No. 34 [Château d'If].

[mmm... christmas cake...]

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 03:11:36 GMT

Title: The Eagle, the Cat and the Cake
Disclaimer: Star Wars is the property of George Lucas.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2200
Pairing: Anakin/Palpatine
Warnings: Nudity and explicit scenes which may offend some people. Naughty use of cake. PWP.
Summary: Palpatine and Anakin enjoy dessert.
Author’s Note: I was discussing cake yesterday with luminations (I can't use the lj-user function at the moment because when I do it kills everything else) and this plot bunny made an appearance – so this is a silly season gift for her, the muse for this fic. I used to be quite good at food!kink when I baked in the Pirates of the Caribbean kitchen, so let’s see if I’ve still got the knack… My long cw fic is still progressing, for those interested. As part of my research for this fanfiction I baked a strawberry syrup and coconut cake and ate a slice very slowly, so think of this as my way of sharing it with you, gentlebeings.

Jedi Skywalker sat opposite the Supreme Chancellor, speculating. If it was Jedi business that brought him here, it was the man himself who persuaded him to while away these long hours in the elegant crimson apartments accorded to the Head of State. There wasn’t the rapport he shared with Obi-Wan, nor the passion of Padmé, but a deep well of mutual admiration and understanding that often threatened to drown Anakin in Palpatine’s presence. The fact that he was the Chancellor only added spice to the already heady brew

Everything seemed to linger that evening, nothing was hurried; everything turned at a measured pace – from the wine to the conversation. But wasn't that always the case with Palpatine? It was noticeable in the Force, too. A quiet certainty which moved about the Chancellor like the gentle swirl of the brandy in his crystal glass – no need to rush, it said, time enough for everything.

Anakin fought against it, stretching his muscles under the table and drumming his durasteel fingers on the arm of his chair. Time was a privilege, patience – while a virtue – out of keeping with a short leave on Coruscant before the front called the young general back. This pleasurable time was but a comfortable illusion made possible only by Palpatine's exalted status, which could create safe harbours where none existed.

“Anakin?” eyebrows were leisurely raised above a concerned gaze.

“Sorry sir, my mind wandered,”

“Ah – care to take me with you?”

Anakin was unsure. There had been one kiss – one. An accidental slip of a moment on a darkening afternoon when he was younger... less controlled; a juvenile declaration of love which had embarrassed both of them. And Palpatine had promised him that he would not speak of it, that they would be as they had been. But now Anakin felt the need to renege on their agreement, to cut this measured pace in two and snatch something vital out of these sedentary pleasantries, however, he couldn’t just come out and say it – not after what had happened before. His skin itched to break this inertia.

Their dessert arrived then, carried in by two serving droids, saving Anakin from the expected reply. A brilliantly-iced edifice of white-gold turrets and battlements, decorated with the sweet berries of Naboo and darkly crimson ribbons, it shocked Anakin out of his thoughts. “That’s what I call a cake!” he said admiringly, flashing an amused grin. “What’s the occasion, or do you eat like this every night?”

Palpatine matched him grin for grin, “Good heavens no!” He paused, turning to the servo-droid, his smile vanishing “I don’t believe I ordered this.”

“No, Your Excellency. Aide Moore arranged tonight’s menu,” the droid explained with a bow.

“Did my Staff Aide explain precisely why she felt the need–?”

“Don’t send it back!” Anakin quickly interjected, reaching for the knife to emphasise his point.

“Why, yes, Your Excellency. It is your Day of Life today.”

“It…” the Chancellor frowned, “…it is?”

“Yes, Excellency – Aide Moore was quite specific. Happy Day of Life, Excellency.” The droids departed.

Anakin smiled, “I’d complain about you not telling me it was your birthday,” he used the old Tatooine term, “but it looks like you were just as in the dark about it as I was...”

“Well, why don't you cut us each a slice, hmm?” Palpatine’s tone regained some of its accustomed smoothness as he spoke.

But Anakin now had a plan. Whetting his lips as he did so, the Jedi stood and carefully cut two slices, causing aromatic syrup to ooze up through the icing, around the blade and seep out of each slice once on the plate. Anakin swiped at it with two fingers – it was sweet and somewhat sticky, and tasted of pear and berry liqueur.

Palpatine hardly touched his slice – merely blunting its edges with his spoon, liberating some of the berries. Anakin, leaning against the table, choose to forgo cutlery altogether and picked up the whole slice in his natural hand and bit into it, still warm from the oven, causing syrup to trail down his wrist and neck and creamy icing to settle around his mouth. “Look at this mess!” He exclaimed, deliberately drawing Palpatine’s attention as he put the tip of his tongue to the inside of his wrist and trailed it upward, before swirling it around his lips.

Raising an aristocratic brow, the Chancellor regarded him carefully from under half-lowered lids. It was a challenging gaze that read just what are you up to, young man? Anakin ignored the look, absorbed in licking himself clean like a great taagcat, as if unaware of the attention he was receiving from Palpatine’s eyes – there was a stirring in the Force like a bird ruffling its feathers. Anakin pushed himself upward so that he was sitting on the polished table and took another bite, repeating the process.

Though not looking at him, Anakin could still see his quarry with the eyes of the Force. The Chancellor was staring up at Anakin as though he had never seen him before. He still held the fork in his hand, poised in the air, cake quite forgotten. Unable to resist peeking at his expression, Anakin glanced across at him and saw that there was a pink tinge to Palpatine’s cheeks, and lust clouding in his usually clear eyes. The thin lips were turned downward, married to a proprietorial glare as he deliberately set down his utensil. He cocked his head and held himself very still, like the avian creature Anakin had compared him to earlier, wings neatly folded.

Very slowly, drawing out his movements, Anakin removed a berry from the top of the cake and placed it just inside his mouth, held gently between his teeth – without breaking its delicate red skin. Then he slid down the table until he was leaning over the Chancellor, boots resting on the edges of Palpatine’s chair, locking him in place between them. Close, closer, until his lips were a fraction away from meeting with Palpatine’s. There was the tension of something powerful reigned in, a dam held fast with iron resolve and fury, yes fury, at such provocation. “Anakin, this is–!”

“Shhh…” Anakin ran his cake-free durasteel fingers along the line of Palpatine’s clenched jaw as he flashed the other man a wicked smile and saw his excitement echoed in the depths of those blue eyes – the air around them was electric – Anakin could sense that Palpatine was about to say something again, but before he could do so Anakin bit down on the berry, spraying each of their mouths with juice before capturing the Chancellor’s lips as red liquid dribbled down their chins; Palpatine made a rough noise somewhere between a moan and a growl and his wings spread as talons locked on Anakin’s shoulders, pulling him downward so that Anakin half-fell on top of him with a yelp of surprise.

Tearing at Jedi robes, Palpatine’s own tongue found the syrup which had slid down that lithe neck to cling to Anakin’s collarbone, nibbling and sucking at the residue, while Anakin reached behind and scooped up a rich gobbet of icing and berry from the Chancellor’s plate onto his finger, only to slide that finger between Palpatine’s lips. “Happy birthday, sir,” he whispered, his voice smoky with desire.

The Chancellor curled his tongue around the icing with a quick swallow and laughed: a wealth of pleasure that welled up his vocal chords and his eyes glittered like Corusca gems – there was something smooth and oily on the air now, something at which every midi-chlorian in Anakin’s body screamed dangerous. The patience the Jedi had always supposed was infinite had vanished, leaving every line in Palpatine’s face drawn with pulsing, crackling possessiveness. Nails sank into the sides of Anakin’s face and ancient, unknown words dripped from greedy lips: “Si’zeth ez kren’hsi ithen!” it was a dark, sibilant intonation that resonated like a spell, but the meaning was beyond doubt, it shrieked with the triumph of it: mine, mine, mine, mine!

Anakin had never encountered the like. It was as if he’d leaped into a maelstrom and was now surging round and round as hands, lips, teeth – two bodies jumbled together like one of the Chancellor’s abstract paintings. The chair overturned and they sprawled across the carpet – now the eagle was on top, the great cat writhing underneath. But a bird’s bones are hollow and easily caught up in lithe steel paws. They rolled and Anakin held Palpatine down, working open the clasps at his neck to expose the white flesh underneath, pulling the fabric down to free his shoulders and upper back, the velvet cummerbund still tight around his middle, trapping the hands in those elaborate wings, now twice as long as they were before. Anakin teased, nibbling and biting, while his prey growled and gasped, trying to regain the upper-hand.

Using his prosthetic digits, Anakin just managed to keep him down, while he snatched the almost untouched piece of cake from the table. He drew a line in pear syrup from the termination of the silver hairline to where the cummerbund prevented Palpatine’s ceremonial robes from sliding down any further. Then Anakin’s tongue followed back up the sweet line he had made along the ridge of Palpatine’s spine and the fury beneath him quieted, eyes closed. Kissing the lattice of lines at the corner of Palpatine’s eye with his syrupy lips, Anakin relaxed.

Immediately, he was spun sideways, to land face-down in the dish of cake. A dark chuckle above him as Palpatine, unable to employ his hands, used his teeth to loose Anakin’s belt while Anakin wiped the cake from his face with his hands and tongue, managing to reach around and smear it across the side of Palpatine’s jaw.

“Oh my!” came the horrified gasp of the serving droid, who had presumably entered to clean away their plates.

That moment of distraction was all Anakin required to snatch back the advantage, flipping Palpatine over and putting a cake-coated hand over his mouth as he addressed the droid: “His Excellency won’t be requiring any more service this evening,” Anakin told the droid briskly as sharp teeth snapped against cake and hand, “…I’ll see to his needs.”

The droid, as much as a droid could, glanced cautiously at Palpatine, who nodded. “Of course, noble Jedi. I shall instruct no one to disturb you.”

Anakin scooped up Palpatine in his arms, his cheeky grin set into a face full of icing and bits of syrupy sponge. “I have a better idea – where does the Chancellor sleep?”

Following the droid, whom he had instructed to bring the birthday cake, and with his hand still firmly lodged over his powerful prisoner’s mouth, Anakin entered the Chancellor’s bedroom, where he deposited Palpatine on the silk covers, using the Force to hold him there while he quickly undressed. Then he moved to undress his companion, whose eyes burnt with a cool fire. Shoes and trousers were soon disposed of, leaving only the dark wings and sweeping velvet plumage of his magnificent, silver-haired bird. Icing and syrup were then dribbled up the insides of those pale thighs, leaving a berry-coloured stain in the wake of Anakin’s worshipful tongue – the warm human hand curled around Palpatine’s own pleasure in a sticky rhythm while the smooth metal one slipped two fingers into his opening, eased by sweet-smelling berry icing.

He released the Force-net, allowing the Chancellor to squirm as Anakin gentled him with kisses while his fingers did their work. “Mmmm… I have…I… oh, Anakin!” At that moment durasteel fingers gave way to something else as Anakin’s hips began to slide against him. The closer they came to it, the more Anakin could drink in the aura that Palpatine had first exuded in the dining room. It’s rampant, addictive spice. He wanted to catch it, consume it - break the barrier that kept it diluted, just out of his reach.

Finally, striking the very precipice, he glimpsed it, as though he'd been living all his life in a sand-hut and the roof had been suddeny ripped away and above him shone the desert firmament – the centre of a vast galactic tapestry – and all the dark, galloping hearts that dwelled within every creature in the universe seemed to be beating with his, raging with his, all touched and touching, on and on in a limitless, expanding gasp of feeling until there was nothing but stars and Anakin’s awareness shrank back down to this system, this planet, this room.

He tumbled off Palpatine with a cry and stared up at the red ceiling, lights pooling at the edges of his vision. “That was… amazing…” he managed eventually.

His words were answered with a creaky, self-satisfied grin and a voice as rich and sticky as the syrup which clung to their skin. “Well, I suppose you’ll have to take dessert with me more often, won’t you?”

THE END

[is it wrong that i get palpatine-vibes off the marquise?]

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 04:54:24 GMT

16 Dangerous Liasons icons! I love this movie... please credit if you take one.

01	02	03	04

05	06	07	08

09	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

[after the sandstorm] a wee tatooine drabble

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 10:01:23 GMT

Title: After the Sandstorm
Disclaimer: I don't own Anakin Skywalker, he's the property of George Lucas.
Word Count; 150
Characters: just little Anakin.
Rating: G
Summary: TPM Anakin misses Tatooine.
Author's Note: Just some simple musing.

The sunlight did not burn here like the twins, but gently warmed. Once Jira, spinning one of her old tales like sugar around dried pallie fruit, had told him about the boy who was carried away in a sandstorm to where the suns lived.

One day he had seen glass bottles for sale in Mos Espaa. The colours had blinked and danced, suspended in the air and clinging into each other, chiming in the dry wind.

Freedom was in stealing himself for a few seconds. The rush of pod-engines, the sudden cool of a shade-sail, his mother's embrace and the dreams before sleep. Watto couldn't own those things.

Luminaries glide across glass-bottle worlds – queen, senator, jedi – characters from Jira's croaky legends. These last riddle and shift with measured voices, as if counting how long he'll be there.

The boy in the story hadn't missed the dune sea.

Fanfiction Masterlist

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 11:37:02 GMT

Okay so I'm going to compile a list of all my fanfiction - will add minor fandoms later. I will post least all of it that's not a complete embarrassment - you'll have to search for the blackmail material on your own. It's depressing how many of these are unfinished. Also, I'm very consious of trying to improve my skills as a writer all the time so there will be vast differences in quality, since some of these are very old. Harry Potter The Prince and the Professor (PGR) A different twist on the traditional timetravel fic. Set during HBP. Severus travels forward in time and encounters the one person who can possibly understand - himself. I had intended to turn this into Severus/Severus but I never got to that point. Paterfamilias (M) When Draco finds his grandfather’s memoirs he unlocks a past he never knew beginning in the winter of 1941 and the passion between Abraxas Malfoy & another boy. As Draco reads, his family unravels and the dark lord looms on the horizon… (Lucius/Narcissa, Abraxas/Tom, Lucius/Tom) This is pre-Deathly Hallows and needs editing to comply with canon but the story isn't significantly impaired by it. Brilliant (M) Albus is surprised to see brilliant Tom Riddle working in a shop. (Albus/Tom; Gellert/Albus) You Know Who? (M) What would you do if you woke up with no memory of who you were, looking like a monster, stuck in a room with a giant snake? Well, Lord Voldemort is in exactly that situation. When he is captured by the Order, things can only get worse. (Hermione/Voldemort) I read Deathly Hallows about a third of a way through this and it shows. Pirates of the Caribbean That Which Vexes All Men (PG-13) When Elizabeth Swann hires someone from Tortuga to spy on Lord Beckett, she never realised quite how pleasurable the arrangement would become, for both parties involved. (Cutler/FemOC) A Complete Surprise (R16: warning non-consensual sex) Mercer and Cutler and introduced to each other. (Cutler/Mercer) The Boy in Blue (M) Another how did Cutler and Mercer meet fic (Cutler/Mercer). Capture (M) A story from the point of view of the artist who painted the infamous portrait in Lord Beckett’s cabin. (Cutler/MaleOC) The Taste of Promise (PG-13) James Norrington copes with life and death and Cutler copes with James Norrington. An introduction to the pairing. (James/Cutler) The Art of Power (PG) Cutler plays with his toy soldiers. I stil love this one. Quality (PG-13) Lord Beckett is abed with fever and sea-sick – what follows? Torturing Norrie, of course! Utterly lacking in plot. All Washed Up and Nowhere to Go (PG)After the end of AWE, Cutler washes up on a beach… Humour fic. I'm proud to say that this was the origin of Jack calling Cutler "Cuttlefish" in fanon. P is for Pirate (PGR) Jack, Cutler, smex, sass, a branding iron and unfinished business. Polite Interest - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four (PG-13) The armada wins and Beckett captures the Pirate “King,” What really happens when you kiss Elizabeth Swann without asking. (Cutler/Elizabeth) The Lock, the Key and the Thief (PG-13) Jack and Cutler describe some of their memories of each other. Jack, drunk and somewhat maudlin tells someone over rum and Cutler writes in his journal. Much angst ensues. (Jack/Cutler) Prudence or a Lack Thereof - Part One - Part Two (PGR) In AWE, where we have the lovely “fan and compass” sequence, what would have happened if the heroes didn’t band together to escape and Jack and Cutler were rabid sex bunnies? Well… perhaps something vaguely like this? Pirates of the Caribbean meets P. G. Wodehouse. Jack gets drunk, Cutler gets mad and gets even… and monkeys get hot. What isn’t there to like? Very silly. An amusing romp. Sadly unfinished Star Wars A Room with a View (M) Palpatine wants to seduce Anakin. Anakin wants to seduce Palpatine but not in quite the same way! How long will it take for each to realise the other's intentions? The Palpakin classic of classics. Was the first PT Anakin/Palpatine story on the net, as far as I know and my first sw fanfiction. Anonymity (PG) Palpatine forces Vader to attend a masquerade ball at the Alderaani Embassy. Interesting things ensue. (Vader/??) Qui-Gon Jinn's Plan (PGR) Palpakin mpreg for the lolz (Anakin/Palpatine) Quizzical (G) Palpatine takes an internet personality quiz Affair Choice (PGR) Things at 500 Republica are... complicated (Palpatine/Anakin/Padme). Waltz Tempo (G) A palpakin story concurrent with 'Room with a View'. A variation on a similar theme. They waltz. (Anakin/Palpatine) Rising and Falling (PGR) A series of moments revolving around Palpatine, visions and the power of sleep. Based around the idea that the Chancellor "goes for days without sleeping" and explores one possible answer to this. Also explores Anakin's feelings. Canon-compliant. Music of the Spheres (PG-13) The now old operatic soprano, Oelil Nin, writing several years after the fall of the Empire, describes the relationship she once had with Senator Palpatine (Palpatine/femOC) Absolute Pleasure (G) Palpatine muses and watches a bit of theatre. In His Hands (G) Darth Vader talks about Palpatine's hands. Canon-only. Under the Affluence of Incohol (R) Palpatine and Anakin enjoy some drunken smex with lashings of relationship angst (Palpatine/Anakin) Against Nature (PGR) Palpatine ressurects Padme for Vader. Child of Sah'ot (G) A child is left at the door of the retired President Mothma. Her daughter Lieda takes the child in. Named after Mon's dead son, Jobin Mothma faces a difficult destiny. The story of a Palpatine clone loosely set in the EU. Alexis - v. 0.1 (M) When Alexis Ts'umin meets his Emperor in the Imperial Gardens his life spins out of control. Facing his sister's war, sex with Palpatine and the jealousy of Darth Vader, can life get any worse? Apparently so. (Palpatine/maleOC) Alexis - v 0.2 (M) I'm in the process of re-writing this fanfiction. So stay tuned. Under the Covers (NC-17) A ~~faded out on purpose~~ missing scene from 'Alexis'. The Emperor and Alexis have sex. (see above) RED (various ratings) A series of short Palpatine fics based on shades of his favourite colour (various pairings) Real Life and the sequel A Tad Immoral (PGR) Palpakin in the "real world" or something like it. An attempt at transplanting my OTP. (Palpatine/Anakin/Padme) ALL MY DRABBLES Various Star Wars fanfiction in drabble format. Devarication (PG) A rewrite of that moment after Windu's death when Anakin faces the music. Code (PG-13) Anakin can't sleep (Anakin/Obi; Anakin/Padme; Anakin/Palpatine) Nothing is Innocent Now (R-16) Padmé suspects Anakin of being unfaithful.(Padme/Anakine and ???) Revolutions (G0 Padmé tries to persuade Palpatine to step down. They have a telling conversation. A Question of Wealth (G) A clone wars fic guess the narrator. Probably one of the most cheesy things I've ever written. Woods (G) The ghost of Anakin Skywalker goes in search of Palpatine's soul. Persuasion (R) A "light" fluffy bit of Palpatine and Padme in bed. (Palpatine/Padme) Child (PGR) Anakin asks Palpatine an embarrassing question. (Amidala/Anakin; unrequited Palpatine/Anakin) The Eagle, the Cat andd the Snake (NC-17) Palpatine and Anakin enjoy dessert. Cake!kink, PWP. (Palpatine/Anakin)

[multi-fandom] icons

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 10:00:11 GMT

Today I've decided to be perverse and start putting my icons in my main lj (it's sooo pretty!) and not have an icon journal. So here's a link to the journal with all my previous icons and below will be the start of a brave new future! Here we have 28 icons from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, Dune, Klimt, HBO's Rome, The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus and Star Wars.

01	02	03	04

05	06	07	08

09	10	11	12

13	14	15	16

17	18	19	20

21	22	23	24

25	26	27	28

Senator Amidala: "La Liberté"

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 03:40:57 GMT

I said I'd make some art, so here it is ~~omg it's not a picture of Palpatine!~~ it's Senator Amidala from the "You're starting to sound like a separatist!" scene from RotS. I did it in watercolour pencils and I'm really digging her expression at the moment - so determined! I call it La Liberté because somehow it makes me think of those old pictures of Marianne and I could easily see Padmé in that role - such a fierce idealist is she!

[still-born futures] imagine it.

Fri, 04 Dec 2009 11:32:00 GMT

Title: A Necessary Sacrifice
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars, I do not!
Prompt: No
Rating: G
Word Count: 300
Warnings: Angst.
Characters: Palpatine
Summary: Did the Emperor know what would befall Vader on Mustafar?
sw_saga_drabble . It worked out at a perfect 300 at first word count, yay! I put this drabble down to reading Dune recently. I have the Kwisatz Haderach on the brain.

A sweeping echo of quietude filled the beautiful red chambers. Nothing was out of place, no sound but the delicate rhythm of breath and the rustle of coverlets.

A single being lay entwined - neither asleep nor awake - in a tangle of scarlet sheet and trailing bed-garments: a faded creature, crinkled and pale, clipped silver hair disordered against soft pillows, hands flung outward as if swimming through a crimson sea.

The lips move - a little open - and the gingery eyelashes tremble, betraying some dream; yet to say it is a dream is to compare a holo to untamed reality; it is no distorted reflection that shudders beneath those lashes but some close or distant future, grasped through the sleep-wake of visions which may or may not be.

“Anakin…”

Lord Sidious whispers the name as he watches the clones raise his apprentice’s body from the burning sands, broken beyond repair. It is the reason for Grievous – a test for such technology – and it will be soon.

There are ways to circumvent it; they quiver before the Master, but they do not satisfy. Skywalker triumphant – an apprentice glutted on victory, too emboldened to listen, the fire of supremacy in his golden eyes. No.

It is best. Of course it is best. But the thoughts linger… I could bind him to me without it! There are other ways! But none so effective, none founded on such surety – no single future lit with such sublime control; none so perfect in every way but for this, its catalyst.

As it was with Maul; such beings are made to be sacrificed. Lord Sidious drew close to the wounded thing, observing too himself kneeling beside it, before his consciousness fled the fires into waking.

The Supreme Chancellor awoke with eyes marred by silent tears.

[a cruel cycle begins anew]

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 02:36:32 GMT

Title: Anew
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars, I do not!
Rating: PG
Prompt: Harmony
Characters: Palpatine (as always), Darth Vader, and wee Leia.
Warnings: AU, dark themes and oh-so angsty.
Word Count: 200
Summary: In another galaxy events transpire somewhat differently, yet some things will never change.
Author's Note: Just a little AU drabble.

The room was quiet as he splayed decayed fingers across her cold cheek. “It is too late,” his words were soft, “If we had arrived sooner…”

“You promised!”

“I can save beings from death, apprentice, but I cannot tear her soul from the infinite; she has gone. I am sorry.”

Vader stepped swiftly over Organa’s corpse to push the Emperor aside with a harsh shove, wrapping his mechanical gauntlets tenderly around his wife’s body. He crushed her against him, her name a distraught mantra.

But his movements dislodged something in the late Organa’s arms, evincing soft cries, yet Vader did not seem to hear them. The Emperor bent down and picked up the bundle, finding himself staring down at a baby – a bright ray of unsoiled potential adrift in a dark sea; Amidala’s eyes. Palpatine left his new apprentice to his mourning; the small being in his arms.

“Hush, dear child,” leaning close as if confiding some secret; he brushed her tiny nose with a milky nail, “You will be a powerful one, yes. Just like your father.”

A vocorder could not adequately capture the anguished screams splitting the recycled air of the Tantive IV as the Emperor walked away.

END

sw_saga_drabble.

dark dreams: palpatine & anakin fanmix [for starwarsland]

Sun, 29 Nov 2009 04:41:38 GMT

Well starwarsland has a "do a fanmix" challenge so this is my (first) attempt at doing one, for the greater glory of the ironic underdog that is teamempire . It's a bit... eclectic... but hey, it's an Anakin and Palpatine mix so maybe that's to be expected? I see this as going from when Anakin was nine in The Phantom Menace to the Vader in Return of the Jedi.

Most, but not all, of the songs can be found on youtube if you chase them up. It's a real mix of the familiar and unfamiliar. Please download and listen. This took me all of Sunday afternoon to compile and I think it tells the story. here is the zip file and my cover is below.

1. Lullabye (Pan's Labyrinth)
2. Garden of Shadows (katethegreat19)
3.~~To Dream the Impossible Dream~~ (Colin Wilkinson)
4. March of Mephisto (Kamelot)
5. Where is My Mind? (Craig Armstrong)
6. Stella Errans (Dralion)
7. Desperate for Love (Over the Rhine)
8. Lost in the Stars (Janet Roddick)
9.. Palpatine's Teachings (Revenge of the Sith)
10. Please Wake Up (Michael Crawford)
11. Imperial City (Shadows of the Empire)
12. You Can Never Go Home (Emilíana Torrini)
13. Incantation (Dralion)
14. All I Need is Everything (Over the Rhine)

...and I've provided the lyrics to the songs that have them:

Garden of Shadows

Come Little Children, I'll Take Thee Away
Into A Land Of Enchantment
Come Little Children
The Time's Come To Play
Here In My Garden Of Shadows

Follow Sweet Children, I'll Show Thee The Way
Through All The Pain And The Sorrows
Weep Not Poor Children
For Life Is This Way
Murdering Beauty And Passions

Hush Now Dear Children, It Must Be This Way
To Weary Of Life And Deceptions
Rest Now My Children
For Soon We'll Away
into The Calm And The Quiet

Come Little Children I'll Take Thee Away
Into A Land Of Enchantment
Come Little Children
The Time's Come To Play
Here In My Garden Of Shadows

To Dream the Impossible Dream

To dream ... the impossible dream ...
To fight ... the unbeatable foe ...
To bear ... with unbearable sorrow ...
To run ... where the brave dare not go ...
To right ... the unrightable wrong ...
To love ... pure and chaste from afar ...
To try ... when your arms are too weary ...
To reach ... the unreachable star ...

This is my quest, to follow that star ...
No matter how hopeless, no matter how far ...
To fight for the right, without question or pause ...
To be willing to march into Hell, for a Heavenly cause ...

And I know if I'll only be true, to this glorious quest,
That my heart will lie will lie peaceful and calm,
when I'm laid to my rest ...
And the world will be better for this:
That one man, scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,
To reach ... the unreachable star ...

March of Mephisto

Shagrath (Dimmu Borgir) :
Aspirat primo Fortuna labori
Me duce tutus eris
Vox populi vox Dei
Ad majorem Dei gloriam...
Ad infinitum

(Translation:
Fortune Smiles Upon Your Effort.
Under my leadership you will be safe.
The voice of the people is the voice of God.
For the greater glory of God.
For Infinity.)

Kahn:
You know just who I am
Don't be so distant
'cause When you're lost
I am solely there to share your grief

Khan:
Wailing your sorrow
is only my way to comfort you

Shagrath:
Reminders of innocent youth

Khan:
Waiting for morrow you're lonely
I name your solitude

Khan and Shagrath:
I speaketh the truth

Khan:
Now tell me all about your pain
Down to the detail
Don't say it's love
Your fragile heart feeds my contempt

Khan:
Wailing your sorrow
is only my way to comfort you

Shagrath:
Reminders of innocent youth

Khan:
Waiting for morrow you're lonely
I name your solitude

Khan and Shagrath:
I speaketh the truth

Khan:
Chase the heathen call
We belong...you and I
Unison in all you deny

Khan:
Wailing your sorrow
is only my way to comfort you

Shagrath:
Reminders of innocent youth

Khan:
Waiting for morrow you're lonely
I name your solitude

Khan and Shagrath:
I speaketh the truth

Khan:
I am the thorn in your side
That seeks accomplishment

Shagrath:
Reminding the mortal of death

Khan:
I am the spore of your pride
An angel heavensent

Khan and Shagrath:
The master of all
I am the urge of the flesh

Shagrath:
Reminding the mortal of death

Death!

Desperate for Love

Are you feelin’ a little desperate
Get on your knees and confess it
Honey, please don’t second guess it
You’re desperate for love

Is this just a little fling
Or is it about a little bling bling
Either way, you feel the sting sting
You’re desperate for love

It might only take a kiss
For the plan to take a twist
That you hadn’t counted on
Just a tiny little minute
But eternity will be in it
If you turn me on

Red wine on my lips
Got this black silk slip on my hips
The kitchen faucet just drips and drips
You’re desperate for love

Lost in the Stars

Before Lord God made the sea and the land
He held all the stars in the palm of his hand
And they ran through his fingers like grains of sand
And one little star fell alone

Then the Lord God hunted through the wide night air
For the little dark star in the wind down there
And he stated and promised he'd take special care
So it wouldn't get lost again.

Now, a man don't mind if the stars go dim
And the clouds blow over and darken him
So long as the Lord God's watching over him
Keeping track how it all goes on

But I've been walking through the night and the day
Till my eyes get weary and my head turns gray
And sometimes it seems maybe God's gone away
Forgetting his promise and the word he'd say

And we're lost out here in the stars
Little stars big stars blowing through the night
And we're lost out here in the stars
Little stars big stars blowing through the night
And we're lost out here in the stars

Please Wake Up

I can tell time by the moon
I can tell time by the sun
No matter how I mark
The hours light and dark
I tell you your time's just begun

It is morning in your life
Day is breaking oh so bright
You've barely made a start
Just one beat of my heart
Don't sleep away the morning light

Please, wake up
Please, wake up
Leave dark dreams behind
Please, wake up
It's your morning
Golden day to find

Once I had a morning too
I was young once, just like you
It's evening in my life
All I have is the night
But it's still early morning for you
For you

You Can Never Go Home

Where once was light
Now darkness falls
Where once was love
Love is no more
Don't say goodbye
Don't say I didn't try

These tears we cry
Are falling rain
For all the lies you told us
The hurt, the blame!
And we will weep to be so alone
We are lost
We can never go home

So in the end
I'll be what I will be
No loyal friend
Was ever there for me
Now we say goodbye
We say you didn't try

These tears you cry
Have come too late
Take back the lies
The hurt, the blame!

And you will weep
When you face the end alone
You are lost
You can never go home
You are lost
You can never go home

All I Need is Everything

Slow down. Hold still.
It's not as if it's a matter of will.
Someone's circling. Someone's moving
a little lower than the angels.
And it's got nothing to do with me.
The wind blows through the trees
but if I look for it, it won't come.
I tense up. My mind goes numb.
There's nothing harder than learning how to receive.

Calm down. Be still.
We've got plenty of time to kill.
No hand writing on the wall:
just the voice that's in us all.
And you're whispering to me,
time to get up off my hands and knees,
'cause if I beg for it, it won't come.
I find nothing but table crumbs.
My hands are empty. God I've been naive.

All I need is everything.
Inside, outside, feel new skin.
All I need is everything.
Feel the slip and the grip of grace again.

Slow down. Hold still.
It's not as if it's a matter of will.
Someone's circling. Someone's moving
a little lower than the angels.
This voice calling me to you:
it's just barely coming through.
Still, I clearly hear my name.
I've been fingering the flame
like tomorrow's martyr.
It gets harder to believe.

All I need is everything.
Inside, outside, feel new skin.
All I need is everything.
Feel the slip and the grip of grace again.

So from now till kingdom come,
taste the words on the tip of my tongue.
'Cause we can't run truth out of town,
only force it underground.
The roots grow deeper
in ways we can't conceive

All I need is everything.
Inside, outside feel new skin.
All I need is everything.
Feel the slip and the grip of grace again.

this icon thing is addictive...

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 10:41:26 GMT

12 Star Wars icons here @ twirling_zoog

assorted sw icons for your edification...

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 12:43:47 GMT

...15 sw icons here @ my icon lj twirling_zoog

... damn I love this song... [still fangirling palps, nothing new]

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 10:21:25 GMT

I tried to mix the live-action movies with both of the animated series... not sure if it works...

[from the pit of old unposted ficage that is my USB stick comes...]

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 06:37:24 GMT

Title: Child
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars I do not.
Rating: PGR
Warnings: Indirect reference to incest.
Word Count: circa 700
Characters: Palpatine, Anakin
Pairings: Amidala/Anakin; unrequited Palpatine/Anakin (no, I'm not telling you which way round)
Summary: Anakin asks Palpatine an embarrassing question.
Author's Note: I just found this on my USB stick. I've no idea when I wrote it but it doesn't seem to be in my lj or anywhere else. If I have already posted it - please link me to the post because I can't find it. I have a feeling I recycled some of the description to use in other fics, but I can't remember. Oh well.

I wish I could tell you, my precious one. I’d betake my hands to the curls that adorn your crown and I’d tell you the tale of how I wove you into the firmament – how I gave you my fury, my power, and sent you out into the galaxy to find your way back to me.

The Chosen One – the elect of fortune, my dearest, darkest, secret – born of all I could give you, and heir to everything I am. How I delighted as my one youngling came to drink from the wellspring of power, those first virgin deaths over which you fretted over so have faded as your soul finally begins to realise its true nature.

I’ll admit I didn’t think I’d feel this pounding sense of pride when I look at you, my dear child. Nor did I expect this crawling irritation under my skin as you sit there talking, talking, talking – all of it about Senator Amidala.

Padmé: a girl with ridiculously puritanical ideals, a chit, a puppet, a nothing! I suppose it’s natural that like is drawn to like, I consider uncharitably, as you wax almost lyrical (an achievement with your vocabulary), on the girl’s virtues. Why can’t this be one of those days when you just complain about Kenobi?

“And you, sir, have you ever been in love?” The question takes me by surprise, and consequently I have no answer prepared for you. When were you ever interested in hearing about me? The silence stretches uncomfortably and you shift in your seat.

I smile: my features suffused with what I know to be dignified melancholy, “No,” I admit slowly, “In my youth there were always other concerns… and now it is far, far too late for such things.” I’m surprised by the emotion in my own voice. So are you, clearly – possibly that wasn’t the right response in the circumstances – oh, Sith Lords, now you’re pitying me, how disgusting.

“Your Excellency! That’s…” your lower lip is trembling and your deep blue eyes are wide, “You mean you’ve never – that no one has –!” I can feel colour rising in my cheeks, as you stand, shaking your head, offended on my behalf.

Sit back down, there’s a good boy; you’re embarrassing me! Why did I tell you the truth? Stupid, stupid thing to do – I ought to have thought up something appropriately insipid. “Please, Anakin, it’s alright.”

“No it’s not!” your voice is growing louder, probably my entire compliment of guards can hear you, “it’s a crime, sir – how can no one have loved you?”

Did I say that? I said I hadn’t loved… Oh no, surely he can’t think that I’m a…? “Ah, well, it’s… ah…” My face feels unconscionably hot, and I rearrange my hands, flustered, trying to regain my composure.

You move quickly around the desk to half-crouch beside my desk, taking one of my hands in both of yours, “I’m so sorry, sir. Here I’ve been bragging about my happiness for the past half an hour…” There’s suddenly a distressing quality of comprehension in your eyes, “And you haven’t any idea what I’m talking about, have you?”

“Anakin–”

The grip tightens, “No, let me finish. I don’t know how many times we’ve talked about me and Padmé and all that time you just sat there listening to me and I never asked you if…”

“Anakin–!”

“…If you had ever… and you’re so kniffing selfless, and that just makes it worse! And even now you’re about to say something to make me feel better about it…” Your voice trails off, and I can hear the question in your thoughts: and how could no one have ever wanted a being like that?

I withdraw my hand, silently, and look away. Oh, I’ve been desired, dear one, but never desiring – until, why until… now. And it dawns on me with horrible certainty that I was lying after all... I am in love: ridiculously, ludicrously, in love with you. And I have been for some time.

You reinterpret my shock: “Force, I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry, sir.”

“Please do not concern yourself so, Anakin. I am… perfectly fine, and far too old to be concerned with such things.” And even if you loved me, my beloved possession, your destiny was fixed long ago – from the moment I made you.

Palpatine/Padmé

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 05:03:26 GMT

Title: Persuasion
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars, I do not. Sue me. please, oh please, do not.
Rating: PGR
Warnings: Light intimacy between a certain senator and the galactic Head of State. Nothing too graphic.
Characters: Chancellor Palpatine, Senator Amidala
Pairing: ditto
Word Count: Approx 300
Summary: "I will talk with her. Senator Amidala will not refuse an executive order. I know her well enough to assure you of that."
Author's Note: How did Palpatine really persuade Padmé to leave Coruscant? It seems I spoke prematurely when I said I wasn't going to write anything today.

“I’m not going!” The corners of her mouth were pulled down, turning her normally plump lips into a narrow pink smear. Padmé’s dark hair was curling loose down her naked skin. He traced a pale finger the nape of her neck to her tailbone, moving down to rest his fingers possessively atop her arse. “I don’t care what the Jedi think! You of all people know it’s impossible for me to leave!” the beautiful senator complained.

“I will delay the vote,” Palpatine’s voice reminded her of nothing so much as an antique Corellian port, smooth and comforting. He tickled her gently.

Abruptly, Padmé sat up. “We don’t know how long it will take Ana – the Jedi – to track down whoever is trying to assassinate me. It could be months. And Ask Aak and his lot will carry the fence-sitters if I’m not there. Even Organa is listening to him now.”

“My dear, I can easily delay it for a month or two – even a year, if necessary! Valorum taught me a thing or two about vacillating… Your safety is of the greatest concern to me.” This last sentence was softer, more intimate. He leaned over and kissed her, pulling on her lower lip with his teeth.

“We can’t keep doing this, you know,” Padmé whispered, breaking the kiss. But she had changed the subject: he had won.

“Always overjoyed to see you again too…”

She slapped his shoulder, “No, really!”

Arms snaked around her shoulders. “I understand. To be perfectly honest, I foresaw that you would feel this way…” He gave a world-weary sigh, but Padmé knew her Chancellor well enough to know it was only in pretended defeat. “Hm. If this is the last time I’m to be granted the privilege of Senator Amidala au naturel, I had better make the most of it.” He pressed her down, sliding on the red silk, nibbling her neck with sharp, tinkly little kisses.

She laughed and accepted the caresses: “You’re the most dangerously persuasive man I know!”

“Indeed.”

starwarsland ficage [variety is the spice of life]

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 03:18:18 GMT

I've decided to post some of the comment requests and competition fics (in other words, can't be bothered doing any new stuff today) I've done for starwarsland in my own lj. Have a browse, nothing's very long and there's a bit of variety, as you can see from the tags...

Request: Padme/Anakin - AU, Anakin didn't kill Padme and she lived after the birth of the twins

Padmé did not weep, even for the slow demise of her husband, whose fleeting visits lessened with each one of Lord Vader’s imperious demands. Her heart had been through the same inferno as Anakin’s body, fired just as bitter black as the burnished armour which crushed her it its embrace.

Her life, her position, her ideals were all forfeit. Only one thing mattered now. So she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, as gloved hands clutched her pale shoulders, and allowed her painted lips to smile. The galaxy began to spin and soon, she knew, it would stop altogether.

“Where are the children?”

She had won.

Request: Han dies in ESB

She knew it the second the carbon froze, perhaps even a few seconds before. She tried to choke back her cries, twisting out of Calrissian’s grasp. Why? The question she had asked herself so often returned with a vengeance, with the myriad answers her politician’s mind could give her, all of them useless.

She had allowed herself to hope – to believe the invincibility his cocky smile imparted. Another drop in the sea of those she mourned. Through the heavy, acrid smoke, she vowed that this, this would be the last sacrifice. She shook with rage, deaf to everything around her, as something inside her unlocked with a terrible churning finality.

Blue fire bled from her hands as she lunged.

Request: Obi-Wan/Padme - RotS

Her body lay where it had fallen. He gathered it gently, mindful of the life inside her. Padmé’s skin was soft and, as her head fell back, her dark hair brushed his shoulder. He had never seen anything more beautiful or more tragic.

Her faith in Anakin had not wavered, her belief in the face of everything the galaxy had seen fit to bestow on her. Wishing that he still possessed that kind of faith, the Jedi gently touched her forehead with his lips.

The ship was waiting.

Request: Obi/Ani ~~ trust

It was an unspoken tenet that crowned each of their kisses, a law writ large in their eyes that drew their bodies close and their hearts closer. The Jedi Master had supposed it impossible to sunder. How foolish he had been.

He knew that his words would turn the surety of transparisteel to brittle glass; yet he still said them, hoping against hope that the glass would not crack even as he watched Anakin’s dark eyes splinter with rage.

“If he asked me to betray you, do you think I would do it?”

Jedi are selfless, yet Jedi too – Obi-Wan discovered in that moment – can be heart-broken.

Request: Anakin/Palpatine - shampoo (R)

The bath was scalding – just the way he liked it – steaming through his insides. Lying here, just before dawn, Palpatine allowed himself to relax, his head resting back, staring up at the red ceiling. Visions seemed to swirl in the heat and he allowed himself to drift upon them, his mind swirling round the galaxy as one finger drew circles in the water: bliss.

The doors slid open, jolting the chancellor out of his reverie. With only a brown robe thrown across his shoulders, Anakin wandered in – “So that’s where you are! Thought you could escape, huh?” He shrugged off the nerf-wool cloak and slipped a toe into the water. “Shit that’s hot! What are you trying to do – boil yourself?”

“Boiled Supreme Chancellor is quite the commodity in some circles; I’ll have you know…” He flicked water at the Jedi with a foot.

“I can imagine,” Anakin gave him an impish grin and slid into the bath behind Palpatine, who tried to turn around, but was prevented by strong arms. His breath gently tickled the nape of the chancellor’s neck before teeth began to nip at his left ear.

“Anaah..” Palpatine’s voice dropped a register and his lover’s name turned into a growl and he shivered; shoulders cold out of the water. But Anakin shushed him, his hands playing mercilessly with the chancellor’s nerves with the kind of slow control that Palpatine would never have credited to a boy his age. Anakin’s legs bridged over the tops of his thighs – pinning him down in the water.

“Ask me to wash your hair…” Anakin whispered into the line of his jaw in between kisses.

“Anakin, I’m not-“

A stern prod in the side of the ribs: “Ask me!”

The chancellor rolled his eyes, “O most noble Jedi Knight; scourge of the Separatist Leadership – darling – would you grant this humble Head of State the privilege of having his hair lathered with soap by the agency of your talented digits?”

Anakin sniffed, “I don’t know… I think you’re not taking this seriously…” He bit him sharply on the ear.

“Oh, I’m quite serious,” Palpatine smirked as he reached behind him to grasp Anakin’s sex.

The boy giggled, but his voice was ragged: “You know what, let’s leave the shampoo for later…”

And a proper fic... (came 2nd in competition).

Title: A Bit of a Situation
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars, I do not.
Word Count: 500
Summary: Unforeseen difficulties on the Invisible Hand...
Rating: G
For: "Rewrite a Scene"

It is rather splendidly surreal. Stalling on the very precipice of galactic suzerainty, at the apex of a myriad threads, tangled in a web spun decade upon decade, I cannot but wonder at the universe’s unfailing ability interfere with the most banal of minutiae.

“The elevator isn’t working.”

Thank you, Anakin. I have always valued your tremendous capabilities when it comes to stating the obvious. The world begins to tip, the floor falling away from out feet just as the door hisses open. Something in me is astonished by the pain of my hands slapping into durasteel, even though my body prepares for the shock. If you had listened to me we might have been in the actual elevator by now. The shaft disappears into darkness, a tunnel with no end. I haul my body across the divide, hampered by my long robes

I cannot use the Force, not here with two Jedi. Constrained by the role I play, I must appear the incompetent. The Invisible Hand is disintegrating under Republic assault. I appreciate the allegory. Surely they know I’m on board? Under ordinary circumstances I would never subject my person to such risk. But nothing that has transpired in the last forty-eight hours can be called ordinary.

The gravity begins to tilt again, our tunnel tumbling into free fall. My reflexes take over as I latch myself onto my new apprentice, who brings our momentum to a jarring stop. Gripping Anakin’s ankle for dear life, dangling over an elevator shaft, was not how this was supposed to happen. I could let go – but they don’t know that… and having to explain just how an elderly politician survived that kind of fall would take some imagination. My hands, I fear, are worryingly moist. They slip on the smooth leather, causing me to cling all the tighter. I refuse to give myself away in such a ludicrous manner!

“Easy – we’re in a bit of a situation here…”

You call dangling your Head of State over a mile long vertical shaft ‘a bit of a situation’?

“Did I miss something?” Kenobi. I cannot even begin to count everything you fail to comprehend! Ah – hand slipping! This is not happening!

“Hold on!”

“What is that?”

And, naturally, the turbo-lift is descending. I don’t even know who called – JUMP – now breakneck fall, the lift almost on top of us, and just as I prepare to let go of Anakin, all three of us swing out into the air to crash onto reassuringly horizontal floor. I gasp in air, sick at how close I came to revealing myself. How close I came to failure.

Feet pounding down yet another corridor, a brilliant bubble of dancing energy snaps up to ensnare us. “Wait a minute – how did this happen? We’re smarter than this!” As the bathos unfolds – up to and including some farcical comedy involving an astromech droid which utterly fails to amuse – I have to agree with Master Kenobi.

and of what is he thinking, this peculiar child?

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 03:48:55 GMT

[watercolour pencils + picnik.com = young palpatine fanart]

and forgive me my [muse incest] sins oh lord

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 09:07:56 GMT

Title: The Correct Decision
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars, I do not. Sue me, please do not.
Prompt: Important
Rating: G
Word Count: 200
Characters: Wullf Yularen, Chancellor Palpatine
Pairing: None.
Summary: If Palpatine offered you a job, would you take it?
Author's Note: A tribute to the works of drakeguardwho gave me permission to write this little meeting of our two drabble protagonists. It was inspired by drakeguard's wonderful drabble Regrets. I like to think of it as my muse saying hello to my friend's muse. For sw_saga_drabble

“And now we come to the matter of your rank...”

There was a significant pause. Wullf hated the fact that he was holding his breath. He's just a man. “Your Excellency, I've already said –”

The Supreme Chancellor was not facing him: both men stared out the arcing window as if from the bridge of a starship, the one a few careful steps behind the other. “Would admiral be sufficient?” Now Palpatine turned: a picture of beneficence.

Who, indeed, would turn down such a thing? Not the stripes, that was expected. Rather, to be called here to this office, to be offered a job many would kill for. By the man who was the next best thing to a galactic sovereign.

“It would be a political appointment,” the words were so stiff they creaked.

A tired sigh: “Yularen, in a democracy everything is political. I am asking you to do this because I trust you. I understand your reservations but... it is important to have someone I know will make the correct descisions.”

It was only sometime later that Admiral Wullf Yularen realised that the correct decision is not always the right one. But then, the Emperor knew that, didn't he?

The erotic drabble cometh to eat your soul (and spit it out again).

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 08:47:11 GMT

Title: Wave
Prompt: Want
Disclaimer: I own Star Wars! Yep – anyone believe me? Yeah, okay, I was lying! It belongs to George Lucas, though he probably wouldn’t want to own up to this piece of semi-literary thought-masturbation.
Era: Rise of the Empire
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash (nobody has their clothes off, don't worry).
Word Count: 200
Characters: Palpatine, Anakin Skywalker
Pairings: The above.
Author’s Note: Just a little breath of light smut, nothing fancy. A bit of an odd answer to the prompt, but there you go. Written for sw_saga_drabble

Fingers move across transparisteel, tracing some invisible warning on that cold surface: a sith sigil left stuck to the air. On the other side, beads of traffic move along their myriad magnetic paths, above them pale clouds and the glossy bellies of space-worthy vessels. But none of these can see in past the reflective sheen of arcing window.

There are three hands on the smooth plane now, stuck with sweat. Two: thin fingers on a square palm, the soft, eloquent digits of an aristocrat, plump palms flattened by transparisteel. One: a large hand, spread-eagled, long, calloused fingers splayed like golden rays up above the other two.

The fourth, crisply engineered metal, curls around a waist – crushing velvet – whilst thick lips attack the fleshy line between silver hair and distinguished collar; no words are exchanged. For one has said everything he dares confess and the other wonders how to couch real approbation when mendacity is too familiar; three words silently tested – both find them wanting – caught between truth and fiction, they quiver and die unsaid.

One man wrapped around another, moving against the glass. Creator and creation; a soft wave of sweat, cologne and heavy ceremonial garments breaking against the universe.

THE EMPEROR WANTS YOU!

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 20:20:25 GMT

We in teamempireover @ starwarslandneed more members. starwarslandis a fun fan-challenge comm with lots of scope for artists, writers, vidders and those who just want to have fun. *waves hand* So you want to join starwarslandand you want to be in teamempire- because we are about half the size of the other two teams!! For peace, justice, sith lords and superweapons! Support the underdog!

LAST DAY to sign of for jedi_mistletoe !!

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 03:22:52 GMT

Pimping this at extremely late notice! Exchange a Star Wars fanfiction for Christmas @ jedi_mistletoe! You know you want to!

sign up post

just in time for halloween, ziggy's overdue "afterlife" request...

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 10:19:47 GMT

Title: Woods
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars, I do not, sue me do not - of the dark side, that is.
Rating: PGR
Warnings: Surreal description, bad Virgilian homage, ghosts, and reference to Dark Empire (may its Palpy art/characterisation rot in hell!).
Main Character(s): Ghostly Anakin and friends.
Pairings: nothing but canon (sorry girls).
Word Count: 1,592
Summary: Anakin Skywalker goes in search of Palpatine's soul.
Author's Note: The promised Anakin and Palpatine afterlife fic for zigsternenstaub. It's been sitting on my laptop for awhile as I wasn't sure I was ready to set it free, as the thing took an age to write; I found ghostly Anakin/Vader very difficult to characterise. Hopefully this works. Afterlife fic is HARD! And so this one is rather weird.

“What do you think happens to dead Sith Lords?”

Surprised, Palpatine laughed. “They rot in hell...”

- Synergy, by Zigsternenstaub

When Anakin had asked Obi-Wan, the Jedi Master hadn't understood. Surprise had been all his old Master had been able to offer, couldn't realise why it was important. But then, it had been his love which given Anakin such clarity in the end, and Obi-Wan didn't really understand those currents; his was a purer, less clouded existence, yet Anakin – though he would never say so – thought the Jedi the poorer for it. Obi-Wan was like the moonlit desert in which he had dwelt for so long, with little knowledge of the deep forests of Anakin's soul.

Padmé had gone, of course, and Shmi too, their essence scattered to the winds, but he didn't suffer their absence – they was there in his children: especially Luke, who linked the gentle determination of Anakin’s mother to Padmé’s unerring faith. Leia was of Anakin's own mettle: with her stern, fiery pride, but coupled with the durasteel idealism and political savvy of her mother. He couldn't help but smile at her absolute refusal to recognise him.

So many things had become clear once his soul had been loosed from its vise. And, as time had passed, one particular realisation had only gained strength. Thus is was that Anakin sought out Qui-Gon Jinn, the first and wisest Jedi he had ever met, who travelled so far and seemed to keep so many stars in his cloak. But Master Jinn couldn't tell Anakin either, saying only that this plane was inaccessible to one such as Anakin sought – ‘But if any Jedi could find where the souls of such beings go, it would be you, Anakin.’

Anakin knew that Palpatine could not have become one with the Force as Padmé had. Nothing in the Sith Lord's character availed him that kind of acceptance. He had heard tales, some from the Emperor's own lips, of where the souls of sith lords resided – but Palpatine had no throne to fetter his spirit, nothing to bind him to the material realms, and Anakin didn't believe in the great maelstrom of chaos that supposedly subsumed the darkness of the throneless ones.

Saying goodbye, then, to his sometime companions, Anakin left to search for the soul of a sith lord. As a bird dives, Anakin (for so long circling above that dark forest he'd left), journeyed on the light that filtered down through the canopy down into the harsh undergrowth that he had battled with for so long, the only sound the occasional echo of a mechanical breath. The memories were thick and gnarled, snatching at him, snagging on his consciousness.

His spirit could not help but shudder as he passed under pale, surgical trees; but it was he haunting this wood, not the other way around. As he drifted deeper and deeper the forest became more labyrinthine, harder to pass through, and out of those polished trees crimson sap began to ooze. The air was still and heavy, pressing down on Anakin. He had to hold his purpose up above him, projecting forward to slip past smaller and smaller openings in the deadly trees – sticky with blood. And gone was the solitude – things slunk around in the darkness beyond Anakin’s sight: agonising grief and pitiless revenge crept on iron claws amongst the bloody trees, and the ebon mists of fear blotted out the light, stinking of cauterised flesh. Either the mists sunk lower or the trees grew taller as he walked toward the heart of the forest.

He was not afraid, for he knew these woodland paths well, until he reached the lake. In the woods, at least, there were stirrings, callings: the safety of his own darkness. But here the tree roots flowed into a scarlet lake that stretched on forever, the mists rolling on its smooth surface. And Anakin knew instinctively that there would be no boat to carry him across. Terrible fear welled up within him as he stared into the shallows. Am I ready? He considered, standing on the edge. Anakin had prepared so many words, but the lake flooded his mind with its insalubrious stench. Moving forward, his feet sunk under its surface, then his legs, as he waded forward, the thick liquid finally closing over his head.

The lurid shock of recognition at once invaded his lungs and Anakin immediately kicked for the surface, only to find himself sinking lower even as he fought. Putting a hand over his nose and mouth and using the other to swim, he tried to escape, no thought in his head but flight.

Whereas Anakin’s spirit was a vivid representation of youthful feeling, Palpatine’s could not be more different. At once a small child and a being of great age, his white face seemed tiny compared to the layers of swirling cloak that enclosed it, his eyes fixed on Anakin like burning yellow lamps. ‘I have been waiting…’ Anakin stopped swimming, arrested by the sight; his heart swelled, and lulled by the familiar presence, he did not move when fragile, ivory talons hooked into his robes, drawing him close, ‘My apprentice!’

The psychic attack was sudden and devastatingly brutal, ripping into Anakin’s soul, tearing at his very core with its savage anger. Anakin struggled, trying to wriggle out the torturous hold, but Palpatine clung fiercely to his prey, refusing to be shaken off. Finally, Anakin flung him back – resorting to that power which he had never used against his former master in life. ‘Stop,’ he cried out, ‘please, stop!’ But Palpatine continued to attack, again and again, unwilling or unable to stop. Gripping Palpatine’s wrists, he held them at the Sith Lord’s sides; still spilling rivulets of hatred. ‘I did not come here for this!’

Held fast, Palpatine stilled, and Anakin used the opportunity to pin him down more tightly. ‘Then why are you here? Were you so foolish as to think you could beg my forgiveness?’ a contemptuous hiss in Anakin’s ear. But having this tragic, vainglorious being in his arms felt good, and even Palpatine could not destroy that.

‘Not at all: I came because… because you need me.’

‘How dare you!’ Now it was Palpatine struggling, twisting, but Anakin did not release him. ‘You presume to know my desires!’

“I…” Anakin remembered his son’s brave words, “I will not fight you.” The red lake swelled in anger once more, but Lord Sidious seemed to slip back into its depths – unreachable. Anakin’s lips broke the surface of the lake and there he found the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, gliding across the lake like so much red carpet while Anakin struggled to stay afloat. ‘Your Excellency?’

‘No, not exactly,’ the chancellor smiled, ‘I’m only here as far as you remember me here, Anakin.’

‘I don’t understand.’

This other Palpatine reached out a hand so that Anakin too was standing on top of the lake, ‘It’s very simple, my boy. My soul is still too busy in the last galaxy to have moved on to this one.’

‘Then how are you here?’

‘Oh – I should have thought it was obvious – I’m part of you. All of this is part of you.’

‘So you’re not real?’

‘Real? What’s real? You’re real, aren’t you?’ he didn’t wait for Anakin’s answer, ‘Well, there you go.’

‘How can I find your soul, then?’

‘In the other galaxy…? The same way you find your son. A charming boy, indeed, you must be very proud.’

As was often the case with Palpatine, Anakin had no idea whether his supposed memory was in earnest or being ironic. Still, he voice cooled: ‘Yes, I am. Goodbye.’

‘Wait!’ the chancellor cried, ‘You needn’t leave so soon, surely? I always regret your absence. You hardly ever revisit me at all. You’ve only eyes for her most of the time.’

‘Padmé’s here?’

‘Of course she is! Where do you think you keep her?’ the chancellor sniffed, ‘I shouldn’t mind it if you revisited me now and again – but you almost never do. You revisit him more than you do me!’ he waved a dismissive hand at the lake where Anakin observed trailing black robes coiling under the surface. ‘After everything that’s happened between us I’d thank you to be a little more solicitous in your remembrances!’

‘I promise I’ll think of you more in future.’ Anakin said, hoping to calm the memory down. ‘But I must go.’

It was always an odd sensation to pass through galaxies, to go from being so much a part of something to being a misty traveller outside physicality. Here, it was surprisingly easy to locate Palpatine’s soul – always near the centre of things and leaking plots and patterns in every direction. Anakin found him on a beautiful world in the deep core.

Palpatine sat at a desk, reading reports as he’d always done, clothed in a youth Anakin had never seen him wear before. It didn’t suit him, or so Anakin thought. There was too little innocence, too much time in those yellow eyes. But it was the same pale skin and cautious lips; the same avian nose and nervous hands. It was a sight that upset Anakin more deeply than even the memory of the Emperor's vicious attack.

He found he couldn’t announce himself here, wondering that his Master had learnt nothing from Luke’s actions. No, he would not visit himself upon the Emperor, but pressed ghostly fingers close upon an already veined claw and lingered to watch Palpatine close his eyes and meditate. There was so much he wanted to explain – to share with his erstwhile Master – that perhaps this soul could never understand. With a sigh, the shade of Anakin Skywalker settled himself to wait.

He had finally learned patience.

And so it begins (and I fail massively at lj silence)

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 23:32:25 GMT

ALEXIS I: THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Disclaimer: As always, everything belongs to the sublime George, and I am making no money.
Rating: R
Word Count: Approx. 7,000
Warnings: Adult concepts and themes, slash, the Emperor in sexual situations, relationship between a twenty year-old and a septuagenarian.
Summary: A tale about a young man called Alexis and how he gets caught up in things beyond his control. For those of you who read the first version, there should be enough new material to keep you interested.
Characters: Palpatine and pretty much everyone you’d expect to see at the Imperial Court circa A New Hope, plus some OCs.
Genre(s): Romance, tragedy, drama.
Pairing(s): Palpatine/male!OC and Moteé/Pestage.
Looong Author's Note: I started writing this story in 2006, a few months after finishing Room with a View. Back then, I started writing it to fill the ... ten years pass... moment in that story. It was very much tied to that story, plot-wise. The problem was that when I revisited it this year (because I found half a chapter on my laptop), I found I'd completely forgotten the quite complex plot that lay behind everything. Then luminations requested I post it on lj and write a cut-scene which turned into Under the Covers and I found a completely different story I wanted to tell with Alexis and Palpatine, exploring questions I could never have considered in 2006, and which the infrastructure (for want of a better word) of the old story could never have supported. Much of the Vader-orientated material will be changed, but those are the only major scenes that will go. Everything else will hopefully be expanded rather than deleted and minor characters will receive a better go of it than their author previously suffered them to have.

It should also be noted that I don't subscribe to the notion that the Empire was as humano-centric as its made out to be in the EU; I see the Imperial Military as being a Core human institution and having those biases, but as none of Palpatine's advisors in the Revenge of the Sith film were human (sorry Sate) I'm sceptical that he would implement such a policy. In another canon note, though I like having some EU flavour, Palpatine will not have a legion of concubines! I mean, honestly! He’s in his seventies for god’s sake! And despite this story’s premise I am not going to let the old guy get away with more than he’s capable of (emotionally or physically), even if he’s just desperate to go OOC on me. ;) Also, I must acknowledge that I "liberated" Palpatine's liking for tisane from the wonderful works of zigsternenstaub

This is dedicated to lumy12 without whose ~~continuous nagging~~ encouragement I would never have written this. So, anyway, here we go – Alexis – take two!

~*~

The Office of the Grand Vizier Imperial was rarely occupied. It's beautiful, Ciutric-inspired design boasted swirling patterns of stylised water on sparkling aurodium. Sate Pestage, on entering, stalled a moment in the doorway to wonder at its quiet serenity. It was only as he left himself fall into his chair - a thin slump of deep scarlet robe and headpiece, with a chiselled, angular face - that he realised just how much his feet hurt and that he was still trembling. He'd almost forgotten just how catastrophic that temper - usually but a slave to its owner's durasteel will – really was.

In some ways it had been easier to deal with when Palpatine had been supreme chancellor. When the air stifled with barely-leashed fury, there was always another meeting which required the politician to master himself in order to seem what it was necessary for him to appear. One of the many qualities Palpatine possessed which had attracted Pestage to the service of the then Senator of Naboo was his almost total commitment to necessity. He performed best when swamped with pressing appointments, and for the chancellor's leisure his advisors always tried to arrange solitary activities which would be uninhibitive. This, admittedly punishing, schedule was optimal for other reasons besides his demeanour. Palpatine’s formidable intellect was best in constant harness; otherwise that cruel streak of something akin to playfulness - which surfaced whenever he became bored - arose to spin surplus complexities within complexities which never failed to give Pestage a headache.

“Sate?” He turned to gaze at the cold face of his wife, crossing the threshold. Do the Naboo sculpt all their citizens out of ice? Moteé's lilac velvet dress was effortlessly elegant against her winter-pale skin. Dark eyes assessed him from beneath fine lashes “I heard it was quite the display.” She chuckled, “You aren't hurt are you?” That sweet voice almost sounded sincere... almost.

He rose and took her hand in his – thankfully it seemed to have ceased to shake. “It's not for myself that I worry,” the vizier's tone was thoughtful; another hand wandered to a milky shoulder.

“You're worried about him?” she gently disengaged.

He turned away as she lent casually against the desk, her silvery earrings catching the light. “Not worried, exactly. Concerned. I know he isn't sleeping...” Moteé arched an eyebrow, a smirk hiding in the corners of her pretty mouth. “Don't look at me like that. I need to contact Amedda... no, no... Sly. She was always good at solving this kind of problem.”

“You must be desperate, to go crawling to Moore,” her laughter tinkled, “Haven't you always said you know him better than anyone else?” one could always rely on Lady Moteé Pestage to slide the blade in.

The vizier shifted in his seat, embarrassed, yet unable to take his eyes of her lovely figure. That was why he had married her in the first place, after all. And it was as he gazed at Moteé, that inspiration struck.

~*~

There were only two beings, as far as Sate could tell, who had ever captured and held Palpatine's attention and even then the vizier could not be sure if he had ever actually... well… with either of them. The first had been Khameir: a young, idiosyncratic Zabrak, who often visited Palpatine for long periods of time in the days when he had been a mere senator. The scowling, scarlet Zabrak had looked like something that had tumbled out of a death jizz club on the lower levels at 0200; lean, muscular and covered in tattoos. The senator's staff could only assume that Palpatine’s interest was due to the fact that Khameir was an animal in the bedroom (as well as make rather crass jokes about Palpatine's penchant for all things red).

The second was Anakin Skywalker. Another tall, lithe young being in his twenties, Skywalker had been allowed incredible liberties with the chancellor's time. Sate couldn't count the number of occasions when he'd been forced to rearrange dozens of meetings (and once or twice even a session of the Senate) so that Palpatine could blithely announce that of course he always had time for his young friend. The lift in mood just after one of Skywalker's visits was clearly discernable, as was the pride that shone out of the chancellor's eyes as he watched the young Jedi; one could even go so far as to say that the ordinarily frigid gaze practically sparkled.

The grand vizier had made several efforts to introduce amenable young men of a similar mould (dashing up and comers in the navy as well as dandified courtiers) to the Emperor, by placing them in Palpatine's vicinity at official functions, but he had met with a resounding failure on every occasion. Even young Rufaan Tigellinus, whose considerable charm and precocious talent were the talk of the Imperial Court, failed to interest the Emperor. At one stage he'd gone so far as to hope that Isard – mannish enough by anyone's standards and desperate to please – would fill the role, but no such luck. Still, it meant that she owed him several favours for facilitating such encounters, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

He had told no one of his intention; although he was fairly certain that Dangor was wise to what he was doing and disapproved (Ars Dangor couldn’t bear to think of any weakness in his idol). But then, it was an unspoken covenant between the two advisors that Dangor took care of the Empire and Pestage took care of the Emperor. The real danger lay in Palpatine realising what his vizier was up to, but Sate was confident that his subtle efforts at matchmaking would fall below the Emperor's notice, engrossed as he was in his own games.

These were the thoughts of the Vizier Imperial as he made his way along one of the upper colonnades looking down on the Grand Corridor, beings parting for him like schools of fish. The wondrous architecture that rose to dizzying heights around him went unnoticed. Below, citizens from all over the galaxy chattered to one another beneath the rustling leaves of the Emperor's prized ch'hala trees. Sate could never walk through without feeling as though he'd stepped into some tourist's holo-still. Here there were no storm-troopers, but guards in discrete black uniforms, well-trained and extremely polite.

It was one such guard who caught his attention now – requesting ID from a Bothan dignitary. It might have been a scene from one of Advisor Vandron's propagandistic holo-films; the guard – blond-haired and blue-eyed – was courteous to a fault. Pestage blinked, have I seen him before? Leaning on the balcony, the vizier turned to a hovering assistant. “Get me that guard's name.”

~*~

He awoke to a dreadful screeching and an ache that seemed to encompass his entire body. Drawing a slow breath he realized that the shrieking had stopped. The Emperor extended a withered hand to pull the covers higher, tighter around him; shivering, even though the temperature in his rooms was always perfectly adjusted. He opened saffron eyes to stare up at the ceiling: it seemed impossibly high, arches flowing upward forever. The soft morning light did not touch the bed; but Palpatine watched as it edged ever closer, creeping across the polished floor, as he allowed the tension to seep out of his ancient bones.

A droid had drawn aside the heavy drapes, leaving the monarch an uninterrupted view of his gardens. The Imperial Gardens: a bazaar of diverse horticultural wonders; his gardens. He suffered them to be available to the public in the afternoons, but for now they were his alone… and beyond them, his galaxy... Sending out wide tendrils of awareness that spanned star-systems, Palpatine closed his eyes again, spreading his hands against the smooth pillows as his mind drifted on the solar winds; a smile coaxed its way onto his lips. By itself the smile wanted for nothing, but on the Emperor’s face it was no more than another twist in a grotesque set of features.

Completing his morning meditations, Palpatine shuffled out of bed, drawing a voluminous outer-cloak over himself, leaving only his hands exposed, their ivory skin taking on a moonlike glow in the half-light. A small droid helped him put on a pair of soft, black boots. The Emperor lifted a careless finger and the droid shot backward to crash into the wall, shattering.

No one disturbed him as he made his way down to the gardens. His Royal Guardsmen still stood outside his quarters. Only he, a dead architect, and the re-processed construction droids, knew about the passage to the gardens from the Royal Apartments. Even if it were discovered by some enterprising individual, the pass-codes were ludicrously complex. Palpatine leaned on his cane – more necessity than show these days - as he entered the fragrant forest, yellow eyes half-closed, dreamy.

His apprentice was being difficult again. Surely he must understand the darkness by now? Its thrilling and chaotic nature… But Lord Vader still had problems with control… essentially the same problem he had with the Jedi concepts… He would not make the effort to master the Dark Side of the Force, content with simple usage… Perhaps I push him too far? Palpatine considered the thought: he was not taught from his earliest memories to regard it as an honour, an art. And though I am hard on him, I cannot discipline him as I would have Maul. It appeared to be a sad truth of nature that the ideal apprentice did not exist. Lord Maul had been too simple; Count Dooku too steeped in the ways of the Jedi; even though he possessed beautiful control he could never have become a true sith lord… and Vader? The last apprentice: could it be that I have spoilt him, as a parent does his last child? The Sith Master thought about himself when an apprentice. Too disobedient, too strong-willed and too clever... too much a master already to take heed… Palpatine chuckled, thank the Force I never had such an apprentice!

“This area is strictly off limits until 1430,” an officious voice sounded from the other side of a fountain. A young man, perhaps twenty, a mere child, strode purposefully towards the Emperor, who looked up, startled out of his thoughts. It was as if a young sprite of nature had stepped out of the greenery; tall, his neat, black uniform doubtless giving him courage, lips set in a firm line, and blue eyes determined; the boy spoke: “I don’t know how you got in, but I'm afraid I will have to arrest you for...” He stopped: mouth opening in a slow, horrified gasp of recognition.

“Quite,” Palpatine replied laconically, lowering himself to rest on the rim of the fountain. Why, he looks so much like…

“Y-y-your M-majesty…! I…ah… I-I…” The boy was too mortified to even bow; though he would probably prostrate himself on the grass before long.

Highly amused, the Emperor decided not to punish the wretched child just yet. “I take it you have never seen your sovereign at close quarters before?”

“No, Your Majesty…” The tone was reverential, as was to be expected. But although there was a note of fear in those words, it was far outweighed by the sheer awe that seemed to hold the unfortunate physically captive, shining out of his bright, innocent eyes. It had been a long time since Palpatine had interacted with common citizens, had forgotten their gauche worship, so different from the sleek flattery of the denizens of the Imperial Court. And, he suspected, more genuine.

“And so... how do you find me?” Palpatine found himself, presumably out of habit, toying with the child.

“You… you are the most commanding person I have ever met, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor smirked, while the boy smiled uncertainly, “Naturally. Now, what is a guard such as yourself doing in my gardens?”

“I was ordered here, sire, by Captain Zao of the 4th Security Division...”

Palpatine laughed; it could in no way be described as a pleasant sound. “For such a young man, you have chosen most influential enemies.”

“I don’t understand...”

The Emperor adopted a slightly melodramatic tone: “I fear you have been sent into this horticultural trap to be devoured by the terrible creature that prowls its glades…” Palpatine grinned, revealing desiccated teeth. “Your enemies doubtless expect me to punish you for your insolence.” The boy was silent – fearful now – but awaiting for his inevitable fate with the blank stoicism of the soldier. “Fortunate then, that I will not tolerate such presumption. Come... sit.” A chalk-white talon indicated the thick lip of the marble fountain. Gingerly, the lad perched on the edge, a respectable distance from the Emperor. “What is your name?” Palpatine’s voice was velvet soft.

“Corporal Alexis Ts'umin, Your Majesty.”

“Ts'umin...?” Palpatine mulled the name over, as if tasting it.

The corporal swallowed nervously, “My father... was an imperial governor,” The Emperor did not reply, waiting for Alexis to continue: “He – ah – he died when I was seventeen.”

“My condolences… May I ask why, given your background, you didn't receive higher education or training as an officer?” There was something connected with the name, some scandal or other, a memory Palpatine couldn't quite dislodge, hovering on the edge of his thoughts.

“M-m-my m-mother was... convicted of High T-treason.”

Now he remembered! Volara Ts'umin, wife of a governor, had been discovered leaking classified information to rebel insurgents. She managed to evade her husband's frantic efforts and disappear, leaving Governor Ts'umin to take his own life. There had been no mention of children. “And do you bear any such sympathies, young Alexis?” The flush suffusing those handsome cheeks was quite mesmerising.

The boy shook his head fervently, “N-n-no, no, sir! I could never betray you, Your Majesty. I'd shoot anyone who did!”

There was a lot of hurt there, raw and barely contained. Palpatine wasn't fool enough to assume that anger was on his behalf, but that of the son whose mother had abandoned him and caused the death of his father, ending the privileged existence the boy must have been certain would last forever. The Emperor could well understand that kind of rage and he reflected that it would be enjoyable to watch this boy shoot his rebel mother. The blaster would tremble in those long fingers, cerulean eyes lit with tears of anger… or perhaps the hand would be steady and the eyes cold, bright with vengeance…? “I believe you,” he said lightly.

With one rushed, yet oddly graceful, movement Alexis Ts'umin seized the Emperor's right hand and kissed it. Not the subtle brush of the courtier but a harsh, grateful collision of mouth and hand. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” And looking at that face – dark blue eyes and quivering nostrils – something shifted within Palpatine. In truth, he had no desire to pull away, but did so, overriding such an uncertain and sudden impulse.

He rose from the fountain, feeling the fragrant spray emanating from the water touch his face as he turned. The boy stared up at him, apprehensive. There was something odd about this the Emperor couldn’t quite place. The corporal’s lips still seemed to be imprinted into his hand, causing it to itch uncomfortably. Palpatine brought his hands together, resisting the urge to move his left fingers across the back of the affected hand. How is his simple flattery affecting me so? Pathetic gratitude was hardly an attractive quality, yet in this instance it was strangely…

But I should say something: “It is nothing, child,” he splayed his right hand in benevolent invitation, “Walk with me…” It was only as Ts’umin rose that Palpatine realised the source of the niggling oddity – the only time any being sat in their Emperor’s presence while their sovereign stood was when the Imperial Senate was in session. Prostration, now that was a different matter. How strange that he should forget.

~*~

Corporal Alexis Ts’umin felt like a Victory-class SSD had just collided with his head. He returned, reeling, from the light of the gardens into the dark, glossy corridors of the Imperial Palace, completely disoriented. He didn’t even remember what his orders for the rest of the day had been. Or perhaps there had been no orders, if what the Emperor had told him was true.

The Emperor was not as Alexis had imagined. His mind had supplied a truly awesome concentration of power: tall, majestic, implacable… more like Darth Vader, really. Up until now, the dark lord had been the most powerful man Alexis had ever met. Lord Vader had been overseeing his father’s appointment as governor; Alexis, a child then, had been scared and hid behind his mother – not that he would ever admit to it.

Of course, every Imperial citizen knew what Palpatine looked like… the enduring legacy of the evil Jedi. But stills and statues gave no indication of his lightness of manner, dry wit, or – most of all – those eyes that seemed to know all there was to know about everything; eyes that had seen eternity. It was a shock. Growing up under the Emperor’s rule, it was easy to think of Palpatine like some elemental force, all pervading, yet hardly ever seen – as familiar, vast and insubstantial as the air one breathed.

He was too amazed to even be angry at the captain. He had never felt more honoured in his life. For Palpatine had continued to talk to him, though there had been no reason to do so, and even deigned to show Alexis some of the rarer flowers. Alexis had even managed to calm down once the conversation shifted away from his family, and enjoy himself; not that he was greatly interested in plants but even when differentiating between types of Haruun Kal creeper, there was something hypnotic in Palpatine’s voice which made any subject on which the Emperor chose to hold forth interesting. Or perhaps, Alexis thought cynically, it was simply the fact that when a being possessed as much power as Palpatine, anything he did was fascinating.

Still dazed, he caught an air-taxi back to the apartment he shared with his sister Iulia. “What’s happened, Alexis?” his sister asked over dinner that night, “You’ve gone off-world.” Iulia Ts’umin worked in Imperial Admin., which she described as the most mind-numbingly boring work on the planet. Iulia had an on-off relationship with a co-worker, but she never brought him home. She’d promised to do so when it became “official” but it was three years later and Alexis still hadn’t met him. He was starting to suspect she had lied about the whole thing and all she had was a hopeless office crush.

“What do you think of the Emperor?” He endeavoured to make the question casual, in between mouthfuls of what the pair called Ts’umin Soup – a type of nerf and vegetable broth they’d “invented” by altering a popular recipe slightly.

Iulia raised a curious blond eyebrow. “What kind of question is that? If this is some kind of covert way of asking if I knew about mother, I’ve told you-”

“No – I mean, as a person.”

“You’re asking me for my opinion of Palpatine personally?” She grinned, “You’re not bugged, are you?” She dipped a piece of biscuit into her soup.

“Don’t be stupid – just answer the question.”

“Fine, I think he’s a brilliant but flawed leader who needs to pay his administrative workers more. Happy?”

“Flawed in what way?” Alexis frowned.

“Are you practising interrogation techniques for your application to the ISB? Because I’m sorry to tell you but pouting at your big sister isn’t going to cut it.”

“Shut up!” His com-link beeped.

“That’ll be them now, asking you for pointers,” his sister drawled.

Alexis did not reply, but pressed a button to scan the visual message.

“Well?” Iulia asked.

“Just Drav asking about drinks later,” said Alexis distractedly, getting up and cleaning away his bowl as fast as he could without looking like he was in a rush. Once safe inside his room – door magnetically sealed – he read the message in its entirety.

~*~

TO ALEXIS TS’UMIN, PALACE GUARDS CPL., 4th SECURITY DIV., GREETINGS.

HIS MOST SERENE IMPERIAL MAJESTY, SOVEREIGN OF THE KNOWN GALAXY, ETC… WISHES TO EXTEND TO HIS SERVANT, CPL. TS’UMIN, A REQUEST TO DINE WITH HIM TWO DAYS HENCE AT THE NINETEENTH HOUR IN THE GRAND SALON OF THE IMPERIAL PALACE; IT SHOULD BE NOTED THAT THIS IS NOT AN ORDER & THEREFORE THIS OFFICE WILL NOT BE OFFENDED SHOULD YOU DECLINE.

PLEASE CONFIRM.

SATE PESTAGE, GRAND VIZIER IMPERIAL.

The vizier had been required to do battle with his facial muscles in order to prevent a triumphant smirk from crossing his face when Palpatine had told him to arrange another meeting with Cpl. Ts’umin. There had been no such leeway given for the boy to decline (Palpatine simply hadn’t considered it), but Sate thought it made the request look suitably friendly. Besides, no one refused an imperial summons, certainly not insignificant guards’ corporals. Sate could not be more pleased, even the boy’s background worked to his advantage – if ever Ts’umin lost the Emperor’s favour it would be all the easier to dispose of him.

But that was a thought for another day. For now he could bask in the success of his little gamble: ordering Captain Zao to send young Ts’umin to the gardens this morning, where he knew the Emperor walked in the early hours. Of course, there was always the danger that Palpatine would have killed the guard, but Sate had been prepared to take the risk, as he had realised his mistake on earlier occasions of trying to initiate private diversion at public occasions when the Emperor took centre stage, when Palpatine was not really a being at all, but a majestic construct of infallible power honed to perfection by years of practice. But alone in his gardens the galactic sovereign could be anything he pleased. And Sate would be willing to bet almost anything he possessed that Palpatine had bewitched the lad with the charm that could still entrance, though never as brightly as it had once upon a time.

And it was with considerable – or so he thought – daring that Pestage had robes of deep, wine-dark sienna laid out for the Emperor that evening. It was a good tone for him and lent that malformed skin some colour; whereas Palpatine’s preferred black leached everything to a dead white. The vizier also made certain the Emperor’s chambers were liberally stocked with alcohol – he had a feeling they would both need it.

~*~

Unsure of what to wear to such an occasion, Alexis settled for his black uniform. Any dress clothes he possessed would doubtless be inferior to what Palpatine was used to seeing, so there really wasn’t much point in trying to pretend to be something he so clearly wasn’t – not anymore. He’d long-since grown out of the formal garments he’d worn as a child. It was only an hour before 1900 that he realised that he had absolutely no idea where the Grand Salon was. He was forced to consult one of the many guidance droids for directions.

It turned out to be on one of the many private levels of the palace and when Alexis had his ID scanned through (no less than six times) he was told to wait. Beautiful murals lined the walls and polished boots sounded loudly on dark marble. Just sitting here was hell; his whole body was jangling with nerves. It was so quiet, beings spoke in hushed whispers when at all – there were several of them sitting on sculpted benches – and the expansive room reminded Alexis of nothing so much as a over-decorated medical clinic when a soft-spoken aides would fetch one of them through different doorways.

But it was no aide who came for Alexis, but Vizier Pestage himself. “Corporal Ts’umin?”

“Yes, Excellency,” Alexis tried to keep the fear from his voice as he stood up hurriedly. He probably didn’t succeed. He tried to smooth out the wrinkles his uniform had acquired while he was waiting without the vizier noticing.

“Please follow me,” The vizier was already turning away, leading Alexis quickly through rooms of breathtaking luxury, coming eventually to a set of tall double doors of worked aurodium. There were two Royal Guardsmen on either side. All of a sudden the face of the vizier was frighteningly close to his own; black eyes dangerous as he waved a crooked finger under Alexis’ nose. “Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not look His Majesty in the eyes. Bow from the waist when you enter. Do not eat before he does and do not sit unless he is seated. Understand?”

Alexis thought of all the rules he must have broken that day in the gardens and swallowed. “Yes, Excellency,”

Pestage gave a signal and the guards swung the hinged doors open. Alexis thought he imagined a whispered “Good luck!” from the vizier as he was greeted with the magnificence that was the Grand Salon. Bronzium sculptures were reflected in mirrored walls, lit by a stunningly-wrought chandelier shaped to look like the galaxy under which rested a long antique table made of priceless thyssel wood. A sumptuous banquet was laid out at one end of the table, looking out into a floor to ceiling view of one of the spectacular sunsets Imperial Centre was so famous for.

Alexis bowed deeply upon entering, even though he couldn’t yet see the Emperor... There: a stark, deep red silhouette against the sky, Palpatine stood by the window, perhaps watching the air-traffic move far below – here they were so far up the palace rose above the cloud-line. Alexis moved to stand behind him, waiting to be acknowledged.

~*~

As he turned, the boy’s beauty stunned the Emperor anew. Standing there in his dark uniform, the last shards of the sunset lighting his face, he could almost have been someone else, his perfect features a homage to what had come before. The differences were there, of course: short, pale hair shorn to regulation length, lighter eyes and a higher brow, a slightly more gamin expression, with fine Coruscanti skin free of the burn imparted by twin desert suns. Palpatine drew a quick breath and gave a tight smile, lips pressed together. “… Corporal,” He inclined his head.

“Your Majesty,” the boy bowed, smiling. It was such a trusting smile.

“Shall we?” Palpatine invited, waving an ivory hand toward the table; seating himself in the matching thyssel wood throne at its head, indicating that Alexis should sit on his right. “Tell me something about yourself.” The Emperor poured Alexis some jewel green wine, its colours misty in the facets of the crystal goblet held out to him.

Alexis took the proffered wine, but did not drink, keenly aware of the vizier’s instructions – it was safer not to touch anything until Palpatine did. For a moment he was afraid that the Emperor wasn’t going to drink anything, but he poured himself some as well. Alexis desperately searched for something to say… “I… I…” he caught sight of the Royal Guardsmen in the doorway, “I once picked a fight with a Royal Guard…” the words shot out in a nervous rush. Clearly this hadn’t been the sort of confession the Emperor had been expecting. Palpatine gave him a sideways glance, his golden eyes sceptical beneath the deep hood. Too late, Alexis remembered that he wasn’t supposed to make eye-contact and looked at his plate. “Why does everyone look at me that way when I tell them? Seriously, somewhere on the HoloNet there’s a vid of me getting my arse handed to me in the guards’ cantina.”

“Why?”

He shrugged, “I was drunk and bet one of my friends I could take on anyone there. You know, just one of those stupid things everyone does once.”

The Emperor took a sip of his wine, “I can’t say I’ve ever done anything quite that idiotic.”

Grinning, Alexis took a long draught of wine. It was astonishingly smooth. “Oh, come on… there must be something you’ve done that was equally stupid?” The words were out before he could stop them, horrified at his thoughtlessness. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?

“Well… when I was – oh – about eight, I thought I could fly and jumped off a bridge.”

“What happened?”

“I broke most of the bones in my body,” Palpatine smiled ruefully. “In hindsight, perhaps I should have started something somewhat lower. But then, I’ve always been ambitious.”

“No kidding!” Alexis took another gulp of wine, feeling himself start to unwind. This isn’t so bad – I can handle this. “When did you decide… um, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Letting the wine settle on his tongue, the Emperor considered the unspoken question: “I’m not entirely certain – as an unformed desire, perhaps forever. In practical terms, I decided I needed to become supreme chancellor when I was twenty-six.” He paused, “Perhaps your true vocation is journalism?”

The corporal made a face, “Not me, Your Majesty!” He was starting to get hungry but Palpatine showed no sign of touching the food. “My sister, Iulia, wanted to do something like that but… I don’t know… I kind of like working in the Grand Corridor.” He’d heard that the Emperor had designed it himself.

Abruptly, Palpatine rose – forcing Alexis to leap up too, the wine going to his head. “Come,” he said simply, beckoning Alexis to follow him. Regretting leaving all that delicious looking food, Alexis did as the Emperor commanded, unnerved by the silent Royal Guards who fell in step just behind them as they passed through the aurodium doors. Across the hall, they stepped out onto a balcony with a view of the Grand Corridor far, far below – his fellow guards were merely black dots in the distance. One of those dots was Drav. Alexis leaned over the railing, gazing down into the artificial canyon. It really was an incredible sight. “Sometimes I despaired that it would never be finished.”

“Did you really design everything?”

The Emperor gave a throaty chuckle. “Do they say that?” Alexis nodded. “While I am, of course, honoured to take the credit for such work; I’m afraid my artistic talent is rather exiguous. It was merely a case of choosing between various designs, though the trees were my idea.” His Majesty rested his hands on the balcony beside Alexis. They were strange hands, oddly smooth considering the tapestry of lines that made up Palpatine’s face, too pale to be human. The Emperor caught his stare and held it; his yellow eyes seeming to glow under the shadow of his cloak. And for the first time, Alexis questioned why he’d been invited into these sacrosanct chambers. He’d assumed that Palpatine had found him amusing… thoughts of promotion had been in Alexis’ mind. But now, in contravention of the vizier’s orders, returning that enigmatic saffron gaze, Alexis’ mind raised the possibility that the Emperor’s motives were both more and less complex…

“Your Majesty?” A deep voice called from behind them, causing Alexis to jump. Standing behind them was a man in the robes of an imperial advisor, with a thin, drooping, black moustache and dark eyes of a similar quality. Those eyes flicked to Alexis and away again, bowing to Palpatine, who didn’t turn around; still gazing downward. The man spoke again: “There’s been some action on the Outer Rim… rebels… Lord Vader is in pursuit, but… ah-” He broke off, clearly uncomfortable speaking in front of Alexis.

“Speak.” The Emperor’s voice was soft.

“They have – ahem – that is to say, they may be in possession the plans. Nothing is confirmed.”

“When do you expect to have confirmation?”

“I’m sure Lord Vader-”

“I do not take kindly to being pestered with mere suppositions. Have Sate convene a full council tomorrow.” With a flick of Palpatine’s wrist, Ars Dangor, one of the most influential beings in galaxy, was dismissed. It made Alexis deeply uncomfortable.

Advisor Dangor gave Alexis a contemptuous sidelong glance as he bowed low to the Emperor. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” He withdrew.

Palpatine still hadn't altered his gaze. “Forgive the interruption, my boy…” he turned to walk back to the doorway and gestured vaguely, “... it is impossible to escape such beings.” He wandered back inside, Alexis in tow.

“Your Majesty, why am I here?” There was no bewilderment, no wide-eyes, just a quiet question, swallowed by the sudden stillness in the air as the Emperor halted – a red shadow on black marble. Alexis noticed the dark embroidery detailed on the hem of Palpatine’s robes matched several veins of colour stretching across the floor.

The Emperor, inasmuch as Alexis could make out, appeared thoughtful. He turned away again and Alexis, although he dismissed the notion almost immediately, wondered if Palpatine was nervous. Six scarlet pillars had arrayed themselves along the edges of Alexis’ perception. Within that perimeter, the Emperor finally turned toward Alexis. But the words he spoke bore no trace of any such feeling: “Because, Alexis Ts’umin, I desire it to be so.”

This answer, or lack of one, built upon the suspicions which had begun on the balcony. A terrible chasm seemed to reveal itself in Alexis’ stomach, pushing the choice he now faced up through his body in a nauseous rush.

A warm hand rested itself on his arm. Palpatine – so close – was staring at him intently. At this distance, his ravaged skin seemed like scrunched up, grey parchment inlaid with golden pools that seemed to draw Alexis out of time and into some other reality. “Refuse,” that terrible voice said.

“What?”

Palpatine’s voice was horribly close and strangely distant all at once, yet it was nothing if not gentle: “I give you my permission. You need not fear recrimination.”

“I… I...” Wordlessly, Alexis shook his head. Alexis looked to the guards standing silently in the shadows of the room. He thought of Drav – of the tentative advances Alexis had made, not yet enough to be called anything but…

“Ashamed?” the Emperor enquired, causing Alexis to colour.

“No! No!”

Palpatine chuckled, “Leave us,” the guards departed with a wave of his wrinkled hand. They are my superiors, the thought echoed in the back of Alexis’ mind. “Shall we return to the salon?” the Emperor said lightly.

But Alexis had made his decision. He was aware, when he made it (which he suddenly realised had been some minutes before this moment) that it wasn’t a wise choice. But this was the Emperor: His Imperial Majesty, Sovereign of the Known Galaxy; this was the embodiment of imperium who ruled over every being who had denied Alexis, every being who had spat on his disgraced father, who had silently accused Alexis and his sister of disloyalty as though it were some hereditary defect. Every moment spent with Palpatine violated everything Volara Ts’umin stood for.

Alexis knelt, and tentatively kissed his sovereign’s white hand. Not as he had in the gardens, but slowly: lips pressing into the soft flesh – the world going warm and dark and terrifying as he closed his eyes. What am I doing? But stopping was impossible.

The Emperor disentangled his fingers from Alexis’ hold and used them to lift Alexis’ jaw, so that the corporal was once more staring into those yellow eyes. “This is not the place, Alexis – rise.”

~*~

The Emperor’s chambers were behind doors, behind doors, behind doors. They were smaller than Alexis imagined, really rather cosy, comparatively speaking. The dominant colour was Imperial Scarlet. Everything was beautiful, and perfectly appointed; yet, unlike many rooms in the palace, it bore a very lived-in appearance. There was a black cloak thrown over the back of a chair. A silvery tea-service bore a cup of half-drunk tisane.

Alexis shrugged off his clothes, but the Emperor had slipped only his shoes off, but his doubtless pale feet were invisible, covered by the long robes. He’s uncomfortable, Alexis realised. I would be too, if I looked like that. He tried to imagine what Palpatine might have looked like if the Jedi hadn’t attacked him with their disfiguring sorcery, but found the task impossible; he’d been a baby when it had happened. Some vague memories from school surfaced – a speech he’d had to study...?

Approaching Palpatine cautiously, waiting for some sort of signal – focusing his gaze on those grey fingers in deference, Alexis grasped the two hands once more in his own and, to his surprise, they trembled. This gave Alexis confidence – he leaned under that cowl and met the emperor’s lips with his own, closing his eyes as he did so.

It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but the teeth were a problem. Making his way through the teeth was quite difficult. But they didn’t taste decayed, just a little sticky. No words were exchanged, but they continued to kiss and something wonderful, something that made his head spin with privilege, coursed through Alexis. The Emperor made a quiet, muffled noise in the back of his throat and reached ivory talons up into Alexis’ hair, causing his voluminous sleeves to fall away from his wrists, exposing white arms shot with blue veins.

Alexis wrapped himself around Palpatine, intuitively understanding the Emperor’s need to feel concealed. He wanted to preserve his sovereign’s dignity so he drew him under the covers and only then did he begin to pull at the enveloping black material. Slowly, very slowly, he tugged down the obscuring hood, causing Palpatine’s whole body to flinch. Oh gods, what did those Jedi do to him?

Palpatine’s face was… wrong. His forehead was weighted down abnormally, bisected by a vertical dent in the middle, as though he had been struck. Lines blurred together in rivulets, creating waxen canyons in the Emperor’s soft flesh. In the light, those yellow eyes were paler than they first appeared. He still possessed a thin layer of hair – the same colour as his skin – so that it appeared more like a light dusting of fine fur, reminiscent of cobwebs.

He became aware that the Emperor was shaking – really shaking – Alexis pulled him close, utterly appalled, so that Palpatine’s head rested in the cavity of Alexis’ neck. “That must have been torture,” The boy whispered, mouth against his ear.

“It did hurt, yes,” the monarch admitted, his light, spindly body finally beginning to settle in Alexis’ embrace. His voice was utterly confident, but Alexis could still feel the tension of physical uncertainty. No one owned this collection of malformed limbs, not even the being with whose bleached skin they were covered. Overriding his pity and the horror coiling in his stomach and filled with a sense of purpose, Alexis vowed to himself that he would possess this ugliness, to cherish it as it deserved to be cherished.

~*~

Erratic sounds drew Alexis out of sleep. He was lying in a deep red darkness. Something warm lay in his arms and he slowly became aware that this was the source of dissonance. A wrinkled, white thing was coiled there, in the grip of some unknown terror. Its ivory fingers twitched, convulsing, suffering. Alexis, content, and wondering dreamily where he was and how much he drank last night, moved to wake his strange companion.

“Shh… shhh… It’s ok, relax, it’s ok…” The noises died down as the pale creature relaxed, its eyes remaining closed, into his embrace. It was very thin and skin hung off it like yet another layer of material. It yawned, showing him a pink mouth and a set of blackened teeth, and snuggled further under the sheets and into Alexis – who became very still, swallowing nervously. But oddly enough, sleep seemed to render Palpatine less worrying: without those eerie eyes shining with authority or trailing robes, he appeared a small thing – like a thin stretch of clay he’d see at some gallery with vaguely humanoid grooves pressed into it.

Alexis’ stomach rumbled, bringing him back to the reality of last night – he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, around 1600… Surely Palpatine must be hungry too? He had no idea what time it was. Alexis tried to wake him as nicely as possible with delicate kisses to the jaw. “Hey,” he whispered.

Palpatine’s eyes shot open and Alexis was thrown backward, taking the covers with him, to crash into the wall, knocking over a couch and a crystal sculpture which shattered as it hit the floor just as everything went black.

~*~

The Emperor drew on a robe and approached the boy. He lay at an odd angle on the floor. Palpatine moved a hand through blond hair and his fingers came away with blood. He knelt beside Alexis, brushing away the crystal that littered the carpet with a quick gesture.

I could kill him. It would, he felt, be the proper thing to do. It did not do to allow a being to hypnotise him so. Ever since that encounter in the gardens that boy had been in his mind. But he wasn’t useful. In fact, he represented weakness more than anything else, but… a very beautiful one.

Alexis’ brows drew together and he wrinkled his nose, “Huh? Whaa… th’ell?”

A white hand cradled the back of Alexis’ head, and the pain lessened. “I’m afraid you startled me.”

“Did I… imagine it, or did a seventy year-old man… just… hurl me across the room?”

“Mm. Seventy-six.”

“Do you m-murder all your lovers after you have your way with them?” His attempt at humour didn’t quite disguise the shock.

“Oh, well, only those I suspect of trying to assassinate me.”

“Well this assassin was hungry.”

“Hm?”

Alexis sat up – there was dried blood in his hair but his fingers couldn’t locate the wound. Gods curse his big mouth! “Er – that’s why I woke you up… we didn’t end up having dinner and there’s nothing to eat here…”

The surprise on the Emperor’s face could hardly be more evident. Sitting beside Alexis on the floor, dishabille, and surrounded by debris, he began to laugh, shoulders quivering in mirth: a cracked, wheezing and slightly unhinged noise. And after a moment Alexis found himself joining in.

When they had finally calmed down, Palpatine stood up, drawing his robes tighter about himself, and pressed a finger down on a comm. switch beside the bed, exchanging a few indistinct words with the being at the other end of the connection. It only took a couple of minutes for a droid to enter carrying a aurodium platter loaded with what looked like an al fresco breakfast for seven. Alexis liberated it from the bemused servo-droid and set in down on the Emperor’s bed, where the sovereign had retreated. Alexis (who was rather fond of midnight snacks) sat on top of the covers eating with fingers. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?” In such circumstances, he forgot the niceties of address due to a sovereign.

“No, no, dear boy…” Propped up on pillows, the Emperor’s amber eyes were half-closed, yet Alexis felt them moving across his nakedness – admiring. He tried to ignore the attention; it was difficult not to flush. He wondered how many beings had sat here before him.

“Not so many…” Palpatine whispered. Did I ask that aloud? “…Not after this palace was built.” Alexis guessed at his true meaning: not since I became emperor; not since my injuries.

“Your Majesty…” Alexis began carefully, “What is going to happen?” He asked the question he’d been working up the courage to ask since this began.

“Explain,” the Emperor closed his eyes.

“Well, I mean, to me… with you… and… so on.”

“Ah,” Palpatine cracked a lazy eye open, “well that depends, Alexis, entirely on whether you would enjoy being a monarch’s catamite.”

Now Alexis was blushing; but he could see why the Emperor had said it (it was what others would say, after all). “You mean – live here with you?”

“I can have alternate apartments arranged if you prefer…?”

“No, no…!” Alexis paused, “It’s just… what about my job?” It sounded idiotic even as he said it.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate,” the Emperor extended a hand for Alexis to take, which he did after a moment, crawling closer over the expensive covers.

~*~

Next: crisis in the Outer Rim, court intrigue, more about Moteé, what’s eating Iulia Ts’umin, and a day in the life of an imperial catamite. Don’t miss THE GREAT PYRAMID.

^_^

Okay... this time I have NO excuse...

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 09:13:39 GMT

My first Clone Wars video... some light-hearted Palpatine/Anakin fun. Billy Joel! ♥

It doesn't count if you write it in under an hour, riiight?

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 00:38:16 GMT

Title: Se Vuol Ballare
Disclaimer: Own Star Wars, I do not. Make money from this, I wish I did.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 350
Characters: Palpatine, Count Dooku
Prompt: Illumination
Summary: Count Dooku discovers the identity of the Sith Lord.
Author’s Note: I AM WEAK!! Prompt from sw_saga_drabble

Master Dooku leant back in his chair, “… come to expect from the Jedi Council,” he finished, arching a cynical brow.

The chancellor stood, turning away from his guest into the twilight, his blue robes darkening in silhouette. “Your dissatisfaction with the Council does not surprise me… but surely you are not – forgive me – seriously thinking of leaving?” He turned back to face the Jedi, eyes an open channel of concern.

Dooku dismissed the notion with an elegant shrug: “What would I do?” He laughed, though his dark eyes did not.

Sitting back down, the chancellor pursed his lips, tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair, “Why, pursue those things the Jedi would deny you. Master Dooku, correct me if I am wrong but are there not teachings the Sith are said to possess which might tempt any Jedi?”

The Jedi blinked, his face tightening, “Your Excellency, I would thank you not to accuse me of things you cannot understand.”

A swift smile, “Ah, but I do understand; I understand that a Jedi Master is considering leaving the Order and that this same Jedi Master has been making every effort to seek out the Sith Lord responsible for the devastation of my planet. That is what I understand.”

The air stilled between them. “You will inform the Council.” The Jedi said stiffly; it was not a question.

A weary sigh, “No Master Dooku, that is not my intention – I cannot betray the confidence of a old friend, no matter how misguided... but if you have no intention of listening to my advice, why did you come?”

“I cannot refuse an invitation by the Supreme Chancellor, Your Excellency.”

“Titles do have their uses, I suppose... There is nothing I can do to dissuade you?”

“There is not, Your Excellency.”

In the lamplight the chancellor’s solemn expression split into a sinister smile. “Good. Then it is settled.” And Dooku felt a dark sensation in the Force, like the slow unfurling of a banner; his eyes widened. Palpatine laughed. “Another glass, my friend?”

Se vuol ballare, signor contino,
il chitarrino le suonerò, sì,
se vuol venire nella mia scuola,
la capriola le insegnerò, sì.

otium/negotium

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 23:42:13 GMT

Greetings gentlebeings,

I am in the middle of a major breakthrough in my dissertation which requires me to rewrite swathes of work if i want to meet my deadlines. This breakthrough can be summed up in one sentence: Cicero was being ironic.

Sounds obvious? Not to generations of scholarship since the Renaissance or to me for about 8 months of study. Anyway, what this basically means is that for pretty much the rest of this month I will be unavailable and if I am doing random stuff on lj please shout at me and tell me to go back to the grindstone until 30th of October. Also, I apologise to my companions at Team Empire over at starwarsland- sorry ppl.

See you guys in November!

Edit: I fail @ lj silence.