#forced to count

[defire]

Chapter 28: Striker Being Very Impolite

[this chapter canonically has a rape scene. For the nsfw version, you can find the full book on amazon, and this part on ao3. This version is a similarly intense alternative; content warnings below.]

Content: restraints, slapping, knife, HUMILIATION, belt whipping, forced to count, dissociation, hurt/comfort

"Wait, Enimee," Nife pleaded, "you're not going to leave me alone with--"

She was cut off by the slam of the door as Enimee did leave.

Striker was undoing his belt as he stepped closer to the already-injured girl huddled in the corner.

It had been a couple months since Nife even considered fighting back, given the damn tattoos. But Striker didn't have one. And whatever he was planning to do, she couldn't let him. She didn't like the grim look on his face as he pulled his belt off.

She tried once more to get up on her own, but the sting down her welted back when she tried made her crumple back with a small whine.

Striker wordlessly took her by a horn and yanked her back toward the middle of the room. She landed on her chest and his boot was planted lightly on her back, stopping her from getting up. Even that pressure was enough to make her whimper.

"You whip me with that belt, your sister will be angry," Nife said desperately. "They're not supposed to break my skin."

"Just your bones." Striker said, and Nife heard the buckle clink.

She shivered.

"I'll fight you." She said softly. "I'm not just your victim. And I can't tell you shit about the magic–agh!"

She broke off into a cry when he ground his heel into her bruised ribs.

Striker removed his foot and squatted down next to her, knee leaning onto her left shoulder just enough to threaten, without actually making the throbbing ache worse.

She felt a hand on the back of her head and winced, but nothing happened, and a stupid hope burst from her positive little heart, telling her that maybe, he wasn't going to hurt her at all. His hand patted lightly–no punching, no pulling.

"You brought this on yourself." He said.

"Okay, yay, I'm scared." Nife said in a monotone, but her voice trembled. "What part of 'I don't know' don't you understand?" She rasped, tasting floor dust that had gotten onto the side of her mouth. He was pushing her face gently into the floor as his fingers tangled in her hair with slowly-increasing pressure.

"Nife, I don't think you understand what is happening right now." He said. He reached over her and grabbed her right hand, pulling it behind her back despite her struggles. "I'm not trying to intimidate you."

"Well, you're failing." She let him press her wrist against the small of her back, knowing she wasn't even going to try to fight. She couldn't even stand, let alone throw a punch. Still, it made her hate herself a little more.

The belt clinked again and she felt it lightly tossed across her rear.

"Your lordship," Her voice hitched in a sob. "Please. I'll do whatever you want."

Except tell the truth about the magic.

"It's a little late for that." He said.

"What do you mean it's too late?" She struggled as her other wrist was crossed over the right one, pinned under his long fingers. "I'm scared! Okay? I'm scared. Just tell me what you want."

She could see him smile with her heat vision. It was a sickening grin. She realized he was stretching this out because he enjoyed it.

"Fuck you, just tell me what you want!" She said through a strangled sob. "I'll do whatever!"

"Like I said, this isn't intimidation." The belt eased under her wrists and got even tighter around them with a clink as the latch fell into place. "This is punishment."

His hands traced up her bruised sides, pressing in just enough to hurt. She held her breath so she didn't give him the satisfaction of a whimper of pain.

When he reached her shoulders, he gripped down on them like the way you grab a jar before unscrewing the lid--very fucking tight.

"I don't want you cursing now," He said into her ear, and she realized he was standing over her body, straddling her. "For every curse, there'll be another lash."

"Fantastic." She muttered. "I, lordship, I think they'll want–"

"This is about what I want." He said, gripped a little tighter, and flipped her over onto her back.

He got down on his knees, resting some weight on her stomach and making her nauseous. She watched his heat increase in his face and hands as he reached for her, and he was so hot by the time his fingers touched her temple that she expected him to rip her face off. They touched firmly, without causing harm.

"I don't want you speaking and distracting yourself from what I'm about to do." He said. "You're only allowed to say what I tell you to say. Do you understand?"

Nife could hardly make sense of the words. The weight on her stomach was pressing against the bruised rib on her back and it made all the words in her mind mix up. The nails pressed into her temple and she grimaced and turned her head, but he jabbed his thumb into her eye socket and dug in deeper.

"Do you understand?" He said, his voice even and calm, his face hot with rage.

"Yes–" She gritted out. "Sort of."

"That's two lashes."

"What–you asked me!"

"Six."

Nife bit her lip so she didn't curse and blinked a tear out of her eyes. Knowing Striker could see the pain face she was making in the lamplight didn't make her feel any better.

"Now do you understand?"

"...Yes." Nife guessed that was what he wanted to hear.

"You're missing something."

"Lordship." Nife said. She was almost grateful that he hadn't added a lash for that. It was infuriating to be grateful for that shit.

Striker leaned back, pressing into her stomach until she grunted. He eased up and scooted forward, knees on either side of her bound arms, and sat down higher on her chest, crushing her hands and the injured ribs. She wheezed out her air and nearly asked for mercy, but she was biting her lip to keep herself quiet.

"Is that better?"

"No, lordship."

"That's seven. Is it better?"

"F–" Nife bit her lip before she cursed at him. "Yes. Yes your lordship."

This fucking bastard wouldn't even let her use her mouth. Angry tears spilled out of her eyes as she tried not to sob under his oppressive weight.

He pulled out a knife.

"You Druids name yourselves when you turn thirteen, right?" Striker said calmly, placing the tip to her temple where he'd just been scratching.

"Yes. Lordship." Nife said in a monotone.

"You really like knives, then, don't you?"

"Yes lordship." 

He put the tip to her temple.

"Do you want it here?" He moved it to her mouth and tapped the hilt against her teeth through her lips, just hard enough to make them ache in her skull and she grunted and jerked away. 

"Eight."

Nife groaned wordlessly and a little sob came through her teeth. She was trying so hard not to cry. She couldn't break now.

"Here, or here?" He tapped the two places again, and this time she kept her face still. Before she could answer, he said, "I can either knock out a tooth with the hilt, or I can cut a nice little mark in your forehead. That one is much less painful. Yeah?"

"Yes lordship." She closed her eyes to roll them.

"Then you're going to sit up against the wall and let me. But the moment you struggle, I'll take one of your teeth. Understand?"

Nife licked her lips.

"Yes lordship."

"That's enough. No more talking." Striker got off her and she took a deeper breath.

He helpfully shoved her back onto her stomach with his foot and she wormed her way toward the wall. The effort to get herself up to the wall was so painful she almost wanted to give up and let him take a tooth. But she didn't. She was completely breathless and moaning by the time she got her back up against the wall.

All she heard in her head was her own voice saying "yes, lordship" over and over. Nothing funny, nothing clever, nothing to keep her sanity or remember who she was.

He knelt down over her legs and took her face in his hands, pressing her head back to the wall in a way that hardly let her breathe around his hand. He pressed the tip of the knife to her forehead and watched her flinch, then dug it across the edge of her forehead. She whimpered and hissed a breath through her teeth, forcing the noise down. Whatever he did, she wasn't going to scream. That would just get her more lashes anyway.

It must've been deep, because blood flowed and itched down the side of her head, into her eyebrow and over her eye, which she squinted to keep the blood out.

He leaned back, appraising her face.

"I expected you to mouth off already." He said thoughtfully. "You're so disgusting with blood running down your face. But don't worry. I don't mind getting my hands dirty." He slapped her, and a small smile flashed over his features before he hid it again.

She felt a flush coming to that side of her face, a stinging and tingling on top of everything else that was just very irritating. Maybe he wasn't planning on doing more than the whole... cutting, slapping, whipping thing. She could... maybe... handle that.

I can. She told herself. I can handle it.

She realized Striker was donning leather gloves; she'd seen him wear them before on horseback. She winced as he raised his hand, and again that tiny smirk twitched his mouth before he hid it again.

"I'm going to slap you." He said.

Yeah no shit.

"And every time I slap you, you're going to say, 'I am worthless'."

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, perhaps having momentarily forgotten what an absolute jackass he was. Well, now she was reminded.

"Go ahead. I'm waiting."

She opened her mouth to speak, but froze before the first word came out.

"Nine."

She licked her lips and gritted her teeth. Fuck it, it was just another lie. She lied all the time.

"I... am... worthless." She said, and her head ached for some reason.

He slapped her again.

She hesitated.

"Hm." The smile was more noticeable this time. "Perhaps you don't believe me?"

He reached back to the table and pulled something off it. A whip–a small one, maybe five feet long.

"Perhaps you think I'm afraid to hurt you?" He added. "My sister wants you to be miserable. I'm here with permission. Don't worry. I'm almost done."

Slap.

"I am worthless."

Slap.

"I'm worthless."

"That's eleven. I didn't tell you to say 'I'm', I told you to say 'I am'." And he slapped her again.

"I am worthless." Tears were running down both cheeks, and it wasn't from the slaps.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned mockingly, and hit her again. “It’s just a slap.”

“...I am worthless.” She said.

He kept going. Her face was swollen and stinging and numb all at once. She was sobbing every time he slapped her. She would sob hard and it would keep her from speaking, and then he'd add another lash to the tally. She was terrified. She almost wanted him to keep slapping her so that he never got to the whipping. Her head felt like it was sloshing against her skull now. The raised places from the slapping had bruises underneath.

"I am worthless." She slurred through swollen lips.

“And pathetic. And gross.” Striker looked at his bloody glove, rubbing sticky fingers together, and sniffed it as if to confirm.

He looked up at her, his mouth pressing itself against that cruel smile.

She braced for another slap, head against the wall, chin tucked, teeth clenched, tears drenching the sides of her face and shoulders.

He smiled briefly, stood up with a sigh, and removed the gloves. Then he took her by the hair and the beads and pulled her back onto her stomach. She winced as her cracked lips touched the cold boards. 

"Alright," He said rather enthusiastically. "Now, your twenty-one lashes."

"You're going to want to open your hands. Show your palms. Unless you want your fingers broken."

Or you could just not whip me. She thought. It took a force of willpower to open her hands, knowing how much more it would hurt to be hit across the palms. But no, she did not want her fingers broken, not when she knew she'd be forced to work even while injured.

Crack.

Her body lurched and she rotated sideways to protect her back. If only her hands were free, she could at least squeeze them over her mouth.

Crack.

"Count."

Crack. If only her hands were free, she could at least squeeze them over her mouth to keep from screaming. But she couldn't.

Crack. It hit her palm and her body jerked sideways, hand reflexively closing into a tight fist.

“You’d better count.”

Crack.

"Fuck you!" She screamed, breaking into sobs as the whip came down over and over. "Five!"

"Start over."

She groaned, melting into a series of loud sobs and screams. 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

She wasn't coherent anymore. Nothing made sense, and she didn't want it to. She didn't want to say that she was worthless anymore, she didn't want to participate in the torture anymore. He'd get tired eventually.

She screamed and writhed, and he planted his foot on her calf to keep her from going further, no longer giving her orders. No longer anything but lashes coming down over and over, harder when she screamed. She became too tired to scream anymore, even though the pain only increased. It was like the cuff, but endless. It didn't stop after the torturer stopped. The cuts stayed and burned and layered on each other.

Finally she heard the whip toss on the floor–no, it was thrown, he was angry.

It still hurt, stung and burned and cut, everywhere. She felt sure she was bleeding; there were cold and hot places all over her legs and arms. At some point she'd rolled back enough that the lash had landed on the front of her thighs. One had caught her in the face and left a bloated welt on her jaw.

She tried to think. To remember who she was. Say something clever.

I am worthless.

That's all she could think. She'd said it herself. Why would she say that?

She couldn't think straight through the pain.

Finally he knelt again by her head.

"I want to hear one thing from you." He said in a soft tone. "One thing."

She closed her eyes and waited for him to finish, still out of breath from her struggles, and just from all the pain. Maybe he wanted to hear her scream one more time, but she wasn't going to give him that so easily.

"How did you stop the magic." He said. "You answer that question. If I hear anything else, I'll break a rib for every word. Understand?"

She could hardly think, but she knew she wasn't telling him that.

"Do you understand?" He repeated in a harder tone.

"Uhuh." She said hoarsely.

He pushed her sideways and took her chin in his hand, tilting her puffy face up toward his. He was backlit, golden eyes nearly black in his dark shadowed face. For a moment she felt like a piece of mud being observed by a prince.

"Answer the question." He snarled.

She panted, squinting at him, crying silently.

"You're not going to answer, are you." He said.

She swallowed and closed her eyes. She would take anything, rather than give up her chance at escape. She’d rather die.

"No." She whispered.

He stood up slowly and she braced herself. Eyes closed to watch him with her nightsight, she saw him bend forward a little like he was inspecting her body as she lay there, shuddering. She didn’t even have the strength to cringe. He moved one foot, and she braced for a kick. But nothing came. 

He picked up the whip and put it in his back pocket, hiding it with his coat.

He stepped softly toward the door, then paused, looking back at her on the floor, hands still bound by his belt.

He tilted his head at her, wearing the same expression Gaylord had when she said something clever, then he grimaced angrily.

“You will.” He said.

Then he opened the door and left her there, alone.

In a few minutes, Enimee returned. She silently freed Nife, shaking a little. Nife could tell, with a few furtive glances at the woman's face, that she was scared–likely scared of Striker, Nife thought. 

Once her arms were free, the girl curled up with her face away from Enimee, putting a hand over her swollen mouth. She didn’t want anyone to see her face.

"Are you... bleeding anywhere?" Enimee said.

"No." Nife lied, voice still hoarse and painful from screaming. She didn’t want to be touched or seen by this woman.

"Good." Enimee said. "Broken bones?"

"How should I know?" Nife snapped. "Is that why you're here? Make sure I can't fucking work for another–" She stopped short, feeling a scowl growing on Enimee's face.

"--I’m sorry!" She burst into tears, but she couldn’t even cry, it just sounded like a whine. She wanted to beg, but there was nothing left for that.

"You wanna try that one again?"

Nife groaned and dragged her body away from Enimee. The woman stepped toward her, then saw the state of Nife’s body a bit clearer as she moved out of the light. Nife felt her mouth open and close, then her shoulders drooped a little.

“Nife,” She said. “Broken bones.”

“My knee,” Nife cried. “And my rib.” 

“What makes you think they’re broken?”

“Because they hurt!” Nife wailed hoarsely. “Please… please…”

“Please what?”

Nife couldn’t–she didn’t know what to say, she’d already forgotten. She just wanted the pain to end.

Enimee was looking over her body, which trembled with exhaustion and agony. The swelling and blood on Nife’s face that she tried to cover by rolling out of the light. The girl was destroyed. They both knew it.

Enimee huffed and looked off to the side. She did that when she was deciding to "look the other way", Nife had noticed. 

"Here," Enimee said, shoving a glass bottle onto the table. "Take this, and... Rest up a bit. I'll throw in some bedding in a few. Back to work in the morning."

"I–I can't move." Nife squeaked.

How was she supposed to even get to the bottle from there on the floor? Let alone work tomorrow?

Enimee was already leaving.

"Do you hear me?” Nife groaned. “I can't move!"

Enimee was in the hall now, clearly pretending not to hear for Nife's own sake. Somehow rationality wasn't present anymore–hell, Nife herself wasn't present. She heard her own distant voice screeching in a rib-splitting cry, something stupid–something she'd immediately forget.

"Do you fucking hear anything?” Her voice broke and she pushed against the sobs that tried to overtake her body. Every movement made her back feel like it was being beaten with a hammer. 

Her words and groans reverberated down the hallway as the door slowly fell closed on its own. Nife listened for Enimee’s footsteps to turn, to come back. Because naturally, Nife should get the beating of a lifetime for that.

But there was nothing. Nife dropped her head back into the cold puddle of tears and bit her lips to keep from groaning anymore, whispering “Don’t. Don’t.” Over and over.

It had been about half an hour. The tolling of the hallway grandfather clocks told Nife that it was eight, time for the slaves' legally mandated rest time. Time that Enimee would probably be locking the slaves in their quarters.

Nife's door hadn't even been locked. Obviously Enimee understood exactly how fucked Nife was. That just made it worse that she expected Nife to blazing work tomorrow.

Her bruises were setting now, cuts failing to scab over. Her free hand hovered over the worst one on her other arm as she tried to focus her magic there. Apparently some people who had had near-death experiences could heal themselves using magic, but apparently none of Nife's marvelous adventures had equipped her for that. The blue line leading down toward the cuff flickered.

She reached an arm toward the table where Enimee had left the bottle and the whole other half of her body just gave out. She writhed on the floor, clenching her fists, feeling the warmth in the hand that had been struck by the whip. It still stung like mad.

She tried again. If she didn’t treat her wounds she’d get infected; she was probably already going to get sick. When she moved her legs, her knee ground sideways and she choked off a scream, hitting the ground and rolling onto her side.

With groans forcing their way down her raw throat, she almost didn't notice the warmth of a busty young woman making her way down the passage in her direction. She was only a few steps away when Nife recognized who she was–Iridiss.

The girl stepped in almost silently, lifting a finger to her lips as Nife looked up at her. Then Iridiss froze, looking at the indecisive way the heat was spreading over Nife's body. Nife could feel it too–concentrated in her back and the outsides of her arms and legs, but there were other injuries too. Iridiss could probably see all of them. Especially judging from the way her shoulders went limp and her face warmed behind the eyes in the shape of anger.

"Herdja hollerin way up in the kitchen." Was all she said.

Nife lowered her head to the ground again. She wanted to say something. Maybe a self-deprecating joke or something. But all that came out was a dog-like whine.

Iridiss came in and knelt down in front of Nife with a small sigh, which she did before she started a fresh task.

"It's dangerous." Nife said, finding her tongue swollen and her lips puffed partly open. Her friend could be seriously punished for being out here after dark.

"Not that dan'jrous." She shrugged, gently touching the top of Nife's head. It was one of the few places that wasn't blazing with pain. "Mind if I getcha lil cleaned up?"

"Gonna have to touch me?" Nife said with a broken voice.

It was supposed to be rhetorical.

"I'll be gentle, I promise."

Nife groaned weakly.

"There's a, uh," She licked her lips to make herself speak even though it hurt to even breathe. "A bottle. On the thing."

Since it was the only piece of furniture in the room, Iridiss didn't have to look far before she found it. She turned it around in her hands, blindly tracing the outside with her fingers. She couldn't read, but it wouldn't have mattered, because they didn't have any light.

"I know what this stuff is." She said after a pause. "Seen the bottle."

She opened it and dipped a finger in, sniffed and nodded. Then she sighed and reached for Nife's back without so much as asking. Nife tried not to recoil as she put whatever it was on the bruises.

Iridiss doesn’t know that I’m worthless. The thought came up by itself and she frowned. Ridiculous–that was just lies for Striker’s stupid sadist ego trip. She thought. I haven’t changed. I can make myself at least look like a human.

Iridiss touched the worst spot, a rib on Nife's right side, and Nife gasped and flinched away.

"Not there not there not there." She whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. More tears coursed down her cold cheeks.

"I know I know, but yer makin it worse." Iridiss said.

Nife nearly broke into sobbing again; the only thing stopping it was that she knew how much it would hurt to let it out. Instead she shuddered softly.

"Tell me what it's like bein a noble." Iridiss said. "Always wanted to be rich."

Nife knew she was trying to distract her. She didn't answer.

"Come on, Nife." Iridiss said, petting her hair. "You thinkin about the bruises makes em worse."

"If this is another old wives' tale..."

"'Ts a sayin for a reason, 's all I'm sayin." Iridiss shrugged and put the ointment on the worst place.

Nife flinched and dragged herself away.

"I said don’t.” She whispered. “So don’t.”

Iridiss's eyes immediately got hot but the rest went cold. She was sad and scared.

"I just... I just asked you not to..." Nife said.

"'M only tryna help." Iridiss said.

Nife rubbed tears away, and her hand came away bloody. She cursed under her breath. Then again, and again.

“I’ll blazing kill that bastard. Making me… That… Bastard.” 

Iridiss just sat there with the ointment jar on the floor and her hand held in an awkward pose like she was ready to spread it for Nife.

Nife turned her face away, covering it as well as she could.

There was a sniffle. Nife felt Iridiss wipe a tear away.

"Think yer alone, do ya?" Iridiss said. "Think you're the only one knows his lordship that well?"

"I should hope." Nife said softly.

"Yer not." Iridiss said.

Something about the coldness in Iridiss' tone felt strong. Nife wanted to ask her how she did it, and how she felt like she wasn't alone, but talking hurt so much right now.

"I was so happy when they bought me." She said. "Slave to a wealthy noble. Only dreamed of somethin that good."

Nife scooted back closer to Iridiss, who began spreading the ointment again.

"So 'magine my sprise when I wasn't good enough." She sighed. "Right?"

Nife nodded, digging her nails into her palms to keep from flinching away as Iridiss finished the bad ones on her leg.

"This one's a little broke, Nife." Iridiss' hand hovered over the worst place. "Imma fix it fer ya, right?"

"No–" Nife grunted. "You're not even a–"

"Doctor? You think they send'em for us?" Iridiss pulled back.

"How do you do it?" Nife said.

"Bandage it up tight fer the swellin."

Nife groaned.

"Not the damn bandage, the..." Nife swallowed and winced. "Lonliness."

"Oh, that." Iridiss said, pulling something out of her pants pocket. She'd actually brought a bandage. "I kinda don't. One a these days Imma kill myself, that's what keeps me goin." She laughed harshly, passing the bandage around Nife's torso and moving the beads. "I'm not really havin a fun time."

The bandage tightened with a yank that made Nife want to both puke and scream. Her breath wheezed out weakly instead.

"Sorry." Iridiss said. "Better all at a time, right?"

"You are not a doctor." Nife hissed.

Iridiss left her as softly as she had come after treating Nife as well as she could. She left the bottle on the floor so that it looked like Nife had been the one to use it.

Nife stayed face-down to keep off her back, periodically grimacing under waves of horrible aching. She liked focusing on it. That was so much better than the other thing.

She tried not to think about what would happen when the pain was gone.

First chapter: next chapter:

Taglist: @tildeathiwillwrite @mimostic @fleur-a-whump @a-n-j-a-maria @bamber344 per Tumblr's content policy, this is the non-nsfw version, but you can find the canon Dance of Death on Amazon and this chapter on ao3 (which I'm updating shabbily as fast as I can). Also if you want, it would mean so much to me if you leave a review or comment while you're there.

[bakedbeanchan]

random fire nation diplomat #492 will never understand the complex and fucked up relationship between the water siblings like I do 🙄

[cassandracain52]

And people say Jason doesn’t think of Tim as his brother smh

[thetimelordbatgirl]

The police in Scotland have the chance to do the most funniest thing right now.

[little-cereal-draws]

Odysseus is the only man who makes his whole personality being obsessed w his wife who’s actually loyal

[amandamadeathing]

I can't find the original image to reboot and credit, but here you go.

TECH: When I analyzed Omega's DNA, I noticed an anomaly in her blood. Upon further research, she has a high volume of midichlorians."

WRECKER: What does that mean?

TECH: There was a correlation between a "high M-Count" and a Jedi's abilities using the Force.

OMEGA: Does this mean I'm a Jedi?!

TECH: Possibly. You would need extra training by a Jedi to use those skills.

ECHO: I've never noticed she has Force skills.

TECH: I thought her ability to connect with animals was an obvious manifestation of such abilities.

HUNTER: I am sensitive to vibrations. Do I have the Force?

TECH: It seems of the Kaminoans' experimental Clones, only Omega was specifically given a high M-count, which probably explains why she is so valuable to Nala Se and the Empire.

ECHO: Now we know what we're up against. Thankfully, we don't need to collaborate with any suspicious women to get this information. We must find a more secure location to hide. I will contact Rex immediately.

[jedi-starbird]

Time Travel is my favourite trope and I think we need more fics where both Obi-Wan AND Qui-Gon time travel together because no matter when they get sent it's chaos. They're saving the galaxy and being physic flash-bangs to everyone around them.

like before Bandomeer?

The entire council is baffled to watch as Qui-Gon 'never taking a padawan again' Jinn has suddenly cut off his post-Xanatos depression tour to return to the temple and beeline to the creche with a frantic energy. His wild eyes immediately single out a fluffy, red-haired initiate.

"You." he exhales with a pointed finger, slightly ominous as he towers over the child. Said child starts vibrating with delight. "Me." he agrees, launching himself at the man. Qui-Gon drops to his knees with a thud that cannot be healthy. Obi-Wan's attempts to clamber into Qui-Gon's robes and maybe onto his shoulders is thwarted by the fact that Qui-Gon's massive hands are cupping Obi-Wan's tiny squishy cheeks. He stares at the initiate for a few minutes with an intensity that is starting to worry people.

Finally, "You're so small." Qui-Gon sounds like he might cry.

'What the fuck?' Plo Koon projects at Mace.

"I'm 9! That tends to be the case!" the child chirps back.

"You're nine." Oh. Ah. Qui-Gon's eyes are distinctively misty. He squishes the boy in a hug so hard he squeaks. Mace makes a series of gestures that imply the need for a head-scan. Depa obligingly drifts off towards the halls. Qui-Gon scoops the child up onto his hip and claims him as his padawan on the spot. The assorted council members and creche-masters burst into noise. Mace tells Depa to bring some space ibuprofen as well.

after Naboo?

Anakin is a little apprehensive of his place in both the order and Obi-Wan's life, but then one day Obi-Wan wakes up and is suddenly a lot less sad in the force?? In fact, if Anakin didn't know better he'd say he was almost giddy, but he's watched Obi-Wan try to pretend his world hasn't fallen apart for the past few months so it can't be that, right? And um, Miss Bant? He knows grief is a funny thing that affects people differently but he's pretty sure 'massive mood swing' and 'having full conversations with invisible people' is not...great? and you said to tell you if Obi-Wan got really weird in any way.

Anyway after a lot of medical exams, intense consultation with the archives, and a couple exorcisms, Anakin ends up being raised by his 'real' master and his ghost master. He is far more well adjusted emotionally and far less well adjusted for what counts as normal people behavior(not talking to thin air). When questioned on this, all he ever says is that he's talking to Qui-Gon. Isn't he...dead? Well, yes. Wait, he's a ghost? Ghosts are real? ...Well this ghost is real.

This starts a great number of existential crises among non-force sensitives and incredibly heated theological arguments amongst the Jedi. Whenever Obi-Wan is questioned on this, all he ever says is some variation of "the force got to know him for 5 seconds and kicked him back out." Mace backs him up on this even though that reasoning is technically blasphemous. Qui-Gon is having the time of his un-life. He's ascended to his final form, his sheer existence is a heresy, this is truly all he has ever aspired towards.

the Clone Wars?

The minute they get dropped back Qui-Gon immediately goes and haunts the shit out of Dooku. They have a signed terms of surrender and promise of info on the Sith Lord within the year. Only half of it is because Qui-Gon's giving Dooku complexes that are only perceptible to shrimp, the other half is because they now have a ghost spy that is not bound by the laws of physics nor spacetime.

Obi-Wan only nominally pays attention to this as he immediately goes and implements his 19 step seduction plan with Cody (he had to focus on something on Tatooine to pass the time). It fails. Spectacularly. Publicly. Ah right. Tatooine was not exactly the height of his sanity. Everyone in the GAR and temple is now riveted by High General and Councilor Obi-Wan Kenobi's attempts to go on a date with his Commander, who bats him away him like a particularly annoying stray and seems one bouquet of cactus away from committing mutiny. Anakin is worrying if it means his master knows about his secret marriage and this is some sort of really weird power play. (It is, but not in the way he thinks)

The next time Dooku goes after Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon spends a good few months appearing tear-stained at the edge of Dooku's perception and only communicating in terrible wails and discordant mutterings of 'padawan. my padawan. my little one.' 24/7.

"Wait, you're annoying Dooku into surrendering?"

"Oh no Anakin, we're crushing his psyche like a bug. :)"

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part eleven

922 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

Tuesday and Wednesday go much the same. Steve doesn’t watch Eddie at lunch anymore. 

That’s where Eddie does most of his staring, though. Steve wonders if Eddie felt like this knowing Steve was watching him. He hopes not. He feels like he’s on fire. In a bad way. 

He can’t help himself but go over everything he did, trying to find where he gave himself away, but he comes up blank. Anything he shared about himself in the notes could’ve been from anyone. 

He didn’t hint at it whenever he actually spoke to Eddie, either. 

The only thing he can think of is that he delivered the notes at the same time every day, barring the one time he was late. Eddie must’ve figured it out; saw him one morning. But he thought of that beforehand, too! The only door unlocked then is the gym door because no other sports or clubs meet that early. If Eddie were there, someone would have seen him. 

Then there’s art class. Steve gets whiplash from all the staring at lunch to business as usual in class; Eddie acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. That is to say, they hardly speak to one another, but when they do they’re friendly. 

Come Thursday. Carol is out sick so Steve has no distraction from the boy next to him. He can’t even try to convince himself he isn’t tuned into Eddie’s every movement. 

That day, the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens.

“Next to you, you’ll find your partner for this month's project. Go ahead and get acquainted, you’ll be spending a lot of time with one another.” 

The person on Eddie‘s left turns away from him to pair up with the person on their other side and Steve's stomach drops. He waits for Eddie to request a new partner, but he just drums his pencil on the table noncommittally. 

Steve would just put them both out of their misery and ask the teacher if he can wait until Carol returns to school, but he doesn’t want Eddie to think he minds being partnered with him, especially if Eddie isn’t going to be the one to interject. 

Steve has no reason to be upset with Eddie and, loath he is to admit it, he’d take any chance to be around him. Even now that he knows Eddie doesn’t want him in the same way. 

That’s another thing that’s been nagging him. Eddie was fine with H before he knew it was Steve - liked him even. Then the staring happened and he took off the ring. 

There’s only one explanation: Eddie doesn’t like Steve. 

You’d never guess it, though, not with the way he turns to him and grins. “Well, would ya look at that.”

Steve smiles hesitantly. “Hey, man.”

The teacher claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, alright.” Once everyone has quieted down, she hands each of those in the front row a stack of paper to distribute to their respective columns. 

“This is the project outline. In a moment, I’ll dismiss you to read through it with your partner. After you’ve done that, you’ll notice there is a brainstorm worksheet on the last page. Now, you only need to complete one of these for the both of you…”

Once she’s done giving directions, Eddie turns to Steve. “Do you wanna read or should I? Or separately?”

Steve doesn’t even have to think about the answer. “You.” There’s not really an option there. Not only does he get to hear Eddie’s voice for a prolonged amount of time, but he doesn’t have to stutter his way through reading, or watch as the words seem to evade him? Yeah, Eddie can read; no hesitation.

Eddie nods and clears his throat before starting. Steve reads along on his paper, and finds it much easier than if he’d had to read it on his own. 

The concept is pretty straight-forward. They’ll each have to make a portrait of themselves and the other, collaborating orally while not seeing the other’s work. Even when they’re finished, they have to turn in the projects without the other seeing. There will be an exhibit in three weeks before they go on spring break where all of the portraits will be displayed.

When Eddie’s finished, they flip to the worksheet. “Okay,” Steve says, “I’ll write since you read.”

Eddie hums his approval and they get started. 

At the end of the hour, the teacher tells them to hang onto their packets and take a moment to schedule time outside of school to meet. There will only be one day a week dedicated to the project at school.

Steve clears his throat. “So, I- uh, I’m free most days. When works best for you?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side. “What, no court activities? Responsibilities?”

Steve hesitates. “You mean basketball? I mean, we practice in the mornings and there’s a game next week, but other than that…” Steve trails off once he catches sight of Eddie’s amused look. “What?” He asks, immediately self-conscious.

Eddie waves him off. “Nothing, nothing.” Steve frowns but Eddie keeps talking. “How about Mondays and Wednesdays, right after school?”

Steve chews on his lip before nodding. “Yeah. Where are we meeting?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, drumming his pencil on the desk again. “Uhh, how about we decide that during class those days?”

“Sounds good.” Steve holds up their project outline/brainstorm worksheet. “I’ll just hang onto this.”

Eddie chuckles. “Honestly, man, that’s probably for the best.”

twelve

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sorry if i missed anyone!!

[bolithesenate]

What happens when a Jedi Initiate dies?

It cannot always be prevented, the galaxy is a dangerous place, especially for children, and the Jedi are still only mortal.

Accidents happen. Illnesses exist.

Tragedies do too.

The Crèchemasters are highly trained to prevent that, of course, but they too are only mortal. They too can fail.

The death of an Initiate is a heavy burden, for the entire Temple. It doesn't happen often, but when it does it is a heavy burden. It is from that burden that one of the Order's most sacred traditions stems from.

They may die an Initiate, but they will not join the Force without guidance.

When an Initiate dies, they automatically gain the rank of Padawan – no matter their age. They will posthumously be taken in by a Master and be gifted a braid and a lineage. If they already found their crystal and built their saber, these too will be taken care of by their new Master.

Some Masters of such Ghost-Padawans, especially those who had a bond before their passing, will live the following years as if they had a living student. They will not take on another until the Force or they themselves deems them ready, at which point the High Council will hold a honorary Knighting.

Because while the Order might lose an Initiate, no Initiate will ever be left alone.

[godsfavoritelitlesilly]

JVB owns my music taste right now

[phoenixyfriend]

Something something Dooku survives the Clone Wars, the Imperial Era, and even a few years past the OT...

And Luke finds him while looking for More Jedi to help him teach.

Chewie recognizes the decrepit old bastard, and there is yelling, but being A Hundred And Nine has mellowed Dooku out in his own dusty hermit hut, on the other side of the galaxy from Ben and Yoda's hermit huts.

All the Jedi ghosts are unhappy with this but Dooku is… not REFORMED, technically, but he's old and tired, even if the Force keeps him a bit more healthy and energized than the average Old Guy, and humans routinely live to pretty unreal old ages in the gffa anyway so really 109 for them is probably like 85 for us.

But yeah. Old mountain hermit (to contrast the desert and the swamp) who's been in hiding from That Dick Sidious since he lost both hands to babyface Vader in 19BBY.

@jebiknights (Sammie) said:

Dooku finds out Luke was also trained by Yoda and is like "oh Yoda finally gave me a younger brother like I always wanted"

Alternately he could probably get Luke to call him Great-Great-Grandfather.

Sammie: Funniest option is he's both which makes Luke even more confused lmao Ghost Obi wan in the background like "stop fucking using non Jedi terms to describe Jedi relationships it doesn't fucking work"

Luke calls him, irreverently, Gramps, but also. Leia definitely recognizes him as a Recent Historic Political Figure, but not until AFTER Luke has already integrated Dooku into his new Jedi school.

"Why did Chewie let him do that?" He thought it was funny. (And/or if you like Chewku, you can make this some sordid exes thing.)

"Why did R2 let him do that?" Best keep evil man in electrical prodding range.

Sammie: Leia comes to the school for her biweekly Jedi lessons and sees the newest teacher was a traitor to the Republic 😭

Best if they can find Quin or Ventress out in the black. Partly because like. Does this make Ventress their step-grandma (Quinlan's on-off something) or their great-great-aunt (Dooku's 4th apprentice)?

Sammie: Both and also Luke's niece. Luke has a migraine by the end of it and Leia is ready to disown herself. Ventress: I didn't realize the Jedi were so incestuous Luke: war flashbacks to before he realized Leia was his sister

Ahsoka in the corner with Spacebucks, five years late "Y'all suck. Hey, Quin."

Sammie: I know you likely didn't bring up Quinlan thinking of QuinObi but now I'm imagining Quinlan declaring himself their grandpa when he meets the twins bc 1) he loves to cause chaos 2) he does/did consider Anakin his kid even if not in neat non Jedi terms and 3) Obi-Wan thought being considered Anakin's father made him sound old, and Quinlan needs to harass him beyond the grave

Dooku must have a cane that the ghosts heckle him about because He Clearly Wants To Be Just Like Yoda.

@lyntergalactic (Lyn) said:

I feel like evil gramps could really bring out Ahsoka's snark once she shows up and that would be highly entertaining Ahsoka is simultaneously his most and least favorite grandchild

She's the most experienced as a Jedi (Ventress went full Sith, not just leaving the Order but following the tenets like Ahsoka, and Quinlan isn't in the lineage), has never Fallen unless you count that thing on Mortis.

Also she WILL bitch Dooku out at this age, and honestly he kind of appreciates the brutal honesty.

Ahsoka: I'm not a Jedi. All the old people: Lies

She brings up the Hondo incident since nobody else is putting in the effort. Anakin and Obi-Wan COULD as ghosts but nooooooo she has to do everything around here.

Sammie: Oh but it sets them off so hard they can barely get the story off from laughing NGL I think the twins did not understand how truly annoying Obi-Wan and Anakin could be together until the Hondo story gets told.

They are The Worst.

[sailorkamino]

in another universe palpatine was exposed by wine drunk dooku calling obi-wan to complain about his boss

[rochenn]

sith afterlife looks a bit different.

[human-rocket]

Guiding Light | 1.0 | 1.5 | 2.0 | 2.5 | 3.0 | 3.5 | 4.0 | 4.5 | 5.0 | 5.5 | 6.0 | 6.5 | 7.0 | 7.5 | 8.0 | [next]

Also available to read on Ko-fi and AO3

**Please do not repost**

[kurtssingh]

It's glad to feel his old Padawan back.

[soapyakships]

snorkk mimimimi mzen