#Can't articulate how it matters exactly but I feel it in my bones

[saints-who-never-existed]

Another wee language thing I find really interesting actually is Crozier's use of the word 'disturb' at the theatre with Sophia.

"Did that disturb you?"

He could have said "Did that frighten you?" or "Did that scare you?" but he didn't and there's something different there because of it.

'Disturb' carries different connotations. To be disturbed and to be frightened aren't exactly the same thing, and that matters, I think...?

[stupidphototricks]

It's interesting re-reading Sir Terry Pratchett's books in a random order, because there are connections that I wouldn't have noticed otherwise. I read Johnny and the Dead immediately after The Wee Free Men, and these two passages struck me in a similar way:

And what there was about the Queen's voice was this: It said, in a friendly, understanding way, that she was right and you were wrong. And this wasn't your fault, exactly. It was probably the fault of your parents, or your food, or something so terrible that you've completely forgotten about it. It wasn't your fault, the Queen understood, because you were a nice person. It was just such a terrible thing that all these bad influences had made you make the wrong choices. -- Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men

The words would fill up the hall until they were higher than people's heads. They were smooth, soothing words. Soon they'd close over the top of all the trilbies and woolly hats, and everyone would be sitting there like sea anemones. They'd come here with things to say, even if they didn't know how to say them. The thing was to keep your head down. But if you did keep your head down, you'd drown in other people's words. -- Terry Pratchett, Johnny and the Dead

Both of them describe dealing with an adversary who is smooth-talking, articulate, eloquent; someone who is apt to win the argument by saying things perfectly and making you look stupid and silly and wrong, no matter how right you actually are. Someone who can even make you question whether you are right.

I feel this in my bones because in pretty much any situation, no matter how much I believe in my own opinion I can never coherently explain it to anyone else, if they don't already agree with me. I stammer, and get confused, and can't find the right word, and lose the thread, and give up. It doesn't matter, I think.

Of course the stakes are a lot higher for Tiffany and Johnny in these books. And of course (spoiler, but not really) they find the strength, and the words, to not be overridden and out-talked and silenced and gaslighted (gaslit?), but to push back and say what they need to say.

I wonder if Terry Pratchett drew on his own experience with having a speech impediment, here. I imagine that there were a lot of occasions in his early life where people talked over him, didn't take him seriously, didn't let him finish what he was saying. And, well. We all know that as it turned out he was extremely worth listening to.

Just because someone has difficulty speaking doesn't mean that they don't have something worthwhile to say. Be patient.

Just because someone is eloquent and well-spoken doesn't mean that they're telling the truth or have your best interests at heart. Practice critical thinking.

And most importantly your opinion matters, and you should express it, however imperfectly.

[confused-rat]

Lily's complete disregard towards people suffering from addiction fucking makes me want to scream. My dad was addicted to alcohol, and it's partially what led to his brain just...giving up on him in his last years of life.

And yeah, it's easy to just say "Don't smoke this or don't drink that," but like most things it's easier said than done. I should know, I used to think the exact same thing. How is it so hard to just not do something that harms you? But the thing with addicts is that...is exactly what keeps them as addicts. They can't quit because it's hard to do it on their own, needing either professional help or someone in their family helping cheer them on to stop. And sometimes, not even that worked. I should know, my dad had both and he just went back to drinking despite the times he was doing so well. That's another unfortunate truth about addicts: They sometimes don't change no matter how badly they insist that they want to, for themselves and for the people they love, and will always relapse. Because the addiction is strong and it's hard to give up.

And for Lily Sister-Molesting-Bad-Faith-Critiquing-Incest-Pedophilia-Loving-Rape-Game-Playing-Cancer-Faking-Bullshit-Peddling-GOD-DAMN ORCHARD to come out and say "Junkies don't deserve sympathy because they should know not to do this thing" makes me want to fucking...She should stop. She should just fucking stop talking about anything. Especially when talking about shit she clearly doesn't understand. I'm not taking sympathy advice from the fuckwit who clearly doesn't have any in her heart.

I have complicated feelings when it comes to hard drugs and addicts too, because my own father is a meth head who refuses to help himself—but that doesn’t mean I assume the worst of other addicts. Drug addiction is hell, and recovery is a life-long commitment and Herculean task. They all have their own reasons for starting, and yeah, some of those reasons are sympathetic.

Her saying “they’ve always had to option to NOT do it” oversimplifies the issue to a grossly ignorant degree. It’s stupid, I don’t think I’m articulated enough nor unbiased enough to speak on the issue more—but. Augh.

My dad started because he was working off the Gulf Coast during Hurricane Katrina—he drank to cope with it until he eventually shattered his tibia in a drunken accident. Then he got addicted to pain pills as he went through multiple surgeries to take out the shrapnel and replace most the bone with metal. From there it was a downward spiral until he got his hands on the harder stuff. Am I sympathetic to why he started? Yes. But he’s had multiple chances given to him since then to help himself, and he doesn’t. Does that mean I’m going to assume every addict is like him? No.

Lily admitted herself that she’s only letting the fact she only knows assholes who smoke weed color her perception of the entire issue. Fuck veterans who the government screwed over, fuck peer pressured teens without support systems, fuck neurodivergents and people with diagnosed anxiety/cancer who have medical reasons, fuck those with trauma who had no other outlets to cope—all these people clearly had the option to not do that, so they don’t deserve sympathy. That’s what Lily’s saying.

She can fuck off.

[bra1n-c4ncer]

Ok so here is a detailed ref sheet of my Sun and Moon designs for the au:

They can now emote a little bit more with their faceplate: Eyes are fully articulated with eyelids, the swirl that acts as their eyebrow is fully mobile, outer mouth plates are switched for a silicone layer and underneath, for stability, is an aluminum alloy that allows for a little bit extra movement. They are still stuck smiling unfortunately, but they can control how wide or crooked it is most of the time.

Hardware:

Their back wiring is now covered by a small metalic box that's waterproof. They needed that long ago anyway. They have "retractable claws" that are there more for show than anything else. Yes, they are kind of sharp but they can't exactly rip flesh off of bones. They were installed more or less to make moon look intimidating in case he comes upon an intruder on his patrols or while nap time. (Like it matters anyway, they are literally animatronics. Made out of metal.)

They can make a few soundboard effects from their voicebox. Why? They are jesters and they are caretakers. Entertainment honey.

They are directly connected to the internet as long as a wifi router is nearby. Also they can connect to bluetooth devices. The backup memory and RAM memory in their AI was upgraded aswell because let's be honest, how could they save all those guest profiles, children's preferences, allergies, special needs, intruder profiles etc.? deleting old information because "they are just some old files that we don't need anymore!" Is not the best way to approach it.

Software:

Unique features:

Sun: His rays can tilt 90° on each axis, they can retract but they cannot spin unfortunately (honestly it would be kind of hard to make it possible considering the amount of wiring inside his flat faceplate). He has pupils, they are just not visible in a brightly lit room, wich is ironic in a way or another, but that can be used to his advantage oftentimes.

The small embroidery on his pants was a last second detail he wanted to be added just on his design, the technician didn't ask why and he still won't dare to ask.

Moon: His hat and pants are made from the same material. The cape acts as a back-up blanket: it preserves heat and also can be cooled down easily. It was originally intended for aesthetic purposes only but after a little session of fuck around and find out the technician figured that the cape can fit 2-3 toddlers underneath.

The cape and hoodie parts have little magnets on the inside part of the textile, (they were supposed to be pins but because of another "accident" that idea was scratched) wich hold the two pieces together neatly and secure.

Now you may wonder: "Well then, how can Moon use his wire if that cape is in the way?" Good question! I literally have no idea, but he does it somehow.

That is all for this post, for now at least. If you have more questions feel free to leave me an ask! Also I will update this post once I make more references and sketches :)

[andrandiriel]

okay for the character ask: 4, 8, and 20 for Margaret and Uhura :)

WOW what good questions/characters, I sure needed to think about these ones! (and I still give a cop-out answer for Margaret in the second one, I'm sorry!)

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

Margaret: One of the Stargate series (I haven't seen much of either) comes to mind first, but getting away from the military thing I'd be intrigued at the idea of putting her in Star Trek: Voyager where there's other women around of equal or greater rank, her commanding officer is Janeway who's kinda loosey goosey with rules, and there's not the larger Starfleet hierarchy to contend with in the same way.

Uhura: My kingdom for an alternate version of Contact where Uhura replaces Ellie Arroway as the main character.

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Margaret: I have to admit I haven't read enough MASH fic or meta yet featuring Margaret to really know what the fandom does with her, but I'm sure I will have opinions in another few months.

Uhura: Ohhhhhh there's lots, but the first one that comes to mind is how in AOS fic especially because she has that canonical relationship with Spock in that universe, it gets on my nerves when people treat her as really annoying and make her out to be a cruel nagging girlfriend because she's an obstacle to shipping Spock with Kirk or Bones. I know canonical girlfriends make it tricky to smush our barbies together, but there are ways to deal with that that don't require mischaracterizing the girlfriend 20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

Margaret: Okay, ideal best friend is tricky, I'm not sure there exactly is one for her in the series. I'll say I don't think it's Hawkeye. They have something special, but that's because it's kind of far from ideal. If not for the commanding officer thing, I feel like Colonel Potter could be a surprisingly good candidate. Okayokay counterfactuals are not the point here. I spent a long time thinking about this. My housemate suggested BJ, and even though I can't quite articulate it, I think I can see it.

Uhura: Hmmmmm I actually think Spock is excellent best friend material for Uhura. She deserves to also have a friend who's less emotionally stunted, but maybe that's her girlfriend Christine Chapel.

The ask game

[miseriathome]

re: last reblog

CW suicide and mental health and mental breakdown and all of that

idk about all the nature stuff but that it, that's exactly it, that's the precise sentiment I've been grappling with for months now, trying to figure out how to explain to my therapist. That my ability to cope with adversity has become so mechanized and so automated that I've lost a core rudiment of my humanity. I feel it in the way I say "I am physically incapable of killing myself" in the sense of being incapacitated, in the sense of being viscerally unable to perform a critical action, and I get told "good! :)" as if being stuck in an endless internal scream with no outlet is somehow better than being a person with agency and free will and rational decision-making functions. Not even because I want to be dead or because I believe I should kill myself, because there are things I love and enjoy about the experience of being alive, but the fact that I don't have the choice, I don't have the option to exercise my suicidality anymore because that extension of my autonomy has been tortured out of me. The suicidality exists internally, screaming for a release that I can't give it. My shift lead marveled about how cool and calm my poker face is, and how she never would have known how deeply upset I was unless I had said something. It was like she was praising my control and discipline when really I'm trapped in a goddamn cage and there are no options, there is literally nothing I can do to let off the pressure that builds and builds and builds. It hurts, it physically hurts and conceptually I know there are remedies for that but I can and I do persevere and I shouldn't have to. I should be debilitated, I should be screaming in agony, but it's been beaten out of me. Those aren't skills I have anymore. My body is a cage, my body is a fucking mech suit that continues to move no matter how fucking much I want it to stop. I can put names to my emotions and my experiences, I can say I'm irritated or overwhelmed, I can say I am experiencing physical pain, but naming it doesn't do anything except make other people clap for how "well" I'm doing. It's like other people's understanding of suffering stops and ends with feel-good pop psych that's used by the worried well but I'm not worried and I am unwell, those are the problems. I can name that I am experiencing distress but I can't feel it, I'm not allowed to feel it, the entire structure of the world around me discourages me from feeling it and praises its repression, but the scream needs release. It's un-fucking-sustainable to be an unperson. It's fucked up that this is rewarded, it's fucked up that people are happy that I am missing such a vital part of the human experience. "I am incapable of killing myself" isn't fucking praise-worthy, it's a horror story. It's a goddamn cry for help, I am trying to articulate that I have been so deeply violated by psychiatric institutionalization that I am no longer a person, I no longer have the choice to live, I am required to. It's not even that I intend to act on suicidality, it's that there is no other option that my body can perform. I was robbed of the option to get to choose to live. I need someone to understand Everything around me and inside of me is screaming and that's supposed to be a good thing. I'm supposed to be thankful. It's supposed to be a mark of my value that I "did this to myself." I went through something so deeply traumatic and dehumanizing that a core piece of my humanity has been severed from my Self and no one gives a crap. And it's supposed to be a good thing. No matter what I do, I keep moving forward and maybe I don't want to. Conceptually I know I'm having a fucking "panic attack" but it won't fucking escape my goddamn flesh cage. I can't make my pain leak into places where it can be seen. I can't relieve the pressure of all the things that are festering inside my bones because there's no hole, there's no outlet. I'm rotting and my physical body is eating itself and there is no emotional space that I'm allowed (capable) of having where that can be expressed in a way that's meaningful, that acknowledges my agency.

[jessepinwheel]

I just reread your awesome fic, Asynchronous Circuit. I picked up so much more of Obi-Wan’s thoughts and emotions this time around. It was such a good reread. If you are still doing scenes, I would love to see an Obi-Wan and Quinlan scene.

While I, unlike some people, Douglas Adams, advocate that a story should be clearly written enough to be understood on a first read through and no story is entitled to a second read, I also believe Asynchronous Circuit (like many mystery stories) strongly benefits from a second go. It’s kind of a side effect of the unreliable and limited narration--Obi-Wan as a narrator might be pretty objective and observant, but he doesn’t know everything, and certain conversations read very differently with full context, e.g. why Qui-Gon said the things he did. I’m glad you enjoyed it enough to give it a reread :)

Anyways, this is my reminder that I do these prompts in the order in which I receive them and it’s genuine coincidence that I got two Quinlan asks in a row. Everyone can relax about the previous segment now--I’m not pulling a The Long Goodbye here.

first you can all have an Obi-Wan monologue. it’s been too long since the last one.

It’s difficult to articulate exactly how much my world changed after I lost the Force. I used to feel the Cosmic Force within my veins, like my hands were on the pulse of the universe--no matter where I was or what happened, it was always steady and there, beating in my chest. I’ve been told I was closer to it than most, though I was a Jedi for such a short time that I have very little basis for comparison. All I know is I was highly susceptible to visions and I could feel ripples through time and space like a vibration in my bones.

The layman’s view of the Cosmic Force--as much as you can have a layman’s view on such an esoteric thing--is that those who are strongly attuned to it experience visions more frequently. That’s true enough, I suppose, especially for those whose affinity with the Cosmic Force comes and goes, but for those who have it all the time, it doesn’t even approach how all-encompassing it really is.

When you live your whole life feeling future events play out out from the actions around you, you don’t even register them as the future--they’re simply a direct extension of how you experience the present, the same way a whip cracks at its tip when the stock is flicked. It’s not even correct to say you experience things simultaneously because that implies experiencing discrete events when in reality it’s like collapsing time to a single point. Time gets tangled in your mind and causality ceases to exist when you live the present into past into the future with no distinction between the three. A lot of Masters worried about my constant absent-mindedness when I was young, but it’s very difficult to keep your mind in the here and now when you don’t even know where now is. I was better about it by the time I was accepted as a Padawan, but for Master Jinn, I suppose I was never quite good enough.

I don’t mean to say that my experience was exceptionally difficult for a Jedi-to-be. I understand it’s just as strenuous to feel the Living Force very closely--feeling emotions of those around you too strongly, or becoming easily overwhelmed by its highs and lows, or not being able to adapt to the changing nature of it. Those who are strong with the Living Force often have as many issues knowing which emotions are theirs as I did knowing what time is when. In that, I’ll admit Master Jinn was quite admirable. He knew how to ride out the surges of the Living Force and direct them without losing his sense of self. I’d speculate it’s why he ended up so stubborn, but that’s none of my business.

That said, it's not really correct to say that the Cosmic Force and Living Force are distinct entities. It's easier to teach it that way, and to think of it that way, but they're only different the way you can't see stars with a microscope and you can't see cells with a telescope--it's a different depth of field, and they both twine into each other in ways that can't be examined simultaneously. All Force-sensitives have access to both in some capacity, though most are more attuned to one over the other, much in the same way that some people are nearsighted while others are farsighted.

I guess it’s ironic that I never really understood the boundaries between the Living Force and the Cosmic Force for the entirety of my apprenticeship, however brief, but understood it almost immediately once I lost my connection to the Force completely. Maybe it's not a surprise. It's hard to distinguish the feeling between two different streams when you experience them both at the same time--much easier when you no longer feel one at all.

I mean this to say that when I lost my connection to the Cosmic Force and was left with only the lightest touch of the Living Force--even more here and now than even Master Jinn ever was--it was...difficult to adjust. Not only did I lose the feeling of the Cosmic Force within myself as if it had been torn directly out of my chest, but I lost an entire dimension, with all of time and space flattened down to a linear forward progression of time. These days, I let the Living Force into myself because it’s the only thing that can fill the space where the Cosmic Force used to be, but that doesn’t change the fact that they don’t feel the same, nor that my soul was never built to weather such a changeable Force. Even after all I’ve learned, even after twenty years of trial and error it's still too easy for me to get swept under by its currents. I’ll never say it’s a pleasant experience to be taken by the Force like I do, but it’s better than the alternative--when the Living Force simply isn’t there.

I think I’ve always been a little antsy when off planet, but back when I still had the Force, it was fine. Bearable, if annoying.

After Melida/Daan, it was...not.

Interstellar travel is always bad--space is too empty wherever you go, and there's no number of people on a ship that can ever match the Living Force of a planet. Hyperspace is the worst. It's worse than Force suppression--it's isolation of the highest form, cut off from the entire galaxy and any other living thing. Company and connection can help to soothe the ache in my soul where the Cosmic Force used to be, but even then it was a difficult few years flying around the galaxy at Jango's side, not that I had really understood then why.

My point in saying all of this is that by the second day out of Coruscant's orbit, accompanying a supply ship with Master Unduli, her Padawan, and some of her soldiers, I felt like I was suffocating. I don't sleep well in hyperspace, if at all, I get cold easily on ships, and I was still dealing with the consequences of fighting Skywalker. I probably shouldn't have left for Dathomir so soon after closing out my case--I'm sure Maul wouldn't have begrudged me a day or two of rest after what he and Skywalker had inflicted on me, and it wasn't like the delay would make him more dead than he already was--but I don't think it would have made any difference. There's no amount of rest that could save me from the relentless emptiness of hyperspace.

I just had to do it. Some things were more important than my personal comfort, and taking Maul’s body to his family was one of them. I'd endured hyperspace before and I could do it again, and after a month I would be back home in Coruscant where I belonged.

I must have looked awful by the time we made the transfer to Master Unduli's flagship, because she kept shooting concerned looks at me when she thought I wasn't looking. I sort of got the feeling she didn't know what to do with me--not just some civilian but an ex-Jedi and an ex-dead ex-Jedi at that. From the few conversations we’d had, she seemed like a decent enough sort--professional and respectful at minimum, which was a welcome change from the usual riffraff I dealt with. She would have been one of my agemates had I stayed with the Order, though as far as I recalled, we'd never met. She would certainly have heard about my 'death' and possibly even attended my funeral, though if she had any thoughts about the whole affair, she kept them to herself. I appreciated that. Getting treated like a ghost had gotten old pretty fast.

It felt like she was showing me her diplomat’s face. She was, after all, only transporting me as part of her mission and not because she personally wanted to. Still, every now and then I’d see a flash of something very genuine--her humor or her concern or her enthusiasm--and I thought in another life, we might have been friends. It was a nice thing to think about.

The flagship was enormous--conceptually, I’d known it would be, but there’s a big difference between seeing the numbers on a specifications sheet and actually standing inside one and being unable to see the end in any direction. That kind of thing made me anxious, and being surrounded by thousands of strangers with blasters and Jango’s face did not help.

This is what the Republic’s war looked like--enormous warships and aerial support and artillery and elite soldiers with food to eat and roofs to sleep under. It was a world of difference from hiding in trenches and burned-out buildings and scrounging for weapons and medicine in Melida/Daan.

What a difference the Senate’s money made.

Something roiled inside me at the thought of it and I forced myself to take a deep breath, gripping my neural port tightly all the while. My war was over, and while we were on the flagship, we were safe. I knew that--I just had a hard time believing it, is all. I wanted to excuse myself and find the smallest room I could lock myself into until I calmed down, but after we finished offloading the emergency supplies, I felt the Force around Master Unduli move sharply as she noticed someone and realized I would never be so lucky.

"Hey! Luminara!" I heard a man shout from further down the corridor. "What took you so long? I got here ages ago!"

There were some sounds of commotion behind the soldiers escorting us, then a large man pushed through, a black-haired, brown-skinned Kiffar with gold markings on his face. Even after twenty years, it was unmistakably Quinlan Vos.

Despite the recently split lip and inexplicable lack of sleeves, he looked good. He had two lightsabers on his belt, one on either side, and he had put on some height and bulk and moved like he liked it that way. He looked like he still got into as much trouble as he had when we were Padawans, except now he could get himself out of it, too. Bant had told me he did a lot of undercover work and intelligence, and it was good to see that such dangerous work hadn’t beaten down his sense of humor.

Master Unduli waved hello. "Quinlan. How did you get here so fast? I thought your mission would take a few more days."

Quinlan smiled. It was the same wide devil-may-care smile I remembered, except that it fit him better now that he was big enough for it. "Did the Council tell you that? That must have underestimated the power of my unmatched wit and sexy looks."

"Or," Master Unduli said, "maybe just your fists, if your face is any indication."

Quinlan waved her off. "Oh, this? This is nothing. It's just a scratch, though if you want to kiss it better..."

"We have bacta gel. I think that'll do the job just fine."

"On my mouth? Gross, no thanks. The last time I had to taste bacta--"

"Not in front of my troopers, Quinlan. You'll corrupt them."

Quinlan rolled his eyes. "They're soldiers, not Temple younglings! There's nothing I could tell them that they haven't already heard worse of."

Master Unduli crossed her arms. "You're a bad influence and you know it. The last thing my men need is you scandalizing them with your misadventures. Isn't that right, Commander?"

One of the soldiers beside us nodded gravely. "I'm feeling very scandalized, sir."

Quinlan threw his hands into the air. "And now you're ganging up on me? Luminara, how could you? Aayla wouldn't treat me like this."

"You say that as if Aayla isn't always the first person to offer up dirt on you."

The two of them continued talking as we walked to the bridge. I tried not to listen too closely--it felt too much like eavesdropping on something private. It was clear then, if it ever hadn’t been, that I was an outsider among these people, Jedi and soldiers alike. I wasn’t part of this war--I was just tagging along on an errand to transport a corpse to a faraway planet for no reason other than sentimentality. Amidst all these discussions of military engagements and intergalactic affairs, my presence felt very frivolous.

I wasn’t paying attention to how much time passed or when we finally reached the bridge. I don’t think I was very present to begin with--at that point, I hadn’t slept in almost thirty hours and felt it badly. I vaguely remember people who actually seemed to know what was going on making reports to Master Unduli and Quinlan while I stood by with my cloak wrapped tight and tried to be as invisible as possible.

Eventually, I felt Master Unduli’s attention shift to me, and I glanced up.

“--supplies for your next mission to Dathomir.”

Quinlan followed her gaze towards me and his brows came together. “What the hell,” he said. “Has he been here this whole time?”

“It’s not my fault if you’re unobservant,” Master Unduli replied. “This is Detective Obi-Wan Kenobi. He used to be part of the Order--”

“Yeah, I know,” Quinlan cut in as he stepped towards me. He looked me over up and down and didn’t seem too happy about what he saw. “So you’re the cargo, huh?”

So that was how this conversation was going to go. “That’s a crass way to put it, but yes,” I said. “It’s good to see you, Quinlan.”

“Oh, so it’s Quinlan now? No more Quin?”

“Things didn’t end well the last time we spoke,” I said. “We’re going to be on a ship together for approximately a tenday. If you want to be strangers, I can do that.”

Quinlan leaned in towards me, trying to get a better look. The Force around him stayed carefully still, not giving anything away. “What, you’re not even going to try and convince me? You don’t care if your old friend doesn’t like you anymore?”

“Quinlan, I spent the last twenty-two years believing the Temple abandoned me and all my friends forgot I existed. If that’s the narrative you want to live, it’s nothing new to me. I just need to get Maul’s body to his family on Dathomir and we can go on with our lives. I’ve already told you what’s happened--I’m not going to fight you to make you believe it.”

Quinlan scowled. “You didn’t explain dick shit. You said you lost the Force. That’s not a thing that happens.”

I could feel eyes moving towards me as Quinlan’s voice got louder. I didn’t like that much. “It happened to me,” I said. “I’m not happy about it either.”

“How?” Quinlan pressed. “How in the hell would that happen? Explain it to me.”

“There’s not a lot to explain. I found the Force overwhelming, so I cut it off to protect myself. It ended up being permanent.”

“That’s banthashit,” Quinlan retorted, stepping even closer to me despite Master Unduli’s attempts to keep him back. He wasn’t taller than me by much, but it was enough to look down at me. “No Jedi would ever cut themselves off from the Force. That’s literal suicide.”

“I’m not saying it was a good idea. I’m not even saying I was in my right mind,” I said softly. “Do you have any idea how long Melida/Daan’s war was? It was centuries. If I hadn’t intervened, it might have gone on for decades more--as it turns out, a place like that is a bad place for a Force-sensitive youngling that reads the past and the future without trying. It was killing me. It was more than I could take and nobody came to save me, so I cut myself off. Maybe that should have killed me, but I’m here. I’ve changed, but I’m alive. You’re a Jedi--you can feel for yourself what’s happened to me.”

“There’s nothing to feel, jackass. You’re empty, and that’s not something I want to touch--”

Master Unduli pulled Quinlan a couple steps back from me. “Quinlan, don’t say that.”

Quinlan shook her off, continuing, “I can’t believe everyone’s letting this go on. Why don’t you just tell me why you’re doing this? What can you possibly gain by pretending to be Obi-Wan?”

I took a deep breath. It felt like everyone was watching me now, and I felt it like fingers on my throat. I had to get out before I did something drastic. “I am Obi-Wan. I’m not going to pretend otherwise just to make you feel better, Quinlan. If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine, but I’m not changing my story because it’s the truth. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I turned to leave.

Quinlan stepped in front of me, blocking my way out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Somewhere with a bed, preferably. Hyperspace and I don’t get along. Would you prefer I pass out here?” I asked. “I can do that, too.”

“If you’re really Obi-Wan, then convince me.”

“I told you what happened. If you won’t believe me, then there’s no point in continuing.”

Quinlan crossed his arms. “Let me see for myself, and I’ll believe you.”

I took a step back, out of arm’s reach. I was wearing gloves, but it paid to be cautious--if Quinlan touched skin, his psychometry could read back memories and sensations going who knew how far back. Easy enough to prove my story beyond a doubt...if I didn’t care about what else he found out. I wasn’t that cavalier about my privacy. “That’s a lot to ask from someone you haven’t seen in twenty-two years. My past is my own and you’ll only see it if and when I want you to.”

“So you won’t prove you’re actually Obi-Wan?”

“I’ll talk if that’s what you want, but not right here and not right now. I am exhausted.” I faced Master Unduli. “Thank you for your hospitality, Master Jedi, but I think I’ll take my leave now.”

Master Unduli, who looked more than a little uncomfortable about this conversation, said, “As you wish, Detective. Would you like me to escort you to the medbay first? You don’t look well.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “I always look like this when I go off-planet. I can stop by medbay if it’ll make you feel better, but there’s nothing they can do that’ll help, short of sedating me.”

Master Unduli seemed to take that as agreement and stepped past Quinlan. I followed her out, only for Quinlan to grab me by the arm.

I don’t react well to getting grabbed even at the best of times, and deep in space with armed men all around was very much my breaking point. I twisted back and slammed my right fist into Quinlan’s stomach. I felt the impact straight through to my neural port and he doubled over, gagging.

I don’t know exactly what happened after that. The bridge erupted into chaos and suddenly everyone was moving and there were hands on me and I used my mechanical fist on more than one soldier who probably didn’t deserve it. Quinlan grabbed me by the back of my cloak and I dropped down, pulling him over my back. He hit the ground hard and I tore a lightsaber off of his belt. He tried to kick me and I pinned him, knee to diaphragm with the open end of the lightsaber pressed to his heart.

Heat burned behind my left ear, and everything froze.

“Calm yourself, Detective,” Master Unduli said behind me, holding her lightsaber steady at my neck. It didn’t feel like full power, but it was high enough to kill me if she so much as twitched. I didn’t look up to see, but I could feel at least six blasters aimed at me. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

I was breathing hard and the world felt like it was spinning. My right arm throbbed where metal met flesh, and the lightsaber in my left hand felt like it was humming--that didn’t seem normal. Wherever my limits were, I had definitely passed them a broken jaw or two ago.

“Put the weapon down, Detective,” Master Unduli said. I could feel a thread of the Force behind it and deflected the minor compulsion. I could be reasonable--but I wouldn’t be controlled.

“Is Quinlan going to assault me again?” I asked.

“I didn’t assault you, I touched your arm!” Quinlan hissed. There was blood on his teeth. “You’re the one who tried to liquidize my insides!”

“I don’t like being grabbed,” I said. “I’ll apologize if you promise not to do it again.”

“Oh, that’s real nice. Beat up a man and still act like you’re the good guy. Pillar of honor right here.”

Master Unduli sighed. “Quinlan, apologize to him.”

Quinlan shot Master Unduli an incredulous look. “Seriously? You’re taking his side? He’s got a lightsaber pressed against some very important bits right now!”

Master Unduli lifted her lightsaber from my neck. The ring of soldiers lowered their blasters, too, which made breathing a little easier. “Detective, please return Quinlan’s lightsaber. You used to be a Jedi--I’m sure you understand how important it is to him.”

I glanced back at her, then to Quinlan. Deliberately, I pulled the lightsaber away and got off of Quinlan. He groaned and rose slowly. I didn’t help him--I wasn’t feeling that charitable.

He didn’t look great. I had only hit him a few times, but I’d made them count.

The lightsaber still felt like it was buzzing in my hand, which was weird but not unpleasant. I flipped it around to look at it properly. It was similar to what I remembered Quinlan’s lightsaber looking like, but it wasn’t the same. It was a simple design, with a silver barrel hilt that had a side cutout for the black grip, just large enough to fit my hand. That froze me.

Quinlan held out a hand for the lightsaber, but I didn’t offer it. This didn’t look like Quinlan’s lightsaber because it wasn’t his lightsaber. It was mine.

As if realizing it had been recognized, the Force around the crystal reached out, pressing against me. It didn’t feel like a person’s Force would, and it didn’t feel the way I remembered it, like warm sunlight cradled between my hands. It was quieter and colder now, but it was still unmistakably the same kyber that had chosen me in the caves of Ilum an entire lifetime ago.

I think it missed me.

I looked up at Quinlan, who was staring like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Obi-Wan?” he said.

“Why do you have my lightsaber?” I asked. “I thought they put orphaned lightsabers in the Archives.”

“I stole it,” Quinlan said. “Jinn kept it after Melida/Daan. When you died, I...I had to find out what happened. I broke into his quarters and took it, and I saw--he abandoned you. You went off to a war zone even though you both knew how bad it was and he let you.”

“I know. I was there,” I said. “You stole it from Master Jinn and they let you keep it?”

“I didn’t give them any other option--I couldn’t let anyone take it away. It was all that was left of you, Obi.”

“Don’t call me that. Only Bant is allowed to call me that.”

Quinlan looked at me and pursed his lips slowly. “You’re...alive. This whole time, you were alive. And I didn’t--how long were you on Melida/Daan?”

“That’s...not important,” I said.

“It was a long time, wasn’t it? You must have been there for--for years. I could have--I should have--”

“Quinlan. You thought I was dead. I’m not angry about you getting over me--it’s been over twenty years. I’d be concerned if you didn’t.” I held my lightsaber out to him. “Here. Take it back.”

“That’s your lightsaber.”

“I’m not a Jedi anymore and I can’t use the Force that way--I left the Order and that’s not something I can or will take back. This lightsaber is yours now. You’ve had it longer than my entire life as a Jedi. You can put it to good use.”

Quinlan hesitated, then took my lightsaber back. He held it in his hands for a few moments, just staring at it. “It’s really you. You’re really alive.” He looked back up at me. “Just because you’re alive doesn’t mean you can get out of apologizing for punching me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You grabbed me and I reacted, and I’m not sorry for that, but I’m sorry I hit you that hard. It wasn’t personal, and I--” A wave of dizziness hit me and I staggered against the wall.

“Obi-Wan?” Quinlan said. Thankfully, he did not grab me this time. “Are you dying? You can’t die on me right now!”

“I’m not--” I grimaced. “I’m not dying, I’m just going to pass out. I wasn’t kidding when I--kriff--” My legs buckled under me and I went to the ground. “I might stop breathing while unconscious. If that happens, don’t panic. That’s normal.”

“You might what?” Quinlan said.

I pointed vaguely towards Master Unduli. Everything felt far away and getting farther by the second, so I’m not sure how accurate I was. “And don’t let Quinlan use psy--psychometry on me.”

Maybe someone said something after that, but I was already gone.