#(she reminds me of the rebels but more intense + more personal so far)

[hgduo]

I"m not caught up yet at all but I'm gonna make a Bold claim...

... I could fix her...

[daisychainsandbowties]

Is it just me or does shin hati lacks personality?

i think it’s pretty obvious i don’t think of Shin as lacking in personality. i love what i’ve seen of her so far - think Ivanna is absolutely killing it with her performance so far, playing this mixture of intensity and homegrown Jedi calm, of a girl who is very alone and also trying to hold herself away from caring about anyone she might have to kill. i mean, i don’t know why you think she has no personality (i’d be interested in hearing your reasons) but to me she’s a fantastic character. if you know me you know that it takes A LOT for me to write fic for a character or a ship. so if wolfwren has moved me, i can pretty much guarantee i don’t sell out for looks with no personality.

but let me actually explain why i like Shin

firstly, she’s had very little screen time, to the extent i’ve probably got gifs of every frame of her so far on my blog. meanwhile Sabine has all of Rebels, Ahsoka has The Clone Wars, and Huyang is, frankly, a very typical example of a speaking droid. reminds me of c3po (i think he’s great, just not original characterisation). and they’ve all had more screen time in these four eps than Shin, who nonetheless has, in my opinion, demonstrated tremendous presence in every single scene she’s appeared in.

how she shows up on Lothal, stands there and says in her maddeningly calm tone, “we’ve been looking for this.” it’s just… so tongue-in-cheek, and Shin could so easily have sic’d the droid on Sabine and made her escape, could have smacked her against a wall with the Force and strolled away. but she chooses to stay. and the way she dances around Sabine’s blows… grabs the hilt of her saber to manipulate her in the fight, putty in her hands. flips her over her shoulder and plays plays plays with her… the grace and the wildness and the strange fascination of their fight. god she’s just!! so intriguing.

i think people pay too little attention to how much characterisation there is in a fight scene. we have Sabine fighting with a style that’s very much a mesh of form 1 and form 3. it’s defensive, it has hints of Ahsoka in it, her own modified and slightly more useful variation of Soresu (form 3) and then we have Shin. i need to examine her moves more closely to tell what forms (i think definitely forms plural) she’s drawing from - not much makashi, which makes sense since Baylan is Jedi-trained. her movements remind me of Maul’s style in The Phantom Menace, but there’s an element to her style that feels more… joyful, freeform, free verse.

she spins and pirouettes and barely avoids the cut of Sabine’s lightsaber. there’s relish in those movements. she can clearly block blaster bolts magnificently, has the athletic and acrobatic ability for ataru (the form yoda favours, and anakin to an extent). she’s a muddle of contradictions. silent so often but when she fights, when she flies that fighter…she’s golden.

and wry, too. watch for those slight smiles. the “you almost got them” and her hop-skip in the forest on Seatos, the “hello there” energy reminding me so much of Obi-Wan. and then her obvious terror when the Inquisitor falls, spewing green smoke. at the time i thought she was afraid for herself, of Ahsoka, but she was really afraid for Baylan. he’s trying to be a Jedi Master to her - there’s distance in their relationship, and GOD you can see her longing for contact, for touch, for something she can push and feel pushing back.

i think it’s why she antagonizes Morgan, why she waits to duel Sabine. she wants to… touch something and not just in a physical sense but in terms of connection. the light is so much about embracing life and i think of Shin trapped in the middle of that, not good or evil, light or dark, but caught in a terrible silence. her care and her fire is contained but it burns. especially when she fights, when she loses her temper “you have no power”, choking Sabine at the end, and that’s just the fire that creeps out under the door! beware the smoke.

the moments of fear, of guarded concern, of delight and fascination, anger and joy. i mean!! she’s a girl of few words, but when she speaks she SPEAKS. and when she doesn’t you can see so much going on in her body language, her face, her eyes, her actions. i think both of her fight scenes are beautiful examples of character through conflict.

i always use duels and fights for character-building. a fight is boring with nothing behind it - and with Shin we see, at first, fascination. wanting to prove herself, to show she’s the better padawan, but she also… i think she could have killed Sabine very easily. i would have run from Ahsoka too, but she honestly could have murdered Sabine right there. i love how they’re creating this sense that Shin is both… disturbed and intrigued by Sabine in episode 4. angry and also… holding her by the wrist, standing between her and Morgan.

listen, i am going to ship wolfwren whether or not my cows come home, but i really don’t bother with characters who aren’t interesting. so, yeah, i think Shin has plenty of personality! i love what star wars has been doing with the girls who have red(ish) sabers lately. i adore Reva, i am regularly insane about Trilla Suduri, and i think Shin is very different from them but no less fascinating! i’m loving the tentative line she’s walking between dangerous and vulnerable.

and, yeah, i think they should kiss.

[barbex]

@midnightprelude this is all your fault, a dorianders fic. This is for @30daysofdorian

Dorian x Anders, in Skyhold.

Tempted Tevinter

“Have you heard?”

Dorian changes the angle of his head slightly to listen to a former chantry sister and a former circle mage talking behind a column in the garden. They have many “formers” here now, and quite a few unusual friendships have sprouted in this strange hotbed of Skyhold. Dorian has found himself in a disturbingly nice friendship with a dalish mage, a qunari mercenary, and a former knight of the templar order, of all things. A chantry sister and a circle mage sticking their heads together in gentle familiarity is not even that unusual.

“What have I heard?”

“They got him, the rebel.”

“Which one? They’re all apostates now if you listen to the Chantry.” There is a beat of intense silence, for which Dorian can vividly imagine the scrutinizing look the mage gives his friend. “I don’t mean that I listen to the Chantry, you know that.”

The mage clears his throat and holds a dramatic pause before he reveals his knowledge. “It’s Anders, the rebel-mage who blew up the Chantry of Kirkwall.”

“Maker! I thought he was dead. How did they find him?”

“He found us, he came to the Inquisition on his own. Walked up to the gate, said who he is and asked to be let in. They didn’t believe him at first, but they called the Commander over and he recognized him.”

“By Andraste’s heart, he didn’t kill him outright?”

“Welling said the Commander went totally still. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he ordered him to be arrested.”

“When the Commander gets quiet like that —”

“— you know that he’s really angry.”

Dorian closes his book and quietly leaves his secluded corner of the garden. News like these are too interesting to keep working on old tevinter tomes. His steps take him back into the main hall, guided by the cacophony of angry voices yelling over each other. He keeps himself to the shadows, casting a light illusion spell over himself to stay hidden and studies the scene before him.

Inquisitor Lavellan sits on the floor in front of her throne, Varric stands on the step leading up to the throne and Cullen paces around them, stomping up and down the stairs. Josephine leans against the backrest of the throne, frowning at the Commander but keeping quiet. The Commander and Varric are not quite yelling, both of them aware how much Lavellan and Josephine hate yelling, but their tempers are too high to speak reasonably.

Cullen points his finger at Varric, even though he obviously speaks for Lavellan’s benefit. “He doesn’t even deny that he’s guilty, he should be put on trial.”

“And then what?” Varric yells back. “Do you know what kind of figure he is for the mages here? He’s a spirit of guidance by now, they worship him.”

“He still should be punished!” Cullen turns to Lavellan, lowering his voice a little when he catches her frown. “People died, not only in the explosion but also in the aftermath's chaos.” He turns back to Varric. “You should know that.”

Varric pinches the bridge of his nose and then looks up as if he wants to ask for help from the Maker himself. “You know, if you’d asked me maybe six or seven weeks ago, I would have agreed with you. But now, after seeing those templars...”

Tingling under his skin tells Dorian that his illusion spell is running out, and he uses the last bit of stealth to slip past the guard through the door that leads to the dungeon. The air is wet and strangely warm down here from the many hot springs that warm the castle through ingenious plumbing. He steps carefully on the wet stairs; he wouldn’t be the first one to slip here and tumble down.

The guard at the prison cells raises his eyebrow but only nods. Dorian is well known by now as belonging to the so-called inner circle and the days of him being questioned at every step as the evil magister from Tevinter are finally gone. Mostly.

He walks toward the cell with a glowing lock in front. Of course they would use a magic lock for a mage. Looking into the cell through the bars, he sees a slim figure in filthy clothes, leaning back on a stool so that his long, greasy hair sticks to the stones of the cell. Dorian wonders if the man is asleep when he suddenly speaks.

“Well, your’re not a templar.” Dark eyes turn to Dorian, studying him. “Tevinter mage, if I can guess.”

“Guessed correctly, I’m impressed. People usually go for evil magister first.”

Anders grins and Dorian is struck with the impression that all that dirt and greasy hair hides a beautiful man.

Anders touches the metal ring around his throat, a magic suppressing collar. “Can I have another guess? I owe this thing to your expertise.”

Dorian laughs out. “Correct again. I wasn’t convinced that the southern way of lacing food and water with magebane was the best way of going about suppressing magic. Magebane is nasty stuff and poisonous in the long run.”

“And we wouldn’t want to do unhealthy things to mages,” Anders growls bitterly. “I’m sure your fellow mages love you for this.”

Dorian shrugs. “I’m from Tevinter, I’m the first one to tell you of the marvelous and terrible things an angry mage can do. Ask me about time magic sometimes.”

Anders gets up from the stool and walks towards the bars. He is taller than Dorian and despite looking like he hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks, there’s an air of strength and confidence about him that has Dorian take a step back. “Why did you come here? You knew they would arrest you. The Commander seems to know you personally.”

“Curly? Oh, yes.”

Dorian snorts in surprise. “Curly? You call Cullen Curly?”

“Well, Hawke did, and Varric.”

“I must ask Varric why he never told me that.”

“Varric is here too? He just can’t stay out of shit, can he?” Anders wipes the hair from his face, leaving dark streaks on his face. “Cullen, Varric, anybody else here from Kirkwall? Merrill maybe? Dalish elf who knows too much about ancient magic she shouldn’t touch?”

Dorian pulls a handkerchief from his belt and wets it in water that springs from the wall. He hands the cloth to Anders, indicating that he should clean his face. “Never heard of a Merrill, we have Solas for that kind of job.”

Anders cleans his face, revealing a kind face with warm eyes and a cheeky grin in red stubble. “There, pretty enough for you now?”

Dorian lays his head to the side and puts his hand under his chin. “I’m afraid the unwashed hair and coat takes away from the overall effect.”

A smile spreads on Anders’ face and he uses the wet cloth to wipe over his hair, brushing it to the back of his head. The grease keeps it slicked back, and he looks surprisingly serious now, were it not for his smile. The smile makes him look young, daring even, with a livelihood about him that someone in his situation should not even have.

“You are quite beautiful,” Dorian blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Thanks.” Anders turns a bit, draping himself over the bars of his cell as if he’s on display, stretching his arm up and behind him and arching his back.

The whole pose reminds Dorian of body-slaves displaying themselves at one of the many parties he attended. Parties he loved to attend with all their pleasures. Nausea rises in him at the memories. “I would prefer if you didn’t do that,” he presses out between clenched teeth.

Anders looks at him and drops the pose, simply leaning against a bar of the gate. “Can you blame me?”

Dorian steps closer, watching Anders’ brown eyes widen. “Blame you for what?”

“I’ll tell you if you come closer.” Anders looks through the bars, his hands on either side of his face.

Dorian hesitates only a little. He’s one of the best trained mages here and the collar suppresses Anders’ magic, he isn’t a threat. Dorian takes another step closer until he stands right in front of the bars, his nose almost touching Anders’. He studies Anders’ face, the harsh lines carved into it from an equally harsh life, the warm eyes glittering with mischief.

“Closer,” Anders whispers, and when Dorian leans forward, he catches his mouth with his lips, brushing a kiss over it. He suckles on Dorian’s lower lip and then leans back. “Well.” He takes a long breath. “Can you blame me for trying to influence my jailor in my favor?”

Dorian jerks back. “I’m not your jailor.”

Anders laughs out and grabs the collar with both hands. “Certainly looks like it.”

Dorian opens his mouth for a retort when Anders’ hands begin to glow in blue, light traveling up his arms like lightning, and with high pitched noise, the collar snaps in two. Anders throws the pieces through the bars at Dorian’s feet and sits back down on the stool.

“I came here by my own will, I won’t be using magic to fight.” He leans his head back against the wet stone wall and closes his eyes. “I’ve accepted my fate and I’ll accept the judgement.”

“Fasta vass. How did you do that? It should have been impossible.” Dorian steps closer again, regardless of the danger of the unshackled mage in the cell. “Is it that spirit you merged with?”

“Justice is gone.” For the blink of an eye he looks like he is about to cry but he schools his face again. “But he left me with some kind of residue. And I was never...” He trails off, looking into the distance far beyond of his cell’s walls.

Dorian steps right up to the bars. “That’s remarkable. I need to study this, your magic.”

Turning his head, Anders grins at him. “Maybe you should talk to your inquisitor that you need me as a test subject to experiment on.”

“No!” Dorian shouts, his own reaction surprising him, the visceral recoil at this suggestion. “That’s not what I want.” In his imagination, Anders stands by his side as they study the text of an ancient book, flinging spells at each other, laughing, kissing, holding each other. The intense longing in his chest for this idea to become reality has him holding his breath in shock.

Something must have shown on his face because Anders looks at him confused. He shakes his head and leans back again. “Well, pretty jailor, please let me know soon how they’re going to kill me.”

Dorian turns around and storms out of the dungeon. Nobody will kill this man, he'll make sure of that.

[majormaxam]

won’t you bring me an angel?

Part II

Pairing: Jasper Whitlock (Hale)  x Reader

Summary: You find yourself to be a victim of Maria’s growing newborn army in Southern Texas. Maria finds your ability more than special, but a weapon. What she doesn’t expect is for you to be as defiant as others and to Maria’s dismay, you just happen to grow close with Major Jasper Whitlock. 

Warnings: mentions of death

Word Count: 4K

Author’s Note: Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for the next update. 

A young southern maiden was to be married after her eighteenth birthday and a mother at her twenty-first, but to your mother’s dismay you weren’t one of them. In fact, you were quite the opposite. You drove your mother mad with how you rebelled against those teachings. At the age of twelve you ripped a brand new dresses while climbing a grand oak tree outside your home, also scraping your knee in the process. Your mother’s anger could not be forgotten that day, nor could you shake the anger of the day you nearly fainted while wearing a corset for the first time. She acted as if a lady was made to have her ribs crushed and smile while doing so. 

The Texas heat was enough to withstand, but added layers of fabric was enough to make even the strongest buckle. You adored the night sky beaming over the southern sky at night and you often wandered out into the fields of bluebonnets to admire its beauty. Much to your mother’s pleasing approval. She couldn’t stand it, especially when finding you wore a pure cotton nightgown while strolling into the night. 

She even tried scaring you by mentioning the gruesome animal attacks occurring outside the families land, but it didn’t stop you. You found freedom in the Texas night. 

The soft grass under your feet was enough temptation as the scent of fresh lavender filled the air with the cool evening breeze. It was enough to make you smile as you strayed from home to dance under the stars gleaming above. These were the moments you cherished the most and how could you not when such beauty could be adored? 

It was a cool April night when you first felt the cold-blooded presence nearing the edge of the woods, but you didn’t near it. You didn’t fear much, however, the sight of red eyes watching you out of the dark shadows was enough to cause your stomach to turn. You raced back into your home without looking over your shoulder or pausing to catch a breath. The next night, you locked your window by the latch and covered them with curtains in hopes of whatever was outside stayed hidden. 

When hearing of the animal attacks, you simply ignored them… not imagining they would ever occur close. Until now. 

You waited a full week to finally gain courage to go back outside during nightfall, but this time you were careful to wander far. Instead, you rested under the familiar oak tree as the current of air flowing was enough to make you chill as the warmth of bluebonnets kept you warm. The fear of the unknown seemed to subside with nature as the whistle of tree branches above you kept distracted, until the erie presence lurked over the land. 

The horses a few yards away began to neigh and take off running across the fields, causing you to sit up and catch them. However, your human eye couldn’t see what they were running from. Until the moonlight from above casted a figure of another standing over your shoulder. You were quick to turn around and take the other by surprise, but were shocked to find it wasn’t one, but three figures. 

The three females stood side by side with matching crimson eyes burning into you as their whispers were too low to overhear. You wanted to scream, but the panic rising in your throat kept you from opening your mouth. Each one of them were unbelievably beautiful as the full moon exposed each flawless feature: from their alluring smile to their perfectly curled lips. Their presence alone felt deadly as they inched closer with smiles and smirks deceiving your fate. And the moment you tried to run a bone chilling touch sent you falling to the ground with a harsh shove before the brunette stood over you. 

“Lottie says you possess quite an ability…” The turn of her head gestured towards the blonde haired female standing over her shoulder, her eyes breaking with your connection. Almost as if she was ashamed of her undoings. “I do hope she’s right.”

Within seconds pain coursed throughout your body as your screams were the only vivid memories to remind you of that night. Along with the two bite marks branded along your collarbone. It seemed like an eternity as you withered in pain, begging for it to subside and death to take its course. However, no bright lights greeted you when waking from the agony. Instead, you woke with the scent of hay and dust thick in the air and when rolling onto your side, you weren’t familiar with the surroundings as you picked your head up and observed where you were. 

It was a tattered barn grounds you laid in with the moonlight shuddering in between the tainted wood holding it up. Thick dirt traveled into the air as if someone walked along the grounds moments ago, but no one stood close. You pushed yourself up out of the hay to stand, but a pair of familiar crimson eyes cause you to freeze. It struck fear in you as your body responded within seconds, jolting back from where she stood and a deep growl traveling into your chest. 

It seemed to humour the female as she chuckled at your attempt in protection, but watched with an observing eye. “I see we have a fighter on our hands.” She spoke as if another person was present and with a stiff hand gesture, he came into view. “Do teach her what will happen if she becomes difficult… we cannot afford to lose her, yes?” 

You dug your heels into the dirt crawling further from view in hopes of avoiding her eyes, along with another unseen to you. Yet, when the female stepped away with a smirk curled into her lips you felt the shake of your legs itching to attack her. Her presence was dominant but arrogant as she disappeared into night, causing you to search with quick eyes for answers… but a deep voice hidden in the darkened corners of the barn heard your thoughts. 

“Do stay calm… Maria isn’t one to restrain from angered actions.” You followed the sound of his voice to the right as he appeared from the shadows. His matching red eyes meeting yours as the light mood shine from outside exposed his handsome features and well built body. It was hard to deny him of even a glance as you were tempted to look away, but caught yourself admiring instead. His presence sent a calming wave of emotions to settle the anger and confusion racing in your thoughts. “Do you know what you are?” 

The closer he grew you found yourself sinking further into the hay with comfort seeping in and riding out fear. Your bottom lip quivered as his question urged you to ask further and end up begging for more. “Your eyes bring death, do they not?” You were surprised to watch him stop in place with the insult thrown out. “I… I’ve been told stories about your kind since I was a child and yet, I never believed them.” He tilted his head with an alluring factor convincing you to speak more. “I am one too now, am I not?” 

He answered with a stiff nod and kept his stance a few yards away with his eyes catching the tears welling up. You hung your head low as his silence was enough to make you scream for life. His footsteps scurried into the dirt with intention, but you jerked your head up with anger filled eyes burning into him. 

“Do not come any closer.” You found him pausing once more, even lifting his hands in surrender to show he was listening to the demand. It wasn’t until you spotted the Confederate Army patch on sewn into the faded white shirt her wore on his back. “You… you’re a solider?” 

He shared a glance at his own clothing and slowly raised his head once more. “Major, ma’am… I was a major.” Her features softened once he explained further and her shoulders sunk with sadness at the sight of the patch he wore with pride. 

“My brother is a colonel.” You felt the bitter laugh leave your lips as he intently locked in on the mention of a fellow man. “he’s in Galveston, headed back home in the next month.” His eyes spoke with sorrow as your mind raced with excitement at reuniting with your brother. 

You felt a stir of emotions course in the pit of your stomach as it dramatically switched towards a controlling moment of silence. His eyes were reading you while the tilt of his head left you understanding what he was undoing. Your emotions… he was playing off your emotions. You didn’t know how or why you understood the look in his eyes or the reason behind them, but you weren’t afraid to say it either. 

“… you’re controlling me.” His eyes narrowed in disbelief as you took him by surprise with the rather extensive observation, but before he could explain you continued. “You’re controlling how I feel, are you not?” 

In that moment, his control ended as the intense warmth ran down your throat to enhance the reality of your life. You tried breathing to exhaust it, but it wasn’t even close to calming the rage filled pain. Within seconds you caught scent of a desired taste wafting in the air and before you knew it, your body responded by carrying you effortlessly towards the barn door. 

However, the major beat you to the entrance and blocked you from leaving the sliding doors. The sudden growl once against left your throat as he dared to hold you back causing your jaw to clench. 

“You can sense other’s gifts…” His words left you raising an eyebrow as the moon danced upon his blonde curls cascading over. “It seems Lottie wasn’t lying when she sensed you were unusual.” He said it as if it was an insult and immediately you wanted to react. “Do calm yourself, newborn. Maria doesn’t take to fighters in her army.” 

“I have a name… Major.” You seemed to have angered him as well as you sensed him attempting to calm himself down, but instead you found yourself craving more anger in hopes of conflict. His eyes widened as you spent those six seconds yearning for a fight, but he soon stepped away with parted lips and befuddled eyes filled with rage. His top lip snarled and nose flared as anger flared into the crimson eyes staring back at you. “…” 

“She can manipulate another’s power.” Her ice-filled tone broke both of your attentions as she appeared into view with an eager eye. “She used it against you, Jasper… did she not?” Maria seemed to receive an answer through silence as Jasper stepped away from you to return to Maria’s side. 

You blinked as he left your view and stood at her side, eager to please with just a simple task as his emotions rushed through you with admiration for the woman. He was quite smitten by her. It sent a questionable envy her way as her red eyes continued to study you. Jasper. His name was Jasper. Her hand was quick to rest on his shoulder, leaning in to place a kiss on his ear and whisper sweet names. 

“You will certainly be useful to me, love.” Maria voice was seducing the idea of life, but her eyes revealed the omissions of her lifetime. “You must feed in order to stay strong for me.” She angered you and she feed off it. “Don’t travel too far or there will be consequences.” 

Her words were enough to get you to run from the barn doors and further into the night without looking back for her seal of approval. You didn’t want it. Your legs were carrying you farther than expected as the speed of your newly reformed body kept up with the deadened heart. It felt as if you were traveling at the speed of light and you weren’t slowing down, not for a single second. 

You found yourself running into the wooded area surrounding you, but the time seemed to end with the scent of hunger causing you to travel north. It left your lip snarling and jaw quivering and within seconds, you followed the hunger. 

The unfamiliar town nearby was silent through nighttime, but the open tavern filled with drunks left you glancing twice inside the faded window. The humans inside falling prey to your starvation and before you knew it, a drunken man has stumbled out the back doors and fallen into your hands. You didn’t waste a single moment before you sunk your teeth into flesh. The blood on your tongue was enough to awaken the death inside you and before you knew it, he dropped dead at your feet. 

Footsteps followed close over your ear, but not too far from where you stood and without wiping the blood off your lips you turned your head. There he stood, his red eyes looking over you with the temptation seeming to fall over him as well. 

“… why are you following me?” You managed to whisper as the tip of your tongue licked away the blood resting at the edge of your lip. “I believed I was allowed without a watcher.” You seemed to draw out the littlest smirk on his lips before he glanced at the human by your feet. 

“I’ve seen too many newborns feast without thought, I’d rather not care for another mess.” Jasper was honest as you then seemed to mourn the death of the man at your feet. He could feel you mentally processing a life you had taken and it ran your emotions high. “It’s difficult to process.” 

You didn’t like his response as he attempted to send a calm wave over you, but you quickly stepped back from the human and him. “Says the Major…” It was harsh, but you weren’t refraining from lashing out at this time. “I don’t need your failed attempts of control or looking over my shoulder, please leave.” His footsteps followed, but this time he began to walk beside you as you began to feel the cravings crawl back up your throat. 

Hunger seemed to be feeding off your energy, but you didn’t want to give it anything in return. It was difficult to succumb to… knowing you were killing innocent humans in order to survive. How could this be your life? You awoke to crave the scent of blood and feasted. You woke with a gift that you couldn’t understand, nor control. You woke enchanted by the Major, but found him to be someone else’s instead. 

Jasper felt the pain of her hunger withering his body and he struggled to withstand it. He could hear a pulse from a mile away and he craved her itch as well. He broke his eyes away from the sights ahead and gazed upon the newborn, he was quite taken by her beauty from the moment he found her ten nights ago. He’d fallen prey to hunting that night and when he’d roamed the land to find a human girl sitting along a clearing, his bite was found. However, he couldn’t give in that night. 

He instead stood near the woods edge watching as she laid in the field of wild bluebonnets, listening to her count the stars from above before whispering lullabies. Jasper was taken by her as human, but even more spellbound as vampire. It only helped to see a fire in her belly and lawless eyes… which made him fear Maria’s doings in the future. 

“You’re still in hunger.” His words caused you to shiver as you were attempting to deny it by digging your nails into the palm of your hand. But he was right. You were still craving more. “As a newborn the hunger is unruly, you must obtain control over it.” 

You ignored him, continuing onto path less followed as you strolled further out of the unfamiliar town. However, the thumping grew heavier in your ears as the cravings of a pulse on your tongue began to take over once more. “I’m not doing that again.” You weren’t speaking to him, but yourself. 

“It will only grow worse… the aches will spread.” He was attempting to give advice, but it came off as if he knew better than you. Ultimately, he did. “If you deny this hunger, you will not be able to fight and Maria will not be happy.” 

You stopped in that moment as his words mentioned Maria and turning directly to him, you spoke. “I don’t wish to be anything to her, nor will I allow myself to be anything to her.” His eyes stayed on you, while his stoic attributes kept you begging for a reaction. “I had never seen her before, until she appeared on my father’s land…” You immediately began to think of your father and mother, who had been laid asleep inside the home. And the first thought was if she harmed them. “My parents.” 

You’d taken off before allowing your emotions to settle or even the cravings to swallow, but you knew you were close to family land. The scent of the fresh lavender was the scent you followed and fought for and Jasper followed behind you. He attempted to stop you, three times but you didn’t listen. It was as if he was sparring you from torturing yourself any further. 

The familiar sweet grass under your feet left you gasping for answers and as you passed the gates to travel further, it hit you. It was the scent of death. You could hardly bare it, nor believe it. Jasper wasn’t fighting at this point, he couldn’t defeat your strength as he tried pulling you from the porch. You made your way into the wide open door and the sight alone was enough to destroy you. 

There laid your father and mother, side by side, dead. 

A cry escaped your lips as you fell to your knees with your stomach shuttering at the sight burned into your mind. You wanted to look away, but how could you? The woman who gave you life, has lost hers… the woman who begged for grandchildren, now would never see one. Your father would never lay witness to his son returning home and your brother would return to a family deceased. 

You cradled your abdomen as the pain of loss was too much to bare and the tears soaked your cheeks. You began to cry out for your mother and father… begging for them to wake and let this horror be unreal. It had to be, because creatures like them were not real. Creatures as you are now weren’t real.  

Jasper fought her from the moment her parents were mentioned and when running after her, he tried grabbing her by the waist to draw her back. Her strength won and she’d made it back to her homeland, but he expected to have her fall witness to parents alive and well. Which is why he fought her once more as he didn’t want her hunger to cause havoc to her loved ones, but the stench of death was thick in the air and she sensed it too. Her hand slapped him away. It wasn’t until Jasper caught sight of the dead humans inside that it clicked, Maria had killed off her family. 

Her screams filled his ears as the inconsolable pain coursed through his body and he experienced the unsettling truth. Jasper’s knees were close to buckling as she fell on the porch, begging and screaming for her ‘Mamma’ and ‘Pappa’ to get up… but she was stranded. His grimaced face glanced down at the soil under his boots as the scent of dry blood mixed in causing him to shutter. It seemed Maria didn’t want the girl returning home and if she did, she’d return to nothing. 

He could hardly bare the pain she cried out and when he placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to ease her of the pain… she didn’t fight him, nor use it against him. Jasper felt her body soften under his touch as the shaking from her sobs began to wither away. Soon, her cries turned silent and she sat still with her eyes burning into the body of her dead loved ones. Jasper wanted to say sorry for Maria’s cruel actions, but his loyalty to the woman was rejecting him to do so. 

The numb wounds entering your body weren’t physical, but it felt as if a sharpened dagger was puncturing your dull lungs. It seemed Maria had not only taken your life, but the life of those you loved most. Silent anger was working its way into your body as the tears began to disappear and your stomach began to twist with despair. 

“…” You pushed yourself off the porch with Jasper’s hand falling from your shoulder, leaving the emotions to settle in. It took everything out of you to step into the home and passing by your mother and father’s body, daring to look away as you stepped around them. It wasn’t long before you possessed the golden locket belonging to your mother. 

Jasper watched the newborn step into them home using her speed to withstand her parents dead bodies to pass them, he soon followed. His eyes running along the home and feeling the sense of warmth families possessed, but he paused before the bedroom further into the home. He could tell it belonged to the newborn, her soft pink bedding bunched together and the leather journal resting on her nightstand. He glanced down the hall to hear her making her way throughout the home and stepped further into the home. 

Jasper grasped the journal with a tight hand and began to flip through the pages, immediately finding her name printed in black ink. (Y/N)… it suited her, a prepossessing name for quite a girl. He slammed the journal shut as her footsteps grew closer and placed it back down on her nightstand. She appeared in the doorway of her bedroom with her eyes burning into him, questioning as to why he entered the home. 

You ran your eyes along the bedroom as you stood in the doorway, allowing you to capture the last moments of your childhood before leaving. Jasper stood beside your bed with his eyes capturing the littlest details, along with the wildflowers growing at your windowsill. The locket hanging around your neck seemed to catch his attention at the sight of the gold. 

“She took my life from me.” You whispered with hatred rolling from the back of your throat. His eyes burning into you with more questions to follow. “She had no right to take my family from theirs.” He seemed to silently agree as he picked his head up and forced a stiff nod. 

It was difficult to withstand as you bitterly took one last glance and exited the home, not daring to look back at your parents. You could feel the tremble of your chest shaking as you left the family land, knowing you could never return home, nor fall to help your brother’s sudden loss. Your brother no held no family to retune home too, not anymore. 

You stayed silent while returning home to the barn, Jasper close on your tail as the sun began to rise over the Texas land. However, the sight of Maria left you enraged. She stood by the barn doors with the two females at her side as newborns began to scatter inside, following the demand she called out for. You didn’t restrain yourself, once her eyes landed on you… it was done. 

Within seconds of standing before her, you had your hand grasping her throat as your strength overpowered hers and the others attempting to rip you off. Her eyes wide as you tested her authority before all the others surrounding you. “You spilled my families blood for your own miserable pleasure.” Her eyes gleamed as the anger began to excite her. “You immoral witch.” The insult was easing off your lips as Jasper’s attempt to calm you down only caused the anger to rise. Her eyes darted over your shoulder, searching for help from Jasper as he stood only a few feet away. 

The tension between you and Maria caught attention of every vampire standing near, their eyes glance at you with questions. Each surprised to find Maria not fighting back, not even Jasper fighting for her. Maria’s smirk curled into her lips and it only flared the anger in your belly, which was enough to get you to tighten the grip on her neck. 

“We needed to feed, love. They just happened to be present.” Maria’s cold tone left you with a chill running down your spine as her soul left her emotionless eyes that stared you down. “Do not fret, it gets easier once you turn off your emotions.” Her fingers stroked your cheek as the sickened words left you frozen to her touch. “Do release me before I make you regret it.” 

You didn’t. Jasper’s strong hands grabbed you by the hips and forced you away from Maria, but you fought him with a simple push causing him to stumble. It seemed you were stronger than him… at least for now. You narrowed your eyes as Maria’s nod of approval left you realising you possessed no allies, nor friends. The major wasn’t a friend… he was far too infatuated by Maria’s twisted ways.  

You dispersed from Maria and Jasper by entering the barn and ignoring each pair of eyes that followed. This was a life you would certainly have to become accustomed to, but not one you wished to live prolonged. The stares from the surrounding vampires were causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up as their questions and whispers were in your ear. It seemed being a vampire gave you sharper hearing. 

You had yet to understood the new creature you had become, but you knew one thing… you wanted nothing more than to destroy the person who created you. You carried your eyes across the barn to find Jasper watching you, his ability noting the taste for vengeance as you had your hands wrapped around Maria’s throat. He might’ve been kind in ways, but he certainly showed where his loyalties lied. 

Jasper stepped away from Maria as (Y/N) stood alone from across the barn, her eyes burning into him as he grasped her anger and resentment flashing at him. He took his stance beside the newborn and raised an eyebrow. “Do you feel better?” His question was enough to heighten her anger again. 

“You tell me.” You were quick to snap at his rhetorical questions before glancing at Maria, who watched from afar as the two familiar woman stood at her side. “I don’t want your help Major… do return to your post and keep far from me because I will not follow a word you say.” 

Jasper was humoured by the frisky tone of hers, but caught Maria’s desperate glance as she overheard the newborn. Maria asked him to manipulate (Y/N) and he desired to do so for his sire, but she was unlike the others from the past and he couldn’t stomach his intentions. “… If defy Maria she will-“ 

“She has taken everything away from me at this point…” You held your chin high not daring to break your gaze off Maria, who seemed threatened by Jasper standing near you. “I might be unaware of why I was created, but I will fight tooth and nail to make sure I understand it to end her.” You watched his eyes break way from Maria and meet your own. “Rely the message to your Master, kiss her ring for me as well.” 

Jasper’s gaze was burned into the newborn as she left him with the threatening words directed towards Maria. He knew she possessed a fiery spirit, but he never expected her to fight back without hesitation at knowing Maria’s strength over others. Hell, he’d fallen prey to it… but Maria made a mistake with this young one. He saw it the moment she found the lifeless bodies of her parents and Jasper truly feared the worst. If it came down to Maria making the final call on her, he didn’t know if he could resist her ways.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

The Raven with Silver Wings

I’m having so much fun writing Elise! She’s so different than Fane, and I thought that that would make it hard to write her, but it may have been just what I needed to get me inspired again!

As such, I wrote a really, really, really long story with every member of the Awakening crew because Elise found a second family with all of them when her first was whisked away by either her decisions or general life and pursuits. (And bonus Nathaniel x Warden because HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ROMANCEABLE DAMMIT!)

***

The Raven with Silver Wings

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/Warden Amell

Warnings: None

Word count: We don’t talk about it. *smiles*

***

“Has anyone ever told you that your hair’s really pretty, Commander?”

Elise was currently rearranging the books along the far wall of the main hall when the question was asked, her task halted as she turned to look over her shoulder, but saw no one. She looked around a bit, still seeing no one before the clearing of a throat had her shooting her gaze downwards from where she was standing on a small stool. 

“Oh! Sigrun!”, Elise said, gingerly making her way down the small ladder to speak with her dwarven friend more personally. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there!” Quite literally. How she continued to forget she had dwarves as Wardens was a mystery. She had constantly done the same thing in Orzammar, and she had known there were dwarves around her.

“It’s all good, Commander!”, Sigrun assured with a small laugh, tattoos on her face wrinkling from her smile. “If I’m easy to miss by your sharp senses, then that means I’m doing something right with my training!”, a sense of pride from the dwarven woman making Elise smile despite the guilt she felt. Sigrun was always so boisterous and lively, not at all someone she would have associated with the Legion when they first met.

“I’m still sorry. I tend to get wrapped up in whatever I’m doing and forget where I am.”, Elise apologized, dusting off her trousers from where she had leaned against the bookshelf. Sigrun tilted her head.

“What exactly were you doing up there?”, she asked, curious eyes looking up at where she had been fussing. “Cleaning?”

Elise nodded, smiling. “Pretty much. I always dusted the shelves in the Circle when I had time between lessons.”, she said, voice taking on a somber tone as she remembered her old home, sorrow and longing intermixing. “I used to find lost books and scrolls, and it was relaxing for me.”

A look of understanding crossed Sigrun’s face. “Ahh, so it’s like a hobby?”, she said, head tilting once more. That constant curiosity and interest always made Elise happy. It reminded her of the children in the Circle, wide eyed and in awe of new findings. She knew Sigrun was no child, but her exuberance reminded her of one sometimes.

Elise hummed, lifting a hand to wiggle her hand back and forth. “Sort of.”, she agreed, somber tone dispersing with the light banter. “I certainly wouldn’t categorize it as a chore or arduous task, so hobby would work!” 

Her dwarven compatriot hummed, tapping her chin in thought. “Kind of like how Anders tries to collect cats every time we’re out.” 

Elise blinked, brows furrowing. “How..so?”, she asked slowly. She didn’t see the correlation. Anders’...habit of trying to start a shelter in the Vigil wasn’t really a ‘hobby’ it was more of… Honestly, she didn’t know. It was intense, though. 

And arduous for the rest of us. She thought with increasing exasperation, remembering the last time the Keep had been almost flooded with stray cats and kittens. Elise adored Anders like a brother, but, sometimes, he was too much, but in an endearing way. An exhausting, tiring, endearing way.

Sigrun shrugged with a smile. “He says cats relax him. Cleaning bookshelves relaxes you!”, she said, clapping her hands together which made Elise startle a bit. “Put those two together, and voila! Hobby!”, she declared, nodding with pride at her connection. 

Elise blinked, mouth gaping a bit before simply nodding. She guessed she could see the connection now, but...you know what? She was just going to let the Legionnaire have this one. She looked so happy, so proud, and it would be wrong to spoil that with harsh reality. The reality that Anders’ ‘hobby’ was more of an obsession. One that had Nathaniel nearly strangling the mage after finding a slew of kittens hidden in one of the sheds. Those happenings usually resulted in her having to mediate between the two men lest she be short two Wardens. Thankfully, Nathaniel always relented quickly when she gave him ‘the look’. The one she reserved for when she was deathly serious, but Anders knew her better, knowing how she was as a child in the Circle, so he poked, teased, and literally, pinched her cheeks with little coos of, ‘Little Ellie is all grown up~ I’m so proud~!’. 

Those happenings usually abated when she pulled out electricity, and then Nathaniel had to be the mediator as he physically took her from the room. 

Despite her exasperation at the memory, Elise could only smile with a shake of her head before stilling, noticing Sigurn was watching her with another curious glint in her eyes. Another bout of connecting the dots, would it be?

“Sigrun?”, she asked, tilting her head a bit to where her long hair cascaded over her shoulder. She had decided to leave it out of her braids today, finding it easier and healthier, sometimes, to leave it freely flowing. She absently brought a hand up to card through the raven waves, blinking when Sigrun’s face lit up, eyes following the action. What was that look about?

“I said it earlier, but your hair is suuuuper pretty! And long!”, the dwarven woman exclaimed, a wide smile spreading across her face. “How do you get it that long?”, another question, another bout of dizzying, but welcome concepts.

Elise chuckled softly, understanding now. “A lot of time. A lot of brushing. And a loooot of staying away from large amounts of fire.”, she divulged, twirling a lock around a finger out of habit and running a pad of a finger against a tip, feeling its paintbrush type softness was slightly rough. She would need to trim it soon. “Why do you ask? Thinking about growing out your locks~?”, she asked, eyes flitting along Sigrun’s own head of short, raven hair. 

Sigrun let out a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh, Ancestors, no! I’d probably trip over it if my hair was as long as your’s!”, she said, smiling all the while. “I was just wondering if there was a story behind it!”

Elise tilted her head, still playing with the ends of her hair. “Story?”, she inquired. A story..behind her hair? That was an interesting question.

“Yeah! Most things have a story tied to them! Like is there a reason you like your hair long, or do you just like it...well, long!”, an innocent question filled with new world wonder and unwavering friendliness, two things that made Elise feel like she was right where she belonged, but right now, she also felt warm as her hair undoubtedly held a story within shimmering raven that sometimes glinted with deep blue.

Elise brought the bulk of her hair forward, combing through it with a nostalgic smile. “I guess, in a way, I wanted to be..different.”, she said, deftly beginning to braid a tiny piece. “In the Circle, you were allowed long hair, but it was advised against due to fire and chemical components potentially scorching it, and in turn, your head. If you had it, you tied it up to keep it safe.”, she moved onto another small braid, eyes going hooded with contentment as noire locks glided through her fingers.

“So, you wanted to be a little rebel?”, Sigrun questioned, smile softening as she could tell the memory and reasoning was indeed a story.

Elise nodded, moving onto the next braid. “The Circle was my home. I had a better time than most within its walls, but such isolation, disconnection, makes you yearn to break the mold.”, she said, stopping her braiding for a moment to close her eyes, willing away memories of blindness and blood before reopening them to resume. “I wanted something that defined me as me, and the Enchanters always complimented my hair, so I let it shape me. I was the tower’s ‘little raven’, even though my wings were clipped.”

“But not anymore, right?”, her friend and ally offered, a knowing smile on her face as glittering eyes regarded her with respect and awe. Elise honestly felt as if she didn’t deserve such...loyalty, but she was grateful for it when her own had been severely tested in the past.

She nodded with a warmer smile. “Right. I’m not grounded anymore.”, she affirmed, sighing with contentment as she combed out each braid gingerly, silky locks like water on her fingers. “I’m free to flow as freely as my hair does.”

“That’s the Commander I know and love!”, Sigrun cried with exuberance before leaning towards her a bit, lips pursed with a question. Elise blinked before laughing softly. This woman would always keep her on her toes, wouldn’t she?

“You can touch it if you want?”, she offered, already knowing precisely what the dwarven woman wanted with how two of her fingers tapped together as well as how her gaze was fixated on the shimmering wave of her hair. She wasn’t put off by people wanting to touch her hair, as long as they asked, of course. 

“Can I?!”, Sigrun cried in disbelief, eyes like saucers as her hands stilled in their anxious butting.

Elise nodded, giggling. “Mm-hm! Maybe one morning you could help me brush it?”, she offered more, tilting her head and smiling as wide eyes went even wider. She hoped the orbs wouldn’t dislodge from how large they seemed. That would not be a pretty sight. Then again, nothing was worse than Broodmothers. Broodmothers were...awful. The image nearly made Elise shudder, but was able to ward it off as Sigurn bounded up to her, nodding her head all the while.

“You..”, the dwarven woman said as she bounced towards her. “Are..”, another bounce, another step. “The..”, another, larger bounce closing the distance between them. “Best!”, a cry of praise as careful, but excited hands came to tentatively stroke at a few locks, mouth going agape.

Elise couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down a bit more to give Sigrun better access. “I don’t know about that, but thank you all the same, Sigrun. I really don’t deserve everyone here..”, she admitted, gaze shifting downwards sheepishly and with gentle shame. The hand petting her hair stilled, coming up to lightly tap her cheek in reprimand. She blinked, shifting her gaze back to see exuberance and joy replaced with firmness and admonishment.

“You deserve every bit, Commander.”, Sigrun told her, putting her hands on her hips. “Sod what everyone else says, you’ve done more than they deserve! You’re funny, kind, sharp, bright, and one hell of a Warden! You killed an Archdemon, for crying out loud!”, the praise continued, Elise feeling her cheeks heat up at the fierceness as they were delivered. “And you gave me a chance when I was so ready to scurry off and die in the dark, forgotten and unmourned like the Legion’s oath declares.”, fierce tone turning somber, but grateful. “So, don’t talk like you don’t matter, either. Because it’s not the truth.”

Elise stared in awe at the woman before her before her face broke out into a wobbly grin, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. She was going to start balling! She had felt this companionship before with Leli, with Morrigan, with Zev, even with Sten and Shale, and Oghren, too, but she had nearly forgotten what it felt like after nearly two years disconnected from them all! Oghren was still with her, thankfully, but the only others she had managed to keep in contact with was Zev and Leli, Morrigan’s whereabouts unknown, as well as Shale’s, and Sten back home where he always wanted to go. Loghain, someone she never believed she would grow close to, but had, was off in Orlais, her influence and own personal pleas unable to keep him where he belonged. And Wynne and Alistair...well, those were strained when they had otherwise been full of affection and warmth, and it was why she felt she didn’t deserve another chance of...of a family. But yet, here it was, as surely as the Vigil was physically.

Elise sniffled a bit, a few tears escaping. “T..Thank you, Sigrun.”, he said, eternally grateful as more tears escaped. 

Sigrun’s eyes widened in panic and concern, hands flailing around her. “Ahh, you’re crying? Did I say something wrong?! I said something wrong, didn’t I?!” 

Elise shook her head, laughing, full of light and air. “No, no!”, she assured, wiping at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. “You said everything right. I promise.” It was what she needed to hear, having begun her hobby of cleaning as a way to distract herself from such distressing feelings. Sigrun visibly relaxed, letting out a heavy sigh before giving her a relieved smile.

“Ohh, good! I got worried!”, the rogue exclaimed, reaching up to give her arm a pat and a rub. “I’ll keep the mushy stuff to a minimum from now on, though! I don’t like seeing you cry, even if they are ‘happy’ tears.”, making air quotes around the word ‘happy’. 

Elise giggled, steadily calming down to where she wasn’t sniffling anymore. “Wouldn’t want the Legion thinking you’ve gone soft, would we?”, she teased. 

“Definitely not! That’ll get me kicked out!”, a joke in reciprocation making them both laugh before a large clattering sound came from beyond one of the adjacent doors, both she and Sigurn jumping in surprise. “Uhh, what was that?”, Sigrun asked, hands already inching towards one of her daggers. Elise, herself, could feel sparks dancing across her fingertips, readying to unleash a bolt on a darkspawn before a cacophony of voices had her magic dissolving back into the Veil in an instant.

She only wished it would have been a darkspawn. 

“Give me the cat, Anders!”, Nathaniel’s voice boomed from behind the door, furious clambering of two pairs of feet signaling a pursuit. 

“Her name is Madame Whiskers McMeow, and you’ll address her as such!”, Anders’ voice came next, indignant and appalled by the lack of courtesy before a squawk rang true. “Ah! Not the robes, not the robes!”

“Then give me the--Justice, move!”, her Second’s voice addressing another, meaning there was even more to the picture than either she or Sigrun could see, and truthfully, maybe they both didn’t want to see. 

“This is unjust treatment, son of Howe.”, Justice’s voice sounded in its normal, but odd echoing way, the vocal cords powered by Fade energy rather than by natural force. “The creature has done no harm; it should be allowed to stay.”

“Hah! Two against one! I win!”, Anders barked, pride oozing from his voice.

“You didn’t even know what a cat was the other day, so you can’t say it stays!”

“It is wrong to throw a helpless creature out into the elements when it has done no crime except existing!”, a bellow making the walls echo with its timbre. “The Warden-Commander brought you in, did she not?!” Elise shook her head, not even part of the conversation beyond the door, but feeling the need to declare so. She wanted no part of this!

“I’m not a stray cat! And don’t bring Elise into this!”, Nathaniel defended her, unknowing that she was waiting beyond the door when this ‘catfight’ would come rolling to where she and Sigrun were still standing, but with twitching lips, trying not to smile or laugh.

“She is the figure of authority within the Vigil, yes? Then she should be the judge!”

“Ohh, no, no, no!”, Anders butt in again rapidly. “Ellie’ll make me get rid of Madame Whiskers McMeow to a farmhold again! I’m with dour sour on that one!” 

Elise felt her eyebrow twitch at the insult in Anders’ voice. What was wrong with a farmhold?! There were plenty of mice for the cats! She would love to keep each kitten and cat the mage brought back, but it wasn’t safe! At least in the wild they could scurry off and hide!

“Don’t try and kiss up to me, Anders!”

“Oh, I’m not the one who gets your kisses, even though I--!”, a screech cutting Anders’ typical poking as a ripping sound made Elise wince and slowly shut her eyes, knowing precisely what that was. “The robes! Not the robes! These cost a fortune!”

“The healer’s bill is going to cost a fortune if you don’t give me the damn cat!”, more clattering and shattering glass vibrating through the Keep at those words. Elise shot a glance down at Sigrun, the woman giving her a shrug and pout that said, ‘I dunno.’

“Are you imbeciles done tearing up the Vigil with your barbarism?!”, another voice, one that Elise immediately recognized as Velanna’s, rang with authority and sheer disgust. The fun never ended it seemed. 

“Not even close!”, Anders quipped in sing song, but screeched again as another tear occurred. “Do you really want me naked?!”

“No, we do not.”, Justice denied flatly before his voice rose. “Cease this onslaught, Howe!”

“Not until he gives me the CAT!”, Nathaniel roared. 

“This is unjust!”

“Yeah, it is! I feel like I’m being chased by templars again, except more exciting!”

“Do I need to summon the earth to shut you all up!?”

Elise stood transfixed, eyes glued to the door as the commotion grew closer and closer to where she and Sigrun were. She cast her gaze downwards a few times as if to say, ‘Should I?’ Sigrun only shrugged like before, but smirked as she tried to hold back a laugh from the whole situation. She wished she could feel such mirth, but she only felt tired from how much of a mess the room beyond would be once she opened the door. Elise sighed as the raucous noise continued, coming to a decision. 

“I am the Commander, aren’t I?”, she bemoaned, dragging her feet along the plush carpets that would indelibly be sullied the moment she opened the door, but she placed her hand on the handle all the same, a crash making it rattle before a sigh passed her lips again. The movement of Sigrun running to the side to not get caught in the tidal wave had a slight smirk forming on her lips, but she schooled it as the handle was turned. “This is more dread inducing than the Archdemon was..”

The moment Elise began to open the door, she had to stagger back, succeeding in tripping and falling rump first onto the stone floor with a wince as two male bodies, a fluffy white cat held up in the one with a bored expression on its pretty face, and the other pinning that one down with furious glint in steel colored eyes, face hard, came tumbling through its opening. 

“The cat, Anders!”, Nathaniel commanded, pressing his elbow into the mage’s shoulder blades to keep him in place. Anders only let out a laugh before releasing the cat, who bolted like a snowy flurry into the recesses of the Keep.

“Be free, Madame Whiskers McMeow! Bend to no one!”, the mage cackled in victory as Elise saw Nathaniel’s face go deadpan with silent fury and aggravation. Oh, that wasn’t a good look. She knew that look, and it was usually reserved for the haughty recruits.

“I’m going to kill you.”, a threat coming out like a hiss, to which Ander only laughed again, lifting his blonde head, ponytail almost completely undone just like his robes almost were. Elise had to flit her gaze about to not land upon unmentionables.

“Do it.”, Anders challenged, smirk on his face. “You won’t~! Not when your lady love is watching~”, amber eyes flashed over to her, seemingly knowing she was there the whole time. 

Nathaniel’s furious expression fell at that, grey eyes instantly flitting about until it caught sight of her, the orbs widening when they saw her on the ground.

“El--Warden-Commander!”, Nathaniel corrected his exclamation deftly, but only because he probably knew she was not in the mood for sweet nothings as she could feel her face give ‘the look’. “This is..uh..”

“His fault!”, Anders piped up and was rewarded with a sharp push of Nathaniel’s elbow in his shoulder blades. “Eee, easy with the massage!”

Elise sighed, face going lax as she fell backwards onto the floor. She couldn’t keep up the bravado any longer as a bubbling, warm, tight feeling began to fill her chest with light. 

“El!”, Nathaniel’s voice came again, formality thrown to the wind as hurried footsteps rushed over to her, Anders letting out an ‘oof’.

“Looks like you’ve successfully broken our Warden-Commander.”, Velanna’s voice came from the open door, dry and just as exhausted as Elise felt, even as her chest tightened further with air. Why did she feel so...light while feeling so tired?

“She held on longer than most of those who claimed to be just and righteous. I cannot help but applaud her tenacity when dealing with such adversities.”, Justice’s voice came next, also from the door. 

“Oh, she’s fine!”, Anders assured, a slight wince escaping his lips as Elise heard him shift, supposedly looking to sit up. “She’s just about to laugh is all!” Was that what she was about to do? It kind of felt like it, but..

“What--?”, Nathaniel began to question, but was cut off as a loud crash came from down the hall, the door behind them swinging open to hit the stone wall harshly. 

Elise let her head lull backwards to see Oghren staggering through the threshold, a tankard in one hand and eyes wide with panic, but she felt anything but alarmed as the words that poured from his mouth, as surely as the mug of ale in his hand did, had her breaking.

“The schleets are real! I saw them! I sodding saw them!”, Oghren exclaimed, eyes darting around before they landed on his trousers which were...around his ankles before he let out a screech, shuffling back through the door while screaming. A collective series of groans echoed through the room before they silenced when Elise let out a loud screech of laughter, making her roll over on her side as the force shook her. 

“O..Oh..Oh, Maker!”, she howled, tears kissing the corners of her eyes as she dissolved into snorts and giggles. “Ah..ahahaha!”, curling up more as her stomach began to hurt, but she didn’t care! She felt so light, so happy! It was wonderful even though the Keep was a mess! 

“See?”, Anders’s voice broke through her laughter filled hearing, only making her laugh more at its familiarity and warmth. “Told you she was gonna laugh like a banshee.”

“Humans.”, Velanna scoffed, but her tone was fond. “I’m going back to work.”, footsteps issuing her departure.

“Peculiar. She seemingly cannot breathe, but continues to engage in the act. I will have to think on this.”, Justice mused, muttering a bit more as his footsteps, too, ebbed away from her hearing.

“Okay, Commander~”, Anders drawled, coming into her tear veiled view, a friendly smirk on his face and hands on his hips as amber eyes gazed down at her warmly. “Might want to let yourself breathe. I have some amazing magical powers, I know, but I don’t dabble in necromancy!”, he joked, only succeeding in making her laugh more. Sweet Andraste! She felt like she was going to puke, but again, she didn’t care! She hadn’t laughed like this, loudly screeching and tears in her eyes, since before the Blight!

“Ahaha!”, Elise cackled, rolling over onto her other side so harshly that warm, sturdy hands had to stop her from going too far. She looked up to see Nathaniel regarding her warmly, a smirk replacing the furious scowl she had seen earlier. It made her break out into girlish giggles, face heating up from the general sight of her lover. 

“A mess.”, Nathaniel said with a shake of his head, a smirk turning into a smile as he kept a hand on her shaking shoulder. “What will the nobility say?”

“T..That..ahah..I..I’m o..obviously..having..having a good time!”, Elise managed to get out, sucking in deep breaths to calm herself. Oh, yeah, she needed to breathe! She felt dizzy and light and flighty, but also happy, undeniably happy!

“That you are, my love.”, the man next to her giggling form said, rolling his eyes with that quip of fondness and adoration. 

“Ooo, that look in grey eyes tells me some alone time is necessary!”, Anders piped up, deftly dodging a swipe from Nathaniel, backpedaling to stand next to where Sigrun was watching the whole display with amusement and smile. “Don’t you say, Sigrun?”, the mage winking at the dwarven woman.

“Oh, yeah, definitely!”, Sigrun said, nodding sagely before grabbing a hold of Anders’ arm to disappear through the door with a wave. “Have fun, you two! I’m gonna go get this weirdo in some clothes and get him started on cleaning up!”

“Wait, what?!”, a squawk from Anders nearly sent her into a fit of giggles again, but a finger against her lips had them simmering down with a shaky, content sigh. 

Elise laid on the floor as only she and Nathaniel remained, but she felt anything but abandoned, knowing her allies, her friends, her family was lurking within, bright, alive, and present with their myriad of personalities and peculiarities. Her family was strange, but then again, her whole life to this point had been strange. She let out another sigh, eyes hooded as she gazed up at her Second, who was watching her with so much affection and warmth that Elise felt that she could nearly burst from all the emotions running through her. 

“All good? Do I need to do mouth to mouth?”, he offered with a raised eyebrow, grey eyes simmering like hot coals and expression carrying that same heat. Elise giggled, slowly pushing herself up to sit before him on equal ground. 

“Mm, I don’t think so, but you could, if you’re really worried~”, she teased, inching closer to fall into awaiting arms, their warmth and stability making her heart race, but wonderfully so.

“Just for peace of mind, I’ll do it.”, Nathaniel declared with a drop in his voice, brushing a bit of her disheveled hair away from her face as he pulled her closer, immediately capturing her lips in a kiss that had residual mirth fluttering away to allow soft want and desire to take center stage.

Elise let out a tiny hum, fully intent on losing herself in the kiss as it left her feeling even lighter, soft where the edges were sharp, and unbelievably warm, but the cute, but small sound of ‘Mrow!’ had her pulling away to look down, feeling Nathaniel continue his kisses, but against the side of her hair, completely unphased by why she had disconnected.

“Why, hello, Madame Whiskers McMeow~”, Elise greeted the petite, fluffy white cat with large gold eyes looking up at them with a smile, tail swishing majestically. She let out a soft laugh when the cat ‘Mrow’d’ again, patting the chest she was resting against. “Aww, I like her!”

“We are not keeping another one, El.”, Nathaniel growled against the side of her head, giving her a light squeeze.

“Ser Pounce a Lot could use a lady!”, she argued, feeling far more amenable than usual to have another family member. “Then they could have babies!”, excitement filling her with a gasp as she whipped her head up to look at her Second, some of her hair smacking him in the face to which she reached up to dislodge some. “Oops! Sorry..”, turning sheepish with her apology. Yeah, she really needed to trim her hair. 

“Do you really want to keep her, or are you just being ‘spur of the moment El’?”, Nathaniel asked with that same deadpan expression, but there was a spark of mirth and relent within piercing steel. 

Elise nodded, smiling. “I do. We have the room, and she seems a stalwart breed~”, she cooed, turning her attention back to the Madame, reaching down to scratch under her chin softly. She giggled softly when a resounding purr followed from that. “Who’s a pretty kitty~? I’m going to a commission you a collar with a griffin bell~”

“You’re worse than Anders.”, her bastion grumbled, but let her go, knowing when he was bested and when to surrender to her will. “But fine. If it makes you happy, I’ll resist the urge to strangle the mage, but I’m not going to be the one to tell him we’re keeping her.” Elise let out a laugh, turning her gaze away from fluffy snow as it wandered away, instinctual curiosity taking hold of a feline mind. 

“Every one here makes me happy.”, she told the man gazing down at her with all the love and respect she could only have dreamed of once upon a time. “Including you, unfortunately~”, reaching up to poke at a nose with a cheeky grin. She let out a resounding laugh when her poked bear let out a growl and grabbed a hold of her hand, smirking goodnaturedly all the while. 

“That’s toeing the line towards beratement, Commander.”, Nathaniel quipped, giving her a hand a light kiss. “Do I need to report to Weisshaupt to have your cat owning privileges revoked?”

“I’ve heard worse threats from a genlock, Howe~”, Elise punched back, leaning up to lay a soft kiss upon smirking lips. “Don’t make me get the electricity out~”, a tease, a promise as sparking as the affinity for which was her primary weapon. 

“What if I want you to get the electricity out?”, a firmer kiss against her lips making Elise sigh, the sparks beginning to ignite as she was pulled closer, tighter, and a hand laid upon her back. 

“Then..”, she purred as surely as the cats within their halls. “...be a good Warden and go clean up your mess~”, the request a warning amid heat and euphoric promises. The adjacent room was still a mess after all, and she wasn’t going to clean it up, no matter how many kisses Nathaniel gave her. Elise watched as her Second blinked, haze dispersing from the order before he let out a tired sigh, shaking his head with a chuckle soon after.

“As you say, Commander.”

Elise smiled cheerily. “Love you~!”, she chirped. Another chuckle, another light kiss against her temple making her melt was all the reciprocation she needed. 

Within the halls of duty and sacrifice, where countless potential family members had been lost to cruel fate or just bad luck, she was loved and she loved in turn. And she felt no shame in that. Painful longing and bitter memories would test that, but would never make it untrue. She was free to fly as much as raven locks did, even as they housed the inevitable end they all faced, but never alone. Never alone, never again. No matter what the end would bring, only light would guide her into darkness, blue and silver swarming her vision as the family stood, waiting, with outstretched arms for her to fall into them when her wings could no longer carry her. Until then, she would fly, she would glide, and she would shield those who had defied fate to stand beside her. This was her home, for now and forever.

***

[ladyvader23]

Darth Vader’s Unplanned Conversation

Thanks to @kittandchips for the prompt idea: How would Vader handle the twins thinking one of them was unplanned and therefore unwanted? Such delicious angst and fluff put this immediately on the list to write! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was so rare that Vader arrived home before the twins did. But today, he’d managed to sneak away early, and he was home, having just dismissed Miss Laena for the day, waiting for his children’s arrival. He was not a traditional father, by any means, but he still enjoyed family time with his young ones. He didn’t know what they’d do; perhaps he’d take them on a ride in one of his newest ships. Luke would love that, and Leia might even, too, though she wasn’t usually as vocal about it. 

Then again, it was a school night. If he was being a good father, he’d sit with them and help with their homework. 

The possibilities were endless. He just hoped his Master continued to leave him alone for the evening. 

He sensed the twins arriving long before they even arrived on property. Their chauffeur would arrive in the hangar soon, drop them off, and they’d be heading up. He’d surprise them in the hallway, he decided, moving into position. He doubted he’d really surprise them; even untrained, Luke and Leia had a habit of being able to at least know when he was home. 

He continued to keep tabs on them until they were in the lift heading for the apartment. He tried to make himself less intimidating, not wishing them to think they were in trouble, and he’d managed what he assumed was a comfortable pose by the time the lift doors opened and in walked Luke and Leia. 

They immediately paused, looking at him with...admittedly, odd looks. Then, to his confusion, Leia glared, throwing her bag aside. He was about to remind her to put it away in the designated spot when she stormed up to him and crossed her arms. “So. Which one of us did you not want?!” 

Vader blinked down at his little girl, just seven years old, completely surprised by the accusation. Then, he looked up at Luke, reaching out through their bond to try to get more information, only to be flooded with feelings of hurt and sadness. Luke, at least, tried to hide it as he put his bag away in the appropriate cubby. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He replied, finally, looking back at his daughter. “Explain.” 

But Leia huffed, and instead of explaining anything, stormed around him and off towards her room. “Fine! Don’t answer, then!” 

And before he had a chance to react, she’d entered her room, the door swishing closed behind her. 

Vader stared after her, even more confused than before, and turned back to Luke. “Explain.” he demanded. Usually his son was more willing to offer more information--or at least, he was easier to coerce. 

But Luke didn’t reply with anything but a shrug. “Nothing. Just girl stuff, I guess.” 

“Do not lie to me!” He snapped, instantly sensing the lie. “You may not be yelling at me, but I know I have apparently done something to upset the both of you. Now explain.” 

He expected Luke to cave, especially as he pressed along their bond...but Luke shook his head, and he too, walked past him. “I don’t want to know.” Was all he mumbled. 

It was a good thing Vader didn’t have any hair left. He might have started pulling it out. He’d learned long ago that bullying his children into answering him like they were some kind of rebel wasn’t the answer, nor was using the Force on them. Parenting books didn’t exactly say using the Force on children was bad, but based on their guidelines, he’d made the assumption himself. 

Still. It was too bad, especially as Luke too, shut himself in his room. 

Vader stood glaring at the doors, wondering how the fun night he’d had planned for them had turned so randomly...angsty. He tried to wrack his brain for anything he might have done to make Leia think he didn’t want one of them. Nothing came to mind--as far as he was concerned, he’d shown far more affection to them than he had anyone else. In fact, using a rare free evening to want to spend time with them was proof enough that he more than wanted both of his children. But children weren’t logical beings; there was plenty of evidence of that. 

He squared his shoulders, deciding which twin to face. Usually the answer was Luke...but this time, the Force seemed to pull him in the direction of Leia’s room. 

Leia it was, then. 

Yet he paused before entering, taking a moment to make sure he was as calm as a Sith Lord could be. Leia, as much as he cared for her, had a talent for making him angry in the blink of an eye. That never ended well when he was attempting to get something out of her, be it information or cooperation on her chores. As soon as he felt like he could handle anything she would throw at him, he entered the room. 

Surprisingly, the room was dark. She hadn’t bothered turning on the lights. He didn’t need infrared sensors in his eye plates to know she was stretched out face-first on her bed, head buried in her pillow. He could very clearly sense that himself, and the emotion coming from her was no longer anger, but...intense sadness. 

Again he tried to think of anything he might have done or said and honestly could think of nothing. So, tentatively, careful of the toys left on the floor, he made his way over to her bed. Though he usually preferred to stand, he winced as he sat down on the small child-size bed, his joints groaning in pain. 

Something else he’d noticed since becoming a father: children liked it when you got down on their level to talk to them. He rarely did it, but this seemed like the appropriate moment for it, though he still didn’t know why. 

“Leia.” 

He wished his vococorder allowed for him to speak gently to her. 

She didn’t stir. The only response was a muffled, “Go away.” 

“I will not. Not until you tell me what is wrong.” Silence. Wishing he could sigh, he looked up at the ceiling, trying to maintain control of his impatience. “I cannot help unless you tell me what the problem is.” 

Suddenly Leia sat upright, whirling to face him, and he was startled to find tears running down her face as she shouted, “I know you only wanted one of us, okay!” 

That statement did nothing to clear up Vader’s confusion, but her tears...Force, he hated it when she cried. He was reduced to feeling helpless, like anything he did would just make it worse. He doubted she knew the effect her tears had on him, and he hoped she never figured it out or he was doomed. 

Hell, he hoped the Emperor never figured it out. 

“I do not understand what you mean by that. You...can you explain?” 

It was so rare that he asked for information instead of demanded it. It seemed to be the right choice of words, however, because though she glared and looked away from him, she elaborated. 

“Kenny asked which one of us you didn’t want because mommy’s and daddy’s only plan for one baby.” 

Vader frowned, still trying to figure out the logic, then when he did, hot fury flashed through him, fury that he had to clamp down on to keep from scaring his daughter, or worse, giving her the wrong impression. 

“Kenny who?!” 

“Kenny Albrecht.” Leia replied glumly. “Is it Luke? He likes more of the same stuff you do.” 

He...had murdered children before, but he was far less likely to do so now that he had his own. As soon as he was done fixing this mess, he’d definitely be giving Kenny’s parents a surprise call. The thought of their faces when they realized who was calling was almost enough to cheer him up. 

Almost. 

“Come.” He stood, again wincing at the strain on his joints the movement caused. “It would appear this is a conversation for the both of you.” 

He expected Leia to resist, but she thankfully followed, her head hung as if she were somehow in trouble. He did not miss her sniffles, and each one was like a knife to his chest. 

Yes. He would definitely make sure Kenny Albrecht knew never to bother his children again. 

They entered Luke’s room. Luke, at least, had turned on the light, and he was building a toy ship model, though not very enthusiastically. He looked up when they entered, and Vader felt the normally cheery attitude of his son plummet further. 

Vader crossed over to the bed and again sat down, facing both of them. “Come here.” He pointed at the spot in front of him. They were so small, even sitting down he towered over them. 

They thankfully complied, though Luke shot Leia a look. “I don’t want to--” 

“You will listen carefully. Both of you. Am I clear?” He waited until they nodded, though Luke did so reluctantly. To even think his children had been so affected by stupid Kenny who was far beneath them--

“It is true that your...your mother and I did not know we were expecting twins.” He didn’t want to talk about Padme, not ever, but he found his children forced the subject more often than not. He would never get used to the pain it caused him, but if it helped them… “We...wanted to be surprised when you were born. I did not know…” he hadn’t yet told them the circumstances surrounding their birth and how he’d almost lost them. He wasn’t about to tell them now. “I did not know until you were born. But not for one moment did I ever consider not wanting either of you. In fact, the moment I laid eyes on both of you, I knew you were meant to be mine.” 

He couldn’t help the fierce possessiveness in his voice. They were his. How dare anyone suggest he’d ever want otherwise?! 

“While our interests may be different, you and I do share many similarities in our personalities.” He told Leia specifically. “I do not need nor want you to like everything I like. You are perfect the way you are.” 

Leia’s lower lip trembled, but she nodded and he sensed her calming down. 

“You do not need to know who it was I didn’t want because there is no such thing. I want and need both of you.” He told Luke. Luke let out a breath, his shoulders slumping in relief. 

“This Kenny Albrecht is an idiot...and yes, I know that is not a nice word, but it is true!” He had to be careful what language he use around the twins because otherwise they’d use it at school and he’d get phone calls from their teacher. It was stupid, and he doubted the teacher liked calling him, but there must have been some rule at the school requiring it. 

Carefully, he opened up his bond with both of them so they could feel his sincerity and the genuine fatherly affection he had for both of them. He paused, marveling at how bright and innocent they were as they clumsily probed the emotions he allowed them to see. It was clear they didn’t understand all of them, being so young, so he bit back his pride, and said, “There is nothing and no one else in this galaxy that I love more than the two of you. Do not ever let anyone make you forget that.” 

He very rarely ever said the “L” word. It was not in the nature of the Sith to do so. If the Emperor ever found out, there would be trouble. But when there were important moments when he needed his children to understand the severity of what he was saying, he would say what was necessary. 

Tonight, it was necessary. 

Immediately, the twins launched themselves into his arms, and he held them close as they grasped onto him for dear life, as if they had genuinely been afraid that somehow Kenny’s idiotic comment would make him remember he didn’t want one of them and give them away. The thought made him clench his teeth, and absently he ruffled both of their hair to calm himself down. 

“Now. I am home early. I wished to do something fun with the both of you.” 

Luke perked up, looking hopeful. “Like fly?” 

He couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, son. Like fly. Maybe we can pick up some treats on the way home.” 

The thought of him walking into a treat shop with his wide-eyed children was a bit ridiculous, but if it meant making his children forget about Kenny and his stupidity, he’d make it happen. 

“Okay!” Leia grinned. “I want Jogan ice cream!” 

“It will be done.” He stood. “Now go and get ready. I have a call to make.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I take prompts! <3 

[arysthaeniru]

aAAA the joy of seeing an update on your current favorite fanfic is just aAAA

I always felt that kiwami 1s Nishiki was just a bit too,, I dont know how to describe it; but essentially he just felt off, granted yakuza 1 is a product of its time and therefore the plot is a bit dated and whack as all hell

The way you write Nishiki just feels so much better and realistic; in the original he just seems so uncaring towards Kiryu? which just feels kinda OOC? You'd think he still cares about Kiryu despite it all, especially when you take Yakuza 0 into consideration; and i feel like you portray Nishiki much more accurately

I never thought much about Yumi, because honestly, in the original she was kinda just, there? You actually made her a very interesting person! like I'm actually invested in her in your story! (side note you ever think about her clone who got tortued and died? yeah who WAS that???? thats never brought up is it??)

Theres so much more to talk about but in short; This is the best fix it/rewrite of a game plot I have read to date and it brings me joy in my current stressful school life. and no I will not stop praising it or the author, because this work has made me very happy. ;)

I just have a gift for picking favorites that end up dying,,aand another favorite of mine is Mine

imo theres a lack of soft, reassuring Minedai, i just feel like he'd need a reminder that people love him as a person and not just for the money he can provide, even if its obvious

I'd love to see how you'd write them, but I understand if theres more interesting/appealing drabble requests!

- Carp

CARP, thank you for this <3 this is so sweet!!!!! I’m so happy you enjoy my Nishiki! I had fun playing with what Yakuza 0/the Kiwami additions gave us about Nishiki’s personality and outlook on the world, and trying to reconcile that with the plot that Yakuza 1 initially had. Ultimately, I fell on the side that you did: even if Nishiki’s ambition took him down a monstrous path, I don’t think he’s the sort of person who neglects to pay back his debts. And he’s aware of the huge debt he owes Kiryu. Not to mention, their bonds of trust and love vanishing completely because of jealousy felt unreal to me. Their relationship becoming twisted or strange? Yes, but vanishing entirely felt unsatsifying to me. 

And Yumi!! I had so much fun excavating her character from the clues we get of her in canon. I worry sometimes, that she’s unrecognizable, because you know, I’ve given her a college education, and a whole bunch of interests beyond hostessing alone, but people seem to like it and like her, which is great!! I hate fridging women characters, so keeping her and Reina alive was important to me, hahaha. (RE: fake!Mizuki, there’s this substory in Kiwami that actually addresses who she was, BUT IT’S EVEN MORE HORRIFYING. So that’s why Yumi in my fic is the one captured and tortured by Nishiki’s men, because the thought of this poor innocent woman getting dragged into the mess was just untenable to me.)  

Anyway, thank you for your support and kind words, and I hope you’ll continue to read and that my fic can continue to relieve stress. I--tried to write this about Mine, but Daigo kind of stole the spotlight a little??? I hope you still like it--if not, I will try a ficlet from Mine’s perspective too. I enjoy minedai a lot, but I haven’t had room to think out their dynamic yet, so this took me a while. 

Daigo’s no stranger to being desired. He’s attractive, he knows this—his mother’s beauty lives in his veins, and he’s always had the money to look after himself. Fancy soaps to wash his face, the invisible retainers to keep his teeth straight, fancy suits and skin-tight shirts to show off his frame. For all that Kiryu insists his charisma is something that comes from the soul, Daigo knows it wouldn’t be able to draw the sort of attention he does without being attractive.

Which is to say that Daigo’s not especially thrown off by the intensity of Mine’s gaze. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. The thing that surprises him is how much he relishes in being seen by Mine.

Maybe it’s because Mine’s an island in a stormy sea, one of the only yakuza his age who’s sensible and level-headed enough to make it big. Maybe it’s because Mine’s gaze is always so reserved, polite, never overly lusty or overstaying its welcome, and Daigo has so rarely been desired so quietly. Or maybe it’s because Majima and Kashiwagi so clearly disapprove of him—Daigo’s always been something of a rebel, and he hasn’t shaken that off, even now he’s in his thirties and is the arbiter of rules for the Tojo Clan.

Daigo can’t quite put a pin on why he’s so comfortable with Mine’s yearning looks, but he’s never been one to hold back when he wants to indulge in something good. Not exactly a hedonist, not by yakuza standards, but Daigo has never kept himself from enjoying life, in the name of some dubious ‘honour.’

Which is why, in an after-hours meeting with Mine, as they eat cheap takeout sushi together, Daigo takes his chance. A momentary slip, the slightest hint of wasabi left at the corners of Mine’s lips and Daigo swoops in, rubs a thumb over the corner of Mine’s lips. Mine stutters to a stop, mid-sentence through a rundown of the real-estate that the Hakuho Clan’s been purchasing up, and stares at Daigo, eyes bewildered.

“Sixth Chairman?” he asks, his voice still remarkably composed.

“Wasabi.” Daigo says, nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing, and sticks his thumb into his mouth, slowly licking it off with a lingering lave of his tongue. He feels a sharp stab of satisfaction as Mine’s eyes turn darker, and his gaze follows Daigo’s hand down.  

Daigo straightens up, languidly, and cracks his neck, casually. At this point in the day, he’s untucked his shirt, and he knows that a slight strip of his stomach will be visible when he stretches out his arms towards the ceiling. And as predictably as clockwork, Mine’s gaze darts downwards, to that pale expanse, to catch that brief second of skin. Daigo can’t help but feel warm. Something about being watched by Mine is exhilarating.

“Smoke?” offers Daigo, but as usual, Mine refuses, with a polite shake of his head.

Daigo knows from hearsay that Mine’s something a health-freak, so he’s not entirely surprised. It’s already too late for Daigo to preserve his health—he knows that his liver’s already been pretty ruined from long nights of binge-drinking as a youth, and this job’s too stressful to withhold from vices like smoking and drinking, without an optimal end-goal. So he walks over to the window, cracks it open a little, and lights up.

The breath of nicotine curls over his body, a tender caress, and Daigo feels his shoulders drop, as the relaxation hits. He pulls off his cufflinks, tosses them into his pockets and rolls up his sleeves. He takes it slow, runs his fingers over his skin a little more than strictly necessary. Surreptitiously checking the reflection in the window, Daigo watches Mine watch him, and smirks at how intense that gaze is, how Mine’s mouth has opened, and Daigo can just see the soft pink of his tongue.

“Dojima’s just fine, you know. When it’s just us two.” Daigo says, turning over his shoulder. He smiles, one of those charming smiles that had always gotten him whatever he wanted as a child, “We’re same-aged friends, after all.”

“Dojima-san.” Mine acknowledges, after a brief pause.

Daigo turns around, to properly look at Mine and lifts an eyebrow. “Dojima. Or Daigo, preferably. Dojima-san’s always my father in my head.”

Mine nods, face impassive. Daigo can’t read him like this. Maybe that’s why he likes when Mine stares at him, filled with longing. At least then, Daigo feels like he knows him. In moments like these, his implacable gazes might as well be a brick wall. “Right. Your Father was also in the Tojo Clan.”

Daigo smiles, wryly, and blows out a puff of smoke. “One of the most horrible men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting—and I had to call him Father. But damn if he wasn’t good at the job.” He sighs and stubs the cigarette out against the ashtray. “...sometimes feel like I’m competing with his dead spirit. Everybody’s looking at me and wondering if this is what my Father would do. Or what Kiryu-san would do.”

“You’re doing better than any of them.” Mine says, immediately, with a vicious ferocity that Daigo wasn’t expecting. He can’t quite stop his eyebrows rising in surprise, and Mine straightens upwards, looking self-conscious immediately. Daigo regrets his instinctual reaction, immediately. “That is to say, Dojima, that I think that you’ve pulled this Clan into somewhere far more respectable. From what I’ve heard of your Father, he didn’t have the temperament to do proper business on this level—too insistent on formal obeisance and unable to be flexible as the times require. And Kiryu-san might be very honourable, but we are yakuza. There are certain things you have to do as a Chairman, that he couldn’t bring himself to do. But you are practical and do what is necessary, while also not overstepping into excessive violence. You are uniquely suited for this job, Dojima.”

...he’s taken aback a little, he can’t deny it. Daigo wonders if his cheeks are colouring, wonders if his obvious shock is offputting, wonders if this is how Mine feels every time Daigo teases him lightly about his obvious attraction. A startling warmth spreads through his chest, and Daigo can’t stop the slight smile that touches his face. Has anybody ever said something so unreservedly kind and measured about Daigo before?

Maybe this is the difference between everybody else’s gazes on him, and Mine’s gaze. It’s based on something more than desire alone. Respect.

Daigo runs a hand over his slicked-back hair and ruffles it free, with a rueful smile, a smile that he couldn’t take away from his face, even if he tried. “I appreciate that. You know I couldn’t do it without you, right?”

He’d never really believed himself capable of attraction to a man like Mine. All of his previous childhood crushes had been on bright, cheerful conversational, pure-hearted people. Daigo had always figured they would balance out his sardonic cynicism. He’d never thought someone as reserved and principled as Mine would ever make his heart flutter. But then, there was something about that deep hunger and passion that Daigo craved. Perhaps it was because he was no longer the gloomy punk of his youth. Maybe his tastes have changed towards tall, dark and handsome. Maybe Mine’s just that special.

“Dojima—” Mine says, clearly trying to refute it, but Daigo cuts him off.

“I mean it. Everybody in this fucking Clan wants me to do something or be somebody else. Kashiwagi-san wants me to be my mother. Majima-san wants me to be Kiryu-san. Everybody else expects my Father. But not you. You deal with me honestly, and with candour, and never hold any expectations against me except success. I appreciate your faith in me.” Daigo takes a couple of steps forward, until his shoes almost brush up against Mine’s own. He leans down over Mine’s chair. “I could not do this without your backing and help. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone like you in my life. A true friend.”

Mine tilts his chin up to meet Daigo’s gaze, a hungry devotion in his eyes, and Daigo, for a moment, wonders if this is wrong. If he should hold back, like Kiryu would. But Daigo is Daigo, and Mine clearly wants him anyway, so he leans down and kisses him.

Mine’s mouth is velvety smooth and wet and hot and it is oh-so satisfying a feeling to put his hand against Mine’s broad neck and feel his warmth up against Daigo. He pulls back, with a satisfied sigh, and feels the burn of wasabi across his lips, a final parting kick.

[threadsketchier]

So I saw the prequels prior to the Originals and it always bothered me how Luke got dumped on a death planet of Tatooine considering the state of that environment and shot that when down in the previous films while Leia got a life of privilege. I was hoping Bail would argue against splitting the twins. I obviously knew why it had to go that route because it had to align and follow up with the Originals. I guess it came off that Luke wasn’t really wanted...?

I already wrote a ficlet somewhat addressing this misconception.

Also, frankly, I’m getting kind of tired of rehashing the same issue - why do people keep assuming that the Larses don’t matter and don’t have a right to be in Luke’s life just because they live on Space Australia?  Why do their feelings not count just because they’re low-to-middle-class moisture farmers who don’t live in a palace on Space Switzerland-Utopia?  Why the fuck do people assume that Luke wasn’t wanted just because the Organas have a personal preference that was obviously previously established before shit hit the fans and they wanted a daughter and Bail, as a senator and Viceroy - essentially co-leader of his planet - is a fucking rational guy who understands the necessity of making hard decisions dictated by logic over emotions?

The twins weren’t just “split up because that’s how the movies have to go,” it does make internal sense within the narrative that it was safer to hide them in vastly separate locations to prevent both of them from being discovered at the same time and thus lost together, or for their latent Force bond to make them a psychic target if they grew up together and established it, acting like a beacon for Vader and Palpatine and any minions of theirs.  It sucks, it’s painful, it has awkward consequences for them later on when Leia’s a bit too loose with her lips, but that’s why these movies have a tragic backstory.  It has to suck real hard before it gets better.

Does it seem crazy that Leia wound up raised in such a screamingly obvious position as daughter of a then-Imperial Senator and princess of a highly prominent Core world being trained to follow in her biological mother’s footsteps and become a senator herself, thus occupying a very exposed role in the Empire, right under the Emperor’s and Vader’s noses?  Yeah.  But also remember that the Superman/Clark Kent illusion can actually work in real life.  Assumption is a powerful thing.  Your average Joe Citizen would assume that someone as otherworldly as Superman, an alien with the ability to fly, strength to bench-press skyscrapers and jumbo jets, heat vision, and other amazing things, would never stoop to living as a normal, humble, inconvenienced human being.  It’s not merely the hiding behind a pair of glasses and hunching over a little with a nerdy tone and habits - it’s the entire idea that a Clark Kent could even exist in the same person of Superman.  They don’t understand that he was raised as a human and actually desires this life, and doesn’t feel the need to lock himself away permanently in his dope Fortress of Solitude and never interact with the very people he wants to save and protect.

Vader was lied to by Palpatine about the nature of Padmé’s death, but there was no disputing that she actually died.  In his crushing despair, Vader accepted with heaps of self-flagellation that his child was dead.  He didn’t even know he had two children.  In his mind, whenever he saw Leia - surely they were in each other’s circles at least at a distance before Rogue One and ANH - even if she reminded him of Padmé six ways from Sunday, he would not assume she was his daughter, because as far as he was concerned his child was dead.  The OT establishes that latent Force-sensitivity also does not automatically make two related Force-sensitives consciously aware of each other until they mutually know one another as being related and Force-sensitive, so not even torturing Leia revealed this to him.

But I’m going off on a tangent.  Let’s break this down:

Tatooine is nothing but a source of anguish for Anakin and his personal loathing for the place made it ideal as a hiding place.  And no, I’m not just haha joking about sand.  He was a slave there and buried his mother there after slaughtering an entire village of natives he knew in his heart that he shouldn’t have.  It holds nothing but misery and failure for him.

Yes, Tatooine is abso-fucking-lutely a galactic cesspit.  It’s ruled by the most vile mob boss in the galaxy, is rife with nasty wildlife that’s out to kill you, and is haunted by the troubles brought about by strife between colonizers and the native population.  It is indisputably a dangerous place.  But it wasn’t Tatooine that killed the Larses.  It was the Empire.  Just because they look like Soft Folks™ doesn’t mean they were - Owen and Beru knew how to take care of themselves, and they certainly knew how to take care of a child in this environment.  They survived to middle age just fine, and would’ve kept going if it wasn’t for those fucking stormtroopers.  Just because they didn’t live a life of luxury also doesn’t mean they were dirt poor either.  When we meet Luke in ANH, he’s a healthy young lad who still has the privilege to fuck off with his buddies around his farm duties.  Life may be tough but it’s not squalor and deprivation for him.

But honestly, even if they WERE dirt poor, they’re still Luke’s family, and they very obviously loved him.  I almost feel like I shouldn’t have to restate it, but I will: Owen and Beru loved Shmi, and upon hearing that Anakin died and left behind a baby son, why wouldn’t they be moved and compelled to take Luke in, and why wouldn’t they deserve to have the chance to raise him in their memory?  Even though they’d be sad that Luke was orphaned, they might even see this as a blessing to be able to raise Shmi’s grandson and Anakin’s son.

As much as he bitched about chores as a teenager, Luke learned damn valuable skills growing up on a Tatooine moisture farm that, coupled with the Force, saved everybody’s asses at the Battle of Yavin, and went on to make him an ideal squadron leader.  Wealth and privilege are not always the best foundation, or at least certainly not the automatic one, for a person to learn good character either.

The Organas are human too.  Faced with a difficult choice, they decided to take this poignant opportunity to fulfill a dream they’d been deferring for some time.  Sometimes parents wish for a specific child, and that’s their prerogative (except IRL they don’t actually get to pick, they get whatever kid they gestate).  If they’d taken Luke and let Obi-Wan take Leia, we’d be having the same argument about Leia growing up on Tatooine.  There was no inequality in this decision.  Bail and Breha wanted a daughter, there was a daughter present among the twins, so they chose her.  This does not mean they valued Luke any less.  Since the twins couldn’t be raised together for their own safety, it might as well have come down to a coin toss.  Bail isn’t evil for exercising a shred of his personal emotions and desires in a situation where he otherwise knew he’d have to restrain himself.  Also, he’d be smart enough to respect the fact that both children had actual family elsewhere in the galaxy and wouldn’t think any less of the Larses just because they live on Tatooine.  The only way his decision would be careless or heinous was if he knew Luke was being taken to people who were abusive or so destitute they couldn’t even care for themselves, much less a third person, and he did nothing about it - but we know this is not that situation.

How do you feel about non-wealthy people living in harsh places here on Earth raising their children?  Would you expect all the rich people in the world to go take those children away from them and adopt them just so they could grow up “privileged” instead?  Think about how that sounds for a moment or two.

Honestly, if Bail had tried to argue about taking both twins because he felt taking Luke to his legal family on Tatooine was “cruel” or “neglectful” because of the planet’s “risky environment and poverty,” I’d hope either Obi-Wan or Yoda would have enough sense to smack him upside the head for being so thoughtless as to insult these people for being seemingly beneath him.

There is more to life than money and power/prestige, and Leia’s upbringing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  She was no pampered, air-headed royal spending her days sitting idle being hand-fed space grapes while her “poor” brother ate sand cookies.  She had to undergo intensive academic, political, and physical training from young childhood in order to prepare her to become a covert Rebel agent while she was still a teenager, as if being a child senator wasn’t already stressful and demanding enough.  Sure, she never lacked for anything, but that is an incredible amount of responsibility to saddle on someone who wasn’t even an adult yet (like her bio mother).  Luke was blessed with far more freedom and peace in his childhood than his sister.  And him living on Tatooine with his father’s surname wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Leia existing within the heart of the Empire while actively engaging in Rebel activities that could have cost her her life, even without getting into the whole “daughter of Anakin Skywalker” business.

Also, just because we joke about Tatooine being Space Australia doesn’t mean every single day of Luke’s childhood was THAT eventful.  It was more likely 80% dull farm life and 20% mayhem, and that 20% would be mostly Luke’s fault for being a crazy nut like his parents and getting himself into trouble he could have avoided in most cases.  In other words, growing up there might not have been nearly as “deadly” as we make it out to be.

[mka1098]

I Ask For Your Hand In Marriage

Part 4 - I'm really tired guys I'm sorry

“You’re really annoying.” That was the first thing Percy heard when he woke up. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes; Annabeth had collapsed at the foot of his bed.

“Wow. You’re loving.” he said sarcastically. She groaned into his bedsheets. “No really. You suck.” Annabeth continued. Percy made an offended noise and reached for one of the pillows next to him to throw at her.

“I had to plan your meeting with the next princess and it was so freaking hard.” Annabeth said, swatting the pillow away. She sat up and sighed, looking back at him with an annoyed look. “Why didn’t you just pick Hazel. She was sweet and our kingdoms would have been so powerful together; you know that your dad was hoping for you to marry her right?” She said.

Percy frowned. “She was nice, I’ll say that’s for sure but it just wasn’t right.” He told her. Annabeth huffed.

“I guess that makes sense.” She said begrudgingly. “Plus-” Percy said with a grin. “-she likes one of the animal caretakers in her kingdom. I told her to go for it.” He added. Annabeth's expression softened.

“Did she?” She asked. “I hope.” Percy replied. A small soft and sweet smile made its way onto Annabeth's face. “That’s very sweet of you. Real love should never be thrown out for sake of power or kingdom politics.” She admitted.

Percy nodded but his mind began to wander. Hazel seemed so genuinely sure that he and Annabeth were something. They weren’t, that was for sure but would he rebel against the good of the kingdom just to marry her? Sure, Hazel wasn’t the first born royal so she didn’t have to worry about that part but say Percy did. Though his parents hadn’t ever explicitly told him, Percy knew that he had to produce the next heir to rule. If, if, he and Annabeth were to be something and his parents wanted him to marry a royal princess, would he rebel or would he listen? After all, he had a duty to the people and was the only son.

“If by the end of this you don’t find a wife, I’m going to end you myself.” Annabeth said, snapping Percy out of his thoughts.

“Huh? What?” He said with a playful smirk.

She rolled her eyes and shoved Percy over. “It’s so much work! And the ball, jesus christ I’m going to be buried in work by the time the ball planning comes. Pick a nice one.” She said, looking at him with an intense glare. “I’m not dealing with a bridezilla when the wedding comes around.” That made Percy sputter and his eyes go wide. Sure, wife meant marriage but he didn’t realize everyone was thinking so far ahead and to the wedding itself just yet!

“Wedding?” He cried out. Annabeth raised a brow at him as if to say, are you stupid?

“Yes. Wedding. What you do to legally have a wife.” She said, mocking him playfully. Percy rolled his eyes.

“Wow, thanks for telling me what a wedding is; I didn’t know what it was before.”

“Of course, how could we expect something else?”

Percy frowned at her deeply as she snickered to herself. “I’m tired; you’re annoying. I wanna sleep.” He said, leaning back into his pillows and covers. Annabeth scoffed and threw the pillow back at his face.

“Well me too but I have work to do.” She said.

Percy lifted his hand lazily. “Skip it all.” He told her. Annabeth gave a sharp laugh.

“No, because you are my work. And you’re putting more work on me because you’re an idiot who can’t choose a freaking queen.” She said.

Percy frowned at her. “I can choose a queen.” He defended himself. Annabeth rolled her eyes playfully.

“Tell that to my emails and schedules. DO you know how condescending all of the other royal advisors are? I mean, I know I’m young; you all can stop reminding me.” She complained.

Percy scowled, mentally noting to be extremely passive aggressive with the advisors in the future. “I can though.” Percy continued. “You can do all the queen stuff till I get a girlfriend. You already know what to do; it’s basically what you do now.” Percy said. Annabeth smacked him in the head.

“No. I already told you why we can do that.” She said strictly, still Percy pouted at her. “I think it’s a great idea!” He said.

She looked at him blankly. “Your subjects will beg to differ.” She said drily

With a roll of his eyes, Percy grabbed her arm and pulled her now next to him, only he was under the covers with a ratty old tee shirt and fleece PJ pants while Annabeth wore an olive green jumpsuit. “Nap time.” He announced like a child. She rolled her eyes but snuggled into the cover’s surface.

“But really, you need to think about your future queen or else all my hard work is for nothing.”

“Nap time!”

“Percy…”

“Nap.”

Annabeth looked at him with scolding eyes. Percy pouted. “Oh come on, you know the only person I’ve ever even thought about doing the queen and other stuff while I rule is you. Give me a break!” He cried out.

Annabeth scoffed and sat up, much to his dismay. “You’re not even listening to me.” She said, and tugged on his hair; Percy yelped and batted her hands away.

“Yes, I am!” Percy pouted. Annabeth shook her head. “No you aren’t.” SHe let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I am not allowed to be your queen even take over some of her roles. You have got to get that out of your kelp-filled head.” She tugged on Percy’s hair, shaking her own head of golden locks as Percy shireked.

In total honesty, her words made him feel, deflate, in fact. He didn’t really know why though, it wasn't he didn’t know that. Annabeth had practically beaten it over his head that she couldn’t help him with those duties; it didn’t stop him from relying on her for them and mildly preferring it. Really though, she was his best friend, it would make sense for them to work on ruling an entire kingdom together.

“You’re not listening to me again.” Annabeth’s laughing voice cut through his thoughts. She smiled at him softly.

“As much as I appreciate you thinking I can do all that stuff and as much as I know I’ll do well ruling. I can’t.” Percy nodded. He knew that.

“You need to get up though, for real. And changed.” Annabeth announced, getting off the bed and standing next to the foot of it, much to Percy’s displeasure. He tried reaching for her arms to pull her back into the comforter again but she stepped back and out of his arm’s span.

“Come back!” He whined. Annabeth reached forward with an arm, grabbed his outstretched one and pulled him to the ground in one smooth quick motion.

Percy cried out as he hit the ground, hard and fast. “Get ready for the day.” Annabeth snorted, turning around and walking away. Percy smiled from the ground, spotting her silently shaking shoulders and knew that she was trying hard not to burst out laughing. He apperaticed that she always pushed him to do things, even when he didn’t want to but did it out of love.

Perhaps that one of the reasons Hazel wasn’t right for him or as a queen of his kingdom. Percy liked to have fun, Annabeth could attest for that. He perhaps needed something that wasn’t so nice and would push him to do his best. After all, that was what Annabeth did. He needed a person like Annabeth as his queen. (In his personal opinion he needed Annabeth as queen or at least royal caretaker for the rest of his life). After all, she was one of the few people in his life that lamented that he wasn’t lazy, just unfocused.

“Get off the floor, seaweed brain.”

“Ooh harsh.”

“I mean it!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[commie-eschatology]

Return to Redcliffe

particularly proud of this Solas + Trevelyan scene from “Return to Redcliffe” so gonna do some shameless self-promotion. Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

When all her companions are asleep, Trevelyan leaves the Inquisition camp. She isn’t sure if she’ll come back. Someone is clearly following her, but she ignores that for now. The road back to Redcliffe stretches in front of her, but she hesitates. This is an extraordinary bad idea, she tells herself, but when has that ever stopped her? Lydia used to complain about her tendency to just act on desire alone. But Lydia is dead, she tells herself, you broke her head open with your staff until her brains spilled all over the floor. You killed the woman who raised you, only for the rebellion to sell themselves into slavery. ` In the woods, she stumbles upon a templar caravan. Very fortunate for her, very unfortunate for them. Their screams echo through the Ferelden forest; she imagines getting incinerated from inferno magic would hurt quite a bit, but it’s certainly not her problem. Trevelyan leaps onto the, now empty, wagon, and finds a crate of apples. She takes a few bites of one and monologues, “I rebel, therefore I am,” to the half eaten piece of fruit.

There’s groaning from underneath the wheels, and a jumble of words that vaguely sound like “what the fuck?” so she asks, “Sorry, are you still alive down there?” There’s no response, so in the interest of being thorough, she throws a fireball at the voice. The smell of burnt flesh follows, so she assumes it got the job done, but then again, Ferelden usually smells like that. Really not a terrible scent, she considers. Or perhaps she’s just gone mad.

Trevelyan looks at the Mark on her hand- staying with the Inquisition is the clever choice, she tells herself. Only she can close the rifts, after all. The rebels have been utterly defeated, the movement badly needs allies if it’s to survive. Still, her logic feels cold and hollow. The Venatori ships are already in Redcliffe harbor. She asks herself, how many will be shipped up to the Imperium in chains, in just the time it takes to travel between the Hinterlands and Haven?

Fire burns underneath the wagon. It’s always been fire for Trevelyan- burning the family manor during a childhood nightmare, cremating Lydia’s mangled corpse with her own spells, and, most recently, incinerating more templars than she can count. It’s the same fire that she could use to burn those Tevinter slave ships tonight- despite Fiona and Linnea’s betrayal, she has no doubt that at least a few of her people would join her.  

“Do you want to keep staring at me from the woods then?” she asks the person shadowing her. Solas steps out from the shadows, clearly surprised at being discovered, but he tries not to let it show. He’s usually far more subtle, she doesn't doubt she could be more stealthy if he wanted, but he clearly believes everyone around him is an utter idiot. Fair enough, she supposes. He gives a slight smile, the kind that might say “well done.”

As with everyone, Solas projects emotions into the Fade- but his are more tightly moderated than any other mage she’s ever seen. Now though, Trevelyan sees a wave of complex feelings she can barely sort through, radiating from him: rage at the Tevinters, intense all-consuming fear of something she can’t sense, great sadness for something lost, but all controlled, and directed by conscious purpose.

“These woods are dangerous,” he says, characteristically naming the obvious, “and you have the only means of closing the rifts.” He regards her for a moment. “I apologize if I intruded. You have proven yourself a capable fighter, but I have found it is far too easy to make rash mistakes when one is alone.” His actual meaning is not lost on her: don’t be an idiot and run, is what he wants to say.

He adds, “And in my defense, you did just eviscerate an entire troop of men.” She expects him to ask her why, but he doesn’t; apparently needing no explanation for her small act of rebellion.

“They were templars,” she explains anyways, “most are awful. The others just look away when the Circle rapes happen. Honestly, I’ve always preferred the former.”

“I can’t disagree with you,” Solas says, “my few interactions with templars have been... unpleasant. Either they are accustomed to following the worst orders, as you have said, or they just enjoy inflicting pain, especially upon those without recourse.” There is clear contempt and disgust in his voice, it’s as if he’s speaking from experience.

“That’s why we rebelled,” she says, taking another bite of the apple, “also,  I was hungry. Inquisition rations weren’t doing it.” Solas actually laughs. Trevelyan idly wonders when murder became so casual for her. Kill the woman who raised you, and everyone else becomes easy, she supposes.

There’s a short, but not awkward, silence between them. She knows exactly why he is here, to prevent her from defecting back to the rebels, but his presence is, surprisingly, not unwelcome. They haven’t had much time to talk like this; the conversations they’ve had have so far been in either the shadow of Haven’s Chantry, or on the road with Cassandra.

She motions to the adjacent seat on the wagon. To her surprise, he nods, and walks, or more accurately, struts over, butt wiggle and all. Like most mages, he usually makes himself seem as small as possible, scuttling rather than walking, but unlike the rest, it’s almost as if he has to consciously remind himself to do so.

Solas likes questions, she reminds herself, so ask one. He jumps up on the wagon, and she says, “do you like apples?”

Solas doesn’t even blink. “Apples were first domesticated in this part of the world.” How the fuck does he even know that, she wonders. “I saw a memory once, of a horde of human barbarians, desperately defending a part of these woods they held sacred, from the legions of the Imperium. When the barbarians were slain, the Tevinters marched forward, only to find a simple apple orchard, one which hundreds gave their lives to protect.” He takes one out of the crate, and takes a bite. “However, if you were asking about the taste- no, I detest apples.” He takes another bite. “This one in particular tastes sort of like burnt human flesh.”

“Dying for a lost cause. You really never miss an opportunity to make a point, do you?” she says, “also, how do you even know what burnt human flesh tastes like?”

Solas smiles mischievously. “I don’t like to waste words,” he says. The other point he is suspiciously quiet on. I don’t judge, Trevelyan thinks, you go eat as much flesh as you like, Solas.

His words are somewhat slurred, and she smells something in the air, besides the burning templars of course. She recognizes it as the unmistakable stench of peach whiskey, suspiciously similar to the bottle she had nicked from Dennet yesterday. Solas seems to notice and says, “Master Dennet had many such bottles wasting away on the shelf. He will not miss one, or two, I suppose.” He shrugs.

On the topic, she notices a small bottle of ale in one of the templar crates; the cork is stuck when she pulls on it, so she simply uses a bit of force magic to smash the top of the bottle off. It smells absolutely wretched, and tastes even worse, but she drinks it anyway. Solas watches her, possibly judging her, but he’s always hard to read. “Been a shit day,” she explains. Linnea said, go back to your templars. Fuck her. Tevinter apologist. Shockingly flat ass. Terrible kisser.

“Was today your first time in Redcliffe?” she asks. Solas chuckles softly to himself, apparently a joke only he understands.

“A long time ago, before your rebellion,” he says, “it’s changed since, of course. But I assume you’re asking my opinion on the rebel mages, rather than the settlement itself.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Despair sticks to most of the mages like gnats.” He’s right, during the retreat from the Free Marches, every morning some mages wouldn’t wake up, taken by Despair demons in their sleep. And the war has only gotten worse. She can’t even imagine. “Still, they endure. Their fight against oppression is admirable, and utterly hopeless.” , “Hopeless?” Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. She should be angry, but more than anything she feels exhausted. “You seem rather certain.”

“Of course I am.” he says, matter of fact. Trevelyan picked up some dalish during the rebellion; she’s not ignorant as to the meaning of his name. “In my journeys through the Fade, I have seen countless rebellions rise up, confident in the just nature of their cause, only to be crushed mercilessly. Righteousness, unfortunately, is no match against steel.” Good poetry. She’ll give him that.

“And, yet, Recliffe is still standing,” she says, “for the first time in a thousand years, in this part of the world, mages govern ourselves. No templars. No Chantry. We built that. Isn’t that freedom worth defending?” Trevelyan spent most of her life in the Circle. No price can be too great, she thinks.

“You forget you aren’t speaking to Cassandra or Varric. We do not disagree on the necessity of rebellion,” he smiles, just a bit, mostly to himself, “but, in order for a rebellion to win its immediate demands, as well has change what it is possible in the long term, something you once told me that you seek to do, they must do one thing.” He pauses for dramatic effect, and honestly it works. “They must win.”  

“Even failed revolutions can teach lessons,” she says, the only dogma she’s ever needed to believe in, “no matter what Varric says, the mage rebellion didn’t manifest spontaneously.” She thinks of the thousand year struggle for freedom, and what feels like generations of the dead on her shoulders. In the distance, Trevelyan can just make out the flag of the Venatori, waving from the ramparts of Redcliffe. The ships are not far behind.

“No,” Solas says, suddenly melancholy, “or if they do, it is always the wrong lessons.” He’s silent for a long moment, staring into the ground. “I saw a memory once in the Fade. A man who sought to overthrow a tyrant. Then, a half-hearted assassination attempt, tailored for drama, instead of results. It of course failed. The man himself was burned alive, defiant at first, but when the flames reached his body, when his skin began to melt off, he screamed for mercy that never came.”

Trevelyan takes a long drink. Solas adds, eerily calm, “In the end, martyrdom is just melted flesh upon a wooden stake, and a name utterly forgotten.”  She drains the rest of the bottle.

“I killed my mother,” she says, suddenly, without really meaning to, “when the Circle was annulled, I tried to give her the courtesy of a quick spell, but the tower wards blocked magic so…” she makes a motion with her staff “I, well, had improvise.”

“Your first murder?” he asks. She shakes her head. Definitely not. “If you want absolution, I’m not the person to give it.”

“Oh fuck no, I’m not Andrastian,” Trevelyan scoffs, and Solas chuckles softly. The Andrastians think they can solve all the world’s evils, all their many personal failings, through a song. It’s childish. Besides, Trevelyan would rather hold onto her sins for now- keep them close like a badge of honor. She looks down at the dead templars, corpses bathed in green light from her Mark.

“I don’t regret it,” she says, and she thinks she means it, “not if it served a purpose.” Trevelyan looks again towards Redcliffe, and thinks, everything I am, I owe to them. “In just the time it takes to travel back to Haven, how many will already be on the ships?”

“Likely a few dozen,” Solas answers, “there will be far more, thousands, if these Venatori are not defeated, which is a battle only the Inquisition has the resources to win. It is fortunate, then, that you have a position where you can speak on behalf of the rebel mages.”

The sun begins to rise, bathing the forest in dim orange light. “We should get back then ,” she forces herself to say, though every word is like a block of lead. Solas exhales in relief.

“One final thing,” she says as Solas moves to get up. She looks at her counterpart, studying him best she can, sensing his projections into the Fade. He’s unlike any other apostate she’s ever met, and there’s something about him she can’t quite put her finger on, much less vocalize. “You know quite a bit about rebellions,” she says.

“I have seen much in my travels,” he says, pausing as he considers his next words, “and you could say I had a dramatic youth.”

“One I’d be interested in hearing about,” she says, genuinely. “Especially if it involves more surprisingly melancholy stories about apple domestication.” Solas seems taken aback for a moment, but recovers quickly, chucking politely at her joke. He then smiles quietly to himself.

The two apostates return to the Inquisition camp, though Trevelyan keeps Redcliffe in her sight for as long as she can.

Ao3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/33444538

[homeformyheart]

What do you think would be the zodiac signs of various choices characters? Like Blaine's, Bryce's, Rafael's, Raleigh's, Charlie's, Zoey's, Nia's, Oliver's, Edward's, Ayna's, Jackie's? Mention any others too if you want.

i love this ask!!! if i got the wrong person, e.g., you meant a different charlie/zoey, let me know. this post is gonna get too long so i’ll stick to who you suggested for now and just sun signs without overthinking it too much but always happy to do more.

i was researching sun/moon/venus signs recently for my ocs so this is definitely top of mind and was so much fun! moon signs might delve into headcanon territory and need more research but happy to do those too!

*note: zodiac sign interpretations are very subjective! you are free to disagree, just don’t send hate.

listed in alphabetical order by first name under the cut:

ayna seth (foreign affairs, as of ch. 3) – virgo

it’s a little early in the book to really assess ayna but based on the few conversations + diamond scene, i’m going with virgo individuals being respectable, hard-working, self-sufficient, and self-contained with a love of knowledge. virgos may be a bit shy when meeting someone new and have a pretty strong sense of responsibility. i just get the vibe that ayna will become more comfortable with MC over time and open up more but struggle with being responsible / appropriate given she’s MC’s TA.

blaine hayes (foreign affairs, as of ch. 3) – aquarius

okay to be honest i did this one last because i don’t think we know enough yet – i don’t buy the surface-level rebel / don’t care what parents think act. it could be wishful thinking, but we’ve seen it with other characters, there’s some hurt or something deeper. so without projecting on future chapters, it was between sagittarius and aquarius, (maybe i’ll change my mind as the book progresses), but given that blaine seems a little jaded, i went with aquarius because of the description “many aim to free themselves from personal and social conditioning” as well as traits of encouraging forthrightness, coming off aloof, and cleverness / wit.

bryce lahela (open heart) – aries

oh mr. lahela… how to sum up such a big personality in one word? i’ll try with aries - the active, physical energy of aries and using their body to get things done seems to fit bryce; there’s a lot in the books about the physical ways in which he gets things done or works through things, whether it’s exercise or surgery. other fitting characteristics include being direct and straightforward. and if this doesn’t describe bryce, i don’t know what does “they’re not given to long, drawn-out emotional moments; nor are they big on planning ahead” – the planning ahead part certainly reminds me of his growth process with keiki.

charlie smith (distant shores) – aquarius

charlie’s a very interesting one, i almost went with sagittarius but i think aquarius fits her better because of her emphasis on personal freedom, equality, and fairness (her birth circumstances and tense relationship with her father motivating that). other characteristics of an aquarius that i think are fitting include being observant, clever, and occasionally idealistic.

edward mortemer (distant shores) – taurus

these characteristics stick out to me for the captain – loyal, temperamental, dependent, and possessive but are known to have jealous streaks and may be prone to resentment. if you romanced him, there were small moments of jealousy regarding oliver and we all know his temperament and resentment ran deep whenever the admiral was involved.

jackie varma (open heart) – capricorn

strong capricorn vibes for ms. varma in my opinion, specifically “feet-on-the-ground, eye-on-the-prize” vibes and getting things done. capricorns want to do things that are worthwhile and focus on those, being resourceful and very practical in achieving things – i think this is really clear in her story arc with panacea and how she approaches it with a strong realistic sense of what’s practical vs. idealistic. also a bonus – deadpan humor and sarcasm are strong in capricorns.

nia ellarious (blades of light and shadow) – leo

when i read up on leo characteristic, this just screamed nia – they do things with intensity and determination, motivated by affection for people and wanting to make them happy, and have a very noble inner code they answer to but are self-aware and humble. we all saw how nia reassessed her beliefs when her faith in the temple was shaken, and she grounds herself in what she believes at her core to be the right thing to do.

oliver cochrane (distant shores) – capricorn

poor oliver got sidelined but i think capricorn’s realistic, grounded approach to things and wanting to do things worthwhile fits him. capricorns are also known to be reserved at times and not big risk-takers, but do have a strong sense of tradition and responsibility. i think that fits oliver’s backstory and relationship with the navy/his dad well up until the end of the book.

rafael aveiro (open heart) – pisces

mr. soft heart aveiro is sooooooooo a pisces – sensitive to criticism and others’ feelings, wouldn’t hurt a fly, and have a hard time saying no. he’s incredibly compassionate and finds ways to express himself creatively – such as with food or dancing.

raleigh carrera (platinum) – aries

i did think about this for a fic prompt fill (goes to read the fic & refresh my memory) and when i think of raleigh i think confidence and quick-witted, but also stubborn, energetic, and impatient – all traits associated with the aries sign.

zoey wade (queen b) – gemini

i’m only halfway through queen b but i feel like the gemini characteristics of cleverness / wit, getting easily bored if the conversation doesn’t provide enough mental stimulation, not easily intimidated, and ability to be observant and objective seems to align to what i’ve seen so far.

[new-tella-us]

Aight, so this is a very long Komahina Oneshot.

I'm gunna milk the freak out of the popular shiet!

Anyways couple of warnings before we start.

This oneshot is not happy. It contains:

Character Death

Swearing

Illness

Mentions and attempts of suicide

If any of this stuff upsets you then skip this chapter. I'll be making happier stuff in the future.

Bittersweet Ending

"Hey Komaeda! Wanna visit Hajime and Nekomaru with me?"

That was the first thing Nagito heard after leaving his house. Akane was at his door and seeming pretty anxious.

"Oh..uhh sure. I wanted to talk to Hajime, I guess I just never had the time,"

It was still strange to see Akane being nice to him. He always expected something bad to happen to him around her but, lately she's been pretty docile. Though, she still doesn't want to call him by his first name regardless of how many times Nagito has said that it's fine. Nagito quickly got ready and left his tiny cottage with the girl.

...

The walk was long. Nagito offend wondered why Nekomaru and Hajime were put so far away from the rest of the group. Some actually moved closer to them so they wouldn't have to take such a long walk but, not Nagito. He was just...too busy. His mind started to wander as he walked. Where did his story start? Maybe when he woke up.

When he first woke, he couldn't believe it. He was back in reality. A hand reaching out to him snapped his attention right back to reality. He sensed so much hope radiating from the person reaching out that he confused him with the Ultimate Hope, Izuru Kamukura and while, the person was the Ultimate Hope, it wasn't Izuru. Hajime Hinata was his name. His warm smile finally pulled Nagito out of the lull he was in. So he stood up, ready to take on a new world.

...

Two months had past, the fifteen students were able to move to the original Jabberwock Island and live there in peace. Of course, occasionally, the Future Foundation would ask for assistance from Hajime but, other than that, it was quite peaceful. So peaceful, in fact, that Makoto Naegi decided to slightly dampen the mood of the island by building a graveyard for all the student of Hope Peak that got killed in the Tragedy. Each set of areas were separated by class and for everyone that died, they would build a ginormous, well more like life size, statue of the person.

That ended up pissing a lot of people off for obvious reasons, since there was only one death from class 77. Chiaki Nanami, she would stand alone in a sea of statues that threatened to drown her in the meaningless names and monotonous stone gray.

Hajime also brought up a pretty good point.

"Makoto, this is our home. If you put every class, every Ultimate, all 78 of them here, our island would become a travelers island,"

"We'll make sure to moderate that but, this just the best area we can put these and respect our dead, plus this is probably going to be where we bury you guys and I would thing you would want to be near friends,"

No one had much of an argument. Hajime sighed and agreed to the plans on the condition that Makoto keeps visitors to a minimum and never does overnight stays. Makoto agreed and it was settled. They decided the graveyard would take up the entire fifth island to keep it as far away as possible. After all, the group didn't need a constant reminder that not everyone got out. Nagito didn't need a constant reminder that he got the last bit of her killed for his idiotic plan and now she'll never come back.

Never.

...

More months past and life was normal...well, their version of normal, at least. Through out these months, he and Hajime have gotten closer than ever. Hajime seems to be the only one who cares, Nagito likes it when they hangout...he always does this. He always gets attached despite it never ending well. He did it with his dog;the dog got ran over, his parents; they died in a plane freak accident, Chiaki...yeah... He knows he always gets attached to the ones who will die and yet, he still gets attached.

...

He caught something...Oh not Hajime, Nagito. Nagito got sick, really sick. He could barely move out of bed. People kept visiting him, Mikan kept checking up on him and Hajime, unlike with the Liar Disease, actually stayed. By the end of the week, the group had given him flowers that he couldn't take care of (Mahiru did so instead), and all sorts of candies that he didn't have the appetite for, even Hiyoko gave him her favorite brand of gummy bears. Throughout the few weeks, he fluctuated between good days and bad days.

On one of his good days, he was hanging out with Hajime. He insisted that they hang out somewhere other than the house. Hajime furiously declined saying that Nagito need to rest and, as per usual, he was right but Nagito just didn't want to sit in bed any longer.

"Fine, I'll just go somewhere by myself" Nagito said in a huff. Hajime's face changed from a "what the actual hell??" Look to a defeated one. Nagito knew Hajime would never leave Nagito alone while sick on this island so, Hajime agreed.

Nagito decided that they were going to the cemetery that finished it's construction very recently. Hajime didn't put up a fight and they both headed there. Once they arrived, they had to walk through class after class to find the class they were looking for. Nagito started to feel his "good" day going bad but, tried his best to keep a strong face. They finally made it to the class 77 area and there she stood, alone. Stone eyes staring down at her Nintendo DC. Nagito briefly wondered what game she would be playing to be so intensely staring down at the game without looking up before he remembered that this was a statue.

"So, why here of all places? Did you want to mourn Chiaki?" Hajime asked, blunt and to the point as always. So Nagito answered with all equally blunt question.

"When I die, do you think they'll put my statue next to hers?"

Hajime seemed caught off-guard, he didn't seemed to know what to say next.

"Umm, supposedly? It would probably be in death order. Y'know, like who dies first?"

"Exactly, when I die, which should be soon-" Nagito couldn't hold back the sickness anymore and doubled over coughing. This, of course, panicked Hajime as he tried to help as much as he could. When the coughing died down and Nagito could breathe again, he commented; "See? I told you tha-"

Hajime cut him off, "You're being delusional. You're not going to die, Nagito"

"You don't know that and I'm not getting healthier"

"It's a cold.."

Now, Nagito was the one to interrupt, "Colds don't last weeks Hajime"

"It's a fuckin' bug" Hajime cursed

"Now look who's being delusional, it's my sickness. It's finally coming to tak-"

"Enough with the with the fucking death talk! You're not gunna die Nagito!" His voice was louder but, he didn't sound as certain. "You're...not.." his voice was shaking, pleading for Nagito to stop. Of course Nagito had to take it so far. He always takes it too far and ends up in these kinds of situations.

"...Sorry"

"Let's...get you home, you're not feeling well"

...

Turns out, Hajime was right, it was just a cold but with his immunodeficiencies, it made it much harder to fight off. With the right medicine and another four days, Nagito started to improve. People were still cautious, now that every had seen how a common cold could affect him, they were more hesitant to let him do the common housework that he used to do on the regular. They all collectively decided thatNagito would take regular check ups to keep his health in check. He agreed to keep them all from panicking too much. Hajime insisted that Nagito does a blood test and a brain scan.

"Just in case of something serious.."

Why? Hajime should be the last person to say that. He is the only person that knows about Nagito's condition...was it to let everyone else know? He gave Nagito a look, a look that was hard to decipher. It almost seemed like Hajime knew something that Nagito didn't.

...

.........

....What?

This is....

That's impossible...

Maybe the tests were flawed? Maybe there was a mix up....

Nope, these are his results but, that's impossible.

These tests say he's anemic.

Just anemic. Not any of the other illnesses he was diagnosed with as a teen. Vitamin Deficiency Anemia. A chronic but usually treatable condition. The worst part? It matches up with how Nagito has been feeling since he got the disease. The pale skin, the weight loss, the inability to fight of the smallest of colds without weeks of treatment. It all lines up. This is...some really good luck. Life saving good luck...that means, the next surge of bad luck might be...Life ending. No..NO! Nagito refuses to lose anyone else and certainly not because of his luck!

...

"That's amazing, Nagito!" Hajime said.

Hajime was the only person Nagito could go to about this. He knew so much already, it made it easier to tell him more...and yet, now Nagito felt guilty. His relationship with Hajime got slightly strained with the graveyard talk and now Hajime has seemed to almost completely forget that. He even seems happy, genuinely happy. Did Nagito really want to ruin that? ...He had to.

"Uhm, yeah but, this surge of good luck is sure to come with harsh repercussion," Nagito said nervously.

Silence...

"Nagito...please, just this once. Can you just be happy when something good happens to you?" Hajime's voice was a mixture of annoyed and worried.

"Not when this could kill someone. Sorry," Nagito might have to reconsider if telling Hajime things is a good idea anymore...

"...Okay, how about this? If we tell everyone to watch out for something bad and keep on their toes, will you at least try to enjoy yourself?"

That didn't feel good enough but, there wasn't much Nagito could do. "Fine"

...

A couple weeks had passed by. Nagito became more and more restless with everyday that nothing happened. Recently, the Future Foundation called some of them to a small mission on the main land. To gather intel on a rebel group that still stands by the complete extermination of Ultimates. Nekomaru, Nagito, Hajime, Mikan and surprisingly Hiyoko were tasked with this. Throughout that time, Nagito tried his best to trigger his bad luck. Walking through the most dangerous parts of town everyday to see if something would happen...Nothing did. He tried everything to cause any form of bad luck to ease his mind, from dangerously unstable platforms to rebel infested areas. Nothing happened. Nothing but Nagito constantly worrying his group.

"Nagito, you can just come with us. You know that right?" Hajime mentioned, worrying flashing in his heterochromatic eyes. Nagito liked to stare into them but, now is not the time.

"Oh, I would never dream of disturbing the presence of you with mine."

Hajime started to look pissed off.

"Listen Nagito, is you are still worried about your bad luck...I understand but, you can't force it to activate. Just let the inevitable happen."

Okay, now Nagito's pissed off. Let the inevitable happen? Does Hajime not care that the 'inevitable' could be death?

"You're acting too casual about all of this. This is something big and you're acting like it's nothing. Do you not care? Not care that someone on our island could die? After all we've been through?"

"Of course I care but, what am I supposed to do? Let you get yourself killed? If you have forgotten, you are also someone on our island. I can't just allow you to die! I have to at least try to save everyone as I always have!"

"....I'm not that important, I caused a good portion of this. It's not like anyone would truly care too much if I was gone. It's fine to let a nobody like me die," Nagito said. Did he mean it? Maybe but, he didn't want to be the cause of anymore pain or death...

Hajime was steaming, he looked like he might actually hit something in anger but instead, he grabbed Nagito's shoulders and pushed him up against a wall. Now, Nagito couldn't ignore him. Couldn't try to push his concerns aside.

"I care dammit! Can't you see that?"

Nagito's heart raced. His face was so close to Hajime's. He felt like something bad was bound to happen with them so close. A part of him, really wanted to just lean in and kiss Hajime while he had the chance. The part that wanted to possible keep some form of a friendship with Hajime, however, knew not to.

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have spent days getting you out of that coma. If none of us cared, we wouldn't have spent time, energy and money to help you get better and to give you gifts while you were ill. We all care about you. So please...don't...don't leave me like Chiaki did.." Hajime plead, desperately. He seemed near tears, tightening his grip on Nagito. It's rare to ever see Hajime so scared. It hurt Nagito, since he couldn't honestly promise that. At that moment, he truly did wished he stayed in that coma or..no..further than that, he just wished he was never lucky to begin with. His luck caused so many people pain, include the man that's now pleading for Nagito to live in front of him. Despite Hajime's pleading, Nagito knew what he had to do to make this awful cycle stop.

"I...I promise," Nagito lied, "I'm sorry"

Hajime's grip loosened then he hugged Nagito.

"Thank you..." Hajime's voice was shaky but, genuine. Nagito couldn't say anything to that.

...

It's time. Nagito made sure to spend time with everyone he could. It was the end of the investigation and nearly time for everyone to go home...Nagito wasn't going to make it home. On one of his investigations, he found a very tall skyscraper. The tallest one with the exception of Hope's Peak. He wasn't going to jump from there, not when Makoto is trying his hardest to repair the place.

He stood on the roof of this broken building. The railings that once stood there, probably to prevent what Nagito was about to do, rusted and withered away. He stood at the edge, looking on at the city that he helped destroy.

He was about to step off when he heard someone.

"Nagito?"

Of course, of all people, it had to be him. Nagito turned around to see none other than Hajime standing at the doorway next to Nagito's shoes that he removed to confirm that this wasn't a murder. Nagito turned back to the city. He felt no reason to hide it anymore and repeated a question he asked a long time ago.

"Do you think, when I die, they'll put my statue near her's?"

Hajime answered the same too.

"That depends on who dies first in the group. They'll probably organize it in death order..."

Nagito said nothing. He knew that if that's the case then, he would be right next to her.

"You really aren't going to turn back, are you? You are that afraid of your talent that this is what you think you have to choose?"

Still nothing.

"Can you at least give me an answer?"

Nagito couldn't. He was so focused at looking on at the city, he didn't realize that Hajime had made it next him.

"Just turn back, go on without me," Nagito turned to Hajime and smiled, "You'll forget me eventually,"

Hajime said nothing but eventually turned away and started walking back. Nagito was a little surprised but was also glad that Hajime understood. He went back to looking at the city.

"If I can't convince you. I guess..." Nagito heard Hajime walking back and felt his hug. Nagito turned to face Hajime and maybe question something, before he could say anything, Hajime continued,

"I can at least make sure you don't die alone."

Hajime pushed himself forward off the edge, taking Nagito with him.

Now, they were falling. Falling fast. It didn't feel fast though. It felt like the world slowed down, everything was noisy but, silent. Nagito couldn't believe it. It was really happening. That's when Nagito started to question the things he should have thought about before choosing this way of ending it. What if he didn't die on impact? Would it hurt? Would it burn? Would he just feel numb? How long can you even last after a fall like that? But, those questions are useless to ask now...

He wanted to tell Hajime how he felt. He knew he was going to die so, it wouldn't matter. He might as well. Plus, Hajime would probably not hear him over the pressure threatening to burst their eardrums in its might.

He screamed to the top of his lungs the words he wanted to say since the Neo World Program.

"I Love You, Hajime!"

He didn't expect much. He didn't any response. So he certainly didn't expect what was said next.

"I Love You Too!"

Hajime...loved him? He didn't expect that at all. This, somehow, made Nagito feel better and worse at the same time. He hugged Hajime tighter, they should be close to the ground soon so, Nagito can die without much regret.

"And I told you," Hajime continued, "I'm going to try and save everyone. Including you."

Immediately after that, Nagito felt shift in positions. Now, it was Hajime under Nagito. Nagito realized what Hajime was going to do. He was going to take to brunt of the landing on the chance that Nagito would live. If Nagito was lucky, he could live.

And, of course,

Nagito was lucky.

...

"We're here! Finally!" Akane's voice snapped Nagito back into reality.

"Y-yeah, that walk took a-a lot out of me..." Mikan followed. Wait, when did Mikan get here? She must have joined their walk while Nagito was spaced out.

"A-are you o-okay Nagito-san? You s-seem spaced out.."

Oh right, he probably seems very out of it on their walk, he should say something.

"Yes, I'm okay, I was just...thinking."

He looked up at the cemetery entrance and prepared himself when he entered.

75...76...77. Class 77...

All the way to the left is Chiaki Nanami, the first to go. She was the hope of Class 77 and thus Junko Enoshima, the Ultimate Despair, had her executed. She was a kind girl that did her best to help and protect everyone she could. She will always be remembered. Her plaque says:

"I'm going to get out with all of my friends"

To the right is Nekomaru Nidai. He was a victim of trial four. But he made it out of that world alive. How did he die then? He, unfortunately, had a life-threatening illness and ,unlike Nagito; it wasn't a misdiagnosis. His illness took his life about three weeks ago. His plaque says:

"Keep fighting, the only way to success is to try"

And in the middle, despite the fact that he was not a part of class 77, everyone insisted that he'd be put there. He was family to them all.

Hajime Hinata.

He was the person who saved the class multiple times and never gave up hope. He fought for everyone and, in the end, he died to keep his message. His plaque says.

"I'm going to save everyone, that includes you"

Nagito looks at Akane who was standing there crying but silent. Akane has always had trouble expressing negative emotions so this is a start.

He then looks at Mikan, who was on her knees sobbing at Chiaki's grave. She wholeheartedly blames herself for Chiaki's death, we're trying to convince her that it's not her fault. Maybe one day they can convince her. Then he looks at Hajime. He just stares. It, at first seemed like appropriate weather for this occasion. Rain. Until Nagito realized that sky, though dark, is clear. He wiped his eyes to find that the 'rain' was really tears. He was crying and yet, he wasn't broken. He was sad but, felt weirdly happy.

"Inevitable, huh? At least, I'm glad I got to know you before the inevitable." Nagito said, out loud. "This is such a bittersweet ending."

Allll right! This is finally done. I am literally about to cry. This is the saddest thing I've ever written. 😭 The next chapter is gunna be a lot happier.

Thanks for reading.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

We’re The Bad Guys: Part 7

We’re the Bad Guys: Masterlist

Poe Dameron x Reader (eventually), First Order!Reader

Summary: From the day you were born, you were taught the rebels and their New Republic were the bad guys. But, after you crash land on a remote moon with only the Resistance’s poster boy for company, things begin the change.

Based off of this drabble and headcanon

A/N: Look at me having another part up within the next week instead of the next three months. Sorry, no Poe in this chapter either, but he will be back in Part 8, pinkie promise.  And as usual COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO LIVE!!!

Word Count: 2.0K

          Getting to Takodana was easier than one might expect for a member of The First Order.

          For troopers or lower ranking officials, landing anywhere closer than the outermost rim of the galaxy was near impossible without clearance.  But for a Commander, slipping in and out of First Order space did not take much imagination.  A switched ship here, a bribe there and one could get as close as the inner rim if they put their mind to it.  Of course, most officers took it as a chance to visit a pleasure planet or two without word of a scandal getting sent up the ranks.  For your purposes, however, you risked a lot more than personal embarrassment. 

          You had started by taking leave on a small base not far from Rakata Prime.  It was a place common for officers in search of some relief from the stress and monotony of space travel.  It also was the perfect jumping off point to the outer rim.  The security was notoriously lax if not outright corrupt.  The right amount of credits in the right hand could get you just about anywhere.  

          It didn’t take long for you to track down a cadet willing to recommend a lovely little spaceport on some planet you never heard of. Apparently it had some of the best underground gambling one could find this side of Hutt Space, which meant pilots, but more importantly, pilots in need of fast, no questions asked, credits.  

          The cadet dropped you with the promise to pick you up in three days.  There was no need for him to follow. What you did while on planet was your business. The fact you had even left the base was blackmail enough. No doubt he was going to factor that into your service fee for the trip back. 

          After that, it was easy.  Within a few hours you were able to track down another ship heading in the direction of Takodana. Like any pilot bordering the Unknown Region, you couldn’t be sure where exactly the captain’s loyalty’s lay.  It meant a small risk every time money exchanged hands, but it also ensured anonymity.  

          You haggled a place in the cargo hold and by the next morning, you were walking down the ramp onto the forest planet. 

          It was beautiful.  Any word less would be a disservice.  The lush greens of the forest and clear shimmering lake water served as another stark reminder of where you came from.  

          No polished blacks.  No filtered air.  Just green and life. 

          You were so caught up in the moment, you almost forgot why you had come. A hard push from one of the crew members snapped you back to reality. Your eyes followed his path to the infamous castle just off in the distance. There was no going back now. 

          Securing the cloth placed over your nose and mouth, you kept your head low and followed. 

          The bar was just as crowded as you had expected with an assortment of humans and aliens from every point in the galaxy.  You would give this to Maz Kanata, despite her castle’s reputation for being a safe haven for pirates and explorers, the place was shockingly bright and clean. Cluttered and eclectic, but open and generally lacking the layer of grim that seemed to stain all spaceports along the mid and outer rim.  It left the impression that one could keep their blaster securely in their holster and actually enjoy a drink without fear of being taken off guard.  Still, you knew better.  This was a neutral space for Resistance and First Order alike.   Any one of the patrons could be a spy for either side.

          Making sure not to make eye contact with anyone, you made your way to the bar. 

          “I’m looking for Maz Kanata,” you said, in a low tone.  “I need to speak with her.”

          The bartender, an Artiodac, rumbled something in their native language you couldn’t understand. But, the dismissive laughter that followed was universal. 

          “It’s urgent,” you insisted.  “Commander Dameron sent me.” 

          “What trouble has that boy gotten into now?” a voice asked. 

          You turned around and immediately had to look down. 

          A small orange alien of a species you couldn’t name stood before you. Their head was huge compared to their small frame, wrinkles for days and eyes enlarged by giant magnifying goggles. 

          “Maz Kanata?” you asked. 

          “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” she replied dryly. She then turned her attention to the Artiodac.  “Table five needs three more of the same.”

          The other alien nodded and quickly busied themselves with their task. 

          “Now,” Maz said.  “What trouble has Dameron brought to my door?”

          “No trouble,” you said. “I just need to get a message to him.”

          “Do you, now?” she asked, skeptically. 

          “Yes.”

          “And who are you, exactly?”

          “I’m a friend.” 

          “A friend who covers their face?” 

          Your hand went instinctively your mask.  Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea.  

          Maz gave a dry laugh. “Do you have a name at least?”

          You shifted uncomfortably. This was not going how you had pictured.  You had hoped to be half way off this planet by now. 

          “Not one he would know,” you admitted. 

          She raised an eyebrow. “Not much of a friend then.” 

          And with that she walked passed you out of the main room into the back. She must have assumed that meant an end to your conversation, but you hadn’t come all this way to be turned away now. She barely made it two paces before you followed after her. 

          “Fine, not much of a friend,” you said, “but certainly an ally.”

          “An ally?” she scoffed. “For what cause?”

          “To put an end to The First Order.”

          She paused. It wasn’t enough for her to turn to face you. She kept going about her task, moving a few crates, but you did get her attention. 

          “Bold words,” she said, “but why should I believe you?”

          “Because--”  You stopped.  

          Why should she believe you? Who were you, really?  A Commander for The First Order? A child solider? A pawn? Who were you to her? To The Resistance? To Dameron? 

          And that’s when you remembered. 

          “Because, I’m Pilot.”

          She turned to you, the surprise evident in her eyes. 

          “I’m Pilot,” you repeated, bolder this time. “The Pilot.”

          She stared more openly at you then, carefully examining your features.

          “Dameron’s Pilot?” she asked. 

          You shrugged, unsure how to feel about being called Poe Dameron’s anything. Still, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

          Maz nodded in understanding.  Setting down the crate she was carrying, she silently indicated for you to kneel. 

          You felt a tug of uncertainty in your gut, but knew better than to question her orders.  You sunk down to your knees conveniently landing at the alien’s eye level. 

          She stepped closer to your, peering directly into your eyes. 

          You didn’t dare blink as she performed her examination, even adjusting her goggles to a higher intensity until the eyes reflected in them took over her entire face. 

          For a long moment neither of you spoke.

          “I see why he likes you,” Maz said, warmly as a wide smile spread across her face. “You have stars in your eyes.”

          You frowned, unsure of what to make of her comment.  Nobody had ever called your eyes anything before, let alone filled with stars. It made you think of naive thinking and childish dreams, neither of which you had associated with yourself at any time of your life.  But for some reason, you didn’t think that was what she meant. 

          Maz stepped back, her expression once again all business.

          “What’s the message?”

          You blinked, allowing yourself a moment to come back to reality.  Reaching down, you pulled the data card from your pocket.  

          “This is everything I had access to,” you said, handing the card to her. “Tie patrols, base coordinates, supply lines, everything. Make sure this gets to Resistance and...tell Commander Dameron that we’re even.” 

          She took the card, frowning slightly.  “Why don’t you tell him yourself?” 

          “I’m not joining The Resistance.”

          Her brows furrowed. “But you are leaving The First Order.” 

          “Yes.”

          “So what are you planning to do?”

          You shrugged, rising to your feet. “I’m a pilot.  I’m sure I can find something.” 

          Maz Kanata said nothing, but it was clear from her expression she wanted to say a lot of things.

          “You disapprove,” you stated rather than asked.  

          “Let’s just say, I don’t think the smuggler’s life is for you,” she said, dryly.

          Your lip pressed into a fine line. “And what do you propose? I’ve spent my whole life fighting a cause that wasn’t my own.  You would ask me to do the same thing, but for the other side?” 

          “It’s not the same thing if you choose to fight it.”

          “And what if I’m tired of fighting?”

          She shook her head, chuckling lightly.  “No. You were born to fight.”

          A sudden flash of anger fired in your heart.  It was a familiar feeling. The same one you felt towards Dameron when he had made certain presumptions about your family.  Of course, he had been right.

          “It wasn’t my choice,” you said, tightly.

          Maz shook her head again.  “No Pilot. Even if you were raised by peaceful monks, you would find a way to fight.  Maybe not by hopping in an X-Wing and blowing things up, but still fight.  You’re fighting The First Order right now.”

          “I’m settling a debt.”

          “By fighting,” she insisted. “You said it yourself; you are an ally to put an end to The First Order.” 

          She held up the card, waving it for emphasis. “With this alone you’ve just saved countless lives and struck a harder blow against The First Order than the entire Republic Senate has done in a year.” 

          “And now I’m done.”

          Maz let out a sigh, her bright expression fading to one of disappointment. 

          “Then you still fight for The First Order.” 

          “I’m fighting for myself,” you snapped.  

          “If one knows there is evil in the world and does not oppose it, that does not make them neutral,” Maz said, calmly. “There is no neutral stance.  Indifference, selfishness, this is what allows The First Order and all others like them to prosper.”      

          “So is every person going about their lives as bad as The First Order.” you said, sardonically. 

          “No. Most don’t have the power, or the means to fight.  But you do.”

          You scoffed. “So, I still don’t have a choice.”

          “Of course you do.  Everybody had a choice. But, it’s important to keep in mind that no choice is still a choice, just not an obvious one.” 

          You let out a sigh. This was what it was about, wasn’t it? Having a choice? It was proving to be a lot more trouble than people let on. 

          “Why are you so insistent I join The Resistance?” you asked. “You don’t know me.”

          She smiled then.  It was a knowing smile, like she was in on a secret; not one she was trying to keep, but one she was dying to tell. 

          “Like I said, you have stars in your eyes. Clouded over, faded, but still there; begging to shine.” 

          For the second time that day, you didn’t know what to make of it. You knew better than to ask.  Maz Kanata seemed exactly the type of person to answer anything as cryptically as possible. 

          “Seems to me Pilot, you have three options,” she continued. “Number one, you go back out there and ask if anyone needs a co-pilot.  You go off into the Outer Rim and nobody hears from you again.  Number two, you take this back and deliver it to Commander Dameron yourself.”

          You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “And number three?” 

          “You choose to fight in your own way.” 

          “By what? Freelancing as a fighter pilot?” 

          She shrugged. “As I said, there are more ways of fighting than hopping in an X-Wing and blowing things up.” She held up the data card with that same knowing smile.  “More effective ways.”

          You half expected her to hand the card back to you, but instead she tucked it into her vest and picked up the crate she had been carrying earlier.  

            “It’s your choice Pilot,” she said.  “It always has been.”

          And with that she left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your choices.  

[obi-wan-is-babe]

Padawan Braid

Relationship: Cal Kestis x f!Reader

Summary: Cal never thought he’d meet another padawan...nor be jealous of them.

Key: Y/N = your name, Reess Nerdres = oc Jedi master

——————

He never would have noticed her in any other place, in any other circumstance, in any other time.

But he knew something felt wrong.

The crew of the Mantis had stopped in this town for one of the only reasons they ever stopped in a town: resistance work. A small rebel cell was looking for reinforcements against the new Empire occupation they were facing. Hoping to cut the head off the snake before it made itself at home, Cere had gotten the lead on the mission and gladly took the rebels up on their request.

Cal was doing his part by staking out the marketplace, gathering intel for the rebels, and looking for a new poncho to add to his collection. Merrin said it was getting out of hand, but Cal thought that was nonsense.

He was careful to keep his hand in his pockets, trying to avoid touching anything or anyone in the market. The devastation of the Empire was fresh here and he needed to be on his toes instead of incapacitated in a vision of the past. Even with his hands hidden away, he could sense everyone around him, their pain so prominent. But that’s how he knew something was off.

He passed by her a couple of times, oblivious to her at first. Cal regarded her as just another town’s person, and lumped her into the sadness he felt all around him. The third time he passed her was when he noticed it.

Nothingness.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. Something his psychometry never let happen. He always felt something, the pull of the past searching for his touch. But she just...didn’t. He studied her. She was very pretty, he admitted to himself, but he tried to look past that and see her, beyond the physical plane. He couldn’t. So he looked at her here as she shopped for fruits.

Her face wasn’t harsh, but he couldn’t describe it as soft. She looked like someone who had been through quite a bit. She was obviously meticulous, her hair was up in one of those intense braided styles, but her clothes made her blend into those who roamed the aisles.

As she moved to her next destination, Cal followed her, forgetting his mission for the moment. Stubbornly, he continued trying to sense her within the Force and became increasingly frustrated as he couldn’t pinpoint her. He felt his efforts swerve to the people surrounding her, every try was a different person and their story. He let out a groan of frustration and blushed when others stared.

“Sorry,” he muttered, but in that moment of embarrassment, he lost her. “Karabast.”

You peaked around the corner and spotted the boy who had been following you walk the opposite direction. You let out the breath you had been holding since you first sensed his presence.

At first you had been taken a back by the presence of a fellow Force sensitive. In all the time you had been hiding here, the only Force sensitives that had come here were inquisitors, and you tended to avoid them. However, his presence wasn’t negative like theirs. It was very peaceful, but you couldn’t take any chances. If you could use a Force shield, gods know how many others could as well. You caught yourself unconsciously playing with one of the bands on the braid closest to your right ear, and quickly pulled your hand away.

Not wanting to risk exposure any further, you began your trek back to your home, if you could even call it that. Not that you didn’t appreciate the woman who took in a random child off the street and housed them, it just wasn’t what you had ever expected for yourself when you were found by the Jedi Order and taken under Master Reess Nerdres’ instruction.

She was the one who had found you originally. You were a bit older than the other younglings they had usually taken in, but it was only because they couldn’t sense you at first. You had an aptitude for Force shielding and stealth, stronger than most Jedi. Reess Nerdress was the one of the only Jedi who had focused on stealth skills in training, so she was the best at seeking those with like talents through the force. That’s how she found you.

You thought about your master often, especially when you were feeling alone in the universe, like the Jedi had never existed and the life you knew was nothing but a dream. That is what had affected you most when the boy came into the market. You almost appreciated when you could let all the memories drift away, but his presence reminded you that it did happen, and that Master Nerdress had been real and had really been killed by Skips.

Skips, you hadn’t thought about him in years. He was like an older brother to you. You couldn’t even imagine how he could’ve done that to her.

No, you thought, No I can’t think about him. I can’t think about her. I can’t let my guard down.

He felt it. It happened in an instant. She was there, and she was hurting.

In that quick blip, Cal was able to get an idea of where she was. The only problem was now he had to slip away from the meeting without Cere, Greez, or Merrin noticing. A near impossible task in itself, but worse within close quarters. He had started inching himself towards the door ever so slowly when Greez spoke up.

“Cal,” the entire room turned to look at him as he had just reached the door, “Why don’t you give us your surveillance report.”

With all eyes on him, Cal did something he never liked to do. He lied. “Can I...uh...get back to you on that? I’m...not...feeling too great.” With that, he busted out the door and ran toward what he only hoped was her.

The streets became narrower and the area more residential as Cal made his way to her last known location. Once he had gotten there though, she had been long gone. There weren’t many people in the streets due to the sinking suns and those who straggled seemed to be going out to work rather than going home for a quiet night with their family. That is what the Empire does though, they rip people from their families and force them into labor.

In the midst of the people, he wondered if any of them might know his mystery girl. An older, gentle looking Twi’lek woman was about to pass by him, and he thought there is no hurt in asking.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” He stepped closer to her, still careful to avoid touching her.

She turned to him slowly, but she didn’t look upset that he stopped her. She had a light smile on her face as she responded, “Yes? Are you lost young one?” Her voice was aged, but it held a life time of kindness in it.

“Well, sort of. I’m looking for someone I met in the marketplace,” he watched her nod as if to tell him to continue, “A young woman, she dresses plainly but her hair is done in one of those intense braid styles and she’s fairly pretty.” He added the last part with a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, that sounds like my Y/N! She just got home not too long ago from there.” She looked to the sky and gauged the setting suns. “I’m sorry, but I can’t show you to my house or else I will be late to my new work.” He felt himself deflate, upset that such a kind woman was under Empire control and that he wouldn’t get the chance to meet Y/N. “However,” Cal perked up at hearing this, “I can give you directions. We aren’t too far and I’m sure you can remember them.”

Eyupkoba gave Cal short directions and headed off to do who know what for the Empire. It gave him pause, he was sad to see her go. This could never have been the life she had wanted when she came here, and there she was, going to serve the Emperor. His conflict subsided when he glanced at the suns and saw how low they were. He couldn’t be away from the rebels too much longer, so he set off to the house.

It was a small place, a home befitting an elderly woman and her child. Cal admired it, though. I was nicer than anything he had stayed in on Bracca, and Prauf had lived in one of the nicest homes there. He hesitantly stepped up to the door. He took a moment to build up his courage and knocked.

He waited. He replayed the directions in his head to confirm he was in the right location, which he was. He then knocked again and waited. This time he heard a rustling behind the door.

“Hello? I can hear you, I know you’re home.” Cal waited for a response, but none came. “Eyupkoba told me I would find you here.” At the Twi’lek’s name, the door had opened, and there she stood. 

Her hair hung loose in waves, and the look on her face was best described as suspicious. She was wearing the under dress of her dull outerwear, but she still looked radiant.

“Who are you? Why have you come here?” Her questions were slow and meticulous. She had let him inside and checked behind him, as if she had expected more than just him.

He cleared his throat. Cal honestly didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t think he was ever going to get this far. But now here he was, standing right across from her and the only thing he could say was:

“You missed one.”

Her face switch from suspicion to confusion faster than a blaster could fire. “Excuse me?”

“Your braids. You missed one,” he pointed towards her right ear, “There.”

She quickly reached up and found the braid he had mentioned, but did nothing. It gave Cal a chance to get a closer look at it. The braid was thin, but it had colorful bands wrapped around it. There was a yellow band, a green band, and a black band. They looked so familiar. It reminded him of...his padawan braid.

“Wait..” he took some time to put two-and-two together. Braid, colored bands, Force sensitive, hiding. “You’re a Jedi!”

“Shhh!” She quickly rushed over to him and put a hand over his mouth. They stayed like that for a few moments as she studied the door, expecting someone to burst in at any moment. When she was sure that she wasn’t going to be immediately taken away, she removed her hand. She stepped back and stared Cal down. “I am not a Jedi.”

“But you have the braid-”

“I was a padawan, yes. I never completed my trials, so I am not a Jedi.” She had finally stopped staring at him like she was about to murder him. Y/N walked into a kitchen area and returned to a dinner she had been either making or cleaning up. “Are you hungry?”

“Wait. You can’t just change the subject like that!” Cal found himself getting angry. “If you never completed your training, why do you have your padawan braid still? It’s disgraceful! Do you even know what happened to the Jedi? And you walk around as if their teaching meant nothing. How was your braid not ripped out?” He felt his face get hot and his anger welling up in his stomach. He had to cut out his braid moments after landing on Bracca. It was the only way to keep himself safe, and here she was. Able to walk around marketplaces and right in front of the Empire, her braid disappearing within the other braids that lie on her head.

She spun around, her face contorted in anger, like his. “I know what happened! I watched as my master was killed by a man I thought of as a brother. Her last words still haunt my nightmares, and this braid haunts my waking hours.” All the anger left her face in an instant. It was replaced by tears. “I couldn’t get rid of it. It is one of the only things that reminds me...of that life. Not the fear of today. Of a peaceful and happy time.”

Cal watched as she slumped into a chair, her head in her hands as she cried. All of his anger left him. He was slightly in shock. He had never really thought about what had happened to other padawans, beside Trilla, after the clones turned on them. He had forgotten that many other padawans either perished beside their masters or had been saved, like he was. Cal began feeling awful as he watched Y/N cry.

He made his way over to kitchen and sat at her feet. “Hey,” this time he spoke softly, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” He reached up and began running his fingers through Y/N’s hair. His psychometry slowly walking him through what happened to her. They sat like that for a while, Cal whispering words of comfort every so often.

Eventually, she stopped crying. She sat up, her eyes looking tired and sniffled a few more times. “It’s not fair,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“No. It’s not fair that I can hold onto my past like this, and you couldn’t.” She gave the braid a gentle tug as she said that. She slid a hand through his hair, as if searching for the place his braid had once been.

“You’re right,” he admitted, “I wish I could’ve kept that reminder. But that isn’t the only way you can remember your past.” Cal looked into her eyes and held her stare. “Follow their teachings. Fight for what they would have fought for. And you can never forget them.” He thought of Master Tapal as he said this. He imagined him giving that soft, approving smile. Cal imagined it was for all the things he was doing to help the resistance and end the Empire’s reign.

She let out a heavy sigh that turned into a light chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that. At least not since coming here.” Cal gave her a confused look and she continued, “I was trained in stealth,” she showed him the black band on her padawan braid, “My master had taught me that emotion regulation was the most important part of shielding oneself from those strong in the Force. That’s why I’m not easy to track.” She gave him a knowing smile.

“You can shield yourself?” Cal felt relieved as all the pieces fell into place. “That’s why I felt a nothingness.”

“A nothingness? I’ve never heard it described as that.” She gave him a studious look. “Unless you have psychometry.”

Cal gave her a sheepish grin. “Guilty.” He watched as Y/N smiled back at him, and he couldn’t help but feel butterflies in his stomach.

“What now?” She asked the question so plainly, Cal wasn’t sure he knew what she meant. “Now that I’ve been exposed,” she explained, “It won’t be safe here from inquisitors for much longer.”

Cal gave her a once over. He wasn’t sure that this was the best idea, but he couldn’t bare to think of what would happen to Y/N if the inquisitors got her.

“Have you heard of the resistance...”

[astoldbycrimson]

May I?

Summary: Loss can bring closeness. Tenderness. And undeniable love.

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, loss of a loved one, sweet sweet fluff

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

---------------------

As a small child, your mother told you stories of life in the Rebel Alliance. Tales of battle and honor. Life and death. She spoke with intensity that brought every story to life. With each new addition, you longed for an adventure of your own. Of traversing the galaxy and finding a cause worthy of your skill.

And your father spoke of his own journey. The life of a jedi. He was more soft spoken, not quite as boisterous as your mother. But his tales were full of battles too. The most important battle being the Empire versus the jedi. Forces of light and dark. Heroes and tyrants. Every tale had you dreaming of your own journey. Of toppling a kingdom corrupt with power and greed. Of saving a people unjustly marked for elimination under a tyrannical regime. 

Then they shared how their chosen paths ultimately led them to each other. Of course they both had experienced pain, strife, and struggles along the way. But they found love in the most unexpected places. And then their love brought you into the picture. So you couldn't help but envision an adventure that included a love of your own.

However, your desire for adventure had come to a screeching halt when your mother was killed. After that, you only thought of becoming strong. Someone strong enough to protect the people you loved. So your father had taken it upon himself to teach you the ways of the jedi. To use the Forces of Light to hone your skills and find strength within yourself.

You also had your village and grandmother to teach you how to embrace your Dathomir Witch heritage. To accept that balance was achievable between the Forces of Dark and Light. That knowing the ways of both sides didn't make you innately good or evil. It mattered not what skills you used, only why you chose to use them. 

Once you were fully trained and had mastered what you could, you thought back to the tales your parents had told you many cycles ago. And you began to dream of adventure once more. Now that you were strong, you wanted to find something worth fighting for. A cause worthy of your passion and your skill. An adventure beyond the stars of Dathomir. 

You hadn't expected to find all of that when you first met the Mandalorian in your father's cantina. Sure you knew you'd found a way off your planet. And that someone as strong and capable as a Mandalorian meant adventure, thrilling battles, and a chance to prove yourself. But you had no idea how strongly he'd change your dreams. Your future. Or that you'd find love aboard the Razor Crest, in a man carefully hidden beneath layers of protective armor. 

---------------------

Din found you curled up in your cot, buried beneath a pile of blankets, clutching your cloak to your chest. You heard him shuffle his feet before he finally spoke. "I… saw the message from your father, (Y/N)…" His tone was unreadable, masked by the filter of his helmet.

You didn't say anything or even turn to look at him. Your body was almost limp and your mind was heavy with thought, lost in memories too far away. 

"Cyar'ika, I'm sorry… about your grandmother." 

The news had hit you far harder than you were ready for. It stole the air from your lungs and practically brought you to your knees. Your grandmother was like a second mother to you. She helped raise you in your mother's place. Encouraged your thirst for knowledge, but grounded you when your hunger for power became incorrigible. She taught you the ancient ways of the Witches, how to utilize both sides of the Force, and how to be strong for yourself. 

"Thank you," you said almost robotically. 

Your Mandalorian had absolutely no idea how to help you. He wasn't used to seeing you so… heartbroken. You, the warrior who bounced back from everything, even near death experiences. You, the one who always had something to say. You, the one socially equipped to handle all this… emotion. Din was completely out of his element here.

"Do you… wish to return to Dathomir?" Perhaps being home, surrounded by your family would be better than in the middle of space with him. Maybe your homeland would help you find peace. Surely your father was more capable of handling matters of the heart than he was. 

You were silent a moment, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.  "...No. I just need a little time to come to terms with this." 

Going home would likely bring you more pain. It was filled with too many memories. Sure many were pleasant and filled with love, but there was also sorrow. Besides, going home after she was already gone wouldn't bring you comfort. You'd just be faced with the reality that she, like your mother, was dead. It was best to stay away from Dathomir right now.

He fidgeted with the panel on his arm. "...Do you want me to leave you alone?"

You closed your eyes and the tears came a little faster. While you didn't exactly want him to see you so incredibly vulnerable, you certainly didn't want to be alone. "...No." But you didn't express what you wanted him to do.

Din would abide by whatever you requested. If you needed space, he'd give you space. If you wanted to lose yourself in a bounty, he would go out and find you one. He just wasn't prepared for you to want him to stay. What was he supposed to do while you laid there suffering?

He wasn't sure what to do. Keep talking and offer words of comfort? Words of encouragement? You both knew that wasn't his strong point. So you didn't expect any sort of pep talk from the man. Just having him in the same room was comforting enough. 

The Mandalorian was at a loss. So his mind thought of the things that you found comfort in. Homemade food. Sweet scents. Soft clothing. Warm places. And touch. He knew how deeply you relied on it, being without your sight. How you found solace in even the simplest of touches. More specifically, his touches.

Din sighed softly, breaking the silence as he reached for his gloves. You turned slightly as you heard him unclasp them and tug them off. But you shrugged it off, snuggly deeper in your blankets. It wasn't until you heard the familiar sound of him removing his helmet that your attention drifted away from your thoughts.

After setting his helmet down on a table, he approached your nest and knelt down. His hand moved to caress your cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that escaped your eye. You subconsciously leaned into his hand, grateful for the tender touch.

"...May I join you?" 

Now that completely surprised you. Din would offer a gentle touch here and there, maybe an embrace if he was really desperate for physical contact. But never something akin to cuddling. So, at first, you were unable to formulate a sentence at the thought. Though you quickly found your words, afraid he'd retract his offer. "...Please," it came out hoarse and almost like a plea.

You quickly scooted over to give him room and he carefully crawled under the blankets. Of course you prepared for the hard steel of his chest plate to press against your back, but you were pleasantly surprised by his lack of armor. He still had his tactical shirt and pants, but you still felt the warmth radiating off him.

Din brought his arms around you and pressed his lips carefully to your shoulder. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la," he whispered into your skin as he held you close.

"What does that mean?" You ask quietly, leaning into his touch. While you were starting to learn bits and pieces of his language, you had no idea what this particular slew of words meant.

"It's a Mando'a phrase for the departed. 'Not gone, merely marching far away.'" His lips moved to your cheek. "She's still with you." 

A smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, touched by his words of comfort. Din was surprising you more and more. Had this happened at the start of your journey together, you would've been forced to deal with this loss in unbearable silence, hidden away in the refresher. But now, after having spent so much time with you, he was learning. Growing. Reminding you that there was a person beneath all that metal. And he had a heart. 

You turned around until your chests were touching. You grabbed one of his hands and brought it to your lips. "Toa lova jii," you whispered into his palm.

First he was flustered by you kissing his hand. And then his head tilted as you spoke. He didn't know what it meant, but he knew it was important. "...What does that mean?"

You smiled so softly, so sweetly at him. "It means I love you, Din."

And his breath hitched at your words. His chest grew tight as he took in the weight of what you said. Of course he knew how you felt. It was obvious in the way you kissed him. When you just needed to hold his hand or be in his space. But he never heard you say it before now. And Maker it sounded so beautiful in your native language. So natural and perfect.

Din raised his hands to cup your cheeks and he pulled you into a kiss. "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika," he whispered into your lips. You didn't need him to translate to know he felt the same. 

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (14)

Photo from @calkestisisbaby

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 – 11 – 12 | Previous: Part 13 | Next: Part 15 | Masterlist

14 of ?

The throttle of the speeder bike parts the sand across the reddish-brown, arid expanse. Nothing but the noise of the motors roared across the wilderness and the whistling howl of the wind that burned your cheeks as you sped through. Feeling Cal's Force Echo on you felt nauseating yet intoxicating, you wanted more—not because of the essence of his ability, but of his touch—even in that stone-cold exterior you have carved out for yourself, you cannot deny that you yearned for the human touch that is inherently absent in the Inquisitorius.

Whether you like it or not: the real you still exists, bottling it all up just became five times harder after you encountered Cal—since the incident at the old Jedi Temple in the outskirts of Jeddah. You bite your lip to fight the tears, unconsciously spiking the speed of your bike forward, and all at once the sensation of his hand rubbed itself around yours—the faltering and abrupt jerk of the vehicle brought you out of your zoned-out state.

In the stillness of the surroundings, you afforded a moment to remove your helmet and catch your breath. You allow one tear to fall, only to wipe it right away with one gloved hand.

"Good thing I'm in the middle of nowhere or this would be really embarrassing!" You exhaled.

The engine growls back into life, you pick up the speed and head straight for the garrison.

By the time you've arrived to the base, the same Purge Troopers showed up sans the child. When asked, their answer was they've already went ahead and secured the baby in the medical bay—given that it's the only appropriate place in the entire garrison to keep it. They tell you the floor of the particular med-bay. 

"Thank you, return to your post."

They bowed and turned their back on you. One of the Purge Troopers was foolish enough to lean in and whisper a comment to the other.

"Too polite for an Inquisitor, for my taste, at least,"

"You always notice the little, petty things,"

You ignored the words and proceeded to the said medical bay. The entire room is manned by medical droids of different variants—surgical, general medicine, and drone types. The closest qualifier to looking after the child is the GH-7 medical droid—basically, the all-around in terms of medical specializations.

A deadpan remark forms in your lips, "At least, you won't have that kid crying in your face every time you check on it."

Unable to detect the sarcasm, the droid plainly asks why. You didn't humor it for an answer.

"Nevermind." You sigh and roll your eyes with resignation.

You shifted your attention to the child who was settled in a makeshift bassinet, you couldn't figure out what the crib was before it was turned into a hovering, spherical pod that fits an infant, though it's of no importance. You ordered the child to be fed, cleaned, checked for vitals, and be given medicine and supplements if necessary. The droid obediently took note of all your orders before you retired to your own room.

Out of courtesy, some officers and cadets tipped the brims of their caps at you, accompanied by the utterance of your title—to which you responded with a curt, slow bow.

Finally, you've encased yourself in the solace of your quarters. The sensation of your body sinking into the mattress gave you a sense of comfort and relief, removing your gloves felt liberating; you shake your fingers to wring off the chafing and feel the skin against your fingertips again. A sigh escapes your lungs, you find yourself rubbing the hand that Cal had touched and inflicted his Psychometry—his grip was tight, but gentle so it doesn't hurt you, even in that intense interlock of your lightsabers.

You stand up from your bed so you seat yourself in the center of the room, you cross your legs together and straighten your back. Eyelids dropped and shrouded your vision in darkness, you recall the teachings the Inquisitors have beaten into your head, but something else is clawing for your attention—Cal. No matter how many times you decline it in your head, it just becomes more persistent by the minute, the influence of the Force Echo still ran fresh in your system.

Then his words came flooding into your mind, echoing and trailing off like a hollow gong.

“What have they done to you?”

“This isn’t you…”

“Enough…” you sobbed.

You curl into a ball, raking your scalp as you bury your face into your knees, resisting from succumbing into this haunting episode. You reply to the voices with great refusal and denial.

“It’s because you’re afraid…”

“STOP!” you cry out, alone in your room. After your outburst, you realize that you might have alerted some patrolling guards; you sit still, expecting a polite knock followed by a “Are you alright?”, none of them came—much to your relief. Although, Cal’s voice and words persists; you didn’t really notice until now that his voice and the collective voice of the Inquisitors constantly thrashed at each other like predators against one another.

“I didn’t abandon you. I looked for you…”

This is perhaps what prevailed the whole time. Cal’s tiny spark of hope in those words shone its way through the cold of your armor. You couldn’t help but feel betrayed by your brothers and sisters, they who groomed you into a killing machine with a red blade like them, and constantly gaslighted you into thinking that you were abandoned—by your friends and ultimately, by Cal—and that you owe your life to them , the Inquisitors.

“He… looked for me? He wanted to find me?” you mumble under your breath, clutching your chest as your heart calmed down. 

You’re reminded of your bracelet that he wore around his wrist. You could only wonder how many time he looked at it, touched it with and without Psychometry, and just simply remembered you.

“He kept it, too…”

Your heart ached, and eventually so, you melted to the floor and reduced into a sobbing mess—all these feelings fighting in your mind, unsure which one to feel.

Anger? Yes, but for whom this time?

Sadness? For Cal and the life you’ve lost, most certainly.

Hope? Bleak but possible.

“You still have a choice…”

“Twelfth Sister?” the voice in your head trailed off the moment your gauntlet comms bleeped.

You jumped, startled by the sound. You recomposed yourself and cleared your throat prior to answering.

“We require your assistance in the war room.”

“Of course, Captain, I’ll be on my way.”

—- 

Cal is exactly in the same predicament as you in the confines of his cramped room.

A while ago, he had picked up your outburst in the middle of his own meditation. He wondered what had slipped into your mind to put you in such an overwhelming mental state. All he could feel was sadness, his free hand trailed to the cord around his wrist and ran his thumb against the tarnished metal pendant.

Earlier, when he returned to the Mantis, he announced that you took a Force-sensitive child from the city, everybody was up in arms to concoct a plan—especially Cere, knowing full well what they’ll do to captive Force-sensitive children.

During that planning, the former Jedi held her finger, her expression in full, deep thought and then she marches to the communications station—her personal workspace—in the cockpit without a word to anyone. With her dexterous fingers, she fiddled with the dashboard, her arms and hands moving from one spot to another—acting on pure muscle memory and instinct.

“I found a signal,” spoke Cere softly, and she obligated to repeat herself when she assumed no one had heard her. “There’s a signal, coming from the reception tower of an Imperial garrison in the east. I’ve been keeping up with them through their comms; transport ships are frequently deployed there for various purposes—ration supply runs, troop deployment, pickup, you name it. No doubt, [Y/N] will have the child delivered to their fortress on one of those ships.”

She fine-tuned the frequency by slightly turning the knob back and forth until the audio went clear—the entire comms of the Imperial garrison plays through the Mantis’s speakers for everyone to hear.

“I just received word from the Twelfth Sister. They’re orders to request a transport ship to Mons Golotha.”

The crew collectively pulled their eyebrows together at the mention of an Inquisitor’s title and the name of a new planet, but they put aside the questions for later.

“Date of departure?”

“No word yet, she says she’ll personally see to it. I think it must be a heads up.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll process her request real quick. Inquisitors always get the priority here.”

“It’s almost like Lord Vader but less terrifying.”

Cere lowered the volume, and turned to Cal.

“Twelfth Sister?” Greez grumbled in a hybrid of disbelief and confusion.

“That’s [Y/N], she’s the Twelfth Sister among the Inquisitors,” Cal coldly answered.

An awkward silence befell between the Lateron and the young boy.

“Are you gonna burst in there like you did last time?” inquired Merrin.

“Well, it worked thus far,”

“And look where it got you.”

Merrin wins the banter of wits. Cal yields willingly, though he retained to the topic of how to rescue the child and you, without any sarcastic comebacks brimming with sound points. Cere presumed it ought to be a trap, reading between the lines of the last few sentences the Stormtroopers said; she made it clear that you are not to be underestimated, for an alliance with the Dark Side and the Inquisitorius, no less, has made you doubly unpredictable.

The adult woman hacks into the garrison’s systems again and produces a rough, three-dimensional blueprint of the complex to amp out their entry and escape. Using the computer’s projector, the holomap floats in the center of the cockpit, surrounded by everyone.

“Once we’re in the garrison yard, I can find a computer and hack it so we can get a map of the inside,” commented Cere.

Cal rotated the map so the back side of the garrison complex faces him.

“I can scale its southern wall and sneak past the guards there, which I think would be minimal, considering they’re in the middle of nowhere. I’ll create an opening for us—Cere, you’ll be the one finding the kid.”

“And I take it that you’re coming after [Y/N] then?”

Cal clicked his tongue at the same time he pointed his finger at Cere in the shape of a gun, while keeping a poker face. In response, Cere sighed and rolled her eyes, equivalent to the saying, “Of course, you will.”

He had a feeling that the transport was a front, he reminds himself of the lone TIE Fighter he spotted earlier; and so, he couldn’t afford to let another hour pass to let your plan succeed. He asks Cere to keep the comms on while their own signature is masked, it’ll be their only way of knowing if you’re on the move; it’s also his guilty pleasure of hearing your voice again, for he always thinks the moments you have together aren’t enough, it isn’t exactly docile either—given the current predicament.

While they were debating on the best approach for stealth, the speakers crackled again and drew everyone’s attention.

“Captain?”

Cal jumped on his feet as soon as he heard your voice at the first word.

“She on!”

“How long until my ship is ready for travel?”

“Not for long now, Inquisitor.”

Over the comms, the baby could be heard fussing in between your exchange with Captain Foros; another thing is the impending storm that’s gradually disrupting the signals, making it hard to piece together the conversation.

“Make sure… I leave… hour and a half…”

“Yes-s-s-s… Inquisitor…”

With everything they’ve gathered so far, Cal assumed that they only have an hour and half left to reach you before you get off-world.

“We have to go!”

Cal and Cere dashed to the door, the boy slams the same button that opens the contained door with the speeder. Cere drove the speeder, when they closed enough distance between themselves and the garrison, she scrambled the signal of the speeder as they approached the complex. According to plan, Cere dropped Cal at the backside of the garrison.

“Hey, Cal?”

The boy turned around before even taking his first step.

“Save her.”

There is a heaviness in those two simple words, Cal felt it in his heart, nonetheless the determination is there. He clenched his fist and looked at Cere straight in the eye.

“I plan to.”