treasure.

There had been threats recently in the capital against your family, this wasn't an uncommon assurance though it seemed the threats were becoming more frequent and closer to home and suddenly the entire palace was on high alert.

You were currently sitting in court to your father's left, whilst your brother Xerxes was sitting to his left. Matters were being discussed and disputes were being settled but you struggled to keep your attention focused entirely on the matters at hand.

your mind drifted from the throne room you were sitting to the ports and watersides that surrounded your home, to you there was nothing more beautiful than the sea and if you could anywhere at that moment, it certainly wouldn't be sitting in a room discussing politics whilst sitting looking beautiful. Instead it would be sitting by the water's edge admiring the soft sounds of the water as it rippled and flowed.

"Y/n," a voice called out though it was faint and almost inaudible when it reached your ears, your mind still wandering by the sea. "Y/n!" The voice was much louder this time and it jolted you quickly out of your thoughts.

"Yes," You called out, head turning from one side to another unsure as to who spoke your name and trying to locate the disturber. It was clear though, when you meant the slightly annoyed face of your father, that it was he who was calling for you.

"Y/n, Why weren't you listening?" he asked you, his voice was stern and almost disappointed, though he could never truly bring himself to actually sound angry at you. Now you felt guilty for not paying attention and you worried that you may have missed something important, due to his tone.

"I'm sorry father," You began to answer, upset with yourself for ignoring him even though it was unintentional, "I'm not quite sure what happened, could you repeat yourself please?" You asked him kindly, giving a vague explanation as to why you hadn't answered.

"I was explaining that I've called a guest to stay at the palace for the indefinite future, they'll be assigned to yourself to keep you safe these next coming weeks." Your father kept eye contact with you as he spoke, leaning on the left of his throne to be closer to you.

"Why on earth do I need a bodyguard," You asked him, though it seemed you hadn't though your words through before you'd said them, as they came across harshly due to raised voice and unruly tone. You were no longer sat but instead standing as you looked down at your father annoyed. Why did you need a bodyguard, there were plenty of soldiers around the palace and you could take care of yourself, you weren't a child anymore.

"Y/n keep your voice down, I don't want any back talk. This is for your own safety, you know the threats that have been made, it's to keep you safe." Even now, after you'd raised your voice at him and stood taller them him, your father wasn't angry, if anything he was more concerned than anything, is eyes conveying enough sincerity to confirm the worry but even that couldn't defuse your anger.

"I bet Xerxes isn't getting a bodyguard," You argued, pointing at your brother that sat your father's left. He'd kept himself out of the conversation thus fair but now you'd quite literally dragged him into it and he seemed less than pleased with that.

"Of course he's not, your brother can protect of himself against a threat but Y/n you haven't had much training and can barely keep your attention on the matter in the room longer than five minutes," Your father began to say to you, deciding to reason with facts than scolding. "How do you expect to me leave defenceless when your life could be at risk and you wouldn't even notice.”

You knew he was only looking out for you, he was your father of course he was and it wasn't like he was making up these facts either. Each one had been true, though the attention span one was slightly dramatised, you could pay attention to things, if anything you had some of the best hearing you knew of it. You only didn't pay attention during court and other formal gatherings because it was always the same old story being repeated for the hundredth time and it got boring very quickly.

You could tell by the look in your father's eyes that there was no arguing your way out for this and as such you wouldn't waste your breath, so instead you hung your head low and asked "When will this man be arriving?”

"They, will be arriving two days from now, until then you'll have to palace guards accompanying you during the day." Your father spoke matter of factly and now you already hated this man that would be showing up and stealing away your freedom for the foreseeable future.

"Alright father," You responded disappointed with what you had been told and quickly you left the throne room, deciding to retire to your chambers for the rest of the evening but even then you heard two of the guards from room, following closely behind you and you already detested this arrangement.

The next morning followed a very uneventful evening, you hadn't dared leave your rooms because you didn't want to be followed by two men, so instead you lock your rooms doors and curled up by the window with a book, not retiring for the night until the sky was the darkest shade of navy and the stars were brighter than before.

You'd taken your sweet time getting ready that morning, if you were going to followed by to guards, then you were going to annoy the life out of them until they were begging your father to relieve them of the duties to protect you.

Then once this 'Bodyguard' arrived you'd do the exact same thing to him and even more and you just knew he'd be running to the other end of Persia driven into madness by his Princess and then your father would have no choice but to give up and return your freedom back to you.

You'd taken an extra twenty minutes longer then usual, though you'd actually spent some of that time reading and dancing about your room, since you already knew that you really couldn't take longer then half an hour to get ready, so you tried filling out the time by doing other activities.

You knew you'd already annoyed the two guards who were to follow you for the next two days, there annoyed grunts and heavy footing was giving their annoyance towards you away. Though they'd never dare saying anything directly to you as you were their Princess and therefore you held the power with the situation.

Breakfast was much different to usual, accept from the fact that you made more of a point to talk to your brother rather than your father, as you were still greatly annoyed by his decision to strip you of your freedom. People could call you childish for doing such a thing and in all honesty you knew it was but quite frankly you didn't care and quite frankly why would you call an adults actions childish because unlike a child, an adult would always have a reason to back up their decisions.

After breakfast had concluded you'd left with a simple glance and goodbye towards your father, you could certainly hold a grudge. You didn't have any royal responsibilities to attend to today so as you walked down one of the many corridors of the palace, your mind thought through all the things you could do.

After walking out of the dining hall all your ears could hear was the heavy foot falls of the palace guards following you but when you rounded a corner and began walking down a new corridor it went quiet.

You didn't care enough to stop and check why the noises had stopped, and quite frankly looking down at the floor and being in your own little world, was far more satisfying.

The only problem was that you because your focus was on the ground and not in front of you, you hadn't been watching where you were going and not long after the corridor had gone quiet, you knocked into something hard and had to stop yourself from falling to the floor.

Your quickly regained your balance and began to look up as you steadied yourself, you were now angry that someone had knocked into you but in reality you were really only angry with yourself for yet again paying attention to your surroundings.

"Hey! watch were your going," you exclaimed in a loud and very un-Princess like voice, your tone slightly angered as you looked upon the person who you'd knocked into.

You expected to be looking upon a servant at the very most some advisor of your father's waiting for an audience but you certainly weren't expecting to see a woman, dress half like a lady and half like a soldier and suddenly you had to stop yourself from gaping.

You'd never seen a woman like her, she had black hair and blue, though her eyes were a little hard to make out due to the black eye makeup she was wearing. None of the ladies a court ever wore anything but a gown and though you were always more partially in dress, you did enjoy something a little less feminine when down by the sea.

"I beg your pardon," This wasn't voice was heavier than your own, her tone wasn't angry like yours but almost surprised and amused at once, as if she'd never had someone talk to her like that and she found it amusing.

Not one to admit you were wrong in front of a stranger you continued with your annoyance, "You walked into me, the very least you can do is apologise." You argued against this woman's amused tone but it seemed your statement had only amused her more and endeared her on.

"Alright I'll play along," She whispered it seemed the comment was more to herself then you and then you could see how her demeanour changed "I'm so very sorry my lady," She began to speak and immediately you could hear her words dripping with sarcasm. "Whilst you have me apologising would you also like me to brush hair and tie your shoes.”

It didn't matter that your anger towards the woman before was fake and instead anger towards yourself, now you were truly angry with her, not only was her amused smirk and sarcasm deeply irritating but her words were down right insulting, either she didn't know who you were or she very clearly didn't care.

"How dare you," Your voice was elevated as you raised your head and began to walk past the crude woman, knocking her shoulder on your way past. "Arrogant arse," You mumbled under your breath not caring whether this disrespectful woman had heard you or not but unbeknownst to you she had.

Once you'd neared the end of the corridor you heard your guards running down to catch up to you, though you did wonder why they stopped in the first place, strange.

You'd decided to spend the rest of your day in the gardens, having your lunch being brought out instead of eating inside and then you'd tended to some of the plants had read some more of your book, before finishing the day of with some scripture writing.

Dinner was similar to breakfast, in the way that it was uneventful though you'd decided that you couldn't ignore your father for the rest of your life. So after being nudged and encouraged along by your brother, you finally cave and spent the last bit of dinner having a conversation with your father, that thankfully had nothing to do with your safety or guarding arrangements.

[amoebaforce]

Mayhaps you could do something with the scions' reactions to finding out the WoL is an ex-imperial soldier?

Maybe after they had fallen into a form of depressed state after killing (I forgot his name but big fucking shield dude from ARR).

ahh yes, our old friend Rhitahtyn! or as my fiancé and I call him, Ritalin.

this was a very good ask, anon! due to the time period requested, i decided to include Yda and Papalymo for your reading pleasure. enjoy! :D

characters featured: Thancred Waters, Y'shtola Rhul, Urianger Augerelt, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Yda Hext, Papalymo Totolymo tags: angst, canon war and violence, poor mental health, PTSD symptoms, ARR spoilers, gn!WoL

Thancred

He’s noticed the WoL withdrawing since Cape Westwind fell. Noticed how their eyes glaze when anyone brings up the Legion. It was a bigger, deeper sadness than Thancred had ever seen in their face. Closer to guilt, really. But why? 

The answer evades Thancred, until he catches the WoL crying in the back room of a tavern. Only then does he finally hear the truth. Thancred wishes he could say he’s surprised, but unfortunately, he isn’t. He’s suspected that the WoL was ex-Imperial for a few months now. 

The signs are all there — their unerring discipline, how fast they eat, even the way they make their bed. It’s all military. The kind of training that breaks you down and rebuilds you in a different shape. The kind that leaves a mark.

He keeps their secret if they want him to, of course. Thancred isn’t known for his loose lips. What he offers the WoL is discretion; a quiet place to cry, an open ear to talk to, a silent understanding when all is too loud. 

“You did the right thing,” he tells them one night, after a bout of panic drove them screaming from their bed. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. You feel selfish for leaving, selfish for living. But if the option is being selfish or being dead… well, then, I’m glad you chose the former.” 

Y’shtola

When the Warrior of Light comes to her quarters in the dead of night, with eyes full of tears and a heart full of secrets, Y’shtola can do nothing but let them in. They talk for hours, until the sun’s rays began to peek from under the horizon. 

Y’shtola is more horrified than shocked. She’d gathered through weeks of close contact that the WoL had a history with the Empire, but knowing it was that of a defected soldier casts all her experiences with them in a new light.

The news also demystifies the Warrior for Y’shtola, if only a little. Suddenly, their uncanny efficiency and knack for tactics make perfect sense… and so does the Warrior’s ferocity against the Empire. It isn’t just politics — it’s personal.

From that night on, Y’shtola brews the WoL a special herbal tea, one meant to induce a dreamless sleep. It works most of the time. When it doesn’t, Y’shtola wakes to a timid knock on the door, so faint she almost misses it. 

Without fail, Y’shtola ties her dressing gown, welcomes them inside. She might joke about the lateness of the hour, but in truth, she’d never think of turning them away. Not after all they lost to be here. 

Urianger

Urianger first learns of the Warrior’s past by accident. They were alone in the Sands together, combing through some scrolls about primals, when Urianger’s curious nature got the better of him. He asked one too many questions about their health, a conversation spiraled out of control, and suddenly the WoL was confessing to the crime of defecting from the Imperial Legion.

He feels incredibly guilty about this, seeing how much the admission upsets the Warrior, and swears he won’t tell another soul. He knows just how terrifying it is to be on the Empire’s hitlist, having been branded a heretic himself in the past. 

Urianger then spends several weeks trying to make up for the incident by any means he deems necessary. Mostly by expediting every research request the WoL gives him — but every few nights, an “anonymous” gift appears on the WoL’s door. 

Sometimes it’s food. Bowls of soup manifesting in their room, sweets delivered to inn rooms via courier. Other times, it’s a piece of equipment they’ve been meaning to purchase, or a vial of medicine. Always something useful; always lacking attribution.But the WoL doesn’t need something as base as a note to know their benefactor’s identity. 

The truth is written in the gifts’ timing. They only appear after the WoL spends a long day dealing with the Empire: spying behind enemy lines, putting down war machina, setting traps for Imperial scouts. All the tasks that reawaken bloody memories in the Warrior’s head. It’s the kind of quiet acknowledgement that could only come from one who knows.

Alphinaud

It had never occurred to Alphinaud that the WoL had been a soldier before. Not until Cape Westwind. He wasn’t there — he didn’t see the fracture happen. But when the Warrior returned, it was clear that something on that battlefield broke them.

Their face goes stony, eyes emptied as if glimpsing the future through an orb. The lines around their mouth become permanent. That’s when Alphinaud gets to thinking. Maybe it isn’t the future they see before them. Maybe it’s the past.

After a few weeks of watching the Warrior endure this silent torment, Alphinaud can’t stand it any longer. One night, he corners them after dinner and asks a very simple, very pointed question. “Were you an Imperial soldier?”

The Warrior flinches as if slapped. They can’t lie to the boy, though, especially not while he gives them that earnest look of his. The WoL nods cautiously, and over the next few days, they slowly begin to divulge their story. Why they joined, the things they saw, how they managed to get away. Alphinaud absorbs the information slowly, taking his time to mull over what they say, before concluding that it changes very little about his relationship to the Warrior. 

If anything, he feels even more respect toward them now that he knows. After all, they risked everything to leave the Empire. Once they got away, all logic dictates that they’d spend the rest of their life hiding from it. Instead, they’d put their life on the line again and again in the interest of destroying the selfsame power that indentured them. 

Yda

The WoL and Yda are doing reconnaissance on Imperial movements in the Twelveswood when all hells break loose. They’re getting ready to leave when a scouting party bursts out of the trees behind them, trapping them on a cliff near Sylph territory.

Things are dicey for the briefest moment, but between the two of them, the soldiers go down with relative ease. And yet, when Yda’s fist finds the last Imperial’s jaw and sends them tumbling, she turns to find the Warrior of Light frozen in place. Their eyes are fixed on the bare face of a fallen scout, wide and brimming with a kind of fear Yda has never seen on their face. They’ve been jumpy lately, quieter than usual, but this sort of terror is decidedly unprecedented.

“Hey,” she says gently, recognizing the jagged heave of their chest. “What’s got you so upset? Did you know that guy?” Yda’s jaw drops when they nod. The story comes out in broken snippets as she leads the WoL to safety, and every detail makes Yda feel sicker.

Immediately, conflict rings through her head. She hates the Empire, hates what it did to her family, hates everyone associated with it. She wants more than anything to watch it all burn. But in that moment, no matter how hard she might try to, might want to, Yda can’t bring herself to hate the Warrior. Especially not while they’re still wiping their eyes.

She doesn’t know what that says about her. Doesn’t want to think about it. She presses her mouth flat, face sullen below her mask. “We all have a past,” Yda says. “I guess it’s the future that matters.”

Papalymo

From the moment they met, Papalymo knew the Warrior was hiding something. There was just a certain look in their eye — a veil of mystery that hardly ever slipped an inch. It wasn’t the facade of a charlatan. Nothing so malicious; more like the carefully curated mask of one who may fall apart at any minute.

He said nothing of it, merely watched carefully, until after Operation Archon. That’s when the mask began to slip. The WoL’s under-eyes were suddenly streaked with purple, their mind far away. Papalymo made it his business to know why, but he could do nothing so tactless as ask them outright.

Instead, the thaumaturge consorts with the rest of the Scions, compiling data and comparing information, until he is able to reasonably hypothesize that the WoL’s past included some kind of military service. 

The rest of the pieces click into place when he overhears the Warrior talking in their sleep. Papalymo is roused from his bedroll by the sound of their mumbling, louder than the rustling of the Twelveswood overhead. “No, Legatus,” they whimper. “Don’t wanna… can’t make me.”

Papalymo’s heart sinks. So this was it — their deep, dark secret. He ruminates until dawn, wondering about every little detail of the story. Were they conscripted? Did they enlist? Where were they from, really? What sort of tragedies compelled them to disobey, to flee? He will never ask. He isn’t sure he wants to know.

[iamda05]

My Clone Oc Tanger (part 1)

Tanger forgot what generation he was, he forgot his Ct number too. He isn't really in a battalion but volunteers as a therapist for the surving clones of krells battalion. He studied psychology at Kamino university because he kept getting beaten up at combat training, because he has strong opinions about things out of empathy for others. He understands his brothers but his brothers don't understand him. Also fun fact: he doesn't brush his hair, and yeah, he's named after a mall. Tanger is very dedicated to his personal beliefs, the butterfly squad stories are an account of his discoveries through living with 6 other clones who are all bad people, but also good ones at the same time, it's just you who determines who they are. Tanger always analyzes the meaning of things in clone culture and he represents clones as a culture in his descriptive novels, he's not very good at fighting or following orders, but is good at talking about why people do those things. Yes, when he wrote those books, he may or may not have pretended to be a Kaminoan. Tanger dosent feel like a clone trooper because of his overthinking and forgetting everything all the time, Tanger is wise, but not like an owl, more like a butterfly, I know that sounds cringe. He feels guilty about everything too. The meaning of life is Tanger, nothing you can do about it. He thinks battles are dumb and doesn't do them, he would rather try to talk to the droids, he thinks the clankers are hilarious, and wants to adopt one, Tanger loves the clankers too much to fight them, and he understands their just like clones, goofy and cute! Tanger also thinks count dooku would be interesting to talk to. When none of his brothers are around, Tanger likes to hang out in the medbays and reply to posts on the holonet with a datapad, his comments are really smart tho, also when he's in the medbay just hanging out there, he likes to overhear the researcher's conversations on illnesses and try to understand them. Tanger is online friends with Fives. Tanger also likes to break up fights and his strategies always work. At the end of the war Tanger dosent mind the empire because he always found palpatine to be really funny and nice, his knowledge of palpatine is only shitposts he sees on social media btw, and secret funny clips, he loves palpatine as a meme, so if there's an empire there's more memes. He thinks everything going on in the galaxy is funny because of all the time he spends on social media. During order 66 when he gets the headache and it says good soldiers follow orders, he's like jokes on you I'm not even a soldier, Tanger actually regularly gets headaches too, so he doesn't mind it and thinks it's normal. Tanger never dies, like his soul transfers to the greater multiverse at the end. The butterfly squad stories are about relationships/psychology. And my other clone ocs names are Dagny, Korts, Checkereye, Davian, Shatter, and 744, and it's about the complicated relationships and personal beliefs between all of them. Tanger is really social and always asks to many personal questions right off the bat, he feels comfortable going up to random people and being nosy. More multiverse clone shit in the next one bye

[wisdomrays]

QUESTIONS & ANSWERS: Are Muslims Guilty of Imperialism?

This charge continues to be leveled against the Muslim world. I would like to counter it by asking the following questions:

Given the existing circumstances of 1,400 years ago, how would any one living in Makka or Madina go about exploiting his own clan and tribe? If the supposedly exploited lands and people were those of the Hijaz, which were poor, unfruitful, and barren, who would have wished to invade or exploit them? It is ludicrous to level the charge of imperialist colonialism against the most noble-minded Muslims, who risked their lives to spread the message of Islam; who spent the greater part of their lives far from their children, families, homes, and native lands fighting armies ten or twenty times their size; and who felt deeply grieved when they did not die on the battlefield and join the earlier martyrs for Islam. We ask ourselves what worldly gain they obtained in return for such struggle, deprivation, and sacrifice!

Those who invaded, occupied, and exploited others with the worst intentions (and results) of imperialism are power-hungry individuals or nations. To mention a few: Alexander the "Great" and Napoleon, the Roman empire and Nazi Germany, the Mongol armies unleashed by Genghis Khan and the colonizing armies unleashed by western Europe, Russian dictatorship (whether czarist or communist) and the American empire (whether "manifest destiny" or "making the world safe for democracy"). Wherever such conquests came and went, they corrupted the morality of the conquerors and the conquered, causing chaos, conflict, tears, bloodshed, and devastation. Today their heirs, like bold thieves who bluff property owners to conceal their theft of that very property, turn to besmirching Islam, its Prophet, and his Companions.

True Muslims have never sought to exploit others. Nor have they let others do so where Muslim government had jurisdiction. At a time when Muslim armies were running from triumph to triumph, Caliph 'Umar said: "What befits me is to live at the level of the poorest Muslims," and he really did so. As he took only a few olives a day for his own sustenance, who was he exploiting?

After one battle, when a Muslim was asked to take the belongings of an enemy soldier whom he had fought and killed, he said: "I did not participate in the battle to take spoils." Pointing to his throat, he continued: "What I seek is an arrow here and to fall as a martyr." (His wish was granted.) While burning with the desire for martyrdom, who was he exploiting?

In another battle, a Muslim soldier fought and killed a leading enemy who had killed many Muslims. The Muslim commander saw him pass by his dead enemy. The commander went to the head of the dead soldier and asked who had killed him. The Muslim did not want to reply, but the commander called him back in the name of God. The Muslim felt himself obliged to do so, but concealed his face with a piece of cloth. The following conversation took place:

-Did you kill him for the sake of God?

-Yes.

-All right. But take this 1,000 dinar piece.

-But I did it for the sake of God!

-What is your name?

-What is my name to you? Perhaps you will tell this to everyone and cause me to lose the reward for this in the afterlife.

How could such people exploit others and establish colonies all over the world? To speak frankly, those who hate Islam and Muslims are blind to the historical truth of how Islam spread.

Let's look at what exploitation and imperialism are. Imperialism or colonization is a system of rule by which a rich and a powerful country controls other countries, their trade and policies, to enrich itself and gain more power at the other's expense. There are many kinds of exploitation. In today's world, they may take the following forms:

• Absolute sovereignty by dispossessing indigenous people in order to establish the invader's direct rule and sovereignty. Examples are western Europe's conquest of North and South America, as well as Australia and New Zealand, as well as the Zionists' conquest of Palestine.

• Military occupation so that the invaders can control the conquered nation's land and resources. One example is British colonial rule in India.

• Open or secret interference and intervention in a country's internal and foreign affairs, economy, and defense. Examples are those Third World countries who are manipulated and controlled by various developed countries.

• The transfer of intellectuals, which is currently the most common and dangerous type of imperialism. Young, intelligent, and gifted people of the countries to be exploited are chosen, given stipends, and educated abroad. There they are introduced to and made members of different groups. When they return to their country, they are given influential administrative and other posts so that they can influence their country's destiny. When native or foreign people linked to exploiters abroad are placed in crucial positions in the state mechanism, the country is conquered from inside. This immensely successful technique has enabled Western imperialists to achieve many of their goals smoothly and without overtly rousing the enmity of the people they wish to subjugate. Today, the Muslim world is caught in this trap and thus continues to suffer exploitation and abuse.

Whatever kind of imperialism they are subjected to, countries suffer a number of consequences:

• Various methods of assimilation alienate people from their own values, culture, and history. As a result, they suffer crises of identity and purpose, do not know their own past, and cannot freely imagine their own future.

• Any enthusiasm, effort, and zeal to support and develop their country is quenched. Industry is rendered dependent upon the (former) imperial masters, science and knowledge are not allowed to become productive and primary, and imitation is established firmly so that freedom of study and new research will gain no foothold.

• People remain in limbo, totally dependent upon foreigners. They are silenced and deluded by such empty phrases as progress, Westernization, civilization, and the like.

• All state institutions are penetrated by foreign aid, which is in reality no more than massive financial and cultural debt. Imports, exports, and development are wholly controlled by or conducted according to the exploiter's interests.

• While no effort is spared to keep the masses in poverty, the ruling classes become used to extravagant spending and luxury. The resulting communal dissatisfaction causes people to fight with each other, making them even more vulnerable to outside influence and intervention.

• Mental and spiritual activity is stifled, and so educational institutions tend to imitate foreign ways, ideas, and subjects. Industry is reduced to assembling prefabricated parts. The army tends to become a dumping ground for imperialist countries, for its purchases of expensive hardware ensure the continued well-being of the latter's industries.

We wonder if it is really rational to liken the Islamic conquest to imperialism, which brought disastrous consequences wherever it went.

The victory of Muslim armies never caused a great exodus of people from their homes and countries, nor has it prevented people from working by putting chains on their hands and feet. Muslims left the indigenous people free to follow their own way and beliefs, and protected them in exactly the same way it protected Muslims. Muslim governors and rulers were loved and respected for their justice and integrity. Equality, peace, and security were established between different communities.

If it had been otherwise, would the Christians of Damascus have gathered in their church and prayed for a Muslim victory against Christian Byzantium, which was seeking to regain control of the city? If Muslims had not been so respectful of non-Muslims' rights, could they have maintained security for centuries in a state so vast that it took more than 6 months to travel from one end to another?

One cannot help but admire those Muslim rulers and the dynamic energy that made them so, when we compare them to present-day rulers. Despite every modern means of transportation, telecommunications, and military back-up, they cannot maintain peace and security in even a small area of land.

Today, many scholars and intellectuals who realize the value of Islam's dynamics, which brought about Islam's global sovereignty and which will form the basis of our eternal existence in the Hereafter, expressly tell us that Muslims should reconsider and regain them. While conquering lands, the Muslims also were conquering their inhabitants' hearts. They were received with love, respect, and obedience. No people who accepted Islam ever complained that they were culturally prevented or ruined by the arrival of Muslims. The contrast with the reality of Christian Europe's conquests is stark and obvious.

Early Muslims evaluated the potential of knowledge and art in the conquered lands. They prepared and provided every opportunity for local scholars and scientists to pursue their work. Regardless of their religion, Muslims held the people in high regard and honored them in the community. They never did what the descendants of the British colonialists in America did to the American Indians or in Australia to the Aborigines, the French to the Algerians, or the Dutch to the Indonesians. On the contrary, they treated the conquered people as if they were from their own people and religion, as if they were brothers and sisters.

Caliph 'Umar once told a Coptic Egyptian who had been beaten by a Makkan noble to beat him just as he had been beaten. When 'Umar heard that 'Amr ibn al-'As had hurt the feelings of a native Egyptian, he rebuked him: "Human beings were born free. Why do you enslave them?" As he went to receive the keys to Masjid al-Aqsa, 'Umar visited and talked to priests in different churches in Palestine. Once he was in a church when it was time to pray. The priest repeatedly asked him to pray inside the church, but 'Umar refused, saying: "You may be harassed by other Christians later on because you let me pray in the church." He left the church's premises and prayed outside on the ground.

These are but a few examples to indicate how Muslims were sensitive, tolerant, just, and humane toward other people. Such an attitude of genuine tolerance has not been reached by any other people or society.

[kingwuko]

Wuko in the Comics: Ruins of the Empire: Book 1, Part 1

Welcome to my second post on Wuko in the comics. In this post I’ll be discussing the first half of Ruins of the Empire: Book 1. Wu is a prominent character in this comic trilogy, and there is lots of character development and exploration for him. There are also a lot of scenes with Wu and Mako together, and what’s more, there are a handful of visual parallels to Korrasami!

Ruins of the Empire

Book 1 of RotE was released in May 2019. The art style is different from Turf Wars- the colors are very vibrant and it almost looks like stills of the animated series. It takes place 3 months after the conclusion of the animated series, and there is lots of continuity following the events of Turf wars. Some major plot points that carry from Turf Wars include: Wu has been governing the Earth Kingdom, Korra and Asami are in a firmly established relationship, and Zhu Li is President of the United Nations.

Plot Summary

The first half of Book 1 of RotE highlights the transition of the Earth Kingdom into a democracy by focusing on the first state to hold its elections, Gaoling. Gaoling’s election is at risk of being disrupted by Earth Empire general, Guan, who didn’t surrender when the rest of the empire did. The Krew decides to accompany King Wu to Gaoling to ensure the election proceeds without interference.

Major plot points in the first half of Book 1

We start out with a flashback that sets the timeline for the rest of the comic. In Gaoling, Commander Guan is running an earth empire “reeducation camp” and has just gotten word that Kuvira surrendered, but isn’t planning to give up so easily. He insists that his “experiments” and the Earth Empire will go on, with or without Kuvira as the Earth Emperor…. Then we jump ahead 3 months to Republic City, City Hall. We start out with an excellent frame, the first of many Wuko Korrasami parallels! Get excited, there are SO many!

Bolin is working for President Zhu Li Moon now, because, why not? He just quit his job working with Mako on the police force, and now he’s Zhu Li’s administrative assistant or something. Zhu Li is going to be introducing King Wu for a “big speech” to the citizens of Republic City. Korra gives Wu a friendly elbow nudge and asks if he’s ready. (the first of many wholesome friendship moments between the two of them)

Wu is not ready, he’s nervous. He asks Mako to read his speech for him, and Mako says no way- but then he reassures Wu that he’ll do great. “Just be yourself” Wu is immediately comforted and says that Mako always knows the right thing to say and that must be why he keeps Mako around! (I can think of a couple other reasons...) Mako’s expressions are very stoic and closed off. He’s got his arms crossed and looks grumpy (I feel like I’m always saying Mako looks grumpy. But that’s the best adjective I can come up with).

Wu begins his speech where he announces that it’s almost time for the Earth Kingdom states to begin holding elections, starting in the state of Gaoling. Grandma Yin and cousin Tu are in the audience and Yin is booing Wu, and also yelling “Long live the monarchy” while holding framed portraits of Wu and Hou-Ting.

Asami, Korra, Mako and Varric are standing behind Wu, applauding along with the crowd (well, the crowd minus Yin). Korra and Mako casually compliment Wu, saying that he's doing great and almost looks like a real leader! Wu says that within a year there will be a peaceful transition to democracy. He gets bombarded by questions and panics and starts singing. He tosses his stylish hat into the crowd, which Yin catches and says “you’ll always be my king!” Mako covers his face with his hands, Korra says ”well you did tell him to be himself” and Mako says “this is NOT what I meant”. Sorry Mako. You know Wu better than anyone so you should have known a song was coming. Zhu Li takes the podium and Wu dramatically faints/collapses into Mako’s arms. I presume on purpose.

We cut to a scene of Kuvira’s trial. Kuvira, after being read the charges against her, pleads not guilty (because every thing she did was for the “greater good”), Suyin confronts her and Kuvira apologizes but Suyin isn’t having it and forcefully tells her that apologies aren’t enough, she has to take responsibility.

We move on to President Moon’s office, where Wu is sitting on a sofa and Bolin welcomes Asami, Mako and Korra in. Mako lampshades Bolin’s many career changes. Bolin makes a comment to Mako that just because Mako has “found” himself it doesn’t mean the rest of them have. I, for the life of me, can’t figure out exactly what Bolin is trying to say here. Is he referring to the fact that Mako has “found” his career as a detective? Or something else, like his true feelings for Wu? Probably the first thing but us Wuko shippers will happily apply it to the other thing.

Once everyone is settled in, Wu asks them to come with him to Gaoling for the upcoming elections! Mako is actually not thrilled, and tells Wu that they aren’t going to be there for him to show off as his entourage. Wu is like No, that’s not it! Well, yes, kinda. He wants their help dealing with the Earth Empire loyalists being led by Guan. The Earth Kingdom army is understaffed and Wu is worried the Guan will try to prevent the elections from happening. The Krew agrees that it could be a problem, especially since it could cause other states to back out of holding elections and allow the earth empire to rise again.

So the Krew plans to come to Gaoling to show support for the elections, hopefully deter Guan from interfering, and Mako says they will keep Wu safe. Zhu Li encourages Bolin to go as well. Wu is very excited to team up with Mako again! After they leave the President's office, Korra suggests going to go speak to Kuvira to try to gather intel on Guan- Asami is not thrilled and doesn’t want to go with her because Kuvira was responsible for her father’s death. Korra is understanding and supportive and they share a lovely little kiss before Korra heads off.

Korra arrives at Kuvira’s prison with Naga. We catch a quick glimpse into Kuvira’s mind as she remembers a moment from her childhood when she ran away from her parents-after her parents accused her of breaking a vase, the take away her toys and lock her in her room “for her own good”, and she uses her earth bending to break the wall and escape. This and other flashbacks attempt to make us more sympathetic to Kuvira so we can accept her redemption arc in the remainder of the comics. After her little flashback, Korra and Kuvira discuss Guan. Kuvira says she didn’t know Guan hadn’t surrendered, and that Korra should consider him a major threat because he is cunning and strategic. Then Kuvira tells Korra if she wants to stop Guan, she should bring Kuvira along to reason with him and convince him to stand down and surrender. Korra is not convinced, but Kuvira tells her to take time to think about it, and she’ll be there to help when Korra asks.

Meanwhile, Guan is rallying his troops. He’s got a sizable regiment of soldiers along with tanks, and is giving them a big speech about taking back the empire and rising from the ruins of defeat. He and his troops head out of their fortress, presumably to do exactly what everyone is worried about and stop Gaoling’s election.

Mako and Wu Scenes

Mako and Wu are featured in many scenes of these comics, together more often than not!

The very first scene with Wu, he is standing right next to Mako, in the same frame as Korra and Asami. I realize “standing next to each other” might not actually be ground breaking evidence for Wuko, but it feels like a parallel to Korrasami, and most importantly creates kind of an establishing shot, planting Wu at the center along with Korra. This is kind of amazing considering he was in only one season of the show and he was largely a comic relief character that I don’t think the writers meant for us to take seriously. There is a pattern of parallels in RotE with Korrasami and Wuko, and we don’t really need to reach for them. They are right there, visually.

We also get to see some lovely moments of Korra’s and Wu’s friendship. She elbows him good-naturedly. She’s kind and supportive. She compliments him. He does seem a little awkward but overall it seems he really fits in with the Krew now, and I find it really sweet. His characterization feels very different from the show. He isn’t obnoxiously flirting with every 'dame' he lays eyes on. He isn’t bratty, or materialistic. He’s still goofy and lands some comic relief joke moments, but overall he is treated like an actual character with substantial development and plot-advancing roles.

During Wu’s speech, Mako is staring like, way too intently at him while casually complementing how he almost looks like a real leader. (Well, up until Wu starts singing, and then his second-hand embarrassment seems more intense than the others, who mostly just seem a little stunned, while Mako has his face buried in his hands). Also, the running gag of Grandma Yin being obsessed with royalty has it’s funny moments during his speech, but I really like it because the fact that Mako’s grandma is reverent, affectionate, AND outspoken with Wu would probably create an interesting in-law dynamic, right? Also, during his song, the tosses his hat out to the crowd which Yin catches like a single lady catching the bridal bouquet, and says “You’ll always be my King!” I like to imagine that she now wears his hat everywhere, along with Mako’s scarf. I know I’m reaching but Yin wearing both their accessories is another Wuko moment in my mind.

Let’s also talk about Wu fainting. After his panic-singing, Zhu Li quickly takes over and Wu steps back and dramatically faints, saying “Wu down”- right into Mako’s arms. Why into Mako’s arms? Did he step back and strategically aim himself at Mako? Technically the closest person to him was Varrick. So he had to stagger back diagonally and fall back toward Mako on purpose. Did Mako catch him with lightning-fast reflexes? Korra was also right there and she’s the Avatar, you’d think she’d react quicker than Mako. Nope. The best explanation is that Wu for sure was intentionally falling into Mako’s arms, and Mako’s ‘protect Wu’ instincts kicked in faster than anyone else's because.. Well. You ship Wuko. You know what I'm saying. <3

During the conversation in Zhu Li’s office, once again, visually Mako and Wu are parallel to Korra and Asami. They are sitting next to each other on a couch opposite Korra and Asami. However, there is this one moment where Mako is NOT HAVING IT with Wu. When Wu asks the Krew to join him, Mako is like, why? For show? No way. He says “We’re not your entourage, Wu.” Honestly that was kinda mean of him to say. I’m not sure what to make of it other than Mako is suddenly grumpy because his brother (who was visibly offended by Mako lamp-shading his career-hopping) snatched away a tray of cupcakes a moment before. Still, Wu is quick to reassure him that it’s not like that at all, and delivers the news of Guan and quickly makes a case that it’s the practical thing to do considering the political climate. Mako immediately agrees after that, and quickly flips his script to “we’ll keep you safe”. And Wu’s triple “yes” response with an excited fist in the air is enough of a Wuko moment for me.

When they leave Zhu Li’s office, yet another visual Korrasami/Wuko parallel. Korra and Asami are in the back holding hands, and Mako and Wu are in the front with Wu’s arm draped around Mako’s shoulders. Wu is very happy that Mako is coming along. Says they should get a smoothie to celebrate, and it’ll be just like old times! I’m sure Wu missed Mako. Mako doesn’t seem quite as thrilled but at this point it's really just Mako’s face. He just always looks like that. Who knows what he’s thinking inside.

What this means for Wuko

So if you are writing some fanfic or just coming up with headcanons with the comics in mind, there is a lot of material to work with right away. They are in close proximity for most of their scenes. Wu is accepted by the Krew, and he is buddy-buddy enough with Korra to presume he’s probably been talking to her outside of the scenes depicted in the comics. So there’s some potential for wingman or matchmaker Korra, or at the very least she will be happy and supportive of them getting together since she has warmed up to Wu a lot. Both Mako and Wu have matured enough that a healthy relationship is within reach. Wu clearly has affection toward Mako, and Mako still has that protective instinct toward Wu, even if he looks like he’s not having a great time (But like I said, he looks like that all the time, so I'm pretty sure he just has resting bitch face).

So that is about the halfway point of book 1. The next post I will talk about the second half of book 1. Some things to look forward to: a sauna scene, Mako, Bolin and Wu giving Kuvira the Bitchiest collective look ever, and Wu casually telling Mako that he loves him.

Wuko in Turf War

Wuko in RotE part 2

[robinasnyder]

My thoughts on Crosshair and s01e15 are thus:

I actually don’t like Crosshair. He said nasty stuff to Rex, among other things. That being said, I think he’s interesting and has real potential to be compelling.

A lot of people are saying the chip isn’t out. But I’m very certain it actually is. Before he even revealed it was gone, I mentioned to my husband that I thought the chip had been burned out. There’s a big difference between how he acted when it was first turned on and at Bracca, and then on Ryloth and in this episode. Even when he’s verbally sniping at Hunter, there’s something gentle in his voice.

I’ve seen people ask why he would go from “it wasn’t my choice” to “Haha! I’ve been free all along”. Cause, well, he didn’t. The Chip was there. Tarkin did turn it on. The thing about the chips (and what we see with Howser) is that the personality remains. The chips didn’t make them soulless robots. It made them act on two ideas 1) good soldiers follow orders and 2) your orders are to kill the Jedi. Once the Jedi are gone, that control fades.

We actually see it almost immediately in the first episode when the regular clones end up fighting the Bad Batch, and also end up shutting them out. You remember Soup? Yes, everyone white washed their armor (which is an ironic symbolic thing, because oh the whole making the entire batch as white as possible thing, but I digress). But everyone also is still acting like themselves in times when they aren’t under orders.

So, Crosshair on the chip is still Crosshair, but while he’s also been a “don’t tell me what to do” type, suddenly he has to follow orders. But that rebellion is still there. I bet that the chip was either damaged (and therefore removed) with the burn, or he used the burn to have it removed. If you zoom in, you can actually kinda see the white scar.

So, let’s say the chip’s out? Why stay?

Well, his family not only abandoned him once, but multiple times and serious injured him. There’s a lot of hurt there. He still needs medical attention for a while. When that heals, what he’s left with is no family, but a job where he’s a Commander and he’s important. He outranks Hunter, and even if the TK troopers don’t like him, they have to respect him. Hell, even Vice Admiral Rampart eventually listens to him.

Crosshair has secured a safe place for himself. So, he decides to stay. Then he decides to wants his old team back. He wants his brothers, his family. All of them are so specialized that they would be both useful and safe, so long as they’ll follow orders. So when he sees Hunter, that’s what he offers: A safe place for Omega, away from the fighting, and a safe, secure job where there’s so actual respect. He clearly believes that being above the regs makes them special and makes them valuable.

Unfortunately for him, we all know the empire would (and did) drop him at the slightest sign of disloyalty, because he’s a clone and they don’t trust him. Even if he got everyone he wanted, eventually, the Empire would kill them. But he doesn’t know that. Hunter’s got a pretty good idea of it, though, which is why he’ll never agree.

So, when Crosshair admits that the chip is out, and Hunter asks him for how long, Crosshair asks if it matters. He knows they’re disappointed in him for the choices he makes. He knows they don’t like him. Clearly, they don’t love him to leave him. But they know about the chips and still never, ever tried to reason with him. They never tried. So why does it matter? They didn’t come for him when they thought he was 100% innocent, let alone when they know he’s been guilty for a while.

But what I loved about the confrontation was that Crosshair clearly loves them more fiercely than any of them. They’re willing to show that devotion for Omega, and probably for each other. I suspect Crosshair is hurt because he knows he loves them more. He’s the only one who uses the word “brother”, the way regular clones do. Even Echo doesn’t call them brothers. But it means something to Crosshair.

Given his designation number (9904) my guess is that he’s actually the youngest of them all.

Do I like Crosshair? No. He’s an asshole. But he’s interesting. And in this case, he’s right. Hunter and the others havent’ treated him well. The closest any of them came to admitting any positive feeling toward him was Wrecker admitting that he missed him. Omega told him she knew it wasn’t his fault, but she’s a kid and he’s hunting them, so of course she’s not going to be happy to see him. No one else has expressed any need to get him back. The audience never sees it. The first time Hunter expresses any such sentiment is when he’s already captured.

Hunter and the others are wrong. They were wrong to not go back for him, or to try and help. They were wrong, and Crosshair deserved to point it out. That Hunter did knock him out instead of shoot him, and that Hunter had him taken with them is his first step to making up for not caring enough.

[omgkalyppso]

oh request time!! I request claurenz with "sure you can use me as a pillow" :D

Although this was a softer prompt from the list, I'm in a whump mood. Possibly body horror tw? emetophobia tw? Also Fae is there and it's like Fae as a student AU because. Also I didn't proofread. Again. It's tumblr.

.

There was no room for mounts in the Imperial Palace. Claude was on foot with his companions, among the screaming, the clanging of metal, and explosions of magic. He'd kept himself far from his imperial allies in the chaos. It felt rude to question their allegiance, but above all, now, would be the worst time to find a dagger in his back. Hilda and Raphael held one door to the throne room, Caspar and Linhardt the other, though they cared less about their position than Petra's unconscious body in Linhardt's glowing arms. So long as they didn't Warp away, they were serving their purpose.

Ignatz was at his back, helping him weave carefully up the steps to where Edelgard and Byleth clashed together. His heart had to stay out of it, but he could see how their emotions were tangled in their duel.

The sound of grinding stone pulled his attention away from the angry bite of relic weapons cracking in agony, in heartbreak, in despair. Claude hadn't pieced together what they were yet, but he'd seen the dragon at Garreg Mach, seen the art of the Immaculate one, seen Maurice and Macuil and the bones he'd held in his hand since the death of his grandfather. Something was wrong with the relic weapons, and something was worse when they fought one another.

For a moment Claude thought he'd confused the sound for the pained wail of the demonic beast that Sylvain, Fae, Dedue and Lorenz were keeping away from the soldiers at the base of the stairs, but then Lorenz had arched backwards as a dark shadow clouded over him, and Claude caught sight of where a wall had opened, or maybe a door — there were too many people in too small a space to see it clearly, and more masked mages, of a kind they'd seen many times now, were quietly joining the fray.

He took a steadying breath, preparing to shout out a warning, but then Lysithea and Seteth were tearing into their ranks, and Dedue clearly hit something vital in the demonic beast, and he had to trust his back to more than Ignatz's ready sword as he advanced to face the Emperor.

.

Lorenz crashed against the tiled floor, whiplash and collision bouncing the back of his head against the unforgiving surface. He coughed and felt the burn of blood follow up into his mouth, but the situation was urgent and he was dazed, barely blinking to awareness as Sylvain spun Ruin about the arm of the Demonic Beast to keep Lorenz from being stepped on.

"Hey! Your Nobleness — get up!"

Lorenz made to roll up into a sitting position, but then more fluid pressed up from his lips and he realized that the taste wasn't blood and the viscosity was wrong and the way Sylvain's eyes widened before he went back to stab at their foe was not encouraging.

He rolled to his side instead, swiping the gruesome ichor from his mouth with one hand. It was black as tar, and Lorenz tried to comfort himself that the spell hadn't lasted long — and it had to be something foreign introduced to his body, not his own liquefied innards leaving him barren, no matter the feeling in his chest or the slither suddenly felt in his gut. He coughed again, but near soundlessly, his gullet overwhelmed by the fell bile clogging his senses, spilling from his lips. His shoulders shook as he felt himself wrenched aside, and he could only hope it was Sylvain and not an enemy.

"Lorenz."

It was Fae, and that was worse than Sylvain. He didn't want them with this memory, as he touched his neck in search of the sensation of dark magic. If he could not feel it, then why did he feel as though he were drowning?

His vision started to white out at the edges, lost in a curtain of his own hair. Black dripped from his nose and eyes, and he sputtered hopelessly.

"What is this?" Fae worried, looking around for the responsible Dark Mage for a moment before pressing a healing hand on the back of Lorenz's neck.

It was not a gentle poison.

Lorenz retched again, an undignified noise of agony and helplessness, and Fae used more healing magic to force back a fever.

.

It was hours before Claude knew what had happened, conviction and curiosity leading him through Edelgard's defeat and Rhea's rescue.

And even once he was informed, since Lorenz wasn't in any immediate danger, he felt obligated to address their numbers. The soldiers didn't want to stay in the Imperial Palace, but he couldn't leave his friends and generals to camp in the street — and overfilling inns and noble estates was worse — but still not so bad an idea as camping outside the walls of Enbarr. They needed to occupy the Imperial Palace. They would be remembered as conquerors regardless.

.

Lorenz winced when he heard the door open. He was half on his stomach, facing the wall, a pillow in his arms and a throbbing in his head. His throat was raw and he wasn't better.

That was unfair, Flayn had done much to help, but when it wasn't an instant relief of magic, and instead a warning that he would be ill for a few days longer, Lorenz had felt particularly useless.

Today the Empire had fallen, and his contribution would be remembered only as vomiting in the throne room.

He couldn't help it, he whined.

"How is he?" Claude whispered, and Lorenz started the arduous process of telling his body to roll over, his shoulders protesting and his stomach feeling bloated and heavy despite there being no physical change.

"He's sick," Fae replied, though Claude had made eye contact with Lorenz by now and Fae shared a look between them.

"Have you eaten?" they asked Claude.

"I, uh—"

"I'll get you something. Take a few minutes alone."

.

Claude watched them leave and then avoided looking at Lorenz, and it was a struggle for Lorenz to accept that Claude probably felt guilty for his condition, rather than simply repulsed by the state of him.

"I'm—" Lorenz said, before running his tongue along the roof of his mouth, trying again to sound less hoarse, but failing. "I'm not contagious."

Claude did his best to school his disappointed expression upon hearing Lorenz's voice. He smiled weakly as he took the seat by Lorenz's bed, and tried to tease the nobleman.

"How do you know?"

"Seteth ... said he'd seen it before." Hoarse wasn't the half of it, Lorenz's voice was faded and high pitched and barely there.

Claude sighed heavily, relieved and heartbroken.

"Can I show you?" asked Lorenz.

Lorenz's eyelids were heavy, and Claude was confident that he wasn't looking at him, which gave Claude room for his confusion, uncertain what Lorenz meant.

"Yes. Of course."

Lorenz nodded and fussed with the two buttons done on his shirt, turning on his side away from Claude as he let it drop around him.

Black tendrils painted the sides of his ribs, and all along the back of his lungs were bruises. For a moment Claude thought they might look like bite marks, and he hissed in sympathy, worrying this was the wrong reaction as Lorenz's shoulders pinched as if either embarrassed or pained. Then he realized what the bruises were.

"Your Crest?" he asked, seeing the symbol repeated as a horror on his skin.

Lorenz nodded, but the movement hurt and he focused instead on pulling his shirt back around himself as he squeaked, "Ask Fae."

"Sure," Claude agreed.

Two nights ago they'd shared first kisses, him and Lorenz, Fae and Hilda. Claude wished now he could kiss Lorenz's injuries, his wincing eyebrows, his temple as he swept back his hair.

"Lorenz, you could've ... you could've died and I—"

"And you would have," Lorenz swallowed, "still had your victory."

Claude ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck, rolling his eyes.

"I'm ... keeping you from—"

"Shh," Claude interrupted, "I just spent almost five hours confirming who was going to the Hevring estate in town, approving patrols and — and more. I left Hilda and Annette in charge for a little while."

He didn't need to tell Lorenz about the letters Hubert had left, even as they likely related to his condition. He'd deal with Lorenz's indignation later, for now it was enough that he was safe, and that there were no secret passageways in this room, only servant hallways, and that had a patrol.

Lorenz nodded, and then held his chin with one hand and pointed at some small bits of wax paper on the bedside table.

"From Annette," he said softly. Then he tapped himself before eking out, "Couldn't eat."

Lorenz willed himself to look at Claude again. The room was dark, no candles wasted when dim light made it through a large window towards the front of the room. It felt ... foreign, and unmistakably imperial design.

"I heard that some of us were leaving the palace," Lorenz said. "I don't want to be here, Claude."

"I know."

"Ionius may have died this bed, or worse. This isn't— I can't focus. There's no comfort. I can't want to find comfort here, of all places—"

Lorenz had said too much, his throat ached and he found himself in a coughing fit, which easily devolved into him dry heaving over a bucket on the floor by the head of the bed, holding himself up on the bedside table. He'd rather have thrown up again, and allowed himself one more indignant noise of anguish before throwing himself back into the bed.

Claude's expression was dark for a second, as he pulled himself from his gloves.

"Isn't it a nice, big fuck you to the Empire if you did though?" he asked, trying to sound encouraging. "We won, Lorenz; and against all odds we saved Rhea also, though she's... She might not make it back to Garreg Mach. Far worse than you, if we're going off of Seteth's impressions."

Lorenz winced, and then frowned as Claude unwound his sash.

"Let me relax a little," Claude requested, his tone soft and intimate, fingers worrying at one of the buttons on his coat.

Nervously, Lorenz nodded and then held his forehead, obviously pained. Claude chuckled in sympathy.

"You know, I won't tell anyone if you have to resort to giving me a thumbs up."

Eyes closed, still rested on his pillows, Lorenz groaned, though a slight smile graced his lips. He heard far more clicking from Claude than he expected, and when he reopened his eyes it was to see that Claude was down to his underclothes: a white undershirt and white shorts that ended just above the knee.

"A little," Lorenz squeaked.

"Let me in," Claude requested next, holding onto his fragile confidence and the hope that Lorenz would see how his presence was the least imperial thing for almost a continent. Lorenz's purple eyes widened, and Claude tried to assuage some of Lorenz's propriety. "We've slept together before."

"Not like this," Lorenz croaked.

"No," Claude agreed.

"No," Lorenz confirmed.

Claude cocked his head in confusion. "No?"

Lorenz's eyes closed, pained, but Claude suspected it wasn't by their conversation.

"You can use me as a pillow?" Claude offered.

"What if anyone—" his voice died for a minute, and he opened his eyes to reach for a class of water on the bedside table, and drank, keeping Claude in suspense half naked in the Imperial Palace. "What if anyone other than Faedolyn—"

"Oh, pfft," Claude blew that off with a wave of his hand. "It won't be. And we're running out of time if you'll want me to leave once they get back."

Lorenz shifted back in the bed then, offering Claude room on one side, but when he realized how warm Claude was they shifted around in the dark, until Lorenz could take full advantage of Claude's offer, his cheek on Claude's chest and one of Claude's thick thighs between his own.

Lorenz had been sick with the idea of being able to cut himself and find that dark ichor, or of an eel with the face of his crest trying to batter it's way out of his ribs, but neither horror plagued him now, not feeling half so cold and clammy with a living hot water bottle in his arms.

Slowly, Claude moved his hands to rest on Lorenz's shoulders, uncertain if the bruises were painful, and after a moment Lorenz did whimper, but as far as Claude could tell it had only been him who had cried by the time Fae returned with food.

[roman-writing]

no great revelation (7/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,244

Summary: Jamie  just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian  Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself  caught  up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please note the rating change

read it below or read it here on AO3

VII.

—

Jamie swiped up on the tablet to throw the video to the feed at the centre of the table.

"Rebecca, this is everyone," Jamie said. "Everyone, this is Rebecca."

"I thought that maybe you'd been making up your Jedi friends this whole time. Nice to see I was wrong about that." Rebecca gave a little wave. "Hi, Dani. How's the ghost?"

Dani sank down a little in her seat, and her answering smile was more of a grimace. "Hi. Sorry," she mumbled.

"Yeah, about that," said Jamie. “Back on Quint’s ship, you said you knew what was happening at House Thul.”

“Oh? Finally ready to listen to me, are you?”

“Don’t push me,” Jamie growled, jabbing the tip of her finger at Rebecca’s face on the screen. “Remember. Galaxy’s Biggest Favour.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She had taken the call with her back to a wall, so it was impossible to glean her surroundings. "The Empire wants a foothold on Alderaan. It's a strategic location in the Core Worlds. They have been working over Lord Wingrave after the death of his brother and sister-in-law, helping him fabricate claims to the House, claims to his niece and nephew, claims to a position in the Republic Senate. You know the drill. Traditional blackmail."

"What else?" Jamie pressed.

For a moment Rebecca glanced over the top of the camera as if looking at something else out of frame, but then her attention returned back to the screen. "The children are Force Sensitives. The Sith have been helping Lord Wingrave keep that under wraps, so that The Order wouldn't take them away to the Temple for training. My sources tell me that the plan was for a Sith Lord to create sleeper agents out of the children through the use of some ancient Sith device containing a ghost."

"Which Sith?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not in the business of keeping tabs on Sith Lords. By the way," Rebecca pointed through the screen at Hannah. "How have you found shaving your head? Because I've been thinking of cutting my hair back, but I’m not sure about going all the way."

Running a hand along her shaved scalp, Hannah said, "There's nothing quite so freeing."

"Good to know. Thanks.” 

"Oi," Jamie snapped her fingers. "Focus. The Sith Lord."

"What else is there to say?" Rebecca replied dryly. "They're a Sith Lord. They're scary. They're dangerous. They're not to be fucked with. Your Jedi friends probably know the drill better than me."

"I hope not," Owen said under his breath as he took a sip of tea.

Hannah sat up a little straighter, hands clasped neatly on the table before her. "Do we know where they are? Where they're going, perhaps? Any information you give us may be vital."

Leaning her back against the wall behind her, Rebecca pursed her lips in thought before answering with a shake of her head. "I know they want the children, and I know they want the holocron. So - Alderaan."

"But the holocron isn't on Alderaan," Dani pointed out.

"They don't know that," said Rebecca. "Peter lied to buy himself time, and told them it was still in the estate of House Thul."

"But -" Dani frowned. "House Thul has its own militia of guardsmen. I know Sith are powerful but the Empire would need to send troops if they wanted to break in and hold ground."

"Then I guess the Sith Lord will be invading with troops as well."

Sighing deeply, Jamie lowered her face to her hands, letting her fingers scrub through her hair. Then she looked up again, hands hooked behind her neck. "Right. Guess we're off to Alderaan, then."

Rebecca laughed. When nobody else joined in, she stopped. "Wait. You're serious? Did you not just hear me say 'Most likely a Sith Lord is going to invade House Thul?' As in — with a shock legion. As in over a thousand soldiers led by a malevolent Force User, who can and would probably kill a room with a snap of their fingers?” 

Lowering her hands, Jamie said, "Yeah, you - uh - you mentioned that. Good thing you'll be right there with us."

"You have got to be joking."

Jamie said nothing. Just gave Rebecca a long look.

"Jamie," said Rebecca, her expression horrified, "You can't be serious. When I said 'favour' I didn't mean 'suicide.'"

"We can’t let them have those kids. Trying to mobilise Republic troops or The Order without enough evidence is a fuckin’ waste of time. We need to get into the estate of House Thul," Jamie gestured around to everyone at the table. "You're a smuggler. So, smuggle us in."

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alderaan is Republic territory. Why do you need me to smuggle you onto the planet, when you can just fly and land there yourself?"

"Because of her." Jamie gestured towards Dani, who looked both startled at being mentioned and guilty. "I don't want Pasha and his Troopers linking Dani to this in any way. They can't know she returned to House Thul. She has to come out of this squeaky clean."

Groaning, Rebecca said, "Fine. When do you want to go?"

"As soon as possible," said Owen.

"I'm -" Rebecca looked over the top of the camera again, craning her neck slightly. "Thirty two hours from Alderaan through hyperspace. Meet me in orbit around the planet. How's the ship I gave you?"

"Rude," Jamie said blandly. "It keeps insulting me."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rebecca's mouth and she began tapping at the buttons below her screen. "That sounds like Jane."

Jamie's face screwed up. "Jane? It has a name?"

"It's a JN class droid uploaded into the ship’s mainframe. It likes being called Jane. Didn't you ask it?"

"No?"

"Well, no wonder it's rude to you. By the way, I’ve just dropped you those pictures of my godson that you asked for last time. They should be appearing on your device now.” Rebecca waved with a little flutter of her fingers. “See you in thirty two hours.”

The video feed winked out. 

"I rather like that young woman," Hannah said.

“Get in line,” Jamie grumbled. 

The video had been replaced by a file icon. Jamie clicked it and brought up the first photo of Rebecca carrying a blue-skinned Twi’lek child on her back, both wearing big beaming smiles. 

“Oh, they’re adorable,” Owen sighed. 

Fuming, Jamie flicked to the next photo, which was equally adorable. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. They are.”

—

After cleaning up in the dining room and kitchen, Hannah gently nudged Jamie's arm and indicated she should follow her. Jamie glanced over at Dani, but she was engaged in a lively conversation with Owen while they dried dishes together. Dani's smile had lost its tentative edge the longer Owen spoke to her, but there was still a tenseness to the way she held her shoulders, the same tenseness that had been present back in Ho'kyn's bar on Telos IV, as though she were afraid someone would batter down the door at any moment.

Jamie followed Hannah, who led her up a set of stairs to a mezzanine floor where the walls were floor to ceiling scrolls and books and objects of cultural curiosity.

"Find anything new?" Jamie asked. She leaned back against the railing of the mezzanine which overlooked the lounge below.

Hannah plucked a tome from its shelf, dusted it off, and opened it to a page that had already been marked with a length of ribbon. "Yes and no. Nothing helpful, anyway."

She came to stand beside Jamie so that she might also look at the book. Jamie peered at it from the corner of her eye, not recognising the script around the drawing of a grey-skinned woman in dark red robes with a deep cowl.

"That a Sith?" Jamie asked.

Hannah hummed a curious note. "A Witch of Dathomir. Dark-aligned, for the most part, but not Imperial. They're the only practitioners of possession I've been able to find record of at all. I believe The Lady might have been an early precursor. Or perhaps they developed similar techniques independently."

Jamie stood straighter, hands tightening around the railing. "Wait, so - you can reverse it?"

Hannah snapped the book shut. "No. Though a visit to Dathomir might be in order, should we survive. However, if you chose to go, I won't be accompanying you. They dislike Jedi as much as they dislike Sith."

"Good thing I'm not a Jedi."

"I doubt they'll see the difference," Hannah said, and she tucked the book beneath one arm. "Failing that, the only other people who might know anything about this ghost are the Sith themselves."

Jamie scoffed, smiling. "Right. I'll just sail into their capital on Dromund Kaas and ask for help, then. Great advice."

A flick of the Force against Jamie's ear made her wince.

"Don't be cheeky," said Hannah.

Rubbing at her ear, Jamie opened her mouth to retort but stopped. Beneath them Dani and Owen walked into the lounge, still talking. Dani moved her hands when she spoke, and Owen watched her with a fond if guarded smile.

"I am afraid for her," Hannah murmured so that they would not be overheard.

Jamie nodded. "Yeah."

"For someone like our lovely Miss Clayton, the Dark Side is not a lure so much as it is a glue trap," Hannah mused aloud. "It has a gravity of its own, the darkness. And once there, it becomes more and more difficult to claw your way free. Even if you want to. Even if you know you should, but can’t bring yourself to try. Fear is her failing. And fear is the relinquishment of logic."

Jamie glanced at Hannah. "Can you teach her when this is all over? You're the best of the best in The Order when it comes to balance in the Force."

Without looking at Jamie, Hannah lightly smacked her arm, just a dismissive tap with the back of one hand. "Don't try your flattery on me. I've known you too long for that nonsense."

"That nonsense," said Jamie, "has gotten me out of more sticky situations than you know."

"But it won't get Miss Clayton out of this one."

Muttering a curse under her breath, Jamie sank down a bit, gripping the railing as she did so until she stood bent over and leaning against it. "Don't you start, too. I had Owen in my ear last night about it."

"Good man," Hannah murmured appreciatively.

"Bloody hypocrites. The both of you."

"You can't solve everything with your curmudgeonly charm," said Hannah.

"I fuckin' can."

"Sometimes," Hannah turned, leaning her back against the railing, arms crossed over the book gripped loosely to her chest, "a helping hand can only do so much. A person needs to want to help themself."

Jamie scowled. "So, what? If we can't help her we just ship her off to the Empire? 'Here, have a new Sith apprentice?' You haven't even given her a chance, and you two are already lecturing me on how I need to let go." She shook her head with a bitter chuckle. "Unbelievable."

And of course Hannah remained infuriatingly unflappable, her voice calm when she replied, "I will do everything I can, as I know Owen will, too. But — even should we survive this ordeal — our time with her will be limited. She will not be safe on Tython, where some overzealous Knight will surely sense her presence and jump to conclusions."

Jamie's mouth went dry. She swallowed. "Then where am I supposed to take her for training?"

Hannah smiled and placed a warm hand on Jamie's forearm. "Wherever you want, dear. So long as you're there."

Face screwing up in confusion, Jamie straightened. "But you just - You were just telling me how I needed to keep my distance and all that shite."

"Was I?" Hannah murmured, and she let go of Jamie's arm to instead toy at a gold earring. "I don't recall saying that at all."

And with that she crossed back over to place the book on its shelf.

"What do you mean? Hannah?" said Jamie, turning around.

Humming to herself as if she hadn't heard, Hannah drifted off down the stairs.

"Hannah," Jamie repeated, louder this time.

"We really must pack, Owen," said Hannah, ignoring Jamie completely.

Hitting her fist against the railing, Jamie turned back around to glower down at Hannah, who appeared on the floor below. Hannah urged Owen down a hallway with instructions to pack for the trip, leaving Dani standing in the middle of the lounge, alone. Dani looked up, and Jamie's fist loosened.

The last time Jamie had seen her from this angle, Dani had been in the full thrall of The Lady back on the luxury cruiser, her red-gold gaze piercing through a camera in the ceiling. Now, Dani blinked up at her with none of that cold malice to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Hannah's voice called down the hallway.

"Miss Clayton, what's the weather like at House Thul?"

Dani turned and began walking towards the sound, already answering Hannah's question, and leaving Jamie staring after her from the mezzanine floor, lost.

—

The gangway automatically lowered to the ground when Jamie got within a certain distance from the luxury cruiser still docked where they had left it.

"Good afternoon, Bollocks," said the cultured male baritone of the ship's computer. "You've brought guests."

Beside her, Owen mouthed the word 'bollocks?' at Hannah, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Jamie rolled her eyes and shooed the two of them up the gangway, trailed by Dani. "I have, yeah. Anything interesting happen while we were away, Jane?"

There followed a pause that was slightly too long for a droid of this calibre, and then the ship's computer replied, "Nothing of note. I did not tell you to call me that."

"Oh? Don't like it? Should I call you bawbag instead?"

Another pause, this one affronted. "Jane," said the ship's computer, "is perfectly serviceable."

"Glad to hear it, mate," Jamie drawled and stepped into the ship proper.

As Dani stepped up behind her, the ship's computer said, "And a good day to you, too, Miss Clayton. You're looking very alive today."

"Uh -" said Dani, and she ducked her head sheepishly. "Thanks."

The gangway lifted and sealed behind them once everyone had entered the main atrium, where the ship’s computer had already sent out a small service droid on trundlers bearing glasses of some kind of pale carbonated alcohol. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Owen murmured, picking up a glass and taking a sip. He made an appreciative noise. 

“Where would we like to go?” the ship’s computer asked.

Jamie waved the service droid away when it tried to press an insistent drink into her hand. “No, thanks. Jane, calculate a route to Alderaan. We need to meet someone in orbit around the planet in thirty two hours.”

“Route calculated,” the ship’s computer replied almost immediately. “The journey is only expected to take twenty one hours through hyperspace. I will chart a circuitous route so that we arrive on time. If it would please you, you may make your way to the dining lounge. I have prepared a light lunch before we depart.” 

Frowning, Jamie looked up at the ceiling. “How the hell did you even know we were coming?”

“I have access to the station’s security cameras and systems.”

That gave everyone pause. Owen froze in the act of draining his glass, while Hannah and Dani shared looks. 

“You hacked the station’s security system?” Jamie said.

“Negative, Bollocks,” said the ship’s computer. “I asked the mainframe for access very nicely.” 

“Are you lying?” Jamie turned to Hannah and Dani. “Can droids lie?”

The ship’s computer did not answer. Which wasn’t concerning. Not at all. Owen suddenly looked a bit queasy, and he gingerly lowered his near empty glass back onto the tray held out by the service droid. 

“You need not fear for the condition of food and drink aboard this vessel,” said the ship’s computer. “I am programmed to care for and protect any legitimate member of this crew as designated by the Captain and owner.” 

Jamie pointed jokingly at Owen and said, “Better watch yourself, then.”

Placing a hand over his chest, Owen pretended to look insulted, then followed Jamie further into the ship towards the dining lounge. 

“May I ask,” started the ship’s computer, “what are we going to be doing on Alderaan?’

Jamie dragged her hand along one of the polished white walls as she walked. “Getting in over our heads.”

“Please clarify.”

“We’re going to have a fight. Why?” Jamie asked dryly. “Do you also happen to have ion cannons strapped to your shiny exterior?”

“Negative. But I do come equipped with some accessories the crew might find useful in the event of a boarding attempt.”

One of the panels beneath Jamie’s hand pressed inwards, and a whole section of the wall peeled back to reveal racks upon racks of blaster pistols, blaster rifles, grenades, vibroweapons with wickedly curved blades some small enough to strap to the leg, others long enough to be wielded with two hands. Everything that would make a Republic Trooper get all hot and bothered.   

All four of them stopped in their tracks and stared. 

“Definitely an ex-Czerka ship,” Hannah muttered under her breath.

Hand on the hilt of the lightsabre at her hip, Dani said, “I think I’ll stick with this. I’d be more likely to shoot my own foot.”

“Likewise,” said Owen. 

Meanwhile Jamie reached out and hefted a blaster pistol. She turned it over in her hands for closer inspection, careful not to graze anyone with the barrel, but all defining marks or serial numbers had been either scrubbed off or hadn’t made it far enough in manufacturing to be stamped in the first place. With a shrug, she took one of the holsters and belted it around her waist. 

Owen gave her a look. “Really?” 

“What?” Jamie holstered the blaster pistol and waved at the other three. “You all have lightsabres, and we’re going up against who only knows what. Am I supposed to just hide behind a pillar while you lot do all the fun stuff?” 

Before they could answer, the ship’s computer chimed and said from its hidden speakers in the ceiling. “Not to interrupt,” said Jane, “but the tea is getting cold.”

Immediately Owen’s eyes brightened. “Oh, tea?” 

It was in fact high tea. Three tiered platters. Fine bone china. Petit fours. The whole lot. They amused themselves in the various lounges and quarters of the ship for hours before departure, at which point the ship’s computer insisted upon harnesses being secured. The jump to hyperspace left Jamie feeling on edge, as though she had left her stomach behind on Tython. And she couldn’t have been the only one. Their talk had been too forced, their laughter too loud, Owen and Jamie swapping stories to the delight of Dani and Hannah, who would chime in every now and then. And when Jane rolled out a more formal dinner, it felt like some kind of last meal before execution at dawn by firing squad. 

Jamie couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy the meal. Every bite tasted like ash. The ship’s computer on the other hand seemed thrilled that its crew was finally taking part in its carefully scheduled meals and activities. More than once Jamie thought she heard a low-pitched contented hum from the belly of the ship. Or perhaps that was simply the engine room. 

Eventually, Jamie made her excuses and left the others to their own devices. Jamie walked into the same bedroom she had taken during the initial trip on this vessel. First one on the left from the main lounge. There were at least four other rooms of generally equal size and accommodation on the ship; Jamie had simply picked this one because it was closest to the helm, easy to access and nothing more. 

Jamie sighed and stopped in the middle of the room. She unslung the holster and pistol, dropping it to the ground, then began to unbutton the crisp white shirt she had stolen from the medbay. Back on Tython, Hannah had offered her a spare set of robes, which she’d declined. Jamie hadn’t worn robes since she was a padawan, and after years of boilersuits and undershirts, she wasn’t about to start again any time soon, thanks. Even if it meant dumb slacks and collared shirts made of some anti-wrinkle fabric that cost more than her apartment back on Telos IV. 

She just needed to make it one more day. Just one more day. The last few weeks had shaved off a good few years from her life. Probably. And by this time tomorrow this whole ordeal would be over, alive or dead. Probably. 

There was a knock at the door. With a frown, Jamie turned, hands paused in the act of unbuttoning the shirt halfway down her stomach. “Yeah?” 

The door hissed open and shut again behind Dani as she stepped into the room. “Hi.”

Jamie blinked. “Hey.” 

For a long moment Dani did and said nothing. Her mismatched gaze flicked down to the narrow v of skin and the dogtags revealed by the open shirt, only to dart quickly away again, studying the bedside table with a fixed intensity it did not deserve. 

“Sorry,” said Dani. “I just - It's been a few days since we’d really spoken, and I wanted to check in.”

Jamie nodded. “Ah - yeah. I’m good. Are you -?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” 

Another lengthy pause.

Dani gestured to the door behind her. “Hannah and Owen are very nice.” 

“They are, yeah. Good people. Trust ‘em with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.” Jamie tried to smile, to make light, but Dani had turned that wide-eyed fixed intensity upon her now. It was difficult not to squirm in place when Dani looked at her like that.

Dani took an abortive step forward, only to stop herself before she could venture too close. “Are we okay? It’s just - on Tython you seemed to want your own space, and I thought -” She paused to clear her throat, glancing briefly down at her feet. “Did I mess this up or -? I mean - I know I’m not the best option for anyone, and you deserve someone nice, someone who’s not completely messed up or possessed by an ancient Sith ghost or something. But I -” she paused to close her eyes and draw in a deep breath. “I really like you. And if you don’t want anything to do with me after this is all over, I would completely understand, but I -”

Jamie tried. She really did. But the next thing she knew, she had taken a step forward and pulled Dani in for a kiss. Dani made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat that Jamie chased after, feeling her respond in kind, feeling the Force welling up beneath Dani’s skin like a hand reaching out in offering. 

“Do you think -” Jamie said, pulling away just enough to speak, “- that I did all this because I don’t like you?”

Dani gave a breathless little laugh, her hands cupping Jamie’s jaw then sliding to cradle the back of her head. “I thought you did it because you’re good and noble and you’re drawn to a lost cause.”

“Can be lots of things, can’t I?”

They were close enough that Jamie could feel the pull of Dani’s smile against her own lips, their noses brushing. 

“I know you like your life to be boring. So, I was thinking," said Dani, "how nice Corsin must be at this time of year. Just a getaway planet in the middle of nowhere. No Sith. No Jedi. That could be boring, couldn't it?"

Jamie swayed forward, eyes half lidded, and murmured, "Could be awfully boring."

Hannah and Owen be damned. The little voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea be damned. Dani was kissing her again and every thought flew right out of her head until there was nothing but this. Nothing but today, this moment, the call of blood in her veins, life as it was and nothing else. 

There was not push towards the bed, no drive to action beyond this. Still Jamie paused, one hand remaining anchored at Dani’s waist.

“You can still go alone,” Jamie said, “if you want. Doesn’t have to be with me.”

Even as she said it, Jamie dreaded the answer. Knowing Dani’s predilection towards shrinking away from things that were too difficult to face alone. Knowing her own history of always being the odd one out, passed from place to place, from Corps to Corps, unfettered, unwanted. 

Dani’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her close. “Want it to be with you.”

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani kissed her again. Want this, too.

Removing Dani’s cloak and tossing it onto the floor beside the blaster pistol had never felt so easy. Kissing her, unhooking the lightsabre and setting it onto the table had never felt so easy. Unzipping Dani’s vest while Dani finished unbuttoning what Jamie had started had never felt so easy. Being with someone else had never felt so easy. 

Jamie’s shirt was discarded onto the ground beside the bed just as Jamie sank to her knees there. Dani’s hair was mussed, her mouth parted, her eyes fixed and unblinking as Jamie began to slowly drag down the zipper of her trousers. She toyed with the chain of Jamie’s dogtags, winding it around her fingers at the back of Jamie’s neck. 

When Jamie began to tug down the material, Dani sat on the edge of the mattress so her pants could be peeled off and placed aside. Jamie leaned forward and stroked her tongue along the soft skin of Dani’s inner thigh, feeling a hand grip her hair when she bit down gently, and making a low dark sound in the back of her throat. 

Already Dani was moving her hips in small motions and Jamie hadn’t even started yet. Jamie laughed softly.

“What?” Dani breathed.

Jamie shook her head, but the movement was restricted somewhat by the tight grip Dani had on her hair. “Nothing,” she murmured and bowed forward to place her open mouth against slick wet and wanting heat.

Wanting nothing but this. The spread of Dani’s legs on either side of Jamie’s head. The taste of her when Jamie swiped her tongue in long slow strokes. The sound of her name gasped in Dani’s voice. The ache between her own legs as Dani rocked her hips to the rhythm Jamie set with a barely restrained urgency. 

Where last time had been fast and hard, Jamie did the opposite now. She traced Dani with the tip of her tongue as if trying to map her to memory, finding the best reactions and storing them away for later, for a time again with her that may never come. One of Dani’s heels came up to press into the small of Jamie’s back, and Jamie could feel the way the muscle of Dani’s inner thigh trembled against the side of her face. The same way her fingers trembled as they combed back Jamie’s hair. 

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani’s groan ended on a broken noise, as Dani’s hips arched up to press more firmly against her mouth while Jamie offered only a gentle suction. Want her. Want us. 

Dani hauled Jamie up by the chain around her neck to kiss her deeply. The kiss was slick and messy and tasted of her, and when they parted Dani was panting. 

“Did I mention,” Dani said breathlessly, “that I really like you?”

Jamie laughed and allowed herself to be pulled up onto the bed. Smiling broadly, Dani kissed her and rolled her over to start unbuttoning Jamie’s dark-washed slacks. Before she could do more than flick open the first of two buttons, Jamie placed her hands and Dani’s hips and encouraged her to rock against her thigh.

“That’s -” Dani swallowed back a reckless sound, her eyes squeezing shut. “I’m going to ruin your nice slacks.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Dani’s answering laugh was breathless. “Do you mean that literally, or -?”

The question died on her tongue when Jamie pressed her knee up and wedged a hand between them just enough that she could brush her thumb just so. She watched as Dani’s face screwed up, as her mouth dropped open and her hips bucked out of time until she came again — smaller this time, but no less gratifying.

Dani slowed to a halt, trying to catch her breath. “All right,” she said. “It’s definitely your turn.”

When they’d finished, Jamie sank bonelessly back onto the mattress. Their clothes were strewn all about the room, and the ship’s computer had set the lights to dim automatically to match a normalised sleep cycle, so that the ceiling was a map of constellations. Dani was stark naked and wiping her hands clean on a shirt with a self-satisfied expression before she crawled back up the bed and snuggled into Jamie’s side.

Jamie rolled onto her side and draped an arm across Dani’s waist to hold her loosely there. She needed to take a shower, but couldn’t find the energy within herself to get up. Not when recent sex had turned her bones to jelly, and not when Dani started to trace the curving lines of Jamie’s monochromatic tattoo. 

Exhaling slowly, Jamie sank further into the mattress. Her eyes slipped shut and she allowed herself this moment of brief respite. 

“Do you ever think,” Dani asked softly, “this was supposed to happen?” 

Blearily, Jamie opened her eyes, lulled half asleep by the way Dani was touching her. “What d’you mean?”

Dani shook her head, admiring the way her fingertips drifted across the pattern of ink on Jamie’s bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I just - When I chose the ship to Telos IV, it wasn’t the fastest or the cheapest or even the one leaving the soonest. I was still in shock, I think. From what had happened on Vurdon Ka. There was another transport leaving three hours earlier, heading towards the Outer Rim, but when the droid asked me what ticket I wanted I bought the one to Telos instead.” Her words slowed to a mumble, and her caress stopped. Dani stared at the flowers on Jamie’s skin as if in wonder. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Coincidence?” Jamie offered, watching the flicker of Dani’s brow in response.

Dani seemed to be trying to remember something intently. “Maybe, but it was so strange. I had this - this feeling. And when I landed on Telos, you know, I -” She broke off with a small incredulous laugh. “I walked straight to that bar. Just - straight there. Didn’t even ask for directions.”

Jamie blinked, more awake now. That hum of energy had returned, threading between them like an arc. Dani’s presence was stalwart, nothing wavering or questioning about it. 

“I don’t know anything about the Force,” Dani continued, “but I’m glad to have met you.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. It was brief but the warmth pooling in her chest was verdant and budding. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

Rebecca’s ship dropped out of hyperspace only three kilometers from the luxury cruiser, so that the two vessels drifted in orbit around Alderaan side by side. The planet below was a vast curved horizon of blues and greens, struck through with white cloud. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Jamie noticed how Dani’s gaze kept drifting towards the broad windows of the left wing, staring out at the planet below with her shoulders tense and her hands clasped behind her back. 

The moment Rebecca’s ship came into view, Owen leaned over Jamie’s shoulder and hit the comm button, requesting a transmission, which was immediately picked up.

“Hello again,” Owen greeted jovially down the line. “We see you’ve just arrived in orbit. And might I say - your ship is exactly what I expected from a smuggler.”

“Aww, thanks,” said Rebecca, her video feed flickering into view. “I worked hard to get it just right.”

Rebecca’s ship was a single bladed shape of stark grey material, like a shark’s fin parting the surface of water. Jamie knew from experience that its small size could mislead larger ships into underestimating its speed and firepower. She also knew from experience that the sleeping cots were cramped and uncomfortable, and that more often than not Rebecca slept in a hammock strung up in the cockpit itself. 

Jamie elbowed Owen in the gut so she could have more room. “Status report?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “What are you? Fleet Commander Taylor?”

“Just tell me how we’re getting down to the surface without being noticed,” Jamie said.

“Funny you should ask that,” Rebecca replied, trailing off.

Owen made a face. “Oh, no. Is it bad?” 

“Well…”

“Get it over with,” groaned Jamie. She could hear Hannah and Dani walking closer to join the conversation. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rebecca hit a few buttons to switch over the feed, and the screen suddenly displayed a scene much nearer to the surface. She must have hacked into a few security cameras, because the view turned slowly alongside her tapping away in the background. A towering estate in slate greys with parapets like speartips jutting into the sky dominated the screen, flanked by snowy mountains. A broad bridge led to the front entrance, and a hundred or so guardsmen had set up allacrete bollards behind which they were taking cover to avoid incoming fire, peeking over to return volleys before crouching down again.

“That’s,” Dani said slowly, pointing towards a crest-emblazoned purple and red banner hanging from the manor walls on the screen, “House Thul.” 

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back towards the ceiling. “Don’t tell me.”

“They’re being besieged by the Sith Lord,” said Rebecca.

“I said don’t tell me.”

Hannah peered over Jamie’s shoulder to get a look at the screen. “Can you get us to the surface?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca. “But after that, I’m all out of ideas. I told you: I’m not a Core World girl. I don’t know Alderaan from a bottle of spotchka.” 

“I do.” 

Jamie opened her eyes and lowered her head. Beside her Dani had lifted her hand slightly as though waiting to be called on in class. “There’s a side entrance used primarily by servants and staff.”

“What? A side entrance dug all the way through the mountains?” Owen pointed to the snowy peaks pressed in tight on either side of the estate. 

“No, it’s here.” Dani tapped her finger against the screen just off to the side of where the camera was currently showing. “It’s where the guards sleep. You go through a security checkpoint and then down a tunnel which leads into a room off the great hall.” 

“Don’t think the security checkpoint won’t be a problem this time,” said Jamie.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca slowly as a guardsman on screen was shot dead and slumped to the ground, only to be pulled back over the bollard by one of his comrades. “They look a little occupied right now.” 

Chatter fizzed from another speaker on the dashboard. Frowning, Rebecca sat in the pilot’s seat and turned a dial until the frequency better matched. They could hear a staticky voice shouting frantic orders over the comm.

“That’s a Pub frequency,” Rebecca said. 

“The Empire has revealed its hand,” Owen said. “The Republic will be arriving with reinforcements soon.”

“Yeah, but not soon enough,” Jamie muttered darkly. 

Hannah hummed in agreement. “Unfortunately, yes. A fully fledged Sith Lord? They can tear this estate apart and be out with what they want before Republic troops make it into orbit.” 

“Yeah, well, hopefully we can do the same.” 

From the sidelines, Dani suddenly spoke, “Can we talk about the children for a sec?” When she had everyone’s attention, she took a deep breath and continued, “What’s going to happen to them now that we know they’re Force Sensitive?” 

She looked towards Jamie, who raised both hands and shook her head, pointing towards Owen and Hannah. Hannah was looking at Owen, who shrugged and made a gesture, which Hannah reacted to with an emphatic tilt of her head, the two of them engaged in the kind of silent conversation only two people who had been together for so long knew. 

“Are you going to share with the class?” Jamie drawled. “Or are you two lovebirds just going to keep having your weird psychic talk that nobody else can hear?”

Hannah gave Jamie an arch, brook-no-nonsense glare, while Owen stuck out his tongue at her. 

“I think it best if we take them back to Tython,” said Hannah to Dani. “There they can be trained in the Force properly.”

Some of the tension held in Dani’s jaw slackened, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks. I needed to hear that.” 

“Anything else we need to discuss before we leap into the fray?” Rebecca asked from the pilot’s seat. 

Silence. 

“Right,” said Jamie, hand on the holster of her blaster pistol. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

[sevryx]

A Mandalorian Discount

Fandom: Star Wars/The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Rating: M

Summary:

The sun was setting again when you had completed all external repairs. You were currently inside the ship, fixing wiring issues you were sure could be finished within the next few minutes. This is why you had shoved yourself halfway into a small opening in the ship, the panel pulled aside and at your feet with your headlamp illuminating the crevice. Why the wiring was so far into the ship wall, you didn’t understand, and didn’t have the energy to question. You were simply relieved that you were small enough to fit into the opening.

That was, until you couldn’t get out.

You cursed and spat enough words to make a mercenary blush, kicking at the wall for what was at least a few embarrassing moments before stopping to catch your breath.

This evening couldn’t get any worse.

“You’re supposed to fix my ship, not dent it.”

It could get worse, apparently. And it did.

READ IT ON AO3

Sand and hot air left a dry taste in your mouth. The sky was vibrant orange, but you felt nothing for the sunset any more.

You had just now come back from the cantina, considering that no customers visiting your shop all day, and attempted to drown your sorrows in the single glass that you could afford to purchase without threatening your month’s budget. It wasn’t that you envied those men and women passing through in their extravagant armor with their big guns, purchasing the most expensive drinks and chasing after every little fancy they wished in their few days on Tatooine. They could afford to do so – to bet on pod races, get in a few fights, down a few glasses of liquid courage and spend a few nights with a village member who they would promise to revisit, only to never come again. There was a special drink for that, you remembered with a soft laugh. Many a night, unaware merchants and soldiers and bounty hunters came through hoping to score an eventful evening, confiding in the bartender simply to be served the solution to their problems in the form of a glass of purple concentrate, ripe with the ability to increase the confidence and libido of the village fool. Many a man had made a fool of himself that way, and in that cantina, fools were abundant.

Lousy travelers here to have a good time, get drunk, get laid, and nothing else.

You couldn’t afford any of that. You could barely afford to keep your shop running.

You arrived at the entrance of your hangar with a loaded sight. Crossing your arms, you surveyed the workshop you called your own for nearly a decade now. You found yourself at your workbench more often than not, spending your evenings stripping old machines or droids for parts just to trade them for different ones from a mechanic struggling just as much as you were. This evening was no different.

You wanted an out.

You’d lived your entire life on Tatooine, but you’d spent the last eight years saving up to leave it. Being a mechanic was traditionally rather lucrative, but living in a galaxy ravaged by the recent fall of the Empire left whatever economy there was to crumble, leaving you with reluctant and few customers and a city thriving less by the day.

There was no money to go around, no money to get you out of here.

You huffed indignantly to no one in particular when the telltale sound of a ship landing in your hangar shook you from your thoughts. Standing, you brushed the dust from your trousers, testing the strap of your goggles and lifting it up over your hair and off your eyes.

This ship was impressive, you admitted. And familiar. As you walked down from the inside of your shop, you watched as the hatch opened, and an intriguing looking Mandalorian sauntered out into the open. You knew the Razor Crest was dated, but the wear on it made it look significantly worse. The wear on the bounty hunter to which it belonged somehow seemed to emphasize that, the shininess of the metal holding far less damage than the last time you’d seen it. You felt a little guilty for it, but you wondered if him wearing that much new beskar meant he had enough money for you to charge a little extra.

You stood a short distance from him and crossed your arms. There was a moment of silence, and you raised your brows in expectation.

The Mandalorian reached for his belt, and in a moment of instinct, you found yourself reaching for your blaster.

“You want money to fix my ship, or a fight?”

Though filtered through his helmet, Mando’s voice immediately caught your full attention, just as it did the first couple times you had met him. It was smooth, yet husky at the same time. Deep, yet handsome and almost boyish.

You swallowed, and your hand fell from your holster, but you didn’t apologize.

He waited a moment, watching you. He then reached for what you assumed to be a pouch of credits on his belt. The bag felt heavy enough in your hands when he placed it in them, but only appeared to be enough to cover the cost of what looked like basic repairs.

“Will that cover me this time around?”

You opened your mouth to speak when a loud crash erupted from behind the bounty hunter. Your eyes widened as he spun quickly, pushing the two of you back in a defensive manner. A piece of the hangar had broken off, landing violently with a shower of sparks.

You pursed your lips as he ran back into his ship without another word.

Interesting.

You examined the outside of the ship for only a moment when he then reemerged, carrying what looked unmistakably like –

“Is that a baby?”

“So you can speak again.”

In truth, you barely knew the man, and his words were typically nothing less than sarcastic or monotonous. Despite this, for some reason, you wished to hear him speak all evening. You felt your face flush, partially out of your own thoughts and secondly due to his remark, and you lowered your brow in offense.

“Yes.” The Mandalorian had answered you, seemingly detecting your lack of amusement. He seemed off-put, as if he were typically the one short of words. He seemed like the type, from what you remembered.

Examining the child, you noted how very much not human it was. Wrinkled green skin looked soft and indeed baby-like, big ears and even bigger eyes watching you curiously. It was quiet for a moment before erupting into an excited babble, little teeth shining in joy. This child was clearly not produced in any way by the Mandalorian, and that much was obvious. His little three-fingered hands grabbed towards you, and the Mandalorian’s shoulders raised in what could have been suspicion or shock. He made a soft grunt that barely broke the static of his helmet before extending the child towards you.

Your eyes widened once more, but you lifted the baby in your arms, silently reveling in how the little thing squealed at the attention. You couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips as you bounced him a few times in your arms.

“He likes you.”

That rugged voice broke your thoughts once more, sounding nearly in awe. Or, as much as you can sound in awe with such a monotone statement. You spared a look towards the bounty hunter, back at his ship, and at the gibbering child in your arms.

You sighed.

“This can cover basic repairs. External damage – no tune-ups.” You said, flatly.

He shook his head, as if emerging from his own thoughts. Whether he was looking at your or his child, you couldn’t discern.

“I can get you more.” He said. “I can’t afford to stop again soon.”

You bit your bottom lip, resting the baby against your side. He was a heavy thing for such a small size. The visor in the helmet locked in on your face, and you were now certain he was examining you alone. You adjusted your bare arms over the babbling child, absently wishing that you had fully donned your jumpsuit instead of tying the top around your waist, halfway clad if not for the black tank top you wore.

You tilted your head in though, pretending to mull over an answer you already had decided upon. In all honesty, you planned on doing a full diagnostics check, anyway. You nodded.

The Mandalorian didn’t speak for another moment.

“What is your name? I have come here before, and yet you never tell me.”

“You never ask.”

Why your pulse decided to increase in that moment, you couldn’t say. In truth, you never typically tell clients your name. On one hand, it could be a practice good for business if they were to recommend you. But in a dangerous galaxy, you preferred to keep your head below the radar, even if that meant avoiding a job or two.

But this man returned, for what was at least a third time. He cocked his helmet, and you sighed. You told the bounty hunter your name, and he nodded, as if turning it about in his head.

The child yawned in your arms, eyelids falling shut as he fought his urge to sleep. Again you felt your lips curl into a soft smile. The Mandalorian took the child from you gently, almost more gentle that you believed he was capable, and brought him back aboard the ship and into a small nook, where he assured you that he would stay asleep for the night.

With that, the Mandalorian (for which you now realized you had no name for) armed himself and marched into town to find your remaining payment.

You sighed heavily staring at the devastated ship. This repair would likely take the rest of the evening and almost all of tomorrow, and required parts you weren’t even sure you had.

You strapped the goggles back over your eyes.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *      

That night had passed quickly, and although you had found restless sleep and a cold shower that morning, you found yourself nearly exhausted. You found breaks resting and playing with the Child, who had slept peacefully through the night, as promised. But the hours ticked by nonetheless, the sun setting and repairs still remaining. The baby was asleep for what you’d hoped would be the day, but somehow knew better. He would wake and wish to play at least once more before the night was over.

Throughout the day, you were tormented by thoughts of the bounty hunter you couldn’t seem to get rid of – not that you were trying to in the least bit, you admitted. He was a man of few words, his speech almost exclusively brief and concise. Yet his voice taunted you, and you found yourself wondering what his tone would sound like decorating different words, softer or perhaps even something more sultry. He was taller than you, enough to loom over your head intimidatingly, and yet his presence was so much more impactful than his stature. Enough to make you feel small, or submissive, even. You were certain that years of bounty hunting and training would leave anyone fit, and as your mind wandered, you allowed yourself the pleasure of imagining what could be tan skin, tight and smooth over muscle and littered with scars from battles won. Sometimes, you would think about doing unspeakable things with him. You had a birth control implant, for safety purposes with past relationships. Connecting the two thoughts made you blush, and you shook your head as if it would clear your mind.

You barely knew him, and yet your mind would not leave him. Who he was, what he looked like, the details of his own life and past, where his travels would take him – where you could fit into all of it.

It was silly, you thought, day-dreaming of a man who barely knew who you were. And yet here you were, fixing his ship so that he could leave you and likely never return again.

The sun was setting again when you had completed all external repairs. You were currently inside the ship, fixing wiring issues you were sure could be finished within the next few minutes.

This is why you had shoved yourself halfway into a small opening in the ship, the panel pulled aside and at your feet with your headlamp illuminating the crevice. Why the wiring was so far into the ship wall, you didn’t understand, and didn’t have the energy to question. You were simply relieved that you were small enough to fit into the opening.

That was, until you couldn’t get out.

You had just believed you had fixed what was causing delays in the steering controls, set on testing them to confirm a job well done. When you attempted to remove yourself from the wall and head for the cockpit, you found yourself incapable, the belt around your waist anchoring you to the wall and unable to push backwards.

You cursed and spat enough words to make a mercenary blush, kicking at the wall for what was at least a few embarrassing moments before stopping to catch your breath.

This evening couldn’t get any worse.

“You’re supposed to fix my ship, not dent it.”

You wish you hadn’t screamed in reply, but there was no mistake in the yelp of surprise that left your throat and echoed through the small hole your upper body was trapped in.

It could get worse, apparently. And it did.

“I’m stuck.” You bit out, preferring to skip the banter and get straight to the point.

“I know.”

You couldn’t hide the scoff that his coy response pulled from your throat.

“Are you going to help me?”

He was silent, and for a fearful moment, you were afraid he had walked off. You heard his voice, this time closer than before. You swallowed in a mix of confusion and something else, something darker.

“Don’t know yet.”

You let out a shaky breath, and shuffling on your feet momentarily as if that would loosen the ship’s hold on your waist. It didn’t.

Considering your options, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. You worked alone with no assistants, not even a droid after you had to sell your last one for food. You were orphaned at a young age and hadn’t lived with anyone for the past six years. No one came to visit you, and no other customers would be coming in to see you if already had a ship in your shop.

That led your mind to the final question: What did this man want, anyway?

You sighed. “What is it that you want? If I make your fee any lower, I won’t be making any money off my service.”

“Your service, huh?”

You could see his boots dangerously close to your own from the corner of your peripheral, and you swallowed hard. Even from inside your temporary cage, you could smell blaster residue, leather, and the slightest hint of –

“Are you drunk, Mandalorian?” You asked, accusation sharper than a knife in your tone. You could smell booze on him as he inched impossibly closer, something sweet and hardly detectable. God damn tourist, just like the rest of them, you sneered to yourself.

There was silence, but you could nearly hear the gears turning in his head.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

You scoffed. “Well this isn’t the best time.”

“It’s clearly not the worst time.”

Another incredibly unhelpful comment mixed your emotions up into a cocktail of humiliation and frustration. He was hardly one for words or idle conversation, and you wondered what possessed him to get drunk in the first place.

What’s that supposed to mean?  “What do you want?”

“To talk.” He repeated.

You could almost feel the chill of beskar on the backs of your thighs and wondered just how close he planned on getting to you.

“Then talk.”

You heard a grunt in irritation, but felt nothing other than the vibration of shifting feet on the metal floor beneath you.

“You are a good mechanic.” His voice was slow and careful. Not drunk, perhaps buzzed. But for what reason, you wondered. How reckless for a bounty hunter, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “You are trustworthy and I… do not mind your company.” He continued, drawling ever so slightly. He lacked the conciseness in his usual tone, you noted. “And I can pay handsomely for someone of your skill. With the ship,” he paused, “And with the child.”

You turned his offer over in your mind, intrigued and very tempted to take it immediately, before once again recognizing the situation you were currently in.

“That’s a very kind offer, and I would be much obliged to discuss.” You said, feigning politeness in favor of the impatience about to boil over. “But are you of sound mind to be making this offer? I don’t doubt your judgement, but perhaps you had too much to drink."

“You are also very beautiful.”

You froze, your mouth as immobile as your brain. Sirens went off in your brain, and you were unsure that this was the same Mandalorian who had dropped his ship off earlier.

“I was uncertain that I would ever return to Tatooine. So I came back to ask you this, specifically.” You could hear the Mandalorian swallow audibly underneath his helmet. “I wanted to request this of you at our first meeting. And the second.” He admitted. “I wanted to ensure that I wasn’t… emotionally compromised. Or too reserved. I find it difficult to speak to you.”

“Well you’re definitely compromised now, if you don’t mind my saying. But I might have you beat.”

He laughed, and while you were still pissed off by his inaction, it might have been the sweetest thing you’ve heard in a long time.

“I suppose I might be.”

You wondered what you looked like right about now, your hips lodged into an opening in the wall where you’d removed the panel, standing precariously on your tip toes with your waist hoisted into the air. You wondered what the Mandalorian was doing, his heavy boots in between yours, his hips dangerously close to your own. He could likely be looking down at you, hands hovering right above, not daring to touch but threatening all the same. You wondered sinfully if he appreciated the view.

You would shake your head to rid yourself of such thoughts if you could, but the flush was undeniable.

Even you were smart enough to know that you cannot be in love with a man you have only met three times and have never seen the face of, much less a man who is a bounty hunter. You are not the kind of person who rests about the cantina looking for a mercenary to spend the night with, whether for money or for the thrill. You had nothing against that lifestyle, no, but it was not for you all the same. Besides, this Mandalorian didn’t seem the type to go to a bar and –

You blanched.

“Mandalorian,” you called, “What exactly was it that you drank?”

He huffed, tapping his foot twice but not laying a hand on you yet.

“… Tasted like fruit. I haven’t seen it on any other planet. It was suggested to me by a female patron at the cantina.”

“And was she making advances on you?” You were met by silence. “What color? Did it glow?”

“Why am I feeling like you’re about to tell me something I don’t want to hear?” He replied, more of a groan than a statement. It was more emotionally charged than anything you’ve heard him say before, and the tedious ‘will-he-won’t-he’ that his close proximity wrought upon your already preoccupied mind multiplied.

You laughed at him, and while he didn’t appreciate the seeming lack of concern, he admitted to himself that it was the sweetest noise he had heard in a long time.

“I’m going to get you out of there, now.”

Two hands clad in thick leather gloves grasped gently at your waist, and you were glad for a moment that your face was not visible. As his grip tightened in preparation to free you from your entrapment, a bubbling cry emerged from somewhere nearby.

And you felt the Mandalorian’s hips meet yours in a rather clumsy and sudden manner.

“H-Hey, no! Bad!” The Mandalorian was shouting, his voice no longer directed at you despite your yelp of shock. “That’s bad! Stop that right now!”

In a sudden rush of weightlessness, the bounty hunter’s body flew back, followed by yours. The two of you tumbled onto the floor of the ship, heavy clanging noises contrasting sharply with the amused giggling of the little green child which sat innocently on the floor nearby.

It was nighttime, and even the inside of the ship was dark. You were grateful for the lack of light just as the Mandalorian was especially grateful for his helmet.

“I am… very sorry.” The bounty hunter was standing before you realized he had risen, extending a hand out to you. His fingers were twitching visibly even in the low light. “He has powers that I cannot easily explain.” He helped you to stand, turning his head sharply to the yawning child as if to reprimand him. His hand retracted like yours was on fire. “And while he will sometimes aid in combat, I feel he doesn’t yet know the difference between that and… other things. He is just a baby, despite his abilities.”

The onslaught of words did little to ease the rush of blood to your face. His gaze failed to meet yours.

“It’s… alright.” You crossed your arms, approaching the child and lifting him into your arms as he dozed off. While you were at least certain it was an accident, the contact left you shaken. Never had you been that close in that region to another person before, especially not with this mysterious, dangerous, absolutely packing –

The blush you wore could have produced steam if it were any cooler in the ship.

“I would like to hear more about this offer.” You admitted, rocking the baby back and forth while approaching his sleeping nook. “However, the more pressing matter is that you have few options with your current situation."

The Mandalorian followed you, swallowing hard in an effort to calm his racing pulse. He wasn’t used to feeling lost or led blindly. He was sure he disliked it, but the excessive adrenaline pumping through his body and the undeniable rush of blood to the south spoke to a different opinion.

“Depending on how much you drank, you may be able to sleep it off.” You kept your voice steady, or as much as you could considering the daunting aura of the bounty hunter behind you, whose gaze was locked onto you like a loaded gun to a target.

“How much is a lot?” His voice was quiet.

“Just about what you had, by the looks of you.”

“A tankard.” He admitted, sweating underneath his armor for more reason that one. A small inn hosted the bounty hunter for the midnight hours and slow morning after completing a task for the barkeep in addition to his payment, a menial asset for a menial bounty. He took advantage of this to eat and drink in a futile effort to calm his already mounting anxiety. Even the cool water and dry air of a cold shower and an empty room did not subdue his nerves in light of his inquiry for you.

You sucked in a breath of air, making a high-pitched noise in your throat in consideration. It could have been worse. You silently wished it was, quelling your sinful thoughts with a hard swallow. Maybe next time. You lowered the baby onto a pile of blankets. The noise brought the Mandalorian crashing back to reality.

“In that case, you can handle can attempt to handle it yourself,” you tucked the child in, “Which could prove futile if not take a couple of hours.” You shut off the lights in the small room, closing the door with the push of a button on the adjacent panel. “Or you could find company to, ah…” You did not look at him directly. Smoothing out your jumpsuit, still tied haphazardly around your waist, you cleared your throat. “To alleviate your distress.”

There was a beat of silence, and the Mandalorian took a bold step closer to you.

“And where do you suggest I should find this company?” He breathed, deep and suggestive. His assertiveness surprised even himself, but the thrumming of his heart underneath his skin silenced his concerns.

“I would assume you had already decided.” Where is this coming from? You wondered, knowing the answer in truth, but somehow still remaining surprised at your own willingness. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

He was on your in an instant, grasping your wrist with bruising force and leading to impatiently to another room aboard the ship. His hand slammed a button on the wall with enough force to startle you even in your profound and sinful thoughts, the door of the Razor Crest shutting with a loud hiss that failed to muffle both of your inelegant and hurried footsteps.

The Mandalorian’s quarters were small and clearly made for one out and for necessity. That didn’t stop him from pushing you down against the small cot, tossing his gloves somewhere unimportant and simply feeling you with the sense of urgency of a dying man. Your face was buried into his sheets as you fell into them, the warm scent of soap and his own musk surrounding your senses, rendering you wordless. His fingers were like fire on your skin as he untangled you from your jumpsuit, leaving it discarded across the room as he quickly worked you out of your shorts. There was a sudden moment where his hands left your body and a frown made its way onto your lips, only to twist into an expression of pleasure when the undoing of his trousers allowed his length to press against your bare ass.

“You’re already so wet…” His statement came out as a groan, heady and almost as desperate as you were becoming. “You want me that bad?”

You ground back against him, and he rewarded you with a hiss of air through his helmet and the softest growling of your name.

“Please.” Your voice came out as a whimper, and you thought of nothing more than him being inside of you. It was shameful, really – no foreplay, no preparation, no contraceptive. Simply the haunting thoughts of him and a singular incidence of his unfiltered interest in combination with an awkward physical encounter and now this.

Your bodies both felt like they were on fire, and you wondered if his aphrodisiac-induced disposition was somehow contagious.

The Mandalorian was grinding his dick against your wetness and if your mind wasn’t already blank, it was at that moment. He was cussing between his teeth and by the Maker if you weren’t doing the same.

“Please,” you emphasized, hips jutting backwards and into him. “I need you inside of me now.”

With that, he wasted no time lining himself up to your cunt, fingers tight around your hips as he thrust the tip of his cock into you with forced restraint. You caught your lower lip between your teeth, far from a virgin but not accustomed to such girth, regardless. A potential desire for further preparation almost made its way out of your throat when he pulled back ever so slightly, thrusting himself back into you almost immediately and drawing a strangled moan from your mouth.

“You’re so… tight…” He simply growled, his grip bruising. The next thrust found him fully seated inside of you, the tight and nearly overwhelming burn overpowered by the immediate and absolutely filthy feeling of fullness and desperation to be fucked by the Mandalorian.

While you could tell he was absolutely rearing to go, no doubt a product of not only his personal desires but of the powerful drink coursing through him, you were deeply grateful for his patience. You felt his hands skate across your lower back, sliding down your ass and thighs before grabbing appreciatively at the soft flesh there. An impossibly long moment seemed to pass before your shaky sigh filled the room.

“Move, please.” You heard yourself say, his hips drawing back efficiently yet mindfully before the words even left your mouth.

The Mandalorian was big, and you could not deny this. You could feel his member drag against your inner walls, the traction smooth and almost overstimulating against your slickness, deep and almost primal as his thrusts grew more urgent. With every snap of his hips against your own, he knocked heavy breaths and whines out of your throat. Your fingers grasped his blankets as your back arched into him.

“You’re fucking dripping for me, baby.” He drawled, voice dense with lust and clearly too lost in the moment to maintain his stony and formal demeanor, obvious even through the modulated filter of his helmet. You loved it. “I could have fucked you out in the front of the ship and you probably could have taken me just as well, couldn’t you?”

You bit back a moan, the pitch of your voice hitching as he drew a hand back to squeeze at your ass with punishing force. You liked it rough, at least in this moment, which was obvious to him by this point.

“I’ve thought about this before, you know. Thought about being inside of you like this. I wondered what you would feel like around me, what sounds you would make.” His pace wasn’t rushed or urgent, but each thrust snapped into you deep enough to shock you each time. “I wondered if you touched yourself thinking about me.” You did.

“Y-You’re a – ah!” A particularly sharp thrust had you almost tearing the blankets below you. “A talker… When you’re drunk.” You bit out with a shaky voice, head turned with your cheek pressed against the cot to watch him from the corner of your vision. He didn’t slow. “Don’t stop. It’s hot.”

He only graced your statement with a breathy chuckle, his pace increasing just enough to momentarily jar you.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

The question took a moment to register, and you let out a bubbly laugh between your moans. “Are you sure this is the right time to t-talk about this?” Your words were punctuated with gasps, but the question was sincere.

“Figured you would have decided by now.” The bounty hunter’s voice was far from even, but his statement was candid, at the very least. “I can show you a lot of things.” Your moan was unrestrained as his hand slid up your back and over your tank top, fingers sliding up your scalp and tangling in your hair. His grip was firm and pace unrelenting as his leaned over your back, cold beskar contrasting sharply with his hot breath on your ear when he pulled your head back towards him. “And I could use you in more ways than one.” The statement had you gushing, and you found yourself dangerously close to the edge.

“Mando...” You moaned, baring your neck to him only to feel the biting chill of the bottom of his helmet brush against it.

“Din.”

“Wh-What?” Your brow furrowed, and you spared a confused glance his way.

“My name… My name is Din.” He simply said, voice trembling with his own failing restraint. “I want you to moan my name when you cum on my dick.”

The vulgarity of his words and his punishing grip on your waist pushed you right over that edge, and he found himself pleased with the positively strangled cry of his name when your climax washed over you.

You were shocked when he simply flipped you onto your back, pushing into you once more only to hold himself there instead of chasing his own release. Your legs found their place around his waist as he kneeled into the bed and your hands found his helmet before he seized your wrists in a firm, yet careful manner.

“No.” He simply said. His hands were warm, intertwining with yours for an instant before squeezing and releasing them.

“I want to kiss you.” You explained, your hands falling to his chest as you panted softly.

“I can’t.” The Mandalorian’s voice was strained, tinged with a frustrated mixture of impatience and disappointment. You could feel his pulse underneath his skin. His hands tapped against your knee anxiously. “No living thing has seen me since I was a child.” He paused. “This is the Way.”

You frowned, the both of you incredibly eager despite your roadblock. You shifted slightly on the bed, feeling overstimulated but hyperaware of how painfully hard and large and throbbing he was inside of you and you both moaned in response. Your thoughts wandered to only moments ago, feeling his hips grind against your waist, even with your torso still being lodged in –

That’s it, you thought.

“Then I won’t see you.” You gasped. You gestured towards your discarded jumpsuit, and Din leaned down to fish through the inner pockets before producing a red handkerchief.

The bounty hunter stared at the fabric for a long moment, and you swear you could hear the calculations firing off in his mind. A second later, he pulled out, leaving you aching and empty, before coaxing you up onto your elbows and tying the fabric around your eyes. Before you could adjust to your new blindness, the harsh sound of beskar and heavy fabric hitting the ground resounded in the cramped space of the cabin, followed by the creaking of his bed as he kneeled back down on it. The speed of his actions would have made you laugh, had he not immediately reentered you and restarted his utterly demanding pace.

You felt his lips on your neck and swore to whatever gods there may be that you almost died and went to heaven in that instant. Din’s tongue traced up the length of your neck, leaving bruising bites and hickies in his wake. Impatient with his teasing, your hands clumsily found his shoulders, making your way quickly to his face before grasping his jaw and pressing your lips together with passion that shocked even yourself. You felt him hike up your legs over his arms, reveling in the peak of his biceps on your thighs before he fucked into you deeper than what you thought was even possible. You moaned loudly into the kiss, feeling the way his lips curled into a smirk as the connection of your mouths swallowed the noise.

Din pulled back, the two of you gasping for air as his thrusts became wild and uneven.

“I-I’m surprised that you’ve last-lasted this long!” You joked, breathless and feeling that same heat coil in your lower stomach once more.

He chuckled at this and you wished you could see his face. You wondered what color his eyes were, and if they crinkled when he laughed.

“I h-have…” He choked out, “Good self-restraint.”

It was your turn to laugh.

“Ha! I can’t w-wait to test that when I – oh, fuck!” Your back arched into the bed and he grasped underneath your top at your breasts as he sucked another bruise behind your ear. “Wh-When I join you!”

“So you’re c-coming?” He asked. You wondered how he even managed the question when the both of you seemed to only be hanging by a thread.

“Tell you… Tell you what,” you breathed, “C-Come inside of me, and I’ll l-let you know.”

He groaned loudly, and you could tell that whatever self-restraint he had was washed away. Din’s hips stuttered, and your name tumbled out of his lips as he came deep inside of you, painfully powerful thrusts forcing his seed impossibly deeper into your body. The feeling of his hot release inside of you managed to wring out another bout of pleasure with a dangerously loud moan, and even if you weren’t blindfolded, you were sure you would have seen all black, regardless.

His head was resting against your chest as you basked in the high of your collective orgasms, and your shaky fingers raked gently through his hair. It was softer than you imagined it would be, loose curls sliding through your hands as your breathing slowed.

When Din finally pulled out, you felt a rush of wetness between your thighs, and you almost wanted him to hurry up and put his helmet back on to satisfy your odd desire to see just how much was leaking out of you. He made a soft noise of questioning before you pointed reassuringly at the slightest bump on your arm where your birth control implement was located. He sighed, seemingly understanding and sounding relieved, and your heart was warmed by his thoughtful display of concern.

You felt him sit up and extend towards the floor before you reached out clumsily. Your hand landed on his chest, feeling taut skin and the slightest bit of hair. You grinned.

“Leave it. I’d rather feel you for a while longer.”

His lips were back on yours, and you smiled. You felt him smile back.

“You still owe me for these repairs, though.” You kissed him again.

You felt his smirk disappear for only a moment before his body was pinning yours against the bed once more, and you didn’t try to hold back your own laughter.

“Can I convince you otherwise?” He asked. “Service in exchange for service?”

You could worry about packing your things and collecting his payment in the morning, you supposed. Or perhaps you could change your rates, just this once. A Mandalorian discount. You’d make some more money simply selling the spare parts, equipment, and space that you would no longer need when you left Tatooine for good.

For good, huh? You thought, your swollen lips daring to curl into a smile.

“Can I take that as a yes?”

“I don’t know about that one, Din.” You jested. “I may be joining your crew, but I’ve got to make a living somehow. Can’t go around fixing ships for free, now.”

“So I should have just left you in the ship wall and flown off, huh?”

“That’s called kidnapping, so no.”

He chuckled. “Then it looks like I’ll just have to barter.”

You smiled and raised a brow. His lips muffled your thoughts just as they muffled your moans.

A Mandalorian discount, then, you thought. Just this once.

[judgmentofcorruption]

Episode 10–The Court Ends; Scene 4

Judgment of Corruption, pages 282-288

The massacre of the villagers of Zenosai committed by Tony Ausdin’s unit soon became known throughout Levianta.

“Zenosai Village Destroyed by USE Armed Forces Second Division! Military Morals Under Question”

“General Tony Ausdin, Vicious Slaughterer of Civilians! A Fool Who Was Promoted Only By Connections”

These were the provocative headlines that decorated the front page of the newspaper.

Glancing over these newspaper articles in the director’s room, Gallerian asked Bruno, “—I’m quite certain that the USE unified government had been concealing the matter of Zenosai Village…How did it leak to the press?”

“…This is just a guess, but I imagine it’s the work of the anti-war movement.”

“The anti-war movement?”

“People who have begun to make their presence known due to the heavy casualties of the war. The people of Levianta have not experienced war in quite some time. They have no immunity for it—And there are rumors that the anti-war movement is being propped up by Elphegort’s ‘Tasan Party’.”

“Those are the ones that made such strong objections after Heleus Gone’s trial.”

“The name of the organization is taken from that empire in the ancient era, but outside of that the party is fairly vague. First they start agitating for war, then suddenly they shift to being against it—There are some who mock them as simply wishing to make a show of themselves.”

“Whatever the case, now that all this has hit the papers—I suppose we can’t hold off on indicting Tony.” Gallerian stood.

“What do you intend to do, sir?”

“I’m going to see Tony. Once this goes to trial I’m certain I will be acting as head judge, but…I want to hear his side of things at least once before then.”

“If that happens then wouldn’t it be unwise for you to meet with him, given he’s the defendant?”

“I don’t see any problem. It’s for times like these that I’ve given the head of the prison such large sums of money.”

Gallerian straightened up and moved to leave the room.

Bruno called out to him, “Director Marlon—No, Gallerian.”

“…It’s been quite a long time since you’ve addressed me without honorifics. What is it?”

“Please bear this fact in mind. This time it was a friend of yours—Shiro, who was killed by this man.”

“…I know.”

Gallerian left, showing neither a smile nor a scowl.

.

Tony had been slim from the start, but the man who arrived in the visiting area of the first detention block of the prison looked far bonier than he had been before.

“—Are you not eating?”

Tony smiled weakly at Gallerian’s greeting. “The food here doesn’t suit me. …Well, I’m glad to see you.”

“You showed up in the paper.”

“I know. I can read the newspaper even here in prison, and I can listen to the radio too. –Someone in the unit must have been the whistleblower.”

There was a single jailer on the other side of the glass behind Tony, observing the both of them. But it seemed he couldn’t hear the contents of their conversation.

After giving that jailer a brief glance, Gallerian turned back to Tony and asked, “I need to know if everything they reported is true.”

Tony didn’t respond right away.

But eventually he resumed speaking, appearing to steady his resolve.

“The gist of it, yes. It is true that the unit that I led killed all of the villagers at Zenosai. That’s a fact. But…It wasn’t something I did out of curiosity or fun like they wrote in the paper. –They were all connected with the Asmodean army.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“A child of the village attacked me with a bomb…I came close to being killed.”

“And do you have any proof that the rest of the villagers were like that?”

“…You sound like my defense attorney.” Tony covered his face with his palms. “Proof? –No, I don’t. But if I hadn’t done something they probably would have done me in. That’s just what war is like! …Maybe you don’t understand that, staying cooped up in the Dark Star Bureau as you do.”

“…And Shiro?”

“That…was an accident. The gun just went off. Please believe me. I had no intention in the least of killing her—For what happened to her I am truly sorry. To both you and Bruno as well.”

I don’t know if Gallerian believed his words. I couldn’t tell that from his expression.

However, he made a face that was far more grief-stricken than Tony’s before him.

“You—will most likely be indicted, and then put to trial. It’s a grave crime for military soldiers to kill unresisting civilians. Given that you were in command of that unit, you’ll likely receive either life imprisonment if found guilty, or…capital punishment.”

“That’s why…I’ve been telling you, they were attacking me!”

“It’s doubtful your defense attorney will be able to substantiate that. Even if I’m the one acting as head judge, I can’t say anything to give the defendant an advantage in open court.”

“But isn’t it the judge that passes down the final verdict?”

“Well, that’s true, but—"

“…Please help me. I don’t…I don’t want to die in this place. My wife’s only just given birth to our second child…”

What did Gallerian think, watching Tony as he pitifully made his entreaties? His memories of college, the time he and Tony drank together to celebrate his promotion, or perhaps…Loki?

I had no way of knowing. I’m just a mere bat, so I cannot read someone’s mind.

--After a short silence, Gallerian opened his mouth.

“I understand, Tony. I will do my best to—”

“…I have money.”

“—Huh?”

“I’ve heard the rumors. That as long as they can pay, you’ll declare anyone innocent. In spite of all this, I’m still the general of the allied forces. I have enough saved up to pay a bribe for you.”

“…”

Tony continued speaking, irrespective of Gallerian’s speechlessness.

“Just say the amount and I’ll have my lawyer deposit the money into your account. He’s an attorney on retainer from my father’s day. There’s no way he’ll let any of this information slip to the public, so you can relax there. Come on—tell me how much, Gallerian.”

“…Ha ha ha…I see, that’s right…”

“…? What’s wrong?”

Gallerian hid his face with his hand.

When he removed it again, there was a wicked smile there.

“…Two million Ev. Deposit it within three days. Then you’ll pay me another two million once you’re declared innocent.”

“Oh, that’s cheaper than I was expecting. I thought you took more.”

“It’s a ‘friend discount’. Special—just for you.”

“Thank you, Gallerian. You’re the kind of friend a guy should have after all.”

The jailer came out of the door behind Tony.

“Time’s up.”

At that, Gallerian stood.

“See you, Tony. Let’s meet again in court.”

“Right!”

Turning his back on Tony, Gallerian left the visiting area.

.

I cannot read someone’s mind.

Even so, there is something I can tell.

Gallerian was, in the end…alone.

However—that was something that his own actions had brought upon him.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[writingfordayz]

See You There, -K

Ever since Lance almost died on a mission, Keith's been on edge and more rash in his decision making. When he doesn't know who to turn to to help sort out his feelings, he starts sending messages to a dead Shiro in hopes of finding peace; however, Lotor attempts to turn the team against him by manipulating the messages into a sign of betrayal.

“That’s it. I’ve let this go on long enough. You cannot continue making reckless, unauthorized decisions,” Allura scolded Keith as he peeled off his helmet. He was barely even listening while the team gathered around him, his mind constantly replaying the explosion he’d just nearly escaped.

“Keith?! Do you have anything to say for yourself?”She pushed as Lotor took a fortifying place by her side.

“I did what I had to do.”

“What you had to do? You broke formation to fly headfirst into their battleship! The plan was to board and secure, not destroy!” Although Allura was the only one yelling, it was evident by the team’s worn out faces that they were tired of his bullshit.

It’s hard to notice little things in the heat of battle when your heart is beating in time with the blasts and your brain is on autopilot, merely trying to finish the job alive and with little recollection of the destruction, you leave behind. Keith’s usually good at tuning everything out, but this time, the formula was off.

Keith’s heart had completely stopped and he became agonizingly aware of the fact that Lance was stuck in a tractor beam with a canon about to sign his life away. Lance never radioed for help, never informed the team of the cannon for fear that he’d ruin the whole plan, and he must have struggled in the beam’s grasp for a good two minutes before the weapon was fully charged, but it only took Keith a second register what he was about to lose and decide to plow his lion into the metal mid-blast. Screw the plan. If Lance wasn’t here, then what’s the point of anything?

Even now, Keith could read the guilty expression on Lance’s face as he tried to sink to the back of the crowd and go unnoticed. Just three weeks ago, he’d confided about his uselessness to Keith, in his ability to fuck up missions. Through tears and bloodied fists beaten desperately against the wall, he begged to be worth anything, even if it were just for a moment. Keith felt helpless then, not good with words and definitely not good with knowing how to handle someone crying, so he settled on a hug that lasted several hours and a humming that brought sleep. They hadn’t talked about that night since, but Keith vowed to never let Lance blame himself for anything again.

Looking Allura straight in the eyes, Keith confidently explained, “I thought the cannon was going to destroy the castle. I had to stop it. As for unauthorized decisions, last time I checked, I was the black paladin. I’m the leader here, so I call the shots.”

Lotor sighed loudly, feigning regret. “I really didn’t want to disrupt your family, but I think it’s best you know the so-called ‘black paladin’ has been lying to you all for months now.”

That comment struck a new fear in Keith, one he never imagined he’d have to face with his closest friends in earshot. He’s lied to all of them at some point, but always because it was better than the alternative. On top of that, he knew how easily Lotor could poison them with doubt; he chose his words carefully and only attempted it if he had evidence. It had worked on Keith before, but he felt the deception internally was worth the alliances they gained throughout the galaxy. A war can be fought with six soldiers, but it can’t be won.

Allura’s loyalty to Lotor was unwavering as she gripped his arm and picked up the accusation where he’d left off: “It’s true, he’s a danger to Voltron… a danger to the whole universe. We can’t let this go unnoticed.”

Keith was beyond irritated and beginning to panic now that Allura had verified his words, but he also knew that Shiro would tell him to be patient and focus. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “What exactly are you implying?”

“We’ve seen the messages. Every few nights you fly off to do ‘perimeter checks’, but really you’re sending encrypted updates on our progress to the Galra.”

The room was now a rainbow of statues, and Keith realized for the first time that black is unnatural in a rainbow; he sticks out in a way that diminishes the liveliness of the rest. He knew exactly what they were talking about, the alleged messages, but if they really saw all of the messages… His eyes met Lance’s for the first time tonight, but oddly enough they didn’t seem confused or upset. Those blue eyes had been stuck at high tide for weeks now, threatening to spill over, but now they were a raging storm.

“I’m not sure what it is you think you read, but Keith would never betray us,” Lance declared.

Lotor shrugged and said, “Well, fortunately, we have all of them, including the ones detailing your shortcomings.”

Lance shifted in place and crossed his arms to keep himself from looking anxious. The one thing that would completely break him would be Keith admitting what Lance had feared all along.

“As I said, Keith would never betray us,” Lance repeated.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I read a few of these out loud,” Lotor said while pulling up a holograph of the messages:

Today we liberated some hostages and were able to provide them medical treatment. In doing so, we also gained a cargo ship full of weapons to arm the resistance. Be careful approaching the castle. Next, we’ll be heading to Arus. See you there. -K

“That’s enough,” Keith insisted.

“Why stop there when there’s so many more that detail your grim outlook of the team?” Lotor questioned.

Another political alliance was made, bringing the total number of planets supporting Voltron to 13. They are all significantly smaller than the Galra Empire, and even together they probably won’t be strong enough to win the war. Making a pit stop at Balmara to rest. See you there. -K

The team has been arguing nonstop and this makes us vulnerable. We’ve lost four battles in a row, and the yellow lion is out of commission. Stuck in the Javeeno Star System. See you there. -K

“I said that’s enough! These are personal.” Keith practically begged, activating his sword.

“If you’re as loyal as you claim, then you wouldn’t have anything to hide!” Lotor declared.

Lance was assigned a search and rescue mission, but in the process, both the hostage and his partner from the Blade died. He can’t perform basic tasks and is starting to drag the team down. Not sure if I’ll be able to find someone else to pilot red before the assassination attempt on the witch. We wouldn’t make it with him. Stopping for supplies on Pollux. See you there. -K

If Keith had known that’s what was going to be read to Lance, he would’ve stabbed Lotor the moment he landed in the castle, but he didn’t and now Lance looked like a mirror shattered in its frame, trying desperately to keep himself together. All the injuries Keith had gotten in space don’t compare to the pain he feels seeing Lance become void of all life, in fact, this moment ranks in the top three worst moments of his life including when his dad died and when Shiro died.

“Lance, I swear to you that I didn’t write that.”

For a moment it seemed like he couldn’t speak, eyes trained on the ground, until Lance quietly asked, “So you didn’t write any of those messages?”

“No- well yes. The first two, yes I did. But that last one I didn’t. I would never.”

“Whether you claim to have written them or not, you are sending messages to a hidden address. You’re explaining our weaknesses...disclosing our location!” Allura yelled.

“To Shiro!” Keith couldn’t take the accusations, the prying eyes, Lance's mindset.

“I write messages to Shiro hoping one day he’ll respond! That he’ll tell me what to do because I keep failing you, and I don’t know how to be a leader! That he’ll tell me not to worry. That he’ll tell me we’ll survive this. That he’ll show up while we’re collecting supplies and everything can just go back to normal!”

For the first time since he lost Shiro, tears poured out of Keith’s eyes as he tried desperately to hold back a sob to not look as weak as he felt, but it was that vulnerability that proved he was telling the truth. Just as quick as Keith had attempted to sacrifice himself for Lance, everyone surrounded Lotor with their bayards drawn. Even Allura, as conflicted as she was, joined them as Lance took the lead.

“Hunk, Pidge, take Lotor to the holding cell,” Lance commanded while his gun burned an invisible line through Lotor’s head. Lotor narrowed his eyes at Lance, challenging him.

“You will be the one to die before the war ends. I’ll see to it,” Lotor threatened.

Fuck patience.

“Over my dead body!” Keith yelled and threw his sword directly through the center of Lotor’s back. It clanged against the ground, dust particles dissipating and floating towards the ceiling.

“Where’d he go-”

That’s what Keith last asked. That’s all he keeps muttering as the ringing in his ears intensifies, and the smoke from the explosion clouds his vision. There’s someone yelling, but it seems distant and indecipherable. His eyes focus on a drop of blood that runs down his nose and falls to the ground, joining the small pool of red that had already formed. A lot of red is usually an indication of an injury or anticipated death, but it’s also a representation of Lance: passionate, fierce, and inspiring. Lance who stood up for him when no one else did. Lance who never questions his decisions. Lance who loves his family with every ounce of his being. Lance who can see the hope in all of the despair. Lance who has the most uplifting smile. Lance who currently doesn’t have a smile.

Keith was pulled back to reality as pain split through his head. Hands gripped him roughly in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and his eyes had shifted from the pool of blood to the red of Lance’s suit to the black behind his eyelids.

Several hours later after the fires were put out and the castle had been put on lockdown, Keith sat on his bed going through the messages he had actually sent to Shiro. Lance sat across from him quietly; he hadn’t talked since the explosion, but he wasn’t about to let Mr. I’mFineIDon’tNeedAHealingPod with a slight case of traumatic brain injury go unmonitored. Keith peered at Lance over his screen and finally spoke, “You know, you can probably put your bayard away now.”

Lance didn’t look up, tightening his grip on the gun; “I thought you were gonna die. Not gonna let that happen again.”

Keith frowned, knowing the feeling all too well. “I thought you were gonna die when boarding that ship earlier.”

“So you did crash into that cannon because of me!” Lance snapped, finally glaring at him, “And what was that ‘over my dead body’ bullshit? You can’t just die for me!”

“I can, and I will if I have to.”

“Why?! I get hostages killed. I get partners killed. I can’t perform basic tasks-” Lance was getting so worked up, his knuckles were turning white around his bayard.

“I told you I didn’t write that.”

“Then what did you write?” Keith could see how desperate Lance was to know for certain it wasn’t true, and he knew right then that whatever happens after he reads it is worth it if Lance can believe in himself. He slowly reached across the bed and slid his hand on to Lance’s. Rubbing his thumb lightly over his knuckles, he whispered, “Please put the gun down first.”

Lance stared at their hands for a moment, and considered not listening to him; it would mean this could continue, and oh boy did he want Keith to hold his hand forever. Reluctantly, he leaned the gun against the wall, but as he brought his hands back to his lap, Keith reclaimed one and held it tightly in an attempt to steady his voice before he spoke:

“Lance was assigned a search and rescue mission, but in the process, both the hostage and his partner from the Blade died. I assigned him this mission because I believed he was the only one who could successfully complete it, but after those losses, I never want to assign him a rescue mission again. I never want to assign him any mission. I’m so terrified of losing him. He’s my right-hand man, and I wouldn’t even be able to attempt to lead this team without him. He’s the only person who’s made me smile in years... I know this job is dangerous, and we all run the risk of getting hurt or killed, but I’ve already lost two of the three people I love, and I don’t think I could handle losing him too. That’s so selfish of me. I know it is, and that’s why I need your help. He’s hurting Shiro, and I don’t know how to fix it. You know I’ve never been good at this. Please help me...We’re still near Olkarion. See you there. -K”

Keith let out a nervous breath and looked back to their hands locked between them, trying to decide if he was unnaturally cold due to nerves or if Lance was always this warm.

“There’s more, a lot more, about you. I promise they’re all good, and you’re more than welcome to read them,” Keith said through a slight smile as he held the screen up for Lance to take, but as soon as it was in reach, Lance shoved it away. He leaned up to rest on his knees in front of Keith and carefully wound his arms around his neck.”I don’t want to hurt you more than have been...but I also never want to let go again,” Lance whispered.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #25 - Wish

aurelia bas laskaris, age 16

AO3 Link HERE

=============

Sometimes it seemed as though the entire span of L'haiya dus Eyahri’s life had been defined by the Empire. It had influenced her path even before she was born. Her mother had been in the city of Rabanastre when it fell to imperial troops, and the Garlean soldier who had sired her--- well, best not to think much on him. Mother had wed a cobbler from the edge of the capitol's market district when L'haiya was four summers old. He had raised her, and to L’haiya’s mind he was her true father.

In the old days she might have attended a primary school before taking on her family's trade, but under imperial occupation such luxuries were not afforded to her or her compeers. L'haiya and her half-sister L'jhutei were sent away to a school in the capitol for "the finest education the Empire can offer" as it was phrased by the viceroy ("propaganda," her father had called it, muttering it so quietly that he must have thought her unable to hear), one which had turned out to be a military school. Both sisters had had a commission into the legions after graduation.

L’haiya had almost taken it, too. But then? Well, then she had met Vittora cen Remianus, and Vittora had met her husband, and…

Perhaps it was for the best. Her service to the Laskaris family had earned her a fast path to imperial citizenship, after all; Mama would have said one was as good as the other, were she here, and the equally practical L'haiya was not one to look too much askance at such a boon. Even if it had left her in the rather troublesome position of raising her friend's child.

She stared at that slumped posture, the bowed golden head. From the porch, she could see her charge's shoulders trembling but could not tell if she was shivering from the night air or if she was still crying.

L’haiya felt a sort of stern and helpless pity for her. Although Julian rem Laskaris’ only child had learned something of the importance of controlling herself and learning which battles to pick (particularly in a place like the Empire, where speaking one’s mind in the wrong ears could have very severe consequences indeed), children would be children. The girl was very young and very sheltered, and she had been friends with the boy since they were small. L’haiya didn’t suppose she would have taken well to the news either were their positions reversed.

Quietly she rapped on the door and stepped over the threshold into the garden. The stars overhead were a diamond spray and the air still carried the day's warmth.

“Aurelia.”

“Go away,” the Garlean girl said in a choked voice. “I don’t want to talk.”

L’haiya made her way down the steps and into the grass, her skirts swishing about her legs, and perched herself upon the edge of the Doman fountain next to her charge. Aurelia’s body went rigid, but she said nothing and remained in place. “Your father-”

“If you’ve come to tell me I was a fool, you needn’t do so. I know I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know.” The girl sniffled and wiped at her eyes, then returned her hands to her lap. “But I just- I don’t understand how Father could do this to me. I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye, or wish him well! If I could have had at least a few more days with him then-”

“I think that would have been quite unwise.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your father had nothing to do with L’sazha’s early departure, Aurelia. He left under my advisement.” The Miqo’te’s voice was steady. Calm. “And 'tis well that he did. You’ve caused trouble enough for the boy as it is.”

“Sazha is an adult by imperial law. As am I,” Aurelia said stiffly. “We’ve hardly any need for my father’s approval to do as we wish.”

“What you did,” she snapped back, her words clipped and cold, “posed a serious risk not just to you, but to L’sazha. The tribunus would have had him swinging from the nearest gibbet did he know the extent of your dalliance.”

"But he didn't know. We were careful and nothing happened until you decided to meddle in our affairs. Father barely cares enough to ask me about my studies, never mind aught else."

L’haiya wanted to shake her. She took a deep, measured breath.

“I was young once myself. And I daresay I was just as selfish and thoughtless,” she said. “I can hardly fault you for your age. But I feel the need to spare you your blushes by explaining the implications of what you did, as you don’t appear to quite understand the magnitude of it.”

“If we were adventurers, no one would have cared who I am, or what we-”

"The fact is that you are not an adventurer, Aurelia,” she snapped. “And this is not Eorzea. For better or worse we live in the Garlean Empire and under imperial jurisdiction. L'sazha is my legal ward and you are a lady of a certain social status. Better that you be angry with me for a time. It would have been not only dangerous to let the two of you continue on as you were, but it would also have been wildly irresponsible on my part.”

Aurelia looked stricken, her face pale. Relentlessly, L’haiya continued on.

“They hang our kind for far lesser offenses, Aurelia. If you care a whit about that boy, even a fraction of what you claim, you’ll go apologize to your father and put a decisive end to this romance of yours.”

“But-”

“But what?”

Aurelia’s chin quivered.

“I love him. I’ve loved him for so long.”

Seven hells, she might have known it was as simple - and as dangerous - as that. She’d assumed the girl’s interest in her Miqo'te companion to be little more than a childish infatuation, but it seemed their feelings had blossomed beneath her nose into something deeper than she had suspected. She had deluded herself it would pass, and in the meantime, they'd fallen in love with each other. Or as close as a pair of children could get to romantic love.

“I know you think you’re in love with him, Aurelia. But you’ll move on. And so will he. That's the way of things, good and bad.”

“No, I won’t,” she choked. “You don’t understand at all. He loves me, and once I’m done with school and my enlistment-”

“Let Sazha move on with his life,” L’haiya said, in a quieter, gentler tone. Better not to let the girl finish that statement. Better not to let her even entertain the notion it might be possible. “Let him find himself. He deserves better than my largesse and your shadow.”

Aurelia's stare was full of incredulous fury- and then her angry expression crumpled into one of despair, and on its heels welled a single sob of broken-hearted anguish. This time L’haiya put an arm about her shoulders and pulled her in for an embrace, and met no resistance. One of the girl's hands dropped into her lap and the other grasped at a handful of L’haiya’s linen shirtwaist as she buried her head under her governess’ chin.

“It’s all right, sunshine,” L'haiya murmured. “All will be well in the end. You'll see.”

“I’ll never love anyone again.”

“Yes, you will.”

“As long as I live,” she vowed, “never.”

She kissed the bright golden crown of hair and nestled her cheek against its softness, this child who she loved as her own, and let her spend her grief without comment. It was what it was. Years abroad on tour with the army would do one of two things to their relationship - either it would strengthen their resolve to be together (in which case, L’haiya thought, they would have little choice but to defect) or it would cool their passions. L’haiya expected the latter; sixteen was very young, and carried with it little foresight or understanding of the way love worked.

But she knew Aurelia would hear none of that. The girl might have the look of her mother but she was every bit as obstinate as Julian rem Laskaris had ever been.

“Elle?” the girl said, in a small and choked voice.

“What?”

“Can I tell you something? A secret?”

“Go on.”

The hand that had gathered in her shirtwaist clenched into a fist.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, “I wish I had never been born.”

“Oh, child, you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” The words were harshly emphatic. “Mama and Father were so happy together. But then I came along and ruined everything.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“It is. I wish I weren’t who I am.”

“Why would you even consider something so dreadful?” L’haiya felt something in her chest twist. “Aurelia, darling-”

“I mean it. Every time Father looks at me, I see it in his eyes,” she choked. “He resents me. If he had the choice between me or Mama, he’d have taken Mama without even thinking about it. Sazha made me happy. I didn’t have to feel guilty about being myself when I was with him, ever. And now he’ll be on the other side of the world and I’ll just- I’ll be here, making everyone unhappy just by existing. If I just hadn’t- I just-"

"Aurelia-"

"I just wish I could be someone else!” she wailed. "I wish I could be somewhere else, I wish I had any kind of purpose, but I don't, I'm just trapped in this cage and I can't-"

L’haiya bowed her head. There was nothing she could say and little more she could do, to speak either to her charge's frustration or her suffocating loneliness. She was a practical woman who had made a promise to a close friend to watch over her family, but nothing in that promise had prepared her for a man so bereft of his wife he could not bear to raise his own child.

Something had to be done, she thought. Or at least said. It was her fault for allowing Julian to continue as he had done for so many years, not wanting to rock the boat and tell him he needed to behave like the father he was. She decided she would speak with him tonight, as soon as she was able.

But in the meantime, she couldn't leave Aurelia alone like this. So she sat with the girl in silence, and let her weep until there were no tears left to shed.

[atinytokki]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 11: Crossroads Pt. 2 

(Warnings: Violence and blood)

As Seonghwa leapt out the window and started running, he was surprised to hear footfalls following behind him.

He thought he had would have left his brother in the dust, but it seemed the prince was keeping up as the two of them sprinted down the hill and back through the town, guided by the flashes of light and jarring sound of bullets ringing out. 

Seonghwa didn’t even dare hope, but the logical side of him clawed at anything he could think of. The shots are still going, his mind whispered. They’re fighting back, they haven’t been killed in their sleep.

How he could have been so stupid to leave them like that, when enemies lurked around every corner?

Junhee called his name but Seonghwa ignored it, hurtling around the corner and slowing to a stop. He and Junhee came face to face with a small group of uniformed men. Royal Navy.

“What’s going on?” Junhee finally burst, leaning over to catch his breath. “Why would you run towards gunfire?”

The eyes of the officers before them widened and they immediately prostrated themselves, not expecting to be in the Crown Prince’s presence at such an hour. 

Seonghwa went from gasping at the decimated state of the upstairs window to watching in horror as one by one his friends were led out of the inn. Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Hongjoong— all restrained and disarmed.

From behind them, a familiar figure strutted out with pride. It was Admiral Kim, and half the commanding officers of the ATEEZ, scourge of the Royal Navy, were in his custody.

Actually... only three.

San wasn’t with them, hopefully he had escaped, and as for Seonghwa...

Seonghwa choked on a breath as he realised that somehow, in a stroke of fate, he stood with the favour of the crown prince, and no evidence to connect him to the pirates who were all being forced onto their knees now and displayed for the royalty to see.

“What is the meaning of this?” Junhee asked tiredly, expression nonplussed even as Kim went on to explain.

“Pirates hiding amongst us, skulking about in our towns, probably meaning to kill you, Your Highness.”

Hongjoong was staring at Seonghwa with a face that clearly warned him to bide his time. Speak up for their innocence now, and he could easily be thrown in with them. Wait until he had Junhee’s ear to himself, and perhaps they would be set free.

Seonghwa didn’t like it but he swallowed his doubts and hung behind his brother as the Admiral went on.

“Not just any pirates, either. This is Kim Hongjoong—”

Roughly, he grabbed Hongjoong’s strawberry hair and tugged his face up into the lantern light for all to see.

“—Captain of the pirate band ATEEZ, a frequent thorn in our sides. We’ve run into each other before, haven’t we?”

His cheshire grin spread from cheek to cheek and the pure malice he emanated made Seonghwa’s stomach boil.

They were in serious trouble.

“These are surely fellow pirates of status for him to have been travelling with them,” the Admiral remarked with a gesture towards Wooyoung and Yeosang, who knelt still as statues and ignored the sneers and saliva spray from the officers around them. The Admiral squinted at Yeosang for a moment before adding, “I recognise this one too, but I can’t place where from.”

“Can you prove it?” Seonghwa called when he couldn’t keep it in anymore. These soldiers didn’t look above killing the three of them on the spot.

A cloud passed over the Admiral’s face. “Pardon me, but who is this?”

Finally, Junhee’s tongue came unstuck from the roof of his mouth and he pulled Seonghwa forward. “This is my younger brother, Seonghwa. He’s been missing for some time but I’ve been blessed to be reunited with him tonight. Treat him as you would me.”

That last addendum was air in Seonghwa’s lungs. His voice was being given authority.

“Can you prove that they’re pirates?” He repeated, more confidently this time before gesturing to the houses and shops around them. “Because if not, you’ve just interrupted the sleep of half the island and accused innocent men of... what exactly? Plots to assassinate my brother, the Crown Prince? Seems like quite a leap to conclusions.”

“This one I can prove,” Admiral Kim growled, dragging Hongjoong up and in one precise movement, ripping at the neckline of his shirt and pulling it past his shoulder. Burned into his skin was a pirate brand, a couple years old, situated next to the newer scar from Seunghyun’s bullet months ago. The Admiral gazed at it with satisfaction. “A souvenir from the last time we met.”

A letter seared into a pirate screamed guilt, and could never be removed. There was no way Seonghwa could argue him out of this. 

But he did get some gratification out of watching the Admiral’s face fall at the unmarked skin of Wooyoung and Yeosang. 

“A lucky coincidence for them,” he mumbled. “That they evaded naval encounters thus far.” With that, he shoved their heads back down and didn’t blink when the momentum pushed Yeosang onto his stomach. 

“Wh-Which makes them innocent until proven guilty,” Seonghwa stuttered, cringing at Yeosang’s attempts to sit up, struggling against the officers who pushed him back down.

“Piracy isn’t some quaint, mischievous fringe lifestyle,” the Admiral spat, words laced with poison. “We can’t pardon them just like that when they’ve already been arrested for rooming with a known pirate. They must be investigated, that is the law.”

“Admiral,” Junhee snapped, surprising Seonghwa almost into flinching. “Do not speak down to Prince Seonghwa. He may not be learned in all our laws and their applications, but he is still royalty by blood. And he has a point.”

Admiral Kim bowed his head respectfully but practically hissed back at Seonghwa, more wraith than man, “We’ll keep them in custody here on suspicion of criminal activity by association with Hongjoong.”

Here he turned back to the Captain in question and eagerly clapped him in irons.

“Kim Hongjoong, I charge you with all of your crimes against the Crown and Empire, namely piracy, for which the penalty is death.”

The protesting ruckus of Wooyoung and Yeosang was ceased by a single look from the Admiral. “Don’t worry your colourful little heads. He won’t die until he watches both of you be killed first. Even if I have to drag the evidence up from fishermen and brigands.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Junhee nodded and Seonghwa stood there and watched his friends be dragged away.

“Your chariot awaits you, pirate kings,” the officers jeered, none too careful with their handling as Yeosang and Wooyoung each received a pair of handcuffs.

“We’ve invented an entirely new class of tortures,” the Admiral crooned into Hongjoong’s ear as he packed him into the carriage waiting to drive the three to the jailhouse. “Just for you and your crew.”

Patience, Seonghwa screamed at himself internally, glued to the spot against his will.

This was Admiral Kim, before whom men trembled in abject fear. He was clever and committed and the moment Seonghwa was out of the man’s sight, he was on the clock.

Kim bowed low before the princes, climbed in with the prisoners, and shut the carriage door tightly.

The hourglass had tipped and sand was sinking quickly.

...

Mingi heard the dawn before he saw it. The mystic’s ménagerie of birds chorused outside his window and heralded in a sunrise that dipped treetops in golden light.

A lazy morning melted into a lazy afternoon and Mingi found that his ever-present itch for action had died. It was like the sweet breeze that tickled the wind chimes was a perfume that relaxed him almost to the point of lethargy.

He sat contentedly on the balcony with Yunho, sipping from a honeyed beverage of some kind that he didn’t care to put a name to, while Jongho kept Eden company inside.

The older pirate still wasn’t on his feet yet, and the pocket watch Mingi pulled out every once in awhile warned him that they’d have to make a decision about what to do soon.

Just as he went to open his mouth and make a suggestion, a particularly strong gust of wind sent autumn leaves wafting past them and up to the twin doors of the mystic’s watchtower.

Mingi watched with fascination as she emerged from behind the shades and caught a leaf as it drifted towards her. Her expression darkened as she gazed at it like it was some kind of messenger.

Suddenly her attention turned to the two of them. “Join me,” she called before turning back inside, silk robes fluttering behind her. There was no need to discuss it, so Yunho and Mingi simultaneously rose from their seats and climbed up to the watchtower, beckoning Jongho along with them.

“I received a prophecy,” the mystic informed them, not even turning from where she stared into her crystal ball. 

“Concerning...us?” Mingi was hesitant in making assumptions, but she had called them up there after all. 

“In a way, yes,” the woman answered, stepping back so they could see. The inside of the globe looked like a mess, flame and crushed plants mingling, a dark substance that looked like water, and a hazy fog swirling around. It was not a clear depiction of the future, but whatever it was, Mingi could tell it was bad.

“Enemies are plotting to strike,” she said gravely, and from the way Jongho fidgeted, Mingi could tell he wasn’t satisfied.

“Which enemies?” The youngest asked. “And plotting to strike when? How?” There was a tinge of jealousy to his voice. Foretelling hidden dangers was once his job.

“That much is clouded still,” the woman sighed, covering the ball with its velvet cloak and settling into a chair. “But this is not like the mischief of demons or the ambition of the Navy. There is unrest in the very fabric of reality. It feels almost like...”

She rubbed her temples until the sensation came back to her and she could put a name to it. “Almost like preparation for war.”

War with the universe.

That notion was like a fuse that flickered on in front of Mingi’s face and tensed his muscles in anticipation of an explosion. His drive had returned to him.

They’d waited around on their backsides long enough. This was as clear a signal as any that their stay in this small paradise was up.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Mingi commanded the room with a quiet cough. “We have some things to discuss.”

...

The cobblestone streets were home to San, and he could navigate them blind. So he ran to the eastern marina in the dark, thinking on his toes.

The Crown Prince’s escort fleet and all the Navy ships were at the western docks, but still San stuck to the shadows and scanned the boats for one special ship.

The ATEEZ was gone.

San triple checked and then clamped his hands to stop himself from tearing his hair out.

Where could they possibly have gone? And why would they leave?

The crew of the ATEEZ had been loyal through every tribulation thusly so why now did they choose to betray their officers, at the worst possible moment?

“Pirates!” He hissed in frustration, sitting himself down on the edge of the dock. “Backstabbing, good for nothing, traitorous pirates.”

And now he had to steal a boat.

“But first...” he mumbled, pulling the pages out of his pocket again and staring at the sad, wrinkled parchment.

Had Hongjoong not been resolute in his order to call for help, San wouldn’t have spared the spellbook pages another glance. They’d destroyed his life already, he found it hard to believe they could do any good.

But there, scrawled in a corner on the fourth page, was a spell for silent communication. So he took a deep breath and read it before selecting the person he would call.

He thought back to the voice that had spoken to him in his fight with the demon. Part of him recalled who she was, but all he needed was to remember her voice and try to speak back to it.

“Please help us,” he whispered, reaching out with his mind. “We’re in trouble, the Navy’s come to capture us. Send help.”

He whispered incantations until he felt a jolt of energy and a ringing in his ears. 

His voice had been heard.

...

The more Seonghwa looked, the more he came to believe that San had escaped the battle unharmed.

As soon as the Navy officers had left, he assured Junhee that he would join him in his royal residence soon and entered the inn to comb through the crime scene.

The cowering innkeeper and his family were of no help, so he hurried upstairs to their decimated room and picked through broken glass and curtain for anything incriminating.

It created a pool of regret in him to be rifling through their bags while all of them were probably being beaten senseless elsewhere, but if he was careless, they would experience much worse. The Admiral would probably return soon on a hunt of his own.

Seonghwa sighed in relief at the fact that Yeosang had left Eden’s compass on the ship and the treasure was safe there as well. 

He had to leave some of their belongings or it would be obvious he had come to cover their tracks, but he collected his own bag and all of San’s things. Now it was like the two of them were never there.

As long as the Admiral didn’t know about San, the surgeon had a chance to get off the island and get help.

Seonghwa returned his room key at the front desk before leaving the inn behind. All the keys were accounted for now. One less shred of evidence for the Admiral to uncover on his return.

Seonghwa headed to San’s old house, and thankfully the woman who lived there now was awake and compliant when he asked her not to tell any soldiers of their visit there earlier and paid her in advance for her cooperation.

By the time he returned to the temporary palace, the sky was grey and promised morning soon. 

“You know them, don’t you?” Junhee asked the moment Seonghwa collapsed in the bed his brother had ordered prepared for him.

His mind took a minute to catch up, but Seonghwa hummed quietly when he realised he couldn’t very well deny the statement.

“You know, the merchant told me you were captured by pirates,” Junhee whispered, settling into his own bed once the lights had been extinguished. “It shocks me that you’d defend one of their kind after all they must have done to you.”

There was a moment of silence in which Seonghwa felt he could say nothing other than the truth. When the soldiers questioned them, it would be as if they never knew each other, but to Seonghwa there was no way to minimise what they had done for him.

“They saved me,” he finally croaked out. “These pirates saved me. I’m just returning the favour.”

“You were travelling with them, then?” Junhee pressed, and he sounded more intrigued than anything as he turned on his side to face Seonghwa. 

“We didn’t come to kill anyone or steal anything,” Seonghwa said softly, emotions he had bottled up in front of the Admiral slowly working themselves out and down his cheeks as he spoke. “I don’t know if it’s within your power but, please, hyung. Please pardon them.”

Junhee stared at him for some time and Seonghwa waited for him to laugh and call him ridiculous. Maybe even turn him over to the Admiral and have him hung with the others.

“Everyone makes mistakes. I’ll speak for the unbranded ones,” Junhee finally said. “But if they are proven guilty...”

He flopped onto his back and broke eye contact, and Seonghwa knew he had made up his mind. “They’ll have to pay for their crimes.”

Seonghwa wanted to fight back, he wanted to explain that none of them deserved death after all the good they had done, but he swallowed his arguments and thanked Junhee humbly.

It was something. More than he could have asked for without his new status, and more than Junhee owed him.

Their quiet mid-morning breakfast was intruded upon by a visit from the Admiral.

Junhee let him in but scowled at the interruption of his explanation of royal eating customs to Seonghwa.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Admiral Kim apologised with a low bow. “I just wanted to ensure Prince Seonghwa was settling in well.”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t here to gloat, which meant Yeosang and Wooyoung weren’t talking for him. As expected, they wouldn’t condemn themselves.

Seonghwa forced a smile and assured the man that he was doing fine, to which the Admiral hardly reacted. What was he here for?

“Is there an end in sight to the investigations?” Junhee asked conversationally. “I’d like to get home to begin wedding preparations soon.”

“Well,” Kim flashed a charming smile. “I may have a lead to follow up. The pirates’ ship is absent from the harbour.”

“So, perhaps they aren’t pirates after all then?” Seonghwa was quick to ask, trying not to sound too triumphant already.

“What do insects do when it rains?”

Seonghwa was completely blindsided. “Pardon?”

“Critters— insects, spiders and the like. They could be killed by a single drop of rain if it falls on them, so how do they survive?”

Seonghwa froze. The Admiral knew something. He answered his own question and Seonghwa’s thoughts flew to San.

“They scatter.”

...

San watched flames consume the wrinkled parchment, his soul finally at peace as the fire licked away at what remained of the spellbook.

He let the charred scraps fall to the bottom of the harbour and told himself it was the right thing to do. He had used the spells just as he was told and all that remained in that book was death and dark memory.

With the destruction of the spellbook pages, the demon’s plans were officially ended.

Now, San had to run for his life. 

The town was on high alert and he would be caught most certainly if he attempted to return to it.

The only option was to leave the island entirely and wait for help to break him back in.

A small sailboat was anchored just a few spots down from where the ATEEZ had been, and after purloining some food and supplies from the guardhouse kitchen, San snuck aboard to commandeer her.

The wind was insistently pulling him out to sea, so he obeyed it, working tirelessly to man the thing himself and slip out of the marina unnoticed by soldiers. 

From what he could make of the stars, he was headed south. He sent up a prayer, out of spontaneity and not magic, and drifted with the sea. 

Mostly he just hoped his supplies would last, and that the others would get here before he had to worry about them.

Time was slipping away as the sun peeked over the horizon and San felt like he was slipping with it.

...

“Why were you with a known pirate?”

Wooyoung shook his head at the officer yelling at him (a Lieutenant Byun if he had heard correctly) and tried not to tremble where he sat, restrained, in this dungeon they called an interrogation room.

There was no time to collaborate on a story or make a plan of escape. It was just him, this lieutenant, and the bucket of water he kept dunking his head into until this torture ended.

“Answer me, why?”

The world was plunged into freezing watery depths again and Wooyoung fought until his lungs burned like they were about to explode and suddenly he was up again, coughing and making a mess of himself.

He didn’t think he could do this much longer.

The lieutenant grabbed him by the neck to dunk him again and he broke.

“He captured me,” Wooyoung wheezed. And he wasn’t even lying. “It’s the truth. I was working for Bang Si-Hyuk, privateer, and he-he attacked our ship and kidnapped me. That’s how I ended up with him.”

It was a lead that would hopefully send the Admiral after Si-Hyuk for confirmation, buying time if nothing else.

“You expect us to believe you?” The lieutenant laughed.

“Ask Bang himself if you don’t,” Wooyoung’s voice shook but he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to get out of this room and away from that water bucket. “I don’t have any more information.”

Byun stared at him for a moment before signalling the guards to unbind him and take him back to his cell.

“Well done,” he goaded Wooyoung on the way out. “You’ve just volunteered your brown-haired friend for the next round of questioning.”

Yeosang.

Wooyoung’s eyes fell shut with disappointment in himself and he almost begged them to leave Yeosang alone but he was already being returned to his cell.

Yeosang’s was next to his, and he only had enough time to reach a hand through the bars that separated them apologetically before the guards took him away.

Wooyoung sunk to the floor and tried to collect himself. It was like a metal weight sat on his heart and he could barely move.

Hongjoong’s cell, the one across from him, was empty. Wooyoung didn’t know where they’d taken him and he didn’t want to think about it.

The sooner they got out, the better. He just had to keep believing Seonghwa would help them. If not for him, their entire company would already be dead.

Wooyoung focused on his breathing and memories of the rest of the crew while he tried to recover. He missed them more than he could say.

They had been successful in exorcising San, and San had been successful in escaping, so all things considered, the odds were still favourable. 

Wooyoung just had to keep that in the forefront of his mind and the beatings would be manageable.

After some time of being alone with his thoughts, Yeosang was dragged back into his cell.

Lieutenant Byun brought him back personally with cruel eyes and it was clear that he hadn’t cooperated.

“If he doesn’t want to speak, then he won’t be eating either,” the officer said, sliding food under the bars of Wooyoung’s cell and pointedly avoiding Yeosang’s. “Try to share with him and your fingers will be broken.”

Wooyoung waited until the footsteps retreated to scoot over to the bars that separated the two cells and slip his hand through.

His fingers found Yeosang’s shoulder and after a moment, the other melted under his touch. He turned him around to face him and regretted that they couldn’t embrace through the bars but was glad to be able to see his face.

It was badly bruised and blood was drying where it flowed from his head, but it was the way Yeosang’s eyes struggled to focus that worried him.

“I tried fighting back,” he admitted quietly, eyes lingering on Wooyoung’s untouched meal. “They didn’t take kindly to that.”

Wooyoung rested his forehead against the bars and Yeosang mirrored him. “We just have to hang on and we’ll be out soon,” he finally said, not nearly as confidently as he’d hoped it would come out. “They can’t find anything on us.”

A growl from Yeosang’s stomach reminded Wooyoung of the food waiting for him. After a quick glance around the area, he smuggled a chunk of bread through the bars and immediately paid for it.

A guard shot out of the shadows and entered his cell, yanking the rest of the food away from him and grabbing one of his fingers to deal punishment.

“No, no, please—“

Wooyoung barely had time to muffle his own scream with a fist in his mouth as the finger was snapped, a fracture cracking the bone and a sharp pain shooting from it.

The guard said no more and left the cell. 

Wooyoung didn’t respond to Yeosang’s concerned cries and curled into a ball while the other sighed and petted his hair until the pain and tears had subsided.

Eventually they sat back to back, singing softly to busy their minds. Hongjoong had still not returned, but Wooyoung waited instead for sleep to find them.

In sleep there was at least some respite.

...

Jongho watched the diamond spray of the waterfall cast a rainbow over the valley and listened to Yunho and Mingi argue about what to do.

Mingi was in favour of setting out immediately and asking Eden to pull his weight, and Yunho insisted that the older pirate heal and be able to walk first.

Jongho didn’t know why they hadn’t considered the most obvious option.

“Let’s just leave him here,” he broke in, sighing when they stared at him in surprise. 

“He would never allow that!” Mingi scoffed.

“We could always just ask him!” Jongho argued back. “Ever think of that?”

“How do you think we’ll even get off this island without his help?” Yunho pointed out, and Jongho was about to make a suggestion when another voice cut him off.

“Just ask me,” the mystic smiled, reaching into her sleeves to hand them something while they scratched their heads wondering where she had come from.

“This, I believe, is yours.”

In her palm lay a knife. The one Hongjoong had given to Mingi, that the beast had run away with stabbed into its skin. 

“How did you get it back?” Mingi breathed, taking the knife reverently and turning it over. 

“I have my ways,” the woman waved off the question before sobering. “I agree with the youngest, it would be wise to set sail now, without Eden to slow you down. I have just received a message, word from San. He flees from Namhae alone and calls for aid. They’re all in grave danger.”

“Is this connected to the war you mentioned?” Mingi asked nervously, sheathing the knife as they made their way inside. It sounded like he’d be needing it.

“Only time will tell,” the mystic said simply, stopping them outside the door to their room. “He’s awake, but I’ll give you some privacy.”

Eden certainly was awake and reading at that, Jongho noticed as they settled into plush cushions and danced around the point of the conversation.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Eden said coolly, shutting the book gently and laying it on the arm of his sofa. “Your crewmates are in trouble and you need to go to them, I understand.”

Mingi frowned at Yunho’s poke in the ribs but opened his mouth to reassure Eden they would only leave if he was in agreement. “It’s just that you still need time to heal, and we can’t wait any longer.”

The sail to Namhae was relatively short but every day they spent was costing their friends.

“I’m in good hands here,” Eden agreed. “Hongjoong will understand when you reunite with him.”

There was a pause where his eyebrows drew together and eventually he sighed.

“Tell him I was wrong. About you, about him... about everything.” The words came out all jumbled together, but he spoke from the bottom of his heart. He believed in them now.

“You children have been nothing short of miraculous.”

Course decided, the three got to packing and said their goodbyes. Jongho knew the first place he was coming back to when he had the chance, and it was this island. It was a wonderful and awe-inspiring place, and he had a friend to return to now as well.

Eden called his name as he was about to cross the threshold, so he turned back to hear his parting words.

“If we ever meet again, I hope it is under much better circumstances.”

...

In the dim hole that was their prison, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed.

Meals came infrequently, and Wooyoung was much more careful about being caught sharing after his earlier stunt.

To ease the guards’ suspicions, it took a few days of eating his meals himself before he could slip something to Yeosang through their clasped hands, sitting back to back against the bars like they had done before.

Hongjoong came and went, always with very little sleep, and Yeosang couldn’t help but notice how the guards stopped marching him out for “questioning” and started dragging him.

If he put up a fight, it wasn’t in front of them. He never had much to say when he was around, either, apart from asking if they had eaten and begging them to trust him.

He said he knew what he was doing. He said he had a secret plan. He said he needed them to be patient. So they were.

Conversation was strictly discouraged by the guards, but they got by with being able to look at each other, and in Yeosang and Wooyoung’s case, cling to each other through the bars.

It seemed the Admiral had forgotten about them, or was no longer interested.

No one interrogated them for days, and it seemed they couldn’t lawfully be beaten outside of interrogation tactics as suspects and not proven pirates. 

They waited endlessly in the damp mustiness of the prison, a stone floor for their beds and stale food for their bellies.

Morale had sunk low enough that they didn’t bother to whisper about escape anymore, but the stray thought about Seonghwa was an ever-present hope. He was working on getting them out. They were sure of it.

Until one morning when both were escorted to the interrogation room together and Yeosang was sat down for the Admiral himself to question.

“I found something peculiar when looking through the evidence,” Admiral Kim told them theatrically, waving a couple of scrolls in the air before unrolling one and showing it to Yeosang.

“A map,” Yeosang deadpanned. He had resisted all of Byun’s interrogation techniques, and he wasn’t about to cave in front of the Admiral.

Wooyoung watched anxiously from the side.

“Not just any map,” the Admiral lilted, tapping the right corner. “This one has portions of the East charted on it. Places no one outside of my fleet has ever been.”

“What are you insinuating?” Yeosang gritted out. “I’m tired of playing games.”

The Admiral’s smile wilted and he tossed the maps to the ground. He was angry now.

Yeosang flinched as the Admiral reared his hand back for a slap, but suddenly the man froze and everything went quiet for a moment.

Kim’s hand came up alongside Yeosang’s face, and he rubbed some of the blood off his eyelid. He was gentle, tender even, and as much as it sickened Yeosang, it allowed him to breathe for a minute.

“I thought I recognised you,” the Admiral said quietly, thumb lingering on the birthmark next to Yeosang’s eye. “Now I know where from.”

Yeosang didn’t move a muscle, willing the man to stop putting the pieces together, but it didn’t work.

“Kang Yeosang.”

Byun and the other guards gasped at this revelation. They had the son of their own Head Navigator imprisoned and tortured.

“Let them free,” the Admiral sighed, finally stepping back and crossing his arms. He ignored the look Lieutenant Byun gave him and opened the door to let the two shocked prisoners walk free.

“Unfortunately, I made a promise to your father once, that I would make sure no harm ever came to you,” he said by way of explanation, walking behind the pair as they helped each other towards the exit. “He wouldn’t be very happy with me if I had you executed.”

And as for Wooyoung, it seemed he was imprisoned by association and pardoned by association as well. It was the first thing Yeosang insisted upon and surprisingly, the Admiral allowed it.

“I’m after another member of Hongjoong’s company now,” he informed them vaguely, a knowing smile teasing his lips. “One who seems to have escaped me. But I won’t presume to glean information from you— off you go!”

The door was open. They could leave. 

Wooyoung turned back as they limped towards the light, just in time to see the Admiral enter Hongjoong’s cell.

“There’s going to be an execution next week in the square,” the man snarled. “Yours.”

Yeosang and Wooyoung shared a knowing look. They were on the other side of the bars, which meant they were responsible for springing their Captain out next.

Knuckles white around the bars of his cell, Hongjoong’s hoarse voice rang out and followed the Admiral as he left.

“I may have to go down. But I’m taking you with me.”

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @atzjjongbby​ @celestial-yunho​ 

A/N: ONE CHAPTER TO GO!! And then I start the next book in the series ;) Things are getting really intense, what do you think will happen? Comment or send an ask <3

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[javistg]

Javis reads The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

Comments, and spoilers, under the cut.

Aks, replies and discussion are always welcome!

For previous chapters, click HERE.

“[...] They say there are people in the north,” Sejanus told him. [...] “But even if there aren’t, there’s no Capitol,” Sejanus continued. “And that’s the main thing for me, isn’t it? Not this district or that. Not student or Peacekeeper. It’s living in a place where they can’t control my life. I know it seems cowardly running away, but I’m hoping that once I’m out of here, maybe I can think straighter and come up with some way I can help the districts.”

Poor Sejanus, he’s spent years feeling out of place. This new plan doesn’t really sound like a solution to his problems, but he’s so desperate to live life on his own terms that he’s willing to try anything. 

The whole idea of the rebels having secret access to the base. It frightened and infuriated him. This breaking of the contract. This invitation to chaos and all that could follow. Didn’t these people understand that the whole system would collapse without the Capitol’s control? That they all might as well run away to the north and live like animals, because that’s what they’d be reduced to?

It seems to me that this is a fear that stays with him all through his life. The notion that even the smallest act of rebellion might be enough to erode the Capitol’s power and bring on a full collapse. Isn’t that what he tells Katniss in Catching Fire? That the system is fragile and that it doesn’t take much to disrupt its balance? 

Maybe he was doing Sejanus a favor. If they caught him before he had a chance to act, maybe he could get prison time instead of a more severe sentence. Or, most likely, Old Plinth would buy him out of whatever trouble he faced. Foot the bill for a new base for District 12. Sejanus would get kicked out of the Peacekeepers, which would make him happy, and probably end up with a desk job in his father’s munitions empire, which would not. Miserable, but alive. And, most importantly, someone else’s problem.

I have to give Coryo some credit here, He is betraying his friend, there's no doubt about that, but at least he’s trying to imagine a positive --albeit unlikely-- outcome for Sejanus.  

In a flash, Spruce lifted his shotgun to shoot her, but Billy Taupe knocked the barrel toward the floor. Coriolanus reflexively reached for the Peacekeeper rifle and fired toward Mayfair’s voice. She gave a cry, and there was the sound of her collapsing to the floor.

And that’s two people Coriolanus Snow has killed in the span of two months. I can understand him killing Bobbin, he really had no choice there, but Mayfair?  I never liked her, she was an annoying brat -- and she was likely to cause trouble -- but he didn’t even give her a chance.  

“[...] Coryo, what if they arrest an innocent person for the murders?” Then our troubles are over, thought Coriolanus, but he only said, “I think it’s highly unlikely, with no guns. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

What a contrast! For Snow finding a scapegoat would be nothing but good news. I don’t think Sejanus would be able to live with himself if an innocent was found guilty.

He kept waiting for Strabo Plinth to descend in a private hovercraft, negotiate a discharge, offer to upgrade the entire air fleet for free, and whisk his errant son back home. But did his father even know about Sejanus’s predicament? This wasn’t the Academy, where they called your parents if you messed up.

Up until now, Strabo has always been able to help out his son, but Snow must have known -- at some level -- that District 12 was too far from Strabo’s reach.

Arlo, an ex-soldier toughened by years in the mines, had managed a fairly restrained end, at least until he’d heard Lil in the crowd. But Sejanus and Lil, weak with terror, looked far younger than their years and only reinforced the impression that two innocent children were being dragged to the gallows.

And here comes Snow’s third victim. Even if he’s not the one pulling the trigger this time, he’s still responsible. 

I don’t want to say that Sejanus was asking for it, but I do think he wasn't very smart. Yes, he had very lofty ideals, but he never thought things through.

He might have resented Strabo’s interference in his life, and the way he used money to fix everything, but he didn't really know how to make it in Panem without his help.

[...] he found himself looking at Lucy Gray’s stricken face. She stood near the front in an old gray dress, her hair hidden in a black scarf, tears running down her cheeks as she stared up at Sejanus.

Does Lucy Gray know why Sejanus is being executed? When the Peacekeeper read the charges he mentioned treason, but that can mean several things. Does she blame Coriolanus in any way?

[wyvern-moon]

Of Crests and Battle Cries (Chapter 1)

Summary: The war for Fódlan's fate has ended, leaving the country united under a new king. Aftermath comes in many forms and brings with it new struggles both on and off the field of battle. For Linhardt it comes with difficultly sleeping at night, his dreams haunted by deeds committed in the name of peace. The solace he finds in Caspar never wavers, though he knows better than to wish too desperately for more.

Read below or on ao3 at inkberrry

--

Few things in the world felt so good as a warm breeze, though soft grass and the fresh and open sky were a close second. Spring had found its way to Garreg Mach after a long winter, and an even longer five years of strife. That was behind it now, in most ways. The war was over, the land and its people changed. Flowers pushing their way through melting frost heralded a new season — the first of many in a new, united Fódlan. Peace suited Linhardt well, and while he laid with his back against the solid earth and the sun warmed his face he breathed easy. It was the first warm day of the year; warm enough to haul his book into the courtyard and settle under his favorite aspen tree, sleeves rolled half up his arms and hair brushed away from his neck. He could feel the heat on his eyelids as he flitted through drowsy, half-conscious states, occasionally waking fully from a hazy dream. He could also feel Caspar’s presence nearby. It was a constant, familiar tug in his direction, like a magnetic stone was placed in his pocket and Linhardt’s own. Even with his eyes closed he knew when Caspar shifted against the tree trunk, or when he rolled his shoulders back and the scrape of his leathers marred the bark. Through the chatter of passing monastery inhabitants Linhardt could hear his breathing, too. It worked as a lullaby, putting him deeper at ease and that much closer to sleep.“Hey, Lin?” Caspar’s voice floated through Linhardt’s dreams, and the heat on his skin from the sun seemed to flare warmer for an instant. It was too much to ask for a silent afternoon, he knew. Even while he was clearly trying to nap Caspar’s voice found him. He lifted his hand from where it rested on his stomach and waved it in Caspar’s direction, lazily encouraging him to get on with whatever he was going to say. His eyes remained closed, hoping perhaps his friend would take it as a hint to stay quiet despite the acknowledgment. Caspar continued on. It wasn’t unexpected, and Linhardt did like the way his voice mingled with the low drone of the Monastery and the leaves in the breeze. It was the words he said that surprised him once they were out though, breaching a topic he tried his best to avoid. “Do ya ever think about what it would have been like if the Professor hadn’t asked us to join their class? Like, once the war broke out?”

Linhardt opened his eyes and glanced over at Caspar, the patches of grass between them dewy and glistening in his vision. Caspar was still sitting with his back against the aspen, his legs crossed in front of him and hands idly plucking at the grass. There was a pile of it next to his knee as evidence of his hesitation. “No.” After answering Linhardt closed his eyes again, though this time he didn’t feel the peace of the sunlight or the comfort that Caspar provided. Instead of swirling yellows and golds beneath his eyelids he saw visions of dusty, red stained battlefields. There was no warm breeze, but instead the heat of burning homes and the acrid scent of bodies set aflame. “No? Not at all?” Caspar spoke again, his tone prodding. Linhardt didn’t like that tone. Not when it asked about things that had no reason to be discussed or even thought about. “I mean, we could have had to fight each other. Not just us and the others but like, you and me. Cause I sure as hell wasn’t going to help my dad.” Winter must still have been lingering, as Linhardt felt a sharp stab in his chest like frozen air entering his lungs. For an instant it was a struggle to breathe, and when he could again his body was cold to the tips of his fingers. “No, Caspar,” he said, and pushed himself to a seated position before unrolling his sleeves to cover his arms. “I don’t think about what it would have been like to fight you. And I don’t want to have this conversation.” Caspar’s expression fell and Linhardt almost felt guilty for his curt answer. He wasn’t getting into this, even if Caspar’s face was marred by a betrayed frown. There was no use, and besides, the breeze was gone and the day turning chilly. The time for napping in the courtyard was over. “Aw come on, I’m not trying to upset ya or anything,” Caspar said, catching Linhardt’s eyes when he stood and gathered his book into his hand and brushed the loose grass from his robes. “I was just thinking.” There was an earnestness to Caspar’s voice that Linhardt always loved. It was the first thing he had loved about Caspar, before all the other reasons barreled into him with a force that threatened again and again to knock him off his feet. But like his feelings, that earnestness for now needed to be ignored. Both would get them nowhere, and as such there was also no reason to discuss or devote too much time into thinking about them. “Well I will leave you to that, then,” he said. With another wave of his hand Linhardt walked off, heading in the direction of his room. “Goodbye.” “Hey, Linhardt! Wait —“   His back turned, Linhardt allowed himself a quiet sigh and a tight, nail digging clutch into the cover of his book.  

  --- Linhardt spent the next day locked in his room. No one would think twice about it. There were plenty of times no one found his secret napping spots and he could hide away for days. His absence wouldn’t be questioned. He didn’t do much sleeping, though. Instead he distracted himself by reading a new tome cover to cover, and when his eyes ached too much to make out the words he laid with his head pressed into his forearms. It wasn’t Caspar’s fault. Linhardt knew that. He didn’t know his casual mention of the war, of what could have happened, would affect him like this. Linhardt hardly knew himself. Sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes he could think and talk about what happened over the last five years without issue. But other times… Other times it was hard to breathe. Like in the courtyard. Like when he woke up in the middle of the night with images of those he’d killed unwilling to fade the way sleep did. But when Caspar asked if he’d ever thought of fighting him in the war it was too much. It was too much because of course he’d thought about it; he’d thought and he’d worried and he’d quietly panicked. Lifting his head from his arms Linhardt took a deep, staggering breath. He needed to get out of his room now. He was hungry, what little he ate the last day finally leaving him drained of energy. The worst had passed now, anyway. He wasn’t trembling, and his fingers and toes were warm again. While he tied his hair back he even managed a soft smile, thinking about how Caspar had likely forgotten the whole incident and would be back to his usual, chipper topics. Once he was as put together as he was going to get, Linhardt walked the well worn path to the dining hall. It was late afternoon — the best time to sit and eat, according to him. It was between the rush of soldiers grabbing lunch and the loud, boisterous evening crowd having dinner. Inside was muffled and quiet, and he found a seat by himself near a half open window. “Hey, there you are!” His plate was nearly empty when Caspar found him. He looked to the sound of his voice to see his friend heading straight towards him and again it was hard to take a breath. This time it wasn’t cold that stopped his heart, but a squeezing grip that only let go when Caspar reached the table. “Here I am,” he agreed, not in the least surprised he was found so quickly. Just like he thought before, he and Caspar had a magnetic pull. “I’ve been looking for you like all day,” Caspar said with a customary smile, then a playful narrowing of his eyes. “And yesterday too. Are you hiding from me?” “If I were I would be doing a better job, I think,” Linhardt answered, knowing Caspar wouldn’t spot the lie. Two times he came to Linhardt’s door looking for him yesterday, and both times he held still so as not to make a sound. “What did you need? And sit down, please. You’re making me tired just looking at you.” Caspar laughed and swung his leg over the side of the bench. He sat across from Linhardt, and the last light of the afternoon shone in from the window and hit his face, lighting it up. He blinked back the glare, though not before Linhardt noticed the way it bounced off his eyes. “Oh, right,” he said once he was settled. “Dimitri says we gotta go take care of some left over Empire troops near the Pass. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.” The news left Linhardt shaking his head, already fully against the idea. Dimitri was king now, but he still made his base in Garreg Mach for the time being. Technically if he gave orders Linhardt was obligated to follow, but Linhardt never liked technicalities to begin with. “We? Why does he need me to go?” “Well, cause we work best together, duh!” Caspar’s second laugh filled their small corner of the dining hall. The earnestness was back, and confidence to go along with it. Linhardt felt it squeeze his heart again, but was able to shake it off by taking a drink of his tea. “Everyone knows that. We’re a team.” “During the war, yes,” he said, setting the cup back down on the table with a blessedly steady hand. “Now I work alone. Here. Where I can read and sleep in peace.” “You can do that when we get back. We gotta make sure the area’s safe. You can’t read in peace if the monastery is attacked, right?” Linhardt looked at Caspar and blinked, then slowly nodded. “That is surprisingly astute, Caspar,” he praised, and was rewarded with a shine in Caspar’s eyes he thought the other boy wasn’t even aware of. “Still, I’d rather pass.” Following Dimitri’s orders meant going back into battle. It meant using his magic to heal, which was fine, but also to hurt. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Not ever again. Not even with Caspar by his side and especially not with Caspar watching him. “You can’t pass, Lin,” Caspar said with a fond roll of his eyes. He reached across the table and nudged Linhardt’s shoulder. The easy contact made him slide back into his seat and left a warm sensation when Caspar’s palm touched. “I’ll wake ya up in the morning, okay? Just be ready!” “I suppose I have no choice, do I?” Lindhart sighed, the sound drawn out and heavy. There would be no avoiding this, it seemed. No way to avoid pain and death. No way to avoid the memories of war while he made more of the same even now. Maybe he was made for this more than he thought. “I’ll leave my door unlocked. Just bring coffee.” “You know I will,” Caspar said, the smile back on his face giving Linhardt at least that much more light. “Okay, I’m off to get my equipment ready. I’ll see ya in the morning. Bright and early!” Linhardt watched Caspar stand from the bench and hurry away, the fading afternoon light bathing him in its glow and the breeze from the open window ruffling through his hair. He thought peace would suit Caspar well too, if it would ever stay.