#I wonder how the force truly felt there even before the sith came to power

[varpusvaras]

As someone who studies natural sciences, I think Coruscant as a planet is very interesting in a very horrifying way.

There is nothing natural there. The whole planet is completely dead. No natural climate, no hydrological cycle, no natural seasons, no fauna or vegetation left. The planet is completely dead, in a biological sense.

Coruscant is haunted because it's dead, and the only thing left there from the planet itself are ghosts.

[passable-talent]

listen,, im just in the mood for stih!reader. not followed-anakin-to-the-dark reader,,, just straight-up sith, subscribed to the sith, bloodlustful, power-hungry reader x anakin. whether they were a sith before him or a knight pulled to the dark at the same time but separate from him is up to you, but i just want some sexy evil reader <3

two things. one- in planning this one i came up with possibly my most interesting canon ret-con ever. 

two- sorry about the lack of this in the past, with all of my darkfics i just always end up trying to make the reader redeemable or in some ways well-meaning so that it doesnt alienate my,,, readers,,, but as you wish!

that said, i havent gotten to really indulge my absolutely sadistic side in a while and it was uhhhh fun

There was a prophecy to the Jedi, long ago, that one young Jedi would bring balance to the Force. 

And to the Sith was a prophecy that there would be a Dyad in the Force, one whose power would give rise to the power of the Sith.

Sheev Palpatine, tasked with finding an apprentice more powerful than he, who could possibly be within the Dyad, went through many apprentices in very quick succession, each destroyed by the Jedi before they could gain true power. There was only one apprentice who escaped the Jedi unscathed- a young former scrapper from a planet so unexceptional it didn’t even have a name. 

You had struggled from the moment you could walk. You had built yourself up, with no help, no guidance. From a difficult child to a violent teenager, you fashioned yourself weapons, taught yourself to fight. When others tried to lay claim to what you owned, you cut them down. 

So naturally, when he discovered you, Darth Sidious gave you a lightsaber. 

With your skill in mundane weapons came an adaptability into the divine, and you were quickly nearly as skilled with a light saber as his last three apprentices, combined. He believed that your innate skill and exorbitant midi-chlorian count meant that you must be one half of the prophesized Dyad, and with the formation of a Force bond, he could do what his master had not, and become the other half. He just needed to build your power. 

Each time he praised you, the hole in your soul grew larger, wanting more, needing it. You had come from nothing- so now, you wanted everything. You wanted to be the most skilled. You wanted to be the most powerful. You wanted to be the strongest and the fastest and the best.

So imagine your anger when you came across a little Jedi padawan who you could not defeat. 

Anakin Skywalker was the golden boy of the Jedi, and it had gone to his head. He was nineteen, and already more skilled than his master, and most of the masters on the council. Of course he would try to kill a Sith apprentice, when one crossed his path.

Imagine, two young prodigies, on opposite sides of a millennia-long war, each convinced that nothing could stand in their way. Imagine no one winning the battle, and both going home unscathed.

Imagine how it would drive them mad. 

Darth Sidious could not be seen without risking his discovery, so you often did what he needed. You wouldn’t complain- each successful mission would ease your hunger for victory and power, if only for a moment. You were cunning, and only unleashed your brutality when it was necessary, but Anakin- Anakin had the key to the cage that held your rage, and he opened it every time you saw him. 

His master, the other Jedi, those you would dispose of easily, not caring enough to kill them, just doing enough to get them out of your way, so that you could face him. Every time you failed to kill him, you got angrier, until you felt nothing but rage when you saw him. How dare he challenge your supremacy, your skill. How dare he live and breathe, proof that you weren’t unbeatable. 

In the dark side of the Force, with this conflict came uncertainty- no matter how Palpatine promised that his blood-soaked and rage-filled apprentice was the most skilled in the galaxy, he began to doubt. He began to wonder if Anakin was truly the apprentice he’d been seeking. 

In the light side of the Force, Master Yoda began to understand what Anakin’s prophecy had truly meant- Anakin was meant to be the light’s balance to the dark that you carried in your heart. 

Against the numbers of the Jedi, you were at a disadvantage, but you weren’t concerned with odds, not when you were the most talented Sith that had ever lived. All you felt that you lacked was the wisdom of the Sith who had come before you, and so you often meditated, trying to reach them. Darth Plagueis in particular guided your mind many a night. 

But something was off about your meditation, this day. You couldn’t reach your grandmaster, and a sick, disjointed sensation rolled in waves through your skin. Breaking your concentration, you opened your eyes.

And seated in front of you was Anakin Skywalker. 

“You-” you snarled, immediately calling your saber to your hand. He held his hand up, though, and something about the motion made you pause. 

“I’m not really here,” he said, then looked around. “Can you see where I am? I can’t see where you are.” You narrowed your eyes, suspicious and still angry, but now curious. You slid from your meditative sit and onto your knees, slinking toward him on your hands before reaching out to touch his shoulder. 

“You mean you didn’t reach out to me?” You asked, tilting your head, expression still distrustful.

“No, I thought you called to me.” You locked your eyes with his, reaching forward with the Force to feel him, his presence. He seemed to feel you doing so, but did not resist, and in fact did the same. Reaching deep into his heart, you found a surprising spot of cold- and latched onto it, holding it, unlocking its secrets. This, you could use.

“You don’t trust the Jedi,” you said, a smirk curling on your lips. His eyes widened briefly, which made you realize just how correct you were. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he was so skilled- if it could be used in service of the dark. 

“The Jedi stifle me,” he conceded, and from your connection you’d forged into his soul you felt a spark of fire, that so-familiar rage. This time, the emotion wasn’t yours, but his. 

“The Sith will not,” you promised, and sat back down, much closer to him now. 

“The Sith must be destroyed,” he snarled, and you were in your element now, you were finally in control. After all this time, you were winning a victory against Anakin Skywalker.

“Why? We seek to bring order. I seek my fullest potential. Isn’t that what you’re doing? What the Jedi aren’t letting you do?”

“Shut up,” he groaned, looking away, and so you leaned closer, lifting your chin, beginning to smile. 

“We’ve fought in the past, Anakin,” you breathed, “But I promise you this- I would help you the way no Jedi would think to.” 

You felt it when his entire presence in the Force sparked, and then disappeared. It seemed that he’d grown too distracted to keep your connection. 

Speaking of that- how could you have had such a connection? 

Sure, you’d felt his presence in the Force before, but only when you fought, when your souls clashed as brightly as your sabers. This was new, very new, and in all your teachings you had heard of nothing like it. 

Nothing- nothing but a Dyad. The Dyad. 

Sidious was right, in everything he had ever told you- you were of the Dyad, you were the Sith meant to experience power like none before you had, you were the one the prophecies had spoken of. But Palpatine wasn’t the other half, the way that the Rule of Two would’ve expected it- the other half of the Dyad was instead a young Jedi.

Master Yoda felt a disturbance in the Force as you realized it- as your dark hunger pulsed out of your body, satisfaction with knowing that it was all true making you feel powerful. The destiny you had been promised, you now knew for certain, was rightfully yours. 

You only had two problems, both easy to fix. The first- your Dyad partner needed to join the Sith. Only then would you be fully unstoppable, only then would no one be able to stand in your way. 

And the Second? Anakin becoming a Sith would violate the Rule of Two. Meaning that there would be three Sith where there was only room for two.

So you needed to be rid of Sidious. Such was a plan for another day. 

The Clone Wars were a Sith’s playground- Sidious’ extraneous apprentices, Dooku and Ventress, took care of most of the messy battles. Fighting clones, negotiating with the Trade Federation, such things were beneath you. Your specialty, your joy, was in the destruction of the Jedi. Every single Jedi death in the Clone Wars was at your hand. 

And though you clashed with Anakin, the roles had been reversed- now twenty-two and sure of your destiny, you fought not to kill Anakin, but to show him the power of the dark, the power you wielded. He fought the way you had as a teenager, full of rage and murderous intent. Tortured as his missions were by you, he could not escape you in meditation, nor in sleep. You walked his dreams, making him wake with not anger but want, something that he hid from everyone, even his master. In his meditation you would appear before him, promising things that he only believed because they left your mouth. 

“Anakin Skywalker is at his most powerful when he’s at my side.”

No Jedi sensed the rising darkness in Anakin Skywalker, just as you expected. Jedi are incapable of seeing past what they believe. They know that the Sith have returned, and still are blind to the power of the Dark!

The Sith, though... the Sith sensed his power. You sensed it, of course, reaching into his soul any time you could, grooming and nurturing the darkness he’d begun to share. And Sidious felt it, too. 

So he took an interest in Anakin Skywalker. 

He grew closer to Anakin through their mutual friendship with Senator Amidala. Palpatine promised Anakin balance, salvation from the worries he carried with him. 

And he began to pull away from you, which certainly did not sit well. You were the most powerful Sith in generations, more powerful than even him, and he dared think you could be replaced? Not only he thought you could be replaced, but he dared set up such a replacement as though you wouldn’t notice?

No. 

You were stronger than that. Smarter. There was three where there should be two, and if your counterpart in the Force was meant to bring balance, weren’t you meant to, as well?

So you took advantage of the age and weakness of Palpatine’s body. You poisoned him, slowly, deteriorating him, so that all that kept him alive was the Force, and he had no strength of his own. 

And then you told him everything. 

“An apprentice, when they are no longer fit for the teachings of the Sith, is replaced,” you said, your scarlet saber humming, its life and energy filling your body, like it had a thousand times. “Which is why you have grown interested in Anakin Skywalker. I have learned from you, my master, I see through your deception. You wish him to take my place.” 

Your darkness invaded your smile, an emptiness invading your stomach that the deaths of dozens of Jedi had yet to fill.

“He will,” you promised, “He will be one of the most amazing Sith there has ever been. And he will fulfill the prophecy of the Dyad, just as you suspect.” 

Sidious didn’t even have the time to ask how you knew before you buried three feet of plasma in his body. 

You didn’t remove the saber, just let it rise and fall with the laboured breathing of an old man. 

“Without your help, Sidious,” you snarled, “I have pulled Anakin Skywalker to the Dark Side. I have found the Dyad, the one spoken of in prophecy- I have felt it pull he and I together. And without your help, I will purge the Jedi from the galaxy.” You ripped the saber from his body, separating his chest from his stomach.

As Palpatine breathed his last breath, you had an unexpected visitor- a few of them, actually. Masters Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, Saesee Tiin, and Mace Windu each entered Palpatine’s office, sabers ignited and prepared for a duel with a Sith Master. 

But they didn’t expect it to be the one that now stood before them. 

Master Mace Windu knew of you- knew of the Sith apprentice who had a hunger for power so strong that it was meant to outgrow their master. He knew that you had killed countless Jedi, and would kill countless more, if given the chance. So he wasted no time in changing his intentions for the evening. 

“In the name of the Galactic Senate of the Republic,” Windu said, igniting his saber, “You’re under arrest.” Your lightsaber still humming with the blood it had taken, you turned to him over your shoulder, canine tooth glinting from underneath a disturbing smile. 

“And what are the charges?” you asked, calm as though you could predict the exact outcome of the match. “I’ve just killed your Sith Lord. Surely that must count for something.” 

You focused the Force within you, sending it to the one person who you needed the most- and you showed him the way that four Jedi looked at you, threatened you.

“The Senate will decide your fate,” Windu threatened, and you tilted your head. 

“The Senate just lost their chancellor,” you said with a small laugh, “I don’t believe they’ll be deciding anything for a while.” 

It was all too easy to destroy them. Fisto, Kolar, Tiin, they were no challenge. Neither was Windu, but you needed him to believe he was gaining the upper hand- for Anakin was back on Coruscant, hurrying to your location, seeing through your eyes the way that Windu meant to murder you. 

Feigning weakness, you opened your chest, which Windu rewarded with a strong kick, and you fell to your back, little groans and whimpers of fear leaving you as you scrambled backwards, and you could feel it, you could feel the way Anakin was running toward you, feel his desperation to protect you, even if he tried to disguise it with democracy. 

“You are under arrest,” Windu hissed, his saber pointed to your nose. 

And then, there- the man whose presence you had once loathed, and now craved. Anakin was here, with those lovely blue eyes, that curly hair, that body that deserved to rule the galaxy by your side. 

“Anakin,” you said, chest rising and falling in panicked breaths, “Anakin, I killed Palpatine, I- I’m trying to help, I’m trying to help you!”

“You killed him to take his place,” Windu said, and your eyes narrowed. “But you have lost.” You reached out as though to call your saber back to you, but didn’t actually use the Force- which made it seem as though Windu overpowered you when he grabbed your throat and lifted you from the floor. Letting your body hang limp, you clawed at your throat, breathing ragged, and this- this was your chance. 

You turned your gaze to him.

“Anakin,” you breathed, desperation, love, in your eyes. “Anakin, please...” He’d heard you say that word before, sounding just the same, in dreams of soft touches and tangled sheets. He’d seen the way you looked at him, when he met you on the battlegrounds, and you seemed to enjoy his skill. All too familiar was the curve of your neck, the flex of your muscles, as you fought against a grip on your throat.

“Please, Anakin,” you whispered, “I love you.” 

“They are a traitor, Anakin!” Windu snarled, arm extended toward you. “Don’t listen!” You weren’t choking, not quite, but blood was being cut off, and you were starting to get woozy. You pushed the feeling through your bond to Anakin, proving to him how desperate the situation was becoming. 

“Please,” you said, mouth gaping for a moment as you struggled to breathe, eyes briefly rolling back in your head. “Don’t let him kill me.” Windu dropped you, and you crashed to the floor, coughing and sputtering, letting them both believe your limbs were too tired to hold you up. 

“I am going to end this,” Windu said, conviction in his tone, “Once and for all.” 

“You can’t,” Anakin said, and dark satisfaction pulsed deep in your chest. With those two words, you knew how this day would end. “They must stand trial.” 

“They are a Sith Lord! They're too dangerous to be left alive!” Curled up on your side, you didn’t look dangerous- you looked pitiful, coughing to regain your breath, tears rolling down your face. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you sobbed, and in Anakin’s heart you felt resolve- you knew he wouldn’t let you die. 

“It’s not the Jedi way!” Anakin said, “They must live!” You raised your eyes to Windu’s, and saw no remorse in them.

“Please, no-” you whimpered.

“I need them!” Anakin shouted, but Windu lifted his saber anyway. Anakin reacted in an instant, igniting his saber and slashing it through Windu’s arm, the distinctive purple saber now lost to the window and the streets of Coruscant below. 

You smiled.

In an instant you flipped onto your hands, swiping Windu’s legs out from under him, and he could do nothing to stop his fall. Anakin fell to his knees, shocked, and ashamed of what he’d done. 

“Anakin!” you said, rushing toward him, and finally, finally you could feel what you had in dreams, what you’d longed to- you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. “Anakin, you saved me.” He hugged you back, slowly, and there was nothing else to compare to this. 

You had been prophesized to be the Jedi and Sith who would bring balance and rule, and finally, after all this time, you were together. Not on the opposite sides of a battle, not in a connection, not in a dream, but in reality, in each other’s arms. 

Together, you were more powerful than any Jedi or any Sith had ever been. You could feel it already. 

“Thank you,” you breathed, pulling away far enough to brush back his hair, but his eyes were heavy with sorrow and regret. “Ani, love, look at me-” His gaze met yours, and nothing else in the universe had ever been so beautiful. 

“I love you,” you promised again, and pressed your lips to his. The Force itself seemed to rejoice in you finally meeting, and now, all that was left to do was to ensure he stayed by your side. 

“Finally, we’re on the same side,” you breathed, and you felt the way he bristled. 

“The Jedi won’t see it that way.”

“The Jedi don’t understand- and they’re traitors, anyway, plotting to destroy the Republic, all this time. We have to rebuild the Jedi Order. We can make things the way we want them to be.” Anakin seemed to consider, so you pulled yourself closer to him, holding him just the way you remembered, in all those dreams you’d shared. 

“We don’t have to run away anymore,” he said, and you cupped his face. 

“No,” you said, “We don’t have to hide.” 

“The Jedi turned against me,” Anakin said, his voice low, and you felt that darkness in his body grow. 

“I know, love,” you breathed, brushing back his hair. “But I’m here. I’m still here.” Anakin leaned forward, holding you close by your lower back and kissed you, and you felt it- you felt hunger in his body, you tasted it on his lips. He rocked forward, laying you down on your back, even as you kept your arms around his neck. 

And as you surrendered control, you almost had to laugh- he had no idea how much power you had over him. 

-🦌 Roe

part 2 | part 3

[complementaryhalves]

#Obikintober: Day 4

Oct 4: Rebels

Basically Twin Suns (Rebels s03e20) but it’s Vader instead of Maul. I’m sorry I don’t know why this happened.

Obi-Wan/Anakin|Vader (but could be read as platonic)

Angst, Whump, Major Character Death, Love confession, THIS IS SAD I MEAN IT REALLY FCKING SAD

Word count: 1594

Read below the cut

He recognises his presence as soon as his TIE fighter comes out of hyperspace in Tatooine’s upper atmosphere. The supernova of power he’d been once has burned out into a black hole, but the shape remains the same, painfully familiar to Obi-Wan’s consciousness, the way it felt on Mustafar almost ten years ago.

Even from this distance, it seems to absorb all light, giving out a darkness that seeps through the Force, threatening to drown Obi-Wan before he can even muster the strength to face it.

He considers hiding, or at least running, drawing the Sith lord as far as possible from the Lars homestead. Then, he realises there’s nowhere to go where he won’t find him, and if he dies, no one will protect the Lars anyway. On top of that, it will be quite fitting to meet him here, before the grave of Anakin’s mother’s grave.

So he stays, kneeling on the warm sand just at the edge of the shadow cast by Shmi Skywalker’s gravestone, and sinks into the Force, shrouds himself in Light, and waits for the Sith lord to find him.

He senses the TIE rapidly approaching just short of lightspeed and feels the inferno of hatred and rage blazing from the man, no, the monster inside. All he can do is pull on the Light to give himself all the strength the Force has to lend him. A few hours later, when the shadow of the ship passes over him, he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.

He watches it fly in circles above the area surrounding the moisture farm. While he’s surely just doing a recon, Obi-Wan likes to imagine that part of him is hesitating to land in a place where he once felt bottomless grief. At the same time, part of him wishes that the Dark side had consumed him so thoroughly that he can’t feel anything at all, for he doesn’t deserve to share the grief that Obi-Wan has been nurturing all these years, using it to keep himself human.

The TIE stops half a klick away from Shmi’s grave, landing gracefully on the sand without raising a single speck. The darkness it exudes is almost unbearable now, permeating the Force like storm clouds, turning the sun-scorched landscape grey and cold despite the suns being still high in the endlessly clear sky.

Slowly, Obi-Wan rises from the ground and turns to face the Sith lord as he emerges from the top hatch of his fighter. Instinctively, he touches the lightsaber hanging at his side, and thanks the Force for suggesting he carry it with him that day. It’s a comforting thought, to know that whatever happens today, it will be by the will of the Force, part of its ineffable, inscrutable design.

He tries not to wonder about what it will be, to stay focused on the present. He trusts his fate is in the hands of the Force, and so he will follow his instincts and accept whatever outcome. Peace, serenity, harmony as his companions, and the mission, of course, which he doesn’t let himself think about for fear that the Sith lord, who’s slowly approaching, dragging his heavy boots through the sand, will discover it.

“How pathetic,” the monster says, his rattling voice breaking the perfect silence of the desert. “Is that why you came to hide here like a womp rat?” he asks, pointing his gloved hand towards the gravestone. “She’s dead, old man. And like her, everyone you care about. What are you still doing here?”

“There is no death, only the Force,” Obi-Wan retorts, although he knows the other never truly appreciated the strength that came with acceptance, the grounding power of peace.

The Sith lord clenches his fist. His mask hides all emotion, but in the Force, his anger flares through the darkness, like lightning in the night sky.

“Fool!” he roars. “You know nothing of the true power of the Force. Look where your Code has brought you.” He gestures at the expanse of sand and rock around them. “Here, alone in the dust, while I rule the Galaxy with the power of the Dark side!”

His spiel is so full of conviction Obi-Wan almost wants to laugh. The emperor did a great job in feeding lies to his little pet, instilling them into him the way Obi-Wan never managed to do with the tenets of the Jedi Code.

“And has power made you happy? Has it given you the peace you sought? Or at least, protected the love for which you betrayed everything we fought for?”

The monster’s hatred explodes through the Force, but Obi-Wan stands unflinching as he whips out his lightsaber, the heat of the scarlet blade melting the sand as it flashes near the ground.

“Your lies have no effect on me anymore. All that matters is power, and that comes from the Dark side. Now be quiet and prepare for your death.”

Obi-Wan abandons himself to the Force, letting his deepest, most inscrutable instincts guide him to ignite his lightsaber and hold it with both hands at the side of his body.

When the Sith lord launches his assault, slowed down by his mechanic body despite the anger propelling him, Obi-Wan glides effortlessly forward to block it. Their blades meet one, two, three times, and then he’s past the monster’s defences. No amount of raw power can match the focus and precision lent to him by the Light side, rippling through him like sunlight on the still surface of a lake. Guided by the Force, Obi-Wan’s lightsaber cuts with extreme precision through the shiny black mask.

As the durasteel melts off the helmet and drops to the sand, followed shortly by his deactivated lightsaber. Through the gap in the black durasteel, Obi-Wan can see his face, the pale scarred skin, his ashen lips gasping for air and one eye, sunken and red-rimmed, staring at him with desperate fear.

It’s Mustafar all over again, but this time Obi-Wan will stay to see it through.

When the Sith lord falls to his knees, Obi-Wan is there to catch him and ease him down on his back. Holding him up, he helps him out of the remnants of his helmet, ignoring how the still scorching edges burn his hands, and when he lies his eyes on him all his certainty and strength abandon him.

On the face of the man lying helplessly in Obi-Wan’s arms, there is no trace of beautiful bronze curls, honey-gold skin and deep blue eyes, but it’s still unmistakably him. He’s scarred and burnt and broken, nothing like the man Obi-Wan’s been seeing nightly for the past ten years, but it’s still him, not the Sith lord, not a monster, Anakin.

Sinking in that realisation, Obi-Wan raises a hand to touch his face, and suddenly he feels his chest caving in.

His own grief melds with the pain exuding from Anakin, and the sorrow he’s felt until then pales in comparison, all the loss he’s faced nothing but a trial to prepare him for this one, which is now threatening to drive him insane. Unable to stand, he folds down on Anakin, leaning against his forehead. When he tries to breathe him in, he can only smell chemicals and metals and ozone, and it shatters his heart all over again.

“I’m so sorry, my dear. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you,” he hears himself say in a breathless murmur broken by tears.

Anakin shakes his head, an almost imperceptible movement, and his voice comes out in the lightest of whispers, at the expense of the little air his broken lungs can manage to breathe.

“You have,” he still manages to say. “You saved me, Obi-Wan.” He stops to wheeze, eyes shut in pain for a second, before forcing himself to continue. “This is what I needed. What I came for. Thank you.”

As he speaks, Obi-Wan can see the amber ring in his eyes recede slowly, leaving behind the blue he’s been dreaming of for years. In his last moments, Anakin is himself again, and Obi-Wan can’t stop from blurting out, once again, the words he’d failed to say before it was too late.

“I love you, Anakin,” he whispers, cupping his face and caressing his scarred cheek with his thumb. “I still- I always-“ he stammers desperately, uncoherent, fearing the way he feels Anakin’s presence grow fainter, colder and more distant. “I never stopped loving you. I never will,” he mumbles through a sob.

With the last of his strength, Anakin stares into Obi-Wan’s eyes and manages to smile, relief and even a semblance of joy ghosting over his pale lips for a second, to then be forever frozen upon them as he draws his last, shaky breath and the light in his eyes disappears.

Pulled down by the weight in his arms, Obi-Wan lets himself fold, fall, cave, crumble onto himself, sobs racking his entire body, forcefully pulling all air out of his lungs, as tears stream freely down his face. He kneels there on the sand, as the suns burn over his back, relentless, uncaring, and cries, pouring out his soul into saltwater.

All he can do to steady himself, to keep his sanity as he waits for grief to wash over him, is to hold on to that last truth he’s spoken, the only one that matters, the only thing that has been holding him together for the last decade.

Whatever happens, wherever life might take him, he will never stop loving Anakin Skywalker.

[coexiising]

Fade Into You - Chapter Two

SUMMARY ✦ You meet with the mysterious stranger and finally learn who he is, Vader. You also learn that the Jedi Council may have not been as truthful with you as they say they have.

WARNING(S) ✦ N/A

MASTERLIST ✦ Here.

I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.

Your eyes opened and you were once again standing in the long, dark hallways of the building that no longer felt unknown to you. In fact, you reveled in the way that the duracrete was the exact same way as the night before and the one before that. You focused inward, conserving your energy to attempt and get some answers while you were here. Time seems slower here, like you could stay forever and it would only be an hour in the real world.

Making your way down the same passages you had grown accustomed to, you searched for the window, which was in the exact same place, with the stranger still there. Instead of keeping his back to you as you walked close, he turned and glanced at you, golden eyes scanning your face before going back to the outside world. A phantom push sent you closer, until your feet stopped in the place that they always did. The interaction was vaguely familiar to the one you had with Obi-Wan when you were awake, looking over the buzzing life of Coruscant. Except now you were looking at nothing but lava and ash, and darkness surrounded you.

“Y/N.”

You weren’t sure if you imagined it, the way that he spoke so loudly and clearly, obviously remembering the last tiny conversation you had together. He said your name with such certainty, like he was greeting an old friend. You remembered that the only thing he knew of you was your name. He didn’t know that you were a Jedi, that you worked with the Order, or that you were a commanding general in the Republic Army. Typically when you met someone new, they immediately were told of the small title you held as a Jedi Knight. But not him. You were just Y/N with him, and that calmed you in a way you’ve never felt before.

“That is your name, isn’t it?” He spoke again.

You nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

He was looking at you now, in the same way that he did last night. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t know where ‘here’ is,” You responded. “I don’t know who you are either.”

There was a tiny, inaudible whisper that sounded like it was coming from behind you, but when you glanced over your shoulder, there was no one there. It was just you and him. The whisper sounded again, this time closer, in your mind. It felt like a tiny flutter. Vader. A voice sounded in your brain. And then again, Vader, louder now and more clear. All around you, little whispers said the same one word over and over again like a broken record that had no means of stopping. Vader. Vader. Vader. But the man seemed unphased like he couldn’t hear anything. It was all in your head. The Force called to you through all sides, overwhelming your senses and almost pushing you out of balance.

He chuckled, like your confusion amused him. “You know more than you think.”

“Vader,” You spoke his name out in the open, testing the feeling of the word on your tongue. It was weird, foreign, you’ve never heard of it before. It grew the notion that perhaps he wasn’t real after all, that you were creating all of this within the confines of your own mind. Still, he seemed too unknown and powerful to be just your imagination.

“See? The Force is supposed to guide you,” Vader stated.

“What do you know about the Force?”

“I know enough to sense that you’re a Jedi.”

“And what are you?”

Vader didn’t respond. When you finally saw his face, there was a sense of playfulness in his stature. He seemed calm, unlike you who began to buzz with anxiety. He didn’t look like he was out of place, he had been here before, walked these halls other than now and looked out these windows without you. You didn’t know how you had never seen it before. His eyes that shined orange like the sun, the power of the Force flowing through him, the dark clothing that fit his body snug.

“You’re Sith.” The words echoed through the silent hallways.

You took steps backwards, the clicking of your boots sounding as you tried to make distance between yourself and him. Vader was Sith. Out of instinct you reached to the side of your hip, hand grasping around nothing in the holder where your lightsaber was supposed to be. Resorting to your last hope, you brought your hand up, hoping to push him away with your abilities. But nothing happened. You were completely powerless and weaponless. And you were just about ready to run when your eyes traced to his side, seeing no lightsaber, and inferring that his power wouldn’t work ever. Both of you had no way to fight, the Force didn’t want you to fight for whatever reason.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then you did this! What do you want from me? Why are these dreams happening?”

He took a step closer and you took one back, keeping the same distance between you two. You held your hands up, knowing that if he was to strike, at least you could use some form of hand to hand combat you had been trained to do.

“I had nothing to do with this. Trust me,” Vader said. “I am just as confused as you are.”

You shook your head. “Why should I trust a Sith?” All your life, you heard stories of the Sith and how they reigned terror on anyone they came into contact with, whether they were innocent people or Jedi who tried to stop them. Obi-Wan was the first to kill a Sith in over 100 years, and you knew that Darth Maul was the one to kill Master Qui-Gon Jinn, a powerful Jedi. A constant darkness loomed over the galaxy, knowing that there were always two Sith. There was still one out there, maybe you even found them now. Sith were evil and needed to be dealt with. They didn’t use the Force the way that it was intended to be, the Force was supposed to be used to create peace, not to destroy planets and lives. You could never trust a Sith.

“You shouldn’t, you’re smarter than that,” He spoke. “I have no way of proving my-” Vader paused. “-Innocence, for lack of a better word, to you, so take it as you will. Every day I wake up and wonder why the Force would connect us in such a way.” He holds his hand up, the one from last night that grasped onto you. Wiggling his fingers, you could see the dark red splotches of burnt skin on his fingertips, curled around them like the rounded shape of your wrist. He too was facing the physical complications that came with your connection, which led you to believe that maybe he was telling the truth about having no involvement in this. You raised your wrist, showing the same type of burn that you adorned. He walked closer now, this time you didn’t back away, allowing him to once again be as close to you as he had been before. Vader’s hand reached out, almost to grab your wrist to inspect, then remembering the effects of last time, put it back down to remain at his side.

“Is there any way for us to figure this out?” You asked, your tone much calmer than it had been before.

Vader shook his head, a sigh coming past his lips. “Not without . . . Seeing you.”

“You’re seeing me right now.”

“Not in a dream.”

Oh. He meant in the real world, not this dream world that you had somehow created together. You wondered why he seemed so . . . calm from a Sith (or at least, the things you had been told), perhaps it was in his dreams where he was the most vulnerable. In this world you were safe from his power, his possible destruction and anger, but in the real world you were not. There was a chance that you two would meet and a fight would break out, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to truly fight the darkest side of the Force.

A dark, inescapable mist started to seep through the halls of the building. It built up around your ankles and began to pull you away from your dream. This had never happened before either. Typically something would just push you towards consciousness, but this mist felt as if it was ripping you from your mind. Your eyes darted from him to the floor, knowing that you didn’t have much more time left. Maybe a minute or so, if you really held on. You began to shake more now, feet becoming unsteady. “I can’t hold on for much longer,” You yelled towards Vader. He did nothing, only stared.

Just as your mind seemed to shred into two, you heard him speak:

“Meet me on Mustafar if you trust me.”

~

Your screams were the only thing that could be heard within the confines of the Jedi Temple, in the ears of every Master, Knight, Padawan, and Youngling that resided there. Master Kit Fisto was the first to hear them, being in one of the rooms closest to yours. At first he only intended to wake you from whatever nightmare you were having, but when you showed no signs of stopping, almost detached from the real world, he quickly ran to get help from the other Masters of the Order. A crowd began forming in the hallway outside of your room, Younglings and Knights alike wondering what was going on. If they didn’t know any better, they would think that you were being tortured or killed, your screams rippling through the air. When all the unwanted bystanders were cleared out of the way, half of the members of the Jedi council stood in your room along with someone from medical.

Master Yoda put two fingers to your temple, soothing your thoughts and silencing your screams. As you laid there as though you were sound asleep, the medic checked your health, seeing that there had been nothing physically harming you at all. It was as if you snapped.

Your eyes fluttered open, heart lurching when you came face to face with your Masters all standing before you. Sweat was dripping off of your forehead, chest heaving up and down in deep breaths of air. It was like something was jammed down your throat, you didn’t know what to say. You were sore all over. They were all waiting.

“Knight Y/N, Master Obi-Wan has told us about your dreams,” Master Windu told you. “Do you have any idea who this man is?”

You could only think one thing, form one word. It was the same word the whispers told you, the same one you knew would consume you the moment you said it out loud. The name of the man that confused you, though knew you, and filled you with deep senses of grief and calm at the very same time.

“Vader,” You croaked out. “His name,” You took a deep breath, throat raw from screaming. “Is Vader.”

All of the others in your room looked as if they had seen a ghost. Their expressions were emotionless, but you couldn’t help but notice the way that Obi-Wan seemed to grow white in the face. To your surprise, even Master Windu looked alarmed. It was clear that everyone knew something that you didn’t know.

“For you to know, it is time, Knight Y/N. The truth, we must tell,” Master Yoda said.

The Council ordered you to come up to their meeting room on the top level of the Temple immediately, you only had time to grab a brown blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, shivering. The moment you stepped in the room, which was dark except for the moonlight spilling in. It was late, well past midnight and everyone looked tired. Though no one had any intentions of going to sleep, not when there was something important like Vader to discuss.

A droid came and handed you a cup of tea, which you accepted with no questions asked and sipped it. While everyone got situated in their seats, you thought back to your dream. It was there that you remembered what Vader had said.

Meet me on Mustafar.

You had only read about the planet, never having been there. What was Vader doing in a place like that? Then you could hear his voice through your subconscious:

If you trust me.

Putting your trust in Vader seemed like the last thing you should be doing, but the thought was tempting to say the least.

If you trust me.

If you trust me.

Meet me on Mustafar, if you trust me.

~~~~

taglist:

@dripobi @ajeff855 @geekologiste

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Don’t Pray (aka Vader is the menace he was always meant to be during ‘the Purge’ oneshot)

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” the padawan whispered quietly; eyes squeezed tightly shut to block out the world.

The only sound was that of his own hammering heartbeats, hands clasped in a desperate prayer as he kept his head low; curled up in a tight ball with his legs to his chest in the cramped stowaway space behind the ventilator of his former master’s beat up space vessel. When he had docked on Illuna, he had expected the possible company of fellow runaway Jedi apprentices. Instead, he found the embrace of the Dark Side.

The presence that had greeted him so graciously was still palpable, still drawing ever nearer. The dark it brought with it like a sickness, like a plague shutting out any connections to the untainted living Force. Consuming its flame. The light flickering before the tendrils of darkness snuffed it out; successfully smothering it. Swallowing hard; a faint noise penetrated through the steady pulse ringing in his ears.

Artificial, mechanical. Periodic breathing. In, and out.

He felt like a caged animal; trapped as bait; prey left out for the predator approaching. He had been fooled, and now he was paying with his life. Naive, in his desire for company - his longing to be alone no more. He crept further back against the durasteel confines, his side pressed to the outer wall. As far from the tiny hatch to the hidden crawlspace as possible, making himself impossibly small.

Once again, he hoped to reach out with his mind; for help or guidance, he wouldn’t know. Yet, the only thing he could sense as a potential response was the thrumming of that inescapable darkness; an empty void of agony, threatening to grab hold of him and drag him asunder if he failed to stay alert. He toed the line, standing just at the threshold. Just shy of allowing the ill intent to devour him.

The padawan had been under the care of the Jedi Order on Coruscant for as long as he could remember, had been a promising padawan as his master had proudly proclaimed many times. It seemed like a lifetime ago. As if the happy days were but the fading remnants of a fever dream, as if the Empire and its rule was all there had ever been. 

The Empire, and Vader.

Every Jedi he knew was either dead, captured, or lost. Missing without a trace. In hiding, some said. Perished, others whispered. At the hand of Vader, was the common consensus among fast travelling underground sources. The padawan had tried his best to hide, to keep out of sight, to cover up his tracks. For three years, he had been successful. For three years, he had managed to avoid the Jedi killer, and the relentlessness with which the Empire seemed to hunt down and destroy Force users. Align, disappear or die.

He was running out of time.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” he mouthed wordlessly, desperate to mask his hitching breaths and half sobs.

It was freezing.

He remembered the ice cold desert nights, accompanying his master on a week long endeavour hunting for a ancient Jedi artifact. Where had it taken them? Tatooine? Jakku? Geonosis? He couldn’t remember, every desert planet looked the same. Only endless sand dunes, and blistering blood red sun come day. Only starry deep blue skies, and cold nipping at any exposed skin come night.

He’d never forgotten the numbness of his fingers, his breath coming in heated puffs of condensation. He’d never forgotten the uncomfortable prickle of his skin, the chill of his weary, aching bones. How it seeped so deep into his core, that not even the scalding heat of first sunlight promising fire and brimstone could dissolve it.

The breathing.

Steady.

The predator toying with its prey, like a rancor enjoying the chase and dragging it out before pouncing and going in for the kill. Vader must know where he was hidden, must be able to sense his tangible Force signature. His terror.

The paralyzing feeling of torment Vader’s aura radiated rolled off of the man in thick waves; like the tide coming in, like the eye of the storm. Without mercy, without pardon. A force of nature, uncontrollable, unstoppable. Hands trembling, the padawan pressed them to his lips as he continued to mouth the same payer like mantra.

It would be in vain, yet it was the only link that remained to his master. The woman who had been gunned down in cold blood by her own troops, sending him off in a solitary escape pod towards fates unknown before sacrificing herself. She’d taught him the prayer, something to cling to in times of need. In times of fear, of hopelessness. He remembered her gentle brown eyes, her warm smile.

Footsteps.

Heavy, booted footfalls against the durasteel floor. Stalking in a slow, deliberate manner. The temperature seemed to drop for each one, as death traveled on swift wings ever faster.

The padawan could feel the stinging heat of salty tears behind his eyes, could feel them welling up at the corners of his eyes. Could taste their salt, smell his own fear. Shame accompanied the terror. His master’s act of self sacrifice had landed him stranded on an outer rim scrap station, only vaguely directed towards hostile but life sustaining planets where more Jedi may be in hiding; aided by a good natured sympathizer. Planets he’d never even heard of. People whose faces he would never know again, whose faces he had already forfotten as they blurred together. He had found none, no one to help him. No one to guide him, no one to come to his rescue now. He was alone, and he would die alone.

Only then did it truly sink in that he wasn’t going to leave this ship alive.

“I can sense you, child.”

A deep, booming voice.

Filtered through a vocabulator, it came off eerie and uncanny. Devoid of any scrap of human emotion; monotone and matter of fact. Loud, direct, and frank. Short and concise. How many others like him had met such a fate, the padawan wondered. How many others had perished at the hand of Vader? How many more would there be? Were there even any Force wielders left in the Galaxy for Vader to sniff out and execute? The age of the order was gone, why keep exterminating the few stragglers left behind? They could do no harm, make little noise.

“I can sense your fear,” the voice added after a moment's pause; and despite the same inhuman diction, there seemed to be something spiteful to the words.

The padawan had never known evil.

He and his master had taken down wild beasts, droid armies; they had even faced off against a stray misled Dark Side user. The droids had been man made machines, little more than gun fodder. The animals had followed only their hunger and ravenous nature, desperate to eat or be eaten. Lylacs, loth-wolves, rancors engineered to hunt. The Dark Side user had been conflicted, led astray by corrupt practices, as his master had put it.

This was different.

Vader appeared to be content, in a sense. No, perhaps not quite content as there seemed to be little joy or excitement to find in his Force signature. It was empty, a nothingness. Like a hole in the fabric of the Force itself, like someone had cut a piece out of a tapestry where only cold, and suffering could prevail.

Suffering; so unadulterated that it made the padawan’s body flinch and twitch with its shared torment. Vader was like a phantom, like a wraith; like a dead man walking. His aura revealed that he had nothing to lose, nothing to gain. No compassion, no forgiveness. No use in pleading, no use in begging.

A tear escaped the corner of the padawan’s eyes, rolling red hot down his stricken, pale face. The suffocating feeling of Vader’s presence sucked the air out of his lungs, making him feel lightheaded and short of breath. The steps slowed, calculating their path meticulously until they came to a sudden halt mere inches away from the trapdoor and its hatch. There came a protesting creaking of durasteel, of metal giving way to an unseen, powerful hand. A metallic shriek, a cringe and a whine as it began to bend to Vader’s will. The first beams of bright, fluorescent lights spilled in flickering patterns through the cracks torn open before the trapdoor was unceremoniously ripped off its hinges and flung across the cramped space of the vessel’s interior.

The padawan daredn’t open his eyes - the mechanic breathing was no longer muffled by  a thin wall of durasteel; the thick aura of the Dark Side crashing over him like, biting and stinging at his nerve endings. Drowning him, as they left him overwhelmed, vulnerable and pitiful.

It hurt to breathe; hurt to think, his stomach churning and his throat constricting no matter how much air he attempted to gulp down. His lips moved on autopilot, still wording that same pathetic prayer but his voice had long since been silenced. There was no one to save him. No one to take his hand.

The tendrils of a twisted, warped, subjugated shadow of the Force the padawan knew as his ally burnt as they pierced his skin; invisible but unyielding. Like a million icy daggers, like sharp needles or broken glass. Another warm tear fell from his eyes, this time leaving a searing trail in its wake against his frost bitten cheek. He trembled when it dripped off his chin.

“You cannot hide from me, child. Your path ends here. There is no escape,” said the voice, so void of sympathy and remorse that it seemed inconceivable.

Were it not for the Dark Side, and the tainted, perverted use of the Force that Vader was guilty of; the padawan would have thought him to be fully inhuman. Rumours said Vader was once a man, now cloaked in a tar black suit of armour. Some said Vader was the creation of a malicious Sith Lord, calling upon mystical powers to build the perfect, loyal servant. Others said Vader may have once been a Jedi; a Jedi who’d fallen to the Dark Side in pursuit of power, and riches. How could a figure whose very existence seemed to serve as a harbringer of death ever have been live? How could a presence such as Vader’s ever have belonged to anything but a ruthless monster?

The padawan’s master had called many animals and creatures ‘monsters’. Some would deem Vader a savage beast, desperate for blood to quench his own thirst while they cowered in fear at the very whisper of his name. As if acknowledging his existence might conjure him. Yet, an animal would only follow its own basal needs and instincts; like the krayt dragons, or the lylaks, or the rancors. They were not monsters, they were simply part of the natural order. Predators necessary in a symbiotic cycle with their prey. Likening them to Vader was no fair comparison. Vader was sentient, aware of his actions, and committing heinous acts nonetheless. Purposefully, knowingly.

Animals were no monsters.

Vader was.

His eyes were still stubbornly clenched shut, perhaps seized up with terror as the frightened padawan cowered.

Still, they began to twitch little by little, opening as if that unseen hand guided by the Force was prying them open bit by bit. As if they were being peeled back, his resolute power of will beginning to wane. The padawan desperately attempted to keep them closed, to fight back. It was futile, as his watery eyes were uncovered against his will. Unable to blink, unable to stay blissfully unaware of the exterior that accompanied the foreboding phantom. His executioner. 

In a snapping, jerking motion - the boy’s head was rapidly twisted sideways by the same invisible pull. The hold on his lithe, malnourished body was so strong, that the motion tossed him like a rag-doll as he was yanked out of the tiny crawlspace. He cried out in pain when his knee was torn open, by the jutting edges of one of the ventilator system’s metallic fans. Warm blood wet through the fabric of the padawan’s pants, the tang of iron stinging in his nostrils. Nauseating.

Tumbling haphazardly across the narrow walkway, the padawan whimpered as he momentum had him rolling around until he slammed forcibly into nearest cabinet. A nightmare come to life, he wrapped his uncooperative arms around himself to shield himself from the bitter cold, from the hatred, the rage, the ire. 

It did him no favours, the sharp pinpoints and tendrils of the Dark Side burrowing into his chest like the fangs of a loth-wolf. Despite the struggle, the padawan found himself crawling to his knees, ignoring the searing pain of his gashed knee as if compelled to do so by some sort of beckon, taunting and mesmerizing in its lethal promise. For a brief moment, he thought he could hear his master’s familiar voice calling him.

The abyss lay ahead.

“I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me,” the padawan croaked in a broken act of defiance.

“Your prayers are of no use.”

Then, he raised his head and his glassy eyes were set upon Vader. Frozen in place, as if fixed by the phantom’s own stare concealed behind the lenses of a black mask. Death in the flesh. Unkind. Unjust. Promising pain everlasting, overpowering.

Overwhelming, unbearable.

Inevitable.

[dingoat]

The Boy in the Temple

[Guess I’m in some sort of writing zone? This came out of absolutely nowhere and features a whole lot of Sithy business that I don’t normally go anywhere near and a character that’s still waiting to be properly defined and backstory for the worst boy rather than the best girl, hahaha. Sometimes when the plot bunnies strike you’ve just gotta run with it, and apparently I just did for nearly 2k words.]

---

It was the last thing the Sith expected to encounter scurrying about the edges of the Dark Temple, a furious little presence of cold rage and purpose completely untainted by the madness that otherwise permeated the area. Even more surprising to discover was that the being was not only a perfectly ordinary human, but young and Force-blind to boot.

Immediately curious, he shifted the focus of his hunt to the boy instead, a wave of his hand directing his bogwing to tighten her wings and wheel higher into the soft drizzle of the sky, a perfectly unassuming silhouette against the Temple’s stone peaks. Dropping back a comfortable distance, the Sith allowed the Force to do all his work for him, observing the boy’s passage under arches and over jutting walls, stealthy as a hunting cat. He was… very plainly here for a reason, driven by something that ran deep and swirled passionately at his core. Intensely focused, but with a sort of callous disregard for his own self; the boy didn’t know if he would come away from this excursion alive, and didn’t quite seem to care.

He carried things, things that no regular human boy should be carrying, a scroll and a blade that glittered so brightly through the Force with ancient energy and carefully honed power that the Sith could read the engravings on the knife and almost make out the strokes of ink on the carefully rolled parchment. The boy treated them with care; unrolling the map only for brief consultations and guarding it against the rain with his body. He picked his way around a curved section of wall, textured with glyphs carved in glossy obsidian, ran his fingers along the scored stone until he found what he was after.

Then he uttered words that no regular human boy should know, and the stone shifted.

The Sith’s curiosity deepend exponentially.

He raised his hand and seized the stone, forcing the doorway to remain open even after the boy had slipped inside. He sensed the way the boy waited, first impatient, clearly expecting it to close, then no longer caring as he pressed on inside. The Sith followed, summoning his pet down to ground level to perch by the carved wall, swiftly weaving threads of the Force between the bogwing and the doorway and forming an easy anchor that he could access to let himself out again from the inside.

If it proved necessary. You never really could tell, with places like this.

The boy moved on, down a winding passageway with only a small handful of forks, pausing only once to consult his map, and being very sparing with his use of a small electronic torch to light his way. All the while, anger flowed from him, cold white anger stemming from a whorl of grief that filled the whole of him, making plain the shape of his body through the Force. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen years, lean and fit but still gangly with youth, and yet there was so much tension in his shoulders, in the clench of his jaw. If the boy knew anything of what slithered along the walls or crawled over his head, he gave no indication that he was bothered; he was either not remotely squeamish, or utterly oblivious.

The Sith was certainly not bothered, as he felt something with far too many legs crawl across his chest and carry on its way as he took a moment to lean against the wall, waiting for the boy to fuss his way over a selection of doorways.

The Sith didn’t bother to follow him into the chamber that eventually yawned in front of him; his vision through the Force let him know all he needed about the ancient text inscribed across the walls, the smooth stone chalice that sat on an ornate pedestal in front of the towering altar that took up most of the room, crowned with a shimmering obelisk. He also knew, plain as day, that the boy now trembled with something new. Nerves. Anticipation. And was that… a delicious little glimmer of hope?

He had wondered, at one point, if this were some new Intelligence recruit, set on some impossible training task. But that thought was cast aside as he realised this boy’s mission was intensely personal, and terribly private.

He judged that the boy must be a terribly resourceful individual, to have gained possession of the artifacts he held. Particularly the knife, which he now brandished, brimming with tension, over his outstretched left hand.

The Sith tipped his head thoughtfully, listening as the boy spoke, his lips and tongue rapidly forming unfamiliar words, a little clunky with his lack of true grasp of the language, but still… impressive. Very impressive, for such a superficially ordinary little being.

The Sith decided he’d seen enough, and pulled himself to his feet, stepping forward while clearing his throat before the blade managed to nick the boy’s skin.

The boy startled with a shout, and the ancient blade clattered to the ground. Yet his shock was rapidly replaced with blind fury, and after a split second of sizing up the Sith he launched, recklessly, ferociously, fists raised.

The Sith let him come almost within arm’s reach before twitching his fingers and catching up the boy around the throat, lifting him into the air without actually laying a hand on him.

“Who are you?” The boy shouted through his struggles, deliciously furious. “You’re not meant to be here, what are you doing here?”

The Sith couldn’t help but laugh. “I think of the two of us, it’s the one with his legs dangling in the air that has less claim to any right to be here. Who are you, skulking about a cursed temple with stolen items? I have to assume you have some idea of what you were about to do, but truly, do you have any idea what you were about to do?”

The indignation that soared through the boy was delightful.

“Leave me alone! I don’t care what you think, just leave me alone. I know what I’m doing.”

The Sith sifted gently through the Force and tutted softly. “You don’t care, do you? You’re not afraid of me. You’re not afraid of losing your own life here, are you?”

The boy glowered, and somehow came across decades older than he aught. But his silence stretched long, simmering with grief.

The Sith observed him thoughtfully. “You won’t succeed. Whoever it is you’re trying to bring back…”

The boy shouted again, something that was almost a wild animal snarl, and thrashed savagely in the constricting grip of the Force. He twisted and bucked, utterly heedless of the pressure around his throat, he kicked out and so very, very nearly clipped the Sith across the chin.

“A more volatile being than I might choose to kill you know, just for that. Or perhaps for your trespass, or your blatant theft.”

“So do it then,” the boy spat back with an acid tone, flushed with absolute disregard for his precarious situation, and an impressive wall guarding his thoughts, for one unable to manipulate the Force.

But it did little to protect against someone as skilled as the Sith. Pressing through that barrier was as easy as drawing breath, and the image that the boy held in his mind was breathtaking in its contrast to the ferocity and willfulness he projected outward. “She’s young, isn’t she? Younger than you. Or is that… oh, I see. That’s as old as she ever reached, isn’t it?”

The boy shrieked a wordless rage, jolting so savagely against the Sith’s grasp that he almost considered letting go just to see how far the boy would go. It seemed a pity, almost, that such a vibrant being should have to suffer a complete inability to perceive the lifeblood of the universe. That a boy filled with such passion and fury should be blind to his true shape in the world.

He waited until the tantrum died down before speaking again. He was in no hurry.

“Your little ritual would have attracted the attention of spirits quite happy to claim you and use you, with no intention of delivering what you seek.”

“So why don’t you help me instead? Why don’t you do something decent with your stupid magic, what the kriff is even the point of being able to do what you people can do if you don’t-” his words were cut short with a sharp choking sound and a gasp for air.

The Sith saw little value in even entertaining the boy’s sad little fantasy. But what he did enjoy was the boy’s spirit. His fury and his cunning, his resourcefulness and courage. What a useful life, this boy could have. What a career.

He summoned the blade to his free hand, pocketing it before gently prying the scroll from the boy’s belt. “You will leave this temple, and you will turn your thoughts away from this absurd ritual. You want nothing to do with the stuffy old dead beings that would rather turn your mind than deliver a glimpse of your lost sister.” He spoke the words with a sliver of influential pressure, but the boy’s manner remained fierce; no fog came to his mind to absorb the suggestion. It was unsurprising, really, that the boy was far too strong willed for a simple mind trick; so be it. The words would be offered as plain advice. “And one day, you’ll be grateful that I spared your life, and gave you the opportunity to find a way to seek out true compensation for those who brought her to harm. There is a great deal of solace to be found in artful vengeance. Death comes to us all, boy, there’s no need to invite it early.”

The boy seemed to be taking in what he said, and had calmed his struggles somewhat. But the moment the Sith let his feet touch the ground again, he launched once more, utterly foolish but still, in his own way, admirable.

The Sith flicked his hand and sent the boy crashing against the far wall of the chamber. “You possess the sort of tenacity and ruthlessness that could get you far in the Empire. I’m curious to see where this will take you in life.”

And what you might be able to deliver when I decide to cash in on the debt you now owe me.

He smiled to himself as he turned and left the boy to find his own way out. If he was truly resourceful, he’d find a way, and if not… then perhaps the loss would not be so great after all.

---

Some decades later, Keeper took in the caller ID on his buzzing comm, and permitted himself a long sigh before responding.

“Intelligence headquarters, how are we able to serve?”

The voice on the other end was young, fresh, and a little bit nervous. An assistant of some sort, then, or an apprentice? “My Lord requests the presence of your Watcher Five at  his earliest convenience, sir.”

“Watcher Five is currently on a rather well deserved leave of absence. I can arrange a meeting for him on his return, unless the matter is of some urgency? Might I request the nature of the appointment?”

A pause. “My Lord wishes to collect on a debt owed to him.”

Keeper drew his lips tight. He had a bad feeling about this. “I will be sure to inform the Watcher. If there is anything else we may be able to do…?”

“That is all. My Lord looks forward to the Watcher’s return.”

Keeper stared at his comm for a short while after the call ended, feeling an uncomfortable coldness in his guts. And then he began to dial out, suspecting that this might just be a matter that Five would appreciate some time to prepare for.

[disneydreamlights]

Edge of Dawn

AO3 | FFN

Summary: Palpatine tells him the plan, Padmé tells him important news.

Anakin feels like he’s drowning in every commitment he has to keep.

[@anidalaweek for Day 5: Alternate Fandom. AU Inspired by Fire Emblem: Three Houses]

A/N: I don't wanna take up a ton of space in this for thank you's and acknowledgements but just would like to give thanks to Meltic, Ash, and Jenelle for being part of the creative process for this one shot. Meltic for basically coming up with the whole AU idea in the first place and Ash and Jenelle for listening to me talk about this and helping edit despite neither of you knowing a thing about SW.

This was posted on AO3 yesterday but because of how I format these posts unfortunately I didn't have the time to get it up on ffn and (as a result) tumblr until today, so whoops, kinda late submission.

“Anakin my boy, I’m delighted that you could take the time out of your schedule to come.” Anakin’s skin crawled as he greeted Palpatine with a hug. It was expected, given that Palpatine had been the one to adopt Anakin after his mother had died, making him the heir to the Empire, but despite that fact, it didn’t make him any more comfortable.

Not after Palptine had revealed his plans for Anakin at the end of the year, of Anakin’s true purpose at the Officer Academy, of the machinations of the Sith that had been building for over a millenia that Anakin would never have a say in whether he should fulfill. “It was the least I could do. How are affairs back home?”

“Things are going smoothly.” Palpatine’s smile was calm as ever, hiding the hidden meaning meant only for Anakin. “You’ve been doing your part?”

Anakin nodded. Despite his desire to be doing anything but, he’d been doing his part. Since the start of his final year Darth Vader, the mysterious Lord of the Sith, had been doing his “best” to incapacitate the other House Leaders. He, of course, wouldn’t do any lasting damage to them, but at least the illusion of playing along was enough to keep Palpatine at bay until he could figure out a way to tell anybody what was happening.

Palpatine’s grin grew wider. “I’m proud of you. Before long, the Sith will rise once more, the Jedi and all their useless preaching that cost your mother her life will be gone.”

“Are we sure we can’t recruit the other students?” Anakin asked, his mind going to Obi-Wan and Padmé. “We could–”

“Anakin, do you truly believe that you could sway the leaders of the Kingdom or the Alliance? They’ve been loyal to the Jedi Order for far too long. It has only ever been the Empire who has been willing to stand against them and their power.” The truth was, he knew he couldn’t. Obi-Wan was well on his way to being a Jedi, even if he was also the future king, and Padmé…

He couldn’t let himself think of her, not now. Not when he couldn’t imagine himself corrupting her light just so he wouldn’t lose her when Palpatine’s plans came to fruition. “You’re right. I’m sorry for stepping out of line.”

“Nonsense, they have been your peers for years. It’s only natural you would feel some... lingering attachment towards them.” There was a certain disdain to Palpatine’s words, implying that Anakin would one day no longer care about his friends in a way that made his blood run cold. “When the time comes, I am sure you will rise above them, and lead  our armies to victory.” After a pause, Palpatine started heading towards the door. “I shall leave you to your studies. I’m due for a meeting with Master Yoda. You know it’s best not to keep him waiting.”

Anakin nodded, ignoring the fear he felt towards the Sith, and the relief that he was leaving. “Of course, your excellency. Is there anything I need to know for the mission?”

“I believe Darth Vader should be making an appearance soon. Alongside Darth Tyrannus, I believe he has something to do with the disappearance of Knight Billaba.” Palpatine put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I assume you’ll know what to do when the rescue attempt begins.”

“Of course.” Anakin did his best to keep his voice steady. “I’ll be ready.”

“I’m proud of you Anakin. You’ve done well.I know I can leave this operation in your capable hands.” With that Palpatine left, and Anakin let out a sigh of relief. If nothing else, he knew the mission; he could plan how to help the others survive it when the chance came.

While he took a moment to gather his wits and calm down, a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. He turned, surprised to see Padmé standing there with a worried expression on her face. “Ani?”

Just having her near him was enough for Anakin’s fears and worries to melt away, and a small smile formed on his face. “Angel, you have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Are you alright?” While she didn’t know a lot of what was going on (or anything, really) Padmé did know that Palpatine had been putting undue pressure on him, more than he could handle. She was his confidant, the love of his life, his everything.

He ignored the fact that if Palpatine had his way he would be betraying her sooner than not, choosing instead to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair. “I will be, it was just another request of his. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“I can’t help it if I do, you’re under so much stress lately.” She didn’t pull away, instead opting to bury herself into his chest. “You should tell him to let you have a break, the way he’s working you isn’t right.”

It wasn’t that simple. If it had just been about grades he might’ve gotten away with it, but as it stood that wouldn’t be the case. “I’ll talk to him next time he visits. Or maybe just refuse to see him.” And then he would send Dooku or some other Sith at the academy to get Anakin to do his dirty work.

Still, Padmé wouldn’t know that, and it seemed to alleviate her worries about his sanity for the time being. “You should. It’s our final year at the academy, you don’t need to have more on your plate than you already do.”

Anakin laughed, letting her go. “You’re right. We have all those missions and exams, and we’re figuring out how we’ll keep seeing each other while we’re off ruling opposite ends of the galaxy.”

Padmé placed a gentle kiss to his lips. “We’ll figure it out. Perhaps you can convince the emperor a marriage between the Alliance and the Empire will be beneficial.”

If he thought Padmé would abandon her morals and join him with the Sith he would suggest it without question, but he knew she would never. “Palpatine would never approve. But so long as we can stay together, that’s all that matters to me.”

She was all that mattered to him, but he hesitated, sensing an almost disappointment from Padmé. “What is it? I know a life of romance in the shadows wasn’t what we’d hoped for when our relationship began, but it’s all we’ve ever had.”

“What if I wanted something more from our relationship?” Padmé asked. There was a nervous edge to her voice as she started tracing various patterns in his hand, refusing to look up. “What would you do then?”

“I would do everything in my power to make sure that one day, you could have it.” He smiled. “Your happiness, above all else, is what matters to me.”

“Then…” She took a deep breath, stabilizing her nerves. “Then we may need to start figuring that out.”

Anakin stared at her, confused. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“I’m late. I was worried, so I stopped by the healer’s wing, just to check.” Padmé gave a nervous smile, tentative, but full of hope. “Something wonderful has happened. Ani, I’m pregnant.”

He froze, trying to comprehend what she had said. Padmé was...but...was that possible? They’d taken their relationship farther since the new year had begun, Anakin had wanted to spend as much time with her as he could before he was forced to do something he would forever regret, but she...pregnant?

“Ani? Are you alright? Please, say something.” With his lack of response, Padmé’s nervousness had increased and it snapped Anakin into responding. He couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face as he gave her a kiss,  slow and full of all the love he could possibly send towards her and the baby.

“You’re...that’s...that’s wonderful.” He sent as much joy as possible her way. “I...I know it’s my fault we have to hide our relationship, but I’ll figure this out, I promise. By the time our baby is born, we won’t be hiding in the shadows anymore. We’ll be married. They’ll spend time with both of their parents. They’ll be happy.”

Padmé held his hand, wrapping her fingers in his. “You promise?”

Anakin nodded. “Of course. I want this more than anything. No matter what happens, I’ll keep you safe. You and the baby.”

He knew he could figure this out, and as he and Padmé left the small classroom, he thought over everything. His duties to the Sith, his part to play as the leader of the Black Convors, and his love for Padmé.

The baby on the way just hastened the time limit, but he could figure this out.

He had to.

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 7

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 7 - The Transmission

Words: 5.6k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of medical procedures, ANGST, description of severe anxiety/panic attack

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

Poe didn’t exit the study for a long while, finally hearing the creak of my office door as it opened for the first time in hours. Within that time I'd farewelled the last of my patients for the day and begun to prepare dinner in my quarters, feeling significantly more balanced as the evening wore on.

Mind over matter. That’s all I needed to remember.

It was BB-8 who rolled in to demand my attention first, knocking his body into my ankle as I stood chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter.

“Hello again,” I greeted, still marvelling at how sweet this droid’s disposition was. Placing my knife down, I turned to face Poe as he slinked into the space, taking a place at the dining table. He seemed tired, almost despondent, possibly even more solemn than he appeared when I saw his face last.

“How did the transmission go?” I asked, breaking the silence. From the energy drifting out of his shape, it was clear he hadn’t completely moved on from the sadness we’d shared during our last interaction.

“As well as it could have. They’re still safe, for now. Think I gave them all heart attacks when my transmission came through,” he responded, exhaling hard. “And you were right. There was a search initiated. But my last reported co-ordinates were over Hutt Space, so they never would have found me.” He looked puzzled then, and I mirrored his expression.

“What do you mean? That’s at least a day’s trip from here.”

“That’s exactly what I can’t seem to figure out.” He huffed then, exasperated. “I don’t remember getting any further than that. I hadn’t even nearly reached my destination.”

“Were you traveling Galactic North or South?” I screwed my face up immediately after asking the question, already assuming he wouldn’t give me an answer.

“Yeah, I can’t tell you that.” He looked down to his hands, wringing them restlessly. “I know I can trust you, but I just can’t risk it, for both your own sake and the Resistance. All I can say is that I wasn’t flying to anywhere near Raxus.”

I nodded, understanding. “Well, no matter which way you were headed, Hutt Space is way too far from here for a ship to be unpiloted.”

“Right. Something, or someone, must have changed my course while I was there. And whether it was the crash or some other reason, I’ve lost any memory from after I was flying over the region that might have explained the cause.”

A sparkle of thought flickered, looking down at BB-8 still stationed at my feet. Poe appeared to read my mind.

“I thought the same too,” he remarked. “But he has no data logs indicating any unauthorised navigation. I’m still concerned about how his internal circuits looked when I was repairing him - I don’t think that kind of damage was caused by the crash. If BB had something to do with this, if he’s been tampered with, I won’t be able to be sure until I can conduct some deep diagnostics back at the Resistance base.”

BB-8’s head fell in his own form of remorse, emitting a few low beeps I could only gauge as an apology. I leant down and patted him softly, feeling sorry for the droid. It felt a little unnatural for me to have any sort of emotion towards a machine. All the medical droids I’d worked alongside in the past had the personality of a decaying tree.

BB beeped back happily at me, appreciating my sympathy, when I realised abruptly what Poe had been implying. “Wait, do you think someone did this on purpose? Sabotaged your flight?”

He seemed hesitant to answer again, most likely debating internally how confidential this information was. But eventually he nodded. “It’s what Leia seems to think, and I’m tending to agree. It seems too orchestrated. But the more worrying concern is that only a select group of Resistance personnel knew about my mission, even less knew exactly where I was headed.”

Both the casual mention of Leia Organa, famed princess of an obliterated planet, daughter of one of the most powerful Sith to have lived, now Leader of the Resistance, and the notion Poe seemed to be hinting at, tilted me slightly off balance.

“You think a spy might have infiltrated the Resistance?”

“That’s the theory we’re running with for now. Whoever did this assumed a crash landing on an Outer Rim planet would have meant my certain death, and any evidence would have most likely never been found, especially with them looking in the completely wrong place,” Poe explained. He looked up from his hands, his eyes finally gentle again, the creases in his forehead relaxing. “They obviously never planned on me landing right on your doorstep.”

“The universe clearly wanted to keep you around for a little longer.”

“Lucky me,” he laughed gently. “Hopefully I don’t mess up whatever it has planned.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I said encouragingly, glad he had relaxed a little. But it was short lived.

His face became sombre again, gaze moving to his fingers once more. “Leia is keeping my reappearance quiet for now - her and our most trusted Resistance members, my friends, are the only ones who know.” I saw his jaw tighten, face tense, a controlled breath seeping past his lips. “They’ll be arriving sometime in the night to take me back to base.”

I knew it was coming. I was more prepared now, my resolve holding strong against the gloom I’d pulled into a locked box inside my mind, easily keeping it restrained.

“I bet you’re excited to see them,” I said kindly, hoping to pick up his mood.

Poe smiled softly to himself. “I’ve missed them,” he agreed, glancing up at me. “They’re pretty eager to meet you actually.”

I furrowed my brows, dubious. “Really? You told them about me?”

Poe looked at me incredulously, like that fact should have been obvious. “Of course. How else was I going to explain how I managed to survive that crash? Leia seemed particularly impressed. She's disappointed she can't give her thank you in person, being too valuable to send away from the base.”

My cheeks threatened to flush with crimson, wanting to shy away from the compliment. Relief was the more overwhelming emotion, glad I wouldn’t have to navigate my way through a conversation with Leia Organa, having no doubt I would make a fool of myself. “So, who is coming?” I wondered, interested in learning more about the people Poe considered his trusted friends.

“Well there’s Chewie-”

“As in Chewbacca the Wookie?” I interrupted. “The Chewie?”

Poe rolled his eyes playfully at my marvelling. “So I don’t need to tell you anymore about him then,” he continued, smirking. “There will be Finn, an ex-stormtrooper who defected to the Resistance, royally saved my ass when I was captured by the First Order. And then there’s Rey, who has been training as a Jedi, and technically pilots the Millennium Falcon now, although if you ask me, I’ve flown that rustbucket way more often…”

Poe kept talking, but my mind was barely able to focus on his words.

A Jedi. A Force user. Coming here.

This is bad.

I forced my face into a veil of interest about what Poe was chattering about as he remained oblivious to the panic that had erupted inside my chest. Eventually his words ran out, thankfully without ending on a cue for me to reply. It took all of my focus to keep my voice steady as I spoke. “I thought all the Jedi were gone?”

It was a question anyone would ask. Not too suspicious.

He appeared slightly confused at the point I’d decided to back track on, yet quickly seemed to realise I’d not had the same encounters with force users that he’d had. “We thought that too,” he remarked. Poe then relayed what was evidently an extremely condensed story of the re-emergence of Luke Skywalker, who had then begrudgingly taught Rey how to wield the Force.

It was an unbelievable tale, something any other being would be enthralled to hear. And honestly, I couldn’t believe Poe had made it so far as to have landed on my doorstep. But there was one thing my mind centred on amongst the rush of information.

She’d been trained by a Jedi Master.

I’d learned an essence of control over my power, whatever kind it was that I utilised, both before and after I’d run to Raxus. After realising the target it put above my head at a young age, I’d taught myself to restrain it, hide it away in the absolute pit of my consciousness, only summoning that which helped heal people in the most dire of circumstances.

When the wrong person caught me, when I’d let my power become unconstrained for only a few moments, I knew I had to deepen my command over it, in case I ever found myself in that situation again. And now, I was completely unsure if four more years’ worth of preparation was going to be enough to hide it from a trained Force user.

“Why is a Jedi coming to get you off this planet? Wouldn’t she have more important things to do?” I pointed out. Only when the words escaped my lips did I realise how rude it might have seemed to Poe.

Come on Alex. Simmer down.

He actually laughed, taking my perception with good humour. “You’re not wrong. But as I said, she pilots the Millennium Falcon now, which is the fastest ship we have available at the moment. And she insisted on coming herself. Said she owed me.” Poe appeared warmed by the sentiment, and I would have enjoyed his happier demeanour if not for my own internal fretting.

There was no avoiding it. Rey was already on her way here, and there wasn't an appropriate way I could prevent myself from meeting both her and the other crew members without arousing heavy suspicion. I was truly trapped, heart thumping along fast with anxiety, fearing I could be hours away from facing all I thought I had escaped from.

*

I made dinner for us both, Poe continuing to make idle conversation in our last hours together as we ignored the looming farewell.

Yet now I was more concerned with what I needed to confront before that moment. My mind was a mess of warring emotions behind the indifferent façade I held in Poe’s presence, wanting his departure to be both as quick as possible and dragged out as long as I could make it.

I knew he sensed some of the unrest behind my eyes, but he didn’t probe, probably hoping to maintain the easy-going nature of our last meal together, however fake it might have been.

It was long after we finished eating that I recalled the need to do one last assessment of Poe’s injuries, remembering something I’d promised to do before he left.

“Your cast!” I gasped, thinking out loud, startling Poe as he dried the last of our dishes. After turning around, smirking at himself for the way I’d made him jump, he rose the casted arm into his view.

“Oh yeah,” he realised, flexing the fingers. “I’d actually kind of forgot about it.”

“Well come on, one last assessment and you’re officially free of my care.”

I said the words with such pure intentions, yet it was starkly clear both of us were jarred by the reality hidden behind them - a cold, unbroken hush settling in the space. I noticed BB-8’s head movement from my periphery, once again calling into question our sudden stillness. He raced to my feet, squealing little beeps in an inflection I couldn’t understand. Poe’s expression swiftly turned aggravated at the droid, and didn’t immediately translate like I assumed he would.

“Is he okay?” I asked. “Did he say something important?”

Poe’s face forcefully relaxed in an attempt to seem unbothered by BB’s insistent beeps. “He’s just appreciative of how well you’ve treated me.”

I knew he was lying, but I could only assume it was better I didn’t discover what was really said. 

* 

Poe had perched himself back onto his hospital bed, and I could feel his gaze follow me as I placed the monitoring over his figure for the last time. The moment for conversation had obviously passed as we maintained a heavy silence during my final tests. He barely winced when I took blood, the results revealing all of his inflammatory markers had receded. The bruises had disappeared, the scars had begun to fade, even over his badly burned arm and torso.

I glanced to his face while taking some X-rays of his femur, pulling up the initial post-crash shots and scribbling down my final progress notes on the healing of the fracture. He seemed awed once again at the damage I’d managed to repair, and he turned thoughtful as he looked down at his perfectly functional leg. I could tell without words he was grateful, knowing we’d both experienced the outcome of those who might not have been so lucky as to keep their limb after such an injury.

I’d kept the casted arm until last, wishing to drag out these final moments, most likely the only thing he’d truly remember of our time together. A comforting thought simmered into my awareness, realising his deeper scars wouldn’t fade for years yet, somewhat of a memento etched onto his skin.

The X-rays were textbook. The fracture line had fused nicely, with almost no irregularity in the shape of the bone shaft. The cast had done its job, and now, there was no need for it to be connected to him anymore.

Just like me.

I pulled my thermal scissors from within my medical trolley, used specifically to melt through the hardened plastic I’d moulded closely to his forearm. It was over in seconds, slicing through the cast and peeling it from his limb, the skin underneath looking slightly clammy but otherwise acceptable. As soon as he was free from the plastic he begun to flex and twist his wrist, a small exhale of relief slipping out of his throat.

“Well that just about does it,” I stated flatly. “You’re all healed up.”

Poe looked away from his newly freed arm and locked his eyes with mine. “I know I’ve said this a million times, and it will never be enough, but thank you.”

I looked down from his gaze. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help you.”

He lifted his left hand to my chin, tilting my head back up to meet his stare again, holding it there while he spoke. “You’re really good at your job Alex, I hope you realise that. You saved my life. And I won’t be the last one you save, I’m sure of it."

His eyes were so penetrating, so impassioned, that it made me want to turn away. I didn’t like being praised like this. It made the flesh under my skin feel itchy. Somehow, through no power of my own will, I kept my stare locked to him, confined into place with his thumb softly resting on my skin.

He began to breathe slower, more cautiously. “If we…” he started, voice barely above a whisper. “If we never see each other again…” The words trailed off as he seemed to grapple with the future bearing down on us. My heart was pounding painfully in my chest, instigated merely by the sensation of his fingertips pressed to my skin.

Please. Please stop making this so hard.  

“I won’t forget what you did for me… I won’t forget you.”

Without conscious thought I felt my hand begin to rise, instinct pulsing within to pull him into another fervent kiss. Before he noticed the movement, I wrenched it down, closing it into a fist. It was my own voice that echoed in my head, louder and louder.

I will not let this ruin me.

It felt cruel, the way I abruptly stepped away from his touch, but it needed to be. I glared back at him, hoping my words, particularly the meaning behind them, would suffocate the flames of yearning I kept seeing in his irises. “You’ve been a cooperative patient Poe, and I’m glad you survived. But I wouldn’t wish on seeing you in the future. It would only be because you’re in need of my medical care again.”

Poe’s head snapped back, stunned at my reply and the harsh recoil from his hand. Clearly, he'd predicted a different reaction. “You don’t know that,” he urged. “I could come ba-”

I flew my hand up, palm forward, immediately indicating him to cease talking. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

He ruminated on my request for a few eerily silent moments before his stare turned fiery, irritated. “Why are you fighting this?” he shot, rattling me. “We both know there’s something here, something more than you’re willing to admit.”

His maddened tone made it harder to keep my stoic demeanour. “I told you why.”

“Wouldn’t it be more painful to leave each other like this?” he retorted, the muscles in his arms tightening. “Not acknowledging what I know you feel? Pretending it’s not eating you alive, like it’s doing to me?”

A beat of silence passed before I turned and walked away.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t keep my restraint if he continued interrogating me this way, revealing emotions a strangled part of me hoped he had. I wasn’t strong enough for that. I needed distance.

“Alex!” he boomed, hearing him leap off the bed behind me. “Tell me you haven’t felt it! Tell me you don’t want to give in to it!”

“I barely know you!” I shouted, swirling to face him again. “You are- were my patient! And you’re about to leave! You shouldn’t come back here, and I shouldn’t go with you!”

“You know more about me than nearly all of the galaxy! And that’s within five days!” he growled, offended. Poe took a tentative step towards me, letting some of the anger recede before speaking again. “I would come back for you. I would come back, if I survived, if you wanted me to. If you admitted what you’re keeping hidden, the feelings that made you kiss me.”

“Please stop doing this,” I begged, a hopeless attempt to keep him at bay, my resilience starting to fizzle away. “You seemed to understand yesterday. That it would be too difficult if we crossed that line.”

He shook his head in frustration. “I've already crossed it Alex." His eyes turned pleading, an intensity within them I was sure I hadn't witnessed before. "I don't want to ignore it anymore, what I feel for you. I can't keep holding back."

I pulled my hands into fists, resisting every temptation to throw away resolve and allow myself to experience the warm glow of happiness his revelation brought. There was no denying the way in which my walls started to weaken, mercilessly barraged by the raw emotion he was exposing.

Don’t give in Alexys. His life, and yours, depend on it.

The voice toughened my determination, enough to keep my willpower solid against the craving to surge into his arms. “I guess I’m just stronger than you are,” I muttered, turning again to prevent catching any type of reaction in Poe’s face. Even one glimpse would make me crumble.

I stormed down the hallway, desperate for the isolation of my quarters, closing the entry and setting the lock. Falling back into the door, my teeth felt like they were going to shatter if I clenched my jaw any tighter.

My brain focused solely on the rhythm of my breathing, centring on the quickened rate, trying to force it into a more calmed pace. Soon I began to concentrate on expanding my lungs, inhaling until the space was full of air, letting it sit there as long as I could hold, before allowing it to whistle out of my nostrils.

That’s all I permitted myself to think of, the slow inhale and exhale, imagining the oxygen particles seeping into my bloodstream, travelling to every cell in my body, keeping me functioning amongst the turmoil thrashing through my soul.      

*

Time passed. I wasn’t really keeping track on how quickly. Imprisoned in my own mind, pacing my quarters, continuing the attention on my breathing. It was the only thing that kept me stable, that pushed away the memories of Poe’s voice ringing in my thoughts.

Eventually my legs grew fatigued from the movement, and I placed myself on the sofa, dropping my head into my hands, grasping my fingers through my hair in frustration.

He couldn’t have just left it alone. He couldn’t have just ignored it, departed this planet and forgot all that happened here.

A memory slipped through the cracks, pushing its way out into the forefront of my awareness. One that refused to be smothered.

'I would come back for you.'  

I shook my head within my clenched hands, trying to physically rid myself of it. I wanted to claw my fingers into my brain, pluck the memory from my inside my head and banish it forever, never to torture me again.

Breathe. Focus on your breathing Alexys.

The voice caused a realisation to strike, how hard it had become, my ribs stuck in place, intercostal muscles rigid, refusing to let my lungs inflate. It felt as if gravity had increased its pressure over my body, making me crumple underneath its increased weight. The load was too much, my head screaming for oxygen. I knew what was happening, I knew I was in the throes of a crushing panic, helpless to stop the cascade of anxiety from taking over.

Instinct was quick to surface, telling me exactly what to do. What I’d done only once before.

I withdrew my fingers from their entanglement within my hair, placing the tips on each side of my temple, and within my depths, I set it free. The energy swiftly begun to course through my blood, bringing with it an incredible radiance that lit up my veins. It crawled its way through every capillary, every vessel, as if it was replacing my own blood with its glow.

Soon, it weaved itself through my chest cavity, relaxing the muscles clamping down on my lungs, the relief of an easier breath making me feel lighter. It's journey didn’t cease, surging through my neck to my brain, twirling in between the individual neurons, clouding me with a feeling of peace, serenity, the rest of the world blocked off from my senses.

I wanted to stay in this place forever. Every fear, every sadness, every frustration, all of it melting away into nothing. I felt whole, a brilliant euphoria shimmering from every part of my being.

Let go. You cannott linger here for too long.

My fingernails were suddenly pierced into the pillows of the sofa, panting, grateful I had something to remind me not to surrender myself to the dangerous void any longer. The energy recoiled instantly, my own invisible hands pushing it within the confinement I'd kept it behind for much of my life. I took a moment to push it even deeper down my consciousness, praying it would be too far for Rey to sense when she arrived.

The panic was gone, my chest moving in even time, an aura of composure enduring even with the healing energy locked away. But it also left me exhausted, my brain feeling slightly fuzzy with fatigue. Although for this, I was glad. Even a short time in the peace of sleep would stop me from thinking about Poe.

I had just risen from my seat, about to walk to the comfort of my bed for however long time would allow, when there was a solid bang at my door. I tilted my head in confusion at the noise, knowing Poe would have simply knocked if he wanted entry. Although right now, that seemed extremely unlikely.

When I heard an artificial squealing piercing the air behind the wood, it was obvious what had made the sound.

BB-8 was still beeping urgently when I allowed him entry into my quarters, whizzing past my legs before I even had time to greet him. I noticed the sound of the ‘fresher running as he rolled quickly to the space before my sofa, his head movements darting from me to the pillow where I had just been seated. He wanted me to sit down, that was clear, but I couldn’t determine why.

I did what was requested, settling back down, BB-8 at my feet, his eye appearing to whir and focus in on my face. He was quiet for a moment, doing what I could only imagine was a droid’s version of thinking, before his head darted away. Suddenly a burst of blue light flickered into the air, floating the outline of an image on top of the metal table that sat in front of us.

He was showing me a hologram.

It was fuzzy at first, slowly becoming clearer, displaying a scene I hadn’t been privy to this afternoon. The simulated image of Poe was sitting at my office desk, his own hologram transmission only just visible in the blue beam.

It appeared BB was showing me a long way into their discussion, Poe’s face stressed as he listened to the multiple figures in the holo, their lips forming words that only came out muffled.

“I don’t think you should be showing me this BB-8,” I fretted quietly, acknowledging how private Poe had been with Resistance information.

BB-8 beeped insistently, sounding like he disagreed, and continued playing the holo. The voices became more defined, eventually loud enough for me to make them out.

“We’ll have another X-wing ready for you as soon as you make planet fall,” an older woman’s voice explained. I could only assume it was Leia’s, holding a gentle yet authoritative tone. "Do you think you’ll be ready to attempt the mission again as soon as you return?”

Poe didn’t immediately answer, and I could almost make out the pain in his holo image.

“What is it?” another woman, a lot younger sounding, questioned. Her voice was more on edge than Leia’s, speech displaying an accent I wasn’t familiar with. This was most likely Rey. “Are you still too injured?”

“I’m fine,” Poe reassured. “Better than fine really. Alex… uh, Dr. Jago had me walking within the first few days. And everything else has healed well enough.”

Yet another voice, this time a man's, piped in. "You broke your leg and she got you walking that quickly? There’s no way.”

Poe rolled his eyes, the small movement still obvious in the flickering image. “Finn, you nearly died and you can still doubt the effect of bacta? That stuff fixed your shattered spine for maker's sake.”

“Still took more than a few days though,” Finn mumbled.

“It’s irrelevant,” Leia interjected, seemingly annoyed for a moment, before softening. “Is something wrong Poe?”

His eyes looked down from the hologram in front of him, hesitant to answer. “Is there…” he started, breathing in as if to gain courage. “Is there anyone else who could make that flight?”

All three of the figures recoiled in disbelief at the question.

“You’re the best pilot we have,” Leia said definitively. “There’s no one else who could navigate that route except you.”

“What about Rey?” he retorted, looking to her figure insistently. “She’s got the Force to help her.”

Rey sighed, troubled. “I... already tried. I thought maybe your navigation system may have malfunctioned, preventing any tracking, but that you’d still made it to-” BB-8’s hologram suddenly became engulfed in static for a few moments, leaving me unable to hear the destination of Poe’s mission. Eventually the picture cleared into the same scene, only a few seconds later. "-but I couldn’t make it through. It was too dangerous to traverse, even with the Force to guide me.”

“Why are you even asking us to find someone else?” Finn challenged. “You were more than ready to do it yourself a week ago.”

Poe gritted his teeth, looking somewhat ashamed. “I know.”

There was silence in the holo, and for a moment I thought this was all BB-8 wanted to show me. But Leia’s voice struck up again. "Finn, Rey, could you let me talk to Poe privately?”

From their small faces I could still see them look quizzically at each other, Finn appearing more puzzled by the request. But they left under the General’s orders, slinking past the frame of the holo.

“Poe… Tell me. Tell me what’s changed,” Leia urged softly. “You and I both know you’re the only one who can do this. And if there’s something worrying you, or making you doubt yourself, you need to tell me.”

He looked despairingly at her, uncomfortable with the prospect of hiding anything from his General. “I don’t want to admit it.”

Leia breathed out heavily. She began to pace inside the holo, arms folded in thought, before turning back to speak to Poe again, her face gentle. “It’s the doctor, isn’t it?”

It took an excruciatingly long time before Poe responded, finally nodding his head.

I felt every muscle in my body tense at his reply, heart thrumming to a faster beat.

“I thought so,” Leia whispered. “I... wasn’t expecting this.”

“Neither was I, General. I’m sorry.” The expression he wore, filled with such unyielding turmoil, shot a pang of cold ice through me.

Leia looked kindly to him, her face melting into understanding. “Oh Poe, you don’t have to apologise. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last, to question everything for the sake of their emotions.”

“I want to do what we planned. I do. I’m ready,” he asserted, voice rising into confidence, only for his face to fall again. “But every time I think of leaving her…” His face became buried in his hands, frustrated, unable to finish his sentence.

“Does she feel the same way?”

“I don’t know,” Poe muffled under his palms. “I... think so. She’s holding back. Her loyalty to this clinic is annoyingly similar to mine with the Resistance.”

“So she wouldn’t consider coming with you, joining us? We desperately need doctors of her calibre.”

He pulled his face back up. “I asked. And she refused. She would never want to leave, fearing for the health of her patients without her here. Not to mention she’s staunchly against the war we’re fighting in.”

“She sounds like someone I would like to meet,” Leia smiled to herself. “So... That’s why you don’t want to return yet. Why you need someone else to complete the mission. You want more time with her.”

Poe nodded slowly. “I know we don’t have much time to get-” Another fuzz intercepted Poe’s speech, an additional piece of information too confidential for my ears. “-but I just… I just don’t want to go yet. If someone was able to go in my stead, then I wouldn’t be completely dooming us. I know it’s selfish… Irrational… But the thought of leaving her behind right now, on a mission I might not make it back from… It’s too much.”

“Oh,” Leia mouthed, her voice muted. “Do you… Do you think that you…”

She didn’t have to finish her question. Poe knew what she was implying.

“I… think I could. If I had more time, a chance to figure it out.”

His revelation made me stop breathing, a tear wriggling from the duct, crawling down my face.

Leia sighed loudly, her stress evident. “I wish I could Poe. I would want nothing more than to give you this, after all you’ve given for the Resistance. But you’re the only one who has a chance of completing this mission, and we are desperately running out of time and options.”

Poe clenched his eyes shut as she finished, his jaw tightening, lips fighting back a frown. He took a few moments held in this position before relaxing himself back into composure, his face serious and professional. “I understand,” he replied flatly. “I’ll get this mission accomplished General. See you back at the base.”

“I’m truly sorry Poe-” Leia began to apologise, only to be interrupted by his sharp tone.

“It’s fine. Tell the engineers to make sure the new X-wing is prepped before my return. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Leia nodded, her expression remorseful.

Suddenly the blue, illuminated image was ripped from my view, the rest of my quarters coming back into focus around me.

My body was stuck, motionless in the now painful silence filling the air. Inside my mind there was chaos, memories of the hologram darting around randomly. I tried to capture at least one rational thought, to analyse the emotions bubbling up from within my chest.

He wanted to stay. For me. Everything he wanted to accomplish, for the Resistance, for his friends, for his parents, for the galaxy. He wanted to put it all on hold.

Just for me.

He’d been right. I was holding it back, the same thing he felt, and it was clawing at my insides, desperately wanting to be set free.

Purely out of my selfishness, my own excuses, the voice in my head threatening our lives. All of it keeping me from what I really wanted.

Him. I wanted him. To be close to him. Even if it was just for a little while.

You’re giving in? So easily?

Damn right I am.  

~

Next Chapter

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[wutroows]

always right here (darth maul x reader)

pairing: darth maul x reader request: Darth Maul and 138 please? Where he wakes up from a nightmare next to the reader. prompt: “Hey, you’re ok, that’s it. Breathe, hey, look at me, just keep your eyes on me.” requested by: anon a/n: it’s hinted here that the reader is a different species than a zabrak, but whether or not they’re a human is up to your interpretation. maul is legless here as at this point mother talzin has already given him his metal legs and he’s also as tall as he would be with those legs. just pretend savage never died. no pain allowed. lillie struggles with grammar also, completely unedited because i hate myself. maul taglist: @percywasunderrated, @brilliantbutbatty​

how he’d ended up with a partner as beautiful and as kind as you, maul had no idea. 

he definitely didn’t pride himself on his looks, but with you, you never stopped telling him he was beautiful. you’d run your hands across his tattoos and press kisses to them whenever he was feeling down. you’d hold his face and look into the golden eyes of his you loved so much, and tell him everything you loved about him one by one. 

zabraks weren’t the most attractive species in the galaxy, littered in tattoos with a crown of horns around their head, coming in various different colors. to you, maul was the most beautiful man you’d ever met. you loved his horns, they were a reminder that it didn’t matter what species you fell in love with. his tattoos were perfect on his red skin, and you loved admiring the intricate designs he’d have all over his body. to you, maul was perfect. 

you’d taught him multiple lessons, as he’d done the same for you. you were a perfect match for him, savage had told you that quite often as he’d never seen his brother as happy as he was with you. 

which is why he was afraid to sleep.

not because he felt as if he were running out of time, but because whenever he did he’d dream of losing you. losing you to the treasonous jedi order who opposed him. you’d never made a stand on how you felt about his feelings towards the jedi, not wanting to get yourself involved on matters important to him, but the truth was is that you never really thought one side was better than the other. both sides of the force kept trying to eliminate each other from existence when the whole point was to stay balanced. for everyone to benefit, both sides of the force would need to exist in harmony. apparently, both sides continued to disagree with that. 

on nights like these, he would lay awake and not be able to take his eyes off of you. you’d been together for a while, and you’d been sharing a bed more frequently to spend more time with each other since maul was often busy during the day. by the time he would be home, you would already be asleep most nights. his golden eyes had never left your form. afraid to fall asleep, he’d softly trace patterns across your back to lull you back into sleep whenever a loud noise came from outside. you laid facing away from him, leaving him to just admire the back of your head but it’s not like he was complaining. he loved looking at any part of you. 

he turned to lay on his back, a part of him hoping that you’d roll over to face him. he pulled his eyes away from you and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. should he try to sleep? it’d been a while since he got a good nights rest. maul understood full well that what he dreamed of was just that, dreams that would probably never be real, but that didn’t prevent him from waking up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily whenever he would have a nightmare. 

you rolled over after a moment with a loud exhale. a smile was across your lips, and he turned his head to look at you again. he let himself take in all of your features, and he couldn’t help but wonder why you were smiling. you could’ve been having a good dream. he wished it was about him. your hair was splayed across the pillows and your hand gripped at the blanket he’d put over you as soon as he’d got home, (it’d been on the floor, presuming you’d kicked it off in your sleep). 

maul reached his hand out, holding onto your own that had been laying by your head. he moved it down, intertwining his fingers with yours. he raised the back of your hand to hips lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, closing his eyes and letting himself finally drift off into sleep. 

-

you woke up not too long after maul fell asleep. 

feeling a little dehydrated, you made your way to the closest kitchen and got yourself a glass of water, and walked back to the room you’d shared with your boyfriend. you took a sip, and quietly shut the door behind you. you were well aware maul hardly ever got any sleep, so you wanted to be as silent as possible while maneuvering your way around the room. 

he looked beautiful like this. he looked beautiful every day, but now, his eyes were closed and his face was relaxed. you hardly ever saw maul without a scowl on his face while he was awake, but since he was asleep he let go of every feeling he would have when he was awake. you ran your thumb across his cheek, gently kissing his forehead as best as you could without bumping your head against his horns that you loved more than he knew. with one last look at the beautiful zabrak you called yours, you turned to the bedside table and opened a drawer you’d kept a few books in especially for nights like these.

the book you were reading wasn’t particularly interesting, but you’d read it more than a couple of times so that would be understandable. you didn’t really have anything else to do while maul was sleeping, as he was usually the source of your entertainment throughout the day, whether it be his training or when he’d roll his eyes at your dumb jokes you knew he secretly found funny. 

a small groan came from where he laid next to you. the tone of it was soft, not one you’d usually hear before he would wake up from a nightmare but you didn’t want to sleep just in case he’d have one. a lot of nights, he’d wake you up without realizing it. 

an hour passed. you looked over towards maul a few times before finally giving up to turn and lay on your side. you stared down at him and the only thing you wanted to do was scoop him up into your arms and press kisses across every single part of him. you were well aware he was missing his bottom half, but you couldn’t care less. you didn’t fall in love with his body, you fell in love with him. his personality. his kindness he refused to share with anyone else but you and occasionally savage, the yellow zabrak he’d called his brother. a smile managed to form across your lips without realizing it, and you’d run your fingertips across the exposed tattoos across his arms. if it were anyone else, he’d turn around and punch them as hard as he could, but not for you. 

maul was truly something else. he was caring, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. the sith were all about anger and power and maul was so much more than the sith his master wanted him to be. he was talented with a lightsaber, quick on his feet and excellent in battle, but he was also a man who’d put his allies before himself. he was someone who would put his life on the line for those he loved. that was part of why you’d fell in love with him. 

he tenses under your fingers and you’re pulled out of your daydream. he rolls around a bit, his breathing becoming increasingly more panicked. your hand gently finds his own, shaking him awake before he could become even more scared of whatever was terrifying him in his dream. his golden eyes snap open and he looks around the room, paranoid. his eyes are wide and he’s clearly afraid, he sits up, not even feeling your presence next to him or the feeling of your hand in his. “y/n?” he calls out for you, the tone of his voice sounded more afraid than you’d ever heard him be. “maul. i’m here, it’s okay.” you tell him and he finally turns to look at you. 

maul’s arms wrap around your shoulders and he buries his face into your neck. you ignore the pain of his horns digging into your skin and instead your hands grab hold onto the fabric of his sleepwear. “honey, what’s wrong?” he pulls away from you, his hands reaching up to cup your cheeks. “you’re okay? you’re real?” you nod, sitting your hand on top of his as softly as you could. 

“lie down, maul. okay? lie down, i’m right here.” 

he still has trouble breathing, but he follows your commands with no complaints. “hey, you’re ok, that’s it. breathe, hey, look at me, just keep your eyes on me.” you say, looking directly into the yellow eyes you found yourself falling in love with more every day. he nods again, his hands gripping onto your shirt that had barely been keeping you warm. “i’m right here, and i’m not going anywhere.” 

“i promise you, i’m always right here.”

[ironmandeficiency]

force sensitive

pairing: rex / reader

word count: 2017

summary: you’re a mechanic for the 501st & you go with torrent to 79’s during leave. you get drunk off your ass & start pushing things off tables, claiming that it was the force (it wasn’t). then, after a few minutes, it was.

rex didn’t know what he did to deserve any of this. he was just trying to have a fun night at 79’s and wind down after yet another visit to fellucia, the hellhole planet that tested his sanity, and reunite with some brothers he hasn’t seen in a while. in hindsight, there was no point in hoping that things would be quiet at the clone bar because the words “quiet” and “79’s” didn’t belong in the same category.

this, however, would have been above his pay grade if he actually got paid for this shit.

you were drunk off your shebs, to describe your condition briefly. in more vivid detail, you were splayed across the laps of him, fives, and hardcase with a smile that took over your face as you laughed at literally anything anyone said. you had an arm wrapped around rex’s shoulder and was currently using his pauldron as a pillow despite saying it was uncomfortable. there was a double-digit number of empty glasses in front of the area where you previously sat and rex knew well how miserable your hangover would be in the morning.

he also knew that tomorrow would be a terribly busy day for you and your fellow mechanics because the 327th was temporarily going to be bunking with them on the resolute, and they just got back from another hellhole rex didn’t have the displeasure of knowing. “alright, i think it’s time to get home-“

“but rex, look!” you swept your free arm across part of the table and knocked over the bottles belonging to fives and hardcase with a flourish. “i used the force! i’m force sensititive!! i need to go to the temple, as soon as i can!”

hardcase started laughing so hard that he nearly shoved you into the floor. the only way you don’t fall is the way rex and fives grip onto you and save you from the grimy bar floor. no one deserved to be on that floor. there was no telling what diseases someone could get from it.

“y/n, cyare, you’re drunk. we need to get back to base so you can get a head start on sleeping out this hangover.” why did rex have to be the voice of reason? it was so hard and emotionally taxing. but on the other hand, he thought with a hidden smile, it did give him some serious blackmail for when his vod’e needed to be straightened out.

you pouted, shifting yourself clumsily away from rex and snuggling closer to fives. the arc trooper didn’t mind it one bit, hamming it up with an arm around your waist as he pulled you into his lap. a small shriek accompanied fives burying his chin in between your shoulder and neck, the tickling sensation heightened by his goatee burning slightly into your exposed skin.

“fives! fives, stop! i- i can’t breathe! fives!” you were giggling and bracing yourself on his thighs, clueless to the wrath beginning to boil in the captain at the sight of you all over his vod. he quickly brushed it away and buried any evidence of his jealousy as he lifted you into his arms, trying not to glance at your inebriated smile that was now dangerously close to his.

“c’mon sweetheart, you’ve got a long day ahead of ya tomorrow.” fives said nothing as you were removed from his lap but with that knowing look in his eyes, he didn’t need to. the protective body language of his captain and the way you leaned into him were signs that pointed to something a little more than platonic.

you let yourself relax into rex, the plastoid armor not even a bother in your pursuit for comfort. you’d been in far less comfortable places as a mechanic; plastoid painted in five-oh-first blue was always welcome. footsteps carried you out of the bar and back home. “you’re soft, captain. anyone ever tell you that?”

rex flushed redder than a sith’s ‘saber at the affection in your words paired with your breath innocently panting against his neck (maker how he wishes it were anything but innocent). “no, i… can’t say that i’ve been made aware of that knowledge. is it a good thing?” he didn’t know where the last part originated from, only that he said it and it unfortunately couldn’t be forced back down his throat.

your smile seemed to bring him back to the planet, while the way you nudged his ear with your nose as you replied, “it’s a wonderful thing, alor’ad. absolutely wonderful.”

he smiled despite himself, allowing himself this time of bliss while he carried you out of 79’s and back toward the barracks. your mando’a was a little lacking in some places, but he loved to hear the way your tongue rolled over every syllable. especially when it was to him.

“rex, i did it again!”

“i’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

another clatter was heard around his quarters and rex didn’t know whether he should laugh or groan at the mess you were making as you claimed to be using the force. he knew that you probably should be staying in your bunk in the mechanics’ quarters for the night, but only a cruel man would leave your bunkmates subject to the giddy drunk that was his cyare. so he carried the burden gladly, looking forward to falling asleep beside you once you had tired yourself out.

you had only been in rex’s private quarters on one other occasion, and that first time was so brief that you hadn’t gotten the chance to see the small things that made it his and different from the same official-looking bunks that all commanding officers were given.

he had a wooden hat/cloak rack in the corner closest to the door that held his helmet and your prized bomber jacket. there was a bottle of unopened corellian whiskey on a caf table that rested in front of a worn couch that no one knew how he got into his room. all they knew is that it was comfortable & was a great place to talk about your problems with the blond man currently enduring your drunken antics with a smile.

you plopped down next to him on said couch, toeing your boots off clumsily and letting your feet prop themselves on the coffee table. they didn’t stay there for long. rex’s voice was chiding you right after but he did so softly, knowing that you wouldn’t have done that if in your right mind. “cyare, feet off the table!” he grabbed your legs and swung them over his lap, your angle changing to where your head was resting against the arm of the couch.

“i’m sorry, rexy,” you pouted as you wiggled around for a moment to get truly comfortable in the new position. “forgive me?” you gazed at him through your lashes, your foot now nudging his armored thigh playfully, a smirk growing as he jostled slightly at your efforts.

his grin mirrored yours after a minute and it could’ve powered the entire damn ship with how bright it was. “yeah, i couldn’t stay mad at’cha for long, anyway.” in your honest/drunken opinion, he didn’t smile like that often enough, and you resolved to do anything to bring that light back to his face. you didn’t know if you’d remember the vow by morning, so it was more of a sentiment than anything at this point.

hummed approval emitted from your throat, deciding to enjoy the comfortable silence that had now settled in the room. a gloved hand came up to rub your leg and your eyes drifted shut when he began to massage the muscle. rex took your head falling back a sign that his ministrations were effective and so he continued, secretly filling away the image of you on his couch so relaxed. you were always running yourself ragged trying to keep everything in working order for him and the entire five-oh-first that you deserved this peace, to let loose every once in a while.

then he heard a clunk as his helmet landed in your lap, the thing seeming to float all the way across the room as if you used- holy kriff, you weren’t lying.

“y’know what would be weird, rex? if the five-oh-first had gold paint and the two-twelfth had your blue.” you ran your fingers over the markings of his helmet, taking the time to admire the welding marks that signified the way he customized his phase 2 helmet. “don’t think your jaig eyes would pop out the same th’ do in blue. not sure why not, might just be because this is the only real color i’ve seen you in. blue suits you, i think.”

he wasn’t paying as much attention to your words as he would have been otherwise, but you just made his helmet float to you! he was warranted a bit of distraction, in his opinion. he chuckled when thinking back to it now, knowing that your mischief has probably caused at least one food fight in the mess because of course his gotabor’ika would use the force to start shit.

rex was in his head for a moment too long because your feet had returned to nudging his thigh, you clearly not satisfied with his attention being held elsewhere while you were trying to make conversation. drunk you took his silence as a cue to him being sleepy, and even though plastoid felt okay when you were being carried by the strong arms of your captain, it most likely wasn’t comfortable to sleep in.

getting your feet with a slight wobble (rex would have laughed) you stretched out the hand not holding his helmet toward him, signalling for him to hold your hand. “rex, we gotta go’sleep. bly’s coming tomorrow and i wanna say hi, an’ i can’t say hi if i’m sleeping off a hangover.” rex stood but didn’t take your hand, deciding to remove his armor first.

“your logic is flawless as usual, gotabor’ika. you go on ahead, i’ll get this stuff off and meet you there.” he’s slept next to you before, it wasn’t a new experience for him; the unfamiliar territory was that it was in his bed without the prying eyes of his brothers to watch him hold you as protectively as he ached to when you were assigned to join them on the field.

a little huff followed you making your way to his bed, once again flabbergasting rex as you used the force to move his blanket aside enough to crawl in. your eyes watched approvingly as he stripped down to his bottom blacks, your arms hugging his helmet like an extra pillow.

you didn’t put up a fight when his hands moved your arms away from the helmet, body already succumbing to the exhaustion that would be trailed by a nasty hangover. your eyes were fighting it, them being your only ally in your quest to admire the blond man now shimmying under the covers. his quiet little demand for you to scooch warranted compliance because it sounded so soft, like he was saying something with far more substantial than the six-letter command.

rex felt a hum vibrate in your chest as you tangled your body around his. you’d told him before that you got cold easily and the mechanics’ barracks being below the air filtration system made them colder than most of the ship. you were letting yourself get lost in the warmth of him, your mind becoming peacefully blank of everything but rex.

he simply smiled as your breath fanned across his bare chest, lightly blowing the light chest hair that adorned his body. in this bliss he’d nearly forgotten that you could apparently use the force until you used said force to tug the blanket up to your neck and tuck them around you both. eh, that force stuff can be a problem for future rex. all he wanted to do was stay in this moment with your weight resting comfortably against his side, not a worry in sight.

[wizardofstars]

[prologue]

Everything was muted to Vader.

He knew the Force tried to whisper to him, to guide him, but there was only the accursed ringing he knew so well.

Though, it seemed he could hear muted screaming as well, coming from the Force. Smaller… less focused. Decades old pain. It was something he was quite familiar with. 

So he ignored it. Instead, he focused his whole attention on his… son. 

And Force, how odd was it to even think that. Darth Vader, a father. 

No. 

Darth Vader was the Dark Lord of the Sith, now a Master of the Dark Side, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Soon to be the Emperor. He wasn't a father. Couldn't be. 

But that fool, Anakin Skywalker, would have been. 

So why did he care so much for this child? Why did he feel like his heart was torn in half as he felt the age-old suffering suffocating the halls come from his child? He was not Skywalker, that fool was dead. 

… And yet, he couldn't stop himself from brushing against the bond binding them together as father and son.

It was just a moment, a gentle brush, but the Dark Lord found himself on the ground, one twitching hand braced against the tank as he heaved for air. The suffering… Oh, the Dark found it delicious, leeching onto it, nearly purring at the pain. But Vader reeled, his blue eyes staring in horror at the ground, unseeing. He saw what Sidious had done, tearing apart the child's mind, creating powerful relics from shards of his Force… 

It was sickening. 

Slowly, Vader rose to his full height, looking at the child he never knew. Luke… That was his name. The name she wanted… His prosthetic fingers gently clicked as they slid across the glass, revealing more of the boy. 

And a boy, he certainly was. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen years old if Vader remembered correctly, and he would never forget how long it had been since he lost her.

With rasped breathing, he slid towards the life support, finally forcing himself to properly read the words in front of his eyes. 

Luke Skywalker, Subject A.

Something crawled along Vader’s durasteel spine at those words. Subject. Not a person, a thing to be owned.

If his prosthetics had worked properly, he would have crushed the terminal in his grip. His respirator weakly cycled twice before he continued reading. Age, blood, the standard information, found on any of the patient’s files. 

For a moment, he wondered, what could have been, if he did not fall to Palpatine’s masterful manipulations. Would she have stayed? Would his child have grown up with both of his parents, joyful among Naboo’s plains?

A scream of suffering tore him away from his musings, his golden gaze snapping towards his son, one hand hovering over his saber, ready to defend the child. That was when he felt it, a weak brush against the bond, drawing him closer. Like a drowning man, he grasped onto the connection, desperate.

Luke, he spoke through the bond, struggling to maintain this connection, my child, I mean you no harm-

The reaction was immediate, Luke flinching violently away, but Vader held on, keeping them connected. He would not allow his child to slip away - to be lost - ever again. As long as Vader lived, the child would be his.

Young one, I need you to calm your mind. I will free you. His hand reached out to begin the release sequence, one that he was quite familiar with when his arm stilled. The Dark Lord, tilted his head, angry confusion colouring his mind. Sidious was truly cruel, giving him outdated limbs, just to freeze as he was about to hold his child for the first time-

There was a brush against his mind, wordless plea to stop. Vader turned, facing the tank, his eyes wide under the mask. Suddenly he saw the reason. His son’s suffering, the years of pain, having his mind torn apart to become weapons, wasting away, becoming an empty shell-

NO!

The force of Vader’s call caused everything to shudder, cracks appearing on the floor under him, the Dark howling, demanding blood-

A cry stopped everything, an echo in his mind, I will be good, please no more-!, making him take a step back from the console, his arms dropping. Instead, he reached out through their bond, trying to calm his child. Luke. I will help you.

There was a pause, his son’s mind quieting down, but still clearly on the defensive before a wordless answer came.

Vader froze as he heard it, unable to process what he was feeling through the bond. Was it resignation? Fear? Anger?

No.

That was Luke’s answer. But why? Would his child refuse his help? Was he on Palpatine’s side? Was it truly a trap?

His hands tightened, metal creaking in the cold as the joints ground together.

You are just like him.

That stopped Vader in his tracks, mind reeling. Who did Luke mean? Clearly, he has been isolated, kept in the dark, who would he be comparing Vader to-

Like a crack of lightning, it came to him. His child was comparing him to the only person he knew, the person who tormented him over, and over again, shattering him.

Sidious.

He did not even realise his hands were free, slack against his sides, as he stared at his motionless child with wide eyes. Now he understood. Luke associated the Dark with the old Emperor, with pain, with loss of himself.

No wonder that he would fear Darth Vader, now apprentice of a now-dead Master, as their signatures in the Force were not dissimilar. No wonder he would fear his help, preferring to be left alone. To not be hurt again.

Vader did not see it as more frost started to climb the tank, covering his son’s face yet again, as he thought of Sidious manipulating his child to hurt him, making him trust him-

STOP NO NO NO-

The cry jerked him out of his spiral, his gaze snapping towards the child, flinching. The Dark was unforgiving, the Fall painful, and none ever returned from it. He wasn’t Skywalker, he would only harm this child, destroy him in worse ways than Sidious ever could.

Slowly, he reached out, placing his right hand on the transparisteel - the one that had choked her, that had almost killed her - and focused, the Dark shuddering like an ancient beast inside of him as he pushed it away.

Luke, I-, he closed his eyes, no longer able to produce tears, to release his grief, I will free you. I swear to you on the Moons, on the Suns. I swear it on my- he paused, remembering the kind smile, the hushed voices as she sang him to sleep, I swear it on my Name. Because sometimes, the only thing a slave had left was their Name.

And Vader had forfeited everything else in his life.

[choco-glow]

Just One Yesterday

“Commander…Master…um…” The scarred man in the dark, hooded robes, his mask laying in his lap, chin resting on his gauntlet, glanced up over his knuckles and quirked an eyebrow, dark eyes bloodshot and exhausted…And the young Jedi gulped. “I um…Master…Master Oteg wishes to speak to you?” He only nodded, waiting for the young man to scamper off, and lifted himself from the chair, stealing another glance back out at the stars. It had become a comfort to see the stars outside the clear bulwark; three long, horrific centuries he’d been held in that prison of body and mind, and yet, the stars had changed little in all that time.

He left his mask hanging on his belt (Mandalore’s mask, a dozen lifetimes ago, made his when he’d fought back the Clans, when he’d first fallen…) and made his silent way through the ship, footfalls as light as the wind on Manaan. The meditation chambers were…oddly comforting, and Revan breathed in the rich scent of the vilian flowers, their crawling vines hanging heavy all about the room. It smelled like Dantooine, like home; Tython had been the ancient home of the Order, long ago, and he’d been there once upon a time as a young Padawan himself in distant, blurred memories, but Dantooine was far stronger in his heart, far fresher in his memory…and stolen moments with his friends, his crew, had made the pastoral planet a home that before, he hadn’t had.

“You are so much stronger than me, and you returned from the dark side. I too can do the same, with your guidance, Master Revan…”

“Maybe you’re smarter than I thought, taking advice from an old man like me…been a long while since I came back home…Don’t make my mistakes, young’un.”

“Kinda nice place, reminds me of Telos, of home…Y’know, you’re the first real friend I’ve had that cared about what happened to Morgana and Dustil…”

“Check it out, Big Z! This place is pretty cool…Let’s go up there! C’mon, Zaalbar, let’s go explore! You can eat later!”

“Arrrghh, rrraagh rrrrrh!” *

“Heh, never thought I’d get a taste for the quiet life, and yet, here we are…aliit ori'shya tal'din, Jetii.” **

”I…know you can’t possibly forgive us for what we’ve done to you…and I won’t make excuses for it. But I’m glad you’re back. I really am…”

“Master Revan Shan.” He blinked, shaking his head free of the voices, long, long dead and gone, and found himself staring down at a very, very familiar face…and he swallowed. This Master Oteg…he could have been a dead ringer for Master Vandar, but Vandar Tokare was dead, betrayed on a far away planet long ago, and a sudden surge of homesickness and sorrow flooded Revan’s heart and mind…And the kindness he felt through the Force, through Oteg’s aura, undid him completely. It pushed away the darkness he felt in his very soul, and he reached for it, for the Master before him.

He collapsed though, tears streaming down his face, and for as small as the older Master was, now Revan was the pupil before him, prostrate with grief and longing. The elfin creature, his wrinkles marking his age, his green eyes soft, laid a gentle, clawed hand on his shoulder and drew him close, comforting the broken man as though he were his own Padawan. “Oh my boy…for all that you’ve a century on me, you’ve been so lost…” He wept, unashamed, three long centuries of death and despair and Vitiate’s claws in his mind, and Revan clung to Oteg through the storm of emotions, until the winds finally faded.

“How…how did you know my surname? No one knew I took Bastila’s name…she wanted it that way, and I didn’t dare risk our babe…All I had of her was the dreams and our dyad, our bond…and even then, I couldn’t look too hard, for fear of him…” He whispered when the sobs eased, when he managed to speak again, his voice hoarse and aching, and Oteg hummed, patting his hair with a gentleness that Revan didn’t feel he deserved…but he accepted it gladly, desperate for any sort of contact. It was a parent’s touch, and he closed his eyes, leaning into it.

“Bastila told me. Well…not in person. Not the way she wanted to. But she did tell me about you…and her love for you.” Revan’s heart ached at that, but he eased back, rubbing the tears off his face and taking a long, deep breath, letting it out with a sigh. “As for the rest…I know what was done to you. What you lost in memory, and in your life. Very many do know the basic facts…and the rest, much like many other legends deep in the galaxy, have myths to lean heavily on. But we in the Jedi, and even a bare handful of Sith, know the truth of who and what you were after the Masters erased your memory…but we don’t know who you were before that. Much…was lost, both accidentally and otherwise.” Revan nodded, lips twisting a little with anger.

“…I have a few memories. Vitiate…well, I won’t say he kept me sane, because he…nothing that was done in that hellish fortress was sane. But there was one Sith, a pureblood, who had no name as we know it, but he knew me. He knew me very well, and he knew how to retrieve memories, even those thought to be erased…and in return for my aid in influencing Vitiate’s mind, he helped me retain my sanity…and regain some of my loss. Not all of it…I don’t know my old name, nor my birthplace, or even my true age. I don’t have a birthday…but I have the memories of the Star Forge, how I got it rebuilt, how I used it…and how I fell.”

“And you have Bastila.” Revan closed his eyes at that, tears burning under his eyelids, and oh, he had Bastila…those memories, the dreams he’d watched over her in, with Scourge’s help, he’d kept from Vitiate, kept everything from the monster in regards to his son, to his heart, to his friends…Carth had lived on, Mission and Zaalbar had survived. Juhani, Canderous, Jolee…Even HK had survived. Teethree…He ached at the loss of the little droid, that night he lost Meetra too, and a touch of the Force soothed his grief, Meetra’s ghost giving him that one last lingering gift yet still.

“…My friends and my love. But…They are gone now, long gone. What can the Council ask of me now? I’m a broken husk of what I once was…” He murmured, meeting Oteg’s eyes once more, though tears still burned down his cheeks, his scars aching as much as his heart. Oteg only smiled, and with a gesture of the Force, brought over a set of tea cups, and a kettle, still steaming from the range nearby.

“For now, they ask me to heal you, as much as you can bear; of heart-wounds as much as the Force-depletion and literal physical wounds you’ve endured too. And they ask you to rest; even with hyperdrives, it’s a long, long way back to Tython.”

“…Not Coruscant?”

“No. For one, the Jedi Temple is still in ruin there, from the war, and for another, I will not allow the Senate to inflict itself on you. Tython is not Dantooine, and sadly we’ve not rebuilt the enclave on Dantooine for many reasons…but it is largely safe, and the Order is many, many more Jedi strong now. There is darkness there…but I trust you. As does the Grandmaster and the rest of the Council.” He blinked at that, and when Oteg offered him the fragrant tea, thankfully not from Dantooine, Revan managed to even sip it a little, rolling the strange, interesting spices on his tongue. It wasn’t the same…but different wasn’t bad, either.

“…I appreciate that. I truly do. For now…the rest…it is very deeply needed. I hope…perhaps I may be allowed to lay out a bedroll here? The vines…remind me of home.” He swallowed the rest of his statement, and Oteg smiled, broadly now.

“I don’t mind in the slightest, but I have a spare bedroom too, with the vines inside as well. You’re welcome to rest there as long as you need to. Dantooine was under my watch for many years, and I grew these vines for much the same reason Bastila did; for the comfort they brought me. The tea is a healing herb from Tython, with a bit of root from my favorite spot on Alderaan to gather flowers and other plants, and will help settle your stomach to handle food that’s more solid than an intravenous line.”

“…Thank you. I suspected I’d be on mush for a while.” Oteg chuckled at Revan’s wryness, and Revan’s lips quirked up, just a little, before he sipped his tea again. The Master shifted away and began puttering about the place, and Revan settled back against the cushions of a rounded lounge seat, tilting his head back and just…breathing. Closing his eyes, with the breeze off the vents, he could just about pretend he was back on the Khoonda Plain, out under the biryan trees, his crew dozing all around him. Canderous snoring, Carth humming softly, Bastila’s soft breathing, her hand just touching his…Jolee’s quiet reading, turning page after page of a well-worn book.

Zaalbar grooming his fur, making the soft little Wookiee noises that one might chitter at a cub, while Mission dozed against Carth’s side with Zaalbar at her back, curled up and breathing so lightly that you couldn’t hear her hardly at all. Juhani practicing her Force manipulation by healing the very earth around her, in apology to her last master and the darkness she’d sought there, and of course, the distant sounds of blaster fire as HK and Teethree hunted for dinner. And Revan, in the center of it all, soaking up the sunshine like a flower that had been buried for far too long, his heart full of light and love, the darkness banished…Another tear slipped over his cheek, and he let it fall, let them all fall, as he gave into the slumber carrying him off into his memories once more.

I love you all so much…I miss you…

A week solid of rest, good food, and healing had brought Revan back to the living nearly completely, and he ignored the hollow ache in his very soul as he stepped off the shuttle onto the first planet he’d seen in three centuries. The Force healing had done wonders for his connection to the ancient power, and already, he could feel the shades of light and dark in the Force on Tython, just as Master Oteg had said. The Rakatans weren’t wrong…I wonder how much of the past the Jedi really know? Because the Rakata Elders had known so, so much…even with as much as was lost, they told me everything…

“Master Revan.” He paused, his mask now hidden behind his breastplate, his hood drawn back despite how it made him feel too visible…and looked up at the man standing before him, a human male with a simple cut to his brown hair and deep lines from what looked to be a near constant frown. He sensed annoyance, no little anger, and a certain amount of frustration at having to greet this particular guest, and Revan smiled, just a little, though there was no humor in it. Let him be angry; he’s not half the fighter I am, for all that I’ve been in stasis for so long, and he damn well knows it.

His lightsabers, saved by Scourge long ago, had been battered and broken, but Oteg had been kind enough to provide him with the tools and crystals to restore them…and Revan had them now on each hip, a purple one…and a red one. He’d hesitated over that crystal for a moment, feeling the weakness in the green, blue, and yellow ones…and finally, he closed his hand around the gem…and felt the Force hurtle through him, tasting the power on his tongue. Perhaps it is too much of a temptation… He hadn’t gotten this far by taking the easy path, though, and he was more than strong enough to handle that power.

Oteg…hadn’t commented on that. Revan found that he was grateful for it. This man, though…Revan bowed, slightly, keeping his attitude to himself for the time being, and opting for aloof and mysterious. There was a darkness here that seeped into the very heart of the Temple; he could sense it, though it was far older than Vitiate, far baser and weaker…but it had survived much in the many, many millennia since the Jedi had left. The ruins at Kaleth are what Oteg warned me about; someone’s been poking where they shouldn’t.

“I am. And you are, Master…?” His tone was perfectly polite, crisp and just a touch of that ‘Alderaanian noble’ air, which had the exact effect Revan intended. He’d had it for years before his fall, and rebuilt it with Carth’s help during their fight against Malek, and after; it served him in good stead now. The man straightened, anger flashing in his blue eyes, and his lips twisted before he spoke again, his voice acidic enough that Revan smiled even more. Bingo. Little prick makes me miss HK all the more. What I wouldn't give for a classic "Meatbags." comment right now.

“Master Jaric Kaedan. This way, if you so please.” He whirled and stomped off, and Revan followed along behind him, his ancient styled robes billowing in a way that seemed to startle the Jedi they passed. Master Kaedan kept a brisk pace, but looked unnerved when he glanced back to find Revan keeping pace with him, hands tucked in a hidden set of pockets, his footfalls just as silent as before on the ship, and Revan’s smirk only grew. Brat. If only he knew the truth…but then, I’ve fallen, and I’m wearing the shadows of what I once was. I suppose I can forgive his anger.

The Padawans and trainees they passed didn’t know what to think of the scarred man in long, tattered black robes; he’d been given the option of clean, more neutral ones from Oteg, but he’d only cleaned his old ones, and pulled them back on, taking comfort in the Star Forge’s armor. Pity my white robes are long gone, because they would have been far better for this, but I don’t want to lose myself yet again, this time in the Jedi once more.

The great room with the enormous Force-driven rotating holocron in the middle was oddly calming, and had Revan a minute to spare, he would have lost himself in watching it, drinking in the healing calmness of the Force that radiated from the enormous dodecahedron. But Kaedan was too fast, and Revan bit back his annoyance, following the impatient man to the Council doors. There, he opened the smaller entrance door, ushering Revan inside…and for the first time in a long time, Revan stopped dead, his mind reeling at the sheer power contained in the room. Oteg really meant it…Atris had betrayed the Jedi, evil bitch that she was, she decimated us…but this…

Hope swelled in his heart, for the first time in…well, centuries, and Revan eagerly stepped forward, feeling his fear and anger melt away, joy making a smile touch his lips as he made his way to the Masters lined up before him…

SLAP.

The blow struck him perfectly from the handsome woman who stepped up to him, her long braids still swinging from the gesture, blue-gray eyes furious, and Revan brought a gloved hand up to his jaw, moving the joint to make sure it wasn’t broken. He studied her, eyes wide, shock freezing him in place, and he swallowed, a sinking feeling in his gut now.

“…You…look awfully familia-”

SLAP. The second slap had a stinging burst of power behind it, and it knocked Revan off his feet, tossing him back with an ease that made his heart absolutely drop into his boots…and he gazed up at his descendant with a gulp, shrinking a little under the gaze all Shan women perfected long before they reached adulthood. He could see where time and DNA had changed the look of her, but those eyes, those eyes were all Bastila’s legacy, and Revan felt another pang for the woman he’d loved so much, and the son he’d never known.

“…Shit.”

“You selfish son of a bitch, you’re damn right I look familiar. I am Grandmaster Satele Shan, of the Jedi Order. And on behalf of my great-grandmother, I deliver this message.” She snarled out, eyes flashing, all sense of calm lost in a sea of anger…and she held up a holocron…no, a Noetikon. A Noetikon that Revan hadn't ever seen before...but he could feel the power stored within it deep in his very soul. Revan’s eyes widened as a figure appeared, all in the soft blue of the hologram…but he knew that face, that body, those eyes anywhere.

“…Bastila?” He whispered, and she gazed down at him, her expression a mixture of sorrow and anger…and reached out a hand to him. He couldn’t take it, knew he couldn’t feel anything…but he reached for her too, his whole being yearning for her.

“Revan…” She murmured, and he choked on a sob, fingers closing on air and light, fighting to keep his composure before all these strangers. Oteg had been safe, had known many of the surviving masters, had even been mentored by Jolee…and he’d known Revan’s true self. These people didn’t. “…you know, I had a whole rant saved up, after all this time, how you abandoned us, how you left me without an explaination, how you were so damned selfish…”

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…I was selfish, I was a selfish bastard, and I deserve everything that I’ve been punished with…but I didn’t want to see you suffer more, and I couldn’t trust the Council…I couldn’t trust anyone but Carth, Jolee, and Juhani to keep you and Vaner safe…and I needed the others to keep each other safe, as best they could, and live the lives they deserved. Atris…I saw what she was becoming…”

“I know.” It was so simple, so poignant a sentence, and he froze, heart in his throat, eyes wide. “In uploading my consciousness to this Noetikon, enough to reason and think, I was also able to listen, to learn…and to understand. I’m still angry with you…but I love you enough to forgive you. You knew just how powerful Vitiate was…even if you didn’t remember entirely, you knew he was coming back. You knew…and you fought back the best way you knew how, but you had us to protect…and you were right. I was in no shape to fight alongside you, and neither was Jolee in his old age. Juhani and Carth gladly would have, and could, but…you were right again there.

“Had they left us, Jolee and I would have been found. Vaner…our little boy, he would have died…But he built a family of his own, and they continued that proud tradition, defying the Order in the one way that mattered to all of us…we chose love. I never regretted that…I never regretted you. I still don’t.” He drank in that forgiveness, those words, and laughed, aching, but real, blessedly real, when she chuckled a little. “I’m still mad, but I got over it pretty well, I think. Our children’s children, however, you’ll have to earn their forgiveness.”

“I…suspected as much. Bastila…I know this isn’t the same as a Force Ghost, nor are you entirely you, as you were…but I love you. I love you, and I am sorry…and I hope, I hope that matters at least a little.” The hologram smiled, soft and sweet…and winked out, leaving Revan to blink up at his descendant, confused and heartbroken…when a soft, ethereal voice filled the room, and it was Satele’s turn, along with the other Council members, to go wide-eyed in shock as they started at something behind him. Revan breathed in the scent of vilian flowers and a touch of leather, his heart leaping now as he slowly stood, turned…and there she was, not the older woman in the hologram, mature and long into her life…

“It always mattered.”

But his Bastila. His beautiful wife, her ponytails a little messy, her old robes shabby from sparring and exploring, her smile blinding in its joy. She was a ghost, that much was certain; the glow made it obvious, and though she had color in her skin and hair now, her clothes were a pale gray…he knew from experience that a ghost could only project so much. But when he wrapped his arms around her, she was firm to the touch, her curves fitting perfectly against his angles, and he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her with a shaky breath.

“Revan…”

“Bastila…”

“I can’t hold this for long…but the power here is enough to give us this.” She whispered, and he brought his head back up, pressing his forehead to hers, hugging her tight.

“It’s enough. It’s enough for me, to see you, hold you…” He murmured back, and they clung to one another. He augmented his power into hers, willing her to stay, just a little longer, and she relaxed in his arms…And it was Master Oteg, wise, good Master Oteg, who ushered the rest out of the Council chambers, letting Revan guide his beloved back to a small loveseat at the rear of the chamber, the two of them curling up together. They spoke of their son, a lifetime of memories that Revan had seen only in her dreams, of their grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, of Tasiele and Satele, and Theron, Satele’s SIS agent son.

Time became meaningless once more for Revan, for Bastila, for both of them, and when words began to fail them…they simply let their hearts say the rest, slow kisses and touches bleeding into one another. But their time was growing short…Revan could feel her slipping back into the Force, feel her strength waning…and when she gazed up at him, the color draining away, her eyes growing sad and weary…Revan kissed her, soft and sweet and lingering.

“It’s alright, love…”

“I have missed you so much…it’s too cruel that we only get this…” She murmured, and he tucked her under his chin, wrapping around her the way she wrapped around his waist and chest, hugging her tightly as he could.

“It is too cruel…but we were never graced with much luck, were we, my heart…” He whispered back, his voice hoarse from the long hours of talking, and the tears.

“…No, we never were. But we had one another…” He smiled at that, and she glanced up, smiling back. Revan touched his forehead to hers again, and Bastila sighed a little, fingers tightening in his robes, his chestplate and back armor long banished to the floor. “I love you, Revan…”

“I love you too, Bastila. It’s alright…you can let go…I’ll follow you soon. I promise. I…there isn’t much of me left, despite what they’ve done to heal me…” He whispered, and she opened her eyes, those gray irises just as captivating as the day they’d met on his flagship, all those long years ago…and when they met again, him fresh off the swoopbike and her fresh out of a fight, the two of them angry and a little in love already.

“…I’ll be here for you. Always.” She murmured, resting one hand on his heart…and with a sigh, she became nothing once again, the warmth of her hand lingering still over his heart, the touch of her lips still on his…and the scent of vilian flowers filling the air. He stared into space for a long, long time…and when he rose again, he buckled on his armor in silence, and with a gesture, opened the doors to allow the other Jedi to come back in. But before he turned…he took out his mask, and stared down at it.

The long lines of red and black, the smoky visor; he’d worn it when he went after the Emperor, after augmenting it with as much tech as he could to keep the monster from infiltrating his mind. But that hadn’t helped him when Meetra was murdered, when Teethree was cut down…and though he hated Scourge for what he’d done, he knew it was on Vitiate’s orders. And he knew too, could sense it, that the Emperor still held power, even now. …I cannot be a Jedi again. Be it my own darkness, or the taint of the Emperor’s mind, there is little of the light left inside me now…and he still lives outside the Force. His power is too much for these young Jedi to handle…But I know it well.

He knew it better than any other, Jedi or Sith, even the Emperor’s Wrath, and he knew too how he could destroy Vitiate. Forever. I suspect I know what they will ask of me…and yet, I have so much more to do. I cannot leave him to continue destroying the galaxy…But I will hear them out. I owe my Bastila, and my descendant, that much.

Revan donned the mask once more, fitting it with ease, and turned, crossing his arms as he planted his feet, his voice deepening as he spoke.

“Grandmaster Shan, I believe you had a task for me…”

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Somewhere in the Middle

Darth Maul x Jayna Dar, Darth Maul x OC

Light Smut, Pillow Talk, Fluff, Angst, Character Decontruction, Vulnerability

Summary: Jayna and Maul begin to discover just how alike they truly are and what that means for both of them in the future.

Warning: Mild NSFW elements

Word Count: 2.5K          

          Of all the things that came with working alongside Maul, this was certainly the one Jayna enjoyed the most.

           She let out a long moan.  The mounting pressure inside her was becoming almost unbearable as her nails dug deeper into the flesh of his back. 

          She could practically feel his smug smile against her ear. His grip tightened on her hips.  The headboard pounded hard against the wall, keeping in perfect time to the thrust of his cock.

           “That’s it little hunter,” he growled.  “I want to hear you. Moan.  Fucking beg for me.”

           She started to roll her eyes, but they changed course to the back of her skull the moment he found her G-spot.

           “Fuck yes,” she rasped.  “Right there. Don’t stop. Please!”

           He hummed in satisfaction picking the pace, hitting the same place over and over again.

           She unraveled in seconds, cumming hard and gasping with Maul following quickly behind.

           He collapsed on top of her.  For a moment, neither of them could move, their muscles still shaking from the pleasure of it.

           Finally, he let out a breath.  Kissing her shoulder, he slowly pulled away and rolled onto his back.

           The sudden rush of cool air woke Jayna from her post-orgasmic haze.  Her skin still buzzed, but at least now she could form coherent thoughts.  

           A smile came to her lips as she pushed her long dark hair out of her face. There really was no replacing a partner who could consistently make you cum.

           She felt Maul shift beside her.  The warmth of his body came back to her as he draped an arm across her torso and settled his lips to the crook of her neck.

           “What are you thinking now, little hunter,” he asked, nipping playfully at her skin.

           This was a side of Maul she had encountered on occasion.  Less so now after the death of Savage, but still a familiar face; one that could forget Death Watch and Crimson Dawn, and all the rest to focus on the present moment.  It was odd, but not unwelcome.  She might even say, she enjoyed it.

           “Just musing on the advantages of having a literal magic cock,” she said, airy. “You’d be surprised how many men claim to have one.”

           He chuckled.  It came from deep in his chest and sent a pleasant shiver through her.

           “And did any live up to their boasting?”

           “Of literal magic? No,” she answered.  “But not all of them needed it.”

           She morphed her lips into an almost wistful smile.  The effect was immediate.

           A low growl came from Maul’s throat.  Moving further up her body, he claimed her mouth, taking her bottom lip in his teeth and kissing her with a vengeance.  

           Jayna let him, reveling in the mixture of pain and pleasure that was his true specialty. This was the second thing she enjoyed; how easily she could get under his skin.

           He pulled away.  His breath hot and harsh against his lips as his hand rested almost lazily around her throat.  

           “I don’t think I need to hear the rest,” he said, his voice dark and utterly seductive.

           She couldn’t stop the lopsided smile. “You’re the one who asked.”

           His face took on an unamused expression as his thumb brushed against the column of her throat.  He didn’t put any extra pressure, just a subtle reminder.  

           Despite this, she smiled on, even rolling her eyes as if the hand around her neck wasn’t the same that had killed so many and for much less.

           “Fine,” she relented.  “We’ll save the “how many people have you slept with” conversation for another day.”

           His brow furrowed.  “Do we need to have that conversation?”

           She shrugged.  “Not necessarily.  If knowing I’ve slept with other people doesn’t bother you, the reverse doesn’t bother me.”

           He nodded in understanding, but the uncertain crease didn’t fully disappear.  

           “Does it bother you?” she prompted, curiously.

           He took a moment.  His hand moved away her neck and traced down her body with the smooth motions of an afterthought.

          “No,” he answered.  The word was spoken with such confidence she had to believe it.  Still, something clearly nagged at him.

           “Do you think it would bother me?” she asked.

           He shook his head.  “I rather doubt that.”

           “I take it, it’s a nice round number then,” she teased.  

           He averted his gaze.  If she didn’t know any better, she would have called his expression embarrassment.

           She quirked an eyebrow.  “Do you?”

           He scoffed but there was no denying it now. The intent to evade rippled out of him. Anyone with a pair of eyes and mild force sensitivity could feel it.

           “We don’t need to have this conversation,” he said, firmly. “I can’t see it benefiting either of us.” To make a point, he rolled back onto his back and away from her.

           Jayna wasn’t letting him get away that easily.  She moved toward him, draping her leg over his thigh, effectively pinning him under the weight of her body.  He could push her away if he really wanted to, but that would only make things worse for him.

           “Well now I am curious,” she said, enjoying herself thoroughly.  “Tell me, how many beings has the great Lord Maul led to his bed?”

           He kept his mouth shut, looking directly at a specific part of the ceiling.

          She could practically hear the cogs turning in his mind as he decided how to answer.

           “Two,” he confessed, solemnly.

           Her eyes widened.  “Two? You mean two beside me?”

           “One,” he amended.  “I was brought back to Dathomir when I came of age. One of the Nightsisters took me to her bed.  It was part of the ritual symbolizing my transition into manhood.”

           She blinked, her mouth forming a perfect “o” in surprise.

           “Surely it can’t be that shocking,” he said, defensively.

           “Yes,” she countered, easily. “Believe me when I say, I would not have guessed.”

           His lips pressed into an annoyed line, still refusing to look at her.

           She gave a dry laugh before shifting so her lips hovered over his own. “Personally, I’d take it as a compliment.”

           “Would you?”

           She hummed a yes. Reaching out a hand, she traced her fingers along his jaw line, taking special care at the edge between the red and black of his skin. “The Nightsisters may have taken your virginity, but that’s not exactly experience.  I can’t say I’ve met many men who can make a woman cum on only their second try.”

           He let out an airy laugh.  “And you’ve been with enough to know?”

           “Only my share.”

           He met her gaze with a raised eyebrow.  “And how many men would you consider your share?”

           “Just men?” she countered wryly.

           “Beings then.”

           She laughed, before looking away, allowing herself time to run the numbers.  

           “Well I will say they’re a bit skewed considering my current position,” she said, thinking aloud. “Do you want the numbers of just the past year or…”

           Maul cursed as he dropped his head back dramatically.  “Impossible woman.”

           “I am,” she agreed.

           “Insatiable.”

           “Of course.”

           He shook his head in frustration. “Doesn’t that go against your Jedi code?”

           She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I think it’s pretty clear I’m not much of a Jedi. Besides you’re one to talk.  I thought the Sith were all about indulging their passions.”

           “Yes and no.”

           Her eyes narrowed.  Carefully, she crawled just a little further onto his body as if to make sure he couldn’t get away.  “Oh, you can’t just leave it at that.”

           He met her eyes.  For a brief moment, she thought he might refuse her, given his guarded expression. But then something shifted.  A small spark appeared and Jayna had to wonder who, if anyone, he had spoken to about the Sith besides his own master.  

          “Passion is the foundation on which the Sith are built,” he admitted. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power.  Through power, I gain victory.  Through victory, my chains are broken.  The force shall set me free.”

          Something warm and unknown seeped into her veins at the words.  Like hearing a familiar prayer. She became aware of the arms wrapped around her body.  One hand held her by the waist keeping her pressed against him while the other trailed the line between the back of her leg and inner thigh.  She shuttered involuntarily at his touch.  She doubted this was what the Jedi meant by seduction to the Dark side, but it was certainly effective.

          “The purpose of passion is strength through the force,” he continued, staring deep into her eyes as he did. The timbre of his voice was dark and secretive, but not directed completely at her.  It was as if he was fighting something within himself as his grip tighten around her skin. “Physical passion sates the body, but it does not strengthen the will. In some way, it lessens it.”  

           Her throat was dry. Her mind spun at how his words and actions contradicted each other so completely.

          “How so?” she managed.

          He took breath.  His eyes closed.  The grip on her skin loosened and he seemed to come back in control of himself. “The possibility of love becomes a risk,” he answered, opening his eyes again. “My Master warned me of its dangers; how love could force one to lose oneself in another, how it weakens you, and forces you to give up your own power.”

          She expected him to push her away but he kept her close, caught between the words and something else he refused to give voice.

          “True power cannot be attained if you are not fully your own,” he finished, keeping his gaze fixed directly into hers.

          She met him, still not able to fully understand.

           “You talk about loving another person as if it’s selfless.”

           “Isn’t that what the Jedi taught you?” he countered.

           She shook her head. “They taught me the only safe way to love was through compassion; impersonal and dispassionate.”

           Now it was his turn to be confused. “But aren’t Jedi encouraged to care about one another?”

          “Of course,” she said, “but compassionately. Loving just one person is inherently selfish. Yours and their happiness takes priority above all others and the fear and anger that comes with the inevitability of losing them becomes overpowering.”

          She looked away unsure of how she felt about the lessons coming out of her own mouth. They were no her experience with love. In truth the way Maul described it felt closer to her reality than what she had been taught. Still she continued on.

          “For a Jedi, love isn’t weakness, it’s destruction.”

          Maul’s hand came to her cheek, turning her back to face him.

           “You were taught to fear it’s power,” he murmured.  He spoke the words not as a confirmation of her experiences, but of his own.

            “And you were taught to fear it’s control.”

           The realization came over them slowly.  Both their masters, the Sith and the Jedi taught them to fear the aspect of love which gave strength to the other.

           Jayna wanted to laugh. It was all just another form of control. Whether or not they could love, how they did it and why; it was all about keeping them in line with their Master’s will.

          “You have to wonder if they made it all up,” she said, dryly.

           Maul didn’t look nearly as contemptuous as she did.  His fingers traced her skin absently as he remained deep in thought.

           “Perhaps,” he said, softly. “Or perhaps they were both right and the truth lies somewhere in the middle.”

           She titled her head curiously to the side. “Bold words for a Sith to agree with a Jedi.”

           He shook his head.  Moving away from her face, he ran his fingers down the length of her soft hair.

           “I don’t know if that word applies to me anymore,” he whispered.  “Not in the way it once did.” His eyes stayed on hers as he let his fingers absently play with the tips of her hair.  

          She held the soft gasp pressing at her lips.

          This was probably the most intimate she had ever been with anyone, even more than when he had been inside her just moments ago. The way he was looking at her made her heart race. She couldn’t remember if anyone had ever looked at her like that.  To be honest, she wasn’t even sure what it was.  All she knew was it both thrilled and terrified her. His touch had no other priority than the comfort of the gesture and his words spoke to an understanding.

          Both of them were something different from what they had been told to be. Something in the middle, however that presented itself.

           “I should go,” she heard herself saying.  It was instinctual, something she had developed over the years to keep herself from this exact situation.

           He didn’t let go, his eyes keeping her there just as firmly as his grasp.

           “Do you wish to go?” he asked.

           Her first instinct was to say no, but she couldn’t let herself say it.

           “Do you want me to stay?”

           He searched her face, trying to find that crack surely forming in her armor. “Only if you desire it.”

          She could feel her resolve fading.  If he had demanded she stay, it would have been easier.  Her instinct to run would be justified.  But he kept giving her to option to leave of her own free will.  She needed something, anything.

          “That doesn’t answer my question,” she said.

          He eyes softened, as if understanding what she was trying to do.  Cupping her cheek, he placed his final card on the table.

           “I want you to stay,” he confessed, with a vulnerability at made her heart ache. His thumb ran down her cheek, taking pause at the corner of her mouth. “Do you wish to go?”

           She broke.

          “No.”

          He let out a breath of relief before pressing his lips to hers.  The kiss was deep and aching and utterly unknown to either of them.  But it was the truth.  

          He pulled away, keeping a ghost of a touch against her mouth.

           “Then stay.”

           She nodded, unable to do anything else.  Slowly, she moved further down, allowing her head to rest against his chest.

           He held her there in a way she didn’t think him capable of.  She had felt his passion, his anger, his fear, his annoyance, his amusement, and even some happiness.  But this was different.  It was vulnerable and raw.  And if that was how he felt pressed against her, she can only imagine how she felt to him.

           It was terrifying.  He or she or both of them could regret it in the morning.  But as she drifted off the sleep with the sound of both his hearts in her ears, she knew deep down, she would need to change her list of things she enjoyed.

[kyberphilosopher]

𝐀𝐤𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐚

The both of them were searching for someone whose demons would mirror their own.

Word Count: 5489

a·kra·sia/əˈkrāZH(ē)ə/ noun

“akrasia: the state of mind in which someone acts against their better judgment through weakness of will.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been far too versed in the light side of the force for your taste. It was annoying, to say the least. The way the Jedi walked around like they’re better than everybody else, and then denying it. The narrow minded point of view. The ridiculous robes. It was all very exhausting to deal with. 

The Jedi Order had no recollection of you. There was nothing to suggest you had ever been a part of them, or even ever fallen under the power of the Republic. Therefor, nobody knew where you came from. 

Anakin and Master Kenobi simply encountered you one day as a General for the Separatist forces. You were also a Sith of some kind- they weren’t sure on the details. The very first fight ended with you nearly killing Anakin, Obi-Wan having to bandage his knee, and you receiving a scar from your left collarbone to your shoulder. Another time, you and Kenobi went head to head. You would’ve killed him, had Anakin not intervened. 

So, Anakin didn’t like you very much. Fine with you. 

The real prize was Obi-Wan. 

As stated above, Kenobi was far too attached to the light for your liking. As far as you could tell, the man wasn’t tempted by the darkness in the slightest. This fact baffled you. You had seen what Kenobi’s life would be like if he became a Sith. He would’ve been far powerful than many of his fellow Jedi. You would've even been willing to venture that his skills would come close to your own! But, the man was inexplicably, irrationally, and annoyingly selfless. 

Similarly, Obi-Wan had taken note of your own fatuous traits. 

Obi-Wan, through all his goodness, had never thought you to be selfish. There were times where he saw you make selfish decisions, or act selfishly- but you were not selfish by nature. Obi-Wan knew, somewhere deep down, that you felt guilt at your bad deeds. Unfortunately, that distant guilt was not enough to stop you from being ruthless and cunning in battle. And for that, Obi-Wan felt that he had somehow failed you, even though he didn’t know anything about your previous life. 

So, if Obi-Wan had to describe you, it could be summed up in a few words. Lethal. Intelligent. Devious. Unnerving. Powerful. Dealing with you was something that Obi-Wan never looked forward to, unlike Anakin, who was secretly rooting for it.

 However, despite all your flaws, Kenobi shared something incredibly disturbing with you.

You were the one that had started it. The night of your first encounter, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He was just so... good. The way he fought used the third form of lightsaber combat- the one that focused more on defense than offense. So he wasn’t aiming to kill you, and he probably never would be. Baffling. You could sense that he wasn’t excessively good with the use of the force, but well enough. Kenobi was in no way attracted to power or stepping on others. This, in it’s entirety, is what made you decide to try a bit of psychological warfare. 

You appeared to him in the night. Projecting yourself across the galaxy, across the moon and the stars, you let him see you. He couldn’t see where you were or where you were going to be, only you. Dressed in black robes and your hair tied back casually, you wore the little scratch Kenobi had given your cheek with pride. 

While you were proud of this feat, Kenobi was caught off guard. He had just finished a conversation with Anakin about the young man was seriously skirting the line with the council, ending in Anakin walking away with thin lips. Obi-Wan sighed, glancing at the ground and leaning against the wall in deep thought. 

He couldn’t explain what happened next. One blink, and it was the other half of the archive room. The walls glowed blue with technology and magic. The floor was a clean and sterile white. But then, it wasn’t. It wasn’t even really the archive room anymore. In the next blink, Kenobi was looking at the other half of a gray, blockish room. It reminded him very much of a Venator, especially with the giant window that gave a view of the trillions of stars against the ink black heavens. 

And, of course, you were there in the middle. 

Obi-Wan perked up in shock. His blue eyes widened, his shoulder coming off the wall as his lips parted. You stayed still, your hands clasped behind your back as a smirk danced across the corners of your mouth. 

“Hello, my dear Obi-Wan,” you greeted slyly. “What’s the matter? Did you miss me already?”

Obi-Wan took only a second to understand the situation. He wasn’t sure how you were doing this, or a certainty as to why. Still, he was a smart man, and he saw that if this was how the night would go, then so be it. 

“Oh, of course,” he answered with equal tone. His own lips were curling up into a smile, the way they did when Ventress tried to pull dialogue like this with him. The only difference was that he truly preferred you doing this instead of her. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I forget the man with such a clean technique?” you quipped back. Your right hand raised up to gesture at the dark red injury on your face. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow smugly. The retort he had thought of was not even a true one, but he knew how this banter would go. “I suppose any technique would appear clean to you, Y/N.”

Yes. There it was. That little twitch in your lips that revealed the Jedi had struck a nerve. “Oh, and here I was believing Ventress when she told me you were a gentleman.”

“Did she? Why don’t you tell me where she’s going to be next so I can talk to her about it myself?”

“Does it matter?” you questioned. Step one of throwing him off was complete. Now it was time for step two- sowing doubts. “You’ve already lost the war. You’re going to lose the battle, too.”

“That’s bold talk from you,” Obi-Wan challenged. 

“I’d call it truthful gossip,” you mused. “And in case you’d forgotten, I almost killed your precious padawan today.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but take a sharp, defensive step forward. “Anakin is more than capable of holding his own.”

“But you care about him,” you ventured. Your grin was becoming more and more poisonous as you began to waltz around the area. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Obi-Wan knew that. “What’s going to happen when you’re forced to kill him? Ah, I can only wonder.”

Kenobi was at a loss for words. His eyes were flitting back and forth between your own, trying to make sense of your statements. Were you lying to him? Was this part of the obvious ploy to upset him? If so, it was working. He cared for Anakin. He couldn’t imagine harming the man he called his brother. 

“Oh, how I wonder,” you smirked finally. Then you turned away from Obi-Wan, and he was left alone in the Archive room again, as if you were never even there. 

                                    ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The next time you had come to him, things ended differently. 

It was days before your third encounter, and your second fight. The last time you’d seen him, he’d only caught a glimpse of you smirking before disappearing into the depths of the ship and most likely the escape pods. But this time, Kenobi and Cody had hatched a brilliant plan to intercept you outside Christophsis. During the battle to attempt to slow your troops, Anakin and Obi-Wan would infiltrate your ship and attempt to subdue you. There was no way you could reach the escape pods this time- a new confrontation was inevitable. 

While Obi-Wan leaned over the holotable, studying the battle plans and maps, he stroked his beard thoughtfully. His blue eyes glinted in the glow of the room, sparkling like two little planets. Even you had to admit, the General had a beautiful, analytical brain that everyone could take a few lessons from. This only spurred you on more in your endeavor to ruin him, however. 

“What’re you looking at?” you mused. 

Obi-Wan stiffened upright, focusing on your voice. He knew you hadn’t somehow sneaked your way onto the ship at least, which left the second most likely scenario more realistic. 

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out,” he said. Obi-Wan turned around, careful to leave one hand looming over the button that turned the table back to simple planets. In a swirl, the maps and plans were gone, replaced with artificial stars and systems projected into the air. The ocean light of the room fell over your features faintly, which confused the Jedi for a second. The only colors he had ever seen as shadows with you were the deep red from your lightsabers. Usually, they were so angry and stark that you looked menacing. 

Make no mistake- you were menacing. Obi-Wan would never be foolish enough to think that you weren’t. But in the sapphire light, you reminded him of a Jedi. You looked- dare he say it?- pretty. Softer. Is that what you could’ve been at one point? A Jedi? Soft, and pretty?

“You flatter me,” you purred as you dipped your head. “I almost really believed you weren’t a gentleman.” You gave Obi-Wan the moment to respond, but he did not take the possibility. In fact, you could see that he was clearly raking his eyes over your face in search of some kind of answer. Perhaps you should do the same.

“Tell me,” you continued. “How does the gentleman intend to capture the lady tomorrow?” 

You took note of the faint wrinkles under his eyes. They weren’t from age or ailment, but lack of sleep and too much experience. There were few marks on his face, but still noticeable. No, they didn’t make him appear unattractive or undesirable, but instead gave him a sort of character. Did he have scars along his body? Was there ever a foe who marked him forever? Sure, you had scratched the Jedi with your lightsaber not too long ago, but it was nothing that wouldn’t eventually fade. Even then, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done the same to you. Your cheek was still streaked with a thin, pink gash that had begun to heal as a part of your flesh from what Kenobi had done to you. 

“Perhaps the gentleman would rather avoid conflict all together?” Kenobi mused. Ever the polite one, this man. “Perhaps you could turn yourself in now and save yourself the troops?”

You scoffed audibly. It was close to a laugh, but not quite. Did Sith’s laugh? “You are easily mistaken if you believe I care for the lives of a few clankers.”

“Clankers? Spending some time with the Clones, are we?”

“I’ve had enough of them in my detention cells to know what kind of language they use,” you said with a promise. In truth, you had captured a few Clone troopers, but that wasn’t how you had picked up the term ‘clanker’. You had gathered it after hearing some Clone describe it while listening in on transmissions. Finding it catchy and somewhat clever, you adopted it yourself. 

“Is that something you enjoy?” Obi-Wan quizzed. He took a step forward, his hands coming together with bent arms to hide each other in the length of his sleeves. 

No, actually. It wasn’t. You’d never cared much for torture. Sure, you had used it when you had to, but it had never been your first resort. You had no explanation for this. It just didn’t seem high up on your priorities list. 

“Now, who doesn’t love a good torture chamber?” you quipped. 

Unfortunately for you, it was too late for that kind of response. Obi-Wan had somehow seen the fault in your face. Maybe he saw your brow twitch, or your eyes dull, or your throat catch- you couldn’t say. But he had seen it. 

Obi-Wan nodded once, his lips still upturned at the stimulation from the interaction. “I don’t believe you.”

You weren’t sure where to go now. Your cocky and sarcastic features were beginning to fade away, replaced with a slow and diminishing frown. 

“Give up this fight,” Kenobi ventured. “If you turn yourself in now, you’ll avoid bloodshed. We both know that’s what you want.”

You swallowed dryly. Did you want that? To avoid bloodshed? You hadn’t minded it in the past, but there were times when you found enough of it distasteful. Could tomorrow’s battle be one of those times? 

“A Sith does not negotiate with the weak,” you finally answered. Once more, your face hardened back to it’s original expression. Menacing. 

Obi-Wan wondered if he should’ve said the next words. He played them over in his mind several times in the next second, before finally deciding on giving them a try. “Then perhaps, you are not a Sith.”

Your eyes widened at the statement. It struck a million things inside of you- anger, frustration, wonder, longing, embarrassment, astonishment, fear- everything. Your lungs tightened so much in your chest, they felt sore. From the sheer impact of Kenobi’s words, you took a step back defensively. 

Then you disappeared again. 

Obi-Wan stumbled backwards, hand reaching to clutch his heart. A dull headache had immediately begun forming in his temples, thrumming around like a growing drill. His lungs felt like they had had all the air kicked from them. His right cheek stung in the shape of a straight, thin line. Struggling to catch his breath, the Jedi reached his free hand back to grip onto the edge of the holotable for support. 

Mirroring the man, you jolted back as his form vanished. Your feet slipped from under you, and one of your knees was now angrily demanding your attention. Your bottom hit the floor flatly as your chest heaved up and down, gasping for the breath you had somehow lost. A bead of sweat had singularly formed on the side of your face in something like terror and shock. 

Neither you, nor Obi-Wan could explain this. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

By the third... ‘projection’ between you and Obi-Wan, you had met eachother on the battlefield six times, and Anakin five. The scar Kenobi had given you from your first encounter had softened significantly. Even so, it would remain forever. As much as you hated it, you had spent several nights awake thinking of how it was like a kind of mark he had made on you. Not quite something that ‘claimed’ you, per say, but a type of signature. A permanent autograph or stain that was made by the person who bothered you the most. 

Ventress, who was probably the closest thing you had to a friend, had told you it was awfully seductive in her overly sweet voice. While her hand caressed your cheekbone, the heaviness of your heart only briefly softened before falling back. 

But the third projection was different. You were not the one who initiated it. In fact, after your second meeting, you were perfectly happy to never interact with Kenobi again, unless you were fighting. During those combative moments, you could put your deep thoughts aside in order to accomplish your mission. 

But this time was not a combative moment. And yet, you were having some trouble accomplishing your mission. 

“Go on,” your master commanded in his low voice. “Execute the younglings.” 

Your lightsabers were in your hands, crossed over each other. When you would pull them apart, the sabers would slice out, and heads would roll. That’s what was bothering you. The heads reminded you very much of your young nephew, who had turned six not too long ago. 

You couldn’t remember why you had to do this. All you could remember was that Count Dooku was telling you to do it, and his patience would not last forever. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to kill younglings. They hadn’t done anything wrong, and they had no place in the war. 

And thus, this was why you were hesitating. Every time you thought you had the surge of energy to do the deed, your heart pounded so hard your arms stayed stiff. 

“Is it really so hard?” Count Dooku said tautly. His eyes narrowed in disappointment at you, frown deepening. 

And then, Kenobi’s voice called out to you. Like an angel, or a kind of conscious, you could see him so clearly in front of you, it was like you were actually speaking to him. 

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows were furrowed together in concern as he looked you up and down. He could see your stance, and the force surrounding you so intensely. He could analyze the sweat forming, your heart rate that matched his own. Your expression was laced with anguish and conflict, and he just knew you were about to do something you didn’t want to do. Obi-Wan understood that you were about to kill.

“Where are you?” he asked. 

You couldn’t answer. You would’ve looked like you were talking to yourself, and how horrible would that have been in front of Master Dooku? Instead, you only open and closed your chapped lips softly. Your eyebrows twitched. 

“What are you waiting for?” Dooku boomed at you. 

Obi-Wan leaned back and widened his eyes at the recognition of the voice. “Y/N, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”

“If you’re unable to do this, my young apprentice, I will have to find someone more suitable.”

You squeezed your eyes tight. 

“Don’t!” Obi-Wan called. 

You didn’t stop yourself. You so desperately wanted to. But you didn’t. 

Your arms sliced apart. The searing hum buzzed through the air crisply, followed by multiple thumps against the ground. 

“Very good,” your master praised coolly from behind you. Even with your eyes shut tight, you could tell he had a cold smirk of relief resting on his face. “Meet me back at my ship.”

You opened your eyes slowly. Your skin felt sticky with sweat, and every muscle in your body was tightened up. Your shoulders and neck felt sore, and even your eyelashes felt heavy. The familiar weight of guilt sunk into your stomach so much more solid than ever before. Maybe it was because you had just committed something so terrible in front of one of the most noble people in the galaxy. Maybe it was just the sheer and straight anxiety that came with doing something you knew was against your better judgement. 

Obi-Wan looked at you silently. He knew what you had done. He knew the irreversible, evil and disproportionate thing that you had done. 

But now, he also knew that you needed help. You looked at him with pure fear and shame, and he could see how vulnerable and inhumanly human you were. He could tell, for a fact, that you would never be a real Sith. Did you have fear? Anger? Hate? Were you suffering? Yes. But you were not evil. Obi-Wan might’ve even dared to say that you were incapable of being so. 

You tore yourself away when Count Dooku called your name from the ship. Eyes darting between his blue orbs. The first step you took away from him, you evaporated into thin air, and Obi-Wan was alone in his ship once more. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

The fourth time was the one that changed everything. 

You had only faced Obi-Wan and Anakin one time since he saw you kill the younglings, and unfortunately, Obi-Wan had also noticed you had a split second to kill him during the fight. Obviously, you hadn’t taken it. 

Your hands balled and unballed themselves against your knees. Palms sweaty, your whole abdomen had begun feeling like shaky jelly. Ever since the day with the younglings, you had begun to lose weight. You felt weaker, even though the darkness inside of you told you to feel so good. The circles under your eyes had darkened and deepened, and several lines had appeared on your face to make you look far more detached. 

You look unhealthy and unhinged, to be frank. 

Luckily, Ventress was there to tell you you still appeared inherently ‘handsome’. 

Your lungs pierced themselves and screamed with every breath. 

A hand reached out to touch your own, your left. 

You only allowed yourself a few moments to look it over. You observed the veins through it, the strength and width. It was a man’s, and a rather wise man’s at that. You could see little divots and callouses from work with a lightsaber, and clean nails that showed the owner had no time to bite at them anxiously. Despite how much you hated touching, you felt yourself sinking into the simple touch from the hand. It was, to be direct, the most comforting thing that had ever happened to you. 

Still, you gripped a hold of your heart, and shot your hand away. Your head raised to meet the owners eyes. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, though you hated to admit it, had the eyes that you found yourself looking for often. Whether it was to avoid him, or find a comfort deep down, you did it. They were dapper and blue and deep, and changed in the shades of the sunlight. In contrast to his strawberry blonde hair, they shown and glimmered like an ocean. 

Obi-Wan felt the same about your own. Your eyes were conflicted and obviously conveyed several emotions, but also held a history that captivated him. He felt that they deserved everyone’s captivation. He wanted to study them like he would an ancient story, and memorize every changing detail within them. Even with the tired darkness underneath, he felt that they were uniquely beautiful in their own way. 

“Why are you here?” you seethed lowly. 

Obi-Wan glanced down, and then back up honestly. “I heard you calling out.” Before you could scoff, Obi-Wan quickly added, “I felt it.” 

You shook your head. “I wasn’t calling out. I would never call out for you.”

The man swallowed, determining the best approach. “I know that you are angry, but I’m here to help you.”

Kenobi’s tone was sincere, but you wouldn’t- couldn’t- believe it. “Help me?” you scoff. “I don’t need help.”

The Jedi tilted his head at you, looking deeply into your eyes. His orbs were piercing and infinite, it seemed. “You know that’s not true.”

At that, your anger washed away. A frown came down over you. Your eyebrows knitted themselves together in pain. Your eyes became rimmed with simultaneously hot and cold tears. Cheeks grew pink enough to totally disguise Obi-Wan’s signature. 

The way he was looking at you was just so intimate and understanding. Never, not in your whole life, had somebody done this. It seemed, in fact, that Kenobi could see right through you. He could feel you. He could feel your heart, your ribs, your tendons, and your pain. He could feel the soreness in your muscles, how tired your head felt. He wanted, more than anything, for you to have a rest. The Dark Side had done everything it was ever going to do for you. You didn’t need this weight any longer. Obi-Wan wanted to know how you would look when you laughed. 

Your head hung down as your first sob came out. Your fists balled even tighter together, both returning to your knees. 

Feeling his respect for you, mixed with your sadness, Obi-Wan reached his hand out again. His palm ran over your right fist for the second time, and this time you did not rip away. Instead, your own fingers unraveled and relaxed. The Jedi ran his thumb over your angry knuckles and your cunning fingers, silently keeping you close, even though you were far, far away. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

You did not see Obi-Wan in projections again. 

Some weeks later, you had however, seen him in his entirety. 

Your ship was on fire. Some stupid clanker had miscalculated and allowed your fleet to settle right into General Skywalker’s attack. With every jolt, you stumbled and struggled to maintain balance. Your internal conflict had been continuing to cause you to lose weight in the worst way, and it had recently gotten hard enough to keep yourself upright. 

Finally reaching the hanger, you heaved in exertion. Somewhere, Obi-Wan was outside, either flying around or searching for you aboard. You found, to your nightmare, you had missed him terribly in this exact moment. 

The igniting hum of a lightsaber made you raise your brows. In the middle of the hanger, with sparks falling from above, was that young Togruta girl. The Skywalker padawan. What was her name again? Aheka? Aurora? Ahsoka? Yeah, Ahsoka. 

She glares at you angrily. Her face is scrunched in determination, something that reminds you so much of Anakin himself. Both her sabers were at the ready, and her stance was that of one about to pounce. 

Yes, Ahsoka was trained by someone powerful. This, however, did not mean that she was a match for you. If you fought this one without restraint, you would undoubtedly kill her. You did not want to do that. 

“Hello, General,” she taunted. Definitely Anakin’s padawan. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Despite your exhaustion and the sharp pain in your ribs, you answered her sincerely. “Please,” you called out. “Please, move aside. I don’t want to fight you.”

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow at you. “You’re under custody of the Galactic Republic now. If you won’t fight, you’ll be detained.”

You shook your head, exhausted and defeated. “I can’t go with you. I won’t fight you, but I won’t go with you.”

Darkly, the Togruta replied to you. “Then I will make you.”

She launched forward from the balls of her feet. In a flash, you managed to take out one of your sabers and switch it on. The red clashed against the green in defense, making you lean back before pushing forward. 

No. You would not kill Ahsoka Tano. 

You are very strict about playing offense in the next minute. The only time you ever actually strike the young one is when your blades catch each other.

Not so far away, a voice yells, “Snips!” 

Ahsoka Tano looks at her master. You identify Anakin quickly enough, and seize the opportunity. Your leg snaps up against the Togruta’s stomach. She crumples on herself with a gasp, and you push her to the ground before moving past her. 

As you sprint as fast as you can, you can hear Skywalker scream, “Ahsoka!”

You move down the hallway as fast as you can. You have to get to the escape pods. The hanger is no longer an option. Either that, or find Obi-Wan. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

It doesn’t take you long to find him. You stand at the opposing side of the bridge, your breathing rapid as your headache tortures your temples. There was so much pain inside of you, falling off your robes and your skin like steam. You just wanted this all to end. You wanted to be free. At this point, you didn’t care if it was from the Dark Side, or the Light Side. 

And Obi-Wan knew that. 

As he finished analyzing you to make sure that, no, you wouldn’t hurt him, he took a tentative step forward. 

You looked terrible. Kenobi wanted to fix that. 

“Y/N,” he called calmly. “I am here to help you.”

You nodded your head, suddenly feeling very hot. “I know,” you confess. Your lip quivers under the weight of everything- the pain, the anger, the frustration, the conflict, the admiration for Kenobi. He looked so handsome now, even with the ever growing danger surrounding the both of you. “I need help,” you admit, voice breaking. “P-please help me.”

Obi-Wan walked quickly to you, sensing your weakness. He knew that at any moment, you were going to collapse both outside and in. Your turmoil had bubbled over, your Akrasia breaking whatever spirit you had left. He knew that you were too tired to feel darkness now. You had nothing left to fear, anger, hate, or suffer over. 

“Obi-Wan,” you said shakily. Your hands came up to rub your arms as if you were cold. “I love you.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi knew how selfish it was to replay the words over in his head at the moment. He just couldn’t help it. 

You had always been radiating. You had always been strong and worthy of admiration. When you struggled with your guilt, you struggled with your deeds, and that gave Obi-Wan hope. You had restored his faith all on your own, and he had already known that it was worthy of being expelled from the Order. But this was you. This was the woman he had grown to care for, like a mold to fit into, and had come to understand. The Jedi felt hungry for that. He felt hungry to know you. To analyze you. To help you. 

“I know,” the man said, sincerely and slowly. Against his better judgement, and the rocking of the falling ship, his right hand reached out to cup your face. Your skin was warm. Slightly sticky from the sweat, but Obi-Wan didn’t mind. “I know.”

His other hand opened up. His calloused and strong palm revealed itself to you, drawing your attention, and reminding you of the night that he had held your own inside. “Y/N, I need to know if you will follow me.” Obi-Wan paused, looking into your eyes. This was his confession. His begging, his pleading, his longing, was a confession for the love he felt for you. “I need you to come with me. You must leave this behind.” Then Obi-Wan swallowed. “Come with me. Please.”

The both of you were betraying your Orders. 

Your right hand came to meet his. Palms against palms, skin against skin, you connected. You could feel Obi-Wan’s need and frustration, and he could feel your longing and fear. 

“Yes,” you said, tiredly. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

And, in that moment, you could see a life with Obi-Wan. 

He would not leave the Jedi. You knew that for sure. But you would go back to Scarif, where you were born. On a shore, near the crystal blue waters, Obi-Wan would build you a house. He could visit when he had the time, holding you in your sleep to protect you from the oncoming nightmares, and you could kiss the scars on his back. Every time he would leave, your heart would break, but he would always bring you something small to apologize. Perhaps you could start to draw again? Obi-Wan would’ve loved to draw with you. He could teach you how to meditate, and clear your thoughts. Somewhere deep in the ground, you’d bury your lightsabers and never touch them again. On top of that ground, Obi-Wan would hold your form tightly as his skin moved against your own. Everything would be like a song, and maybe one day, you could give him a new verse. You could give him a child. You could have peace. Not fake peace, but real peace. The kind of peace that follows the storm, and lingers til the end of your days. 

A choke escapes your throat. 

You feel your lungs quiver in weakness, then refuse to allow any more air in. Obi-Wan watches your face change from sorrowful, to shocked. Your mouth agape, eyes wide, you suddenly go very, very pale. He feels you still yourself upright, and he tells himself the blue blade in your chest isn’t real. 

Anakin pulls the lightsaber out of you. Your pupils dilate as the blood begins to drip from your nose thinly. You can’t think, you can’t even move. You cripple to the ground without choice. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps you close to him as you die. He has nothing to say to either Anakin or yourself, and he knows there is nothing he can do to heal you. He watches you watch him, your vision fading in and out as you try to memorize every detail of Kenobi’s face for the last time. Your vision of a life with him becomes nothing more than a distant memory and a sad dream, and you don’t know when it ended. 

                                   ◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

Obi-Wan burned and buried you in secret. 

The Jedi had loved you, and he had known you enough to see that you deserved respect. You were not to be shipped off into the ground like any old Sith. You were to be cared for, and cradled until the end. Even in death, he wanted to help you.

And perhaps, simply that statement alone, was his greatest form of Akrasia. 

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin​ @typicalfanlife​

This is the version that was requested. Please let me know how you feel and if you noticed any errors! I wrote this while I was very tired, and I may want to tweak some things. 

[politicalmamaduck]

Mother of the Rebellion

Padme Amidala survives Mustafar, and goes on the run with her babies. With the help of her four dearest friends, they sow the seeds of rebellion across the galaxy. Read it on AO3 here.

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Padmé waited to speak until the twins were out of earshot. At two years of age, they were apt to repeat anything and everything she said. Besides repeating what she said, their mutual favorite word and phrase seemed to be “Why?”

Padmé wondered why quite often herself, and hoped Obi-Wan would be able to help her answer that particular question. 

“Last night I dreamed of Anakin again.”

Obi-Wan did not respond immediately at first; he gestured for them to sit down. Once they were seated, he stroked his beard thoughtfully before speaking. 

“Are you certain it was just a dream? Can you tell me how it felt?”

Padmé looked down at her clasped hands, trying to collect her thoughts and emotions. 

“It didn’t feel real. Not this time, at least. It wasn’t a particular memory, and we weren’t in a place I recognized.” She paused for a moment. “Would I know if it were more than just a dream?”

“It is hard for even a trained Jedi to know the difference between a dream and a vision,” Obi-Wan answered. Padmé smiled softly, then it fell from her face as she remembered someone, something she had chosen to put out of mind for nearly the past two years. 

“Anakin saw visions in his dreams.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “He often told you of these visions, did he not?”

Padmé nodded in return. “He said they always became real.”

“Of course he did,” Obi-Wan said, sighing. “But we know one of them didn’t,” he continued, reaching a hand over to squeeze Padmé’s clasped ones. “You and your children are alive and well.” 

She smiled again. “He doesn’t know that, though. Not yet.” 

“No, and hopefully he won’t, not for a long time.” 

The twins came charging back into the room, shrieking about a small creature they saw outside and if they could capture it and keep it for a pet. 

Obi-Wan chuckled, Padmé sighed, and the twins made faces like the most cuddly, adorable Tooka-cats they could imagine to try to convince their parents. 

“Go to the refresher and wash off all that mud before we make lunch,” Padmé ordered, keeping a watchful eye on them. Obi-Wan poured himself and Padmé another cup of tea. 

The twins only managed to splash a small amount of muddy water through the refresher as they washed up, which Padmé considered a victory. 

Though her heart ached at the memories and sensations once more brought forth by her dream, handling two rambunctious twins was enough to distract her. 

“Luke, Leia! Come along, let’s help Uncle Ben get lunch ready.” 

“Can we have some meiloorun fruit?” Luke asked, followed quickly by Leia saying “Yes, Mama, can we please?”

Padmé allowed herself to smile. “Yes, as long as you’re careful not to get the juice everywhere.”

The twins darted into the kitchen, eager to clamber on top the counter and watch Obi-Wan carefully cut the fruit for them. 

…

Darth Vader had not dreamed of Padmé Amidala for almost two years. Her smile, her laugh, her spirit--these memories tormented him daily, but it was a torment of his own making, not of the Force or his unconscious mind. 

He searched deep within himself, attempting to uncover what might have caused the change. It was not one of their anniversaries, nor Empire Day, which he would not allow himself to think of as their baby’s due date. Nor was it either of their birthdays, so the cause was internal. Nothing happened in the past few days, or weeks, that would cause his mind to betray him like this.  He was certain it was just a dream, rather than a vision granted by the Force. It did not have the same certainty of anguish attached to it the way his visions of her death did. 

He saw her on a beautiful, mountainous world, surrounded by people who loved her. One of her handmaidens was there, and the traitorous Senator Bail Organa. She was busy, as she always was, but when he called out to her, she could not hear him and did not answer.

She was angelic as ever, hardly looking a day older than she did the day she died. Though of course she would look the same in his dreams, he reminded himself. 

Not for the first or the last time, Anakin Skywalker felt his heart breaking all over again, and a fresh wave of grief washing over him. Padmé, I’m so sorry, he whispered into the netherworld of the Force. 

He regretted his impulsive action instantly, for his Master was certain to feel his anguish. Cursing, he ignited his lightsaber and hacked away at the wall in his quarters, lashing out with his hate and pain and anger. 

It was his fault. He wasn’t strong enough to save her. He wasn’t strong enough to save their baby. 

So he raged, because he failed and would never be able to fix that failure, just like his mother. He lost the only two people he had ever truly loved because he couldn’t save them, couldn’t prevent their deaths even though the Force granted him visions so that he knew that their deaths would happen. 

He would learn to conquer death. Somehow, some way, he was certain that he and his Master would uncover Darth Plagueis’s secrets.

He deactivated his lightsaber and stalked out of his quarters, eager to vent his rage on any and every unsuspecting Imperial underling who dared to get in his way. 

He would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. He would conquer death, destroy anyone or anything that presented an obstacle, and burn the galaxy down in the process if he needed--or wanted--to. 

The Jedi were gone, weak and ineffectual as they were, but he remained. He outlived them all, and would see their memories diminished into nothing the way they diminished him. 

Anakin Skywalker, but for his failures, might have been the most powerful Jedi ever, but Darth Vader was the Dark Lord of the Sith, the Emperor’s apprentice, and he would be more powerful yet.

[go-hux-yourself]

Radius

Getting in on that sweet sweet @gingerpilotweek​ action yaaaas! :D I’m late for all the day’s prompts, but here’s something for Day 2: soulmates ♡

Hux and Poe have gravitated around one another many times in war without actually meeting. Every time they unknowingly come into proximity, each other's mark signaling their soulmate is near gets darker and more defined.Hux's mark solidifies itself before Poe's does. Poe is quick on the uptake.

See also on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.

--

Hux’s mother and father were not soulmates. Nor was his father’s wife-- Maratelle Hux- his father’s soulmate.

Unnecessary. Foolish. It was idealist nonsense to distract from accomplishing real goals, nothing more. That’s all it was.

Soulmates were not the end-all of one’s reason for existence in Hux’s opinion, nor was it the singular drive to which he would ever devote his own life. He considered such a thing below his notice and ambitions. Foolish pursuits indeed. He wouldn’t entertain the belief of such things if he hadn’t experienced the force that Leader Snoke possessed personally. That was another lesson he’d learned; not to discount the impossible.

He wouldn’t make such assumptions quite so quickly again.

Still, the idea that he would have a soulmate was ludicrous. At thirty-two, he had no unaccounted-for marks on his body that might belong to some unknown other half, and after reaching the rank of general, he found it childish to cling to such thoughts.

He wouldn’t leave the responsibility of his future up to some force-induced nonsense anyways. Everything he had in life, he’d accomplished on his own merit. No predestination would take credit for that.

The likelihood of someone actually finding their soulmate when the universe was as large as it was bordered on an exercise in a waste of one’s life, anyways. It was rubbish, something he had no need for, and something he frankly wasn’t even sure was real, or if it was, it didn’t apply to him.

...Until he noticed a mark on his arm the day after they captured a Resistance pilot off Jakku.

He’d written it off as a bruise of some sort, or a case of dry skin. But no amount of ointments or passage of time had made it dwindle. The possibility of what that discoloration could mean made a snort of dry mirth go through him, but he chalked it up to overuse of stims and the deadline for Starkiller to become operational. Occupational stress and all that taking it out on his body.

He’d actively kept it from his mind until almost a year later on the day they’d lost the Fulminatrix over D’Qar. Humiliation on the bridge was only added to when he noticed that evening that the mark on his arm had gotten considerably darker, and taken on a more definitive shape. It looked reminiscent of blaster fire. He’d seen enough scars on the veterans in their ranks to identify the work of a blaster, but he’d never been shot in the arm before.

Perhaps, though, his soulmate was.

He was ashamed of the hope that blossomed in his chest at the idea that he himself might have a soulmate, and yet he couldn’t entirely begrudge himself the things it made him feel in the part of himself he kept locked away.

Maybe it was true, just like the impossibility of the force itself. The one was said to have come from the other, or be philosophically related at the very least. He had no force-powers to speak of, null and void, but it didn’t mean such a force couldn’t act upon him. He’d experienced what the force was capable of firsthand.

So he very-probably had a soulmate. That was… something that required much contemplation. It made him wonder what kind of person could possibly be his other half; someone on the wrong end of a blaster, at least.

A soldier of some kind. Within the First Order, perhaps? But no, if it really was true that proximity to meeting one’s soulmate darkened the mark, then Hux’s own general presence amongst his troops would have made it stand out much sooner against his pale skin by now. The fleet was vast, but Hux had personal influence on everything from engineering to what kind of food was served in the Order; surely his mark would have shown a long time prior if his soulmate was among his subordinates.

...Which left a far less favorable option, but one which was statistically more-likely: his soulmate might be among the Resistance. With the kind of luck that seemed to favor him, it probably wouldn’t be a defector to the First Order, either, which only complicated matters and threw the whole idea of him being worthy of a soulmate back into the impossible.

The implications of such a thing haunted Hux as he considered the actual likelihood of such an assumption. The frustration that a potential partner-- and thus ally- was among the Resistance bothered him more than he should allow it. It occupied his thoughts after Kylo Ren had near-strangled him over Crait; after his mark darkened once again on the actual planet’s surface. He’d felt it when it happened. Like an itch or a twitch of the muscle, but in his skin on his arm. Not painful, just… unmistakable.

It made his heart race. Made him anxious in traitorous dreams while his brain tried to reconcile how there might truly, actually be a possibility out there that-- for someone- Hux was the perfect match. Someone meant to be with him, and him by virtue them.

On the opposite side.

It was cruel, even of the unfeeling universe. He saw no possibility of him ever abandoning his post for some unknown Resistance member, soulmate or not. And the possibility of one of their ilk defecting to the Order-- especially for him- was laughable. It was inconceivable.

As inconceivable as the First Order having any kind of future under a leader who wasn’t Hux.

Kylo Ren might’ve usurped the title of Supreme Leader for now, but Hux was patient, and he was clever.

Or he thought he’d been, at least until after Crait. Until Ren populated his new command with men Hux mortally despised.

In barely the span of a year after the incidents at Crait, Hux lost all power and influence he’d once held. He’d very quickly learned to hold his tongue before Ren, though sometimes he couldn’t quite manage it; the insult to the way his Order was being run sometimes got the better of him. The man was destroying everything Hux had worked towards, and everything he’d built.

Ren wasn’t fit for the power he’d stolen, and to prove that undeniable fact in the hopes of inspiring an uprising against him, Hux began to sabotage the force-user’s effort when he could. Little things here and there that were satisfying but likely to go unnoticed, like withholding information he knew he could get away with, or lying by omission.

Hux didn’t start actively passing information to the Resistance until after he’d woken up in the medbay following being throttled by the force hard enough to crack his ribs. He still wasn’t entirely sure what exactly Ren had done to him, only that the pain had made him black out completely, and he had neatly-delineated bruises that matched the paneling on the bridge-console as a result. The combination of bitterness and stims had made him go through with it: warning the Resistance of the foolhardy plan that Ren devised for seizing assets from one of their allies.

It gave him a small sense of accomplishment-- getting information about their operations to the Resistance- to spite Ren and leave his missions unsuccessful. It amused him as well in consideration to the mark he carried on his arm. Was this the link between him and this supposed soulmate that existed on the opposite side? Is this how it begun? The idea had been unfathomable before, yet here he was, forging contacts and unknowingly building the bridge that might bring his soulmate that much closer.

Maybe they’d even help him remove Ren from power. Now there was a fanciful idea.

Hux had been getting away with passing information for months, a perverse little thrill running through him every time a successful information drop was made. Little things here and there-- tip-offs to evacuate Resistance strongholds when a lead on their location proved correct. Political prisoners going missing due to clerical errors. Omitting key cultural facts to the point of insult by those diplomats that the First Order-- or Ren in particular- would benefit from allying with. Small things going wrong that-- on their own, were not suspicious- but together added to the headache of chipping away at Ren’s goals.

Hux was intent to bide his time slowly sabotaging this new path Ren thought he could put the Order on, patient in his assurance that the man would eventually be ousted by all of high command for his incompetence, force-user or not.

It came as a shock-- another cruel laugh from the universe- that everything Hux thought he knew, including the path his Order had been on, was based on lies.

A military might that Hux had only dreamed about now gave the man nightmares; a Sith fleet waiting in the wings to subjugate the universe; the Final Order. Force-users and mysticism; disorder and chaos.

More people like Ren who saw those like Hux as easily-crushable beneath their boot. People who regarded those without the force as beneath themselves. People like Snoke. People like the Emperor. Unnatural and frightening.

It terrified him. Men like Ren didn’t prize merit or skill. They didn’t earn their rank through dedication and hard work, and they had no respect for those who had.

It was enough of a fear that Hux sent everything he could gather on this Final Order to the Resistance. Everything that had been made available to high command, and anything else he could get his hands on with what authority he still possessed.

The fleet these sith madmen possessed would infect the universe, wiping out anyone who stood in their path. The obvious first, decisive target would be the Resistance. They’d barely been hanging on these last months without Hux’s influence and warnings for them to clear out. They’d be found and dealt with swiftly when the fleet made their move.

With the way things had changed these last months, Hux saw the mark on his arm in a different context. Maybe his soulmate wouldn’t easily escape from what was coming. The odds were staggering. But Hux could give them all the warning he could while he could. That was something he could do, giving him the illusion of some kind of control as his plans all went to hell.

The idea of not warning this supposed soulmate never entered Hux’s mind. Now that he knew such a thing could even exist-- exist for him- he wanted to protect even the slightest hope of it; protect whoever among their rank knew who and what Hux was, but was still capable of loving him anyways. Again, something he considered impossible, but enjoyed indulging in stolen thoughts about it.

Hux knew the Resistance forces were small, but their troop-to-kill ratio was impressive. They could handle themselves; survive the coming storm if they fled from known space. He liked the idea that his soulmate might survive if they were smart. There was some sense of victory in that for him, even if he never got to know them.

The Order had been over the frigid planet Kijimi when he became aware of the mark on his arm darkening. Like a tingling, static-y sort of feeling beneath his skin. He put his hand to the spot over his uniform, pressing gloved fingers over the sensation that lingered longer than he’d felt in prior instances.

It made his heart speed up as the implications hit him all at once: his soulmate was near; they hadn’t run from the warned threat. And furthermore, this planet-- at least to his knowledge- was not a Resistance-operating base, which meant his soulmate must be one of those they were currently pursuing.

His heart beat nearly out of his chest while his stomach jumped to lightspeed without him-- anticipation and the gravity of it all becoming as real as the mark on his skin. Was this how they’d meet? Was he destined to shoot his soulmate?

They were on opposite sides. He was certain of that now. Where did that leave him, though? His soulmate among the Resistance… The idea was too much to grasp.

A report interrupted his thoughts: They had Resistance members on board trying to escape with the wookie. They were in custody now, the situation handled and awaiting further instruction.

Hux touched his arm again in the spot there, considering how it looked not unlike a blaster wound, and let his feet follow the officer towards his other half.

--

This is only the first bit of this, the rest will be fond on my ao3 here if you wanna sub ;D

my kofi | ao3 main