#also vader did not defeat palpatine in combat sorry he just grabbed him while he was distracted

[inquisitor-apologist]

Thinking about how, at the end of the day, at the fatal moment, the sunset of the Republic, it wasn’t Yoda, or Obi-Wan, or even the Chosen One himself standing in the way of Palpatine. It was Mace Windu.

Mace Windu, the inventor of Vaapad and Master of Form VII, the Jedi's strongest duelist, the only person to ever defeat Palpatine in combat. Mace Windu, Master of the Jedi Council and the youngest Master ever appointed to it, the revered leader of the Order. Mace Windu, who forgave even those who tried to kill him, who risked his life over and over again for his troops, who, after 3 years of desperate war, tried to negotiate with battle droids. Mace Windu, who knew the clones were created by the Sith and chose to trust them, who saw every Shatterpoint in the Republic, and loved it still, and fought for it until his last breath, until he was betrayed by Anakin, who he believed in and trusted despite everything.

Mace Windu, High General and hero of the Republic, the embodiment of the Light, the last and greatest champion of the Order, the best Jedi to ever live.

[capricornus-rex]

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (12)

Chapter 12: Fitting Into The Mould | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

A/N: I am so sorry for the delays. A lot of things have taken toll of me. One of which is learning that one of my coworkers is positive with COVID and I just happen to be one of the few people he was with the day before he stopped going to work. So I am required to go into home quarantine, only went out once to do my testing but I haven’t gotten my results yet in the past 5 days which made me extra anxious, and my time out of work will not be paid even though it’s considered “Official Business” as per my company’s COVID policy. But so far, I’ve been fine, which is good. Then my PS4 is on the brink of death just when I started playing Ghost of Tsushima for the first time, but most of the people in my forums say it just needs a deep clean but I’m too scared to take it apart because I’ve never done that. I didn’t want to write while my head’s muddled with these thoughts, but only now did the anxiety subside. I hope you guys understand. I figured the story’s quality will go bad while I have such thoughts and feelings.

Requesting to be tagged: @heavenly1927​

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 – 10 | Previous: Part 11 | Next: Part 13 | Masterlist

13 of ?

Irele had a kinder three weeks in Anathema than her first week in the Fortress.

As soon as her first day started, she’s required to march her way to the training dojo—to which she got lost in finding, no thanks to the crew working in this metal maze. She’s already feeling her breakfast burning in her stomach after jogging to the dojo, after so many failed attempts and subtle peeking over doors that are ajar, and saved herself from a first-day scolding at the expense of a slight stomach cramp.

Smoke plumed and framed along the walls, colored in blood-orange as the hydraulics and power coolants flowed and hissed underneath the grated floor. At the center of the room, a lone trooper—clad in the same, onyx black armor like the previous ones she saw—stood, with a weapon at the ready; his visage standing in the heart of the dojo gave off an intimidating air around him, as if untouchable, invincible.

Unwelcoming and strict, the instructor obviously to spend every minute wisely.

“Grab a weapon.”

Irele had noticed a rack at the far end of the room; picking up his mood from the moment she saw him, she briskly walked to the weapons rack, troubled herself for a minute on what to use, took a gulp and a breath before snatching the javelin.

She kept her eyes on her faceless teacher while she walked towards him, but her hands searched for the activation switch. The weapon crackled to life, purple lightning glowed Irele’s fair, small face, and she gazed at the cracks of light dancing at the end of the lance.

“Now…” the trooper poised himself in a defensive stance, after showing off a spin with his twin batons. “We begin.”

Irele is no brawler. The only time she ever fought someone or something was a Massiff that had been loosed by its Tusken Raider owner, probably sent out to find and hunt down prey—and that was two years ago, she had shuffled her way out of that situation with a scraped forearm.

Of course, her attacks are flimsy and somewhat limp-looking to the instructor—who had been training a lifetime for combat. The trooper would retaliate with a heavier strike, tenfold from Irele’s power, and would reset his stance for another attack; whereas Irele would still be finding her footing after she’d been staggered.

“This is pathetic!” barked the trooper, relaxing his posture and twirls the left baton. “Put some back into it!”

The poor girl cannot talk back, no matter how much she wanted to. For every time she was staggered or pushed back, she could only coerce herself to poise into a somewhat satisfactory attack stance and get another shot—only to be denied.

This entire session felt like hours on end. Irele could barely notice any progress in herself, except the frustration, disappointment, and boredom all mixing together within the trooper as this day goes on. Whenever he was not satisfied, he would berate the girl—to which he thought would negatively motivate her to attack him more strongly.

Meanwhile, in the confinements of his chamber, Darth Vader watches over Irele’s performance virtually and in real-time. Hidden cameras were all over the dojo, and every feed was relayed to the Vader in his chamber. Screens panned across the half of the circular shell, he could see Irele versus the trooper exchange blows, although he kept his eyes on the girl—his young ward.

He could have sworn he feels something in her. At this time, Irele was beginning to grow exhausted and eager to finish this—she just doesn’t know how to.

“Come on, little girl, put some back into it!” her instructor growled. “I could’ve done better things than  this today!”

Thinking that he can just get this over with by defeating her in the spar, call it a day, and pick up where they’ve left off tomorrow—he charges at the girl who was still gaining her bearings after feeling the weight of the exhaustion get the best of her. At this time, Vader’s eyes remained on the girl, and secretly, he hoped something would come up.

Blinded by his lax arrogance, the trooper rushed towards Irele and raised his arms—both batons at the ready—and sprung up from the floor. Just when he thought he had landed a hit on the girl’s ribcage, Irele blocked it with her javelin at the very last minute.

Finally! The satisfaction of receiving the first step to a seemingly successful attack pattern flooded the girl with a newfound vigor. Irele pushed back the trooper while javelin and batons were still in contact with each other; little by little, her footwork was gradually becoming better, not by a lot, but it was preferable than her stumbling stupor a while ago, there was balance and there was pacing. Clearly, her strikes were not as strong as the instructor had hoped, but they were getting somewhere and that’s enough.

“Your strikes still need work!”

“Don’t…! You…! Just…! Ever…! SHUT UP!?”

For every word Irele roared, a strike would follow.

Her attacks were nothing flashy, she was only using what she knows from Tatooine—one of the few fragment of her past life still clinging into her…

And now it’s being weaponized.

Vader shuffled slightly where he sits. The anger in Irele’s voice and words found their way through his thick hide of an armor—albeit virtually—the emotion was wholly familiar to him.

Anger.

Hate.

It’s something he knows well.

Perhaps too well.

He didn’t wait for the training to finish, he’s watched enough he thinks. With the touch of a button, the screens fold back into their metal hatches within the shell of the chamber; another prompted his seat to swivel so he faces the opening. He steps onto a black circular base, a white ring of light hums alive the moment his boot stepped on it and shifted all his weight on it as he positions himself kneeling.

A bust of his master buzzes into life, shrouded in black was a rather pale face, even in the blue rendition of the hologram, one could tell that his color was sickly and white-as-bone.

“Master…” Vader greeted.

The Emperor did not linger into the niceties. He had sensed that Vader was about to give word of his ward’s progress.

“Her training has begun then.”

“Yes, my master.”

“Her anger… she weaponizes them,” observed Palpatine. He slighted his head back. “I can feel it. Truly strong she is with the dark side of the Force.”

“It is a nature that she cannot seem to outgrow.”

“Good,” croaked the Emperor. “The kin of Skywalker will have no trace of virtue but the Sith!”

“And she will be our asset, my lord.”