#so here's bash syndicate second-in-command

[bash-alvarez]

Some days, you just couldn’t have a quiet drink at your place of work without assholes interrupting every few minutes. It was a nuisance. Granted, Bash probably wasn’t supposed to be drinking on the job at Troy but Wyatt pretty much knew he did and probably didn’t care, so long as Bash could do his job. He usually didn’t get to the point of happy drunk anyway, just a few drinks to pass the time and make the idiots just a little easier to deal with. The bartenders were too scared of him to cut him off, anyway. Tonight, though, he’d barely finished half of his first drink before he’d had to “break up” two fights (i.e. take the offenders outside and kick their asses properly so they knew what a real fight was) and physically toss out some racist punks. It was the kind of night that put Bash in a bad mood, though that was often his state of being anyway. At least there’d been plenty of violence to vent his aggression on. 

Dusting his hands off after throwing yet another scumbag out of the bar, he strode over to his table and his waiting drink...only to find someone sitting there. His expression darkened. “That’s my table. Move or I’ll move you.” He would give the person about ten seconds before he followed through on his threat. 

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 13

Read Along on AO3 Here

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This time: Ezra experiences a sympathetic vision. Thrawn has had enough.

Next Time: Ivant and Un’hee and data that could change everything.

-/

The glass Ezra was holding slipped from his hand and shattered on the marble tile, water splashing everywhere. Not more than five seconds later, Thrawn came through his door, as if expecting there to be enemies surrounding him on all sides. When there were not, he stopped his advance. Ezra stood completely still, palm and fingers curled as though he were holding the glass broken on the floor.

“Bridger?”

He didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear Thrawn speaking. Thrawn took another step forward, and the sound of his feet against the tile made Ezra jerk, then crumple. Thrawn darted towards the Jedi, grabbing him before he could bash his head on the marbled floor.

“Ezra, answer me,” Thrawn commanded, voice crisp and icy. He shook the young man, watching as his eyelids fluttered. His body seemed to have broken out in a cold sweat, his entire body seeming to draw tight and fearful, as if expecting blows. “Ezra!”

An attendant appeared in the doorway behind them, likely also hearing the commotion. “Sir-”

Blue eyes blinked open, holding Thrawn’s glowing gaze with obvious effort. His eyes were trying to roll back as he spoke. “He’s after you,” Ezra said with a body-wide shudder. “They knew about it. They want...”

“Who?”

“I heard it,” He murmured, losing the fight to remain conscious. “Your brother-” He started to say, before going limp. Thrawn exhaled, considering the similarities between Navigators and Jedi. He’d never seen a Jedi have a vision - apparently it wasn’t exceedingly common amongst Jedi - but if his thoughts were correct, there was only one Ezra’Bridger could be this unconsciously afraid of.

He rose with Ezra in his arms, giving the woman who had responded a cool glance. “Is Thrass in his office at present?”

“Sir, I don’t-”

“Is he?” Thrawn snarled, more of a command to answer than a question. The woman snapped her mouth shut and nodded once. “Clean this mess,” He indicated of the glass.

“And the human?”

Thrawn’s tone was acerbic. “Certainly there are other guest quarters in this monstrosity of a home, yes?”

-/

“Still, the emperor wants him alive,” Ar’alani said. She stroked her chin. “Based on the information we’ve received Karyn Faro, we know that the Empire is not strictly winning their war with the rebels. The Grysk, however, likely do not.”

“That he’s wanted alive says something,” Thrass agreed.

“He was the best commander in the Imperial Navy,” Captain Ivant murmured. “Everyone knew it, they were just a bunch of Xenophobes. Thrawn had plans to defeat the insurgents without the use of their superweapon. If they don’t have another plan - hell, even if they did,” He mused, “Thrawn would be Palpatine’s best option to stomp out the rebellion.”

“And what of his offer to help the Grysk defeat us, Captain?” Thrass’s gaze lingered on him, waiting for what would be their most informed response.

“It’s a possibility. They’re a lot alike,” Ivant supposed. “Maybe they’d team up as long as it took to defeat and enslave us - killing us would be too kind,” He mused morbidly. “But they’d eventually turn on each other. The question is how much of the galaxy they’d wreck in the process.”

“It is not a possibility we can entertain. Not in any capacity,” Vah’nya said firmly. “I do not wish-”

A firm knock on the door gave them all pause. Thrass frowned. That was not the knock of an attendant. Nor would any attendant bother the head of house in the midst of such a meeting without fearing for their job, but more importantly Thrass’s ire. No, it could only be one person.

“Brother,” Thrawn growled, voice raised. “Open this door.”

“Well, this is about to get interesting,” Thrass said mildly. “Would anyone like a drink before I let him in?”

“We cannot-”

“Do you think he’s going to leave, Admiral?” Thrass made a face as he spoke. “What’s wrong? Did your pet Jedi have a meltdown?”

Vah’nya closed her eyes, seeming to focus. Her breath caught. “Yes, that’s right, he did,” She said softly to Ar’alani. “I should have considered this. He’s spoken of the Emperor to me. Mitth’raw’nuruodo-”

More banging, far more insistent this time came at the door. Thrass continued to pour his glass higher than was socially acceptable, then kept the bottle in hand as he made his way to the door. “You’re making a scene,” The elder brother threw his voice as he stopped in front of Vanto, pouring the human more. “Calm yourself or I will leave you out there to carry on.”

“You will do no such thing,” Thrawn intoned harshly. “I know-”

Thrass threw the door open before he could continue, not willing to risk whatever confidential item his younger brother had no-doubt uncovered. Thrawn’s eyes flashed in visible fury. To his left and right, but several paces back, stood all of the attendants that serviced the wing. He nodded to them politely, ignoring his brother for the moment in lieu of handing the closest one the empty bottle. “Take that for me please,” He said, almost kindly. “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s having a time.”

“Mitth’ras’safis.”

“What?” Thrass tipped his head down, as if the centimeter and a half he had on his sibling was a far greater height. “You wished to be allowed in and I am doing so, against my better judgement.” He stepped back and beckoned Thrawn. Once Thrawn had two steps into the office, Thrass closed the door behind him.

Vah’nya stood, turning to face Thrawn. “Is Ezra alright?”

“Go to him, Navigator,” Ar’alani instructed when Thrawn stared her down in response. “We will be fine here.”

Vah’nya looked just to the right of Thrawn’s left shoulder, where Ivant stood. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “Listen to the Admiral,” Ivant said. “It’s fine.”

The Navigator could tell there was an icy - and likely cruel - retort on Thrawn’s tongue. She’d never seen him truly angry before. Though, she considered, perhaps that wasn’t the best word to describe him. There were other things that afflicted him. Anger was a good mask for them. Most others might not see through him, but those gathered in this room did not need the gift of Sight to see through Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s facade. She dipped her head to him and left without another word, grateful to slip away from the hostile tension that gripped the syndic’s office.

“Sit,” Thrass bid his brother, indicating the seat the Navigator had left. “You’ve made enough of a scene.”

Thrawn did not. “The Jedi just had a vision in of a plot involving the Emperor-”

“Sit down,” Thrass’s voice was clipped. “Please,” He added tensely.

“-and all of you knew of it.” He turned to face Ivant last. There was no indication of his plans to heed his brother’s request.

The human crossed his arms and stared him down. “We just played the recording,” Ar’alani said, drawing his attention. “If the Emperor is as powerful of a sorcerer as the Jedi proclaims-”

“None of you have any idea of the Emperor’s supposed power,” Thrawn said, voice sharp and full of icy disdain. He looked back to Ivant. “Not in the way I do.”

“So we’re supposed to tell you everything?” Ivant asked.

“It is to do with me, is it not?”

“It’s to do with the entire Ascendancy.” Ivant pressed, stern. “Hard pressed as it may be to hear, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, this is not about you.”

“On the contrary,” Thrawn said, levying the full weight of his gaze at the Captain, sharp and bitter, “I know for certain it is.”

“How so?”

“The Emperor will want me back. He is losing the war, is he not?” He looked briefly at Ar’alani and Thrass, then focused the whole of his attention on Ivant. “I achieved unrivaled results.”

“Would you like to go back?” Ar’alani asked him. “It didn’t seem to be your desire when we finally retrieved you. It might upset your Jedi friend.”

“I do not wish to serve Emperor Palpatine. I wish to serve the Ascendancy,” Thrawn growled. “A task I am hardly doing at present,” He added, fighting for control over each and every word.

“And for good reason,” Thrass interjected. “You’ve practically come unhinged, brother.” He motioned to Thrawn, indicating he should consider his appearance, both physical and mental. “And these are not exactly peacetimes, as I’m sure you’ve realized.”

“Unhinged? I am one of few who understands the dangers we face in their entirety.”

Ar’alani exchanged a meaningful glance with Ivant before rising. “Syndic.”

“What?” Thrass snapped, never breaking the heated glare he exchanged with Thrawn. It had been two decades too long. Thrawn needed to be put in his place, and he had absolutely no problem doing so.

Ivant opened the door to the hallway. “Let me handle this,” He said.

Thrawn straightened more, looming as he faced the human. “Now you wish to speak with me, El’ivan’to?” He drawled the Wild Space native’s name with the Chiss pronunciation. Whether it was meant to bait the Captain went unsaid, but Vanto didn’t so much as flinch under pressure.

“You are making a fool of yourself,” Thrass said, then regarded Ivant, warning him, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Ivant didn’t look terribly bothered. In fact, his face remained expressionless, his eyes hard. “It’s fine. This is a long time coming, I think.” He motioned to the door. “Syndic, Admiral, if you would.”

Ar’alani nodded. “We should check on the Jedi as well, seeing that we are to blame for triggering him unnecessarily.”

They cleared out, Thrass giving Ivant a lingering look as if to say it was his funeral if he chose to invoke his brother’s rage alone. But Thrass forgot that Thrawn was not some unknown beast to him. This might be the closest he’d ever seen the Chiss to angry, but he knew better. This volatile mood wasn’t one single emotion. It was a build-up of many emotions and situations. Thrawn had been forced to spend the majority of his time with beings less than half his age for months, trying to reassimilate to a culture and people that had changed drastically since he’d left. This was good, Ivant thought, squaring his shoulders and pushing himself up from his casual lean against the wall. It was about time Thrawn expressed something. Anything, really.

“We aren’t the people we used to be,” Ivant told him, when the door snicked shut and they were truly alone. It was the only indication Ivant had given to show he recalled the conversation they’d had weeks ago, in Thrawn and Ezra’s shared quarters. The Captain gestured to the space between them, looking almost… unimpressed. “Start talking.”

Thrawn smiled. It was predatory. Eli remembered this and braced for the inevitable, conversationally unrelated question he suspected would come. And it did. “What is Project Compass?”

Ivant laughed. Then, he switched to Basic and said, “It’s everything you sent me to the Ascendancy to achieve, Sir,” He drawled, provoking the Chiss with the same tactic he’d tried on Vanto no more than minutes earlier. His eyebrows went up, however, inviting further questioning. Welcoming it, even. “It’s hardly a secret.”

Thrawn didn’t bite. With his usual calm clicking into place he queried, “Is it not? The Navigators seem to think so.”

“I’m sure. We select and study candidates of the highest aptitude, when it comes to their abilities. It’s a bit easier to get them to acquiesce to tests when you explain to them they’re of far higher ability and importance than their colleagues.”

“You lie, Captain.” Thrawn’s voice dipped in something that might be disappointment, if it wasn’t undercut with barely restrained fury. Ivant watched Thrawn attempt to work it out, studying his own motions, his breaths, his face and chest for discrepancies. He knew there were none. If he were the person he had once been, he knew being able to go toe to toe with Thrawn would have been a proud moment, would have left warm satisfaction curling in his gut. Now, he hardly gave it a thought. Still, anyway, Thrawn protested, “Your eyes give you away.”

“They don’t,” Ivant replied, his face blank as if he didn’t care one way or another if Thrawn believed him or not. He was just as capable of redirection as Thrawn was, but he knew better than to draw it out and risk a miscalculation. He didn’t underestimate Thrawn, even in a state like this. So, he opted not to meander around the point, and instead told the truth. “The Grysk tortured that out of me.”

It was a low blow. Lower than any the once-Imperial Eli Vanto ever struck. Thrawn reeled from it, caught spectacularly unaware. There was no witty comeback, no continued assault from the Captain. He stood still, assessing Thrawn silently without so much as an indication of his intent, no emotion crossing his face. It proved his point. Thrawn couldn’t read him.

And it made Thrawn sick to his stomach, revulsion and self hatred flaring through every synapse. It had been because of him, the Navigators had informed Ezra. But it was more than that. His choices had put this man here. And he had to bear the consequences of that. He was responsible for making this man what he’d become and for all his suffering along that path.

“Stop that.” Ivant said after a moment, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of Thrass’s desk. He took the one Vah’nya had left and waited for Thrawn to take the other to his left. “You’re not some god, you know.” He raised the glass of whiskey to his lips and took a pull of the drink, then set it down decidedly to the right of the coaster Thrass had set out for exactly that purpose. “This ain’t all on you.” Thrawn looked at the tumblr for a moment, but then the Captain spoke again, drawing his gaze. “Is Project Compass really what you want to know about?”

Thrawn considered saying yes. He did wish to know what Ar’alani’s plan was, what this project was that a non-Chiss was obviously so instrumental in achieving. But that was information he could get from other sources. Vanto’s words rang in his head. They really weren’t the same people they had been, before.

“Was,” Thrawn paused. Considered. He wondered just how Vanto saw him in this moment, but knew that in this instance, pride could not matter. “Was I to blame for your capture?”

Ivant leaned back in his seat. He picked up his glass, studying it. “Abstractly, you could say so, yes.” He shrugged. “You were among the reasons I took the mission in the first place.”

“You were aware of what I did. My actions-” He frowned. “I do not understand.”

Ivant met his gaze, choosing not to comment about the mixed feelings he saw there. “The way I see it, the Emperor forced your hand. He was just as xenophobic as the rest of the Empire, you were too smart for your own good, and you were loyal to your own people, first. He was paranoid, and you flagged yourself as an enemy. He burns through an awful lot of allies for a man trying to expand his empire.”

“If not the Chiss, the Grysk,” He mused. Like pawns in a game of galactic chess. “They believed you knew where I was,” Thrawn realized, seeing the connection. “You knew they would capture you.”

“I did know,” Ivant confirmed. “But they suspected Vah’nya had the information instead of me. I’m just a hireling, remember? I thought you sent me here because I was good at math.”

“Then why-”

“She didn’t have the information to give them. Only two people knew where you were. The Admiral, and myself. She took the fleet on the course you were on, and I made it known I was attempting to rescue you on a mirror of that path.” He smirked. “It was a good plan. By the time they figured out I was the one with the information, they’d shown me all their cards and the fleet was in the wind.” He shook his head.

“I was not worth that.”

The captain dispelled the thought. “It wasn’t just for you. There were plenty of good men and women we served with aboard the Chimaera. Good people who deserved to live.”

“Good people who will never know who saved them,” Thrawn said. “The Grysk would have slaughtered at least half of them, and enslaved the rest.”

“I don’t need the recognition,” Ivant said. He steered the conversation back on course, revealing, “The Emperor promised the Grysk a reward for capturing you and bringing you back to the Empire. Aid,” He revealed, “To defeat the Chiss.”

“Then, or now?”

“Both.” Ivant tapped the pocket he’d put the datacard in. “We found this transmission on the ship Ar’alani took with help from Bridger. They want to break you. The Emperor’s power is strong, of that there is no doubt. The Navigators dream of him from time to time.” He shook his head. “But he is not invincible or absolute. And you will not be going back, even if you wanted to.”

“I do not.”

“I know that, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Thrawn,” The Chiss said. “I would prefer it if you called me Thrawn.”

“As you wish.” Ivant’s gaze narrowed, his brown eyes searching Thrawn’s for something. If he found it, Thrawn couldn’t be sure. His voice was cool, but not unkind. “We are on the precipice of civil war,” He said, and Thrawn didn’t have time to think about the way Vanto considered himself a Chiss, the way he so naturally said ‘we.’ “I realize you wish to be in command, and frankly, I don’t blame you. But there is a reason for the Admiral’s decision to keep you assigned to Bridger. She and I expect you to honor that assignment.”

“As you said,” Thrawn interjected. “We are not who we were before.” It wasn’t a true acknowledgement, hardly a guarantee that Thrawn would not revolt against the decisions of his superiors, but it would have to do.

“No. We are not,” Ivant agreed, his voice fierce and earnest. Once again, he held Thrawn’s gaze. “We have to be better.”

Thrawn’s breath caught in his throat, the wardrum that was his heartbeat seeming to thunder in his chest, faster than before. He realized, possibly for the first time, that Eli Vanto was speaking to him as an equal. And he was, unlike any who had come before, Thrawn thought. Vanto had evolved beyond Thrawn’s wildest expectations and hopes. He had come here of his own choosing. Had made difficult choices and persevered on his own merit. Had proven everyone who ever doubted him wrong.

And, Thrawn realized suddenly, sharply and of his own volition: He was in love with this man. It was not some pandering thought of an overly-attached Jedi, nor the convoluted plot pushed upon him by scheming Navigators. Truly, he was in love with Eli Vanto. He wanted to get to know this man better, wanted to understand him down to his most minute elements. Flesh and bone, heart and soul.

[sasorikigai]

Can I have like... the whole relationships building meme for Hanryou plz?

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING || @sonxflight​ || accepting (part 1) 

Send ⭐️ (or multiple) for a headcanon about our muses.

In their relationship, nonsexual touch is such a frequented gift. Hugging, especially for them is a connection that is deep and bonding. They both are huggers, and for them, touch = love. To feel touch with another human is to feel connected, seen, validated, and loved. Hanzo couldn’t fathom to be away from not being touched again, for entire energetic system resets, recalibrates, and loses the gift of momentum when he’s absent from such sensation. After just a single afternoon of embrace, fully clothed and not directly sexual, his MOJO could be quick to return in some fundamental way. Some core function of his soul, his happiness, resonates with Ryou, and Hanzo would be once again recharged in a way that he had not been, since he lost that precious, exquisite touch with Harumi. 

Send ☎ for your muse’s info in my muses phone (name, ringtone, picture, last text received/sent).

Name: Ryou Sakai, aka [くそったれ]  Ringtone: Poets of the Fall - Someone Special Picture: 

Last text received: from Ryou [くそったれ] : How would you feel if I smacked your tits back?   Last text sent: to Ryou [くそったれ] : It’s not as pliant as your ass, but I dig your fucking infatuation with my tits. 

Send 🎼 for a song that reminds me of our muses.

Daughtry - World on Fire 

Going down like a dead man walking One step from a body in a coffin Just one, one of the fallen Waking up to a blood moon, howling Can't drown it out, even with the medicine Tearing through me like a bullet of adrenaline Arms heavy, face down on a death bed Blame the gods while choking on the violence In the end, silence is deafening

Send 👋 for three things that describe our muses relationship.

👋  Soulmates: While a lot of these examples of romance tropes have to do with two people slowly realizing their feelings for one another, the Destined To Be Together involves couples who know right from the start that they are in love. Their intense immediate bond is what maintains their resolve that they’re meant to be together while the universe, typically, conspires to separate them.

👋  The Second Chance at Love: They have been deeply hurt in the past, and have spent years avoiding any kind of romantic relationship. Now they will meet and learn to give love another chance. This is a hopeful trope that readers enjoy because it enforces the theme that “it’s never too late.”

👋  Back-To-Back Badasses: When two people are completely surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned, by simply coming together and having their backs against each other, they are suddenly much more capable. Usually involves a lot of spinning and may lead to Radial Ass-Kicking. The fully realized fight scene of this image is the Bash Brothers. A warrior's most vulnerable area is his back, and by putting their backs together, two warriors can eliminate this disadvantage and turn it into an advantage.

Send 👂 to overhear my muse talking about yours.

“I am wholly satisfied that I’m your entire galaxy and you will never experience euphoric things that excite every part of your body.” A huge smirk, then a grope of Ryou’s ass follows. 

Send 👤+ a muse name for my muse’s opinion on that muse (with the other muse/mun’s permission).

“The very fabric of my existence was rewoven because of Ryou’s physical and emotional support, and he becomes so ingrained that he is my constant, regardless of where I would end up.” 

Send 😍 for my muse to tell yours three things they love about them.

“His easygoing, down-to-earth persona, uncanny ability to read my mind, and of course, his ass.” 

Send 💤 for my muse to say something about yours in their sleep.

“Your ass is on fire!” 

Send 📖 for my muse to read out an entry in their journal/diary about yours.

It’s hard trying to fall asleep; it’s a juggle of keeping my mind distracted enough to fall asleep before the thoughts of my mind leaves me hollow and my eyes flinging open to stop it. How the truth of my loneliness unfurls, ceaselessly seizing the wind, bearing me against the current. I could never escape from thinking about you, for you follow me to this day, for every brutal handprint staining already blood reddened mark on my being had been touched by you and no one fucking dares me to probe the hard exoskeleton of my being. How you effortlessly render me malleable. 

Send ✉ for a written letter from my muse.

Ryou, 

Loneliness is such a dangerous thing, for everyone knows there are forms of cruelty which can injure a man’s life without injuring his body. They are such as deprive me of a certain form of food, necessary to the life of the soul. As the starved roots will wither and rot, rootlessness and homelessness robs me the sense of belonging. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to be migratory as I have thought I’d be. It’s not stemmed from having the feeling of having an existence that is not meaningful or fruitful, but turning to exclusionary groups in the squadron, which only increases the feelings of alienation and rootlessness. 

Who am I, after all, drifting without a background against me? My recognitions does not speak much when the criminality of my past has been resurfaced through the uprising of the syndicate that had once gone defunct. The viciousness of memory is such a terrible gift and this wasn’t mine to begin with. I don’t think I can do this alone, Ryou, I need you with me on this. Whether I risk myself being burned under the inferno and of course, I am dragging you to be burst in the flames and spill unneeded blood as well. But you are the only one I have, and I need to summon all the buried courage in me to face this, and I can’t do it alone. 

I need you in this with me, take the quickest flight up to Boston and meet me there in the morning. 

Send📱for a voicemail my muse left yours.

Agent Sakai? Hello, this is Dr. Anderson of Massachusetts General Hospital. You were listed as Commander Hasashi’s closest kin. He was involved in a botched mission, and thankfully, his brain injury could be dealt in the most urgent manner. It is my understanding that you are still on flight when you receive this, and Commander Hasashi has been conscious even when he was admitted, but he was in a lot of pain, so we put him under with an appropriate dose of morphine. Please contact us asap and make your way here.