#we now know that there were younglings that survived and then grew up to fuck around with darth vader for revenge

[phoenixwwitch]

i think something we need to consider now from all of the new star war series being put out is that yes order 66 was a monumental horrific event that changed everything but like anakin wasn’t actually all that efficient or good at it

[deniigi]

Please take this section from a piece about Baby Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon bonding post Bandomeer.

I’m sure that this isn’t how their master-apprentice relationship was formed but I refuse to read so this is it for me 🙃🙂

Title: platelets

Summary: After the smoke clears on Bandomeer, the Agricorps gathers 12yo Obi-Wan into their ranks and prepares to train him to become one of their own. Qui-Gon thinks they should wait a damn minute here. He’s had a change of heart.

---

Obi-Wan was no longer in the med bay. It took Qui-Gon two hours to find him and two years off his life trying to look casual under the irritated gaze of so many suspicious Agricorps members.

The foreman (forewoman) was the first to crack under Qui-Gon’s very charming smile—and she didn’t so much as crack as tell him that his attempts to be subtle disgusted her to the core.

Obi-Wan had been given over to a young lab manager. A friendly man in need of his first supervisee. He was soft at heart and, according to the foreman, very good with kids.

Qui-Gon understood implicitly and rapidly that this was his new competitor.

He asked the foreman what the knights had done to incur the corps’ ire and she told him to search his fucking feelings.

She closed the door behind him, effectively locking him into one of the Agricorps terrarium-lab bubbles.

 --

Qui didn’t like to snoop. He loved to snoop.

Nothing was more satisfying then having a poke through the lines upon lines of glasses and test pockets that covered the tables. He had a sniff around the experimental cuttings taking root in their glasses and then took cover when he heard a voice break out into a laugh.

He peered over the edge of the counter and spotted the familiar green smock-tunic of the corps. Its owner had tan skin and narrow eyes and his back stooped into an arc. Qui-Gon craned his neck and found that the arc came over the tuft-y red hair of his future apprentice (because there was no real question here, regardless of the corps’ agitation; the knights would always get first choice over the initiates).

The lab manager, however, gave no sign of trepidation. He held in front of Obi-Wan a handful of seeds that sprouted and curled under his smile. Obi-Wan watched them with wide eyes. The manager turned his gentle face down towards Obi-Wan and nudged his hands until Obi-Wan was holding the mass as it grew.

“Look, you’re a natural,” the man said.

Obi-Wan sucked in a lip and focused hard. One of the plants’ first adult leaves began to unfurl.

“Well done. Fantastic,” the manager said. “Look at you already. Great job and for that, a reward.”

“A reward?” Obi-Wan asked, handing the tangle of roots off as the manager held out his hands for them.

“A reward,” the manager agreed, plucking one of the fat stems from the bunch and holding it out to Obi-Wan, “A snack.”

Damn. This guy was good.

 --

 The foreman was smug as a dungbeetle in shit when Qui-Gon skulked out of the lab. She asked him how his proposal had gone. He scowled at her and made off back to his quarters.

Normally, he would call someone to lament the traitorous actions of these supposed-allies, but no one was going to be sympathetic right now—not even Tahl. She was going to say what everyone else was going to say which was “Man, you had how many chances to get this right?”

He smashed his face into the pillow of his bunk, then flung it off and flattened his cheek against the mattress.

There had to be some way to turn these tides back in his favor. He wasn’t losing to the Agricorps. Master Dooku would have a heart attack. Qui’s failure in this—more than Xanatos—would kill him and then he’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

UGH.

Alright, Jinn. Think.

 --

 He had a brilliant plan. It involved a lightsaber. Obi-Wan loved lightsabers. Qui-Gon had witnessed him loving them many a time.

He scrounged up some tools and squeaked past the Agricorps security for a quick bounce off to acquire a crystal. A blue one. Obi-Wan looked like a blue saber sort of kid. It took a while to find one because everyone, everywhere, was conspiring against Qui-Gon on this. Even the Force seemed to be telling him that he was too late.

But for once, he didn’t care. There were only so many times you could fuck up before you started fucking up at least in the right direction.

He got the crystal. He brought it back to the corps headquarters and went on the hunt yet again for his (his damnit) future apprentice.

  This time, Obi-Wan was in the dormitories. Qui-Gon almost gasped in horror to find him outfitted in an over-large green smock-tunic. He flapped the too-long sleeves with a goofy smile while his lab manager reached around him and tightened the belt at his waist as far as it would go.

“You’re so scrawny,” the lab manager told him. “We’ll fix that.”

Obi-Wan beamed up at him and held up his sleeve-covered hands.

“I like green,” he said.

A small piece of Qui-Gon screamed internally.

“I think you’re more of a blue, actually,” the lab manager said. “But this is what we’ve got for now. When you get bigger, we can see if there’s a blue that fits you.”

“There are so many colors,” Obi-Wan said as the manager trapped his arm and started rolling up one of the sleeves. He tried to do the same with the other on his own, which just made the manager’s job harder.

“There are,” the manager said.

“Do you get to pick?”

“You sure do.”

“How do you pick?”

The manager patted Obi-Wan’s head and turned around to hunt down something else from the spare clothing supply.

“It comes to you,” he said, muffled.

There was a long silence. Qui-Gon had just decided to step out of hiding, when Obi-Wan, looking at the rolled edges of his sleeves said,

“I think I want to leave.”

Qui-Gon’s heart stopped. The manager’s rummaging did, too. He pulled himself carefully out of the cupboard.

“Leave?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan said to his sleeves. “I think I want to leave.”

No.

“You’re a little young to leave, aren’t you?” the manager said awkwardly.

“Maybe,” Obi-Wan said. “But I’ll figure it out. If I can survive those people in the mines, then I can figure it out, can’t I? And then I can pick my colors out there. You get to pick, right? Maybe I’ll do blue after all.”

Fuck. No. Qui-Gon was gonna—

“Hey, why don’t we do this?” the manager said, setting aside a set of gaiters to kneel down in front of Obi-Wan. “Let’s give us a trial run, huh? Two months, max. I know we didn’t make the best first impression, but give us two months—eight weeks—and after that, if you don’t like it, we’ll make sure you’ve got somewhere to go when you’re ready to leave. Does that sound okay?”

Qui-Gon held his breath. Obi-Wan studied the knuckles of the hands holding his. He rubbed his split lips together.

“Eight weeks?” he asked.

“That’s all, no more and if you really, really can’t stand it, then even less,” the manager said.

“And you’ll help me? Even if I say I don’t want to stay?”

“Even if you don’t want to stay.”

Maybe Qui was operating on another, less child-friendly level here, but why in kark’s name you’d even give the boy the illusion of choice was beyond him. The answer was, truly, that the second Obi-Wan set foot away from the jedi, he’d be signing his own death sentence.

Xanatos wouldn’t care if he wasn’t Qui-Gon’s true apprentice. He wouldn’t ask those kinds of questions. He’d just seize the opportunity the moment Obi-Wan no longer had someone standing behind him, and when he was through, he’d bring the body to the Temple and lay it out cold and open-eyed on the front steps.

There were no other options for the child now. Qui-Gon was being kind with this process of trust-building. In reality, if he really needed to, he could contact Yoda and acquiesce to his previous wisdom and arguments for Qui-Gon to take the kid on. Yoda would then change the boy’s assignment and orders; he would return to the temple and thereafter again go through the selection process. But this time, Qui-Gon would select him without hesitation.

That wasn’t how Qui-Gon wanted to do this, but if the boy thought that he was going to leave, to step out into the cold of space, then to spare him a cruel, meaningless death, Qui-Gon would.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said quietly to the manager.

“Anytime, hon,” the manager said. “Who knows, anyways. You might even like it here.”

 --

  The trouble with the damn Agricorps was that they were phenomenal talkers. They talked to people about their problems and all these insecurities and they gave them food and drinks and told jokes and laughed and hefted their littlest supervisees up onto their shoulders and all that served to make their members loyal to each other to a fault.

In short, Obi-Wan’s lab manager was winning this battle more every day.

This was not helped at all by the fact that Qui-Gon had discovered through a surprise meeting that Obi-Wan was afraid of him.

They’d bumped into each other in the hallway as Obi-Wan came from the mess hall and Qui-Gon went to drop off some documents, and the kid scrambled away from him and flattened himself against the corridor’s wall.

Some serious meditation (and agitating Mace, great tower of sleep-deprived wisdom) had brought Qui-Gon to the conclusion that yeah, a month in forced labor, being banished to a mine, food deprivation, physical assault, and so on really did a number on a twelve-year-old’s trust in people and their associates.

Further, Mace pointed out that Qui-Gon was approximately ‘half a mile tall and covered in overgrowth.’

He did not appear to be a soothing presence to children. Mace said that if he’d deigned to join him and the other masters in chatting and cuddling the younglings in the crèche, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but alas, Qui, you stuck-up nerfherder. You reap what you sow.

Mace’s hind and foresight was, as per usual, invaluable.

Qui-Gon decided that he was going to be the nice version of himself. He was going to smile at Obi-Wan. That would do it.

 --

 It didn’t do it.

The foreman came to Qui-Gon’s quarters to gleefully tell him not to approach the corps’ young supervisees unprompted. He was giving the children hives.

He explained to her outright that he intended to take Obi-Wan on as his apprentice.

She told him good luck. Obi-Wan, she claimed, was already settling in with the others. He was making friends. And Qui-Gon wasn’t so cruel as to separate such a traumatized boy from such comfort, now was he?

But there, she was mistaken.

He definitely was that cruel.

The foreman told him to die miserable and slammed his door.

 --

 It took another two tries, but eventually, he managed to find Obi-Wan tucked away on one of his breaks from his training in the lab. He appeared to be at a loss for what to do with himself. He’d settled against a window and had splayed both hands on it as he stared out into the cracked soil of Bandomeer.

Qui-Gon watched him for a little while and then cleared his throat.

Obi-Wan jumped. His eyes came up for the briefest second and then his head went down.

“Master,” he greeted.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. “You seem bored.”

Guilt colored the boy’s cheeks in a flush.

“I’m not bored, Master,” he said, fidgeting with his rolled sleeves.

“May I sit?” Qui-Gon asked, gesturing next to where Obi-Wan knelt. He nodded and arranged himself in a more dignified posture. Qui-Gon let him; he sat down next to him, grumbling and creaking and popping.

His bones weren’t what they used to be.

Once he was finally more or less comfortable, he turned to notice Obi-Wan staring at him with eyes like a cat’s.

“What? You never seen an old man sit?” he asked.

“What happened to your hair?” Obi-Wan asked.

Oh.

“It’s in a bun,” Qui-Gon explained, reaching up to release the mane. It tumbled down over his shoulders and cheered for fresh air.

Obi-Wan’s gaze became even more cat-like. Qui-Gon fought off a smirk.

“You want to touch it?” he asked.

The kid looked away abruptly.

“It’s okay. You can touch it,” Qui told him. “It looks better than it feels, I must say. Needs a trim—look at these ends, little one. I ought to be arrested for crimes against decency.”

Aha. Gotcha. Look at that wobble in those lips. Trying not to smile. They’d see how long that worked, now wouldn’t they?

He badgered Obi-Wan until he finally broke and reached up to brush his fingers against the hair Qui-Gon put within his reach. His attention snapped into place.

“It’s soft,” he said, amazed.

His fingers started combing without permission. Qui-Gon let it happen.

“Very useful for cold climates—have you ever felt a snow-yak, Obi-Wan?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. Of course, he hadn’t.

“Do you know what they look like?”

Another shake.

“Well, perhaps one day, you will see them,” Qui-Gon said indulgently. “When I was a boy, my master told me not to try to pet them—he told me at every step of the way, he knew me well. But you know what I did?”

There was that smile now.

“You pet them?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I sure did,” Qui-Gon told him. “And you know that they did?”

“Kicked you?”

“Me? No. I was too small a target. They charged my master—Master Dooku; you may have heard of him.”

Obi-Wan shoved his giggles into his palms.

“I want to pet one,” he said.

“Yes, you do look like the type,” Qui-Gon said. “Tell me, Obi-Wan, what are your feelings on pathetic lifeforms?”

“What’s that?”

“You tell me. What’s a pathetic lifeform to you?”

Obi-Wan settled in and thought about it as he gazed out the window’s thick glass.

“Me,” he decided.

Bless him.

“You?” Qui-Gon said incredulously. “No, no. You saved a jedi master. I said ‘pathetic.’”

“Me,” Obi-Wan insisted again.

Qui-Gon held a finger out between them.

“If you are a pathetic life form, then I am in grave danger,” he said.

The giggle this time wasn’t hidden. It make Qui-Gon’s own grin grow.

“I was thinking a lothcat,” he admitted. “Or a dragon—love a dragon. Of course, the yak—perhaps not pathetic to my master, but to others yes. They’re not smart, Obi-Wan, poor things.”

“You like animals,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon weighed this statement with his head.

“’Animals’ isn’t quite broad enough, but yes, they fall into the category,” he said. “I’m also a big fan of rescuing the plants that no one can keep alive.”

Obi-Wan brought up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He settled a soft cheek onto the top of the right one.

“That’s what I’ll be doing here,” he said.

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause. The boy sniffed softly.

“You will be happy here,” Qui-Gon told him gently. “They will take care of you.”

Another sniff. An eye scrubbed with a too-long sleeve.

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Well, this was a conversation Qui-Gon hadn’t wanted to walk into. There were, from his vantage point, a few ways out of it, but at the end of each of those paths was a set of brown eyes framed by intense, wispy green brows.

“You are good enough,” Qui-Gon said. “I am just a foolish master. You deserve someone better than me, Obi-Wan.”

“There is no one else,” Obi-Wan said.

“There will be,” Qui-Gon said.

“No, there won’t. I’m out of time. All that’s left for me is...this,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing to the landscape beyond the window.

Qui-Gon studied it; the cracks in the soil, the piles of broken stones.

“It is a little bleak,” he admitted.

“What is it like for non-jedi people?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do they go to school? How do they find somewhere to sleep?”

“You will not be a non-jedi person,” Qui-Gon said.

There was a long pause.

“What?”

Qui-Gon sucked in a breath and let his shoulders fall.

“Unless you really want to be one,” he added. “Apologies, I spoke without thinking.”

Those blue eyes were the same color as the crystal in Qui-Gon’s pocket. He put his hand inside of it and pulled the carefully wrapped parcel out so that Obi-Wan could see it. He rolled it slowly until only the crystal sat in his palm.

“There is greatness in you, Obi-Wan,” he said. “And I am not a good enough Master, but you are more than a deserving padawan.”

The eyes flicked from the crystal to Qui-Gon’s face once, then twice.

“Do you mean it?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Are you okay with having a silly master?” Qui-Gon asked. “I will not sugar-coat it—one of my students has already fallen. I am the type of person who Master Windu has been dreaming of the unfortunate demise for since we were children.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asked with eyes only for the crystal.

“Excellent question. I am told that my brain is fundamentally ill-suited for human interaction,” Qui-Gon said with a smile.

Obi-Wan huffed.

“Does Master Windu really dislike you so much?” he asked.

“He speaks to me in such ways only out of love. My other friends say that I am dedicated intensely to the flight of fancy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Obi-Wan said.

“You know, funny thing,” Qui-Gon told him, reaching over to take his hand and press the crystal into it, “Neither do I.”

[heirs-of-prythian]

A Night of Thunder and Cuddles Part 1

Hi! I have a new fic for all of you, and this time it's about Nessian and their son Cadan. Or more specifically for part 1 about Cassian and Cadan. Nesta will show up in part 2. It's of course fluffy fluff.

Word count: 2k

Fic Masterlist

_______________

The rain still clung to Cassian as he soared over Velaris. It was a cloudy night. No stars or moon are visible in the night sky, hidden by dark clouds that promise a violent storm. Luckily it wasn't raining or storming just yet. But given the rain he was catched up in for a short while, not too long ago and the clouds over him, the storm was coming to Velaris. And that very soon.

Beating his wings again, Cassian was hurrying home. He was already late as it is and didn't want to get catched up in the incoming storm. Scanning the houses he was flying over, the Illyrian tried to find his house in this lightless night. It shouldn't be that hard to find given it location.

Everything was dark and in wrapped shadows, which made the houses hard to distinguish from each other, even for someone like him. Unfortunately Illyrians didn't have night vision, even if it would very useful in battle. Fortunately, he didn't search for long and found his home.

While scanning the windows for any light or movements, Cassian started descenting. Every window was dark and nothing seemed to move and some curtains were shut. His mate wasn't pacing in worry for him and was most likely asleep. Which was a good thing in Cassian's books, because he didn't want her to wait for him.

Landing in front of the front door of the two story building, he listened and sniffled the air, everything seemed to be in order. While shaking the rest of the rain from his wings, he took out his keys and unlocked the door silently. Cass leaned down to untie his drenched boots, and took them off, freeing his feet from the cold and wet leather. Mother he was late, drenched in rain and sweat, and the smell of the camps clung to him like a cloud. He needed a shower. A quick one, he was too tired for anything else and just wanted to sleep. He stifled a yawn and opened the door as quietly as he could.

Thanking the mother that no sound was made, Cassian scanned the corridor, but everything was peaceful. His wet boots were put beside the door to dry. After closing and locking the door, the Illyrian grabbed the clothes he had laid out on the dresser earlier, so he wouldn't be forced to go up to the attic to change out of his flying leathers. Which both he and Nesta don't like him doing, since he tends to dirty up the house. Next he went into the guest bathroom beside the dresser, took a quick shower and changed into soft trousers and a shirt. He hung his flying leathers up to dry. He will need to bring it to a laundress tomorrow.

Rubbing his hair with a towel, Cassian stepped out of the bathroom. First he checked the living room, there was a good chance, that Nesta was there, curled up in the couch or an armchair with a book. Probably had tried to distract herself from worrying, but fell asleep instead of reading.

But there was no Nesta in sight nor was she in the kitchen. Which was fine for him, well, he would have preferred to carry her to bed, but finding her in bed would also be mighty satisfying. He couldn't wait to take her in his arms and fall asleep with her beside him. Cauldron he missed her the whole day.

Grinning to himself, Cassian took two steps at a time up to the first floor, making sure not to make a sound. He looked around and scanned the four closed doors, the first floor consists out of a big bathroom, the library/office, a guest bedroom (their former bedroom, before they moved to the attic) and Cadan's bedroom. His eyes soften upon the sight of his son's bedroom door and his smile turned loving.

Mother, it still feels like a dream from which he will wake one day without his mate and their son. Utterly alone, making all of this only a cruel dream. Mother, he wouldn't want to wake if this really only was a dream. Because now, Cassian didn't think he could survive without them.

Why he had been blessed with an amazing son like Cadan and a brilliant mate like Nesta, he didn't know. They were more than he ever dared to hope for. Cauldron knows, he had not only missed Nesta the whole day, but also Cadan. He had missed them so much, he kept being distracted by them the whole day.

He hadn't seen his son for the whole day, having been up and in the sky before Cadan was even awake. He would be damned if he didn't spare a few minutes to check on his son. After almost tiptoeing to the door, Cass only now noticed the soft light coming from under the door. Frowning a little, Cass contemplated, had Cad forgotten to put out a candle or...., yeah that was more likely. He shook his head, smiling, already knowing what he will see, and opened the door soundlessly.

Cassian's eyes needed to adjust to the candlelight for a moment. Only one candle burned on the nightstand beside the twin bed, illuminating the whole room in a soft glow. The curtains are drawn tightly closed (are those clips?), at least this explains why he didn't see it from the outside. Shaking his head with a smile, Cass focused on the bed.

On the bed a small six year old (or six years, nine months and 4 days, as Cad would correct) Half-Illyrian was curled up against the headboard and pillows, as close to the candle as he could without falling of the bed. His tiny wings are tucked tightly behind him, eyes focused on the book on his knees. Cadan hadn't reacted to nor noticed his father standing in the doorway. The smile that grew into a grin on Cassian's face was wide and big, teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

He felt so proud and in love, that the feelings were filling his chest, his heart, his lungs, making it hard to breathe. It's such a typical Nesta move what Cadan is doing. And Cass loved it. When it comes to books Cad was way to much like Nesta. By the mother, he loved it so much.

But according to her, this is the only major thing (except for her eyes) that their son has gotten from her. And she wasn't that incorrect, Cadan looked like a mini version of him, except for the ears and the blue-grey eyes, he loved so much, and acted sometimes even like him.

To be completely honest, Cass could spend hours, days even, just watching Cad read, laugh, run around, sleep, breathe, do anything at all, and he wouldn't be bored at all, and he knows Nesta would agree with him. So he leaned into the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest.

A few minutes flew by while he just watched their beloved son reading, his lips moving the words he was reading, pages were turned. Cadan's eyes never once left the book. Completely trapped in the story. Lost in a world of adventure and heroism.

Cassian would love for it to go on forever, but it was way, way past the little reading youngling's bedtime. And he would bet his own wings that this wasn't the first time Cad has done something like this. With a son as smart as theirs, this was to be expect. But the little bookworm needed to sleep. So Cass said softly.

"Little Hero, I don't think sleeping looks like this, or does it?"

At the nickname, Cadan's head snapped up, eyes widening and mouth gaping at Cassian.

"Because correct me if I'm wrong, but it is past your bedtime and you should be asleep."

Cassian could practically see the excitement in his son's eyes at the side of him, and also that his son was ready to scream and jump out of bed to run to him. Which he would usually let him do, but it was late at night and Nesta was asleep upstairs and he didn't want to wake her. So he shushed his son softly before Cad even opened his mouth.

"Your mother is asleep, little hero. We don't want to wake her, do we?" That shut Cadan right up and he shook his head.

"When did you get home, Daddy?" Cad whispered, putting his hands up to his father. Mother, his son was so cute. And a hug would be good for both of them, especially after not seeing each other for the whole day. Cauldron, he loved hugging his son at any time. Stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, he answered.

"Just a few minutes ago, Cad." Putting his book beside him, Cad stood up on the bed and practically jumped into Cass' waiting arms. Catching him, the Illyrian buried his face into the Half-Illyrian's hair, breathing in the smoothing smell of his son, soap and books. Cad had buried his face into his father's chest, arms around the neck.

"I missed you, Daddy." Cadan murmured, arms tightening.

"I missed you, too, Little Hero. So much you have no idea." Cassian sat down, not letting go of his little hero, smoothing a hand over Cad's tiny head and hair.

Father and son sit like that for a while, enjoying each other's present after being away from the other for the whole day.

"Mommy was worried, you know?" Cadan whispered softly and backed away a little to look at his father.

"I figured, she was." Cassian answered back with a small smile. "I would have been home earlier, but the pigheads didn't want to let me go earlier."

He didn't have any real restrictions against swearing in front of Cad, because it was already way late to corrupt him. Cass had a feeling that Cadan and his niece Hemera already knew way more and way worse swear words and insults than he ever used himself. It wouldn't be a baseless assumption, since both of them were responsible for "Fuck" being Artemas' (his nephew and their little cousin) third word after "Mommy" and "Daddy". And he seemed to be correct, Cad barely reacted to the word "pigheads", he just started frowning when he mentioned that they were responsible for his delay.

"I'm sorry. You were worried too?" Cass continued, and it wasn't necessarily a question, if Nesta or Cassian (or any of Cadan's Uncles and Aunts) got worried, he got worried, too.

"Of course, I was. And next time, can't you just go and let the pigheads rage alone?" Cassian laughed softly at that, but after seeing Cad's face, he stopped. Cauldron his son was serious. Smiling, Cass picked a strand of hair from Cad's face and tugged it behind one ear.

"I don't think I can do that, Cad, even if I would love to."

"You could also always threat them with Uncle Rhy or Mom!" Cadan stated with a pout. Cassian almost laughed out loud at that.

"Well I could try it next time. Not sure if it will work though."

"It will! And you totally should!"

"And you should be sleeping, Cadan, and not reading." Cassian put the pouting six year old back against his pillows.

The pouting child crossed his arms, than tried to argue, but Cass cut him off before a sound could leave Cad's mouth.

"No arguing, it's late, and you need your sleep." Cassian stood up from the bed, grabbed the book and put it away and than covered Cadan with the blanket.

"I'm going to sleep too and so should you."

"Fine." Cad sighed and gave in, uncrossing his arms.

"I love you, Daddy!"

"I love you too, little hero," Cass bends down and kissed Cad's forehead. "And Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Daddy." Cadan said with closed eyes, smiling slightly, making himself comfortable in his bed.

Cassian blow out the candle and stepped out of Cadan's room with one last look at his wonderful son.

Smiling, Cassian shut the door behind him.

______________

I hope you all like it. Feedback is always welcome. This fic will probably have 3, maybe just maybe 4, parts.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me. I would love to answer them.

Tagging: @thelaziestgeek @lux-et-tenebra @mindnumbmikey @starlightheir @guthiix @iamthebonecarver @feyres-painting-studio @tswaney17 (if you want to get tagged, just let me know)

[subhumanhorde]

The Incident (Howl)

The beasts caught their breath in the aftermath of the skirmish, the elite warriors needing a moment to recover after taking on a large number of enemy soldiers. Howl's unit was used to these kinds of battles, but they had been fighting for two whole days now. The wolves were exhausted, the orcs could barely hold their heavy axes, the few minotaurs were drained of their mana, and the only war demon in the platoon had been ripped in half by a powerful magic a human casted before their death. "Gather the wounded, now! We have no idea when the next attack could come and we must hold the line until Splitfang arrives!" As the little break ended, Howl barked his commands at the platoon he led, his powerful voice sparking his soldiers awake. The soldiers obeyed, although they talked amongst themselves as they searched the small area for their wounded and dead. "How many do you think he killed this time? I swear I saw him kill 9 grown human men with just one movement." "Bullshit. I saw him kill 13 men at once, the Major's just like a demon when he swings around those swords of him." Howl was used to the talks now, and even though he felt inclined to reprimand the men who talked, he knew it was good for morale. His legend went beyond his immediate subordinates, and he knew everything he did travelled all the way back to his capital. All the young hybrid maidens born into the Rebellion had idolized him as the perfect soldier and husband from all the stories that came in, and all the boys born into the faction had wanted to be a hero just like him, whether they were a horned child, werewolf pup, or orc youngling. All the more reason to stay on the battlefield for Howl though. He had no interest in being a hero to the people, and he had no intentions of settling down anytime soon like most of the beasts that were part of the Rebellion. It was troublesome to have something back home to worry about while you fight, and Howl was about to be pushed further towards this belief as he saw a good friend amongst the critically wounded. "Don't tell me..." Howl's iron composure nearly faded as he went over to his fellow wolfen brother, the medic about to stop him until he saw who was trying to get a better look. "Sir. He may not make it through the night. The enemy spellcaster shot some kind of spell that pierced his abdomen, even if we exhausted all our resources on him there's no way we could guarantee his survival, especially at this stage." The words were ignored by Howl as he took a knee and took his wolfen friend's hand, his eyes looking at the brutal gut wound he had before he looked into his friend's bright blue eyes. "Bawl, don't tell me you're leaving this world tonight. What happened to seeing your wife and pups when you get home? You've got a beautiful elven babe who loves the shit out of you!" Even though he needed to keep the strong tone of a leader, Howl relaxed and talked to his friend normally. "I'm....I'm not gonna make it, brother. I feel...weak." "Nonsense! We've done so much together! Remember the time I lost a lot of my left arm to a lightning bolt. The healers had to work hard but I got most of it back! This is no different, brother, trust me." It was a lie. "Dumbass...I've known you so long it's easy to tell when you're lying. You always...lick your right fang before you tell a lie." "Be quiet! I promise it'll be alright! I never let my men die! Especially not someone I grew up with!" "You also get...way too fucking loud..." "I'm sorry, brother." "It's...alright, brother. I've fought a long time, and I've done a...good job, I think." "You were the best of the best, my father wanted to promote you to my position when we made it back you know! That's why you gotta make it!" "I think I've reached...my limit. Please, take care of...my kids." "Don't talk like th-" "And make sure no scumbag gets close...to my wife. I gave her 7...pups, that's more than enough to keep her occupied...for a lifetime." "Bawl, don't die, you're my br-" "Brother. I...I know. And you're my...brother too, Howl.

Tell...Bellow...he's my brother...also." The life faded quickly from the other wolf's eyes, and the bloodied claw that Howl held onto slowly slipped out of his clean hand. A silence came, and the medic left Howl to attend to another wounded as he mourned briefly. All the other men in their tribe had died, and now the twins and Splitfang were all that was left. Were it not for the others that had fallen, Howl would certainly cry, but it was difficult now. The leader rose, and he did what he had to do; he focused on the situation at hand and changed the directive. "All men! Form up on me and prepare to head South! We need to regroup with the other platoon so they can provide better medical assistance to our wounded! Minotaurs! Carry the wounded! Orcs! Follow me! Wolves! Watch for the enemy!" Rebellion doctrine said that dead soldiers must be left behind because of the liability they bring, although their weapons must be taken so something meaningful can be returned back to families and friends. Before they moved out, the others gathered the weapons of their comrades, with Howl making sure to grab his friend's blade before they had left. It was a large sword, very different from the pair that Howl wielded. He wasn't very experienced with carrying a large blade like this, but it felt strangely comfortable to hold as he put the massive thing on his back and stood at the front of his gathered men. "Follow me! Keep your eyes open!" Howl dashed forward into the woods straight ahead of them, his focus on what was in front of him as he hoped that it wouldn't take long to regroup with the other platoon in the area. They were in an unknown territory, and the maps that were made before they invaded the land were very crude. They didn't account for everything, and Howl remained on edge because of this. As a result, the wolf noticed that they were heading towards a large group of humans quickly, his ears perking up as he could hear the sounds of small civilization before anyone else saw it. The fucking map, Howl cursed the goblin cartographers who made a map of the area and showed it to him a few days prior. There was a village in the woods, and they were right in front of it. There were too many soldiers in the platoon to sneak past without alerting someone, and judging from the number of lanterns that were illuminated, plenty of the villagers were still awake. They had to fight, and they had to act quickly before they were spotted in the clearing they had entered. "Prepare for battle! We must clear the village out to prevent the enemy's forces from knowing our location!" Howl followed his usual instincts with villages and grabbed the massive sword on his back, his dual swords being neglected this time around as he let emotions control a few of his actions. "Move forward! Kill the men and gather the women!" With that, they charged into the village, the entire place coming into view as they went through the clearing and through the front gates, their entrance being incredibly loud to build fear into the human enemy. It all seemed standard, at least, it was standard enough until Howl realized that there was a silence throughout the entire village. Usually, there were screams and the sounds of village guards gathering, but this time...this time there was nothing. Once the leader stopped for this curiosity, the others in the platoon followed suit, and the entire line had stopped in the village's main area in a bit of confusion. "Search the area carefully, this could be a trap." Howl warned as he sniffed the air carefully, looking for a sign of the human presence he had noticed well before they arrived. Soon, he picked up the scent of a woman, and after that, he picked up several more feminine scents. Quietly, the wolfen leader moved to a house nearby where the scent only got stronger and stronger. Finally, once he reached the wooden door, he suddenly kicked it down, expecting some kind of resistance on the other side. "Alright! Put down your weapons and..." Howl shouted out the usual commands in human

language before suddenly stopping, his eyes widening as he saw the group that was hiding from the soldiers. It was just a group of girls and young children, the look on their faces looking absolutely horrified as a massive monster had just invaded their home. "Get away from them, you monster!" In his shock, Howl hadn't noticed a young boy running from the darkness in the room, the boy lunging forward with a small dagger that he tried to stab the beast with. The blade had connected, although the armor that Howl wore protected him completely from such a small thing, leading to a nullified effect that resulted in the boy trying to grab the beast's leg. "Sophia! Run! Take my brother and go! I'll distract him!" The sudden commotion was heard from outside, and soon the other beasts forced themselves into the house, the human children being grabbed by them before they could escape. "Sir! We haven't been able to find anyone else in the village! These children must be all that's left!" Howl could barely process that information as an orc pulled the boy off his leg, the children now panicking as they were held up by massive subhumans they were raised to hate. "We have to kill them, sir. They could inform adults about our location and we'd pay the ultimate price." In the wave of crying and screaming, one of the orcs didn't hesitate to suggest killing the children to Howl as their leader was still in a bit of a daze. "No! Don't kill them. Take me! Just don't kill my brother! Please!!!" Howl's mind raced as he heard the boy who tried to stab him speak, his arms reaching out desperately towards the smaller boy in the room who was currently being lifted up by his shirt. "Sir! We need your orders before any humans come around to this location! We still have wounded to ta-" "SILENCE! ALL OF YOU!" The leader's voice came out with intense power, the volume being more than enough to shut up his soldiers and even the children in the room. "Put the children down. Now." "What?" "Are you deaf? I said put the children DOWN!" The others listened and let go of the kids, who immediately took advantage of the chance and escaped through the door behind Howl. Quickly, the beast got out of the house and yelled a new order. "Strike down any of those children and I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF!" The sudden shift in the command stunned the soldiers who had gathered in the village, the children looking back for a moment before they escaped the platoon's reach and ran into the woods surrounding their village, leaving behind a strange silence as one of the orcs stepped up to confront Howl. "Have you lost your mind? Those children could alert an enemy patrol nearby! The girls in the group could hav-" A sudden blow came to the orc's face, Howl's punch packing enough power to make him stumble. "They are children. I am in command, and you will do what I say." The outrage among the men was quick, and the entire event passed by in slow motion. "What's wrong with you?!" "You've got some nerve!" "We need to get the hell out of here!" "The Major is a traitor!" The last one stuck, and now the proper emotions were directed towards Howl as the squad leaders stepped forward and drew their weapons. "Sir. I believe you've lost your ability to lead us in battle. I request you to raise your hands and be restrained until we get you to a command post. We will try and kill you if you do anything else." Howl had done the right thing, but he certainly didn't feel like it once he had weapons pointed at him from all sides. The only man who could side with him was dead, so the only option was to listen. A few moments later, he was tied up and forced to follow his squad leaders as they led the platoon to a command post that was far off. Because of this, several of the wounded passed away as they could not get the healing they would have gotten urgently if the platoon was able to regroup with the other beyond the village. The line was lost, and all of it was blamed on Howl. The rest of it was a blur, there was plenty of harsh statements, attempts at

embarrassment, and a few physical altercations, but Howl didn't remember much of it. A week later, the black wolf that had spared a few humans turned into the black wolf that spared an entire village, and soon the story evolved further as it became known that Howl was responsible for the incident. The backlash came to Splitfang, and soon the capital of the Rebellion was in a bit of an uproar from the event. It was a dose of madness, but none of it affected Howl. The cold dark cell he was in reminded him of the one he grew up in, the one he was thrown into after his mother was raped and murdered in front of him. It was unpleasant, but Howl had no intentions of sticking around. His real legend was just about to begin...

[thesellamasaintloyal]

In defense of Rey

Alternatively titled, “There’s a shit ton of things wrong with the Star Wars Sequel trilogy but Rey being a so-called Mary Sue isn’t one of them, Jesus Christ guys it’s been four years can we not-“

((This was born thanks to a post which compared The Child aka Baby Yoda’s innate abilities to use the force despite being a literal toddler to Rey’s force abilities despite her ‘lack of training’, and the hypocrisy of the fandom in accepting one at face value and not the other. Obviously, I agreed, but when the fuck boys come out to play so do my twelve paragraphs lol fight me))

———

People love to compare Rey to Luke and Anakin, and claim that she’s a Mary Sue because she naturally awoke to some of her Jedi abilities, such as her ability to fight, fly with expert ease, as well as her innate understanding of the force. What people love to forget is that the circumstances of their lifestyles naturally led to different development rates toward their innate abilities while using the force. I’d like to include Leia in this as well.

On the bottom rung of the “I can use my force powers right off the bat” we have Luke. Luke grew up as a farm boy in middle-of-nowhere Tatooine, who had little to no reason to use any of his force abilities beyond flying, where he developed his famed capacity to be a pilot. He was raised in a relatively safe environment, protected from the war and conflict that was happening throughout much of the galaxy, and his greatest grievances were simply not being allowed to join the rest of his friends at the academy because he had to keep farming. Out of all four characters he had the most ‘normal’ day to day upbringing, and thus many of a Jedi’s abilities were not developed in the slightest- meaning he had the most to train and the most to learn.

Not too far ahead on the rung is Leia. I’d like to examine her as well, because she had a similarly ‘protected’ upbringing as Luke (in some ways even more so, being a princess and all) and thus did not have the chance to develop many of her innate force skills until later in life. However, Leia was not any spoiled princess laying around in riches. Leia was exposed to politics and warfare and the rebel cause her ENTIRE life, watching her (adoptive) parents not only actively participate in the rebel alliance but practically lead it.

She clearly had some training with weapons, knowing enough to be able to handle several firearms throughout the series, and most importantly- she learned strategy, she learned tactical knowledge and leadership skills, she learned patience and focus, self-awareness, and most importantly the ability to think calmly in a desperate situation. The latter of these skills are all absolutely essential to a Jedi and absolutely form part of the training they undergo, which means all she needed to complete her training was the more physical aspect, and which is why historically in the original trilogy she had far more patience and resilience than Luke when things (invariably) went wrong.

Higher up on the rung is Anakin. Anakin was also raised on Tatooine, but his experience of the planet was far different from Luke’s. His Tatooine was a bustling trade center and full of crime- and he was born a slave in these conditions. Exposed to both mechanical knowledge and more hard labor (carrying parts, repairing parts and ships, and so forth) Anakin had the opportunity to build up some more core strength, and his infamous flying abilities (which honed his reflexes) were also given the opportunity to grow thanks to his exposure and participation in pod racing.

For all intents and purposes Anakin is the saga’s Jesus figure, the “one”, canonically conceived by Midichlorians and a singular entity in his strength and potential regarding the force. However, we don’t see his innate fighting abilities as a child because there is simply no reason to within the scope of the storytelling in the films, and no opportunity either. It also makes sense that Anakin would not NEED to worry too much about fighting or defending himself- as a slave he is property, and would not be touched unless the aggressor was ready to pay Watto for his loss of property, or be penalized for “breaking” what was not theirs.

The little we DO understand of Anakin’s personality is that as a slave, he was raised with an understandable self-constraint (in order to perform his duties well and not have himself or his mother punished) which may have also delayed some of his development; once the constraints of a slave were removed, we are shot forward 10 years and we met a nineteen year who is vastly changed and light years ahead in his use of the force and understanding of his own abilities, the same age his children were when coming into contact with the Force.

Obviously, Anakin is the most developed in terms of formal training by this point in time, as Luke, Leia and Rey were only just introduced to the concept of the Force, and had to, as Yoda said, “Unlearn what [they] have learned.” Nevertheless, narratively we are not given much of an opportunity to see his innate force abilities so much as we are told that they are singular and unique- enough to allow him to be trained at what was already considered an ‘old’ age for a Jedi.

Finally, Rey.

Rey is abandoned and orphaned at about the same age as Anakin was when found by Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. Unfortunately for her, there was no salvation waiting- we are shown and told that she lived alone, practically enslaved in order to survive. This is a girl who learns to climb massive wrecks of spaceships and learns to not only identify the various complicated components but how to take them apart, clean them, repair them, and reassemble them- because doing so means a better meal and future opportunities to keep eating. This is a girl who is forced to learn how to defend herself, who actively fights for her life- because if she allows others to steal the parts she already risked her life to collect, then she risks starvation. Not to mention the obvious implications of young, attractive woman living by herself in a deserted, practically lawless land. Unlike the other three- Luke, Leía, and Anakin- Rey had no protections and no guarantees when it came to her safety, and thus had to learn to fight and defend herself; honing those natural force abilities from an early age in order to keep herself safe.

Furthermore, Rey is isolated. We see that she has no viable “friends” on Jakku, and keeps a pleasant but safe distance from others. That sort of solitude invites introspection- which can only help train the meditative aspects that form part of that famed Jedi calmness and mindfulness. I don’t find it hard to believe whatsoever that Rey may have been able to identify something within herself that was ‘different’ - just as Anakin, Leia, and Luke all claimed to have understood at various parts of their respective journeys.

What is also but briefly seen and not explored in the films, but IS explained in the supplementary novels is that Rey possessed an old flight simulator, as shown here:

“She’d jury-rigged a computer using pieces scavenged from several crashed fighters over the years, including a cracked but still-usable display from an old BTL-A4 Y-wing. There were no radio communications to speak of—no way to transmit or receive and, frankly, nobody she wanted to talk to anyway. On the wreckage of a Zephra-series hauler, though, she’d once found a stash of data chips, and after painstakingly going through each and every one of them, she’d discovered three with their programs intact; one of them, to her delight, had been a flight simulator.

So when she wasn’t sleeping or just sitting and listening to the storm or tinkering at her workbench, she flew. It was a good program, or at least she imagined it was. She could select any number of ships to fly, from small repulsor-driven atmospheric craft to a wide variety of fighters, all the way up to an array of stock freighters. She could set destinations, worlds she’d never visited and never imagined she would, and scenarios, from speed runs to obsta“cle courses to system failures.

At first, she’d been truly horrible at it, quite literally crashing a few seconds after takeoff every time. With nothing else to do, and with a perverse sense of determination that she would not allow herself to be beaten by a machine that she herself had put together with her own hands, she learned. She learned so much that there was little the program could throw her way that would challenge her now. She’d gotten to the point where she would, quite deliberately, do everything she could think of to make things hard on herself, just to see if she could get out of it. Full-throttle atmospheric reentry with repulsor-engine failure? No sweat. Multiple hull breach deep-space engine flameout? A walk in the park.”

Far beyond a nine year old instinctively knowing how to pilot a Jet Engine Chariot AND a space fighter (I’m looking at you, Anakin), we see that Rey has indeed received some training in flying, and that she has been diligently training all her youth to be as damn good as she is when we finally catch up to her in TFA. This, in addition to her fighting skills honed from a need to survive, and a meditative self-awareness from growing up practically isolated, means that Rey is uniquely prepared in a way not unlike the younglings were prepared to fully embrace and use her force abilities- once she becomes aware of what they actually are.

Rey is not a Mary Sue. Her abilities did not come out of the blue, but were honed during her entire childhood in order to survive in the ruthless circumstances in which she found herself. Her skills at fighting, flying, and understanding of the force all have a precedent- and once the final piece of the puzzle in the form of recognition that what she’s felt her whole life is The Force, combined with the legacy and legend that comes from knowing the exploits of Luke, Leia and Han, then there is no reason to doubt why she takes to it so naturally. Ultimately, We know that the force not only enhances abilities, but guides their users in how to access them and use them.