#Mara’s intrusive thoughts

[maranescence]

Throwback to when my art peaked in 2023 💀

[invinciblerodent]

himh I'll make a Dark Urge that's so fucking scared

big scary bloodsoaked killer, tearing through armies with her literal bare hands? nah. a quiet, scared girl who doesn't understand why she does what she does, why she can do what she can, but is, at the same time, deeply disgusted by herself because she has just enough self-awareness to know to be repulsed.

maybe it's because I'm a tiny bit obsessed with clinging to the thought that people, at the end of the day, are fundamentally good, no matter what. that there is a fundamental human goodness in all people that makes them worthy of redemption, or at least of the opportunity for atonement.

maybe the way I want to play a story like that is with someone who, stripped from indoctrination and free for the first time to think for herself and embrace and be who she is, finds that in the deepest, most hidden pits of her soul, she is not the strong, kind, resilient person she might want to be. try as the might, she is not someone who can bear the weight of her own past, she's just a... a terrified, broken little girl, cowering in the shadows and unable to look herself in the eye. (which also gives me ideas for her relationship with Orin but that's a little bit beside the point)

cathartic self-insert who. therapy? what is that. is it on Steam or Epic.

[acemakes-art]

Man separators in your mouth are uncomfy asf..

I wanna take the mfs out already 😭😭

Update: I accidentally swallowed one

[yandrness]

Yandere Jing Yuan - Very Dangerous!

Jing Yuan from HSR looks like such a soft, patient, playful, gentle, beautiful (!!!) man. All the green lights on the street. You want to know who the Xianzhou girls want to marry? It’s this guy. Guy is a senior and still single, there are no rumors of him playing around and have you seen his smile??

Then it turns out that when he falls in love, everything is off the table. He knows his feelings are abnormal and twisted, he knows he’s being too possessive and obsessive, but he’s self-aware enough (after some attempts) that he cannot stop himself from being… well… a very, very abnormal lover.

He wants to pat your hair everyday. He wants to kiss you in the mornings when he wakes up with you. He wants to hug you whenever he sees you and never let go.

(he wants to lock you up so no one can see you, he wants to maim those people who look at you so obscenely, he wants to chop off the hands of anyone who tries to touch you, he wants to love you love you love you until you understand you can’t evereverever leave him, he wants to devour you—)

The General of Xianzhou Luofu is, however, an extremely intelligent and cunning man. The board is his playground, and life is but a simulation of a game. He has an abnormal self-awareness normal yanderes won’t have, as well as an understanding of how to pick apart his enemies and how to gain the maximum amount of affection from his lover everyday <3. He understands social cues and anticipates actions from his enemies and those he deems dangerous for his darling. He would be able to cut people off from your life easily and you wouldn’t even be aware of it (he really wants to make you rely on him, but he won’t, he won’t either do anything drastic unless situation calls for it or you’re really surrounded by scum). If you were being harassed by someone then they’d disappear the next day, or idk, their reputation goes down the drain after a series of unfortunate incidents. He coaxed you into going to live in an area with the least appearances of Mara-struck citizens, even better if you agree to live with him, or perhaps he makes it seem like it’s your choice (maybe some promotion, deals too good to pass on, job opportunity, being moved to another branch of the company you work for, etc etc).

He’s self-aware of what to do and what NOT to do… at least, without anyone knowing. If a slight inking of his real intentions are caught by anyone (Fu Xuan is the most likely to catch on Jing Yuan’s yandereness, but she has no interest in the General’s love life so it’s unlikely she gets THAT intrusive unless he’s too obvious, and he won’t be, because he very much likes his current relationship with his darling and it’d be a shame to jeopardize that) he makes sure to blow it off in typical General-manner. Light-hearted, friendly, lazily, you name it — it’s unimaginable how he’s thinking of cutting off that hand that just touched you, right?

The General, even on the battlefield, isn’t a very violent person, so that prisoner screaming about him had clearly gone mad from Mara disease.

When it comes to being the lover of Jing Yuan, you are very happy. Your lover is thoughtful, gentle, faithful, playful, beautiful and very, very caring. So what if he’s sometimes a bit overbearing? Or his gaze is a little intense? Or that he likes kissing and hugging and all sorts of physical contact? How could you say no when those golden eyes stare at you so deeply? (yes the general is deliberately seducing you) One gaze and some teasing gets you flushing and melting into his arms.

Yandere Jing Yuan is a very mild yandere since he has an abnormal self-control, but push enough of his buttons (AKA you) and he can easily be triggered into one of the most terrifying yandere you or your enemies/friends can meet, but if you coax him right he can still be the sweetest gentleman ever. Your fate depends on your choices.

(AKA don’t be stupid lmao or you gonna find yourself in house arrest while ppl think you died from the mara disease or sth, oof)

[argisthebulwark]

Fake Marriage Trope

summary: Short drabbles about a fake marriage with various skyrim favs. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Erandur, Arnbjorn, Brynjolf, Teldryn, Rune warnings: none

Erandur worries that being unmarried as a Priest of Mara is odd, what if it made others doubt his devotion? The two of you had become close after travelling together - choosing one another was easy, natural. Sharing a home gives you somewhere to rest after handling Skyrim's many problems and Erandur gains a spouse to gush about to Mara's followers. It's a win-win. After spending time posing as your husband he'll realize that it isn't as much of a lie as he originally thought - he truly does care for you, loves when you spent time relaxing at home or dozing off on his shoulder. He would likely stumble over his words trying to explain how he caught feelings for his own spouse.

After aiding in the rebuilding of the Brotherhood, you have garnered quite the friendship with Arnbjorn. Surprisingly, your joint efforts have caught the eye of potential new clients. Meeting with a group of powerful nobles in a bid for a massive contract one mentions offhandedly that they take comfort in your dedication, citing the leader's marriage to a fellow assassin. Clearly you care for your Guild, it makes you appear quite trustworthy! Forging a deal with Arnbjorn you both agree to continue the farce, allowing them to believe you're married. It brings in money, gets you better jobs, some stability - and all it takes is pretending to be in love. He would take notice when you began wearing the cheap wedding band even on rest days, or referring to him as your husband in casual conversation.

Stealing from rich people is fun. Stealing from rich people with Brynjolf is very fun. Dressing up together, attending some fancy party with fake names and a hasty backstory. You can't help it if your heart flutters when he dutifully places an arm around you or your sudden urge to kiss him when he spins you around the dance floor. It's difficult to remind yourselves that it's just a game, a cover to gather as many septims as you can carry back to Riften. Hearing Brynjolf introduced as your husband only makes matters worse, your cheeks heating until you're sure the cover is blown. With pockets stuffed and fancy wine clouding your mind it's easy to pretend that Brynjolf truly is your husband, that the way he gazes into your eyes is more than an act.

Teldryn has been hired dozens of times - as a mercenary, a sellsword, a guide. When a returning client hires him at triple the agreed upon rate he assumes you're taking him somewhere dangerous. You are - your familial home. As the only unmarried sibling in the bunch you often find yourself the target of all extended family members and their intrusive questions. After explaining it to him you get nothing but a dry laugh and a promise to do his best. He takes to the role of doting partner quite well - answering questions about how you met and entertaining family with stories of your travels together. Near the end of your trip you find that neither of you want the ruse to come to an end.

Rune wants a family. People to visit on holidays and tell his coworkers stories about. You want a partner to bring home to your family so they'll ask about something other than your shady line of work. What a good deal! When you find yourself seeking him for comfort after a rough day you pay it no mind. You're friends, after all. The marriage is only for show. The same rule applies when Rune holds you a bit closer than necessary or introduces you to new recruits as his partner - you have to sell the act, right? Can't have anyone exposing your lies. Tamping down on the worry that something more is brewing isn't easy but you try. It's difficult to remind yourself that it's all a show when he places a hand on your thigh or finishes a story your sibling's told him before. Falling for him is too easy.

[limerenceheart]

I've seen like ONE person talk about it but I really like the idea that Blade is against anything bad happening to his darling, yeah sure he's definitely a sadist but not with them! (He honestly reminds me of a dog, one that's really friendly and sweet towards one person!) So I'd love if you could do something about that!

hi anon! i have never seen that post about blade from that light so this was completely written from my own perspective. it def seem like a possibility regarding the dog thing, if blade could find a cure to his mara struck condition. if a day ever come where hsr release his backstory, i'm sure he would be a completely different person.

trigger warnings - violence and intrusive thoughts.

blade didn't like the power that you have over him despite having no idea about it.

he should view you as easy to dispose of if you ever went too far but when he found himself impaling another man with a spear for deliberately tripping you over, the lightbulb went off.

his darling meant something to him.

blade should have disconnected himself from his darling afterwards but when he came back to the hotel's room that he was sharing you, surprisingly for once, you didn't tried to lunge at him.

blade wasn't entirely sure whether you were accepting your fate or you really didn't want any more bruises painted across your arms.

either way, it was enough for him to not abandon his darling considering how fragile you were.

it wouldn't take a lot to bring you down, if another bastard came along and slammed you against a brick wall, it could lead to a broken limp.

or the idea that someone could whisk you away but he rather than dan heng came along and attempted that so he could kill two birds with one stone.

at the end, blade's approach towards his darling completely changed.

you thought blade was bad enough as stoic but you rather he went back to normal than having his undivided attention.

it felt suffocating like having a dog to sniff your scent to track you down.

it became too eerie how blade somehow managed to knew what you wanted whatever he would come to your home prison to shower you with things that you always wanted.

it got to a point where you searched every crook of your room to see there was cameras installed anywhere but nothing.

the most shocking and startling change was that blade wanted a form of affectionate as a thank you like giving him a peck on the cheek.

you would laugh your ass off at the mere idea if you knew he wouldn't skin you alive.

but sometimes, blade would return back to normal and luckily, you didn't know that he was fighting to urge to give you bruises as his sign of ownership.

you were grateful but blade was going past the driving point of insanity and neither parties have an idea about the other feelings, how ironic.

one thing for sure it felt like blade was playing a game of russian roulette where you never knew when the wheel would start to spin.

but why? what happened for blade to change so much?

you didn't want to ask though otherwise blade might goes one step further.

you didn't want to experience the next stage.

[understand-that-i-love-you-not]

HSR LEAK SPOILERS!!

Seeing Dan Heng on his Dragon form for the first time.

You were sent to the Divination commission for medical assistance. Unfortunately for you were on your way to help more Cloud knights but Mara-struck mobs came to rush you off.

"Curses!"

You ran for a good minute, you threw your scalpel as an attempt to lure them away and they did!...no idiot they came of twice as violent.

You turn only to see you were cornered into a cliff, steps away and you'll fall off out of Xian Zhou

Quickly you were to attempt using Bailu's cure for the mara-stricken guards, to your avail those of you are faced with was far too gone.

One came to rush on you. Take the sharp hit...or jump??...

...

...

Too slow! you couldn't even decide. You block off the mara-struck's attack, but this resulted in your body being forced off of the clip.

You close your eyes for any impact, pain, bewilderment, shame.

It seems emotional pain came before physical. You died out of weakness, more Cloud Knights needed you, but you couldn't fight.

"Y/N!!" You hear as a man of long lengthen dark hair, piercing green eyes came to rush down to you.

...

You open your tightly shut eyes slowly to see you were levitating above ground. No. You were being carried by some one who levitates.

You moved your eyes to meet the man's who held you.

"Dan Heng?!" and no...this was Dan Heng with...horns? and he's levitating?!

"Y/N!!" March waves from down the ground "Just the person we need!!"

...

You were settled down and came to an agreement to help the Astral Express crew plus Lady Tingyun, and General Jing Yuan in their journey, which everyone then rushed off.

"Wait Dan Heng...come over here"

Dan Heng halts, both of you being slightly left by the rushing team.

"What?" He questions blankly

"It's just...you look different"

"I know...come on we're lagging behind" Dan Heng continues to catch up

"Wait! come over here"

Dan Heng is slightly irked, but he complies

You inspect Dan Heng up and down, bringing your hands to his shoulders and to his cheeks up and down motional. His new looks is rather...captivating.

"...What are you doing?" Dan Heng questions raising a brow.

"Just...checking for injuries" You realize you're being slow again, but you couldn't really hide the smile creeping on your lips. Out of intrusive thoughts, you bring your hand to Dan Heng's chest for a split second, as if to caress...oh stop are you serious? this is a critical moment of death!

Dan Heng remains silent, an eyebrow still corked up.

"C-come on what are we waiting for hehe...ehm, sorry"

Dan Heng sighs "I'm waiting for you obviously, you can always inspect injuries at home, right now we've got an alliance to save"...

[prettyboykatsuki]

father jing yuan and his beloved child,,, fuck or die... ari you're cooking

fem!reader, incest, estranged relationships, sex pollen

i feel like. well. i like estranged fathers in my incest fic i guess. but i like the idea of jing yuan and his estranged daughter a lot being real. in the fuck or die context.

i imagine it in the concept of you once being his beloved. when you were smaller, younger. life is different on luofu you know? but you loved your father more than anyone in the world. when you were a little girl, there was no one more important. and he was always a good father to you - but you ended up having a fight when you were going your own path in life. you were taking on dangerous research, doing dangerous things.

you don't remember it now, because it was so long ago - but you haven't seen him in years. though jing yuan, the sort of man he is, has kept tabs on you in all that time. he thought about forcing you home. he thought about being disciplinary. but he convinced himself you'd return at your own time someday. the rift in the relationship is never mended, not completely

when you return to the luofu, it's been a long time. your adulthood has leveled you into a fine woman. you're here because your close friend is getting married. you have no intent on seeing your father. but of course that's impossible. it's yanqing who drags you home, drops you unceremoniously at his office.

and there's a calm air about him. a wave of grief washed over with a wave of love and nostalgia. it will never be the same, your relationship - and seeing him now only reaffirms. still, you decide to neglect the bad blood between you. you decided to drink with him, speak with him, open up the avenues because you're also growing older.

you never know when the mara will take him. and you talk to him civil, but the little loved girl inside you trembles whenever he speaks to you so gently. it's troubling.

i always think of it as poison. the aeons and their disturbed sense of humor, maybe. a bottle of poisoned wine, something made in a lab - causing the loss of inhibitions and provocation of lust. an aphrodisiac puts it lightly. but it sparks it within you both

the only way the pain subsides is being touched, and there's no one for you to call. only jing yuan, the only thing left of your childhood.

there's something apologetic about it. some deep sense of innate disgust overwhelmed by chemicals and frustration. but there's a specific sadness in his face you've never seen - something strange and suffocated.

your skin is burning hot in all the places he touches, sobbing with relief and yet burdened with whats happening. but there's something too, admittedly tender, about the gesture. something almost profound with the soft forehead kiss, the promise of pleasure. it's an apology, among many things, and something about that is too crushing for you to bear.

so you do what you know how, revert to the smallest parts of you. a girl in the arms of your one and only parent, cradled gently in his embrace. the warmth of it is suffocating, but it's sweet. a bitter memory but one you hold as your rocked, split open on his cock like it's natural. he takes care of you, and you remember. what is was like when he loved you.

you ask if he still does - buried so deep within you, you can feel it up to your throat. it's aching and intrusive and it feels good, but it makes you cry. every time he touches you want to cry.

"it's not a matter of if. nothing could measure up to your importance, silly girl."

[jadevalentine-writes]

This WIP Wednesday enjoy the first bit of my Jolyon Till fic!

That's right, I am also obsessed with this lorebo. Had this idea in my head for a while and was bitten last weekend in the wee houra to start it. Enjoy!

***

Jolyon exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger. The Supremacy's kick was familiar, as was the delayed sound of a target being destroyed down range. The silence that followed was the part that took getting used to.

Great shot, as always, the phantom of Uldren's voice echoed in his head. When are you going to teach me to shoot like that?

Jolyon swallowed and readjusted his grip as he imagined Uldren's weight on his back. The Prince could be such a distraction on the range.

You don't need me to spot, Uldren would tease, a hand between Jolyon's shoulder blades as he leaned close to Jolyon's ear. You just wanted to be alone with me.

The cocksure smile over Jolyon's shoulder would always be enough to break his concentration. He'd empty the barrel, flick on the safety, then roll himself over, taking Uldren with him.

There were more comfortable places to fool around than the rocky cliffs of the range. There were also places that were more discrete, but getting caught was half the thrill. Besides, Uldren always thought it fairplay considering the number of times he caught Mara and Sjur in compromising positions in what he considered public places.

The memory almost brought a smile to Jolyon's face but, as usual, it was pruned before it could fully bloom. Instead it was replaced with his now normal scowl.

I am always alone with you, was Jolyon's silent answer. I am always alone with your ghost.

He told Petra he had gotten used to Uldren being dead. It did not mean that he liked it.

It would have been easier if he still had a corpse to visit, but even that was robbed of him. He had no place to mourn but inside his own head or in the privacy of his quarters. Or in the silence between shots on the range.

Jolyon inhaled sharply and brought the scope to his eye once more. No better way to exorcise ghosts than with gunpowder. He stilled and sighted his next target, his index finger hovering over the trigger when he heard rocks on the path behind him shift. Then he felt an intrusive sensation at the edge of his consciousness and sighed.

Very few people could sneak up on him almost completely. Uldren used to, on occasion, but Jolyon permitted him to. The Queen, on the other hand, could only do so when he was compromised.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Jolyon asked from his sprawled position on the ground when he heard Mara crest the path. He squinted his left eye shut as he peered through the scope once more. "Have you come to be my spotter?"

He could feel the daggers of her eyes in his back, but shrugged them off like a weak layer of hoarfrost as he pulled the trigger. Left of center, but still a clean hit. He smirked at the evidence that he could not be rattled as her careful steps ended on his right. He finally looked up at her under the glare of the sun and was not surprised to be met with her blank soul piercing stare. Mara inspected him like an interesting bug with a tilt of her head then shifted her gaze down range.

"You were slightly off-center."

Jolyon hid his frown with a shrug.

"I had a cold wind at my back."

[flowers-of-io]

The murderer of her siblings looks at Xivu Arath through a lens of carnelian and wish magic, her features pulled into something that must be deep concentration as she braces to counter the incoming thought-missile. She is a frail thing, this Queen, even here in the realm of intent: a pale-faced blunt-toothed spectre, her Will a wisp of choking perfume, spitting poison like a viper to save her fragile spine from snapping in half under Xivu’s blade. Her mere presence here is an offence. Xivu hates her.

She hates her purple eyes and the wreath of stars on her temples, her hands that hold no sword, her arrow-words swift and piercing. But it is a good hatred—a giddy sort of anger. Mara Sov stares her straight in the face like she has the right to be here, and this excites Xivu Arath.

“You are bound in servitude,” the woman speaks, sending ripples across the Sea of Screams which lap at the shores of Xivu’s throne world. “Forever trapped in a prison of hunger.”

YOUR DESPERATE STRUGGLES FEED ME WELL.

“A finite amount of sustenance.”

THERE WILL BE PLENTY MORE AFTER YOU.

“How far are you willing to push?” Mara Sov flings her thoughts like spears aimed for Xivu’s throat, brittle sticks that crack into splinters with but a gesture of the Avatar’s hand, but she doesn’t seem discouraged by this. “Your people preach there is an end to this universe, a sword so sharp there will be nothing that doesn’t yield to its edge, until even Nothing is sliced and subdued by it. And then there will be no war. Who will you be, then?”

Xivu parries.

THIS SHAN’T CONCERN YOU ONCE YOU ARE A SPLOTCH OF GOO ON YOUR CRYSTAL WALLS.

“Yours is not the first blade I have danced down and yet transcended.”

Xivu Arath flicks her hand and a blight opens over Mara Sov, covering her like a tent. It is perfectly opaque and resonates with intrusive whispers, and she relishes the fleeting feeling of satiation as she watches the Queen struggle to shake free.

AND WHERE IS YOUR TAKEN THRONE?

Mara Sov emerges from the black fountain, panting and sticky with ooze, but her eyes are sharp with deadly intent.

“And where is your brother?”

Xivu bares her teeth and lunges forward. She hates this woman, this frail shadow of a form she could have assumed but instead chose to shun, those eyes like jewels and words scalpel-sharp and scalpel-precise. She hates that Oryx wore a diadem of galaxies around his temples and she hates the hydrogen and helium tomb where he lies, and she hates this proud, shameless thing who defeated him by ducking under when he swung to strike her. They dance in a circle, a steady rhythm of charge and retreat, until Xivu hooks the tip of her spear over Mara’s and locks their weapons together.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU HATED.

“You are alone,” the Queen hisses, the metaphor of her breath wafting in Xivu’s face.

YOUR HOME WILL BE A FISTFUL OF ASH AND NOTHING.

“As you have rendered yours.”

Xivu laughs hoarsely, half humorously and half threateningly, and kicks the woman hard enough to send her reeling.

Mara Sov sends her a glare of exhausted hatred, a façade Xivu knows is masking her fear. It is a matter of pride, this play pretend, this white-knuckled struggle to remain elusive and foglike. There is a scheme behind those brilliant eyes, and Xivu relishes the idea of crushing it under the blunt end of her axe before it can bud and bloom into reality. She will try to swivel and dodge, wrap herself tightly with lofty words until she is flayed to bare bone; too desperate to back out and too proud to admit that despair even as the ground slowly crumbles under her feet. All too eager to continue this dance of daggers, so long as it provides her with a semblance of control.

GO DEFEND YOUR COURT, QUEEN OF THE REEF. SEE IF IT CAN WITHSTAND ME.

She reminds Xivu of someone she loved.

[maranescence]

“Please reply to this email by the 12th.”

Me reading it on the 25th:

[grace-nakimura]

to be a person, by me (ew)

Rating: PG-13 / T, maybe a light R / M. Trigger Warnings: Depersonalization, Emotional / Mental / Physical abuse or mentions of, murder, violence, confessions of suicidal ideation, Palpatine being Mara's intrusive thoughts from beyond the grave, and light suggestive content. Also, not really beta'd, much like Lucasfilm and Disney didn't beta any of the sequels after TFA. This isn't really Legends-based, as well, so please do not be angry at me. Pairing: Mentions of Obitine ( Satine / Obi-Wan ), Korkie / OC, HanLeia, and can be seen as onesided LukeMara or not if you squint. The OTP of this fic and any sequels to it, or additions, is Mara Jade/Personhood or Mara Jade/Working On Her Mental Health. Summary: “I was just wondering, well, aren’t you curious? The emperor is dead,” yes, she may not be his Hand anymore, but that doesn’t mean she can’t wince as almost visceral pain lances in her heart. She may have been a means to an end for him, but to Mara he everything. “The war will be over soon. Wouldn’t you want to know where you come from?” 

“Aren’t you curious?”  

Mara raises her brow but says nothing. The mess hall is busy enough and while farm-boy is still regarded with a sense of awe among everyone, the two could find respite in both getting lost in the crowd of people so they can talk without being overheard too much. Skywalker, for all his near status as a modern-day legend, has mastered shielding enough to appear unassuming if he wants; as for Mara, well, the ex-child assassin wouldn’t have been good at what she did if she didn’t know how to blend into the crowd.  

She doesn’t want to delve too deep into why she feels a sense of camaraderie with Skywalker who, by all intents and purposes, she had tried to kill not very long ago. Which resulted in her capture which resulted in … well, she isn’t quite a defector, or at least not one by choice originally, but she isn’t Imperial.  

She will never be that again. She isn’t quite sure of who she is, or what she is, but she knows she’s more than just a means to an end. She hopes she is more than a means to an end. 

Aren’t you just a means to an end here, my dear? A voice that sounds too much like him creeps in her head. You are a monster and always will be …  my beautiful little monster.  

“Mara?” 

Skywalker gives her a look. He’s patient, too kind to her, and it makes her skin itch. Sometimes Mara isn’t certain if Skywalker pities her or genuinely wants to see her. Neither makes her feel comfortable, but she hopes it isn’t pity. She doesn’t think she could stomach pity. Not when the mind healer the Alliance High Council forces her to see twice a week when she’s on the base radiates pity when they speak. “You’re not going to let me brood over stale ration bars by myself, are you?”  

Skywalker’s smile is kind.  

Why the kriff does he have to be so kind?  

Stupid farm-boy.  

“No.” He answers, good-naturedly, even biting off a piece of his own ration bar. He winces because the only person who eats ration bars without complaint is Organa but chews it all the same. “I was just wondering, well, aren’t you curious? The emperor is dead,” yes, she may not be his hand anymore, but that doesn’t mean she can’t wince as almost visceral pain lances in her heart. She may have been a means to an end for him, but to Mara he everything. “The war will be over soon. Wouldn’t you want to know where you come from?” 

Mara knows where she comes from. She comes from Nur. She comes from darkness, loneliness, and the smell of blood and rot filled her lungs before she knew how to read. She comes from long, skeletal claws combing through her hair as she’d sit in front of the man who promised to make her his child in truth, if only she’d do what he’d tell her to the letter, weaving stories of special she was and how she’d make him so proud. Mara comes from the same hands that shot lightning because someone saw her slit a Moff's throat, when she ought to have been much cleverer in her attempt, and that at fourteen she should curb her impulses.  

The last one made her black out and wake up in the private imperial med center. To her credit, she never made that mistake again.  

She understands what Skywalker is asking, though; he’s recently found a sister, Organa, and he thinks that because she’s an orphan she longs for the same things he longs for. Home. Family.  

Never forget you are only two-hundred-twelve, the Grand Inquisitor had reminded her when she left Nur for Coruscant. She had been only eleven years old and hand-picked by the emperor himself. She could feel the envy and the hate drip from the man with every single syllable. She would be above him, a little child, and he hated it. Hated her for it. Mara had relished it something splendid.  

Numbers are no one. Numbers don’t have families. Numbers are discarded. 

“Not really.” Skywalker gives her a look, but he doesn’t say anything more. The conversation is over for now.  

*** 

When Mara thinks of her mother, she feels safe. A woman with curls darker than her red gold, singing to her as she holds her close to her chest, in a language she doesn’t understand.  

Her memory is patchy at best, worn, a bit like a well-loved stuffed animal that slowly loses its newness as years go by.  

When Mara thinks of her father, she remembers laughter. Boyish. To be fair, the woman sounds young, as well, but both sounds are so muddled and muffled she isn’t certain if she could pinpoint their ages accurately on memory alone.  

She likes to think the feelings she feels when she thinks of them, or when she dreams of them, is love, but she knows better.  

She’s a number and no one loves a number. 

*** 

Mara brings it up to her mind healer the day after, slouching in the chair in front of the mon calamari, blowing a strand of hair from her face as if it isn’t a big deal. 

“Perhaps it’s a good idea,” she says. Mara forgot her name. Doesn’t care to remember. Her voice is gentle, soothing, but Mara hears the pity in it, and she hates it. She misses when she wore force binding cuffs, when she was thrown in a cell with the best of the Alliance’s guards, and when she was looked at with cool contempt.  

Pity the men she’s killed. Do not pity her.  

“I know who I am.” She does. When she looks at her hands they are coated in blood, but she doesn’t flinch. She blinks and they are clean again. When she looks at the healer sometimes, she sees a younger her, dressed in black and her appearance obstructed by a black cloak, holding a blade to the mon calamari’s neck hissing—beautiful monster. 

“I don’t think you do, Mara.”  

You’ll always be my beautiful monster, dear girl, the voice tells her comfortingly. Embrace it. Make me proud.  

All Mara does is shrug.   

“I do urge caution,” the healer treads, leaning over to as she places the datapad aside. “We’ve made plenty of strides, Mara, but sometimes the past is better to be left in the past. Sometimes it can give us the closure we want, but sometimes it can reopen wounds that even bacta can’t heal.”  

“I don’t want to know.”  

The woman is patient. Stars, not that look of pity. Not that softening of features with the urge to coddle her as if she’s a child. She’s twenty-one. She hasn’t been a child in years, if ever. Numbers aren’t children. Hands are of a greater purpose than a person. All this is too little too late. “You once told me that tact is just another word for lying kindly. For someone who favors the truth among all else, you make it almost your duty in lying to yourself.” 

Mara, rather petulantly and notedly, shrugs again. 

I never lied to you, my dear.  

You did. She combats the voice in her head. You made me think you cared about me. You never did. You never wanted me like— 

“Mara?” 

“I don’t want to know,” she repeats. 

I am a number and I know nothing. 

*** 

 For all that she is and isn’t a number, and she tells herself she’s just doing this out of boredom some odd weeks later, looking at the med droid with supposed indifference. 

The healer says all she needs is a pinprick of her blood, and the med droid and the computers would do the rest. It can take hours, whereas in the days of the Republic it could only take moments.  

Skywalker offered to be with her. Organa even offered to be with her. Solo, well, he doesn’t like her all that much, but he doesn’t look at her with pity or contempt. He’s honest and Mara respects him for that.  

Mara doesn’t quite like herself, either.  

“How much longer?” She asks the meddroid after the initial prick. Her blood is being analyzed. If any of her biological family were in the system during the Republic, or even during the Empire, something would pop up. The droid turns it’s back to her as it works, pressing buttons here-and-there, as she slouches on the examination table.  

Slouching is beneath you, girl! Mara winces at how biting the tone is. Are you some common street rat? Are you no longer worthy of having a name, Mara Jade? Sit up straight and be worthy of my time!  

Despite how she wants to fight it, she sits up straighter. Stiffer. Can feel phantom clawed hands gripping her arm and squeezing. She wonders if she can see bruises if she gazes down, but she has to look straight.  

Don’t cry. Pain is your ally. Fear is your ally. Use it.  

She shuts her eyes. What does the mind healer say? The one she doesn’t remember on purpose? “My focus determines my reality.” Licking her dry lips and taking a deep, long breath, she opens her eyes. 

A robbed figure stands before her, opening its arms wide. Inviting. Its cackling is anything but.  

You’ll always be my beautiful monster, initiate two-hundred-and-twelve.  

A whimper. She lets out a whimper. It’s pathetic, and all too vulnerable, but when she closes her eyes once again, she hopes that the image she sees is just a med droid ignoring her. Please, she begs. Please.  

She falls asleep on the exam bed in a fetal position, and she dreams of lightning, of a woman singing, and vast darkness.  

A hand gently brings her back to the bright lights. It takes a while, but when she opens her eyes, she sees Organa with a worried expression. “Jade?” Mara sits up, although not as quickly as she’d liked. Her limbs feel heavy and her head fills like it’s been stuffed with cotton. “Are you alright?” 

“M’fine.”  

Organa’s dry expression tells Mara she believes none of it. It’s only when Mara lifts her hand to rub her face does she understand why; she’s been crying.  

Mara wants to say she’s just allergic to medicine, but before she could say anything to defend her hard-earned stoicism, the med droid that has been so keen on ignoring her pipes up: “A positive match has been traced. Exact matches are ninety-nine-point-nine in accuracy. Should I—,” 

She doesn’t hear it. All she feels are hands covering her own, Organa’s she supposes, and maybe having someone with her isn’t that bad.  

“—it appears that, according to the database, the maternal match is one Mae, Elora.” 

The singing woman has a name. Look at that.  

“The paternal match is one former Lord Kor of House Kryze. Mandalorian. Peculiar. Force sensitivity, as what I found in your DNA, isn’t common with Mandalorians, although not unheard of.” The med droid turns back around and hands her what seems like a disk with its mechanical hand. “A brief file as well as a few photos should be stored on this device. You can easily put this in on your personal datapad in your quarters to peruse. It also mentions your DNA is of both Stewjoni, Mandalorian, and Corellian descent, as well as possible genetic health factors.” 

Mara takes the disc and makes a point to ignore Organa’s pointed gaze. 

“Good! Now we are all finished,” the droid chirps, sounding more animated than it has the entire visit. “Please leave!”  

*** 

Elora Mae was the illegitimate daughter of a Stewjoni smuggler and Corellian pirate. Shady upbringing, but she was admitted to Coruscant to study medicine at the age of twelve. Prodigy.  

Mara stares at the black and white holo with an unquenchable hunger. There isn’t much. Prodigy. Born sixteen years before the Empire began. While she was born on her mother’s native Stewjon, she, apparently, spent most of her younger years in various space ports. Her professors recounted how she was more than proficient in several modern languages and at least three dead languages. For all accounts, Mara surmises she was a gifted student. While she can’t see it on the photo, it is said that the loose, big curls of hers were auburn and her eyes were green. From what she can tell she might’ve received her freckles from her, too.  

Her eyes were kind. Mara can’t stop seeing how the holophoto she has, even if she is only giving a shy smile, how kind Elora’s eyes were.  

Were. Past tense. She is dead, and along with her, her two-year-old daughter. In a way the report is right; Mara-Jade Kryze, or Mara-Jade Mae, or Mara-Jade Mae-Kryze has been dead for a long, long time. The woman of twenty-one who sits on her measly cot, her legs supporting the datapad as she leans against the cold wall isn’t the two-year-old Elora had sung to all those years ago.  

She’s a number.  

A swap of her thumb and she sees her father: Kryze, Kor. A man who looks too young to be called a man, much like Elora looked much too young to be called a woman, who stands straight and looks into the camera with a sort of forced stiffness. It makes Mara think that he might’ve been trying too hard to appear older, or serious.  

They were both so karking young. 

Kor Kryze, or Korkie as loved ones often called him—did his parents hate him? Who would think about giving their son the nickname Korkie unless they wanted his life to be miserable? —was the nephew of a deceased Mandalorian Duchess, Satine of House Kryze. Nothing on his parents. It is assumed that his father was the initial first Duke in line, the late Lord Adonai the II, the firstborn of the late Duke Adonai of House Kryze, who died in a terrorist bombing in Sundari a year before the late Duchess ascended the throne. That, or a foundling, but Mara knows very little of Mandalorian culture to look too much into it.  

Same as Elora, minus the shady upbringing: gifted student, studied medicine, and was set to be the late Duchess’ heir on account that her sister, the Lady Bo-Katan, was presumed missing and dead. He, too, was well versed in many languages, and was said to be quite gifted in arithmetic, but his passion was medicine. When he abdicated the throne after his aunt’s—and from what Mara could conclude, his guardian—death from the Sith Darth Maul, he went to Coruscant to study medicine.  

Mara can put two and two together: they met studying the same field, although it is said that Elora ventured more to psychiatry and Kor into being a pediatric surgeon, probably bonded over being orphans, and bam—marriage and a baby. Her.  

Not much is said after Elora’s death. Not much is said about her. Just that he had a daughter, the daughter’s name was blacked out, and was put on the Empire’s Most Wanted when it was discovered ten years after their deaths, he was smuggling force-sensitive children out of Coruscant, as well as forging medical records to conceal force sensitivity.  

From his date of death, and the fact that the Alliance gave him orders to be on Aldera during that time, he would’ve been on Alderaan when Tarkin destroyed it.  

Both of her parents are dead.  

She … She went into this knowing the possibility. She remembers telling herself that they could be dead or, if they aren’t, they might as well be dead because who wants to know their child was the Hand of the Emperor? She doesn’t think Darth Vader ever had a mother, or even an actual name, but she knows if he did, she’d be horrified to know what her son had become.  

It doesn’t soften the blow. Just because you know a bullet is heading towards you, that it’s going to hurt like hell, doesn’t take away how bad it karking hurts when it finally hits you.  

You could’ve never achieved true power with them, her eyes sting but she makes no move to wipe away the tears. I made you great. 

“I didn’t want to be great,” Mara confesses into the void, brokenly. “I just wanted to be loved.” 

*** 

Five years have gone by since the treaty on Jakku, and she has her own ship. Most ships have names, but Mara decides Ship is as good as any. She works for a man named Karrde who is probably the closest thing to a friend she’d ever have. 

Skywalker is a friend, so is Organa, but they are—complicated.  

Skywalker is starting a new Jedi Order. “I know it’ll never measure up to what the old Order was,” he began, almost shyly, as he spoke to her about his vision, “but it can be something. Maybe something better.” 

“Good for you.” 

He gave her a sheepish grin, looking down at the ground as if the dirt of Jakku was more interesting than her actual face, “you could—um. You could join me, if you want. Not as a student just … we can learn together, maybe?” 

She had told him no but wished him the best. Mara knew the Jedi of old were flawed and, from what she gathered with the little she had heard from the Inquisitors who used to be Jedi Knights or Padawans, to even Vader himself—their fall would’ve happened sooner or later. While one could argue that it was bias—and a lot of it was bias—Mara did note the ring on truth. She didn’t have the heart to tell Luke that, though. 

Just because they were on borrowed time didn’t mean they weren’t needed, or aren’t still needed, after all.  

Organa is a mother. “I never thought I’d live past twenty,” she had told her, holding the baby to her chest. Bags underneath her eyes, hair oily and unwashed, covered with spit up stains and sweat, Organa still was positively radiant in the Force. Mara wondered then if that was how her mother looked when she held her as a baby. “Now I’m someone’s mom.” A pause, as if to allow that notion to really sink in, before Organa made a face. “I’m someone’s wife, too.” 

“You could do better than Solo,” Mara had said, which made Organa laugh, and the indigent sound of a ‘Hey!’ in the background to be the husband in question.  

Solo is another person in the complicated category, but he doesn’t hate her anymore. She still respects him more than she lets own, just like she respects Organa, or Skywalker, or Calrissian. 

On the control panel, right next to the steering wheel, is a wedding holo of her parents. Nineteen and eighteen, respectfully, just like there is a photo of both, separately, by her nightstand in her personal quarters.  

She doesn’t see a mind healer twice a week anymore. Once every three months. It’s taken a while, but she’s worked hard. Not just to get the New Republic off her back—mandatory sessions were not only her stipulation for not being a prisoner, but now being on an eternal parole as she smuggled for them—but to get his voice out of her head. That part, the insidious part of her brain that sounds too much like her old master, is the hardest monster to silence.  

Curling up with a blanket on the pilot’s chair she stares at the holophoto and shuts her eyes, willing herself to remember the three things her mind healer has been telling her: her name is Mara Jade. She is nearly thirty years old. She was born in Coruscant. Those are the facts. Those are hard facts and everything else is just wind.  

Her father was Kor Kryze. Her mother was Elora Mae. They married a year after the Empire rose and she was born the year after. Her lifeday is the fourth day of the fourth month.  

“Why do I still feel like a number?” She had asked her mind healer. Oh, her name is Stevie. Or she thinks it’s Stevie. It’s something with an ‘ie’ at the end. “Why do I still see myself as a title, or Initiate Two Twelve?” 

Stevie, or something, just gave a sad smile. “The woman is healing, Mara, but to be completely free? You must heal the child, too. And that child, no matter how much you hate it, was Initiate Two Twelve.”  

“I think I’m a bit kriffed, mum,” she tells the bride in the holo, and then turns to the groom, “dad. I bet you had bigger and better plans for me. If it’s any consolation, what I lack on the interior I make up for the exterior.” 

And she’s good at sex. They may be projections and they may be dead, but Mara doesn’t think she ought to tell them that.  

Being the Hand of the Emperor meant anything considered hedonistic, or anything deemed unclean, was prohibited. When she was told about sex itself it was only with clear instructions of don’t do it. Her old master claimed it was protecting her innocence; her healer—let's call her Vie—claims it was a way to control her. Six months after the treaty was signed, thereby ending the Galactic civil war, Mara went into a Cantina in Dantooine and met a Twi’lek named … well, she forgot her name, but she never would forget the conversations about consent, about health, and more importantly that sex was supposed to be fun.  

It isn't something she partakes often in, but she took those guidelines to heart. The only name she remembers from her encounters was Lando, the first male partner she had, but while he truly did have a talented tongue his fingers fumbled too much to be too memorable. Apparently being too honest with him, even if she thought honesty was the most important part about consent, wasn’t the way to go because he still hasn’t really spoken to her since.  

How immature.  

Sometimes she wonders, when she’s alone in her quarters, underneath the covers as her hands trail down in between her legs, if Skywalker would fumble with his tongue and be smooth with his fingers, or if he would be the opposite, or both, or neither—but she stops herself from going further, leaving herself unsatisfied and strangely empty. 

She isn’t a Jedi and, from what they’ve gathered from his Jedi-ghost-friends, Jedi aren’t supposed to have naked friends. Well, that is what a green troll had told him. A man named Quinlan Vos, who had just passed this year to be exact, had said plenty of Jedi kriffed around, but it was the attachment bit that wasn’t frown upon. 

Luke is kind. Luke is going to make a new Order that will survive centuries.  

And all you are is damaged goods, the snide voice tells her. 

*** 

Seven years go by and she’s older now. Older than her mother ever would be. She still has to catch up another decade to make it where she’d be older than her father, but it’s creeping up there.  

She still reads the datapad at night sometimes. She’s read it a thousand times front to back, side to side, but something always rubs her the wrong way when she reads about her father’s early life. 

It isn’t his unfortunate nickname, either.  

One night she clicks on the name Satine, his listed guardian, and something strikes her as odd. The eyes, for one. Turning towards one of the holophotos projected on her nightstand of her father, she blew the photo of Satine Kryze up with a pinch of her fingers and studied both side by side. 

Save his hair, which was the same reddish gold as hers, or the nose and dimples, it was almost uncanny how alike they looked. Biological, then, and not adopted. But when she swiped back and clicked on a photo of Adonai II and his late wife, Miriam, they looked nothing like her father. And Bo-Katan—who is still very much alive and, for all the progress Mara has made can’t find the courage to reach out to her great aunt—isn't even in the running for a parent since she’s only four years his senior.  

“No karking way,” she whispers to herself when a thought pops into her head. “S’just coincidence, is all.” 

That doesn’t stop her from booting up her on-call multi-purpose droid. Pinprick DNA sample. Instead of hours like before, its minutes, and it shows what she knows to be true. Only she adds in Kor Kryze to find his genetic match. She comes up, of course, and considering he’s deceased, and she is the only genetic donor available, it takes a little longer. 

Maternal and paternal matches come up afterward. Ninety-nine-point-five percent chance of shared DNA.  

“Maternal match: Kryze, Satine. Paternal match, Kenobi, Obi-Wan.” 

And Mara throws her head back and releases the loudest cackle in the Galaxy. 

Falling on her back against the cushioned bed, red gold hair fawned out like a halo, she stares up at the ceiling and she’s still laughing.  

Her grandfather—her karking grandfather—was the High General of the Galactic Army of the Republic. General Obi-Wan Kenobi.  

And he was the one man both Darth Vader and the Emperor himself hated beyond measure.  

Perfect Obi-Wan Kenobi went against the code some fifteen years before the Clone Wars and no one was all the wiser. Well, besides Satine, her grandmother, that is. If she remembers correctly, Obi-Wan's reward for being found while the Empire was still in power was over a billion credits. More, if she’s being honest.  

She wonders if her old master knew. Wonders if Vader knew.  

No, or at least not Vader. If Vader had known, or even suspected given how deeply he hated the Jedi, he would’ve taken it out on her. Instead, he hardly acknowledged her and she him. Well, small mercies and all that.  

Does it matter, my dear? You’ll always be my creation, not his.  

“Maybe so,” she allows, but only half-heartedly. 

When she goes to sleep that night, she knows one thing: she’ll go to Ossus, tell Skywalker about what she’s found out, just to see the look of horror on that ghost-gremlin's face.  

*** 

“Old Ben kriffed someone? You mean … You mean he’s had sex?!”  

Skywalker’s jaw is on the ground. They are in her quarters and no, thank you, they aren’t here for anything untoward. She’s still giggling—been giggling off and on for quite some time now—and then full-on snorts when Skywalker repeats it: “Old Ben kriffed someone? But he’s so … conservative.” 

“Conservative people usually are the dirtiest,” supplies Mara, and at Skywalker’s look of horror, she full on cackles.  

He shakes his head. “Still! It’s...It’s old Ben, and you are his granddaughter. That means he..” 

“He kriffed a duchess well and good and nine months later, my dad was born, and then given an unfortunate nickname for the rest of his life.” Mara says almost sagely, which finally makes Skywalker wake from his stupor and break out into a brilliant grin. 

When he smiles at her like that, when he laughs with her like that, she almost wants to call him Luke.  

“Korkie is an awful nickname,” Skywalker—Luke—agrees, shaking his head. “I thought being called wormie was bad.” 

“Wormie?”  

Luke shakes his head adamantly. “Another time.”  

There is a comfortable silence. Being nearly thirty did wonders for Luke. His face now looks more steadier to sit on— 

WHORE! 

Shut up.  

She doesn’t give straddling either side of his face, even if it’s been years at this point and her own fingers aren’t cutting it. That isn’t why she’s here and she knows that Luke deserves better than her. She isn’t a whore, but she is damaged goods. Tainted. Everything Luke doesn’t deserve.  

So they stand there in companionable silence and she does all she can to keep her thoughts pure, until he breaks the silence with something she never considered.  

“Remember when I told you about Yoda?” He begins, chewing his bottom lip. Oh, it’s been so long, because now she is thinking about him biting her bottom lip, or other places, preferrably between her legs and—oh. Right. He’s asking her a question. She nods quickly so he can continue. “Master Yoda comes to me as a, well, a ghost in the Force. My father does, although not as often, and so does Ben.” 

She isn’t following. Mainly, because he licks his lips and now she is thinking untoward thoughts she really, truly did not come here for this. She doesn’t think she could handle this, or whatever this is between them, because it’s more than likely one sided. She nods, dumbly, but nothing is registering in her brain.  

“If you want, you can talk to him. Old Ben. Obi-Wan, you know.”  

Oh. 

Then it hits her. She can talk to her dead grandfather who kriffed a duchess right and proper, that made her father, and then her father kriffed her mother—although they were married, which means she isn’t a bastard like she always guessed she was—and then she was born. The circle of bloody life.  

Luke continues, unaware of Mara or just ignoring her antics by now: “He’s sort of, um, unreliable? He shows up whenever. I’m sure he’d want to meet you, at least? I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t want to meet you, anyway.” 

This is all she needs to wake up from her lustful haze and back to reality. 

All he would see is me, and now the voice is louder than it has been in a while. You are tainted by the dark side. He would whisper into Skywalker’s ear to strike you down. You would be naïve to think a Jedi will want anything to do with you, blood or not. 

Instead, Mara shakes her head and swallows a gigantic lump in her throat. “S’fine. Just wanted to see your reaction up close and personal.” A brave smile stretches her face, and it hurts. “I’m here, though! Would you like to show me around?” 

He’s back to beaming and the two exit The Ship—it still doesn’t have a name and at this point, she doubts it ever will—and he begins the tour of his Jedi school in its infancy.  

*** 

Months fly by, and then a year, and she hasn’t left Ossus.  

Sometimes she still dreams about sitting on Luke’s face, but sometimes she also dreams about waking up beside him and greeting the day.  

While she never meets Bo-Katan face-to-face, she does eventually gather the courage to comm her. When she tells her great aunt about what she’s found, the woman isn’t even surprised. “Knew it,” is all she says, and Mara thinks she might take Bo-Katan up on the offer of visiting Sundari or even Kalevala. Not now. She isn’t brave enough just now, but soon, because she thinks she likes her great aunt. 

After all, they are the only two people in their family left.  

When Luke, with Mara’s permission, had told Organa—Leia. If Mara can call Luke by his first name in her head, she ought to do the same for his sister.—about her grandparents, the face Leia made looked like she ate something incredibly sour by accident. “But he’s always been … old.”  

“That’s what I said!” The other twin agreed.  

“Old people kriff, you know,” both Mara and Han supplied, which made the twins shiver in disgust even more.  

Luke doesn’t ask if she wants to talk to her ghost-grandfather. She doesn’t bring it up.  

She finds out they share the same preferred dueling form, though, and she recognizes the man from the archives she used to watch as a little girl was … well, she had been watching her grandfather the entire time. She remembers thinking how Form III looked more like a dance than the other forms and that it seemed more controlled, which is still something she aches for, and knew no other form would suit her. 

It almost makes her want to change forms, just to be safe, but by now it’s just as easy as breathing. She’s turning thirty soon and she’s probably too old to change anything up, anyway.  

She knows Luke has caught her watching his instructional videos. She watches them and thinks that maybe, if she had a chance to be a cleaner version of herself and less tainted, and if the Empire never rose, then she could’ve been a granddaughter he would’ve been proud of. Maybe not acknowledged, since everyone who remembers Obi-Wan Kenobi has told her how dedicated he was to being a Jedi Master, but maybe … maybe he wouldn’t be disgusted by her. 

Maybe he could’ve liked her, if not loved her. 

It’s the same when she sees old holos of her grandmother. She wishes there were more of her father, but he spent his youth largely out of the media spotlight, so all she could find was a polite wave here and there and when one interviewer asked how he enjoyed Alderaan when he was just a child, he called it pretty. Her grandmother was a renowned pacifist. She abhorred violence. She and a thousand other systems remained neutral in the Clone Wars and with how the New Republic treats Mandalore, well, apparently the Republic hasn’t forgiven or forgotten.  

She remembers the night of a thousand tears; the Empire didn’t forget, either.  

I wonder how such a well-known bastion of peace would feel to know how her granddaughter’s hands are stained with blood? Her hands aren’t wet with blood this time when she looks, sitting on the rock amid a makeshift fire. Ossus is beautiful at night and the fire is comforting, even if she is wrapped in a green shawl to protect from how chilly it can get. Remember when you beat that one ISB agent to death with simply a rock, my dear? I had to punish you for being so sloppy when you knew better, but your brutality was always so … beautiful.  

“It was wrong.”  

Did it feel wrong, my dear?  

“It felt good,” and Vie, her mind healer who she still can’t remember her actual name, tells her she must be honest with herself to move forward. “I felt powerful, but hurt people hurt people. I was hurting and I shouldn’t have done that.” 

And the son—how old was he? Five, maybe? When he watched you repeatedly hit his father’s head with that rock, tell me: did his horror give you power? 

Mara shakes her head, swallowing. “No,” and this is the truth. “I didn’t see him. I saw me. I kept hitting him because I saw me, and I hated myself. I envied him because I wanted to die. I knew it should’ve been me and not him. The only crime he committed was that you were bored and thought his time ran out.” 

And you couldn’t even kill yourself correctly, my stupid, beautiful monster. The voice sneers. That is why you let the son of Skywalker win all those years ago, you foolish girl. And the noble cretin spared you. 

“Because he’s better than us,” Mara replied hotly to oblivion. Her eyes sting and her throat aches, but she must put this voice to rest. “He isn’t damaged goods. He’s better and he thinks I can be better. I am not your beautiful karking monster anymore. I am not your little experiment. I am a person, and my name is Mara Jade. I was born in Coruscant on the fourth day of the fourth month. My parents were named Kor Kryze and Elora Mae. I’m not a karking number and I never kriffing was, you obsolete ghoul!” 

Silence.  

And for the first time in Mara’s life the invisible stone that held her down, made it so difficult to breathe, is lifted.  

“I am incredibly proud of you, not that it matters,” a voice draws her away from the silent sobs that make her rock herself back and forth soothingly, and from the dying fire is the man who gave her dimples and a nose she isn’t terribly fond of, and while blue and translucent, he looks the picture of serenity. He looks at her hopefully with his light eyes shining. “I know my opinion, my pride, in you or your father holds very little considering my contribution to the both of you was horribly little, but I am.” 

She can’t really form words, but she manages a breathless ‘how’ before her throat closes again. She never told Luke he couldn’t say anything, which is sort of on her. She still doubts he would’ve. 

“I knew when you fought Luke that first time,” he says, and at the look of horror on her face his tone becomes much gentler, soothing. “It was like looking in the mirror in some ways, but mostly I saw your grandmother’s fire and my sadness. And you were just a little girl, just seventeen years old, and my heart broke.” 

Nothing. She has nothing, and yet she has everything. She wants to ask everything and anything but all she can do is crumble, hiccupping in her silent sobs, her nose leaking snot most unbecoming.  

He doesn’t care. He sees her and he is wistful.  

In one world she could’ve been a Kenobi. In another, a Kryze. She isn’t certain if she wants to be a Skywalker yet; all she knows is that she, only if he wants it to, both wants to be railed by him so hard she can’t walk for days and also be the first person he sees when he wakes up in the morning and last when he goes to sleep at night. That isn’t here nor there. The present is now so when she finds her voice, she tells her grandfather her name with her head held high. Snot and all. “My name is Mara Jade.” 

“Hello there,” the ghost beams, his grin all teeth, but it reaches his eyes, and they twinkle like little stars. “It’s an honor to properly meet you at last.”

[thefangirlthatwaited]

Encounter (Chapter 152) - A Destiny 2 Story

Crow x Guardian

“You want to find a way to circumvent Riven’s wish?” I asked.

“Yes, but I cannot guarantee the results. We may have to honour the bargain if we cannot convince Riven otherwise.”

I looked at Crow, and he looked as unsure as I did. “If we must,” I said, sounding defeated.

“Thank you, Ruby.” She replied, but her body language said there was more to it. The way she kept looking at Crow gave the impression she wanted to say something with him out of earshot. 

“You would be correct.” Mara’s voice in my head surprised me, but I kept calm so I wouldn’t alert Crow.

I turned to Crow. “Could you contact the team and update them on the situation?” I asked.

“Uh, sure. What are you going to do in the meantime?”

I looked at the portal, and Crow understood. “Okay. I’ll meet up with you later.”

“Thanks, Love.” With a quick kiss, Crow returned to our office, leaving me with the Queen. I turned to her, arms crossed, ready for whatever bullshit she had planned.

“Peace, Ruby,” Mara said, sensing my disdain. “I asked for you to distract Crow so we may speak openly about a subject you may not want him to know.”

I lowered my guard. “What did you want to discuss?”

“Your powers.” She replied.

“I assume you don’t mean my Light.”

“No.” Mara motioned for me to sit as she took her spot on her throne. “Since our last encounter on the Shadow Legion ship, have your powers changed?”

“No. I’ve barely thought about them.”

Mara nodded. “Good.”

“There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

“When you grabbed the tooth, you heard whispers,” Mara stated.

“I-I did. But I blocked them out.”

Mara smiled, actually smiled, and it creeped me out. “That’s wonderful. This warning may not be useful, but I will issue it regardless. Riven is still powerful even without her corporeal form. You have seen these powers firsthand, not only as Ruby but Aurora as well. You were the one who found Riven.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Riven will try to weave her way into your mind; you must keep her out. As Aurora, I wanted to keep you and Uldren away from her, and I failed. Now, I must throw you into her lair, but you can prepare yourself this time. Close your mind and focus only on the task at hand. One slip and the Ahamkara will dig her claws into you, just as she did when she used you and Petra to curse the Dreaming City.” Keep me from Riven. If what Mara said was true, that explained a lot, but I still didn’t trust her.

“I will heed your warning, Mara. Thank you.”

She stood and dug something from behind her throne. “I had my techeuns prepare some literature for you regarding telepathic powers and how to create a shield against unwanted intrusions into your mind. Aurora had a natural shield that I was never able to pass. As Ruby, you have lost that capability, but I know with a little work, you can regain it, and it could even be used to shield Crow.” 

I chuckled. Using Crow to get me to use my magic was smart. I’d do anything to protect him. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Riven awaits for you. I wish you could prepare your mind, but if you were able to keep the whispers at bay earlier, then you should be able to keep her silent for a brief period.” I nodded. “Good luck, Ruby.”

Full Chapter on Ao3

[concentratedbitterness]

The Pools

October 31, 2022: Purgatory

***

“Mierda!” 

Malcolm hears the curse Augusto shouts, flanked on either side by a crash of thunder from the torrential storm passing over, and the equally loud crash of glass beakers shattering on the laboratory floor.  The former hunter spins around, already knowing he is not going to like what he sees.  A whole tray of precious samples from the lithium pools beneath Purgatory’s palace lies in a sopping, contaminated mess at the other alchemist’s feet. 

“Lo siento…” Augusto murmurs, already crouched down and reaching for the nearest shard of glass in the puddle of water on the floor.

Except that it’s not just water.  “No!” Mal hollers, “--No…No, no toques eso…”

Augusto goes still as the realization hits him, and hurriedly steps back.  Not for the first time, Malcolm struggles to reconcile the man’s brilliance with his utter lack of common sense.

“That was the last of our samples from the pools,” Mal mutters, more to himself than to his companion.  Augusto’s English is slowly improving, but not so quickly as his Russian.  That was the last of it, the thought comes again, intrusively, and with it the growing awareness that every time-sensitive experimental trial reliant upon those samples has been plunged into imminent jeopardy.  A glance at the clock on the wall doesn’t help.  “Mierda,” he hears himself echo Augusto’s curse as he pushes a hand through his hair to clear it from his face; worry settling like a boulder on his chest. 

“Una hora,” Augusto notes, seeming to read Malcolm’s thoughts.  One hour until the experiments fail for lack of the essential variable.  One hour until weeks of work is wasted and will need to begin anew.  

Mal knows what he has to do.  “Pídele a Sidirov que te ayude a limpiar esto.  Usar guantes,” he hurriedly instructs the other alchemist, already moving across the lab to stuff the necessary collection equipment into a field pack.  “Vuelvo in quince minutos.”  

***

There are a lot of things he’s not supposed to do in Purgatory.  Most things.  Leaving the laboratory without an escort.  Venturing anywhere near the palace without express permission.  Portaling.  He understands why.  He knows better; knows that no one making these rules will be able to grasp the urgency or the extenuating nature of the circumstances quite so pointedly as him.  He knows if he’s caught, he won’t like the consequences. 

He does it anyway. 

The great cavern is vast enough that even with a lantern in hand to aid the ethereal glow of the mysterious pools a human cannot see from one end to the other.  It is far from quiet, however; the sounds of water trickling down through the bedrock and swirling in the pools is ever present.  Malcolm makes his way quickly to the largest of the basins, slipping on a pair of protective gloves and readying his collection equipment.  It takes some careful effort to kneel down at the edge; his dud leg straining to accommodate the prosthetic in a steady position as he shifts his center of gravity to reach out over the water–the not water–with his tongs and collection vessels.  Three will do, at least until he can arrange for a sanctioned visit to obtain more.  When the first flask is filled, he covers it and sets it aside, moving to repeat the process.

“Ostanavlivat'sya!” Someone shouts, guttural and commanding; the order accented with the metallic click of a firearm’s safety being disengaged.

Precariously as he is perched at the ledge, Mal cannot help but to instinctively look back over his shoulder.  Two hulking figures clad in now familiar Siatris uniforms stand with weapons trained on him, but they are not the threat which sends his heart pounding into his throat.  There beyond them, visible only by the faint glow of the water’s light, stands a woman dripping in silk and pearls.  She’s wearing a new face, but he would know her even if his eyes were burned from his skull.  Mara.

Malcolm feels the panic shoot through his veins like morphine; numbing and seeming to make time stand still in the paralyzing moment.  Something gives way under his knee, and his breath catches in his throat.  Perhaps if his other leg had been the steady one he might have caught himself, but there is no finesse to his control of the prosthetic.  Suddenly he’s tumbling forward into the fathomless blue.

Until, just as suddenly, he’s not.

He can feel his whole body trembling even as it is suspended motionless as if held aloft by an unseen hand, his face millimeters from the surface of the pool.  One tousled lock of hair falls free from the hastily tied bundle at the back of his head, ever so gently brushing the water.  In that moment he looks into the depths below, and he sees something there are no words to describe.  With everything in his soul, he wants to reach out and touch it…

He doesn’t have the chance.

Some unnatural force hauls him bodily back onto solid ground, dropping him unceremoniously onto the polished stone with a thud.  A soft, sweet female voice cuts through the alchemist’s disorientation.      

“Careless imbecile,” she notes matter-of-factly, waving off the two guards who appear ready to beat him unconscious as she steps near enough that Malcolm can clearly see the details of her latest stolen form.  This one is older than she likes them, but petite and delicate.  Pretty.  Intentionally disarming.  He knows better.  She purses her lips.  “You look like shit.”

“I fell,” he manages, because he doesn’t know what else to say.  It’s less an explanation than it is a question, because for the life of him Mal doesn’t know how to ask the one that’s at the forefront of his mind; why did you save me?

Mara only stares at him for a moment; her expression a mask of careful apathy.  He knows better than that, too.  There are forty-seven years of unfinished business, unresolved grievances, and pure unadulterated spite behind that stare…and yet, for all that he can feel the tension thick enough to cut through with a knife, there’s something markedly different about her.  She doesn’t smell like sulfur anymore.  She smells like rain.

“--Mara…” Mal begins, until he is abruptly interrupted by Purgatory’s Queen. 

“Would it kill you to eat a fucking salad?”

Over the din of trickling water Mal hears Ray’s unmistakable guffaw.  He turns his head to find the source of it, and spots the other demon watching from the shadows.  When he looks back in front of him, the Queen is no longer standing there.  The two guards are, however, though he hasn’t but an instant to realize it before the sharp pain of a solid whack with the butt of a gun cracks against his temple.  The blue glow around him turns to black.

He dreams of what he saw beneath the water.

[thanks-its-a-trauma-response]

The Familiars: Mara and Saru

Part One of Three

Saru purred contentedly as she bathed her kittens.  They snuggled together in a small burrow under a large oak. Some other animal had dug the burrow and then abandoned it long ago.  She was grateful for the small space, warm and dry and perfect for the first weeks of her new litter's life. 

Her tongue worked quickly, deftly passing over every inch of the four babies. She purred as she worked, an old healing spell of vigor and health that her own mother had purred to her, many seasons ago. Her first born, Mara snuggled against her chest. As the only female of the litter, she was the strongest and her stuttering attempts at mimicking her mother's purrs were endearing to Saru. Saru affectionately licked the top of her head, unashamed that Mara was her heart's favorite. 

She continued the bathing, working her way down the little body until she encountered something that had been worrying her. Something was not quite right with one of Mara's back legs. She sniffed carefully, looking for any signs of illness or injury, but as always Mara's scent was healthy and strong. Whatever she was feeling must not be serious she reasoned; her nose had never failed to detect trouble in the past. 

She tucked the troubling thought away in her mind and resumed her purring ritual. Her children were healthy and strong and she would not lose sleep over a frivolous thought. Soon the small cave was quiet as they all slept soundly. 

*****

Saru sat atop an old log, watching her children frolic beside the small stream. She had been bringing them here every day, showing them how to carefully lap at the moving water and letting them play with the pebbles and dry leaves nearby.  She had spent her own kittenhood here and trusted the safety of the small clearing. Few other animals ventured this far downstream; even so, she kept a sharp eye on the edges of the clearing, listening and smelling the air for any sign of intrusion. 

Her eyes wandered to Mara, as they had more and more lately. The kitten ran and played with her brothers, but her stride was wobbly and erratic. Saru tried not to think about what she had found when she had finally brought them out into the sunlight. Mara's back left leg was deformed, there was no doubt about it now. In the bright light of the day, she had seen how the leg twisted and turned, ending far short of the ground. Her instincts told her that the kit could not survive like that, that it would be kinder to smother her in her sleep than to face the suffering that was sure to come. 

But her heart ached at the thought. This was her Mara, her first born, her only daughter. The precious babe who had snuggled against her trustingly, the first to learn the lullaby purr, the one whose scent was healthier and stronger than any other of the litter. She simply could not bring herself to do what any other mother would. She was weak and she was cowardly, but she could not do it. 

She watched as Mara played with her brothers. She ran with a wobbling, loping gait and when she jumped, her bad leg flailed around in the air as if searching for purchase that it would never find. The kit worked harder to keep up, expending far more energy than her brothers, but she was keeping up. 

Maybe, Saru thought to herself,  maybe she can make it. Maybe she is so strong that she can survive just by her will.  She shook her head at the thought, knowing it was just a hopeful fantasy. But it was also her only hope. 

*****

Saru!

The hail came from the edge of the clearing, but she did not startle. Saru had been smelling the visitor for a while and had recognized the scent of her litter mate. She stood, taking a quasi defense pose out of habit. Mara, ever alert, noticed immediately and mewled at her brothers to take cover. They all scrambled into the nearby bushes, settling on their haunches in silence and watching for the danger. 

Satisfied that the kits were secure, Saru turned her attention to her sister, now emerging from the woods. The two cats were nearly identical in size, both muscular and healthy and fur shining with the glow of good health.  But while Saru’s coat was bluish gray, Uma’s coat was golden and striped. Though they had not seen each other since last summer, her appearance had not changed.

She stood patiently, waiting for a signal that she could approach. 

Confident that the feline was alone, Saru relaxed and sat,  curling her tail around her feet as a sign of calm and trust. 

Uma! She called happily. My dearest sister!  

Saru! The other cat trilled as she trotted toward the log, ah, my Saru! You look so well, so healthy!

The two cats paused, noses not quite touching as they examined each other's scent. 

Ah, yes you are healthy sister! And do I smell motherhood on you? Uma pulled back to regard Saru closely. Saru smiled and lowered her eyes. 

Yes, my Uma, I am a mother!  The kits are healthy and strong!  She smiled with a mother's pride and glanced to the bushes where her children still hid.

Uma's eyes widened as she followed Sau's gaze. Though the two had always been unusually close, it was rare for a mother to allow another to view her kittens until they were well grown. Uma had not yet had her first litter and was humbled by the honor.

Saru trilled at her kittens, a higher sound than she had used when speaking with her sister.  The boys crawled from under the bushes cautiously, moving towards the newcomer slowly. Uma gasped at them, awed by their delicate movements as they crept up to her. They sniffed at her feet and tail curiously, as she gently smelled them back. 

Oh, she sighed, only boys? She looked at her sister with pity. Boys were known for being delicate of health in their kittenhood; girls were stronger and more likely to survive any illness or famine they might have to endure. 

Saru shook her head, turning proudly to where Mara had finally emerged from hiding. 

Ah, my! What a beautiful girl, my Saru! 

Uma frowned as Mara slowly began to make her way over. The kit hopped and hobbled, moving more like a weasel than a cat. As the kitten approached, Uma bared her teeth instinctively. The kit looked at her curiously but continued to move toward her. Uma leaned away from her inquiring sniffs, but was surprised to hear her speak in the lower tones of the adults. 

Mama, who is this?  She smells like you almost. Mara looked at her mother expectantly. 

This is your Uma, Saru replied. She smells like me because she is my littermate. Saru blinked slowly at the kit before turning back to her sister. Uma, this is my Mara, my first born. 

Uma! Mara exclaimed happily. My Uma!

Uma looked at the kit again and hesitantly sniffed to catch her smell. But where she expected to smell sickness and disease, she only caught a healthy and strong scent. She looked at Mara in wonder. 

So young, but so smart and so healthy, she thought to herself. But then, what makes her walk so strangely?

She leaned forward, examining the girl with her nose, searching for the source of the difference in her. She found the back leg, too short and turned up toward the sky; Uma jerked back in dismay. The kitten didn't notice, her attention now locked on the antics of her brothers, who had returned to their play. She scampered awkwardly over to them, pouncing on one and causing him to wail in indignation. 

Saru… Uma paused, unsure how to proceed. Saru, her leg…

Saru did not respond, instead gazing intently at her children. 

Saru, she tried again.  Saru, she cannot possibly survive! How could you have let her go on like that?

Saru turned slowly to face her sister and Uma saw the torment in her eyes, the sadness, the fear. 

I know, Saru replied quietly. But I cannot….I cannot do what should be done. 

Uma watched her for a moment, before cautiously speaking. 

If you cannot, perhaps I should…

NO! Saru yowled, her hackles raising slightly. She stopped herself, realizing that the kits had frozen and were watching her intensely. She calmed herself, smoothing her fur and calling out a comforting trill to let them know they were safe. They returned to their games and she watched them as she spoke. 

I know that it is wrong. But I cannot help it. She cannot come to any harm. I will die before that happens. 

Uma looked at her sister. She thought back to her own kittenhood, when famine had hit the woods hard. Their brothers had not survived their hunger and in the end, it had only been her, Saru and their mother. She remembered her mother giving them all the food that she was able to find, taking nothing for herself. She remembered how their mother had grown weaker and weaker, until one day they had awakened to find her gone. They had never found her and Uma knew that she went off by herself to die of her starvation. She had not understood what had driven such sacrifice. 

Looking at her sister, she wondered if it was simply something that happened in motherhood. She decided to hold her tongue for now, as Saru obviously did not want to hear the hard truth. 

She settled on the log next to her sister and watched the kittens play. Mara was clearly the smartest and, in spite of her leg, she was also the best fighter. She could almost keep up with the boys when they ran, but she chose to fall behind and disappear behind a log or under a bush. When her brother crept back to look for her, she would always jump out from an unexpected hiding spot and pounce upon him. Once she had them down, she had the upper hand, able to twist and turn in ways they could not to get in better bites and wriggle from their grasp. 

Perhaps I'm wrong about her, thought Uma, then abruptly shook her head to chase away the ridiculous thought. 

*****

Uma and Saru sat side by side on the log, as they had every day for the last two weeks. The kittens played along the stream ranging farther from the adults each day. They were growing stronger each day, the boys had all become stocky and wide like Uma and Saru. Mara had grown tall and lanky, her muscles growing long and lean with the extra effort needed to keep up with her brothers. She still managed to keep up when they ran and she could still win in any fair fight. But it was becoming obvious that she had one serious shortcoming: she was unable to jump to any height. 

The boys could all jump several times their own height, further if they had a running start. But Mara consistently had trouble jumping even her own height, instead using her brute upper body strength to climb to the same height whenever the terrain allowed. Uma and Saru had observed this with a growing unease, knowing that this might be the girl's fatal flaw. Jumping high was often a cat's best defense to escape a predator and a cat who could not jump would not be able to hunt well. 

Uma had tried a couple of times to broach the subject of Mara with her sister, but each time Saru cut her off. And truth be told, it has not taken long for the little one to endear herself to Uma. Her intelligence, bravery and determination were impressive, especially in one so young. Even more than that, her kind heart and gentle spirit were enough to melt even Uma's concerns. 

But now, she watched the kit with a measure of dread. It had been a mistake to not take action before. Now the kit was too old to consider a kind and gentle death. Uma shuddered as she considered the girl's most likely future, out on her own and slowly starving when she couldn't catch her prey. She looked to her sister and felt compassion swell in her. 

We need to talk about Mara. Uma waited, but Saru did not meet her eyes. She stared stoically at her children, as if her sister had not spoken. 

I know how you feel, my Saru. But something must be done. You cannot send her out into the world, it would condemn her to death. And a horrible death, at that. Still Saru did not acknowledge her sister, instead remaining deep in her contemplation of the kittens. 

Saru...I have a thought. I do not know what you would think of it, but… it might save her. It might give her a chance to live. At this, Saru finally turned to face her sister, eyes wide in an unspoken question. Uma glanced towards the kits, seeing that they had moved close enough to possibly overhear. 

Tonight, when they sleep, will you come out to meet me? I will tell you then and you can see how you feel. Saru stared into Uma's eyes before finally nodding hesitantly. 

*****

Saru stretched and gently pulled herself from underneath the warm pile of her offspring. She had just reached the mouth of the cave when Mara's small voice carried to her ears. 

Mama, what are you doing? Where are you going?  Saru turned back towards the cave, catching a glimmer of eye reflection as Mara blinked sleepily at her. 

I'm going to speak with Uma, she purred gently. You stay here and keep your brothers safe. I won't be long. 

Okay, Mama. She yawned and blinked again, finally closing her eyes and settling back down. Saru watched until she was sure Mara was asleep, then slunk out of the cave into the night. 

*****

Uma was already sitting on the log when Saru finally arrived. She padded quietly over to sit beside her. 

I cannot bear the thought of harm coming to her. Saru watched the reflections of the stars on the surface of the trickling stream.. 

I know, my Saru. Uma followed her gaze, grateful for the dark that enveloped them. I would not see harm come to her either. But it will come, if we do not do something. The woods will send trouble for her, sooner rather than later I think. Uma sighed and finally looked at her sister. She needs to be somewhere that is safe. 

Saru dropped her gaze to the ground. She… she could stay with me  and I could keep her safe. She raised her eyes hopefully. 

Uma sighed and chose her words carefully. You would not be keeping her safe - you would only be endangering yourself. You know this, you just do not wish to see it. 

Saru dropped her gaze again and did not reply. Several moments passed in silence before Uma finally spoke again. 

I told you that I had a thought. I do not know what you will think. It is a desperate, last resort, but... I have seen it work. 

Saru turned fully to face her sister, curiosity and desperation warring across her face. What is it, my Uma?

It was Uma's turn to drop her gaze. She feared her sister's reaction, but no matter how hard she thought on the matter, there seemed no better option. 

Last summer, when we parted, I traveled east towards the rising sun. I walked for many days and found a lovely field - so full of flowers! And rabbits, so many rabbits that a family of cats could live on forever!  She smiled at the recollection, feeling the warmth of the summer sun and the scrabbling sounds of the rabbits in the bushes. It was truly wonderful and I would have stayed forever had winter not fallen. Uma looked out at the river, its babble barely a whisper in the driest time of the year. 

I was not prepared for the first snow. It came quickly, sneaking in like a thief during the night without any warning. When I had climbed into my burrow that evening, there was not even a chill in the air. The sky growled and flashed during the night, as it does with the hard rains. The morning light seemed late in coming, and when I finally crept out,  I saw why. The sky had filled with clouds of snow that fell hard, fast and thick and blocked out the sun. The grass was already almost covered and I had not saved any food nor had I gorged myself in preparation. 

Saru gasped, transfixed by the story. She remembered the first snow vividly - it had crept up in the middle of the night on her also, though the chill had just been starting when she'd bedded down for the night. She had gorged herself on squirrels earlier in the day and had been able to wait out the storm.  But a cat caught in such a storm without an overly full belly was in serious danger of starving. She wondered how her sister had managed to survive. 

I thought… well, I panicked.  I thought I could hunt and find a rabbit that had been as foolhardy as I had been. I set out across the snow while it was still falling.

Again, Saru gasped - one of the first rules of the snow was to never move while it fell from the sky. It would eat your tracks and leave you wandering and lost, to die of starvation or cold. 

Yes, the first thing we were taught not to do.  But I was so very frightened. And I realized just how alone I was as I trudged through the cold. I had not gone far when I realized my mistake. It was far too cold and I was already growing tired. But I could no longer see the way back to my den. And so I tried to carry on, foolishly hoping that I would somehow find a safe place. 

I walked with my head down, stubbornly pushing through the snow as it grew deeper. I was slowing, growing tired, growing cold and growing weak. And then, I suddenly realized that I had reached the top of a hill. As I looked down the other side, I saw that the field continued over the hill and down a slope to the woods. And just at the end of the clearing, there was…

Uma paused, unsure how to continue. Saru leaned forward, captivated by the story. 

What was it, my Uma? What did you see?

Uma sighed and finally turned to meet her sister's gaze. 

It was a human den. 

No! Saru gasped and flinched as though she had been struck. She looked at Uma pleadingly as if begging her not to continue. Uma turned away, sighing. 

The snow was to my chest by then. It was hard to keep walking, I had to struggle for each step. I could not tell how much light was left in the day. My paws had begun to burn and ache. And I was so very, very tired. I wanted to lay down and rest, but I feared that I would not awaken. 

I was facing death, I think. My mind was not working well. I could not seem to catch my breath.  And the light that glowed inside the human den promised warmth and comfort.  I knew that it was dangerous, foolhardy even.  But my desperation drove me down that hill, to where the glow of the humans’ light fell on the snow just outside their den.  I cried out with all my might, calling for help, begging for mercy.  But there was no stirring from within.  My heart sank, for I had been so sure that this was my only slight chance of surviving - and now it seemed that it had been but a fantasy to even entertain the thought.  I finally collapsed in the snow, unable to stand any longer.  And as I lay there,knowing that the cold was draining my life away, I called out like a child for our mother.  

Uma sat quietly for a moment, the emotion that had been creeping into her voice finally overtaking her.  After several deep breaths, she continued.

And that is when I heard the stirring from within.  It was a gentle rustling, only momentary.  But my mind had gone strange by that point and I was convinced that our mother was inside, that she had heard my cries.  And so, I cried out for her again, wailing in the child’s tongue. 

The rustling came again and I could tell that it was moving towards me.  Suddenly, part of the den came open and the light spilled out onto the snow where I lay.  I could feel warmth, like a bright summer sun radiating from within.  And in the center of the light, stood a human.

Saru held her breath, entranced by the story.  She had leaned forward again, as though trying to physically catch the words as they rolled from her sister.

It was tall, so tall!  Almost as tall as the trees by the stream.  It was pale and almost without fur, although what it did have fell from its head down its back.  I started at the sight of it and its eyes found me immediately.  I could only cower and continued to cry like a babe, my fear was so great.  It spoke to me, and oh how I wish I could describe how its voice chirped and sang back to me in a strange and warped mimicry of the child’s tongue.  Its words were babbling nonsense, but the pitch was so close to my own that I knew it was trying to speak with me.  

I tried then to speak the adult words to it, to tell it that I meant no harm, that I was dying and seeking mercy.  But it did not hear me, I am sure of it.  It looked at me expectantly and warbled a child’s cry at me.  I was stunned, for I did not know that they could speak to us like that.  But that was the only tongue it could hear or speak.  And so, I cried like a child begging for comfort from its mother.  It came towards me and bent down, and then gently, oh so gently, it picked me up out of the snow and held me.  For a moment, I wanted to struggle but then the warmth of its body crept through my wet fur and I could only purr in excitement.  That seemed to please it, for it warbled at me again.  And then it carried me into its den.

Saru gasped again.  Uma’s story was incredible, but she was overwhelmed at even the thought of her sister being in the clutches of one of the most dangerous creatures that their kind knew.  It was common knowledge that humans were cruel and unpredictable things to be avoided at all costs.  They often attacked without provocation, running and yowling at any animal that ventured too close to their dens.  There were stories, of course, of humans showing kindness to animals in distress, but Saru had never believed them.  Uma’s story left her feeling uncomfortable and uncertain and she was not sure that she could stand to hear anymore of it.

My Uma, I….I do not know what to think of this.  Please, do not tell me more.  I cannot…I do not wish to know how you think this might help Mara.

And with that, Saru stood and began to walk quietly back to her den where her children slept.  Uma stood and watched her, blinking at the sudden departure.  When Saru had disappeared from view, Uma sighed and turned back towards her own den.  She had known that her story would be upsetting for Saru, but could only hope that with time her sister would be willing to hear more.

Click here for Part Two

Click here for Part Three

[lorettapetrichor]

It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon when a knock came at Phoebe's door at two o'clock sharp. She was not expecting visitors nor parcels, but she scrambled down the stairs in her leggings and sweatshirt to answer the door. Phoebe unlocked it, pulled it open--and blinked.

A walrus, with sleek tusks, a bristly face, and breath smelling of old fish, sat at her doorstep. He was slightly damp, with a puddle underneath him. "Um," Phoebe said, and closed the door. Her thoughts whirled in her head, as she turned around and leaned against the door with her back to the walrus on the other side. After a moment's pause, she opened it again, just to make sure she wasn't losing her mind. The walrus had not moved. It merely blinked at her with doleful brown eyes. "Um, hello," Phoebe said. The walrus snorted. Phoebe leaned out the door--as much as she could around the one-ton pinniped, at least--and looked up and down the street. There was no vehicle large enough to transport an animal of its size in sight. She wasn't quite sure what to do. She was quite sure the walrus would not fit through the door.

Instead, she closed it a second time and hoped the walrus would leave. She heard a heavy thump-slapping sound after a short time, and when she looked again, it was gone.

At three o'clock, another knock came. A bit frazzled from the prior experience that afternoon--the only proof her sanity was intact was the half-dried puddle of saltwater that stunk of rotten seaweed beside her doormat--Phoebe ran to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. A strange woman, perhaps in her early twenties like herself--though the longer Phoebe looked at her face, the harder it was to pin down her age--stood at the threshold. 

"Greetings. It's a lovely day, isn't it?" When the woman smiled, she seemed to have too many teeth.

"No thank you I don't want to buy anything and I don't want to invite any walruses over for dinner thank you and goodbye!" Phoebe rattled off, preparing to slam the door in her face.

"Oh! Was he a bother to you? I'm terribly sorry. He was a way of wandering off, you know."

"Excuse me? I very much do not know! I have never seen a walrus in person, even at a zoo! It's kind of a bizarre experience to find one at your doorstep, you know! Why, yes, it's possible, but it's not an everyday scenario let alone one I'd consider at all probable! How can he be your walrus? That can't be legal. And you just bring him through town with you freely? I've never heard from anyone else about a mysterious walrus delivery. I'm sure the only people who wouldn't be taken aback would be some native Canadian in an igloo where the walruses wander around in herds or pods or whatever it is that they have! I can't imagine an explanation for a walrus showing up at my doorstep without involving magic in the solution somehow, and I purely believe in science, you know! Sure, I said I believed in fairies in second grade, but that was all just make-believe, I never actually believed my own stories! Sure, walruses exist, but why on Earth would one be at my door of all people? Why would it knock? Do you know something about this? My god, I thought I was losing my mind!"

The woman smiled again. "Fairies, you say?"

She snapped her fingers, and in a burst of stardust and a fair fluttering blur, a pale brown pair of moth wings appeared at her back. "My name is Mara Llywelyn. Could I have yours?" She reached out a pale, freckled hand for a handshake, and Phoebe jerked back.

"Yes, I'm Phoe--wait, oh, YOU!" Phoebe gasped.

"It was worth a shot," Mara sighed, a twinkle in her eye.

"It was--it was you earlier?"

"Yes, I apologize for the intrusion." Mara snapped her fingers again, and deftly caught the miniaturized walrus she had just made appear from thin air in front of her face.

"You know, with this as an explanation, the whole walrus thing makes a lot more sense," said Phoebe to no one in particular. "I already didn't believe in fairies--sure--but with these two happening in one day? I know that's not how statistics work but I'm more willing to accept this as correlation than as some bizarre coincidence. Oh, hey, there's a goddamn walrus at my door. Oh, hey, magic is real. Oh, hey, the walrus is here because of magic. Oh! Hey! The fairy who lost her giant marine mammal showed up at my door and asked for my name, which you aren't gonna get from me, by the way! Did you teach him how to knock? Does he just do that? I wasn't ready to contend with magic being real but I guess if a walrus decides to go porch hopping I might as well suspend my disbelief for the rest of the day! Obviously it would be possible for a walrus to get there even if it would be pretty goddamn strange but well, fairies are real now so whatever! I wasn't ready to deal with the 'hey, Phoebe, magic is real, that didn't ever stop being a thing that was true, by the way' revelation today, let alone that being tossed at me by a member of the literal fae, but hell if it makes the loitering walrus a bit more probable even if it's out of left field on its own, I'll accept that. Fairies are real, I guess! A walrus can do as it pleases at this point! If you'd shown up first that would've been more of a worldview-rocking existential crisis and the walrus would've been pretty chill once I'd gotten over that and probably given my name away while still stunned--if you're still after that, you might as well leave, by the way--but hell, I'm ready to believe whatever at this point. I guess this is happening now. Ok, sure, magic is real. I'll take that. My worldview is reshaped forever and walruses knock politely. What else is new? Is there anything else you want?"

She was left panting, realizing as she finished that she was clinging to the doorframe like she might faint. She wasn't sure if the cause was shock over the existence of magic or her excessive rant depriving herself of breath.

Mara blinked at her. Her eyes were gray like faint, pale nebulae on a dark night. She slipped the tiny walrus into her pocket. "Well," she started, somehow stunned silent by her sudden monologue, "I merely wished to stop by. I do hope my presence did not upset you! Very well. Goodbye, Phoebe." Mara's wings fluttered like a moth stuck behind a curtain, and she darted up and out of view.

She stood at her doorstep a moment longer before closing the door. "What a strange day," she sighed as she wandered to the living room and sat down in an armchair. After a moment, she sat bolt upright, jaw agape. "Goddamnit!" she cursed.

I wasn't ready to deal with the 'hey, ------, magic is real, that didn't ever stop being a thing that was true, by the way' revelation today--

"You idiot," she hissed to herself, and dashed back to the door. When she opened it, a note fluttered to the ground. She picked it up and unfolded it. It was written in gold cursive.

Sorry about that. I really needed a good name for my walrus and I think Phoebe worked quite well. I'm sure you can find your own! You'll find me if you need me. xoxo Mara Llywelyn, Light-Seeker. "Mara!" she shouted at the sky. For a moment, a glimmer of movement caught her eye from one of the trees in her front yard. Mara sat on one of its branches swinging her feet playfully. In her hand, she held Phoebe the walrus, still shrunk to a few inches tall. A blink later, and Mara and Phoebe had both vanished. She sat down on her threshold and let it all sink in in numb shock. A strange day, indeed.