#I cant wrap my head around this lack of logic and common sense

[dirtytransmasc]

Yes, she decided. The moment she continued to go in his chamber, she could advice him to wed laena instead of trying to have a relationship with him, she could have remember him of his duty. She had a choice as everyone has

clearly logic is something that will not reach you no matter what I say but let's try again shall we.

first off, Viserys married for pleasure, not power or political gain. he knew his duties he knew what was best and had no interest. he married Alicent because that's what he wanted. it would be insanely inappropriate for a girl to advise a king on political matters AND it should not be the job of a 14 year old child to tell a king what he should be doing.

second off, she had a father to please, cause again, to reiterate, she was his daughter and she had a duty to him and her house. this was not a duty she wanted, but she didn't have a choice. she was young but se wasn't stupid she knew what her father expected of her, and if word got back from Viserys that she was actively advising him to marry someone else, she would then not only bring disobeying her father but going against him.

thirdly, and more minorly, "she should have pushed him to marry laena" isn't the gotcha you think it is. laena was even younger than her, and even if it was politically expected of him, still fucking gross.

lastly, cause I apparently can't stress this enough, SHE DIDNT HAVE A CHOICE, plain and simple. she had no agency, she had no power, she had no out, she was at the mercy of her father, she had to obey him, she had to do what he said, even if it meant walking herself to slaughter. once she met with the king, he took a liking to her and DEMANDED her presence, he the DEMANDED her hand. again, there was no point she could have said no. she couldn't say no to her father, she couldn't advise the king (he barely tolerated it when she was literally the queen, let alone if she had just been some girl entertaining him in his chambers), she couldn't deny the king of anything, she didn't have a choice.

she was 14 and scared, 14 and trying to survive, 14 and trying to please her father, 14 and sent to a man 3 times her age's chambers, 14 and lusted after by the king, 14 and knowing of her place in the world and what was expected of her. like every other woman in their history, she couldn't escape, she couldn't, there's no plainer way to say it. she faced her duty with poise and a stiff lip, cause that's what you had to do, but she was just a child.

you can't expect her to have been some radical icon, there were none, women who went against their station in life were punished or killed or put into god awful betrothals to lessen the shame brought to her family. she was a nobleman's daughter, she had a house to bring honor to. she did the heartbreaking thing of giving up, for the benefit of her father and house, doesn't mean she wanted it, doesn't mean it was ok, doesn't mean she isn't deserving of pity. giving in to your duty =/= wanting it.

"she had a choice as everyone has" she had a choice every woman has; accept it with grace, be forced into it, or damn herself to a fate much worse (and that's being generous, most didn't even have that many choices). it's the men who had choices, Otto offered his daughter up, he didn't have to, he had no obligation and nothing to lose if he didn't. Viserys had every choice, he could have married whoever he wanted, he could have denied her the second she entered his chambers. the men in her life had every choice to change her fate, yet they didn't take it, and you would rather blame her over them?

and listen, I know your set in your mindset of victim blaming a child bride who was raped until her husband didn't have the health or stamina to keep it up, and that you'll choose to blame her over the men in her life who damned her to such a fate. nothing I say will ever convince you, cause you clearly hate her past where logic will reach. you can keep sending asks with your terrible takes that have no backing or logic and actively ignore the political and societal state of the times and what it means for her as a young noble girl, and I'll keep answering them cause I have nothing better to do and I'll defend my girl to the grave.

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 08

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This time: A conversation in Sy Bisti. Thrawn gives Ezra good news.

Next Time: Vah’nya pulls Ezra aside. Ivant gives Ezra some tips on fighting the Grysk.

-/

Shock was a common occurrence among soldiers. Thrawn had seen it in many theatres: space battles with pale faced new ensigns, undercover missions seasoned veterans never fully returned from, ground troops executing an enemy for the first time. Soldiers he could relate to, Chiss or otherwise. Was his presence preferable or soothing? Unlikely. But he knew how to intervene.

Ezra Bridger might be a Jedi, but he was a soldier, too. He'd come of age within the Rebellion's militia-like structure. He adapted well, and Thrawn had not forgotten that he'd infiltrated an Imperial Military Academy, either. Thrawn could deal with talking down soldiers far better than he could deal with Navigators. The question was whether or not his subconscious would register Thrawn as an enemy due to their history.

In Basic, which Thrawn had not spoken for weeks in the other man's presence, he asked, "Is Navigator Un'hee's presence helping or hurting?"

Un'hee shot him a dirty look. He ignored it.

Sitting in the middle of the couch, Ezra's dazed expression didn't change. He licked his lips, swallowed, but no words came.

"Navigator," Thrawn intoned, not gently but hardly rude. "I ask that you leave us."

"I don't want to leave him alone like this." She reached for one of Ezra's hands, and the young man twitched, clenched tightly to his knees.

"I will stay with him," Thrawn said. "I fear your Sight is hurting more than helping."

"I'm being careful," Un'hee argued. "I know how he feels and you know it."

"He also knows how you feel, Navigator Un'hee," The glow of Thrawn's eyes were muted, indicative of his attempt to remain calm, and inspire it in her, too.

"Ivant said he was coming to talk to him," She said, pushing herself up from the cushion to Ezra's left. "After he finished with Admiral Ar'alani."

"I will be sure to expect him, then," Thrawn replied, derailing Un'hee's hope that the threat of Eli Vanto in close quarters would allow her to stay. "Please, Navigator."

Thrawn was not naturally impolite, in fact it was the opposite. But he retained a firm grasp of order, and did not often ask. Un'hee sighed. "If I can help…" She trailed off.

"I will send you a message."

The girl doubted she would receive anything, but still obeyed his request. When the door shut behind her, Thrawn rose. Ezra's eyes followed him without seeing. "I suspect you feel cold," He said. "I will return with a blanket."

The aftermath of a battle tended to hit far harder than the battle itself. The subconscious caught up to the conscious mind, the cocktail of chemicals produced by the neural system of the body dissipated. Thrawn procured two blankets instead of one, taking the top layer of bedding from each of their bunks. Ezra was normally cold.

He considered his datapad for a moment. Then, considering for a moment her surprise, Thrawn balanced it on his lap to send a message to Un'hee.

-/

The door to the suite opened slowly, drawing Thrawn's gaze. The brighter light that spilled in from the hallway was eclipsed by a shadow far larger than that of Un'hee, who he’d been expecting. It had only been a few moments since her confirmation message came through that she’d return with something warm for Ezra to drink, likely caf. Thrawn listened to the first, heavier footfall and was on his feet in a second. Ezra turned his head warily, jolted by the quick motion of the man beside them.

"Captain Ivant," Thrawn greeted, voice hollow. Beside him, Ezra blinked, and attempted to rise, swaying in place. The Commander prepared to keep him down with a hand, but the Captain spoke first.

"At ease," Ivant said in Basic. Despite the darkness in the room, he made no effort to turn up the lights via the touch panel. He smiled at Ezra, much like he so frequently smiled at the younger Navigators, and the young man seemed to sink back down into the cushion. Then, the human’s gaze canted up, meeting Thrawn's. The smile wasn't entirely gone. "Please," He said, directing that familiar drawl and those warm brown eyes at the Chiss.

For a moment, Thrawn could almost pretend there was no bad blood, no uncomfortable tension between them. Then he blinked, and logic won out. "As you wish," Thrawn said tightly. Something in him coiled, making him feel uneasy.

There were three mugs between his two gloved hands. He placed the first before Ezra. Caf, Thrawn realized. Ezra looked down at it slowly, then back up. Ivant tilted his head. "It's way too hot to drink now," He said kindly, hardly expecting Ezra to take it. "Let it cool a while."

The young Jedi’s eyes were hazy and dark, unfocused, but he nodded slightly before a tremor ran down his spine. Ivant didn’t press him on it, nor did he comment when Ezra pulled the blankets wrapped around him closer. Thrawn watched his charge with an appraising eye. Bridger was a special case. He had very little parenting or security in his upbringing. It made people protective of him.

Ezra Bridger also had a big heart and a desire to help. Thrawn clearly felt somewhat indebted to him. Ivant separated the remaining mugs, balanced precariously in the crook of an arm pressed against his side and in his non-dominant hand. Eli moved that one to the dominant hand as to prevent spillage of the last one and held it out to Thrawn.

He eyed it warily, lips thinning. “You did not need to-”

“I did,” Vanto interrupted. His eyebrows went up as he silently appraised the Chiss. “You think he’d talk to me like this without you present?”

Something about that made the discomforting sensation in Thrawn’s core burn. Still, he kept his voice without inflection, true neutral. “He would do as ordered, Captain. As would I.”

Thrawn took the mug and sat. Ivant stepped back, leaning casually against the opposite wall.

It was true. Thrawn is on thin ice, as the humans say. It is an appropriate expression, considering his home world. Thrawn has been on thin ice for a long, long time. Ivant studied him with his brown eyes, pupils dilated to allow him to see as much as possible in the dark. He did feel any embarrassment, there was no heat in his neck, or cheeks, or ears. He was dark in the spectrum that Thrawn could see with his superior biology. He felt lightyears away instead of just outside arms’ reach.

“If I make you that uncomfortable,” The human finally said, his voice lilting with the accent, soft and round, but just as firm, “I’ll leave. The kid can message me when he’s up for talking.”

Thrawn rose sharply, eyes flashing in momentary outrage. Ivant did not back down, stepping forward as well. He held his mug of tea between both hands. “I do not understand,” Thrawn said. He spoke again, but this time in Sy Bisti. Tension made itself known in his forehead. “I do not understand where I stand with you.”

Ivant looked into his mug as though it would hold some secret answer. Then, he lifted his head. He answered in the language he’d been spoken to. “I am your Captain.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

The beginnings of a smile passed through his face, smoothed out before it ever became anything more than a quirk of his lips. Mirth. “We are not the same beings we were at the start of all this,” Vanto said. “We have both had to make difficult decisions.”

“I am not proud of what I did, not all of it.”

From where they stood, Vanto looking up at him, Thrawn saw his eyes in totality and unobscured: a deep brown, like Corellian cinnamon and tang bark. He no longer held himself like his lack of height was a disadvantage. His chest was pushed out enough to be open, his stance comfortable but lacking arrogance. He did not yield, his stance did not relent, but something in his eyes eased.

“I know, Thrawn.”

Neither of them looked away. An impossible urge crossed through the Chiss’s logical rationale. A desire to reach for the man in front of him. A desire to make a connection. Thrawn wrapped his unoccupied hand around the warm mug of tea, threading his fingers together lest he be struck by yet another irrational proclivity.

Vanto tilted his head. Thrawn saw the lines beneath his eyes, the way the outer corners of them crinkled when half-smiled, bittersweetly. He wanted to dissect each and every micromovement, each like a brushstroke on an evolving canvas. He wanted to ask questions and analyze Vanto's responses, wanted to sit here and drink tea and pretend this was something it wasn't. That it was fine. That they were something more than allies. That-

The Captain's comm chimed on his belt and the shrill beep in the otherwise silent room made Ezra jerk, the mug of caf sloshing when he kicked the table. It brought the young Jedi back to himself, and with an easy wave of his hand he saved the mug before it went crashing to the floor.

The moment, whatever it had been, whatever it might have been trying to be, was broken.

“Ivant,” Vanto said, pulling the device around him.

“I need you aboard the Strikefast in twenty minutes,” Ar’alani said.

“Make it forty. I’m with the Jedi.”

She tutted, not thrilled about the suggestion. “How does he fare?”

The edge in Vanto’s tone was icy. His Cheunh was flawless, Thrawn realized not for the first time. It sounded like he’d been speaking it for his entire life, not three years, give or take. “Not well. Care to explain to me why I’m debating sending him to medical?”

“Recall your first encounter, Captain,” Ar’alani didn’t sound remotely concerned. “He will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Ivant rolled his eyes, half amused as he recalled wryly, “I remember. I don’t think you let me rinse my mouth out before you debriefed me.”

“I was prepared to do so in that tiny refresher in your quarters,” The Admiral’s voice hid a sardonic sense of humor between her words. “You may have thirty minutes. If you are not in my office within the hour-”

“I’ll be there. Ivant out.” He switched the comm off and turned to the Jedi. He gave a tentative smile, trying to shake off his funk. It would be a few days before he’d be back to normal, but he’d be alright, Ivant knew. Thrawn had dealt with this before. He knew what to do, and he wasn’t Ezra’s only resource aboard the Compass.

Ezra coughed nervously. “Did she really?” He asked slowly, testing each word on his tongue.

“Yes,” Ivant gave him a gentle smirk, a little wry. “I’m better for it. But that’s not what you need. We’re going to talk about it. Your reaction isn’t entirely uncommon.”

“I’ve never,” Ezra looked down at his hands, sucking a drip of caf off his finger. “I think I’d rather face Vader.”

Thrawn’s head swivelled around fast, his response terse. “You jest.”

Ezra did not. “At least I can understand Vader’s motives. They-”

Vanto interrupted their bickering. He had a schedule to keep, “There are things in the universe that are simply and purely evil. A warrior does not seek to understand them, or to compromise with them.” Thrawn exhaled sharply, drawing the Captain’s gaze. “He seeks only to destroy them.”

“Eli-”

Ivant’s eyes narrowed, and the serious dark look was back. He addressed Ezra, “Starting tomorrow, you will meet me in the training facilities on the second level two hours before first shift. I will teach you how to fight a Grysk.” He considered Thrawn. That slightest bit of warmth in his eyes was gone, like their former discussion hadn't happened at all. “You are welcome to join us, if your duties allow.”

Thrawn frowned, eyes curiously blank, even for him. Ezra still hadn’t moved from the huddle of the two blankets wrapped around him. He wasn’t shaking anymore, but he still felt shaky and on-edge as he rose. “Yes, Captain,” Ezra said. His voice wasn’t as wobbly as he’d expected.

The Chiss swallowed, then nodded. He did not speak. It earned him a curious, concerned look from Ezra. But Ivant didn't comment on it, didn't rebuke him or draw attention to it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stay and speak with you longer," Ivant said in Ezra's direction, but something about that seemed off to him. His voice didn't have that quality to it - like speaking to a student, that parental, teaching tone he used with Ezra and the Navigators. Ezra suspected he was speaking to Thrawn.

But it didn't matter. Ivant was gone in seconds, twelve steps in a purposeful stride, the door hissing shut behind him.

Thrawn lowered himself back onto the cushion beside Ezra. They sipped at their drinks in silence until there were only dregs left, and they'd long since gone cold.

"While you were gone," The Chiss began, "Vah'nya allowed me to see an old colleague I served with in the Empire." He still cradled the mug between his hands, as if not sure what to do with them otherwise. "She defected," He clarified carefully. "She did not go to the Rebellion, though she brought news of the Emperor's product, Stardust."

Ezra turned to look at him. "Do I want to know?" He asked.

"I wouldn't tell you now if I thought it would make things worse," Thrawn reasoned. "But I would tell you. You deserve to know."

Nodding, Ezra looked down at his hands, tangled together while his forearms rested on his knees. "They won?"

"They did. I inquired about your friends, but there was not much information. They did not play a large role in the battle."

"Thanks for trying," Ezra's words were weighted with gratitude. "Seriously," He said, as though Thrawn might not have noticed the first time around. The Chiss had. He simply hadn't finished speaking.

"I was given the impression that the Captain would give you more details. However, I did learn why General Syndulla was not more involved, if you wish-"

"Of course I do!" Ezra turned on the cushion, facing Thrawn's right side. He no longer trembled from his earlier experience, his body tense with anticipation. "Anything," He said desperately.

"She was with child," Thrawn said. "A son."

Ezra flopped back against the couch, staring up at the unimpressive ceiling, tinged gray in the dark. For a moment, he layed in the strange, awkward position he'd thrown himself back in on the remaining free cushions. His breaths came soft but smooth. Deep, and centering.

Thrawn almost wondered if the Jedi had fallen asleep. He'd certainly come upon the young man sleeping in creative and very uncomfortable situations.

"Thank you," Ezra said. "For telling me. And for asking."

"You are welcome," Thrawn said. Then, "Jarrus was the father?"

Ezra propped himself up in his elbows, looking at the side of Thrawn's face. "They were best friends. Partners, in and out of battle," He said as if trying to craft a relatable expression for the Chiss, then added, "They loved each other."

Thrawn turned to look at Ezra, not entirely sure what to say. He was no stranger to the concept of love. It was not far from certain aspects of loyalty, dedication, or devotion. Though he doubted very much that he'd felt it, even in his youth, something in the Commander's gut burned at the unspoken implication in Ezra's words. He thought of Eli Vanto’s cool-dark gaze looking up at him, of I know, Thrawn, of the way he held himself like a man who finally started to understand what he was worth.

He never did get an answer to his question.

[pinkletterday]

Your Vigil In My Keeping

Pairing: (pre) Barry Allen/ Iris West

Rating: All audiences

Read on AO3

Summary: No one believes Barry about The Man In The Yellow Suit, which is why it's down to him to protect his new home. But his best friend always has his back.

...

Iris didn't know what had woken her up at first, except that once she had, she was quite sure she wasn't alone in her room. This failed to freak her out. Barry was becoming notorious in the West house for his night-time wanderings.

She sat up to look around for him and almost missed him except for the sliver of light through her half-open door falling on a lump huddled on the floor beside her bed.

"Barry? What're you doing?"

"Nothing," said the lump. "Couldn't sleep. I'm okay."

"You're on the floor, Barr."

"It's fine. I like it here."

"You like it...on the floor?" she said dubiously.

The lump gave what might have been a shrug. "Yeah."

Iris suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. It was at times like these she was reminded that her best friend was a boy and therefore prone to deep weirdness.

She gathered up her own pink Kim Possible blanket and slid to the floor beside him. "Move over."

"What are you doing?," Barry's tousled head came into view as he hurriedly scootched backward, dislodging his own blanket.

"Seeing how much I like the floor," she huddled closer to him, wincing at the roughness of the carpet through her socks. "Hmm. Feels kinda cold."

Barry bumped her shoulder with a sigh. "Go back to sleep, Iris."

He seemed to have built himself a nest here. His Dexter's Laboratory backpack leaned against her bedpost, stuffed full of assorted snacks, a flashlight and Prisoner of Azkaban, among others. "Barry, what are you doing really?"

She knew his ears were going red because he was running his hands along the back of them, which meant he was embarrassed. She couldn't make out his mumbling though.

"Huh?"

"I'm scared the Man in The Yellow Suit will come back," he said, worrying at a corner of his PJs. "I don't want him to get you too."

It wasn't that this hadn't occurred to Iris. The Man In The Yellow Suit (which was how she and Barry both thought of him, all the words capitalized) now featured prominently in her own nightmares. It would have been hard not to, the way Barry still shook with fear when he spoke about him. Unlike her Dad, Iris knew Barry wasn't lying.

But even when her Dad was being an unreasonable grown-up, she still had every faith in him to do his Dad-duty. "Dad will protect us. He has a gun and can arrest people." It's why all the bad guys were scared of him.

"Joe doesn't even believe he exists," he clasped his hands together, running them over his face in frustration. "You don't understand. He can go through walls."

Iris had no answer to that. The small knot of fear in her own chest grew a little bigger. "What'll we do if he comes?" she whispered.

"I don't know. But I've come up with some ideas for booby traps."

He launched animatedly into an elaborate plan involving a tripwire, spray paint, a joy buzzer, the robot from his science fair project "Destructo", and her Dad's old police siren he had found in their attic and repurposed.

"…so while he's blind and on fire and the smoke alarms are going off and Destructo trips the circuit breaker...maybe I can...warn your Dad or something," he finished. Then subsided awkwardly, realizing that this conclusion somewhat lacked the expected panache.

There were some glaring holes in this plan. Her best friend was the smartest person she knew, he just didn't quite think obvious things through sometimes.

This wasn't the time to bring any of that up though.

(Except maybe she would give her Dad a head's up about the spray paint and Destructo, just in case. The school lab had yet to recover from that one.)

"Okay," she allowed. "But you cant stay awake and guard my room every night, Barry," a thought struck her "- how long have you been doing this?"

He rubbed the back of his neck again, looking shifty. "Uh."

Suddenly, all the mornings he had looked like half a zombie made sense. It had worried her Dad so much he had spoken to his psychiatrist again.

She came to a decision and started tugging all her own pillows down onto the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"You need to sleep," she said firmly, pushing him gently out of the way to make a larger, more comfortable nest.

"I can't. I told you -"

"So we can take turns, silly. Look," like she said, common sense sometimes eluded that brilliant brain, "you wont make a very good guard if you're falling asleep halfway. This way we can both keep watch and get some rest."

Barry hesitated, but he couldn't fault her logic. He gave her the flashlight and did not resist when she tugged his head down onto the pillow near her knee, settling down with a small sound of tired relief. She settled his blanket over him, dug out the apple and started reading Harry Potter by flashlight.

She had just begun reading about Harry doing the same when Barry whispered, "Iris. You do believe me dont you? You dont think Im crazy?"

She blinked down at him. What kind of question was that? "Of course I believe you. You're my best friend. You wouldn't lie to me and you're not crazy. Dad'll figure it out soon enough." Of course he would. He was only stubborn and tended to dig his heels in if you pushed him. Kinda like Barry, actually.

"Okay."

"You get some sleep now," she ran a hand through his hair, always so soft and fluffy like a puppy's. "I'll wake you up when its your turn."

Another moment of silence.

"Iris?"

"Yeah, Barry?"

"I don't really know what to do if the Man in Yellow comes back," he whispered fearfully. "What if your Dad cant stop him?"

Iris tamped down on the fear that was making her own heart beat hard. "If he comes, we'll be ready for him."

His clammy fingers closed around her wrist. "You won't let him get you, will you?"

"Of course I won't. I'm tough. Dad says so."

"Yeah you are," the proud smile in his voice warmed her better than a mug of hot chocolate. "The toughest."

"And don't you forget it!," they both snickered. She found his hand and squeezed it. "I won't let him get you either. I promise."

"Promise on what?"

It was good that they had their own version of this, because this was assuredly not a situation where "cross my heart and hope to die" would be appropriate at all. "On all the brownies I'll ever eat!," she said grandly, then came the serious part. "And my Mom's rings."

"Okay. I promise on...all the cookie dough ice cream in Happy Harbour. With extra sprinkles," he swallowed, voice trembling a little. "And my Dad."

The protective anger that coursed through her was stronger than all her night terrors. She laid her head on his and wrapped her arms and legs around his torso, tight enough to hurt a little. But he gripped her just as fast.

"We'll keep each other safe, Barry. You'll see."