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ramblings-from-the-ether · 2 years ago

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Wuxia AU (Section 1: Introduction)

I imagined Giovanni serving Tang Yuan (汤圆, a traditional Chinese dessert of (sometimes colourful) glutinous rice balls served in hot broth) to his brothers (minions/boys) and now I have an AU setting.

Also, Happy Winter Solstice!

Inspired by old Kung Fu and Wuxia films from the 70s where:

Anything can be a weapon in the right hands

Anyone with enough training or experience can be a capable fighter

And, chivalrous heroes and sinister villains clash for treasures, ideals and fame.

Doesn't this sound a bit similar to Epithet Erased in some ways?

So here is an AU in which our midnight heist takes place in a grand temple hiding a treasure, with bandits and vagabonds behind every curtain, and a little girl trapped behind the closed gates. Also everyone is wearing some form of traditional Chinese clothing or clothing styles that originated in ancient China, and sometimes sing as in an opera.

Magic System

Instead of epithets and inscribed, anybody can harness Qi or supernatural powers through enough training and hardwork/grit. Our inscribed characters in this AU have these powers through years of experience using them, the luck to gain a boost (eating magic pills) or to be born with innate potential, or the unluck to be forced by fate to become stronger in order to overcome its machinations.

Characters

Molly

Pretty much the same with mostly aesthetic changes. Her powerset focuses on dispelling in order to control her older sister's with the opposite focus of creation. She has never wielded an actual weapon in her life.

Giovanni

Was once a good child who gained a passion in cooking to the point his skills are focused around making Soup and similar concoctions. Unfortunately he managed to read Water Margin and decided to become a bandit by joining the Yellow Scarfs (Banzai Blasters), a 'bandit' group more of a private criminal mercenary and highway robbery organisation.

Instead of baseball, in this AU Giovanni has a side skill in Da Tuolo (A Chinese whip and spinning top game) unmatched amongst his brothers (instead of 'boys' in this AU) and peers. Instead of the 13 combo effect, its now a 4 combo effect at the 'cost' of rarely using the whip as a weapon (It's his only one, plus he uses it for competitions. Furthermore he knows the pain of being hit with it by accidental self use or by others accidently hitting him with their whips during practice).

Sylvie

A young man (often mistaken for as a kid) from a pastoral family who studies and practices the analysis of Qi usage on the human body, as well as how to take care of it. A horn-hat wearing recluse who has more knowledge than his age suggests. Or at least, this is the story he tries to present...

His skillset focuses on pacification (useful for calming down animals and troublesome patients) with an odd ability of transforming into a bull monster as his 'dreamform' or something. He also has a large amount of magical trinkets and talismans as well as general knowledge of pressure points on the human body, these consist the majority of his arsenal in the event of a fight.

Mera

Born with an unusual amount of power, her magic tends to be rather unstable and constant usage can harm her. Her noble family could not provide a solution despite their wealth to aid her, and thus she left to travel the world with Indus to seek a remedy for her condition.

Her powerful abilities allows her to manipulate matter into a more fragile state like porcelain. She is rather tricky, and may use stealthy, disguised or unconventional weapons to catch her opponents off guard.

Indus

Same fellow as in canon Epithet Erased with the ability to create magical barriers. Only that he probably came from a nomadic clan in the west or north.

Percy

Either a former member of the imperial army or just born in a rather chivalrous martial arts clan, she serves the city guard with an honorable distinction.

She however, has a rather low stamina which regulates her to a support role, where she does her best to learn how to treat wounds, care for weaponry, and other skills a support role may need in the military.

Despite her low stamina, she is still a remarkable fighter nonetheless. Her weapons include the infamous Tamade Sword (他妈的剑！), and a pair of mirrors (one is semi-transparent while the other has a very bright reflection). Reflected light from the latter mirror can actual be used to revitalise one's face and skin; but when the former mirror is used to direct sunlight into the latter mirror, the resulting ray of reflected light can blind, scald and even burn anything it touches with enough exposure.

Ramsey

He has lived many schemes disguised as lives, but it seems his luck has run out, forcing him to be on the run. A former merchant, conman, and even a (albeit corrupt) governor; anything related to gold is his domain to rule if he gets the chance.

Speaking of gold, his skillset is focused around turning things into precious metals (though he prefers gold), he can even do this to himself to avoid physical harm.

Zora

Some say she served the Immortal Emperor when he was alive, while others say she was once a warlord who ruled over the far-flung steppes. Nevertheless, this mysterious and terrifying woman serves as mercenary and assassin for a shadowy faction that has plans to usurp the Mandate of Heaven.

Swords, traps, knives, bows, crossbows and flying guillotines may be her primary or secondary weapons. But her signature weapon is none other than a small water clock. No one has seen the use of such an odd contraption in the hands of a mercenary, much less its use as a weapon, and lived to tell the tale. Rumours say the waters of time drip and flow to her command, and from which she nourishes her seemingly unending youth.

Poor Vasemaker from the temple

Works in the temple to make, manage and take care of the vases there. Is also the artist behind the newest vase so beautiful as to be worth more gold than what the temple could afford. When Giovanni smashes a specific and rather intricate vase, this poor fellow wakes up and hops out of bed sobbing "My vases!" and "My life's work!" in the distance.

Meta Data: One of the first AUs we've made together. A setting centered AU inspired by the Wuxia genre. Pre-POP story.

Status: General character, location and plot redesigns made, little to no name changes. There are 2 world concepts (based on 2 similar AU concepts during early development that differed in cultural focus called 'Wuxia AU' & 'Silk Road AU', the former is the current basis of this AU).

#epithet erased #epithet erased au #wuxia au #epithet erased wuxia au

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scrumpledorph-writes · 9 months ago

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Koben’s Final Lesson (Jaxon Becomes A Man)

Contract’s almost over. I’ve really come to like Jaxon. I hope I’ve managed to impress Huxley enough to get hired on for more permanent work. It would normally feel awkward to ask a former client if they wanted to be friends, but Jaxon is easy to get along with. Maybe we can exchange holovid info if things don’t work out.

‘Good morning Jaxon. Today we’ll put everything I’ve taught you into practice with a trial patrol around town.’ ‘You know I’m not actually training to be a soldier, right? What’s there for me to patrol?’ ‘Nothing, but I’ll have you pointing out potential threats as we walk. Think of it like a speeder license test.’ ‘You need a license to drive a speeder in the core?’ That explains some of the driving I’ve seen around here.

‘Meet me out front when you’re ready, I’ll be in the yard.’ He takes a while to wake up, I hope he doesn’t miss the sunrise. Going out at least lets me pick up my weapons. These training ones are too light – they don’t actually ingrain the right muscle memory for things like quickly drawing them. ‘Jaxon and I are going out today, I’d like to withdraw all of my weapons.’ No visible changes to their condition, and I doubt there’s any reason for them to have been tampered with. At the very least, it’s next to impossible to covertly sabotage a knife.

Gardeners manually watering the lawn, and the guard rotating at the same time. The system runs well, even if keeping a garden on a desert is ill thought out. The sun is just cresting now, I wonder if he has the gardeners time it to simulate morning dew? ‘Ah, warrior. We have had little time for one another, both occupied by our own pursuits as we are. How fares yours? I know that my son is a meager offering as a student, but if you are as good as he says then that should be a trifling obstacle to overcome.’ Everything he says tends to drag, but I have nothing else to do until Jaxon shows up.

‘It’s going well. Slow at first, but once we got to know each other he took to my instructions well. I think you should give him a bit more credit.’ ‘Credit, do not speak to me of credit when he is involved. He does nothing but spend my credits, refusing his birthright. I fear for my legacy once he takes hold of its reigns, with only the cold comfort that I won’t be around to see it brought to ruination.’ Not even trying to feign that sweetness while he talks about Jaxon. I can see why he spends so much time in his room.

‘He’s smarter than he looks. Quick on the uptake when he’s interested. Already learned things that took me months of work back in the academy.’ Maybe he just doesn’t like crime, but that’s not something Huxley would be happy hearing. Best not to upset my employer. ‘This is surprising, but I welcome it as an unexpected boon. If he takes well to a martial lifestyle, perhaps the guileful machinations in which I find myself further steeped by the day can be cloven in half with raw brawn. That would be a worthy succession. I shall ruminate on this at a later time. Enjoying my little oasis, I trust? A slice of home I couldn’t bear to part with when I came here.’

‘Waiting for Jaxon, actually. I’m planning to test how well he’s taken in all the training with a mock patrol through the city. The garden is impressive though.’ Impressive how many credits he can afford to throw away, at least. Imperial training’s only interest in botany is in what’s forageable. ‘Prudent. Even if you merely celebrated his passage into manhood with a day of revelry, getting him to leave that room of his and see the world that exists outside of my domain would be a use of your time I would deem sufficient for the rate I pay you.’ Maybe we could spend a little time celebrating. My squadmates always seemed to spend half their pay on bar crawls.

‘Speaking of payment: I assume that will be ready tonight?’ ‘Yes. I have a celebration planned for Jaxon. This is an occasion that only happens once, and I want it to be memorable. I apologize for not putting it in the contract up front, but I trust with how well you two have gotten along that it would be no trouble to ask you to attend it? You will receive your payment then.’ ‘That’s fine.’ I would’ve asked to come if I wasn’t being told to. Definitely want to see Jaxon off into adulthood at the bare minimum.

‘Hey Koben! Hi dad. I’m ready to go whenever.’ ‘I hope you two make the most of the day. My works require constant maintenance, and I alone am fit to attend them. I look forward to tonight.’ Glad he’s gone, those two have a colder relationship than most officers do with their subordinates.

‘Potential threat report.’ ‘Uhh, there’s a few blind alleyways, rooftop overhangs I can’t see the tops of, and a fair number of people wearing cloaks that could be concealing weapons.’ ‘Adequate. You neglected to mention the closed windows that could be concealing snipers, but the vectors you identified are the most common.’ ‘I figured those weren’t worth mentioning. I mean if you want to get that technical, everything you can’t see could be hiding a threat, couldn’t it?’

‘They could, and if you want to stay alive when your enemies are everywhere, it’s important to stay aware of them at all times.’ ‘I guess the Empire is pretty unpopular in some places. Still sounds a little excessive.’ ‘You’re the heir to a criminal empire Jaxon, you have enemies. People who want to kill you won’t announce themselves.’ ‘We will if we want to make him suffer first.’ Oh this has to be a joke.

‘Look who wandered down the wrong alley. Your daddy doesn’t have this whole city under his-’ Not in the mood for this today. Blaster bolt to the gut should put him down, five to go. ‘Jaxon, take cover.’ He learned that lesson well enough. They seem to have gotten the message too. Killing five men hunkered down at the other side of a tight corridor will be difficult. But not impossible.

‘Fuck! Koben, what do we do?!’ ‘You stay here, if any more appear, shoot them like I taught you. That blaster pistol handles well.’ ‘And you?!’ ‘You’ve watched me work enough times by now.’ Footsteps, one rushing toward us. Stupid. Barely need to push the knife into him, just hold it steady while momentum drives it home. Blaster shots rippling against his back, saves me the trouble of confirming my kill.

His blaster pistol is garbage, but it’s better than trying to one arm a rifle in such cramped quarters. He’s big enough to provide me full cover, at least until there are holes blown through him. Should close the gap before that happens. Next closest is halfway down the alley, behind a dumpster. He’s keeping his head down, probably can’t hear me approaching over the sound of blaster fire. Of all the injuries this line of work can cause, nobody ever thinks about hearing damage. He might have at least gotten a shot off before I reached him. Oh well, one to the chest, one to the head. Halfway there.

Might as well take the other side of the cover he was using, pause to reevaluate. They’re on either side of the alley, which means no matter what I’d likely end up shot if I advanced on their position. Blind firing with barely their wrists exposed, I can give them credit for that. Except that they’ve stopped firing.

‘Alright, whoever you are: we clearly bit off more than we can chew. You made your point – we’ll leave you two alone.’ Imperial Force Guidelines dictate total obliteration of enemy forces, but I’m not in the Empire any more, but they tried to kill Jaxon, but – Oh to hell with it. ‘Fine. Leave, now. If I ever recognize any of your faces in a crowd I’ll kill you on the spot.’ Footsteps, fast ones.

Glad to resolve that without getting shot, would have put a damper on the festivities later. Jaxon looks unharmed. ‘Are you alright?’ ‘Holy shit Koben, that was...’ Here it comes. The disgust, the rejection. A screen between you and the violence is one thing, but being brought face to face with it is another. I’d hoped he would be different, but that was naive. His father might be a crime lord, but he’s sheltered enough to be just a regular civilian.

‘Fucking awesome! You were so cool, the way you knifed that guy without even looking, charging down the alley, that threat at the end sending them running like a pack of dogs! I wish I’d had my recorder, but I saw the whole thing! Seeing it through a screen is one thing, but it doesn’t come close to the full sensory experience of watching it happen live. You’ve got a little blood on your, uhh, whole front of your suit – by the way.’ Oh.

‘That’s not how people usually react to my work.’ It’s certainly a nice change of pace though. ‘Really? What do they usually do?’ ‘Scream at me. Start crying. The specifics vary, but those two are a constant.’ ‘Well, it was either that or they were going to kill me, so I mean, c’mon – what kind of an asshole would I have to be to not appreciate it?’ ‘It just tends to put people into shock. Death is hard to process without training.’

‘I guess. I used to be that way, but then dad made me sit in on an interrogation he was doing to try to toughen me up – and everything you do feels pretty tame by comparison.’ It would be irresponsible of me to let that comment go. ‘I know I’m one to talk, but I don’t think that’s quite healthy.’ ‘Yeah, well, it is what it is I guess. Not like I can go back and undo it, so whatever. We should find you a towel or something before that blood crusts over.’ Maybe he is his fathers son.

III

That was a better test of his skills than anything I had planned, and getting into cover quickly enough not to get shot is a lesson a lot of soldiers never pick up. He’s passed all my expectations. Not sure what to do with the rest of the day, but don’t want to take him home just yet. We do seem to have stumbled close to the red light district though. ‘I can’t think of any other tests for you. We’re near the adult district, and you are an adult as of today. It wouldn’t be inappropriate to visit, if you’re interested.’

‘What? Well, I mean, it’s kind of a tradition, so I guess it’d be disrespectful of us not to.’ He’s trying to play it cool, but I saw his body language shift at the mention. ‘Are you sure? The girls probably look nothing like me, so it would be pretty disappointing.’ ‘Alright, alright, no need to bust my balls about it. You like girls too y’know. Let’s go.’ We should stay on a main thoroughfare, no need for another shootout.

‘Ten credits for a fortune reading. Put your trust in The Force to guide your way.’ What a waste of credits that would be. Either he can use The Force, in which case he’s a Jedi – and therefore a liar – or he’s just some old man scamming people. Jaxon’s looking over at him. I can tell he’s considering it.

‘Hey Koben, you wanna? Not like it’ll break the bank, I can pay for yours. I wanna hear what he has to say.’ ‘Fine, I will if you do.’ ‘You two cast a long shadow. Deep within the Dark Side of The Force do you reside.’ Absurd: I’m two meters tall, of course I cast a- He has no eyes. Even more off-putting than that tall head of his, but maybe he does know a little of what he’s talking about. No, he just felt it get cooler when we blocked the sun.

There goes twenty credits we’ll never get back. ‘Hold out your hand, if you would, boy.’ All a performance, and Jaxon’s buying it. I guess this isn’t strictly something my training covered, so I can’t be too hard on him. ‘You were born into a gilded cradle of darkness, swaddled in violence. You shut your heart to it long ago, retreating inward to a virtual sanctuary and barring the door. Now you find yourself outgrowing your cradle, and hesitating to face what lies without – not for fear that it is too different, but for fear it is too much the same. If you choose to follow the path set before you, you will be condemned to cast a long shadow, yet straying from it will bring much tumult as well. I do not envy the choice ahead of you.’ That...does feel oddly specific for a charlatan.

No, that’s ridiculous. Jaxon’s practically a minor celebrity around here with how much pull his dad has. Some of the guards must have gossiped in a bar, and this guy just got lucky turning those rumours into a convincing story. Considering how torn up he looks over it, Jaxon could do with having all this explained to him when we’re done. ‘Hey, yeah, that’s uhh, not bad old man. Your turn Koben.’ I’ve only been in town a couple weeks, and he won’t be able to read my body language through my armor. This whole sham will fall apart.

‘I’m not taking the gauntlet off.’ ‘There is no need. The Dark Side flows so deeply within you that I can nearly read it from here. Oh. You poor woman. My apologies, the waters of your past run deep. Allow me to begin again.’ Really trying to pull me in, but I’m not giving him a thing. Good luck old man.

‘For all the darkness that surrounded them, your parents did all they could to raise you into the light. In the wake of a newer, deeper darkness they left you, and it swallowed you whole. The light within you was buried in layers of shadow, and yet it still burned. Even as you were seduced by The Dark Side. Now you try so desperately to run towards the light, but you have gone so long without it that it blinds you. When you fall, you let the shadows loom long over you. The comfort of their cool shade is a falsehood. Though you will stumble, you mustn’t stop running if you ever wish to live in the light again.’ Enough of this.

‘Who are you old man?’ ‘My visions trouble you. They bring to light truths you both would rather leave buried.’ He really must be blind to be so calm with a blaster rifle pointed at him. ‘Answer my question.’ ‘Now I am nobody. I know that is not the answer you seek. Long ago I was a warrior of peace. A guardian of The Force.’ He’d better not say it if he knows what’s good for him. ‘A Jedi.’

Shooting him would draw too much attention. Those gangsters were a matter of self defence, but even I couldn’t intimidate a crowd this size into letting this slide. Better holster it. ‘You’re lucky I don’t get paid to kill your kind any more, old man.’ He’s laughing. Typical Jedi, completely out of touch with reality. ‘My luck ran out long ago, as you can no doubt see. I gave up my ways. Even this was taken from me.’ He’s reaching for a lightsaber. ‘Jaxon, step back.’ Even with his powers, if I shoot the instant he presses that button he’s done.

It’s not turning on. ‘Now it’s only a relic of days gone by, and yet I can’t bear to part with it.’ ‘Why are you telling us this?’ ‘You asked. Why has The Force brought us together is a far better question, I think. Would you begrudge an old man his idle musings?’ ‘Say your piece.’ ‘I can no longer fight for a better galaxy; only guide others. You both, as do all beings, may find the light if you keep searching. I hope my words will help you reach it.’ ‘Goodbye old man.’ He’s earned those credits.

‘Hey Koben, if it’s all the same, I don’t really feel like going to a club any more. Kinda wanna just walk for a while. Think about stuff.’ ‘I feel the same way.’

That was a melancholic afternoon, but Huxleys festivities are doing a good job at making up for it. The food is fantastic at least, and he’s hired mercenary guards so all his regular staff could attend. Needed a few extra tables hauled out to seat them all, and it’s nice to be near the head with Jaxon.

‘Now my friends, trusted retainers, and devoted staff: the revelry shall be brought to a focus. My son Jaxon. I will not taint the record with saccharine reminiscing, the two of us have had our squabbles, as all fathers and sons do.’ He can even manage to make his sons birthday party about himself. ‘But those were the squabbles of a boy and a man. It would hamper his new beginning, and smear my own pride, to hang onto them.’ I wonder if Jaxon will even get to say anything?

My son, please rise. My many allies and tributaries have brought you gifts befitting of your ascension to manhood. Please, take the time to sample them.’ Most of these are a terrible fit for him. Cultural ornaments and knick knacks, safe bets for someone whose interests they don’t have a clue about. ‘Yeah, these are all really, uhh, great so far, thank you.’ They’d be lucky to get a place on his shelf.

‘Hang on, what’s this? Whoa, a quickdraw blaster pistol and holster set?! That’s actually pretty sick, Koben’s been teaching me some moves the last few days, like this – wuchaah!’ His form could use some work. The crowd seems impressed, or at least know that if they don’t pretend they are Huxley won’t be happy.

‘Oh no way, Koben come look at this!’ This should be good. No way, that is impressive. ‘Someone got a little replica of you in your armour made! Cast in Imperial Steel and everything!’ ‘A good likeness.’ A really good likeness, tons of little details I wouldn’t expect anyone to even have seen from looking at footage of me, never mind reproduce. Should do a surveillance sweep when I get home.

‘That’s the last of them. I can’t help but notice there’s nothing here from you, dad. I mean, unless hiring Koben to train me was an early one, because if that’s it then don’t even worry about it, that’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. No offence to the rest of these, of course.’ Shit, I should’ve gotten him something. Can’t believe I didn’t even think of it.

‘I am glad that you appreciated my investment in your future, but no. That was not my gift to you, my son. Perhaps it is cliche, even sentimental, but I have prepared as a gift for you: a lesson.’ He snapped his fingers. Blaster bolts rippling across my armour. All his guards were in on it. They’re good shots. Can’t stand, can barely focus on what’s going on. Ears are ringing, but Jaxon’s loud enough to get through it.

‘What the fuck are you doing?! Koben’s my friend!’ ‘Your dear preoccupation; Koben. The Trooper adorned in black. Veteran of a thousand battles. Killer. Destroyer. Wanted criminal. My son, did you think someone of her repute would go unnoticed by the law? You, did you think I would not find out about you? That I didn’t know before you ever stepped foot into my manor how lucrative it would be to cash in on your egregious affronts to The Empire?’ Whole body’s on fire. My hate’s burning hotter.

‘It crossed my mind.’ ‘Yet you persisted into my waiting maw because you saw a glitter at the back of my throat. This is a lesson on many subjects, my dear son. Lesson one: mercenaries can only be trusted to do one thing, and that is to chase credits. Lesson two: whenever possible, get as much out of someone as you can take before you toss them aside. Lesson three: childish attachments such as yours to her will only bring you pain.’

Jaxon’s on the edge of tears. Maybe if I click off a plate I can put all my strength into throwing it, take Huxleys smug fucking grin off from here. Can’t lift my arms, there goes that plan. ‘Her bounty is valid dead, my dear boy – and she is far too dangerous to leave alive. That blaster pistol was my suggestion. I can think of no way more fitting to take your first steps into manhood than by casting aside the object of your most infantile fixations. She must be in such agony right now. Her armour can surely take little more, just one well placed shot and you can end her suffering. It is the kindest fate that awaits her.’

If I could reach for my helmet to look him in the eyes at least, I would. ‘Whatever you do Jaxon, I understand. I figured I’d die taking a few people down with me, but this is fine.’ His tears are dying down, his brow is steeled. I don’t have enough strength to hold my head up any more. One crystal clear shot ringing out. No pain.

#my oc #oc #star wars #writing #koben tarani #cw: death #cw: violence

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one-divides-into-two · 10 months ago

Note

the -- admittedly abortive -- presentation & critique of postmodernism that's developed in the Proletarian Feminist Research Group's polemic against the mechanistic, social chauvinist politics of the German Klassenstandpunkt Maoists is a relatively good example of the errors of both camps:

Let us adopt an attitude of philosophical rigorousness and seek truth from facts, which the Klassenstandpunkt authors fail to do. [nb: this is referring to the Klassenstandpunkt authors' lazy presentation of Butler's ideas] What do postmodernists mean when they say that “the role of women in society, gender itself, are all constructs”? The postmodernists argue that women’s role within society, and the social phenomena of gender in general, is constructed on the basis of discourse and discursive norms. According to Judith Butler, women’s role within a society is determined not primarily by economic and material conditions but by a set of norms which are entangled in diffuse structures of “power” and regulate human action. Because these norms operate at the level of discourse – that is, in the realm of the ideal rather than the material – Butler’s theory of gender cannot identify whose class interests are served by gender norms. Gender, for the postmodernists, is abstractly constructed as a self-generating process that exists purely within the linguistic realm. By placing gender on a plane of pure abstraction, postmodernism erodes our ability to connect the struggle for women’s liberation to the struggle against capitalist imperialism. This is the actual mistake of the postmodernists, not the idea that women’s roles in society (and gender itself) have changed throughout history, that they are, as a result, “constructed.” After all, Adrianzen explains that gender’s contingency and changing structure shows us that it is possible to overcome patriarchy in the first place. If the oppression of women is constituted by social processes within class society, then patriarchy can be overcome through the defeat of capitalism. Proletarian feminists must assert that gender is a changing social and historical process created by class society, such that to end patriarchy, we must end capitalism. If “construction” refers to the notion that something is contingent and shaped by fluctuating historical processes, this is not a threat to Marxism. In fact, such a view is inherent to the dialectical outlook, which understands that history is shaped by material processes in a system of complex social relations. Marxism does not assert that things have an unchanging internal essence; rather they exist within processes and systems of social relations. On the other hand, we reject the postmodernist idea that social phenomena are continuously constructed via discourse. Unfortunately, the Germans equate these two possible readings of “construction” and treat it with the utmost philosophical superficiality. This philosophical laziness thus leads the Klassenstandpunkt article to offer a particularly mystified view of women’s oppression. For them, struggle against patriarchy and oppression by patriarchy both exist at the level of superstructural norms and behavior alone. Consequently, the authors approach the question of women’s oppression with the same error as the postmodernists. Contingency as a concept is rejected altogether, and this rejection thus throws out the entirety of the materialist analysis advanced by Marxists like Adrianzen. The reader is thus left without any dialectical materialist theory of patriarchy in the first place.

PFRG, 'Against the Chauvinist Line.'

Why are communists against postmodernism?

in very crude terms: 'postmodernism' has historically been defined / defined itself by the rejection of claims to access 'objective' truths, narratives, and knowledge. in its strongest form, this stance precludes the defence of a materialist (including marxist) theory of history or society: if we cannot truly access an objective reality or know for sure that we are doing so, then clearly any discourse referring to 'real' material conditions or relations is rendered untenable, or at least heavily asterisked. in other words, a strict 'postmodernist' sees marxism as defending only a naïve realist position, à la feuerbach. the strict marxist, in turn, considers the postmodernist position to be a reactionary discourse that invokes the social construction of knowledge in order to defend (knowingly or not) ruling class interests by denying the possibility of understanding and therefore changing the material conditions of the world.

in practice, few people beyond a select few polemical academics have ever committed to the 'strong' versions of these claims. in particular, to read marxism as naïve in this manner is fundamentally a misunderstanding of marx's appropriation of hegel, which entailed not just 'turning him on his head' (that is, reversing the relationship between material world and ideal Spirit) but theorising dialectically. marx's claim was not that material reality could be known naïvely, or independently of our ideological schemata or modes of thought; nor was it that materiality (base) operated independently of, or solely in determination of, ideality (superstructure). and, though you may still hear some communists / marxists shitting on postmodernism, that term is mostly unfashionable these days anyway, and any serious communist analysis is itself predicated on quite a bit of social constructivist critique.

so although it's certainly true that communists are (rightfully) scornful of reactionary bourgeois postmodernist ideology that denies the basic premises of material / class analysis, in truth any decent communist these days is already making fruitful use of constructivist and post-structuralist critiques, and is also hostile to crude positivist / determinist ideology even when it brands itself as marxism. which is just to say that like a lot of philosophical debates, this one looks very different when we consider the substance of the arguments imputed to each 'side', and are attentive to when and how those arguments are actually deployed, rather than accepting at face value the sort of ideological coherence and consistency that is often implied by labels like "postmodernist" or debate parameters like "communist v. postmodernist".

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pretchatta · 2 years ago

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Rebel Assault – And Rescue

@kaneraweek day three is what I thought should have happened the very first time I was watching season four: after Hera crash lands in Capital City, that wolf should not have stopped Kanan from rushing in to heroically save her

rating: T; 2.6k words

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The wind whipped at Kanan’s hair and clothes as he rode with the others back to base. He only had half his mind on driving the speeder; the other was trying to sort through the mess of information running through his head.

The attack force had failed their assault. Thrawn and the Imperial blockade must have had some trick up their sleeve that not even the rebels’ superior flying skills could overcome and their squadron had been shot down before they could even reach Lothal’s atmosphere.

Hera wouldn’t answer her comm. Kanan wasn’t sure if they were being jammed or there was something else preventing her from answering him but it meant he didn’t know where she was or what condition she was in.

All he knew was that she wasn’t dead – yet. He tried to hold on to that, clinging to the faint but definitely there presence in the Force that he’d be able to feel no matter where in the galaxy she went.

Hera was alive. She’d failed in her mission and been shot down by Thrawn, but she was still out there – that meant she had to have landed somewhere in Capital City.

The place he was currently speeding away from.

What was the point of being a Jedi if he didn’t step up to protect people who needed it most? Hera was one of the only people who could liberate Lothal from the oppressive rule of the Empire; she was one of the Rebellion’s best chances for the whole galaxy.

Yes, he had feelings for her. They’d been there since he’d first heard her voice on Gorse all those years ago. But that hadn’t been why he’d followed her onto her ship. He hadn’t been ready to admit it at the time, but he’d always known what she was, what she was capable of, and he’d been drawn to her like a sandmoth to a flame.

So didn’t that make his way forward clear?

Kanan pulled his speeder around, coming to a halt. He heard the others doing the same ahead of him. There was silence as they waited expectantly for him to speak.

“I’m going back,” he said finally. “I have to do this.”

He could sense confusion from most of the others but it was Ezra who replied. “I understand.”

Kanan could feel the unspoken understanding passing between them. His Padawan would protect the others while he went to protect Hera.

Sensing an argument about to come from Sabine and not wanting to stick around to hear it, he turned his speeder back the way he came and gunned the engine. Back towards Capital City – and towards Hera.

Continue on AO3 ->

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #kanan x hera #kaneraweek2022 #star wars rebels #hera x kanan #fic #pretchwritta #kanera week #yes i forgot to post this here yesterday but shhh

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aislingiora · 2 years ago

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Hubris (Part 2), a fan Arc for Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine

Here, after some delay, is the rest of the Hubris Arc. I'll be finishing this one in this post, it shouldn't need a part 3 or 4 like some of my earlier arcs.

A Sorcerer's Confidence

Arc 2+

Type: Chthonic Action

Cost:

1 MP—propose, and enforce, a theory based on what you "know" from your Truths

2 MP—propose, and enforce, a theory based on what you "know" from your Role

When you propose a theory about something that you—in the person of your Role, or as the one responsible for your Truths—"should" know, you can invoke Sorcerer's Confidence to force the world to play along.

Your theory becomes a temporary Affliction, with level equal to your Arc rating, that states that you must experience a world in which that theory is correct. It will create coincidences and minor miracles to ensure you aren't proven incorrect, deflect active attempts at disproof with an Auctoritas (and usually Obstacle) equal to its level, and reward you with potential Will or MP when your folly gets you into trouble.

The Affliction lingers for the duration of the chapter, then fades. If necessary, you can effectively end it early by activating the power a second time and proposing a contradictory theory—as long as neither has sufficient Strike to overcome the other, the two clashing Afflictions will cancel out and remain inactive until they fade.

You can waive your “breath” of MP—the +1 MP you get at the start of each chapter—to carry one such Affliction into the new chapter. You can even repeat this across multiple chapters to sustain one of these Afflictions for longer. Other Afflictions from this power fade as normal.

Science, Faith, and Sorcery. If you invoke this as part of a Science, Faith, and Sorcery XP Action, you immediately recover 1 MP.

Atonement

Arc 2+

Type: Special

Cost: —

You may take the Never Say Die! Action any time you can meet its condition. If you can frame the action—"Fight to the last drop of strength in your body!"—as something you're doing to try to atone for your Arc Truths, you earn 1 MP, up to a maximum of your starting MP, and each additional group XP that you earn from this Action also earns you an additional MP.

You can't directly combine this with Heroic; only one or the other can affect a given action. However, if you have two XP Actions available, it is valid to use Frantic or Heroic to trigger (Be in) Trouble, and then after declaring that you are overwhelmed and outmatched, use Atonement to trigger Never Say Die!

Playing God

Arc 3+

Type: Imperial Miracle, Ritual Cost (Arc 3-4):

0 MP—do nearly anything, as a wish, once per book

4 MP—do so again later in the same book

Cost (Arc 5):

0 MP—do nearly anything, as a wish, once per book

2 MP—do so again later in the same book

At most once per chapter, by some methodology appropriate to your Arc Role and driven by your Failing, you can accomplish nearly anything as a wish. This can be nearly any wish you want as long as you can provide at least a flimsy justification for how it might work and how your Role might enable you to accomplish it.

There is one major limitation: if the wish does not substantially draw on skills you've acquired from your past mistakes—that is, if it isn't somehow connected to one of your What Have I Done? Truths—it is very likely to go terribly wrong. If you're still looking for more opportunities to make terrible mistakes to fill out your list of Truths, though, this is an easy way to get there!

Easily Forgiven

Arc 4+

Type: Chthonic Action

Cost: 4 MP

If you've spent 3+ Chapters in a Region without causing disaster for its inhabitants, or you've recently saved its inhabitants from disaster, you may invoke Easily Forgiven to claim a Power Perk, Well-Liked in (Region) (CMWGE, p. 401). This requires a Perk slot, but you may choose to discard one of your Perks when you invoke this power to make room.

Even once your popularity fades (due to discarding the granted Perk) the people of the Region will tend not to have lingering grudges from before you gained the Perk, with the exception of those individuals you have personally, specifically wronged.

Redemption

Arc 5

Type: Chthonic Action, Automatic[, Imperial Miracle] Cost: —

It's no good to have no motivation at all to progress through this Arc, so here's the offer: if you make it this far, all the way up to Arc level 5, one of your sins will be forgiven.

When you acquire this power, you can rewrite one and only one of the Conventions created by What Have I Done? into its opposite or resolution. You can make that one thing right again. It remains one of your Arc Truths and still works with the associated powers and quest miracles, but it's no longer a tragedy, no longer a regret.

If necessary, if merely rewriting a Convention isn't sufficient on its own to fix what you've done, this also functions as a wish,

"I wish I could make this right."

which will allow you to use the rules of a wish to correct the lingering damage of whatever it was you did.

You can't fix everything. This power only functions once, even though you might have as many as six disasters to atone for by this point.

Choose wisely.

#cmwge #chuubo's #Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine #heroic knight #heroic arc

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hrtiu · 3 years ago

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@flybynite19 come get your man.

Brit’ni haunted the long aisles of the Coruscant Public Convention Halls, her eyes darting from stall to stall. This was the biggest Galaxy of Heroes miniature convention in the Republic, and if she didn’t find it here, she wouldn’t find it anywhere. Finally, in a sketchy-looking booth in one of the auxiliary wings, she saw it.

It was perfect. A mint-condition figure with articulated arms, first-edition armor, and no helmet. It was almost impossible to find a figure of Captain Tabbard without a helmet, and Brit’ni couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.

She reached out. “How much for-?”

Another hand grabbed the package just before her, blocking her fingers from her prize.

“What’s the price?” the interloper asked.

Brit’ni turned on her rival, ready to throw hands if necessary. “Excuse me! I was here first!”

A Human man blinked back at her from behind huge, yellow-tinted goggles. “As you can see, my hand reached the package first. I believe that means I have dibs.”

“Look, buddy. Just because you have slightly faster twitch reflexes than me doesn’t mean you get this figure. I’ve been looking for it for forever and I saw it first. Run along.” She tightened her grip around his bony fingers and shot him a death glare, then flicked her gaze to the shopkeeper.

The Ithorian man backed away slowly and raised his hands, his translator sputtering out his apologies. “The price is 70 credits. Whoever can pay gets it. Don’t drag me into this.”

“Please let go of my purchase,” the Human in the goggles said. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not letting go until Captain Tabbard is in my bag. Got it, Goggles?”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head disapprovingly. “This stalemate is productive to neither of us. I propose a compromise.”

“What, you get the head, I get the body? No way.”

“As humorous as that would be, I was thinking something more mutually beneficial. You seem to be an avid collector, and I have several pieces that might be of interest to you.”

Brit’ni leaned closer to him, but didn’t loosen her grip on the figure. “Something more interesting than a first-edition Captain Tabbard? I don’t think so.”

“If you’re a fan of Captain Tabbard, I’d imagine you also enjoy the Chandrilan Guard. But there aren’t any figures for the standard Chandrilan Guard armor. I happen to have a custom pattern made for their armor. I’d be willing to share as many molds as you’d like if you are interested in creating the whole set.”

Brit’ni salivated at the thought. A whole set of custom CG figures? She’d been doing her best to make her own over the years, but with new resources… She’d be unstoppable.

“You have my attention…”

“We split the cost, 50/50. We store the figure in a locker at Coruscant Central. Then we meet up next week. I show you the goods and we decide on the deal. If you don’t want my customs, you take the figure and we go our separate ways. If you do, we make the trade.”

Brit’ni narrowed her eyes at him. “It didn’t take you very long to come up with this plan.”

He shrugged. “I’m smart.”

Brit’ni leaned closer to him, staring him right in those yellow-tinted eyes. She wasn’t in the habit of trusting strangers on a planet like Coruscant—especially not lately. But she really wanted those customs.

“Deal.”

---

“Your name is Tech?” Brit’ni asked doubtfully as they walked down to the magtrain platform together.

“That’s what I just said.”

“Ok, sure,” Brit’ni said. What was it to her if he gave her a fake name? They didn’t need to be best buddies or anything.

“We live in a galaxy of billions of planets, populated by thousands of unique species, each with their own distinctive regional subcultures. I don’t see why ‘Tech’ should be a particularly unusual name, considering.”

Brit’ni laughed and shook her head. “Ok, now I get where you got your name.”

They swiped their muni chits and stepped onto the waiting magtrain, finding a spot near the back where they could both comfortably hold to the hand rails. It was a weekend so the train wasn’t as crowded as it would be during rush hour, but Brit’ni still barely felt like she had room to breathe. Just a few inches from her, Tech’s eyes darted back and forth across the magtrain car and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“New to Coruscant?” she asked.

He looked up in surprise, like he’d forgotten she was there. “...Yes.” His expression was oddly guarded, and Brit’ni raised her hands reassuringly.

“You just look like I did when I was still new to the magtrains. Eventually you’ll get used to the close quarters.”

His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “So many variables, with all these people around. Too many unknowns for my taste. And sentient life is so… unpredictable.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that but I think I get you. There’s a reason we collect little plastoid figures, right?”

A single eyebrow peaked out above Tech’s goggles and he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it like that before, but perhaps you are right.”

The magtrain shuddered as it rounded a turn on the old track, and Brit’ni clutched her precious Captain Tabbard tighter to herself.

Why so much interest in Captain Tabbard?” Tech asked. “Some figures are rare because of their popularity, but he was simply rarely produced due to lack of interest.”

Brit’ni bristled like he was insulting her toddling infant. “He’s the best character!”

“I understood that most fans of the serials disliked him because of his treachery.”

“Treachery?” she scoffed. “That’s not treachery. He had good reason to be loyal to both the Old Republic and Tiberian Empire. It was his conflict that made him interesting. And in the end he chose what was right. That’s what makes a good character. Conflict. Struggle. Then overcoming in the end.”

“I suppose.”

“What about you, then? Who’s your favorite character?”

“In Galaxy of Heroes? I don’t know—never seen it.”

Brit’ni’s jaw dropped. “Then why were you ready to fight me over this figure?”

He shrugged. “I’m a completionist. This is the last one I need to complete the set. You know they’re more valuable together, right?”

She just stared at him. Her eyes trailed down to his booted feet, up his khaki slacks, past his drab, navy-colored tunic, and back to those big, yellow-tinted eyes. Who was this guy?

“Deal’s off,” she said.

“What?”

“I can’t give Captain Tabbard to… to someone who won’t appreciate him.”

“I appreciate him! He’s a first edition, mint-condition, ultra-rare piece that will complete my collection! How much more appreciation can you get than that?”

“No.” Brit’ni shook her head. “You’re not worthy.”

Tech pursed his lips and huffed through his nose.”Well I still paid for half of that figure, so what do you suggest we do? Cut it in half?”

She recoiled in horror. “No! I’ll pay you the 35 credits and I take the figure. It’s as simple as that.”

“That’s unacceptable. You have to at least give me a chance to meet your criteria.”

“How could you possibly do that?”

“By watching Galaxy of Heroes. I watch it, I tell you my favorite character, I show my appreciation for Captain Tabbard.”

“Or I could just take Captain Tabbard home now, and have a figure of my very favorite character to display proudly on my shelf.”

The magtrain slowed and a cheery voice emanated from the intercom. “Coruscant Central.”

“We’re at the station,” Tech said. “I suggest you get off, because I assure you my Chandrilan Guard figures are very good.”

He stepped off the train and Brit’ni bit her lip, her grip tightening on the handlebar as she watched. “Ah, sithspit,” she cursed under her breath, and hopped off the train just as the doors closed.

She hurried to catch up to him—he set a surprisingly quick pace considering how scrawny he looked under those pants—and he tilted his head in her direction in acknowledgment.

“Glad you decided to join me,” he said.

“I really want those CG customs. I’ve been saving up for materials for forever but they’re expensive and my job doesn’t believe in working hours that give me enough time to sleep and eat.”

Tech frowned. “What kind of job is that? It seems like a sub-optimal way to treat your employees.”

“I work at one of the Imperial training facilities. I get to clean up after all the sweaty recruits in the exercise halls. It smells and I hate my life.”

He tensed almost imperceptibly at her side and Brit’ni tried not to notice. Plenty of people on Coruscant didn’t like the Empire, but a job was a job. And Captain Tabbard wasn’t going to pay for himself.

“That sounds… unpleasant. I hope you are able to find alternate forms of employment sometime soon.”

“Yeah, me too. But there aren’t too many options these days,” she said with a sigh. “If I had my way I’d be working in the archives or curating the Imperial Historical Society. I have the training for it, too! But I guess they only need a handful of people to do that, and they need thousands to clean the stormtroopers’ locker rooms.”

He nodded sagely, and she wondered if she was saying too much. Scratch that—she was definitely saying too much. But any time her job came up she couldn’t help but try to distance herself from it. To distance herself from the Empire.

“I also wish I could spend my days doing research and furthering our understanding of the universe. But unfortunately I don’t have that luxury,” Tech said.

Brit’ni looked at him out of the corner of her eye, surprised at the wistfulness in his voice. Maybe she’d judged him too harshly. A completionist who’d never watched Galaxy of Heroes he might be, but they might have more in common than she’d thought. He gave the station map a quick once-over, pushing his goggles up his nose as he read the map, and she couldn’t help but notice how oddly endearing the action was. She cursed herself. She’d always had a weakness for hopeless nerds.

They wound their way through the labyrinthine corridors of Coruscant’s largest magtrain station, and Tech seemed to know every turn and forgotten corner. He took them down another flight of stairs to the lower levels, where the storage lockers were, and a squirmy feeling started to bubble up in Brit’ni’s stomach. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to follow a stranger down into the depths of Coruscant Central without telling anyone where she was. But something about Tech felt oddly comforting. Condescending and annoying, yes, but also kind of nice.

Brit’ni cleared her throat and tried to dispel her sudden nerves. “So… what do you do, then?”

“I’m a tech specialist,” he answered immediately.

Brit’ni furrowed her brows. “A tech specialist? Are you military?”

He looked at her like he’d forgotten she was there, then shook his head, oddly flustered. “No, I mean… I do holo repair, comm device repair, droid maintenance—that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Sure he did.

“It’s, uh, not very glamorous, but it pays the bills,” he said, tacking on an awkward laugh like the world’s worst holo actor.

Brit’ni resisted the urge to roll her eyes. I promise you, dude. Whatever your secrets are, they aren’t nearly as interesting as you think. She found herself wishing he’d just be honest with her, then reminded herself that she didn’t care. She didn’t. He was just a means to the end of collecting Captain Tabbard, not an strangely cute guy she wanted to learn more about.

They approached a squat Rodian manning the checkout counter for locker rentals and paid up.

“And can we get two locks, please?” Brit’ni asked. She needed some assurance that Tech wasn’t just going to come back later, open their locker, and leave.

The Rodian shrugged and tossed them another lock. “Sure.”

They walked down the aisle of lockers and found theirs—locker number 9999. Tech gave a weird smile at the number, but Brit’ni ignored it and opened the locker, carefully placing Captain Tabbard inside and giving him one last look of longing before closing the locker on his beautiful, first-edition face.

They both stuck their locks on the door, and Brit’ni pulled out her portable comm device.

“What’s your comm signature?” she asked.

“I don’t see that that��s necessary.”

“Sure it is. What if I can’t make our meeting time? What if you decide to watch Galaxy of Heroes but its themes and storyline are too complex for you to follow? What if you decide to back out and just want to give me your lock key so I can pick the Captain up?”

He frowned. “Alright, then.”

They swapped comm signatures and Brit’ni stuck her hand out to shake. Tech hesitated a moment, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, then took her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Brit’ni said with a firm, professional shake.

“Likewise.”

---

A few days later Brit’ni staggered home from her shift at the training facility with a deep and abiding exhaustion in her bones. She swiped open the door to the small apartment she shared with her younger sister and stumbled through the dark room, determined not to turn on the lights. Her sister was already asleep and Brit’ni knew she had an early shift the next morning.

Brit’ni shed her uniform, took a quick shower, and fell into bed. She could easily have fallen asleep right then and there, but she hated going to sleep right after getting home from work. It felt like giving up—like acknowledging that all there was to her life right now was sleep and work. She rolled over onto her side and pulled out her comm device, checking for messages. There were a few from her mom, a couple of taunting inside jokes from her sister, and… one from a signature she didn’t immediately recognize.

She opened the message, convinced it was some kind of advertisement but curious nonetheless.

I am happy to report that my viewing of Galaxy of Heroes has commenced. Will keep you updated on my progress. -T

A surprised smile rose to her lips. Maybe her evening would be a little more interesting than usual, after all.

She gave it some thought, then typed a response. The first episode is great, but the rest of the first season is a little slow. Make sure you keep watching to season 3.

She pulled out a datapad and scrolled mindlessly through several news updates. There was never anything interesting anymore—not since the Empire had taken over. All the updates felt like propaganda, but there was nothing else to read. Then her comm device pinged.

Then why don’t I just skip straight to season 3? I don’t understand how people can be such fans of a program while disliking a significant percentage of the content. -T

She snorted. Don’t skip to season 3! I thought you were a completionist.

He responded immediately. Fair point. -T

Deciding to let him focus on the show, Brit’ni rolled out of bed, determined to do something useful with the evening before calling it a night. She pulled a case of her in-progress figures out from under her bed and hauled them over to the small work desk she’d set up in the corner. She had some painting to do.

Commander Fes’s helmet was beautiful. The design etched across its surface was gorgeous, with intricately weaving strips of color and textures. That also made it an absolute beast to paint, and Brit’ni extricated her tiniest brushes from the bottom of her brush bag.

Eyes straining with the microscopic details, she labored over the good commander’s helmet for a solid half hour before setting her tools down in frustration. She glowered at the thumb-sized helmet, as if her anger would force it to cooperate better, and reached for her comm device.

What paint do you use for your customs? she sent Tech. For the fine details? I feel like I’m going crazy with Commander Fes’s helmet.

I don’t hand-paint details that small. I have a three dimensional stamper, so I design the decals at full size then use the stamper to apply them. -T

Huh. Brit’ni had heard of tools like that, but most collectors had to make them themselves. It wasn’t a simple or easy thing to put together.

I’ve always wanted to use one of those! Did you follow the Talatar template or the Bikqwik one?

Neither. I made my own design, though to be fair the base design was inspired more by the Bikqwik one. -T

Maybe I should make one. I’d love to get those fine details right, but I don’t know if I have the time to figure it out or the money for all the pieces.

That’s understandable. I was able to use leftover pieces from my work, so it wasn’t so expensive for me. -T

Images of a perfectly-painted Commander Fes helmet floated through Brit’ni’s mind, and she had half a mind to ask him to lend her his printer. That would probably be too much, though. She was considering what she should say next when Tech sent her another message.

It’s nice to talk to another collector about customs and painting. My colleagues are not very interested. -T

Brit’ni laughed. Same! My sister and mom indulge me, but they definitely don’t care as much as I do.

She set her comm device down and refocused her attention on Commander Fes’s helmet. It might be nice to use a three dimensional stamper, but this was what she had to work with for now. And as she focused in on the tiny design, she had to admit that it was turning out pretty well.

She soon fell into a groove so deep she hardly noticed the next half hour fly by. Then her comm device pinged again, breaking her from her painting trance.

I’m going to sleep now, but I’m happy to report that I’ve finished season one. -T

Brit’ni’s brows rose. You finished a whole season in one night?

I’m watching it at double speed. -T

That’s cheating!

When you demanded I watch the show you did not specify a required playback speed. -T

Do I have to specify things that should be obvious??

Goodnight, Brit’ni. -T

No longer in the mood to paint, Brit’ni set Commander Fes’s tiny helmet on a stand to dry, then packed up her materials. She crawled into bed and set her alarm, her eyes already heavy with how tired she’d be in the morning. Still, it had been a pleasant night.

---

The week flew by, and Brit’ni was so busy with work she hardly had any time to work on her figures or chat with Tech. Every once in a while he messaged her with updates on his viewing progress, and he was burning through Galaxy of Heroes at an alarming rate. His last message he sent the morning of the day they’d agreed to meet back up at the station—a simple statement that he’d finished the series.

Brit’ni wanted to ask him his thoughts, who his favorite character was, and what he thought of the infamous plot twist in season seven, but instead she’d had to run off to work. By the time her shift ended, she was excited to hop on the magtrain and head to Coruscant Central not only to finally see his promised customs, but also to talk to him. Funny, that.

She walked down into the lower levels of the station and quickly found locker 9999. Tech was already there, typing away on some kind of datapad built into his wristguard. Brit’ni didn’t think he’d worn that the last time they’d met, but she also couldn’t really depend on her memory.

“Hey!” she called out, and he looked up from his datapad.

“Excellent. Right on time.”

He swung his backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it, pulling out a carefully labelled black box as she approached.

“Are those the custom molds?” Brit’ni asked eagerly.

“Yes.” He opened the box and she could swear the box was glowing from the inside like some kind of mythic treasure.

“I have molds for the standard shock trooper, captain, commander, and the recon units. Four molds in all.”

With a reverent hand, Brit’ni lifted the silicoid molds from their case. The detail work was exquisite, the edges sharp and defined. “I just pour in molding plastoid and let it cool?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, that should work adequately.”

She stared for a minute longer, her fingers running over each groove and divet. They were perfect. “Alright, you have a deal.”

“No, but… I haven’t told you about Galaxy of Heroes yet…” Tech said, confused.

“That’s alright, the molds are enough-”

“I watched that entire series in a week. I’m going to tell you about it,” he snapped.

Brit’ni shut the case with the molds and stepped back from him a pace, her eyebrows raised. “Alright then, do you see now why Captain Tabbard is the best?”

“He’s such a minor character, it’s hard for me to understand why he is your favorite. But I do see the nuance and conflict that you mentioned earlier. I can see why you admire him.”

“Who’s your favorite, then?” It had better not be that awful Alduous Rux. Or even worse: Leve Bontera.

“K3WO was my favorite, I believe,” he said.

“The droid? Really?” she asked, though as soon as the words left her mouth she had to admit that it made a certain sort of sense.

“Yes. He always remained level-headed, he was intelligent, but he had his own personality. He was my favorite.”

“Ok, fine, I get it. But what about your favorite organic character?”

“Why does it have to be an organic character?”

“Do you have to argue everything I say?”

“It’s not arguing if-”

Tech suddenly cut off, his eyes darting down the hall, and Brit’ni followed his gaze. Two stormtroopers had stepped off the landing and were making their way towards locker 9999. Tech glanced quickly away from them, but the tension in his shoulders was clear.

Brit’ni saw the problem immediately. They looked like they were making some kind of illicit deal here, exchanging goods in the basement of Coruscant Station. The misunderstanding could be easily cleared up under normal circumstances, but Tech obviously didn’t want any attention from Imperials.

Thinking fast, Brit’ni clutched the black case of molds to her chest. “Oh, honey! You shouldn’t have!”

Tech stared doubtfully back at her through his goggles, his eyes growing wide enough to fill the lenses as she grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to her.

“What are you-” he hissed.

She pressed her mouth to his before he could give them away, her hands snaking around his back to make sure he didn’t pull away while the stormtroopers were still watching. She worried that she might have to fight him the entire time, which would both make her feel like the worst kind of swamp scum and would also make this significantly less enjoyable. But then he relaxed into the kiss and set his hands at her waist, his long fingers careful and hot against her skin. He picked her up by the waist and spun them around, pressing her back into the lockers. Then he kissed up the side of her neck. Heated shivers ran up Brit’ni’s body, and she wondered if maybe she’d gotten in way over her head.

“Good thinking,” he whispered into her ear once he reached the top of her neck. “My apologies for not realizing sooner.”

“Th-that’s fine,” she stuttered, looking over his shoulder to check for the stormtroopers. They were still there. “Still got eyes.”

He nodded, then kissed her again, this time sliding a hand up her back to run his fingers through her hair. She pressed herself further into him, finding surprisingly firm, defined muscle under his plain clothing. Brit’ni doubted that there was an electronics repairman this athletic in the entire galaxy, and the mystery that was Tech just seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

Then one of Tech’s hands slipped lower on her waist and all coherent thought fled from Brit’ni’s mind. Her teeth caught on his bottom lip and she tugged gently. He started against her, and she took that as encouragement. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he started again, this time jerking away from her in surprise.

Brit’ni’s gaze darted to where she’d last seen the stormtroopers and, Force be damned, there they still were. Staring like a bunch of touch-starved morons.

“What are you looking at, you karking pervs!” she shouted at them.

The troopers flinched away like she’d hit them, then sputtered something about their patrol route and orders to “carry on.” They turned back the way they went and soon enough they were up the stairs and out of sight.

Brit’ni let out a heavy sigh of relief and let her weight lean back against the lockers behind her. “Well, that was a lot closer than it needed to be.”

“Yes,” Tech said, a healthy dusting of red high on his cheeks. “Thank you, by the way. I’d rather avoid Imperial entanglements.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” she said with a wry twist of the mouth.

“And, uh… My apologies, for losing my grip earlier. I… well I have never engaged in kissing before.”

Brit’ni sat up straight at that, her eyes going wide. “Really?” she asked, her skin still tingling from where he’d run his hands up her back. “You could have fooled me.”

“Well, I’ve seen plenty of holos,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. “The mechanics of it seem simple enough. But, um. I didn’t really know what to expect in terms of sensation.”

“Ah,” Brit’ni said, feeling the heat rising in her own cheeks. “Well, it all worked out in the end.”

“That it did. Now if we could exchange goods?”

“Sure.”

They each unlocked their locks and there Captain Tabbard was, safe in his perfectly-preserved box. Tech handed her back her 35 credit share of the price, then lifted Captain Tabbard carefully from the locker. Brit’ni checked the CG molds Tech had given her one more time, then closed and locked the case.

“I guess we’re done, then,” she said, suddenly not sure where to put her hands.

“A pleasure,” Tech said, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some secret meaning hidden behind the quirk of his lips.

“A pleasure.”

---

A few days later, Brit’ni dragged herself to work feeling particularly haggard. She went through the service entrance and changed into her ugly uniform, then jogged to her supervisor’s office just in time to clock in.

She punched the buttons that would start recording her time, then started to walk away from the desk.

“Brit’ni? That you?” her supervisor asked, turning around in his swivel chair. He was a pale, sleight Human who’d barely spoken three words to Brit’ni before today.

She turned back to him slowly, her body already tensing to expect the worst. “Yes, sir?”

“You have a package.”

“A package?”

“Yeah.” He got up from his desk and pulled a drab grey box out from under the counter, sliding it towards Brit’ni with a look of perfect unconcern on his face. “Someone dropped it off early this morning for you.”

“Oh…” That was strange. In earlier years Brit’ni had liked surprises like this, but ever since the Empire… Well, let’s just say that most surprises were bad ones these days.

She took the package back to the locker room and set it down on one of the durasteel benches. Carefully, like she was defusing a bomb, she opened it up. Inside, the perfectly-painted face of Captain Tabbard stared up at her, a bright orange piece of flimsi stuck to his box just over his chest.

Dear Brit’ni,

Thank you for the other day. I should have just given this to you at the time, but I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I hope our paths cross again.

-T

A slow smile crept across Brit’ni’s face, and she picked up Captain Tabbard, holding his box to her chest. She knew she and Tech’s paths would cross again. She’d make sure of it.

#tech x oc #tbb #the bad batch #tbb tech #clone commando tech #tech collects figures now #nerds in love

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mc-critical · 3 years ago

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Okay hi its me again💜 i enjoyed your answers to my questions but im here again lol

My Question now is probably annoying or hard but i asked another page a while ago and they said it was too hard (had to re search a lot for it) but i find it very interesting.

Ranking All Imperial Sultanas from MC/MCK by how Influental/powerful they were,would be very happy if u made a list with reasonings i love yours blogs and how well they're formulated.

I'll have to agree with the other page you've asked this question that it's going to be hard answering to it when it comes to history. There's still stuff we don't know for sure (we don't even know precisely how much political influence Hürrem actually had historically!) and there is a lot of research to be done in order to give a full perspective.

That's why I'm going to limit myself to the show. While I feel the hierarchy is even more of a mess there, the conclusions one can drive are far more clear cut, especially when it comes to the evolution of power being explored on a thematic level through the Sultanate of Women.

That said, for me, the most powerful and influential sultana in the show is Kösem. She got the most from the power as a sultan's favourite and the power as a valide. She had the support of both the people and the Jannisary. She was a regent during the early years of Murat's reign and even after Murat took away her regency, she could run her foundations and had meetings that were her making decisions about the state. She represented the state almost her whole life to the point she went as far as to remove every single threat that stood in its way. Out of all the sultanas, she was the one who had the most chance to utilize and extend her power, yet she was the one with the most opposition from people who were capable of anything to take her down. She fought with enemies that put her under constant pressure, but also had their fair share of power and it was a lot more possible for the odds to turn in their favor when it came to it. Kösem managed to overcome all of them not only through sheer force of will, but also through the sheer confidence in the amount of power she wields (and the way she uses it).

The two most important "branches" of Kösem's power that make her stand out among the rest are the reach her power has and her experience. Kösem's touch of power was relatively early - Ahmet and Mustafa, the the most important people in the whole empire, were in their death beds, Handan, the Valide Sultan, didn't know what to do when everyone else was only seeking their own benefit, and the only one who could stand up to the people in what was a massive revolt, was Kösem. By expressing the confidence that the sultan was okay, she represented the country as early as episode 7, she gained another, new wave of respect in the harem and it all unraveled from there. She was starting to "lose" her innocence, she clashed with arguably the most powerful people in the harem (Safiye and Halime + Dilruba), Ahmet, for all he was, acted very "loosely" with her, in terms of what he permitted her to do when it came to the boundaries of her power in the harem and his heart, he relied on her to make decisions when he couldn't, he looked up to her, he sought her advice, he even left the state in her hands in the end. Thanks to the evolution of the SOW, now that very powerful and influential women are the norm in the harem rather than the exception, Kösem was both in a precarious, yet very powerful position, she grasped what the ones before her had and yet got to lengths no one else before (or after her, show-wise) did. Her power spread everywhere, she had so many areas of influence, to the point Murat, the padişah himself, felt overshadowed by all that. But most importantly, she reached out to the people, they all loved and respected her. No sultana was as close to her people as Kösem and I feel that's the most valuable power one could have.

I would put Safiye as second. She's been in power for so many years and she perceives her own power as so massive it's hard for her to let go of. Her dresses, morning routines, material possessions, servants were exemplary. She was so influential in the harem that she was still pretty much perceived as a Valide, even when she already wasn't. She was apparently close to Queen Elizabeth in the show, as well. She also had foundations, even though reaching to the people was far from her first priority. What brings her down for me, is that her influence began to waver slowly, but surely, ever since she was imprisoned in that tower. (yes, she still had a concubine to poison Ahmet, but still...) She lost from Kösem eventually, but she still had very strong presence and was a remarkable member of the SOW. Something from her was left even when she was at her "weakest" - the person manipulating Osman.

I don't know where to put Turhan, to be honest. She was certainly very influential, because she could amass people to her side and staged this massive coup and what helped even further, is her being in a high position from the very beggining and her thematic role in the evolution of power in the SOW, that while everyone else there had their power from their positions as favorites to some extent, at least, Turhan got it solely from herself and what she achieved on her own, because the love and favor from the padişah in her case, was absent at best. But.... her achievements and early apparent upper hand at first only stemmed from the fact that she was Kösem's shadow, she was essentially fooling her and playing with her trust. That is surely bold and the amount of time she succeeded to win in her hands is definetly something, but that facade could last only so far and when it dropped.... Kösem and Turhan were pretty much on equal ground. They were doing move after move and Turhan won only because she used Kösem's weakness. And her weakness.. wasn't the amount of power she wielded. Turhan manipulated her to let go of her personal restraints, which was what she thrived in, but that wasn't really related to power. Power was what Turhan wanted to get, not what she fully had. The same goes with influence. The spheres of Kösem and Safiye's influences were also much bigger than what Turhan ever got and no matter how well she twisted her words, her stunt could even become ineffectual later on, because she has neither ideals, nor principals, but we cannot deny she went way beyond her predecessors for the thing she craved, so I guess she could be here for now.

The Halime and Dilruba (+Davud) faction is not to be underestimated at all. Despite that, similarly to (one aspect of) Turhan, most of their power came from their ruthlessness and how much they were willing to use it. It's interesting, because Halime's most "powerful and influential" was her at her most desperate point, when she seemed to be losing control, because when everyone (the Jannisary especially) learned about Mustafa's condition, no one wanted him to be their sultan, and when Mustafa was dethroned and Osman was the one who ruled. The faction being ready to do anything to be in power and win caused them to beat Kösem in certain instances and were the reason for one of her biggest losses. As far as I recall, they were setting people against Osman and they were also fueling the fire around him, as well as the other stuff. Their opportunism is also a key thing in their power, while it could be also Halime's flaw, when it was her strenght, it fully showed. Knowing when to act (post-E25 Halime and especially Dilruba) and circling around all sides (pre-E25 Halime) is important and advantageous, compared to those who are more direct in their motives. However, when that ruthlessness of the faction is gone, they end up believing way too much in their own victory, hence they let themselves get off guard. Which is what, as well as their ruthlessness that caused Kösem to act even more against them, brought them to their end. And Halime herself could act very irrationally when the opportunity finally seems to come for her, which made her fall under Safiye's traps.

Nurbanu had enough power to guide Selim, hide his mistakes and win him supporters in a way, even though I'm sure she could also be pretty independent of him. She also ended up defeating Hürrem, all things considered. She was cunning enough and she gained influence considerably fast, judging by MC's themes, of course. However, we didn't see much of her influence outside of Selim in the show and seemed to have opposition quickly after her supposed victory was approaching, with the Safiye case she didn't have the upper hand in, in the end. (though it hadn't been such an easy battle, I'm certain of that.) Nurbanu is definetly the most powerful and influential concubine of a prince, but would she be more powerful than the current/future valides before her? I can't say for sure.

While I don't see her as the most powerful and influential sultana of the franchise, Hürrem definelty brought something new to the table, especially in regards to all the traditions she broke, her more extensive foundation work and her getting in contact with the statesmen, along with vast political allies. Hürrem was the sultana whose power stemmed from her favorable position, but that alone. And thanks to both SS and the themes and the time period, that also could only go so far. Her fatal flaw (the fixation of her enemies and her taking the more opportunistic political allies instead of truly testing their loyalty) made her political alliances become unstable in the end. She had her severe amount of influence, but that influence... seemed to disappear little by little when she seemed to be losing, especially when it came to Rüstem. Her power comes from Süleiman and if/when he dies, Hürrem loses absolutely everything. She has her fair amount of legacy, of course, especially with the favorable treatment and her marriage and how far could one start going on the road of power (though that was more on the themes that set Hürrem as a trendsetter for similar character arcs, not so much on Hürrem herself, but it's stil there), but there're sultanas more powerful than her.

I don't think I'm going to go through all the dynastic sultanas when it comes to power, because their characters and arcs are very rarely connected to power. Still, I find the most powerful and influential dynastic sultanas of MC to be Şah and Mihrimah, and of MCK: Hümaşah. Şah is especially there when it comes to influence and how many things she succeeded to pull off, to the point she could beat both Hürrem and Mihrimah, if she truly wanted to, and Mihrimah had SS's favor and her own growing confidence in her own capabilities, which is also very important. Hümaşah has her power as Safiye's daughter and then, very loosely, as a harem ruler, even though she's not more powerful than her or most of the MCK sultanas.

Ayşe Hafsa had her own fair share of power as a Valide Sultan. She wasn't that massively influential and she didn't weave political plots, but she was very strong in the harem, which she ruled with grace and poise. She had everyone there obey, respect and at times even fear her and she didn't give up so easily in her fight with Hürrem. She was a tough opponent precisely because of the power she had in the harem and even Hürrem admitted she was looking up to her to an extent. Everyone listened to her sound advice and SS considered her his conscience, even though she slowly lost her influence of him in S02B. (and even then SS still cared for her enough, of course)

A bit of a bizarre opinion maybe, but I put Gülbahar and Mahidevran next to each other when it comes to the power they wield in their respective shows. That's mostly when it comes to the vast amount of supporters they both have gained whether it's thanks to their sons or their own personalities, which could put them a step above their rivals at times. (the "Mahidevran is dependent on others" remark.... could actually be as much her advantage as is Gülbahar's seek of supporters and how she uses that.) Both have sons they strive to advice in their own beliefs and while sometimes they may not listen, they respect their mothers a lot. Both gain their strength and power without being favored by their respective sultans. Mahidevran's power shows much more when she rules her harem in Manisa, as she she shows decisiveness and justice and yet can use the same firm hand Valide Hafsa once used with her when necessary. Gülbahar's power shows much more in the castle with all the reach she has thanks to her supporters, along with her big ambition to get what's hers. I would put Gülbahar before Halime and Mahidevran after Ayşe Hafsa in this list.

In theory, Handan had a lot of power as a Valide, but she could by no means adapt to it. She was trying to exert it as much as possible, yet she never discovered how exactly to do it, and when she seemed close to discovering, someone either worked behind her back or everything just went all wrong. Nearly everyone's lack of respect thanks to Safiye's influence was even harder to get over. Handan wasn't suited for this harem life and her only solaces were her son and Derviş. Power wasn't Handan's thing at all, still she was an awesome character.

Farya and Ayşe are a tricky case. While Farya was the closest person to Murat ever being favorable to someone (besides Atike, actually no wonder they're besties!) and he married her, she didn't have the safest position in the castle, because she couldn't have children for the longest time. What Farya got in the end was only a slightly more favorable position that could end at any given time and Kösem becoming her enemy didn't help, either. Ayşe practically ranked above Farya as a mother of Murat's children, but her relationship with Murat was strained, at the very least, and that could pretty much cost her her life. Gülbahar only took advantage of her. The girl was stuck in an abusive and toxic relationship and all she could do to end it, was take her own life and that of her children. Thing is, we're talking Murat and he's as abusive and toxic with all his women as he can get, along with his fear for someone to betray or outshine him, so there's only so much power you can get during his unpredictable and (both direct and deep-seated) anger induced reign, so both Ayşe and Farya are on equal terms when it comes to power. Murat screwed both of them over so hard, I don't think there was ever time or a chance for them to seek such power and influence like others have and I don't blame them for it one bit. It's really, really heartwrenching, actually.

#magnificent century #muhteşem yüzyıl #muhtesem yuzyil #magnificent century: kösem #magnificent century kösem #magnificent century kosem #ask #therealhaseki #am I missing someone? (who isn't a dymastic sultana and isn't Sah Hüma or Mihri)

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where-theres-smoak-2 · 3 years ago

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This Needs To Stop.

Trigger warning: Sensitive topics, p*dopilia, grooming, mental health and r*cism.

Ok so this is a bit of a rant so apologies for that, I usually try to stay away from sensitive or controversial topics but this is something that I am passionate about and that I think is important. Also I just want to say that I am in no way directing this to the entirety of the M*lina fandom, I know most are just enjoying their ship, but there are those few who are deliberately seeking out darklina posts or are cross tagging and coming into darklina’s asks and just generally harassing the fandom which sadly I am seeing happen more and more often. Also I do feel like this can apply to all fandoms not just exclusively shadow and bone/ grishaverse, its just this is the one I am experiencing it in right now.

I’ve seen antis call darkling/darklina fans many problematic things, delusional, mentally ill, ab*se apologists. They also like throwing around words like grooming and p*dophile. The thing that makes me angry about this is that they are taking sensitive topics, topics that many users have been effected by and they are using them to attack shippers merely for liking a character or ship that they don’t. What is even more frustrating is they seem to be throwing these words around without evening fully understanding what they even mean. For example the claim that the Darkling is a p*dophile because Alina is only 17 in the books. Well p*dophilia is a psychiatric disorder where adults are attracted to children and in order for it to be classed as p*dophilia the child involved has to be 13 or younger. A 16 year old can be diagnosed as a p*dophile if they become attracted to a child that is five years or more younger than them. So the relationship between the Darkling and Alina does not meet the criteria to be categorised this way as Alina is over the age of 13. As for it being a case of Alina is underaged, well, for one that depends on where in the world you are. This is based on imperial russia, in russia the age of consent is 16. This means that a 16 year old can have a sexual relationship with a 30 year old, a 70 year old or a 500 year old immortal and in a court of law it is still legal, whatever your own moral issues around age gaps might be. Even then it can be argued that it is irrelevant because, as with most historical literature where young girls marry older men, you cannot put modern day concepts onto them. Like I said this story is based on Imperial Russia, the life expectancy of a person in that time was around 30 years old. That means a 15 year old girl is already half way through her life, she is literally middle aged. It is at this point usually that girls started to prepare to get married and have children and yes sometimes it was to an older man because men were expected to provide for their wife and family which means having a house and job and means to support a family which an older man was more likely to have. My point is a 15-17 year old in say Imperial Russia is not the same as a 15-17 year old in modern day therefore you can’t take modern day laws and morals and place them onto that situation, it doesn’t work, they lived completely different lives. In Alina’s world, she is at the age where girls might get married and her being courted by a man of the general’s status would have been a normal occurrence, for her to have caught the attention of someone with his standing would have been considered very advantageous for her. I mean she literally gets two marriage proposals in book 2, where I believe she is still 17, and Nikolai is talking about how if she marries him it’ll be in name only and they can make Mal her guard so she can do the horizontal tango with him whenever she feels like it, so clearly the characters themselves feel like Alina is at an age where she can, one get married, and two be engaging in a sexual relationship.

So why does all of this matter? Well it matters because people reading these posts, asks and comments left on posts, may be victims of p*dophilia and grooming. A lot of these comments don’t have trigger warnings and when you are talking about sensitive and triggering topics like this you need to be careful and when you are talking about them without even really understanding them, and where they can’t apply to the characters you are talking about anyway, then you are potentially triggering someone needlessly because you didn’t need to be talking about it in the first place, I hope I am making sense there. I am not saying don’t talk about these subjects if you do think they are relevant, I am saying make sure you do the research, that you understand the subject you are addressing and when you do talk about it do it in a respectful manner, don’t throw it out there in an angry spew accompanied by alot of other derogatory words because that won’t help anyone.

Another subject I want to talk about is I am also seeing a lot of posts about how darklinas must be delusional or mentally unwell. This, again, is hurtful and harmful. Mental illness for a very long time has had a stigma around it, one that makes the person suffering from it feel weak and ashamed. There was always the attitude of if you are mentally ill then there is something wrong with you, or the attitude of oh just get over it, cheer up, think a different way. But mental illness isn’t just a state of emotion its often caused by hormonal imbalances and chemicals. Genetics can also play a part. There is nothing wrong with someone who is mentally ill their brain is just wired a different way. I also find it problematic when people throw around the word delusional. Maybe its nothing to you, just a word, but alot of mental illnesses have actual delusions as one of their symptoms. These can be scary and upsetting and are outside the control of the person experiencing them. Making the suggestion that liking a particular ships means you are delusional is potentially very triggering to those who do battle delusions and have fought to overcome them. The stigma around mental illness has prevented alot of people suffering from mental illness from seeking help out of shame or embarrassment or even out of fear of being judged and although I do feel like as a society we’ve become alot more open about mental health and alot more accepting there is still a long way to go. When antis start saying things like ‘I can’t believe people ship this, they must be mentally ill,’ or ‘they must be sick in the head’, or ‘if you like this ship than you must be delusional’ not only are they being incredibly prejudice against people who have mental illnesses but it is also so harmful because if there is someone reading that post who is struggling with their mental health and are considering seeking help then you’ve just made them feel more ashamed, more like there is something wrong with them which will make them even less likely to seek out help and as I said before there isn’t anything wrong with a person who has a mental health condition they are just different from you. That doesn’t give you the right to make them feel like they are less capable of deciding what they do or do not like or even what they should or should not like to be classified as a ‘normal’ person.

The most latest problematic statements I’ve seen have been those accusing Darklina’s of being r*cist. This one I found a bit funny in a it’s not funny kind of way. I just don’t think there is much logic behind this view point. I’m not sure I understand the antis reasoning here. Mostly because I’m pretty sure the majority of the Darklina fandom comes from the books where Mal is described as being a white, brown haired, blue eyed guy. Funnily enough the Darkling is described as being able to pass for Shu, though to be clear it isn’t confirmed that he is a POC, but out of the two in the books the Darkling is more likely to be a POC than Mal. On top of that whilst many darklina fans have made it clear they are not a fan of Mal in the books many have said they like the show version of Mal who, as we all know, the actor Archie is a POC. So by anti logic darklinas are all r*cist because they don’t like book Mal who is depicted as white but we do like show Mal who is a POC. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I do understand that there were some ‘fans’ who made inappropriate and r*cist comments to some cast members including Archie and I would never ever condone that no matter who I ship. But you also can’t condemn an entire fandom just because of the actions of a select few. I don’t judge all M*linas for that one fan who accused Ben of being a pr*dator and p*dophile because of his friendship with Jessie. Once again my point is r*cism is a serious topic and not something someone should use as a retort or comeback to someone not shipping your ship. When we use these words casually it makes it less likely that they’ll be taking seriously when they really do need to be taken seriously, when they really are relevant to what is happening. If we keep using them so casually then when we really do need to talk about them, when it really matters, people will just shrug and go ‘its just antis being antis.’

I think it is possible for people to like different things, to debate and analyse different relationships and characters and talk about what flaws they may have in a respectful manner. I wouldn’t say I am anti m*lina but at the same time there are things about them that I find problematic but when I talk about those things I hope I do so in a way that doesn’t demean those who do like the ship. I understand that people will have a different interpretation than me and whilst I might not understand where their thinking comes from or why they have a particular opinion I would never make the assumption that they are mentally unwell or make judgements on their character or morals. I try to think about the words I am writing. I know how easy it can be to just throw a word out there without thinking about it. I used to use the word delusional to describe fans of certain ships, but when I recognised how damaging and problematic that was I stopped and I changed my behaviour because it was never my intention to hurt others. I guess the main message I am trying to convey here is we need to be careful with our words they’re not as insignificant as we might think.

#darklina #anti anti #anti anon hate #anti anti darklina #excuse the rant

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brightlotusmoon · 3 years ago

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From a comment thread in my ADHD group about the reality of ADHD as a disorder.

"Education needs reform for this and many other reasons, which will make learning easier for most, but will not “eliminate” ADHD.

Part of the problem is that this framing removes protections from those of us who need labels and accommodation in order to manage our lives."

...

"While I understand what this author was going for, this article is clearly written by a neurotypical who’s never grappled with day to day living as a Neurodiverse human.

Yes, many of our struggles exist because we live in a society that thrives on high production value at the lowest cost.

Yes there are studies showing our brains have evolved in a manner unsuited to our current living condition.

But at the end of the day it is still a disorder and it needs to be labeled and recognized as one. When we try to trim the edges of a complex issue and say “it’s about dealing with adversity” al you’ve done is give people the green light to say we simply don’t know how to cope with stress and that’s some how our fault.

You can’t boil down the complex spectrum of mental health like this because it somehow makes you feel better sorry.

All this article will accomplish is giving NT’s further permission to dismiss our struggles and push us further and further away from getting the proper treatment we need.

Again, this is a complex issue that can’t be boiled down into a 1000 word article. The reason you see less cases in Finland vs the US is because of so many factors like socialized medicine, advanced and well funded education infrastructure, an economy that isn’t stuck in late stage capitalism propaganda.

The reason you see more cases being diagnosed is because more and more people feel comfortable discussing mental health, because we are slowly moving away from the outdated diagnosing models that assume only boys can get ADHD, and in America especially we are dealing with generations that have increased trauma like 9/11, the crash of 2008, housing crisis after housing crisis, Covid, economic inflation without proper wages. The burn out is astronomical and no one wants to properly deal with that.

So it’s incredibly unfair for this author to sit there and say “it’s a simple matter of not being able to deal with adversity” and assume that’s going to somehow fix us."

...

"My concern for this study is that it will be used to justify and reinforce the ableist notion to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and then it will make not overcoming "adversity" as a personal failing.

I also take issue with the position that we can reform individual systems (i.e education) to mitigate mental disorders. IMO, reform is just a bandaid and it doesn't address the base causes of trauma/adversity which are things like poverty and economic instability, hunger, domestic violence rooted in patriarchal masculinity/homophobia/transphobia, state violence (i.e. police killings, child migrant detention, etc.), and imperialism/war.

The article mentions ADHD as an adaption to ancestral adversity, though it doesn't mention the research on epigenetics that point to trauma being passed intergenerationally through biological/genetic changes in offspring.

I'm curious to read the full study. I feel it has some good ideas, but I caution putting too much weight into one study as presented in Forbes."

...

"I only skimmed the first two paragraphs thus far. Lessee - PTSD might be a response to adversity - um, no sh*t Sherlock! And quite often yes depression and other conditions are as well. That part of why trauma-informed care has become such a significant thing in psychotherapy circles. Then it says ADHD may be from our ancestral environment but doesn’t match the way we live today - uh that means it’s not adaptive and is creating a problem. That’s also why treatment is more than just medication which is what they are focused on. They also said something about despite medication the prevalence of depression hasn’t decreased. I didn’t see how they made that determination but - um, people have to continue to see their treating providers and have the diagnosis if they are going to continue to receive the treatment. Yes it might be in remission, but for some only as long as the medication is being taken (and I’ll say that’s more likely if someone doesn’t receive therapy - I’m a bit biased in this regard 🙂) … I also doubt physicians or clinicians are changing the diagnoses. Heck, I went through a difficult breakup and requested medication - I later saw the doctor ”diagnosed” Major Depression - uh, no, and that diagnosis still shows up. Other thoughts too, I could (and probably should really write an article of my own). I also saw they make reference to polyvagal theory, an important relatively concept in understanding and informing how we treat clients - again beyond medication alone.

Social reform, sure we need it. I’m assuming this reform is to address things like poverty, systemic racism, etc. It’s cyclical: systemic stuff contributes to physical and mental conditions/disorders/diseases. I’m all for less trauma and all the various -isms.

BUT one issue does not negate the existence of the other. That there is an adversity aspect doesn’t rule out the biological aspect. “Yes AND” not “yes but”.

And now I’ll get back to what I was doing before I got sidetracked by seeing this... 😃 (And read the rest of the article later - so great to have such a big reaction to something I barely read! Oy…)"

#adhd is exempt from allistic fuckery #adhd means our processors are overclocked in our autistic operating systems #cognitive attentive tempo syndrome #kinetic cognitive style #cats in my brain

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rockislandadultreads · 4 years ago

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Same-Sex Marriage in Fiction: Titles To Read

Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers

A refreshingly timely and relatable debut novel about a young woman whose life plans fall apart when she meets her wife. With her newly completed PhD in astronomy in hand, twenty-eight-year-old Grace Porter goes on a girls’ trip to Vegas to celebrate. She’s a straight A, work-through-the-summer certified high achiever. She is not the kind of person who goes to Vegas and gets drunkenly married to a woman whose name she doesn’t know…until she does exactly that. This one moment of departure from her stern ex-military father’s plans for her life has Grace wondering why she doesn’t feel more fulfilled from completing her degree. Staggering under the weight of her father’s expectations, a struggling job market and feelings of burnout, Grace flees her home in Portland for a summer in New York with the wife she barely knows. In New York, she’s able to ignore all the annoying questions about her future plans and falls hard for her creative and beautiful wife, Yuki Yamamoto. But when reality comes crashing in, Grace must face what she’s been running from all along—the fears that make us human, the family scars that need to heal and the longing for connection, especially when navigating the messiness of adulthood.

Winter's Orbit by Everina Maxwell

While the Iskat Empire has long dominated the system through treaties and political alliances, several planets, including Thea, have begun to chafe under Iskat's rule. When tragedy befalls Imperial Prince Taam, his Thean widower, Jainan, is rushed into an arranged marriage with Taam's cousin, the disreputable Kiem, in a bid to keep the rising hostilities between the two worlds under control. But when it comes to light that Prince Taam's death may not have been an accident, and that Jainan himself may be a suspect, the unlikely pair must overcome their misgivings and learn to trust one another as they navigate the perils of the Iskat court, try to solve a murder, and prevent an interplanetary war... all while dealing with their growing feelings for each other.

Last Couple Standing by Matthew Norman

A couple determined not to end up like their divorced friends try a radical experiment—and get in way over their heads—in this hilarious, heartfelt novel from the author of We’re All Damaged. The Core Four have been friends since college: four men, four women, four couples. They got married around the same time, had kids around the same time, and now, fifteen years later, they’ve started getting divorced around the same time, too. With three of the Core Four unions crumbling to dust around them, Jessica and Mitch Butler take a long, hard look at their own marriage. Can it be saved? Or is divorce, like some fortysomething zombie virus, simply inescapable? To maximize their chance at immunity, Jessica and Mitch try something radical. Their friends’ divorces mostly had to do with sex—having it, not having it, wanting to have it with other people—so they decide to relax a few things. Terms are discussed, conditions are made, and together the Butlers embark on the great experiment of taking their otherwise happy, functional marriage and breaking some very serious rules. Jessica and Mitch are convinced they’ve hit upon the next evolution of marriage. But as lines are crossed and hot bartenders pursued, they each start to wonder if they’ve made a huge mistake. What follows is sexy, fun, painful, messy, and completely surprising to them both. Because sometimes doing something bad is the only way to get to the heart of what’s really good.

Twisted at the Root by Ellen Hart

Mystery Writers of America Grandmaster Ellen Hart’s intimate storytelling returns in Twisted at the Root, where Hart’s latest mystery shows the importance of finding the truth. Everyone thought Rashad May and Gideon Wise were happily married. That is, until Rashad was convicted of his husband’s murder. Four years later, Rashad’s brother contacts Ray Lawless – Minnesota private investigator Jane Lawless’s father and the original defense attorney on the case – with potential evidence of a wrongful conviction. When the case is reopened, Jane and her father must work together to attain justice for a grieving widower. Who actually killed Gideon and why? There are suspects and motives galore, and Jane must discover the truth. She must also track down her missing brother, Peter, who was involved in the original trial, and who might be hiding secrets of his own.

#fiction #romance #contemporary romance #science fiction #mystery #book recs #to read #tbr #booklr #reading list #lgbtq #lgbtq books #lgbtq characters #reading recommendations #recommended reading #library

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dwellordream · 4 years ago

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“...We can dispense with the first question fairly quickly: is violence the supreme authority from which all other authority derives in actual societies? After all, we keep encountering historical models predicated on that premise and they keep being pretty bad, inaccurate history. But even shifting from those specific examples to a more general appraisal, the answer is pretty clearly no. Reading almost any social history of actual historical societies reveal complex webs of authority, some of which rely on violence and most of which don’t. Trying to reduce all forms of authority in a society to violence or the threat of violence is a ‘boy’s sociology,’ unfit for serious adults.

This is true even in historical societies that glorified war! Taking, for instance, medieval mounted warrior-aristocrats (read: knights), we find a far more complex set of values and social bonds. Military excellence was a key value among the medieval knightly aristocracy, but so was Christian religious belief and observance, so were expectations about courtly conduct, and so were bonds between family and oath-bound aristocrats. In short there were many forms of authority beyond violence even among military aristocrats. Consequently individuals could be – and often were! – lionized for exceptional success in these other domains, often even when their military performance was at best lackluster.

Roman political speech, meanwhile, is full of words to express authority without violence. Most obviously is the word auctoritas, from which we get authority. J.E. Lendon (in Empire of Honor: The Art of Government in the Roman World (1997)), expresses the complex interaction whereby the past performance of virtus (‘strength, worth, bravery, excellence, skill, capacity,’ which might be military, but it might also by virtus demonstrated in civilian fields like speaking, writing, court-room excellence, etc) produced honor which in turn invested an individual with dignitas (‘worth, merit’), a legitimate claim to certain forms of deferential behavior from others (including peers; two individuals both with dignitas might owe mutual deference to each other).

Such an individual, when acting or especially speaking was said to have gravitas (‘weight’), an effort by the Romans to describe the feeling of emotional pressure that the dignitas of such a person demanded; a person speaking who had dignitas must be listened to seriously and respected, even if disagreed with in the end. An individual with tremendous honor might be described as having a super-charged dignitas such that not merely was some polite but serious deference, but active compliance, such was the force of their considerable honor; this was called auctoritas. As documented by Carlin Barton (in Roman Honor: Fire in the Bones (2001)), the Romans felt these weights keenly and have a robust language describing the emotional impact such feelings had.

Note that there is no necessary violence here. These things cannot be enforced through violence, they are emotional responses that the Romans report having (because their culture has conditioned them to have them) in the presence of individuals with dignitas. And such dignitas might also not be connected to violence. Cicero clearly at points in his career commanded such deference and he was at best an indifferent soldier. Instead, it was his excellence in speaking and his clear service to the Republic that commanded such respect. Other individuals might command particular auctoritas because of their role as priests, their reputation for piety or wisdom, or their history of service to the community. And of course beyond that were bonds of family, religion, social group, and so on.

...So while it is true that the state derives its power from violence (as in Mao’s famous quip that “Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun”), the state is not the only center of authority within a society. And indeed, even the state cannot run entirely on violence; this is the point that Hannah Arendt makes in the famous dichotomy of violence and power. In many cases, what Heinlein’s premise does is mistake violence for power, assuming that the ability to violently compel action is the same as the power to coordinate or encourage action without violence. But in fact, successful organizations (including, but not limited to, states) are possessed not of lots of violence but of lots of power, with much of that power rooted in norms, social assumptions, unstated social contracts and personal relationships that exist entirely outside of the realm of violence.

And so in both theory and practice, Heinlein’s premise fails to actually describe human societies of any complexity. There are no doubt gangs and robber-bands that have functioned entirely according to Heinlein’s premise (and presumably some very committed anarchists who might want such a society), but the very march of complex social institutions suggests that such organizations were quite routinely out-competed by societies with complex centers of authority that existed beyond violence, which enabled specialization (notably something Heinlein disapproves of generally, ‘specialization is for insects’) and thus superior performance both in war and in peace. Kings and empires that try to rule purely with force, without any attention paid to legitimacy or other forms of power (instead of violence) fail, and typically fail rapidly. As with almost any simple statement about complex societies, Heinlein’s premise is not merely simple but simplistic and so fails.

...The Cult of the Badass, as expressed here, lives in what we might call the “cult of tradition,” “dreaming of a revelation received at the dawn of human history” about a certain set of warrior values which were both expressed by famous historical warriors and which now provide a blueprint for life. This point of explicit in Pressfield’s set of videos, and implicit in the Fremen Mirage’s strong men/hard times model of history. This “cult of tradition” is quite selective, of course; Pressfield makes functionally no effort to engage with actual ancient value systems in a sustained way, limiting himself mostly to ‘badass’ aphorisms from Plutarch (himself hardly the most intellectually sophisticated or morally challenging author in the classical canon). It is tradition as imagined dimly in the present, not tradition as uncovered by careful historical research.

Consequently, the cult of the badass must engage in “the rejection of modernism;” this is no accident because the cult of the badass is an “appeal to a frustrated […] class” – this too is explicit in that Pressfield frames his ideology was a way for individuals who are held back or stagnated to unleash their true potential and overcome their limits, through the explicit rejection of modern values and the embrace of what are at least presented as traditional, even timeless values. That sort of appeal is also explicit in a lot of the fitness marketing that trades on the cult of the badass (and it seems notable that Pressfield himself lists “anybody that is heavily into fitness” first among his people living out the ‘warrior archetype.’), calling on people to work out like the Spartans. Consequently, it is a “cult of action for action’s sake” often focused on doing rather than asking what should be done (it is striking that Pressfield, despite nearly all of his video examples coming from the Greek and Roman world, engages not at all with the extensive Greek and Roman philosophies of justice).

Instead, this ideology, because it positions the capacity for violence as the highest human value, presents the thesis that “life is lived for struggle.” Pressfield reframes all of life’s struggles, including struggles of motivation and self-discipline, in terms of violence, in terms of a war against the ‘inner enemy,’ and consequently “life is permanent warfare.” And I think this goes a long way to explaining the obsession of this philosophy on warrior elites, because there is an inherent element of “popular elitism” in the cult of the badass, an insistence that at least it should be the case that “everybody is educated to become a hero” and thus not only develop the capacity for violence but also orient themselves towards “heroic death, advertised as the best reward for a heroic life.”

Thus the outsized influence of Thermopylae, a ‘heroic’ Greek defeat over other battles; Pressfield, again, is explicit on this point that it is at Thermopylae in particular that the Spartan warrior ethic is best and most perfectly displayed. If these are held to be the highest ideals, then anyone who falls short of them or refuses to engage with them must be weak, perhaps even “so weak as to need and deserve a ruler” (a point that often emerges in the sheep/wolves/sheepdog metaphor used by many ‘warrior cops,’ an ideology Pressfield explicitly appeals to, lumping in law enforcement as exemplars of ‘warrior’ ideology).

And of course, as is I think obvious in these readings, there is an undercurrent of anxiety about masculinity here. It is, after all, strong men in the strong men/hard times trope (and that is no accident as the trope is deeply connected to concerns about masculinity throughout its history). ...While Pressfield insists in some of his videos that his life philosophy is equally applicable to men or women, it is hard not to notice that his historical examples of warriors are all men (no Molly Pitcher, no Deborah, no Hua Mulan, etc. Not even Empress “Imperial Purple is the best burial shroud” Theodora; he does discuss the legend of the Amazons with rather less historical rigor than I might like). Where actual historical women fit in to his narrative, it is mostly as the mothers and nurturers of warrior men. While Pressfield does his best to paper over this (and to be fair, I think he is sincere in trying to present his ideology as non-gender-specific, unaware of the ways in which the broader framework of that ideology is aggressively unwelcoming to women), I think it is fair to say this is an ideology created largely by and for men, which values a hypermasculine ideal – we might even say “machismo.”

And by now readers are beginning to wonder where all of these little quotations are coming from (apart from the bit from Theodora). But first I want to note that we have a name for an ideology that fits these main points – where “life is permanent warfare,” “lived for struggle”, such that “everyone is educated to become a hero” to participate in a “cult of action for action’s sake” in a “cult of tradition” seated in a “rejection of modernism.”

And it’s fascism. Because all of those little quotes are from Umberto Eco’s famous essay “Ur-Fascism” (1995) which presented one of the most compelling classifications of the foundational DNA that all of the various, disparate forms of fascism share in common. ...Now I think it is important to back up here and be fair to Steven Pressfield. I don’t think Steven Pressfield is a fascist; ...What I do think is that the ideology that Pressfield is advancing has fascist tendencies (that he is, I suspect, unaware of, having not interrogated the nature of Spartan society as carefully as he might have). The ideology he is advancing shares most of the DNA of Ur-Fascism and it is not hard to see how the remaining handful of elements might easily be bolted on to this framework.

It is also, in a way that Pressfield never really addresses (and I suspect has never really realized), an ideology which is fundamentally at odds with the democratic values he also holds. If only some people are ‘warriors’ and developing that warrior capacity towards violence it the primary or principle virtue, it follows – and literally any Spartan could have and would have told Pressfield this – that everyone else is merely fit to be ruled. Sparta’s brutal oppression was not incidental to its ideology or social structure (as we’ve discussed!) but essential to it. As Eco points out (in his 10th point), it does no good to suggest that everyone ought to be equally a warrior; this is after all a cult of violence for its own sake and in violence there must be winners and losers. No complex society is composed only of warriors; for there to be kings and knights, there must be serfs too.

...Put more bluntly, the ideology of the Cult of the Badass is so easily falsifiable that the act of disagreement itself, rather than the content of arguments, must be rejected). The rejection of disagreement in turn demands the fear of difference because the ideology requires consensus and an absence of criticism. And once the ideology fails – and it will, because it is disconnected from the real world – conspiratorialism is the natural response for true believers unwilling to reject the ideology. If your ideology tells you that you are superior, and yet you do not produce superior results, what recourse is there but to conspiracy? As Eco memorably quips, “Fascist governments are condemned to lose wars because they are constitutionally incapable of objectively evaluating the force of the enemy” which is also, by the by, why so many authoritarian armies, theoretically filled with supposedly highly motivated, ultra-badass super-soldiers, tend nevertheless to lose more than they win. We saw this with Sparta; the very ideology of the place made them bad strategists, in precisely the ways that Eco suggests it would.

In short, the ideology of the Cult of the Badass – which is easy to see in any number of modern films, books and TV (and occasionally read into films that explicitly reject it by their viewers; I suspect everyone of at least a certain age has known that guy who watched Fight Club and then wanted, entirely unironically, to start his own fight club) – is a gateway to authoritarian thinking which, contrary to the name, is based in violence rather than authority. The supremacy of action, of violence, of the warrior and his ‘ancient’ (but actually quite modern) values are the foundation stones on which fascist ideologies (and I’d argue, other non-fascist authoritarianisms, but that’s a debate for another day) are constructed.

And, as Eco notes, “The Ur-Fascist hero craves heroic death, advertised as the best reward for a heroic life. The Ur-Fascist hero is impatient to die. In his impatience, he more frequently sends other people to death.” This is not a good ideology. As I noted in the first post in this series, a free society has no need for warriors. Not among its soldiers, not among its police, not among its civilians. At times, a free people may need to become soldiers, or police officers, but always to return to being civilians again, either at the end of the day or at the end of the war.”

- Bret Devereaux, “The Universal Warrior, Part III: The Cult of the Badass.”

#the universal warrior #the cult of the badass #ur-fascism #bret devereaux #history #writing #warfare #ancient #medieval #greek #roman #spartan

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creative-frequency · 5 years ago

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Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader: Overtime

Word count: 2917 Pairing: Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader Notes: Looks like this is turning into a series and I’m okay with that.

Previous Part

My Writing Masterlist

“There is a package for you.”

The post droid offers the small box forward and your brows scrunch together in thought. “What package?”

“Spare parts designated as ‘2-5-7-K’.”

That kriffing–

It’s the new AC control panel and the connectors that needed changing because the old ones were so worn that the door could break any moment. Your face flushes hot just thinking back to the last time you were near that door. Inquisitor Cal hasn’t been bothering you since – not while awake at least. It’s amazing how gentle scenarios your mind can dream up about someone who freaks you out.

Because you’re a coward, you send a droid to find the Inquisitor and ask him when would be alright to invade his privacy in order to fix the door and the air conditioning. From the bottom of your trembling heart you wish he will be off-planet on a mission during the repairs.

The droid comes back with a breathlessly recorded message. It probably found the Inquisitor in his usual prancing grounds at the dojo.

“Tomorrow morning [sounds of a lightsaber hitting something metallic] should be okay.”

You don’t know if it’s good or extremely bad that you won’t have more time to mentally prepare yourself to enter his quarters. And he didn’t say anything about his own whereabouts, so you’ll just need to assume the worst. Great.

Cal is surprised to hear from you even if it isn’t directly but through a droid. It messes up his rhythm and he breaks the training droid in an attempt at doing two different things at the same time.

Even if you haven’t seen him in the past few days, he has been watching you. It’s painfully evident that you’re not the most aware of your surroundings when working. The uneasy feeling that sometimes overcomes you in the middle of doing something utterly trivial, it’s all his influence: The intense stare tingling in the back of your neck. The sudden cool air current, almost like a breath on your cheek. All of it originates from how his pulse quickens when he sees you.

Cal cannot explain it but it’s not all bothersome. It’s intriguing. He feels something completely new as his eyes trace the shape of your face, the edges of your body under the uniform and the movements of your fingers and steps. You always seem to mind your own business but still are well-respected and over encumbered with work around the Fortress.

His mind tangles from thinking about how to start a conversation. He doesn’t have a reason; he just wants to try to have some kind of social contact with you. He has felt the need for companionship, just someone to talk to, ever since he was appointed an Inquisitor and it became obvious that his brothers and sisters would have nothing to say to him – a former Jedi, the rising star of the Rebellion. The past means nothing to him anymore but some people don’t let go so easily.

Cal doubles his training efforts to have the next day arrive faster.

For you, the morning arrives too soon.

You can barely sleep a wink. The dark liquid in your morning cup drains right into your soul, but the substitute for natural caffeine works like a faulty speeder engine. The jumpstart energy spike never comes and looks like it’s one of those days when you’re going to need to push the proverbial speeder.

Dragging your legs while a happily beeping droid carries the tools and spare parts beside you, you make your way towards the infamous 257K. Each step brings you closer to doom and demise.

Swallowing helps nothing as your heart beats in your throat and your whole body trembles. You hit your knuckles sharply against the metal door, silently praying to every pagan deity you can think of. Seconds feel like hours as you wait for a reply or the door to open, but nothing happens.

You knock again, possibly a bit more lightly, unable to believe your insane luck.

“Looks like no one’s home,” you say to the droid. Stupid relief spreads all the way to the tip of your toes. While humming to yourself, you use the maintenance key card to open the door to the residential quarters.

The rooms the Inquisitors and the Fortress key personnel get are so much larger and fancier than yours. While you have only one room plus bathroom, this one has at least three different rooms, fully furnished and including all sorts of appliances. But then again, you should consider yourself lucky to have your own room instead of sharing quarters like most of the maintenance level staff.

Looking around with interest and criticizing the familiar Imperial-style decorations in your mind, you fail to realize that you’re, in fact, not alone in the room.

The droid next to you beeps. The shape of a ginger bed hair waddles into your field of view – shirtless and yawning.

You’ve never been more certain about a moment becoming your last of existence.

“Relax. You don’t need to be afraid of me,” the Inquisitor says with mirth in his tone and his eyes skim your immobilized frame up and down. His voice his still hoarse from sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sir,” you peep in a tiny voice, barely forcing any sound outside your throat. There is absolutely no place on the man you can let your gaze befall, not the eyes, not the chest, definitely not on the lower body, so you scour the walls.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Cal assures. He feels something immensely satisfying at looking at you quiver in a mix of fear and respect, but it irks him when you refuse to meet his gaze.

You don’t believe any of his words but can’t help relaxing your shoulders.

“Thanks… I guess.”

Cal grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and settles to stare at you while emptying the drink. Seeing him shirtless doesn’t help to erase the filthy dreams from your memory. In truth, you’re genuinely sure they’ll start having some interesting plot twists from now on.

“So… I’ll switch the AC panel now,” you say aloud, pretending that the room is empty.

“Knock yourself out.”

You turn to eyeball the Inquisitor in bewilderment because of his choice of words.

“That’s what they say, right? It’s a figure of speech.” He sounds uncertain, but you nod slowly.

“Right, sir,” you say and decide to focus back on the job. The sooner it’s done, the sooner you’ll get out of this flytrap.

“You can drop the ‘sir’,” the Inquisitor says and hesitates for a bit. “It sounds weird.”

You try to wrestle your curiosity down but lose the battle. The Inquisitor earns your full attention with arms folded over your chest. Though his bare pecs instantly draw some of it, as well as the thin line of hair leading down into what you assume to be government-issued Inquisitorial pajama pants. They’re Imperial black and not at all complementing to his form. You bite your lip and feel the heat rise up your neck. So much for not staring.

“What should I call you then?” A bold question perhaps, but with each passing moment you feel less like he is going to run you through with a lightsaber.

He chuckles. “I’m Cal.”

You tap the name plate on your chest. “Well, this is me. I guess you would’ve already known that if you’d been interested in my ID last time.”

The mood in the room freezes. Cal looks at you with shock that quickly turns into a hint of a smirk. You wonder how fast he will catch you if you try to run. Learning to keep your big mouth shut in the presence of an Inquisitor would be a beneficial skill. It’s a wonder your career in the Empire is as long as it is.

You suck in a breath and stutter: “I-I didn’t mean–”

“You’re right.” He sits down on a stool by the kitchen nook’s counter and carefully places the almost empty water bottle on the surface.

“I’ll just start working now,” you say quietly and huff out the air in your lungs. Another dodged blaster bolt.

You try not to sneak glances at Cal while you work and he is hovering around in the kitchen and apparently making some breakfast for himself. The smell of real coffee soon fills the room and it’s so delicious that it almost brings tears to your eyes. It must be some really high quality stuff.

Cal miraculously lets you work in peace and the only sounds in the room are your short commands at the maintenance droid. You’re itching to turn and look at what the Inquisitor is doing, but resist the urge. Switching a thermostat unit and a control panel is not really a difficult or time-consuming task and you’re done in record time, eager to get out.

“Done already?” Cal asks as soon as you screw in the last piece.

“Yeah. I’ll take a look at the door next.” You wipe your brow even though the room is cool because of the broken AC. The unit starts immediately blowing warm air.

“Come here first. There’s enough for you too.” Cal taps the stool next to him and you feel the bottom of your stomach drop. You miss the slight shaking of his hand against the dark leather.

“Uh. I, um, can’t. I’m working. Sorry,” you mumble half of the words but the Inquisitor still stares at you with a persistent smile, looking almost like a normal person – a shirtless, strikingly attractive person with the ability to kill you with just his willpower.

He taps the stool again. “C’mon, I know you think it smells delicious. No one needs to know you’re taking an extra break. I’ve got your back, I swear.”

For some wicked, self-destructive reason, you find yourself trusting his words. Or possibly it’s the amazing scent of coffee that lures you slowly to plant your butt on the stool way too close to the half-naked Inquisitor and you don’t know what in the absurd situation makes you the most nervous.

“How do you know that? That I thought it smelled delicious?” you ask quietly as Cal reaches out to grab a cup, fills it and places it in front of you. The coffee is of the perfect mellow dark brown color and just inhaling the scent makes you quiver. “Thanks…”

Cal smiles as you dare a glance at him. “I just felt it.”

He really wants to add the loud flustered feeling you emitted the moment you realized he was in the room, but decides against it. Teasing you too much would be just cruel.

“I see,” you mumble.

“Try it.” Cal nods towards the cup.

You do as he orders and feel the flush of prickling warmth spread from your tongue to every inch of your body.

“It’s amazing.” You gawk at the cup. You’ve never tasted anything so good. The caffeine substitutes can’t even project a light to the real thing. You quite certainly would kill to be able to drink it every day.

“They call you the head of the droid army, right?” Cal asks casually just to make conversation.

You jolt at the comment. In any other situation it would’ve made you laugh.

He continues: “How long’ve you been here to earn a nickname like that?”

You take another sip of the coffee. Delicious. “A bit over two years. I was working on a Star Destroyer before but got transferred here.”

Cal hums in approval. “A promotion, then?”

“Yeah.” Working in a base is likely safer than being on a ship, so in that sense Cal is right. At the time it just didn’t feel like an upgrade to be dragged to a backwater planet like Nur.

You drink the coffee in an uncanny silence for a while and notice that Cal is doing nothing but leaning his elbows against the counter and looking at you. It’s disturbing and makes your already precocious pulse grow even faster. His cup is already empty.

“I’ve seen you train. It’s very impressive,” you say, unsure whether it’s an okay topic.

“Impressive, huh? Nice to know you think that way about me,” Cal teases and gets you flustered, again.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” you reply dejected. Your heart is running a mile a minute and he probably notices it with his stupid senses.

Cal leans towards you with an intense look in his eyes. You lean as far back as you dare without falling off the stool. Your eyes are torn between his freckles, lips and pecs. It’s all making you giddy and nervous.

“W-what?” you manage to splutter out.

“You’re just so… I…” He can’t finish the sentence. Why is he so fixated on you? It makes no sense but he lacks the motive to fight it. Cal’s gaze falls from your eyes to your lips and you’ve seen that look before.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” you ask rather wryly, hoping the tone will mask your inner turmoil.

“Do you want me to?” Cal looks at you intently, hiding his astonishment.

You feel his shallow breaths on your skin as he gets closer and chills run up your spine. The whirlpool of emotions spins faster, making you feel dizzy and surreal. You’re scared and intrigued by the fiery look in his eyes.

“…If you want to.”

This is not actually happening.

“Yes or no?”

Cal takes your chin and you suck in a short breath.

“I’ve got somewhere to be soon, so you need to hurry up.” The words come out sassier than intended and you relish at seeing the smile that spreads to Cal’s face. His eyes flit downwards to your lips and he stops himself from hesitating any longer.

You let out the most obscene sound when his mouth pushes against your slightly open lips and you know it’s bad but you just don’t care. His fingers move up your jaw and touching your hair makes another wave of shivers course through you. You take his free hand and press it onto your waist, which leads to him pulling you up and the stool falls behind you. You hum at feeling the heat of his exposed skin against yours. The kiss deepens and your tongue peeks into his mouth. Cal pushes you against the counter and you’re finally trapped in his clutches.

You’re making out with the one of the most dangerous things in the Fortress, possibly in the whole Empire, and for some reason it’s the best thing that has happened to you on Nur.

“Why mmh–” you try to start when Cal breaks the kiss to draw in a heavy breath, but he doesn’t allow you to finish another word. His cheeks are equally flushed as yours, heart beating loudly in his ears but you both ignore the signs of nervousness and let the craving for being touched overflow.

Cal’s hands wander further down and cup your ass, pulling your hips flush to his. Even if the Imperial pajama pants don’t give much of a show, they certainly allow you to feel it. The want and flustering unease makes your cheeks burn. Cal realizes you can feel his arousal and your pace breaks when he shifts awkwardly.

You pull away from each other, panting and eyes wide. Cal wipes his mouth to the back of his hand and you’ve never seen anyone look so hot.

For a fleeting moment, the fiery, challenging look in his eyes persists and you’re burning to respond to it. Few short breaths dissipate the heavy mood enough to restore some sense into you.

“Wow, I–, that was… um,” your mouth opens and closes, some resemblance of words coming out in jarring patches.

Cal is definitely as equally flustered. The maintenance droid, whose existence you both had already happily forgotten, beeps to signal that it’s almost time for your next task. You’ll be late of schedule because of this.

“Uhh, I should… go.” You motion towards the general direction of the door but can’t take your eyes off the man before you. The man, who you just kissed. Who you don’t know at all. Who is an Imperial Inquisitor.

“Ah kriff, I forgot I’ve got somewhere to be too,” Cal huffs, glances at the chronometer on the wall and runs a hand through his hair. His chest heaves with each breath, trying to pace its rhythm.

You don’t know what to say. Just like that, Cal disappears into the other room and you stand baffled next to counter. Maybe trysts like this aren’t such a big deal to him. There is still some coffee in your cup and it would be a shame to waste it, so you down the liquid in hasty sips.

Before you’re done piling your things onto the droid, Cal emerges from what you assume to be his bedroom in full Inquisitor garb and the sight makes you feel a tingle that’s not altogether shaped by fear anymore.

“I hope you can fix the door before I get back.”

He winks.

The sound of his lightsaber blade erupting straight into the door control panel elicits a short scream out of you.

Before you can recover from the shock and start screaming at Cal, he is already gone with a grin and you’re facing some serious overtime at work.

Part 3

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #inquisitor cal kestis x reader #inquisitor cal kestis #jedi fallen order #swjfo #swjfo fanfiction #star wars #my writings

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 4 years ago

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Ablaze - aka Obi-Wan learns the truth about what happened to Anakin post Mustafar Oneshot

Whatever Obi-Wan had hoped for, it wasn’t this.

He had been convinced when he turned his back on his past, tears blurring his vision as he left Anakin - his brother - behind by the molten lava lake of Mustafar, that that would be the end of it. He had known the twins once born must be hidden, concealed from the Empire and Palpatine. He had held them in his arms, as he watched Padmé’s life leave tear filled her eyes. As he watched her succumb to a broken heart, as her time ran out.

Obi-Wan had hoped that in spite of everything Anakin had done, every deed committed out of some sort of misplaced idea of justice to save his wife, he’d have passed on to find peace. There was the guilt, crippling and heart wrenching as it weighed heavy on his shoulders, looming over him every waking moment. Like a phantom, he wandered lost with only one purpose. One foot on the ground, one already in the grave as he watched over Luke faithfully. It was his only mission, as heeded the Lars’ warnings of not coming too close. Of not getting to know Luke personally. He watched as the boy grew to resemble his father more with each day, bringing back still painful memories of Anakin as a padawan, of Anakin questioning him, initiating arguments yet always returning for comfort and solace.

He had prayed that, much as it had destroyed him, Anakin was finally free from the demons that had plagued him so.

Anakin; who had been lured and manipulated into becoming a disciple of the Dark Side. Anakin; who had always been good, and kind, and just. Anakin; who loved so deeply, so truly that he stifled the air in Obi-Wan’s lungs. His brother, his son, his best friend - all in one. Anakin; whose final resting place lay among ashes, fire and brimstone. Obi-Wan considered it his cross to bear, and perhaps one day, he might have the courage to tell Luke the truth. Once Luke was old enough to understand, and to feign for himself. With the truth, danger would be sure to follow. The eyes of Emperor Palpatine were everywhere.

He had been wrong.

The first time caught wind of rumours regarding some mysterious empirical Enforcer cloaked in black, purging the remaining Jedi from the Galaxy on behalf of the Emperor - he felt sick to the stomach. Nauseous and dazed, losing focus the world became a blur as he casually continued to eavesdrop. He'd caught whiff of the grim news by accident from some bounty hunters normally located off planet, on one of his rare trips to the Cantina of Mos Eisley. At first, he told himself he must have misheard them. But the more he listened, the more he heard, the further the claws of dread sank into him. Suffocating him.

A menace clad all in black, face concealed. A Force wielder, one of the bounty hunters had professed. The other denied the existence of such a thing, but did affirm she too had heard some tall tales from a couple of drunk Imperial cadets, matching the description.

A regular smuggler was quick to chime in, in a foreboding low voice, that speaking of the devil might as well conjure him forward. Obi-Wan should have asked, then. But he couldn’t bear it. He’d prefer being unwise, uncertain as to the identity of this cloaked assassin. Deliberately ignorant by omission. Still, a voice at the back of his mind screamed at him to trust his gut feeling.

So, for a few more months, he buried it. He ignored the inquisitive part of himself, the one wanting desperately to pry and find out more. The one wanting to either reaffirm, or deny, what he was already suspecting. Eventually it got the upper hand. Hood pulled over his head, one night he surrendered to the urge. Travelling by land speeder with the intentions of visiting that same Cantina, back to the same area.

While it was not likely he’d be approaching the same crowd - bounty hunters never stayed long without Jabba the Hutt personally acquiescing - there might be other visitors willing to share their knowledge. Or perhaps suitable victim to coax information out of, via mind control. Against better judgment, Obi Wan found himself considering kidnapping, or at the very least stunning an unsuspecting stormtrooper, simply to pull the soldier away from public eyes for interrogation.

As luck would have it, he needn’t have worried. Ears perked, senses keenly attuned to his surroundings, he was quick to pick up on a rushed, impatient tone. There was a note of distress, of distinct dread radiating from the person speaking. Letting the Force guide him, Obi-Wan found himself drawing near to a small, scrappy docking area on the outskirts of the small city. Three ships anchored neatly aligned, all in beat up condition from bad to worse. The vessels would fly, but not much more. Pacing back and forth by the cargo holder of a battered YT-freighter, was a young twi’lek male. Lekku twitching, sharpened teeth bared. His company consisted only of a human woman, who looked about the same age but less antsy.

“How can you be so sure he won’t find us?”

“Because rumour has it this planet is off his radar,” said the woman, with clear disinterest. “We’ll have time to repair the ships. Turk'll gather up some credits, and then we'll go undercover. The Empi--”

“We’re not talking about the Empire, Oma!” hissed the twi’lek, and Obi-Wan felt the tension of anticipation pouring into his bones, as he pressed his back closely to the wreckage of what was once another clay building.

“It’s all the same, he is no different. He can’t be everywhere at once, surely he must have more important clientele to keep up with. We’re only possible associates at best, and even then he has no evidence.”

“You don’t understand!” the twi’lek raised his voice, before catching himself. "He doesn't need a justifiable reason to give chase!"

In an instant, the man's wide eyed stare darted madly around the location. Obi-Wan waited patiently, seeking aid from the Force to remain unseen and concealed. He had perfected the expert craft of hiding his Force signature, all to stay alert out of sight and mind from the Empire. For four years, it had worked to his favour. Still, he pulled his robes tight around himself, nodding in greeting as a random stranger - a Rodian - passed by in the opposite direction. Obi-Wan was considering wiping the encounter from her memory, but the woman disappeared into the night and it seemed an unnecessary endeavour.

With a hushed tone, the twi’lek piped up again as he inched closer to Oma, his female companion.

“He knows we aided that young Jedi. He knows we docked on I’qka, we’re in the Imperial records. The kid told us himself he was being hunted! Don’t you figure if there’s a kid on a planet that rarely ever receives visits from outside travelers, and this kid disappears with the one ship that has been knowingly recorded, that’s going to raise suspicion?”

“Which is why we’re going to make repairs only on The Japor, and trade this ship in for something more inconspicuous,” said Oma, still as unbothered as before. “You think too much about it, if anyone’s gonna raise suspicion, it’s you with your fidgeting. Pretend you never met the kid, and it’s gonna work out a hell of a lot better for us.”

“No one’s gonna want this junkyard of a ship,” the twi’lek huffed, glancing with a doubtful expression back at their vessel.

“There’s a constant demand for functioning scrap parts here, we’re gonna make a fortune if we pick it apart. Might even trade some parts off to the Jawas. You get in their good graces, and they’ll find you whatever you need.”

“Better be. I just don’t understand… aren’t you afraid of him?”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m afraid or not, what matters is that we keep running. It’s only a problem if he catches us, and as long as we’re one step ahead, he’s no threat.”

Oma sounded calm and collected, but Obi-Wan could sense a fleeting tinge of dread through the living Force of her bloodstream. He could sense her palpitated heartbeats, sense her shortness of breath. He must condone their bravery however; hiding and assisting a Jedi fugitive under the Empire’s nose was high treason, punishable only by death penalty. Helping a Jedi was just as bad as being one, and the two must have been aware of that when they decided to act out of compassion. He couldn’t do much to aid their flight or ensure their safety, given the risk of blowing his own cover and subsequently Luke’s, but he was going to ask the Force be with and guide them. He hoped it’d be enough. Perhaps the Jedi was someone he knew, so he would wish him too a safe haven.

“So, we just keep running forever and hope he never catches us?”

The twi’lek sounded dejected, his lekku twitching in distress as he padded over to slump down to sit on the lowered landing pad. Obi-Wan felt his sadness as clearly as were it his own, even as Oma placed a hand on his shoulder to offer what appeared to be a supportive squeeze.

“Isn’t that what we do best? Let’s just hope the kid will get by and find a safe place to stay. That would make it all worth it, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but if… if he comes after us, at least we’ll know he probably hasn’t found the kid. He’d need us alive, right?”

“Right,” Oma nodded, although that possibility didn’t seem to particularly put her at ease.

Obi-Wan sighed softly.

If the rumours of the Empire’s treatment of traitors was anything to go by, he’d presume a swift death was to prefer. More than one person had whispered of torture, and torment to force an approved testimony out of prisoners. It was frightening, how low the morals of those in power had stooped in such a short amount of time, since the fall of the Galactic Republic.

He had fought bravely in The Clone Wars for freedom, for justice. Was this his reward? Was this what the Jedi and their troops had laid down their lives to preserve? Then, on the other hand, Anakin too had been adamant to protect freedom. Had been adamant to end slavery, never able to overcome his own traumatic childhood raised on this burning sand planet as a slave to Watto. Mournfully, Obi-Wan regretted that he had never taken the time to speak about that experience in depth with Anakin. Regretted that he had not trusted Anakin’s visions of Shmi’s death. Perhaps, if his mother had lived, he would have resisted Palpatine’s lure.

It all came back to Anakin.

Every waking moment, Obi-Wan's mind would wander aimlessly until memories of familiar, mischievous blue eyes flashed before his inner vision. When he slept; nightmares of Mustafar, the stench of burning flesh and shrieks of anguish haunted him. Pleas for help, begging for him to come back. Begging him to stay. Every time, Obi-Wan tried to will himself to stay. Longing to turn back around, to hurry to Anakin’s side. To hold him in his arms, as they both perished in a burst of flames and embers. Instead, he had no control of his own limbs as he walked away. The sound of Anakin’s pained howls, and the gurgling noise that replaced them as the heat withered away his esophagus ringing in his ears.

“Are you afraid?”

Obi-Wan startled, at first convinced that the voice had spoken directly to him. He blinked his eyes, looking up only to realize it was Oma who had broken the silence. The twi’lek craned his neck to glance up at her, her dark eyes unreadable in the distant light spilling out of the freighter they called home. The twi’lek exhaled heavily; only to offer a sharp nod, eyes once more scanning their surroundings as if he’d been reminded of their vulnerable state.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“If he was so intent on killing a kid, what’s to say he’d hesitate to kill us just out of spite? I...” he paused momentarily, tone almost inaudible as he spoke again and if Obi-Wan hadn’t been so attuned to their conversation, he would have missed it.” I know people opposed to the Empire. They’re… attempting to align. To form some sort of resistance. Either way, a childhood friend of mine, M’naaka, works in close contact with their organizations.”

Oma only nodded to confirm she was listening, but he expression spoke of curiosity. It was clear she had never heard of this before.

“So, M’naaka has never met him directly, but--” the young twi’lek’s head shot up abruptly, his entire body strung out like a prey animal sensing the close proximity of a predator.

When nothing happened, no ambush forthcoming - Oma herself beginning to look increasingly uneasy - he settled back down into his tale.

“But she’s heard from her companions. They say that if Vader’s got reason to keep you in his sight, you’ve already lost.”

‘Henceforth, you shall be down as Darth… Vader.’

No.

“Vader has bigger problems to cater to, if what you’re telling me about your friend’s contacts is true.”

Vader.

The name left Obi-Wan cold - the same sickness of that first mention of an assassin of the Empire cloaked in shadow had brought forth. The nausea returning, head spinning. He had pleaded with Master Yoda years ago, as they rid the ransacked and destroyed Jedi Temple of clone intruders, pressing that he must watch the holographic surveillance recordings. That he must see who had massacred their peers; the people he had grown up with, the only family he had ever known. The only life he knew, laid to waste. Children chopped to pieces, young men and women cut down in their prime. Whoever he had imagined to be the perpetrator, it was not Anakin.

Even now, he couldn’t believe Anakin could be capable of such vile acts. Yet, the holograms didn’t lie.

Now the sinking feeling Obi-Wan had experienced in that horrifying moment - as he'd watched Anakin kneel obediently before the now revealed true identity of Sith Lord, Darth Sidious - had returned tenfold. The sorrow.

He'd watched Anakin take on the mantle of Darth Vader; apprentice and second in command only to Palpatine himself. He'd watched all his hopes for his former padawan as a young Jedi crumble to ashes, scattered to the wind. Molding to become one with the sand dunes of Tatooine nightfall as he was brought back to present day. The bitter cold of the air was matched only by the block of ice forming in his chest cavity. He shut his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

The memory was still fresh, still vivid and tangible. Anakin, body set ablaze. Eyes a sickly yellow; bloodshot and animalistic as he poured the full intensity of his rage, his hate, his fear into the already heavy, charged air of Mustafar. His clothes, his hair, his skin aflame. Obi-Wan could not bear to watch the man he had loved as his own brother succumb. He abandoned him. Had left it up to the Force. He had assumed that the Force would take pity on Anakin - the man who was supposed to be The Chosen One - despite the monster he had become.

There were so many question, nothing made sense anymore.

How?

How had Anakin lived? Why? What must he look like? What agony must he be in? How might anyone survive being set afire? Obi-Wan had assumed that Maul was alone in his conviction, his ability to feed off of the Dark Side to sustain himself despite his mortal wounds. Had Anakin relied on similar tactics? Where was he now? Was there anything left of the man Obi Wan had raised and mentored? Did he know where to find his former master? Was he coming for him?

Vader. Of course.

Who else would be so consumed by spite, as to hunt innocent Jedi children to purge? Who else could be so petty, so insidious, so self absorbed? Anakin had been good, at heart. He’d been flawed, he’d been human. He’d been lying, he’d bent the rules, he’d become too attached. But he’d been well meaning, he’d been gentle and loyal and caring.

The shadow that had taken his place seemed to feed off of death, as if the blood on his hands made no difference to him. And why would it? Obi-Wan had seen the children lying lifeless on the cold stone floors of the Temple halls. In that moment, he had known there was no saving Anakin. He had refused to kill Anakin, had been adamant Master Yoda go in his stead. Anything at all, but that. In the end, he was left with no choice. Left with a naive belief, that maybe he could help Padmé bring Anakin back to sanity. Help him see reason. In the end, it was all for naught. In the end, Padmé faded away to become one with the Force. Leaving behind Anakin's estranged children; children he must never be made aware of.

Anakin died that day.

The Anakin Skywalker Obi-Wan had known, burned to dust upon shores of ash. The man reemerging in his place was changed; twisted, evil and unrecognizable. The man who had taken his place was but a pawn of the Emperor, serving his master’s bidding at his beck and call as a slave. There could be no other explanation. The man in Anakin's place had nothing left to live for, no one left to save.

Why hadn’t Anakin told him about Padmé? He must have known it was an open secret. He must have known Obi-Wan had already suspected it for several years. How could he hesitate? How could he stubbornly go on, wrestling in silence with his own fears and the expectations placed upon him by outside forces? How could he find Palpatine a better confidant?

Padmé had died, and Anakin with her. And with Anakin’s death followed a part of Obi-Wan.

As he swallowed down the stone cold terror of truth welling up in his chest, biting back an inexplicable urge to weep over the pitiful fate that had befallen his brother in arms - Obi-Wan somehow found enough strength for his legs to carry him back to his land speeder. Enough energy to take him home; home to safety and solace, where he may still serve his purpose of guiding and watching over Luke.

A man like Vader would not hesitate to twist Anakin’s son into something as cruel, and vicious, and unyielding as himself. But despite the fact that Obi-Wan refused to acknowledge Vader as Anakin, refused to believe Anakin had ever possessed the ability to overstep the line so grievously - deep down, in his heart, he knew it was a poor man's comfort. But if he dared set it the truth free, dared allow himself to dwell upon it, he feared he too would lose his mind.

Deep down, he knew that the love he had harbored for the boy had never been enough. It seemed, he had never really known Anakin at all.

------------

I always did want to write something like this, a piece where Obi Wan tackles the realization that Anakin is still alive under the mantle of Darth Vader. Here's my take, until canon inevitably offers us an official version, of a possible look at that. I had fun writing Obi Wan though, and his denial of Anakin's true self as a juxtaposition to Ahsoka's acceptance of the truth.

If you ship Obikin, you can always look at it that way too. It is written to be canon compliant, however!

Enjoy!

Link below to the Ao3 post, and subsequently my account:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636756

Lose Companion to Lifeline:

https://stuffilikeipostno2.tumblr.com/post/634787175881474048/lifeline-ahsoka-reaching-out-for-anakin-post

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25578304

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