#the way that canon words do like the names of lightsaber forms & moves

[dapurinthos]

there are many reasons for making your own conlang (hi, hello, what the fuck did u do to me android? company for 'conlang'???) for fanfic purposes. the most important is, of course, the opportunity for puns.

like making the verb form of 'to excel, to outdo' be mifu, with the offspring: mifui (wonderful, great); mifuwan (great person, hero); and mifuwane (heroic).

or the number four which, in the grand tradition of sino-influenced languages, is of course a homophone for 'death', is now yan. (not pictured: me making direct eye contact with that legends-based fan-canon of dooku having a 2-part name).

(and because obsessing over made-up grammar and particles is a great way to busy my brain while the sun is hiding.)

[bimswritings]

Savage Opress x Reader: Pt.2

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Yandere Themes, Language

PT.1

Presents and Possessions

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Life aboard the ship of the Zabrak brothers wasn’t what you had been expecting. 

Savage had told you that you were to serve him, be there for his every call, but so far he had neglected to have you do anything. As far as servants went, your duties were next to nothing, and you hardly saw him on a regular basis.

His appearances were sparse appearing every other day. There were times when you would go days, even a week without seeing him. When you did he was, for a lack of better words, clingy.

The first few nights he had to wrestle you to get you to lay down, struggling against your squirming figure even with his superior strength. At first you had feared that he would try to pull something, leaving many sleepless nights for you as you remained stiff and on guard. As time progressed without incident, you found yourself becoming more relaxed, falling into a routine of sorts.

You would spend the day doing whatever it is you could find to occupy yourself in the room, be it reading one of the stray books he would bring or trying to maintain your physical skills and strength earned from years working in the mines. That strength could be your saving grace if you need to fight your captor, should he decide to flip the script and try to pull something one day. Then, at night or random intervals during the day, Savage would return. He would spend a majority of the time ranting, pacing back and forth across the room as he complained about one thing or another. All the while you would sit on the bed, silently listening.

On particularly rough days, he would forego any words and just drag you into his arms, holding you there for hours and not saying anything. It was as if the rest of the world was shut out to him at those times, ignoring your squirming as his horns poked into your skin, all the while his face remained bruised in the crook of your neck.

Even with having to deal with the clingy Zabrak, you were far from mistreated on the ship.

Visits with your brother were held once a week, either in your own room or in his own barracks. Sometimes he would even lead you to one of the various training rooms, excitedly bouncing up and down as he showed you whatever new skill he had learned from the Mandalorians. Savage would come along on those trips a few times, watching from the corner of the room in silence as you caught up with one another. Jay seemed to be in better health than he was back home, even putting on some weight between the regular meals and all the training he was doing. His strength was ever growing, and you had to put in some actual effort when wrestling with him.

Now that he wasn’t an enemy in their eyes, he was quick to earn the other warriors respect, often earning greetings as you walked side by side through the halls. There was still some bad blood between you both and some of the soldiers, namely the same blond man who had injured you back on your planet, but it was only to be expected. They never dared to bother you though, resorting to scathing glares as they walked past, Jay leading you through the halls with practiced ease, something that you found yourself slightly jealous of.

The only times you ever really left the room were to visit your brother, neglecting to explore more of the ship even though the doors remain unlocked. The fear of getting yourself into trouble or stumbling upon one of the guards with ill intent was too real in your mind, and the unknown territory did nothing to put your mind at ease. After spending the majority or your life on the same planet, in the same village, following roughly the same routine year after year, it made you cautious around the unknown simply because you didn’t know how to deal with it.

Unfortunately, the behavior didn’t go unnoticed by Savage as you had though. Hoping he just didn’t care about what you did when he wasn’t around, or that he was providing ample time to acclimate to the new surroundings, all theories were crushed after he broached the topic a month into your stay.

“Why do you never leave this room? The doors are unlocked, and you are allowed to wander. It’s not as if you could escape, even if you wanted to.” He spoke, turning towards you and pulling you from the daze you had been caught in. 

The question came out of the blue, and you had debated on lying to him. There was no point though, as withholding the truth did nothing to better the situation. So, with a small shrug of your shoulders you answered.

“I know no one here but my brother, and he finds himself more and more busy each day. If I were to run into anyone or get into any trouble, I fear what might happen. After all, I doubt the others, especially your brother, have any such fondness for me. I have no position on this ship.”

He said nothing, only staring at you a moment longer, eyes narrowed, before turning back to resume getting ready for bed.

You shrugged it off, figuring that he would drop the subject now that he had his answer. There was no reason he should have any concerns over your behavior further than that, and he acts no different when he pulls you into his chest that night, letting out a sigh as you begin humming lightly. Something you had done for Jay whenever he had trouble sleeping, and while trying to sooth yourself in the early nights of your forced companionship you discovered that he enjoyed it as well. The better mood he was in, the better things were for you, and you would be lying if you said that all the nights spent with him hadn’t warmed you up to the large Sith a bit, even if rationally you knew it was just a result of dependence and Stockholm.

Sleeping soundly as ever, it comes as almost a shock when he wakes you in the morning. Normally he would leave without so much as a word, so to be greeted with the sight of him standing above you, already dressed and shaking your shoulders roughly, was a bit of a surprise.

“Get dressed.” Is all he says, throwing the clothes in his hands into your lap before turning around to wait, facing the wall as you slip from your sleeping garments.

You do as he says, shedding your clothes and quickly slipping into the ones he had given you. The material was softer and nicer than anything you had ever owned, though still thick and heavy, providing warmth from the ever present cold of space. Upon closer inspection, you notice some stitching running all over the black fabric, which suspiciously resembles the same markings of his own skin. 

How long had he had this? And why was he giving it to you now?

Before you can put too much thought into it, he’s turned back around. Golden eyes give you a once over, a small lift to his lips as he takes in your form before turning back to the door.

“Come.” Is all he says before exiting, leaving you to scramble and catch up as you pull on your shoes before running after him. 

Once you do catch up, you still struggle to keep pace with him. His longer legs cover the same amount of ground as two of yours and he’s no slow walker. Taking place just behind him to his right, you catch him looking back over his shoulder to you. Now, certain that you’re following along, he begins pointing out different areas as you pass. Meeting rooms, offices where more notable figures could be found, even the control and engine rooms.

After a time of walking around the ship, you follow him to one of the previously mentioned training rooms to find Maul waiting for him.

“I see you managed to coax the little lolth out of her den.” His eyes flicker to you, practically burning into your skin and prompting you to hide behind Savage’s larger form. Said man ignores his brother’s words, instead directing you to stand by the door and out of the way as he removes some of his bulkier armor. 

For the next two hours they spar, switching between simple hand-to-hand combat and using their lightsabers, which crackle and spark with every clash. Not only was the sight of such weapons enough to amaze you, having never seen anything but simple weapons and the occasional blaster from traders, but the strength that both Zabrak possess. While Maul is clearly strong, he still relies on his superior agility to remain out of Savage’s grasp, who’s not as jumpy but just as dangerous, crushing metal floors and walls a plenty with both raw strength and an invisible force.

You can’t help but watch with wide eyes at the display of raw power, unaware of exactly how much both men were showing off. Savage in earnest, taking secret pride in the way you watched, and Maul in more of a teasing way. He knew what his younger brother was doing, bringing you with him, and while he might have found it annoying if it was anyone else, he found it quite humorous in this case.

After both men conceded and caught their breath, Savage approached and took back the armor you had been holding for him until then. All the while you tried to avoid watching the way his now uncovered chest stretch and pulled with every movement, soon hidden beneath his many layers of clothing once again. At least you were able to confirm the theory about the markings, with identifiable parts matching up against the ones on your own clothing.

Despite the embarrassment of the subtle claiming, it was also a bit infuriating for him to do so without even telling you. It’s not like you could complain though. He technically owned you through the twisted rules of conquest.

The day wasn’t done however as you soon found yourself surrounded by others in the middle of what you surmised was a war meeting, standing just behind Savage as he discussed their next move with the others. No wonder he always came back so wound up. Just listening to all the arguing going on was enough to give anyone a headache, just like the one that was quickly coming to surface and pushing behind your own temples painfully.

Even with all the arguing going on, you were still aware of the stares you received and the whispers that followed. You tried not to pay them much mind to it, knowing they wouldn’t try to pull anything or speak out with Savage there. The same couldn’t be said for Maul, who did nothing to hide his disinterest as he continuously stole glances your way, clearly relishing in the discomfort he caused you. 

By the time it was over, your legs were ready to fall off, feeling like jelly after spending hours standing during the meeting, which had stretched into late afternoon. Savage, seeming to sense your exhaustion, swept you off your feet and over his shoulder, all the while you were too tired to protest. Before you even made it back to the room you were out, the excitement of the day taking its toll and leaving Savage to deal with you, leaving both of you in your clothes from the day as he situated you in bed before curling his own form around yours.

If you had thought that your little adventure was just a one day thing, then you were dead wrong, treated to the same rude awakening, rushed out the door and forced to follow Savage around as he goes about his task.

This pattern repeats day after day, and he gradually begins giving you instructions and tasks. You’re led all over the ship, sent from one end to another on various orders for different people. Slowly, you start to become more comfortable and familiar with the surroundings. Finding your way around the ship is no longer a daunting task, with dark and ominous hallways that all looked the same becoming a well visualized mental map.

During the entire time you were learning, Savage was surprisingly patient. Not once did he get angry if you got lost, or took a while finding your way back. He simply just reminded you or where or what was needed in the same short tone he always used.

It took longer than you would care to admit, but eventually you caught on to what he was doing. He was getting you more familiar to the ship in his own way, practically forcing you to know the layout and interact with its occupants while turning you into his unofficial assistant. Thinking about it though, it is what he had said you would be doing in the first place.

Despite recognizing it as a form of slavery still, it made you feel lighter inside that he went out of his way to introduce the concept slowly, instead of just throwing you in headfirst. The feeling was quickly washed away as you remember who he was, beyond his interactions with you. A warlord and Sith who brought nothing but ruin to other planets, seeing them as nothing more than another part of their conquest and unfeeling for those he killed. Your planet was just one of the many to fall to their march.

Becoming familiar with the ship, there were obviously places that became your favorite to visit when there was time. Finding Jay, just to simply watch him progress while he trained and catch up, was the first thing you would do when given the time. Being around him also meant you were around the other Mandalorians, and you grew familiar with some, even friendly as they now extended their own greetings when seeing you run through the halls. It was comforting in a way, not feeling so isolated anymore.

Still, there were times where you simply wished to be by yourself. To take a break and attempt to forget the current situation you were in. The best place to do that was the large view port near the front of the ship.

It was a large window, spanning the entire length of the wall. You had discovered it by accident after getting lost once, taking a half hour to find your way back as there was nothing of importance close by and as a result there was little foot traffic. The lack of people made it perfect for thinking, and provided a beautiful view of the space beyond. It helped the wanderlust you held for the galaxies beyond, places you had never seen, nor had you ever thought you would see.

It was here you currently found yourself, relishing in the dim light of the stars passing outside and the atmosphere that came along with it. Savage would be expecting you back soon, but you could stretch it out a bit longer. Even if you were a bit late, he would only give a side look without saying anything against it.

So lost in the view beyond, you didn’t hear a set of footsteps approaching. Not until he speaks do you realize he’s even there.

“Nice view, eh?”

You jump, turning to face the young Mandalorian who holds his hands up in defense. Having never seen him before, even among the ranks of those who regularly populated the barracks and halls.

“I didn’t mean to startle you!” He smiled lightly, eyes crinkle at the action. “Just saw you standing all by yourself and figured you might want some company.”

Not really, you think to yourself. You came here to be alone after all, but there was no reason to be rude, especially since he had only approached with concern. Why not humor him with some small talk?

“It’s alright.” You smiled back, relaxing against the wall once again and content to continue the conversation. His questions are harmless, hardly even bordering on personal, but the way he seems to grow closer by the second puts a knot in your stomach, prompting you to slowly inch away. If he notices your discomfort he doesn’t mention it, only continuing his actions as his questions quickly turn more personal. Things such as ‘’do you have a boyfriend’ and ‘Which of the rooms are you assigned to?’.

“Listen, it’s been nice talking to you, but I really have to get back to work.” Sidestepping, you try to move around him, only for his hand to latch onto yours. You try to pull away, only for his grip to tighten painfully.

There’s no one around to help nor hear your struggles, and you curse yourself for allowing such a situation to occur. It’s one of the things you had been fearful of in the first place! There was still little you could do about the situation, fearful of the repercussions if you actually hurt him. But then again, Savage wouldn’t let them touch you, right? Surely he of all people would understand the need to protect yourself. He might even be glad you stood up for yourself! With that in mind, you swallowed thickly before drawing your arm back.

“Let go!” You cry, bringing your free hand down to deliver blow after blow. Each strike only bounces harmlessly off his armor, and it's only when you clock him across the face with a force that snaps his head back does he react.

He grunts, one hand coming up to staunch the blood now flowing freely from his now crooked nose. Long gone is the friendly smile, and in its place is a teeth gritting snarl as he tries to pull you closer.

“Listen here you little bitch! Why don’t you jus-”

He never gets to finish his sentence. Instead, he’s lifted into the air by seemingly nothing, eyes wide in shock, before being thrown against the wall with a force that shakes the ground.

It all happens in a split second, leaving no room to process what had just happened before your attention is drawn to thunderous footsteps approaching.

Savage’s aura is dark and menacing, almost tangible as he gets closer. It reminds you of the Rynic back home. Dangerous beast with razor sharp horns and needle like teeth. They were ill-tempered on the best of days, and it was better to just avoid them, should they take you as a threat and charge. 

He was like that now, the intention to kill glaring, seeming more like his brother than ever before.

He says nothing, not even sparing a glance at the dazed Mandalorian who’s still pinned against the wall, bleeding nose now the least of his worries as the angry Sith comes closer. It's now you realize that he’s using whatever he had when fighting Maul. The Force, you had heard him call it before. Not something you were well versed in to give a lecture on, but knew enough about from the whispers of traders and those aboard the ship alike.

“How dare you.” He growls. “How dare you touch what is mine!”

It’s now you notice his clawed hand, fingers constricting even tighter in the air as he approaches and prompts more choking noises from the trapped man. His own hands pull uselessly at his throat, trying to free himself from the invisible force preventing him from breathing. His efforts are to no avail, and he’s left at the mercy of the enraged Zabrak as you helplessly watch.

Within seconds his skin is turning blue, color creeping in and spreading like a virus from his lips and eyes, which themselves have become webbed with red, bloodshot and panicked as they dart around the room before landing on your own frozen form.

‘He’s going to kill him.’ You realize with a chill. You knew he was violent, murderous, but he had never killed in front of you before. The sight of which had shocked you, but which was gradually wearing off. If you didn’t do something quick, he was going to die, and while he had assaulted you just moments ago you still felt no desire to see his life slip away before your very eyes.

So, with all the strength you could muster, you launched yourself at Savage’s back, throwing your arms over his shoulders and around his neck in a choke hold. He shook, trying to rid himself of your weight much like a dog would a flea, and while he almost succeeded dug in deeper, legs barely managing to reach around his wide waist, and locked your ankles together.

While one arm remained locked around his neck, the other reached out in an attempt to pull his extended hand down. Maybe if you managed to drag it away from its current position pointed at the Mandalorian, it would break some sort of connection.

It's almost laughable how little you can do against his vastly superior strength, and any hope that you can actually do anything is a pipe dream, leaving you nothing but words as you plea for him to stop.

“Savage! This is crazy!” He seems to not hear, only grunting in mild annoyance as his only response.

By this point the man has stopped struggling, his once struggling form slowing to a stop as his kicking legs simply dangle alongside his hands. He looks like a corpse already, and if not for the occasional jerk of his chest as he tries to suck in air still. 

“If I’m anything to you, if I've ever been anything to you, then stop! Spare him!”

Something in your words seems to shake him, his head tilting lightly to catch your gaze over his shoulder. He pauses, hatred full eyes softening just a fraction, before his arm drops. The man’s body follows suit, falling the four feet to the floor, unconscious yet alive. There’s no time to be relieved however, as now with the advantage of both hands, Savage reaches around and grabs you by the collar, easily pulling you over his shoulder where he then proceeds to drag you along the floor, ignoring the way you kicked and struggled as he made his way through familiar halls. Anyone you saw did nothing, content with ignoring what was going on before their very eyes as you made your way to your destination.

A sense of dread filled your stomach as he roughly tossed you onto the bed of your room. There wasn’t even time to bounce off the soft surface before you were pinned down. Large hands worm their way under your clothes, discarding the layers and sashes with ease.

“S-stop! Stop!” You squirm, finally managing to pull away and spin around to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

His face is a mixture of anger and confusion, as if he can’t believe the way you’re reacting. 

“What am I doing? I’m protecting you, that’s what I’m doing!” His finger stabs accusingly in your direction, voice tinge with disbelief. “You’re so weak and defenseless! If I hadn't come along then who knows what might have happened.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Did he really think that you were so incompetent, so incapable? New rage burned through your veins, emboldening you as you stood chest to chest with him. Your neck was tilted at an uncomfortably angle as you glared at his towering figure.

“Helpless? I got along just fine before you came and kidnapped me! Now I’m living on a foreign ship with people who killed my entire village and two psychotic Zabrak, one of which has some weird obsession with me and has reduced me to nothing more than a glorified secretary!” 

He stiffened, aura growing increasingly menacing with every second. His hands flexed, clenching and unclenching by his sides. All of which was lost on you, too far gone and fed up with being ordered around without a choice. Now that the dam had burst, there was no holding it back.

“I would have handled the situation myself! I’ve dealt with far more handsy and stronger men than him! Furthermore I am not some toy to be fought over by grown men acting like children!” You pushed your finger into his chest to emphasize the point, feeling his chest expand as he takes in a deep breath. It's too late that you realize your mistake, and you doubt any amount of groveling will get you out of this one.

Instead, you back up slowly, wearily watching as you back away from his still form. His markings shine in stark contrast in the dim light of the room as he squares his shoulders, blocking any room for escape as he approaches. You’re forced back with every step, retreating until you find yourself backed into a corner. Fleetingly, your eyes dart around the room, landing on the door that seems light years away. If you could just make it there and out in the halls beyond then..then..

Then nothing. You were trapped. Even if you managed to escape, where would you go? He would find you, stuck on this ship, eventually.

Quicker then you’re able to process, one of his arms whips forward, cutting off any route of escape and causing the metal to vibrate with the impact. The ear closest rings dully, and you don;t even have to look to know that he’s left a dent. Hot breath fans across your skin as you stare wide eyed at the floor, not daring to look up and meet his gaze. Heart racing so fast, its amazing you can still hear over the thudding in your ears as he speaks.

“Has the lull of space dulled your senses, or have you forgotten what I said when I saved you from that pitiful little planet you called home. The one so barren and empty that you had to import all your goods. Where you were forced to do back breaking labor in order to survive, if that's what you want to call it.” 

The words are like daggers, sinking deeper the longer he speaks as you're reminded of your previous circumstances. You had survived, yes, but could you really consider it living? Then again, how was it any better than your current situation? Instead of having the freedom to provide for yourself, you were forced to bow under the will of others and hope that they were kind enough to keep you around and alive.

He draws closer, leaving you nowhere to go and feeling entirely too claustrophobic. 

“You. Belong. To me. I saved you! I'm your protector! And I can do whatever I want to you.”

His once quiet tone has risen to a yell, seeming to shake the very air and finally breaking your resolve.

A whimper leaves your quivering lips. Hardly louder than a whisper, but in the deathly still room it’s like a blaster shot, prompting the sith to freeze. Slowly, his hand raises. Ignoring the way you flinch away as he grips your jaw, he forces you to look at him directly. The calloused skin of his hands scratches at your own as he wipes away the tears now flowing freely. You hadn’t even realized you were crying, but the discovery breaks a sob from deep within.

He rears back like he’s been stung, leaving you feeling cold in the absence of his scorching skin. Stepping forward once again only results in a choking sound escaping your throat, freezing him in his tracks.

“I-I didn’t…” Words fading, his gaze moves from his own hands to your shaking frame and back again. A silent war goes on within him as the voices in his head fight for dominance. All the while you’re left to watch in fear for his next move.

With one last angry growl, he turns on heel and storms out of the room. The familiar beeping of the lock sounds, sealing your fate and you in the room.

Savage doesn’t return for seemingly hours, though it's unknown how long exactly as there was no way to keep track of time. All you know is that, after getting your tears under control and fixing your clothes back into place, you climbed onto the cot and fell into an exhausted sleep, constantly tossing and turning with your nightmares, yet forgetting them the moment you wake, drenched in sweat and shaking.

When you're woken once more, you nearly hurl yourself off the bed as bleary eyes spot a shadowy figure standing above. A hand clasp your ankle tightly before you can even move, pulling rough and dragging you to the edge where they then proceed to hold you in place with their legs alone. The entire time you struggle, kicking and squirming, which is quickly brought to an end as a startling familiar large hand grasps you by the nape, forcing your face into the blankets as he speaks.

“Hold still.”

It's Savage, you realize with a start. The shock of which stills your motions long enough for him to slip something around your neck. The foreign object was stiff, yet not uncomfortable apart from the fact that it was too tight to ignore.

Once in place, he released his grip, allowing you to escape and stumble your way towards the bathroom. The luminescent light was nearly blinding as it flicked on, revealing your latest accessory in the reflective surface of the mirror.

A collar. He had put a collar on you, like you were some sort of pet.

“What the fuck?” You whisper, hand ghosting over the offending wardrobe addition. The majority itself was made up of a thick black material, almost like steel woven fabric. Tilting it forward for a better look, you could see a thick layer of cushion-like material that you assumed was to keep from rubbing the delicate skin of your neck raw. In the very center was the only addition to the otherwise minimal design.

At first you thought it was a tooth or claw of some sort, the rough cone coming to a sharp point. The edges had clearly been smoothed, though you hated to think of how sharp the end was before receiving the dulling treatment.

Movement from the edge of the mirror disrupts your pondering, drawing attention to the lurking Savage. Not wanting a repeat of your last encounter, you're quick to exit the small room, ducking under his sweeping arm as you go.

“What is this!”

You seethe, keeping careful watch and making sure to keep ample distance as you circle the room. He seems unconcerned by your rage, simply watching with a hint of smugness to his heavy features.

“A gift.” 

A gift? Was this some kind of sick joke for him? A punishment for what happened yesterday perhaps?

As if sensing your confusion, Savage indulges you and explains further.

“You’ve made it clear that you wish to retain some form of independence, as laughable as the idea is. That,” he gestures to the item around your neck. “Is one of my own horns. As clear of warning there can be, since you seem so against me killing the fools who think to oversteps boundaries.”

You blink owlishly, hand moving to the organic charm. Taking a closer look, you saw that he was indeed down one of his normal crown protrusions, sawn cleanly from his right side. 

“Come. You’ve sulked long enough.” He leaves the room, not even sparing a glance back to see if you were following, which of course you were. While he framed it as being for your own benefit, you knew what it really was. 

A claim. A warning. However you wanted to phrase it. It all boiled down to one thing; you were his property, and this was his way of showing it. More merciful, and less humiliating, than other ways he could have done so, you surmised.

So, with great reluctance you followed him, feet shuffling and head down.

____Bonus_____

Few things in Maul’s life had given him the same amusement he felt now. From across the room he watched as you sulked after his brother, clearly unhappy. Your displeasure was easy to detect even for those that weren’t force sensitive.

The ‘necklace’, as it was kindly called, rather than the collar it more closely resembled, was already in place and on full display for all. Clearly you were unaware of the implications of what Savage had given you, otherwise your reaction would be of a highly different kind.

The broken horn fragment gleamed, and he noted that he had dulled it just as advised. Though he would have gone for a different design. Something more elegant, and less flashy. It did the job though, screaming his claim and ensuring only an idiot would dare to question his claim, lest they attempt to challenge him for the right to court you. If he didn’t know Savage any better, he might have thought that he was moving extraordinary fast in his advances, but he was one for action first and thinking later, just like when he had those robes made for you.

One thing was for sure, and that was how much he was looking forward to the ensuing chaos. After all, Savage was no ordinary Zabrak, and these were no ordinary circumstances. It was highly unusual for his kind to take mates outside their species after all.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 13

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Ahsoka takes Din on a journey through the past.

“You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,958

Warnings: angst, swearing, character death (canonical, but with my own twist), made up planet name that is ridiculous, dialogue heavy, plot plot plot, backstory

Author Note: Good lord this is soooo late coming out. To anyone who sent me an encouraging message I am beyond grateful because I really needed the encouragement to finish this segment. I hope more than anything this segment gives more answers than it raises questions (although reading your theories is both awesome and entertaining so keep them coming too!)

Links to Part 1 and Part 12 and Part 14

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

“Who the fuck is Moff Gideon?”

Ahsoka looks at Din, her brow furrowed deeply. He’s seen the expression on her face enough times to recognize its meaning: this is the face she makes when she is about to reveal a message directly from the universe itself. As an Oracle, she is the only immortal who can glimpse details of the past, present, and future. She has a soft spot for mortals, sharing the few precious snippets the universe allows her to with them in the forms of riddles and vague prophecies that never fail to give Din a migraine with their crypticness when he hears them.

“Moff Gideon is a Seraph who grew discontent with his position amongst immortals,” she says at last.

“Is he the one responsible for keeping my soulmate from me?” he asks, voice as harsh and unforgiving as the environment surrounding them.

“He is responsible for many sins.”

“I don’t have time for your vague answers,” he growls, hands twisting into fists. “You tell me not to kill this Seraph, then in the next breath claim he’s a threat. I am not a mortal who will be entertained by riddles, Ahsoka. You summoned me here to talk, so start talking. Tell me what you know.”

The Oracle’s mouth purses into a thin line. Nearly a full minute passes before she speaks again. When she does, the calmness is no longer natural, but forced. “Telling you what I know would be impossible.”

“Ahsoka—”

“But,” she pitches her voice higher than his protest while narrowing her eyes disapprovingly, “I am capable of showing you. You should know though, you might not like what you see.”

Din shakes his head, dismissing the warning. “What’s one more nightmare?”

She reaches forward, pressing her index and middle fingers to the center of his visor. If not for his helmet, she’d be touching the space directly between his eyes and instinct tells him the positioning isn’t random.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she says, but her voice has changed from its usual cadence. It is ancient and youthful, a harsh scream and a hushed whisper all at once.

Din has only the slightest of seconds to process this in addition to the way her facial markings start to glow and her eyes flash white before he finds himself standing in the midst of a crisis.

There is mass hysteria every direction he turns. People screaming in terror, pushing each other and tripping over those who have fallen in their haste to flee an unseen threat; whole buildings are crumbling, sending flaming debris and shards of glass raining down upon the streets as smoke billows into the sky. The edges of his field of view are blurred, like he’s looking at everything through someone’s glasses, and it creates an ache behind his eyeballs. Fuck, is this what it’s like for Ahsoka when she experiences visions?

‘You remember the Fall of Mandalore, don’t you, Death?’ Ahsoka’s voice resonates from deep inside his brain, as if she’s fused her consciousness with his.

His jaw tightens when he says, “Of course.”

‘Oh, look. There you are.’

Sure enough, when Din looks forward he sees himself moving swiftly through the crowd, unaffected by the chaos as he stoops to reap the soul of a woman who’s had her skull caved in by the stampede of frantic civilians. He wonders how many others can say they’ve had an out-of-body-experience such as what he’s dealing with right now: reliving a traumatic event all over again while observing himself the same way a stranger would from a distance.

“Why are you showing me this?”

‘Because it’s important,’ Ahsoka answers, and the image of her frowning face enters his mind unbiddenly. ‘The universe has a plethora of endings imagined for every civilization, but it is the individual choices of the community that act as stepping stones bringing them closer to a specific fate.’

“Mandalore was always meant to fall apart. It was just a matter of how, not when,” he surmises, voice devoid of emotion. His words are punctuated by another fiery blast from a nearby complex, followed by an ear-piercing wall of a terrified child.

‘Precisely. But the same cannot be said for an individual’s lifespan. There are consequences if someone perishes before their time has come. You should know that better than anyone.’ There is a hint of accusation thinly veiled in her tone that has his body tensing reflexively.

His location shifts, shapes and colors mixing together without warning before another scene gradually comes into focus. It’s a large chamber with sparse furnishings, but its beauty is tarnished by the copious amounts of glass littering the room as every single one of the ornately designed windows have been shattered from the force of the explosions outside. Din knows before he even lays eyes on the throne he’s inside the royal palace because he first sees the familiar face of his most trusted reaper standing next to a blond-haired woman. Both women have such strikingly similar facial features nobody who sees them side by side can have any doubt they are related.

Whereas Bo-Katan dons gray-and-blue armor with a jetpack strapped to her back and two blaster pistols holstered at her sides, her sister, Satine, wears a garnet colored dress with a gold belt wrapped around her slender waist. In this moment, the sisters differ from each other as much as night and day; one a military leader, the other a pacifistic duchess.

“You need someone here to protect you. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with and it isn’t safe for you to be alone,” Bo-Katan argues, crossing her arms over her chest as if to intimidate her sister into submitting.

“Our people are scared and defenseless, Bo. They need your protection during this crisis more than I currently do,” Satine says, voice soft but firm in a way only those deeply involved in politics can master.

Bo-Katan glances out the broken windows at the burning city, stubborn loyalty to protect her sister warring with her duty to protect her people. “Then at least send a message to Obi-Wan to come here.”

Satine shakes her head. “Bo—”

“I know things are strained between you two right now—”

“That’s a glaring understatement.”

“—but he’s one of our best and most loyal guards. He’s proven more than a dozen times he’ll fight anyone who’s a threat to you.”

“I don’t need the reminder of what he’s done for me.”

Bo-Katan places a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and squeezes it when she says, “He’s the only one other than myself I trust to protect you if you were to encounter danger.”

“Just because I’m committed to peace does not mean I am incapable of looking after myself.” Satine reaches behind herself to detach a weapon that had been clipped to the back of her belt. She clicks a button on its hilt, emitting a white blade shining brightly like a beacon amongst the dark clouds of smoke tainting the air.

Din’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that…?”

‘The Lightsaber of Mandalore,’ Ahsoka confirms. ‘Made by the Armorer herself.’

The Armorer is deeply respected by both mortals and immortals alike. As the goddess of metalworking and blacksmiths, there is nothing she cannot forge and infuse with grand powers. However, she is exceedingly cautious about choosing who is a recipient of her creations.

Din is one such recipient, having been given his armor of pure beskar when the Armorer realized how dangerous his touch was to mortals. He remains eternally grateful for the gift not only because it prohibits unwanted physical contact, but also because it is invulnerable to damage or rust like other types of armor. Ahsoka’s dual sabers were also made in the Armorer’s forge, specifically designed for the Oracle’s grip alone and meant to protect her during her journeys throughout the galaxy, but in contrast to the white blade of the Lightsaber, the blades of Ahsoka’s weapons matched the same blue coloring as the stripes on her lekku and montrals.

According to the legends Din’s heard, the Armorer created the Lightsaber for the first ruler of Mandalore because she was impressed with their culture and strong military, and it was passed on to each new heir to the throne over the centuries. When wielded in battle, the Lightsaber made the user invincible against enemy attacks as it siphoned off energy from the souls of those it sliced through.

Throughout the long history of Mandalore, Satine was distinguished as the only ruler to avoid warfare as she sincerely believed negotiations and treaties could solve any problem quicker than bloodshed.

As such, Din isn’t surprised when Bo-Katan raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I know you wouldn’t use the Lightsaber even to cut a piece of fruit.”

Satine sighs through her nose, sheathing the weapon once more. “Fine. I’ll contact Obi the second you’re gone.”

“You better.” Bo-Katan leans forward, pressing her forehead against her sister’s. A gesture of affection within their culture. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then she’s gone, flying out the nearby window and diving straight into the fray. As a mortal and as a reaper, the redhead is fearless in the face of danger. Some might consider the behavior reckless, but Din’s always been impressed by her dogged tenacity to achieve victory no matter the difficulty of her mission.

Din looks back at Satine. Now that she is alone in the room, she is able to freely express her distress at the unfolding situation, looking as if she’s aged ten years within the blink of an eye. She fiddles with the comlink around her wrist, seeming hesitant to call this Obi-Wan fellow like she agreed to.

‘They haven’t realized it, but they’re soulmates, ’ Ahsoka murmurs, low and melancholic. Hearing it makes Din’s chest constrict with unease. ‘They fought recently and parted ways upset with each other. Unfortunately, she dies before they can resolve their miscommunication.’

The next sequence of events play out startlingly quick, as if Ahsoka has chosen to suddenly jump forward in time. His eyes struggle to absorb the fleeting details—the doors to the throne room being blown open; a Seraph in black armor emerging from the smoke; his voice is unique, velvety and thorny at the same time, as he addresses the duchess by her full name Satine Kryze; Satine attempting to stall as she subtly taps at her comlink, only for the tactic to fail as the foe teleports closer, eliminating the space between them.

“You have something I want,” he tells her, seizing hold of her throat. “You may think you have some idea of what you have in your possession, but you do not.”

One of Satine’s hands claws at his face, attempting to gouge out his eyeballs with her nails, while the other reaches for the Lightsaber. Her fingertips brush against its metal hilt just as he throws her to the floor. The impact knocks the breath out of her lungs, eliciting a strangled gasp, and shards of glass dig into her exposed skin, dotting the pale flesh with beads of blood.

Gideon—Din doesn’t need Ahsoka’s input to know this, for who else could the Seraph be but him?—places the heel of his boot over Satine’s neck. He doesn’t apply pressure yet, but the action in itself has the duchess squirming with panic, hitting at his leg futilely. There is a red light on the comlink flashing insistently, indicating someone on the other end is speaking but they’ve been muted.

“Give me the asset I seek.”

Through clenched teeth, Satine wheezes, “It belongs to Mandalore.”

“I thought you might say that,” Gideon replies, feigning disappointment. “However, in case you haven’t noticed Duchess,” he gestures towards the windows, “Mandalore is dead. My accomplices have made sure of that.”

“You’re a coward for hiding behind others. You don’t deserve the Lightsaber.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere, air turning impossibly frigid and crisp.

“I deserve it more than anyone,” Gideon says, angry enough he is trembling. The Seraph’s stance shifts, and although Din has witnessed every type of brutal death imaginable, he flinches at the sound of Satine’s neck snapping beneath his heel.

Gideon rolls her lifeless body over and rips the Lightsaber off her belt, a satisfied smirk on his face. He disappears as quickly as he arrived, reward in hand, and an eerie silence envelops the room. It’s almost as if the palace itself is stunned by the loss of its ruler, struggling to make sense of the merciless act of violence.

Time skips forward again, showing a young bearded-man dressed in military armor clutching at Satine’s body, pressing his forehead against hers as he weeps. Over and over he keeps murmuring apologies for not being quicker, for failing to be there when she needed him, for never saying he loved her.

“How do you know Satine and Obi-Wan are soulmates if they never matched?” Din asks, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment despite not actually being there.

He thinks of a similarly phrased question he’d asked his angel on their way to Sorgan what feels like entire lifetimes ago: how will I know it’s my soulmate? Her eloquent response remains embedded deep in his memory, safely stored away along with every other moment they’ve spent together. Longing twists like a knife in his side as he allows himself a second of weakness to look at the soulmate marking on his palm.

‘I saw the life they were going to share,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘Satine Kryze was not meant to die here. She and Obi-Wan should have both survived the Fall of Mandalore, settling down happily with each other elsewhere in the galaxy. Gideon’s greed altered their destinies.’

The palace fades away to reveal a much older Obi-Wan, gray-haired and wrinkled. He’s in Mos Eisley; Din recognizes the crowded spaceport instantly having taken his ship there for repairs numerous times over the years.

‘The universe puts a lot of effort into making sure soulmates match with each other at a very precise moment. Even if the match is rejected, the individuals still had an important impact on each other’s lives. Timing is the most important factor for a soulmate pairing, and if it’s off then the universe will attempt to fix it.’

Obi-Wan stops to help a woman who’s accidentally dropped her shopping bag, contents spilling out onto the sandy ground. She thanks him as he offers her a polite smile, both of their attentions on each other’s faces and not their hands. More specifically: their marked hands. There is the barest brush of their fingertips as they reach for the same item before an invisible blast of energy erupts from their touch, splitting them apart and sending every person and thing surrounding them flying in all directions.

The shock on Obi-Wan’s face matches Din’s own beneath his helmet. He remembers his angel telling him after the failed match with Omera what happened on Sorgan wasn’t the first time an event like that occurred, but she hadn’t been privy to the details. Her superior had told her she wasn’t high enough ranking which Din had thought sounded like a load of bantha shit at the time.

“Ahsoka, what is the meaning of this?” Din asks the questions quietly, but there’s an audible coating of frustration that he knows she won’t miss. “Satine’s dead.”

‘You didn’t reap her soul,’ Ahsoka says. It’s said as a gentle reminder, but it nevertheless has Din feeling like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet as realization dawns.

“I...didn’t.”

A quiet sigh echoes through his head. ‘I forgot how ignorant you can be. You can’t reap a mortal soul that transforms into a new entity.’

“She’s a Cupid,” Din murmurs. Either that or a reaper, but he knows each of his reapers like the back of his hand and Satine isn’t nor has she ever been one. He shakes his head, thinking of Obi-Wan finding Satine’s body in the throne room. “That doesn’t make any sense. Obi-Wan clearly loved her.”

‘Rejection can sometimes stem from a misunderstanding. Satine’s last living encounter with Obi-Wan was him saying so long as he was part of the royal guard they had no future together. She perceived this as him denying he cared about her, not knowing he had made plans to retire in order to ask for her hand.’

In front of Din, Obi-Wan rubs at his soulmate marking while staring at the mess around him, lines of unease and confusion creasing his forehead.

‘You asked, what is the meaning of this moment?’ Ahsoka continues. ‘It’s one of the universe’s attempts to reconnect Obi-Wan and Satine so they experience their matching as they were intended to.’

“But they’re of different statuses,” he points out needlessly. “She’ll outlive him.”

‘Yes, but the matching of soulmates not only influences the lives of the pair, but the lives of other people as well in ways both obvious and invisible. Think of it as a ripple effect.’

“Did the universe’s attempt work?” Din wonders. “Were they ever reunited?”

‘When Satine awoke as a Cupid, it was a surprise to both her and Gideon. Rather than kill her a second time, the Seraph chose to inflict a worse fate. She became the first of her kind to have her memories erased. However, he’d never previously used his ability on another immortal before, resulting in him nearly wiping her entire mind clean. The universe is capable of many miracles, big and small, but every attempt of reuniting the pair failed. It remains the universe’s most profound regret which is ultimately the reason why the universe brought you to Trinomliaxeros without your armor so that history wouldn’t repeat itself.’

There is a strange, heavy feeling that suddenly inflates within the confines of Din’s chest like a balloon. It’s different from the rampant anger he can still detect simmering beneath the skin of his human façade. He tries to shake it off, focusing on his breathing and the desert heat emanating from the twin suns overhead, only to slowly realize that what he’s feeling is fear.

Within his memory he can recall just one other distinct moment in his existence where he felt this spine-chilling emotion, and that moment was experienced on Trinomliaxeros.

“What did you just say?” His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears, but he can’t find any energy within himself to care.

A long stretch of silence fills his head; it’s the fragile kind, too, preventing him from snapping at Ahsoka to answer lest she become angry at him and yank him out the vision entirely.

‘Twice the timing of a soulmate match has been disturbed. The first pair affected was Obi-Wan and Satine. And the second pair was...’

“Ahsoka,” he says when she hesitates to continue, but any additional words he can think of saying catch in the back of his throat.

‘The second pair was you and your angel.’ Another pause of silence, shorter but no less meaningful. ‘Only fifty years ago, she wasn’t an angel.’

This is what Din remembers from Trinomliaxeros: feeling a pull so forceful, impatient and unanticipated it drags him across the galaxy in his civilian clothes, arriving to find the planet engulfed in smoke, unable to see his hand in front of his face, even without his gloves on. Finding skeletal remains burnt to blackened crisps with the souls inside shaking and traumatized, practically leaping into his outstretched hand, knowing either the afterlife or damnation would be better destinations than lingering there even a second longer. Explosions in the distance, bursts of flames as intense and hot as the sun, greedily consuming everything in their radius.

Out of the smoke and darkness, a survivor. A girl, covered in soot and sweat, colliding with his chest. The dead are calling out to him, pleading for him to reap them, to save them. Their voices swirl around his head, clawing at his brain and pounding against his skull. Shoving the girl aside, one foot in front of the other, letting his powers guide him to the next soul. Her voice cuts across the distance, a plasma bolt striking him in the back. We’re soulmates, she says.

His breath stills in his lungs. Fear spreads like a virus through his bloodstream, slipping beneath his defenses, turning him into a stranger within his own body. The declaration is a lie, an impossibility, a delusion. He has no match, hands unmarked, flesh poisonous and lethal. His words, too, are weapons themselves. Sharp, ruthless, desiring to wound her as she’s wounded him. You could never be my soulmate.

And then he’d left her.

This is what Din remembers. But, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly it hurts, I’ve remembered everything all wrong.

Phantom hands gently press against the sides of his helmet, offering comfort without caring about the dried blood. He keeps his eyes shut, knowing it’s just a manifestation crafted by Ahsoka in his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself. This was the only viable outcome the universe could produce to ensure the bad timing would be remedied in the future,’ she says, but it does little to lessen the weight on his chest. ‘Your rejection saved her life. It granted you both a second chance of a first meeting.’

“How did—” Din struggles to string words together, to fucking breathe. “She—She knew. What we were. How…?”

The Oracle puts him out of his misery. ‘She found out the way all soulmates do: through touch.’

Din’s eyes fly open at that, and he has to blink a few times to bring everything into focus because there’s him and his angel right in front of him, frozen mid-collision. She’s grasping the sleeves of his coat to keep her balance, the palm of her marked hand touching his wrist. He stares at the point of contact for a moment, then barks out a laugh, hysterical and strangled sounding.

“That’s not possible.”

‘Soulmates can’t kill each other. She’s always been meant to withstand your touch.’

Din swallows thickly, staring at his angel’s face. He hates the question forming on his tongue, but it will haunt him the rest of his life if he doesn’t ask it. “In your visions, when I meet her at the right time, what happens?”

'You’re different by then, less broody and more accepting of the notion you could be loved. You have a soulmate marking,’ Ahsoka tells him. ‘You fall for her hard, even before your hands brush. You love her throughout the entirety of her lifetime.’

“And...when she dies?” The words taste like blood in his mouth.

‘Don’t torture yourself, Death. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore.’

For one brief, fleeting second Din is actually grateful Gideon altered their destinies. However, in the next, he’s trying not to let the fear gnawing at the back of his mind increase as it belatedly occurs to him that the universe is not as infallible as he’s always believed it was.

He wishes he could see Ahsoka, if only so he could glare at her directly. “Everything you’ve shown me has only further convinced me Gideon deserves death. Why have you asked me to promise not to kill him?”

'Do you remember what happens after this moment on Trinomliaxeros?’

Din frowns at the change of subject. “I continued to reap souls.”

'Yes. And then?’

He huffs a frustrated breath through his nose. This is Ahsoka, he thinks, at her most annoying. But, as much he loathes admitting it, this is also the most helpfully transparent she’s ever been. Today may be the only time she trusts him enough to share her visions. He owes it to her to be as open as she’s being with him.

That being said, he’s still wary of the memories he’s kept in the distant, shadowy corners of his mind being pulled into the spotlight. “Tell me we’re not gonna talk about the kid.”

‘We talked about the universe’s biggest regret. It’s only fair we talk about yours too.’ Ahsoka has found the crack in his armor he’s tried so long to conceal, peeling it open without remorse.

She doesn’t spare him time to argue. All he does is blink and he’s looking at his past self locked in a staring contest with a little green-skinned child who is propped up inside a floating, orb-shaped pram.

Of all the buildings and homes on the planet, only its temple had remained untouched by the destruction. Din didn’t know if it had been the structure’s own holy foundation keeping it standing or if it was the personal choice of the mastermind behind the attack, but he’d been drawn to it regardless, finding souls there to reap whose hosts had differed from other victims in that their throats had been slit. The walls of the temple were adorned with intricate murals depicting immortal figures and religious events of ancient history, but before he could observe the artwork closer, a quiet coo had stopped him in his tracks.

When he opened the pram, he hadn’t anticipated finding a baby of all creatures. When their eyes connected, every background noise abruptly ceased. Even the voices of the dead fell silent. Rather than rouse his suspicions, Din had felt only a sense of peace he usually only experienced in the midst of hyperspace travel where the stars were his voiceless companions.

An unspoken conversation transpired between the two of them, one Din still can’t translate into words all these years later, but it concluded with him knowing he would take the child with him.

Din had reached for him unthinkingly, the child lifting his arms up in eagerness to be held, but self-awareness kicked in right before contact and Din retracted his hands away so fast it startled the child into crying, brown eyes filling with tears. Panicked, he surveyed the room, looking for something to put an end to the wailing, before looking down at his own coat, experiencing a lightbulb moment.

“Alright, kid, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Watching his past self shrug off the coat, Din remembers it had been his favorite of his civilian clothes, well worth the cost for its soft fabric and length. He managed to successfully swaddle the child, ensuring his arms were safely tucked away to prevent him endangering his life, and Din exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the tears dried up almost immediately.

However, the ensuing silence wasn’t as peaceful as the previous one. Both past and present Din turn at the sound of distant shuffling echoing off the temple walls from another room.

“Ignore it,” Din tells his past self. “Just take the kid and leave.”

But his plea goes unheard and the past remains unchanged. Ahsoka is silent inside his head, either because she knows he won’t accept any more comforting words or because she thinks he’s undeserving of them for choosing to leave the child behind in his pram, closing it when he starts to whine again, so Din can go investigate the noise.

Din exhales a quiet breath, fingers twitching restlessly at his sides as he watches himself stalk through the temple halls, checking each room he comes across. It’s strange, seeing himself from this perspective. The distanced viewpoint allows Din to glimpse new details he hadn’t been capable of noticing back then.

Such as the reappearance of a familiar Seraph emerging from the shadows to stab him in the back.

Here’s one of the perks about being Death: he can’t be killed. That fact doesn’t mean there haven’t been attempts though. As Death, people sometimes look at his armor as a challenge. Like if they can fire a shot or throw a knife at just the right angle, it’ll wound him and allow them to live longer. Simply put, all those people are idiots.

When he looks like a regular, unintimidating civilian, he’s also been involved in violent predicaments where someone’s attempted to mug him or where he’s tried to save someone else from a similarly sticky situation.

Armor or no armor though, he’s always walked away from these encounters completely unscathed.

Well. With the sole exception of Trinomliaxeros where he was mostly unscathed.

It wasn’t the first time Din had been stabbed before. Usually knife wounds felt like a mild pinch. More irritating than painful, similar to a splinter stuck in one’s thumb. Once the weapon was removed, the damage healed within seconds, leaving behind no scar or proof he was ever attacked.

Usually, is the keyword to note here.

Ahsoka freezes time right when the blade of the Lightsaber is driven straight through the center of Din’s body, bone and flesh as easy to slice through as melted butter. His agonized expression—eyes screwed shut and lips open in a silent scream—would be comical if Din didn’t remember the exact emotions he was feeling in that moment.

Instead of a pinch, it’d felt as if thousands of invisible hands were pulling and scratching at him, attempting to strip apart his human exterior layer by layer—peeling off skin, scraping away muscle and bone marrow, seeking to reach the core of himself where his powers resided.

‘Looks like it hurts,’ Ahsoka says. The return of her naturally calm and neutral tone of voice seems almost cruel given the frozen, graphic display.

Din again wishes he could glare at her. “Is this funny to you?”

‘The transformation of the Lightsaber into the Darksaber is anything but funny.’

Lost in recollection, he failed to notice until now how the blade of the Lightsaber has changed in color from white to black. It’s the same inky hue that absorbs the brown in his eyes, that had dyed his veins during the execution of Hess.

‘The Armorer specifically instructed the Lightsaber only be used against enemies. As a neutral entity, you are, by definition, no one’s ally or adversary. By stabbing you, the saber became corrupted. It is a consequence Gideon still has yet to fully realize the monumental repercussions of.’

Time resumes, Din’s past self collapsing onto the floor, pressing a hand to the throbbing hole in his chest, attention too consumed by the franticness of his powers struggling to repair the trauma to notice Gideon lingering behind him. The Seraph’s stunned look of shock lasts barely ten seconds, morphing into one of deep contemplation as his gaze flicked between the weapon and Din, before he vanished.

When Din recovered enough to stand, he teleported back to the child’s location at once. He needs to get the little guy as far away from here as possible, somewhere peaceful and safe. His planning came to an abrupt halt upon finding the pram open and empty, his coat shredded and scattered about the floor in pieces.

“Gideon took him.” It isn’t a question.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘The child was the intended target of this siege.’

“Why?”

‘He’s...very special.’ There is something about how her voice hitches when she says ‘special’ that has Din’s instincts prickling with alertness, but he holds his tongue. ‘Gideon considers him a tool he can take advantage of.’

The ugly, tight mass of anger swells inside of him and presses against his lungs, resulting in a low growl slipping out of his mouth. He curses his own ineptitude. If he’d paid more attention, hadn’t allowed himself to be wounded, he could have subdued Gideon and spared both his angel and the child from being captured.

“I warned you once upon a time, there would be consequences if you released your darkness,” Ahsoka says, her voice no longer emitting from inside his head. The vision fades back into reality the same sudden, jarring way one wakes up from dreaming. It takes all of Din’s self-restraint not to perform a full-body shake. “Your control is slipping as your rage increases. It’s making you not think clearly which is exactly what Gideon wants. That is the reason I am asking you to promise you will not kill him.”

Put like that, Din no longer thinks her request sounds quite so outlandish, even though he does still remain in the dark as to what consequences exactly will unfold. Ahsoka has remained stubbornly tight-lipped about the topic from their very first encounter, claiming the universe is adamant she can only share the details with one other person and it isn’t him.

“He deserves to die for all he’s done,” Din says quietly, but he’s self-aware to know his resistance is beginning to crumble.

“Between you and me, I think so, too,” she admits in the same low tone. Her ocean eyes are dark and stormy, reflecting her internal turmoil. “But rules are made for a reason and we would be fools to carelessly overlook the consequences of breaking them.”

The accusatory note from earlier has returned with a vengeance. He’s not surprised—of course the universe would utilize the Oracle to express its disapproval—but aggravation still thrums through his veins.

“Hess played a hand in my soulmate’s fate. He called her a whore.” Din’s upper lip twitches with the urge to snarl. “I don’t regret what I did to him.”

Ahsoka sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. When you swore your creed, you promised the universe you’d only reap a soul when their host’s time has reached its destined end. By killing Hess, you not only broke a sacred rule, you also broke your creed.”

Din recoils, feeling like he’s been stabbed with the Lightsaber all over again.

“...What?” The anger is gone, extinguished by the weight of the revelation. Confusion and wariness are quick to fill the void. “What does that mean?”

She looks away then, but not quick enough to hide her troubled expression. “I...don’t know.”

He blinks, mind scrambling to understand the implications. “Isn’t that your purpose? To know everything?”

“For the very first time, the future’s unclear to me,” she murmurs, eyes briefly turning cloudy as if she’s trying to take a peek at the potential timelines right then and there. She shakes her head a beat later, frowning. “There are many choices left to be made, each one capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy. It is not possible at this time for me to predict our upcoming reality, let alone your consequences. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Din says, because it’s the truth and he doesn’t like seeing her crestfallen expression. Fuck, he might actually consider her a friend after all.

Whatever happens, he thinks to himself, it can’t be any worse to deal with than being separated from his soulmate. If he can survive this, he can survive anything.

“The last promise I made was broken.” He bites back a wince at the memory of his angel’s pinky promise. “But if making another one is the only way you’ll take me to my soulmate, then you have my word. I won’t kill him.”

A ghost of a smile pulls at her lips before she grabs hold of one of his vambraces. “Take me to your ship. I will guide you to her location.”

“You don’t trust me to go alone?” he asks, unsure whether to be amused or indignant.

“No,” Ahsoka replies bluntly.

Din huffs. “Fine.”

“I may not be able to see much at the moment, but I know it’s never wise to turn down support. You’re going to need us.”

“Us?”

“It’s Bo-Katan’s choice to make, but you and I both know she’s never been one to back down from a fight. Especially once she learns Gideon is her sister’s murderer.”

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[amiedala]

SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, canon-compliant violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse/trauma

SUMMARY:  “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday! this chapter is truly a whirlwind, it's hard and sweet and intense and simple all at once. there are very graphic descriptions of violence and death in the one (in the form of Force visions, no one's actually dying, I PROMISE!!!), so please be aware that there is potentially triggering material in what you're about to read. it mentions past abuse and dives pretty deep into current violence, so please just read with caution! i hope you enjoy this journey—i certainly did writing it! more notes at the end!!! <3

*

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

Not how Nova originally thought, anyway. The throne room is filled with wary, armored people. Some are the guards that usually stand watch outside, through the giant palace doors. Nova recognizes Koska Reeves and Axe Woves from the brief, charged encounters she’s had with each of them. Bo-Katan is there, of course, regal and pristine, her shoulders pushed back, her red hair impeccable. There are a handful of villagers that Nova’s seen in passing, but besides the few faces she recognizes, most of the people gathered in the throne room have been hidden somewhere on Mandalore, away from this strange Capitol, away from the everyday. Half of them are without armor, without impressive beskar helmets to hide their wary expressions. Bo-Katan’s icy, measured gaze is clearly a popular currency on Mandalore, because every single person in this room looks skeptical at best and enraged at worst. Nova keeps her eyes on Din, who’s decided to stand at the helm of the dais instead of taking a seat on the beskar throne, watching his every movement to ensure he’s safe up there, and that he stays unharmed.

“I want...to be your leader,” Din says, his voice quiet but earnest. He sounds like he’s incredulous at his own words, like he’s reading off a script he’s never seen before. But there’s power hidden underneath whatever’s scaring him, an undercurrent that Nova knows is unfettered, genuine passion. “I wasn’t raised in the way of Mandalore. Not in the ways that you were—”

“Clearly,” Koska whispers, and the Mnadalorians standing closest to her proximity offer uncharacteristic smiles and snorts. Nova steps forward, but Bo-Katan raises her sharp hand at her side, and they immediately fall silent.

Din looks back at Nova, and for the first time, she can see the fear in his eyes. She nods, encouragingly, even though she has absolutely no clue what point he’s trying to make. Every time she closes her eyes, even if it’s only for a heartbeat, she sees the strange, young hologram of her face, with the word MURDER, MURDER, MURDER flashing back at her, a ceaseless and terrible pattern. Nervously, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, realizing that she’s the only person in this room who isn’t outfitted in Mandalorian regalia. Her black shirt has remnants of dust on the sleeves from the amphitheater. Her pants saw their best days weeks ago. Her shawl, the only proof that she wears any sort of allegiance to the throne, Mandalorian blue and regal, is thrown haphazardly over her rounded shoulders. The boots on her feet are older than her relationship with Din, picked up planets and planets ago, somewhere sunny and warm and an entire lifetime away. When Din’s panicked brown eyes find hers again, Nova smiles, taking a half-step forward, trying to portray anything other than her own frenzied state, the hammering heartbeat that could likely be heard outside of the palace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Din finally continues, turning back to the crowd. Even from this angle, with most of his face obscured, Nova knows how hard it is for him to stand here, in front of dozens of people, without his helmet, how many rules he thinks he’s breaking, how this must feel like agony. He reaches for the Darksaber hanging on his belt, and when it ignites, every single face in the room is on Din, on that horrific, captivating blade of electricity and death. “I won this in battle. Twice. Both were accidents,” He inhales heavily, studying the flickering, wicked blade. “But they still happened. I wasn’t born on Mandalore. I wasn’t raised here, either. I’ve given some of you this speech before, when I first took the throne.” He exhales through his nose, and Nova wets her dry lips. Her throat feels like the middle of the day on Tatooine, parched and treacherous. “I...I am not a Mandalorian in the way that you’re Mandalorians.” Nova chances another half-step forward, letting the captive, tensioned room blur in her vision as she just focuses on Din. There’s a tremor in his voice, something alive and unsteady, something she only notices because she’s spent over a year studying every inch of him, memorizing Din right down to his bloodstream. “I follow a Creed that you don’t. I’ve spent most of my life trying...trying to be a good soldier, a true Mandalorian. I know I’m not the leader you wanted. I’m not even sure if I’m the leader I wanted. But I’m the one we’ve got, at least for right now. And—” Din exhales sharply, his breath strained, and Nova knows he’s suppressing a sigh, “I swear, I will try my best to do right by this planet. But—but I’m not only the reigning Mand’alor. I’m—”

“Right,” Axe interjects, but there's no malice in his tone. Nova stiffens, crossing her arms over her chest, staring over at him. But he doesn’t look threatening. His smile seems genuine, like he;s just attempting to get Din to lighten up. “And a bounty hunter. A damn good one, at that. He’s caught me twice.”

“Three times,” Nova corrects, and her eyes go wide when she realizes that everyone’s attention is now on her. “But,” she continues, rather nervously, trying to square back her shoulders in a shoddy imitation of Bo-Katan to not display that nervousness, “Din hasn’t been just a bounty hunter in a long time.”

Din sheathes the Darksaber, and instead turns his outstretched hand to Nova. Heart pounding, she slides her hand into his large, gloved one, trying not to show the massive tremble in her fingers. Quietly, he reaches for the Skywaker lightsaber hanging from her belt, and when Nova hesitates, he lets her hand close over the grip instead. Bo-Katan moves forward, so quickly Nova doesn’t even notice, and when she ignites the crisp, illuminated blue blade, half of the people gathered in the throne room draw a weapon. Nova’s expecting Bo-Katan to do the same, but she raises one impeccable eyebrow and turns back towards the room.

“Stop,” she says, and immediately, the majority of the room lowers whatever weapon of choice they’re gripping. Nova manages a tiny, stuttered breath. “She’s not going to hurt us.”

“She,” a voice says from the back of the room, “is wanted by multiple parties. Contacts all over the galaxy will pay a pretty price for Andromeda Maluev, you know. I accepted the cult member as Mand’alor. I accepted you standing down from the throne, Bo-Katan. I will not accept harboring a criminal,” he continues, voice as icy as Hoth, “and a Jedi, at that.”

Din moves forward, all tension, all rage, but Bo-Katan holds up that same, steady hand, and the man making his way across the foreground halts in the same beat that Din does. Nova pulls her own lightsaber back, pocketing it, pulling the shawl higher over her shoulders, trying to unclench her jaw before all of her teeth break off in her mouth. She’s tired. So tired. Exhausted, slogging through this conversation, her heartbeat accelerating, stars shooting out behind her eyes. And still, this time, when she closes them, all she sees is MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.

“Her name,” Bo-Katan returns, measured and cool, “is Novalise Djarin. And yes, she is wanted by both the scum that still survived after the Empire’s demise, and a middleman somewhere in between which we cannot identify yet. Yes, she is a Jedi, or at least is certainly heading in that way. Yes, I stood down from the title. But that wasn’t because I was weak, or because I wanted them on the throne.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Nova,” Bo-Katan interjects, “I’ve got this.” She steps off the lowest stair on the dias, posture perfect, right arm curled around her distinctive helmet. Everything in her screams royalty, regality. Behind her eyes is a fire so much stronger than the ice in her voice. “I didn’t want this. Neither did you. But Din won the Darksaber, fair and square. And Mandalore isn’t what it used to be. None of us are, either. We’re good at surviving, but we’re even better at fighting. And I believe,” she says, pointedly, glancing over at Din, who’s still coiled in an attack position, “that was the point our Mand’alor was getting to. So let him finish. With your mouths closed.”

The man who spoke, wizened but grizzled, exhales angrily through his nose, but his mouth stays clamped shut. Bo-Katan stands at attention, nodding back at Din.

“War is coming,” Din continues stiffly, and half of the people crowded around the room roll their eyes or mutter under their breath.

“War is always coming,” another woman enunciates, “it’s what the galaxy knows best.”

“War is coming,” Din repeats, and Nova has to force herself to unfurl her palms. Before she can even try to jump to his aid, though, he walks down the steps and presses his flat palm against the holotable. Reflected in the glittering dome above them is thousands of pixels of blue light. Nova’s juvenile mugshot is up there for the entire room to see, but so are statistics from every mission they’ve engaged in, anything even remotely related to the Order. Hundreds of faces swarm the screen, all with interwoven lines connecting them to other profiles and rotating planets. There, at the center of the screen, is the First Order’s name in menacing, large letters. Underneath are the silhouettes of Luke, Nova, and Grogu. When Din opens his mouth this time, his words are vivid and clear. “I know that Mandalore has been razed and sieged. I know that in your eyes, I’m not one of you. I know that none of you signed up for another battle. But I also know that fighting,” Din says, his voice weary, but his dark eyebrow raised, “is what’s in our blood. All of us.”

“I won’t follow a ruler who isn’t a true Mandalorian,” the same man finally continues. He steps towards them, and his face is angry and ghastly in the flickering blue light. His rage is barely concealed, and Nova’s hand flies unconsciously to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “And I certainly won’t protect a Jedi who doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, then,” Nova says, and she’s so bone-dead tired that she doesn’t realize she’s the one who’s speaking until the second word is out of her mouth, “good thing I can protect myself.” She chances a glance at Din, who could very easily be aggravated at her stoking the fire. The only thing written across his face, though, is pride. Nova’s eyes flicker over to Bo-Katan, who is somehow, unbelievably, wearing the same exact expression.

Din slams his fist down on the holotable, sending all of the blue light back into the atmosphere it came from. The low light of the war room is returned to its usual state, but no one speaks. “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

Still, no one moves.

“Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan snaps, icily, all of her usual vigor and venom back in her voice, and it’s like she’s given an order no one can deny. Half of the Mandalorians nod in wary agreement, and the other half keep their low mumbles close to their chests, all of them shuffling out of the throne room, presumably to disperse outside. When the heavy door closes shut, with only the three of them remaining, Bo-Katan turns back to Nova. Din is already climbing the steps back up the dais where the menacing beskar throne sits to retrieve his fallen helmet. When he pulls it back over his handsome face, it’s like closing an open wound.

Nova looks at Bo-Katan, who doesn’t look nearly as threatening in this low light. Her hair is slightly ruffled, and the hard set of her jaw is tense, electric. “Bo-Katan,” Nova whispers, and her gaze snaps impeccably back to Nova’s. “Thank you,” Nova continues, earnest, “for defending me. Defending us. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Bo-Katan counters, but there’s the ghost of a small smile on her beautiful, cold face. “They were wrong, and they needed to hear that. See? I’m not always a total bitch.”

The word—so commonplace, so foreign—sounds absolutely ludicrous coming out of her mouth that it makes Nova laugh out loud. The sound is both musical and jarring, and the tension held in Bo-Katan’s shoulders evaporates, even if it’s only momentarily.

“Noted,” Nova says, smiling. Maker and all the stars above, she’s exhausted. Bo-Katan glances back at Din, armored and impenetrable, and then back at Nova.

“You need sleep,” Bo-Katan allows, pulling her own helmet back over her head. “Both of you. I’ll stay down here and monitor any incoming correspondence. I’m too wired to go to bed anytime soon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her usual edge is back in her tone. “And I will. Go.” She raises that commanding arm again, and Nova’s too exhausted to resist. She wants to take a shower and wash the last few days off of her, and then sleep for three more. Her scar hurts. Her shoulders ache. Her head feels impossibly heavy. Silently, she lets Din lead her over to the heavy double doors, her ears buzzing with fatigue, but before they step into the hall, Nova hears her name chase her across the war room. In tandem, she and Din turn, watching Bo-Katan ignite the blue holotable. There’s something unreadable about her, even under the helmet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and the heaviness of her words is louder than the doors when they close on her impenetrable face.

*

Steam from the shower fills the entire fresher. It’s wet and hot, the humidity seeping deep into Nova’s skin, burrowing under the residual ache from the last few days, nestling between her cold bones from the chill back on Ahch-To, the frigidity back on Hoth. Din joins her once he wrestles off the rest of the armor, and before Nova can explain she wants him, but it’s impossible right now with how exhausted she is, how she can barely keep her eyes open, Din wordlessly lathers up his hands with her favorite, clean-smelling soap, gently raking the suds through her hair.

Nova sighs in the silence, letting her shoulders hunch over, her body weight alleviated by sagging against the warm shower walls and by the soft grip Din has on her arms, making sure she stays upward. For what feels like years, they stand together under the warm running water, reveling in the steam, the heat, without either of them needing to say anything. Din wraps Nova’s long hair up in the freshly washed towel, while she dries off the residual runoff down her arms, her thighs.

The room is cool and dark in the blue twilight, that same fog and haze sinking over the horizon. Wherever the rest of the Mandalorians went, they’ve all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Everything is an eerie kind of quiet, no bugs, no animals, no clamor, nothing that signifies any kind of sentient life outside of the castle. Most nights, that kind of awful silence makes Nova wired, like it permeates even into her dreams, but not here, not now. She has what feels like years’ worth of sleep to catch up on, and the second that Din pulls back the fluffy, silk comforter on their giant bed, Nova steps out of the towel and into the soft cocoon. Din’s barely even settled up behind her before she drifts off somewhere peaceful, somewhere that’s not here.

*

She sleeps. For hours, maybe days, Nova sleeps. It’s dreamless and empty, warm and safe. Usually, nightmares flicker and flash through her mind, her legs sprinting away from whatever menace or threat is chasing her, but not tonight. Nothing wakes Nova up, not the strange quiet, not Din tossing next to her, not the immeasurable weight of saving the galaxy on her shoulders. She sleeps, uninterrupted and powerfully, swaddled up under the light blue blankets that are somehow keeping all the bad things away.

In the end, it’s not a nightmare that startles her away, nor is it Din’s unshaven face pressing into the crook of her neck. It’s the sleepy, quiet beeping of her commlink, which has somehow been removed from its usual place on her wrist and is buried under the extra pillows that stand sentinel over their bed when neither Nova or Din is there.

Din, at this very moment, is also nowhere to be found, and Nova rakes a hand through her hair, tries and fails to suppress a yawn, and digs through the array of pillows on the floor until she can see the bright, red light. “Hello?” she asks, her voice still off somewhere in dreamland, and she rubs sleep from her eyes as she collapses down on the bed, body still stuck in sleep.

“Hey,” Nova hears, and it’s halfway through another yawn before she realizes it’s Cara calling. “Listen, I’d love to actually catch up, but—”

“You have news?” Nova asks, suddenly wide awake. She smooths the comforter out under her hand, crossing one of her legs underneath the other. Outside, the sky is dark.

“I have news,” Cara confirms, grimly. “I know Wedge called you to Hoth a week or so ago because there was a prison break somewhere outside of my jurisdiction.”

Nova nods before she remembers Cara can’t see her. “Yeah,” she adds, belatedly. “Yeah, but no one seemed suspicious or in league with the Order, and it was a holding cell full of minor offenders, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“Well, it was,” Cara sighs, “until it wasn’t. We were right, kind of, because no one who escaped was linked to the First Order. But the night after that prison break happened, your photo with your old name and manufactured crimes popped up as a hit from the Guild.”

Nova’s heart sinks. Something suffocating is blocking her airway, and she tries to swallow past the feeling before she can exhale. “What does that mean?” she manages, barely, hand fluttering around her necklace, pressing into the embossed star.

“Someone’s setting you up,” Cara continues, and her voice is gentler than Nova’s ever heard it. “Someone who likely knows you or Din, knows how to get under your skin. The reason why this is so dangerous is because whoever did it knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve tried, and Karga has tried, but we can’t even identify where the hit originated from, let alone who put it out. We’re not going to stop looking, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who did it. And because the warrant is for you alive or dead…” Cara trails off, the silence buzzing and dangerous.

Nova closes her eyes before she fills in the blanks. “I’m going to be in danger anywhere I go.”

“Listen,” Cara tries, but it’s too late. Nova’s still exhausted, she’s in pain, she has no idea where Din went, and all she wants to do is to bury her face in Grogu’s head and smell his sweet, reassuring baby smell. Her heart aches. “Novalise, I’m not going to let them get to you. You have some of the strongest forces in the galaxy who’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Nova whispers, “and I appreciate that, Cara, I do, so much, but—but Mandalore isn’t exactly a safe haven, either. The planet knows I can use the Force, and besides that, most of the people Din’s supposed to be ruling hate our guts. I’m not scared of being left to defend myself, because it’s kind of what I’ve learned to be best at. But with what you’re telling me, there’s not a single safe place left in the galaxy for me right now.”

Cara’s silence is deafening. Nova’s heart sinks just a little bit deeper, swimming around somewhere in her stomach. “It’s not forever,” she says, but her voice is a little too glum to be anywhere near reassuring.

“I’m so tired,” Nova admits, feeling tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes. “And I can’t rest, because that’s when someone can get me. I mean—what would you do, if you were me, Cara?”

Nova can hear Cara moving, a soft rustle underneath the comm. When she speaks again, her voice is low and clear, like she’s telling a secret that only Nova can hear. “I would do what we both know you’re going to do. You’re the rebel girl, remember?” She pauses. “So rebel.”

Nova watches as the comm clicks off, everything in her body electric, a live wire. Before she can bolt to Kicker, or try to find where Din’s hidden in the chambers of the palace, or call Wedge and tell him she’s coming back to Hoth, the door opens, and Din walks in.

“Hi,” Nova breathes, suddenly very aware she’s not wearing any clothes, which is completely ridiculous, because Din has seen, ravaged, and worshipped every inch of it. “Where were you?”

She watches as Din crosses over the floor, the low light of the day catching on his armor. He sighs, moving closer to Nova until he’s standing in between her open legs. Halfheartedly, he hooks his fingers under the rim of the helmet, but gives up completely the second Nova’s hands reach to pull it off instead. Underneath, his mustache isn’t manicured, his hair has been weighed down by the metal, and he looks about as exhausted as she feels.

“Ruling,” Din says, tiredly, and there’s a flint to it Nova hardly hears. He lets out a small scoff in the silence, and she reaches out the smooth palm of her right hand for his cheek to nestle against. “Trying to get the people of this planet to recognize I’m not here to destroy it, or that you—we’re not the enemy.” He catches his slip almost as quickly as it comes out of his mouth, but still, Nova’s heart sinks deep down in her chest again. “I didn’t—look, Nova, I’m not blaming you—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, even though they both know it’s not. For a second, Din just stares at her, and then he presses his forehead against hers. The warmth his skin gives off is almost enough to make her forget about where they are, about the people that refuse to see her as an ally, about having to save the galaxy from forces that want her dead or for their own malicious intent. “They’ll come around,” she offers, her voice barely there, and Din shakes his head, his hair rustling against Nova’s forehead.

“What if they don’t?” Din asks, and by the weight in his voice, it’s clear he’s not just talking about Mandalore accepting her as the Mand’alor’s riduur, as an ally, as on their side, but about the infiltrated Guild that’s out to kill her, and the First Order that’s out for worse.

Nova’s quiet for a long time, just listening to him breathe, trying to map both of their heartbeats, yearning for the constellations hiding above the hazy Mandalore sky. “What if we can’t do it?” she whispers, her mouth hollow, her head aching. “Any of this? What if we can’t pull this off, Din?” She doesn’t point out the specifics, the weight of planets hanging over both of their heads. They both know what she means. The silence is horrible, but Nova keeps her eyes closed, just like she used to, predicting every move Din will make in the dark.

“Then we don’t,” Din breathes back, and Nova’s about to resist, tears springing back to life in her eyes, and then Din’s mouth is on hers and nothing else matters. She lets him sprawl her back on the bed, the smooth satin coaxing and cool under her skin. Stars are burning out behind her eyes, the same celestial imprints that flood through hyperspace, something more, something deeper, something beyond this planet, this moment, this darkness. When Din’s mouth leaves Nova’s, her eyes stay shut, and his lips trail down to her ear. “I’d give everything else up but you.”

They both know he’s lying—Din’s heart is too big, Nova’s purpose is too bright—but neither of them say it out loud. Nova keeps his words in the hollow of her mouth, something shiny and devastating, a supernova or a pearl.

Din kisses Nova like he’s never had her before, low and desperate. It’s an echo of what happened in the amphitheater just hours ago, but it’s sustained, huge, warm. His mouth is made to devour, and if he’s whispering anything to feel the silence, Nova can’t hear it. She’s focused on where his kisses are trailing, desperate and hot and everything she didn’t know she needed. It’s freezing in here, but he’s so warm, his body heat louder than the cold.

“Kiss me,” Din whispers, his voice rough, a plea. One of his hands comes up and braces against Nova’s chin, not an order, but a question. She reaches towards his neck, trying to pull him down, to anchor their bodies together. It’s dark in their room. Without the stars shining above, it’s even darker.

She’s so tired. Still, even after all that rest, it’s like the exhaustion has permeated Nova straight down to her bones. She shudders and sighs as Din moves down her naked body, his lips planting kisses that she doesn’t know she needs until he’s already there. It’s easy and devastating and wonderful and crushing all at once. When Nova tries to return the favor, Din gently pushes her down, mumbling something about taking care of her.

It’s sweet. So sweet, even, that she’s on the verge of tears. Nova would do anything to stay here forever, to feel her husband’s lips on her bare skin, washing away all of the horror, the trauma, the darkness. She doesn’t open her eyes, even though she wants to. Din’s spent so much time without his helmet to appear like one of the people that call themselves Mandalorians, and she wants to give him back every single second of the time that prying eyes stole away.

Before long, Nova’s already close—her orgasm bubbling up quietly, without fanfare, without dramatics, just because Din knows exactly how to make her body sing—and when she taps at his arm to let him know, his mouth unlatches from the small hickies he’s leaving on the terrain of her bare stomach, and moves in between her thighs.

Effortlessly, he hold her legs up, hooking both of them around his shoulders so that his tongue can stay anchored in place. Nova moans, a quiet, radiant thing, and Din’s tongue finds exactly where she needs it to go. It pulses there, on the sweetest of spots, over and over again until she’s finished.

Breathless, she claws at his pants again, but Din shakes his head, his mouth dropping to her forehead as he pulls her into bed. “Rest, Nova,” he whispers, his voice faraway, a deep rumble. He pulls her in against his body, warm and soothing, and both of them are out before their heads hit their pillow.

*

Din’s asleep next to her, his slow, even breaths barely anything even in all the silence. Nova wants to fall back to sleep, but she knows she can’t. Her heartbeat is running itself rampant, and she’s a tangle of wants and needs, everything pulled in opposite directions. As quietly as she can, she slides herself out from the protective warmth of Din’s arms and the comforter, gently placing her feet on the floor. Even in the cool darkness of the night, her wardrobe, sleek but huge, has nothing but clothes in the same shades of Mandalorian blue, of beskar silver, but right now, Novalise doesn’t want to be a Mandalorian. She doesn’t want to be royalty, doesn’t want to be a figurehead. She doesn’t exactly want to be a Rebel either, because both titles mean the ultimate fate of the Outer Rim and beyond in her hands, so she settles for somewhere in between.

When she’s all dressed—black monochrome right down to her scuffed boots, in a weak imitation of the Luke Skywalker style—she braids the top half of her hair back, sleek and functional, and chooses a shawl buried at the back of her closet, underneath all of the Mandalorian haze of clothing. It’s a stormy grey that shimmers with the silver her husband wears when the fabric catches the light. If you pay close enough attention to the shawl, small, intentional stitches of rust and orange are woven into the fabric, hidden, furious, tiny flames.

Not exactly Mandalorian, but not entirely Rebel, either. And when Nova looks at herself in the mirror, studying the way her eyes flash with all that fire she was so certain was gone a few minutes ago, she sees herself right down to the quick, the high wire in between—she looks something like a Jedi.

So she pulls the Skywalker family lightsaber out of the hook on her door and pulls it to her belt loop, watching as the metal sways and dances in the low light. The weapon seems ancient, like something from another world. Something holy, even though she knows Luke Skywalker is a man and not a myth.

When she closes the bedroom door behind her, Din doesn’t even move. Usually, Nova’s the loud and clumsy one, worlds more obnoxious than Din’s practiced quiet, but she’s grown into her stealth over the last few weeks, especially living here, in a palace that has more rooms than the planet does people. It’s strange and eerie here at night, down the sprawling marble stairs, and she takes the first corridor she can find, just trying to walk off some of the pressure, to put her head back on her shoulders.

It’s lit only by candlelight, an archaic, flickering warmth, so in contrast to the rest of the steel and metal that Mandalore is made up of. It’s like she’s stepped into something that’s been around for years, even though she knows that it’s not possible. Mandalore was sieged, usurped, sieged again, razed and brought to the ground, destroyed. The planet’s atmosphere is mostly ash and haze, all that leftover war from years ago. But this part of the palace looks older, like a tomb that somehow survived.

It’s too creepy, Nova decides, even though the curious part of her is itching to explore it. She wants to pore through every aspect of it, try to find remnants of lost Mandalore, like her father used to unearth texts, like her mother used to excavate history. Before the war, before the Alliance was necessary, before all this death and darkness. When Nova comes out the other end of the corridor, she’s right next to the intimidating double doors of the war room, the holiest place Mandalore has. She pulls her shawl a little closer to her body, trying to retain the warmth she left back upstairs, trying to hold onto a memory more than anything tangible.

Nova isn’t intending to slip into the war room, let alone walk towards the sprawling dais that holds the beskar throne, but she does. It’s still quiet, so quiet, and the dark is coaxing her closer, pulling her up the steps, something beyond a simple want or need. She has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not supposed to be in here, not this late, not without Din, not when she has no legal or physical right to this place, but when she sits down on the throne, something deeper echoes out from within her chest.

It feels like a hymn and a battle cry. Before she has a second to adjust, to rationalize anything, everything becomes starry and disconnected. It’s been so long since she had a Force vision this immediate, this intense, and it hurls her through the proverbial hyperspace, everything dropping away.

It takes three steps forward in this strange, terrifying liminal space before Nova can even identify what’s scaring her. It’s the same kind of evil she felt way back on Takodana, before she was married to the ruler of a planet, before she even knew it was her destiny to be both Rebel and Jedi. There’s a mask she doesn’t recognize, twisted and devious. Behind its menacing, blank expression is something horrifying. Looking into the visor, it’s like her own soul is being fractured into pieces.

It’s humanoid until it’s not. The figure wearing the mask of destruction is tall, easily a foot taller than she is, horrible and menacing. But when the lightsaber they’re using ignites, it’s scarier than the vision of the person at all. It’s awful. It looks like it was forged out of lava, menacing red, the blade flickering and hissing in a way that’s somehow even more terrifying than the stark contrast of the Darksaber’s blade. Nova gasps, the light too bright, too sudden, and she can feel the residual thud on the floor, even in the vision. She knows when she comes out of it, she’ll be hurt, but the blade is getting closer. It looks like a giant rapier, a sword made only for evil things. At the hilt, spraying out in both directions, the blade extends. When the figure in the mask swings, it’s without remorse, so quick, so terrible.

But Nova’s not the target. She rolls away, out of the strike zone, and then she hears Luke Skywalker’s voice cutting through the darkness. She turns, and suddenly she’s not in the horror of the vision, anymore. She doesn’t know where she is. The ground looks icy, like Hoth, but there’s red powder spit everywhere, vomited across giant salt deposits. It’s so bright that her hand comes up in front of her eyes, and when she lowers it, Luke is gone. She’s gone, too. She turns around, hair whipping in the furious wind, trying to find where her name is being cried, and she trips over a mound on the salty ground, and when she falls to her knees, it’s a person, newly slain. The blood is so red, redder than the powder, redder than the evil lightsaber. It drowns through the lines on her hands, slips through her long fingers. She screams, trying to back up from the body, and then she realizes it’s Bo-Katan, gurgling through the slit in her throat, and when Nova tries desperately, in vain, to buffer the blood spilled, Luke Skywalker calls her name again.

But it’s not Luke. It is him—for a second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment—but then it’s not. His lightsaber floods with red, cancelling out the green light. The hallway flickers, once, twice, and then Darth Vader is charging towards her, and all Nova can hear is her blood pounding frantically in her ears and his heavy breathing through his mask, the sound that used to fill all of her nightmares. She’s slamming on the door at the other end of the hallway, and when it opens, the only person standing there isn’t a person at all, but a small alien baby all of two feet tall, green and adorable, and Nova drops her body around her son, protective and sobbing, curling every single inch of her around his tiny little frame, trying to shield him from Vader’s wrath, but when she cries, the vision changes again.

She can feel the motion sickness bubbling up in her stomach, horrible and nauseating. When Nova lands, she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s seen more than enough. Even right now, in the middle of her Force vision, all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel the ache she slept away burrowing right back into her bones. Her scar is pulsing, enraged and angry. The headache she spent the last two and a half weeks fighting off is back, radiating straight down to behind her left eye. It’s all too much, and she can’t look. She doesn’t want to see anything else.

“Novalise,” she hears again, and the only reason she opens her eyes this time is because it’s her mother speaking. Her mother, who only ever called her Andromeda. Her mother, who spent half her life in the stars. Her mother, long dead. Her mother, who never got to know this version of her daughter, this Jedi-in-training, royal Rebel Girl that just desperately needs a hug from her mom.

“Mom,” she cries, and it’s so white. Everything here is antiseptic and deafening. It doesn’t even look like a planet, or even a room, or anything at all. She’s not even sure if there’s a floor, but Nova starts running like she’s never ran before in her life. Her breath is ragged and coming out in bursts. The jiggle in her chest and thighs burn under her speed, but she doesn’t care. She’s racing towards her mother, towards open arms, towards everything she’s been cheated out of for the last ten years.

It lasts for a second. Just a second. The figure is Piper Maluev, her skin dark and radiant, her hair down to her waist. Her lips are wide open and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the seams. She’s tall and radiant and strong, and she’s everything Nova’s missed for nearly half her life.

And then it isn’t Piper. It’s not Luke, either, or Darth Vader, or whoever the dark, terrible, masked figure was. It’s not her usual nightmare transformation of Jacterr Calican. It’s not Bo-Katan, convulsing and dying. It’s Din. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of relief, and then it’s not Din, either.

It’s a woman Nova’s never seen before, and her hand is clamped firmly around Nova’s windpipe. Like it’s nothing, she pulls her right off the disappearing floor and choking the life out of her. Her eyes are light but so terrifyingly menacing, her hair is a mess of a dark blonde. She’s pale and awful and her face is gleeful as she pulls the life out of Nova, a sucking, open wound.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t even want to plead for her life. If she’s this close to death anyway, and she just saw her mother, Nova figures there’s a pretty damn good chance that both of her parents are just over the other side. The woman is so happy to be killing Nova off, she doesn’t want to fight it. When her grip recedes, just for a half a second, Nova chokes out a confession that makes everything else grind to a halt.

It’s four words. Barely anything. Tears are streaming down her cheeks when her lips finally open. “I want my mom.”

Then she’s being dropped onto the floor, which very much exists now, and the light room filled with nothingness curls away, receding like it’s being burned. It’s dark in here, the tiled floor slippery and treacherous. In the background, there’s a makeshift trophy made from what looks like bones. Nova’s gasping for air, fighting back with a newfound vigor, kicking her legs helplessly to try and get some leverage on this woman who wants her dead, when, suddenly, she’s at eye level with her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she seethes, a terrifying smile still spread across her horrible, beautiful face. “When I find you, you’re going to be begging for your life instead of your death.”

“Who—who are you?” Nova manages, through agony. Her shoulders hurt. Her headache feels like it’s trying to split her jaw in half. Her scar feels like it’s being reopened. Everything is torture, and she can’t even breathe.

“You’ll see,” the woman whispers, and her voice is so deadly that Nova internally corrects every time she’s ever called Bo-Katan venomous. Bo-Katan Kryze is a flower. One of the iridescent, gorgeous ones, that lined all the brush on Yavin, the ones Nova’s spent years pressing into the pages of every journal she’s ever owned. She’s kind and lovely and Nova’s very best friend, and when she gets out of this alive, Nova’s going to tell Bo-Katan that. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Andromeda.”

Nova heaves one giant breath into her lungs, trying to muster up anything that she can, even if it’s just more air. “I—” she starts, and the woman smiles again, loaded and dangerous. “I—I already did that, you miserable bitch,” Nova manages, and when she’s slammed into the awful floor, it’s worth it. There’s some kind of desperation behind the woman’s eyes, now and when her hand finds Nova’s throat again, she spits in her face.

And then she’s out of it. Hurtled out of it, actually, like a dying starfighter in the middle of space. She gasps and heaves on the floor, and as her sight comes back, her breathing does, too. Her head is still killing her. Her shoulders feel like they’re trying to carry the entire weight of Mandalore. Her scar is awful, white-hot and painful to the touch. Somewhere, distantly, her knees hurt like she’s fallen to them, and when she gains back her sense of sight and the feeling of her life being choked out of her body subsides, Nova realizes she has fallen to them. She’s fallen a lot, actually, down multiple steps leading to the floor from the raised platform where she was once sitting in the beskar throne. Nova shudders, inhaling through a terrible wheeze, curling her legs up close to her chest, trying to shake off the absolute shitshow that just hurtled her through the most traumatic Force vision she’s ever had.

“You,” comes a booming, rueful voice, and when Nova’s eyes flutter open, she’s expecting it to be the malicious, purple-haired woman from her vision. Her eyes take a second to adjust, her left one throbbing from the horrid ache pulsing behind it, and when she finally locates the source, it’s the miserable man from the gathering earlier.

“Can I help you?” Nova asks, her voice shooting up at the end, on the verge of tears.

“You aren’t supposed to be up there,” he spits, and Nova squints up at the throne she’d just fallen from.

“I know,” she whispers, dully. She presses a shaking hand to the ache behind her eye, trying to shut out this conversation like she wishes she’d ignored the vision. She tries to stand up, but her knees are too bruised to sustain pulling her to her feet, so she just slumps back against the step she’s on, trying to muster all the strength she has in her exhausted body to not break down. “I’m sorry,” Nova tacks on, the words barely there. “I—I wasn’t intending to sit here, or even come in the room, it just—”

“Happened,” he finishes, oddly calm. His voice sounds closer. Much closer. Nova opens her right eye, and he’s only at the bottom of the staircase. There’s something so wretched and dangerous about the energy he’s giving off, and she wants to run, but she’s in no position to even stand, let alone fight him off, so she just sits there, curling her knees into her chest, pulling her shawl as tight as she can against her upper body. “You’re an abomination.”

A laugh, the traitorous thing, bubbles up inside Nova’s throat. It’s not funny. It’s not. It’s pathetic, and likely racially motivated, but she can’t help herself. Her ribs ache, like they got banged up in her distant fall down these sharp, steep marble steps. “That, surprisingly, is not the first time I’ve been called an abomination in my life.”

“Do you know what the Jedi did to our people, little girl?” He’s angry. Nova can hear it in his voice. And normally, it would scare her, trigger her fight or flight reflex, keep her moving, but after her paranormal face-off with two of the scariest figures she’s ever seen, this one isn’t really that high up on our list. “I do. You were eradicated for good reason. You scorched our planet down to nothing, and now you and your cult leader husband come back here and try to take over? Not on my watch.”

Nova can feel him getting closer. He’s so much bigger than she is, up close, tall and buff, menacing and taut. She weakly pulls her hand away from her eye, trying to at the very least give him her full attention, but she’s so fucking tired. It’s in her bones, at this point. She doesn’t want to be royalty. She doesn’t want to be a Rebel. And, in contrast to what the man in front of her is screaming, she doesn’t want to be a Jedi.

She wants to be the Novalise she was on Naator, with nothing but domesticity and yellow leaves and pink skies. She wants to be the protector she was out there in hyperspace. And, for the first time in ten years, she wants to be Andromeda Maluev, fifteen and gleeful, running around Yavin knowing the stars were her destiny and that evil could always be defeated.

“I don’t even want to be here,” Nova whispers, finally, and it’s like something inside her breaks.

“Good,” the man spits, “then we’re in agreement.” And then his hands are yanking away the hood of her shawl and tangling in her braided hair. Nova’s scream gets cut off as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, like her body’s giving up. She chokes out something horrible, fighting to get to her bruised, banged up knees, sore from the fall, aching from the blissful time riding Din’s face less than an hour ago, but she can’t summon the strength. Somewhere, she knows Luke Skywalker is yelling at her to use the Force, but Nova’s had enough force today to last a lifetime. When she’s kicked in the stomach, brutal and awful, she just curls in on herself, hoping her death isn’t a slow one. He startles towards her again, ripping her shawl off of her body, clawing at the meat of her upper arm, and something snaps inside of her. If she’s going to die, really die, it’s not because she succumbed to the injuries this rabid Mandalorian is giving her to try and put the blame on her shoulders. She survived Moff Gideon. She survived Din and Grogu leaving her. She survived her parents dying. And she survived the abuse of Jacterr Calican’s awful hands. Novalise can survive this.

When her lightsaber roars to life in her hands, it’s not only Nova swinging. She can feel the weight of what it being the Skywalker family lightsaber, of Luke and Leia before her, of his father before him, of all the generations yet to come to wield this weapon, this holy sword, this impossible thing. It takes all of her energy, a brilliant beam of blue light, and then she falls to the floor, knowing that even if this is where it ends, that she fought back.

Everything next comes in flashes. It’s in these tiny fractals like what happened when the Crest had died right over Dagobah and crashed to the surface. She sees a blade ignite, and in between the rhythm of her fading in and out of consciousness, Nova thinks she’s just watching herself fight the man back. Suddenly, he drops to the floor, his body nothing but dead weight, and she wants to scream, but she’s back out. It’s horrible and deafening. She’s being scooped up, she can feel that. She’s crying. She’s definitely crying. There are voices, loud ones. When she has enough strength to open her eyes again, Din is slamming his gloved fist against the airlock on Kicker, his voice frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying, though, and another face appears above her. Din gently transfers Nova’s limp body into someone else’s arms, and when Nova looks up, it’s Bo-Katan, her face so panicked it’s almost impossible to recognize who it is.

“Nova, you gotta stay awake,” Bo-Katan whispers, her palm slapping softly at Nova’s cheek. “C’mon, I mean it. If you die here on this planet you hate, I will haunt you in the afterlife. I swear, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t—” Nova starts, and Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“You literally should not be talking,” Bo-Katan says, her eyesight dipping to Nova’s neck. Her eyes widen for a second and then her smooth fingers ghost over the outline. Nova coughs at her light touch, and she realizes that the marks from the vision she had of being choked within an inch of her life are here, that they followed her back out of the vision and into this moment. “Nova, no, shut up, I’m serious—”

“I don’t—don’t hate Mandalore,” she manages, her voice sounding like shards of glass, and Bo-Katan offers her a hasty, worried smile.

“You do,” Bo-Katan argues, but her voice is so gentle. “But don’t worry, princess, we’re getting you the hell off of it. No complaints now that you’re off Mandalore, you got it? The second you got here, I knew both of you wanted to leave.”

Din’s at her side again, and Bo-Katan kneels down, gently placing Nova in her familiar tangle of blankets and pillows. Nova’s eyes close again, and when they slide back open, Bo-Katan is standing, trading worried glances and hushed tones with Din.

Nova’s head hurts. So bad. It’s splitting down the middle of her skull, actually, but all she can do is press a hand over her eye and try to block out the familiar low light of the ship that smells more like home than this entire planet ever had.

“Listen, about what I told you back on Hoth—”

“It’s fine,” Din cuts her off, and his next few words are warbled. “I get it. Your allegiance is to Mandalore, not to us.”

Nova can’t hear Bo-Katan’s answer. In fact, she’s not even sure if there’s even words being spoken, because the next time she looks up, Bo-Katan is just staring down at her, incredibly concerned, such an obvious change from her usually stoic expression. Nova’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. She’s exhausted. Bo-Katan kneels down again, just for a split second, to pull the loose end of Nova’s shawl over the rest of her folded body. Nova wants to cry.

“Flower,” she garbles, nonsensically. She’s trying to tell Bo-Katan that she’s sorry for all the animosity, that she trusts her, and more than that, she likes her. It doesn't make a single lick of sense to anyone outside of Nova’s head, but Bo-Katan offers a tiny smile anyway.

“Here,” Din says, stiffly, holding out the sheathed blade of the Darksaber to Bo-Katan. Nova’s eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, and when they open back up, Bo-Katan is pushing the weapon back into Din’s grip.

“It’s not mine,” she insists. “Besides, you’re not getting out of it that easy. You’ll be back.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Take care of her,” Bo-Katan interrupts. Nova blacks out again until they’re up in hyperspace. Din’s body is shielding her from the cold, his limbs draped all over the places that hurt the least. When she opens her eyes, they’re floating through the cosmos, and all her eyes can see is sweet, sweet stardust.

*

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*

[padme-amitabha]

Anidala Week 2021

Day 2:  Canon Divergence or Favorite Canon work

Padmé Amidala.

The name resonated in young Anakin’s heart and soul. He hadn’t seen her in a decade, not since he, along with Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, had helped her in her struggle against the Trade Federation on Naboo. He had only been ten years old at that time, but from the moment he had first laid eyes on

Padmé, young Anakin had known that she was the woman he would marry. Never mind that Padmé was several years older than he was. Never mind that he was just a boy when he had known her, when she had known him. Never mind that Jedi were not allowed to marry. Anakin had simply known, without question, and the image of beautiful Padmé Amidala had stayed with him, had been burned into his every dream and fantasy, every day since he had left Naboo with Obi-Wan a decade ago. He could still smell the freshness of her hair, could still see the sparkle of intelligence and passion in her wondrous brown eyes, could still hear the melody that was Padmé’s voice.

 *

Anakin, though, didn’t see either of them. He focused on the third person in the room, Padmé, and on her alone, and if he had ever held any moments of doubt that she was as beautiful as he remembered her, they were washed away, then and there. His eyes roamed the Senator’s small and shapely frame in her black and deep purple robes, taking in every detail. He saw her thick brown hair, drawn up high and far at the back of her head in a basketlike accessory, and wanted to lose himself in it. He saw her eyes and wanted to stare into them for eternity. He saw her lips, and wanted to ...

Anakin closed his eyes for just a moment and inhaled deeply, and he could smell her again, the scent that had been burned into him as Padmé’s. It took every ounce of willpower he could muster to walk in slowly and respectfully behind Obi-Wan, and not merely rush in and crush Padmé in a hug ... and yet, paradoxically, it took every bit of his willpower to move his legs, which were suddenly seeming so very weak, and take that first step into the room, that first step toward her.

“Annie?” she asked, her expression purely incredulous. Her smile and the flash in her eyes showed that she needed no answer. For just a flicker, Anakin felt her spirit leap.

“Annie,” Padmé said again. “Can it be? My goodness how you’ve grown!” She looked down and then followed the line of his lean body, tilting her head back to emphasize his height, and he realized that he now towered over her. That did little to bolster Anakin’s confidence, though, so lost was he in the beauty of Padmé. Her smile widened, a clear sign that she was glad to see him, but he missed it, or the implications of it, at least. “So have you,” he answered awkwardly, as if he had to force each word from his mouth. “Grown more beautiful, I mean.” He cleared his throat and stood taller. “And much shorter,” he teased, trying unsuccessfully to sound in control. “For a Senator, I mean.” Anakin noted Obi-Wan’s disapproving scowl, but Padmé laughed any tension away and shook her head.

“Oh, Annie, you’ll always be that little boy I knew on Tatooine,” she said, and if she had taken the lightsaber from his belt and sliced his legs out from under him, she would not have shortened Anakin Skywalker any more.

*

Padmé sat at her vanity, brushing her thick brown hair, staring into the mirror but not really seeing anything there. Her thoughts were replaying again and again the image of Anakin, the look he had given her. She heard his words again, “... grown more beautiful,” and though Padmé was undeniably that, those were not words she was used to hearing. Since she had been a young girl, Padmé had been involved in politics, quickly rising to powerful and influential positions. Most of the men she had come into contact with had been more concerned with what she could bring to them in practical terms than with her beauty, or, for that matter, with any true personal feelings for her. As Queen of Naboo and now as Senator, Padmé was well aware that she was attractive to men in ways deeper than physical attraction, in ways deeper than any emotional bond. Or perhaps not deeper than the latter, she told herself, for she could not deny the intensity in Anakin’s eyes as he had looked at her. But what did it mean? She saw him again, in her thoughts. And clearly. Her mental eye roamed over his lean and strong frame, over his face, tight with the intensity that she had always admired, and yet with eyes sparkling with joy, with mischief, with ...With longing? That thought stopped the Senator. Her hands slipped down to her sides, and she sat there, staring at herself, judging her own appearance as Anakin might.

 *

Padmé’s mind whirled as she tried to sort out Anakin’s thoughts, and his motivations. He was surprising her with every word, considering that he was a Jedi Padawan, and yet, given the fire that she clearly saw burning behind his blue eyes, he was not surprising her. She saw trouble brewing there, in those simmering and too-passionate eyes, but even more than that, she saw excitement and the promise of thrills.

 *

She looked over at Anakin, who was sleeping somewhat restlessly. She could see him now, not as a Jedi Padawan and her protector, but just as a young man. A handsome young man, and one whose actions repeatedly professed his love for her. A dangerous young man, to be sure, a Jedi who was thinking about things he should not. A man who was inevitably following the call of his heart above that of pragmatism and propriety. And all for her. Padmé couldn’t deny the attractiveness of that.

 *

“Naboo,” he said again, looking back to Padmé. “I’ve thought about it every day since I left. It’s by far the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

As he spoke, his eyes bored into her, taking her in deeply, and she blinked and averted her own gaze, unnerved. “It may not be as you remember it. Time changes perception.”

“Sometimes it does,” Anakin agreed, and when Padmé looked up to see that he was continuing to scrutinize her, she knew what he was talking about. “Sometimes for the better.”

 *

Anakin smiled as he recalled the ornate outfits Padmé had often worn as Queen of Naboo, huge gowns with intricate embroidery and studded with gemstones, tremendous headpieces of plumes and swirls and curves and twists.

He liked her better like this, he decided. All of the decorations of her Queenly outfits had been beautifully designed, but still could only detract from the more beautifully designed Padmé. Wearing a great headpiece only hid her silken brown hair. Painting her face in whites and bright red only hid her beautiful skin. The embroidery on the great gowns only blurred the perfection of her form.

This was the way Anakin wanted to see her, where her clothing was just a finishing touch.

 *

Anakin studied the holograph a moment longer, then looked up and laughed, seeing Padmé wearing that same long and stern expression. She laughed as well, then squeezed his shoulder and went back to her packing.

Anakin put the holographs down side by side and looked at them for a long, long time. Two sides of the woman he loved.

 *

“It’s like that on Tatooine—everything’s like that on Tatooine. But here, everything’s soft, and smooth.” As he finished, hardly even aware of the motion, he reached out and stroked Padmé’s arm. He nearly pulled back when he realized what he was doing, but since Padmé didn’t object, he let himself stay close to her. She seemed a bit tentative, a bit scared, but she wasn’t pulling away.

“There was a very old man who lived on the island,” she said. Her brown eyes seemed to be looking far away, across the years. “He used to make glass out of sand—and vases and necklaces out of the glass. They were magical.”

Anakin moved a bit closer, staring at her intensely until she turned to face him. “Everything here is magical,” he said.

“You could look into the glass and see the water. The way it ripples and moves. It looked so real, but it wasn’t.”

“Sometimes, when you believe something to be real, it becomes real.” It seemed to Anakin as if she wanted to look away. But she didn’t. Instead, she was falling deeper into his eyes, and he into hers.

“I used to think if you looked too deeply into the glass, you would lose yourself,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“I think it’s true ...” He moved forward as he spoke, brushing his lips against hers, and for a moment, she didn’t resist, closing her eyes, losing herself. Anakin pressed in closer, a real and deep kiss, sliding his lips across hers slowly. He could lose himself here, could kiss her for hours, forever ...

But then Padmé pulled back, suddenly, as if waking from a dream. “No, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said. “When I’m around you, my mind is no longer my own.”

He stared at her hard again, beginning that descent into the glass, losing himself in her beauty.

 *

Padmé gave a helpless little laugh. “Are you going to use one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?” 

“They only work on the weak-minded,” Anakin explained. “You are anything but weak-minded.” He ended with an innocent, wide-eyed look that Padmé simply could not resist.

 *

Orange flames danced about his silhouette, dulling the distinction between Anakin and eternity. Padmé had to consciously remember to breathe.

He stared at her intensely for a moment, then looked back to the fire, seeming defeated.

“No, you’re right,” he finally admitted. “It would destroy us.”

Padmé looked from Anakin to the fire. Which would destroy her—destroy them—she had to wonder.

The action or the thought?

 *

Anakin stared at her, hardly believing what he was hearing. He couldn’t resist, though, and his smile, too, began to widen. For some reason he did not quite understand, the Padawan found a good measure of justification in his abandoning the letter of his orders now that Padmé was in on, and agreeing with, the plan.

 *

“Home again, home again, to go to rest,” Anakin recited, a common children’s rhyme.

“By hearth and heart, house and nest,” Padmé added.

Anakin looked over at her, pleasantly surprised. “You know it?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin said. “I mean, I wasn’t sure if anyone else ... I thought it was a rhyme my mother made up for me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Padmé said. “Maybe she did—maybe hers was different than the one my mother used to tell me.”

Anakin shook his head doubtfully, but he wasn’t bothered by the possibility. In a strange way, he was glad that Padmé knew the rhyme, glad that it was a common gift from mothers to their children.

And glad, especially, that he and Padmé had yet another thing in common.

 *

“I want him to know that I care about him, Threepio,” Padmé said quietly. “I do care about him. And now he’s out there, and in danger—”

 *

“No, I’m a Jedi. I know I’m better than this.” He looked at her directly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re like everybody else,” Padmé said. She tried to draw closer, but Anakin held himself back from her. He couldn’t hold the pose of defiance for long, though, before he broke down again in sobs. Padmé was there to hold him and rock him and tell him that everything would be all right.

 *

The tunnel was dark and fittingly gloomy, and quiet, except for the occasional echo of cheering from the huge crowd gathered in the arena stands beyond. A single cart was in there, an open oval with a sloping front end that somewhat resembled an insect’s head with the top half cut away. Anakin and Padmé were unceremoniously thrown into it, then strapped in place against the framework, facing each other. Both of them jerked as the cart started into motion, gliding along the dark tunnel.

“Don’t be afraid,” Anakin whispered.

Padmé smiled at him, her expression one of genuine calm. “I’m not afraid to die,” she replied, her voice thick and soft. “I’ve been dying a little bit each day since you came back into my life.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then she said it, and it was real and genuine and warm. “I love you.”

“You love me?” he asked, overwhelmed. “You love me! I thought we decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie. That it would destroy our lives.” But her words had brought a wash of contentment over him.

“I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway,” Padmé replied. “My love for you is a puzzle,

Annie, for which I have no answers. I can’t control it—and now I don’t care. I truly, deeply love you, and before we die, I want you to know.”

Padmé leaned against her restraints and craned her head forward, and Anakin did likewise, the two coming close enough for their lips to meet in a soft and gentle kiss, one that lingered and deepened, one that said everything they both realized they should have spoken to each other before. One that, to them, mocked their false heroics in denying the feelings they’d had for each other all along.

 *

On distant Naboo, in a rose-covered arbor overlooking the sparkling lake, Anakin and Padmé stood hand in hand, Anakin in his formal Jedi robes and Padmé in a beautiful white gown with flowered trim. Anakin’s new mechanical arm hung at his side, the fingers clenching and opening in reflexive movements. Before them stood a Naboo holy man, his hands raised above their heads as he recited the ancient texts of marriage. And when the proclamation was made, R2-D2 and C-3PO, bearing witness to the union, whistled and clapped. And Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala shared their first kiss as husband and wife.

— R.A. Salvatore , Star Wars : Episode II -  Attack of the Clones

[subbing-for-clones]

The New Apprentice Part 1

Maul x Sith!Reader 

A/N: Au where Mother Talzin gives Maul his legs back instead of cybernetics cause why not she's a God damn necromancer witch queen. Takes place after Savage and Maul are united but Maul trains Savage for a while instead of going all out right away like Canon dictates in the show.

Summary: Maul senses the presence of a force user who is strong with the dark side. Desperate for any alliance he can gain to destroy both the Sith and the Jedi he sets out to gain a second apprentice with his brother at his side.

Word Count: 3868

WARNINGS: depictions of slavery, abuse, reader is bound, violence. I’m gonna wreck canon in this series.

NEXT         MASTERLIST

      A crimson Zabrak male stood before an expansive viewport on the separatist space station he and his brother had infiltrated and overpowered. Savage, the much larger of the two brothers, grunted happily at the abundance of wealth he had found locked in a safe. Maul's stoic form didn't waver at this realization. Instead, he closed his eyes, something gnawed at him.

"Brother, what is it?"

"Can't you feel it... the anger, unaccompanied by fear. Pure, seething, white anger." His eyes opened glowing. Savage reached out into the force feeling now what his brother had referred to. "Who is that?" He questioned. Pacing back to his brother's side, examining the mountain of credits Maul hummed.

"I'm not sure but I get the feeling this will be useful to us and that we will need these credits to find out."

    Collecting their wealth, they commandeered one of the docked transports and made their way to the planet the unfamiliar force signature pulled them to. They found themselves in an independent system in the outer rim. Approaching the slaving empire on the planet of Zygerria.

"It's stronger now." Savage growled.

"That it is... I don't recognize it. It's definetly not my former master or his new apprentice."

"It’s not the nightsister who betrayed me either."

"Perhaps a new ally..?" Maul wondered. "We will need an army to accomplish our goals and with the growing number of dark force wielders it's better to have them on our side rather than against us."

Answering only with a grunt Savage watched with his brother as they drew nearer to the planet.

    They landed on a docking platform as close to the source of this reverberation as possible. The surroundings were dry; dusty tan and muted burnt red adobe structures surrounded them. The open market place was bustling with sellers and buyers of various goods from art to food, animals and of course to slaves. Maul seemed unphased buy it all but Savage looked around him in a mild bewilderment, never having seen anything like this before in his life.

    Off in the distance Maul could sense what they were searching for. He instructed his brother to inquire at a nearby weapons dealer about any newfound lightsabers and to meet him back here when he finished. Giving him a hefty handful of credits and sending him on his way after Savage nodded in understanding.

    Maul approached a slave dealer, taking in his 'inventory' until his sight fell upon a woman. She was bound with more precaution than anyone else by far. On her knees with her ankles shackled tightly to the ground. Her wrists bound behind her back, tethering her to another point of security, keeping her in the position. Rope wrapped around her form to keep her completely immobilized. She was gagged, blindfolded and had thick coverings over her ears to ensure almost complete sensory deprivation. The only things that flowed freely were her locks and her rage through the force. She ever so slightly twitched her chin up to Maul's direction.

"What are you in the market for today my friend?" The Zyggerian slaver asked with a smile, draping his arm around the Zabrack's shoulders. "I've got all around servants, navigators, mechanics, laborers and of course we have an array of exotic beauties." The man had gestured to everyone he held but the woman Maul sought.

Maul never took his eyes off of her. "I wish to see this one's eyes." His voice was calm and velvety.

"I'm sorry sir that one's not for sale. She's proving difficult to break, very feisty this one. She's only out here so I can keep an eye on her."

"If credits are your concern, understand they do not concern me. If she proves to be what I seek I will take her off your hands leaving you with one less problem and very full pockets." The Zygerrian smiled a wide devil's grin. "Well alright then."

    He readied his whip and removed her blindfold, gag and muffs. The woman squinted and silently hissed at the bright, unforgiving sun. Hardly glancing at Maul, she turned her attention towards her capture. "I'd eat you alive starting at your feet if you didn't smell like bantha shit," she spat. Scowling, he readied his whip and struck her twice sending her body into a convulsing fit from the electric shock.

    Still twitching the slaver grabbed her face and turned it towards Maul. He took a step closer and dropped onto one knee so he was eyelevel with her. Her eyes were a bright E/C but a deep gold peeked out behind her pupils like the eclipse of the sun behind a moon. They stared into each other for a full minute only blinking with the occasional spasm from the aftershocks of the whipping. Chest heaving, panting heavily. He could feel the darkness permeating from her soul with a violent intensity.

"I'll take her."

"Are you sure?" The man asked cautiously.

"What’s your price."

    After negotiating the slaver reapplied her blindfold and gag, leaving her ears uncovered. Accepting the small fortune, he unchained her and handed over her leash to her new master. Keeping an almost kind hand on her shoulder Maul guided her to the crossroads where Savage waited, eating some kind of exotic meat. The woman's head turned towards the smell, stomach growling but maintaining composure.

"Were you successful in the task I gave you Savage?"

"Yes brother, he had one and it is colored like ours. I can only imagine it belongs to her."

"Good. Let's get out of this place and get... better acquainted."

    The woman almost tripped over her chains a few times always being steadied surprisingly gently by one brother or another until the three of them boarded their ship.

    Once safely boarded and on their way back out to space Savage was the one to remove her blindfold and gag. She looked almost taken aback by the sheer size of the man in front of her. He raised his hands showing he was unarmed and turned behind him to offer her some of the food he ended up saving.

"I'm not going to hurt you if you don't try to hurt me."

    He and his brother watched as she extended her hands, still bound in front of her she took it slowly, sniffed it, sat on the floor and tore into it hungrily. Maul cut the chains from her legs with a quick swing of his saber before he crouched down to her.

"What is your name girl." That sultry voice almost soothed her. "And how did you come to be captured?"

You spoke your reply softly, your eyes met his as you licked the juices from your fingers. Seeming less feral now you continued. "I had a vision of you coming for me in the market. So, I allowed them to take me. Months I've waited for you to come for me..." you moved to your knees and bowed your head still bound at the wrists. "Master, I wish to serve and to be trained by you."

    Savage looked kind of surprised but Maul, eyes lit, looked more curious. "Who was your master before?"

"I've never had one." You answered looking back up at him. "Consider me... self-taught. When I was a child, a jedi came to my village and decided they wouldn't take me because they feared I would fall to the dark side,” smiling at the obvious irony.

"How did you come by a saber then?" He inquired further.

"A being, mostly Droid but still organic leaves his dwelling unoccupied quite frequently. He collects them so it wasn't hard to take. However, it was blue when I first obtained it."

    Maul thought for a few minutes while Savage cut the bindings around your wrists. You nodded your head in thanks.

"Why do you want me as your master?" Contemplating for a moment before you answered him.

"I can sense your power, your talent and knowledge I can also sense that you will do great things. Alter the fate of planets and great clans, that you will rain hell down on the Jedi. I wish to be a part of that. I believe I've learned all I can on my own, without a hand to guide me I have no purpose. I'm ready for one."

"Do you believe you're worthy of being my apprentice?" He paced around studying you. Covered in grime and dust, hair matted in neglect from your previous ungracious host. You chose your next words very carefully. Although truthful you could tell this was a test.

"I believe the force is strong within my spirit but I have much to learn both with my connection to it and especially with my lightsaber forms. I believe I would be incredibly lucky to call you my Master." Maul chuckled darkly and leaned down to you, teeth bared and growling.

"I will accept you as my apprentice alongside Savage. I am convinced for now that you wouldn't be foolish enough to lie to me. But if it comes to light that your intentions are different than that of which you have just confessed..." he sparked your lightsaber, red glowing on both your faces, growling "I will not hesitate to cut you down."

    You bowed your head again. "Thank you Master." Maul handed you your weapon. "Savage, set a course for Dathomir, the wilds of it, so we may assess this new apprentice." Maul strode to the back of the ship beckoning you with two fingers to follow him.

"These shall serve as your quarters for now. Be sure to scrub that filth off of you and get rid of those rags. They don't suit you. I will not have an apprentice that looks like she rolled in a gutter.”

"Yes, thank you Master." He left you to it with one last cautious glance.

      You stood in your room and took it all in. You were out of that hell hole and embarking on a new adventure. You allowed a smile to grace your face. Finally, you thought to yourself, I'm not alone anymore. Looking around your room you saw there were two bunks, the bottom being unmade and messy, assessing you will be sharing it with the larger of the two. The other apprentice. Perhaps he will be someone you could relax around. A refresher was connected to your room. Stripping out of your torn scraps, you practically moaned in relief at the hot water that rained down on your body. A knock on your door startled you. Your fellow apprentice called out to you. Noticing the glass was much too fogged for him to see anything you opened the door from where you stood with a flick of your wrist. You could just barely see the outline of his massive form carrying something black.

"Hey so we don't have any women's clothes right now but... this should work for you in the mean-time." Sensing a tone of embarrassment, you called in a soothing voice. "Thank you, I appreciate it. I'll be out soon. I look forward to training by your side." You couldn't see but he smiled when he left the room. He had his brother but it had been a long time since he had a friend.

    You lightly hopped out of the shower and dried yourself. Examining the new scars you got during your time on Zygerria. Sighing you picked up the black tunic that Savage had left for you. You looked yourself up and down in the mirror. It was awfully low-cut, reaching almost your navel but not quite. Its end reached your mid-thigh and you managed to fasten it with the belt tightly enough so your womanly features were covered well. It smelled nice.. in a musty masculine way.. You opted to let your hair fall freely without much else option.

    Hanging your saber from your belt silently swearing to never part with it again, you made your way back to the common area where you found your new Master and Savage sitting at a small table eating something that looked meaty and smelled spicy. Your mouth watered again waiting in the doorway. "Come join us apprentice, there's no need to hover." Maul called out without looking up at you. Savage flashed you a warm and toothy grin obviously excited to have a new presence.

    The only free seat was between the two, forming a triangle, around the small round table. A full plate already served for you and waiting. You didn't hesitate a second more and quickly took it. Whatever the dish was tasted incredible. Your eyes rolled as it passed your tongue.

    Maul eyed you and looked down at his own dress before shooting his brother a death glare. Realizing you were in fact wearing your master's shirt a blush dusted the tops of your ears but you stayed stoic knowing it was better than what you came in and much better than being nude.

    Savage chuckled amused "Sorry brother but we don't have anything for her and my clothes are way too big."

You interjected readying for a verbal assault at least. "I'm sure I could sew something of Savage's to fit if it would please you.." Maul raised a hand to silence you shaking his head. Once he swallowed what was in his mouth, he turned to you. "Don't waste your time, it's fine. Just caught me by surprise is all. It'll do until we can get you something of your own." He refocused on his dinner. Savage smirked just barley noticeably.

"...Thank you Master."

    After dinner Maul suggested that everyone got some rest while they could, they would arrive at Dathomir in 7 standard hours. You and Savage walked back to your shared room where he took is normal bottom bunk and you leapt up to the top. Covering yourself in the blankets an anxiety rose in your chest. After sitting in the dark in an eerie silence Savage sensed your distress.

"Are you alright? You smell... anxious."

"I expected Maul to be... harsher, cruel towards me. But he caught me from falling in the market when I was bound and blinded. He gives me a warm bed; I'm wearing his clothes for fuck’s sake. It's not what I prepared for so now I have no idea what to expect." He thought about what you said for a while.

"My brother was... well... Historically Sith have always been cruel to their apprentices but they also nurtured them and groomed them to take over Lordship when they died. His master was... not like that. I imagine his whole life was like what you dealt with on Zygerria, maybe worse. Then he was discarded and forgotten after a nearly fatal injury. I don't think he wants to be like that."

   You stayed mute while you contemplated what your fellow apprentice had told you. "I mean it's kind of unconventional taking a second student anyway, I suggest not forming any expectations so you won't be caught off guard." He paused. "Listen I uh... I'm glad you're here."

    You poked your head over the side of your bunk to look at him. Sporting a slight smile, "I'm glad I'm here too. Thank you Savage I do feel better... Goodnight."

~~~~

    Maul stared at the ceiling, laying on his back allowing his mind to wander. Hours had passed since he sent his two apprentices to bed. The thought of you wrapped in his tunic, asleep above his brother gave him a wanting feeling. Almost jealous of Savage in a confusing way. Then he thought about how you looked completely and utterly bound out in the hot sun where he had found you. Something stirred in his groin.

Stop. Control yourself. He thought.

    The thought of teaching a woman was slightly daunting to him. Although he had interacted with women in the past, he had never just had one around. Despite having an unrelenting connection to the dark side, you were uncharacteristically timid the whole evening. Much different than the one who told her slaver 'I'd eat you alive starting with your feet if you didn't smell like bantha shit' he smiled to himself.

    Savage seemed to like her. He doesn't like anyone. His brother was the one he had worried about when he discovered his to be apprentice was a female. His species didn't exactly have a 'good relationship' with their women and his brother had specifically been hurt and betrayed multiple times by them. But so far he seems to like her. Not too much, I hope. The thought of them together made him angry all of a sudden. Standing he stalked to the room you shared with the golden Zabrak. Opening the door discreetly he peered inside.

    First, he saw his brother as usual sleeping on his stomach face down snoring softly. Looking up he saw you and his breath caught in his throat. Your hair was a mess but a beautiful one. Strands draped every which way. You also slept on your stomach but faced the door Maul stood in. One leg extended the other, closer to him, hitched with your knee pulled up high. You cradled the pillow close to you. Eyebrows twitching and brow creased. She must be dreaming he thought. She really is lovely.... he frowned and shook his head. He was not going to think like that.

    Just as he was about to turn away the nav computer started beeping signaling that they were coming out of hyperspace. She was the first to stir at the sound. Slowly sitting up and rubbing her eyes she asked dreamily "Master are we here?"

"Yes, we will be landing soon. Wake Savage on your way out." He turned and made his way to the cockpit. Hearts pounding at almost being caught gazing at her.

~~~~~

    You watched in amazement out of the viewport as your master landed the ship in a small clearing in the middle of a dense forest on this strange world. You were so focused on the red sky you barely noticed Maul assuring Savage that they wouldn't be going anywhere near the nightsisters. You'd ask him who they were later. For now, you were eager to explore this peculiar land.

    Double checking that your lightsaber hung from your hip you ran out as soon as the ship settled. Fascinated with the twisted trees, dangerous looking foliage and thick humidity. The dark side of the force seemed to resonate from this planet’s very core. You could hear Maul and Savage exiting the ship and you turned your head, the gold around your pupils glowing, flashing them an almost damning smile.

"Master, what is this place?"

"Our home world of Dathomir." He answered simply.

"Your first test apprentice, is to bring me a sample of a fairly common species that dwells in these forests. Bring me a Rancor." He pulled your saber with the force from your belt and caught it in his hand. "Without this." He instructed. "You did say you've had much more practice using the force than you have had with a weapon, I wish for you to demonstrate your power. We will work with this later. When you have what I want, you must sense us to find your way back."

You bowed your head, fear clawing at your throat for the first time in a long time.

"As you wish Master. It will be done." You took off running into the woods, not wanting to waste any time. You knew what these foul beasts were, you had seen a few on Zygerria in large cases up for auction but you were confident in your abilities. You had to prove that you deserved to be his student. You had to. You'd rather die than be sent away yet again.

~~~~~

    Maul sat in a meditative state reaching out into the force to make sure his new apprentice was still alive. Savage on the other hand paced around uncomfortable both by the planet and by his brother's request.

"You didn't make me do anything like this."

Eyes still closed. "That is because you are my brother Savage and you had already proven yourself when you retrieved me from Lotho Minor. This needs to be done."

    Hours passed and though they had arrived in the morning, the sun was starting to set when giant footsteps shook the ground. A growing shadow came forward through the trees until an almost unbelievable sight was to be held. She rode atop one beast's head while another followed. One of her hands extended out to the following while the other hovered above the one she rode.

    Maul stood in shock as he watched the woman. Meeting her glowing gaze something told him she wasn't finished with her demonstration. Lowering her hands, she knelt and slapped a kiss on her steed's head. Sliding off and landing gracefully she turned to the Rancor that she had follow. Extending her arms once again she closed her eyes and started growling with effort. Blue lightning shot from her fingers with her battle cry, frying the beast until it was dead and smoking. Astonished, Maul watched her stumble back.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted it dead or alive so... I brought you both..." she fainted from the output of energy. Maul had dashed and just barely caught her before she collided with the ground. Looking up at the Rancor that still breathed he found that she had permanently tamed it as it just stood there watching them.

"Astonishing," he whispered.

Savage stared at your sleeping form in his brother's arms. "She's much more powerful than I imagined,” he whispered.

"She's the one..." Maul stated. "She will supersede us after we die and carry on the legacy, recreating and restructuring the Sith. Something new will be born from her. I can feel it." He whispered. "We must tread carefully in our teachings. She can never be cast out."

    "M...Master..." she groaned. "I'm sorry I wasn't...strong enough." Her eyelids fluttered.

"Apprentice, my first lesson to you is that you must know your limits.. What you did was incredibly advanced but has left you depleted. If this happened on a battlefield you would be dead and we can't have that now. Can we?" He ran a finger over her forehead to move the hair out of face. She nodded her head.

"I understand, thank you Master."

[marshthat]

I'm here for the 16-pages essay about Mace and Eeth :)

LMAO well you asked for that yourself hshsjhsjj *cracks knuckles*

It’s almoust 16 pages long in my google docs, I’m not kidding, so I’m gonna make a little intro and then hide the rest under the “keep reading” thing (also I’m going to shorten it a bit, but nothing significant will be left out, I promise)

Uhm so yes three things for the intro:

1. These takes are based mainly on my ship interpretation of the canon things, so yeah if you don’t want to see the ship material in them they can be easily disagreed with in terms of how correct I see the intentions of the characters behind their words and actions, but BUT you’re here for macekoth aren’t you? So for a macekoth shipper this is a list of totally canon endless happiness and we’ll go with that :)

2. LEGENDS CANON IS CANON (in my heart there is no decanonising of the EU, nooo, I pretend disney didn’t hurt me qwq)

3. I'm not a native speaker and my english is far from perfect so if you think I’m talking strange - yes I am, I’m sorry, but yeah, that’s how we’re rolling here.

And now - moving on to the essay. I will take random pieces of media one by one and explain why exactly I see Mace/Eeth there.

As I call this, “Fantastic MaceKoth hints and interactions, and where to find them”

Star Wars 13: Emissaries to Malastare, Part 1 

So, what do we see here? Oooooh, the Concordance of Fealty. In general, the exchange of lightsabers is a very interesting phenomenon in the Jedi Order, and not only because no one remembered it existing before Macekoth decided to engage in one (because there are not known participants in the timeline BEFORE Mace and Eeth, while there are some AFTER) , but also because of its significance. The Concordance of Fealty is said to establish a “master-less learning relationship” between the two Jedi, i.e., a Force-bond that, if not superior, is equally as close and strong as the bond of a master and a padawan, which is said to be the closest bond possible in the Order.

As you see, this ritual required deep mutual trust from both its participants, and here's why: the exchange. of. the lightsabers. I will repeat it once more and even emphasise: THE EXCHANGE. OF. THE LIGHTSABERS.

As Anakin Skywalker said in “The Clone Wars” and Obi-Wan Kenobi said in the “Attack of the Clones”, a lightsaber is a Jedi's life, a thing that one should not part with under any circumstances. And what is the Concordance requiring? Exactly this. Giving away your lightsaber. A voluntary action of entrusting your saber, a product of your own hands, a part of yourself, to another sentient. This act of trust can have a very deep meaning, deep subtext to it, if you want it to.

I’m not saying the Concordance has a romantic subtext to it in general, no - but once again, I’m insisting that if someone wanted it to have a romantic subtext, he had the full freedom to pull a hecking legal jedi WEDDING under the cover story of this ritual. Why a wedding? Let’s dig a bit more in the comic page above. How it is depicted, such an exchange of the lightsabers looks suspiciously similar to the exchange of the wedding rings between the spouses. So making a guess that probably by engaging in the Concordance Mace and Eeth tried to pull off a legal wedding within the walls of the Temple in this disguised way seems like a fairly logical assumption. In addition, given that this ritual is stated to be very ancient and therefore long-forgotten, it is not surprising that a very bold plan like that in fact worked right in front of Yoda’s salad.

In addition, you should pay attention to the form in which these vows of the Concordance sound. Especially this "until one or both of us becomes One with the Force." line. Very very much like the real wedding vows that spouses say before the altar, huh?))) (For example, I’ll leave this link to the site with some sample wedding vows)

Besides, the fact that Mace had made actual EFFORT to find this Concordance ritual is so priceless by itself. However, here I tend to think that it was master T'ra Saa who suggested to Mace to search for the ritual and its details, and here are the reasons why. Master Saa: 1) was in the age of about a thousand of years by the time of TPM because of being a neti (i.e. realistically could be the only one in the Order left who could have remembered this Concordance of Fealty) 2) had her own experience of a romantic relationship, with master Tholme (i.e. she understood the issue of new feelings born between the two Jedi more than the most) 3) T'ra looked after Mace a lot when he was young, so she was literally his mother figure, and  to whom can a poor confused with his romantic feelings jedi master go, if not to his tree mom? :З

Shatterpoint (novel) — M. Stover

Here I want to go back to what I said about “the lightsaber is part of the Jedi.” In Stover's novel, there is an episode where Mace looks at Depa Billaba's saber and speculates about whether she could have given it to Nick Rostu voluntarily.

Mace is mentioning the Concordance of Fealty in this novel too!

The curious thing is that Mace asks “Would she give away part of herself?" So, firstly, by this he is confirming that the Concordance implies exactly this act of mutual trust (what I talked about in the previous part), and secondly, he is hinting that since he did perform this ritual with Eeth Koth, it means that he, Mace Windu, willingly entrusted a part of himself to the hands of the zabrak. (and this is HIS interpretation of what the Concordance means to HIM) Isn't that an act of true love?)

Jedi Council: Acts of War, Part 3

Here is a peculiar moment in the comic - when the two groups of the Jedi join together in the final battle to confront the enemy yinchorri army, both Mace and Eeth separate each other's names from the rest of the group when talking about several fellow Jedi at once. And if Eeth can have a reason for this, because Mace was the leader of this whole mission in the first place, Mace himself still doesn’t have any rational reasons to underline exactly Eeth’s name (and in the background of the second frame you can see that the first one to run in the battlefield is also not Eeth, which excludes the possibility of identifying Koth as just running the first).

What I want to say by this is that they just subconsciously separate each other's names, because their first thoughts, of course, focus on their dear beloved, and only then they add “and others”. Also I want to say that consider that MASTER MACE WINDU, the man of the “less talking, more doing” standarts, in the middle of the battle actually FOUND some time to stop and ask how his dear Eeth is doing.

Republic 65: Show of Force, Part 1

In this comic there is not an interaction, but a hint, but even if it's not the most obvious and outstanding, it is still worth mentioning.

Mace returns T'ra her lightsaber, which she lost during the previous battle, and a curious dialogue happens between them.

Master Saa says that the saber is just a tool that one shouldn’t get attached to. And that Mace SHOULD know that. Personally, I see this here as a direct reference to the Concordance of Fealty (which by the time of this comic has been already completed ten years earlier), and as a confirmation that T'ra Saa knows about the nature of the relationship between master Windu and master Koth.

What I think Mace’s tree mom is saying between the lines here: “you shouldn't get attached to a lightsaber. You once owned Eeth Koth’s saber, Mace, so you understand that by "lightsaber" I mean Eeth Koth himself. And you remember that attachments are still forbidden in the Jedi Order, so be careful there with your little horned husband, son."

Given that the events of this comic take place during the Clone Wars, this means that there has already happened the battle on the Petranaki Arena on Geonosis, where Eeth’s LAAT/i exploded in front of Mace’s eyes. ( This thing blowing up in aotc is the LAAT/i on which were Eeth Koth, Sora Bulq and Tarados Gon )

And perhaps he did spend too much time near the zabrak’s bacta tank afterwards and it gave birth to some rumors or concerns - and that is what T'ra Saa hints at. (also, the timeline of this comic is listed as 21 bby, which does not exclude the possibility of also the battle of Korriban already happened, where Eeth nearly died again, and even the torture of Eeth in Grievous’s hands too, which only gives Mace more reasons to go over his usual reserved boundaries in his wish to comfort and protect his beloved)

Star Wars: Episode II Attack of the Clones

A very interesting thing is in one of the deleted scenes of " Attack of the Clones”. And yes, another hint, but wait, some more interaction are coming later. And for now... I'm of course talking about this scene of the conversation between Mace Windu and Obi-Wan Kenobi before the latter's departure to Kamino. In this scene, Kenobi expresses his concern that Anakin has a strong attachment to the senator from Naboo, and this attachment may cause some troubles for him when serving his duty as a Jedi and as her guardian. And let’s try to think about the reaction of Windu himself to this statement and how we can interpretate it: 1) He is not surprised by the news on Anakin's attachment, and accepts it very calmly. 2) In this scene, it is actually Windu who calms down panicking Obi-Wan with the words "you must believe that he will make the right choice”, and not vice versa.

What can this mean?

This can mean that Mace is not only not at all shocked by Skywalker's forbidden attachment, but on the contrary, supports Anakin and gives him a chance to make the right choice. I mean, Mace doesn't judge Anakin, Mace sympathizes with the young man in love and he trusts him. It’s a fair assumption that Windu himself most likely has an experience of such a situation, to which he compares the Skywalker’s issue and makes his conclusion, isn’t it?

To sum up? In this scene, Windu may be probably recalling his own special bond with _someone_, and, drawing from it the conclusion that a Jedi CAN perfectly fulfil his duties even if he has romantic feelings, advises Obi-Wan to trust his padawan with this.

Grievous Intrigue  — Star Wars: the Clone Wars 2x09

A small, but very a cute detail: in the episode when a hologram is shown to the Jedi Council, on which general Grievous tortures Eeth Koth and promises the zabrak jedi master "endless suffering” Mace Windu clenches his fists in the background.

And how much was said about the Jedi acceptance, the fortitude, the “letting go of emotions in the Force”… But what acceptance could be here when your small tender husband is being cruelly tortured with the electrostaff???

Before the holotransmition / / after the holotransmition

Star Wars: Zam Wesell

Here is a moment I spotted in this comics: when masters Rancisis and Koth both speak up during a Council meeting, Eeth is the first one Mace answers to. I know that this can seem a little bit weak as an argument but add to this THAT stare Koth gives Windu when applying for being the Alderaan guard.

Yes, exactly. THAT kind of stare right here ( ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ ° )

I mean, seriously, man, stop flirting with your Master of the Order husband right in the middle of the meeting! We know that on Alderaan they make one of the best sorts of wine in the whole galaxy, and you want to offer a date, but calm down a bit please, okay? You don’t want to get caught, right?)))

Star Wars: Episode I The Phantom Menace

No, well, but there is no excuse for the fact that in the background during the scene of the Council meeting before sending Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi to Naboo as an escort for queen Amidala, Eeth is sitting in exactly the same way in which you could see Windu sitting himself on some of the TPM photos. That's all, that’s like the final proof that Eeth is a stupid husband and in love with his partner. Because one of the forms of love language? Yes, the one with interest copying, when a person is copying the gestures, the stature and the movements of whom he’s interested in, u-hum.

Eeth really have no, NO excuse for that, I swear

Bonus: The seats on the High Council

As one very wise person on twitter had once said,

This person was referring to Plo Koon and Kit Fisto tho, but I tell you what, this also applies very much to Mace Windu and Eeth Koth.  So here is Mace and Eeth on the Council staring at each other after a holotransmition!

[dibleopard-writes]

Training Montage

Ao3 (recommended)

Description: Anakin was the Chosen One and therefore the best padawan anyone could ask for, especially Master Obi-Wan. He was so good, in fact, that he had plenty of time for shenanigans or, as he privately referred to them, Shenanakins. Force, he was clever. Several snippets from the training of Anakin Skywalker. Author’s Note: Fanfiction, in 2020? It's more likely than you think. I'm working on several Star Wars projects right now, and here's one that is far less structured with far less need for in depth planning. Original Upload Date: 2020-08-27 Fandom: Star Wars Prequels (post TPM, pre AotC) Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, various side characters Rating: Gen (or T for language) Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical Violence Word Count: 6490

Chapter 1 of ??

Chapter 1: Moles? In My Mine? It's More Likely Than You Think.

At the age of five, Anakin resolved to never be the kind of moody teenager spacers complained about. At the age of twelve, he decided that not only was that naive of him, but that he would get a head start and be moody right that second.

This change of heart was mostly due to Obi-Wan, who was refusing to take any missions offworld with him even though Anakin got his own lightsaber a whole three weeks ago and was therefore completely qualified.

“Having a lightsaber doesn’t help diplomacy, Padawan,” said Obi-Wan, completely missing the point.

“So don’t choose diplomatic missions! I bet there are hundreds of pirates hanging around… I don’t know, Batuu.”

“Batuu has smugglers, not pirates, Anakin–”

“– And?! We can arrest smugglers–”

“– And anyway, it would be irresponsible of me to take a padawan as young as yourself into a confrontation like that.”

“I’m not nine anymore! I’m not some dumb initiate, I can handle pirates.” If he was the first in his classes to fight pirates, he’d be able to hold it over them for ages. Even Iepa would have to respect him, smug son of a–

“I was still an initiate when I was your age.”

“Well I’m sorry you sucked, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go on missions.”

By this point, Master Obi-Wan had his head in his hands, almost hiding the beard he was trying to grow in order to look more authoritative. Anakin didn’t think he’d respect him any more with a beard than without, but it did make him look less like a clueless teenager so maybe he could fool the senior padawans.

“Look, if I took you offworld, not only could you get hurt or cause a diplomatic incident, but Master Windu would be on my back about it.”

Anakin muttered, “I could take him.”

“What was that?”

“I said you wouldn’t be able to shake him.” Anakin believed both statements emphatically. Sure, Mace Windu was the Master of the Order and invented an entire lightsaber form, but Anakin was the Chosen One, which basically made him the best. That being said, if Master Windu put his mind to it, he could be annoyingly stubborn in his pursuit of wrong-doers.

“My point exactly, and if he decided I was irresponsible – which I would be – we’d both be Temple-bound for months.”

“Oh, so you get to leave and I don’t?”

“Yes, but I’m sure you noticed I haven’t left because I’ve been too busy looking after you.”

“And what an amazing job you’ve been doing.”

“Watch your tone, young one.”

“Tell me, Master, do you remember any of my allergies?”

“Allergies?” Obi-Wan stopped for a second, with a look of genuine concern and guilt working its way over his face as he failed to recall information that Anakin had never given him.

“Yeah, I’m allergic to you and your banthashit!”

“Language, Padawan!” There was something resembling anger in Obi-Wan’s glare, but to acknowledge that would be sacrilege and also a suggestion that Anakin cared, which he didn’t. To prove this, he stormed into his room and used the Force to slam the pneumatic door as pneumatic doors rarely do.

Force, Obi-Wan could be insufferable sometimes.

...

After an hour of staring at the ceiling, Anakin came to the decision that the only real resolution to this conflict was running away and being a Jedi without Obi-Wan to bring him down. 

Fortunately, he had spent the last two years building his very own ship and had already put it through an entire test run without anything breaking. Between his technical expertise and thorough testing, the ship was probably the best in the entire Temple hangar.

First though, putting his stealth skills through their paces in order to get there. One doesn’t survive nine years of slavery without knowing how to move silently. The swoosh of the door may have been a bad start, but his slow navigation of the common room more than made up for it. Sure, Obi-Wan was in his own room, probably, like, crying over getting owned so hard, but if Anakin had made even the slightest mistake, he would have come running and demanded a ridiculous amount of meditation on respecting others. The stakes could not have been higher.

He crept out of their rooms and into the corridor, shushing the mouse droid that seemed to regard him judgmentally despite its lack of eyes. From there, it was a simple matter of carrying himself with unquestionable confidence along a convoluted path to the hangar. He passed a few senior padawans with dead eyes and piles of holopads in their arms without raising suspicion. Man, was he good at this.

The hangar was probably the best place in the Temple. Warm Temple stone met flame retarding durasteel in a way that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did. Several decade-old speeders lined up against one wall next to a small fleet of cargo ships and fighters. All of them were horrendously out of date and well worn in the way that a lot of the Temple’s technology was. When Anakin asked why the Jedi insisted on having such terrible tech, Obi-Wan had said something vague about budget and not being materialistic. It was unconvincing at best and Anakin had really shown the whole Order up with his latest project.

After his no-doubt legendary podracer was left on Tatooine, Anakin had taken all of six months to set his sights on building a starfighter that could take him to every system in the galaxy. Obi-Wan, relieved to find a hobby that would promote focus, had pulled some strings and Anakin had aimed akk-dog eyes at the Temple mechanics that he had been tailing for months until they let him at the skeleton of an old Delta-7. Aethersprites never came with their own hyperspace engines, but he could work with that. Annoyingly, the sublight engines in the hangar were nothing like the ones on a podracer so he had to spend a humiliating few weeks with an old mechanic to get them installed and working. On the positive side, there was an astromech droid fitted directly into the ship that could give him diagnostics and occasionally a mechanically-themed joke. The jokes were hit-or-miss but the droid was good.

Two years of sterling work had made the Delta the best ship in the Temple, and it could far outpace any of the speeders in Coruscant’s skylanes. Now, as he made his way ever-so-innocently towards it, he couldn’t help but admire the way the smooth paint looked among the chipped facades of the rest.

R4-P3 chirped a greeting as he hopped in and prepped the starter engines.

“Hi, P3, fancy going on a trip?”

“THERE WERE TWENTY-SEVEN TRAFFIC CODE VIOLATIONS DURING THE PREVIOUS FLIGHT.”

“Me too, buddy. See if you can find one of those hyperspace rings lying around here.” Ignition was smooth. Vertical repulsors engaged. Landing gear retracted. So far, his plan was flawless. A blip appeared on his screen, indicating the nearest hyperspace ring. Latching onto the ring was not something he had ever practiced before, so he assumed the strange rattling noise was normal.

As he ascended, chatter buzzed into the comm system.

“What’s that P3?”

The chatter cleared into actual sentences as P3 adjusted the frequency.

“-ing is not fitted properly. Repeat, Aethersprite Delta-7 please identify yourself-” Anakin flicked it off. Trust traffic control to kill his flow.

“PLEASE KEEP TO DESIGNATED SKYLANES,” bleated P3, taking up the burden instead. Anakin dodged a passing CorSec speeder.

“Will do,” he lied, “While I find one, you wanna do the hyperspace calculations?”

“DESTINATION?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t thought that far. Tatooine was probably weeks away, Naboo had way too much water just lying about– Where else had he been? Oh, that’s right: nowhere, because Obi-Wan didn’t care about him. “Batuu?” He could probably beat up a few smugglers in the name of justice before the Jedi caught wind of it. Talk about selfless heroism.

He hit the upper flight levels and powered through into the mesosphere. Considering the thin air at this altitude, there was a lot of turbulence. The shaking was beginning to make his arm buzz and it became a disproportionate effort to keep the control-stick level.

“LIGHTSPEED CALCULATIONS COMPLETE,” announced P3.

“Great, just in time,” replied Anakin, flicking some switches, at least three of which were relevant, “I’ll just make the jump now.”

As he pulled the jump ignition, P3 began screaming and the rattling grew louder. The pinprick stars became needle-thin lines became the whirl of blue and white he hadn’t seen since the last journey from Naboo. On that trip, the pilots hadn’t let him in the cockpit during the initial jump, so this would probably have been way better if not for the awful clatter of the hyperdrive and the eventual tear of engines sputtering out of commission. Maybe that was why he had never seen anyone make jumps in-atmosphere. Or perhaps the issue was related to the ring’s latching mechanism. Really, it was anyone’s guess.

P3’s wails had become spluttering, staticky sobs, which was honestly a poor display in a droid with no fear subprogram. The ring flew off the Aethersprite, plunging it back into normal space with a roar.

“Well that sucked,” Anakin said indignantly. His flying had been flawless, too!

P3, between choked bleeps, lit up the speedometer – the hyperspace ring was no longer pushing them beyond the light limit but neither had any reverse-thrusters been engaged, leaving them at a healthy constant speed of only-just-slower-than-light, which was probably fine – and the scanner – there was a planet about thirty light-seconds in front of them, which was probably less fine at their current speed.

“Okay, so it still sucks,” Anakin amended.

He slammed on the brakes and almost blacked out as G-force slammed on him in return. Rude. His old pod-racer never had this issue. He tried easing their deceleration more slowly, which involved less blacking out but also made slowing to pedestrian speeds before hitting the planet somewhat less feasible.

No matter; Anakin was an expert pilot and even more skilled at having incredible luck. This would be easy.

Within twenty seconds, they hit nature’s drag chute: the atmosphere. P3 tried to draw Anakin’s attention to their steep angle and high speed as if these weren’t things that Anakin already knew. They did seem more relevant when the entire ship’s hull flew alight, however, so he attempted to shallow out their descent. 

The control-stick was uncooperative and everything began to shake as he tugged it as far back as he could. How was he supposed to pilot if the ship refused to do what he wanted it to do? 

After five long seconds, the heat died and they plunged into a cloud bank. Everything past the tips of the Aethersprite’s wings was obscured by a white thicker than Obi-Wan’s skull, which was impressive if disorienting. He felt the control-stick hit full lock and a few of the many warning indicators seemed appeased.

Another five seconds, and P3 stopped screaming about their speed and started screaming about their altitude. The clouds remained steadfast.

“I’ve made an executive decision,” declared Anakin, “As captain of this ship, I say we attempt what we in the industry call a ‘terrain-assisted braking maneuver’.”

P3 did not respond particularly coherently, which Anakin chose to interpret as a vote of confidence. It did wonders for his self-esteem.

In a blink, the clouds vanished and a deep green forest appeared. P3 squeaked. Anakin grimaced. His hand was losing all sensation from gripping the control-stick so tightly, still in full lock, but their downwards momentum still overpowered the thrusters even as the Delta’s nose finally rose above the horizon. He gunned the accelerator away from the surface and his body felt heavier than the ship itself.

The ship jolted as it made contact with the treetops. Anakin switched to reverse-thrusters as the nose once again pitched downwards. Slugshot snaps crackled around them as trees snapped against the ship. He scrunched his eyes closed and braced.

Soil and splinters erupted as they collided with the ground. Anakin lurched painfully into his safety straps. P3’s voice cut off. The grinding of earth against hull slowed them to a stop and Anakin fell back against his seat.

Smoldering wiring filled the cockpit with an awful acidic smell so he tugged his straps off and pushed his way out after only a second of shaky breathing. Anakin was nothing if not practical.

“Do you think it’s gonna blow up?” he asked P3 from a safe distance. P3 seemed not to appreciate the thought but ran cursory diagnostics anyway.

As he waited, Anakin looked behind the ship and saw the gaping furrow they had left in the ground. Further away, a clumsy cut ran through the trees and a couple of wisps of smoke trailed lazily into the milk-blue sky.

All in all, an impeccable landing. The forest had looked well dull before anyway, and now it had a sick scar. You’re welcome, forest.

P3 decided that nothing was about to explode, but that the ship was fully inoperational, even if Anakin just wanted to take it on a spin to the nearest mountain range. He acquiesced that the assessment seemed about right, but also loudly proclaimed that P3 was a killjoy and a coward. P3 didn’t seem to care. Anakin kicked a clod of earth in defiance.

The ground was covered in small, stiff leaves from the pointy-looking trees around them. They were waxy little spits that more resembled star stripes than anything useful for photosynthesis.  As he knelt to pick some up, he realised that the entire forest smelt like them – a fresh, emerald sort of smell. They were pretty incredible, for leaves; Anakin had certainly never seen anything like them. He shoved some in a belt pouch.

Now that he was looking at the ground, he noticed wooden, grenade-like things peppered amongst the leaf litter. This forest kept on getting more and more curious. Unfortunately, none of them would fit in his pouches. Jedi really needed some good pockets that could fit any important scientific discoveries in them. It was a severe oversight, in Anakin’s humble opinion.

Something rustled abruptly, snapping Anakin out of his Jedi-like contemplations, seed-pod still in hand. He scanned the surrounding thickets. Plants, plants, leaves, plants, thorny plants…

Claws!

A blur of red flew at his face and he stumbled backwards, tripping over a bush. Batting the wild beast away from his face, he felt himself fall further than anticipated through the undergrowth into empty air. For a suspended moment, all he could see was blue sky and grey rockface. Then his back collided with something that promptly gave way and let him fall onto solid stone.

Perfect.

...

Obi-Wan Kenobi was walking at an unpanicked pace through the halls of the Jedi Temple and casually inspecting child-sized nooks and crannies in a manner completely befitting of a master who knew exactly where his padawan was. He had been doing this for half an hour and wasn’t shaking in the slightest.

He was just doing a routine inspection of the gap between a bronzium statue and a wall when Master Windu walked past, stopped, watched Obi-Wan innocently test the screws on a ventilation covering, and said, “Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan sprang upright. “Master Windu.”

“Have you lost your padawan?” Was he really that obvious? No, that couldn’t be it; Master Windu was just unusually perceptive. Perhaps shatter-points were giving him away – nowhere was it written that they didn’t highlight underperforming masters. Even so, it was probably wise not to confirm anything. The last thing Obi-Wan needed was a council member judging his guardianship skills.

“Oh no, not at all. I know exactly where he is.”

Master Windu’s expression was as flat as Anakin’s heart rate would be once this was over. Shatter-points were dirty snitches.

“Thank you for your concern, Master,” added Obi-Wan, respectfully.

Master Windu looked at him dead in the eye for a solid five seconds. Obi-Wan had seen him level a similar look at Qui-Gon several times in the past, and found it unnerving to now be the target. However, Qui-Gon’s experiences taught him that it was best to ride these looks out like a bad spice trip, i.e. with as little motion as possible. How either of them knew what a bad spice trip felt like was irrelevant.

The five seconds were up, only having been slightly uncomfortably stretched, and Master Windu blinked.

“Well,” he said, dryly, “Good luck with your endeavours, Knight Kenobi, whatever they may be.” With one spare glance to the ventilation covering, he continued down the corridor.

Obi-Wan was not naive enough to think himself completely free of suspicion but he was hopeful that nothing would come of it until he could thrust Anakin by the shoulders into Master Windu’s personal space and say ‘See? I have him right here!’ in a serene and Jedi-like manner as if he had nothing to prove. Of course, he would like to prove his capabilities anyway. Just as soon as Anakin was present…

He closed his eyes and fumbled for the Master-Padawan bond that connected him to Anakin. It wasn’t usually strong enough to get much other than vague impressions from, but now it seemed to be stretched thinner than usual, only telling him that Anakin was alive. That was a relief to know, to an extent, but also concerning since there was so little to point him in the right direction. He poked the bond and felt nothing.

Why had he taken on a padawan? Padawans get into fights and then run off and make you worry and then the Council finds out and then you have to try and justify it all and – 

Obi-Wan sighed. Running a hand over his beard, he peered down the hallway that Master Windu had taken. Empty. He could probably make it to the comms centre without any more councilmembers calling him out.

Probably. He was hopeful.

...

“Hilari? Is that you?” 

Anakin looked up from what appeared to be a now-dismantled porch tarp and saw an old man opening the door to its attached house, carved into rock. A tooka was watching him from behind the man’s legs. It meowed indignantly.

“I’ve told you, the awning isn’t designed for tookas.”

“Myaeeh,” complained Hilari.

Anakin, frazzled from both of his unplanned descents and shocked out of his irritation, opened his mouth to apologise because yes, Obi-Wan he is capable of apologising when a middle-aged twi’lek woman materialised.

“Wohrin, what– Oh! Who’s your young friend?”

“You’ve met Hilari before, Mahj–”

“No, the young man covered in your porch. Blond?” 

The man, Wohrin, gave Mahj’s left lek an exasperated look. His eyes were pale the same way Blind Man Mikah’s had been in the bookmaker’s in Mos Espa.

“Mahj,” he said slowly, “I don’t know what colour your hair is, let alone that of whoever it is you’re referring to.”

Mahj shook her head. “I don’t have hair, Wohrin.”

“What?!”

Another twi’lek, who could have been anywhere between fifteen and thirty years old by Anakin’s poor judgement, appeared in order to chip in:

“Yeah, she lost all of her hair when the sky turned red!”

Anakin squinted at the sky… no, it was definitely still blue. Wohrin looked equally confused, which was somewhat reassuring. Somewhat.

“Keht!” snapped Mahj, “Stop lying to people! And no, Wohrin, you know I’m twi’lek; of course I don’t have hair.”

“Twi’leks don’t… Why am I only just learning this? Was no one going to tell me–”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Anakin effectively drew the growing crowd’s attention back to himself. That felt better. Wohrin blinked, only now registering that the crash hadn’t been his tooka after all. “I was in the woods and something jumped out at me and I fell through your… thing.”

“Oh, well,” huffed Wohrin, “Easily done I suppose.”

Anakin clambered to his feet and hopped away from the mess, feeling only slightly guilty.

“Hey what’s with the weird rat-tail, kid?” came a voice from the crowd.

Anakin fixed the human who had asked with a patronising look. He found such looks were incredibly effective when used by children – especially those younglings he was stuck in aurebesh lessons with three years ago. Kriffing infuriating.

“It’s not a rat-tail, it’s a braid. And it shows that I’m a padawan.”

“A what-a-wan?”

“Oh, I know what they are,” chimed another bystander, “One of them beat up my cousin on Alsakan. They’re like really small Jedi.”

“You mean an apprentice?”

“Yeah, only I don’t think they do carving work.”

“Not all apprentices learn stonemasonry, genius.”

Another crowd member interrupted: “Hey, cadaban, have you come to help with the beast?”

That triggered a fervour in the onlookers, all snapping their attention back to him with loud expectation.

“... The what?” Anakin wasn’t sure he liked the way this conversation was going.

“The beast!” exclaimed the crowd.

“It’s massive–”

“–Taller than me–”

“–Big claws–”

“–In the quarry–”

“–The mine–”

“–Tentacles–”

“–Blue–”

“–Hang on, I thought it was red–”

“–It’s invisible–!”

“–No, it’s not, it’s–”

“–Firebreathing!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” shouted Anakin over the clamour, “Has anyone here actually seen it?” Everyone turned to a tall ovissian, who flinched. “What does it look like?”

“Uh, I didn’t see much of it, just– um, mostly heard crashes and saw– saw rocks falling from the ceiling in the mines. But when I caught a glimpse, it sort of looked all–” He made a vague and thoroughly unhelpful gesture which may have indicated size. Or maybe temperament. “–Y’know?”

Anakin definitely did not know, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the congregation. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said instead. The ovissian sighed with relief. “And what exactly do you need me to do about it?”

One exasperated person shouted from the back. “Kill it of course!” 

“Or at least move it out of the mines,” offered Mahj.

“Yeah, we need the mines or our economy will go to chisk!”

“The entire economy?” Anakin couldn’t imagine mines being quite that important when there was a massive forest right… Huh, it was higher up than he remembered. Right up a stone cliff, the one Wohrin’s home was carved out of.

“The entire economy! We’re a mining town, stone-masons and blacksmiths. Why else would build our houses in a quarry?”

This was the first Anakin had heard of ‘quarries’. Really, the whole trip so far had been quite the broadening of his horizons. He didn’t know why Obi-Wan didn’t take him off-world sooner, he was always promoting this kind of thing. Peculiar. 

That being said, this whole beast business was not what he had been anticipating and the idea of facing an invisible, firebreathing, tentacled monster on his own was suddenly way more terrifying than the plan of facing a horde of smugglers had been. What if it was like the krayt dragons of Tatooine, wild with impersonal ferocity and an appetite for small humans? That would be an incredibly anticlimactic end for the Chosen One; he was fully anticipating his death to be in a great ball of flame, Obi-Wan watching heartbroken as his awesome and flawless apprentice fulfils his destiny. That would be cool. Dying alone in a mine in the middle of nowhere would not be.

“Um… You know, beasts aren’t really my department. And… I don’t have my beast-removal equipment with me right now.” Airtight excuse. Foolproof.

“You’re just scared!” exclaimed someone who nobody asked.

“He’s not even a proper Jedi yet,” added someone else, “There’s no way he could take that thing on by himself, I bet he doesn’t even have a laser-sword!”

“Now, hold on–” All thoughts of avoiding the beast flew out of the metaphorical window. “I never said I wouldn’t do it! I have my lightsaber right here:”

The crowd stepped back as it ignited in his hand. Yeah, that’s right, he wasn’t some dumb initiate and this was his chance to prove it.

...

The comms centre had several private rooms for important calls and conferences. It also had better hardware than the commlinks Jedi took into the field.

Obi-Wan had plugged his own commlink into a rarely-used port in the console and tried to call Anakin. As he had expected, there was no answer. With the right tinkering of the console’s receiver, however, the target signal had been traced to a sparsely populated planet barely a minute up the Corellian Run. Kaidestal.

He fought the urge to slam his head against the console. If there was a licence for padawan ownership, his would be revoked any time now. Truly, he was having a fantastic day.

He wondered how Anakin had even got offplanet and then wondered why he was wondering. At this point, it was suffice to say, ‘Shit’s fucked’ and move on.

After a few moments of meditative breathing, he straightened up, unplugged his commlink, and whisked out of the comms centre. Knowing Anakin, there was little time before something disproportionately drastic happened. Force, what did he do to end up in this position?

Master Plo Koon was easy enough to locate, happening to be beside the bronzium statue Obi-Wan had been inspecting earlier. He watched as Obi-Wan covered the awkwardly long stretch of corridor in order to get within civil conversation range.

“Master Koon, I am taking a short trip to Kaidestal. I shall be back by nightfall.” He gave no reasons, the man of mystery that he was, and Plo didn’t seem to mind. Plo was one of the gentlest councilmembers and therefore the best one to inform of unannounced, unauthorised trips to obscure planets. Perhaps that was exploitative of him. Perhaps his padawan shouldn’t run away.

(Plo was one of the first to hear Mace’s gossip regarding Skywalker’s potential disappearance and therefore knew damn well what Obi-Wan was doing. Plo was not, however, a snitch. Besides, he liked Kenobi – the man had an excellent taste in drinks.)

Master Koon nodded slowly, “That seems reasonable. I’ve heard they do good stone carvings there.”

“Quite,” said Obi-Wan, impatiently – no, Jedi weren’t impatient. He was merely preoccupied.

“There’s a G8 light freighter in the hangar that you can use.” Plo shifted as if to move, but it was really more of an invitation to leave.

“Thank you, Master Koon.” Not at all in the headspace to overstay his welcome, Obi-Wan began to head towards the hangar.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, young one!” Plo called after him.

“Me too,” muttered Obi-Wan under his breath. He wasn’t that young; he was twenty-eight. He was, however, too young to be dealing with feral padawans that made him feel twice his age. Why did he ever pick up Anakin, anyway?

...

The mouth of the mine was carved into the wall at the bottom of the quarry. It was darker than a Tatooinian night and he was being pushed into it by a gaggle of villagers who didn’t seem to notice his apprehension. While this was ideal for the maintenance of his reputation, it also made things move far more quickly than he had wanted.

No matter. He was a Jedi and Jedi faced terrifying monsters head on.

“This beast is gonna wish he never saw me,” he said, bravely, “Coward. Absolute… kriffin’…  clown.”

“What are you doing?”

“Old Jedi trick, it’s called psychological warfare. That beast is no match for Anakin kriffing Skywalker.”

“Is the swearing necessary for psychological warfare?” asked one of the group. “It’s just I brought my daughter along…”

A roar emanated from the mine ahead, echoing terribly. The tall ovissian, now wearing his head miner’s helmet, was shaking more than the nine-year-old behind him. She was delighted by the mine monster and had spent much of the walk loudly exclaiming that she wanted it to eat the entire goddamn quarry. No one else appeared to share her enthusiasm.

“Well,” said the head miner, sounding awfully authoritative, “I think you’ll be able to find your way from here. We need to go. For… health and safety reasons. Yeah, this crowd, in this passageway? Major fire hazard. Need to clear it. I’ll take care of that, you take care of–” Another roar erupted, punctuated by a thud and the sound of rocks falling. “– That.”

Anakin was unimpressed. “Ugh, do you have to have such an aversion to being cool?” He turned to see the group’s response but found the passageway empty. He rolled his eyes. Teenagehood would suit him well, he decided.

Slowly, he took his new lightsaber off his belt. It kind of sucked that his excellent craftsmanship was impossible to see in the gloom. Alone, in the dark, with no eyes on him, he could admit that quite a few things were looking decidedly uncool right now, but Force if he didn’t want to prove Obi-Wan wrong.

He tracked the sporadic tremors to their source, which was conveniently down the single, unbranching passageway in this section of mine. Still, it required a great amount of skill and a lesser man would have walked into five support beams, which was way more than Anakin’s three. He was a credit to the Jedi Order, really, even if they couldn’t see it.

Speaking of, the mine had grown far darker the further he walked until he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. The Force was being unhelpful, merely suggesting ‘forward’, which was a no-brainer. His issue was all of the obstacles involved with ‘forwards’. If only he had packed a light.

Hang on.

Oh, Anakin Skywalker was a genius. Lateral thinking and creative problem-solving had always been his strong point, as currently being demonstrated.

His lightsaber ignited with a kzhhh. Its electric-blue glow lit his maniacal grin in harsh clarity. It also revealed the glinting eyes of something big. The grin dropped from his face as he took five steps backwards.

The passageway had opened into a small cavern without him noticing and the beast barely fit into it. Colours were difficult to make out in eerie saber-light, but its fur appeared as black as the mines, matte with dust. Large tentacles stretched out from its nose, blindly groping the walls and ceiling of the cavern as if trying to judge the environment. Massive, shovelling paws held claws almost as long as Anakin was tall. In short, it resembled a mole.

This meant that, theoretically, Anakin was at an advantage since he was decidedly not blind and had only been known to resemble a mole some of the time.

The beast was also more clumsy than Anakin, knocking support beams left and right. Luckily, none had completely shattered but, judging by their splintering fractures, it was only a matter of time. Time limits were very dramatic; this would be a worthy first mission.

Anakin waved his lightsaber in the vague direction of the mole. It was unbothered. He frowned, put out, and then poked one of its claws. Suddenly, the beast was very bothered. Its nose went from snuffling around to being thrust in Anakin’s face. Apparently it had his scent. Obi-Wan would have blamed it on Anakin’s infrequent use of the shower. Anakin would have responded that he grew up in the desert and then accused him of not caring about wasting water on trivial matters. This would put a glint of annoyance in Obi-Wan’s eyes and Anakin would count it as a victory.

The mole exploited his distraction, dishonourable as it was, yanking him off the ground with a thick face-tentacle and shaking him irritably. He tried hitting the disgustingly writhing mass with the hilt of his lightsaber – ineffective. Then he slashed it with the blade and got catapulted into a wall. His vision failed and the back of his head killed, but he was quickly grabbed by the ankle and dragged across the floor. Massive, sharp claws came swinging at him. This was not good.

Quick, what would Obi-Wan do?

“Hey, you suck!” he shouted, voice wobbling as he dove out of the way of another slash, “No one likes you! You should just stop and go away!”

The mole monster may also have been deaf since it only continued its previous level of violence despite the scathing insults. He dodged a claw, jumping into a swinging tentacle which smashed him into a support beam. Splinters pierced his robes, digging into his right arm as it collided with the beam. His lightsaber flew from his hand and he fell to the ground, spinning to narrowly avoid landing on the hurt arm. All light in the cavern vanished as his saber-blade extinguished.

All of a sudden, the lightsaber argument from that morning felt like a moot point. A lot of things were looking very moot now, in the dark. 

He could hear the shuffle of tentacles searching the floor and the scratching of claws against stone. The mole was snuffling loudly around for him. His arm hurt.

Fighting the urge to curl up by the wall, he slowly climbed to his feet and looked the monster dead where he thought its eye could be. Warm air huffed in his face, blowing his braid back. Everything was still for a moment and then a tentacle whipped around his knees and flipped him upside down into the air. He definitely did not yelp.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting came from the tunnel, then pounding footsteps and then Obi-Wan ran in, illuminating the cavern walls around him. Something intangible yanked Anakin out of the mole’s grasp and into Obi-Wan’s arms. 

Anakin struggled to escape the strong left arm that wrapped across his torso, efficiently immobilising him. “Hey, I had it under control, you know.” He gave up, reaching his good hand out and calling his lightsaber back to it. “Still do, actually.”

“Sure,” replied Obi-Wan, not letting go even as a tentacle lunged at him. He jumped backwards, slashing the support beam that Anakin had dented. They dove into the tunnel as the cavern rumbled. The mole roared back. There was a terrible creaking of splintering wood and then the cavern ceiling fell in. Dust and rock made the air thick.

Quiet.

Anakin looked up at Obi-Wan from where he was pressed against his chest and saw a strangled sort of sorrow.

“Poor thing,” croaked Obi-Wan. Then he looked at Anakin with a clenched jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those. I could have studied it.”

It was almost enough to make Anakin apologise.

...

Obi-Wan dragged his padawan by his collar until they reached the mine’s entrance. The villagers who had pointed him inside were crowded around and erupted into cheers as soon as they stepped into the light.

One elbowed the head miner playfully. “Told you he was the madawan’s Jedi.”

“Shut up,” said the ovissian, who then raised his voice above the chattering. “Thank you, Master Jedi, for your assistance. Uh, what exactly is the status of the, uh…”

“It’s dead,” Obi-Wan replied, bluntly, “And I’m afraid you may also need to reinforce the tunnel’s structural integrity. I apologise on behalf of my padawan –”

“Hey!”

“Of course, he will also apologise himself.”

Their eyes met in a match of wills. Anakin sighed, just loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear, and acquiesced.

“My sincere apologies,” he muttered, bowing shallowly. Obi-Wan had definitely taught him better manners than this; the child was just showing him up. Ungrateful womp-rat.

Fortunately, the villagers weren’t versed in bows and didn’t seem invested in apologies. Most were preoccupied by the mine and the new lack of angry mole. Small blessings, perhaps.

...

After manhandling the still-hot wreck of Anakin’s Aethersprite into the freighter Obi-Wan had brought and flying the brief trip back to the Temple, Obi-Wan was reaching the end of his patience. He left the ships with the hangar’s mechanics and dragged Anakin away from any chance of helping them. Their trip to the Halls of Healing were brief – the healers were efficient in removing the splinters and wrapping Anakin’s arm in bacta-soaked bandages. He only complained about half as much as he usually did.

They marched double-time to their rooms and Obi-Wan locked the door behind him; he could not cope with Anakin sneaking out at night.

“Master?” The voice was small. Obi-Wan tried not to let his ire show in his look. Perhaps if Anakin was squinting it would work. He was not. Instead he was holding out a hand full of pine needles and another with several small pinecones. “While I was on that planet, I found these for you to study. I’ve never seen them before; they could be revolutionary.”

Obi-Wan sighed, not having the heart to tell him that pine trees were fairly common throughout the galaxy. Anakin dropped his revolutionary finds into his hands, having to scrape off some of the pine needles that stuck.

“Thank you, Padawan. That was very thoughtful of you.”

“There were some bigger ones of these,” he added, pointing to the pinecones, “but I couldn’t fit them in my belt and some of the wildlife tried to fight me for them.”

“A squirrel?”

“I dunno, I didn’t see it very well. It was kinda fast. Reminded me of you, a bit.”

“How so?”

“Red,” said Anakin, nodding to Obi-Wan’s head, “And it didn’t like me picking up things off the floor.”

Obi-Wan huffed. “As long as you weren’t trying to eat pinecones.”

“Is that what they’re called?”

“Yes. Although I suppose I’d have to… study them. To make sure.”

Anakin’s face lit up. “Wizard.”

Obi-Wan’s annoyance was almost forgotten. Not quite. He was still a responsible Jedi master, no matter what the Council speculated.

There was a knock on the door. Obi-Wan looked at Anakin, who grimaced back. He opened it with very little hesitation.

“Knight Kenobi.” Speak of a Sith…

“Master Windu,” said Obi-Wan, far more brightly than he was feeling.

“Have you located your padawan?”

“Of course; he’s right here, Master.” He pulled Anakin out from behind his legs. Anakin attempted a winning smile, but nerves appeared to crumple it slightly. He had always been intimidated by Master Windu – first impressions were a force to be reckoned with. “I knew exactly where he was.” It was technically true, if you were selective about your timeframe.

Master Windu gave Anakin one of his signature piercing gazes, the kind that seems to expose one’s every weakness and warn against them. Anakin seemed to get the message. Hopefully he would keep it for at least a week before he inevitably threw it out.

“If that’s the case, I won’t need to launch a search party. Good night, Kenobi.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Windu.”

After Master Windu had left and Anakin had gone to bed still shaken from the encounter, Obi-Wan contemplated ditching the Temple and his wayward padawan for Bail Organa’s whiskey collection. Alderaan always made the best whiskey…

...

Art by me, @dib-leo-pard​

[rhodanum]

Oban/Star Wars Fusion AU

I asked my friends to please smack me upside the head and tell me to NOT sit down and sketch some ideas I have for an Oban Star-Racers/Star Wars fusion AU (since I already have an Oban/ATLA one that I’ve got half a dozen chapters at 10k words each written for, but I’ve been stalled on a key scene in chapter 2 for months now). Naturally, instead of going with my request, they’ve been horrible enablers, so here are a few of the ideas I’m working on:

the Great Race takes place every ten millennia on the legendary planet Oban (which, in the SW universe, is a fusion between Zonama Sekot and Mortis), a nexus of the Force, that can move around in the galaxy. The race is organized under the aegis of a mysterious group of Force-users knows as the Ancient Order of the Whills. 

the action itself is set during the age of the Old Republic, thousand of years before the PT & OT and ignores the majority of Disney canon, with a few exceptions. Back when the Jedi could still marry and have families and the Sith Lords were numerous and at the head of several successive Empires centered around their mortuary world, Korriban. 

Maya is a maverick, unconventional Jedi Knight from Chandrila, trained at the Jedi Praxeum on Corellia. With a habit of sneaking out of the compound as a Padawan and taking part in underground swoop-bike racing, she has a thirst for adrenaline and adventure that puts her in all sorts of dangerous situations (up to and including rescuing passengers on star-liners hijacked by pirates and dueling a Sith Lord on Onderon’s moon, Dxun). She and Don first meet when Maya, back then a newly-minted Knight, saves his life during a terror-attack on Coruscant. Unknown to many -- including Maya herself -- she has a natural affinity for forming strong Force-bonds with others and this will lead to one of the exceedingly few Triads in the Force in recorded galactic history.

hailing from a backwater planet outside of Republic space, in the Outer Rim, Don leaves for Coruscant and a better future as soon as he can. He barters his services as an accountant on several merchant starships in order to get there and finds his love for motorsport upon watching the podracing on Malastare. Born Force-sensitive, he’s never discovered as a child due to a lack of Jedi or Sith presence on his homeworld. Instead, he begins his training in the Force late in life, in his middle thirties, under Maya’s tutelage. Rather than how to wield a lightsaber or use the Force offensively (things that he’s rather alarmed by, at the time) Maya teaches Don how to commune with the Force, how to meditate and perform breathing exercises. How to guide the Force around him and heed its warnings and how to control his own emotions, so he’s not vulnerable to the temptation of the Dark Side.

born of two Force-strong parents, Eva positively burns like a small sun in the Force and what to do about that (train her at home or entrust her to the tutelage of a Jedi Master) is a topic of long discussions between Don and Maya, as she grows up. Don would have her trained at home by Maya (as he was) but Maya herself, even with her rather unconventional ways, is worried for her daughter's future given her immense strength in the Force and would have her also benefit from training by the Masters of the Corellian Praxeum (not the one on Ossus, they're mostly stodgy librarians over there and most definitely not the central temple on Coruscant, where Maya barely knows anyone and they're a rather stuck-up lot).

even as she's building herself a family, Maya also takes on a Padawan of her own. Not because the Masters shoved him down her throat, but because she sparred with the kid on Corellia and liked him immensely. He's named Rick, of a near-human species called Kiffar, with a seemingly relaxed attitude that belies the intensity lying beneath the surface. Not being one to keep her home life and her work as a Jedi separate, she introduces him to her husband and the teenage Rick is there for Eva's birth as well. Unknown to all of them, their coming together into a family-unit causes Maya, Don and Rick to be connected across time and space with each other, a Triad in the Force. Something that will have tragic consequences after Maya’s death.

the Triad and Eva’s birth draws the attention of Darth Canaletto, the lingering spirit of an ancient Sith Lord, trapped in his tomb on Korriban. An expert in Sith alchemy and in techniques that unnaturally alter life, Canaletto kept enough power even after death to be able to subtly influence the events of galactic history. His ultimate goal is coming into possession of Oban’s legendary power and obtaining a vessel strong enough to withstand his essence, one he can use for his rebirth. His far-sight capabilities told him, thousands of years in the past, that such a vessel would be the product of an incredibly rare Triad in the Force.

after Canaletto arranges Maya’s death in a non-championship podrace (being a Jedi Knight means that, in this universe, she cannot fly as Don’s principal championship pilot, but there are no rules against her taking part in races outside that competition), the Triad is shattered and both Don and Rick spiral out of control as a result. Rick furiously renounces his place in the Order when the Jedi refuse to investigate the matter and rule that Maya died due to an accident. Determined to prove the truth, he becomes a bounty-hunter and travels all over the galaxy to find answers. Meanwhile, blaming himself for Maya’s death, Don falls into a pit of self-hatred and alcoholism. Unable to care for Eva, he leaves her at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, then vanishes in the planet’s seedy underbelly, determined to drink himself to death.

Rick skirts very close to the Dark Side during his travels, but Don ends up falling entirely. When Rick manages to contact him and offer credible proof that Maya was murdered, Don’s self-hatred turns to burning rage and hatred. With the Force screaming in his ears that Rick’s findings are true, he goes on an investigation of his own, using more and more ruthless methods, harnessing the power of his darker emotions. This ultimately leads him to Korriban and the Valley of the Dark Lords, where he attempts to destroy Darth Canaletto. He’s unsuccessful, on account of the barely-corporeal spirit still being far, far stronger than him. Rather than kill Don, Canaletto (sensing that he would be a powerful and useful tool) offers to make him his Sith apprentice instead. An offer that Don accepts through gritted teeth, determined to learn as much as he can of the Dark Side and turn it against his ‘Master’, at the opportune time.

[ssaalexblake]

star wars spoilers

ros spoilers

move onnnn

like actual proper major spoilers and i’m making this intro long in case mobile decides to hate read mores today

... 

...

Anyway like, i am a Shallow sw viewer who isn’t actually likely to kick up a fuss abt what i didn’t like in any serious way even tho i got issues, But i wanna say what i really liked b/c?? there were moments in that movie with themes i Loved and i don’t wanna be negative nancy for this franchise because i am actually incapable of taking it seriously tbh no matter how wtf or wild it is and i just Gotta;

First of all. The entire franchise was worth Rey it for calling Leia Master. 

like, they added her in best as they could, which wasn’t fabulous but i can’t really say how they’d work their way around that tbh so i’m not gonna rag on abt the Leia plot But god they proper confirmed she was a Legit Jedi thank u V much.

Chewie!!! Got!!! his!!! medal!!!

they put porgs in the movie, it was my only request and i recieved. i am content. 

also the effects on old palps were Incredible and Creepy and!!! props to the vis effects teams

also s/o to the choreographer who planned out rey’s fighting style to look like gymnastic tumbles but with a murderous glow stick. love it.

idk what extended sw canon now says about force powers being able to heal But the old eu book shatterpoint is one of my faves and i loved the inclusion that Rey can just like. Heal. 

also lol i heard daisy ridley on the radio this morning and she was supposed to be requesting songs to air but didn’t know the names of them and i have Never related to anybody more than i did in that moment. 

look ok, that rey and kylie could literally fight each other when not in the same room was Really Cool ok

tho i would have Paid to have seen the pov of an outsider while they had lightsaber battles from miles away tbh b/c that would have been Wild

i had one Horrified moment where i thought the ‘rise of skywalker’ thing was a Pun about kylie dragging his ass up from that hole and u have No Idea how thankful i was @ the Rise sequence

also i, a massive mace windu fan, was Ecstatic his voice was present in the proceedings

which were A) tacky and B) Abdolutely my favourite thing ever. 

it’s a space opera ok i am allowed to Want to be here for the tacky heartwarming shit

‘is that the navy??!?!?!?!?@ ‘ no sir... it’s.. .People’ was one of the funniest yet heartwarming sequences in anything ever ngl

HORSE WARTHOGS

inexplicable lin manuel miranda cameo

rey’s temper explained due to the fact that she is related to... Vilanelle

and look ok, i Always hated the idea of Rey being related to the skywalkers and Any crap meta that she had to be family for it to Count properly. It was an insult to found family, any form of adoption etc etc and i am.. Actually very mollified by this familial turn of events lol. It has a certain symmetry. and sw is literally built on the idea that history repeats but... different. 

i was’t against rey being related to anybody, i just didn’t want her to be a skywalker because like... she was gonna Be a skywalker b/c legacy isn’t about blood, and uh... least i was right. i am naturally happy abt this. 

also when i watched tlj the first time i was CONVINCED at the end of the movie she’d raise luke’s x wing from the depths as yoda did for luke in esb, and was Super off put that i was wrong. I was not wrong just... my timing was off. luke rose the x wing for her. ur yoda now luke. deal with it. 

the other ex storm troopers who laid down their weapons!!! all of them!!! fin is not alone, they only have power by making you think you are alone!!! 

i Really loved that thematic thread btw

also richard e grant’s performance was actually kind of chilling

but i am glad that i can still happily say that every character in sw Is a total unmitigated idiot. All of them. Stupid. Idiot rights. Yes, this is a plus point. 

i also liked that it’s Kind of obvious hamill and ford picked up slack for what Would have been carrie’s scenes??? Like, it’s horrible she’s not there but they obviously care to do that in her stead. it’s sad but makes you smile. 

as much as i’m not a kyle fan and never will be, and as much as i am not a fan of the ship, i can’t say there there weren’t decent thematic threads around the rey and kylie plot. Her symbolically killing kylie in a fit of rage, actively actually rising to his bait, realising as luke did in the roj climax that she had let the dark side get the better of her But having the power to take that Back and heal him and Stop even after she’d done something. It’s like the originals but not. And so, kylo is dead and Solo walks again. Was this plot My thing? No. But i appreciate the symbolism of him being stabbed through the stomach like he did to Han, and i appreciate the contrast of her actions after doing that versus His after he did it. What a difference. 

i said this wasn’t a complaint post but u wanna know the worst part abt the movie??? how cheap the sith dagger looked. surely u can do better than that???

anyway, 3po’s red eyed when he translated the sith was hilarious tbh. 

also hilarious: sw’s response to hiring Another brown haired white lady was to Only show her eyes in a way that was Incredibly conspicuous and was therefore unintentionally hilarious. 

Finn is Explicitly force sensitive now and it’s over for y’all 

wedge!!!

like... the sith amphitheater???  with the ghosties of all sith past (i think??? my interpretation anyway) was Genuinely creepy??? 

this is a Bit of a side note, but Luke was Perfectly in tune with tlj luke??? Because tlj luke changed tune before the end of That movie when he gucci booted his astral ass to distract kylie, him Saying his fear was wrong was merely verbal confirmation of what was portrayed in tlj. really. That’s not them backing away from tlj, it’s afffirming it. 

i really loved that hux just got That death. I liked  that while he Was used for ridiculous comic relief, the narrative did not forget he was just straight up evil. 

L A N D O

that i all. that’s the point. just lando.

sheev palpatine’s late entry for Shittiest parent/paternal figure in the sw universe Was at the eleventh hour but by god did he give it his all to win the competition. 

things only relevant to cm fans: they killed kate callahan’s husband!!! :((((

critics are slamming them for like, hardly killing anybody but I for one am happy they didn’t go grimdark and just went. Fuck it, we’re gonna keep being bullheadedly optimistic and most everybody lives, deal with it.

s/o to that gay moment that lasted like 2 solid seconds but i’d have preferred it if she’d been like, making out w/ chewie tbh.

that hug!! the trio hug!! my ot3!!! that i am even more convinced would Properly work as an ot3, too btw. Poe spent the whole movie jealous finn is into Rey, while confused abt it b/c He’s also kinda into Rey in that han/leia Tension kinda way, but Finn is also into Poe but not in the Puppy way he is with Rey, in the ‘i am so in love w/ you i don’t realise it but i trust you with the world’ kinda thing and Rey also has the Tension thing w/ Poe and would do anything for Finn but she’s like... Busy. B/c like, unfortunate family reunions and the awkwardness of being a millennial Actually offered a decent job that your morals do not allow you to take and the crisis that leaves u with. 

anyway what i’m saying is the ot3 is Sailing in my head. look how it ended!!! Sailing. 

however, i would like it known that the lady at the end Should have heard the word skywalker and Run for the hills. missed a chance. 

But also Rey Did find that family of hers Maz told her she’d get ahead of her!!! i hate how many ppl say that was dropped or forgotten. like wtf??? what are finn and poe and chewie and bb8 and 3po and all the army of droids that love her and all the resistance that does too??? Luke and Leia??? y’all obsessed with blood when it comes to sw. She’s got her family. 

now i Could make a complaints post but i just... I’ll leave that to everybody else and their mothers for now bc they’d be better at it anyway. I liked This stuff. Except for that point about the dagger. that sucked. 

[honekitteh]

FIC: Countdown - Chapter 2

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T (this chapter) Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor Synopsis: A distress call leads the Jedi Battlemaster to Ziost, but time is running out.  Follows the storyline of The Rise of the Emperor and inserts missing scenes.   Warnings: See Chapter 1 

Chapter 1 | Crossposted to AO3

“I sensed our course has changed. What’s going on?” Kira walked onto the bridge and stood behind me. I gave her a simple nod as I watched the colors of hyperspace on the screen.

“Pandemonium is a better name, it’s at least somewhat pronounceable,” I heard Doc’s voice behind me.

“Phelgethon fits better,” the deep imperial cadence retorted. Lord Scourge, the former Emperor’s Wrath, didn’t hold any emotion in his voice, so it was difficult to tell if he was teasing the human doctor or not.

“Ph.. Phel… That sounds like something is stuck in your throat or you’re coming down with a cold.”

“That would be impossible.”

“Just saying…”

Kira laughed looking back at the two men who entered the bridge, “You have a hard enough time saying Barsen’thor when we’re meeting with the Council.”

“What is it with Jedi and Sith with their impossible titles?”

Kira rolled her eyes and took the seat opposite me and looked at the controls. “Ziost?”

Lord Scourge tilted his head. “We’re headed to Ziost?”

I took a deep breath. “Theron called for backup.”

Doc quickly responded, “Think he will need medical attention?”

“It’s Theron, so likely,” Kira stated with a small chuckle. The small laugh she shared with Doc stopped though as she looked over at me. “Jyana? What’s…” Her words stopped as soon as we left hyperspace and started to enter orbit over the blue world of Ziost.

Suddenly all that was let out was a simple, “Oh…”

My heart sunk as well. The presence was unmistakable, the darkness within the force encircled the blue globe in front of us. I kept getting flashes of images: blue turning to grey, green turning to grey, everything living turning to ash. My hands balled into fists on the controls.

It was Scourge who broke the silence. “We’re too late… his plan is already in motion…”

I closed my eyes. “We have to try.”

“The odds of his survival are…”

“Screw the odds, we have to save this world, whatever it takes.”

Kira started softly, “Jyana…”

“This isn’t about Theron… this is about the Emperor.”

Scourge and Kira shared a brief look and nodded. I moved to stand up and started walking back to my quarters to grab my shoto and cold weather gear. The others followed me. As I walked, Scourge spoke, “Teeseven and Kira should accompany you. The rest of us could come easily under his influence if my sense is correct.”

I nodded my agreement, but Doc spoke up, “I’m sure they would need medical…”

“No. The risk is too great.���

The medic opened his mouth, but Lord Scourge quickly ushered him away as I began to get my kit together and throw on my hooded coat.

Kira put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m with you, Jyana. As always.”

Without looking back at her, I put my hand over top her hand. “I know.”

She sighed softly, “What if we can’t stop him?”

“We’ll sort that out when it comes.”

“And Theron?”

I closed my eyes, trying to reach out my senses. There was a part of me that was certain I’d know if he lived or died, but I wasn’t entirely sure if we were connected in that way. I mean, we were connected somehow, but…

“Jyana?”

“I… We’ll sort that out later too. Right now, the Emperor.”

“Guess we’ll sort out the lack of holoing ‘til he’s in trouble when we get there?”

I made a small chuckle.

“See, got a laugh. I’m sure he’s fine.”

I nodded and looked back at her and smiled. “Let’s get to work.”

Imperial military forces on Ziost have ceased responding to orbital comm signals. Reports indicate the military has turned on the civilian populace. An Imperial military outpost may yield more information. A transport is available for departure.

I pulled my hood over my head, shivering slightly from the cold as it hit my skin, as I stepped out of the shuttle. I could feel the waves of chaos surrounding me. The Dark Side of the Force, ever present on Ziost as Lord Scourge had warned us, was present. It took a bit of willpower to put it to the back of my mind and then I realized my eyes were frozen shut and I looked out.

Soldiers were firing their blasters at civilians; civilians were firing back. None of them were in control of their actions. I could feel the power of their puppet master. I looked over at Kira who stepped out of the shuttle after me. Her face was white, clearly sensing what I was. She adjusted a fairly sizable bag around her belt awkwardly.

“What is with that bag?” I asked, deciding to ignore the other bantha in the room.

She sighed with great exasperation. “Doc insisted. If he wasn’t going to be able to come down, we had to take these.”

“How many kolto injections are there?”

“I lost count at 5 if I’m completely honest. Could be 20 or so?”

“Why would we even need that many?”

Kira gave me a blank stare. “Have you met yourself? That doesn’t even include the chance we find Theron...”

I pursed my lips. “I cannot deny your point, even as much as I want to.”

The astromech T7-01, the first friend I made when I came to Tython to complete my training, rolled out of the shuttle and beeped his intent to head towards the outpost. Kira and I nodded to each other and followed him, attempting to not draw too much attention to our movements. I pulled my hood closer around my face, shielding myself from the chill wind. Kira pulled up her scarf around her nose and put the goggles on over her eyes. I frowned and looked in my pack. To this she handed me mine and I worked on getting those on.

Somedays, I wondered who took care of who when it came to Kira and I.

I pulled out my scanner to follow the signal that T7 was very clearly following. We ducked against the building, watching the soldiers as they shambled. They looked like they were looking for prey and weren’t very picky as to what kind to have. I took a few deep breaths as we pushed on forward. I slipped slightly, barely managing falling into a snow drift by probably two inches. Another glance at Kira was met by a slight point toward her kolto pouch.

Sighing I took another look at the signal. I couldn’t get a sense on much of anything beyond the cacophony of blaster fire, dying men, screaming children, and a complete feeling of helplessness. T7 beeped a warning as we rounded a corner. Speeders and shuttles were crashed outside the vehicle bay that the signal was coming from. We moved inside, the droid moving quickly to investigate any potential console.

“Seems like we made some friends,” Kira spoke up.

“We need to reevaluate our standards,” I sighed as the soldiers started shooting at us.

Kira and I made quick work with a few flicks of our lightsabers. The soldiers came in waves of three. I frowned looking down at the last one I had to pierce through the heart.

No one deserved this fate. Sure, they were Imperials and would have attacked me anyway, but I would have preferred they’d had a choice to do so. These did not.

T7 beeped down to us from over a balcony. I nodded to Kira who remained behind as I followed T7 up the ramp and took a look at the holoconsole. It was busted, T7 beeped his frustration. There was no way for him to access any of the data that could have been held here. This bay was a complete wreck. I took a sigh and made a quick call to the ship.

“Scourge, come in.”

“Reading.”

“You were right, they’re all possessed.”

“Slaves to his will. He is attempting the ritual again. When he is done, there will be nothing left.”

Suddenly I knew what I felt in the back of my head and cut the comms. The presence was unmistakable and it was overpowering. For a moment I wondered how long I’d need to keep him out of my own head, but then that slow build up behind my eyes moved away.

Like this was something we’d rehearsed, but we obviously hadn’t, both Kira and I said in unison, “I can feel your presence Vitiate.”

Three people entered the Vehicle Bay one at a time, their voice theirs, but not under their own control. Their eyes glowed silver and I could feel the aura radiating off of them, flowing off of them in red waves in my Force sight. The first that spoke was a male Imperial Commando. “My little insect, no doubt here to drone and flutter once more.”

A female soldier followed him. “Dromund Kass, the Yavin moon... It must not be clear to you yet. There is nothing you can do to stop me.”

Seriously, Vitiate, a monologue? I ignited my shoto but slightly startled as I noticed the last one who moved in.

A Jedi. The way he carried himself suggested one who specialized in Form III, Soresu.

“That’s all right though. Seeing you, it’s like visiting with a forgotten friend. I’m oddly pleased you’re here. You’ll bear witness to a world’s end if you survive long enough.”

As the group moved to attack Kira, I leaped off the balcony.

The jedi focused his attention on me, while Kira made fairly quick work of the Imperials. He swung his yellow blade vertically at my head which I parried with my purple shoto. The shoto were much shorter than his longer normal bladed lightsaber, but I’d found their mobility gave me a slight edge when I dual-wielded. Since the first lightsaber I made on Tython had fallen on hard times… okay I honestly can’t remember what happened to it. I just remembered the Masters sighing heavily at me and pointing me where I could find more materials to make a new one. At the time I thought it had been a punishment, to not have enough material for one, but after time, I instead found it a blessing. It wasn’t the size that mattered to a weapon, after all. It was how you used it.

With a motion of his hands, the he used the Force to knock me back. I smacked into corner of the ramp. With a grunt I tossed my shoto at him. He parried one of them, but the other struck true. As they returned to my hands, I leaped back into the air and met his blade with mine.

It was a whirl of blades. Purple and yellow reflecting off the damaged walls of the vehicle bay. He fought more aggressive than I would have expected. Had he been under his own power, I would have expected far more defensive maneuvers. If it had been, we might have been a bit more evenly matched. One slight miscalculation proved fatal, and I cut his lightsaber in two, and he fell. His eyes looked up at the ceiling, unfocused, exhausted, and they changed from silver to brown. As he took his last breaths, he gasped out, “He’s gone... I can... I can finally...”

I felt the life force leave the man. I looked down at my shoto, which had fallen to the floor at some point. I removed my goggles and lowered the scarf from around my mouth. Frowning, I reached my hand towards the Jedi’s eyes, but the back of my mind sent a warning through me. Instead of getting a chance to pay my respects to a man who fought well despite his circumstance, I stood, taking my sabers back in my hands. “More of you already?” I stated, “I suppose I should be flattered.”

I ignited my shoto but before Kira or I even moved, an orangish red lightsaber made quick work of the enemies just outside the Vehicle Bay. Then the blonde Sith Lord made her way towards the entrance, her green cape flicking behind her. Her yellow eyes looked tired as they fell on me.

“So my senses haven’t betrayed me. It really is you.”

“Lana Beniko.”

Lana pinched the bridge of her nose for a few seconds before stating, “You don’t belong here, Jedi. You shouldn’t have come.”

Before I could retort, Kira approached Lana and I could tell that the redhead sensed the Sith Lord’s exhaustion. “It’s nice to see a friendly face. I’ve missed you.”

I simply blinked.

Lana exasperatedly responded, “I’m trying to avert a mass catastrophe while keeping the most powerful mind in the galaxy out of my head. I… I can’t think about that.”

Kira let out a breath of air. “You don’t gotta tell me twice,” she muttered.

I blinked between the two, then looked back to Lana. “What do you mean, we don’t belong here?”

Lana’s expression was somewhere between exhaustion and exasperation and gave me a non-committal response and put her hand up to her temple, as if she was listening to incoming communications and status updates. She then looked back to me. Before she said anything further, I cut in, “In case you might have forgotten, standing up to the Emperor is kind of my job. And I’m not about to start backing down from him now.” I raised an eyebrow and looked Lana over. “And I’m thinking you could use the help.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that. As you can see, things are already out of hand.”

“Seems we’re not the only Jedi here,” Kira pointed out, looking back at Master Garault’s body behind us.

“His mind was not his own.” Lana sighed heavily. “He belonged to the Sixth Line.”

“Sixth line… I’ve never heard of it.”

Lana raised an eyebrow. “They’re a team of Jedi commandos working in secret for the SIS. They follow their own addendum to the Jedi Code, hence the name.”

“There is no contemplation, there is only duty,” A bald man in a crisp imperial uniform with a tech brace around his head approached. I pursed my lips, trying to hide my on distaste for the “there is no” version of the Jedi Code while he continued, “A great point of view—so long as they’re working for you.” He looked around the room and then addressed Lana. “Pardon the interruption. I sent a probe droid to look into that crashed shuttle, Minister Beniko. It’s empty.”

I looked back at Kira and shared a raised eyebrow with her before looking back to the imperials.

“Agent Kovach, this is the former ally I’ve mentioned,” Lana stated, “Right now, we all want the same thing, so I suggest we work together.”

I lowered my hood and tilted my head. “He called you ‘minister.’”

With a dismissive wave, Lana replied, “Yes, he did.”

Agent Kovach continued, “We know Theron Shan was on that shuttle. And we know he’s responsible for the Sixth Line being on Ziost in the first place”

I gave Kira a slight glance. A tightness in my chest that had been forming since I’d landed on the planet only seemed to increase its pressure.

Lana rubbed her temples. “So far, Theron has only added to our troubles. He’d better not be here to cause any more.”

“Theron’s here to stop the Emperor, same as me,” I replied quickly.

“Vitiate is not our Emperor. Not anymore.” Lana gave a glance around the vehicle bay and motioned to the numerous bodies. “As you’ve witnessed, Vitiate is taking hold of an increasing number of soldiers and Sith. His goal continues to be the accumulation of power. Agent?”

Kira and I glanced at each other and then back to the Agent.

“The dark side is strong on Ziost. Using the outpost’s resources, our former Emperor can massacre the defenseless to fuel him. The more powerful he becomes, the more people he can control. He will keep on killing until nothing’s left.”

Kira whispered to me, “Isn’t that exactly what Scourge said happened before?”

I simply nodded and moved to speak, but Lana was having a short conversation on a call. “Yes, I’m on my way,” she spoke into her communicator. “I’m needed everywhere, all at once. I’ve already lingered too long. Agent Kovach has a plan to help stem the bloodshed.” She gave a kurt nod and turned on her heel as she left the vehicle bay.

Agent Kovach watched Lana as she left, a little too closely. I raised an eyebrow and looked back at Kira. T7 beeped a question as well.

“Agent?”

As soon as he seemed sure she was gone, he began speaking quickly, “After the Yavin event, I was sent here to infiltrate Sith Intelligence. I work for Theron Shan. In fact, we were supposed to meet up here.”

“If you know where he is, now would be the time to say so,” I snapped. After the words were out of my mouth I felt a small presence in the Force, Kira. Mostly just telling me to relax subtly. I took a deep breath and tried to offer an apologetic smile to my response.

Either Agent Kovach didn’t notice, or didn’t care, because he just responded, “I haven’t been able to reach him. Not since the crash. Best not to think about that now, I guess.” I frowned and looked down.

Kira stepped forward and spoke up. “Lana might seem like the nicest Sith Lord ever, but don’t thinks he won’t eviscerate you if she finds you out. Or worse.”

I looked at Kira and blinked slowly, then looked back to the agent, who simply shrugged. “I know all the risks that come with my line of work. It helps not to think about them either.”

I looked back towards the Jedi laying lifeless behind me. “What was his name?”

“Master Garault.”

I moved back towards Master Garault’s body and took a knee. He was free of Vitiate, but at what cost. Sighing I finally reached to his forehead, meditated on his memory in the Force for a few seconds. Then I took the tips of my fingers and lowered his eyelids over his eyes.

“The outpost armory, it’s wide open right now,” Agent Kovach continued, “Anyone can get in there. We need to lock it down.”

T7 beeped an agreement and I stood up and pulled my hood back over my head. “Then point the way.”

“I’m on it.”

I hadn’t been watching where my feet were going as we worked our way through the outpost towards where Agent Kovach indicated the armory would be. It was miraculous that I was only in a snow drift and not somewhere more unfortunate. A hand reached down and took mine. Before allowing myself to be lifted up, I reached out with my senses to be certain that it was Kira and not someone who was just going to pull me out and make me dead. With some grumbling, I allowed myself to be pulled up.

“Kolto?”she asked after I straightened up.

I muttered, “I’m not hurt. Just embarrassed.”

“You should be, that was completely hilarious.”

“Ha ha. If this world wasn’t utter chaos…”

“Yes I know. This way.” Kira and I quickly worked our way to the armory, T7 beeping locations and parameter warnings along the way.

By the time we got there, Imperial officers were already in the armory. At least, it’s more possible that these officers had been originally stationed here, long before this whole mess started. Now, they just no longer had wills of their own. I could sense Vitiate’s hold on each one of them. They could sense us as well. Upon our entrance, we were immediately under fire and T7 very quickly attempted to evade attention. If they had been normal imperial troops, operating under their own free will, they would not have ignored the droid. They seemed more interested in humanoid lifeforms. I assume Vitiate can’t really accumulate more power from the deaths of droids.

One, two, they fell to Kira’s dual-bladed lightsaber. Three, four, my twin shoto ended more. Now it was the Quartermaster who stood between us and our goal, someone who probably just simply wanted to put in an honest days work, go home, see family, friends, have a nice drink, have a great meal, and then repeat the pattern over again.

The poor soul didn’t stand a chance against Vitiate’s control. Nor did he stand a chance against Kira and my blades. After the haze of battle was lifted, I slowly made a point to close every one of their eyes.

No one deserved this. Not even Imperials.

Agent Kovach had made it into the armory while I had paid my respects to the deceased. He quickly moved to a console to lock the building down. “You sure cleared a path out there. That’s good… but it’s bad, too.” I raised an eyebrow at him and made a motion for him to explain, which he figured out without me needing to say anything, thankfully. “Each time a pawn’s killed, Vitiate gets a little bit stronger. Not as much as when they kill, but… That’s what Minister Beniko says, anyway.”

Pulling off my hood and cold weather protection again so I could cool down from the exertion, I studied the Agent, tilting my head. “So we have to stop them without killing them.”

“Or we destroy Vitiate. Not that anyone seems to know how to do that…”

A pressure built up in the back of my head. “Agent, we’ve got company.”

“Almost there…” he worked quickly at the console. The door opened and the force-field was just pulled up just in time for a dark skinned, armored jedi to waltz in to meet. “Master Surro,” Agent Kovach stated, looking downcast, “The Sixth Line commander.”

“This one’s my favorite so far,” Vitiate poke through her voice, “Even now, she struggles. You know, she’s done some terrible things in the Republic’s name.”

I wrinkled my nose and let out a breath. “I’m the one you want. Release Master Surro and the others. Take me instead.”

“Again?” I flinched slightly but held my ground, waiting. “No. I don’t think so. When this world turns to red and you choke on torrents of blood, remember that this was your chance to flee.”

[sweetimagines]

Desperate Measures - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader - Reader x Ben Solo/Kylo Ren

Description: A victory that almost doesn’t compensate its loss.

Warnings: Death and angst.

Word Count: 2593

A/N: Mixed up a bit of Bloodline and one little mention from Last Shot into it but completely out of the canon timeline.

I’m sorry about the hiatus. First I moved, then was out of wifi for 2 weeks until it was set up on the new place then writer’s block... Hopefully I got my mojo back.

Tag: @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls @cobalt-one @peches-et-lait @giggleberts 

Y/N spaces out for a moment while Snap’s briefing everyone about his extremely dangerous reconnaissance mission on Starkiller Base.

Her mind wanders to the past, even though she’s retaining every piece of information Snap has to give and anything said in the strategy center.  

Leia always had a stronger connection with Ben - maybe because she carried him in the womb or something to do with the force, perhaps even the fact that it was Han who found and chose to raise Y/N rather than her - not that she didn’t love Y/N, but it didn’t come naturally to her, the way it did for her husband. 

Ben fought - from a young age - to bond with Han the same way. Always trailing his father, saying he’d grow up to be a pilot like him. Y/N and him would play pretend on cardboard boxes. He was Han and she was Chewie and they were on space adventures.

Han tried - exhausted every attempt within him in order to express his feelings right - but there was a barrier between them. As much as either loved the other unconditionally, it was as if something was holding them back. (Snoke!)

It was simply easier with Y/N. There wasn’t any pressure to mess her up as with his son. She’s not really his daughter and it’s obvious since she never took his last name - or Leia’s, for what’s worth - no matter how many times he offered.

Y/N used to feel intimidated by Leia when she was growing up. The Organa name carries weight and demands respect. Also, it didn’t help that Leia was so vastly knowledgeable and accomplished. The little girl never thought she would compare to her mother.

Despite their preferences, the best of times for all of them was always when they were together. It was rare, with Han’s flying and Leia’s senatorial duties, but whenever they had a moment, it was perfect.

Now - after so long - she has both her parents in the same room. Her mind doesn’t seem to believe her eyes and, even discussing war, she has a shy smile on her lips.

They’re only missing one person for the family to be back together. That seems just as unrealistic to happen as Han getting back in the fight with the Resistance... and yet, here he is. It makes Y/N hold onto the blind hope that maybe so will her best friend, bother, Ben Solo.

It truly feels like home when Han suggests blowing something up. Y/N chuckles quietly while they figure out a way to make it work with all the defensive shields around that blasted thing.

“I’m coming with you.” She affirms, just after they found a way to disable the shields.

Solo’s familiar smug grin curls his lips in pride and Organa’s disapproving eyes flash on him. Y/L/N really feels like their youngling again - Han always leading her into danger and Leia trying to keep her safe - only now it’s her decision and neither can argue. The biggest difference this time, though, is that she has someone new looking at her with worry.

Poe doesn’t quarrel against it - even though he’d like to - because he understands the need to take action and part of him likes seeing her more involved with the Resistance. For what is worth, he’ll be right along, waiting to blast Starkiller to pieces the second they get the shields down.

Before the meeting is wrapped, Y/N steps up. “Even if we destroy their base, they still know our location. We must start evacuating.”

Leia smiles at her daughter and instructs Lieutenant Connix to reach out to their ally planets and create and evacuation plan. 

Y/L/N walks along Dameron to the open hangar. BB-8 and BB-6 rolling by their heels, chippering about how they’ll be up in space together and that can be considered a romantic date. Only droids can find a battle romantic.

“Nervous?” Poe tangles his hand on hers, trying to get as much contact as they can before takeoff.

“Me? I’m cool as a dead star. How about you, Flyboy?” Y/N teases, knowing their both a bit apprehensive.

“Just glad you decided to ignore DJ’s advice and join.” He chuckles as she mock slaps his chest. 

“Neutrality in the face of such evil is compliance.” She kisses him hungrily as they reach Black One. “May the force be with you, Commander Dameron.”

He pulls her in by the wrist before she can walk away and connects their lips one more time. “Come back to me, sweetheart.” 

She nods with a smile. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.” BB-6 beeps her goodbyes and rolls over to Jess’ X-Wing.

“Hauling Rathtars? On the Eravana?” Y/N asks half way into the lightspeed jump to Starkiller Base, leaning against the back of the pilot chair. 

Chewbacca growls they smuggled worse in that freighter. Han just shrugs, keeping his eyes on the dashboard.

“Yes! He’s insane.” Finn’s overreactions amuse Y/N. He’s a sweet guy despite being an ex-stormtrooper. He’s been catching her up on how he saved Poe, found Rey and BB-8 and eventually ended up with the Resistance. 

“If you think that’s crazy, wait until you hear about our landing at lightspeed.” Y/L/N teases, chuckling. 

Finn looks like he could faint at the idea. Y/N, on the other hand, has full confidence that if anyone can pull this off is Han Solo. 

Y/L/N wraps herself in a sythfur long coat, only way to survive the walk to the base in the snow. Finn seems to be comfortable only in Poe’s jacket, but he did work on Starkiller, so he’s used to the cold. Chewie growls about the weather reminding him of Hoth.

The revelation about Finn being a genitor, not knowing how to disable the shields and only being there to find Rey almost makes Y/N choke him on the spot, thinking he’s a traitor. She contains herself - barely - both because he saved Poe and he knows the base. He’ll help them even if she has to hold a blaster to his head.

Lucky for him, he’s the one holding a blaster to someone’s head, Captain Phasma’s, making her disable the shields and eventually dumping her on a garbage shute. 

Despite all odds, they find Rey and head to Pricinct 47 to blow up their oscillator.

Han instructs Finn and Rey to set the explosives in the upper floors while Chewie, Y/N and him take the lower ones. 

“Be careful.” Han holds onto Y/N’s shoulders for a second before they split up to cover more ground.

Y/N set the half dozen bombs she was handed and is already on her way up when a sudden scream echoes in the room.

“Ben!” She hadn’t heard that name coming from Han’s voice in so long.

Her eyes travel around the room trying to find them. Han’s walking over the narrow platform to the other side where his son stands.

Y/L/N hurriedly and recklessly climbs the last few steps to the floor Han was in and jogs to catch up with them. Solo doesn’t need to turn around to knows she’s there and motions for her to stay her ground.

She can’t hear what they’re saying as shock has muffled her ears, but she can see Ben remove his mask.

His long hair falls from the mask, framing his face. It looks just as soft as she remembers, except now he’s a man, not a boy. 

Y/N knows that the man before her is Kylo Ren, not Ben Solo. However, that doesn’t stop her eyes from closing and her mind from taking a trip down memory lane. 

Ben’s leaving so he can train his powers with his uncle Luke. Y/N’s going with Han to work on the five sabers.

He had already said his farewell to his parents so it’s just his friend - best friend - left and this seemed harder. They had grown up together and he despises the prospect of growing away from her.

They stand in front of one another for what feels like forever. This is a turning point on their lives and they both know it, but neither dares voice it. Almost as if it not being said can prevent it from happening. 

Y/N moves first, leaping into Ben’s arms for one last embrace. He wraps his arms around her softly - against his wish to hold on as tight as possible - resting his chin on top of her head. Even though they are both eleven, he’s already much taller than her.

“You won’t miss me too much with all those races.” Ben jokes, not letting his true feelings out.

“You won’t even remember me while learning all those Jedi tricks.” Y/N teases back and they both laugh, finally letting go of each other.

“Promise you’ll come find me when you’re a Master, so you can show off your lightsaber skills?” Her eyes are foggy with forming tears, but she’s trying to stay strong.

“Promise.” He kisses her forehead and they go their separate ways. He wants to turn around and run to her, tell his parents, again, that he wants to be a pilot, not a Jedi, that if he could trade his power, he would. Instead, he follows his uncle, unwillingly leaving his friend behind.

Y/N looks back before entering the Falcon, but Luke’s transport is already in the air. “Bye, Ben.” She waves at the disappearing ship, watching it vanish into lightspeed.

Han gives a sympathetic smile, but there’s pain in his lopsided grin, and even an eleven-year-old, not force sensitive can see it. She takes the copilot chair that used to belong to Chewbacca - before he returned to his family in Kashyyyk - as her father sets the coordinates to Theron.

Y/L/N’s eyes open, fogged by forming tears. She spots Ren’s mask on the ground and Han face to face with his son.

The faint sun light that was creeping in from the openings disappears completely and the whole room glows red. This is it, the First Order can fire at any moment and wipe out the Resistance. 

That seemed like the worst thing until the tip of Kylo’s lightsaber is visible through Han’s torso all the way through his back.

Cries in denial echo on her ears until her eyes catch up to the act. Before she can do anything, Solo is already falling from the bridge. 

Ren drops to his knee in weakness. Y/N runs into the platform but stops as he stands up. He towers over her, not only in height but in power. 

“How could you?” Her voice filled with heartache and disappointment. 

Kylo takes a moment to recognize her. He had been suppressing childhood memories for too long and she’s grown out of the little girl he knew. A hint of remorse hits him at seeing her face wet with tears. He ignores it.

Ren swallows dry as Y/L/N raises her blaster at him. She doesn’t get the chance to fire as his reflexes are quicker than her finger on the trigger. In an expert movement of his hand, he’s got her in a force hold. 

“You don’t understand.” In this moment, he doesn’t either. He expected the conflict within him to cease after ending his ties to Han Solo once and for all. Yet, they remain, growing even, and he feels unstable as if an important part of him is lost forever.

Chewbacca shoots at his abdomen with his bowcaster, making him release Y/N involuntarily. He already witnessed his best friend murdered by his own son, so he refuses to watch him do the same to whom was once his sister. 

The Wookie bellows for her to run because he’s gonna detonate the explosives.

She blasts the stormtroopers blocking her way, catching up to Chewie. They escape the crumbling building just in time.

Y/N’s hit with a wave of emotions - guilt, regret and gut-wrenching sorrow - upon sitting on the pilot’s chair in the Falcon. She takes off the ship with Chewie as a copilot. He turns on a spotlight so they can find Finn and Rey in the forest. 

She stays in the cockpit while Chewbacca carries an unconscious Finn inside. Her eyes fill with tears but they don’t even have time to fall before the Falcon is in the air, flying away from the exploding Starkiller base, missing one member of it’s crew. It’s Captain for so many cycles but not enough. 

Poe does his job without hesitation, but his heart skips a beat - many, actually -, until he sees the Millennium Falcon join the X-Wings in space. That doesn’t exactly guarantee Y/N’s safety, but it brings him some comfort.

He watches his command and the Falcon disappear into hyperspace, following after every other ship has jumped. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he lets it go when he reaches D’Qar, refilling his lungs with recycled air as he lands.

Y/L/N flies mostly on muscle memory because her mind is using all its power to try and make sense of Ren’s action, to no avail. Her brother, Ben Solo, is dead, and the man who took over murdered Han Solo. She fells pain like never before, not even Terex’s torture hurt this bad.

First thing she does after touching down on the Resistance base is running back to the Pursuit. She knows Chewie and Rey will take care of Finn.

Poe sprints after Y/N as fast as his legs allow, not even close to her speed. By the time he reaches her ship, she’s on the ground of her chambers by a pile of burning flimsi.

He puts the flames out before it gets to the wires and causes the ship to blow up. His hands instinctively cup her cheeks as he hears her weeps. He searches for wounds and is slightly relieved not to find any.

However, she’s still crying helplessly over something - like she never did before. He holds her tenderly while she sobs in his arms, rubbing circles on her back and gently rocking them back ad forth.

Y/N didn’t know then, when Ben and her were saying goodbye, but he placed with the force a handwritten letter on her robes. After that, he continued sending more, until he vanished and the jedi temple burned. 

The first one was telling her to be strong, some were updates on his training and asking her about flying; others, rants about his frustrations towards being away, but all ended with his signature: Your soul brother, Ben Solo.

She held onto to them fondly all this time in hopes that he’d find his way back, but now she wants him to be lost forever. There’s no forgiving what he did. She wants to forget everything about Ben Solo.

Dameron’s humming the words of a Yavian lullaby. He doesn’t know what caused this, so all he can do is try to soothe her. “What happened sweetheart?” His tone is soft but filled with worry.

Y/L/N sighs and grabs his collar tightly, trying to make sure he’ll stay with her. She’s manages to speak, voice coarse and breaking. “He’s gone. Han’s gone.” 

[asmogayus]

In my opinion, I think it's most likely that they continue on with the romantic arc between Ben and Rey, though not in any really predictable way. I feel Rey's friendships with Poe and Finn will urge her to fight the desire she feels for Ben, but will ultimately be to no avail. She's not going to be able to control the call of the force bond between them, which, I'm sure will be revealed to have existed all along, but strengthened by the late Supreme Leader Snoke, as opposed to his claims that he spawned it.

Kylo struggles with the call to the light, still desiring what it holds, mostly referring to Rey. Ben, which I will use to refer to the side of Kylo Ren that is [possibly] being assuaged by the light, is constantly fighting an internal struggle for control, over his thoughts, actions, and desires. His main desire is, obviously, Rey. The scavenger scum who had bested him in 1v1 combat, with a lightsaber no less, is now invading his thoughts and dreams at an uncontrollable level. He needs her, not just for his own companionship, but as an equal in the force, the true binding energy of existence.

This admission of equality, being able to admit there is someone as able and skilled as him, rivaling his abilities, is a serious step towards humility for him, as evidenced by his actions in TLJ, when he pleads with Rey to join him. That was, while also a good showing of humility, also a projection and presentation of his inner emotional/mental state, obvious turmoil. His breaking down, and, effectively begging her to join him, and do away with not only the resistance, but the first order as well, in a sort of coup for a new order, under their guidance. The balancing of the force would be possible, and harmony in the galaxy would be within grasping reach.

Rey's opposition and contempt for this proposition leads to her lightsaber breaking in half, seemingly unrepairable. This development means that she will, if she wants to have a working lightsaber again, have to meet with him, either in person or through force bond in order for him to guide her through the process. Canonically speaking, building/repairing lightsabers is a difficult task, with, at this point no known source of information about the processes involved.

That being said, Rey's possession of the sacred tomes of the first Jedi Order may be the key to her building her own saber. With her own saber, which I will bet will probably be green[we're looking at you Luke], Rey will be a force to be reckoned with, her training beginning as soon as she finishes building it. This saber will be unlike the previous saber, one which had previous owners, all in the Skywalker bloodline. Her ownership of it, though short, was incomparable to that of Kylo Ren, and his crossguard saber.

With her own creation in hand, she'll be more effectively able to control the pace of battle. That established, her combat training, in regards to lightsaber form and tactics, is lacking when compared to Kylo Ren's. He had studied under Luke for ~10 years or so, as well as receiving training and guidance under the late Supreme Leader Snoke. Ren's force abilities, while matched in raw power, are weighted above Rey's, for the pure fact that he has had much more time to develop and hone them, as well as create and effectively use a fighting style specifically for combat with his abilities/saber.

Though evenly matched in willpower, Rey's uncanny ability to reach into the depths of Ren and speak to Ben, who, hidden away is still fighting towards the light, will lead him to make mistakes, and/or hesitate/refrain from truly smiting her down. He desires her power, and she exists to him, as a perfect match, the light to his dark, the yin to his yang. This mutual attraction will cause them both to falter when the true battle between them occurs. I see Ren dominating the later half of their duel, with Rey leading in with a strike that causes some cosmetic damage to his robes, but ultimately leads to no real injury. This moment will shock Ren, knocking down his guard for a moment as he struggles to figure out how she developed her physical abilities in such a short amount of time.

At this point in the duel, Rey will have the upper hand, using her force abilities, namely force push and lightsaber throw, harken back to the abilities of the one who inspired Ben to become Kylo, Anakin Skywalker, the late Darth Vader. The abilities he developed and utilised as a Jedi knight, now reflected by Rey, as if channeling the force spirit of Anakin. She takes charge at this point, scoring some glancing blows, not amounting to much damage upon Ren, but still enough of a shock value to keep him guessing. As the battle continues, He'll soon realise what's happening, that she's copying the 'Jedi Knight Move Roster' associated with his pre-corruption grandfather. This will lead him to begin countering more effectively, possibly making use of force choke, force lightning, and force push.

Now that things have been flipped around, Ren's going to score a hit or two on Rey, partial flesh wounds, more so a show of his prowess in battle, in a way, to stroke his ego. Rey's wounds will not last, though, as she has learned and almost mastered the ability of force healing. Her wounds will close, causing Ren to go on a rampage, his swings becoming less planned and more impulsive. Rey's knowledge of his fighting style gives her an edge in avoiding his attacks, though she still manages to catch a few slashes, resulting in major cosmetic damage and minor flesh wounds.

With her new wound, Rey is going to try and focus her energy into healing it, and preventing more fatigue and strain on her body, as she knows Ren is, for all intents and purposes, a wrecking ball of fury and unstoppable rage. His newfound fervor will grant him a second wind, as some would say, providing him with the much needed energy to dominate the duel.

Now, I know what you're thinking; "If Ren wins this battle, he'll just be like any other Sith Lord!"

I can't be mad at you for assuming that's going to be the outcome, but I don't think that's the case. I predict, at this crucial moment in the battle, when Ren has complete control(possibly both in terms of combat and force mind control), he sees the force ghost of his father, none other than the late Han Solo. This moment is going to turn the tide, as Ren, no matter how hard he tries, cannot destroy his past. He told Rey in TLJ to "Let the past die, even if you have to kill it.", but I think he didn't believe in those words the way he tried to project.

His fondness and love for his late father will cause his falter, leading to an opening for Rey to strike him down.

She can't bring herself to do it. Her emotions take over, her fondness and now present affection for Ben Solo prevent her from dealing a finishing blow. N O T her values from the light side of the force, but her lust, her desire, her need for him. At this point, Things get really crazy.

Ren, laying on the ground, lightsaber knocked away and out of reach, even through the force, looks up at Rey, who is standing above him, lightsaber at her side, fully extended, but pointing towards the ground beside Ren's head. The sound of his hair sizzling due to the proximity of pure heat, just inches from his head, sends him into a flashback.

[flashback of Luke's betrayal, though, the scene is different than shown in the last movie. Luke is standing over Ben, who is sleeping peacefully. The sound of raindrops pattering on the roof and ground are soft, and sporadic. Luke holds his lightsaber above his head, igniting it and readying himself to end this dark force building up, a threat to the peace of the galaxy. Ben, hearing the buzzing of the saber, awakes, in fear. When he turns around and is greeted by the sight of his now deranged uncle, his face is painted with betrayal and despair. "Luke", calls out a familiar voice. "Do not let your fear control you, as you know all too well where that path leads.." The voice, if you hadn't guessed yet, is that of the (very) late Obi-Wan Kenobi, the same man the young Ben Solo was named in memoriam. This ghostly voice shakes Luke from his fear induced trance, and as he realises what he was about to do, his arms get weak, causing his saber to drop through the air, on the presumed trajectory of young Ben. Ben's training kicks in, his instincts guiding him to reach for his saber, holding it above himself in a guard from his uncle's now falling blade. Luke regains control of his arms after that momentary lapse, sheathing his saber, but it is too late. Young Ben, his force powers truly unleashed as the fear allows the dark side to channel him, creates a force maelstrom, which blows apart the hut, and knocks back Luke.]

The fear that had once given power to young Ben Solo now immobilises him, his life at the hands of his wink wink nudge nudge 'Force Equal', Rey. Rey looks over him, and, in her refrain of a finishing blow, sheathes her saber. She holds out a hand to Ben, who is struck silent, paralysed by his inability to fight her. A look of pride and honour covers her face, leading to a speech, which, I'm sure you'll recognise.

"Ben Solo, join me. We can create a new order, where the force is in balance, and peace reigns over all. I ask you, not out of pity, but.. Admiration, and the faith that you can change."

[sleemo]

How Star Wars authors work with Lucasfilm and earn creative control

— SYFY WIRE

Is there a franchise more secretive than Star Wars? Disney and Lucasfilm are notorious for keeping upcoming projects locked away in an inaccessible vacuum and maintaining an air of mystery and secrecy around every aspect of the franchise (at least the stuff that happens on screen). In an age when trailer and spoiler leaks are the norm, Star Wars is air tight.

But that secrecy isn't limited to the films. Every aspect of the Star Wars universe — films, television, books, games, comics — is held to the same standard. Book and comic announcements are major news, and nearly everything — across all media — connects to tell the story of a cohesive galaxy.

Star Wars is one of the few transmedia properties where "canon" is given nearly equal weight as solid storytelling.

Enter the Lucasfilm Story Group, which was formed in 2014 (following the Disney purchase) and is composed of roughly a dozen people responsible for maintaining order — and keeping all of the creative ducks in a row — within the Star Wars universe. No small feat, that.

Since then, one of the most persistent questions among fans is how much creative control the Story Group has over various projects. And when it comes to books (of which there are many), how much freedom do the authors really have to tell their own stories?

Turns out, they have quite a bit! SYFY WIRE reached out to a number of Star Wars authors, and if there's a common theme among their answers, it's that they have almost total creative freedom.

Leland Chee, the official "Keeper of the Holocron" is one of a few people on the Story Group who also helped control the creative strings before the Disney purchase. In other words, his experience managing "canon" predates the Story Group. Because of that, he has a unique view on how the role has changed.

"We've got more content [now] then I ever thought we'd have. Before we had a Story Group, what George did with the films and The Clone Wars was pretty much his universe," Chee said. "He didn't really have that much concern for what we were doing in the books and games. So the Expanded Universe was very much separate. What we had to do in the Expanded Universe was, if George did something in the films that contradicted something we had done in the Expanded Universe, then we'd have to change the EU to match what he did in the films."

"[For example,] all of a sudden, lightsabers can only be blue, green, purple, or red. That means we've got to take out these yellow lightsabers. OK... Jedi can't marry. So, this Jedi over here that got married, we'll have to figure that out. So there was a lot of that — having to retcon to compensate for what's being done by George in the films.

"So with the Story Group overseeing all of the content in film and television and elsewhere, we don't have to retroactively make those changes. We can anticipate those changes. We can seed things in one medium [and see them grow] in another. So we might be seeding things in books or TV that you might not realize is substantial until years down the road. And if people knew what the road map looked like, they would just be floored."

Perhaps the most public face of the Story Group (thanks to social media), Pablo Hidalgo clarifies their surprisingly hands-off role: "All of us in the Story Group are here to help creatives find the story they're trying to tell in Star Wars. Sometimes that means feedback regarding continuity. Sometimes that just means feedback based on how we think the story is shaping up."

And that sentiment was overwhelmingly echoed by the authors with whom I spoke. They almost all describe approaching their respective projects with a bit of trepidation, expecting the Story Group to micromanage their stories and mandate story/character changes in the interest of continuity. The truth, as it turns, is something quite different.

Chuck Wendig (Aftermath trilogy) describes the process almost verbatim with Hidalgo: "I had a lot of freedom to develop and shape the story; guidance from Lucasfilm was about sharpening that story and bringing my vision in line with the storyworld at large. It was pretty much the ideal relationship, and I never felt stifled or managed."

Adam Gidwitz (So You Want to Be a Jedi?) describes the process as empowering and exciting, even though one of his ideas was nixed by the Story Group. "One thing they did shoot down was an idea I had early on in the process. [I wanted it to] be a Jedi teaching a young Padawan this story soon after [Return of the Jedi] concluded. And they had said that because J.J. Abrams had been contractually given a perfectly clean slate for Episode VII that I could not even imply the existence of Jedi after Episode VI."

Still, Gidwitz got to retell The Empire Strikes Back in the second person, an unconventional approach that shows the flexibility of the group.

And according to Tom Angleberger (Beware the Power of the Dark Side!), it was Lucasfilm's willingness to roll with Gidwitz's non-traditional take on Empire that gave him the courage to suggest a similar creative risk with his adaptation of Return of the Jedi.

"I remember being really nervous about telling the story the way I wanted to. And then we were there at Skywalker Ranch, and I'm so nervous that I'm just going to get shot down when I say I want to have the 'dear reader' style of writing," he remembered. "And then Adam goes, 'I'm going to tell mine in the second person!' And then I was like, 'Oh, I'm doing dear reader.' Because Adam broke the ice with that second person thing, and they were so supportive of it! They were like, 'Go for it!' So I realized that, wow, they really do want us to go for it."

Angleberger confirmed that he had "almost no parameters" while writing the book. "But we knew that eventually the Story Group was going to have to look at it. We knew we wouldn't get away with everything, but we also knew that we were allowed to at least try to get away with stuff. And I got away with some really fun stuff."

For her part, Alexandra Bracken (The Princess, the Scoundrel, and the Farm Boy) was not allowed to read Gidwitz's or Angleberger's adaptations of the original trilogy in advance of writing her adaptation of A New Hope, but she was told about Gidwitz's decision to use the second person.

"It was in the sense that they were trying to show me that I could do whatever I wanted with it. [My editor] told me that, first and foremost, they wanted me to have a ton of fun writing the book," she said. "And initially I was not having fun writing the book because I was so stressed out about it. And then I had a separate visit to Lucasfilm, and the Story Group said, 'You can make little changes and alterations. We just don't want you to contradict something that's in the film itself or anything that's upcoming in The Force Awakens. But you can make little scene adjustments and alter the dialogue a little bit to better suit your needs.'"

Claudia Gray (Lost Stars; Bloodline; Leia: Princess of Alderaan) was initially approached to write a YA "Romeo & Juliet in space" set adjacent to the events of the original trilogy. With a few relatively minor exceptions, she was set loose to write whatever story she wanted. "I thought, when they came to me, they were going to tell me what to write, but that was very much not the case. I had a lot of freedom. The outline had to be approved, but it was my outline and they really let me tell the story I wanted to tell. It was wonderful."

John Jackson Miller (A New Dawn) is one of only a very few authors who straddle the line and has written for the franchise both before and after the Disney purchase. His novels exist in both the "old canon" (now Legends) and "new canon."

Miller explains, "Back before 2014, Lucasfilm had their fiction team proofread everything and approved the stories that go forward. But I think, then, it was more a matter of air traffic control—of them being aware of all the other things that were going on and coming out, and just wanting to make sure that things we did didn't collide with things that were going on elsewhere."

From his perspective, there are a few changes with the Story Group in place, but it's "not so much a matter of content flowing in our direction as the authors, but like 'Hey, here's a character you should name-drop.'" For example, when he was writing his short story "Bottleneck" (which appears in The Rise of the Empire), he was asked to insert a character who would later appear in Alexander Freed's Battlefront: Twilight Company.

"It wasn't a heavy-handed 'This is what this story is about,' but it was guidance in the sense of 'Here's something that's going to come out fairly far down the line, and if you insert this character now, it'll look like we planned it.' And in fact, we did! In the past, it was possible for characters in one medium to pop up in another, but it kind of happened organically and it wasn't something that was done by design."

Cecil Castellucci (Moving Target) had a similar experience. "You have to understand, [I was writing] before The Force Awakens came out. We didn't know what was going to happen, and nobody was allowed to know anything. So there were things in my book, and I didn't even know what I knew. I wrote a framework for the story and then [the editors] would come in and pepper little things in. It kind of worked like that. I knew that Leia was going to be giving her memoirs to a droid. So I just named the droid whatever. But then they were like, 'No, this is the name of the droid: PZ-4CO.' Because they knew he would end up in the movie. And he does! You hear his name! I was probably the only person who was excited about that. It was kind of like, you do your thing, and then other people come in and course correct."

So how much freedom did Ben Acker and Ben Blacker (Join the Resistance) have when they started writing their series? Blacker doesn't even hesitate. "Oh, so much freedom. It is absolutely the book that we wanted to write. I would say, there's not really oversight, but there's guidance, and that's really an editor's job. And [our editor] did a really terrific job with it. The big thing that the Story Group (who reads everything) provides is just their knowledge of what's going on in every corner of the Star Wars universe. They're really good at looking at an outline of the manuscript and saying, Well, you can't use this kind of droid because it's no longer in use 30 years after Jedi, but what about this kind of droid? Or instead of using this kind of alien, why don't you make up a new alien so it doesn't have ties to anything and you get to own a piece of the Star Wars universe? That's been a really cool and surprising thing."

What's fascinating about the Star Wars publishing machine is that there's also an entire library of "nonfiction" titles that dive deeper into the details and minutiae of the universe. Adam Bray (Ultimate Star Wars; Star Wars: Absolutely Everything You Need to Know) is intimately familiar with these.

"In 'nonfiction' Star Wars writing, the freedom I have varies a little from project to project. My primary objective is to work within existing canon and tell it like it already is. But sometimes there are gaps that need to be filled in. In these instances, the Story Group folks give me a lot of freedom to invent new information, as long as I run it by them later for approval. This tends to be background details rather than storylines, though occasionally these details might suggest a little story waiting to be told.

"When I worked on the guides for the animated Star Wars Rebels series, the show was new, so there were lots of vehicles and technology that needed names and stats, so that kept me busy. Numbers and droid names are a fun thing to invent, especially if you can tie them to something meaningful. If I have questions about obscure details, I can consult Leland Chee or Pablo Hidalgo at Lucasfilm. And one or more members of the Story Group always reads my manuscripts, fact-checks, and provides feedback for both in- and out-of-universe content."

The amazing thing about Star Wars, though, is that the members of the Story Group are very accessible to fans. Find me another fandom that can say that. Pablo Hidalgo (@pablohidalgo), Leland Chee (@HolocronKeeper), and Matt Martin (@missingwords) are all very active on Twitter and responsive to fans. But please be respectful and reasonable.

Hidalgo's Twitter bio used to read "2 rules: Don't pitch anything. Please don't ask me about the future."

You can bet they've heard it all.

— SYFY WIRE

[ambiguityisnoonesfriend]

May the 4th 2018 Letter

Dear Yoda,

I am so excited! I love all the iterations of the characters and relationships I’ve requested, and can’t wait to see what you’ve created for me!

My likes: toppy women and partners who are turned on by toppy women, humor, angst, endings with hope intact, functional relationships, dysfunctional relationships, secret relationships that aren’t really a secret, canon divergence AUs such as what if they got there five minutes sooner, time loops, porn, gen, fluff, friends with benefits, friends with benefits with feelings, interactions with the other characters who would be around at the same time except as specified, mixing and matching prompts (ex: Leia and Hera both having different troubles raising Force-sensitive kids and complaining to each other, or Ahsoka/Sabine go on a double date with Ezra/Luke, or something completely different)

My specific art likes: two or three panel simple line comics, playing card or tarot card type imagery, setting a scene, magic and metaphor

My specific porn likes: failsex including interrupted during or instead of sex, cunnilingus, both slash and het anal (DNW femslash anal), light bondage, sex pollen, aliens make them do it, the Force makes them do it, mental connections during sex, mental connections as a substitute for sex, using the Force during sex including light Force choking, Force ghost sex, toys

My line for enjoying sex pollen/AMTDI/TFMTDI is based on how much trauma the characters feel -- I prefer situations where they aren’t traumatized or upset and use the aliens/Force/pollen as an excuse for what they both/all wanted.

I do not want: noncon (okay with dubcon and sex pollen), scat, watersports, omegaverse, unrequested ships except as listed elsewhere in my sign-up, non-canon AUs such as coffeeshops, DJ, Holdo, Lux

Rey/Kylo: I went into TLJ expecting to get nothing for this pairing except maybe one dream sequence. I came out loving them even more. I love this pairing for all the potential. They are opposites. They are exactly the same. Each is incredibly jealous of the other. They keep being drawn together like two ends of a stretched spring, and the only question is if they’ll fuck, fight to the death, or both. My fondest hope is both. I love all variations of dubcon for these two, from The Force Made Them Do It and Sex Pollen, to Forced To Work Together For Reasons. Force bond sex also very welcome!

Finn/Rey/Kylo: I see Rey as drawn to both of them in a classic triangle: Finn is the pull of the light, and Kylo is the allure of the dark, and Rey is fascinated by both. Maybe Finn is enough to bring both the Jedi to the light. Maybe Kylo seduces them both to the other side. Finn and Kylo carry a lot of baggage with each other. Do they set it aside at Rey’s request, or does it define how they both must deal with her and one another? Kylo defecting and having to be babysat by Rey and Finn! Rey is injured and Kylo and Finn have to have magic Force Sex to save her! Aliens make the three of them do it!

Leia & Ben: The pain and the angst and the love in this broken family is the gift that keeps on tearing my heart out and I love it. I love every piece of heartache, how they got there, what each one thought the other thought. Given all possible futures, what would the final fallout be between Leia and Kylo after TLJ?

Poe & Ben & Jacen: At some point, these three were dragged along to some Rebellion reunion where their parents had fun reminiscing about the old days and the kids were bored. Nothing starts out well when the first words you exchange with someone are "My mother said I have to be nice to you." Knowing that Ben grew up to be a human disaster, and Poe wasn't not a disaster, and Jacen is named after a different human disaster, all I am saying is that something got set on fire by the end of the party, certainly by accident, possibly by the Force. This or any other misadventure the three kids got into would be a wonder and a delight.

Kanan/Hera & Chopper, Hera & Chopper: It's strongly implied that Chopper was Hera's only friend before Kanan came along, and from the finale, it looks like he's the one friend who will never leave her. How did they grow together? How long did it take her to fix him up after she found him, and what kinds of trouble did the two of them get into along the way? What happened when she brought aboard an alcoholic drifter who is suddenly competing with Chopper for her attention? What did Kanan make of a foul-mouthed astromech who may or may not have tried to kill him a few times?

Luke/Leia: I was ready for this ship to be sunk in the movie. I was not expecting to walk out shipping it even harder. I want all the happy times before the family reveal. I want all the angsty history post-ROTJ. Luke Denying his feelings. Leia denying hers. The times denying those feelings failed. Maybe Han knows. Maybe Han joins in. Maybe he doesn't know and that's part of the angst. Pre-TFA snuggling. Post-TLJ Force Ghost snuggling. It's all good.

Ezra/Luke: I love the idea of Ezra and Luke meeting up after the original trilogy and finding someone who understands what it's like to be them. They've both been through things nobody else would understand. Maybe Luke is the one who ends up finding Ezra out in the UR, or Ezra finds his own way back and runs into / is drawn to Luke.

Ahsoka/Sabine, Ahsoka & Sabine: Space lesbians on a quest! Everyone knows the point of a quest story is the journey and the discovery of the characters' own true inner selves, right? I want to know about all their adventures together! Does Ahsoka teach Sabine more badass lightsaber moves? Do they pretend to be married on one planet for reasons? Does Sabine build an awesome Machine that causes them unforseen plot problems? Do they date each other? Do they date other women while being happy for each other? I am okay with any combination of this, and I am happy to see them as a couple, or as dating any other female characters or OFCs except not Sabine/Ursa or Sabine/Hera.

Leia & Hera & Sabine: Capers for the Rebellion! This mission happened. I don’t know if it happened before or after the Battle of Yavin, or even several years after Endor, but it happened. Maybe they have to rescue other team members. Maybe they have to go woo new allies, or pick up supplies from a picky source. Leia and Hera are going to disagree about who is in charge. Sabine’s loyalty on the topic may vary depending on who is annoying her more at that moment. Leia and Sabine may wind up with their very first hangovers, or at a later setting, maybe they’re remembering same. For background pairings, I’d prefer Leia with Han, Luke, or both, and Hera with Kanan. Sabine is my little black femslash dress; I don’t ship her with Hera or Ursa but anyone else is fair game.

Hevy & 99: I rewatched the Domino Squad arc recently and was overcome with clone feelings. It seems like Hevy had talked to and confided in 99 before. Did he see his brother as a mentor? 99 clearly held great affection for all the clones who passed through his life. In the microcosm of his friendship with Hevy, how did he see himself? You can bring in the other clones to the story, but I'd like the primary focus to be on these two. You could take this in a more romantic direction if you like, or keep it platonic and focus on the friendship they built.

Hera/Rex: I could see them forming a FWB arrangement sometime by Hoth. Hera doesn't want to get feelings involved ever again because she doesn't want another broken heart. That doesn't mean she won't get feelings anyway but they're not in her plan. Rex has admired her for years but there are chain of command issues, which could be why he's on the Endor strike team and not directly under her command circa RotJ. They both can have angst because of the dead guy in the room, real ghost or imagined. She can have angst out of wonder if this is the best thing for her heart or her child. He can have angst because he doesn't do relationships and his time is getting shorter by the minute and should he accept this little bit of happy? Maybe they end it after one time. Maybe they knock on each other's door every several months even after the war.

Rex & Luke: The moment Rex figures out who Luke is, he is going to be Luke's number one fountain of information on Anakin Skywalker. How do they both react? Luke kept the Vader thing secret for Leia's sake, but did he ever tell Rex?

Hera & Jacen: My one DNW with this relationship is no character death for either, otherwise I am here with the fluffiest of fluffy kid fics to the most heart-wrenching of angst. Hera playing with the new baby and feeling her heart lighten! Jacen's first flying lesson! Maybe he has the Force, maybe he doesn't, maybe he really does but Hera convinces Sabine and Zeb to lie with her and say he doesn't. Does she spend every day worrying at the going rate for the Black Sun's bounty on any known Force sensitive child? Does she tell him the Good Parts stories about the Ghost family in their heyday, and is he the one she was talking to in the trailer voice over? Does she have to keep his legion of uncles and aunts from spoiling him? Does she take him into space battles with her aboard the ship, knowing they could be blasted into dust? How does the conversation go with Cham when she tells him he's going to be a grandfather? Did he ever attend Jedi Death School and how did the two of them react when they found it how it ended?

Hera/Kanan: All of it and everything. Their first months working together. Missing scenes from the time of the show. That time they banged in Ezra's old comm tower while everyone else was busy during "Flight of the Defender." Those times they banged in the various rooms of the ship. Kanan figuring out this Force Ghost business after the fact the way Qui-Gon did, and hanging out to watch and guide. Were Zeb and Sabine their first attempt at building a crew, or were there others around before, and what happened? He's been smitten with her since the beginning, and she didn't say she loved him until the end, so how did they work around feelings, and not admitting to those feelings despite the fact that everyone around them knew? What was he about to tell her when Rukh attacked? Fix-its! Post-canon angst! Comedy capers where they're just hanging out having fun!

[masterstrange-closed]

𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐎 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐗𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐑, 𝐅𝐀𝐑 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 / star wars sequel au

While my Prequels AU and Original Trilogy AU go on to cover the time in which the sequel films take place in, this is not the same canon as that AU. This AU is formed around the basis of Stephen his canonical MCU during points in Sequel Trilogy, putting him in the same pool of characters as the ST cast. All point are flexible for re plotting where they pertain to canon characters.

Stephen was a force sensitive human born 1 BBY (three years before Poe Dameron) to farmers in the outer rim. He doesn’t really recall life during the war, he was only five when the Battle of Endor took place, but he remembers life in the early days after. His mother had suspected early on that he was strong with the force, having grown up on Coruscant during the height of the Old Republic, she was familiar with the Jedi — although, his father refused to acknowledge this. Partially out of fear of what the Empire might do, as force sensitive children were still being gathered and reported to the them — but also out of a stubborn disbelief in such things ever being anything what the Imperialist Propaganda claimed. He had lived in the outer rim during the Clone Wars, where people suffered the most during those three years of battles.

He learned early on that his father hated seeing his ‘weirdness’, and did his best to hide it. However, there was only so much the child could do; as one day, while playing with some local kids in 7 ABY, Stephen had been exploring the fields and his younger sister had fallen into an abandoned well that had been covered up by foliage. The kids had panicked, trying desperately to save her from drowning in the water — Stephen had tried lowering a stick but it slipped from his hands, leaving his hand reaching desperately for her…. when suddenly, his sister began to rise slowly, shakily up to him again. He didn’t understand what he was doing, but he knew he was saving her — afraid to move a muscle until her hand was in his, he was able to pull her out and bring her home safely. The other kids had witnessed the events and word quickly spread around the settlement.

It was too late to hide it now, everyone knew and it didn’t take long for talk of a new Jedi Temple being formed to make it’s way back to them. His mother wanted him to go, but his father was stubborn and adamant that he would be better off staying. Ultimately, after more instances of Stephen’s force ability showing up unexpectedly, the town elders decided to reach out to Master Skywalker and his followers themselves ‘for an assessment’. When they arrived, it didn’t take long for them to confirm that he was a talented force user and would be a worthy Padawan learner. His father was outraged, and told his son if he left, he would have no home here when this fell apart. Stephen was frightened to hear that, but now that he knew he could use the force, it was becoming harder and harder to control it without proper training. So he agreed to go. A tearful goodbye to his mother and sisters, as he left his home forever.

Stephen studied at the temple for twenty-one years, during which he studied the force, built a light saber of his own, studied the art of healing through the force, and accompanied his masters and his colleagues on missions of goodwill where they were needed. By 28 ABY, he had become a Master in his own right, taking on Padawans and teaching along side many others. The future looked hopeful, but many could sense that Master Skywalker was troubled, and that something was brewing in the force. Yet, none of them could foresee what was about to happen.

The Fire. The awful terrible fire, of course at the time — nobody had known what had occurred. A strange storm, perhaps concocted by the Dark Side itself, had struck and it’s lightning had lit the temple ablaze. People were shouting, running, screaming, crying. The stories he heard in the pandemonium were fractured and conflicting: Luke Skywalker tried to kill his nephew, Ben Solo had killed his uncle, someone set the temple on fire, the storm caused the fire, protect the younglings, save yourself! Stephen dashed into the blaze, desperate to save as many as he could, but he was caught in the rubble himself. The smoke, and ash, it stung his eyes and burned his lungs. He never knew how he escaped, but when he came too, he was a distance away from the fire, burned (but with a hasty attempt to help his wounds) and broken… he had never experienced pain like that in his life. Had this person been a rescuer, or someone who had wanted him to die slowly and painfully?

The days afterwards, remained a blur to him. He must have been running on autopilot, or the force merely had other plans than death for him and kept him alive long enough to reach a settlement. He spent weeks in the care of holy women, patching him up as best they could, and helping him recall as much as he could. Eventually, a story became clear as news began pouring in. The Temple had fallen, Ben Solo and a few others escaped the temple, Luke Skywalker was missing, the casualties had been catastrophic, the few survivors were either missing or taken by the First Order. It was impossible to believe, but when he reached through the force to the rumored betrayers, all he felt was the coldness of the dark side corrupting them. The Jedi had fallen, and he was now a wanted man.

As soon as he could manage, he left the settlement, not wanting to endanger those who had helped him. His saber, broken pieces in his bag after the fire… not that he could use it anymore now. While many of his injuries had healed or were in the process of it, the biggest personal casualty he had suffered that night… was the damage done to his hands. They theorized that perhaps a burning part of the building had fallen on them and entrapped him long enough to do this, but they couldn’t be certain. No longer able to wield his saber, and heartbroken about the loss of the only family and home he had known for over twenty years, Stephen abandoned the title of Jedi, abandoned his name and ran away.

He tried to go to his original home eventually, he concealed his identity and went to look for his family’s farm, but he was unprepared for what he faced. His parents and sisters were gone, and in their place, was a brother he never knew he had — born after he left, and considered by his father, the replacement son. Stephen met his brother, but did not tell him who he was. Asked to trade a couple nights work for food and bed, to which his brother agreed. It turned to be the right call, as it didn’t take long to learn his brother had been raised to wish no contact with his older brother. That he had abandoned them, and joined the Jedi…. and now that they had fallen once more and turned dark (for the ones who remained) — he did not trust them. It was heartbreaking, but his father had told him long ago that he had no home here anymore, and he had been right. His brother learned of his identity, by seeing his broken lightsaber fall out of his bag — and demanded he left at once. Stephen had given up any right to call this home, or him family, so with a bit of food and coin, he left for the last time.

Stephen traveled the Galaxy, never staying in one place for long to avoid First Order attention, but it was hard to ignore them entirely. As he journeyed, he found himself unable to hold back from interfering. Fighting local platoons who tried to occupy villages, and using his abilities to help and heal those hurt fighting and protecting themselves from them. As he traveled, he heard word about the Resistance —  there was no question. This was beyond local militia, this was an act of galactic war.  The force was in pain, in chaos — and it needed to be set right. Stephen knew he needed the join General Organa and her forces. The problem was, he didn’t know how to find them. As he searched, he did his part. Gathering a few followers like him, searching for the rebels, as he went. Finally, they found them on D’Qar, and offered their services up.

Stephen had no wish to take a gun, or wield a saber, gifting the remains of his to General Organa to find use for — but he didn’t need a weapon. He had the force, he knew how to fight. He was ready to defend the galaxy if called upon, but his specific Jedi Training had been inspired by the Jedi Service Corps of the Old Republic, a talent in force healing he had perfected in his years of travel — making his essential to their medical factions as supplies were limited. Yet, he did not use the name Jedi still — and when Rey arrived, he knew through the force her destiny was to find Luke Skywalker, so he did not reveal himself as a Master to her until after she returned to them, and at the behest of General Organa, to assist her in training as she recovered from her injuries still.

Stephen remained with the Resistance as the others went off in search of the Map, he sensed the General’s days were numbered and wished to help her pass on peacefully and become one with the force. When the final battle took place on Exegol, Stephen took his place alongside the rest of the Rebels and helped them win the day.