ferm
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The Stranger by ferm
Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, game of thrones
02 Jun 2019
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Summary
The gods work in mysterious ways. While the light of some men is left lit long enough for them to give life to a corpse three days old; others are extinguished far too quickly, only to arrive back through the annals of time into a world so similar, yet so different from their own.
No one knew where he came from. Not even Maester Luwin, and he knew everything. The stranger seemed familiar to Arya somehow. Maybe it was his brown hair, maybe it was the slight twitch of his mouth when he tried to smile. But Arya knew it was neither. He had such terribly sad eyes, eyes so grey they seemed to herald snow. Eyes like her own.
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A rewrite of Senator Mon Mothma's final address to the Imperial Senate to give her the satisfaction of denouncing Emperor Palpatine to his face.
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The Tooka and the Heron by What_Ansketil_Did_Next for NightshadeSmoothie
Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, Andor (TV)
26 Oct 2023
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The Kuati ambassador is hosting a costume party and all anyone can talk about is the latest raft of emergency legislation proposed by the Emperor. Two beings on opposite sides have an opportunity to talk.
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Brasso was twenty then. Learning his way around his dad’s repair shop, running errands for his mother, and from that point forward, running meals over to Maarva’s house a couple times a month, when his mother and the rest of the Daughters started to intuit (accurately, he decided) that Maarva was beginning to find their fussing overbearing and suffocating.
She tolerated him at first, if only because he was someone new, and then he came back two days later with a couple of replacement coils for her heater and a better tool for cleaning out B2EMO’s treads and he seemed to move up greatly in her estimation, from polite tolerance to, “Come back soon, and I’ll show you how a linbok stew is meant to taste,” and if Brasso strategically chose to never relay that to his mother, well, she’d always said he had the best head on his shoulders of all his siblings.
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Kleya would have called it a long time ago, he suspected.
He wondered how close she’d let it come, before the tight pull of her eyes, the questioning look she gave him at the start and close of every day in the gallery, yielded to questions or lectures or demands.
Sometimes, he wondered if she grasped how deeply ran his bloodlust. How dearly he wanted this, not for the Rebellion, but for his own satisfaction. To hit them hard, humiliate them, sit back and watch them descend into paranoia and contend with the dilemma of how to staunch the wound after so long believing themselves infallible, untouchable, invincible.
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The dinner party tonight is for some frivolous, manufactured reason—a promotion, an anniversary, an obscure Chandrilan holiday, which she cannot even remember at the moment—but her true purpose is, as it always must be, the slow and arduous work of politics.