#qimir in the future like

[a-heart-of-kyber]

The absolute gold that is:

Osha: Hello. 😐

Qimir: Oh! Hello!🤗

Osha:...Hi. 😐

Qimir: ....Hi? 🤨

Osha:....😐

Qimir: Hi! 😄

[justhereforpirates]

My fiance pointed out, the minute Plagueis showed up, The Acolyte became a Greek Tragedy

It’s pretty clear, he is going to learn how to create life from the force BECAUSE of Osha. It’s also clear, since Qimir is his apprentice and Qimir is looking for his own apprentice, that Qimir must be planning to kill Plagueis because of the rule of two. There can only be two Sith.

But Plagueis also lives until either right before Phantom or the end of Phantom, so obviously he doesn’t kill Plagueis. And Plagueis takes on a new apprentice, Sidious (and we don’t know how many in between Qimir and Sidious, given that Acolyte takes place in 132 BBY and Palpatine was born in 84 BBY and probably wasn’t apprenticed to Plagueis at birth there could have been a few apprentices between)

So I think it can be easily assumed that Plagueis is going to have to kill Qimir at some point. Sith don’t tend to let their apprentices just quit. But on the other hand, death is not always permanent in Star Wars for Sith (look at Maul, or Sidious himself) so I don’t think that means Qimir will necessarily be like permadead

[cryptfile]

no thoughts just qimir taking you as his acolyte.

warnings: violence, potential enemy to lovers, tension, sfw.

it's like an avalanche.

when you feel the blood going down in the left side of head, your vision starts to get dizzy and it's there, there when you just happen to know you're definitely dying, cause there's no way you're surviving him.

the regret it's instant, and you know a low life bounty hunter like yourself does not deserve any mercy, so you're ready to say goodbye to the promised credits and to life itself, cause you deep down you just know, know its your end right there.

his hand moves in the air and you feel the pressure in response, the way the air seems to leave your lungs instantly choking, tears filling your eyes as you turned red: how did you think you were even standing a chance against a sith lord? the unknown client that contacted you seems to have lefted out the most important details when explaining you who you was your target, cause that was far from a simple formal smuggler who used to work for the hutt clan.

you had it coming. all those years getting away with murder, not responding to anyone in the galaxy. it's clear that death was always following closely, patiently waiting for the day you finally get what you deserve.

your combat skills are not as good as the sith, giving him at least a couple of minutes of a decent fight before experiencing the devastating pain of falling over and over again like you're nothing— "just kill me already," you would say when he finally lets you breathe, chin high cause you're not spending your last minutes being a damn coward, spitting blood in the concrete.

he seems to be enjoying every second of it, that smile creeping across his lips as he looks at you, the pain in your muscles that leaves you on the floor, the vulnerability. he enjoys how you're clinging into life, the hint of pride in your tone when you talk even when you're not in position to be snarky about anything at all.

you think he had enough with you already, an almost pathetic fight in the middle of the night that will mean nothing to him in the future. he turns the light of his red lightsaber on and it just glows against the dark night waiting for his next move, making you shiver as you’ve never saw one so damn close. there it is. your lame end.

and you don't know how, but you don't look scared. you've faced death before in your life and it does not scare you, even when the heat of the saber is close to your skin threating you to slide you open, you wait. wait for him to make the final move, to finally end with your life.

you look at his eyes hoping to torment him forever or something like that, but you wait for a death that never comes, a quick pain that has you forever expecting, receiving instead a sudden relief when his palms point to you and the large gash in your back starts to close by itself.

its confusing, and you don't move at first thinking it's a mistake, but you soon realize it's him closing your wounds like the tissue of your skin is nothing against the power of the force, it makes you gulp in response, how he's now sparing your life — you know it means he’ll want something in return for it.

so you just look at him. and it takes you minutes to even try to understand what he's doing, why he's helping you when minutes before you were trying to kill him. sweat covering his body, chest still racing as your attack catches him off guard: why show mercy?

"get up" he would say stone cold, eyes glued on you when you're trying to do what you're told. you know he can get you killed in the blink of an eye if he wants to. "you're coming with me."

[selene-ella]

" Relics of the Past | III "

Pair: Qimirxfemale!reader

Summary: still unable to face your hidden feelings, Qimir offers you a solution.

Warnings: mdni, slow burn, mind reading(?), improper use of the force, fingering, unprotected piv, sensory deprivation(?) I still don't know how his helmet works like, possible typos.

Notes: excuse my English. That's it.

Part I , Part II Part IV (final)

Word Count: 3.7k

Qimir’s fingers traced the jagged seam of his cortosis helmet, the metal cool against his skin. The helmet had saved his life more times than he could count, but now it lay broken—a reflection of his own fractured existence.

As he worked, the dim light of the lantern cast shadows across the cave’s walls. .Repairing the helmet was a distraction—an attempt to silence the racing thoughts that filled his mind.

Beside him, you stirred in your sleep, caught in the grip of visions. Your murmurs were unintelligible, a language spoken only in dreams. Qimir glanced at you, concern etching lines into his weathered face. The Force had always been unpredictable, but earlier, it felt like a revolt tearing at the fabric of reality.

Your mind remained clouded, the aftermath of opening the Sith holocron. Qimir had asked you if you wanted it—the ancient artifact held power beyond comprehension. It was meant to reveal glimpses of the future, but its whispers had become a cacophony, mingling with your own fears and desires.

And then came the dream—the one that shook you awake, gasping for breath. In it, Qimir stood before you, lightsaber drawn, facing a faceless force being. Its eyes glowed like dying stars, and its intent was clear: to end him. The vision left you trembling, your heart racing.

As you tried to piece together what had transpired, your ears buzzed, and your head spun. The holocron’s influence lingered, a phantom weight on your soul. You remembered Qimir’s offer to help you unlock its secrets, the way he’d guided you through the process. But afterward, everything blurred—a haze of fragmented memories.

Now, as you lay there, puzzled, your gaze shifted to Qimir. His back was to you, hunched over the helmet. The marks left on it told stories of battles fought and lost. Did he sense your wakefulness? His focus remained on the helmet, meticulous and unwavering. Was he able to see more of in that short amount of time?

You wondered if he regretted helping you with the holocron. If he knew the cost—the way it had woven itself into your mind, a tapestry of prophecy and emotion. And what of the faceless being? Was it a harbinger of doom or a warning? Qimir’s fate seemed entwined with yours, and the Force whispered secrets neither of you fully understood.

As dawn approached, casting a pale glow through the cave’s entrance, you debated whether to speak. Would Qimir welcome your questions, or would he retreat further into silence? The helmet sat before him, a puzzle waiting to be solved. But perhaps the real puzzle was the connection between you—the one who left to forge her own path—and the man who danced on the edge of darkness.

And so, you watched him, wondering if he sensed your gaze, if he felt the tremors of uncertainty that echoed through your very being. The next steps were unclear—the path veiled by visions and the remnants of a shattered holocron. But one thing remained certain: Qimir held answers, and you were determined to uncover them—even if it meant risking everything.

The cave seemed to hold its breath, cocooning you both in a fragile intimacy. Qimir’s hands—once skillfully repairing the helmet—now hung still, forgotten tools resting on the crate. His hair, dark and unruly, fell across his forehead, framing the edges of his face. You watched him, as if drawn to him by an invisible thread.

Your gaze dipped, tracing the movements of his body. There it was—the scar that marred his lower back, a testament of his first betrayal. As he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, the scar peeked out, a raw reminder of how those who are the closest, can hurt you the most. You wondered how many nights he’d spent alone, nursing both physical and emotional hurts, after you've left.

Closer now, your breaths mingled in the close space. Inches apart, you reached out—a hand resting on his shoulder, the other finding its place on the small of his back. The scar tissue was rough beneath your fingertips, a map of resilience etched into his skin. He remained still, as if afraid to break the fragile closeness built between you.

The silence spoke volumes—a language of longing and restraint. Qimir didn’t pull away; he allowed your exploration, a silent invitation. Your hand moved upward, tracing the contours of his the scar adorning his back, memorizing each imperfection. His shirt yielded, riding up as your fingers ventured higher. The rest of his skin felt warm and soft and made you wondered if he felt the heat radiating from your palm, if he sensed the ache that mirrored your own.

And then, as if guided by a force beyond reason, your other hand joined the first. You circled both arms around his middle back, your body hovering above his. The cave walls seemed to lean in, conspirators in this clandestine dance. Qimir’s breath hitched—a barely perceptible tremor—as if he, too, craved the closeness.

The helmet lay forgotten.In this moment, it was just you and him.

And so, you held him, your heart echoing the rhythm of his. The whispers of what's to come are still echoing in your mind, indifferent to your vulnerability. But here, in this hidden sanctuary, you dared to touch the edges of something profound—a longing that transcended words, a shared ache that defied fate.

You bent down, your cheek grazing his shoulder, replacing the weight of your hand that of your cheek. The fabric of his shirt coarse against your skin, as your eyes traced along his pulse points.

This intimacy was uncharted territory—a map drawn in stolen moments and shared glances. If something happened—some unspoken confession or desperate kiss—it was always a distraction from sorrows too heavy to bear. For both of you, this closeness was a fragile bridge between survival and surrender.

The dim light of the lantern painted Qimir’s skin in a glimmer. His jaw clenched, and you wondered what battles he fought within.

You let yourself immerse in this feeling—the warmth of him, the salt-scented air. His skin glowed, and you wondered if he felt the same pull.

Qimir’s gaze met yours—a galaxy of uncertainty. But there, in the dim-lit cave, he was pleased with this side of you—the unguarded vulnerability, the ache that mirrored his own. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was enough—a chance for redemption, a reclamation of all the feelings they’d lost.

Remaining silent, his hands searched for yours, joining them as if he wanted to pull you closer. You broke the embrace, one of his hands still gripping your arm, fighting for attention. You shifted, changing your position, and found yourself guided to match his level—seated on his thighs. His curious gaze lifted to you.

His voice, rough and deep, sliced through the silence, laced with anger and desire. “Want to kill me, still?” he asked, his gaze unyielding. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and memories surged. Everything connected to him weakened your resolve. You wanted to sob—to release the weight of it all.

“No,” you managed, your voice a fragile whisper. It was your first word, a denial that held more truth than you cared to admit. He traced the faint red shadows on your skin, and you flinched.

"You know," he began, gaining back your attention " unlike others, I cannot read minds", but he could read guilt—the way it clung to you like a shadow.

His hand moved toward your neck—a threat or a promise, you weren’t sure. Big accusations had been thrown, and now, with clarity returning, you realized you’d projected your guilt onto him. The lines blurred—the boundaries between right and wrong. But he was right about one thing: you’d have to talk.

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted your spiraling thoughts. “We’ll get there.” His other hand reached past you, fingers closing around his helmet. Sternness filled his tone. “Put it on.”

“What? Why?” Confusion colored your question. His demand cryptic.

“You like to push your limits,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Battle with the unknown. Put it on.” His eyes never leaving yours.

And so, you hesitated, torn between fear and curiosity. The helmet sat before you. You wondered if it would reveal truths you weren’t ready to face. But then again, perhaps it was time to embrace the unknown—to confront the guilt that still bound you to him.

"It's gonna be just you and the Force. Nothing from me, or any outside source to cloud your mind" he gently pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, "trust yourself."

Once the decision was made, the helmet settled over your head, its weight heavy, pulling you into darkness. Thoughts retreated, replaced by a quietude—an emptiness that both unnerved and intrigued. All your senses diminished, as if a veil had been drawn between you and reality.

The Force surged—a river of energy coursing through your veins. Your heartbeat quickened, a counterpoint to your breath, which slowed, muffled by the helmet’s confines. It was as if the very air conspired to keep you breathless.

Tension unravelled. Your body relaxed, surrendering to the heaviness of the Force. You fell back, supported only by Qimir’s workbench—an anchor in this shifting tide. “Qimir…” The name escaped you—a breathless sigh, a plea for understanding.

His arms—strong and unyielding—pulled you closer. The proximity was both intimate and dangerous. You felt the heat of his groin, the magnetic pull that defied reason. His voice—close yet distant—commanded you. “Focus.”

And so, you did. The helmet’s darkness became a canvas—a place where guilt and longing danced. Redemption or damnation? The Force held the answer, and Qimir was your guide.

The air crackled with tension as Qimir's hands moved with

deliberate precision, unraveling the layers that shielded you from his touch. The foreign heat intensified, searing through your veins, and you wondered if it was the forbidden thrill of your yearning for him or the real touch of his fingers that ignited this wildfire within you

All of his focus was on you--the fabric slipping away, revealing skin that trembled under his touch. The imagined caresses you'd conjured in your mind merged seamlessly with the reality of his hands mapping every curve, every hidden desire.

Your top pooled at your feet, forgotten, as Qimir's palms replaced its confines.

His voice, low and intimate, sent shivers down your spine. The room seemed to close in, the air thick with anticipation. His hands, deft and purposeful, worked on your belt.

You had no idea which Qimir was to blame for this pleasure--the one from your fantasies or the one standing right in front of you. The room seemed colder now, and you sensed him shifting.

His breath hovered inches from your heated core, his hands tracing a tantalizing path up and down your body. "Ready to give in?" His voice, low and intimate, accompanied a kiss placed on your inner thigh.

The air crackled with anticipation as you struggled to form a restless “yes.”

“Good,” you heard him murmur, the command a velvet thread weaving through the charged air. You struggled to lift the helmet, your fingers trembling as you carefully placed it on the surface behind you. Qimir remained knelt before you, his gaze intense. “As much as I’d like to have you in that state,” he said, voice low, “I wouldn’t be a fan of hearing muffled moans.”

He straightens himself, his body molding against yours. As your senses return, a newfound confidence surges within you—a desire to assert control, to match his intensity.

"I used to dream about it years ago,” you confessed, “but I never dared to pressure you into anything.” Your slender fingers worked deftly, untying his white shirt. You pushed the fabric away, revealing the contours of his chest—a canvas waiting for your touch.

“Now where were we?” you questioned, your touch both deliberate and gentle as you guided Qimir back to his seated position. The air hummed with anticipation, as you placed your mouth to his.

Qimir’s eyes traced every nuance of your movement. His gaze, intense and unwavering, mapped the contours of your form—the rise and fall of your chest, the delicate curve of your neck. In that charged space between desire and restraint, he drew you closer, his fingers entwining in your hair. The strands yielded to his touch, a cascade of midnight silk slipping through his grasp.

You, too, were not passive. Your breath hitched as you tugged at his hair, unraveling the facade he wore—beneath it all lay vulnerability, a raw ache that mirrored your own. His neckline yielded to your exploration, revealing skin still unmarked by your teeth. The pulse at his throat echoed your own racing heart.

And then, with a hunger that defied reason, you leaned down. His scent enveloped you—a heady blend of leather, sweat.Your lips met the exposed skin, a silent confession etched in the press of flesh. Each kiss was a revelation, a promise whispered across the expanse of his collarbone.

In that stolen instant, you both surrendered. Not to the dark side or the light, but to the desire swirling in the air. And as your lips molded to his skin, you tasted the bittersweet truth: lust was the most dangerous game they played, and yet, it was the only one worth winning.

A trail of kisses ignited along the contours of his chest, each one a whispered promise of desire. And then, as if the force itself conspired, a soft touch slid upward, finding it's trajectory against your inner thigh. The sensation was both fire and ice, a paradox of pleasure and anticipation. Your breath hitched, caught between surrender and resistance.

His dark eyes, twin black holes of need, pierced into yours.

The kiss resumed—filled with hunger and longing. His lips mapped your skin, leaving trails of fire and memory. The holocron’s hum echoed in your veins, a symphony of fate and desire. And as his touch ventured higher, closer to the heart of your vulnerability, you surrendered to his pull.

His touch was a solar flare, searing through the fabric of your resistance. Fingers, calloused and unyielding, found their way into your core—the epicenter of longing and vulnerability. The tightness that welcomed him brining a faint smirk to his face.

You gasped, in mixes of pleasure and surrender. Your body trembled, caught in the gravitational pull of his action. Your existence narrowed to this singular moment.

“Qimir,” you breathed, the syllables a prayer and a plea. Your grip on his arm was desperate, a lifeline in a tempest of sensation.

And then, with the precision of a cosmic clock, his fingers worked on your needy cunt. Their curling motion unraveled you, leaving you gasping for air, for sanity, for something beyond the boundaries of flesh and bone.

You had no time to breathe, eyes fluttering closed, you surrendered to the tidal forces of pleasure.

His fingers retreated all of a sudden— bringing part of your sanity back . The hiss that escaped you was not pain; it was desperation, a plea for more, for everything. And Qimir reveled in your unraveling.

Your gaze shifted toward him. Brows furrowed, you sought answers in the depths of his eyes.

He brought those same fingers to his lips, a siren, and licked them clean. The taste of your arousal lingered—a blend of spice and sweetness. His gaze searching for yours.

“You think,” he murmured, his voice deep “that I’ll let you go with mere fragments of pleasure?” His fingers caught the length of your hair, swirling it around them. “Can I read your mind?” he teased, “No. But your actions,” he pointed at your hand gripping his hip, “they betray you.”

His head tilted, and a mischievous smile curved his lips. He had you where he wanted, drenched in your rawest want. Toying with you was an art form at this point.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a velvet tremor, “do me a favour.” His hand caressed your face—a touch that could bring you to your knees. “Turn around,” he breathed, his lips grazing your ear, and your years started buzzing. In that whispered command, you surrendered to his demand pulled by the thread of his desire.

You turned, back facing him. His fingers traced a line along your spine, memorizing each spot of your bare skin. "Qimir, please", cave’s walls absorbed your breathy plea, echoing it like a sacred hymn.

“It’s funny,” his voice low, interrupting your thoughts “how you brought me to this state.” His hand gripped your nape, anchoring you. “You fled,” he chanted, “leaving me a prisoner to my own want.”

Guilt swirled within you, a black hole devouring reason. “Always eager to face your trauma,” he said, his words dripping with invitation, “yet avoiding pleasure and desire" the hardness of his arousal pressed against your back.

His touch was teasing your entrance, waiting for you to finally break. “I won’t go further,” he murmured, “unless you tell me what you want.” His fingers danced around your sweet spot, drenched in your early release.

You both loved and hated this game—ot filled you with desire and frustration.

“By the looks of it,” he hummed, his hand palming your cunt “you won’t even be needing my cock.” His palm pressed against your skin.

“For the Force’s sake, Qimir,” you groan, frustration echoing through the cave. “This is torture.” Your words loud.

He pulls you into his embrace, “then,” he murmurs, his lips a comet’s trail against your skin, “what would it be, hm?” His voice is a sweet chant. “Do you want me to fuck you right now, right here?” His breath fans your neck. “Or perhaps,” he continues, “you feel bold enough to show me?”

You turned, your heart racing inside your chest, and took a breath—a gulp of courage. “Qimir,” you began, your voice a quivering, “I—” The words hung in the air, as his chuckle brings back your attention.

“Okay,” you said, “I never dared to go further because—” another stop, “Gosh,” you continued, “I feared your rejection, Qimir.” His name on your lips was heavy this time.

“You were so deep into your head,” you confessed, “about plans and creating your new legacy.” I felt like a threat,” you admitted, “to your grandiose scheme.” Your feelings swirled within you. “I didn’t want,” you paused, “my feelings for you to hold you back.”You hid your face in your palms.

He listened quietly, his finger tracing across your lips once your face peeked out from behind your palms. “What about the jealousy outburst from earlier?” he asked.

“Risking your cover?”

“Hm,” he considered, “understandable.” But there was more. “I wanted someone to teach and make use of,” he continued, his grip on your hips accentuating “Do you think I wanted an acolyte so I can fuck her?” His mocking tone was making you feel stupid.

“Still,” he hummed, his voice light as a breeze, “this is not what I want to hear from you.” His eyes not leaving yours.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “what you want from me.” The words hung in the air.

"Still, this is not what I want to hear from you, your jealouseness. Tell me what you want from me"

He peers into your thoughts:

I want you to strangle the light left with me. I want to break me. I want to consume me until you can only hear me screaming from how good it feels to finally have you pull me apart and leave me aching for more- ...

The realisation hits you.

"That will do do" You hear him say. "You have no idea how long I've imagined being inside of you like this," he admits as he toys with your entrance.

You feel a surge of excitement as he pulls you into his lap, toes curling when you feel him press against you, hard and throbbing.

You lick your lips, whimpers leaving them as he sinks deeper, filling you all the way in, hot breath hitting your face. "How does it feel?" He breaks the silence, "finally having me fill your warm, needy cunt?"

You tighten your legs around him, gripping his shoulders, nails leaving red marks behind, and you hear him speak " no need to tighten up sweet thing" he adjusted your position.

"Who would have thought you feel this good and welcoming" his voice coarse.

Your mind was a blur. His steady thrusts were clouding all of your fields of perception.

" I want to have you filled up, filled up with me, make a mess out of you, and repeat it all over again"

Were you in his mind? Or is he in yours? It didn't matter anyway.

"Feels good right? I want you to let me make you feel good, lose the grip on reality. I'll give you everything"

Your mouth was dry, head fallen back, supported only by Qimir’s hand, arms pulling you back down on him.

You feel a wave shattering inside you. Not pain, but ecstasy. Your legs locked around his hips, chasing your high, a pool of heath soaking your insides.

You feel Qimir’s breath hot against your skin, consciousness falling back down into your body.

His mind, a quiet nebula, observed the aftermath.

"You still have a bit of me left in you" he said, referring to the energy he passed you earlier to aid you with your task.

"I think I have way more than a bit of you left inside me" you laughed while pointing your eyes at the place your bodies connected.

He kissed your shoulder, slowly sliding out of you. "You know- you still have a mark"

You quickly started to inspect your body.

"No" he pulls your attention back to him" it's on your back, near your shoulder blades" he pointed. "Does it feel... like it changed something?" He asks while making his way to the hot pool in the middle of the cave.

"No." , you shrugged, "It's just - there. I don't feel different" you confessed.

"Good" he follows, "then care to join me for a bath, or will try to fit your sticky body back into your clothes?"

He offers you a hand, guiding your steps into the warm water. An urge to have him closer fills you up, and you don't resist it this time. You place your head on his chest, arms pulling him closer.

"I love you, Qimir."

"I know.”

[darthfighter]

what do you see?

Chapter Three of Your Shadow series

warnings: tension, vulnerability, character death, angst like a mf, character development, sexual tension at the end…

summary: as qimir takes you in, he welcomes you into his home and the two of you grow closer physically and mentally (especially mentally)

word count: 3.3k

authors note: i’m gonna be so real i cooked with this chapter. i’m so proud of it, i hope you guys like this. smut in next chapter..

part two here !

Hyperspace always brings comfort to you. The quiet yet loud humming of traveling through the galaxy. Slightly feeling the force of gravity change. It’s like it’s just you in those moments. Like time doesn’t exist.

Time. Time. Time.

Time always moves forward while you look back. Your legs keep walking while your neck keeps looking back for your memories. Your neck should be sore at this point. You sat in Qimir’s ship, traveling with him and not knowing what the future held for you. You’d think that’s what you’d be thinking about, the future, but no. You thought of pristine glossy floors that reflected your every step. The Jedi temple floors. As you close your eyes and think about pacing, stomping, skipping through the massive halls, you find your comfort. The comfort that makes you feel warm inside again. Though, if you spend too much time. You get hot. Hot burning memories that scorch your head and skin. Some days at the Jedi temple, your again– hot tears would splash onto the reflective clean floors.

As if on cue Qimir comes around the corner. With your unspoken, and not so quite understood connection you have with him, you don’t doubt that he sensed your distress.

Your hand reaches your face and delicately wipes your salty tears off your undereyes while disguising your action with now scratching your eyes pulling them down to show a shade of pink beneath your white and colored eyes. The scratch burnt.

“We’ll be there soon.”

You nod. A couple silent seconds, and he takes you in with his gaze. Sucking, or lightly biting his lip. It makes your heart escalate. Qimir turns around and walks over to his kitchen, rummaging around. You stare at his build as he isn’t looking at you. The way his hair is long but not too long, his clothes and how they hug his body, his forearms with veins traveling around them like vines. He turns to grab a bowl on the other counter letting you see his side profile. He is smiling showing his unavoidable smile lines.

He knows. He knows your orbs are set on him. You look down to your hands in your lap and very loudly curse in your mind. Of course he can tell what your actions are. He’s a– well you were gonna say Jedi in your head, but he’s not. If anything, you hate to think, but he’s better than a Jedi. At least so far. He sees you the way you wish to be seen.

“Here.” You look up to him holding the bowl out for you. Relief washes over you. Your hands take the bowl without a second thought. Before even thanking him as you should in a moment like this, your hand meets the spoon and scoops up whatever is in it. You are so hungry you don’t even care to know. As you satisfyingly taste and swallow the food he gave you, he turns back to the cockpit making his way there. Your stuffed mouth is more than a thank you.

The slop in your bowl moves as you jump out of hyperspace, falling a bit more to the side.

—

You walk off the ramp of Qimir’s ship with a full stomach to be met with crashes of waves. The air smelt of salt and sea making the air damp and cold. Feeling as though moving your hand through the air could get your hand wet with all the moisture.

You slightly walked behind him, following him since this is his element. He looks back at you. The two of you look at each other, and the distance between you two is left unsaid. No words. Although with the short amount of time you’ve known Qimir, you can tell the two of you talk more with your eyes. In this moment his eyes say to follow him, and you do as such.

Shoes walking on uneven rocks, waves crash in the distance, cliffs with different ridges and textures, and comfortable silence. This island is nothing like what you grew up around. Feeling out of place is what you need. Nothing can make you feel like you're back in your child's body, besides the thought on how this can't compare to your home.

Your knees begin to use their strength with the elevated path you two began to walk on. Now walking beside the huge mountain resting on this piece of land. Eventually, you make it in front of an entry into the mountain. The uncertainty of it causes your pace to suddenly end. Your eyes inspect the entry. Though, Qimir is already halfway into the cave-like hall. Without turning around he speaks and his voice echoes against the rock walls, “Come on.”

He can read you, you thought. Why stop now?

Anxiously, you step into the hall. With each step more and more gets revealed. Before you know it you are greeted with a lair like house. There is a bed built into the mountain, a kitchenette, and a small hot spring. It’s not much, although you can’t help but find pieces of Qimir when you look around. How he made this his home. You’ve had more homes than you can care to keep track of. The only one you consider home is the one your family resided on. Home is gone.

This is home, for now.

With a full stomach means you feel satisfied and relaxed. Meaning your senses were decreased. Making Qimir’s verbal tour of his place muffled through your ears.

“Kitchen is over here. Workbench over there. I can leave if you wanna take a rinse off in the hotspring, or you can go to the shore. Over there is the-” Your body is already melted and stuck to the bed like a childlike sweet on a table in the suns. After Qimir looks at you, he finishes his sentence“-Bed.”

—

You jolt up awake. Alert. You're still here in Qimir’s home. You're not running, for once.

You’re still dressed in your poorly made disguise you put together to scout your old home, but since the climate is different, you decided to take off a sheet of cloth being your robe that rested on your shoulders. The air on this island was cold from all the crisp water, so all you needed was your thin dark green shirt, your baggy black pants, and work boots you’ve kept since one of your old jobs on a planet you forgot the name of.

Qimir was nowhere to be seen. It felt weirdly empty to be in his home without him in it. With that thought, you decided to go explore as much as you can.

Your legs wandered until you made contact with the waves meeting the shore. As you continue to wander, you find a rather comfortable spot with a large rock to rest your back against. Making contact with the rock made your back cold, sending shivers down your spine.

You were cold. Not hot. So you close your eyes, and start cold in your past.

“Master.”

“I will not hear it!” Your master's demand vibrated through the Jedi Temple training room. “Get up. And try again.”

You were sore. Countless fails. Many bruises. One weakness. Family. Early in your padawan days, you had a hard time being away from your family. Your mother and brother. They sat comfortable in your mind for your whole life, and to have the Jedi order be in your main mental chair, was a hard adjustment. Your family clouded your thoughts. To Jedi, this is a weakness. Though in their defense, you can care for your family, but to let it be in control of you, was not. In this case it was the reason behind everything to you.

Your family is the reason why you talk the way you do, the reason why you walk is because of your mother, the reason why you have compassion is because of your brother, the reason you can handle immense amounts of heat is because of your home. Where your family stays.

These thoughts cycled through your brain during training at this moment. Making you tumble to the floor.

“Again!”

“Master.. I’m tired.”

Before your master protests, she sees a bruise on your arm start to grow a darker shade. As well as a burn imprinted on your left hand from accidentally burning yourself with your own lightsaber due to your clumsiness. She puts her hands behind her back.

“Tomorrow, we resume. Let your thoughts not be clouded tomorrow.”

Now, you look down to your hand. You only see a scar. The reason for the scar not being your accident of combat, but a reminder your family will forever be on the front of your mind. Uncontrollably.

Although now it's warm. Your eyebrows frown at knowing you're not hot at your negative thoughts that aren't here, but you feel warm for another reason.

“Mind if I join you?”

Qimir stands above you. He radiates heat whenever you're around him, like he is a source of energy.

You scoot your bottom a bit to the side for him to position himself next to you, and when he does, there is barely any distance between the two of you. His bicep rests directly next to your arm as you both stare into the endless amount of waves onto the shore.

“So with what you said, before. On the roof.” You pick up a rock near you to examine as you ask Qimir your question, but he pays attention to you. Looking at you as you speak to him. “With joining you. You.. teaching me.”

He takes the rock out of your hands lightly. “What do you think it means?” He asks smoothly.

Quickly you retort “By using the dark side.” You don't even have to look at him to know he’s shaking his head. Your eyebrows frown together, trying to meet as one.

As he shakes his head he looks up to the shore as he answers you “You were molded to think that way. I'm gonna help you crack yourself out of the way the Jedi shaped you.”

You inhale through your nose to take his words in, like you needed to ingest them through your senses. Then, you grab a hold of the rock this time. Now feeling the warmth rest itself on the surface of it from both of your frictions caressing it.

“How will you make me chip away then?”

“Show you that you can do good in your own way. The natural way.”

“You think the dark side is natural?”

“I never said it’s the dark side.”

After going back and forth, he takes the rock back into his hands. This time, taking his sweet time lingering his touch on yours meaning his fingertips brushed your skin a bit longer than before. His touch burns you.

“You already are a natural at it.” You look up to him and his eyes are already set on you. He looks down to your lips for a split second and speaks again “I saw it. Yesterday on the roof.”

You don’t speak your mind at this moment. Though your mind is thinking about how right he is. You turn your neck in your mental memories, and look back at all the times you “failed” as a Jedi, but it was you just feeling the natural feelings that resided in you. Qimir seems to bring that out of you.

You agree with him as much as it is new to you to agree with such a different way of thinking than what you’re used to. It frustrates you on how it doesn’t feel wrong to agree with him.

Qimir personally hands you the rock this time, you lightly take it out of his hands. It’s warm.

He stands up to his feet and is looking down at you as he says “Tomorrow. Let your thoughts free.”

—

The next day you wake up feeling like you got the best rest since you left your childhood home. Maybe it had to do with our last conversation, you thought.

You lift up your body from the bed to see Qimir stirring a spoon in a pot. Instantly the smell of his meal hits your nose like a punch. You get up from the bed and walk over to join him. He pours out the liquid into your bowl. You reach out for it but he takes back the bowl slightly leaving your arm in the air before saying “Don't hide your thoughts today.”

“Okay.”

“Or your actions.” He leans the bowl towards you for you to grab and instantly the hot bowl meets your hands.

This was new to you. It went against everything you were taught. It was a new way of living. If anything, it felt like he was going to teach you how to breathe all over again.

After both of you finished your meals, you both silently got ready to prepare for your first day of training. If that’s what this is, you said in your brain.

You followed Qimir’s lead until he led you on the top of the mountain.

It felt and looked like you were in a dream. The fog that covered the top of the mountain like a blanket was all around you. Beyond Qimir who was about two steps in front of you, you couldn’t see beyond that. It was just you and him. As you rested from your very difficult hike up here, you breathed in and out.

Inhaling and exhaling the air, the fog traveled its way into your lungs. Now residing in you, making a sheet of fog in your insides.

Qimir then sits down in front of you. As he sits criss crossed, he looks up to you. You already know that look, so you join him.

“So how does this work exactly? Do I just tell you my darkest thoughts?” You humorly ask.

Although Qimir stays honest, “You don't have to tell me anything.”

This makes you feel comfortable, immediately.

“All I ask is for you to let your mind and body do everything for you.”

Your eyebrows frown in a question-like manner.

“When you think of anger, what do you see?”

You keep your eyes on Qimir as he asks this question. As he faces your silence, you close your eyes. You see yourself young. You’re hurt and bruised. You feel the fire in your chest as a Padawan. Being taken in to be trained as a powerful Jedi while your family is left behind. You remained homesick and it clouded your thoughts. It caused you to not perform well. Caused you to fall behind. Especially because your Master was extra hard on you. Thinking back on this, you shake your head in that moment thinking how a grown adult could be so cold to a young one like this. Qimir see’s this reaction, and asks his next question.

“When you think of fear, what do you see?”

Being taken in by the Jedi. The day you left is a memory that will always pop into your head every single day. How devastated your brother looked as you left him behind. Your mothers face is full of wet tears, and as you look at her, her eyes are nothing but red from despair. But despite her red eyes, she held a smile on her face. A smile to let you know you’ll be okay, as will they. As you boarded the ship, your knees shook below you. You walked by yourself onto the ship. Once the hatch closed, you fell to your knees. Kneecaps crashed onto the metal floor stinging you instantly. A Jedi present softly laughed at finding humor in it, but how could you, a child, find humor in being so afraid of being on your own that your legs gave out on you.

“When you think of loss, what do you see?”

The intercom. You see the hologram of a good family friend, broken apart as they tell you it’s your brother. That it is his last stretch. Surprisingly, The Jedi Council agreed to let you visit your home this one last time. It was only your third visit since becoming a Jedi. The other visits were to come back and heal your brother. Your brother was the hardest worker you knew. This brought him to his death. Working his blood, sweat, and tears wore him out. Those two times, you were lucky enough to be a medicine to him. To make him better. That third time, you weren't so lucky. Once you got to your homeplanet and landed your ship and booked it off your platform, you made it to your home. Where he laid. There was one specific thing you remember about that day, that being how cold he was. Walking up to him in your clean Jedi robes, to him in his worn out room. You began to do what you came to do. To heal. Your hand came in contact with his. In that moment, you gasped and underestimated how cold his flesh would be. Your heart stung in agony, but you needed to remain focused. You tried to heal him. You tried to make it work. You tried again. Again. You tried.

He was too far gone for saving.

Although you knew. There was a chance. A chance to revive him as you have done previously, but that meant he’d take your life. You’d give him yours. You turn around to your mom who has been hiding in the corner like a shadow. She says your name low, like a monster hiding in the dark. She disapproves. She scares you. You don't care. You grab his burning cold hand and start to use the force. You’re thrown out of your trance as you are thrown to the floor. Your mother stopped you. You rise to your feet as she throws her hands in the air, rambling to you how this was life. How life has beauty and ugliness. That this was a part of the ugly life, the life you didn’t want to face.

Your mother looks you dead in the eyes like a dagger, and tells you that this was the Jedi way. No attachments. Let it go.

You couldn't accept this. You attempt to push past her, but your emotions made you weak. You know you’re a million times stronger than your mother and can easily get her out of the way, but you couldn’t bear overestimating your powers and accidentally hurt her. So you wail like a baby instead, in her arms like the day you were born, on the day your brother died.

Your chest rose and fell at a pace that was noticeably fast, and you open your eyes to see Qimir. As you thought back on your worst painful memory, he sees you in this state. Vulnerable and hurt. Though, you see something in his eyes. You see resemblance. He’s also lost something.

You close your eyes again and with this familiarity between the two of you, you start to control your breathing. You feel the need to relax. To get warm. You think of home on the hottest days. You think of your mothers juice. You think of the excitement of finding your kyber crystal. You remember the anticipation to cut off your padawan braid. You again feel the relief of turning away from The Order. You reminisce on spending your first paycheck on blue noodles. You think of Olega, how arriving there you felt like something was there, waiting for you. You think of bumping into Qimir. You think of him seeing you as you are.

Your breaths are steady. Precise. You open your eyes.

Qimir’s eyes are set on you. With his teeth sucking in his lip.

“When you think of desire, what do you see?”

You look at him in front of you, and as he waits for you to close your eyes again. Your eyes stay open, seeing Qimir.

[amarmoria]

Nepenthe Ⅱ

٠ ࣪⭑Qimir x Padawan! Reader

Why would your master want a Padawan like you when he has his acolyte?

Notes: thank you guys for your support, like for real, please like, comment or reblog so I'll know if u want me to continue the story!

"Where did you go?" The dark timbre of his voice makes you shiver. "I, out, t-to get groceries and, and ingredients—"

"Ingredients for what?"

"Restock ou— y-your, uh, shelves"

"And since when was that your job?" He tilted his head, or helmet, you don't know. Mae was nowhere to be seen, it was only you, your master and the fire crackling. "I, you were running out of them so I assumed—"

"Assumed," he chuckled, the cave seemed to bounce off his voice, making it sound more intimidating than it is. "You and your big words huh?"

"B-big words? I don't—"

"That's right, don't. Don't ever disobey me like that"

"Disobey?" You scoff inwardly, since when did you even? Because out of the goodness of your heart you decided to buy a few goodies for your master? Make him proud? and you're here getting lectured about being disobedient?

"I'm, I'm not, you were running out and, and I didn't want them to empty completely, so I wanted to help you restock for the.. f-future .."

Your words die down on your tongue when he approaches you, his long strides opposed to your little attempts at backing away, your back hits the ropes keeping you from falling, the wind violently howling as the sun settles down.

"I leave you for a day and you go dallying to some, some planet?"

"I, I went to O—"

"Oh I know where you went," he pauses, locking your arms in his deadly grip, you gulp at the muscles flexing on his biceps. "W-what? Did Qimir—"

"No." His response came out a little quick, and shaky, but you didn't have to know that. "You really don't think I'd let my padawans go around freely do you..?"

You bite your tongue, you've never seen him angry like this, angry at training yes, but not this angry, maybe he's having a bad day, that's why you bought additional groceries when you left Qimir earlier.

"Answer me!" He shakes you, the wind howling louder once again, you shiver in his hold, you weren't exactly wearing thick clothes, especially when it was so hot during the day, but you guess the rain is coming, or even a possible storm, yet neither gets you distracted at your fuming master in front of you.

"N-no!..no, you don't.."

"Exactly" he growled. "Then tell me why you'd left here with your little ship across the space for something so, so small, so little, so simple"

You wanted to yell at him, tell him you're not a prisoner, that you could leave the planet anytime for all he cares, but you bit your tongue and fight back the argument.

"Something on your mind, Bee?"

That nickname again, you've been called everything, princess, lady, little girl, padawan, daughter, not bee, you're starting to hate the nickname already.

"Hm," his grip on you loosens as is the breath you've been holding since you came, you rub the sore spot on both your arms when he disappeared from your line of sight, he's aggressive, very aggressive, but only during combat, this was different, it almost felt like you were a child getting scolded, almost.

"Hey" your head whips to your left, the tension on your shoulders leaving when you see Mae approaching. "M-Mae,"

"What are you doing out?"

"I, it's, it's hot inside.. haha" you chuckle nervously, Mae only brushed you away and headed inside.

-

Sleep did you no good, you can still hear his voice in your head when you laid down. After Mae came, your bed was taken by her, so now you're sleeping on the cold hard ground, only two pillows and a blanket supporting you every night.

You didn't get to sleep the first few nights, still freshly used to the soft warm bed Mae was sleeping soundly in, you wondered that night if you were going to be able to build your own, but he quickly shut down the idea, naming it as a waste of materials.

Sometimes you pondered about asking for help from Qimir, but you didn't want to bother him, although the thought always stayed in the back of your mind.

You sighed and peeked at the entrance of the cave.

Blue.

The sky was already starting to brighten up, you gently got up from your lying position, careful not to move any trinkets that might cause alarm.

Would Qimir be up by now? You didn't want to face your master today, the thought of being near him makes you shiver slightly.

You pause when you hear rustling, your eyes quickly scanning the room for the source, no way any of them are up during this time, your shoulders drop in relief when you see a small rabbit at the entrance, phew, you thought you were about to be a goner.

You resume, quickly slipping into your shoes and additional protection from the sun, or rain. You hope Qimir is awake, or you'd be going there for absolutely no reason.

You gathered only little things, water, small knife, enough credits to last you at least a few hours, you hope your master wouldn't be too angry now, since Qimir was a friend he wouldn't worry about you running away.

You hurriedly tiptoed around the cave and up to the entrance where you find the bunny still there. You poke it with the blunt end of your knife.

"..hello?" You whisper, you didn't want to scare the bunny, it might make a sound and sabotage your whole escape mission.

You frown as you tilt its tummy, its full and round, and obviously breathing, maybe it's hibernating?

You shrug and resume with your agenda, carefully, you navigate through the treacherous rocks and calm waves, leading you to a small ship, it was advanced, a very new model from the last few months, your master agreed to let you keep it because it had only little buttons to press, you were too confused with what to do with his big ship, although when Mae came, she only had to learn all about it for a day then boom! She can already fly it, so much for buttons, you would've done it too if you didn't have your small ship, but you do.

The tension on your shoulders went away when your ship soared in the air, zooming up to the space, that's when you heard chittering out the back, you frown, you don't remember the engine breaking yet, or screws loose, you flick the auto-pilot switch and pull out your knife, going into battle stance.

"W-who's there!"

No answer.

"You, you better not be armed!"

You clenched around the knife when there was still no answer, you approached the arch connecting to the hallway. An ambush! Aha! You raised your knife, preparing to stab whoever it was when you were met by the same bunny from the cave.

"Wha.." you knelt down, letting it smell your hand. "Now what is a little thing like you doing here?"

You hid your knife back, carrying the bunny in your arms. "It's cold out huh?"

Chitter, chitter

"Let's get you warmed up then"

-

Moments before you arrived you found a box somewhere inside the ship, you poked holes in it and put the bunny there, you decided you'll let it go when you come back.

The chirping of the birds filled your ears, the bustling planet Olega wasn't so bustling during the wee hours of the day, you could clearly see how big and empty it is without the crowds. Your heart beats louder as you approach the apothecary, you hope he's there, he had to be.

You gulp nervously when you notice the door barricaded from inside.

Closed.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. What now?

You bit your tongue, you for sure didn't want to go back yet, you could stay in your ship and wait for Qimir, but it would bore you so bad, exploring Olega isn't a bad idea, except someone might snitch again..

You groaned and rolled your eyes, why'd you have to suffer today. The hair on your nape suddenly tenses up, you look around your peripheral but there was no one there, you couldn't feel any signatures, so why..

"Hey, miss?"

You yelp and cross your arms in front of your face, shutting your eyes closed.

"W-who's there!"

"Uh," the male voice pauses. "That's my line but uh... Thanks? I guess?"

Your other eye slowly peeks open, the first thing you saw was the beige clothing, with a little orange on the sides, maybe even yellow, by now both your eyes were already open, although your arms still stayed crossed.

"I won't hurt you"

"How would I know that," the last few words came out shaky, you inwardly curse yourself, the first rule was to not look meek and weak!

You heard him chuckle, seemingly amused by your guard. "If you would just take a moment to look at me clearly then you'd know."

You don't answer, your eyes were darting everywhere trying to find an exit.

"Don't think for a second that you can escape, missy"

"I'm not"

"Yes you are"

"No"

"I can see you, you know?"

You curse, hitting the barrel behind you, you hesitate for a moment before dropping your hands down.

"Now, do I look like I would hurt you?"

Fuck.

Jedi. You grip the ends of your robes, you haven't encountered a Jedi ever since that night your master took you in, that was the first and last time you even saw one, and now your face to face with a Jedi. Alone.

You search for Qimir or your master's signatures, but none you can reach, you weren't that good when your master dropped you out of his Sith school of learning, so all you can do right now is try to find your way out, peacefully.

"I, uh," you gulp, he's definitely handsome, pretty even, his hair twists upwards on his head, you're sure it would look horrendous on others, but he makes it look good on him, his facial structure reminds you of Qimir, only his was sharper, and the Jedi's was a little softer, and plumper.

"Yord" he says, taking a step forward which makes you step back, the barrels loudly dropping to the ground with a domino effect. "Don't, don't be scared."

He raises his hands up, showing he had no weapon hidden somewhere. "I'm- w-we're here to patrol the planet for a while,"

No answer.

"But," he pauses, frown etching on his face. "You don't look like a local from here, are you not?"

You shake your head. "Quiet now are we?"

You almost thought you were talking to Qimir, but this isn't him. A jedi. With you. Alone.

"So what brings you here?" He tilts his head, trying to look friendly, which you learned a lot of Jedi use that kind of trick when it comes to coaxing a criminal. But you're not a criminal right now huh? Not to him. He doesn't know you does he?

"I, I wanted to buy, something, medicine! Yes medicine, for my friend at home"

"Why so early though?"

"Uh, he needs them asap, or else he's gonna die" you made a dying gesture, and awkwardly tried to brush it away. "Dying friend then?"

"Uh— yes"

"Hm, I might know someone open right about now" he says, moving past you like you weren't there. "If you want to come that is."

You looked over to his shoulder to you, raising his eyebrows. "Uh,"

"It's fine if you don't," you don't see it, but you know he's laughing somewhere inside. "But won't your friend have to die for that?"

Notes: Yord?! He's here?! Hello?!

[sunnymoonxx]

❝he turns me scarlet❞ | qimir x reader, 1

pairing: qimir x reader

summary: qimir decides to test your loyalty, playing with your mind, testing it, see how long it would take for you to break.

warnings: english is not my native language, dark undertones!+18, cnc hints, blood, sexual innuendo, mind tricks, soft somnophilia, mental torture, improper use of force, physical violence, toxic relationship, yandere behaviour

part 1: this is more of a little foreplay, stay tuned for part 2

a/n: we don't know much about qimir's character yet so let's just pretend this is well written

now playing, desert rose by lolo zouaï

You stumbled through the dense undergrowth, your breath visible in the frigid air. The trees loomed tall and foreboding, their skeletal branches forming a tangled web above your head. You were lost, alone, and cold. Your hands trembled as you clutched your tattered cloak tighter around you, every nerve on edge.

"Master?" you called out, your voice a thin thread of sound swallowed by the forest. There was no reply, only the eerie silence of the woods. Suddenly, a drop of crimson splashed onto your cheek, warm and sticky. You raised your hand to wipe it away with trembling fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. Blood.

More drops followed, a relentless rain of blood falling from the sky. You gasped, the metallic scent overwhelming your senses. The trees offered partial shelter, their branches catching some of the blood, but you could feel it seeping through your cloak, chilling you to the bone. Panic surged through you as the blood pooled around your feet, soaking the forest floor.

You scanned the area, your vision blurred by fear and confusion. Then, through the crimson haze, you saw them. Two figures lying on the ground amidst the torrent of blood. One was your master, Qimir, his dark robes drenched, his body motionless. Your heart dropped seeing him like that. Your feet almost moved towards his direction before the second figure caught your eye. She was a civilian, a young woman, equally drenched and shivering, her eyes wide with terror. Your heart started racing against your chest bone.

The blood fell heavier, a deafening roar filling your ears. You looked from Qimir to the woman, your mind reeling. The woman's eyes pleaded with her, filled with fear and desperation. Your fear mirrored in her, but you forced yourself to focus. Your thoughts raced. The civilian was innocent, a life worth saving. But Qimir was your master, the one who had trained you, who held your future in his hands.

I cannot abandon him.

You took a step towards Qimir, and your decision was made. As you moved, the blood rain slowed, and the surrounding forest began to dissolve. Suddenly, everything vanished. You found yourself falling, tumbling through a black emptiness, with nothing but darkness surrounding you. The sensation of weightlessness consumed you, your mind spinning with disorientation and fear. With a jarring thud, you landed on your legs in a vast, dimly lit hall. The air was thick with an oppressive energy, the walls adorned with menacing, ancient symbols. Flickering torches cast eerie shadows, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. The hall seemed to pulse with a dark life of its own, and your breath caught in your throat.

Good.

You flinched as you heard an enchanting voice in your head. Master. You nodded, acknowledging his praise, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. The blood, the forest, the woman - all gone. Like a nightmare dissipating in the morning light.

~~~

His dark figure stood in the dimly lit chamber, his imposing silhouette casting long shadows on the cold, metallic walls. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on you, lying in your bed, your breathing steady and peaceful. In sleep, you seemed so vulnerable, a stark contrast to the fierce warrior you were now in your dreams.

He moved closer, his presence almost ghost-like. Gently, he sat down next to you on the bed, his fingers tracing the scars on your arms, each mark a testament to your trials and sacrifices you made for him. The pale light accentuated the lines and curves of your figure, and he couldn't help but admire the strength you exuded, even in repose.

As he gazed at you, a complex mix of emotions stirred within him. Pride in your achievements, a deep connection to your struggles, and a pool of mistrust. You always chose him in your hallucinations, always saved him, always sacrificed innocents for him. But those were dreams, illusions he put in your mind to test you. Like the one he was applying now. Dark foggy forest, overflowing with blood. Would you choose him in real life?

The question kept dancing around in his head as his fingers traced your forearm down to your waist. You didn’t bother to lay under a blanket, this night was warm. His thoughts reached a deeper part of his mind, a small smile appearing on his lips. He could easily kill you right now. You were so vulnerable in your sleep. He could do anything, and you would have no choice but to let him.

His fingers traced down the scar on your torso, aware he killed the person who gave it to you. Your body reacted to his touch, but your mind didn't, as you kept lying down, forced to be tested by his illusions even in your sleep. He had complete control of your mind right now, your body left unguarded. He let his fingers dance on your exposed skin, admiring you, wanting to be close to you.

His fingers felt the skin of your thighs, your shoulders, your neck, your stomach. He touched every scar, every mark, every imperfection. He liked to play with your hair, pushing them away from your face.

When he first met you, you were nothing. A former jedi. A failure. Then you found him. He took you in and trained you. Formed you.

He wasn’t just training you to be an exceptional force wielder. He was training you to be his. He enjoyed being known by you, protected by you, and one day maybe even loved by you. He was never going to let you go. You saw his face. You knew his soul. You touched his heart. He was prepared to kill you if you ever chose a path on which he didn’t stand.

~~~

You awoke the next day, disoriented and shivering with goosebumps from a lingering sense of unease. The comfort of your bedroom provided little solace against the remnants of your nightmare—visions of a blood-flooding forest that had felt all too real. Your mind was so focused on the frightened dream that you failed to notice the remaining shadow left over by your master.

Rising from your bed, you began your morning routine, determined to shake off the dread of the night and prepare for whatever mission your Qimir had in store for you. You moved with purpose, your mind already focusing on the tasks ahead, hoping to regain your composure and strength. As you stood in front of the mirror, still clad in your robe, you reached for your clothes, your thoughts momentarily drifting to the intense training you knew awaited you.

You didn't even hear the door creak open, nor did you sense the immediate danger.

Beginners mistake.

Suddenly, without warning, strong hands wrapped around your neck, cutting off your breath. You gasped, your eyes wide with shock as you were slammed against the cold, unyielding wall. Panic surged through you. Struggling against the iron grip, your hands clawing at the attacker's wrists, trying to break free.

Their face was obscured by a hood, their grip unrelenting. Your vision started to blur, but you fought to stay conscious, your mind racing through the techniques you had learned.

Drawing on your training and the power of the Force, you focused your energy, pushing back against the darkness closing in around you. With a burst of strength, you drove your knee into the attacker's abdomen, loosening their grip just enough to create a small gap. You twisted your body, breaking free and dropping to the floor, gasping for air. Scrambling to your feet, you assumed a defensive stance, ready to face this unexpected threat. Your eyes locked onto the figure before you, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick with the promise of violence.

You fought with all your might, but the intruder's strength was overwhelming. Their struggle intensified, the room echoing with the sounds of their violent clash. You landed several blows, but each time you thought you had gained the upper hand, he countered with brutal efficiency.

Desperation surged through you as you found yourself pinned to the ground, your arms restrained, the cold floor pressing against your back. You strained against his grip, but he was too powerful. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the effort.

Fuck.

As you struggled against his grip, the room filled with a palpable tension. Each movement was a desperate attempt to break free, but the man's overwhelming strength held you firmly in place. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling from the exertion and adrenaline.

It was in the midst of this struggle that a realization began to dawn on you. The brute strength, the familiar scent, the unmistakable energy—it could only be one person. Your body tensed even more as recognition flooded your mind, a torrent of confusion and disbelief mingling with a rush of other, more complicated feelings.

"Master?" you whispered more to yourself, your voice barely audible, choked with a mixture of shock and something else you couldn't quite name.

Qimir's hood fell back, revealing his stern, unyielding face. His eyes bore into yours, a storm of dark intensity that made your heart race. The shock of seeing him, of knowing it was him all along, sent your thoughts spiraling.

Your mind reeled. The realization brought with it a flood of memories and images, some of them inappropriate, crossing the line between master and apprentice. You tried to push them away, but they only made you more aware of the heat of his body, the firmness of his grip.

What are you doing?

You desperately asked through the force, unable to form words from the shock. You were frozen, lying on the ground, Qimir's knees crushing your thighs, his firm arms holding your hands above your head. His intense eyes hiding behind the curtain of his dark waves, but you could see the smirk playing on his lips. You saw the smirk many times, and it never ended well.

"Do you yield?" he spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. You could feel his grip on your wrists getting stronger, feeling your bones crush against each other. You couldn't help but let out a moan, the pain forming black dots before your eyes. He was so close, his body almost resting on yours, his face only a breath away. Under different circumstances, you'd enjoy this. But as he kept crushing your wrists together, your mind was only focused on the pain.

"I asked you a question." You almost didn't hear him, trying to hold back the tears forming in your eyes. You didn't cry because of his firm voice but because of the pain, he was inflicting on you. His knees digging into your flesh, his nails ripping your skin open on your wrists and pushing your bones together. You injured way worse, but your master, being the giver of this pain, brought it to another level.

You didn't answer for a while, and you realized that his hands left your crimson wrists to lay above your head alone to put them around your neck. Your hands were so paralyzed that you couldn't even use them to try to push him away. Instead, you let his fingers curl around your neck, stealing the air from your lungs.

"You really won't protect yourself?" He whispered against your cheek as if to mock you. His lower body pressed against yours as he held his upper body up, your neck as his support. "You're going to let me do this to you?" His tone was softer but still humiliating. He was your Master. You were certain this was one of his tests. To test your endurance, your breaking point. Your loyalty. You were loyal to him, but not out of love or care. Fear kept you loyal.

But you knew there was a hidden second reason why you stayed. Why you stay nights awake, excited to see him again, for him to test you again. But you didn't want to accept that.

He liked it. The way he made you shake with terror, fear, and confusion. He enjoyed the power he had over you, but at the same time, he also wanted you to be his equal, his friend. But he knew your feelings towards him. You never considered being his equal. He terrified you. He played mind tricks on you. You were scared. No matter how gentle or soft-spoken he was outside of training hours. Your head was horrified, your heart uncertain, your body, welcoming.

He was aware of the effect he had on you. He smelled it every time he even looked your way. He smelled it now. The way you tensed. One could argue that fear played a role in your stiffness. True. Partially. He sensed everything that was happening in your room, and every night you had a training routine together, you hid in your room, filled your head with images of him, and traced your body with fingers that you wished were his.

He smelled your needs, felt your skin get hotter, the sweat dripping down your forehead. Many times, he wanted to open those doors to your room and give you that for which you were so ashamed to wish. Instead, he used the force, meditating in his room, watching you through the walls, amplifying your pleasure.

You sometimes thought as if you felt another hand, touching yours, pushing you to go further. You felt the warmth, felt it in places only you touched.

"Very well," you heard him murmur to himself before putting all his strength into his hands wrapped around your neck. If he wanted to, he could kill you right now. You were at his mercy. You couldn't move your legs, your hands were recovering from bruised bones, and your body pressed by his against the cold stone floor. You were ashamed you secretly enjoyed the proximity.

"Pl-" you failed to form even a few words as he slowly took all your air supply. His eyes scanning your reactions, watching you carefully, every breath, every small movement. Like a hunter watching his prey. But you didn't count as a prey anymore. You didn't run, you were already served on a golden plate for him.

"You thrive on pain and fear." he leaned in closer to you, his hands softening his grip around your neck, letting a small dose of air run through you. But he didn't let go. You could feel his lips against your ear, his breath, his hair tickling your nose. You could feel the heat of his body, The Force letting you see the colors of his thoughts, up close. Your body tensed, the hunger slowly reaching out for you too.

"You like the torture," he whispered into your ear, scaring you as he quickly rose up, sitting steadily on your hips and raising one hand, leaving only his left one around your neck. Your frozen arms slowly recovered as you managed to pick them up, instinctively wrapping them around his hand that kept suffocating you. He didn't move a muscle and watched you struggle underneath him. You could never overpower him. You weren't stupid enough to believe that, but you didn't want him to see you not try.

"You must learn how to master them." he continued, a psychotic smile on his face as his other hand slowly rested against your chest. "Use them as your tools." You felt his fingers making small circles below your collarbones, his touch sending goosebumps around your body.

After a while, you noticed you never once felt the familiar darkness around you. He kept you on the edge, knowing where exactly to place his fingers on your neck. To cause you enough pain, to make you quiver but never to let you fall over the horizon.

"Was that you?" You tried to let out, to ask him, confirm that the dream of the blood storm was his work, but instead, it sounded like a cat squeaking. “The dream.”

“Hmm,” was all he let out, his eyes scanning your body up and down.

It wasn’t the first time you caught him doing that, but never under circumstances like this. Never when he held you down, pressing himself against you, letting you feel all his curves and edges. Not when you were at his disposal.

His captivating eyes found yours again, reading your thoughts as if they were written in black ink on a white paper. You were transparent to him, no imagine managed to slip underneath him. As if you were bare. The grin on his face told you all you needed to know.

“I don’t trust you,” he whispered, digging his nails into your neck, forcing you to cry out. “Well, not fully.” The way you struggled beneath him was amusing to him. If he could, he’d let you struggle below him every day, every hour for a different reason. “I wanted to test you.”

“I killed- for you.” You breathed out, trying to push his hand away as you slowly regained your strength in your arms. But he didn’t move an inch. “I, serve only you.”

“Yeah?” you heard him purr, totally forgetting about his fingers reaching the top of your robe, right between your breasts. Your heart skipped a beat feeling him so close, not daring to look him into his eyes. You felt his fingers push into your flesh; his fingers alone strong enough to leave a mark. The pressure hurt but not as painful as the one around your neck. “Your heart is saying otherwise.” He uttered under his breath, his fingers bending, going underneath your robe.

“Why are you lying. Don’t lie.” He added, shaking his head, his eyes soft. He almost looked pitiful. “Why are you so scared.” His voice was low, gentle even. His hand around your neck loosened, letting you gasp a cough for air. He waited for you to welcome the air into your lungs before pushing your head back on the ground by your hair. He forced your head against the floor so hard, you were sure for one second, you’d lose consciousness. Fortunately, he kept you awake, healing any of your injures with The Force.

“What are you so scared of?” he asked gently, still holding your head back, accidently grinding on you as he leaned in, his face right above yours. You could feel his breath, tickling your skin. His plumb lips so close to yours, so pink, so desirable. He was ethereal.

“That,” you squeaked, stopping as his hands reached the tie of your robe, painfully slowly trying to untie it. His response was raised eyebrows, his eyes going up and down your eyes and your lips. You struggled more with breathing now than you did mere seconds ago. “That I won’t be good enough for you.” You managed to let out, closing our eyes out of embarrassment.

Not being good enough. Your fear ever since you were born. Not enough for your mother, for your father, for your brother, for your friends. For him. You had no one else left, but him and you were scared you were going to lose him too.

Qimir stopped his movement, his eyes stopping, staring right into yours. You felt a warm touch on your face, his fingers making slow circles on your red cheeks. As you stared back into his eyes you swore, you’d volunteer to drown in them. You imagined they’d taste like dark chocolate. His lips like strawberries. His skin like black cranberries.

His lips formed a small smile as he caressed your face gently.

“Let’s see about that, shall we.”

[fen-luciel]

Jealousy part 1

Part 2 here

Warnings: age gap/toxic behavior

Vernestra-Padawan reader/jedi Qimir

I'll update the tags as the story progresses, there should only be two more parts.

I'm not sure how far I'll go with certain behaviors, so leave a comment and let me know what you think <3

(This first part is to provide context, the other two will set the story in motion)

Becoming a Padawan was a lifelong dream. Of course, I was young, so my view of the world and what I would experience in the coming years was very limited. The idea of being taken under the wing of a more experienced Jedi master, learning many more techniques, the missions, the travels, all the people and aliens I could meet... I was bursting with happiness.

Not that the exercises at the temple weren't stimulating, I was glad to have made friends, to have developed a routine with them, but I was ready for something new.

So, when I was finally introduced to my future master, I was bursting with joy. I recognized her immediately, it was hard not to. Vernestra was an important member of the Order, involved with the Senate, and was known for her numerous successes. It was an honor for me to receive that position by her side.

Over the years, I had been recognized as an excellent future Padawan, with the ability to learn quickly, a strong sense of observation, and a positive and kind character that always accompanied me. I was often praised for the way I presented myself to others. In short, everyone saw a bright future for me, but I had difficulty seeing it myself. I was young and inexperienced and I believed that the important thing was to follow the rules, the rest was just a part of me, something I did naturally.

I imagine that becoming Vernestra’s Padawan was just the confirmation of that golden path everyone saw me on, but I was too caught up in the newness to really think about it.

However, I soon realized that I lost the balance I had created up to that point, I lost some friends, some simply due to distance, others were... cold towards me.

I didn't understand what had changed. I would never have accused anyone of feeling emotions like jealousy or anger towards me, we were children. Missteps were normal, and we were taught that it was right to face them and learn from them.

But if you asked around, many would have described me as someone who never made mistakes, who always responded with a gentle smile, a comforting word, a hand on the shoulder, or even just a pleasant company if you needed to vent. Perhaps that was the problem. I appeared too perfect in the eyes of others.

And yet, the Master didn’t make me feel that way. She taught me everything calmly, I followed her every step, she reprimanded me harshly, but always with care. She soon realized how much I sought validation in everything I did.

It was stronger than me, I believed I was always making a mistake, that I was in the wrong. After all, who was I to say something was right or wrong? I was just a Padawan. A child.

And anyway, it wasn’t the Jedi’s job to give answers, but rather to push people to understand for themselves.

Even though it was a concept I found difficult to grasp myself.

Anyway, that’s how I met Qimir.

He was Vernestra’s former Padawan, now promoted to Jedi Knight and independent in his duties, but he often visited us, either to seek advice from his old Master or just to ask how she was doing. I found him very sweet.

The first time I met him in person, I already knew his name. He had managed to stand out as soon as he started his duties as a Knight. Among the younger ones, there was a sense of reverence towards him even though we had never seen him in person. And besides, it was rumored that he was terribly handsome, not that it particularly interested me at the time.

I remember I was in the library with Vernestra, she had assigned me some basic readings to start my future physical training. Young ones are already taught at an early age to defend themselves and to learn various positions, but it was more about building an understanding of your Force signature, learning to trust your senses. The real training would then be individual for the student once they had a Master, so she had recommended these introductory readings on the various forms of combat and their use.

Those were afternoons I remembered with particular affection. Sitting in silence, she would take a more suitable book or bring her work documents on her datapad, and the hours would pass in an instant. Sometimes, I would glance at her to see what she was doing. She noticed every time, smiled slightly, and gently scolded me, telling me to return to my tasks.

I was happy. I felt cared for, appreciated, but not in the cold manner of a teacher with their student. It was a feeling I didn’t quite know how to place in my heart, and it worried me a bit, but I kept my doubts for another day.

On one of those quiet afternoons, I met Qimir. The room was particularly deserted that day, so the sound of footsteps approaching could be heard clearly along the shelves. Thinking it was the librarian, I didn’t pay much attention and remained with my nose buried in the book. Even when he stopped in front of our table I didn’t pay attention. Then, a deep male voice I didn’t recognize spoke Vernestra’s name.

Curiosity flared up in an instant, and as the two began a light conversation next to me, I slowly raised my gaze, the book almost serving as a shield, my hair partly covering my eyes. In front of us stood a young man in his twenties, dressed in the classic brown Jedi Knight attire, speaking casually to Vernestra. His slightly long, smooth hair, a light smile, and dark eyes framed by a chiseled jaw.

It was the first time I saw him. And the first time my heart beat so fast in my chest.

I didn’t know if it was because he was undeniably a handsome guy. I had never been too interested in that sort of thing, and anyway, it was forbidden for Jedi to have too impure thoughts. It was more... his aura. The amused smile but attentive eyes, the neat but relaxed posture... he seemed to shine with his own light. It was what I felt when I saw a member of the council, when I glimpsed Master Yoda in the corridors, reverence, respect, a bit of fear.

He was captivating, and he seemed to be aware of it.

I didn’t even realize that I had been staring at him longer than I should have. He noticed the insistent gaze on him. I must have looked quite ridiculous, a young girl hiding behind a book while staring at the great Jedi Knight, but the smile he gave me right after almost took my breath away as I blushed, perhaps for the first time in my life.

“And you must be the new Padawan who took my place. Nice to meet you, I’m Qimir” he said, extending a hand, and after casting a nervous glance at Vernestra, who was smiling at me, I hugged the book to my chest with one arm, my palm tingling, unsure whether to return the handshake.

Another inner turmoil came with that first touch. His hands had long, slender fingers, marked by numerous calluses, probably from gripping the lightsaber or the various missions he faced. It was just another reason why I started to admire him. I could see all the dots connecting in this figure that represented everything I wanted to become. A Jedi. A reference point for those in need.

I said my name in a low, timid voice, and he leaned towards me with a slight frown “Such a small voice, are you always like this, or am I making you nervous?” he joked, but I bit my lip, not knowing what to reply, I pulled my hand away, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he began to gently rub my knuckles with his thumb.

“Leave her alone, Qimir. She’s shy, don’t start with your teasing” Vernestra scolded him, at which he let go. I hid my hand under the table, clenching it into a fist, my skin tingling.

“Sorry, sorry. It must be a relief for you to have someone like this after me” she sighed but didn’t deny it either, at which I let out a smile and he, noticing, winked at me.

That was the first time I had dealings with him. But soon I began to see him everywhere. When he wasn’t on a mission, he stayed around the temple, so I encountered him in the corridors, in the halls, in the meditation room, and he always had a kind smile for me.

He made me feel special even though I knew it was a selfish feeling. When I managed to study with other Padawans in the library or practiced in the courtyard, he always stopped by to give me a nod. My friends were jealous, but I wasn’t really offended. Qimir was... kind.

It was like seeing the Force alive and pulsing around him. It was impossible not to look at him, not to wish that he would glance at you even just once.

Everyone wanted to be like him. Charismatic. Confident. Everyone wanted to be his friend.

One of the first missions I did with Master Vernestra was another point of contact. Being young, I wasn’t yet allowed in particularly dangerous scenarios, not to mention that if there was one thing I was lacking in, it was combat. I followed the Master almost everywhere, political life was just as important in a Jedi’s path, and I had to understand the mechanics early on for when I would be older, even though they were often more moments of leisure.

The meetings lasted hours, often discussing places, people, and things I knew nothing about. I tried to stay focused, but it was really difficult, and even Vernestra thought I shouldn’t strain myself too much, so she let me roam around, maybe continue studying, or even just take a little break.

One day, ready to depart, we were loading the luggage onto the ship. We were going to spend a few days on Hoth, and I was incredibly excited since I had never experienced a planet with that kind of climate before. As I was lost in my thoughts, a light knock interrupted me. At the foot of the ramp, Qimir gave me a half-smile "Is there room for me too?" I was still intimidated by his presence since we had never really spoken before. I opened my mouth several times, glancing around awkwardly, not sure if he was teasing me or if I was too stupid to understand what he meant.

"I hope you didn’t bring your usual baggage" Vernestra said behind me, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, confused "Excuse me Master, is Qimir coming with us?" I struggled even to pronounce his name, it felt like an insult to do so, as if I didn’t have enough experience to earn such a privilege.

"What, you don't want me around?" he smiled as he walked up the ramp. I squirmed uncomfortably, realizing the embarrassing situation I had caused "N-no, I didn’t mean that—" He smiled even more, but Vernestra intervened again, scolding him "Give her some space Qimir."

The plan was simple: it was a diplomatic mission, and Qimir had joined us to study for a few days with his former master. I didn’t know exactly what he needed, but he wanted her advice. We left a few minutes later, and I avoided the control room like the plague. I only entered once to ask how much longer it would take, burning alive under Qimir’s gaze, then I shut myself in the bedroom and did my homework.

Hoth was as beautiful as it was freezing. But it was worth it; I had never seen such an immense expanse of white, the ground soft underfoot from the snow, the ice mountains, creatures I had never seen before. Vernestra stopped to talk to some locals, and I approached the enormous door overlooking the ice field. I wondered if the entire planet was like this. Did anyone live in those isolated areas? How could anyone survive in such a harsh climate?

A gloved hand rested on my back, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turned, expecting to see my master, but under the hood, it was Qimir’s dark eyes that looked at me with a gentle smile on his face.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" he asked before turning back to look at the white expanse before us. I nodded hesitantly. Nervous about speaking to him, I bit my lip but managed to gather the courage "Do you know... if there’s anyone who lives in these lands?" He looked at me, puzzled, and I quickly corrected myself "I mean... besides the local species. Or aliens accustomed to these temperatures. Do you think others could live in a place like this?" He let out a small amused puff, "Well, we actually know for sure. There are many bandits or pirates hiding in these lands. Mainly to hide something, you know, it’s not worth sending search teams into snowstorms for a single man" he explained.

I made a sound of acknowledgment, but he continued "And if we’re talking about others... I think so. Someone who likes solitude or seeks peace. It seems like a good place not to be found" At that point, I turned toward him "Completely alone? It seems..." sad. But I was afraid to say it out loud, sadness wasn’t one of those emotions a Jedi should typically feel, but it felt natural to feel melancholy at the thought of people wanting to lose themselves in nothingness, to never be found again.

"Sad?" he seemed to read my mind "You see, emotions are very complicated to recognize. What might seem sad to you might mean peace to others. As Jedi, we often take many emotions for granted, but we often forget to give them context" I listened, hanging on his every word.

The conversation seemed... strange in some way. It made sense. Of course it did, he was older than me, had more experience in the field, and knew what he was talking about. I should have just nodded and thanked him for sharing those words.

I ignored the burning sensation I felt and thanked him in a faint voice It felt silly to do so, but it was the least I could do.

He smiled at me and gently took my hand "Let’s go, we need to warm up a bit. Trust me, in two more minutes, you won’t be able to feel the tip of your nose" he joked. I stifled a giggle and let him lead me inside toward the rooms. I didn’t know if it was because we were both wearing gloves or because of the conversation we had just had, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable being held by the hand.

A couple of days later, I was alone in one of the bases scattered across the ice. Vernestra was in a meeting and had forbidden me from attending due to the sensitivity of some of the information that would be exchanged. The problem was that these places weren’t particularly full of people or things to do. Yes, there was a bar area, but after the third cup of hot chocolate, I was afraid of pushing my stomach to the limit, so I stayed at the entrance, my feet in a pile of snow as I doodled or made small, questionable-looking statues.

I was so engrossed in the crooked little house I was shaping out of the ice that I didn’t notice the snowball being thrown in my direction.

I let out a startled yelp when it hit the hood on my head. I spun around just in time to see Qimir burst into laughter "Why did you do that?!" I stood up quickly, brushing the snow off my head.

"You looked so bored, I woke you up, didn’t I?" he chuckled.

I glared at him with a pout while he continued to laugh, so I decided to get revenge.

I bent down to grab a pile of snow, quickly making two balls. I threw the first one, but he easily dodged it.

He turned with an arrogant smile, ready to boast when the second one hit him square in the face.

I burst into laughter. He wiped the snow from his nose, his smile gone before bending down to grab more snow.

I shouted his name, realizing immediately what he was about to do, and started running through the snow with him on my heels. We didn’t even have time to make proper snowballs, we just grabbed the snow in our hands, compacted it as best we could, and threw it at each other in a never-ending war. Sometimes I noticed people giving us amused looks as they arrived or departed from the base, but I didn’t care, I was so happy that, for the first time, I didn’t even care what people thought of me.

An hour later, Vernestra called us back, giving us a confused look. She sighed and sent us to dry off. I felt a bit embarrassed at that moment, and I apologized for the childish behavior, but she smiled at me and assured me there was nothing wrong with what we had done.

In the end I took a full shower someone had left dinner on my bed, considering how long I had been under the hot water. I ate and, putting on one of the heavy local pajamas, decided to step out into the hallway to ask the Master what we would be doing the next day. I knew she wasn’t in bed yet, based on her nightly habits.

I walked down the hallway on the second floor, where the various guest rooms were located, when I noticed that her door was already open.

I approached slowly and immediately recognized Qimir’s voice.

"I’m just saying, if we block the main routes, they’d be forced to come out into the open" With a sense of curiosity, I pressed myself against the wall to peek into the room. The two were looking at an old map spread out on the table.

"I agree, but it would take too many resources, and we don’t know the exact times or routes. It would take a lot of time" she replied wearily. Qimir, standing next to her, bit his lip before flashing one of his smiles, "Or... we could sneak in"

She sighed again "The point is the same. We don’t have the resources—"

"I’ll go in myself. I’ll cut the power right under their noses, and—" She interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

"Do you realize what you’re saying? Sneaking in like a thief, and then what? Even if I let you do it, they could still escape, and..." He circled the desk, positioning himself in front of her, his back to me, so I barely heard what he said "No one said we need them alive—"

A sudden thud made me jump. I pressed my hands to my mouth, paralyzed, afraid they had heard me "No. Stop this nonsense, Qimir."

I don’t know what they said after that, I was too busy slipping back into my room, the conversation I had just overheard spinning in my head.

Sometimes, as a Jedi, you had to make drastic choices, right?

Or at least, it seemed that way.

I tried to forget about it and went to sleep.

[slasherscream]

Hello Bee! First I want to say that I really love your writing and your characterization of the characters. I've read so much of your stuff over and over again, it's so good! Thank you so much for writing it all!

Secondly, I wanted to make a request. Sorry if this sounds dumb, but could you please make a crazy ass husbands with an artisitic s/o? Like someone who may not necessarily create art, but is really passionate about like painting, and music, and just all the types of art? I saw you added Vincent Sinclair and thought of this 😄.

If not its fine, I still want you to know that I adore and enjoy your writing! Well wishes! 🩷🩷

Qimir (the acolyte) - Qimir likes the way you get carried away by music. The way you close your eyes when you walk into a cantina and musicians are playing. The little songs you hum to yourself when you’re piloting the ship, or fixing something. Music awakens something in your soul. You feel it deeply. Love songs and tragic laments alike light a fire in you. Every now and again he’ll have the two of you go to planets known for their music, their unique sounds, and singing styles. It’s always under a false pretense. The training or mission he sends you on are usually extra grueling before you’re given your “reward”. Otherwise, he feels like a slave to the whims of your joy. What wouldn’t he do to see you smile? To relish your little gasp the first time you hear a new instrument or song? He likes to reach out, using the connection you two share, and feel what you feel. He’s so glad he freed you from your shackles of repression. The way you indulge your passion is beautiful. 

Norman Bates - You’ve always loved flowers. The first thought you had about the motel was that it needed some nice flowers outside. You’ve traveled the country, visiting all sorts of gardens. It’s an odd hobby, but one you chased relentlessly. Until you met Norman, and settled into the hotel with him. But eventually you start to crave those gardens again, so you decide for the first time not to just admire gardens, but to cultivate one. There are a few false starts. Miserable failures. Mixed successes. But Norman is encouraging every step of the way, and eventually your little motel begins to shine. Ivy creeping up trellises you place against the house. Roses, peonies, lavender, poppies. All in ranges of colors and sizes. You repaint the motel when it begins to look shabby in comparison to the garden blooming around it. For the first time the motel starts to look… welcoming. Like a true home. People in town begin to stop by and spend the night just so they can have breakfast in the garden the next morning. People propose to each other at the Bates Motel. Get married there. Honeymoon. Have the celebrations for their baby’s christening among all your flowers and saplings. Norman doesn’t have a green thumb, but he brings you lemonade and kisses your cheek and thanks you earnestly for bringing color and life into his world. 

Hannibal Lecter - This is one of the ways you and Hannibal bond. You could talk about art for hours together. He’s a wonderful conversationalist, and your raw passion for the topic makes it so that you always have something new to say to one another. Date nights consist of going to art galleries for big and small artists. Something about being in one another’s presence sweetens the art itself. Hannibal often surprises you with trips to other countries just so you can go to their art museums and partake in new art scenes. Money is a small thing to Hannibal. The conversations you have about art? Those are priceless. 

Shane Walsh - He’s never been too interested in the arts. Not before the end of the world and certainly not after it. The only art that matters now is the art of survival. He tells you this often. Tells you to look to the future. Focus on surviving the day. On perfecting the skills he tries to teach you, day in and day out, so even if he’s gone, you’ll be okay. But you make him soft. For all that he bitches, he’s always giving in. Always looking to keep you alive, yes. But he wants you to be happy too. So he takes detours, and looks for libraries and bookstores that are beginning to cave in on themselves and smell of rotten pages and wood. He’s risked entire hoards of walkers to retrieve a book he knew was your favorite. He doesn’t mind when precious bag space is taken up by whatever paperbacks you can get your hands on. One day he might find a town that he likes enough and decide to go through the trouble of turning a library into a home for you. It will be well fortified, and he won’t like how many entry and exit points it might have. But he’d love to see you in your element, surrounded by what you love. 

V (from V for Vendetta) - So much art has been ruthlessly crushed beneath the boot of the fascist government you live under. Admiring the arts, any form of it, is like trying to hold sand in your hands. Your grip grows ever more desperate to hold onto anything. But there is no rhyme or reason to what is outlawed or taken away. Little bits of your soul are chipped away, with each new restriction, with each new burning or banning. Until V whisks you away to his hideout, and suddenly the world is made anew again. You are surrounded by art, art you didn’t even know existed. Things you couldn’t imagine in your wildest dreams. You inhale everything the gallery has to offer. You feel nearly gluttonous. In each room there is something new to see, hear, read. A feast for your senses anywhere you turn. You feel alive for the first time in years, maybe ever. V, in turn, feels his own form of gluttony. He cherishes every bit of delight he brings to your world. He feels like the worst kind of miser. The lowest of villains. What could be more precious than your smile? Or your laughter? Nothing. And by keeping you here, with him, he deprives the world of you and all you have to offer. But the world isn’t kind to precious things. So he keeps you like all the other treasures of this world. Hidden. Safe. Loved. 

Candyman - You collect book nook shelf inserts. Your home is covered in shelves, just to fit them. You have more book nooks than you do books separating them. Daniel is charmed to death by the collection. By the tender, diligent way you take care of them all. You spend hours of your week dusting. Fiddling. Making tiny adjustments. There must be something meditative about it, because you never complain. The joy he felt whenever he held a paintbrush is the same joy that flashes across your face when you open a new kit. He watches you assemble your precious, miniature worlds and ask you quiet questions, every now and again. He doesn’t want to break you from the beautiful trance you fall into, but he loves to peek into your mind. “What drew you to this scene, my love?” / “This one has an enchanting gloom to it. You have such an eye for art.” / “This one looks especially fragile, you might have to be more gentle, love.” He enjoys watching you lose yourself in your hobby. He loves the way you are unashamed in your joy. How you take pride in this work. You curl up into his side, after you’ve spent hours assembling one of your nooks, and the two of you will stare at it in all its completed glory. 

Robert Neville (I Am Legend) - At first he thought you were a hallucination. He’d been hearing things more often. Seeing things too. The human mind wasn’t built for isolation, as a scientist he was well aware of that. He tries to compensate as best he can. With his mannequins. With entertainment. By focusing on his research. He only has to stay sane long enough to fix the world he couldn’t save. That’s all. But then he sees you, while he’s hunting. The sun is still high in the sky, and you don’t move like a dark seeker. You’re cautious, slow. You also don’t move like a hallucination. You don’t really look like one either. He almost doesn’t approach you, afraid he’ll discover you were a mirage. He follows you all day long, until the sun is getting too low for comfort. Then Robert approaches you, fumbling through the obvious (it isn’t safe out here), barely remembering to introduce himself because people have names. Hoping desperately that you’ll trust a strange man instead of taking your chances with the dark. But the entire time he talks to you his eyes keep drifting to all the jewelry you’re wearing. Earrings. Bracelets. Necklaces. Rings. They glint in the light. Hypnotizing in their imperfections and intricacies. You move into his home, but you two drift around each other like ghosts. You’ve been alone so long, the both of you. You dreamed of meeting another living person. But faced with the reality of it, you’re overwhelmed. Until one night after dinner he finds you in the living room, making more of your jewelry. Slow and careful. He asks you about it, and you tell him it kept you sane while you were alone. Made you feel human. Then you look up at him, and he freezes under your gaze. (It’s been so long since he’s looked into someone’s eyes. It almost hurts. He can’t imagine ever looking away.) You ask him what kept him human. He’s not sure he still is. But he moves to sit beside you on the floor, hands you beads, and tells you he's been pretty fond of movies lately. 

Lestat De Lioncourt - You were a tailor in life, before he turned you. In death, in this eternity he’s given you, fabric is nearly your religion. With your vampiric eyes, you see even the tiniest flaw in stitching. All colors look more vibrant. The world looks more alive. Even though you can never see the way certain fabrics and colors catch the light of the sun, moonlight and starlight can be just as beautiful. You drag him to fashion shows in order to soak in the new styles, and cuts of clothing. You are as endeared by couture as you are the various counter cultures that arise throughout the decades you spend together. You spend exorbitant amounts of money on the finest bolts of cloth and thread. Sewing and tailoring and designing can be done entirely on your own. In fact, you’d probably be done quicker if you were just left to your work. But Lestat gets lonely when you lock yourself up in your work room for days on end. He likes to drape himself against your back, push himself into your side. Trail teasing fingers up your arm, to see if he can get your ever steady hands to falter (he cannot.) Looking over your shoulders and seeing what latest fashion has caught your eye is his hobby. You don’t mind the company of your muse. Sometimes you even sit him in front of you as you sew, and let the sound of him talking guide your needle and thread. He hardly wears anything you don’t make. Not only is your work superior, but every piece is made of love. 

Abe Sapien - You love everything about movies. How they’re made. Sound design. Light design. Set design. The difference between digital and film cameras. Abe was caught in your orbit the minute you were recruited. Talking to you, trying to form a connection, however, did not come as easy. Awkward nods as you passed one another in the hall. Stilted, dry conversation as you ate lunch at the same tables. It was enough to drive him mad. He didn’t know why he alone was unable to form any sort of acquaintanceship with you (especially when he wanted far more than that). This all changed during movie night. You were watching the voted on film play out on screen, entranced by every individual frame, it seemed. He’d never seen anyone smile so fetchingly, or blink so little. He bravely, and quietly, asked if you were enjoying the film. You began to eagerly whisper to him all sorts of details about how the film was made, the difference between the final product and script. Apparently, it was one of your favorites. With one conversation, the bridge between you two was crossed. Abe had been so caught up in enjoying literature, he hadn't explored much of the diverse realm of cinema. Happily, you appointed yourself the esteemed position as his guide. Somewhere between sharing your tastes, late night discussions, and dry eyes from sleepless nights, you leaned over to kiss him. He kissed you back, and you both forgot all about movies for a little while. 

Vincent Sinclair - You were an avid admirer of sculptures. You went to museums, and had to curl your hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and touch the statues. There was something so beautiful about someone taking the time to carve human shapes out of stone and earth. To make marble resemble fabric as delicate as silk. It was breathtaking to you, really. Until you came across the House of Wax, you hadn’t really thought of wax as a means to make sculptures. Instantly, you are captivated. You forget that your car is being “repaired”, so closely do you look at every sculpture. You admire each one from several angles, for long periods of time, face giving away nothing. Vincent watches you, wanting to know what you’re thinking about his art so desperately he feels as if he’ll die. He interrupts Bo from the preparations to kill you and makes him ask you questions. Bo asks each one through gritted teeth, irritated to be playing a game of telephone, but even he is a little charmed by your thoughtful answers. When Vincent insists on not killing you Bo just shakes his head and washes his hands of the situation. You fall asleep in the town’s only motel, but when you wake up you’re in Vincent’s workshop. You’ll be able to admire his art for as long as you like now. 

Joel Miller - You tell him stories. You’re an avid collector of them. Wherever you go, you collect a story from someone. Sometimes they’re fantastical. Some myth or aesop fables that will be lost to the sands of time and the chaos of the apocalypse within just one more generation (if humanity makes it that long.) Other times they’re heartbreakingly real. The taste of an apple pie someone’s grandmother used to make for them. The memory of someone trying on their wedding dress for the first time. You have a way about you. It’s your eyes. The warmth in them. The understanding. Even after so many years of survival and fighting, you possess an empathy that should have gotten you killed by now. Instead you’re the keeper of people’s stories. You’ll be riding side by side on your horses, and Joel won’t sense any danger nearby, so he’ll say the magic words: You got a story for me today, L/N? And you always do. The sound of your voice keeps his head quiet. 

A/N: i blushed bugs bunny curled ears style. thank you for the compliments, made my day! i think yours is the first crazy ass husbands gang request i’ve written! if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. Xoxoxo

[amaramiyu]

Amandla Stenberg on Oshamir

Speaking of the Dark Side and emotions, I know a lot of viewers have latched onto the Oshamir ship. I know I was really excited to see that hand-hold play out. What are your thoughts on how things shake out for them here, and what the future might hold?

It's been really cool to see how into Oshamir people are, because we didn't necessarily know how people were going to respond to it.

Originally, the romantic arc was a much more significant part of the finale. We had this whole debate around, "Should they kiss? What should happen?" And we just wanted to prioritize Osha's choice of going to the Dark Side feeling more autonomous. That was something that Leslye always spoke to. She said, "I don't want it to feel like Osha was manipulated into making this choice. I don't want it to feel like it was something that was out of her control. I want it to feel like this was a choice that she made for herself, after she had all the information finally available to her."

So it became more important for us to prioritize the ideological alignment that's happening between Osha and Qimir, and that Osha is finally acknowledged and seen in a deep way, allowed to be who she truly is by this other person. To me, that felt so much more romantically significant than any sort of physical intimacy could be.

-Source

[imgeekgirlfan]

The Curse of Cassandra│(Qimir x Reader)

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Being a prophet is both a gift and a curse; you see the future and you’re burdened with the weight of knowing that every decision you make could shape or destroy entire universe, with the overwhelming pressure that the fate of the galaxy hinges on your choice, and every path fraught with sacrifice.

Status: work in progress (This is a long fanfic that will be about 10+ chapters.)

A/N : I'm thai and english isn't my first language (sorry for the broken English)

This fic exists 'cause I got high (thanks to weed!). So my work's full of random shit in many ways. But I hope you'll dig it.

I got inspo from novels and movies I'm obsessed with: Dune, Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga, Blue Eye Samurai, and Anne Carson's Cassandra Float Can. (Hence the title "The Curse of Cassandra," linking to the Greek myth)

It's a mash-up of different universes, not just Star Wars, with a lot of tweaks for my storyline. If you want fanfic that strict Star Wars canon, this fic isn't for you.

Also, diversity FTW! the reader in this fic isn't white, she's a SEA woman, we gonna representing ASEAN pride.

➡  EP : I // EP : II // EP : III // EP : IV // EP : V // EP : VI // EP : VII

[Intro] A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away

What fate could be worse? 

Being captured by Jedi 

Or being hunted by Sith

You close your eyelids, frowning at the stabbing sensation creeping into your brain. It's always like this when you try to sink into the stream of time, pondering what's yet to come. The price for this wicked foresight is torment of both body and soul, intensifying as your senses expand.

You see, you hear, you feel. The moisture in the air, the sound of water droplets hitting the ground, the wind rustling through the grass, the capillaries in your nasal cavities twisting and rupturing before blood gushes from your nose.

As you casually wipe away the red fluid with the back of your hand, you suddenly realize certain truths that have always been part of you. 

You are an aberration, something repulsive. An Abomination. 

And abominations must be eliminated—so they say.

You let out a long sigh, allowing your mind to drift through the past, present, and future—every possible event and situation. You watch it all with a numb mind, as if you've seen the same movie hundreds or thousands of times, a movie whose ending you already know well.

Yet there's one thing you still don't know: which ending will the path you're on now lead to?

Something pulls you out of your meditation, coinciding with the moment you sense someone's piercing gaze openly fixed upon you. That man is watching you from the shadows behind a large tree, not with malicious intent but with curiosity mixed with several other complex emotions too ambiguous to explain.

You remain seated in meditation at the same spot, amidst the blood and corpses of the Jedi, not daring to move, almost forgetting even to breathe.

You are the last one still breathing, the final victim of the Jedi massacre carried out by the mysterious Sith—The Stranger who is now closely observing you.

His face is completely hidden beneath a dark, twisted metal mask. Yet you can still feel his gleaming eyes surveying your body, as far as sight allows, focusing excessively, even invasively.

The curiosity in his mind is so intense that you find yourself trembling.

You see visions of what might happen—there's a high chance he'll rush in to slice you to pieces with his red lightsaber, searching for secrets or whatever might be hidden inside your body. Or he might subjugate you with his Force, using his power to penetrate your mind, deep into your subconscious, hoping to taste the forbidden fruit of secrets that you alone possess.

But he will never know, as long as you don't wish him to.

The scent of death hangs heavy in the air as heavy footsteps crunch over gravel, approaching you slowly, like a predator toying with its prey. You freeze, every muscle in your body tense, as you face the tall figure in dark robes, his visage concealed behind a strange metal mask carved into a distorted smile.

For a moment, this man reminds you of the grim reaper from ancient religious myths that vanished thousands of years ago.

He is the harbinger of death everywhere he goes, including your own death

Awareness strikes like a warning signal. Various possibilities flash through your memory, similar to how a dying person recalls everything that happened in their life.

You instantly realize how crucial this moment is. This is an incredibly fragile juncture. 

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life. 

Fear spreads throughout your flesh, imprinting itself on your soul, turning your blood ice-cold. Your pulse races with panic. 

You take a deep breath, quickly focusing, trying hard to regain control of your shaken mind. "I must not fear," you mutter to yourself, the same phrase your mother used to teach you as a child. "Fear is the mind-killer, fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration..." 

A low, hoarse laugh escapes from behind the metal mask. Clearly, he heard what you said. "Oh, I think you should fear," he says, his words teetering between mockery and sarcasm.

You know he wants you to fear because, for the Sith, fear leads to power.

 You do the opposite, swallowing the lump of fear in your throat, maintaining a calm demeanor as you force a faint smile for the person before you. 

"Humans fear what they don't know, just as they fear me, and just as they fear you." You pause momentarily, carefully considering your final sentence, which could determine your fate. 

Finally, you speak, firm and unwavering, "But I know you, so I do not fear." 

There's a fifty percent chance he'll kill you, and another fifty percent chance he'll spare your life—this thought returns to your mind once more.

He had always kept his secret well, never letting anyone who knew his true identity survive.

'Why does this woman know who I am?' He must have thought.

You know well that your revelation will bring about an end that changes everything, both for better and for worse.

This is the gamble you've already placed your bet on, for this purpose and for this moment.

The lightsaber hilt in his hand remains tightly closed, showing no sign of the red flame that has taken countless lives. He kneels before you, his action clearly revealing vulnerabilities in his body. You could easily grab the lightsaber from the Jedi's corpse and behead him in one stroke.

But you don't kill him, just as he doesn't kill you.

You look into his eyes, he looks into yours, gauging each other in silence.

His large hand reaches beneath his mask, unlocks the mechanism, and slowly removes it, revealing the familiar face in your sight.

His face is sharp in every proportion, with messy jet-black hair. His eyes, once gentle when touched by sunlight, now cold as ice, contrast starkly with the smile slowly spreading wide, in the same fashion as the smile on the mask he wore earlier.

"Qimir"

His name sounds strange when you utter it, as if it's not a name you're familiar with, and the man before you is not the man you know.

The man chuckles softly and moves even closer, cutting off any chance for you to escape. You swallow hard, trying to turn your face away from his intense gaze. But he doesn't let you. His fingers, wet with others' blood, dig into both of your cheeks, pressing hard enough to hurt, forcing you to look only at him.

"Surprised?" He leans in closer, his hot breath on your face, and whispers softly in your ear, "I told you, you can't run away from me."

[devieuls]

ˋ Haunted .✵

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 4.9k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

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Chapter I: The Abyss of Temptation

(The shuttle landed silently on the verdant surface of the planet Khofar, a wild jewel among the worlds of the Outer Rim Territories. As the hatch opened, a wave of humidity enveloped the Jedi, carrying with it the intense scent of damp earth and the exotic fragrance of the lush vegetation. The forest stretched out before them like an endless sea of green, where the trees rose like ancient towers, their massive trunks covered in layers of gleaming moss. The thick, intertwined canopies above them created a natural roof, allowing only faint rays of light to filter through, speckling the ground with golden patches. Khofar was a living, wild planet, and they were only temporary visitors, intruders in an ancient and balanced ecosystem. Every rustle among the leaves, every distant call, was a warning. A premonition or prelude to what the day would bring.)

If only you had known in advance that your teammates would die one by one before your eyes as you returned from the hut where Jedi Master Kelnacca lived, you would have thought twice before agreeing to the mission. You had fought against the Sith who killed your friends, battling with anger and bitterness, in a grief too fresh to fully comprehend. In the end, the pain of your body hitting the hard ground was nothing compared to the searing agony in your side from a nearly fatal wound. Your vision began to blur, and you could only see footsteps approaching before everything faded to black.

You awoke slowly, as if emerging from a hibernation that had lasted for years. Your eyes opened with difficulty, greeted by a nearly suffocating gloom. The dim light of a few torches was the only source of illumination within what seemed to be a cave. The rocky walls, uneven and cold, seemed to loom over you. You felt weak, every movement was a struggle, and a dull pain throbbed in your side. You tried to sit up, but your injured side forced you back down, a hiss of pain escaping your lips. You brought a trembling hand to the wound and felt the rough texture of the bandages wrapped around the torn flesh. Despite the agony, the wound had apparently been cleaned and treated with care. Someone had taken the time to tend to it, to ensure it would heal, though it was still far from being fully recovered. You looked around, trying to piece together fragments of memory that crowded your mind. You remembered your friends' deaths, Sol screaming, your lightsaber changing color, and a battle. You recalled the fierce confrontation with the Sith, your fall, and the darkness that enveloped you. But beyond that, nothing. You had no idea how you had ended up in that cave, nor who had brought you there.

Your heart raced, panic beginning to seep into your thoughts. Were you a prisoner? And if so, who had shown such mercy to tend to your wounds? The most unsettling question was the most obvious: why hadn't the Sith eliminated you when he had the chance? A shadowy thought slithered into your mind, and the face of the Sith echoed in the depths of your being. The idea that he might have been the one to save you, to care for you, was as chilling as it was improbable. Yet, you couldn’t shake the possibility from your mind, no matter how absurd it seemed.

You dragged yourself out with great effort, and through the blinding light, you saw the silhouette of a man, barely identifiable. You followed him stealthily, still holding your side and trying to endure the pain from the wound. For a moment, you lost sight of him, only to find him again shortly after, immersed in a pool of water in what seemed to be a coastal area with black sand you couldn’t identify. Your eyes fell on the figure facing away from you, submerged in the water, his muscles relaxed, his raven hair wet and slicked back. To your eyes, the man seemed completely unaware of your presence, though he appeared to have a vigilant awareness of the surrounding area. You moved silently among the rocks and vegetation, observing your target until your gaze fell upon a pile of clothes near the shore, where the deactivated lightsaber lay. With swift and somewhat precise movements, you approached the lightsaber. Tension mounted inside you as you crouched to pick it up, aware that any sound could betray your presence. You grasped the metallic object and assumed an attack position as the man began to speak, still with his back turned while he calmly washed himself.

"how does it feel?" he said, turning towards you. You recognized him immediately. The mere sight of his face sparked rage within you. "Pleasant, don't you think?" His tone was a piercing screech to your ears. You gritted your teeth, not responding, remaining in your attack stance. "Your stance is good despite the wound on your side, but your elbows are a real mess. I had my doubts when we fought last time, and now I see why it was so easy to defeat you. Your elbows are too low; you should keep one higher, you know?" he continued, observing you. "…To block more quickly and strike with more precision." He took a brief pause. "Since you don’t know how to use the Force, you should learn to block better," he concluded, stepping out of the water, now only a few steps away from you.

"Don’t move," your stance changed, now aiming the off lightsaber directly at him. Your gaze was sharp and cold. "If you don’t want to join me, at least let me put my clothes on" he said. You took a slight step back, allowing him to exit the water. You swallowed, trying not to let your gaze fall on the naked, wet defined body of the man, keeping in your mind that he was your enemy. You began to ponder whether it was appropriate to attack him now. But it was neither Jedi-like to strike a defenseless man nor to act in such a dishonorable manner. "Surely, you’re wondering if it’s honorable to kill me like this," he began, his tone different from the one used in battle. You swallowed. Your gaze fell for a second on his chest, and you cursed yourself for the terrible idea. "In battle it’s justified, but days later isn’t it revenge?" he asked with a sarcastic tone, as if he already knew the answer. "And now you wonder if I can read your mind… and the answer is… no. Anger betrays your thoughts" he continued, dressing himself as if you weren’t pointing a weapon at him. His gaze seemed oddly gentle, more delicate, almost innocent. So much so that he almost didn’t seem like the same man who had killed seven Jedi just a few nights before.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you kill me?" you asked, watching him sternly, uncertain of what to do next. "Am I your prisoner?" "Prisoner? You’re the one with a weapon" he said with an overly calm look and an obvious tone in his voice, as he walked back towards the cave, passing by you without fear. You followed him, teeth clenched. You wanted revenge on this man, but what a miserable person you would be to strike him from behind while he was unarmed. "If you keep me here, Sol will come for you. He’s found me before, and he’s powerful with the Force." Your voice sounded threatening, though not as forceful as you’d hoped due to the stabbing pain in your side. The man turned and looked at you with a puzzled expression. "Do you think he’s powerful with the Force? It’s you who’s powerful with the Force, y/n. Someone should teach you," he said. You were stunned for a few seconds, as he knew your name. To you, he was a stranger, but you didn’t seem to be as unknown to him. The stranger walked back into the cave, and you followed him, confused. "In what way am I powerful with the Force? You should know it’s something to be practiced. If you don’t train it, it fades" you said, your voice still sharp as you scrutinized the man who seemed so at ease in your presence. You had long abandoned being a Jedi, retreating shortly after becoming officially part of the Order. If it hadn’t been for your sister leaving a trail of blood wherever she went, you would have stayed far away from that world. You had lost every Force ability, not having practiced it for many years. You vaguely remembered how to use a lightsaber, thanks to Sol, who had helped you recall the skills during the time you spent together, training with his young Padawan Jecki.

The stranger was seated next to what appeared to be a small campfire, while you kept your distance. He tasted the food he was cooking. You didn’t trust him; something about him made you suspicious, aside from the fact that he had decimated your team. "You know… The Jedi teach that there’s only one way to access the Force, and if you don’t do it their way, it fades. But there’s another way," he said gently, turning his gaze toward you. "Beneath the surface of consciousness, there are powerful emotions." "Anger. Fear. Loss…" he slowly mentioned the emotions you had learned to suppress, as you had been taught in the Order during your time as a Jedi Padawan. "…desire." The last emotion was spoken almost in a whisper as he took on a more serious and penetrating expression. You swallowed, observing him with disdain, though you subconsciously held your breath as he listed the emotions. "That’s the path to the dark side," the words came out acridly from your mouth.

The man’s expression darkened for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a mocking smile. "semantics… You Jedi are so closed-minded," he replied, turning back to the fire, stirring the stew he was cooking. "The light side isn’t the only way to access the Force. The dark side… amplifies emotions. It’s just another way to access the Force. A way… to freedom." His convincing tone almost seemed reasonable, though it was contrary to your way of thinking. "You killed my friends," your gaze grew even sharper and more bitter, as your hand still gripped the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber, seeking comfort in the familiar cold metal. The Sith’s words were like poison seeping into your mind, exploiting the insecurities you had always tried to suppress. "Friends? That’s what you call people who come to seek you only in moments of need and then ignore your existence?" His voice was laced with a mix of disdain and feigned compassion. Every word from this man was a blade sinking into your soul, touching raw nerves you had tried to ignore. You had been trained to combat fear, anger, desire—all emotions that, if left unchecked, could lead you down the dark path. But at that moment, you felt the internal storm growing, fueled by suffering and loss, a mourning.

"War isn’t pretty, y/n, sometimes…" he began, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he stood up, beginning to walk toward you with determined steps, never breaking eye contact. "Sacrifices must be made for a greater good." He stopped just inches from you, his penetrating gaze studying you with a mix of cynicism and desire, as if challenging you to contradict him. Every fiber of his being radiated an irresistible force, a magnetism that seemed to envelop him like a shadow. He leaned slightly toward you, his warm breath brushing against your skin as his lips dangerously neared your ear. "Your friends," he whispered with a cold, almost contemptuous tone, "were just collateral damage." His words were like sharp knives—cutting and relentless—but the seductive tone with which he spoke betrayed an unsettling intimacy, as if he were confiding a dark secret that only you could understand.

The stranger leaned back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, deep as an abyss, stared at you with an intensity that seemed to penetrate directly into your soul. His face was close, too close, and his expression was serious, almost sorrowful, but there was no trace of remorse—only a dark understanding. "Why do you love people who can only go so far?" His voice dropped further, becoming a near-confidential whisper. "Who can’t go as deep as you can?" His gaze was intense, his eyes locked onto yours with an expression that seemed to reveal far more than his words had. There was a hidden desire, a need struggling to surface, but the man skillfully masked it, maintaining a subtle balance between cynicism and seduction.

You held your breath, feeling the weight of his words and his proximity. You knew that behind those words lay a darkness trying to corrupt you, but his allure was dangerously real. Your mind was conflicted, torn between repulsion at the Sith’s cynicism and the irresistible magnetism surrounding him. The man gave you a slight smile, a smile that never quite reached his eyes, as he pulled back just a few centimeters, leaving you teetering between temptation and inner struggle. "Maybe, y/n," he added in a mellifluous voice, "you’re destined for something more… something greater… something that I can show you." "I’m not my sister. I’m not so easily corrupted," you said, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to maintain control over yourself. Every fiber of your being struggled to suppress the tumultuous emotions the stranger had tried to awaken in you. Your heart pounded loudly, betraying you, but your face remained impassive, covered by a studied veil of disgust. With a slow, deliberate motion, you took a step back, putting distance between you, your gaze charged with superiority and defiance.

Qimir observed you with an impassive expression, but behind his dark eyes was growing interest, a sort of admiration for your resilience. To him, you were not like the other Jedi he had encountered, too weak or easily swayed. In you, he saw a potential acolyte, someone with an inner strength that could be nurtured and guided toward an even greater power. A subtle smile appeared on his lips, a nearly imperceptible curve that betrayed his pleasure at seeing you so determined. "You’re not like your sister, that’s true," he admitted with a tone that seemed both a compliment and a challenge. He took a step toward you, closing the space between you once more, but this time with an even more calculated calm, like a hunter who knows its prey. "But don’t mistake your determination for invulnerability," he continued, his voice soft and sharp as a blade. "The force you suppress within you, the force you’ve learned to stifle, is what could make you great—much greater than the Jedi could ever imagine. I see in you a potential that goes beyond the limitations of their dogma, and that is what frightens them." He stopped just a few steps from you, his gaze locked on yours, trying to pierce through the mask you had erected. "I’m not here to corrupt you," he whispered, his voice almost persuasive. "I’m here to offer you a choice, a path that the Jedi have always denied you. A road to a freedom you don’t yet know." You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you refused to show any weakness to him.

"I don’t need your freedom," you replied coldly, your voice steady despite the internal turmoil. "Your whispers don’t touch me. I know who I am and what I represent." "So sure of yourself" he murmured, with a tone that seemed to appreciate your determination. "But what do you truly represent, y/n? A Jedi struggling against her own nature, stifling the potential that could make her truly powerful? Oh… perhaps I should say, ex-Jedi?" he asked with ironic amusement, towering over your figure. You clenched your teeth, pointing the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber at his stomach.

He tilted his head slightly, amused, his gaze growing more penetrating as he sought to reach that part of you he knew existed—the part that thirsted for knowledge, power, something more. “You feel the Force, you perceive it in ways that even the Jedi cannot understand. And you know there is a greater, deeper power calling you. It is not betrayal to explore that possibility. It is… evolution.” His words, spoken with such conviction, seemed to echo in the cave, breaking through the barriers you had erected to protect yourself. You raised your lightsaber to meet the man's neck. “Do it… light it” he ordered, his tone of challenge making your blood boil. The Sith, on the other hand, seemed delighted by your anger, his sharp and contemptuous smile only fueling the tension. Qimir merely tilted his head slightly to the side, offering his neck completely to you, his penetrating gaze fixed on the lightsaber you pointed at him, waiting for the moment you would decide to ignite it.

“A Jedi… does not attack the unarmed" you said through gritted teeth, your voice a murmur of frustration and determination. Your mind was a tumult of emotions, but your will to remain true to your principles was steadfast. “Do you still think you’re a Jedi?” he asked, his voice low and enveloping, almost hypnotic. “Don’t you remember how your lightsaber changed color the last time? Do you still believe you must adhere to a code you’re questioning within yourself?” Those words hit like a punch to the stomach, evoking images you would have preferred to forget. The blade of your lightsaber, once glowing a pure blue, had trembled, taking on red hues like those of the man before you. You took a step back, your heart racing, desperately trying to put space between you and that voice which seemed to read into you with ruthless precision. But the man gave you no respite. His hand moved with surprising speed, gripping your arm in a gentle yet firm hold. His fingers closed around your wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from withdrawing the saber from his neck. The contrast between the contained strength of his touch and the relaxed calm of his face left you breathless.

His penetrating gaze was fixed on your eyes, a subtle yet relentless challenge. “You know yourself that after what’s happened you couldn’t return to the Jedi even if you wanted to,” he whispered, his tone charming and confident, as if he had already won this silent battle. “Sol has seen it, don’t believe that after succumbing to rage and revenge you can return to a position that no longer belongs to you.” You felt trapped, not so much by his hand holding you but by the words resonating inside you. His words seemed to challenge every certainty you had until that moment. Every fiber of your being wanted to reject him, but there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made you doubt, even if just for a moment. Qimir moved closer, his warm breath against your skin, each movement calculated with lethal precision. “It’s not a matter of principles, y/n,” he continued, his tone now almost seductive. “That pain, that anger… this is what you are.” Your breath grew irregular, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain control. “Let me go.” you threatened, your voice a low growl, but you knew there was a shadow of hesitation you couldn’t hide.

“Sol saw it… the Jedi saw it” he continued, his tone now softer but laden with cruel truth. “And for that, they will throw you away, again.” His piercing gaze cut into you, as your eyes took on an expression of anger and fear at his words. You felt his words like a sharp blade piercing through your defenses, and your gaze hardened, but you couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in your eyes. The fear that, deep down, he might be right. The fear that your Order, those you would give your life to protect, might indeed see you as a threat, something to be eliminated. The Sith sensed that shift within you, and his gaze became even more penetrating, probing every corner of your mind. It was as if he could see every weakness, every hidden thought, and he used them with a terrifying skill. “You can’t hide from what you are, y/n. The dark side isn’t a weakness… it’s your strength. And you know it.” You gritted your teeth, disgust and anger mixing into an explosive blend that pushed you closer to the edge. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to press; every word, every look was a sharp blade striking at your raw nerves. The tension inside you grew, turning into a knot that threatened to snap. Until you could no longer hold it back, and it was in that moment that you ignited the lightsaber, the glowing blade just a breath away from his neck. “It won’t be like that,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, desperately trying to stay calm, though your eyes betrayed the mask of confidence you wore. “I will not succumb to the dark side.”

The man remained still, his mocking smile slowly widening as his eyes stayed fixed on yours, as if he were looking through you, reading every hidden thought. He swallowed slowly, a gesture that seemed almost like an invitation, a further provocation. The blade of your saber illuminated his face, but there was no trace of fear in his eyes, only a cold calm. “It’s not something you have to give in to… it’s inside you,” he said with that velvety voice of his, each word a whisper insinuating doubt into your certainties. His words struck you like a blow to the heart, breaking that fragile barrier you were desperately trying to maintain. “Your potential is immense,” he continued, lowering his voice to a warm, almost intimate whisper. Your gaze grew sharper as the subtle poison in his words sought to seep into your consciousness. The lightsaber blade barely touched his skin without making contact, his calm expression only annoying you. It was as if the threat had no effect on him, as if he knew you would never have the courage to go through with it. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate, calculated to keep you on edge, playing with your emotions like a master puppeteer. Anger bubbled within you, a fire growing ever stronger, fueled by his words, his confident smile, the way he seemed to control everything. You couldn’t deny it; there was a part of you that wanted to give in, that wanted to let go of the anger, the pain that burned so intensely. And he knew it; you could feel it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“I understand…” His voice was a seductive whisper, just above a breath, as his hand rose with studied slowness, approaching yours without ever touching it. His eyes, which had been filled with impenetrable confidence until now, took on a new light, something deeper, almost vulnerable. “I’ve lost everything, y/n…” His gaze now seemed sincere, almost pleading for some strange reason. “But when you lose everything,” he continued, his hand now resting on yours, which still gripped the cold lightsaber handle. The contact was surprisingly gentle, a light pressure, but enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His grip was soft but firm, and the contrast between his words and the apparent gentleness of the gesture made you waver. “That’s when you’re truly free,” he concluded, his voice a whisper carrying an inescapable weight, an invitation to surrender, to let go of everything that still bound you to the light. His gaze locked onto your eyes, deep, almost pleading, but not for pity: for understanding, for sharing. It was as if he wanted you to see the world through his eyes, to understand that the dark side wasn’t a condemnation but a liberation. His words struck you forcefully, penetrating your defenses once again with lethal precision. It wasn’t just a mental game; there was something genuine in the pain that lingered in his voice, a shadow of loneliness that echoed your own torment. And in that moment, the Sith you had seen as an implacable enemy became a figure that seemed to understand your suffering, your anger.

“The anger you feel, the pain that consumes you… you don’t have to fight it,” he continued, his tone calm and inviting. The tension between you was thick, almost suffocating. You felt the dark side’s pull toward him, the promise of freedom shining like an irresistible temptation. But there was something more in that man, something human, making it harder to you to ignore. The sincerity in his gaze, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper, made you doubt your certainties. His hand, warm against yours, made you feel dangerously close to an abyss you weren’t sure you wanted to avoid. You remained still, analyzing his words in your mind. The lightsaber still tightly gripped in your hand, your teeth clenched as you swallowed before sighing, thinking about what you should do. You deactivated the lightsaber and stepped away from him, pressing the hilt of the now-deactivated saber against his chest. You wouldn’t be deceived by his seductive words. You knew who you were and what you fought for. But, inside, a small part couldn’t help but wonder: what if he was right?

“You don’t know me to tell me these things. And as I’ve said, I’m not corruptible like my sister,” You hissed, your voice charged with a tension the man couldn’t help but appreciate. He let his smile spread slowly across his face, watching with almost amused interest as you deactivated the lightsaber and then pressed the hilt against his chest. The determination in your eyes, the resolve in your gesture, fascinated him. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected, but there was something in you, an inner strength, a resilience that intrigued him deeply. He could see the internal struggle you were facing, the conflict between the Jedi code and the emotions he had deliberately stirred.

The Sith, with a slow and measured gesture, placed the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber on a nearby rock. The smile on his face shifted into a smirk of satisfaction. “Perhaps I know you better than you think,” he admitted, his voice soft and filled with an intensity that echoed in the silence of the cave, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. “I see who you are… who you could be. Your strength, your will…” His steps continued to close the distance between you, and you took a step back, trying to maintain the space between you. He gently took your wrist and pulled you slightly towards him, towering over your smaller figure. He looked at you with what might have seemed like admiration or… desire. You held your breath, swallowing, paralyzed by what could be the gentlest yet most dangerous of predators. The man brought his face closer to yours, the distance between you reduced to mere centimeters, his breath mingling with yours, warm and slow. His touch was once again firm but never painful. His eyes, dark as the abyss, glowed with an intensity that slowly captivated you. You found yourself hanging on his lips, almost asking for permission to breathe regularly. “It is rare…” he concluded. You took a deep breath, and the tension between you was growing increasingly palpable. His tone was like sweet poison, flowing slowly through your veins, making you doubt once more everything you had always believed. His hand slowly moved from your wrist to your side, stopping just below your ribs, where the wound, though treated, still throbbed painfully. The contact, though light, made you flinch, a mix of pain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the tension between you becoming almost unbearable.

“You’re still loyal to someone who didn’t think twice about abandoning you to the enemy on Khofar some nights ago…” You swallowed at his words, feeling the knot in your throat that blocked every word and the weight in your stomach. “Deep down, you’re still searching for a master, someone to guide you… That life, you’ve never truly felt it as your own; they never understood you,” he continued, his gaze fixed on your eyes as if he could see inside you, reading every thought, every hidden emotion. “But I can.” For a moment, you felt yourself falter at those words. The tension between you was palpable, and you could not take your eyes off what must be your enemy, although your mind tried to keep lucidity. Your breathing was slow and irregular, each breath an attempt to hold back an invisible and unknown force that seemed to want to overwhelm you. The knot in your throat was getting tighter, blocking the words you wanted to say. Your eyes were mesmerized. There was an incredible intensity in those foxy eyes, a mixture of fear and fascination that left your heart inexplicably throbbing and mind confused. You failed to swallow trying to make words come out to counter his claims

“You are like me…” he whispered a short distance from your lips.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Notes :

Well, yes, the sexy hot af villain who will be the protagonist of the new series is Him. Qimir, from The Acolyte. If you don’t know him, go and watch that series because Manny Jacinto put all his effort to seduce us towards the dark side. This is just the beginning, still do not know how many chapters will have but I hope not many, I would like to write about more topics for him.

if you haven’t seen the series there will be some spoilers, so please watch the series first

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

[darklinaforever]

It's not to say, but I'm a little tired of seeing the easy logic of the Sith applied to the Oshamir relationship.

Style ; Qimir is a Sith, he trains Osha, so she will have to kill him at some point !!!

I find this theory stupid in my opinion, because once again too simplistic and also not very thoughtful in relation to the characters and ironically the universe.

Qimir looks nothing like a Sith. Whether in appearance, but also in behavior in many aspects. He is gentle, sensitive, open, tolerant, eager for affection, etc.

He said the Jedi would call him a Sith, not that he was one himself. Overall, he seems to be in a gray area, in which he in turn guides Osha.

Not only that, but Qimir is essentially about freedom, the freedom to be and do what he wants / use his power as he wants. He says it himself !

A bit counterproductive so if he really is, once again, a supposed Sith...

And even if Pleaguis was his master of the dark side and who yes, is himself a Sith, that is not enough to make Qimir a Sith.

I remind you that Ahsoka is not a Jedi, although she received training in that direction. So one doesn't preclude the other. And yes, I know Ahsoka hadn't finished her training.

But precisely... Who tells you that Qimir finished his own training ? It is very likely not in my opinion according to my personal idea.

It is also possible that Qimir (whether Qimir has completed his training or not) wants to follow a voice different from that of his master (that would fit perfectly with everything we have seen of Qimir so far), and is in fact using the training by Pleaguis to actually learn as much as possible.

In itself, it is much more likely that the theory about Qimir / Oshamir being the originator of the founding of the Knights of Ren is true.

Particularly because of the helmet, the Kylo Ren / Ben Solo theme, and once again, Qimir's behavior are very different from a Sith, even going so far as to recall that of Kylo Ren / Ben Solo which... eh well wasn't a Sith.

Not to mention once again Qimir's desires.

You can be on the light side of the force, without being a Jedi. And you can be on the dark side without being a Sith. The force isn't necessarily just about Sith and Jedi. It is an energy that governs this entire universe.

Without forgetting that it would have been very likely that Oshamir had a child (biological or not), given the symbolism made through the 3 little creatures of the island.

Could Oshamir end tragically ? Yes.

But I doubt it would have been simply because as a Sith, Osha should have killed Qimir. No way. Because, again, they are not Sith.

And I don't see why everyone rules out the idea of ​​a more positive ending for Oshamir or both having survived Pleaguis (after all, the first time we hear of him in the films is for tell us that he has a tragic history and that he was wise...) would have gone to a corner of the galaxy to live peacefully with their child worked on the future establishment of the Knights of Ren.

Storywise, for me, the show should have ended with Oshamir, united in death, or in life. Or they die together. Or they live together far from everything.

And in both cases with a child resulting from their union and who would therefore carry the future of their legacy, which would translate to the Knights of Ren.

All this to say that I really don't understand the obsession with saying that Qimir is a Sith, that he makes Osha a Sith and therefore that she will kill him at the end of their story.

This is a reflection that is basic and simplistic...

[scoobyrooster1]

She's Mine [Part 1]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: Events take place after episode 8 of the acolyte. You are Qimirs new acolyte after agreeing to train under him. But, first you both must escape to the outer rim and outrun the Jedi who now hunts you. A precarious situation arises when you suddenly owe a debt to the local gunrunner... but it could be just the opportunity you've been hoping for. Now you have to break the news to Qimir... Shit. Warnings: Angst, Angry Qimir, cursing Notes: I plan for this to be a slow burn story between you and Qimir. Haven't officially decided on a permanent title yet. And yes there will be plenty of future smut but I wanna do this right!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1] She's Mine [Part 2]

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The Republic's influence and reach were stronger than ever, and with that came the ever-present shadow of the Jedi. Since narrowly escaping Vernestra on Brandok, the last few months had been a blur. You were never truly safe. Settling down had been more a matter of necessity than comfort, and even then, "settling" was a stretch.

You were still trapped within the confines of Republic space. Your ship's transponder was a liability, a beacon that couldn’t slip past any checkpoints unnoticed. The only real refuge was the Outer Rim, far from the vigilant eyes of the Jedi and the ever-watchful Republic. But the closest jump to Hutt space was out of reach, forcing you to land on the barren sands of Jakart.

The Jedi were already scouring the galaxy for any sign of force discrepancies, even in the most remote backwater planets. And you both couldn't very well lead them back to Qimirs home. So, you made the choice to hide in plain sight, settling in a place where the noise of a thousand other lives could drown out your presence. Jakart, with its swarms of thugs, scavengers, and criminals, was the perfect cover. Here, you could disappear into the crowd, becoming just another face. But you knew that this was a temporary solution; the longer you stayed, the more you pushed your luck, and the longer you went without proper training.

You didn’t know when—or if—another opportunity like Ian’s would come along. Passage to the Outer Rim on a ship that could evade Republic scouts was a rare gift, one that you couldn’t afford to lose But now, you had to face the hard part: breaking the news to Qimir.

As you scanned into the small, cramped building you and Qimir now called home, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. The door slid open with a hiss, and you stepped inside, the faint hum of the city’s underbelly muffled by the walls. You pulled off your cloak, shaking off the fine layer of dust that clung to it, a grim reminder of the harsh environment outside. Your eyes stung from the grit of the sand, and you rubbed them wearily. It had been a long, grueling day.

The dimly lit room felt stifling, the walls pressing in with the weight of the choices you had to make. You tossed the cloak aside and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before the inevitable conversation. Qimir wasn’t going to like what you had to say, but there was no other option.

The sound of Qimir moving around in the next room broke your train of thought. You squared your shoulders, pushing down the fatigue, and stepped forward.

There he stood. Looking at you through wisps of black hair, slick with sweat. His eyes, which you once thought were brown, seemed almost black now, with a sharpness that felt more predatory than human.

"You're back." He exclaimed.

"I picked up some Jogans." You tilted your head in the direction of the small table in the corner.

"Feeling hungry after that mug today?"

You only sighed in response.

"That thug tried to take my shit... Would you have rather I just let him walk away?"

He tilted his head back in frustration, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed whatever distaste was rising in his throat.

"How many times do I have to remind you that our survival here banks on our ability to lay low."

"About that..."

His eyes locked on you, demanding an explanation.

"I found a ship that can take us to the outer rim, under the radar."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise "the pilot you found wasn't a bust after all."

You bristled at his tone, almost offended by his doubt. These past few months had shown how strained the relationship could become. It felt more like a game of cat and mouse, and you hated losing.

"Not exactly."

He continued to stare at you through his eyebrows. Why did he always have to stare at you like that.

"A smuggler can get us there."

"who's the smuggler."

He didn't waste any time. You tensed. Ian was the last name you wanted to give. But thats where this was headed anyways. You just had to bite the bullet.

"Ian Skynyr."

Even the name tasted bad on your tongue.

His jaw twitched.

Jeez this was gonna a difficult one to swallow.

"Skynyr." He repeated.

He took a long pause before continuing. "No."

"This is our only shot. You know as well as I do that a freighter like his could secure us both passage safely off of Jakart. I just have to help him out then we can---"

"Help him with what exactly." He cut you off.

You froze.

"Its just a job." You stated casually.

"What kind of job."

"Obtaining and transporting cargo to some client." You brushed it off as if it were a mere fly buzzing past your ear.

"What else."

"Thats all he told me."

"Details matter y/n."

"No they don't matter... because this might be our only chance to get to the outer rim."

"Whatever debt he thinks you owe him... forget it. Skynyr is an idiot. Wherever he goes a blaster target follows him."

"I know, I know. I trust him about as far as I can throw him. But he's all we've got. So, I'm doing it."

"And the deal we made?"

"What about it? I'm not going back on anything. So being your acolyte is following whatever you say regardless? Can you not trust me on this?"

He grimaced.

"No. It means don't fall into a mess I have to pull you out of."

"I can handle myself just fine. I thought Brandok proved that."

"Brandok only revealed how reckless you are right now."

Did the death of your old master, at your own hands, prove nothing to him?

No.

You were bartering with a man that had no interest with the rest of what you had to say. But no matter how much he disliked this plan or how much of a headache your existence seemed to him at this moment... he couldn't resist the appeal of Ians secure passage through Republic space.

"Do you have any better ideas then?"

He sighed, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor. His posture slumped as he leaned against the wall, just as exhausted as you were.

"If you can come up with one, I wont take Ians offer. Otherwise we should take this deal."

You didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, you walked into the next room, slumping onto the small cot that had been your bed for the past few weeks.

You imagined that the only reason he didn't follow was because he knew the truth, which was that you both had no idea when another chance like this would arise. He was just angry it involved working for Ian.

You replayed what Qimir had said to you.

Brandok only revealed how reckless you are right now.

You realized that killing your old master did prove your commitment. But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him.

Good.

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You basically had to drag Qimir to the landing platform where Ians team was meeting. The air was filled with hyper fluid and gases that singed your nostrils. It reminded you of your old post fixing up freighters like the one that now towered before you. Although, that life now felt like it belonged to someone else.

Ian practically beamed when he saw you both approach, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the buzzing platform. "Glad to see you made it."

You only gave him a small nod in return face remaining neutral.

The rest of the crew were people you recognized from around the bazaar.

The Transdoshan known as Kiro. His presence was intimidating, standing at an imposing 6'7", with a build that suggested he could break bones as easily as he could snap his scaly talons.

Next to him was Shaun, a grizzled sharpshooter. He gave you a curt nod, acknowledging your presence with the little care.

A droid, its model old but well-maintained, stood quietly beside them. You couldn’t quite place its make, but it looked functional and that’s all that mattered.

And Ian. Your point of contact - begrudgingly so.

"Our buyer is interested in a rarity being sold at auction tomorrow on Carinth. Job is to secure the cargo and transport it. We'll rendezvous with him on Canto Bight."

"how do you intend to secure the bid. I'm guessing you don't have nearly enough credits to bid on something that an anonymous buyer wants"

Your skeptic tone was thinly veiled.

"Who said anything about bidding with actual credits."

"So what, you yell fire and then grab it in the chaos?"

"Our operation is a little more refined than that."

Qimir scoffed earning a frown from Ian.

Kiro growled, lacing his arms together in a tight cross obviously put off by Qimirs severe lack of respect for any of them.

"The buyer is willing to pay whatever sum for the item plus our services. But he doesn't want to be tied to the acquisition of the aforementioned cargo. So we're going to act as his ambassador of sorts"

"And how do you intend to make the highest bid."

"Rod here is going to take care of that." He gestured to the droid. "So no matter what you have the highest bid."

"Wait, that I have the highest bid?"

"Well Yord was supposed to be the stand in for the auction and canto bight but he's kinda occupied right now."

It took everything in you to bite your tongue.

"You said this was a simple job." You bristled.

"It is."

"You never said anything about impersonating a bidder."

"You didn't ask sweetheart."

Qimir clenched his jaw.

"Yord normally keeps a low profile which made him the best suited for the stand in. Unlucky that he broke his streak on trying to rob you"

"I'll be recognized."

"Where we'll be, no one is going to give two bactas about who you are. These aren't the type of joints where saints congregate. Jedi will be the least of your worries."

"Why are the Jedi looking for you two anyways." Shaun questioned suddenly very interested in the conversation.

"Thats none of your concern."

Shaun put his hands up realizing that you weren't one to answer pointed questions.

"Whats the item I'll be bidding on."

"that also happens to be none of your concern either."

"If we're doing this job I need more information to make sure were not walking into anything we can't walk out of."

"Even if I wanted to I couldn't tell you. The item only goes by its bidding number and the client wont share beyond that. Also I don't really care what it is... as long as I get paid. You're now the stand in on Carinth and Canto Bight, and thats all I'll hear of it."

"Why was it Yord? why me?"

"There's a strong likelihood that the rest of us aren't exactly on the best terms with some of the attendees frequenting the auction, especially not in Canto Bight. We need someone who’s not a big player—or better yet, someone who’s completely unknown. The client insists on absolute secrecy. The fewer issues we encounter and questions we face, the better."

You couldn't deny that everything he stated made sense for a job such as this.

"So what happens when they find out the credits being transferred are fake?"

"Thats when we blast out of there like a bat out of hell."

You almost smirked. You hated to admit it but the chase excited you.

"So you're what is considered a big player?" You replied mockingly.

"Ouch." He pretended to take a knife to the heart.

"Fine."

"And just because I like you so very much y/n I'll let the two of you split Yords share."

"How generous of you, Ian." You swallowed your words with disdain.

"I like to think so." he smiled with great satisfaction. "Be here at 05:00."

Before you could nod your head, Qimir had already turned on his heal heading towards the exit.

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"Whatever you have to say, go ahead. Get it out."

Qimir said nothing as you followed him down the ally. Though you could almost read the back of his head.

"Well if you're going to brood about it at least -"

Before you could get your next words out, you were slammed against the wall. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you barely had time to react before his hands pinned your arms to your sides, his grip like iron.

"This isn’t my fault," you gasped.

"Of course it isn’t," his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

You could feel the anger radiating off him. He continued.

"Skynyr is trouble, and nothing but. That makes him dangerous."

"And what are we exactly?" you shot back, your voice tinged with defiance. "What are we?"

"You know what we are," he replied. His tone was cold, as if stating an undeniable truth.

"So when did smugglers become the biggest, baddest thing in the galaxy? In the dark, there’s nothing to fear but us."

"Maker, you’re naive," he spat. "He’s more trouble than he’s worth."

"You’re right," you conceded, though your voice was steady with what you said next. "The sooner we leave the sooner we can continue training. And he’s our best shot out of here."

His jaw clenched, and his teeth bared in a snarl. The rage in his eyes was palpable, and for a moment, you felt a shiver run down your spine. He tightened his grip, pressing you harder against the cold, unforgiving wall. The proximity, the force, everything about the moment screamed danger, yet you held your ground.

"The only reason I’m willing to go along with this little drama," he whispered, a lethal calm overtaking him, his face inches from yours, "is because of that damn republic transponder. Maker knows who else has one... Maybe this trip will teach you a valuable lesson, my young apprentice."

Those last three words hung in the air like dead bodies.

Ghosts.

Ones that constantly haunted you.

My young apprentice.

It wasn’t just a title; it was a reminder of everything you had left behind when you walked away from the Order. He was asserting his authority, reminding you of what you were to him—and more importantly, what he was to you. The unspoken command was clear: Don’t forget it.

You could see the words of warning in his eyes.

"Yes, Master," you whispered.

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if to ensure you truly grasped the gravity of your position. He loosened his grip and pushed himself away from you, storming off toward the compound.

You remained against the wall for a few seconds longer, the echoes of the encounter still reverberating through your mind. The word “Master” clung to you like a weight.

The next morning you both had packed everything you owned... which was very little. But it wasn't the material things that weighed you down. Qimir lashed out at you for a good reason. It was the uncertainty, the sense that you were stepping into something that could very well get you both killed.

Or worst captured.

Maker help me. You whispered.

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Thats it for today! Hope you liked it! If your feeling it, let me know what you think in the comments.

[dealingdreams]

Hmmm fuck it some random head canons I have...

The first time Qimir makes Osha to smile he tries to be all chill about it but randomly just smiles throughout the day super proud of himself

Osha likes to fuck with him occasionally just to see his reactions

Qimir doesn't actually know his true name anymore.

He's extremely patient with her while training, doesn't go easy on her, pushes her when it's needed, but he also seems to sense when he needs to back off.

They do fight, not often, but their fights are mostly instigated by Osha trying to put emotional distance between them...it doesn't work

Osha gets slap happy when she's tried

Qimir has nightmares he refuses to talk about. He only talks about it once to try to coax Osha into telling him about her nightmare after she wakes up screaming and crying

I think there are hints of this but Osha has force visions that show her a bit of the future.

Qimir won't initiate anything sexually intimate with Osha at first. He waits until she asks him for anything to actually go there...but as they get closer he does get a bit more protective and a bit more touchy with her. Lots of yearning eye contact from both of them.

Osha sleeps on the ship when she's mad at him and Qimir spends the first night this happens afraid she'll leave, but now he knows it's just a comfort thing for her having spent so many years on a ship.

Anyways that it for now...I have a lot lol

[your-hologram]

Osha and Qimir's hands touching is what I love the most about non-romance media with a romance subplot. It's in the small gestures, in a touch, an emotion, an unsaid word and eyes looking at each other. I don't need two characters kissing in episode 3 because that's easy, tell me why they like each other, show me why they are meant to be together. They might broken pieces of a puzzle but somehow they fit.

Qimir hoping that Osha would accept to train with him, his concern for her when she has his helmet on, him yearning to touch her only for her to push away from him until she is not, his thumb caressing hers, his longing gazes, he sees she is powerful and wants her to reach her full potential so that he might share a life with someone, someone who is an equal.

I don't know what the future of this show will be but the world needs slowburns because if I wanted a bad romance I would just go and have one in real life.