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riddikulus-writings · 8 months ago

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Born To Run

FRISAL; 3ABY DAY 2; Early Morning Hours

Anaya Kesikki-Kenobi was an anomaly in and out of herself.

Born of two Jedi Masters almost at the peak of the Clone Wars, the woman whose apartment Cal was seated in should. not. exist. She does – obviously – but she seems to pretend that she doesn't. Anaya appears to keep to herself. Speak only when spoken to.

That much he’d been able to figure out in the few hours they’d been talking. Or, well, not talking, really. She’s quieted down in the twenty-some-odd years since he’d seen her last, and instead of actually speaking to him she simply regarded his existence in her dimly-lit kitchen with something akin to disinterest.

She’d led him and BD-1 to her apartment – constantly checking over her shoulder – let them inside and disappeared to a back bedroom for a while.

He knows what it’s like to live your life with your focus on who might be behind you

She’d come back out in loose pajamas with her light brown hair let down from the tight style she’d had it in. Then, she’d walked right past him, to the kitchen where they were now, and still hasn’t uttered more than a few single words to him this entire time, answering most of his questions with one or two short words if she spoke at all to answer them.

It made Cal feel like he’d done something wrong.

“How long have you lived here?” he tried.

Anaya hummed. Shrugged. Kept her back to him as she put together something to drink, “Few months.”

“The uniform?”

“Disguise.”

“Do you talk?”

“When there’s something to talk about,” she turned back to face him, holding two tall glasses of hot cocoa, “Otherwise VD isn’t much of a talker.” she slid onto the stool next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and pushed one of the glasses towards him, “You have to remember, Cal, the last time I saw you was when I was nine years old. You were a scary adult, I wasn’t about to try to be your best friend.”

“I was eighteen.”

“And I was a child whose entire childhood up to that point was forged on the fact I needed to keep to myself. I had – and still have – what is essentially crippling people anxiety. Seeing you now, after I’d thought you dead, feels weird. I barely talked to you then, and I’m not about to launch into my entire life’s story for you now because of it.”

“You could, though.” he would probably welcome it, hearing how she and her mother survived all these years. He couldn’t imagine what it could’ve been like, trying to raise a child that young while on the run, “Could you?”

“Not tonight, anymore. Bracca was fun, though. Chasing you through the scrapyards made my short time there less sucky. I never got to thank you for putting up with Koa and I.”

“Don’t mention it, Anaya. Do we know where Koa went?”

Anaya shrugged, “As far as I know, she’s got to still be there, poor thing.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Cal told her, “You knew she was…”

“Force Sensitive? Yes. I knew that the second I met her, and I was only a child. Mom told me, too, later on Jabiim when we found dad again. Mom was worrying about her, dad said it was probably for the best that she stayed hidden on Bracca. If she didn’t know she was Sensitive, no one else could’ve too.”

“Jabiim?” he'd heard of an incident there with Vader, two Jedi and an Inquisitor – he didn't even think that he knew those Jedi.

“That’s a long story,” Anaya smiled into her half empty cup, “Story for another time, Cal, don’t get me monologuing or we’ll never get some sleep.”

Cal was more of a nightscowl, anyway.

“When you went batshit crazy, tried to kill an Inquisitor, outed yourself as a Jedi, though? You put Bracca on such a harsh lockdown that mom and I had to sneak out almost the same day you did. That was hard to do. Took a lot of bribes.”

Cal’s heart sank. He quietly sipped his steaming drink to avoid the topic; he hadn’t been thinking about the others he’d have affected. Cal also tried to avoid looking at her, but Anaya had the same calm, cold look that her mother held and eventually he broke like he used to at the Temple when Master Kesikki would fix him with the same stare, “I am so sorry.”

Anaya’s cold exterior cracked and she began giggling, “It’s fine. Mom doesn’t blame you, and if you hadn't done it we would’ve never left and found dad again, and we’d probably all still be stuck on fucking Bracca. I should be thanking you, but fuck, man, there are other ways.”

Hearing the words mom and dad being used to describe not one, but two Jedi Masters is something that Cal is never going to get used to hearing, even after so many years since the Order had been essentially obliterated. Jedi Masters Valena Kesikki and the by-the-book Obi-Wan Kenobi? He shook his head and finished his drink, “Please, for the sake of my sanity, stop calling them that.”

“Oh, if Skywalker could have a secret love affair, so could anyone else. Stop being weirded out. I’m not going to call my parents by their first names” Anaya finished her drink, too, and made to stand up, “More?”

She gave him a look when he began sputtering about a Skywalker having a secret love affair– a look that clearly said not tonight and interrupted him, “Cal, more?”

He took a deep breath, “Yes, please.”

“Anyways,” she began, back to him once more, “Valena is alive and well, Kenobi got, uh… well, he’s gone. Passed. Saber’d to death, I suppose?” her voice went soft, “That’s why I’ve got half mom’s saber. She tried giving it up completely after he went and did that.”

“Sorry to hear.”

She turned to face him, again, “”s fine. He was old, anyway. Self-sacrificial bullshit and all. Mom’s trying to get all mopey about it. Gave me her weapon, sent me on my merry way. “I don’t need this anymore, Luck. Take it and put it to more use than I ever will.” her voice was overly-mocking, “Came back a couple months later with my own upgraded one and gave half her’s back. And then promptly fucked off again to live here for… reasons. Hungry?”

He ignored why a Jedi would want to live on Frisal, “Starving, actually,” Cal told her without even thinking, and mentally slapped himself for imposing, “If you’re offering, I don’t want to be rude.”

“You spent twenty minutes chasing me across town not even three hours ago. I don’t think you can get any more rude, Kestis.”

He snorted and fell into silence as he watched her rifle through her fridge. If it hadn’t been for her strikingly blue eyes and the telltale cheekbones she’d obviously gotten from her mother, Cal wasn’t sure he’d have even recognized her. Not even VD-237C – the Imperial spider-droid that he himself had helped Valena Kesikki bring to life during her short, two-year stint on Bracca – had helped him to realize he’d been chasing an old friend through the dark streets of Frisal. He pushed his hair back from his face, “So, why are you living here?”

“Kolphi Javal.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him, Cal,” Anaya paused, turning her head to half look at him over her shoulder, “Director of Engineering and Design for the Galactic Empire. I’m here to kill him.”

Cal leaned forward, folding his arms over her black-topped kitchen island, “Wouldn’t you know,” his tone was dry, “I am, too.”

She snorted. Even the spider next to his elbow that Cal had thought to be in rest mode made a noise close to a scoff [he was a tad offended that even a droid thought him a liar], “It’s against your Code to kill people. What are you really doing here?”

“It’d be against your Code, too, then, Kenobi,” Cal mentioned.

“Don’t throw me in with your lot,” she finally turned back to face him, toting a plate with two halves of a very thick sandwich, and two more cups of hot cocoa with her – one tucked half-assed between her elbow and ribs, about to spill over, “Mom tells me I was four years old when Order 66 happened. Too young to be trained. Too young to be considered a Padawan. Too young to be a legitimate Jedi. Half of this is mine, by the way, if you try to eat it I will not hesitate to hurt you.”

“Duly noted,” Cal picked half up and bit off a chunk, proceeding to speak through his mouthful, “You’ve made it further than a lot of Jedi I know. As far as I’m concerned, you are one. You’ve obviously had training,” through her own mouthful of food, Anaya gave him another look that conveyed a lot of emotion – she was really good at that – and Cal mentally slapped himself once more. She was raised by two of the best Jedi Masters he’d ever had the short pleasure of knowing. Of course she got training.

“Why are you trying to kill Kolphi?” Anaya licked some whipped cream off her lip, and then motioned towards her mouth with her finger, “Cal, you’ve got some…”

He swiped his sleeve over his mouth and laughed, “Thanks. If Kolphi gets taken out, the possibility of another Death Star happening gets pushed back a few years while the Empire scrambles for another engineer.”

“Ah,” she stood and moved towards the couch behind them, beckoning him with, “Same reason I’m here, then. Nice. Who’re you working for?”

“No one, right now,” he followed and fell onto the seat beside her, “You?”

“The Rebellion, duh. Mom’s like, top gun around there. Kinda. So I get all the fun missions.”

“Really?”

“No. Not really, anyway,” she swatted his elbow with a paper notepad, “She is well respected, though. Now, here, check this out,” she leaned forward and spread the notepad out over her coffee table – Cal briefly wondered why she didn’t have a holopad. Or why she didn’t have VD helping with projections – “I’ve obviously been trailing Javal for a hot minute and, honestly, I was beginning to wonder if I had the right guy. The most I ever see him do is drink cocktails and hang out with his homely, half-breed son.”

“Half breed?”

“Iavys Javal is a full-fledged Zabrak. Red skin, pink markings. Black hair down to her fuckin’ ass – wish my hair was that long. Yellow eyes and, like, I don’t know, eight little horns, I think? Full-bore, can’t-miss-her Zabrak. Kind of cute if you look past the fact that she’s married to an Imp. Their son is Orron. Looks like a human from afar, black hair, purple eyes. Four horns but he’s still got the red skin markings of a Zabrak, just really light on his skin. Easily spotted if you know that he’s half ‘n half. Surprised you didn’t know that.”

“I don’t… do family research before getting out and about.”

“Well, you should,” Anaya’s tone was matter-of-fact. She reached behind Cal, leaning over to click the table lamp on before continuing, “He’s got a basic routine of the same four bars, two that double as restaurants. And then on the weekends he likes the beach, boating if Iavys wants to come out, too. The guy doesn’t really seem like a threat, but he holds himself like an Imperial jackass, just the way he walks.”

“So he walks like everyone here?”

“It is an Imperial vacationing planet,” she shrugged, mostly to herself, and stood up, “‘s gettin’ late. Or, well… it’s like, what? One? Two, in the morning? Try to get some rest, yeah? We’ll reconvene when the sun is actually up. I know the best bar a few blocks from here, their cocktails are amazing.” Cal stood, too, stretching his back, preparing to head back to the Mantis. He took two steps, bent to collect BD, and stopped when Anaya spoke, “Oh, duh, you’d rather have the spare bedroom, right? Sorry I didn’t ask sooner.”

“What?”

“That’s where you were going, right?”

“No…? I was headed back to my ship.”

One of her eyebrows went up, “I have at least four places you could sleep here and you’d rather go back out, across town, and sleep in your ship?”

“I didn’t want to be a bother…” Cal felt a little guilty, now, for insinuating she didn’t want him staying in her apartment.

“You’re always going to be a bother, Kestis, now lay back down before I make you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Kenobi.”

“Keep it up and I just might,” she muttered, backtracking down the hall to what he assumed was her bedroom, “Other bed’s in this room –” she pointed to her left, “-- if you want it. I’m in here –” she nodded to her right, “-- bathroom is the door right behind me, it’s connected to both bedrooms, so do me a favor and close my door, too, when you’re in there. We’re not close enough friends for full frontal just yet. Turn the lamp off before you doze off. Let me know if you leave. I don’t want to be waking up in the morning thinking you got yourself kidnapped.”

Cal couldn’t help but laugh at how straightforward her sense of humor could be – obviously from her mother. He gave her a light, two-finger salute, “Will do. Thanks, Anaya.”

“Call me Naya or somethin’, would you? My full name is a mouthful.”

#Cal Kestis #Cal Kestis x OC #star wars #jedi: survivor #jedi: fallen order

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i-dont-know-how-this-site-works · 2 years ago

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Stealing power and wifi connection from my university to talk online about animated shows, lets's go baby!

My headcanon is that Wrecker is absolutely a cottagecore girl mixed in with like, 70s west coast rollerblade neon pink girl aesthetic, so I just wanna see Wrecker going fishing, breeding chickens, embroidering and crocheting, pickling and making jam, all while wearing his blades and rolling around the island and only occasionally crafting a small bomb and setting it off on the next uninhabited island lol (I might be projecting a bit onto our favourite big boy)

*dances around and claps my hands* perks of being European, plane tickets cost less than those damn energy bills :P

But seriously, if you have the chance to go to any south-eastern European country, do so! It's beautiful down there (and the food!)!

Oh yeah, I did see the interrogation bot, so I think we will see the empire interrogating Crosshair- or maybe interrogating Cid? Which is why she sounded so off in her transmission?

I haven't played Jedi survivor either, but I am a tiny bit of a history nerd irl (very ancient history, think like humans building first civilizations, agricultural revolution, domesticating animals, or just human evolution in general), so I would kill to see more ancient jedi stuff in canon, I admit I am not very well versed in EU lore because there is so much of it and I don't know where to start :P

I will admit that I wasn't really enjoying episode 5, but maybe that mech monster will come in handy sometime. But I do appreaciate that they took the time to develop Phee more since her character and her burgeoning relationship with Tech is more ✨salient✨ now.

I know, but I love my Jedi order <3 those emotionally constipated space monk wizards do something to my heart that I cannot explain.

I think at this point there are so many plot threads left unfinished with only 3 episodes to tie them together, so I find it unlikely that they would introduce Wolffe now. They know that the audience wants to see Wolffe (and Cody, Gregor and Howzer as well) again, so I think they will eventually throw him into the pot, but not now. And I don't think we should worry about repetitiveness too much- the s1 finale had Hunter be kidnapped and it's shaping up to be Omega getting the short end of the stick for s2. I just hope we are not going to be ending each season with someone getting kidnapped, just a merry-go-round of kidnappings.

Well, an old geezer with magic powers, a whiny teenager who never stepped foot outside his backyard, an asshole smuggler, a giant 7-foot-tall lump of hair, a robot with an anxiety disorder, an astromech who had more war crimes under his belt than the damn emperor himself and a girl whose entire civilization was destroyed and acted like it was nothing infiltrated THE Death Star, so really, how hard would it be for a team of elite soldiers to infiltrate a mountain base? They did it in the last season and the plan fell through only because Hunter skipped arm day and fell off the ship lol

I think there would be many access points, just speaking from a logistics perspective. You need a way into the facility, a way for ships to be docked, a way in to provide water, drain sewage, throw out the garbage, power lines, exhaust ports, etc. They also have lower levels as confirmed by Hemlock and I am pretty sure they couldn't have squeezed the Zillo through the front door :P

Oh, I am not doubting that they will set off all alarms, it's the bad batch after all- subtlety was never one of their strong points.

Trying new things is scary, I will give you that. But once you try it a few times and get comfortable with it, and when you discover that VA is exactly what you want to do in life, I am sure you will forget about how hard it was to start :) And I love people who can switch accents effortlessly- I've been learning how to speak with a British accent for 2 years now with actual professionals and I am nowhere near target-like pronunciation, so I am so jealous of people who can do it on a whim! And I am in such awe of DBB- to be able to vary his voice enough for each clone to be distinct, yet remain a steady, unchanged main tone all clones share. It's incredible! I am sure you can do it too ;)

Ohh, so that's how you do it. My attention span is so short that I can effectively focus on one or two things only at a time before I get distracted, so watching shows and being productive simultaneously is outside my capabilities.

Yes, I am imagining the plot going from season 1: tbb immediately jumping back into action after war because they can't imagine doing anything else -> season2: tbb exploring the possibilities of a normal life -> season 3: facing their traumas and dancing between fighting for the rebellion and having a purpose outside the life of a soldier -> season 4: finally striking that life-work balance, if you will.

I don't think that anything like that has been invented in SW, so I think we will be subjected to the survivor clones dying of old age after their 40th birthdays. I actually had an idea for a sad af fic where Ahsoka steps up to take care of elderly Rex and has to reconcile with the fact that the man who was only a couple years older when she met him is now bedridden and frequently experiences memory lapses. Just, Ahsoka having to deal with one of her best friends dying not in combat, being ripped away from her by force, but simply time taking its toll and whisking her friend away.

I would love an SW series focusing on like, a store clerk from Coruscant, who has never been in a fight in his entire life and never met a Jedi, a politician, or anyone famous, and just seeing the changing galaxy through their eyes. How the war, the transition from republic to empire, the civil war, and then de-empirizing the galaxy took its toll on normal citizens.

I think Disney just sort of expected that whatever garbage they release under the “Star Wars” logo, people will just eat up and call it the best thing since sliced bread was invented, so they didn’t really care who they hire for the writing process (or if the writing was good). Or maybe like you are suggesting, they did care, it just didn’t end up being all that great. Although TRoS is reeeeally pushing it, I can’t believe that no one at Disney was like, stop there, this is a horrible idea.

Either way, that whole mess gave us tbb, soooo…¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But yeah, I think they went with tbb and mando to reverse engineer the sequels, and while it won’t make the sequels good, at least we are getting something awesome out of it.

As for my writing, uhh, ventures, I have some stuff started in my notes app, but nothing is complete (and I have a horrible problem with actually finishing my stuff, so they probably won’t be finished at all). That said, for tbb alone, I am writing a death fic for Tech, a fic where Omega is injured on Tech’s watch and he has to keep her alive till he finds help, a short fic with Hunter being all self-blamey and a mopey emo dude after discovering injured Cross and Omega getting taken. For more fluffy things, I am writing a 5+1 where Hunter takes care of the team and one time they take care of him. I have other SW stuff too, mostly Obi-Wan and Anakin centered, with Ahsoka and Rex thrown in for good measure, and some crackfics too.

Do you have an ao3, by the way? Maybe you will grace me with your fics? 👉👈

I don’t know when I am going to reply to your reddit, since it took me 5 hours to reply to Tumblr inbetween classes and stuff and I still have 3 hours of classes left, so it might take a while. Especially considering this is 3 pages long in g.docs with 10.5 arial font, so yeah.

P.S. Uhhh, I don’t really know? You can call me Asia, I guess? It’s my discord handle :P and no, it’s not the same as the continent, in case you were wondering, @arlothia.

Tell me what you think because I realised this shit as I was falling asleep and I now I can't go unless I get it out there:

Does the colour scheme of the background sort of look like the colour scheme of the houses and buildings on Pabu?

So, theory: Cid didn't sound...normal? the last time she contacted the guys and it's actually because the empire has gotten hold of her to try to bait the bad batch into coming into contact with her again. Well, that didn't work, so Cid suggests contacting Echo alone and tells him about Cross needing help (she knows the group has split) and that checks the "Cid is going to betray them" checkbox. Echo and Rex fall for it, contact the rest of the batch because they are going to need as much help as they can get in infiltrating Tantiss, and head to Pabu to rendezvous. That's where we get the long awaited Echo and Omega reunion. The group head to Tantiss, get Crosshair out, but in the process Omega is captured. They are forced to leave her to save injured/drugged/traumatised/comatose Cross and themselves. We open season 3 on Omega being experimented on or being mistreated to get Nala Se to cooperate.

#the bad batch #the bad bad spoilers #speculations

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levitatingbiscuits · 2 years ago

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… that take about padme’s reaction to the massacre really makes me realize how much my own circumstances influence my reading of her, because to me “go super placating, start giving him what he wants in hopes that you can sway him with some doomed to failure tit-for-tat” is an extremely familiar reaction to the realization that the person you have to rely on is capable of extreme violence. like, not a *good* reaction, i guess, but a really familiar one.

Every reaction in a situation like that is a survival instinct. It doesn't matter if it's "good" or "bad." If it keeps you safe, that's all that matters. I would never judge a real person for how they react in a real-life scary situation.

There are a lot of ways to read Padme, and I think every reading has value to it. One thing that's frustrating about her is that it's so damn hard to figure out what is going on inside her head, particularly when it comes to Anakin. We're told she's madly in love with him, but what led her there? Why would she fall in love with a child killer in the first place??

Padme WAS trapped in a bad situation in that scene. She's being targeted by assassins, and the only person on the planet she can rely on to protect her is an awkward teenage boy who has repeatedly made inappropriate (and maybe even illegal, considering she's a senator and he's a jedi) advances towards her that she keeps having to turn down. I think a lot of women would assume she felt uncomfortable around him, given how unsettling or even frightening unwanted advances are irl. And then he comes back, obviously distraught, with his dead mom, then freaks out and starts screaming and crying about how he just killed a bunch of Tuskens, including women and children, and that he feels no remorse, only hatred.

I think a lot of people would do what Padme did in that situation: offer sympathy, soothe him, try to calm him down so he won't act violently anymore. But most people, upon hearing a guy confess to being a dangerous mass murderer, would also get away from him ASAP and report him to the authorities.

Padme doesn't do that.

Maybe that's understandable AT FIRST, because she needs to deal with all the shit going down on Geonosis. Maybe the kiss is even understandable, because she thinks they're about to die and she cares about him/thinks he's hot, so why not give in to the attraction and make out?

But it's everything after that makes me think Padme might have been into Anakin's violence. I don't think it's that she feels protected by him, because he's honestly a pretty incompetent bodyguard in this movie and she can defend herself just fine. I think she might have felt powerful knowing that she had a hot, dangerous Jedi wrapped around her finger. I think she liked that he broke his vows, both because she saw it as romantic and because she thought he did it all for her. (He did not, but she willfully ignored that, a pattern that would repeat right up until he choked her out. I really think she thought the "you're breaking my heart" line would stop him, because she assumed until the end that she held more sway over him than she actually did.)

Maybe she had a bit of "I can fix him" going on too, but we also have to keep in mind that Padme is a very ambitious person who likes having power, and Anakin is very attractive to those types of people, because he's strong and he's easily led. She's also no stranger to violence, and I think she might be a bit of an adrenaline junkie; a rich and powerful senator wouldn't put herself in peril that often unless a part of her enjoyed the excitement. And Anakin is the ultimate adrenaline rush; they're breaking all the rules together, he's powerful, and he's dangerous. But no one actually likes being around dangerous people unless you believe that they're not a danger to you, so I think Padme convinced herself that she was the one holding his leash.

It never would have worked if they had to spend an extended amount of time together, but the war prolonged the fantasy for her. He was the Hero With No Fear! Sure, he was violent, but he was using it for the good of the Republic! And she's the one he came home to, so there's no way he was a threat to her when he had other ways to slake his bloodthirst. Maybe she convinced herself that he was only ever that violent in defense of those he loves, and he loved her more than anyone else.

By RotS, she'd wrapped herself in layer after layer of self-delusion, ignoring every single one of Anakin's red flags so that he wouldn't shatter her romantic fantasy. She couldn't admit that she'd fucked up royally, because then she'd have to admit that what she did was wrong and her whole life (and probably her perception of herself as a good person) would fall down around her ears. And I think she probably downplayed the massacre because it was Tuskens, not humans, and the Naboo humans have a history of tension with the Gungans so she's already primed to see other species as less-than. Sure, she swallowed her pride and begged them for help, but there's gotta be a reason that was the last resort.

That's why she was unable to accept that Anakin had killed children, even though she's the only one who knows about his history of child murder. That's why she was willing to have children with a child murderer, and never once thought he would be a threat to them. After all, those Tuskens were Outer Rim nobodies hated by the humans on their planet; they didn't count. Those kids he killed weren't Core-world human kids like their babies would be. They weren't kids at all, to her. But she knew and cared about Ahsoka, so hearing that Anakin killed a bunch of Jedi children just a few years younger than her was too much for her to process, and she went into denial until Obi-Wan told her there was footage of him doing it. (She never saw the Tusken massacre; with her it was very much out of sight, out of mind. She might have even convinced herself he was exaggerating.)

I don't want to victim blame Padme for being in a bad relationship. However, I will blame her for letting mass murder slide. She should have never let Anakin get away with it, and as a legislator it is literally her job to prevent and punish shit like that.

Padme is fascinating, honestly. I want to study her under a microscope bc WHAT THE FUCK WAS SHE THINKING?? LUCAS I MUST KNOW

#a lot of her mystery is probably due to her being written to be anakin's love interest first and foremost #but seriously i want to know what's going on with her #damn this got long lmfao #padme amidala #star wars meta #anonymous

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

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soulmate au: 2 or 27 for rexwalker? (or rexanidala)

soulmate au prompts

2. the one where you have your soulmate’s name written on your body.

27. the one where you can transfer any injuries/pain your soulmate has onto yourself.

Once again featuring Marginally Less Terrible Jango, Hopeless Romantic Anakin, and Significantly More Awkward Rex.

Word Count: 5.9k

-----

Anakin doesn’t have a soulmate until he’s ten years old.

He’s already been at the Temple for half a year by then, and heard enough about how not having a soul mark is a good thing, for a Jedi. It means fewer temptations away from the duties they’ve all agreed to take on. There are people with names on their bodies, including Obi-Wan, who has two, but everyone agrees that while friendship with one’s soulmate is fine, especially if that soulmate is a fellow Jedi, it cannot be allowed to become too deep.

“I don’t understand,” Anakin admits to Obi-Wan, one night when he finds Obi-Wan looking at the name that wraps around his upper thigh, the one in the unfamiliar alphabet and cultured, perfect strokes. It’s a few months after he arrives, long enough to think they won’t kick him out just for asking questions, but not quite long enough to know what’s normal yet. His own soul mark is several months away, not that he knows it. “Soulmates were one of the few things a mas--an owner couldn’t take away from a slave. They could get rid of the mark, but we still knew. They were important, something the universe gave us that we could keep, even if it was only in our memories. Why do Jedi try to make it not count?”

Obi-Wan gets a look on his face, the one he gets whenever Anakin has a question that’s more complicated and philosophical than what Obi-Wan was ready for, the questions about why that he has to think about because it’s all normal for Obi-Wan, who grew up here, in ways that it isn’t (and will never be) for Anakin with his Tatoo heart and slaveborn mind.

“It’s not about the depth of the relationship in and of itself,” Obi-Wan finally says. “It’s about how you go about it, how you let it affect you, and if you let it get in the way of your duties as a Jedi, or put yourself at risk of a fall. It’s... it’s not banned, exactly, to love someone the way one would expect to love a soulmate, but it’s discouraged for our own safety and health. Losing someone you love hurts everyone, but for a Force-user to lose someone they consider so dear to their heart, there’s always a risk of losing one’s stability and going Dark.”

Anakin doesn’t entirely understand, but he pretends he does.

Obi-Wan scratches at the stubble he’s trying to turn into a beard, and says, “Okay, let me finish getting dressed, and then I’m going to tell you a few stories. You said you like learning through stories, right?”

Anakin nods.

“Okay, so... Bandomeer, I think. Melida/Daan and Mandalore, definitely. And we can round it out with what happened a few days ago,” Obi-Wan mutters. “I--most of those are planets.”

“I’ve heard of Mandalore,” Anakin volunteers.

“Yes, most have,” Obi-Wan indulges him, but he looks a little nervous. “Anakin, I... these stories all have to do with some very painful times in my life, times when I almost left, or did leave, the Jedi Order. I think--”

“You left the Jedi?”

“For a year, when I was a little older than you, but I came back,” Obi-Wan says. “I’m... can you put on some tea? It’ll make this conversation easier.”

“Is it about your soulmates?” Anakin asks, clinging to the doorframe just before he exits.

“...one of them,” Obi-Wan says, passing a hand over the mark on his thigh. “It’s... she’s why Mandalore is on this list, but that story won’t make as much sense unless I tell you about Bandomeer and Melida/Daan first.”

“Because you left?”

“Because I already knew what leaving could cost me,” Obi-Wan corrects, gentle but oddly stern. “Go put on the tea, Anakin. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

-----

Three months after Anakin hears about the times Obi-Wan was forced to leave, did leave, almost left, and threatened to leave (for Anakin’s sake!), the name of his soulmate comes in.

“That’s not a name,” Anakin says.

“Anakin--”

“That’s not a name,” Anakin says, more upset than he’d like to admit. The soul mark sits neatly on one side of his lower abdomen, warm and precisely lettered and absolutely terrifying.

CT-7567, in a dark, desaturated blue.

“I don’t think your soulmate is a droid,” Obi-Wan tries to joke. It falls flat.

“They’re a born slave,” Anakin says, and watches Obi-Wan stiffen. “Droids don’t get soulmates. Slaves do, but sometimes ma--owners don’t let slaves have names. They just give ‘em a number and that’s it. Supposed to make us more pliant and keeps us from having thoughts of individuality.”

“Them, Anakin, not us. You’re free.”

Anakin looks up at him, lip wobbling, and he knows a Jedi shouldn’t cry, not when he’s already ten, but he wants to any way. “My soulmate isn’t.”

“O-oh, okay, we’re crying now,” Obi-Wan mutters, clearly overwhelmed, and pulls Anakin to his chest. “It’ll be alright, dear one. Your mark means you will meet one day, and when you do, you can free them. Alright?”

“Okay.”

-----

“Skywalker? Sounds like a slave name.”

It’s a refrain that CT-7567 hears almost every time one of the adults sees his mark. They mention Tatooine sometimes. One of the bounty hunters that covers their weapons training gets angry if people point out the slave thing, and CT-7567 isn’t the only person to get a slave for a soulmate. She doesn’t explain it often, but there’s an incident when Rex is three that gives him a little more information.

“That one’ll be angry,“ the bounty hunter mutters, her lip curling when she hears the cadets gossiping about their marks again, sees CT-7567 pulling up his shirt to show off his own. She’s always like that, about the clones who have slave soulmates. CC-1010, who knows everything about everyone, says that she used to be a slave before she killed her way out. She’s definitely scary enough. “Name like that... Tatooine, human, might be a slave or might be freeborn from a line of slaves. Either way, that one’s going to be angry about it.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

Her eyes flick to his, and then back to the slugthrower she’s cleaning. “Tatooine slave culture knows things. Your mark on this “Anakin” is going to be your number until you get a name, and they’re not going to make the mistake of thinking their soulmate is a droid. They’ll know you were born to a purpose.”

It takes another year for CT-7567 to learn that she means ‘you were born a slave.’

(It takes two more for him to pick a name.)

-----

Anakin is not the only one in the Temple to have this kind of soul mark popping up. He is not even the first. The Council is investigating it, apparently, but they don’t have much to go off of. It didn’t start until a year or two before Anakin came to Coruscant, but enough Jedi are affected by the CC and CT soul marks for it to be concerning. Anakin gets called in to provide some information on what he knows about slave-designations in these circumstances, which isn’t much, and is barely more than what they already know, but they assure him it’s helpful. Something about corroborating the information a raised slave is taught culturally with the information a Shadow can collect from a community that doesn’t trust them. Obi-Wan explains that it’s about how Anakin knows information that was collected and taught, instead of information that has to be gathered, bit by bit, and analyzed.

It’s a long way of saying that Anakin knows things that other people don’t, because he wasn’t raised in the safety of the Temple.

Anakin doesn’t know many of the others, but he does know one even before his soul mark comes in, because their Masters are friends. They talk about it, and three years after they first connect over this, something happens.

“It changed! Anakin, Ani, it changed!”

Anakin drops the datapad he’s been doing history homework on, and looks up as Aayla, already in the suite, grabs his shoulders and shakes him a little.

“Aayla?” Obi-Wan calls, coming out of the kitchen with a rag in one hand and a wet plate in the other. “What in the--what are you shouting about?”

Knight Vos follows Aayla in--it’s a bit early to call him a Master, given that Aayla’s still not knighted, but it’s getting close--and leans against the door, arms crossed. “Kid was right. The mark changes when the soulmate picks a name.”

Aayla pulls down the shoulder of one sleeve, and Anakin sees that the designation number has changed. It’s not a regimented CC-5052 anymore, but a short, sweet Bly, with a flourish at the end that probably means this person is always going to be excited to sign their name.

“We already knew that,” Obi-Wan says. “When people transition, their name changes on their soulmate as well. This is the same thing.”

“We didn’t know that it applied to born slaves the same way,” Knight Vos says. “All we had was anecdotal evidence from the kid. Trustworthy, yes, but no data to back it up. And now we know.”

“I wonder how it’s meant to be pronounced,” Aayla says, and obligingly lets Anakin poke at the name that swirls on her shoulder in a vivid yellow against the blue. It’s pretty, he thinks. The handwriting and the color and what it means that the soulmates they’ve all gotten are finding ways to be people.

“How long until mine changes?” Anakin asks, even though he knows that nobody here has that answer. “Do you think all of them are going to find names? Or...”

“If they don’t by the time we find them,” Aayla assures him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “they will once they’re free.”

(In one life, the Jedi would have held their tongues and ducked their heads, hidden in denial and ‘we are their only option’ and ‘the Senate will use them regardless; we are a kinder fate than men like Tarkin’ and would never use the words ‘slave army’ to describe their men.)

(In this life, they are primed, from the moment a little freed boy explains exactly what a soul mark like this means to people like his, to see their army and say ‘we will free you.’)

-----

Rex

Anakin has his eyes fixed on the name from the moment his mark burns and twists and changes. He’s sixteen by then, and on a mission with Obi-Wan that prevents him from running to break into Knight Aayla’s room and show off to her the way she had to him. He’s not even on planet, but at least it’s not the middle of a fight. That could have been bad.

“Hey, Obi-Wan?”

“Hm?”

“I got a name.”

“For the assassin?” Obi-Wan asks, raising his head hopefully. “Did you get through to the guild?”

“...no, I meant, uh, my soulmate.” Anakin lifts his shirt, waits on that unfortunate dash of disappointment, and then Obi-Wan’s face lights up and the man practically scrambles over to get a better look. Anakin tries not to let himself read too much into it. It’s... nice, he thinks. That Obi-Wan is excited for him.

“I feel like half these individuals are picking names of exactly three letters,” Obi-Wan says, but he’s smiling as he almost touches the mark. He doesn’t, in the end, but Anakin wants to laugh at it anyway. “Rex, then. I look forward to meeting your young man.”

Anakin feels his face flare. “We don’t know that it’s a boy. I mean, there might be places where that’s a girl’s name. Or a species that doesn’t have our genders. Or--”

“I have a feeling,” Obi-Wan says, and laughs when Anakin pouts at him. “Oh, I wouldn’t bet my saber on it, but a few credits, at least. Nothing solid, but I was prone to visions as a youngling. Qui-Gon was never very good at dealing with the peculiarities of such a connection to the Unifying Force. He tried, admittedly, but he was very much a man of the present.”

Anakin spends the rest of the mission silently cheering on his soulmate for picking a name.

For taking that step to saying “I’m a person.”

-----

Someone tries to assassinate Senator Amidala. Anakin and Obi-Wan are assigned to protect her. There’s an incident with a robot, and Obi-Wan is... pulled aside.

(Anakin finds himself thinking, more than once, that he could have fallen in love with this woman if he wasn’t so attached to the idea inked into his skin.)

(Senator Amidala doesn’t have a soulmate. She’s free to choose, she claims. He doesn’t envy her, but he does respect this.)

(Anakin likes the security of the universe telling him that there’s someone he’s meant for.)

Obi-Wan disappears to investigate something, and returns just before Anakin and Padme are set to leave. He looks... grim.

“The assassination is more complicated than we thought,” Obi-Wan says. “As in, the main assassin was expecting this to fail, so we’d come find him after he killed the subcontractor.”

“So...”

“He wants to talk to us,” Obi-Wan says. “But, specifically, to the two of you.”

-----

“So, you’re Anakin Skywalker.”

Jango Fett is a shorter man than Anakin, shorter even than Obi-Wan, but he’s not small. The armor bulks him out further. There’s faint scars on his face, here and there, and he seems more amused than anything when Anakin slips in front of Padme to actually be the bodyguard he’s supposed to play.

“What’s it to you?” Anakin challenges, and pretends he doesn’t see the way Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

Fett smirks. “One of my boys has your name on him.”

Anakin stops breathing for a moment.

“One of your boys?” Padme prompts, and Anakin tries to remember his job.

Fett’s smirk falls away and he palms his face. “Three million of them, and counting. I’ve had people cross-referencing soul marks as they pop up, in case anyone’s connected to someone... important. Special attention on the confirmed Jedi.”

“Three mill--you’re behind the ident number marks,” Anakin realizes. “The slave-born.”

Obi-Wan’s face looks carved from stone, and Anakin realizes that the mood he’s been in since he called Anakin and Padme was because he’d figured it out before he called.

“Yeah, Umiett said you’d be the one to make that connection,” Fett mutters. He shakes his head. “Listen, I’ve got three million clones that are more sentient than anyone told me they’d be, and I’ve spent the last few years trying to decide how to get myself out of this contract without abandoning them in the process. Tyranus gave me the job to assassinate Amidala, but I’d already had her shortlisted as one of the Republic members most like to help me get these boys citizenship and legal rights. Once I heard Skywalker and Kenobi were involved, turning this into a discreet way to get your attention seemed like the obvious solution.”

“You tried to kill me... to get my attention... so I’d help you.”

“I didn’t try to kill you. I subcontracted to a former acquaintance that I knew wasn’t good enough to get past two Jedi.”

“Right,” Padme says, seeming unimpressed. Anakin agrees. “Okay, three million sentients, all your children--”

“Clones.”

“--yes, something that’s very illegal in the Republic at that scale,” she says. “Unless--”

“Kamino’s in the Rishi maze. Dwarf galaxy, not actually part of the Republic. Isolated.”

“Okay, that’s... going to make this more difficult,” Padme says. “Where does your citizenship lie? Are you still Mandalorian? I’m not as familiar with your role in recent politics as I could be. I know there’s something about all violent dissenters being sent to Concordia, but you--”

“If I thought that hut’uunla Duchess would listen to me, I’d have already reached out,” Fett dismisses. “That’s part of why I focused on Kenobi and Skywalker when doing the research. Skywalker’s got the background to argue slavery, and Kenobi’s got connections in Mandalorian politics.”

“And I’m to be your voice in the Senate.”

“Not mine. The clones’.”

Anakin looks to Obi-Wan for guidance, because this man was involved with the attempted assassination, but...

“Who is Tyranus?” Obi-Wan asks.

“Oh, you’re going to enjoy this. The man calling himself Darth Tyranus is Count Dooku of Serreno.”

Anakin hasn’t heard Obi-Wan swear that colorfully since the last time he got stabbed.

-----

Things... progress. Quietly. Fett mentions there being a Sith in the Senate, something he picked up from a particularly ugly visit from the Count to Kamino, the kind of visit that involved veiled conversations intended as mocking, bragging monologues.

“He really is a villain,” Obi-Wan mutters, as if Anakin hasn’t seen him monologue to captured criminals on occasion, or get so caught up in The Banter that he lets something slip that he shouldn’t have.

Anakin and Padme go to Naboo to ‘keep her safe,’ and Obi-Wan hares off on a falsified investigation, keeping the Council updated the entire time. Anakin doesn’t like splitting up, not when so much is happening, but they have no idea who the Sith in the senate might be, if they even exist. Anakin doesn’t even have time to say goodbye to the Chancellor.

All this contributes, for Anakin is already stressed, and excited, anticipatory and afraid, and then the nightmares come. Padme’s more aware of his fears than she might have been, as much as they talk about slaves and freedom and how she makes things happen with words and legislation. Anakin’s a little in love with the idea of this woman, though he won’t act on anything until he meets his soulmate and figures out what they’re meant to be for each other, but... friends, at least. Padme is going to be a friend, possibly for life, and Anakin’s going to love her no matter what.

She coaxes out the truth, and then tells him, ‘well, your mother would know more about this than you, since you left at nine; it would be entirely reasonable to ask her for advice,’ and then smiles like they’re sharing a secret crush instead of plotting the violation of his orders.

They save Shmi.

(Barely.)

Padme doesn’t get the advice she was using an excuse from Shmi, but from a long, tired conversation with Beru Whitesun. As it turns out, when a family’s been freeing slaves for generations, they know what they’re talking about. Even Anakin remembers the Whitesun reputation. Padme’s notes are copious.

Anakin cares for his mother, and talks to his stepbrother, and gets an idea of who these people in his life are. He can’t imagine they’ll make contact often, but he’s glad to meet them. Cliegg--his stepfather, and isn’t that a thought--isn’t a particularly soft man, or a smooth one, but his gruffness has a different energy on Tatooine than it would on Coruscant. Anakin approves.

Obi-Wan calls. Padme explains. Anakin is shamed by his Master and then has to defend that particular title when Owen and Beru stare at him and the comm in matching horror.

“Master-Apprentice,” Anakin says, just a little panicked. “Not Master-Slave. He’s my teacher, practically family, not... you don’t need to worry. I promise.”

“I’ve seen them interact,” Padme says, and then shoots a small, smug smile at Beru. “Obi-Wan’s somewhere between father and brother to Anakin. It’s very sweet, when they’re together, and very entertaining.”

Beru, who’s had three days to get used to Padme, smiles and nods. “Alright then. I’ll take your words for it.”

Obi-Wan sputters a bit at the claim, in the background, and Anakin is... just a little upset by that.

“I think your mother would want to speak with him,” Cliegg claims, and Anakin hesitates, because this is a mission call, for all that gossip is happening, and he really shouldn’t break more rules after the big one he’s clearly, blatantly completely ignored to come to Tatooine in the first place. Cliegg holds out a hand, eyes on Obi-Wan. “As would I.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan says. “I suppose I do have a moment.”

-----

Anakin and Padme arrive on Kamino.

“Your mother,” Obi-Wan says, in lieu of a greeting, “is oddly terrifying, did you know?”

“She’s... still recovering,” Anakin says, brow furrowing. “She can’t leave the bed for anything other than the ‘fresher for weeks, probably. And she’s nice, how is any of that terrifying?”

“It’s her energy,” Obi-Wan notes. “Quietly intimidating, I’d say. Very odd, really.”

“What did you even talk about?” Anakin asks, and then blushes as Padme giggles at him, like she knows things that he doesn’t. She probably does. She’s older than him. Still.

“Ah, that,” Obi-Wan says, looking away for a moment and--blushing? Obi-Wan’s blushing? “She rather aggressively informed me of what is considered normal on Tatooine for a relationship that is, as Padme put it, ill-defined but close and familial.”

“Master, you--what?”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and steps forward, pulling Anakin into a hug. Oh. “I’ve been informed that the manner in which I show affection to you is rather understated and ambiguous, by Tatoo standards, and that leaving things unsaid isn’t enough.”

“...Obi-Wan?”

“I consider you my brother,” Obi-Wan says, into this hug that is stiff and uncomfortable, but sincere and full of effort. “And I do love you very much, dear one, even if I’m rather unpracticed in showing it in ways that would... translate, shall we say.”

“Oh,” Anakin says, because he can’t think of anything else. He hugs back.

There’s a moment there, where Obi-Wan relaxes and Anakin shifts, and everything feels just a tiny bit more right, and then someone coughs.

“If you two are done?” Fett drawls, and Anakin mourns as Obi-Wan huffs and pulls away, hands back to being tucked into his sleeves in front of him.

“Quite,” Obi-Wan says back, with the strained smirk of someone who’s been dealing with the same frustrating sentient for a solid week without the option of just bashing their face in.

Fett rolls his eyes, and gestures for them to follow him. “I’ve got a bunch of the Alphas and CCs waiting on you, along with anyone we know for sure has a Jedi soulmate. Kenobi’s already spoken with them all, got confirmation that we probably haven’t missed any connections.”

“I know the list of everyone who reported a CC or CT soul mark to the Council,” Obi-Wan huffs. “I have it memorized.”

“Because of Anakin?” Padme asks.

“His mark came in when he was ten,” Obi-Wan says. “I was his legal guardian until very recently. Given the circumstances, it was reasonable that most of the information on the ident-code marking situation be shared with me in the same way that his school reports and medical records were. He was a minor until a year ago, Senator, and as you so rightly pointed out, my role in his life is certainly that of the family member who raised him for the past decade.

“Master,” Anakin hisses, well aware of his blush. “You’re embarrassing me.”

Obi-Wan looks at him, amused. “I’m told that’s rather the point, dear one.”

Padme looks away, clearly fighting back a grin, and Fett’s expression is mocking, at best.

They enter the section of the facility where other people are a moment later, and Anakin is... not quite as ready for the sea of identical faces as he thought he’d be. One small boy in different tunics from the rest runs up to Fett with a call of ‘Buir!’ and falls into step with them, grabbing Fett’s hand and peering curiously at the rest of them.

“This is Boba,” Fett tells them. “He’s the only unaltered one.”

“The one you claimed at birth,” Padme clarifies.

“Decanting!” Boba pipes up, and then smiles winningly at Padme. “I wasn’t born. I was decanted. He claimed me at decanting.”

Fett looks like he wants to run a hand down his face. “Yes, Boba’s the clone that was provided to me as part of the payment I demanded when I first signed on to the project. He’s the only one I technically have legal claim to.”

“All the others are Kaminoan property until claimed by the Senate or Jedi,” Obi-Wan adds, and Fett nods in his direction. “Preferably the Jedi, of course.”

“The Nulls are with Kal Skirata,” Boba pipes up. “He adopted all of them and Kaminiise didn’t care that much because they thought the Nulls were all failed experiments anyway.”

Fett grimaces at the look that gets him from Padme. “They’re not mine. None of them would have wanted to be, anyway, but it stands that I haven’t spoken with them in years.”

“They’re precedent,” Padme corrects. “One I should have been made of aware of if you want this to work. Can you put me in contact with this Skirata individual? What’s his, and their, citizenship status?”

Anakin steps back to Obi-Wan as Padme drills Fett for information, and keeps his eyes wandering for threats--unlikely, if Fett is genuine, and Obi-Wan says he is--and trying to figure out the best way to keep track of which clone is which. They do feel different in the Force, but Anakin’s not as used to using that sense for identification as most Jedi. He sees a few scars and tattoos, but he thinks he’s going to have to--

Oh.

“Anakin? Why did you stop?”

Anakin ignores his master, because one of the clones, one he can’t even see, is glowing so strong and right and calling to him...

“Anakin, please answer me.”

“I can feel him,” Anakin breathes out. “My soulmate. I think I can feel him, in the Force.”

“Ah,” Obi-Wan says, relaxing. “Yes, that tends to happen, when we look. Fett assured us that he’d be at the meeting, dear. Just a few more hallways to go.”

Those hallways pass in a blur, because he’s there his soulmate is there and--

A room, full of clones that look older than Anakin, for all that they can’t be, and more clones that don’t.

There’s a clone in full kit, helmet included, but Anakin knows, just knows, that this one is his.

“Troopers!” Fett barks. “Kenobi’s brought some friends in. Senator Amidala’s going to be working on the citizenship bill with us. The other Jedi is Anakin Skywalker. You can guess why he’s--”

The fully-armored soldier takes a half-step forward.

Fett sighs. “By the ka’ra, Rex, you’re going to embarrass yourself and me. Take your bucket off, kid, let him see you.”

“Some tact, Fett,” Obi-Wan snaps, and for all that it’s quiet and intended to be subtle, the clones absolutely hear him.

They also seem amused. Apparently Obi-Wan’s been hanging about for long enough that he and Fett have a dynamic, one the clones have gotten used to and find hilarious.

Anakin only sort of notices this, because the clone in armor, still unpainted, pulls off his helmet and for all that it’s the exact same face as Anakin’s seen a thousand times over in the last fifteen minutes, there’s something uniquely beautiful that has nothing to do with the blonde hair or the nervous smile.

“You’re Rex?” Anakin asks, even though he’s sure, he’s absolutely convinced, that this young man is his soulmate.

“Yes,” the young clone says. He looks about Anakin’s age, and Fett’s told them time and again that the clones are basically the age they look, for the most part. Anakin’s going to take it slow anyway.

“Obi-Wan already said it, but, um, I’m Anakin,” he says, and tries to find something to do with his hands that isn’t just taking his soulmate and hugging him ‘til all the suns set. He looks down, and settles for mimicking Obi-Wan and just tucking them into his sleeves. He looks up at Rex, and tries to smile, but he’s so nervous about all of this that it probably doesn’t look like much. He thinks he hears someone snickering.

“Oh good,” someone mumbles. “They’re both hopeless.”

Anakin snaps his head around and glowers at the little group the comment came from, but he has no idea which one said it. All four look amused, and have varying degrees of shit-eating grin in place.

“If you didn’t outrank him, Rex would totally be shooting you right now,” little Boba says. “I think he’d deserve to do that.”

Anakin doesn’t have to strain at all to hear Fett’s groan.

“Alright,” one of the older clones says, and everyone stands a little straighter. An authority among the clones? Official, or more of an informal primus inter pares situation? “Rex’ika and his Jedi can go get to know one another, and none of us are going to make fun of them for it, because I know damn well how many of you have been mooning over the idea of your soulmates despite knowing literally nothing about them.”

“So’ve you, Alpha!”

“You want a boot up your ass, Wolffe? Because if you keep talking, that’s what you’re getting.”

“Boys,” Fett says, and they settle down. “Now, the Senator has some questions for you, and you’re going to comply when she asks, because it’s going to keep your little brothers alive. You understand?”

One clone raises a hand, and Fett sighs.

“Yes, and little sisters, Valierra,” he adds. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like “kriffing Basic.”

(Anakin later learns that Mando’a is not a gendered language, and Fett’s frustration is entirely about the fact that ‘brothers’ isn’t gender neutral. Anakin tries to ask why he doesn’t just say ‘sibling’ or use the Mando’a word, and there’s apparently a whole thing with some instructors wanting to encourage the clones to learn to be Mandalorian, and others wanting to cut them off from anything to do with the planet.)

(Anakin... tries to understand. He’s still confused about why ‘siblings’ isn’t on the table.)

“Go on, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated. “We can catch you up later.”

“I got enough from Beru,” Padme assures him. “You can pop in to help us fine-tune later.”

Anakin nods, just a short jerk of his head, and then looks to Rex. The man is glaring at a little at a little group of other clones, but when Anakin reaches out and takes his hand--takes his hand--Rex turns and stares at him with wide eyes and a flush that Anakin’s sure he’s mirroring.

“We should talk,“ he blurts out, and he can feel Obi-Wan’s despair at how completely inept Anakin is at this whole ‘personal interactions’ thing, but that’s fine, because Obi-Wan’s a bit of a slut, and Anakin doesn’t flirt with everyone he meets, and he’s been waiting for his soulmate like a sensible person.

(“Or a romantic,” Vos had pointed out, once. “Most people date at least a little if they don’t meet their soulmate by, like, fifteen. I mean, culturally I understand why you want to wait until you meet your soulmate, but it’s not really a matter of sensibility, just personal preference. Obi-Wan’s not less sensible for sleeping around.”)

(Anakin does not like this argument, and so he ignores it.)

(Well, no, he agrees that people should be allowed to flirt if they want, but he doesn’t like the implication he’s gotten from a few other padawans about how he’s ‘awkward’ for not knowing how to talk to people that he wants to impress somehow.)

(So, he’s going to claim it’s sensibility.)

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“Kriff off, Ponds!” Rex barks out, immediately pinging on the exact clone that said the words, and Anakin bites a lip to keep from laughing at them both.

“Out,” Fett orders. “We’ve got shit to do, stop being a distraction.”

“Being a distraction, my dear, is a skill that Anakin’s put far too much effort into developing just to drop it on your command,” Obi-Wan says, light and airy and not at all like he just dragged Anakin and Fett for no Force-damned reason.

“Come on,” Rex mutters, tugging Anakin to the door with a blush that only grows as the other clones catcall them on the way out of the room. Anakin hears at least one particularly dirty comment get cut off by a smacking noise and a reprimand from a clone he thinks is probably Alpha.

The second they’re out of sight, Rex slows down, and glances back at Anakin.

Anakin tries to smile in encouragement. He’s not sure it works, really, but Rex smiles back, so it can’t be that bad.

“Here, Alpha told me to use the mini conference room,” Rex tells him, when the get to a nondescript door with a number on it. “It’s not completely secure, but we can lock the door so it’s mostly private.”

“Can I kiss you?” Anakin asks, and then has to fight to not clap a hand over his mouth.

He was going to go slow. He was a moron who’d promised himself to go slow. Rex is mostly an adult but there are ways in which he isn’t, and Anakin might not be fully an adult either, but that’s not really an excuse, and--

“Yes, please,” Rex says, and oh Anakin really likes the shy grin on him. It’s pretty.

(This man, he thinks, could easily bench press Anakin a few times over, but he’s blushing like a storybook maiden, and he’s doing it for Anakin.)

Anakin moves slowly, because this isn’t something he has much practice with either, but he takes Rex’s face in his hands and leans in, pressing their lips together with only the slightest tilt of his head, just barely less than chaste, and a firework goes off inside his ribcage.

His soulmate! He’s kissing his soulmate!

There’s a ‘stop projecting’ nudge from Obi-Wan in the Force. Anakin tosses up a shield and focuses back on the kissing. He pulls away, and the goes to just... peck a bit. Just small, chaste, tiny kisses because he doesn’t want to stop. Because for all that they just met a few minutes ago, this feels right.

Warm hands, larger than his own and steady in a way he thinks he really likes, settle on his hips.

“We--mm--really should talk,” Rex manages, and Anakin... well, Anakin stops kissing him.

Rex apparently likes it as much as Anakin does, because he lifts up onto his toes to kiss Anakin again before fully breaking off. He grins, clearly sheepish, and shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Anakin says, and then Rex pulls him down to press their foreheads together, radiating warmth and hope and affection that Anakin hasn’t earned yet, but is definitely going to.

“This is a Keldabe kiss,” Rex says, and his nose brushes against Anakin’s as he shifts. His hands are still on Anakin’s waist, and Anakin decides to wrap his arms around Rex’s shoulders. It’s nice. “I like, um, I like the other kind of kissing too, but this means a lot to me, and it’s one of those Mandalorian things they actually let us pick up.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says, and he, hells, he hasn’t even asked for proof of the soul marks, but he doesn’t need to, really, with the Force as insistent as it is. “So. Talk?”

“Yeah. Let’s talk.”

#Rexwalker #Anakin Skywalker #Captain Rex #Obi Wan Kenobi #Jango Fett #Padme Amidala #Aayla Secura #Hopeless Romantic Anakin Skywalker #Phoenix Answers Memes #soulmate au #Phoenix Posts

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nevertheless-moving · 3 years ago

Text

I posted 2,447 times in 2021

377 posts created (15%)

2070 posts reblogged (85%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 5.5 posts.

I added 2,846 tags in 2021

#star wars - 1771 posts

#ask - 213 posts

#star wars au - 178 posts

#laugh rule - 157 posts

#my au - 153 posts

#consistently delighted by and struggling to find forcearama gold - 95 posts

#stone soup - 81 posts

#nevertheless meta - 75 posts

#long post - 66 posts

#dinluke - 57 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#vader: “when you become a true sith you will no longer care about...family names. the only thing of importance will be the fear you command.

My Top Posts in 2021

love timetraveler luke eagerly describing his training to prequels yoda while yoda’s sitting there like what the FUCK was i ON

2458 notes • Posted 2021-10-04 05:34:53 GMT

It is a dark time for the Rebellion. Although the Death Star has been destroyed, Imperial troops have...

New Rebel: “So...I heard this base has, you know...him. His son.”

Wedge: “Him? Oh, you mean Luke? Sweet guy, total cinnamon roll.”

Biggs: “Cried after he blew up the death star. Was the only one who could make the shot, but he’s such a softie, you have no idea.”

New Rebel: “Huh. Wow, I can’t really imagine Darth Vader crying after killing people...”

Wedge: “I’ll introduce you, he should back from patrol any second. It’s his sister who’s the actual scary one.”

New Rebel: “...DARTH VADER HAD MORE THAN ONE CHILD?!”

Biggs: “Uh. Well. Luke is definitely Darth Vader’s son and Leia is definitely his sister—but—there might have, um. It’s complicated. They definitely have the same Mother? I think? It’s pretty hush-hush. Darth Vader is insane enough about hunting down Luke, you know?”

Wedge: “Leading theory is Padme Amidala was having a torrid affair with a Jedi and a Sith. Which, you know, good for her. Hopefully.”

New Rebel: “Oh force.”

Carl: “Yeah, they’re pretty sick of answering questions about it. I’m running a betting league, though, if you’re interested.”

Wedge: “Hey, any updates on who Han’s sleeping with? Also is Luke back yet? They’re going to close the doors soon, but I haven’t seen him.”

“Your Taunton will freeze before you reach the first marker!”

“THEN I’LL SEE YOU IN HELL!”

Carl: “Ooh. That’s gonna affect the odds...”

Biggs & Wedge:

Carl: “What? They’ll be fine!”

3891 notes • Posted 2021-05-22 13:50:08 GMT

I've been waiting for you, Obi-Wan. We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you I was but the learner. Now, *I* am the master.

6984 notes • Posted 2021-03-19 20:03:03 GMT

inspired by the ‘your afternoon was already ruined’ post

Death Star Stormtroopers: “Freeze!”

Han: (panicking, trying to come up with a lie): Woah there don’t shoot, uh, you can’t shoot us because—because this guy is Darth Vader’s son! You don’t want to be responsible for shooting Darth Vader’s own flesh and bone do you?”

Luke: *glares incredulously*

Stormtroopers: “That is the dumbest thing—”

Leia: (done at this point, absolutely done with this rescue, better than Han at lying) “Exactly! Why would we tell you something so phenomenally insane if it weren’t true! Why do you think Darth Vader is so obsessed with finding Rebels, huh? Call him he’ll tell you!”

Luke: (also done, much better than Han at lying): “Or you could just shoot us; I’m sure my father, Darth Vader, inventor of the lightsaber, would be thrilled to meet the men who killed his son and his son’s friends.” *waves lightsaber arrogantly*

Stormtrooper 1: “Maybe we should call this in. I mean—he’s got a lightsaber, so that’s—that’s Vader stuff anyway.”

Stormtrooper 2: “are you kidding me right now?”

Leia: *shoots them while they’re distracted*

Han: “...We’re friends?”

Tarkin: “The rebels said what? You incompetent fool, how could you buy such an absurd stalling—”

Vader: “My...son...”

Tarkin:

Tarkin: Oh fuck THIS.

9813 notes • Posted 2021-05-17 12:59:51 GMT

Imagine Luke and Leia ending up in the clone wars era but all of their force abilities are “what the actual fuck?” levels of bullshit, and neither of them ever realized that the things they could do with the force were considered extremely high level techniques.

that is one of my FAVORITE things to imagine yes. To me this is less about ‘Skywalker bullshit’ (though there is some of that) and more about the training they (didn’t) receive.

The high-Midi-chlorians-actual-descendents-of-the-force thing makes it easier to tap into the force, makes it more possible to do so without accidentally exhausting yourself. But, in universe, under the right circumstances and with the properly channeled belief anyone can do anything. That’s why Palpatine had to make the galaxy want an empire, why his first strategy was misdirection and his top priority was crushing hope. Chirrut was supposedly force-null and he walked through an army. Han navigated that astroid field because he had to. The force is everywhere.

In an amusing but possibly unintended turn of events, 6-12 weeks of training in a swamp with an elderly frog who only talks in riddles without ever being exposed to Jedi culture except as a myth is actually IDEAL if you’re looking to maximize a Jedi’s raw strength. Most Jedi training that we see in the prequels is explicitly designed to put the breaks on a force-users raw power (for honestly very valid reasons). Channeling all violence through a single weapon that will start screaming if you get too violent, training to use it defensively, is definitely the soft-ball alternative to just squashing people like meatballs.

Meditating, wearing beige, the code, shunning attachments, all that stuff is built around making sure force users never run above first or second gear even in stressful situations (again valid, when you run your jedi in the red sometimes they become murder monsters). The downside of this is that when they’re forced to maintain that placid pace for years at a time (i.e: prolonged war), they’re much more likely to burn out.

When Yoda told Luke do or do not, told him a luminous being was he, told him size matters not, the amazing thing isn’t that Luke believed him. That was karking objectively provable. Yoda lifted a spaceship, so now Luke knows he can too if he just thinks he can. So he does. Vader and Palpatine conquered a galaxy. Luke believes he can stop worlds, crush armies, conquer planets and so he can.

The incredible thing about Luke is what he doesn’t do despite being tapped into the Force utterly free of mental restraint. Luke’s op character trait is his compassion, not his strength.

I assume at some point Luke puts Leia through a similar 2 month meditation class where he convinces her that her only limitations are the ones she imposes on herself. She has a complete meltdown when she realizes that she actually could have boiled Tarkin alive with her mind and saved Alderann. This causes a volcano to go off, devastating the ecology of a small moon. On the flight home, both of them slightly charred, she tells Luke that she wanted to focus on politics and didn’t really want to be a Jedi anyway. Luke nods quickly, supporting her decision, and resolves to seek out some Jedi texts about how to teach people they can do anything but also...maybe...not...anything.

And thus the Jedi order is reborn.

- - -

In the time travel version of this, it means that Luke is assuming that all of the Jedi are restraining themselves like he is. And they are, but they also aren’t, because their breaks are subconscious, built in since childhood, and have a lot of failsafes so even if they turn darkside they still restrain themselves pretty good (a la Dooku).

Leia is, again, less interested with the Jedi-specific aspects of the war (especially now that she doesn’t have to feel guilty about being one of the only people who can pick up that mantle) and more interested in the diplomatic side. Again, Palpatine can only succeed if the galaxy at large accepts this, and from where she’s standing they’re fucking moving in that direction. If being a Jedi is tapping into the mystical energy field that binds all living things together to channel it through one specific person in one specific place, then politics is manipulating that same power for a diffuse impact on as many people as possible.

This status-quo lasts until a major clone wars battle where Luke’s like ‘wait- the entire other side is sub-sentient droids? No living beings, and no droids with complex personality matrices? And they’re currently, actively killing living, sentient humans? Well kriff, come on! This is a no-brainer!’

Luke takes a deep breath. The air- it doesn’t disappear or anything- but it- it stops moving. It’s hard to explain...but breathing has an odd...resistance. The hair on the back of every clone’s neck stands up. Several get vaguely sea sick. One pukes a little. Plo Koon stumbles back, head ringing and afraid.

Luke Skywalker stands up and clenches his fists. 10,000 droids crumple like flimsi in the hands of a child. The battlefield is eerily quiet for a moment, then that imperceptible hum (which no one noticed until it stopped) fades and the air returns to its normal density. A few of the shinies start whooping, then the whole battalion is cheering.

Luke massages his temples, smiling wryly at Master Koon. “I guess I can see how that would get exhausting if you were doing it everyday.”

Plo Koon just stares.

9854 notes • Posted 2021-03-29 14:35:42 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #long post

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aureutr · 3 years ago

Note

Seasonally Appropriate Prompt Idea: Munsters/Addams Family sitcom style shenanigans featuring Sith!Luke and Haunted!Din. I was thinking maybe Leia in a shroud white version of Morticia's dress, and a black tunic and pants inspired version of Lily's for Luke, just to mix it up a bit. (Lilly's "evil" dress from Legend would also be great fashion inspo.) Basically I'm in search of sweetly goofy spookiness to get my brain in gear for Halloween. It seemed the kind of thing you might enjoy. :D

Hey anon I wasn't ignoring this I just was kind of stumped as to what to write for it! It's very specific (also don't know much about the Munsters). So I thought I'd take it a "quick headcanon" route instead of writing a drabble with some kind of plot. I do like the idea of an "ooky spooky" dark pairing instead of dark-dark. Not that I don't like dark-dark but it's an interesting twist.

- I definitely see Luke in a Morticia-ish getup for this. Probably not the dress more of a super tight-fitting cloak that goes all the way down to the ground. Kind of like those cartoony Draculas. You said "Sith" specifically so I guess we're in the canonverse.

- Easiest way to do Sith!Luke is to make him Imperial but that seems messy and I don't want to. So instead their strange little family has settled on a Mid-Rim world and mostly keeps to themselves.

- Local kids absolutely dare each other to see how close to the Skywalker-Djarin house they can get. No one makes it very far before something wacky and scary comes after them (sometimes it's a disembodied hand! They don't know it's a prosthetic being controlled with the Force).

- The Dark Side often comes with a huge case of megalomania but mostly it just helps you get what you want. What Luke wants the most is to take care of his family. Though sometimes he gets like

- Their daughter, Rey, is a mechanical genius. She can take scrap parts from just about anything to create the most ingenious torture devices imaginable. She tests them out on her brother, Grogu, who doesn't seem all that phased by it (it's Addams Family, no one in the family can actually get hurt by shenanigans).

- Speaking of, Grogu's interests largely lie along the line of eating any vermin he can get his hands on. His parents are very proud of what a skilled hunter he can be, but do worry that he's going to spoil his dinner.

- So I love the idea of Haunted!Din in this setting because it would be so much fun. The past Mand'alors possess him sometimes with no warning. He just turns up sometimes with black eyes (scelera and all) rambling about rebuilding the glory of Mandalore and Luke just goes "That's nice, Tarre, can I have my husband back? It's time for dinner."

- A lot of the past Mand'alors think Luke is a Jedi and attack him on sight. Luke is more than down with this because he absolutely loves dueling with his husband, even if it isn't his husband in charge of his body at the moment. Plus he's actually trying to kill him! How thrilling!

- Din is always extremely apologetic after one of these episodes and even more clingy and romantic than usual. Which is saying something because his usual is full-on Gomez (of course it is).

- Sexy Mando'a instead of sexy French? Yes please.

- Anyway more than anything else they're just weird. They have some relatives who are all about "restoring democracy to the galaxy" and "overthrowing the evil Empire" but they don't talk to them anymore, they're just too strange for the Skywalker-Djarins.

#dinluke #skydalorian #luke skywalker #din djarin #dark luke skywalker #dark din djarin #sith luke skywalker #haunted din djarin #rey nobody #grogu #headcanons

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guessimwritingficsagain · 4 years ago

Text

Not-a-Jedi (1/?)

Pairing : Din Djarin x reader

Summary : Since Grogu kept having nightmares about his father, you were sent to reunite them both. But nothing goes according to plan.

Warning : violence, sexy thoughts and yearnings.

Author's note : This was supposed to be a one shot but it's not.

When Master Luke had come to you with Grogu, you hadn’t thought much of it. The kid had been restless, he’d explained, visions of his father plaguing his mind every night.

‘I think he is meant to see him. His father might be in danger. Grogu won’t rest until he can help.’

You were no Jedi, but you could fly a ship, fire a blaster, kill, even, and Luke knew you and trusted you so he’d given you Grogu, and the name Nevarro to start with. Lured by the idea of leaving the little shop you worked at, after years of trying to settle down, live a quiet life, and knowing that grumpy boss of yours would take you back when your mission was over, you’d agreed to take Grogu to his father.

Now, though, with a blaster pointed at your head and a Mandalorian at the other end of it, you weren’t so sure. Screw Luke Skywalker and his sweet smiles.

‘Where did you get the kid ?’

You swallowed, your heartbeat picking up. As you were struggling for an answer, Grogu just cooed and his hands shot up towards the Mandalorian.

Luke hadn’t updated the very Mandalorian father about the whereabouts of his kid, you were slowly understanding. And now there was a blaster, pointed directly to your head - that deserved to be emphasized.

You tried to explain, hating how you were struggling, stumbling on your words like a new-born babe on an uneven sidewalk. When you were done, the Mandalorian stood so still you blessed whatever god you didn’t believe in because death was sure to be quick and painless. But it never came.

Instead, you felt Grogu’s weight being lifted from your arms as you heard the Mandalorian whisper :

‘Miss me, kid ?’

The baby cooed, while a lady you hadn’t noticed at first lowered her rifle, tapped the baby on the forehead.

‘Nice to meet you, Jedi. I’m Cara Dune.’

You shook her offered hand and corrected her :

‘Not a Jedi.’

You gave her your name, but she playfully smiled and answered :

‘Nice to meet you, Not-a-Jedi.’

The Mandalorian had turned away, already walking back into town. Cara motioned you to follow. You looked around as you walked. So much sand. You could feel it slipping in your boots, too. Not a fan of that, you decided. It was hot, and your weapon of choice was heavy against your back. Cara was talking to the Mandalorian, though you couldn’t make up her words. You’d rather trail behind, unsure of what to do next. Luke’s words hadn’t been specific. Stay with them or don’t, but if you don’t, know that a time will come when you need to get Grogu back here. When, though, I don’t know.

You liked Luke, really, but the cryptic wizard bullshit was getting old. You briefly wondered how you had been so fascinated by the whole thing in the first place.

Once you were sat at a table in the local cantina, a drink in front of you, Cara casually asked :

‘So, Not-a-Jedi, how come the Jedi trusted you with the kid ?’

She was leaned back on her chair, legs spears apart, but somehow you could tell she was ready to break you in half. And maybe, she could. You might have had five whole teenage, foolish years of something akin to street-fighting behind you, but she was huge and clearly military-trained. And there was a Mandalorian sitting next to her. You weren’t about to take that chance, not after many years of keeping to yourself, the hard muscles softening with a bit of fat here and there, not with the slight softening of your belly. The street-fighting had been about adrenaline. You’d been too young, too cocooned by parents scared of the world, and you’d wanted out. You’d liked the danger of it, back then, the very idea that one wrong move could leave you with a broken spine turning you on, but never scary enough to dwell on it. You’d felt invincible, back then. Fights had been foreplay to encounters in a dark street, quiet fucks to release a tension you shouldn’t have felt. You’d had a family, a roof. You were privileged, but it was boring. A spoiled brat. You still were, in a way. Spoiled brats don’t fight military-trained huge lady, and they surely don’t fight Mandalorians.

‘The Temple needs supplies. Luke gets them from me - from us. I work at a small shop in a town not far from the Temple.’

She nodded, while the Mandalorian kept quiet, visor trained on the kid who was happily downing his food like you hadn’t fed him since you’d departed.

‘Slow down, kid.’ You muttered without thinking and raised a hand to stop him. The stare of the Mandalorian stilled your movement, though, and you brought your hand back to your own cup.

‘You must be tired’, Cara continued. ‘Long journey ?’

Your hands gripped the cup harder at that, the words out of your mouth before you thought better of it.

‘Can’t tell you that.’

She leaned in.

‘Why not ?’

You swallowed, and met her stare.

‘The Temple’s location is secret. If I tell you how long we’ve been travelling for, that’s a piece of information. I can’t do that.’

‘Not even to the kid’s dad ?’ She quipped back, gesturing the unmoving warrior. There was a slight simmer of tension in the air. They don’t know you, they have every right to be suspicious, you reminded yourself. But you didn’t know them either.

‘He’s not the one asking. I don’t know who you are. This is the kind of information I could give to him, but not with you here.’

‘Yes, you can.’ A modulated voice interrupted. ‘I trust Cara with my life. She was there when the Jedi took the Child.’

It wasn’t so much the sentence itself that moved you, but the way Cara’s body slightly turned towards the kid and his father, the way her face grew grave.

‘A week or so.’ You quietly admitted, after a beat.

The Mandalorian hummed in answer and silence fell over you all. You were starting to feel uncomfortable when he spoke again, his voice harsh and cold as the Beskar he was wearing :

‘You’re gonna spend the day and the night here, but tomorrow morning, you’re both gone. It’s too dangerous.’

That, you hadn’t expected.

‘That’s- That’s not what Luke said-‘

‘If I’m in danger, then you both need to leave as soon as possible.’

———

The kid was screaming. You’d figured it would go down that way, with the Mandalorian intent on having you go back to the Temple. Then, a three-fingered hand landed on your cheek and everything went elsewhere.

The Mandalorian was on the floor of a ship you didn’t recognize, chest heaving up and down, and blood everywhere.

‘Stay with me’, you heard yourself say. ‘Come on, stay with me. I’m here, I’m gonna patch you uo. It’s going to be okay. Grogu- Grogu can do it too.’

When you came to, you were on the floor of your own ship, and Grogu was softly crying in the arms of the Mandalorian.

‘We can’t leave’ you choked, as Cara was helping you up. ‘We can’t leave.’

You took a few steps, and you threw up.

When you woke up, you were in a bed and a doctor was checking your vitals. She probed, and asked too many questions, but couldn’t find a single thing wrong with you. You weren’t about to tell her that a fifty-year-old kid had shown you a vision of yourself trying to save his father, so you let it be.

Instead, you used your best bed-ridden voice to convince the Mandalorian that you both should stay with him because you might just die if the kid pulled that kind of stunt again - and maybe you were right, because Grogu meant well but you felt like that time you’d had one week of sexy times with a nice Zeltron lady. You couldn’t walk properly, and your mind was elsewhere, though this time, the elsewhere was definitely not as nice as it had been back then.

Which is how you ended up on Mando’s ship, the Galactica, strapping up for a journey through memory lane. Apparently, since he was stuck with the two of you, Mando wanted to take the kid back to people who mattered to him.

Next stop : Tatooine.

And the welcome on that planet was something else. You liked Peli the moment you met her, with the way she gave shit to Mando just because she could. She took to you, too, and when, your nerves vibrating with excitement, you asked her where you could see a good fight, she pointed right where you needed to be and added, for good mesure :

‘Keeping the kid will cost you extra, but I can take care of him if you want.’

This was the Mandalorian’s money you were playing with, but you figured that if you bet some and won some, that wouldn’t be an issue. You agreed, and went on your merry way while Mando was out shopping for rations.

Except, when you got there, the thrill of it all got to you. Your skin itched to go up there, on the ring. To knock somebody out. You hadn’t felt that way in years. Maybe it was the thrill of the adventure. Maybe it was the Mandalorian, and his cold front. Maybe it was the Mandalorian, but for other reasons : you were supposed to save his life, you’d seen it. Maybe you could prevent this from ever happening if you went back in there.

No matter the reason, you did it. You watched the winner, raised your hand, and got up.

———

It had been easy. Easier than when you were younger. You’d been stuck on the Galactica for a while, and you’d needed release.

You won, fair and square, and went back to the ship, covered in blood but the weight of the ten thousand credits comforting at your side. You went to pay Peli but her answer surprised you :

‘Did you win ?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you ended that idiot ? The blond one ? I can never remember his name but he’s a pain. So smug.’

‘Yes, I did.’

Peli looked at you, and smiled.

‘Free of charge, then. I hope Mando is smart enough to keep you around.’

Mando himself said nothing about the bruises and the cuts on your body, but he let you heal yourself. You figured, then, he knew you could take care of yourself.

You spent a while with Peli, time passing like a blur, the days almost all the same. Mando didn’t seem in a hurry to see you leave anymore, indulging in the selfish feeling of joy to have the kid back. You kept going back to the cantina to fight. Kept winning, and the grin you wore every time you got back must have intrigued Mando because he came to see you fight, one night.

The moment you spotted him in the crowd both threw you off and cleared your mind to a point of concentration you’d never reached before. You didn’t stop to try and understand the feeling, not with the way you could hear every cheer, not with that visor looking right at you, not with that beast suddenly clawing at your belly with new ferocity. You didn’t stop and understand the feeling, because suddenly you were fighting him. Your faceless opponent became Mando in your mind, and as you threw punches with renewed ferocity, images - fantasies - spilled in your mind, of him taking you in a dark alley, both of you still sweaty and dirty from the fight. Even better was the fact that you knew you could never beat him. Would you yield, though ? Would you get on your knees and beg for mercy ? Or would your pride take over your lust and lead you to fight until he had you pinned down and unable to breathe ?

It was amazing, you’d reflect later, how one’s body could move on pure instinct, before for the rest of that fight, your mind was elsewhere but you were moving with a deadly precision, ready to strike, ready to hurt, ready to win. And win, you did.

He wasn’t in the cantina anymore when you came back in after collecting your winnings. The fire in your belly went out suddenly at that, an empty feeling replacing that burning sensation, your fingers no longer tingling but heavy with ache. Your opponent - you still hadn’t caught his name - offered you a drink you accepted, but drank too fast for it to lead to anything more. The urge to get out of there was only made stronger when the man in front of you asked, innocently enough :

‘You travellin’ with the Mandalorian ? You guys showed up here at the same time and he only ever shows up when you fight.’

So he’d come here before, was your first thought. The second, though, was much more unpleasant : the kid.

You were drawing too much attention to yourself. You left the cantina eager to get to the Battlestar, only to be stopped by an iron grip on your arm. Your reflexes kicked in and you landed a hard punch on - something very hard. The pain was so intense it travelled through your whole body and made you shiver, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes as your body curled onto itself.

‘It’s me.’ You heard, the modulated voice now familiar. And then, as an afterthought : ‘Sorry.’

‘A little warning, next time. That’d be nice.’ You all but wheezed, the pain in your hand burning you whole.

‘Sorry.’ The helmet repeated, even though the hand on you was not easing its grip.

You had some bruises on you, the morning after. A split lip, too, and an almost nasty wound on your left eyebrow. The biggest bruise of all, though, was the one on the hand that had struck the Mandalorian, a huge ugly shape, purple and green and blue. You couldn’t flex your left hand without tears coming to your eyes. You wondered how sick you were, because you couldn’t look at it without being turned on. It was a good thing that you were right-handed, too : you weren’t that incapacitated, and you could also keep touching yourself in a very capable way. Small blessings.

———

That grip thing, Mando squeezing your arm to lead you wherever, that iron grip to stabilize you, became a thing. And you were quickly getting that what he represented, that sense of danger about him, turned you on almost all the fucking time. The rest of the time, well, he was being a very good dad and that-

Fuck.

Let’s just say you had it bad.

You left for Mos Pelgo a week later, after Mando asked you why you didn’t go fighting anymore and you revealed your worries about being too much in the spotlight, and how afraid you were that it could affect the safety of the kid. After that conversation, he set course immediately for your next destination, leaving you just enough time to say goodbye to Peli.

‘Thanks for teaching that boy a lesson.’

You thought back on your first fight and answered, your grin predatory :

‘Oh, him ? He was too cocky, but not that good of a fighter, really.’

Peli laughed.

‘Not that boy. The other one. The one with a bucket on his head. Stubborn ass who won’t think for a second about what is good for him. You got him to relax, enjoy his time with the kid and remember people who care about them.’

You could tell it was a lot for her to admit that she cared about the Mandalorian himself so you just shrugged. You watched as she bid her goodbyes to the kid and his father, before she turned to you and added :

‘Hope I’ll see you again, Korra.’

‘Korra ?’ You asked.

It was her turn to shrug as she explained :

‘A silly story my parents used to tell me. In a galaxy far far away, there was a woman who could manipulate fire, earth, air, and water. But she was also very strong. Kicked everybody’s ass. You remind me of that story.’

It wasn’t until later, on the speeder, that Mando said : ‘Korra, I like that.’ With the wind blowing, you thought you’d imagined it. But then, he started calling you that.

Cobb was friendly, funny, a bit too cocky. A few years back, you would have gone for a man like him. The thought that you could, still, and that he might not be opposed to it was nice but not enticing enough for you to act on it. Still, the two of you fell into a rhythm of harmless banter, and flirting. What could have been fun became a game of pushing and pulling : the Marshal would make you laugh and Mando would just grab your arm, the feeling of his grip now familiar to you, something to ground you, even. You entertained the fantasy, for a moment, that he wanted you the way you wanted him.

And maybe, maybe, you were not wrong.

Here you were, a few days after landing, joking with the Marshal as you felt Mando’s hand grab your arm. Tight, like that time after the fight. That shouldn’t have made you restless but it dit, your knees bouncing with excitement at the idea to take on the Mandalorian himself. So when everybody started to go to bed, he grabbed your arm, again, and led you to the Battlestar. Once you were alone, the kid asleep, he dropped all the Beskar except for the helmet, and whispered, a challenge :

‘Come on, Korra, come at me.’

You did as you were asked, a nice obedient girl even though you were feral. He won, though. Of course he did. Your back was hurting against the floor as one of his hands kept you there, easily. He was looking at you, you felt, above you as one hand tied yours together, and the other on your ribs, right below your heart.

‘Din.’ He said.

Din, you understood, as your mind went back to that fight, that fantasy.

Din, you thought after he let you laying there, chest heaving, while he entered new coordinates.

------

If you want to be tagged just say the word.

#din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader

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sepialunaris · 5 years ago

Text

Siege of Mandore is a perfect setup for a horror movie

When I imagine the Clone Wars as a whole, I usually picture it in technicolor; it's like something you can reminisce and laugh at with the many baffling events in it, even if it was portrayed seriously in the show. A cyborg general with tuberculosis, a drunkard pirate that spews iconic lines, that time godzilla tried to kill the president and the jedi got caught up by a zombie making ritual (which was horrifying ok). It feels like these things were either happening in present day or recent history. But "The Phantom Apprentice" felt different.

This episode, unlike the previous one even, wasn't a bright galore of battle scenes. Most of the time its covered in shadows and darkness. Barely any funny moments besides quips from Ahsoka to Maul. "Old Friends Not Forgotten" feels joyful and adventurey even if its essentially about war, but "The Phantom Apprentice" lingers with the cynicism and horror of war and what is to come. It separates itself from the colorful joyful tone in typical Clone Wars and reignites how horrifying the coming Imperial regime is, a feat that is closely invoked in the temple bombing arc. It doesn't feel like a fond recent memory, it feels like an old painful forgotten memory. An ancient memory of something that happened hundreds of years ago, unconsciously pushed back in time because of how painful it is. A legend, a myth with a certain end. Like the death of Christ or like the Revenge of the Sith novel's opening prologue (credits to @rise-of-ahsoka for first pointing out the connection of the novel and the latest ep):

This story happened a long time ago in a galaxy far far away. It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it.

It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst.

It is the story of the end of an age.

A strange thing about stories–

Though this all happened so long ago and so far away that words cannot describe the time or the distance, it is also happening right now. Right here.

It is happening as you read these words.

This is how twenty-five millennia come to a close. Corruption and treachery have crushed a thousand years of peace. This is not just the end of a republic; night is falling on civilisation itself.

This is the twilight of the Jedi.

The end starts now.

This is peak Star Wars. This is how George Lucas wanted to criticize and play with the concept of The Chosen One. We all know how it ends and yet we can once again live through it and relive how horrifying those moments are.

And yet both of them are set up to how horrifying the next two episodes are going to be. It's like a drama slowly descending into a horror story, a subversion of tones that we expect and yet feel gutpunched with. Everything has been perfectly set up, and many people have pointed out it.

Ahsoka's face markings on the clones helmets? Seeing it and Anakin's "the clones value loyalty" is chilling because we know soon enough they'll be trying to kill Ahsoka while wearing her FACE. Cold blooded with no hesitation. One command will make them kill their friend that they revered. And yet how oxymoronic making them wear those markings makes me kinda go to denial that it could even happen.

Anakin is never present, and yet his presence has been mentioned over and over again because he is the phantom apprentice. Like a horror monster mentioned in the early acts before showing face. But less is more. The scary part is not Anakin/Vader himself. But the events we know to happen to him. The event so far away we can barely reach from the perspective, and we could only question. Has it happened yet? Is it happening right now? What if it didn't haven't?

Maul's desperation and his last lines "Let me go, LET ME DIE. You're all going to burn, WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE." He knows what's going to happen. He might not have the same empatethic interests as the audience but in here he's the only sane person. He sees what the protagonists don't realize, which makes him seem crazy , but we know he's absolutely right and that visceral reaction is not overboard. Somewhat like Fives. In fact it reinforces on how horryfying the stuff we're going to see next week will be.

We know that we're off Mandalore next episode. In a Star Destroyer. Order 66 is gonna happen in a cramped claustrophobic space. And Ahsoka and Rex is are in mortal danger, in the middle fo space.

There are no literal ghosts or horrors to terrified of in this horror story. The inevitability, the fact that we know how its going to end, the heartwrenching betrayals coming into play and can grasp at shadows of what's going to happen despite not seeing it yet, the non-presence of Anakin and his transformation to Vader, is the true thing that makes it horrifying. And weird thing is that this sense of bleakness and despair is somewhat scarier than any monsters, any zombie geonosian or ressurected emperor, because "it is already over, nothing can change it."

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irresponsibility101 · 4 years ago

Note

Hit me with some Korto Vos headcanons X

you’re my absolute favourite person ever, thanks for letting me ramble on about this

he has an undercut like quinlan in legends, because i said so and it fits the vibe

he has two lightsabers. it’s absolutely chaotic, which is added too by the fact that he doesn’t really use a single lightsaber form because quinlan tried his best but running from an empire that wants you dead isn’t exactly the best environment for teaching. he also doesn’t use a lightsaber, half the time, which... yeah, he didn’t get that from quinlan. that’s from ailyn, 100%. he is just as likely to headbutt someone in the middle of a fight as he is to stab someone with his deadly 1000 degree glowsticks.

on the topic of ailyn vel! they bonded one time when she was probably 21 and he was about 25. don’t know how, it was probably when they were in the middle of something dangerous. they now have a rock solid mlm/wlw alliance, which you can’t tell half the time because they also try to murder each other 24/7.

(it’s the cain instinct)

is very much like quinlan in that he’s actually very competent but acts like a disaster half the time so nobody ever guesses it.

he was a captain in the rebellion. i haven’t decided if he’s a spy or a pilot yet, but i’m tempted to go pilot.

he has an extensive list of people he’s flirted with that he probably shouldn’t have flirted with. some of them include starkiller (which was an accident), boba fett (which was an accident, mostly because he’s not stupid enough to flirt with ailyn’s dad because she would murder him), paz vizla (which was not an accident) and luke skywalker (which absolutely was not an accident)

he’s also been hiding the fact that he’s a jedi from luke since, oh i don’t know, the first time they met? it’s only worked because of the patented skywalker obliviousness.

he’s very close to quinlan, who also trained him.

he is a Tall Boy.

in some way, shape or form, he’s been fighting the empire his whole life.

makes jokes to deal with trauma because otherwise he just might have a breakdown and that would be really inconvenient for his schedule /s.

he’s a lot more grey than luke or ezra or any of the other jedi, mostly because, once again: spent his entire life fighting the empire and knowing in extensive detail about what happened to the jedi and force sensitive kids, and that sort of thing leaves an impact. he never falls, and he’s always a bit lighter than quinlan, but he definitely thrives in the grey areas.

he’s also a lot more realistic/pessimistic than luke. optimism doesn’t really serve you well when you’re trying to stay alive, and thinking that the inquisitors can be redeemed doesn’t go down so well when they’re actively trying to murder you and your friends.

you remember how i mentioned he’s been fighting the empire his whole life earlier? yeah, he’s been fighting it for so long that he had an identity crisis the moment the empire fell, which probably wasn’t helped by the fact that quinlan vanished at the exact same time. highlights of his wonderful adventure include having a run-in with ventress (dark disciple? never heard of her) and ended up learning some stuff from her, which probably added to the greyness, meeting ailyn (i feel like i keep bringing her into this. it’s an accident, i promise) and accidentally becoming a cryptid.

he still stays the cryptid, for context. it totally doesn’t lead to a very awkward reunion when luke comes out to investigate the trio of force sensitive cryptids, only to see his fuckbuddy who vanished the moment the empire fell, a mandalorian who— is that a black lightsaber? what the fuck? — and also that scary zabrak doctor from the rebellion.

quinlan is fine, in case you were wondering.

every single time him, ka’ra (eeth koth’s daughter, for context. all you have to know about her is that she got taken to be a part of project harvester, she’s also a jedi, and she’s four years younger than korto, the same age as ailyn) and ailyn go undercover for some reason, he’s always the eyecandy.

i feel like i may be creating the impression that quinlan was a bit of a shit dad when he was growing up. he wasn’t, but it’s a bit hard to try and spare your kid the horrors of the galaxy while also telling him enough to not get killed when you’re being hunted down by the galactic empire that wants you dead. he did his best, given the circumstances.

he’s absolutely the kind of person to say he’s fine and brush it off until he physically cannot take it anymore and breaks down. this works for both physical and mental issues.

i feel like he has a whole load of piercings. i don’t know why. i just think he’d have a nose ring and enough earrings to make metal detectors weep.

i don’t know what lightsaber colour he has, mostly because i didn’t think about it, but i think blue would probably fit.

yeah, that’s all i’ve got right now. the moment i hit post i will undoubtedly come up with/remember more things about him, but i’m all out.

#korto vos #star wars #sw #quinlan vos #ailyn vel #ka’ra koth

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roman-writing · 4 years ago

Text

no great revelation (7/8)

Fandom(s): The Haunting of Bly Manor / Star Wars

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 6,244

Summary: Jamie just wants to enjoy a drink after a hard day’s work on the Telosian Restoration Project. The last thing she needs is to get herself caught up in a mysterious woman with a lightsabre at the local bar.

Aurthor’s notes: Please note the rating change

read it below or read it here on AO3

VII.

—

Jamie swiped up on the tablet to throw the video to the feed at the centre of the table.

"Rebecca, this is everyone," Jamie said. "Everyone, this is Rebecca."

"I thought that maybe you'd been making up your Jedi friends this whole time. Nice to see I was wrong about that." Rebecca gave a little wave. "Hi, Dani. How's the ghost?"

Dani sank down a little in her seat, and her answering smile was more of a grimace. "Hi. Sorry," she mumbled.

"Yeah, about that," said Jamie. “Back on Quint’s ship, you said you knew what was happening at House Thul.”

“Oh? Finally ready to listen to me, are you?”

“Don’t push me,” Jamie growled, jabbing the tip of her finger at Rebecca’s face on the screen. “Remember. Galaxy’s Biggest Favour.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. She had taken the call with her back to a wall, so it was impossible to glean her surroundings. "The Empire wants a foothold on Alderaan. It's a strategic location in the Core Worlds. They have been working over Lord Wingrave after the death of his brother and sister-in-law, helping him fabricate claims to the House, claims to his niece and nephew, claims to a position in the Republic Senate. You know the drill. Traditional blackmail."

"What else?" Jamie pressed.

For a moment Rebecca glanced over the top of the camera as if looking at something else out of frame, but then her attention returned back to the screen. "The children are Force Sensitives. The Sith have been helping Lord Wingrave keep that under wraps, so that The Order wouldn't take them away to the Temple for training. My sources tell me that the plan was for a Sith Lord to create sleeper agents out of the children through the use of some ancient Sith device containing a ghost."

"Which Sith?" Hannah asked.

"I'm not in the business of keeping tabs on Sith Lords. By the way," Rebecca pointed through the screen at Hannah. "How have you found shaving your head? Because I've been thinking of cutting my hair back, but I’m not sure about going all the way."

Running a hand along her shaved scalp, Hannah said, "There's nothing quite so freeing."

"Good to know. Thanks.”

"Oi," Jamie snapped her fingers. "Focus. The Sith Lord."

"What else is there to say?" Rebecca replied dryly. "They're a Sith Lord. They're scary. They're dangerous. They're not to be fucked with. Your Jedi friends probably know the drill better than me."

"I hope not," Owen said under his breath as he took a sip of tea.

Hannah sat up a little straighter, hands clasped neatly on the table before her. "Do we know where they are? Where they're going, perhaps? Any information you give us may be vital."

Leaning her back against the wall behind her, Rebecca pursed her lips in thought before answering with a shake of her head. "I know they want the children, and I know they want the holocron. So - Alderaan."

"But the holocron isn't on Alderaan," Dani pointed out.

"They don't know that," said Rebecca. "Peter lied to buy himself time, and told them it was still in the estate of House Thul."

"But -" Dani frowned. "House Thul has its own militia of guardsmen. I know Sith are powerful but the Empire would need to send troops if they wanted to break in and hold ground."

"Then I guess the Sith Lord will be invading with troops as well."

Sighing deeply, Jamie lowered her face to her hands, letting her fingers scrub through her hair. Then she looked up again, hands hooked behind her neck. "Right. Guess we're off to Alderaan, then."

Rebecca laughed. When nobody else joined in, she stopped. "Wait. You're serious? Did you not just hear me say 'Most likely a Sith Lord is going to invade House Thul?' As in — with a shock legion. As in over a thousand soldiers led by a malevolent Force User, who can and would probably kill a room with a snap of their fingers?”

Lowering her hands, Jamie said, "Yeah, you - uh - you mentioned that. Good thing you'll be right there with us."

"You have got to be joking."

Jamie said nothing. Just gave Rebecca a long look.

"Jamie," said Rebecca, her expression horrified, "You can't be serious. When I said 'favour' I didn't mean 'suicide.'"

"We can’t let them have those kids. Trying to mobilise Republic troops or The Order without enough evidence is a fuckin’ waste of time. We need to get into the estate of House Thul," Jamie gestured around to everyone at the table. "You're a smuggler. So, smuggle us in."

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose. "Alderaan is Republic territory. Why do you need me to smuggle you onto the planet, when you can just fly and land there yourself?"

"Because of her." Jamie gestured towards Dani, who looked both startled at being mentioned and guilty. "I don't want Pasha and his Troopers linking Dani to this in any way. They can't know she returned to House Thul. She has to come out of this squeaky clean."

Groaning, Rebecca said, "Fine. When do you want to go?"

"As soon as possible," said Owen.

"I'm -" Rebecca looked over the top of the camera again, craning her neck slightly. "Thirty two hours from Alderaan through hyperspace. Meet me in orbit around the planet. How's the ship I gave you?"

"Rude," Jamie said blandly. "It keeps insulting me."

A smile tugged at the corner of Rebecca's mouth and she began tapping at the buttons below her screen. "That sounds like Jane."

Jamie's face screwed up. "Jane? It has a name?"

"It's a JN class droid uploaded into the ship’s mainframe. It likes being called Jane. Didn't you ask it?"

"No?"

"Well, no wonder it's rude to you. By the way, I’ve just dropped you those pictures of my godson that you asked for last time. They should be appearing on your device now.” Rebecca waved with a little flutter of her fingers. “See you in thirty two hours.”

The video feed winked out.

"I rather like that young woman," Hannah said.

“Get in line,” Jamie grumbled.

The video had been replaced by a file icon. Jamie clicked it and brought up the first photo of Rebecca carrying a blue-skinned Twi’lek child on her back, both wearing big beaming smiles.

“Oh, they’re adorable,” Owen sighed.

Fuming, Jamie flicked to the next photo, which was equally adorable. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. They are.”

—

After cleaning up in the dining room and kitchen, Hannah gently nudged Jamie's arm and indicated she should follow her. Jamie glanced over at Dani, but she was engaged in a lively conversation with Owen while they dried dishes together. Dani's smile had lost its tentative edge the longer Owen spoke to her, but there was still a tenseness to the way she held her shoulders, the same tenseness that had been present back in Ho'kyn's bar on Telos IV, as though she were afraid someone would batter down the door at any moment.

Jamie followed Hannah, who led her up a set of stairs to a mezzanine floor where the walls were floor to ceiling scrolls and books and objects of cultural curiosity.

"Find anything new?" Jamie asked. She leaned back against the railing of the mezzanine which overlooked the lounge below.

Hannah plucked a tome from its shelf, dusted it off, and opened it to a page that had already been marked with a length of ribbon. "Yes and no. Nothing helpful, anyway."

She came to stand beside Jamie so that she might also look at the book. Jamie peered at it from the corner of her eye, not recognising the script around the drawing of a grey-skinned woman in dark red robes with a deep cowl.

"That a Sith?" Jamie asked.

Hannah hummed a curious note. "A Witch of Dathomir. Dark-aligned, for the most part, but not Imperial. They're the only practitioners of possession I've been able to find record of at all. I believe The Lady might have been an early precursor. Or perhaps they developed similar techniques independently."

Jamie stood straighter, hands tightening around the railing. "Wait, so - you can reverse it?"

Hannah snapped the book shut. "No. Though a visit to Dathomir might be in order, should we survive. However, if you chose to go, I won't be accompanying you. They dislike Jedi as much as they dislike Sith."

"Good thing I'm not a Jedi."

"I doubt they'll see the difference," Hannah said, and she tucked the book beneath one arm. "Failing that, the only other people who might know anything about this ghost are the Sith themselves."

Jamie scoffed, smiling. "Right. I'll just sail into their capital on Dromund Kaas and ask for help, then. Great advice."

A flick of the Force against Jamie's ear made her wince.

"Don't be cheeky," said Hannah.

Rubbing at her ear, Jamie opened her mouth to retort but stopped. Beneath them Dani and Owen walked into the lounge, still talking. Dani moved her hands when she spoke, and Owen watched her with a fond if guarded smile.

"I am afraid for her," Hannah murmured so that they would not be overheard.

Jamie nodded. "Yeah."

"For someone like our lovely Miss Clayton, the Dark Side is not a lure so much as it is a glue trap," Hannah mused aloud. "It has a gravity of its own, the darkness. And once there, it becomes more and more difficult to claw your way free. Even if you want to. Even if you know you should, but can’t bring yourself to try. Fear is her failing. And fear is the relinquishment of logic."

Jamie glanced at Hannah. "Can you teach her when this is all over? You're the best of the best in The Order when it comes to balance in the Force."

Without looking at Jamie, Hannah lightly smacked her arm, just a dismissive tap with the back of one hand. "Don't try your flattery on me. I've known you too long for that nonsense."

"That nonsense," said Jamie, "has gotten me out of more sticky situations than you know."

"But it won't get Miss Clayton out of this one."

Muttering a curse under her breath, Jamie sank down a bit, gripping the railing as she did so until she stood bent over and leaning against it. "Don't you start, too. I had Owen in my ear last night about it."

"Good man," Hannah murmured appreciatively.

"Bloody hypocrites. The both of you."

"You can't solve everything with your curmudgeonly charm," said Hannah.

"I fuckin' can."

"Sometimes," Hannah turned, leaning her back against the railing, arms crossed over the book gripped loosely to her chest, "a helping hand can only do so much. A person needs to want to help themself."

Jamie scowled. "So, what? If we can't help her we just ship her off to the Empire? 'Here, have a new Sith apprentice?' You haven't even given her a chance, and you two are already lecturing me on how I need to let go." She shook her head with a bitter chuckle. "Unbelievable."

And of course Hannah remained infuriatingly unflappable, her voice calm when she replied, "I will do everything I can, as I know Owen will, too. But — even should we survive this ordeal — our time with her will be limited. She will not be safe on Tython, where some overzealous Knight will surely sense her presence and jump to conclusions."

Jamie's mouth went dry. She swallowed. "Then where am I supposed to take her for training?"

Hannah smiled and placed a warm hand on Jamie's forearm. "Wherever you want, dear. So long as you're there."

Face screwing up in confusion, Jamie straightened. "But you just - You were just telling me how I needed to keep my distance and all that shite."

"Was I?" Hannah murmured, and she let go of Jamie's arm to instead toy at a gold earring. "I don't recall saying that at all."

And with that she crossed back over to place the book on its shelf.

"What do you mean? Hannah?" said Jamie, turning around.

Humming to herself as if she hadn't heard, Hannah drifted off down the stairs.

"Hannah," Jamie repeated, louder this time.

"We really must pack, Owen," said Hannah, ignoring Jamie completely.

Hitting her fist against the railing, Jamie turned back around to glower down at Hannah, who appeared on the floor below. Hannah urged Owen down a hallway with instructions to pack for the trip, leaving Dani standing in the middle of the lounge, alone. Dani looked up, and Jamie's fist loosened.

The last time Jamie had seen her from this angle, Dani had been in the full thrall of The Lady back on the luxury cruiser, her red-gold gaze piercing through a camera in the ceiling. Now, Dani blinked up at her with none of that cold malice to be found. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Hannah's voice called down the hallway.

"Miss Clayton, what's the weather like at House Thul?"

Dani turned and began walking towards the sound, already answering Hannah's question, and leaving Jamie staring after her from the mezzanine floor, lost.

—

The gangway automatically lowered to the ground when Jamie got within a certain distance from the luxury cruiser still docked where they had left it.

"Good afternoon, Bollocks," said the cultured male baritone of the ship's computer. "You've brought guests."

Beside her, Owen mouthed the word 'bollocks?' at Hannah, who looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Jamie rolled her eyes and shooed the two of them up the gangway, trailed by Dani. "I have, yeah. Anything interesting happen while we were away, Jane?"

There followed a pause that was slightly too long for a droid of this calibre, and then the ship's computer replied, "Nothing of note. I did not tell you to call me that."

"Oh? Don't like it? Should I call you bawbag instead?"

Another pause, this one affronted. "Jane," said the ship's computer, "is perfectly serviceable."

"Glad to hear it, mate," Jamie drawled and stepped into the ship proper.

As Dani stepped up behind her, the ship's computer said, "And a good day to you, too, Miss Clayton. You're looking very alive today."

"Uh -" said Dani, and she ducked her head sheepishly. "Thanks."

The gangway lifted and sealed behind them once everyone had entered the main atrium, where the ship’s computer had already sent out a small service droid on trundlers bearing glasses of some kind of pale carbonated alcohol.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Owen murmured, picking up a glass and taking a sip. He made an appreciative noise.

“Where would we like to go?” the ship’s computer asked.

Jamie waved the service droid away when it tried to press an insistent drink into her hand. “No, thanks. Jane, calculate a route to Alderaan. We need to meet someone in orbit around the planet in thirty two hours.”

“Route calculated,” the ship’s computer replied almost immediately. “The journey is only expected to take twenty one hours through hyperspace. I will chart a circuitous route so that we arrive on time. If it would please you, you may make your way to the dining lounge. I have prepared a light lunch before we depart.”

Frowning, Jamie looked up at the ceiling. “How the hell did you even know we were coming?”

“I have access to the station’s security cameras and systems.”

That gave everyone pause. Owen froze in the act of draining his glass, while Hannah and Dani shared looks.

“You hacked the station’s security system?” Jamie said.

“Negative, Bollocks,” said the ship’s computer. “I asked the mainframe for access very nicely.”

“Are you lying?” Jamie turned to Hannah and Dani. “Can droids lie?”

The ship’s computer did not answer. Which wasn’t concerning. Not at all. Owen suddenly looked a bit queasy, and he gingerly lowered his near empty glass back onto the tray held out by the service droid.

“You need not fear for the condition of food and drink aboard this vessel,” said the ship’s computer. “I am programmed to care for and protect any legitimate member of this crew as designated by the Captain and owner.”

Jamie pointed jokingly at Owen and said, “Better watch yourself, then.”

Placing a hand over his chest, Owen pretended to look insulted, then followed Jamie further into the ship towards the dining lounge.

“May I ask,” started the ship’s computer, “what are we going to be doing on Alderaan?’

Jamie dragged her hand along one of the polished white walls as she walked. “Getting in over our heads.”

“Please clarify.”

“We’re going to have a fight. Why?” Jamie asked dryly. “Do you also happen to have ion cannons strapped to your shiny exterior?”

“Negative. But I do come equipped with some accessories the crew might find useful in the event of a boarding attempt.”

One of the panels beneath Jamie’s hand pressed inwards, and a whole section of the wall peeled back to reveal racks upon racks of blaster pistols, blaster rifles, grenades, vibroweapons with wickedly curved blades some small enough to strap to the leg, others long enough to be wielded with two hands. Everything that would make a Republic Trooper get all hot and bothered.

All four of them stopped in their tracks and stared.

“Definitely an ex-Czerka ship,” Hannah muttered under her breath.

Hand on the hilt of the lightsabre at her hip, Dani said, “I think I’ll stick with this. I’d be more likely to shoot my own foot.”

“Likewise,” said Owen.

Meanwhile Jamie reached out and hefted a blaster pistol. She turned it over in her hands for closer inspection, careful not to graze anyone with the barrel, but all defining marks or serial numbers had been either scrubbed off or hadn’t made it far enough in manufacturing to be stamped in the first place. With a shrug, she took one of the holsters and belted it around her waist.

Owen gave her a look. “Really?”

“What?” Jamie holstered the blaster pistol and waved at the other three. “You all have lightsabres, and we’re going up against who only knows what. Am I supposed to just hide behind a pillar while you lot do all the fun stuff?”

Before they could answer, the ship’s computer chimed and said from its hidden speakers in the ceiling. “Not to interrupt,” said Jane, “but the tea is getting cold.”

Immediately Owen’s eyes brightened. “Oh, tea?”

It was in fact high tea. Three tiered platters. Fine bone china. Petit fours. The whole lot. They amused themselves in the various lounges and quarters of the ship for hours before departure, at which point the ship’s computer insisted upon harnesses being secured. The jump to hyperspace left Jamie feeling on edge, as though she had left her stomach behind on Tython. And she couldn’t have been the only one. Their talk had been too forced, their laughter too loud, Owen and Jamie swapping stories to the delight of Dani and Hannah, who would chime in every now and then. And when Jane rolled out a more formal dinner, it felt like some kind of last meal before execution at dawn by firing squad.

Jamie couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy the meal. Every bite tasted like ash. The ship’s computer on the other hand seemed thrilled that its crew was finally taking part in its carefully scheduled meals and activities. More than once Jamie thought she heard a low-pitched contented hum from the belly of the ship. Or perhaps that was simply the engine room.

Eventually, Jamie made her excuses and left the others to their own devices. Jamie walked into the same bedroom she had taken during the initial trip on this vessel. First one on the left from the main lounge. There were at least four other rooms of generally equal size and accommodation on the ship; Jamie had simply picked this one because it was closest to the helm, easy to access and nothing more.

Jamie sighed and stopped in the middle of the room. She unslung the holster and pistol, dropping it to the ground, then began to unbutton the crisp white shirt she had stolen from the medbay. Back on Tython, Hannah had offered her a spare set of robes, which she’d declined. Jamie hadn’t worn robes since she was a padawan, and after years of boilersuits and undershirts, she wasn’t about to start again any time soon, thanks. Even if it meant dumb slacks and collared shirts made of some anti-wrinkle fabric that cost more than her apartment back on Telos IV.

She just needed to make it one more day. Just one more day. The last few weeks had shaved off a good few years from her life. Probably. And by this time tomorrow this whole ordeal would be over, alive or dead. Probably.

There was a knock at the door. With a frown, Jamie turned, hands paused in the act of unbuttoning the shirt halfway down her stomach. “Yeah?”

The door hissed open and shut again behind Dani as she stepped into the room. “Hi.”

Jamie blinked. “Hey.”

For a long moment Dani did and said nothing. Her mismatched gaze flicked down to the narrow v of skin and the dogtags revealed by the open shirt, only to dart quickly away again, studying the bedside table with a fixed intensity it did not deserve.

“Sorry,” said Dani. “I just - It's been a few days since we’d really spoken, and I wanted to check in.”

Jamie nodded. “Ah - yeah. I’m good. Are you -?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Another lengthy pause.

Dani gestured to the door behind her. “Hannah and Owen are very nice.”

“They are, yeah. Good people. Trust ‘em with my life, and I don’t say that lightly.” Jamie tried to smile, to make light, but Dani had turned that wide-eyed fixed intensity upon her now. It was difficult not to squirm in place when Dani looked at her like that.

Dani took an abortive step forward, only to stop herself before she could venture too close. “Are we okay? It’s just - on Tython you seemed to want your own space, and I thought -” She paused to clear her throat, glancing briefly down at her feet. “Did I mess this up or -? I mean - I know I’m not the best option for anyone, and you deserve someone nice, someone who’s not completely messed up or possessed by an ancient Sith ghost or something. But I -” she paused to close her eyes and draw in a deep breath. “I really like you. And if you don’t want anything to do with me after this is all over, I would completely understand, but I -”

Jamie tried. She really did. But the next thing she knew, she had taken a step forward and pulled Dani in for a kiss. Dani made a small noise of surprise in the back of her throat that Jamie chased after, feeling her respond in kind, feeling the Force welling up beneath Dani’s skin like a hand reaching out in offering.

“Do you think -” Jamie said, pulling away just enough to speak, “- that I did all this because I don’t like you?”

Dani gave a breathless little laugh, her hands cupping Jamie’s jaw then sliding to cradle the back of her head. “I thought you did it because you’re good and noble and you’re drawn to a lost cause.”

“Can be lots of things, can’t I?”

They were close enough that Jamie could feel the pull of Dani’s smile against her own lips, their noses brushing.

“I know you like your life to be boring. So, I was thinking," said Dani, "how nice Corsin must be at this time of year. Just a getaway planet in the middle of nowhere. No Sith. No Jedi. That could be boring, couldn't it?"

Jamie swayed forward, eyes half lidded, and murmured, "Could be awfully boring."

Hannah and Owen be damned. The little voice in the back of her head telling her this was a bad idea be damned. Dani was kissing her again and every thought flew right out of her head until there was nothing but this. Nothing but today, this moment, the call of blood in her veins, life as it was and nothing else.

There was not push towards the bed, no drive to action beyond this. Still Jamie paused, one hand remaining anchored at Dani’s waist.

“You can still go alone,” Jamie said, “if you want. Doesn’t have to be with me.”

Even as she said it, Jamie dreaded the answer. Knowing Dani’s predilection towards shrinking away from things that were too difficult to face alone. Knowing her own history of always being the odd one out, passed from place to place, from Corps to Corps, unfettered, unwanted.

Dani’s hand tightened in her hair, holding her close. “Want it to be with you.”

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani kissed her again. Want this, too.

Removing Dani’s cloak and tossing it onto the floor beside the blaster pistol had never felt so easy. Kissing her, unhooking the lightsabre and setting it onto the table had never felt so easy. Unzipping Dani’s vest while Dani finished unbuttoning what Jamie had started had never felt so easy. Being with someone else had never felt so easy.

Jamie’s shirt was discarded onto the ground beside the bed just as Jamie sank to her knees there. Dani’s hair was mussed, her mouth parted, her eyes fixed and unblinking as Jamie began to slowly drag down the zipper of her trousers. She toyed with the chain of Jamie’s dogtags, winding it around her fingers at the back of Jamie’s neck.

When Jamie began to tug down the material, Dani sat on the edge of the mattress so her pants could be peeled off and placed aside. Jamie leaned forward and stroked her tongue along the soft skin of Dani’s inner thigh, feeling a hand grip her hair when she bit down gently, and making a low dark sound in the back of her throat.

Already Dani was moving her hips in small motions and Jamie hadn’t even started yet. Jamie laughed softly.

“What?” Dani breathed.

Jamie shook her head, but the movement was restricted somewhat by the tight grip Dani had on her hair. “Nothing,” she murmured and bowed forward to place her open mouth against slick wet and wanting heat.

Wanting nothing but this. The spread of Dani’s legs on either side of Jamie’s head. The taste of her when Jamie swiped her tongue in long slow strokes. The sound of her name gasped in Dani’s voice. The ache between her own legs as Dani rocked her hips to the rhythm Jamie set with a barely restrained urgency.

Where last time had been fast and hard, Jamie did the opposite now. She traced Dani with the tip of her tongue as if trying to map her to memory, finding the best reactions and storing them away for later, for a time again with her that may never come. One of Dani’s heels came up to press into the small of Jamie’s back, and Jamie could feel the way the muscle of Dani’s inner thigh trembled against the side of her face. The same way her fingers trembled as they combed back Jamie’s hair.

Want this, Jamie thought as Dani’s groan ended on a broken noise, as Dani’s hips arched up to press more firmly against her mouth while Jamie offered only a gentle suction. Want her. Want us.

Dani hauled Jamie up by the chain around her neck to kiss her deeply. The kiss was slick and messy and tasted of her, and when they parted Dani was panting.

“Did I mention,” Dani said breathlessly, “that I really like you?”

Jamie laughed and allowed herself to be pulled up onto the bed. Smiling broadly, Dani kissed her and rolled her over to start unbuttoning Jamie’s dark-washed slacks. Before she could do more than flick open the first of two buttons, Jamie placed her hands and Dani’s hips and encouraged her to rock against her thigh.

“That’s -” Dani swallowed back a reckless sound, her eyes squeezing shut. “I’m going to ruin your nice slacks.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Dani’s answering laugh was breathless. “Do you mean that literally, or -?”

The question died on her tongue when Jamie pressed her knee up and wedged a hand between them just enough that she could brush her thumb just so. She watched as Dani’s face screwed up, as her mouth dropped open and her hips bucked out of time until she came again — smaller this time, but no less gratifying.

Dani slowed to a halt, trying to catch her breath. “All right,” she said. “It’s definitely your turn.”

When they’d finished, Jamie sank bonelessly back onto the mattress. Their clothes were strewn all about the room, and the ship’s computer had set the lights to dim automatically to match a normalised sleep cycle, so that the ceiling was a map of constellations. Dani was stark naked and wiping her hands clean on a shirt with a self-satisfied expression before she crawled back up the bed and snuggled into Jamie’s side.

Jamie rolled onto her side and draped an arm across Dani’s waist to hold her loosely there. She needed to take a shower, but couldn’t find the energy within herself to get up. Not when recent sex had turned her bones to jelly, and not when Dani started to trace the curving lines of Jamie’s monochromatic tattoo.

Exhaling slowly, Jamie sank further into the mattress. Her eyes slipped shut and she allowed herself this moment of brief respite.

“Do you ever think,” Dani asked softly, “this was supposed to happen?”

Blearily, Jamie opened her eyes, lulled half asleep by the way Dani was touching her. “What d’you mean?”

Dani shook her head, admiring the way her fingertips drifted across the pattern of ink on Jamie’s bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I just - When I chose the ship to Telos IV, it wasn’t the fastest or the cheapest or even the one leaving the soonest. I was still in shock, I think. From what had happened on Vurdon Ka. There was another transport leaving three hours earlier, heading towards the Outer Rim, but when the droid asked me what ticket I wanted I bought the one to Telos instead.” Her words slowed to a mumble, and her caress stopped. Dani stared at the flowers on Jamie’s skin as if in wonder. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“Coincidence?” Jamie offered, watching the flicker of Dani’s brow in response.

Dani seemed to be trying to remember something intently. “Maybe, but it was so strange. I had this - this feeling. And when I landed on Telos, you know, I -” She broke off with a small incredulous laugh. “I walked straight to that bar. Just - straight there. Didn’t even ask for directions.”

Jamie blinked, more awake now. That hum of energy had returned, threading between them like an arc. Dani’s presence was stalwart, nothing wavering or questioning about it.

“I don’t know anything about the Force,” Dani continued, “but I’m glad to have met you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Jamie’s mouth. It was brief but the warmth pooling in her chest was verdant and budding. “Yeah. Me too.”

—

Rebecca’s ship dropped out of hyperspace only three kilometers from the luxury cruiser, so that the two vessels drifted in orbit around Alderaan side by side. The planet below was a vast curved horizon of blues and greens, struck through with white cloud. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Jamie noticed how Dani’s gaze kept drifting towards the broad windows of the left wing, staring out at the planet below with her shoulders tense and her hands clasped behind her back.

The moment Rebecca’s ship came into view, Owen leaned over Jamie’s shoulder and hit the comm button, requesting a transmission, which was immediately picked up.

“Hello again,” Owen greeted jovially down the line. “We see you’ve just arrived in orbit. And might I say - your ship is exactly what I expected from a smuggler.”

“Aww, thanks,” said Rebecca, her video feed flickering into view. “I worked hard to get it just right.”

Rebecca’s ship was a single bladed shape of stark grey material, like a shark’s fin parting the surface of water. Jamie knew from experience that its small size could mislead larger ships into underestimating its speed and firepower. She also knew from experience that the sleeping cots were cramped and uncomfortable, and that more often than not Rebecca slept in a hammock strung up in the cockpit itself.

Jamie elbowed Owen in the gut so she could have more room. “Status report?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “What are you? Fleet Commander Taylor?”

“Just tell me how we’re getting down to the surface without being noticed,” Jamie said.

“Funny you should ask that,” Rebecca replied, trailing off.

Owen made a face. “Oh, no. Is it bad?”

“Well…”

“Get it over with,” groaned Jamie. She could hear Hannah and Dani walking closer to join the conversation. “Put me out of my misery.”

Rebecca hit a few buttons to switch over the feed, and the screen suddenly displayed a scene much nearer to the surface. She must have hacked into a few security cameras, because the view turned slowly alongside her tapping away in the background. A towering estate in slate greys with parapets like speartips jutting into the sky dominated the screen, flanked by snowy mountains. A broad bridge led to the front entrance, and a hundred or so guardsmen had set up allacrete bollards behind which they were taking cover to avoid incoming fire, peeking over to return volleys before crouching down again.

“That’s,” Dani said slowly, pointing towards a crest-emblazoned purple and red banner hanging from the manor walls on the screen, “House Thul.”

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and tipped her head back towards the ceiling. “Don’t tell me.”

“They’re being besieged by the Sith Lord,” said Rebecca.

“I said don’t tell me.”

Hannah peered over Jamie’s shoulder to get a look at the screen. “Can you get us to the surface?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca. “But after that, I’m all out of ideas. I told you: I’m not a Core World girl. I don’t know Alderaan from a bottle of spotchka.”

“I do.”

Jamie opened her eyes and lowered her head. Beside her Dani had lifted her hand slightly as though waiting to be called on in class. “There’s a side entrance used primarily by servants and staff.”

“What? A side entrance dug all the way through the mountains?” Owen pointed to the snowy peaks pressed in tight on either side of the estate.

“No, it’s here.” Dani tapped her finger against the screen just off to the side of where the camera was currently showing. “It’s where the guards sleep. You go through a security checkpoint and then down a tunnel which leads into a room off the great hall.”

“Don’t think the security checkpoint won’t be a problem this time,” said Jamie.

“Yeah,” said Rebecca slowly as a guardsman on screen was shot dead and slumped to the ground, only to be pulled back over the bollard by one of his comrades. “They look a little occupied right now.”

Chatter fizzed from another speaker on the dashboard. Frowning, Rebecca sat in the pilot’s seat and turned a dial until the frequency better matched. They could hear a staticky voice shouting frantic orders over the comm.

“That’s a Pub frequency,” Rebecca said.

“The Empire has revealed its hand,” Owen said. “The Republic will be arriving with reinforcements soon.”

“Yeah, but not soon enough,” Jamie muttered darkly.

Hannah hummed in agreement. “Unfortunately, yes. A fully fledged Sith Lord? They can tear this estate apart and be out with what they want before Republic troops make it into orbit.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully we can do the same.”

From the sidelines, Dani suddenly spoke, “Can we talk about the children for a sec?” When she had everyone’s attention, she took a deep breath and continued, “What’s going to happen to them now that we know they’re Force Sensitive?”

She looked towards Jamie, who raised both hands and shook her head, pointing towards Owen and Hannah. Hannah was looking at Owen, who shrugged and made a gesture, which Hannah reacted to with an emphatic tilt of her head, the two of them engaged in the kind of silent conversation only two people who had been together for so long knew.

“Are you going to share with the class?” Jamie drawled. “Or are you two lovebirds just going to keep having your weird psychic talk that nobody else can hear?”

Hannah gave Jamie an arch, brook-no-nonsense glare, while Owen stuck out his tongue at her.

“I think it best if we take them back to Tython,” said Hannah to Dani. “There they can be trained in the Force properly.”

Some of the tension held in Dani’s jaw slackened, and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“Anything else we need to discuss before we leap into the fray?” Rebecca asked from the pilot’s seat.

Silence.

“Right,” said Jamie, hand on the holster of her blaster pistol. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

#thobm #the haunting of bly manor #star wars #damie #dani clayton/jamie #no great revelation #roman writes

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zargsnake · 3 years ago

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My crime lord OC, Glagret, a.k.a. Knightkiller

Usually, the “secondary evil name” trope is a Sith trick (or tradition?), as with Vader, Sidious, and Tyranus. But some Sith only use one name (Maul), some Sith use a secondary good name (Revan), and sometimes non-Sith partake, too (Kylo). The titular Knightkiller is not a Sith, but her dual identity is still the core of the drama and mystery of the story.

I wanted her to be an interesting and unique woman villain, and I wanted to write about a character who is inhumanly old, and the weird, incomprehensible pain that such a long life would bring. Many other fantasy worlds have dwelled on this topic (it’s like the main theme of The Silmarillion), but I wondered if I could make it work in the human-centric, family-tragedy-oriented world of Star Wars. Hopefully her relationships with Willo, Tila, and the Jedi Order express that eerie struggle.

Though her moral parallel to Vader is obvious, her main inspiration, and really the whole story’s, was Count Dooku. Spoilers if you haven’t read the latest chapter:

I was thinking about how twisted and backwards Dooku’s behavior is (if you follow my other blogs you’ll know that trying to understand the confusing and relatively unpopular narrative of Attack of the Clones is my main purpose in life). They don’t really explain his motivation in the movie, though they do set it up as a mystery or a trick (“He’s a political idealist, not a murderer,” so the Jedi believe).

You can definitely work backwards from the fact that he’s Christopher Lee, and a similar character to Saruman, and therefore indirectly granted the extremely thorough lore of Tolkien. Why should any other writer have to work so hard again, anyway? To horribly paraphrase, Saruman was trying to stop the rise of evil by learning more about it, but he read too many bad books and that turned him evil, too. In the movies, this is simplified a bit into a character who is ruled by logic, who sees with his prophetic orb that Sauron’s victory is inevitable, and chooses the winning side. I can see the cursed scholar and hopeless pragmatist in Dooku, too.

But the far more twisted aspect of Dooku’s descent, the one which inspired Glagret, is Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon was Dooku’s student and a fellow iconoclast; they seemed to have far more in common with each other than, say, Anakin and Obi-Wan do. Dooku invokes Qui-Gon when he’s trying to win over Obi-Wan, and his words show grief and yearning (“I wish he were still alive. I could use his help right now”).

But Qui-Gon was killed by the Sith. And Dooku joins the Sith. He replaces Maul as Palpatine’s apprentice, and steps into the role that murdered his own beloved friend and son-figure. How could he do this?

You could say that Palpatine tricked Dooku. But the more sickening and heart-breaking explanation, in my opinion, is that Dooku knew exactly what happened. The Sith, the objects of all the scary fairytales from his Jedi childhood, are back, and they’ve taken away the person he cared about most in the world. But instead of fear or anger, instead of wanting revenge, he takes the exact opposite reaction. Unnatural, indeed.

I tried to explain this backwards “logic” through Glagret’s conversation with Tila. From her strange spiritual and philosophical point of view, since the death match killed her Willo, then the death match is the most powerful and worthy thing in the world, the thing most in tune to the Jedi’s own mighty Force, which she will always believe in. I think Dooku felt the same -- since the Sith killed his Qui-Gon, they are clearly the more powerful side (nevermind that Maul lost the next one). And if might makes right, a lesson his cruel galaxy and strict upbringing has taught him, then his choice is clear.

The other aspect of their fall, of course, is that the wicked side has money. I think Dooku comes from a wealthy family, and Glagret works her butt off to get the sponsorship of Senator Dinv. The cynical reading is that all their morbid “logic” is a smokescreen for their real, though perhaps unconscious motivation, simple greed. I like this reading quite a lot. I also gave Glagret this dry obsession with “fun” to echo Star Wars’ raison d’être, to make money out of entertainment. (“Fun is the one thing that money can’t buy” is one of my favorite song lyrics because of its mournful, bitter attitude toward something meant to be light. Glagret has the same attitude but the opposite view.)

Anyway I think the Dooku stuff is more interesting and unique, but once that has been revealed then Glagret turns into yet another Vader parallel (I just can’t help myself!) with the “From her position of such great evil, she can do good, it is never too late, blah blah blah.” My only note about that part is another name origin, since “Glagret” of course comes from “regret.” She seems to want to move forward, but regret will always drag her unhelpfully into the past.

In the waning days of the Republic, can we trust a person like Glagret?

(Btw I haven’t thought of a name for her species, so if you’ve read this far and have an idea please hit me up!)

#star wars #star wars oc #glagret #knightkiller #crime lord oc #dooku fandom read this and also leyr burnridge

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redhoodfucker69 · 4 years ago

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Baby Tal'ika: Mace takes one look at this kid and kisses any peace goodbye

ohohohohoho let’s have some fun with this. I think it’s gonna be long, so I’m putting in a break

-----------

It took a grand total of three seconds for Mace to come to the conclusion that this was his future padawan, and another three seconds for him to come to the conclusion that he was never going to know another moment’s peace in his entire life. Really, it wasn’t hard. The tiny initiate was somewhere between adorable, achingly sad, angry, lonely, scared, and something else Mace had rarely, if ever, seen on a child their age: resigned.

They were resigned, and he could see it in their eyes.

They were also like a dying star in the Force, and already knew how to trick the perceptions of sentients to pass unnoticed and unseen, which brought him to the question of why someone had taught them that at an age when that was the last thing you wanted a youngling who was not supposed to go missing to know.

Mace felt a lot of things when he looked down at one Tal’ika Fox-Kenobi, and not all of them were positive, but they were all very, very sure. Confident. Aching, in their own way.

And the child just looked at him, set their stubborn jaw, and flopped down on the grass of the Room of One Thousand Fountains before reaching up with one tan hand to grasp his own.

“I want to meditate,” they announced, and Mace felt something in his heart ache, because what child their age wanted to meditate?

“Alright,” he agreed, and sat down with them. “But can we speak first?”

They were old, but they had also been raised by a Jedi. And apparently a whole cluster of clones, but that was neither here nor there. So, realistically, they were a youngling, and didn’t need to be initiated into the Jedi, but they also needed to be verified. For a lot of reasons. The way Qui-Gon had brought Anakin into the temple had been a hot mess, ignoring a variety of regulations that were in place to protect a prospective initiate, spouting off about prophecies and things that a child shouldn’t have to worry about, but Anakin had been a lot of things. And Tal’ika had been a lot of things, too. He wasn’t going to do this in the council chambers, which were big and terrifying for someone so young. No, the fountains were a far safer place, far more secure and less scary.

“Yes,” Tal’ika replied, but they hadn’t let go of his hand. Raised by clones, indeed. They were probably used to contact, and constant contact, at that.

“Alright,” he said slowly, and let his big hand lay out on his knee so they could trace over the lines in his palm and pick at his calluses. “You can’t answer wrong, so just be honest with me, and I will be honest with you. Is that fair?”

Tal’ika paused, tilting their head in consideration as they looked for loopholes in that statement, before they nodded, firm and sure.

“Yes. That’s fair,” they decided, firmly, with confidence that made his heart sing. This was a child that was young, and well adjusted, and well loved, for all the turmoil he sensed in them.

“Thank you,” he said seriously, because he always made a habit to thank young ones. “Can I ask you about where you’re from?”

“A ship,” they replied. “The last one blew up, so Cody called help, so we’ve been on the Havoc Marauder.”

Okay, that was concerning. Mace knew that name. No wonder Tal’ika already bit three people. He couldn’t even blame them.

“Not on a star destroyer?” He hedged out, and they scrunched up their nose as they turned his hand over to trace the curves of his fingers.

“Why would I be on a star destroyer? Plo saved me from the Empire, why would I be back with them?”

The what now?

“Why did he save you?” He asked, and they looked up at him like he was stupid.

“Because they killed people like me,” they replied, like it was obvious. “They killed you.”

“I see,” he said seriously, as something uncomfortable settled in his gut. “How did they manage that?”

“You tried to arrest the Emperor, and then he killed the whole council and the Order and threw you out a window,” they replied and frowned. “You don’t take care of your cuticles, Master Windu. That’s not healthy. Plo makes a good cream for cuticles.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him for it,” Mace promised, because Plo did make good cuticle cream, and was constantly harassing Mace in that polite way about how he kept leaving his cuticles cracked and bleeding, and that was a bit easier to focus on than the whole Order being killed. “How long ago was that?”

“Uh... thirteen years? I think? I wasn’t born yet. There’s chips in my bavodu’e’s heads, and they had to kill you. Plo likes to kidnap them so he can take them out. He even taught me how! It’s fun. Better than staying on the ship, anyways,” they responded and rubbed at his cuticles with a little furrow in their brow. “Your cuticles are a mess.”

“My apologies. I’ve been too busy to take care of my cuticles,” Mace said, because they were really liking to circle back to the cuticles. Chips? What on earth? “Tell me about how you’ve been living.”

“We have to travel around a lot, on account of me and the bavodu’e being Impir-icle property that stole ourselves,” Tal’ika responded and shifted their little fingers to start pushing back the offending cuticles. “And Plo is supposed to be dead, so they’re pretty mad about that. He’s very proud that he keeps making them mad. He won’t say it, of course, but he’s very proud.”

“Who do you live with?” Mace prompted, and Tal’ika sneezed. He didn’t even flinch at the flying bits of snot that splattered his hand. They had at least tried to do it into their arm, and they wiped his skin off with their sleeve before going right back to getting his cuticles presentable.

“Uh... Right now, we have Plo, Wolffe, Sinker, Cody, Rex, and we just kidnapped Gregor. Oh! And the Bad Batch. Echo is teaching me how to slice, and Hunter gave me a knife, and Crosshair taught me how to make a headshot. Cody was upset about that. Actually, Cody is upset about everything everyone is doing, because the Bad Batch are ‘gremlins’ and are making me ‘too feral and competentent’. Neyo just left, to join the Rebellion, and he took Thire with him, because Thire keeps getting sad about me, and Neyo didn’t want him to be alone. I think I made him sad, too. But they might be sad because Bly just marched on. He didn’t do well when we took the chip out and got sick. I mean, not sick like when I get a tummy ache, but sick like he didn’t want to get out of bed and just stared at the wall all day. He wasn’t doing well, and then he was gone, and Neyo was trying to take care of him, but Rex said sometimes other people aren’t enough to make you better.”

Mace knew Commander Bly, and the casual hints being dropped that Tal’ika didn’t fully understand was making his stomach sink in his gut. Empire, Order dead, chips that made the clones kill their Jedi, Plo kidnapping clones to take the chips out... It painted a morbid picture for Bly, and a morbid one for Aayla, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to confront the picture in the presence of a child.

“Sometimes people aren’t enough,” he agreed, as careful as he could manage, and Tal’ika looked at him with the big amber eyes he’d seen a million times.

“Is that why Plo is sad?”

“... Yes. That’s why Plo is sad,” because even now Plo was sad, and Mace hated to see it. He couldn’t imagine how Plo would be in the aftermath of a very morbid future Tal’ika was painting. “Can you tell me how Plo is teaching you?”

“Everyone teaches me,” Tal’ika replied dismissively, and went back to pushing back his cuticles. “But Plo and I do meditation in the morning. And before bed. It’s a little hard, with how everyone is sleeping on top of each other right now. Not much room. Lots of people. I have to share a bed with Echo and Tech, cause we’re the smallest. We do a lot of exercises, and he teaches me things.”

“Like how you hide,” Mace supplied, and they nodded firmly.

“Yeah. And the Code, but they also teach me the Resol’nare. Plo lets them, though, so long as I understand how to follow the Code.”

It would seem that in the aftermath of devastation, what few clones left were clinging to the Mandalorian diaspora. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Did that make Tal’ika the second Mandalorian Jedi in history? Force, that was going to be a headache when they got older.

“And your regular studies?”

“Uh...” Color rose in their cheeks. “Leia says they are ‘un-or-tho-dox, but Tech says they’re re-le-vant.”

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have expected much from a half feral Jedi youngling raised by some of the most unorthodox clones he had ever heard of. Cody was wonderful, but he had met Captain Rex, and he knew for a fact their educational modules had to be a hot mess. And then Plo had gone and tossed them in with the damned Bad Batch. Granted, it sounded like he was desperate, given the previous ship blowing up, but the very thought of Tech getting his hands on a hyper intelligent Force sensitive child’s educational requirements was headache inducing.

Yes, the Temple was going to be better for them. Much better for them.

“Can we meditate now?” Tal’ika asked, their voice barely pitching into a whine, and Mace decided he’d grilled them enough. The picture they painted was a bleak future, where the survivors fought for what little happiness a hard galaxy could afford them. And, well, he still had to accept them into the temple, and he had to actually examine their Force core in order to do that.

He knew they would pass, of course, just as sure as he knew they would be his. It was a quiet, uncomfortable confidence in his gut that he hadn’t felt since he first laid eyes on Depa, but this was going to be his padawan, Obi-Wan and Plo be damned.

“Yes. Of course. May I--- Oh.”

Tal’ika had simply climbed to their feet and plopped right between his crossed legs. Right. Raised by clones. Of course Plo would indulge their tactile nature in meditation, and of course they were still young enough to get away with it.

Tal’ika’s spine straightened, and then they breathed out, their eyes slipping shut as they crossed their legs to balance on his calves. Mace just came to the conclusion that this child was forceful, possibly a little too forceful, but there was little harm in it. They evidently had a good head on their shoulders, and far be it from Mace to ever tell a little one no. So, he just balanced his hands on his knees and relaxed into a meditation with their warm back pressed up against his chest.

“Do you need me to walk you through it?” He asked, and they firmly shook their head no.

“No. Plo says it’s time for me to start doing it on my own,” they replied firmly, and Mace’s lips twitched in a smile. Of course they were going to be advanced. This was a Kenobi child.

“Alright. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

They were so firm, so sure of themselves. He didn’t think they’d ever heard a disparaging word from someone in their life, and he was quietly glad for it. There was nothing that gave him greater hope than a young child who knew exactly who they were and what they wanted, a child who had never once been given room to doubt themselves and their needs, who expressed things firmly and aggressively without a hint of shame. It was a good thing.

Slipping into meditation was as easy as breathing. Their little back pressed against his chest, and he followed each breath as they sunk into the Force together, their Force signatures tangling together as they steadily dropped their shields to share with him. Mace let them drift, cataloguing and categorizing the conflicting emotions that had risen up within himself and setting them aside. Anger was there, and pain, and confusion, and fear. How could he not be afraid? They had essentially spoken of genocides, of the clones and the Jedi, and this was his home. His family. He was the Grand Master of the Order, and he had evidently failed it in their time.

He would have to do better.

Tal’ika was still at an age where they needed a little help, and Mace set to the task with an age-old comfort as he helped them identify the emotions in their body that was too damn small for the burning Force presence that engulfed them. They were angry, and they were terrified, despite the cool exterior. They had communicated as much as they could, but someone, namely Plo, had evidently taught them extensively about when words weren’t enough, the Force would suffice. No wonder they had been so demanding about meditation. The fear of all the changes and confusion was a roiling core, and Mace nudged along at their shields, coaxing them into letting them down so he could help.

They did, easily, with only the trust of a child, and Mace hummed as he reached out to touch that fear and press forward with comfort and reassurance. Letting go wasn’t enough, sometimes. It took awhile to learn, and they were far too young to have it mastered. Being validated was important, too, and he made sure to acknowledge the fear and uncertainty overtaking them. It was only natural.

Inch by inch, they let go of the fear, and he buffeted them with warmth and acceptance as they did. The trust of a child was always an overwhelming sort of thing, and he couldn’t help but wish he could spend more time with younglings. It was a lot easier, even with time-traveling post-apocalypse younglings. Adults got wrapped up in their emotions and consumed by them. Younglings, though, did a lot better with letting comfort be comfort and fear be fear and anger be anger. They didn’t mix things up, took anger for safety and fear for a shield.

After helping them detach from their fear and pain and loneliness, which they let go with surprising swiftness, he spent a little time nudging along their shields and examining who the Force was telling him they were. Tal’ika Fox, the child of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard, was a lot more than their lineage. Sifting around, he could see that they were kind, at their core, not at all like their father, who Mace knew never hesitated to cut someone down if they stood in the way of justice. No, this was someone who would hesitate, and at any given opportunity. However, interspersed with that kindness and desire to help was an unsteady nature. No, even unstable, which could be attributed to the cloning techniques used to make them. Or perhaps they had been engineered to be more aggressive and unbalanced. He wouldn’t put it past the Kaminoans. Plo had been apparently doing his damned best to prove the difference in nature versus nurture, though, given how Tal’ika had just demanded meditation when they felt like they couldn’t keep it together for much longer. As they got older, they might need real medication to help balance them out, but for now they could do their best to balance them out in the temple and their upbringing.

Compassion was there, too. Boundless compassion, and forgiveness, which was going to be a given, given their Plo’s apparent proclivities for kidnapping and yanking control chips out of clones’ heads. They’d probably been shot at a fair number of the clones they’d saved, and probably had been scared by a good amount of them, but here they were. All of the tenants of the Order so entrenched in their being.

Yes. They would be fine for the Jedi.

It was almost nice, sitting in the grass with them on his lap, taking this meditation so seriously, serious as a heart attack. He could feel their single minded focus, and it brought a sense of fondness to the whole ordeal. He needed to do this more often, probably after he solved the problems presented by their little time traveling initiate. He almost lost track of time, just letting the Force flow around them as he let his mind drift, emotions rising up and being set to the side, correcting nudges given whenever their attention began to focus. In fact, he did lose track of time, right up until the moment someone cleared their throat behind him. He hadn’t even felt Ponds come up, more focused on fixing Tal’ika’s posture.

“Commander,” he said as he opened his eyes. Tal’ika let out a quiet noise of frustration at the interruption, and he patted them on their shoulder.

“You told me to collect you for the briefing, sir,” Ponds said, and Mace ignored the mild amusement radiating off the man at the sight of his general with a mini Obi-Wan in his lap.

“Well, we’ll have to drop Initiate Tal’ika off at their creche, first,” he replied as Tal’ika climbed to their feet and straightened their robes, which they seemed to be deeply displeased to be wearing.

“I can take myself,” Tal’ika declared, and Mace cringed at the thought.

“The last time you ‘took yourself’ to the creche, you ended up in the restricted section of the Archives with a lightsaber that did not belong to you,” he replied, and Tal’ika paused.

“Well, if you don’t want your weapons to go missing, you shouldn’t leave them laying around just anywhere,” they sniffed. “Cody told me Obi-Wan was always leaving his saber everywhere, so I was really doing a good deed. For Cody.”

Ponds was physically restraining himself from laughing, and Mace was just infinitely glad he had no bad habits, because he wasn’t sure he’d survive the humiliation of Tal’ika helpfully correcting his.

“I’m not sure Obi-Wan would agree with you, Tal’ika,” he said gravely, and Tal’ika crinkled up their nose.

“That’s because he doesn’t know what’s good for him, Master Windu.”

“Sir, you are going to miss the briefing,” Ponds cautioned, and Mace leaned over to pick Tal’ika up and set them on his hip.

“I’m the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. They can wait,” he replied, and Tal’ika snorted.

“That’s abuse of power,” they said, very seriously, like they had heard it many, many times before.

“We all have our vices, Initiate Tal’ika,” Mace replied, just as seriously, and Tal’ika took his face in two very small hands to turn it to them so they could look him directly in the eye.

“I don’t.”

Ah, yes. Their apprenticeship was going to be a nightmare. Mace couldn’t wait.

#realityhoudini #shrooms is writing #rex fox comes running #mace windu #listen Tal'ika would objectively be the PERFECT apprentice for him #especially temple raised Tal #this is turning into its own fic and I don't regret anything #tiny!tal'ika

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darthspideys · 4 years ago

Text

anithesis // three

din djarin x jedi! reader

summary: You expected to find another of yoda’s species, much less under the protection of a particularly stubborn mandalorian. Little do you know its that discovery that will change life as you know it, and put all three of you in danger you never saw coming.

words: ~2k

a/n: so I think we’re doing Thursday updates now? only because I'm impatient and I can’t wait for Friday. Season 2 tomorrow guys who’s excited!?

disclaimer: I h8 baby yoda and it shows. Also I'm terrible at action scenes.

Now this is a situation in which some kind of strategy could have and should have been implemented. Something you can do is and keep them from getting any closer, which would then allow you an escape route before they could gather themselves enough to follow. Of course, because you can let go of that recklessness you’ve had since you were a child, you don’t do that, you don’t really think at all for a long term. What you want to do is hold them off for as long as it takes Luke to smack some sense into the senate, you’re trying not to think about the fact that even with all of his tenacity it’s going to take a while and you have no idea what’s waiting for you.

You hang back and wait at first, hoping that they don’t see you when the first scout out the area. Luckily they don’t you watch as the troopers get off the bikes and walk through the sands, guns drawn. You can’t see a leader with them at first, but you figure there is one because most stormtroopers that you’d seen wouldn’t really know how to pull off an operation like this on their own. They seem harmless from your perspective, like they wouldn’t even find the place if they looked for the whole afternoon. But you know better, the many squadrons of stormtroopers you’d faced off against showed you that they could be much smarter than they seemed, and some of them had lightsabers.

These ones luckily did not have lightsabers, but you know better than to assume they wouldn’t find what they were looking for. So you creep out of the ship slowly, and sneak up behind a couple of them who have separated from the group. Before they can even make a noise, they're down on the ground motionless and you’re beginning to think that maybe you missed battle just a little bit.

You wait until two more separate off from the group, and you stand on top of the rock, then jump down to get both of them on the four day before you can even see you coming.

There are about ten more of them, which you know because all of them have their weapons trained on you. This is fine, you think. The lightsaber flies into your hands, then ignites before they start shooting. You block the bolts easily, and throw half of them away from you, taking down the other half. You duck more of their shots, ready to finish them off when a figure in black appears out of the dust.

All of the stormtroopers look to him, and they move to the sides so it’s just you and him. You don’t really know what’s going on, and all you can think is who is this guy?

He looks you over, and fixes his eyes on the lightsaber for a moment. He reaches out and pulls a blade out of his coat. You don’t recognize it at first but as soon as he ignites it, and the jet black blade stands out amongst the bright yellows of the desert your eyes go wide. This is a lot more complicated than you could’ve thought. You lunge at him, eager to get this over with and he comes back with a talented swing that you didn’t expect.

Somehow he figured out how to use it properly. Not using a lightsaber form of any kind but he knows enough to be dangerous. The two of you fight in a clash of black and green, lighting up the desert in bright colors and filling the air with the sound of power connecting with power.

You start to realize that you might be a little outmatched. Okay maybe not outmatched, maybe evenly matched but needless to say your not winning this as fast as you want to. You pull back and try to use the ship as cover to gain an advantage, but he sees what you're doing and orders the troopers to fire.

You no longer have a way home as it turns out. The troopers fire destroys your ship, and it explores in a blast of orange color, which sends you back a few feet and onto your back again. There’s a pattern that’s beginning to from, and you do not like it.

He comes over to you and holds out the darksaber to your neck like he’s won, “I’ve always wanted to meet a Jedi, and then kill one.”

“Today’s not the day,” You say jumping to your feet and punching him in the face. He doesn’t see it coming, and one more kick sends him sprawling to the ground. You cut across his leg eith your lightsaber, leaving him gasping in pain.

Then you run, you don’t know where your doing at first but when you see what you assume is the mandalorian’s you run to it as fast as you can. You manage to climb on just as the door closes.

“Su cuy'gar,” He grumbles when he sees you get in.

You narrow your eyes at him, “Surprised?” The anger bubbles up in your chest and there’s no use controlling it at this point. He looks at you, most likely surprised that you understood what he’d said, so you use that and the next thing he knows he's on the ground with your foot on his chest. The ship shakes briefly with the force of him hitting the ground.

“Calm down,” He says

“I am calm,” You say, your foot still on his chest, “Just when you say, ‘the empire’ it’s better if you specify that it’s a moff with the darksaber. It’s just a very important piece of information considering I could’ve just died trying to save your ass, okay?” You’re scary calm when you say it, which you can tell makes the tension in the air worse.

He doesn’t say anything but it seems like he gets the message, and he starts off toward the cockpit when you let him up. He waits for the child to follow him, but it doesn't, it stays glued to your leg. When he sees that, he stops waiting and just leaves, what you can feel is disappointment in his wake. If it makes him feel any better he’s not the only one who is disappointed, you’re stuck on this ship with the four of them now unable to contact Luke or Leia or anyone.

You take a seat, with the child on your lap. He grabs onto your finger and takes hold which makes you a little calmer than you were before. If there were any time to think of a game plan, it would be now when it’s just you in the cold vacuum of space.

Meditation has always been hard for you to master. Your mind is always running, you're always thinking, always moving, so sitting down and not letting your mind wander is a challenge. But somehow, on the ship which shakes and rumbles as it flies through space, you manage to do it for all of ten minutes. You can see Luke on Tatooine, standing in the midst of a squadron of new republic pilots, looking for something. He’s looking for you. He came looking for you but all he found was dust, and rubble. He moves to the blown out hull of where your ship used to be and you can feel his worry for you even though you're far away. You’re reaching out to him, trying to tell him that you're alive, that you're coming back but you can't reach him. You're just left to watch as he searches for you in vain, and that hurts you more than you can say. You blame yourself because you can't focus enough to spiritually connect with the force, you can use it’s physical aspects easily but things like this, the reaching out that Luke and Leia can do so easily you’ve never been able to get that far.

You open your eyes again and you're frustrated, you kick the edge of the wall in front of you and decide to head up into the cockpit. The Mandalorian hears you come up and turns to you with his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you want?”

You sit against the edge of the control panel, making sure that you don’t press any buttons. “You know where we could very easily go?” He doesn’t bite but you take a pause just in case he wants to. “Chandrila, you could just drop me off right there. I'll take the child with me and all's right with the world.”

“You really don’t give up do you?” He spins his seat around, and tries to ignore you.

“It’s the fact that this is my only job that makes me this way,” You shrug. “When I said all the time in the world, I meant all the time in the world. Not to mention that I pretty much saved your life back there so I think you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you that much.” You let out a huff and sit there quietly until he turns to you again. There’s a pause, and then he turns to you with a look you can't decipher and it's not because of the helmet. “You called that weapon Gideon had, a darksaber, what is that? And how do you know about it?”

Heat rises to your cheeks and you tighten your grip on the underside of the control panel. There’s not a truthful explanation that’ll keep him from asking more questions, the darksaber is Mandalorian legend (so it surprises you that he didn’t recognize it right away, but then again a lot of history was lost when the empire twisted Mandalore into their weapon), which is something that as far as he knows you should know nothing about. You absentmindedly reach for the lightsaber, not that you're going to attack, it's just a tick you have when you get nervous.

“How do you not know?” You tease him, trying to distract from his question, “The darksaber was used right before the destruction of the death star to unite the five tribes of Mandalore under one ruler, that was not of clan Vizsla.” He doesn’t seem like he’s getting it, “You're odd for a mandalorian.”

“You know a lot about Mandalore,” He says, eyeing you suspiciously.

You curse yourself internally, you walked right into that one. You’ve always been a bit too eager to show off the information you know. “It’s such a curiosity,” You say by way of excuse. You shrug, “And it’s always nice to know your enemy.” That’s what seals it off, any hope of cooperation or even begrudging familiarity. You had to do something to remind him that you weren’t friends, and that he should be suspicious of you, he should be afraid of you. “I’ve had access to some of the empire's old archives, they were meticulous with their record keeping.”

“So you read all of it?” He says. “I find that hard to believe.”

You scoff, “Rude. I love to read.”

“Oh do you? You strike me as more of a-” He pauses, like he couldn’t describe you even if he tried, and he’s trying. “-hurricane.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian imagine #antithesis series

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