#slavery au prompt

[madmanwonder]

Prompt

Fusion Slavery: Combat Slave & Gladiator Slave AU

Pyrrha has been a gladiator and a combat warrior for a long time but always avoided being a slave for someone specific. Of course when the Arc family wants to get her for their only son she goes to decline... until she sees Jaune himself and it is instant love and she changes her tune. He is reluctant in owning a slave... but Pyrrha is insistent on this.

Love At First Sight Meme

As long she can remember. She was both gladiator and combat warrior slave who earn fame and infamy for being masterless slave who gone unattached to anyone in specific...

"I am Jaune Arc. As of today, I'm your, uh, first actual and permanent master...." Jaune said in a sheepish tone of voice, looking at her with big bashful grin and wide-eyed blue eyes that stare at her with friendliness and compassion.

...Until the Arc Family bought her for her combat skill in hope of protecting their sole son and perhaps teaching him few combat skills so he would die prematurely. Pyrrha knew of this, but as she look at the blonde man no older than her with blank look on her face but beating heart...

"My name is Pyrrha Nikos. Combat and Gladiator Slave..."

...it was at the moment she had fallen deep in love with the man who will be her first and last master as long she breathes.

[nerdpoe]

Government Dog AU

The US Government has a very strong, very unknown meta that they use to threaten the Justice League when they feel the Justice League goes too far.

He is rarely brought out, he's taller than Superman, and every time the League thinks they know what he can do, they're surprised by more.

He's got white hair, green eyes, and can literally possess any leaguer and force them to do what the government said anyways.

They suspect something is off, but any attempts to reason with the meta are rebuffed with a punch.

Impulse sees him once, and while he hovers behind the General threatening Superman, Impulse zeroes in on one thing.

That meta is wearing a collar. It's well disguised, but that's a collar. He'd recognize one anywhere, being as recognizing one meant surviving in the Future.

He glances at Red Robin.

Red Robin nods subtly back.

Impulse launches forward and attaches himself to the big, scary meta's front.

The meta's hands dart out to grab him, and Impulse dodges, tricking the meta into crushing his own collar.

Everyone goes quiet.

The meta holds the crumpled collar in his hands.

"...I'm...free?"

[disastertriowriting]

This is our fill for "Gladiator AU". :D

Sold from one owner to the next after his dragon abilities are discovered, Anakin finally ends up with Obi-Wan as his... handler. Except, Obi-Wan isn't a slaver like all the others, and he's also far nicer. And Anakin can do little to free the young Togruta Jedi, Ahsoka, who was recently sold into slavery, no matter how hard he tries. The most he can do is help her survive.

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Person A sold themself as a minor to the local fighting arena after forging their parent’s signature, so that all the money they make in matches is sent to their parents, since their family is poor. All they have to do is keeping surviving and winning fights for their family to keep getting an income, while also not having to spend money feeding or caring for them. But Person A notices something strange about the arena in the private ‘rooms’/cells where the fighters are kept - there’s a strange freezer in the center, that their room is next too. One day, when being brought out of their room for a match, they see the door to the large freezer open and a curled up, seemingly sleeping but shivering person on the ground, with the owner of the arena and a visitor standing over them. Person A has never seen them as a fighter and has never seen the freezer opened in the long time they’ve been a fighter there. Person B, the person in the freezer, is a god of life and health, and the arena owner acquired them and keeps them in the freezer to keep them in a dormant/sleeping state,  and placed the freezer among the fighters’ rooms to make them heal up faster, for more impressive battles and less loss of fighters from various injuries. The better a fighter is, the closer they’re placed to the freezer to get the most benefit from the life god’s passive powers. Person A eventually catches the eye of the child of the arena owner and is freed to be their trophy spouse, and Person A’s spouse ends up inheriting the arena when the owner dies, and Person A has the opportunity to find out more about Person B and decides to let them wake up and find out more about them and how they ended up there.

[thecitythatdoesntsleep]

MAY 2ND “BEG TO DIFFER”

Denial | Confined | Eye contact || @themerrywhumpofmay​

(TCW: intimidation, harsh language, implied insane/psychotic whumper, flashbacks to medical procedures, captivity, slavery, vampire whumpee, human whumper, genderless prompt)

"Look at me."

Whumpee growled, unearthly, glowing eyes snapping towards the human.

"You're safe here, if you're good,” Whumper informed, an even, gentle tone laid in their voice. “But you need to act like a person, instead of a rabid dog.”

“Why the fuck should I listen to you.. When I’m still in a fucking cage where your men put me.” The vampire hissed, lips flared and eyes still ablaze in hatred. They looked at the human without fear, without intimidation and Whumper seemed pleased to stare them down, right back. 

“I need to know you’re going to be obedient, and not make me have to hurt you.” Whumper replied with a smooth crouch, coming to level their stances and look at the swirling cores of inhuman strength. The cage wasn’t stopping them. They both knew that. 

“If you think you’re safe because I’m in here, you’re wrong,” Whumpee voiced what they both knew and it only earned a sly, smug looking smile to spread across Whumper’s lips. 

“We both have surprises, about us Whumpee. But the fact you’re still in that cage, tells me you’re a little more intimidated than you’d like to admit.” Whumper’s voice annoyed them now, how calm, how collected it was. 

Their heart was level, if not a tad excited. They didn’t smell like fear, if anything, there was a hint of arousal in the air. Piqued interest that bordered something akin to lunacy. Something didn’t sit right about them, to be so confident and taunting while looking them eye to eye, unwavering.

Whumpee pushed further, tried to gain a reaction when their hands curled around iron bars and pried them open just a few inches. It looked like they extended the bent curve of a straw from it’s accordion pleat, seamless, like it took no strength at all. 

“There you go, what a strong vampire..” Whumper cooed in a mockingly sweet tone, eyes squinting in their smile. “I bet you can walk, too, can’t you?” 

“Of course I can fucking walk, what kind of question is that-” Whumpee snapped and they felt heat now, as the human stared into their soul and never left them without pinning eye-contact. “Let me go, so I know I can walk out of here.” 

“Oh, I can’t let you go go, but I’ll let you roam the basement for the first few weeks. It’s basically a miniature apartment so, I think it’ll do for now until I know I can trust you.” 

“Trust me?! Are you fucking crazy?! You’re not keeping me here!” Another tug and the bars bowed again, this time with intent to truly gap them but as Whumper started to laugh, they froze again. 

“I paid too much for you, you can’t leave. If you do, I’ll find you, they make sure, I can find you.” 

Whumpee grabbed a fist full of their hair when a surge of pain shot behind their eyes, lights leaving imaginary prisms behind their eyelids. Their stomach curled with tension, body prickled each nerve as if it was taking count of every extremity. 

“Gotta plant this nice a deep, so you can’t dig it out.” A man dressed like a surgeon muttered, as their restrained patient flopped against the table they’d been chained to. 

They screamed when a needle drove into the back of their neck and was rooted in deeply; jamming into spinal tissue and brainstem. Burning fluid was pushed in along with a small microchip, their body spasming in rivets of shock. Their head hit the table and foamy saliva leaked onto the surface from their parted lips, limbs twitching now in neurologically damaged spasms. 

“There, a little blood and you’ll be ready to sell.” 

“Hnh, did you just remember something? You look a little pale, well... Paler than usual.” 

Whumpee looked back at the human with a scowl and nostrils flared in disgust, hand rubbing their temple from their memory. “Who the fuck are you? How did you buy me?” 

“All you need to know right now is that you’ll be treated well here, if you can assure me you’ll be good.” Whumper spoke a bit more sternly by the end and still, left such blazing eye contact behind, keeping them pinned like a bug to a wooden pegboard. 

“You can’t just expect me to accept this-” The vampire started and Whumper gave an ironic snort. 

“I beg to differ, I have a monetary investment in you and I plan to get my moneys worth. You can either be a beloved house pet that keeps me company and we can live in harmonious bliss..” 

Whumper leaned closer, met knees to the floor and curled a hand tightly around the hand of Whumpee’s that still held to an iron bar. They stared the vampire down, clamped the others hand firmly in their own grip that they were assured it was painful. Just by the way Whumpee’s lids slightly twitched in response.

Vampires were handy creatures, when they didn’t seem to need to blink and Whumper was able to soak in every single movement they made. Every dilation in their pupils, every time they shrank to pinheads from their situation. Whumper soaked it up like a sponge. 

“Or you can make me resent my purchase and treat you like the other things I get bored of playing with.” It was unsettling, the way Whumper laughed but never seemed to close their eye’s and block off their vision of Whumpee. 

“I’m a bit of a spoiled child, you see... When I get bored of things, I break them and leave them on the floor.” 

Whumpee swallowed on their dry throat, sight darting to the hand that never seemed to run out of strength to vice grip around theirs. When they looked back, Whumper was still staring, leaning closer until their forehead was against semi-severed bars and the vampire had to lurch backward. 

“So I’ll ask again, Whumpee. Will you behave if I let you out?”

[apollo41writes]

Goodnight prompt 57/∞

Fandom: Star Wars Prequels Ship: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Qui-Gon Jinn AUs/Tropes: Historical AU Prompt: After moving to America, Obi-Wan is down on his luck and decides to pretend being a woman when answering an announcement on a newspaper. Things get complicated when he finds out his supposed "husband" isn't a businessman always traveling around for work, but an abolitionist of the Underground Railroad.

Extra details: I don't know much about american history, but this idea at first was just Obi-Wan pretending to be a woman and answering to Qui-Gon's announcement and following letters just to find a place where he could live since he was absolutely broke and unable to go back to his own home all the way on the other side of the ocean.

I just imagine Qui-Gon presenting himself as a businessman that is barely at home and needs the firm touch of a woman that can manage his estate and all of the people working for him while he's away for work.

Obi-Wan kind of sees this as a huge opportunity because if Qui-Gon isn't at the house when Obi-Wan gets there, he can just spin a lie to the rest of the staff, and try to gather some money somehow.

So he does just that, and pretends like he's the brother of the woman Qui-Gon supposedly is married to by proxy, since she got extremely sick right before she had to leave the old continent and need to gain back her strength before she embarks in the crossing.

The help is of course suspicious, but Obi-Wan is a very charming man, and he seems like he knows enough about how to run a house that nobody truly think he's up to no good.

It gets a little dicier when Obi-Wan finds papers and letters in Qui-Gon's study that make it obvious that whatever business Qui-Gon is running is just a face that hide his work for the Underground Railroad.

So, unexpectedly, Obi-Wan ends up falling in love with Qui-Gon just with the continuous exchange of letters and how the people that actually know him talks about him.

And he's aware that he's gonna end up heartbroken and on the streets when Qui-Gon finally comes back and finds out about the rouse. He is, of course, wrong. Because Qui-Gon doesn't really care that he's a man.

Especially when it's thanks to Obi-Wan if his unlawful activities aren't discovered by the authorities.

And I mean, there is space for so many other character to be there in the background that I just love the potential for this idea.

[leuchtstabrebell]

Whumptober Day 21 & 23 / Prompt: See the chains around my feet & Panic

Leia is in the mess hall with Ola, Z’khari and Jeff when the video hits the holo-net.

Bonding with the other rebels took slightly longer than expected. Leia would claim that this is because there are no jokes to make about awful cafeteria food on this particular base, where the food is actually fairly decent, which robbed them of the primary form of bonding across all military bases in the galaxy.

The others would claim that her name and former status had far more to do with it. You don’t just immediately trust a former Imperial, no matter how young they are. And even though they might be on good terms now, Leia isn’t naïve enough to believe that they trust her much more now. Still, it is nice to be surrounded by people who don’t want to stab you in the back the first chance they get.

“Oh no,” Jeff says, looking down at the small data-pad in his hands. A HoloNet news channel is playing on it.

Without another word, he pushes the pad towards Ola, Z’khari and Leia, turning on the sound at the same time.

It’s a broadcast, depicting the Emperor and Vader behind him. Leia still remembers the few times they had to produce one of those, how she hated participating in Palpatine’s propaganda. It’s the first time since Luke escaped that she has seen her father.

She tries to look for any hints on his well-being, though she can’t find any. The black armor and mask are just as menacing and impersonal as always.

Absentmindly, she notices that the footage is also playing on the holo-caster on the wall of the mess hall, though muted.

But the way he is standing behind Sidious, and Leia might be reading to much into things, but she imagines that she sees him shake slightly, like she has observed so often growing up. After every torture session, after every harsh punishment, he would stand up, not utter a word but the only thing he couldn’t stop was the shaking.

To her surprise, instead of staying the menacing background decoration he ususlly is in public, Vader steps forward and starts speaking.

Leia wishes he hadn’t. She’s always hated how the helmet twisted his voice, but this time, there is something even more wrong with it, as if each word is a torturous challenge. He talks about loyalty and strength and the enemies of the Empire, and Leia knows where this is going. Two high ranking Imperials defecting does not reflect well on the Empire, and she was already wondering when Palpatine would feel the need to do something about it. Apparently, the time has come now.

Vader starts spouting the usual nonsense, about the glory of the Empire, the mighty power of their military, the duty of every citizen to support the Empire and so on. Then he pauses slightly. If he wasn’t wearing his mask, Leia imagines, his breath would have hitched.

“It is with great regret that I now announce the rebels formerly known as Luke and Leia Vader public enemies of the Empire, and declare any bond between them and me severed,” he says, in a toneless voice. “From hereforth, they shall be treated the same as any other dangerous rebel. They have forfeit all rights to their name and former titles.” He goes on speaking but Leia can’t hear what he is saying over the ringing in her ears. She only manages to catch the last thing he says, because he has switched to huttese, and she immediately knows that it wasn’t planned by the way he hesitates, by the way Palpatine tenses up. He is speaking only to them. “May you be rejected from the name Vader and cast again to the lowly name of your birth, of those who traverse the skies.” It’s not open subordination but it comes very close. Leia can feel panic rise up in her chest.

Her father has just declared Luke and Leia traitors, and disavowed them of the name Vader. A gift. A curse.

For a moment, Leia stares at the screen, uncomprehending. Her father has stepped back behind Palpatine. She thinks, he isn’t safe. She has spent the past months pushing the thoughts away but it has haunted her ever since Luke escaped. She hasn’t felt her father’s presence in her mind for over a year. What he just did was a declaration of agency, even if not understood by most. This was foolish and lovely and oh, how she misses him. But Palpatine will suspect something, even if he can’t know.

She wonders how many people have seen this already. Her three comrades are staring at her. Actually, it feels like everyone is staring at her.

Although the broadcast is over, her head can’t stop replaying the images. Her father in the spotlight, big and dark and puppet-like. Sidious behind him. Her breath is speeding up. She knows that she is panicking. She knows that it’s an irrational useless response. She still can’t stop.

“It’s alright,” Ola says. “He can’t hurt you here.”

Jeff and Z’khari nod their heads, and look concerned and Leia feels like she is going to be sick. She frantically shakes her head, and the panic combines with joy and heartache because their father has ripped Vader away from them, he declared them free, right in front of Palpatine, and her comrades can’t see it.

“I’m sorry,” Z’khari says, and again she shakes her head. There might be tears streaming down her face. The others don’t know what to do.

Then she thinks of her father now, alone, after the subordination, and the panic comes rushing back in. She doesn’t want to draw any attention to herself but they are all looking at her anyway, so what does it matter?

“He’s going to be so angry,” she gasps. Ola puts a comforting arm around her. Leia supresses the urge to shake her off. “He will be so angry,” she repeats.

“But he can’t harm you here,” Jeff chimes in from the side. She doesn’t realize that he was talking about Vader until she’s already started speaking again and can’t seem to stop herself.

“That doesn’t matter. He’ll hurt Papa for this, and this time Luke and me won’t be there to redirect his anger or to take some of the punishment or, or to do something!” She tries to keep her voice down but it’s all too much and she needs them to understand. “Palpatine has hurt him for so much less, and he isn’t getting any younger and what if he has finally outlived his usefulness?”

Three pairs of eyes stare at her. “Leia, I’m sorry but what are you talking about?” Ola asks.

“Didn’t you see?” she just asks.

“Your father has just declared that he is willing to kill you and publically disowned you and your brother,” Jeff states bluntly.

Leia stares at him.

“What,” she finally says. “No? I mean technically—”

“Technically?!” Jeff echoes. “With all due respect but Vader was very clear about that.”

Ola has become very silent, is watching Leia with furrowed brow.

“Explain it to us,” she says.

“We no longer must carry the name Vader,” Leia states, slowly. She doesn’t know what there is to explain about this.

“And he spoke in Huttese.”

“So?” Jeff asks.

Leia wants to growl in frustration. She doesn’t want to waste time explaining the obvious when all she wants is to rush back to her Father and help him kill Palpatine.

She breathes in deeply. She wishes desperately that Luke was by her side.

“We are completely free now, even in name. But my father isn’t yet, which means he is in danger,” she explains.

“From… the emperor?” Ola asks.

“Obviously?” Leia responds.

“But… he is like this frail, old man… And Vader is a two-meter tall killing machine. No offense,” Jeff says.

Leia can’t help herself, she starts chuckling. Maxbe it is the panic and andrenaline still rushing through her.

“Forget it,” she says. “You won’t believe me anyway.”

But Ola looks at her earnestly and says: “Try us.”

[al-astakbar]

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 6/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [2.1k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ none > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted. thank you so much @starwh0ers for beta of this part :)

> series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

The two stormtroopers on either side of the wide double hatch come to attention as Thrawn strides towards them. “Good morning, gentlemen. Carry on,” he says, just as quickly, and you get the impression he greets whoever’s on shift this way every morning. He has to be the politest Imperial you’ve ever met. Most in his position, of his rank, would barely acknowledge anyone under his command outside his own bridge crew and cadre of senior officers. 

Inside, the bridge hums with activity, even while the ship is in stationary orbit. The officer of the watch announces Thrawn’s arrival. The Grand Admiral quickly waves it off; there are more important things on his mind than protocol. 

You walk in Thrawn’s shadow down the main corridor, all too aware of the questioning murmurs following you.

Once you’ve passed through a sort of foyer and mounted three short steps, a younger officer with neat, short cropped hair strides up, shoots a concerned glance at you, the non-Imperial interloper, and greets the Grand Admiral.

“Good morning, Admiral.”

“Good morning, Commodore Faro.”

“Shall I pass the word, sir?” 

Thrawn’s nod is all the signal needed. A junior officer stands by some sort of ship-wide PA system and blows on a shrill pipe. Then she says into the mouthpiece: “All departments make readiness reports for getting underway to the Officer of the deck in the pilothouse.”

Quickly, the reports come in. Supply, Weapons, Engineering, Operations, Combat Systems. A lot of it is familiar to you, but with slight differences that make you turn your head when you hear them. Shouldn’t be surprising. Many rebellion personnel were former Imps after all.

“I’ve word from the Quartermaster. Fuel and rations replenishment completed, sir.” 

“Thank you, Commodore. Munitions?”

“Ordnance chief confirmed complete last night, sir.”

“Very good.” When they are done, Thrawn looks to another officer, who is seated at a console. “Senior Captain Lomar,” he prompts, and the Senior Captain anticipates Thrawn’s order. “Fleet channel ready for you, Admiral.”

“Attention, Seventh Fleet.” He does not settle himself in the command chair, but crosses the command walkway to stand directly in front of the forward viewport, hands clasped behind his back. You hang back, and find yourself transfixed by his presence, unable to look away. “This is Grand Admiral Thrawn. I trust you have enjoyed your time in the capital.”

A round of appreciative, quiet laughter goes around the bridge, which you imagine is echoed on the hundreds of ships he’s addressing. Liberty calls on core planets, and especially Coruscant, were always popular, a chance for Imperial personnel to let loose and enjoy the best the Empire has to offer. 

“Our mission,” he continues, “is simple. To eradicate piracy and insurrection in the Limian Sector of the Outer Rim. To accomplish this, we will bring to bear the full skill and power of this Fleet. You have your orders. Carry them out with focus and professionalism, and we will be successful. 

 … and, good hunting. That is all.” He looks to Lomar, who ends the connection.

Commodore Faro is at his side again, stance wide, hands clasped behind her back. You’ve been on ships before, but had never seen them orchestrated with quite such precision.  “Sir, the ship is manned and ready to get underway. Permission to spin up, sir?”

Again, Thrawn nods and his crew react instantly. 

“Calculations for the jump ready, sir. Hyperdrive is spun up.”

“At your convenience, Commodore.”

She nods to a black-uniformed technician at a console, who slowly and steadily opens a heavy throttle.

You can’t help your quiet gasp as starlines flare out from a point right in the center of the viewport and then give way to the tunnel of hyperspace. The sight of it is beautiful and unexpected, and you’ve never had such a clear view of a jump before. Suddenly, you’re glad you didn’t stay in Thrawn’s quarters to pout and sulk. More than likely you’d have been stuck there all day with nothing to do except peruse his art collection, and you can’t be sure if he would even permit you that. 

** 

If getting to watch Thrawn and the view of the hyperspace jump is the high point of your day so far, meeting Brierly Ronan has to be the lowest. 

He strides onto the bridge late in the morning, and before you even know his name, you hear him chastising the stormtrooper guards before the hatch closes again. 

In a huff, he nearly gets his flowing white cape caught in it. 

Then, he notices you and loudly demands, to no one in particular, “who is this?!” 

Thrawn looks up and comes over. “Good morning, Assistant Director. Is something the matter?”

The Assistant Director draws himself up, puffing his chest out and managing a little flourish with his cape, even though he’s standing still. “Yes! There is. I want to know who this is. She’s standing in my spot.”

Thrawn’s eyes flick to the deck, as if trying to see where exactly the spots are delineated. “She was a gift from the Emperor.” He turns to you, making polite formal introductions. “This is Assistant Director Brierly Ronan. And may I present…”

At the utterance of your name, you feel an unpleasant jolt of shock. Companions like you were never supposed to be named in public. It just wasn’t done. Hearing your own name aloud feels vulgar, as if Thrawn had just announced to everyone how much he had enjoyed fucking you last night, and gone into explicit detail.

First he suggests you go without your veil, now he speaks your name. Perhaps he wants to humiliate you. This could be some game to him, but as you watch him, he does not show any sign of enjoying your discomfort. In fact, he seems oblivious to it.

Brierly Ronan, for his part, sputters and turns an ugly shade of red. “Do you really think this is an appropriate place to parade around your pet?” He spits. “Really, Thrawn, even with your famous disdain for the rules— or do you mean to share her with everyone here?”

A muscle in Thrawn’s jaw tics. He waits a moment in silence, a silence that attracts the attention of nearby crew.

“My pet?” He repeats. His tone is quiet and deadly, a trap inviting Ronan to try to explain himself.

Ronan draws himself up, unable to match Thrawn’s height. “Well, she’s obviously not a bodyguard--”

“Are you sure?” He waits for a response that doesn’t come, then continues. “They go through quite a lot of training, you know. She was in the capital for a year.”

“I know what the training entails!” Hisses Ronan. 

“And why should I not make known our Emperor’s generosity and good will? I will remind you, Assistant Director, that you are here not as a civilian, but due to your position as an officer in the Imperial military department of advanced weapons research.”

You understand the implication a moment after Ronan does -- despite him apparently having a rank as a civilian, while aboard this ship, his military posting puts him under Thrawn’s command. And he is, after all, wearing a uniform. 

Ronan stands a bit straighter, looking furious. 

Thrawn again leaves room, a polite incline of his head, for Ronan to reply. When none comes, Thrawn excuses himself to attend to other matters that require his attention. You are left standing there with Ronan, and when you realize that your silent, faceless stare is unnerving him, you force yourself to show the deference that is expected of you. He gives a derisive snort, as if he doesn’t quite believe whatever act you’re putting on. The urge to persist, and entertain yourself by irritating him, is strong, but you know you shouldn’t-- not just to avoid trouble and punishment, but because out of everyone on the Chimaera, he could be the one who might be willing to get you off of it. 

Yes. The idea strikes you like a bolt and you inhale sharply. Ronan is the one you need to befriend. He obviously doesn’t like Thrawn. Frankly, you’re surprised Thrawn had tolerated such disrespect, especially in public, in front of his crew. But any overture will need to come from Ronan himself; companions are forbidden from initiating conversations with anyone other than their masters. 

You could ignore convention, of course. You eye Ronan again. After his outburst about Thrawn parading you around, you expect that wouldn’t go over well. All you can do is take to hovering near him, and hope that he starts talking to you first.  

To your dismay, he says nothing more. He gives you another disdainful look and then turns away with a flourish of his cloak. He retreats to a corner where some officers are talking in low voices, and they hide grimaces when he intrudes on their space. 

You are left standing alone, unsure of what to do, and rather self-conscious. Your veil helps somewhat.   

Curious eyes follow you-- as professional as Thrawn’s bridge crew may be, you are a strange person encroaching on their space, and an interesting distraction during an uneventful long-haul hyperspace jump. 

You watch the operations quietly, alert, not getting too close. There are about thirty people just in the forward section of the bridge, most busy with tasks at data terminals in the crew pits. When you had followed Thrawn down the main corridor, you had seen banks of comms stations, an array of scanners, a holo pod, and some pairs of large double hatches. Officers’ meeting rooms, maybe. 

The scale of it all is enough to keep you entertained until Thrawn concludes his discussions and comes back over to you. You had been lingering near the starfighter operations alcove, listening for anything interesting, but of course in hyperspace there isn’t much activity. 

Reading the bios last night had not quite conveyed the significance of the Grand Admiral’s rank. Of his extraordinary career.

As you follow him back down the main corridor, you ask how many ships he commands. Impertinent question maybe, but he answers. Nineteen capital ships and twenty-five cruisers. 

He lists off more numbers, staggering numbers of ships and personnel, as if it’s the most commonplace thing in the galaxy. 1900 TIE model fighters, then of course there are all the complements of shuttles and troop transports, plus hundreds of smaller support craft. 

It takes you a few paces to do the math in your head. “But then… altogether the crew must be over a million people…”

“One million, two hundred thousand and forty-two. Each one crucial, in his or her role, to the operational capability of the fleet.” “But I bet you don’t know all their names.” You grin up at him.

He merely raises an eyebrow at you. 

“I apologize for that… scene,” says Thrawn in a low tone once you are in a quieter passageway-- close to his quarters, you think, though the halls are so easy to get lost in. The standard shift is not over, but there are still hours to go for the first leg of the hyperspace jumps. You had overheard from the navigation section on the bridge that this is the first of three. “I did not expect the Assistant Director to react so forcefully. And I can assure you, he does not have claim to any particular ‘spot’ on the bridge.”

“Who is he, exactly?” 

Thrawn’s tone is just the slightest bit dry when he answers. If his sly antagonism of the man had been anything to go by, you’d bet Thrawn doesn’t particularly like him, or at least resents having to deal with him. “A mediator, of sorts. Assigned to the ship to ensure the terms of an agreement are upheld.” 

“Are you sure he wasn’t just jealous?”

Breaking his stride, Thrawn looks over at you, genuinely puzzled. “For what reason?” 

You just pluck at your robe, holding up the fabric, and understanding dawns on his face. 

“Ah, of course. A symbol of status.” He resumes walking. You aren’t sure how to feel about that-- reduced to being a rare prize-- nor do you mention the other reason Ronan might have reacted that way-- you are human, and Thrawn is not. “Regardless, I should have anticipated this. It should have been a private conversation. But in the end it was to our advantage, I think. Those who witnessed it will have gained some understanding of who you are and why you are with me.”

“And the rest of the crew will hear about it by supper,” you add. News travels fast on a ship, even one this big, where gossip will always be a favorite pastime.

He gives you a sideways glance, and you could swear he almost smiles.

☆ link to part 7 ☆

☆join tag list☆ <- this is the easiest way to make sure your request is recorded, however anyone is also welcome to dm me if they want to be added or removed.

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[lyramundana]

Here's a list of all my poly MinSung AUs so far, most of them are prompts:

Crimson Contract (collaboration with @channieandhisgoonsquad): Sugar Daddies MinSung but vampire edition. Minho is a noble vampire from a prestigious lineage and Jisung is a low-ranking vampire. They're married and very sure of their sexuality, until they come across a girl whose blood messes with their senses and allures them. They sign a contract with her in which, in exchange for letting them drink her blood, they'll give her a life of luxury at their expenses.

It features bi awakening, boomer x gen z interactions and human blood treated as an aphrodisiac

Random thought

Minho and Han's descriptions

The Night's Bride: Summary

It features slavery themes, master/slaves, non-con dynamics (at first), blood and pain treated as a sexual stimulation.

Three is (not) a crowd: Summary Summary pt 2

It features bi awakening, Minho being low-key a toxic bf and unhealthy ways to deal with emotions.

Surrogate Mother AU ( another collaboration with @channieandhisgoonsquad): Years after Skz disb@nd (it hurts to write this) and the military service, Jisung and Minho are finally married and having the couple life together they always dreamed of having, without hiding. They haven't made it official but everyone knows. They decide to start a family on their own but obviously they encounter some issues, and the adoption system isn't exactly keen on same sex-marriages in Korea, especially former celebrities. They heard about surrogate mothers and decide to go for it. They go to a special agency to find the perfect woman and come across a MC, who's a also a journalist that wants to give visilization to queer couples that face problems to form families. They sign another contract, she moves with them to Korea and they navigate through the whole "impregnating" thing. Jisung knows a thing or two, but Minho has never considered touching a woman intimately...but he soon finds out he can't complain.

It features subby Minho (at the beginning), bi awakening (yeah I'm self reflecting, leave me) and preparing for parenthood (this is a warning itself).

Highschool Dilemma: Summary

It features teacher x student relationship (which I don't condone in real life), power play/dynamics (they both have authority over her), some rank pulling (warning you there'll be some toxic vibes), older boys x younger girl, consented underage stuff (MC is 18 already). Love triangle, but they both simply want her to join their affair and she's slow to notice, exploration of the disaster that is teenhood and entering adult life.

The Scandal: Convo with Lua (2chopsticks2eyes)

It features rich people usual bullshit, kinky sex, slight manipulation against MC to get her to comply to some stuff (it's all consented), bunch of sexual tension, confusion and some emotional constipation.

Beyond Redemption: Teaser moodboard

More to add...

Tagging my wives @channieandhisgoonsquad @2chopsticks2eyes @sweetracha @moonlightndaydreams @hanjisunglover because they're the ones that suffer me when I bent about my headcanons.

[yanderes-galore]

oh sorry about that is it OK if I request the yandere Tarhos Prompts with gn reader then?

Yeah, I'll try! I always saw The Knight as silent but I'll see what I can do :) My prompts were used for this! The prompts may make him OOC due to his lore but I'll try! Sorry it's a bit short, I struggled with his character a bit.

AU prior to the fog where you are a lord/lady who hired Tarhos as a protector. I don't rememeber if the original request had a plot sent so I apologize in advance :(

Yandere! Tarhos Kovács Prompts 7 + 12

"All this blood? It's all for you! Everything I do is all for you!"

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Mentions of slavery, OOC Knight compared to his lore probably, Murder, Vague on romantic or platonic, Violence.

Tarhos only ever knew bloodshed. That was how the world worked in his eyes. The world ran on blood and violence, peace was never an option considered to him.

He's a mercenary whose loyalty only ever goes to the highest bidder. That and his pack of mercenaries... an honor among thieves relationship. Other than that, he's a killer to the core.

Tarhos ran on bloodshed, the blood on his blade a sign of victory. He felt no other emotions other than kill, kill, kill. Even when hired by you his goal mostly remained the same.

Kill for wealth, take what you can.

The idea of 'kindness and care for those not close to you' baffled Tarhos. Which is why the knight finds it strange that you act so kind to him. It's not just out of respect, either.

Tarhos ignores it. Although, your care for him makes him remember his best mates. He does care deeply for the assassin, the butcher, and the jailer... but he knows them.

He doesn't know you.

So why do you care so much about a mere mercenary?

Don't you know he could easily turn on you and take your wealth?

A job is a job, he thinks, so he adapts. Your strange behavior towards him originally doesn't affect his thirst for blood. Then it started to grow on him the more he met with you for pay.

At some point he let it slip that he had buddies who were also sold into slavery. You heard somehow and confronted him. The knight felt threatened... but you calm him.

"You want them free, don't you?" You ask.

Tarhos tries to decipher your words. What were you planning?

"Paying for their freedom isn't easy, let alone finding them... but I'll see what I can do if you wish."

He doesn't trust this. No person is this damn caring. Especially to someone who tortures and murders for pay. But you were wealthy and he needs the money.

He's silent yet you slowly nod.

"It's an offer, my knight. I'll see if I have connections."

For some reason, the title you gave him made him pause when you walked away. 'My Knight'... your knight... it had a pleasant ring. As he watches you walk away... he thinks you're better than previous employers.

In fact your kindness only made working for you sweeter...

Even if it was naive to tend to his plights.

---

Your distaste for seeing the knight's violence is laughable. You expected murder, torture, and violence... but loathe seeing it. For the most part, Tarhos was fine with shielding you from seeing it.

Tarhos had takena liking to his job of protecting your life. Deep down he hopes you'll hire his friends... even if it may never happen. Either way, he was fine with obtaining your pay and hearing your chatter.

Killing to protect was a job he had often. With you he felt strangely at home compared to other lords and ladies. Close to paradise, even.

Killing in your name was a delightful feeling. Killing in general was something he thrived on... but when it was ordered by you? He's never felt more alive.

Issues never usually arose. You appreciated his help, paid him, wished him luck, and accepted his job. You respected each other.

It was only when he overstepped that things became strained.

You had fought with a fellow noble at one point. A fight your knight saw. Seeing you so intense made his the grip on his sword tighten. When you walked off and ordered Tarhos to follow, Tarhos gave a long look at the noble and their knights before following.

He's supposed to protect you right? Surely you won't mind his need for bloodshed then....

When you were busy with some other meeting, Tarhos knew what to do. He had a goal. He would not rest until said goal is complete.

---

Tarhos only realizes he's sloppy when he hears your shriek. His sword was plunged through the chest of many around him, corpses littering the area around him. His armor is painted in crimson... evidence of his victory.

"You were never meant to see that! Oh, what have I done...."

He sounds surprised, nervous, but didn't really mean it. He knew exactly what he did. He killed a pest, many pests, rats that decided they liked to bite you. Their blood coats his hands and it's all done in your name. He only regrets you catching him in his unneeded violence.

"Tarhos... they didn't deserve to die- There's so much blood...." You mutter, the six foot six knight turning to tower over you. They did need to die. He's your knight, he kills to protect.

Now you stare at him in horror...

He likes it.

"All this blood? It's all for you! Everything I do is all for you!" The knight pledges, bowing towards you, his noble. Why are you surprised? Was he meant to sit back and allow that rat to get away with arguing with you? No... he'd never.

He slaughtered those rats to aid you.

"You're meant to kill threats!"

"That noble rat fought with you, my liege."

"It was an argument, Tarhos-"

"I am your knight. I put a stop to a threat. Is that not why I was hired?"

"I'm not hurt! I was never hurt!"

"Thanks to me."

The knight strolls forward, standing in front of you. You stare fearfully at his bloodied armor. You hate that you can't see his eyes.

"I am yours until I find and obtain my gang..." The helmet echoes, seemingly looking at you. The knight kneels before taking your smaller hand in his. "Until then... you are also mine, my liege."

"No. I refuse to be near you any longer- Release me, fiend! I did not agree to noble murder unless my life is threatened!"

"How pitiful, my noble is having a fit."

You're quickly picked up in strong metal arms. You fight, an action he can only describe as weak.

The knight slings you over his shoulder, he's mindful of what side has spikes on his armor. You kick and scream. You try escape... admirable but sad.

You'd never live in this world... a world of blood and violence. That's why, he determined, you need him. He'll defend you with chivalry between knight and noble.

You'll hate him now...

But the bloodshed he causes for you is meant for your defense and his pleasure... you'll be thankful later.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph, how are you lovely? Thank you again for everything you do for us! I'm sort of in the mood for fun Johnlock marijuana fics. John and Sherlock accidentally or not so accidentally getting high (and preferably naughty). I just finished lifeonmars' 'Smoke' and itching for more 🤭

Hi Nonny!

AHHHH okay I honestly don't think I HAVE any that I've read? If I do they'll be on one of my Drugs lists:

Self Harm, Danger Nights, and Drugs

Drugs and Drugging Pt 2

Drugs and Drugging Pt 3

I did a quick look on my MFL list and here is what showed up when I did a tag search... I haven't read them so I don't know if the drugs referenced IS pot/weed... If anyone has others that they can or would like to add, please do!

RECREATIONAL DRUG USE (MFLs)

Smoke by lifeonmars (T, 4,827 w., 1 Ch. || Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Fluff, Humour, Rock and Roll) – Sometimes time and space collide to show you something you've been missing. Sherlock's pipe helps.

Better Than by pandoras_chaos (E, 9,869 w. || Marijuana / Drug Use, Oral / Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Pining) – Mrs Hudson looked up at him and started giggling, seemingly unable to help herself as she clutched at her stomach and leaned back into the sofa cushions. Sherlock felt his face twitch, and he tried to contain the rumbling chuckles as they spilled forth from his throat, but it was useless. "The thing about John...?" she prompted after a few minutes of breathless laughter. "Ah! Yes," Sherlock sighed, reaching for the ashtray and collecting the expertly rolled joint, "The thing about John is..." he brought the lighter up to the end of the paper, took a drag and held it for a moment, feeling his chest expand with the fragrant smoke. "He's..." he exhaled long and low. "He's fucking brilliant." Mrs Hudson let loose a bark of high, girlish laughter. "You mean he's brilliant at fucking, dear," she corrected, reaching for the bag of crisps on the table. Sherlock felt his cheeks flush, but his face split into a sly grin. "I wouldn't know, Hudders." He sighed a bit wistfully, "I really wouldn't know."

Sit Pretty For Me by LipstickDaddy (E, 19,502 w., 10 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting Pre-S1, Recreational Drug Use, Light BDSM, Strangers to Lovers, Matchmaker Mike, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – What if John and Sherlock met once before, at an underground sex club, a decade before Mike Stamford introduced them that afternoon at Bart’s?

On Dates, Drugs, and Destiny by squire (T, 20,055 w., 3 Ch. || ASiP Divergence, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Crack, Humour, Fluff, Angst, Misunderstandings, Love Confessions, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Jealousy, Friends to Lovers, Courting, Drugs / Recreational Drug use, Case-Related Drug Use, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Meddling Mycroft) – When Sherlock Holmes and John Watson first meet in the lab at Bart's, it isn't actually for the first time. But why does only one of them know this - and should the other one keep the secret, or will revealing the truth ruin their friendship forever? A story of John being not Sherlock's date, of Sherlock being around way too much drugs, and a Destiny that always has to have the last word.

Heart on a String by AngelSpirit (E, 23,257 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Alternate First Meeting, First Kiss / Time, Infidelity, Angst, Fluff, Kidlock/Teenlock, Mentions of Recreational Drug Use) – John and Sherlock got married with Cracker Jack rings when they were 7 yrs old. It wasn’t official, but for their whole lives they took it very seriously.

Gilded Cages by MaryLouLeach (E, 52,323 w., 21 Ch. || Supernatural Creatures AU || Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Violence, Suicide Attempt, Attempted Murder, Vampires and Werewolves, Blood Drinking, Slavery, Dom/Sub Undertones, Torture, Anal Sex, Turning, Recreational Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Dark Sherlock, Protective Mycroft, Possessive Sherlock, Bonding, War, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Angst, Child Abuse) – The vampire remained motionless in the dark of his prison; his eyes clasped shut as if he were sleeping. However Vampires didn’t sleep, or rather this one did not. Sleeping would bring dreams; dreams were solely a human condition, whereas nightmares, nightmares were what plagued the sleep of the immortal. Sherlock knew he was a monster, and even now in this hellish prison locked in the unfurnished room, he felt the darkness of soul start to fester. Pushing at him and all he wished to do was silence it, he needed his fix needed more. The last addict he fed on wasn’t enough. He needed more, needed to shut out the screaming that plagued him that weighed him down and kept him shackled to his hunger. Part 1 of the GILDED series

Your Many Tendencies Series by apliddell (T, 52,222+ w. across 5 works || WiP || Femlock, POC Characters, Enby Character, Sherlock’s Violin, YouTuber John, UST, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Domesticity, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss, Love Confessions, John’s Family, Christmas, Anxious Sherlock, Hurt / Comfort, Institutional Racism) – John Watson returns to London after a long absence, somewhat the worse for wear. She meets Sherlock Holmes, and starts feeling excited about life again.

Save Me or Let Me Drown by GubraithianFire (E, 72,986 w., 16 Ch. || Shameless AU || Dysfunctional Family, Alcoholism, Recreational Drug Use, Angst, Humour, Clubbing, Bipolar Disorder, Custody Battle, Mutual Pining, Family Fluff, Smut, Handcuffs, Anal Sex, Shower Sex, Rimming, Come Shot, Angst With Happy Ending) – How Sherlock escaped from his family, John sacrificed everything to his, and how, together, they built their own. Part 1 of the The Watsons series

Filthy/Gorgeous by MirabileLectu (E, 87,951 w., 12 Ch. || Prostitution, Alternate First Meeting, First Time, Recreational Drug Use, Drugs, Angst, Drama)– Even if this was legal, even if there was nothing technically wrong with what he was doing he knew that if he were caught, or if he were seen by someone he knew, or if he were found out in any way the shame would never, ever die. What would his regiment say? What would his family say? What would anyone say if they discovered that John was currently in a cab on the way to pick up a male prostitute for the evening?

To Light Another's Path by BeautifulFiction (E, 128,654 w., 19 Ch. || Post-TGG, Sick Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drug Addiction / Recreational Drug Use, First Time / Kiss, Case Fic) – Teaching John to observe seems to be a losing battle, but when Sherlock falls ill and submits himself to John's care, will he realise that there is more to life than the science of deduction? Meanwhile, there is a murder to solve, and John must try and convince Sherlock not to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the case.

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Person A was a delinquent orphan sold to the local fighting arena, where they are kept as a fighting slave, forced to fight and win to survive - not that Person A minds as they’ve always had a knack and love for violence and murder. Person B is a free person who signs up to join the fights every so often, but never fought Person A due to coincidence. Person A then gets bought by an audience member who wants Person A as a trophy spouse. Person A runs into Person B, now living outside the arena’s walls, and the two decide to catch up, and Person A starts to develop feelings for Person B, but if they get caught by their spouse/owner will be killed so denies their feelings. But when Person A and their spouse/owner have a child and they find out their spouse/owner is planning to sell the child to the arena, Person A flees from them and begging Person B for help, who agrees to shelter them and their child.

[aquadestinyswriting]

The War of the Red Hammer, the Purges and the History of the Stonespeaker Clan

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday everyone. Since I'm going to be covering some quite unpleasant history relating to the Throffite and Moradhir communities in the Modern AU, I thought I'd go over the most relevant parts of the Fantasy history here to make sure everything makes sense. Strap in, this is going to be a bit sordid.

Tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch

Part of the history of the War of the Redhammer has been covered in the article about Kar'ak Ungor/Wyrmholme as it related to that Hold. However, the ramifications of what happened during that war continued even long after it had ended.

The true origins of the war began when Moradin became the main patron deity of the dwarves of Fangthane over Kherillim. While Fangthane did not, at the time, prevent any worship of the Earth Mother, the dwarves of Kar'ak Ungor felt that Kherillim had been slighted by this act and forbade any of their own people from turning their worship to this Outsider deity, going so far as to insist that those who did leave the mountain and create their own community outside of it. While this clearly rankled, Fangthane maintained a cordial, if cooled, relationship with its sister hold due to the close ties of both royal families of the time, understanding that as Kherillim had Blessed that line, they had every right to disallow Moradin entry to their halls.

The Stonespeaker Clan, a family line of Shapers descended from the greater Redhammer Clan, that lived within Fangthane, were among those clans that refused to convert their worship to Moradin. This was entirely expected, and the decision was honoured by the Goldseeker family, who were happy to worship both Moradin and Kherillim in tandem with one another. Fangthane believed the matter to be settled, and life continued on as normal for some time after.

However, it wasn't long before Ladeurger, a brother deity of sorts of Moradin, a god who delighted in slavery and torture, found Titan and attempted to infiltrate and seduce Kherillim's children to take them as His own. While Fangthane was able to rebuff this deity's initial advances, Kar'ak Ungor proved not to be quite so strong. Despite their best efforts, eventually even the Royal Family of that noble people were turned from Kherillim's light and set about forcing those who remained loyal to convert.

As soon as word reached Fangthane of the situation, and they discovered infiltrators among the clans descended from those native to their sister hold, the then King ordered the discovery and execution of any open Ladeurgerites, which prompted retaliation against the Moradhir community living just outside Kar'ak Ungor by the Redhammers. Partway through the war, the king demanded that all who remained loyal to the crown convert at least part of their worship to Moradin, for fear that they might otherwise be seduced by the Enslaver. The only family who was spared from this decree were the Stonespeakers, due entirely to the Blessing bestowed upon them by Kherillim. However, even after the war ended, there were no small number of people in the other noble houses who were suspicious of this exemption. Rumours spread that the Stonespeakers, being direct descendants of the Redhammer line, were spying on Fangthane for the Enslaver and looking for the next opportunity for the evil god to gain a foothold.

While the rumours were entirely unsubstantiated, more infiltrators of the Enslaver were discovered in Fangthane during the reign of Joldrunn Goldseeker - the great-grandfather of the current Low King, Storri Goldseeker - just under 1,000 years ago. In order to expunge the threat from his kingdom, King Joldrunn ordered that all citizens of Fangthane, no matter what religion they otherwise held, immediately convert to Moradhirism or face execution.

At the time this was happening, the younger son of the king, Prince Ragnar, had recently been betrothed to the latest Shaper to be born into the Stonespeaker clan, Merewin. Merewin, and her family, assumed that -as before - they would be spared from this ridiculous decree as they were ardent followers of Kherillim and had never strayed from that path. And for at least three decades after the Purges began, they were. Until Merewin was caught wandering around the Contemplation Chamber without permission from the then Archlector. Merewin was subsequently arrested, informed that, in order to commute her sentence for Treason and Heresy that she would have to convert her worship to prove her loyalty to Fangthane. Merewin, knowing that the charges were utter nonsense, refused. Believing that her refusal confirmed the Council's suspicions that she was a secret worshipper of Ladeurger, Merewin was executed less than a week after her initial arrest, with the rest of her family arrested on the same suspicions a day later. All of them were executed within the week, thereby ending the Stonespeaker line entirely, and the Blessing of Kherillim with them.

It was not until nearly a millennium later that it was finally discovered that the Blessing lived on, when the youngest daughter of the Ironforge family was found to have, somehow, inherited the ability to Shape. Archlector Vanskleig began an investigation into where the girl's ability had come from, only for the foresight of Merewin's eldest brother, Garuld, to finally come to light with the discovery of the Stonespeaker family records hidden within the depths of the Palace's archives. When the official Ironforge family records were compared to the Stonespeaker records found in the Palace archives, it was discovered that Garuld and Magreit had adopted out their youngest son to the Ironforge family at the start of the Purges that took place during Jotunn's reign. A part of the Stonespeaker clan yet remained, and with it, the Blessing. Below is the new family tree that was drawn up to reflect this discovery, which is now considered the official record of the lineage of the current Ironforge clan:

However, questions yet remained. The Blessing had previously only been inherited directly from the Shaper that had come before. While Ovak had certainly been related to Merewin, the fact remained that he was not a direct descendent. The matter was briefly discussed, then promptly forgotten about. All that mattered was that the Blessing endured, even if it was now found primarily within a low to middle class family.

The question, however, would be raised once more following the trial of Meredith Gruksdottir, the current carrier of the Blessing. Part of the evidence that was brought forth during the trial was the eerie similarity of her situation to that of her ancestor, Merewin. Like the Shaper before her, Meredith had been found wandering within the Contemplation Chamber without permission, and was accused of Treason against the Crown and Heresy, believed to be part of a cult responsible for bringing ruin to the Temple of Moradin within Toreguarde and helping to drive the dwarves from that city.

History seemed doomed to repeat itself until Meredith's friends brought forth evidence that was able to clear her name and prove that High Inquisitor Grimbeard was the one responsible for the atrocities he had accused Meredith of. Following the trial's conclusion, Gruksdottir's lawyer brought up some information that he had discovered while looking up the trial of the Stonespeaker clan. He handed over a book that had, purportedly, been found by Meredith in an antechamber beneath the Contemplation Chamber.

This turned out to be a diary, kept over the course of around two years, by Merewin. The diary detailed not only Merewin's thoughts and feelings about the ongoing Purges King Jotunn had commanded, but also the revelation that the child her brother had secretly adopted out had been her own son, born very much out of wedlock with the confirmation of Prince Ragnar as the father.

Questions regarding whether King Jotunn, or any other nobility, knew about this grandson, and whether that might have influenced how quickly Merewin had been executed, were quickly put on hold a mere two months after Meredith's trial. In what some might call an ironic twist of fate, the Cult of Khalin had gained an indelible foothold in the nobility that made up most of the Fangthane Council, proclaiming that, in order for Kherillim to take her rightful place as the patron deity of the dwarven people once more, the Demon Prince was the only one capable of ousting Moradin's presence from the Titan altogether. Civil war engulfed Fangthane, even as the rumblings of Ragnarok's arrival began, putting any further discussions about the legacy of the Stonespeaker Clan on hold until Ragnarok was eventually averted and peace returned to Fangthane.

Below is the condensed family tree Head Librarian Starlim Haneskeeper drafted just before the civil war kicked off:

Currently, debates as to whether to update both the Ironforge and Goldseeker family trees to reflect the information uncovered just before the civil war are ongoing. On the one hand, the modern Ironforge clan are clearly directly descended from what would have been one of the High Noble Houses of Fangthane and deserve recognition of such. On the other, Ovak's birth would not have been recognised by the Crown at the time as Merewin and Ragnar had not yet been married. Even if the Purges had not happened, it was very likely that Ovak's birth would have been swept under the rug, and the child adopted by another family within the Stonespeaker Clan. Many argue that this still means that the modern Ironforge clan should be considered minor nobility, as the Stonespeaker clan were one of the Noble Houses before the Purges occurred.

Those nobles that survived the civil war and are a part of the current Fangthane Council, however, have pointed out that, as Ovak was adopted into and raised by a commoner family, the modern Ironforge clan do not have any cultural ties to the nobility and, as such, should maintain their current position. The only exception they have made to this rule being the current High Inquisitor due to both her position in the Church of Moradin, and her marriage to Yoruk Forhoksson (formerly of Clan Copperheart and later adopted into Clan Bloodvein, both of which are ancient noble lineages).

Gruk Ovaksson, and the others of his family have made no comment on the matter, preferring to stay out of it entirely. However, both Gruk and his younger brother Ufgi, have been hired to maintain and repair the armour, weaponry and runic enchantments of the King's Guard and the Hammers of the Moradhir Guard since the end of the civil war. It is unknown whether this is due to services rendered during the war or if this is some sort of compromise to keep everyone happy.

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Armour (Valhalla Enchanted) - Shortfic

Explicit // M/M // One Eye (Valhalla Rising)/Prince Charmont (Ella Enchanted) // Tags: Slightly AU/darker retelling Ella Enchanted, AU Valhalla Rising, soldier turned slave turned bodyguard One Eye, Prince Char, plotting, TW: snakes, canon typical violence, death (not MCs), getting to know each other, sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, sort of trans Char (see note), virgin Char, loss of virginity, masturbation, mix of masc and femme terms to describe Char's anatomy, vaginal sex, happy ending, brief mention of mpreg. Patreon prompt fill.

Young Prince Char employs a wounded soldier.

NB: As I was writing this I found I wanted to set it in a world where people might be naturally trans/multisex without being omegaverse. I.e. a place with natural gender variations similar to omegaverse, and completely accepted but without the social-cultural implications of dynamics. So here I have written Char as having a full penis, but in place of where his testes should be, he has a vagina (male futa?? I don't know what to call it, but hopefully you get what I mean).

Latest installment on my @hannibalbingo card: Armour (HEU)

Armour - (4k words):

Safe. The words were scrawled messily in the dirt, One Eye looking at him expectantly as he made a stay gesture. Char nodded that he had seen the writing and understood the poorly written word, before his companion gave a curt nod and brushed the dirt over with his foot.

Even so, as the man went about making them a small fire in this dismal cavern, Char found he couldn’t relax.

He hadn’t expected any of this. When he had first grown to suspect his uncle was plotting for the throne, Char had hired himself a bodyguard as simply a matter of precaution. He had never dreamed that the bodyguard would have to spirit him away from the castle, and the royal guards under his uncle’s command. He had expected the men that had been loyal to his father, to show him the same loyalty. But his uncle had a way of twisting words and poisoning minds. And so, he didn’t really blame them.

As for his bodyguard - if such a term could describe such a man as One Eye - the man was stoic and reliable. Char wasn’t ignorant of the fact that his loyalty was bought not earned, that he was little more than a slave trying to escape the life he had found himself in. And on days like today, Char could relate.

He had found the strong, silent man via unscrupulous methods. With no one loyal to him, Char had to rely on his money to buy what he needed, and that had led him to the blackmarket trade in people. Not slaves, they tried to claim - slavery was long illegal in Lamia - instead these were people imported to the kingdom expected to pay off their passage as indentured servants. It was crass and awful, something Char swore to himself he would put an end to as soon as he took the throne. But until then he needed protection, and there was the man they called One Eye, for an all too obvious reason. His seller had assured Char that the healed but evident injuries the man had received were not at his hand, and claimed them to be the markings made on, surely, a once great soldier whose name had been lost and was now simply One Eye.

At first, Char had just expected One Eye to watch over him as he slept, and be at his side during the day. To protect him from any harm his uncle might try to enact. But that action had come swiftly and strongly. After only a few days together, One Eye found himself fending off a night time attack of armed guards.

It was the snakes that woke Char, slithering in his bedsheets, an open window banging in the wind, but he had soon tuned into the noise outside his door. There, the guards that had been sent to finish him off - or perhaps discover his snake-bitten body - were being brought down by his servant. His saviour.

Char had barely dressed whilst One Eye beheaded the snakes, and taken up a small bag he had already packed. Then One Eye had ushered him into the dungeons of the castle, and out the same way that the waste water left.

That had been over a week ago and they were still running. Char was unsure where, but it was clear that One Eye had a plan and knew very well where he was and where he was going.

And Char had to trust him.

Continue on AO3!

[al-astakbar]

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 8/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [4.3k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ sex, mentions of anal sex, mild degradation/humiliation > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

> series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7 ☆ part 8

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

“What will it take to break you in, I wonder?” The Grand Admiral muses one evening. He likes you bent over and exposed, and usually his desk is the most convenient option. So that’s where you are now. 

He paces around, in and out of your field of vision, his hands clasped behind his back. You had watched him on the bridge today, where he had commanded the Chimaera through a quick skirmish with pirates, with much the same pose. 

“To get you nice and willing and open for me… soon you will wait for me, bent over my desk… when you hear the hatch open, you’ll reach back and spread yourself open for me.” He pauses a moment, and then gives you an order, his voice like silk. “Do it now. Show me.” 

You obey a little too quickly, and when he speaks again, you recognize amusement in his voice. “Good. Very good…” your name on his lips should not sound so good, should not have such sway over your self-control. 

You hear the click of his boot heels stop just behind you. “Wider.”

A hot wave of humiliation courses through you, makes your clit pulse. You do it, knowing he can see everything. 

Thrawn gives a ‘hmm’. “Such a lovely cunt. You’re wet, I see, but It has been some time since you were gifted to me and I still have not felt you cum. Or should I say, you have not let yourself cum.”

It is a sign of just how much he’s in your head that you barely protest the indignity of such a statement. You don’t even try to get up.  “I don’t owe you that.”

“No, you don’t. But… are you happy to simply be of use?” He puts an obscene twist on the phrase that sends another shiver of desire down your spine. Yes, there is something dark in your psyche that being of use to Thrawn appeals to. 

Your body gives you away, and perceptive as he is, he misses nothing. “You want more.” He trails one gloved finger over your skin, across your hip, too lightly up the line of your wetness. You can’t suppress a needy moan, and his touch lingers where he finds your desperation most transparent.

“I’ll fuck your ass soon. You’ll need to get used to taking my cock there. You have a tight, pretty little hole, it would be a shame not to fuck it. You like that idea.” His tone is soft, and suggestive. Dangerously close to convincing you of… whatever he wants. “Yes… you do. You like to think of me pushing in slowly. Using your body in ways you had never considered, all to give you pleasure.”

When you only manage an incoherent sound, he prompts you with a light brush of his finger over your asshole. “I expect an answer…” 

But you can’t give him one. At least, not one that’s honest. And unfortunately, the Grand Admiral can read you much too well for comfort.

You hear the sound of fabric, and then he takes you over his desk, the second time that day. He climaxes with a low, muted groan that makes you weak. Another hit to your resolve that nearly tips you over the edge to follow him. 

Afterwards, he cleans you up, and instructs you to dress. 

“Where are we going?”

The wardroom, he says. 

The whole way there, he tolerates your questions. Why and Will there be anyone else there and Can I eat dinner there and Can you walk slower? 

“I thought you would enjoy having a meal with some new company. You may, of course, remove your veil, if you wish.” And he slows his long-legged strides just enough for you to catch up. For a moment, you think he’s about to offer you his arm, to escort you like a gentleman would a lady. Somehow such a courteous gesture from him wouldn’t surprise you. You have to remind yourself that you wouldn’t accept it. But at the same time, your pussy is still pink and swollen and every lust-driven instinct is urging you closer to him. Despite the lingering, unsated arousal, you still have that nice, warm, just-been-fucked feeling and you hope desperately that no one can tell. Thrawn can, of course. He gives you a dryly amused look, and asks why you need to slow down-- “are you having trouble walking?”

You glare at him, and tell him under your breath that you can still feel his cum leaking out of you. “It’s making my legs sticky.” 

He smiles, but apologizes. “I should have been more thorough. Perhaps next time I’ll have to lick you clean. Would you like that?”

You want to answer that by elbowing him, because it would be too embarrassing to say ‘yes, please’. 

He leads you out of the more narrow, labyrinthine corridors until you reach one of the main passageways. The change of scenery lifts your spirits a bit, and you look around with renewed energy and focus. You expect that normally you’d find some random hallway unremarkable but after days of the exact same two locations, the same route, anything different is interesting. 

This one is brightly-lit and wide, and you and Thrawn pass several officers who all acknowledge their commander with a crisp ‘good evening, sir’. 

At the entrance of the officers’ mess, he opens the door for you, puts his hand at the small of your back and ushers you through. 

Inside are maybe fifty officers seated around tables in an expansive dining room. Droids move among the tables, serving platters of food and taking away dirty dishes. Some of the officers look around when you and Thrawn come in, and move to get up. One of them looks ready to call attention on deck before Thrawn holds up his hand.

“Keep your seats, please.” Evidently this is the one place on the ship where Imperial military formality is somewhat relaxed.

Thrawn takes you over to one table at which there are a few empty seats, and pulls out a chair for you.

You look up at him, murmur a quiet ‘thank you, sir’. He takes his own seat to your right, and to your left, you’re both dismayed and excited to realize, is Assistant Director Ronan. Thrawn’s reminder that you need not wear your veil had been tempting, but now you definitely won’t risk showing your face. Not with Ronan right next to you. He’d probably try to send a holo to the Emperor to snitch on you.

After a brief lull, the conversations pick up again. Several of Thrawn’s bridge officers are also seated around this table-- you recognize Commodore Faro, as well as two other women, the weapons officer Pyrondi and the chief sensors officer Hammerly. The comms officer Lomar is joking over a printed word puzzle in the ship’s daily newsletter with another officer you recognize but don’t know by name. The youngest person at the table is the helmsman, Lieutenant Agral. He looks rather shocked to be seated directly next to his commanding officer, and keeps glancing over at Thrawn and offering to refill his water glass, which Thrawn hasn’t touched once.

They talk of the events of the day, and the latest ship gossip, training evolutions, and who scored highest on the pistol qualification, complaints about the droids not pressing their uniforms properly. It’s one thing seeing them do their jobs, but another seeing them like this— eating, chatting, joking around. It all seems so normal. 

You stay quiet, picking little pieces of your food and secreting them under your veil to eat. Why Thrawn thought this would be enjoyable for you, you don’t know. Even covered, you feel awfully exposed and out of place, unable to join any conversations since none of them bother to address you directly.

“The food isn’t bad, is it.” 

You look over in surprise. Ronan takes a delicate bite of some succulent plant. 

You stare at him for a moment, wondering if he was actually talking to you. A moment ago he had been debating one of the bridge officers about the importance of locally indigenized production of TIE avionics. 

Now he nods to your plate, which is piled with a bounty of food. To Thrawn’s credit, he hadn’t been lying when he said he ate the same as his crew. This is all similar to the meals you’ve eaten in his quarters, except there is no wine on the table.

“Fresh vegetables and fruit. I’ve no idea how they supply the whole ship with it, let alone the fleet.”

You find your voice. “Do they, though? Down on the enlisted mess decks, they all get this too?” 

“Of course they do,” he says crisply, and that settles the matter.

For a moment, you’re stuck on what to say. This could be your chance, your only chance to speak at length with the one person who might have an interest in getting you off this ship. You have to say something. Even if it sounds naive and servile and completely false to your ear. “… is this your first time on a ship like this? I mean, a big one.”

Ronan scoffs. “Certainly not. In my work for the Director— Director Krennic, that is— I’ve had the distinct privilege of touring many Imperial vessels, a few even more grand than this.” 

This is the sort of conversation you had expected as a companion, before you had met Thrawn and had to reevaluate everything you thought you knew about Imperials. Ronan fits the mold, though, so well he seems like a caricature. A self important wind bag, bragging about his connections and deeply, deeply concerned for his public image. By now, you’ve heard the name Director Krennic many times, and had even asked Thrawn about it. But it’s more fun to say “who?” and watch Ronan turn red in the face. 

You slip a look at Thrawn. He gives you the subtlest smirk, his eyes glittering, before returning his attention to the other conversation. 

After Ronan finishes a fawning review of Director Krennic’s accomplishments, he’s able to compose himself somewhat. “But you must feel very lucky to have secured a position with a Grand Admiral,” he picks up. “How did you manage it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Lucky?” You repeat, unable to keep disbelief out of your voice. 

“I should say so. When you were selected, I’m sure you didn’t imagine… well, any of this.” He sniffs, looking around the table, and you don’t miss how his lip curls as his gaze slides over Thrawn. 

“No,” you say carefully. “It’s been quite comfortable so far, at least compared to our accommodations on Coruscant.”

“Well, they can’t make it too easy. Then everyone would want to do it. Still, it’s a rather short, easy path to join such esteemed company.” 

If that’s what he really thinks— that you’re some social climber who volunteered for this-- that any of this has been easy for you-- you dig your nails into your thigh, have to bite your tongue. Briefly, you fantasize about taking a cup of juice and ‘accidentally’ spilling it on him. But if you hope to win his trust, and have any chance of escaping the Chimaera, you have to play along. “I… ah… In truth, the esteem of the company was lost on me at first. I didn’t realize the significance of his rank. I didn’t even know there were non-human officers.” This feels dangerously close to agreeing with Ronan. Thrawn is thoroughly engaged in conversation; you doubt he’s listening to you. 

“Yes, well. The Grand Admiral is one of the very few,” Ronan says, in a tone that suggests he’s relieved about this fact. “A great many exceptions were made to ensure his rise, as I’ve heard it. But he’s managed to charm the right people, I suppose. And you did too, placed with a Grand Admiral. I expect once you get back to civilization he’ll be keeping you in all the latest fashions and jewels.”

And with that, your exchange with Ronan stalls, though you should admit what it really is-- a dead end. What can you even talk about, with him, here? Other than the ever-fertile topic of Director Krennic, of course. 

With a sigh, you return to picking at your food, and you catch the middle of a spirited discussion among Thrawn’s bridge crew. 

“—losing too many fighters, it’s not sustainable.”

“Not the fighters, the pilots,” Faro says tightly. You get the impression that this is a particularly sore spot for her. “Pilot training takes a year, minimum. Just by the math, it doesn’t work out. We aren’t training replacements fast enough.”

They talk freely in front of Thrawn, and he seems to encourage this kind of open discussion and exchange of ideas. They also don’t look to him constantly for reassurance or the final word. 

“But with the hit and run attacks--”

“It’s impossible to stamp them all out at once. They’re like weeds, pull one out and a few days later, three more sprout up.”

“Weeds?” Whispers Pyrondi to Faro, and you miss part of the discussion as Commodore Faro quietly explains what they are; apparently Pyrondi grew up on Coruscant and the concept is unfamiliar.

“How do they reconstitute so fast? With no supply lines, no centralized logistics?”

You shift in your seat and chance a look over at Thrawn— only to find him regarding you curiously. For a moment, your heart is in your throat, at the thought of him announcing to the whole table that they needn’t speculate any longer. Here is a former rebel, in the flesh, to whom they could direct all their questions. 

But he doesn’t, and you sag in relief.

“A question, then,” Thrawn puts to his officers. “Knowing that current strategies of reactive targeting are ineffective, where should Imperial forces direct their efforts?”

Ronan makes a strangled sound— Thrawn may be right, but he is close to outright contradicting official policy, which amounts to contradicting the Emperor. None of his officers bat an eye though. 

“Resource realignment,” Hammerly says promptly. 

“Or stronger deterrents,” Lomar suggests, and you notice Ronan give an emphatic, approving nod. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Hammerly says. “Bigger ships and bigger guns are useless if you can’t even find targets.”

More voices pick up the debate, with Pyrondi suggesting, “we need to make better use of intel sources to predict rebel movements and attacks.” You listen with a sort of numb curiosity. To hear your enemy-- if they still are your enemy-- discussing how they would defeat you.

At one point, you feel Ronan shift in his seat. He has interjected a few times, never shy with his opinion, to chastise anyone he disagrees with. This time, as he shifts, he manages to brush his hand against yours, under the table. You jerk away, but in a smooth, subtle motion, he catches you and you feel his fingers curl yours around something small, metallic, and cylindrical. A data stick. 

You don’t look at him. You fight any reaction, and as naturally as possible, slip the data stick into a fold in your sleeve. 

The conversation goes late. You miss most of it anyway, distracted by your curiosity about why Ronan would want to discretely slip you a data stick— and more importantly, what could possibly be on it. As you walk with Thrawn back to his quarters, an announcement comes over the 1MC, taps, taps. The passageway lights dim to red during the ship’s night cycle and Thrawn looks even more intimidating than usual, cast in red and yet his eyes still gleaming out of the darkness. 

“What do you think?” He asks when you get back to his office. 

“A-about what?” The data stick Ronan had pressed into your hand is making you paranoid. As small and light as it is, you fear it might still be noticeable in your sleeve, at least to someone as observant as Thrawn. For all you know he might be able to tell that its weight makes your robe hang slightly differently. 

“The question we were discussing.”

You pull your veil back and sit on the couch, drawing a cozy blanket over yourself. “You really want my opinion?”

Thrawn goes to the small bar, pours two glasses of the emerald wine and brings them over. “You have a rather unique experience. So, yes, when I ask for your opinion, I expect you to provide it.” 

You eye him for a moment, doubtful, wondering what game he’s playing here. He already knows you have no information. He knows you were a nobody. Completely insignificant to the broader effort. But he has a certain hold over you. An inviting expression on his sharply handsome features, his calm, undivided attention makes you blush, which you try to cover by taking a sip of your wine. It is sweet and flowery on your tongue. A sensual luxury. Perhaps Ronan was right-- given the chance, Thrawn will probably indulge you, spoil you in gifts of rare jewels and fine clothes and expensive, lavish meals in exclusive company.

Fine, then. You can play along. “The Empire’s strategies are more effective than you think. Lomar was saying how it’s not sustainable, the rate at which you keep losing fighters, but for every TIE blown up, or transport captured, it costs…” you stop yourself, feeling like you’ve exposed more than you meant to. 

Thrawn is seated close, in the armchair, and he taps his finger on the stem of his wine glass without taking a sip, his eyes ever fixed on you. “It costs you more than it costs your enemy.”

You nod tightly. “The attrition is enough of a deterrent for most people to even think about supporting, let alone joining.”

“You joined.”

“And look where it got me.” 

His eyebrows raise fractionally at that bit of impertinence, but you don’t look away. You hold his gaze, even as warmth creeps up your neck, brightening your cheeks. There is no mistaking the desire evident in his expression. He likes when you challenge him. Your breath catches, from the way he’s looking at you. From how ridiculously handsome he is. You can’t stop staring at his mouth, and the idea flashes through your mind-- how would it feel to kiss him? 

“I-- what was the question?”

Thrawn repeats it-- that current approaches aren’t working. “Where do you think Imperial forces should direct their efforts instead?” 

You bite your lip, flustered, your thoughts scattered. “I don’t know.” because you really don’t, but he narrows his eyes at that, and so you say what originally came to mind. “You should target the Mon Calamari shipyards.”

“Moff Tarkin has attempted that already.” 

“He tried to take it as a trophy. I’m saying destroy it. I mean… hypothetically.” 

“Explain,” Thrawn orders, in a quiet, low tone that always makes your heart beat a little faster.

“I— I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, right?” 

“That remains to be seen.” 

“Well-- I mean, I was never in charge of anything--” his silence lets you stammer, and meander to a real answer. “We all used their ships. Lots of us, all the cells, even though we mostly didn’t know each other. And so, we all trained the same way, on the same equipment. If you had a Mon Cal ship, the maintainers and engineers would always know what to do for repairs. But when other ships would come in needing something, or had damage, they wouldn’t always know how to fix it. I mean-- if you take Corellian ships, not everything is standardized even from fourth generation to fifth generation fighters.”

“The use of a common design among and across fleets is advantageous,” Thrawn supplies. 

“Yes. And a lot of times, when we needed replacement parts for other types of ships or anything like that, we’d have to track them down second-hand, or special order. Or figure out a workaround with a substitute, which would take time because it wasn’t just a drop-in, we’d have to do at least low level validation and sometimes minor re-design. That all takes time, and if we were planet hopping or system hopping, we couldn’t just order something because it wouldn’t arrive in time. We’d be gone before the delivery, and usually we had no idea where we’d end up next. So.” You shrug, unable to hide your slight smile. It hadn’t been fun, exactly, but the memories weren’t all bad. 

“Removing the Mon Calamari shipyards would cripple the efficiency of the rebellion.” Thrawn’s tone is warmly approving, and you take another, deeper drink of your wine, because this conversation feels almost friendly. “You’ll be relieved to hear that such a course of action has already been considered and discarded by Imperial High Command. I recommended this to the Joint Chiefs, but my suggestion was rebuffed.”

“Why?”

Thrawn frowns, his air of satisfaction disappearing. “I do not know. A longtime friend and mentor told me that the reason was political but the nuances of such a decision escape me. Nevertheless, your instinct is a good one. And you made the point more convincingly than I was able to.” He taps the arm of his chair thoughtfully. “Most wars will be won or lost on the supply lines, long before any battles take place. You would have done well as a naval officer.”     

Whether he meant it as a compliment or not, the idea rattles around in your head for the rest of the night, and long after Thrawn puts you to bed. You lay with it, tossing and turning in the dark, until you’re convinced it’s late enough. You have to see what’s on that data stick.

As far as you know, Thrawn has never come in to check on you while you’re asleep. And he has never slept in here with you either, which is another bizarre mystery, but not one you’ll find an answer to tonight. You’d managed to keep the data stick from Ronan hidden in your robes, even after taking them off and hanging them in the wall locker. 

Now, you slide out of bed, moving carefully, secretly, as if any noise would alert Thrawn. For that, at least, you probably don’t have to worry. There is an ambient hum about the ship, no matter where you are-- the sound of the air circulator, and all the other life support systems will be enough to drown out all of your footsteps and movement. 

Still, heart beating in your ears, you creep over and retrieve the data stick, then slot it in the data pad. A message reads out on the screen, just a single line.

Your breath catches in your chest.

[CELES STAVEN. IF YOU KNEW HER ON CORUSCANT I CAN HELP YOU.]

You stare at the words, reading them over again, trying to temper your hopes a little, but the prospect of escaping is an exciting one, burning in your chest. Ronan knew someone at the cloister. His family? The surname was different, but that must be who he was asking about. But did he know how they kept you anonymous? Faceless, even with each other? Even those you thought you knew, you had never known their names, at least, not their real names. Celes. You wrack your memories for some clue-- anything-- if only he had said what she looked like. Or better, what she had sounded like. The shape of her hands. 

A chill passes through you, and your throat gets tight, tears prick your eyes. Here in the dark, all of a sudden, you feel coldly, desperately alone. 

You wipe the message, then input one of your own. It can’t be too long. You wish there was space to explain all this. He’s looking for an easy answer, and you don’t have one. Perhaps you could try to just ask him directly, you’ll likely see him on the bridge tomorrow morning but-- no. Too risky. People would have questions if you were seen chatting together. Ironically, Thrawn wouldn’t care about such a breach of etiquette, you’re sure, but to others it would raise suspicion.

[NO NAMES. NEED A HOLO.] 

You take the data stick out of the datapad. Now, you have to find a secure place to hide it until you can pass it back to him, but there is nowhere in the sparely furnished room that you can be sure Thrawn or a cleaning droid wouldn’t find. On your person, then. You could sew it into your robes.

If only you had a needle and thread. And light. 

After some rather desperate, breathless searching, mostly by touch, you find a travel sewing kit at the very back of a high shelf in the wall locker. That will work-- it has a needle, at least, though the thread is too heavy and the wrong color. You can salvage palebug thread from your embroidery. You slip your robe off the hangar, and crouch by the viewport. With the stars your only light, you painstakingly pick loose the thread of one of the flowers on your slipper. One from the side, where you think has the least chance of being noticed. 

The work is agonizingly slow. This could be the night Thrawn decides to check on you, you expect the hatch to open at any moment but you can’t rush. The thread itself is prone to breaking, and with each stitch undone, it shines in the starlight, as delicate as crawler silk, shimmering even from your light breaths.  Once you have a length of thread long enough to double on itself, you set about sewing an extra, hidden pocket into an inconspicuous fold of your sleeve. The data stick is small and light enough, as long as no one knows to look for it, it should never be found. 

And now, you’ll just have to figure out how to hand it back to Ronan.

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