#Jedi Exile: Force is not my cup of tea

[dairine-bonnet]

Kreia: despises droids, machines and when a jedi relies on the Force.

Revan: into droids, machines and relies on the Force...

Which was first?:)

[thatwitchrevan]

kotor snippet - revastila grief hours

warnings: grief, talk about death and toxic/abusive guardians

Merith could sense Bastila coming well before she reached the apartment door. Merith ran over and threw it open, pulling Bastila over the threshold and into her arms as soon as she was within reach.

Bastila seemed as eager for comfort and reassurance as Merith was, if the tightness with which she returned the embrace was any indication. "My love, are you alright?"

Merith laughed a little, the sound slightly choked. "I'm not the one coming from a warzone. How are you?"

Bastila pulled back and held Merith's face in her hands, looking at her a moment before kissing her forehead. "I'm fine, darling. It's everyone else I'm worried about. From what Carth's told me, poor Meetra's been through an ordeal. He's tired, too."

Merith wrapped her hand around Bastila's. "There's more news, isn't there?"

Bastila nodded. "Come, let's sit down. There's a lot I need to tell you."

Bastila got Merith seated down on the couch with a blanket and cup of tea before she finally sat down next to her, holding her hand as she filled her in on the broad strokes of what had happened with the Exile and Telos. Carth had already told her a lot of it in his messages, but he had needed to be brief. Even now Merith could hear unspoken omissions in the story, which she suspected were things that pertained to her.

Bastila squeezed her hand, and sure enough, she looked at Merith with sympathetic sadness. "Revan... There was another attack at the Dantooine Enclave."

Merith tensed. "What? Why?"

Bastila’s eyes tightened with worry. She scanned Revan’s face, trying to decide how to say what she needed to tell her. She settled on squeezing her hand again and asking her a question in a soft, low voice. "Do you remember someone named Arren Kae?"

Merith thought, biting down on her bottom lip - the name sounded familiar, like someone she had known in passing, but her instincts told her it was much more than that. An impression surfaced of an older Jedi, someone she had looked up to, though she couldn’t conjure an image of the woman. “I... I think so? There was this Jedi Master... Vrook never wanted me around her, I think, but she mentored me anyway.”

Bastila nodded. “That’s right. Arren Kae was a Jedi Master when you were in training. She fought in the Mandalorian Wars and survived, but she was cut from the Force like Meetra was. She went into exile and changed her name to Kreia, and she found Meetra when she came back to the Republic. Kreia tried to help Meetra regain her strength, but she also wanted to destroy the Jedi."

Bastila paused. Her eyes met Merith’s again. Those deep brown eyes were warm and comforting, but the worry lines still pinched around them.  "Revan, Kreia killed the Council elders."

Revan froze over. Her voice stuck in her throat a little until she swallowed to clear it. "All of them?"

Bastila nodded tightly. "Yes."

Revan had to take a moment to process that, that the Council - that Vrook was dead. It had already been a shock when Malak had attacked the planet, and now this... As a child the Council and the Enclave had seemed to be a permanent fixture in the galaxy. She could hardly have imagined any of them dying in her lifetime, much less every last one. 

Her own shock would hardly hold a candle to how Bastila and Meetra felt. Bastila had been raised by each member of the Council, always kept close, and Meetra had been close to Kavar in a way Revan wasn't with any of her teachers.

And yet in a way it felt like a weight was lifted off her. She’d never have to look into Vrook’s eyes and feel his judgement ever again. The Council had finally paid for what they did to her, to Bastila, to all the Jedi.

Merith let out a low breath. "I don't really know how to feel," she confessed. "A big part of me feels relieved."

Bastila nodded. Her mouth was thin, lips pressed tight, but she didn't look at Revan with reproach or scorn. Instead, she scooted closer, leaning on Merith a little.. "I know. I feel a little relieved too, though I wish I didn't."

Merith shook her head. "It's okay. They were assholes."

Bastila snorted. "They certainly were."

Merith sighed and leaned back into Bastila. “Should I even ask what happened to Kreia?”

Bastila’s forehead pinched, again with that look of sympathy and pain at giving her partner bad news. “Meetra killed her. It sounds like it had to be done.”

Merith nodded. Her movements felt sluggish, like she was caught in time or between lives, trying to understand in real time what all of this meant to her without having full access to her memories. One thing she did know - if Meetra had to kill her new mentor right after losing her old master, she’d be in a lot of pain right now. Revan barely knew her anymore, but she still ached for her.

“So one of my old mentors killed another one, the one who brought me to the Jedi in the first place, and also Meetra’s old master and all of yours. And Meetra had to kill Kreia, who was also her new master.”

Bastila nodded. “I know. It’s a fucking mess.”

Revan laughed. The sound was too loud, too bright for how dim and messy her apartment was right now, and how miserable all this news was. But it made Bastila smile, so she kept doing it. She laughed until her sides ached and Bastila was smiling sadly but widely at her, a far cry from the proper, perfect woman who would’ve told her to be serious and respectful. Revan laughed until her throat hurt too and her eyes filled and she was crying into one hand, clutching Bastila with the other.

“It just never stops, does it,” she sniffled, pitifully, into her palm. It burned her that she was crying for people she half-remembered, half-hated; crying for herself when Meetra Surik was out there probably being strong and good like she always was. Revan had no right to any of this pain or confusion, and yet.

Bastila just shook her head, her own tears calm and silent. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry, love.”

Revan tugged her closer and they held each other, trying to be each other’s anchors. Revan hoped Meetra had had someone to hug her while she’d cried, hoped that Carth would be home soon so that she could make sure he was really, truly okay, hoped that soon there would be an end to the universe’s taking, if not from her, then at least from the people who didn’t deserve to lose it all. 

When they had mostly cried themselves out, Bastila laid them both down, pulling Merith onto her chest and cuddling her close. She stroked Merith’s hair, gently and slowly, ever careful not to tug on it. 

Merith frowned into the crook of Bastila’s elbow, and of course Bastila noticed. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“It just feels so stupid,” Revan muttered. “I barely remember Kae yet, and I hated the Council. I hated Vrook. I still do.”

“Hmm,” Bastila hummed. She looked down at Revan. “You know very well that hate and love are not opposites.”

Merith’s frown deepened. She tried not to think about Vrook at all, but she especially avoided the memories of her childhood, times that she tried to make him proud of her and times that she acted out to ensure that if he was upset with her, it was because she had deliberately made it so. She’d much rather hold onto her hate than the twisted need for affection and validation from the man who’d taken her from her home and shaped so much of her life. 

But Bastila rubbed her shoulders and kept speaking. “It’s okay. That you cared about him doesn’t mean that he was good, or that he deserved it. I truly believe Vrook believed he was doing the right thing, but he wasn’t. He hurt you. He was the first person to really hurt you, and gave you wounds that will never fully be healed. But he was also your guardian, your teacher, and he promised you a life you thought you wanted. It’s only natural if you cared about him. It’s not your fault.”

Revan buried her face in Bastila’s robes. It was so rare that she got to hear ‘it’s not your fault’ and believe that it may be even somewhat true. Another little sob fought its way out her throat and shook her shoulders, and Bastila hugged her tight, her own grief washing over Revan like the ocean, but with a warmth underneath it as they both knew they would never be alone in this pain again. 

Revan pushed herself up when she could stop crying again and kissed Bastila - on her cheek, her lips, her hairline - holding her face in her hands. “You will always be enough, Bastila Shan. You are everything.”

Bastila’s eyes shined up at her, confirming as Revan had hoped that it was what she needed to hear. She grabbed Revan’s hand and kissed her palm. “I love you too,” she whispered.

Revan folded herself back into Bastila’s arms. At the moment she’d be content to stay there forever, never to come out and face the world again. Bastila seemed to wholeheartedly agree, and they fell asleep like that, tangled up and exhausted on the coach. 

[supermarvelgirl15]

Home- Chapter 5 (The Reckoning)

Summary: An old contact extends an invitation to the Mandalorian and Jesla to make peace with their enemies. Jesla learns something new about what the Jedi are capable of.

Pairing: Eventual Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) × OC!Jesla Gavdo

Word Count: 4,020

Warnings: None really

A/N: So the reason this took forever was because I wrote half of it, and my laptop crashed and didn't save, so I had to rewrite it. Anyway, I'm actually excited about writing the next chapter. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

××××××

    “My friend, if you are receiving this transmission that means you are alive. You might be surprised to hear this but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters. But they will not stop until they have their prize. So here is my proposition: Return to Nevarro, bring the Child as bait. I will arrange an exchange and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the Child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism.”

   Jesla and Din both watched the older man's- whose name Jesla came to find out was Greef Karga- hologram message. Jesla looks back at the Child who was asleep, contemplating what their course of action should be. She knew that they couldn't run away forever.

   “I think we should go,” Mando speaks up, turning his chair to face her. 

   “We don't exactly have a choice,” Jesla scoffs, crossing her arms. “We're going to need to recruit some help,” she adds.

   Mando tilts his head, the incredulous look he's currently giving Jesla hidden by his helmet. “Wouldn't that be overkill? We're enough,” he shares, recalling the incidents with both Toro and Xi'an. 

   Jesla she shakes her head. “I can't use my abilities around the Empire. It'll just make our situation worse than what it already is,” she tells him as her fingers start to tap the side of her leg once again. Din realized that she would do that whenever she felt uneasy about something.

   Din sighs, turning back to face the control panel. He spares a look at the sleeping Child before setting a course that Jesla and him were familiar with, and the Razor Crest jumps into hyperspace.

                                            ∞∞∞

   The duo walk into a common house on Sorgan, seeing Cara Dune win a laser tethered boxing match with a male Zabrak. As the patrons hand Cara her winnings, she notices them approaching her. 

   “Looking for some work?”

   They all sit at a table, Cara and Jesla helping their selves to some spotchka as Mando starts explaining their situation to Dune. It seemed like a straightforward operation since Karga and his men were providing the plan and the firepower. Mando and the kid were the snares while Jesla and Cara would be their backup in case anything went south.

  Cara shook her head as she took a sip from her glass of spotchka. “I don't know. I've been advised to lay low. If anybody runs my chain code, I'll rot in a cell for the rest of my life,” she tells them.

   “I thought you were a veteran,” Mando queries with a tilt of his helmet.

   “I've been a lot things since, most of them carry a life sentence. If I so much as book passage on a ship registered to the New Republic I'm...” Cara starts before Mando interrupts her.

   “I have a ship. We can bring you there and back with a handsome reward. You can live free of worry,” Din bargains.

   “I'm already free of worry. And I'm not in the mood to play soldier anymore. Especially fighting some local warlord,” Cara shrugs, placing her now empty cup on the table.

   Jesla takes a swig of her drink before looking up at the dropper. “He's not a local warlord. He's Imperial,” she informs her.

   Dune makes direct eye contact with the ex-sharpshooter, a smirk working its way on her face. “I'm in.”

                                            ∞∞∞

   The Razor Crest flies through space as the group of outlaws prepare for their upcoming mission. Jesla was nervous about going up against the New Empire. As far as everyone knew, she had blew up with the second Death Star. If they found out that she was still alive... Well, she didn't want to think about those consequences. She just had to make sure that no one recognized her.

   Karga didn't even know that her and Cara would be accompanying the Mandalorian and the Child. Hopefully, that wouldn't be a problem. At first, Cara was confused as of why they were going to help someone that neither of them trusted in the first place, but once she realized that they didn't exactly have a choice, she understood.

   And after a little incident with the Child trying to fly the ship, they realized that they needed someone to watch him. Luckily, Mando knew someone that he trusted enough with such a task. 

   Jesla watched from the cockpit window as they landed near a moisture farm on Arvala-7, an Ugnaught trying to tame his blurrgs. Mando had told her that this was the planet where he had found the Child. 

   The Ugnaught gladly invites them all inside his residence, all of them having to bend down to get through the doorway. They all take a seat in the hut, Jesla promptly observing the inside of the house. In her subconscious, she noted her exits and anything that could be used as a weapon. She couldn't help it.

   “It hasn't grown much,” the Ugnaught comments as he looks over the Child. 

  “I think it might be a strand-cast,” Din suggests as he too looks over the kid.

   “I don't think it was engineered. I've worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly. This one on the other hand,” the Ugnaught points at Cara, “looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora.”

   “This is Cara Dune. She was a shock-trooper,” Mando introduces her. Din makes eye contact with Jesla through his visor. “And this is Jesla Gavdo. She was an Imperial sharpshooter.”

   The Ugnaught looks Jesla up and down, as if accessing her. “I too served on the other side, I'm afraid. But I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt and now I serve no one but myself,” he tells her. Jesla nods in understanding, not missing the look Cara gives them both out of the corner of her eye.

   Then an IG unit enters the building with a tray. Cara, Din, and Jesla all jump up and draw their blasters on the droid. “Would anyone care for some tea?” It asks them nonchalantly.

   “Please lower your blasters. He will not harm you,” the Ugnaught informs them.

   “That thing is programmed to kill the baby,” Mando says bitterly, not taking his blaster off the IG unit. 

   “Not anymore.”

   IG-11 continues to pour a glass of tea as the Ugnaught tells them all about how he found the IG unit left behind by the Mandalorian and how he reprogrammed it. He told them about the slow and difficult process that he endured to reconstruct the droid. Jesla carefully watched Mando during the Ugnaught's explanation. She knew he would always have his doubts about the droid. Who could blame him?

   They all simultaneously lower their blasters and sit back down around the table. Jesla gladly accepts the droid's offered cup of tea, taking a small sip of it. She didn't really know this Ugnaught long enough to trust him, but she did trust Mando. And his judgement was good enough for her.

                                              ∞∞∞

   Jesla, Cara, and Mando sit in the Razor Crest's cockpit on the way to Nevarro while the Ugnaught, Kuiil, works on a new crib for the Child down in the hangar. Jesla cleans her blaster, making sure it was in working order. She doubted that she would need her MK, but she was going to bring it anyway. Her blaster was her main focus at the moment though.

   “Do you know what station the Imperial officer is?” Cara asks Jesla, making her stop her movements on the blaster.

   “No, I didn't lay eyes on him before we ditched Nevarro. Mando took out his safe house when he snatched the kid. They've definitely reinforced their troops since then,” Jesla answers her. 

   IG-11 then appears in the entryway of the cockpit. “I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?” He questions everyone.

   Before Jesla could respond, Mando beats her to it. “I'm not hungry,” he says shortly. Cara and Jesla share a look as the IG unit leaves without another word. “Under no circumstances does that thing leave the ship,” he states.

   “You got a real thing for droids, don't you,” Cara observes. Jesla sits quietly as she waits for Mando's response. She wondered if he would tell Cara why he hates them.

   “I got a real thing for that droid,” Mando replies, gesturing to where IG-11 had walked out. 

   Cara side-eyes Jesla as her brows knit together. “The Ugnaught said he rewired it,” she reminds him.

   “That droid was designed to kill things. I don't care how much wiring he replaced, it goes against its nature,” Din spits out angrily. Jesla's eyes soften as she continues to watch him, knowing exactly how he felt about the topic. 

   Shooting Jesla another look, Cara stands up. “Well, shouldn't be a long job anyway. You take out the head Imp, the rest will run like rats,” she says before she leaves the cockpit.

   A sigh escapes Mando's modulator as he turns to look at Jesla from over his shoulder. “You should go eat. We still have a while left until we get to Nevarro,” he tells her, pressing some buttons on the control panel.

   Jesla nods as she stands up, placing her weapons in her seat. “I'll bring you up something,” she says before she too descends down the stairs into the hangar. 

  Din turns to look after her, another sigh leaving his lips. He wasn't sure how he felt about his new friend. She was a lot like him in some ways, but there was still something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

                                             ∞∞∞

   After what felt like forever to Jesla, Mando finally lands the Razor Crest on the deserted surface of Nevarro. Everyone, except for IG-11, mount on the blurrgs and exit the ship, meeting Greef Karga and his three associates outside.

   “Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando. But things have gotten complicated since you were last here. It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we've both provided a security detail,” Greef Karga observes as his eyes scan over Jesla, Cara, and Kuiil. His eyes land on Jesla's MK-modified rifle strapped over her shoulder. “I guess you were the sniper that took out some of my men that night,” he puts together, his hands going to rest on his hips. Jesla just gives him a once over as she proceeds to not respond to him. 

   Karga realizes that he isn't going to get anything out of her and turns his attention back to Mando. “Now, where's the little one?” He questions as he looks around for it. 

   Mando moves the floating crib towards him. Greef opens it and his eyes widen as they land on the Child. “So... this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about,” he takes the Child out of the crib, “what a precious little creature. I can see why you didn't wanna harm a hair on its wrinkled little head.” He gives him a once over before placing him back in the crib. “Well, I'm glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all.”

   Din calls the crib back to him. “The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell and camp out on the river bank, then make our way into town at first light,” Karga informs them before turning to lead the way. Din looks back at his new friends, following Karga with them right behind him.

   Once night fell, they all decided to set up a makeshift camp for the rest of the night. One of Karga's bounty hunters had put a piece of meat over the fire to cook. Jesla watches as Kuiil feeds the Child, the members of Karga's group eyeing each other suspiciously.

   “I guess the little bugger's a carnivore. Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king's ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie,” Greef comments, looking at Mando.

   “Let's go over the plan again,” Mando says, stirring the conversation back to business. That was, as always, Mando for you.

   “We both enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table, and you kill him,” Karga explains simply with a shrug.

   Jesla turns to face both Greef and Mando. “What about his reinforcements? Surely he's upped his security since last time,” she points out. She knew how these Imperial officers worked.

   A look of surprise briefly flashes across Karga's features. “No more than four. He travels with, at most, a fire team. Trust me, nothing could go wrong,” he tells her as he gets up and grabs the piece of meat that was over the fire. Jesla shook her head. That didn't sound right.

   Suddenly, a winged creature swoops in and grabs the meat out of Greef's hands. Everyone goes into a frenzy after that. They all start shooting at the dragon creatures, Mando closing the crib to protect the Child. Dragons start grabbing blurrgs, even one of Karga's bounty hunters. 

   Another dragon attacks the Mandalorian, both Jesla and Cara shooting it to get it off of him. He luckily fights it off by blasting it with fire. After that, the remaining dragons disappear. It's not until then when Jesla and the others notice that Greef was badly injured.

   Cara immediately springs into action, checking Karga's arm where the dragon ripped it open. “This is bad. The poison is spreading fast,” she informs them as she spills out the contents of her med-pack. She gives him a shot, but it doesn't seem to help.

   Jesla watches as the Child walks up to them as Cara frantically tries to help Karga. Everyone watches as the Child places his hand over his wound, Jesla tilting her head in curiosity. The Child's face relaxes as Greef's wound closes, immediately falling asleep right after. 

   Din looks up at Jesla, watching as emotion after emotion flashes through her eyes. He wasn't sure what was going through her head. It was obvious that she didn't know that the kid was capable of doing such a thing, let alone herself. 

                                             ∞∞∞

   The next morning, they all set out to continue their trek to the town. Jesla walks behind the group, the events of last night still fresh in her mind. She absentmindedly watches Mando and Cara converse with one another in front of her, but she didn't hear anything that they were saying. 

   Her eyes drift to the crib that was floating beside Mando, the Child hidden in it. She wondered how he did it, if she could do it. Did she have the ability to save so many people that were dear to her and she didn't even know? 

   The Mandalorian looks back over his shoulder, seeing Jesla lost in her thoughts. With a nod to Cara, he falls back to walk beside Jesla. She didn't even notice his presence until he spoke to her.

   “Did you... know that he could do... whatever that was?” He asks her, looking straight ahead. He himself was still surprised at the new information.

   “No,” she answers shortly. She didn't mean to be short with him, but her emotions were starting to get the best of her.  Jesla knew that she was overreacting, but she couldn't stop the guilt that was slowly taking over her.

   You could have saved your brothers. You could have saved your master.

   Din sees the internal conflict going on inside his partner. He wasn't sure what he could say to make her feel better. He didn't know how to talk about these things, wasn't trained to do it. His mind drifts back to the time of his life before the droids attacked. His mother would probably know what to say in this situation, so would his father.

   He opens his mouth to say something, but is stopped when Karga and his men halt ahead of them. “I guess this is it,” Karga announces to the group.

   Before either Din or Jesla could register what was going on, Greef suddenly spins around with his two blasters and shoots his two bounty hunters. He then immediately raises his blasters in capitulation as the others train their own blasters on him.

   “There's something you should know. The plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after what happened last night I couldn't go through with it. Go on, you can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn't violate the Code. But if you do, this child will never be safe,” Karga quickly explains to them. 

   “We'll take our chances,” Cara tells him, her finger on the trigger.

   Karga's eyes widen slightly as he tries to save himself. “The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you? Listen. We both need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the Child to him, and then you three--”

  “No.”

   “Let's just kill him and get outta here.”

   “He's right.”

   Both Cara and Jesla shoot Mando an incredulous look. As he lowers his blaster, Jesla sighs before reluctantly following suit. What was going through his head? 

   “As long as the Imp lives he'll send hunters after the Child,” Mando points out. Jesla knew that he was right, but she also knew that this whole thing could be a trap. 

   “Bring me. Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him, and I'll kill him,” Mando tells Karga. Now he was being insane, especially when he handed Karga his blaster.

    However, Jesla knew how stubborn this beskar cladded man could be, so she knew that there was no way he was going to change his mind. “Well, I'm coming with you,” she states, Cara also jumping in.

   “No, no, no. That would make them suspicious,” Karga opposes as he shakes his head in disagreement. Both Jesla and Cara shrug, not caring less.

   “Tell ’em they caught me. I have a plan. Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the Child and seal yourself in. When you're inside, engage ground security protocols, and nothing on this planet will breach those doors,” Mando orders, turning to face Kuiil.

   Kuiil nods as he walks up to him. “Here's a comlink. I will keep the Child safe,” he turns to Cara, “don't forget to cover your stripes,” he reminds her. He then takes the Child out of the crib and hops on the remaining blurrg, heading in the direction of the Razor Crest.

   Mando hands Karga his handcuffs, Karga placing them on him as Cara covers her tattoo with a piece of fabric. Jesla made sure to take off her hood and mask, anything to hide her real identity from the Empire. They didn't know her face, only her name.

   “Let's go.”

                                          ∞∞∞

   The group walk up to the entrance of town, greeted by Stormtroopers standing guard. Jesla tenses up once she sees them, subconsciously trying to hide as she stands on the other side of the Mandalorian. 

   Greef produces his ID card for the Stormtrooper to scan his chain code and they continue on their way. More Stormtroopers march pass them and Cara comments on how Karga said there was only supposed to be four. 

   “Four guarding the client. Many more here in town. Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safe house.”

   Once they finally get to the common house, the door opens to reveal the Imperial officer and four Stormtroopers. Jesla didn't recognize the officer, but then again, she didn't really pay attention to them.

   “Look what I brought you. As promised,” Karga greets the officer, gesturing to Mando. Cara and Jesla share a look before looking back at the client.

   The client approaches them, caressing Mando's beskar armor. “What exquisite craftmanship. It is amazing how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans. Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?” He asks, looking back at Greef. 

   Karga nods and shoves Mando to sit in the booth, Cara and Jesla standing beside the table. The officer also sits as more Stormtroopers enter the building. “It is a shame that your people suffered so. Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable. Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire improves every system it touches. Judge by any metric. Safety. Prosperity. Trade. Opportunity. Peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside. Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos,” he rambles before adding, “I would like to see the baby.”

   “Uh...it is asleep,” Karga fibs, glancing over to the pod. 

   “We all will be quiet. Open the pram,” the client orders as he reaches for the pod. Luckily, a Stormtrooper comes over and whispers something to him, making him halt his movements. “Don't think me to be rude. I must take this call,” he apologizes before walking away.

   Mando takes the opportunity to loosen his cuffs under the table. “Gimme the blaster,” he whispers to Karga. Greef obliges as he sneakily hands it to him, making note of the extra Stormtroopers.

   “This is bad. You said four,” Jesla whisper yells, her eyes scanning over the multiple Stormtroopers. However, she knew they could most likely take them. It would just cause a big scene.

   “Well...there are more. What can I tell you?” Greef replies gruffly, both Jesla and Cara rolling their eyes.

   All of a sudden, the client goes down as blaster shots are fired through the window, peppering inside the common house and killing everyone inside, except for the outlaws. Once the shooting stops, they all move out of cover to both sides of the window. An Imperial firing squad sits outside, another transport of Stormtroopers arriving. 

   Cara turns to Karga with a glare. “Four Stormtroopers?”   

   Din takes out his comlink, bringing it close to where his mouth would be. “Kuiil, are you back to the ship yet? Are you there? Do you copy?” He questions frantically.

   “Yes!”

   “Are you back to the ship yet?”

   “Not yet.”

   “Get back to the ship and bail! Get the kid out of here. We're pinned down!”

   Jesla tenses up when her eyes land on a TIE fighter landing outside. Her fingers itch towards her lightsaber hidden beneath her cloak as a man exits the TIE fighter to stand in front of the common house. She knew if she used it, she would be on the New Empire's radar. Was she ready for that?

   “You have something I want,” the man states aloud to them. Jesla looks him up and down, not recognizing him. Who was this guy?

   “You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of. But you do not,” the man continues. Was he talking about the Child? 

   Looking to Mando, Jesla sees him trying to get through to Kuiil. “Kuiil, are you back to the ship yet? They're on to us. Kuiil, come in!”

   “In a few moments, it will be mine. It means more to me than you will ever know.”

   “Kuiil... Are you there?! Come in, Kuiil! Kuiil, come in! Kuiil! Are you there?! Do you copy?! Kuiil! Kuiil!”

   When Kuiil doesn't answer, Mando looks over to Jesla and she can feel his desperation. This was not going well.

××××××

@living-that-best-life

Tags are open!

[stanakin96]

Every Word Against Our Skin/Ch. 2

The Prophecy declared the existence of a Chosen One. What the Jedis of old failed to consider was that "one" could be a soul shared by two. A dyad in the force, a bond unbreakable even in death.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26032717/chapters/64261870#workskin

When Qui-Gon Jinn found Anakin Skywalker on the desert of Tatooine and brought him to Coruscant, he was given a warning by Master Yoda in private. Hoping that he would have something to inform him about Anakin’s status to be trained by the Jedi, Qui-Gon listened intently.

“Be careful with them, you must” he’d said, staff in hand and waddling next to him.

“Them?” Qui-Gon replied, folding his arms across his broad chest.

When Qui-Gon Jinn found Anakin Skywalker on the desert of Tatooine and brought him to Coruscant, he was given a warning by Master Yoda in private. Hoping that he would have something to inform him about Anakin’s status to be trained by the Jedi, Qui-Gon listened intently.

“Be careful with them, you must” he’d said, staff in hand and waddling next to him.

“Them?” Qui-Gon replied, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“Kenobi and the boy Skywalker,” Yoda continued to walk forward, not-considering of how cryptic he may or may not have been, “a powerful bond in the force, I feel.”

-

Anakin woke up slowly, which was a true feat, considering how he usually woke up. He couldn’t quite place what had woken him when he saw a smallish well on the right side of the bed where his Master once slept. He turned over to face the kitchen, where he heard the tell-tale sign of Obi-Wan’s existence, the sound of a teapot whistling on the stove.

So was his routine, his sacred Jedi rituals. Qui-Gon had instilled in him the importance of a hot cup of tea before the day began. Obi-Wan always found a way to do it; on mornings before invasions, when they were stranded in remote villages.

Anakin shuffled in the sheets for a moment, the thought of Qui-Gon ringing out a certain level of jealousy and discomfort. He couldn’t help but wonder if Obi-Wan’s bond with his Master was stronger than what he had with him. Anakin was reckless, stubborn. He disliked hot tea; his impatience did not lend itself to practices that required a great amount of time. Qui-Gon would have never gone dark, never would have even thought about doing what he had done.

He wondered how where life began after everything that had happened. Would his feet touch the ground quietly now? Was his ribcage smaller to compensate for the hole in his chest? He didn’t know how to exist in this life anymore when he remembered the small flicker of hope warming a kettle in the kitchen. With any given sunrise, there would be Obi-Wan and a pot of boiling water.

Anakin’s body still ached from the night previous, so he continued to lay in bed and simply listen to the sounds of Obi-Wan in the kitchen. If he closed his eyes again and focused hard enough, it was almost as though he’d woken up on the sofa of Obi-Wan’s room in Coruscant after a long mission.

Magically, he was not wrought with guilt that manifested physically, he was not a traitor to the Jedi, and he and Obi-Wan were not on the run. The sound of Obi-Wan’s tired morning movements, loud clanging of mugs, and shutting of cabinets made it all feel just a hair less painful.

“Would you like any?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice still sleepy. Anakin wondered what his hair looked like.

“No,” he replied, Obi-Wan always asked and the answer was always the same.

Were they going to pretend that Anakin had not completely lost himself? The thought loomed over his existence like a knife hung above his head on a thinning string.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t really a question,” Obi-Wan replied, pouring the hot water into another mug and taking them both in his hands. Anakin sat up to get a full look at him, which never ceased to shock him. He’d taken off the top layer of his robe and wore only his pants, socks, and a tan undershirt that clung tightly to his chest. Anakin did not fight him on the tea.

There was also the undeniable fact that Anakin had kissed him to address. They’d also slept in the same bed. Selfish as it was; everything paled in existence to those small facts. After years of wondering, Anakin finally knew how it felt to have Obi-Wan’s warm lips on his, to have his fingers run through his hair. It made him sick to think about it, how he’d never felt anything better in the whole of his life.

“How did you know I was awake?” Anakin asked as he wrapped his fingers around the mug, noticing that they were still dark with soot and dirt. Anakin savored the moment; he hadn’t been warm like this in years.

Obi-Wan sat down at the foot of the bed, Anakin did his best to not make it too obvious that he was staring. “I just had a feeling,” Obi-Wan replied, bringing his mug to his lips and taking a sip. Silence once again filled the spaces between them as Anakin felt himself slip into a panic.

“I don’t know,” Anakin started, he’d never been at such a loss for words, “I don’t know how to go on.”

As though it was instinct, Obi-Wan wrapped his palm around Anakin’s fingers, they were warm from tea.

With me, Obi-Wan thought, you will go on with me.

“Why would you want to?” Anakin replied, unaware that Obi-Wan hadn’t physically said a word to him. Anakin had heard his thoughts, sensed how he felt for him. The two exiled Jedis realized it at the same time.

“I don’t believe you have a choice,” Obi-Wan said, pulling his hand tighter around Anakin’s and catching a bit of his robe on his nails. The two of them remained in silence, sending thoughts to each other like letters, still unsure of how they were being delivered.

“I can’t wear these anymore,” Anakin choked out, suddenly all too aware of the dried blood that rimmed his sleeves. Obi-Wan didn’t deserve to touch it, the lives Anakin had taken. He felt himself begin to panic again, the smell of his robes noxious and making him feel sick. Obi-Wan set his mug down and quickly shifted his hands to Anakin’s arms. He squeezed tightly in an attempt to ground him, something they used to do when Anakin was small.

“I’ll find something,” Obi-Wan said, looking fiercely at Anakin’s eyes and using closed phrases. Anakin nodded. Once he could feel Anakin’s breathing slow, Obi-Wan let go of him.

He returned to a shirtless Anakin, his skin light with sweat. Obi-Wan felt the urge to wrap his arms around Anakin’s body, trace his fingers over his bare spine and kiss up his neck. He pushed the thought away, now aware that Anakin could likely tell what he was thinking. He sat down behind Anakin so he wasn’t facing him anymore in a feeble attempt to try and control his thoughts.

“I found these,” Obi-Wan said, handing a small pile of white clothing to Anakin, doing his best not to imagine Anakin putting them on. The thin fabric clinging to his chest, the sleeves cutting off at his bicep to reveal strong, tanned arms.

“Thank you,” Anakin replied as Obi-Wan stood up, fully aware that any more time spent with Anakin would be too much for him.

“Meet me outside when you’re done, we’ll look for food,” Obi-Wan said, remembering the faint growl he’d heard from Anakin’s stomach while he was still asleep.

Obi-Wan hurried out of the house and rested his back on the nearest rock, almost forgetting his lightsaber just to be out of the same room as Anakin while he dressed. Up until the past few days, Obi-Wan had been successful in hiding his feelings for Anakin. However, after smuggling him to safety after multiple disastrous crimes against the Jedi, kissing him into the sand, and nearly offering him all of his life force: it was abundantly clear how Obi-Wan felt for him.

It wasn’t long before Anakin joined him outside, Obi-Wan all but gasped aloud when he saw Anakin. He’d never seen him in such light clothing before. He wore a tight, thin white shirt that showed his collarbones, and tan pants that were too short for him. Rarely was there clothing that wasn’t too tight on Anakin.

The pair walked in silence, the only sound between them being the barking of the sand from their heavy boots. Anakin didn’t recognize this part of Tatooine from when he lived there, and yet, being on the desert world felt more like home than he’d ever felt on Coruscant. They reached a canyon-type entrance when they heard the quiet roar of something angry in the distance. Anakin looked at Obi-Wan with a feared expression.

“Have you ever battled a dragon?” Anakin asked, desperately trying to remember him and Obi-Wan’s escapades when they were younger.

The cry in the distance grew louder. Before Obi-Wan and Anakin could retreat, they heard the heavy footsteps of a Canyon Krayt Dragon. It reared its large, scaly head past one of the walls of rock. Anakin and Obi-Wan both immediately drew their lightsabers, each one desperate to protect the other. The Krayt Dragon loudly roared at them and snapped its large, venomous teeth at Anakin.

Watch my six, Anakin thought, to which Obi-Wan immediately obeyed. He pressed his back into Anakin’s as he slashed the dragon over one of his giant toes.

“How did you hear that?” Anakin yelled, feeling the urge to duck and hitting the ground with his knees. Obi-Wan ran his lightsaber over the leg of the dragon, somehow trusting that Anakin would have moved by then. The dragon wailed in pain, defenseless against the two Jedi, somehow able to predict the other’s move before they’d done it.

Anakin felt, once more, a surge in the force from Obi-Wan, and did what he assumed he wanted him to. Without another word exchanged, Obi-Wan protected Anakin while he drew a lightsaber into the dragon’s chest, something he wouldn’t have been able to do without his assistance. Another second passed, Anakin drew his lightsaber to make the final, fatal move, when he felt resistance coming from Obi-Wan through their bond, who was now pressing his hands against the fallen creature.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, looking Anakin, who’d put his saber away and sank to the ground next to him. The dragon heavily breathed, taking in loud gasps of air in its final breaths. Anakin suddenly felt a tether between him and the dragon, only to realize that Obi-Wan had his hands on his wounds. He wasn’t healing him, but rather sending him away peacefully.

Why can I feel it, then? Anakin wondered.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, Anakin, who for whatever reason felt undeniably affected by Obi-Wan’s meditation and focus, placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. With a few breaths, Anakin felt the dragon’s chest calmly slow without even touching it. He couldn’t quite describe how the force felt around Obi-Wan, only able to identify its level of purity and light. If the force that surrounded Obi-Wan had a color, he imagined it would be golden.

A certain level of warmth filled Anakin the longer he touched Obi-Wan. He didn’t have to bring the animal to peace as it passed away, but Obi-Wan often acted in the best interest of others, rarely thinking of himself.

“That was-” Anakin started, breathing heavily as he felt fresh blood pumping through his veins.

“Incredible,” Obi-Wan finished, stepping toward Anakin’s warm body. Never in his life had he been so in sync with someone in battle, not even with Qui-Gon. It had allowed him to send the Kyat dragon away peacefully and predict every one of Anakin’s moves in combat.

Anakin knew it wasn’t the time, right after a life or death battle, but couldn’t help himself. Obi-Wan was so close to his skin, and he’d gotten a taste of how good it felt to lose himself in his old Master just a day ago. He could read his thoughts; he could see just how much Obi-Wan wanted it too. With one move, he had Obi-Wan pressed hard against a neighboring rock wall, hot lips crashing against his.

Obi-Wan pushed where Anakin deeply needed him, it had always been this way. The only difference was instead of pushing Anakin in lightsaber combat, he was parting Anakin’s lips with his tongue, rendering him so dizzy he thought he might faint. Anakin pulled harder, moving his hands to Obi-Wan’s neck to keep him close, the mysterious surge in the force pumping through his fingertips.

Anakin didn’t have to wonder if Obi-Wan felt it too, he could feel it in his every touch. It was as though he and Obi-Wan had a special reserve of the force between the two of them that only grew stronger the longer they touched each other.

Kissing Obi-Wan felt like kissing a small fire, every small slip of breath only warmed Anakin more. Every drag of his fingernails down Anakin’s back only lit up his skin. He couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to have Obi-Wan on top of him, pressing his back into the warm sand. It took everything in Anakin’s power not to ask. Their bond transcended that of the physical world, he knew Obi-Wan could feel how badly he wanted him through the circle of the force around them.

All it would take was a simple question.

“I need you,” Anakin whispered as though Obi-Wan had pulled the words out of his mouth. He hadn’t felt so alive in what felt like his entire life. Obi-Wan made every fear he held disappear, his lips brought Anakin back to who he knew he was. Obi-Wan slowly pulled away from Anakin, his soft breath pressing against Anakin’s skin.

“I’m here,” he replied, draping a finger lightly over Anakin’s neck. Obi-Wan pulled him in without having to ask, Anakin’s body under his complete and utter control. He placed another warm kiss on the base of Anakin’s jaw, feeling that words were not enough to get across how he felt for him.

Obi-Wan slowly switched spots with Anakin and softly cornered him into the rock, his fingers gripping to the fabric of his white shirt. Obi-Wan pushed his knee in between Anakin’s legs and kissed him, soft moans perching on the top of Anakin’s lips. He dug his fingers tightly into Anakin’s skin upon the discovery of Anakin’s cock, hard even through his pants.

I need you more, Obi-Wan thought.

Their new bond made everything feel stronger, every word that was said to them was louder and everything they saw was brighter. This made the sounds of Anakin’s heavy breath and whining all the more tempting to Obi-Wan. He felt his pants grow tighter with every move. He knew that even a minute more of this would be enough to send him from wanting to touch Anakin to taking his clothing off, he pulled away. He looked at Anakin, a certain desire he’d only seen him don in battle waving over his eyes.

“You’re still healing, Anakin” Obi-Wan started, trying to calm his breath, “I need you to be healed before we-“

Anakin opened his mouth to protest but decided a small kiss would be better. He softly placed his lips onto the corner of Obi-Wan’s mouth as he felt Obi-Wan’s words, earnest and chaste in nature warm his skin. Obi-Wan could only be exactly who’d he’d always been: good, just, and honest.

“Okay,” Anakin whispered, feeling the fierceness of the force between the two of them grow hotter than the sand at his feet. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed into Anakin, kissing him once more, pressing his love for him into his lips.

All the while, the shared heartstring between the two of them grew shorter, bonding them far beyond what they could imagine. Glitters of Obi-Wan’s life force pushed against the power of Anakin, the Chosen One.

Together, they solidified what Master Yoda had predicted and what Qui-Gon had been warned of. Unknowing of the path that lied ahead now that the power they shared was realized, fulfilling the prophecy: one shared breath at a time.

[izzyovercoffee]

Prompt number: 23. “You can’t give more than yourself.” Fandom: Knights of the Old Republic Rating: PG Warnings/Tags: none that I can tell, ask to tag if need Summary: [Revan] and [the Exile] share some tea and watch the dawn arrive.  Notes: featuring m!Revan and f!Exile from long before the Mandalorian Wars, when they were both young Jedi in The Jedi Order. I avoided naming either of them, for hopefully obvious reasons

##. but he would not call her a delight to her face

  Green.

More green in all the scenery than he’d been familiar with in his youth. More foliage, and breathing life in this immediate vicinity than he would have seen over the course of a lifetime from before.

A lifetime, it felt, of space and distance between himself and the place, the life, the family, the person he was.

He’s earned his tea and silence at dawn. A moment to gather himself, and taste the bitter cold of the evening passed, and feel neither required nor accidentally prone to divulge any ulterior or deeper insight to any who asked.

Who made their question innocently probing, in the way the masters all do.

He could not say he’s sick of it. He could not be… ungrateful. He could not be frustrated, or irritated, or annoyed. Thankful---that’s what’s acceptable. The range of emotion that fell within boundaries of “safe” and did not ask for closer inspection was a small one.

It chafed for some. For most, even.

He’d been intimately familiar with tempering his reactions so as not to call attention to himself, in another life.

“I didn’t ask for company,” he says.

“I did not come here to seek yours,” she answers.

He shifts from his position on the stone he’d taken to sitting on for several weeks now, on unbroken mornings.

He could feel her presence from a great distance---and knew she approached him, long before she reached the foot of the mountain he’d taken his tea so often. And yet, he hadn’t moved, hasn’t moved still.

If he so desired, he could have left long before she arrived. So why didn’t he?

Curiosity.

“If not mine,” he asks, and sets down his tea beside himself, “then whose?”

“No one,” she says. She watches him with critical eyes, unpainted face pale under the early morning light that just barely breaks between the boughs of the trees overhead. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

He finds that hard to believe.

“Well,” he says, and despite the interruption he finds amusement in it. “Here I am.”

“Here you are,” she agrees. She lingers by the line of the trees, still observing him from a careful distance, as if expecting him to bite, or lash out, or some other such thing. She looks as she does before every fight---observant, silent, calculating.

Before every conversation, too, if he’s to be honest.

He wonders, often, if the others noticed it. If any of the others in that Temple a long, long way below them now have ever wondered at her potential and thought, perhaps, to crush it. They certainly go out of their way to minimize the full breadth of her impact in simply existing.

Unfortunate.

That’s what his latest master says, often. Deeply unfortunate.

But she cannot, will not, intervene on her behalf, and he finds himself wondering why. Or, perhaps more importantly: why not.

It’s neither here nor there.

“Now that you’ve found me,” he breaks the quiet between them, “perhaps you’d like to join me? Or would you prefer to linger by the trees?”

He watches her remain cautious, though something passes behind her eyes that resembles something akin to softening. Despite himself, or perhaps not with any spite involved at all, he feels the draw of her presence and simply allows himself to bend to it.

These delicate chords of connection, through personal, interpersonal, the force, or so on, all work in many directions and acts of give, and take. Certainly it isn’t the first time he’s felt unburdened by her presence, as if a soothing air’s come over him by simply allowing her to be within his vicinity.

And even so, he still finds it difficult to understand what roils behind her eyes.

It’s a guess---a gut feeling, a supposition. Something churns and storms within her, beyond the touch or reach or awareness of any of the masters.

But, as he’s heard said once, a lifetime ago---like recognizes like.

“I did not come to interrupt your tea,” she says, finally, and turns away from him.

“Perhaps not,” he replies to her back, “but now that I have company, I don’t wish to lose it.”

At that she stills. She turns, as if she was not expecting that---and, perhaps, she wasn’t.

He can’t know her heart, after all. So segmented she keeps everything. So compartmentalized. So separated, and distant, even when warm and connected and present.

Like recognizes like.

“Join me,” he says, again. “I have more tea, if that would tempt you.”

“I suppose I am easily tempted,” she says, voice dry as the deserts he’s left at his heel, and he can’t help but smile.

“Good,” he says, and watches as she finds a seat upon an old stone not far from him. Then he looks forward, to the overlook that bears down into the forest below them, and the distant Temple that only barely breaches the forest’s ceiling some, long, distance away.

They sat at a camp upon a cliff, though he could call it less of a camp and simply an adequate place to rest, with a safe center in which to burn fuel and boil water for tea.

She helps herself to some, without his insistence.

“I don’t come up here to think,” he says, “before you ask.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she replies, once more a hint of dry sarcasm underpinning her tone. “For all you know, I’ve come for free tea.”

A fair assessment. One he suspects isn’t true, but still. Fair.

“Most would.” He finds himself smiling in her direction, and is met with a barely-muted smirk from her.

“I know better than to fasten any suppositions on you.”

“Most don’t,” he says.

She raises her mug of tea to him, in a silent toast. He finds himself smiling wider as she drinks.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says, “that I am unlike most---or that would get me in further trouble.”

“Further trouble?” he asks. “From what I understand, everyone holds you in very high regard.”

Her smirk takes an edge that feels wholly unsuitable to a pleasant conversation.

“Ah, yes, I forgot---I am doing very well, and I’m not to worry for a single thing I can control.” She takes another sip of the tea, and peers past the overlook. He does not follow her gaze, and instead admires her profile in the slowly dawning light.

Not to worry for a single thing she can control.

Now that is the frightening perceptiveness the masters were right to fear. Should be afraid of.

“All things done can be undone,” he says. “With some effort.”

 Though her face does not move from its position towards the overlook, her gaze shifts to peer at him through the corners of her eyes.

And then her gaze drifts back to the overlook. She takes another sip of her tea.

“With the right attitude,” she says, and sets the mug down in her lap, held between both hands. The heat of the tea rises over the mug in long lines of curling steam into the early morning air, and he remembers his---in time to realize it is cold, now.

“But I didn’t come to bother you with my anxieties,” she says.

“Perhaps not,” he says, and drinks from his now-tepid tea. “But, I can empathize.”

“Can you?” she asks, and to his surprise her question is not sharp, not laced with biting sarcasm, not high and disbelieving. She asks and there’s a note of loneliness, of desperation and isolation hand-in-hand and heart-over-heart.

“I do,” he says, rather than I can. It is a confirmation, rather than a possibility.

It is too strong a statement for them who barely know each other, and yet…

And yet he feels it, as deeply as he can know it---they share a future, uncertain and tenuous as that future might be. From how, or why, he cannot say. The Force, in that way, is strange and un-malleable, revealing only what it wishes to only the most discerning, and even now… even now, even here, he holds uncertainty and certainty with equal measure in his heart with and for all things---save this one.

“I do,” he says again.

She continues to watch the scenery, the view, the breeze and the low-flying clouds that choke the sky of the forest below. The fog rolls in as suddenly as it dissipates, and it is a sight that arrests even the most bitter and jaded at a moment’s notice.

“That’s not a relief,” she says.

It is a statement he’s not expecting, and it wounds him in a way he cannot prepare for. He schools his temper as tepid as the tea he drinks, and simply draws from his half-empty cup between his hands as he waits for her elaboration.

Why does that wound? Why does it hurt?

He has no time to consider it.

“It’s not something two people should feel, much less just me.”

And as quickly as the hurt pierced him, it dissolves away with the last of his tea. He wonders, momentarily, if the hurt he felt was even his own, or if she bled into him in some, sudden, vulnerable moment.

If, in understanding, he scraped apart the dust and fog of distance and peered into that roiling storm hidden away within her---there and gone like a cool breath on the early morning wind.

Oh. The masters did not, truly, understand the depth of fear they should have held at all, did they?

“I like to think,” he says, and finds his voice misbehaving in a way it hasn’t in a long, long time---and even that is cause for alarm, though he dismisses it just as easily. “I like to think that misery, in shared company, is a lighter burden.”

“Mm,” she hums, noncommittal, as she takes another sip of her tea. “Or the burden is doubled.”

He nearly laughs.

“You’re surprisingly negative for all the praise otherwise that surrounds you,” he says, and shifts on his seat to face her fully. “Do you reserve this only for those with empathy?”

“Perish the thought,” she says, and turns to face him, too. The pot of water, kept warm by the heat beneath it, remains between them. “I don’t reserve negativity for just anyone---only honesty.”

Only honesty.

Curious.

“Shall I thank you?” he asks.

“No need,” she says, and motions with her mug to the kettle between them. “The tea is thanks enough.”

At that, he finally allows a laugh---and helps himself to more tea.

What a delight, he thinks.

What a shame he kept his distance for so long.

[politicalmamaduck]

Calligraphy and Atonement

Written for @the-reylo-void, who won second place in my 1000 Tumblr follower milestone giveaway. Her prompt was “reformed criminal (in AU) or atoning exile (in canon) Kylo living in the country and hating it but then Rey being around and making it worthwhile somehow. Even as he whines about it.” I hope I was able to do it justice! Read it on AO3 here.

He was not looking forward to her visit, he insisted to himself. The only reason they put her on the list of approved visitors was they were still afraid of him, and even more afraid of his powers. She was meant to discourage his affinity for the Dark Side of the Force, to convince him to renounce that part of himself, he knew.

While he said nothing, he laughed at their weakness, their fear, their misunderstanding of the Force that allowed such a loophole. He could no more renounce the dark than she could. Theirs was a balance, equal parts light and dark, whether either of them wanted to admit it or not, though it took different forms within them both.  

The sun was shining on Aeneid and despite himself, the man formerly known as Kylo Ren, formerly known as Ben Solo, smiled. It felt like a fortuitous omen for her visit, even if he wasn’t looking forward to it. Or to her. So earnest, so desperately compassionate despite their disagreements.

Rey was an earthquake in his newly quiet life. He could no more afford to rock the ship of his life’s new trajectory than she could afford to waste water on Jakku. So he would not allow himself to care about her, no matter how hard she tried to extract him from behind the transparisteel walls he built for himself.

He sighed, and looked at his small garden. The vegetables were necessary to supplement the supplies she was bringing. The flowers, a moment of weakness. A slip in his determined effort not to be in love with the last Jedi, not to look forward to her visits each month.

If his jailers were to find out, surely they would send someone else in her place, or not send anyone at all.

They had chosen his planet of exile because it had no known galactic significance, and in the Outer Rim, it was still close enough to hyperspace lanes that someone could get there within a reasonable amount of time, should something happen.

That didn’t mean it was easy to find, or easy to fly there alone, but Rey didn’t mind. She visited every standard month or so, bringing supplies to last him until the next month. The New Republic leadership wanted her influence on the former Supreme Leader, even if they were afraid of her too. The last Jedi hadn’t been quite what they had expected; she would not, could not be the figurehead, the perfect symbol for which the Resistance was desperate after Crait.

The war dragged on. The war ended. The First Order collapsed.

None of this mattered to Rey.

She saved Kylo’s life, a fact conveniently omitted from official accounts of the last battle, which emphasized the last Jedi’s heroism and bravery as the Republic’s savior.

She said nothing more than she needed to about the arrangement allowing her, and only her for now, to visit the Supreme Leader in exile. The balance was far too precarious. She submitted her reports upon return, ensuring she told only what she needed to and nothing more, nothing less.

He was looking down at his feet when she arrived. Physically, he looked healthy enough; he certainly wasn’t thriving, eating meagre rations meant to last him the month along with whatever he could find of the local vegetation. Mentally, she knew the toll was much more difficult. His attempts to block her out of his mind, to close their bond, were stronger than ever. It was as if he angled a ship’s deflector shields around himself with the Force.

She would not allow him to wallow in misery. They had work to do.

“Let’s get your supplies inside,” she said. “Since it’s due to start getting colder here, I have some extra blankets and a winter coat for you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, helping her move the crates she already unloaded from the Millennium Falcon. When he paused at the entrance ramp, she stopped behind him and let him have the moment he needed.

“She’s flying well,” Rey ventured. “No trouble with the hyperdrive this time. Chewie and I worked hard on her before I came.”

“That’s good,” he murmured, not looking back at her as he ventured inside. She did not follow, instead deciding to go inside his small dwelling and unpack his supplies.

He joined her shortly, and asked “Will that be all then?” as he washed his hands.

“No,” she said, softly. She pulled one of the ancient Jedi texts from her pack. “You have to help me decipher and translate this text.”

He sighed, but made a pot of the special Gatalentan tea his mother had sent, and gestured for Rey to sit at his small wooden table. He had crafted it himself, with what tools he was allowed. The wood was rough, but warm in color. She smiled as she touched it and looked around at the life he was building for himself: a bed, just big enough for him, now piled with extra blankets in the corner; his calligraphy set nearby; flowers and vegetables planted outside. She knew he started planting the vegetables as soon as he could after arrival, but the flowers were a more recent addition.

He handed her a cup of tea, and sat down. Their knees brushed, and a charge went through her. She finally felt a rush of emotion from him and his presence in the Force once more. It had been so long since he had any physical contact, and it startled him out of his protective stance.

“Ben,” she murmured, taking his left hand from his tea cup. His other hand remained clenched by his side.

He steadfastly refused to look at her, looking to his right and down at the floor.

“Look at me, Ben,” Rey said, reaching up to turn his face towards hers. “Shutting me out will do you no good. We’ve had this conversation before.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his eyes closed but the tears within them audible in his voice. “And I don’t want them to stop you from coming.”

“They won’t,” she replied, taking his hand once more and squeezing it. “They’re afraid of us,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

He nodded, taking a deep breath. The tears were gone from his eyes. “Which text did you bring today?”

“The Aionomica.”  She opened it, and they began their work.

The day passed far too quickly; they paused from their painstaking attempts to decipher the ancient text only for Ben to keep getting them tea and food.

The sun was setting, and Rey knew she had to say goodbye to Ben for another month. She would miss that flash of Force presence, the warm feeling of their bond, until she could see him again.

“I have to go,” she said, looking up at him while they cleaned up from dinner.

He nodded. “I know,” he said, looking at the dishes.

“I’ll miss you.”

“You will?” he asked, suddenly turning to look at her, his eyes golden in the fading sunlight.

“Yes. You’d know the truth of it if you stopped closing yourself off from me.”

Wiping his hands off, he went over to his calligraphy set, picking up a flimsi. His broad strides crossed his small home in barely two steps, it seemed.

“This is for you,” he said softly, handing her the flimsi.

It featured her name, beautifully formed, along with quotations from the Jedi text on which they had worked the prior month, and a drawing of the flowers outside at the bottom.

While she gazed upon his beautiful gift, she felt him opening himself back up to her again, purposefully rather than his slip when they touched that afternoon. She saw him, planting the flowers outside and thinking of her, then forcing himself not to think of her as he cut down trees for his furniture. She knew he saw her, planning her return visit and working with Chewie on the Falcon.

She set the precious gift down, and pulled Ben down to her for a deep kiss. She could feel his surprise in the Force and the tension in his shoulders, but he then relaxed, putting his arms around her and pulling her up off her feet.

She smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek when they broke apart.

“I’ll be back next month,” she said, looking back at him. “I’ll treasure this in the meantime,” she added, holding up his calligraphy.

“I love you,” she added, the setting sun framing her in the doorway.

“I know,” he replied, smiling softly.

[permian-tropos]

My Big TLJ Opinion Post

I understand why TLJ was so divisive for the fandom. The Last Jedi has a very strong central theme and message, and nearly everything in the story is put to the service of that. This includes beloved characters. People who believe the movie ruined their favorite characters aren’t entirely wrong, because the movie did bend them quite a bit to suit the narrative’s needs. But this story wasn’t trying to make each and every character an iconic, inspirational, perfect hero. In fact, the message of the movie is that we need to look past our heroes and the shallow trappings of our mythologies to find something deeper.

As I sat there in the theater, I remember thinking, “My god. This has become a checklist of everything I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to see Rey and Kylo have a Force bond, with Rey convincing herself she can save him. I didn’t want Luke to be so damaged and flawed. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want Finn and Rose to have a romance. I didn’t want Rey’s parents to be nobody special. I wanted Snoke to be developed more.”

But, though the movie isn’t perfect, nearly everything that I would have had on my list of “things I don’t want” was there for the sake of the theme. Luke believes that he has to live in exile because he is Luke Skywalker. Because he is a hero, and everyone is expecting him to come back and save the day. He believes that the world falls out of balance when we put too much faith in legendary, larger-than-life figures, and in dynasties of heroes. That this is how the Jedi fell, this is how he failed Ben. The fact that he did something so appalling -- just for a moment, believing that he must strike down his own nephew -- is not a development I wanted for Luke because I bought into the myth of him. I wanted him to be someone special I could look up to and believe in. He told us all, we the audience, to our faces, that we were wrong about that.

It’s a bold storytelling move and I think it’s the only one that could have kept Star Wars fresh after all these years. 

Rey’s story arc with Kylo might have been laden with sexual tension and ship tease, which just isn’t my cup of tea, but there was a point behind that. Rey was falling for the narrative that we needed a Skywalker to save us. That she could be the hero that brought one back. That she could find her place by doing this. And the narrative treats this as a mistake she makes. She is seduced by Kylo, and by the story of him as the potential savior. And at the end of the movie, she literally closes the door on him. He isn’t the last hope of the galaxy. He’s the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He is the despair. 

But even Kylo contributes to this theme by his determination to “kill the past”. The reason why Snoke doesn’t get developed, the reason why he is destroyed, is because he too represents the old narratives. He is a larger than life evil, but the proper villain of this story is the fully fleshed out person, which Kylo obviously is. 

I’m not super hype about Finn and Rose still because there was that moment where Rey looked at them and I was like look this smells of love triangle okay.

But besides that, Rose was a wonderful character. Intensely likable, very well acted, and she represents the common, ordinary person. Her hatred of Canto Bight is one we’re supposed to completely sympathize with. And her choice to save Finn rather than let him sacrifice himself is important to the message that we mustn’t try to make ourselves legends, martyrs, larger than life. 

And finally, of course, the reveal of Rey’s parents. I think it’s necessary for Rey to be, in the end, just a person with the Force, not part of any legacy. The end of the movie shows that she’s not the only one, so it might well have been luck that she, as opposed to anyone else, was the one who became the hero. The scene where she’s in the cave showing a line of Rey reflections, tells us and her that she is her own lineage.

The only icon that isn’t really clasted is Leia, which I think I don’t mind because we’re all still mourning Carrie Fisher. The most she is brought down is when she admits that she was mistaken in trying to bring Ben Solo back. But Poe’s arc could partially be about learning to trust in people who aren’t Leia (who is his personal hero). Though he doesn’t really listen to her in the beginning of the story, so it’s a tenuous connection. 

Anyway, I’ve read opinions by people who identified most of these thematic elements, and then said “and that’s why I hate the movie because it was so disrespectful to Star Wars, trying to criticize its core appeal”. And for the people who feel that way, what can I say? 

But this movie did a very good job in conveying that central idea. I think I’ll share my opinions on various scenes over time, when they come up in conversation, but I think the acting was incredible, and the movie had so many fantastic visuals. Except for a few moments, I was sucked into appreciating all the story beats I’d imagined I’d hate.

And I really hope that the next movie continues with this theme of giving the Force back to the masses, to the common people, to all of us. It never should have belonged to the elites. Since TLJ basically crams ESB and RotJ parallels into one film, I hope that means that Episode 9 will be forced in an entirely new direction. 

I also hope that this movie’s anti-war themes lead to the next movie being about a Resistance that doesn’t rely on the war machine. We even had that moment showing that the instruments of war the Resistance used were coming from the same vile source. At the end of TLJ, the Resistance basically has exhausted all its war machines. They are only left with a rustbucket smuggling ship and hope. I hope that the movie shows the war being won with a people’s revolution, something clearly not funded by the Canto Bight war profiteers. 

[infinitesorrow]

    A POST IN RE: OBI-WAN’S SPIRITUAL LIFE POST-MUSTAFAR A.K.A. THE HERMIT YEARS …

    i want to  preface this post by saying that there will be heavy religious / spiritual content … idk just in cast that isn’t your cup of tea or you don’t really care. BUT I WILL SAY !!   THAT THE FOLLOWING IS PARAMOUNT TO MY UNDERSTANDING & CHARACTERIZATION OF OBI-WAN ESP POST-ROTS & i draw a lot of inspiration for the spiritual dimensions of his character from medieval mystic traditions …   i think that there is ahuge amount of inspiration that was pulled from mystic traditions in a few of the world’s major faiths when the Force & its followers were created, & i have / am studying up on some hindu & buddhist mysticism but since i am more familiar & i have spent a great deal of time studying medieval christian / catholic mysticism  ( which is actually pretty different than the mainstream idea you might have of this period in time in re: theology & practice, these mystics are my favs, plus mostly the way was paved by women which is ??? amazing. i love them, if ur interested in reading up, i have some great resources i could point you towards )  that’s where most of my inspiration comes from. as i gain a greater understanding of other faith traditions i will probably draw from them, as well.   all quotations in this post will be from the writings of  st. john of the cross,  a 16th century spanish monk of the carmelite order, mystic, & poet.

LET’S BEGIN WITH A DEFINITION OF MYSTICISM …

MYSTICISM:   ( noun )  belief that union with or absorption into the Deity or the absolute, or the spiritual apprehension of knowledge inaccessible to the intellect, may be attained through contemplation and self-surrender.

so basically …  mysticism is finding union or becoming one with the absolute. it is not something one can find solely via actions & teachings, but is fostered through contemplative prayer / meditation, silence, solitude. for some historical perspective, very often a huge focus of mystics was love, peace, & self-sacrifice. they also focused heavily upon the concept of detachment.

   sound familiar?

now let’s move on to obi-wan …   my understanding of his spiritual life  ( BECAUSE LET’S NOT BEAT AROUND THE BUSH HERE, THE JEDI ORDER IS A RELIGIOUS ORDER, & AS IN ALL RELIGIOUS ORDERS, THERE WILL BE A MAINSTREAM UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT’S WHAT BUT THERE WILL ALSO BE A DIVERSITY OF DOCTRINE & PRACTICE )  before his solitude is that it is very regimented, very legalistic, which in of itself is not a bad thing. he focuses more on action, doctrine, & practice with a cultivation of his spiritual self that focuses upon his mission in the galaxy, mainly to be a guardian of peace & justice in the galaxy.

post-rots, when he’s on tatooine, he does not have the order to regulate his spiritual life & practice. he is left alone. he is forced into contemplation & a deeper practice of meditation than he was previously used to.

“Contemplation is nothing else but a secret, peaceful, and loving infusion of God, which if admitted, will set the soul on fire with the Spirit of love.”

THE FIRST FEW YEARS WERE HORRIBLE  !!!    HE WAS DEPRESSED !!  ALONE !!!   WANTED TO GIVE UP !!! TIRED !!! BEATEN DOWN !!! ALMOST LOST HIS FAITH IN THE FORCE !!!   however, as he meditated, communed with the Living Force & with Qui-Gon, he grew a deeper in understanding of his role in the universe, his place, the purpose & effects of his actions & choices, & after i’d say probably a decade ….   he found peace.

“To saints, their very slumber is a prayer.”

contemplation is all about setting yourself aside & focusing upon some aspect of the absolute, in order to either have some truth be revealed or to discover it through prayer & meditation. to the mystic, it is only in thesilence that the absolute can be heard & understood.

“It is best to learn to silence the faculties and to cause them to be still so that God may speak.”

however the discipline this requires is not something that just happens … it takes years of dedication. obi is sort of forced into this life of solitude & at first rebels against it. once he realizes that there is no changing what has happened, however, he adjusts & begins to really settle into the lifestyle.

a big thing for mystics is detachment. which is something obi struggles with his whole life. HOWEVER, i believe that on tatooine he really gets to the bottom of this elusive concept & is better for it.

“The soul that is attached to anything however much good there may be in it, will not arrive at the liberty of divine union. For whether it be a strong wire rope or a slender and delicate thread that holds the bird, it matters not, if it really holds it fast; for, until the cord be broken the bird cannot fly.”

“If you purify your soul of attachment to and desire for things, you will understand them spiritually. If you deny your appetite for them, you will enjoy their truth, understanding what is certain in them.”

everything he had ever been attached to is denied him as he begins his self-imposed exile on tatooine. he must learn through contemplation & meditation that these things, while important, had blinded him & had restricted him from becoming his full self.  

through his two decades in the desert, while he keeps watch over luke, HE FINDS PEACE !!!!   he realizes that his decisions had consequences, but that what happened was not his sole responsibility. he learns to let go of his resentment, & his hatred, he learns the value of love in the unconditional sense, love in the spiritual sense,LOVE THAT IGNITES STARS,  love that is an outpouring of the Force. he connects to the Force as he has never been able to before, & he becomes more powerful than he ever was in the first half of his life … but he does not need to use his power in the ways he had tried to when he was younger. he is content with his lot, he   FINDS !!!  PEACE !!! with his situation. with past events. he looks forward to the future because he becomessure … SURE … that the Force will work in the darkness to bring back the light.  

these final quotations i think are very important. obi has a   dark night of the soul   on tatooine, but he learns to appreciate & find the light even when, to others, it seems lost forever.  he finds hope & love. he finds rest.

“Desolation is a file, and the endurance of darkness is preparation for great light.”

“If a man wishes to be sure of the road he treads on, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark.”

“In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.”