omendreamer
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Flesh of My Flesh by igrockspock for AceQueenKing
Fandoms: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types
07 Nov 2017
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Summary
Leia was not adopted. She was stolen in the middle of the night and registered to House Organa with forged papers. This was kidnapping, a class one felony, and her parents could be executed -- unless she returned voluntarily to her rightful father. Immediately.
A man called Grand Moff Tarkin explained this to Leia when she was eleven years old.
- Language:
- English
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- 3,637
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Bookmarked by omendreamer
15 Nov 2017
Bookmarker's Notes
Leia arched an eyebrow, thinking of her true mother back home on Alderaan. “If you don’t want me to be afraid, maybe you should be less scary,” she said, and her voice didn’t wobble. Much.
Suddenly she was flying, her feet skidding over the smooth black bridge, her body arcing up into the air, and it took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t in any danger. When Vader put her down beside him, she was breathless and smiling in spite of herself. She wanted to do it again, but he was already looking away from her, gesturing out at the scarred landscape below.
“One day, all of this will be yours,” he said.
Leia stared doubtfully at the endless pits of roiling magma and wondered if there was a nice way to ask if she could possibly lay claim to a different world.
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Aliit ori'shya tal'din by Sarcastic_Writer
Fandom Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
04 Oct 2022
- Words:
- 72,113
- Works:
- 7
- Bookmarks:
- 167
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Robby gets a call that Trinity's in trouble. Again.
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- English
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- 6,000
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Bookmarked by omendreamer
02 Aug 2026
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Summary
“Turn that off,” John snaps, cuffing Dean on the back of her head. She flinches, but she can’t. She can’t take her eyes off of the screen.
She doesn’t often watch the news because politics don’t matter to people living off the grid and local gossip doesn’t matter to nomads and the economy doesn’t make sense to her because she’s just not wired that way, but she feels sick. She feels sick and compelled and she has to watch because Jesus, this story deserves the dignity of disgust.
“Matthew Shepard is only 21, and is in critical condition at Poudre Valley Hospital. His attackers have yet to be identified—”
“I said,” John growls, yanking the remote out of Dean’s hands, “turn it off.” He gestures to Sam, who’s doing homework, while the TV goes black. “He doesn’t need to be exposed to that pervert shit. He’s a kid.”
Matthew Shepard is a kid, Dean thinks to herself. He is a kid. He is a kid. I’m a kid.
Even on the blank screen, she can still see Logan Shepard’s face. She doesn’t think she’ll ever unsee Logan Shepard’s face. And she wonders what John would look like if he ever came home to news like that.
- Language:
- English
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- 8,166
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Bookmarked by omendreamer
02 Aug 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
“Fuck you!” she screams, kicking Baby’s tires. “Fuck you! You don’t get to live like that and die a good person! You don’t get to ruin me and then get credit for saving me! You don’t get to fucking do this, Dad!”
“You didn’t complain, not once,” John cries in her ears.
“If I complained you beat me,” she howls. “You fucking bastard! If I complained I was a bitch, if I complained I was a cunt, if I complained I was the disappointing shadow of your dead wife and I don’t even know my mother anymore because I am her!”
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Summary
He looks over at Dean, who is not looking over at him. He’s checking his blind spots before pulling back onto the road. He even turns the blinker on as they leave the shoulder. It’s absurd. Sam thinks that he could reach out right now and his hand might go straight through Dean. He’s some kind of illusion of the moonlight hitting the windshield just right, and if Sam tilted his head the whole mirage of their brotherhood would disappear. Sam had momentarily seen past the mask Dean wears, and he hadn’t even realized he’d been wearing one.
Bookmarked by omendreamer
02 Aug 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Outside, Dean starts screaming.
“Fuck!” Sam exclaims, startled, before wrenching his own door open and getting out. Dean keeps yelling, or howling, or moaning, or whatever this high, keening, wordless sound spilling from him is. Sam has seen Dean angry before, and heartbroken. At least, he thought he had. But watching his older brother’s face contort now, Sam thinks that every single emotion Dean has ever shown in front of him was a performance. He doesn’t kick Baby’s tires or start swinging at the air, no familiar expression of repressed violence underneath the surface, the thing John had tried—and succeeded at, Sam had thought before this moment—to instill into the man.